Hyteru swept onto her bridge and returned to her captain's chair like a queen reclaiming her throne.

"Deploy all fighters!" she barked. "Standby the med shuttles! Commander Dorth!" Her XO was at her side instantly. She looked up at him with a hard-set jaw and eyes burning with determination. "I want you leading the landing force. Stage inside the nebula just like we did before, and take our full complement. We'll transmit your approach vector shortly."

Dorth nodded. "Aye ma'am." He turned swiftly towards the bridge's exit, ordering a crewer to "Tell Lieutenant Kitosh to meet me in the hangar." He passed Carth with a perfunctory salute and "Welcome back, Admiral."

Carth nodded and moved to the planning table while Hyteru issued more commands from her chair. He began plotting a flight path for Dorth's assault shuttles, one that gave as much cover as possible in the Dream's sensor shadow while they all closed on the station in unison. He was still hunched over the map display when the Captain approached.

"I'm going to join the shuttles," Carth announced without moving his gaze from the map.

"Sir, Lieutenant Gillick had you dragging me off of that station, remember? I wouldn't be a very good Captain to him if I let you return."

He regarded her impassively, stubbornly refusing to let that damningly incisive observation alter his reasoning.

"Sir. Please remain here and assist me with the fleet maneuvers." She paused long enough that it demanded Carth look at her. He reluctantly hoisted his gaze to hers. "I could use the help."

Carth regarded her for a long moment, studying her earnest expression. Something in those blue eyes checked his instinctive rebuke and caused his internal logic to reflow, bypassing ego and pride.

"I think that you would say anything to keep me from returning to that asteroid," he eventually said with a tight smile.

"Yes." Hyteru grinned briefly, then quickly sobered. "But I really do have little experience leading a fleet in combat, even a task force like this one."

"Say no more – I'm here to help." He sighed. "I've spent so much time trying to forget I'm a desk jockey that I've also forgotten where I can do the most good. Maybe this mission has been tainted by a bit of glory-hunting."

"Not yet, Sir." She paused, then added one more thought with a predatory smile. "I think crushing the scum responsible for those children would be glory enough for us all."

Yes, it would, he thought. Unconsciously, his hand formed a hard fist. He would crush those scum, and he was more capable of that with a fleet of ships than on foot with a blaster.

"You're damn right, Captain. Let's get to work."

HK stood in the doorway to the hangar and intently studied Varia, metal body completely still, glowing orange eyes unblinking. "Statement: the meatbag adolescent moves slowly and inefficiently. Conjecture: I do not believe she has ever been instructed in any form of martial combat."

Beside him, T3 twittered a sharp response.

"Clarification: I am including this instruction."

T3 bleeped disagreeably again.

"Answer: The Master only ordered that I protect the female meatbag. My programming does not indicate any conflict between that order and vocalizing my correct assessment that the female meatbag's training methods are wholly inadequate."

T3 dwooped.

"Confusion: I do not understand why the Master should be fixated on a meatbag that provides poor combat instruction. Reflection: I believe proximity to this female interferes with the Master's circuits."

This time, T3's answering notes were distinctly concurrent.

There was a clang and shout. Varia peeled herself off the deck with a scathing glare at the doorway and kicked away the small crate at her feet. "Get that thing out of here!"

Bastila turned to look over her shoulder at the rust crimson assassin droid. "I couldn't agree more." She waved a hand and the door closed in his metal face, ignoring his irritated protests. She gestured to the other end of the bay and that door sealed as well.

"I hate that thing," Varia groused.

"Hate has no place in a Jedi's life," Bastila predictably rebuked her pupil, and received an eye roll in response. "But in this case, I am happy to make an exception. Now get ready."

Varia grinned and scrambled back to her feet, assuming a defensive stance alongside Mira. The Grandmaster stood serenely at one end of the hangar bay, with stacks of empty containers on either side. One by one they flung themselves through the air at the other two women. Mira expertly weaved through the cannonade, only rarely deflecting the objects by Force or physical effort.

The apprentice, on the other hand, was struggling to evade the objects, relying on her own hands to block most of the missiles, and she was tiring quickly.

"This is impossible!" she moaned after a glancing blow to the ribs.

"Watch her eyes," Mira coached, palming a tiny crate and flinging it away. "A person's eyes will usually give you clues about which way they're going to move next, what they're paying attention to, or what they're aiming for."

Varia absorbed the input with rapt seriousness, as she seemed to do with every bit of advice Mira doled out, Bastila had observed. She started looking at her master's face more, frantically scanning the room less. Soon she was catching more objects and the complaining waned.

After a few minutes of better success, she had a question. "Master, why do you need to look at what you're throwing? I thought everything could be sensed through the Force."

Mira laughed. "Good question, kid."

"I am being lazy," Bastila admitted in a strange defense of herself, "but since you insist…" She closed her eyes, slipping deeper into the warm currents of the Force, immediately appraising every object in the room with sight beyond sight. With a grip as certain as her own hand, she focused her mind on a pair of boxes and propelled them through the air. Mira continued in her effortless evasions, but Varia was quickly struggling again.

"Quiet your mind," Bastila told her apprentice while continuing to hurl boxes. "Don't think about what's coming next, feel it. React on instinct alone, and you will find that the Force is guiding your movements." She paused the barrage, allowing the girl time to take a deep breath and clear her head. When she sensed her apprentice's thoughts steadying, smoothing, then she resumed.

Varia threw herself back into the challenge with renewed vigor, her movements becoming more relaxed and fluid. After a few minutes, Bastila encouraged her to close her eyes just as she had, and she did, though reluctantly. After several minutes of keeping them closed, however, her confidence had grown immensely and when she opened them again, Bastila subtly increased the ferocity of her attack. Varia kept up.

After ten minutes she was moving slower again. A thick sheen of sweat covered her montrals, face and lekku, and her shirt was soaked. A few boxes started slipping through, then more. Eventually she took a blow straight to the chest and fell to the floor.

"I'm… sorry… Master," she gasped out as they hauled herself into a supine position.

"You did wonderfully," Bastila said, opening her eyes to study her pupil. "Your body is tired. In time you will learn to augment your strength and energy with the Force. For now, we will end the lesson." She sat on the deck and patted the girl's shoulder. "You are already well conditioned and are doing much better than you think."

"Not bad at all, kid" Mira commented while wiping down her face and fixing her headband.

"My montrals probably help. Revan helped me figure out how to use them while we were sparring."

Bastila nodded. "I wish the Order had a Togruta master to instruct you. We do have a few knights, but they are scattered across the galaxy. We did have two masters, but they were at Katarr…"

"It doesn't matter, Master," Varia said quickly, noting her teacher's forlorn expression. "I still would have wanted you."

Bastila looked into the young woman's earnest violet eyes and was warmed to her very core.

"I probably wouldn't have gotten along with them anyway. I'm not a normal Togruta, just like my parents and brother. We're not really into the group-mentality thing, and I've never even been to Shili." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I do like to go barefoot, but only on grass or sand or rocks."

"You wore boots while crossing the waterfall at the academy," Bastila observed, ignoring the presence at the back of her neck, trying to prolong the conversation. She wasn't just using the conversation to avoid him, she assured herself, she truly was interested in learning everything she could about her pupil.

"Well yeah, my boots have way more grip on wet stuff than my feet. I mean, I go with whatever makes the most sense."

"Me too," Mira backed her up. "That's why you see me still carrying a blaster and my…" she trailed off, suddenly remembering the company, "uh, armor."

A quiet cough forced her to publicly acknowledge the presence she had felt pressing on her consciousness for several minutes now. When she turned to see Revan standing in the doorway, he looked apologetic.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he said to all three of them before those intense hazel eyes locked onto Bastila alone. Her stomach swooped uncomfortably. "It's time."

Revan looked down at his lap, then out the window, then back to his lap, then across to where Bastila's delicate fingers and pearlescent nails tapped lightly against an armrest. "You're nervous?" he wondered.

She replied with a calm that belied her words. "No, I'm agitated."

"Ah."

Silence lingered for a moment, and they stared out opposites sides of the hover taxi.

"There is much riding on this and I feel under-prepared," the Grandmaster conceded.

Revan nodded, watching enormous buildings race by below. "I'm sorry I don't have more useful intel to share with you. All we can do is rally the troops and prepare our defenses. There is little else."

"That bothers you too, doesn't it?" He turned to meet her honest question and was caught in an unyielding gray gaze haloed by long lashes. The coloring of her eyes changed slightly to match her mood, he realized; she had once observed the same thing of his own hazels. Had he really never noticed that before now?

"Yes." The bitterness in that single syllable surprised even him, yanking his mind back from the mysteries of his companion's beautiful eyes, dropping him painfully in the present reality. Their options were more limited now, because of his choices. The path to victory was narrower than ever.

Because of him.

"Don't think on it, Revan." His heart hiccupped at the sound of his name passing through those perfect lips. She smiled reassuringly. "I am glad you are back, now instead of later, and certainly instead of never."

"Thank you." There was an awkward silence, as always followed their rare moments of open sincerity, and again he cursed his inability to tear down the invisible wall standing between them. He would never stop trying, though.

"So, how is Varia doing?"

Bastila's brow furrowed slightly before she answered. "As well as can be expected, I suppose. We are doing our best to keep her preoccupied. Your help in that has been appreciated."

"My pleasure," Revan responded. "She's very talented. And hot-headed. I like her."

Bastila scoffed. "I know you mean that as a compliment, which has me suspecting I should receive it as an insult to her reputation." She huffed, then added airily, "Varia is confident and determined."

He laughed, thrilled as ever by her sharp tongue.

A chime sounded in the cabin, notifying them that they were only a few minutes from their destination. The speeder began to bank out of the high-volume traffic lanes and into a descent that took them between the buildings at a slower pace. The clear daytime skies of Coruscant were soon eclipsed as they were swallowed into a private hangar in a well-appointed residential tower. At the outskirts of the Senate district, it couldn't compare to the opulence favored by most political figures, but it was far from modest and had the benefit of relative obscurity.

The hangar had been specifically chosen over an outdoor platform so that they could not be observed leaving the vehicle. The humanoid driver had been specifically chosen over a droid service so that they could wipe his memories of the trip and passengers at the same time as he was receiving the tip. And the timing of their arrival had been specifically chosen so that all the other guests would be present when a living legend walked in the door.

Revan and Bastila silently found their own route through the wide and well-lit corridors of the residence, meandering as necessary to avoid crossing paths with other sentients and even droids, and keeping their faces shielded from cameras by the hoods of their robes. Their boots clicked quietly on the polished stone floors all the way to an innocuous expanse of wall on level 312, section West Five. There they paused, Bastila surveying the corridor in both directions while Revan probed the wall with his senses for a particular mechanism…

Seams formed suddenly where none had been visible. A door-sized panel recessed several centimeters, then slid to the left and into the wall. Revan cautiously stepped over the raised threshold and into the dim passageway beyond. Bastila followed right behind him; the hem of her robe barely cleared the closing door.

They moved forward only a few meters before stairs climbed up to another, more obvious doorway. When it didn't hiss open automatically, Revan cranked the wheel located at handle-height and after a moment there was the audible release of mechanical latches. He swung the door open into full daylight – it appeared they had emerged into the owner's spacious bedroom.

They paused, surveyed the surroundings, and pulled their hoods further down so that their faces were fully obscured by shadow. Side-by-side they proceeded through the bedroom into a lounge and office space, their steps completely silent on the carpeted floors. The carpet continued up a short set of wide, arced stairs, and it was at the top of these that they were finally intercepted.

Four guards bearing the uniforms of the Presidential Security Detail surrounded them with weapons drawn. Revan's smirk was hidden by the hood – if he had to guess by their reaction, he would surmise that the existence of that secret entrance had not been disclosed to them before now, and they were quite upset about it.

Just before the contingent's leader could speak, another person swept into the space.

"Stand down, Captain," the purple Twi'lek commanded, her voice full of the dangerous authority that she had once possessed.

"Senator Ban, the Chancellor's security has been-"

"The Chancellor informed you I would have two unidentified guests," Yuthura reminded with a softened edge to her tone. "And they have arrived. Please stand down."

The Captain looked to her, then unsuccessfully into the shadowed faces, then reluctantly lowered his rifle.

"If anyone further enters my home, you may shoot them on sight," Yuthura placated with sincerity and just a hint of wryness. The troopers dispersed, but the three waited until they were out of sight to speak. "It's an honor to see you again, Master," the Senator bowed in Bastila's direction.

"And you as well," Bastila replied kindly from within her hood. "Your service to Sleheyron is a great credit to your redemption."

"Thank you. Now if you would follow me?"

Yuthura led them through a series of three rooms, each one connected to the next by wide, arched openings. As they proceeded, voices could be heard, each one expressing a variation of curiosity and annoyance. "The last of the Senators have just arrived," she muttered to her guests as they entered the large reading room where nine other individuals were gathered in chairs around a low central table. The daylight of Coruscant sparkled through whiskey decanters and off a fine crystalline teapot.

"I don't understand why Ban is involved," one individual was grousing.

"I don't like this, Alond," another one added. "It's bad enough when the Security Council meets in secret, but to add more layers of deception on top of that is asking for…" the speaker trailed off as he noticed their presence. "Who is this, Senator Ban?"

"Masters," Yuthura began, clearly not addressing the Senators, "This is Senator Chambliss of Corellia," she gestured to the man with thick white muttonchops, who had just been speaking. "Next to him is Senator Tythos of Brentaal, and Senator Holjith of Rendili. We also have Senator Jarkan of Alderaan, Senator Lorgath of Ralltiir, Senator Lo'koot of Iktoch, Senator Yondell of Bestine and Senator Ren of Commenor." She turned to face the one person that she had skipped over. "And, of course, Supreme Chancellor Hydrian."

Bastila and Revan each bowed respectfully. Revan quickly looked to Bastila and had no difficulty finding the glitter of her eyes in the shadows of her hood. She nodded, mercifully not acknowledging how silly it was that now she was the one reassuring him, and in perfect unison they removed their hoods.

Their audience was far too polished to gasp or reveal anything so dramatic, though Revan did hear a teacup hit the fine wood floor, and Senator Chambliss seemed to struggle with the sip of whiskey that had just been through his lips. The Chancellor was stone-faced, though Khil facial expressions were hard to read.

In the Force, however, the room was suddenly thick with tension, even anxiety.

Bastila shot him a look with a raised eyebrow. Enjoying yourself? he could feel his bondmate asking. And truthfully, he was. He had always relished making politicians squirm.

"Senators, Chancellor, thank you for meeting with us today," Revan began. "May I sit?" he asked Yuthura.

"Please," she said, gesturing to three chairs next to each other. Revan took the middle seat, with Yuthura on his left and Bastila on his right, and did everything in his power to project an air of calm and humility. He knew he couldn't intimidate anyone here – well, he wouldn't. Projecting as much openness as he could muster for these snakes, he seized the stunned silence and began to speak.

"Shortly after the destruction of the Star Forge, my memories began to return. Slowly, and in fragments. I began to realize that there was something out there, beyond known space, that posed a dire threat to the existence of the Republic, and that it was connected to both the Mandalorian Wars and my fall to the dark side."

He spoke deliberately, looking directly at each of the Senators in turn. "Several months after I resigned from the Jedi and withdrew from Army operations, I did regain almost all of my memories. I remembered that by the end of the Mandalorian Wars, my sister Aeryn, Alek, and I had begun to believe that the Mandalorian aggression was unnatural – that they had been forced or tricked into attacking the Republic as a vanguard. Alek and I chased that theory, and it led us into a previously unexplored region of Sith space.

"What we found there was a Sith empire completely separate from the Sith that had been fought in the Great Hyperspace War a thousand years ago. This empire has been built and grown under the leadership of a single, incredibly powerful Dark Jedi named Vitiate and, for that thousand years, he has been preparing for the conquest of the galaxy. Malak and I – having become arrogant fools by defeating the Mandalorians – confronted this Emperor. We lost. He overwhelmed our minds and sent us back to find the Star Forge and use it to form the vanguard of his invasion.

"It didn't take long for us to break free of the manipulation, however.

"We decided that the only way to prepare the Republic for the enormity of this threat was to turn it into a militarized state, to hone it and focus it for war. We also concluded that the only way to accomplish this was to conquer it ourselves. You know very well what happened after that. When I regained my memories, I returned to Sith space, infiltrated their military, and spent years gathering intelligence and sabotaging their war preparations. Eventually, I was caught and imprisoned. I escaped and now stand before you as a herald of things to come. The Emperor will launch his invasion soon, and I plead with you to prepare our Republic for an all-out war, the likes of which hasn't been seen in a thousand years."

Revan removed a small data cube from his belt and leaned forward, inserting it into the holoprojector that now emerged from the central table. It flickered into life, creating a floating map that detailed an area stretching from Yavin outward to the fringes of the galaxy's trailing arm.

"The Unknown Regions are, in fact, quite well known to the Sith. They have spread their control and influence well beyond the sector of space that traditionally contained their civilizations. Their influence, and their military-industrial complex. This entire swath of the galaxy answers to the Sith Emperor. They build ships and weapons for his army, and most don't even realize it. He controls the economies and destinies of a thousand worlds. But that is not all.

"The Emperor has recently entered into an alliance with a warrior species called the Yuuzhan Vong. Their numbers are relatively small, but their impact should not be underestimated. They use entirely foreign technology, the likes of which no one has ever faced, because they have only recently arrived from another galaxy."

There was an audible scoff from someone in the room. Revan ignored it.

"I understand that what I have said may seem fantastic to you. Please take this data cube, have its information verified and corroborated by Republic Intelligence." He leaned back, clearly conveying the end to his exposition, and the ensuing silence was both brief and onerous.

"What would you have us do with this, Master Venachi?" It was the Chancellor who spoke first, perhaps in a bid to preempt any of the others from steering the conversation. The Khil stared at him with an expression that appeared open, at least in his eyes. Revan had little experience reading the facial expression of a species with short tentacles for a mouth.

"I would have you begin preparations immediately for defending the Republic against a two-front invasion. I would have each of you here use all your skills in leadership and persuasion to rally your colleagues and all the worlds you represent. And I would ask you to begin retooling your economies for the production of ships and weapons, and the training of soldiers."

"You ask much," huffed Holjith. "Last time you just took whatever you felt you needed."

He had been a handsbreadth from invading Rendili when Malak had betrayed him. Apparently, the Senator had not forgotten. Before Revan could respond, though, Senator Ren interjected with a snort and a dismissive curl of her hand.

"He has no choice. This time there is no Star Forge and no ready army of battle-hardened loyalists."

"You're right," Revan replied. "I come to you as a messenger only. I have no army of my own, and only a singular goal of preserving the Republic."

"Why should we believe you?" The Senator from Iktoch spoke with open disdain. "You return to us as a disgraced general, a traitor to the Republic which you claim to cherish, a former Sith, an outcast from the Jedi… what credentials do you have that should lead us to trust you?"

He'd heard all of this many times before, especially in the months after the Star Forge's destruction. Then, it had wounded him deeply. Now he couldn't even feel bothered to defend himself. He was here with a single-minded mission that these duplicitous vultures would never understand. He was above their rebukes of mere words. He would atone with action. Everything else was a waste of his time.

"I don't seek your trust," Revan answered with complete calm. "Review the intelligence. Once you see that it is verifiable, I hope you will use me as an asset in planning and strategy. I seek no power or rank – you can simply use me as a tool."

"You are no droid," the Iktotchi countered. "We cannot simply put a restraining bolt on you – you are as much and more a liability as you are an asset."

Revan placed both hands on his knees and leaned forward in Lo'koot's direction. "Then use your telepathic skills and read my mind – I open it to you."

Bastila waited on bated breath for the Senator's response. Surely Revan was bluffing. There was so much to him that she just knew no one but her would understand…

Lo'koot grinned darkly. "I'm not so arrogant as to believe that my talent could sift truth from fiction if you chose to deceive me."

"Then I guess we are at an impasse," Revan replied evenly, not refuting the man's claim.

Bastila's head spun with a sort of heart-aching uncertainty – she truly didn't know whether he would have lied to the leaders of their democracy.

"What about these extra-galactic aliens?" Senator Chambliss asked, the first question that wasn't related to Revan's character. "Why are they here, and why should they ally with the Sith?"

"The Yuuzhan Vong fled their home galaxy and have been searching for a new one," he answered. "They have spent millennia in the void, and this is only their vanguard force. The rest of their species is still en route, centuries or millennia away. They regard conquest as the only legitimate form of expansion, and would never negotiate with us for territory. They will not peaceably settle here because they require an external threat to maintain the unity of their civilization. The Emperor foresaw their arrival and has been courting them from the time they breached our galactic border fifteen years ago. He beat us to the punch, though it's doubtful the Vong would have ever struck an alliance with the Republic."

"That is… incredible," Chambliss remarked, his tone both polite and disbelieving.

"I'm not here to establish my credibility, remember? I only want to present the data for your examination, and to discuss the next step for after it checks out – which it will."

Revan drew a deep breath before continuing. Bastila knew what he was about to say, and knew it not going to be even less well-received than everything before it.

"I am also here to warn you that you have traitors and spies in the Senate."

The protests were immediate and sharp.

"Preposterous!" cried Chambliss.

"Impossible!"

"He is trying to divide us amongst ourselves!"

Revan stood for the first time, and his sudden physical motion silenced the group. "Remain calm," he said, his voice powerful but filled with ease. Bastila felt the currents of Force move through the space, gently carrying away the anxious energy. Her eyes flicked sharply to Revan, and though she knew that he felt her glare, he ignored her.

"No one in this room works for the Sith or the Vong. But there are a few of your colleagues that do. Remember, the Emperor has been planning this invasion for centuries – he's had plenty of time to build an infrastructure of espionage and sabotage on Coruscant. Additionally, the Vong possess technology to completely disguise themselves from anything but the most invasive detections."

"There could be these aliens in our midst?" the Chancellor asked, quite alarmed.

Revan returned to his seat as he answered. "There are. You are safe with the escort of a Jedi, though. They feel quite different to a trained Force user, and we will know if any are nearby."

Bastila frowned. Trained was the key part of that statement. A Vong had been alongside her for weeks and she hadn't realized it.

"The Jedi are allied with Revan in regards to what must be done?" Tythos of Brentaal asked.

It took Bastila a moment to realize that he was addressing her.

She had been quite content to let Revan do the talking, despite her strained trust in him. Though she could admit that she was quite skilled at dealing with politicians, her dislike of them was potent. Once she might have enjoyed working in the circles of such power, but that was before she had chased power into the darkness.

Before she had loved someone who had infuriated and enamored her with his directness and guilelessness.

Bastila suppressed the urge to clear her throat. "The Jedi are in agreement with Revan that the Republic must mobilize for a war the likes of which has not been seen in thousands of years." Well, that was basically true. She was comfortable speaking for the entire Council on this particularity – she knew they would agree, and if they didn't then they were sadly mistaken. "And the Jedi stand as the Republic's staunchest allies, as we always have."

"So Revan is not part of the Jedi again?" Tythos pressed, though not harshly.

Bastila paused, looking to Revan. They had hardly touched on this – it was something she had wanted to ask but had not yet managed to escape the vacillations of her own internal struggle.

"I have not been invited to return to the Jedi Order, Senator," Revan interceded easily. "My allegiance is solely to the Republic, though I understand that relationship is somewhat one-sided at the moment. In fact," he continued with a hint of self-deprecation, "I believe my citizenship was revoked when I attacked it."

"The term is 'treason,'" Ren remarked snidely as she examined the glass in her hand before she locked her piercing glare on him. "And not only did you attack it, you betrayed it, which is not a word I've heard from you yet."

"Forgive me, Senator. If I haven't used the word 'betrayal' it's only because at the time I believed myself to be acting in the Republic's best interests. Obviously, I was mistaken, and betrayal is indeed the most appropriate label for my actions." His obsequious mollification of the Senator was smooth enough to make any politician envious. She could feel his inner struggle to enact this unctuous performance – irritation, anger, disgust even.

But under that… regret that could swallow a person whole.

Yondell growled in frustration as he shot – ableit slowly – to his feet.

"Are we supposed to take any of this seriously? This man –" he jutted a gnarled finger at Revan "– is a menace!" His snarl was wheezy but still strong, and Bastila had the distinct impression that his heartbeat was sustained by anger and determination alone. "This is a Dark Lord of the Sith! If there is another Sith empire ready to invade, surely he is in collaboration! We should be placing him under arrest so the bastard can hang for his crimes!"

Bastila was on her feet before she even realized she was moving.

"Senator, the man before you today is not the same man that attempted to conquer the Republic! Having regained his memories only compounds the shame and regret he feels for his past actions. It does not return him to the state he was in then. No person can ever be the same as what they were ten or fifteen years ago! Furthermore, weren't he and I both awarded the Cross of Glory, and him twice? And was he not granted a full pardon after the destruction of the Star Forge, the defeat of Malak, and his following year of exemplary service to the Republic armed forces?"

She spared a quick glance behind her, where Yuthura was subtly digging her nails in the arms of her chair, but wisely remaining silent to preserve whatever amount of perceived impartiality that she could. Revan had his face buried in his hands, and she wondered why this should unsettle him so, but then she felt his grin. No doubt because she was standing up for him.

Don't get used to it, she projected to her bondmate.

She could just see his grin grow wider.

"That pardon was under senatorial review when Revan fled Republic space," Lo'koot chimed in gleefully. "The matter was shelved after he failed to appear before several committee hearings. It could easily be reopened."

"That would be counterproductive," Bastila replied with magnificent Jedi master calm, while internally she fumed.

"Of course, Revan's former mistresses would be defending him," Yondell sniped, apparently including Yuthura in the generalization.

"Senator Yondell!" Hydrian barked. "You are out of line!" Most of the other senators swiveled disapproving looks onto their colleague, who realized he had overplayed his part and reluctantly and silently returned to his seat. The distraction gave Bastila precious moments to control the furious blush that had stormed onto her face. They had never even…

But maybe Revan had?

That thought bothered her more than it ought to. Maybe even Yuthura – they had known each other before, when he had been a Sith Lord. She supposed Sith Lords had an appetite for that sort of thing.

As her thoughts started to inexplicably race beyond her control, a pressure built in the far back of her mind. She turned to her left to see Revan's gaze locked on her, dominating her attention, desperate for her to understand his message.

I've never... He shrugged sheepishly, that small, self-deprecating grin upon his face, the one she hated because of how damnably endearing it was.

He'd never… at all?

"This is pointless," Chambliss noted, his voice gravelly and aged like the fine whiskey he drank. "If Revan was here with evil intentions, he could have decapitated the Republic's leadership in one swift blow before the Grandmaster could stop him."

"That is regrettably true," Bastila remarked as she returned to her seat.

"And is anyone questioning Master Shan's commitment to the Republic? We have been working with her for long enough now to trust her implicitly." He looked around the room surveying the faces of his fellow senators. "You've been surprisingly silent, Odris," the Corellian remarked to his Alderaani colleague.

Senator Jarkan's dour expression shifted only enough for his lips to move. "I will review the intelligence – if it is credible, then we must act. But this man, and the Jedi sect as a whole, ought not to have any official capacity in this. They are a net harm upon our society and the Republic must not be seen to endorse them. If they wish to fight on their own, so be it, but not alongside our troops."

"I am appreciative for your openness to my information," Revan responded. "While you are reviewing it, consider this: how many Republic soldiers will fall before one Sith Force user is stopped? How many lives would be spared by the presence of a Jedi in that same scenario?"

"How many lives have been ended by Jedi turned to the dark side?" Jarkan retorted.

"Senator, unfortunately we have to recognize that Dark Jedi are coming," Bastila noted, "whether or not the Jedi Order engages in this war. There may be Jedi that fall to the dark side, and there will be Sith that are returned to the Light. But for every Jedi that falls, many more Sith will be defeated. Our students spend their entire lives learning the disciplines of the Force, while the Sith treat their recruits like mere weapons to be used in their war machine. Ours are better, stronger, and more capable."

"Why did you fall to the dark side, Master Venachi?" This surprising question came from Lorgath, Senator of Ralltiir.

Revan leaned back in his chair, his expression pensive as he dragged a hand under his chin. It was a long moment before he answered.

"I chose the dark side," he replied. "Along with the light. I chose to embrace both, as I had inadvertently begun to do during the Mandalorian Wars. There is truth and balance in doing so, something that the Grandmaster and I still disagree on, but that I have experienced firsthand. I was also arrogant; I sought to control my future, and the Republic's future, rather than to walk the path the Force had laid out for me. The Force does not reveal a master plan for us – it guides our steps one day, one moment, at a time. I couldn't be content with that. And that is how I became so lost."

Bastila nearly had to pick her jaw up off the floor.

Revan Venachi, hero general of the Mandalorian Wars, gregarious and charismatic in public, had nevertheless been painfully reticent with his personal details. The Revan she had known during the Star Forge quest had been the same – superficially convivial with all, but only revealing his true self to a trusted few. He had always worn his convictions on his sleeve, but this glimpse into himself… why in the Force would he share this with politicians, of all people?

It was an act of desperation, she realized.

He truly feared what was coming.

"Do you not believe in the duality of the Force?" Chambliss asked. His completely impassive eyes revealed nothing, his tone perfectly neutral and innocently curious.

"I would have to say that I do not," Revan responded directly. "We all have darkness and light within ourselves – those who can touch the Force have the means to greatly amplify the consequences of their actions, whether for good or bad."

The Chancellor stood, and Bastila sensed that he wished to end on that note. "Please excuse us, Master Shan and Master Venachi. We must discuss this amongst ourselves. I trust I can reach you through Senator Ban?"

Revan nodded. "We will be at your disposal."

"Thank you for your time, Senators," Bastila added. They stood, bowed, and left the room with a slight nod to Yuthura. The moment they were around the corner and had drawn up their hoods, voices erupted, yelling at the Chancellor, yelling at Yuthura, yelling at each other. The two Jedi didn't slow, simply continued on a normal path out of the apartment suite, through the main receiving room, and out the foyer. The security guards scrutinized their every step as they passed, but said nothing. They exited Yuthura's home onto a floor that had been completely evicted for the Chancellor's security, but it wasn't until they had descended all the way to a hangar – different than the one they had arrived in – that Revan released a tremendous sigh.

"I hate politicians."

"I know," Bastila said. "You hid it well, though."

"I've had practice."

"You weren't this polished with them before you left," she continued, remembering the many sessions of interrogation-by-committee that he endured after the Star Forge, and his often frustrated and angry responses.

"I didn't have the memories of that practice back then," he explained. "And I've gotten even more practice since, having lied my way through all of Sith space."

A dark realization suddenly struck her. Bastila's frosty tone couldn't hope to match the positively arctic conditions in her eyes.

"You also didn't have the memories required to purposefully lie to the democratically elected leaders of our civilization, a skill which has obviously returned to you!"

"Yes," Revan replied with exasperation, "but you'll have to be more specific. Which lie exactly are you referring to? The bald-faced lies, like that I'm humbly placing my trust in their judgment of the intel data, or that I'm content to work solely as their planning resource? Or the lies of omission, like the alliances we've arranged with Onderon and Kashyyyk and Mandalore?"

"How about the one where you believe it was a mistake to conquer the Republic," she bit out, "in order to prepare it for the Sith."

Revan shrugged. "They didn't need to know that."

"They deserve to know who it is that they are working with."

"And who is that?" Revan whirled on her, his features sharp with anger. "A Sith Lord? A Jedi pawn? A megalomaniac?"

Bastila opened her mouth to respond –

"Have you thought about who they are?" he continued angrily. "Did you know that Yondell is receiving kickbacks from slavers, or that a year ago Lorgath made deals with Czerka that bankrupted his entire planet? Did you know that Holjith took bribes to help Rendili Drives cover up that they were selling to the Mandalorians during the war?"

"Revan, please," Bastila attempted to placate him with open palms, her mind reeling with these revelations. "You've made your point. But despite their corruption, they have all been very supportive of the Jedi Order these last several years."

"Except Jarkan, I assume."

"Yes, except him," she confirmed with a furrowed brow. A thought suddenly struck her. "Wait. How do you know all this? You said Lorgath made deals a year ago, and Yondell is currently being bought off by slavers?"

Revan grinned, his annoyance with her forgotten in an instant. "That, my dear Grandmaster, is a secret I have kept for a long time, something that is known only to a few other people, and I am not permitted to share it with you just yet."

"You shouldn't be keeping secrets from me," she said sourly, "especially when we are preparing for war."

"Not mine to share, babe, sorry."

"You seem to enjoy keeping this secret from me," Bastila scowled. She had to work hard to keep her lips and voice from turning into a pout, a shameful behavior from their past that she would never let reemerge.

He smirked. "Absolutely."

"You summoned me, my Lady?"

Torval bowed low as he entered the antechamber of the highest security detention level within Adascorp headquarters. Adasca rolled her eyes at his painfully fake deference and beckoned from where she at a door marked only with numbers. She placed her palm against a scanner next to the door and after a moment it slid open.

Through the doorway was a wide hall that was austere, sterile, and brightly lit, just like every other sector of the facility. Unlike every other detention level, however, there were two armed guards posted outside each of the cells, which were barricaded not with simple doors but with forcefields and narrowly spaced durasteel bars. Adasca proceeded down the hallway with Torval in tow. At the far end was the cell of particular interest to her. She stopped before it, taking a moment to assess the occupant.

The prisoner was a young female Bothan, perhaps near twenty years old. Adasca didn't know, and really how could anyone perceive age on such a grotesquely hirsute species, at least until the fur started to turn gray or fall out?

"Let us in," she ordered the guards. One of them relayed the command into their headset and moments later the forcefield deactivated and the barred doorway retracted. She stepped into the room and fearlessly approached the force cage inside which the Bothan sat cross-legged.

"Well, I have to assume that you are merely a Padawan, given how easily my security forces captured you," Adasca began, her tone purposefully heavy with patronization. "And your lightsaber has been confiscated and destroyed. Only an uncivilized weapon cuts flesh and bone. You Jedi really ought to find something more appropriate."

"Release me if you wish to see me fight appropriately," the Padawan retorted, teeth bared ever so slightly.

Adasca bent down to meet the Jedi at eye level and smiled. "You are dismissed," she called to the guards that had followed them in, never breaking her gaze with the Padawan. Should the young Jedi somehow escape the force cage, she was still confident in Torval's willingness to defend her, at least while he still needed her.

And he very much still needed her.

"You are holding my master," the Bothan growled. That impassive Jedi calm was obviously not fully schooled into this Padawan.

"The Cathar is your master?" Adasca wondered with false surprise and sincere amusement. "And you've come to rescue her. My dear, you're not doing very well at that, are you? Your devotion is charming, however. Would you like to see her again?"

The Padawan nodded.

"Very well, then. Torval, throw her in with the other Jedi."

"I don't believe that is wise."

Adasca glared at the alien. "Bothans share immuno-phenotypes with many more mammalian species than do humans or Cathar," she elaborated in excoriating tone. "If she resists the disease, then the work of undoing your mistake will be much swifter. And if she does succumb, then one more Jedi dies and you will redouble your efforts to correct this."

"My Lady –"

"Not a word!" she screamed, eyes flashing wildly before regaining a small measure of composure. "Not. A. Word." Every syllable was snarled out, dripping venom and rage. "You have put my plans on the brink of destruction with your incompetence. The only thing that keeps you alive is my belief that you are capable of fixing this." This threat didn't elicit the least bit of expression from him, but she hadn't expected it to. "And you will never acquire my data unless this is fixed."

That last part did create a darkening in the eyes and tightening of the jaw, much to her satisfaction.

"You agreed to give us that data if we helped you develop the virus," Torval growled, his eyes dangerous.

"And you have yet to develop a virus that does what it's supposed to!" She whirled and paced furiously out of the room, leaving Torval alone with the Padawan and his indecipherable thoughts.

A moment later a squad of guards entered to collect the Bothan. Apparently, Torval was no longer trusted enough to be left alone with the captive. A wise choice, the alien had to admit, since he would have probably killed it in that very room.

Torval returned to his lab, which consisted of two large rooms separated by an open doorway. The first room looked like most other labs in Adascopolis, filled with advanced diagnostic and genetic equipment from the leading manufacturer of such devices, Adascorp itself. In the second room, however, one entered into an entirely different world. There were no sharp and hard angles, no humming machines, hardly any metal visible at all. This room he had overgrown with his own instruments, as the infidels so crudely termed such things. Creatures was what they truly were.

Yorik coral formed his work station and flowed over the walls, ceiling and floor. Here and there it formed unique structures – a knobby pillar that cradled several villips at its peak, a liquid-filled boxy protrusion from the wall that incubated a half dozen oogliths, a curvaceous hook from which grew the shammak he used for microscopic viewing. Adasca and the other Arkanians detested this sanctuary of his, but it was only by the means of these unique capabilities that their precious virus existed at all.

He sat down in the center of the room, cross-legged, and produced a knife of bone with which he swiftly made a cut across his arm. As his own blood dripped onto the coral floor, he said a quick prayer to Yun-Ne'Shel. Bless my quest to destroy these infidels.

Torval returned to the first room, the hatefully artificial cube, and stood before the main computer terminal. At the successful completion of his mission, the gods would cleanse him from the sinful taint of infidel technology, but he would not compound his blasphemy by sitting in a chair. His lips curled in disgust – they were so miserably weak, each and every infidel species.

He pulled up the report on the Jedi Padawan's capture and began reading. He had long ago persuaded the head of security to provide him clearance into many systems that should have strictly forbidden. To his utter lack of surprise, there were irregularities in the details of her capture. The group that had snared her was not an elite unit, as he would have assumed, but rather a squad of plebian city guards. She was then delivered unconscious to a high-security team. The report noted that the guards were overdue to submit their detailed account of the incident.

The alien memorized the IDs of those guards, their division assignment and post location, and then left his lab.

He would find the guards that had brought in the Jedi runt, and he would acquire a much more detailed report.

In the darkness of the cell, Palana closed her eyes and focused, blocking out the coughing and moaning of her fellow captives. She and Zayne had practiced this, sighting her thoughts on the images and crude concepts that would be easiest to convey, and she prayed to the Force that he would receive her desperate message.

Sickness.

Friends.

Dying.

.

.

.

.

Author notes:

Sorry for the long delay in this update. Christmas was a doozy. Next update will be much sooner I hope!