"You lied to me, Bastila." She had heard every word of Malak's, the disappointed exhale from Carth as the dark lord spoke, as if he had known already but expected to hear differently.
"I had no choice, Revan." The name slipped from Bastila's lips so easily, so comfortably.
She could feel a burning sensation somewhere within her chest, and she stared morosely at the steel plating beneath them.
Those millions of people dying, the ruined and destroyed Taris, Telos, and hundreds more, those same atrocities she remembered saying she could never see herself doing:
She had done them, for the whole universe to see.
She was overloaded and she couldn't think straight. Her memory seemed wiped for a moment and she was merely a woman with a lightsaber standing inexplicably before the dark lord.
An angry woman with a lightsaber, enraged by the woman and those she represented behind her and still more enraged by the icy smugness of the creature and those he represented in front of her.
All through his words she had been slumped over, her weapon dangling uselessly from her limp arms, her head bowed in shame.
She felt their eyes on her; the pawn and the queen already checked and mated.
I am Lord Revan.
"You seem to be forgetting one thing, Malak," The voice that she had long thought to be someone else, to be that little devil who sat on her shoulder and whispered her guilty pleasures to her, now showed itself in all it's wretched glory to be her voice. A red miasma clouded her vision and she slowly looked up at Malak, a scarlet demon before her.
She felt her lips curl up painfully into a snarl.
"I'm still alive."
There was the feeling of something being lifted. She tried not to think of the words 'cloud' or 'veil' or 'mask'.
'Mask' especially. The definition of that word was a picture of Revan, every inch of humanity shrouded behind it.
Whatever had come over her left just as quickly, and she seemed to be merely a woman standing in the crew quarters, a young man now lying on the floor in front of her. She watched him push himself up shakily, leaning back against the wall and holding his nose in his hands.
There is no sudden realization. There is no rampant denial.
Dustil was glaring at her, as much as he could with his hands clasped over his face. His nose was bleeding, and when coupled with the look on his face he was remarkably similar to an angry rancor.
She glanced at her hands, as if they were to blame. Slowly she crossed the room and sat down on the floor beside him.
"Just like Master Uthar used to do," Dustil murmured nasally, letting go of his nose and leaning over.
She stared at him, resting her arm upon her knee.
"How was he when you left him?" She couldn't think of anything in the way of an apology, anything that could sufficiently say 'I'm sorry I used the Force to slam you into the wall'.
Dustil hesitated, watching her as if she might shock him with lightning next.
"He's out of the coma, but he's not really coherent."
"If he was," he added. "I probably wouldn't have left."
Dustil Onasi had left his father to sneak onboard the ship and try to become a Jedi. The fact saturated her brain slowly and she allowed herself to accept it.
And then she had gotten drunk with hate and shoved him against a wall.
She nodded, the moment for forgiveness lost to her forever.
"Do what you feel is right, Dustil. I won't try to stop you."
Her only defense, the protection of Carth, now lay tattered in the wind, replaced by the white flag of surrender.
I left him. I left him, and Dustil left him, and he's alone.
"I won't do this halfway. I promise you," Dustil said, watching her closely as she stood up.
"Promise whomever you like. I won't try to stop you, but I'll be damned if I'm going to help you." His eyes narrowed again.
"So you won't train me?"
"We'll head to Coruscant and meet with the Jedi Council. Take your notions up with them. They'll be merciless, Dustil," she added, watching the slight excitement on his face deflate. "They'll drag up your past and your reasons, however noble they might seem to you, for joining the Order. If they find you worthy-"
Worthy to live, worthy to have the remains of your psyche drained and replaced with a new one, only to find it's broken too.
Katrinasighed.
"If they find you worthy, then go ahead with your plans and be damned like the rest of us." She turned to leave him.
"You aren't exactly the best spokesperson for the Jedi Order," he called after her.
His face now would be nothing like she usually expected. It would be calm and honest, unflappable and waiting patiently for her reaction.
"They say I'm not the best spokesperson for the Sith either."
Katrina left him there, still nursing his bloodied nose.
Bastila stood in the corridor, and she stopped upon seeing her.
She could think of nothing to say to Bastila, who had undoubtedly felt it, that surge of rage that she couldn't have hidden from her if she wanted to. Their bond was something no amount of willpower could break.
"We'll inform the Council in person," Bastila finally said. Katrina nodded.
"Tell Mission and Zaalbar to punch in the coordinates for Coruscant. Tell them to try and keep it quiet when we get there." She had no wish for a crowd to gather, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Jedi that was rumored to have been a dark lord and the famous Republic war hero who had fallen.
She walked on towards the middle of the ship, ignoring whatever suspicions she knew Bastila had been ready to confront her with.
T3 turned to her, but made no noise. She smiled at the little droid.
"Sorry, T3. Didn't mean to ignore you."
"Bleep-woop-woop-bleep."
"Good. I'd hate to have you mad at me." She resisted the urge to pat the droid on the head, thinking fondly of how they had raided the Sith military base on Taris, how T3 had stunned a trooper ready to stick his vibroblade in her back. Handy to have around, even if he did lack the battle finesse of HK.
Katrinacontinued back towards the cockpit.
"Observation: Master, you seem agitated at the presence of the meatbag Onasi's offspring on the ship. Shall I dispatch him for you?"
Then again, T3 also thankfully lacked HK's delight at destroying anything that moved.
"No, HK, though I might take you up on that later," she said, rubbing her neck ruefully.
"Anticipation: I look forward to it, Master." She watched the droid out of the corner of her eye, trying to convince herself that there wasn't a gleam in his metallic eyes.
"I didn't just stick my headtail in my mouth or something, did I?" Mission asked.
"Don't worry about it." There was such an edge to her casual reply, such a command of drop-it-and-leave-it-alone that Mission instantly turned back around, busying herself with the controls.
Katrina slumped down into a chair, handling her lightsaber idly.
Bastila followed her in, pausing for a moment, as if by a few seconds of patience she could command everyone's attention.
"Plot a course for Coruscant. We must meet with the Jedi Council before continuing on our mission." Canderous snorted.
"I guess the rest of us will just wait until you conduct your séance."Katrina bit her lip in an effort not to smirk along with him.
There is no guilty amusement at making fun of the Council. There is no inward derision for the ideals I am supposed to believe in. There is no guilty feeling that I am a Jedi failure.
"Do not mock the Council, Canderous," Bastila said, the disapproval taking over in her voice, a tone Katrina was all too familiar with.
"I have no respect for an order that takes no glory in its accomplishments, no pride in its victories." His tone too, she was all too familiar with; pride, arrogance, and the undeniable knowledge that you were right.
"Victory over my people; there is an example the Jedi could use more of." Yes. Follow my example. Begin a war and win, then come back and begin another on the opposing side.
Mission and Zaalbar began to punch in the coordinates for Coruscant, a comfortable silence taking over the cockpit.
She watched Telos (Carth; the two seemed to equate each other now) getting smaller and smaller until it finally disappeared.