There was an eerily familiar sight outside of the Ebon Hawk as she reached it, and she momentarily reached for her weapon in panic. A red lightsaber and a blue one were locked in heated battle.
As Katrina came closer to the ship however, she could see that both belonged to Dustil and Juhani.
She watched as Dustil bared his teeth with every strike he made. There was a lull in their duel, and Juhani seemed to become sluggish. Sweat dripped off both the foreheads of Master and Padawan, and Katrina wondered how long they had been at it. Dustil thrust forward.
His eyes were wide and almost bloodshot, like some kind of angry Rodian. She rushed to intercept, her lightsaber ready to deflect him.
Juhani seemed to suddenly awaken from her reverie and easily pushed him to the side.
Dustil stumbled and stopped, wiping sweat off his brow.
"What was that for?" he demanded, turning his angry face to Katrina.
She suddenly realized, from the calm stance of Juhani, that she had completely misconstrued the situation. Dustil hadn't been attacking Juhani; she had walked in on a teaching exercise.
"Sorry,"Katrina said quietly, turning to Juhani. "I thought-"
"You thought what? That I was trying to kill her?" Dustil snapped. She looked him up and down; with his lightsaber still clenched firmly in his hand, his Padawan robes darkened from sweat.
Wouldn't be the first time, she thought, remembering Korriban.
"The point of our exercise, Dustil, was to show you plainly how the teachings of the Sith are flawed, and one of them is to assume the first appearance of things is the correct one," the Cathar interrupted.
"Like the way she assumed I was attacking you unprovoked?" he snapped again.
"You attacked because you noticed a weakness. You did not wonder why the weakness occurred, or why we were fighting at all," Juhani said to him. Dustil opened his mouth to reply, but it seemed that Juhani's effortless chain of reasoning drawn from the Jedi teachings was unable to draw his anger. He nodded breathlessly.
"But you defeated me easily," he said, without the frustration that was on his face. From the looks of him, he was probably too exhausted to keep up his tirade.
"Exactly, Padawan. Because you were quick and took the first opportunity, the easiest path, you were defeated. A Jedi only uses his weapon in defense of himself or others. When you turn to the aggressor in a situation, seeking out the best way to inflict pain on another, the dark side claims you." The Cathar turned towards Katrina.
"And Revan made an honest mistake. You will find that the Jedi are often feared as much as the Sith, Dustil, for the very reason that most do not understand either group." The younger Onasi stared at Katrina expectantly.
She frowned. She would have to say it, despite the fact that she didn't mean it and he would know.
"I'm sorry, Dustil." He stared harder.
Nope, didn't buy it.
"Aside from that, your lightsaber appears to be set incorrectly," Juhani added, motioning towards Dustil's now sputtering lightsaber. He glanced at it, shaking it a few times. It seemed to right itself for a moment, and finally completely died out. Dustil sighed heavily.
"Do not expect the path of the Jedi to be easy, Dustil," Juhani said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "It is always easier to give into frustration, anger, and self-righteousness. But these things lead to the dark side, to failure, death, and destruction. Just as I was able to defeat you in this exercise, so would another Jedi have been able to defeat you no matter how angry or powerful in the Force you might have been." The Cathar smiled at Katrina and walked towards the gangplank.
She was left, quite literally, out in the breeze with Dustil and his anger.
It was far too uncomfortable andKatrina decided to make a quick exit, starting to follow in the direction Juhani had gone.
"Of all people in the universe, you'd think you might cut me a break or two," he called out darkly.Katrina clenched her fists, glancing over her shoulder at him.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Despite the fact that I know exactly what he means.
"Because I've definitely been ignoring a hell of a lot of things for you. And if you can't do the same for me, there's absolutely no way this 'thing' between you and my father can work with me having some kind of relationship with him at the same time." Her fists softened, and she turned around.
The pale brown of the Jedi robes he wore didn't make her any less afraid of him. He was maybe more difficult to face because he was no longer the enemy, no longer part of the other side, the side she was supposed to despise.
"You're going to have to realize then that there is no 'thing' between Carth and I," she spat in much the same disgusting manner he had.
"Well," Dustil answered harshly. "Excuse me for not unconditionally accepting the fact that my father is sleeping with not only a woman other than my mother, but a woman that used to be the Dark Lord Revan."
She opened her mouth to utter her standard reply, that she wasn't Revan. But she realized that she had no defense, no possible justification against his other charge.
Katrina stood, feeling his cold, unforgiving gaze and knowing she had nothing to counter it with.
"I love him. And he loves me. And you," she added, almost as an afterthought. Dustil stared at his feet, tinkering with his lightsaber as if she had said something inappropriate.
"Do you think that makes trying not to hate you any easier?"
She stared back at him.
I don't need you to like me.
She remembered sneering the words to him as if he was one of the punk Sith students from Korriban rather than Carth Onasi's son. Snarling and snapping like an animal right before she had watched her hands rise and-
I do want him to like me. At the very least, forgive me.
But hatred wasn't something she could coax out of him, something she could cajole him into giving up. Hatred had to be battled, defeated, and finally discarded.
"I-"
"Look-"
Dustil ran a hand through his hair, making it all stand up on end and look even more unkempt.
"So you have a brother." She raised an eyebrow.
"How did you-"
"Master Juhani."
"I wasn't just leaving you out of the loop, Dustil," Katrina added. "I didn't tell anyone else either." Dustil nodded.
"I know, I'm not angry. Might have helped things if you had told the rest of us, but I understand why you didn't." She stood silent, unaccustomed to a conversation with Dustil Onasi that ended somewhat civilly.
"Have you always had such an unreliable lightsaber?" Katrina said, motioning to his weapon. He scoffed, smiling ruefully.
"I never could set the damn crystal correctly. I always get too impatient and think it's good enough when it's not perfectly aligned, and then this is the result."
"I used to be like that with school projects too-" He stopped abruptly, narrowing his eyes, as if he had just remembered that he was talking to the woman who was responsible for said school now being in ruins.
There was probably only so much leeway she could get with Dustil in one day.
Time to cut my losses, Katrina thought, turning and heading onto the ship. Dustil followed her wordlessly.
Canderous glanced up momentarily upon their entrance, and then went back to cleaning his blaster. Bastila stood near him, irritatedly handing tools to the Mandalorian.
"The scope, not the laser cutter," he murmured derisively. The Jedi frowned.
"In case you had not noticed, Canderous, I am a Jedi. A Jedi who usually has no need for a repeating blaster and thus no prior experience at modifying one."The Mandalorianraised an eyebrow, shaking his head.
"I'll remember to knock the weapon out of the hands of the next Sith I see then, since apparently they're helpless without it." Bastila opened her mouth to reply.
"Or maybe they'll lose it themselves." The Jedi quickly shut her mouth again, looking around furtively. Katrina giggled.
"Like you did on the Endar Spire?" she offered towardsBastila.The Jedieyed her murderously as Canderous snorted.
"So what's the plan, chief?" Mission said, leaning back against the table. Sometimes the Twi'lek looked so impishly young that it was hard to believe she was the same Twi'lek who had wandered through the sewers of Taris, a whirling improbability of vibroblades against Gamorreans.
"We'll pay Ruhol a visit." Mission pushed herself up.
"Count me and Big Z in. I've had enough of this hunk of junk."
"You mean you've had enough of repairing it," Zaalbar added. Mission smirked.
"Hey, I didn't see you exactly throwing your big hairy heart and soul into it either."
"Canderous?" The Mandalorian shook his head.
"Not this time, Revan. This blaster needs some work. We can't all have lightsabers," he added, eying Bastila. "Despite the fact that we may lose them as well."
"I'll join you," Bastila said, tossing the tools she was holding petulantly into the Mandalorian's lap.
Ruhol's home was situated much the same as Faris' had been; except for a marked absence of battle droids and a much gaudier entrance. Flags boasting what might have been his family crest hung everywhere, and there was no sign of the slight dilapidation Faris' home had been falling into.
"Ruhol has actively sought a role in Anellian government, but has never been elected because of his tendency to switch positions on a credit to appease the people," Katrina read from her datapad.
"Something I gather the people are not fond of," Bastila murmured.
"In his spare time he acts as the master of ceremonies for constant political soirees, hoping to gain some advocates. His official position on the Sith varies with popular opinion, but he had direct contact with Revan and Malak at one of his parties. Revan openly discredited and criticized him in front of all his guests, something he has been said to never forgive her for."
"Just 'cause you showed him up? That seems like a stupid reason to kill someone," Mission said, wrinkling up her nose.
"Perhaps it is a grave insult among the people of this planet to shame someone in government," Zaalbar added. "Among my people it is traitorous to dishonor the chief."
"I'm betting I was none too subtle or polite about it either," Katrina finished, going over the datapad once more to make sure there was nothing else.
She reached out to ring the bell. Its toll was like that of a small orchestra; complete and utter overcompensation.
A steward greeted them.
"Good afternoon, illustrious Jedi." His flow of speech broke for an instant as he eyed the Twi'lek and the Wookie behind them. "And your...companions. I welcome you to the house of Ruhol."
"We seek an audience with your Master. We are Jedi investigating an attack on a Republic officer and we believe he may have some information that will help us." The steward nodded amicably.
"I see. And are you newcomers to the planet? Or are you familiar with the Master?" Katrina raised an eyebrow.
Evidently, there was no getting in to see this fellow if you had no connections.
"We were referred to Ruhol through members of the Committee."
"Really? Which ones?"
She hesitated. She didn't want to bring her brother into the middle of this, to negate the fact that he was risking his entire career to help her find her attacker by simply flashing his name around.
"That certainly isn't any of your business," Bastila finally said haughtily. "It would be a definite waste of our time should Ruhol lose our support because of a servant's lack of cooperation."
The steward almost trembled.
"My most humble apologies, Master Jedi. I am sure Master Ruhol can spare as much time as you need for your noble mission. Please, follow me." He turned down the hallway behind him, his head high as if it was his home and not his workplace.
"So this Ruhol guy's important, huh?" Mission whispered. Bastila put a finger to her lips with a hiss.
"He's rich and he may have tried to kill Revan. That makes him a little important," Zaalbar growled, amused. Mission turned to smirk at him.
"Geeze Zaalbar, I'd expect that kind of sarcasm from Canderous. I think he's rubbing off on you." The Twi'lek gazed about in wonder at the surroundings of Ruhol's home, even gaudier than the exterior if it was possible.
"I just meant that if what you said about him failing in the government was true and all...well, he's gotta do something to have the credits to afford all this, right?" Katrina ran a hand over the fine furnishings as she passed them, noting the expensive prints on the wall, the random statues of valuable ores all around them.
"I'm betting he's got a little something on the side, you know? Maybe he's with the Exchange or something."
Ruhol seemed to have all the latest gadgetry and décor around his home. Unless he was old money, she wouldn't be surprised if Mission was right.
Very old money, she thought to herself, eying a chandelier made entirely out of various lightsaber crystals.
The steward opened the doors, rushing inside. Not thirty seconds later, he opened them again, much more calmly.
"Master Ruhol would be happy to see you now."
Ruhol himself stood with his back to them, looking out the large window at the back of his office. He was short and portly, mostly balding. He turned with a smirk on his face that Katrina was sure he thought a welcoming smile looked like.
"Master Jedi, I am delighted to make your acquaintance." He rushed forward, extending a hand.
"Um...As are we, Ruhol,"Katrina murmured, trying to wrench her hand free from his iron and sweaty-fisted grip.
"We are investigating an attack and we thought you, having mingled so much in the political world, might have some information for us."
Ruholblushed like a schoolgirl.
"Ah yes, if there is anyone who's worth knowing in Anelli's political circles, my dear, you can be sure that I know all there is to know about them."
"But please," he added, motioning towards the chairs in front of him. "Sit down and make yourselves comfortable."
He eyed Mission and Zaalbar uncomfortably, as if he wasn't quite sure to offer them chairs or order them to get him a glass of wine.
"Nice place you got here," Mission commented, leaning up against the wall with her arms folded.
"Yes...well..." he sputtered.
"You seem to be very well off," Katrina continued quickly. "We know of your obvious reputation in the governing body of Anelli, but do you make your living in another service as well?" Ruhol shook his head.
"I live to serve the people of Anelli, my dear lady."
The words dripped out of his mouth, saccharine and sickly sweet.
Mission harrumphed behind her as if to show everyone how right her instincts had been.
"I am quite interested to know who referred you to me,"Ruhol said, leaning forward eagerly.
Katrina exchanged a glance with Bastila and leaned forward as well.
"We have been meeting with the whole of the Committee for a few days now. They have allowed us full attention over any other matters," she murmured, almost seductively. Ruhol's small gray eyes danced merrily as he rubbed his hands together in satisfaction.
"Yes, the Committee does ask for my opinion quite often. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if-"
"Do you often meet with them?"
Ruhol paused a moment, looking slightly irritated that he had been stopped in the middle of his speech about himself. Finally he smiled coolly.
She wondered if, for a moment, he had recognized something of the impetuous Sith Lord who had defied him among his desired peers.
"As often as I am able. I hold meetings, celebrations, parties, and gatherings for the most influential here in my home. I enjoy hosting these events immensely, and I have heard that my colleagues enjoy them as well."
"Do you invite the Sith to your parties too?" Mission said. Ruhol glanced irritatedly at her.
"Whoever is playing a current role in Anellian politics has probably been in my home at one point or another." This he answered to Katrina, as if she had asked the question instead of the Twi'lek.
"Since the attack was against a Republic officer, "Bastila added, "We have been looking at members of the Sith as possible suspects as well. Have you had many dealings with them?"
Ruhol plastered a cheap smile on his face.
"Not many. The Sith are not known for their congenial and friendly merry-making."
"We had heard that you once hosted a party at which the dark lord Revan and Malak were in attendance," Katrina continued. His beady eyes narrowed, and he stared hard at her. She stared back.
"Both Revan and Malak are dead- I fail to see why they are suspects in your attack."
"Only Malak is dead," she replied calmly.
"I'm afraid you're quite wrong, my dear," he said, a harsh laugh under his breath. "I'm absolutely sure that Revan is no longer alive."
She heard him say 'absolutely sure'. She glanced at her scaly arm, still patches of pink, red, and white, still healing.
"Oh you are, huh?" Mission said, standing up with a hand on her hip. "You got a body or something?"
She heard 'body'. She saw Carth, burned and broken having fought to save her.
"I ask that you please contain your slaves-" Ruhol snapped.
"We are not slaves," Zaalbar growled, so threateningly that Ruhol, who obviously couldn't understand Shyriiwook, physically cowered.
"Indeed, Ruhol," Bastila said harshly. "How are you so certain that Revan is dead?"
"You didn't like her, did you, Ruhol?" Katrina said, standing and leaning over the desk. "She made you look like the pathetic little attention grubbing worm that you are; in front of everyone you had been kissing up to your entire life." She heard her voice lower to a raspy tenor.
Ruhol stared hard at her, the rage of realization beginning to turn his face slightly blue like an angry Selkath.
"If this is how the Jedi act when holding an impartial investigation, I might like to see what they do when someone is truly guilty. Guardians of peace in the universe indeed."
Bastila hesitated, glancing sideways at Katrina.
Katrina knew no such limitations. She didn't believe in them anyways.
"You wanted her dead. Since you could not beat her with words, with your miniscule intellect and sad little attempts at charm, you decided that you would beat her like the Neanderthal you are: with a big explosion."
She said 'big explosion' and she relived it, every shade of gold and flame erupting before her eyes. Her hands tightened on either side of the desk.
Ruhol's face might have been a deep shade of purple under the right light. Right now it was a flaming red.
He laughed, hard little puffs of air in her face.
"If I may say so, Master Jedi, you do a remarkable impression of that inhuman shrew."
"Revan doesn't do impressions," Mission snapped. Katrina heard Bastila groan quietly beside her.
She didn't care. She wanted him to know. She wanted to see the fear curl up in his eyes, to watch his angry and portly form shrink to a sad, fat, lonely little man. She wanted to then pull out her lightsaber and slice him from end to end.
But instead of the rage she expected, Ruhol's thin mouth curved into a cruel smile. He laughed again.
"Under the mask, you really are nothing but a woman after all. So you hid yourself and returned to usurp him. How expected. And impersonating a Jedi...a nice touch, to be sure."
His hands moved towards the desk, and Katrina extended her lightsaber. The sight of it made him pull back carefully, a datapad now gripped in one hand and a blaster in the other.
"I should have known the moment you entered you were not who you said you were. No Jedi would associate with such scum as a Wookiee slave and a Twi'lek dancer." Zaalbar roared something unintelligible.
"My thoughts exactly," Mission hissed, reaching for her vibroblade.
"It's a pity I didn't kill you as well as embarrass you,"Katrina added, her grip tightening around her lightsaber, relishing its sleek metallic lines.
"You spoke of someone else, someone Revan was trying to usurp," Bastila said desperately, stepping in front of all of them. "What are you talking about?"
Bastila's words brought her out of her reverie, andKatrina too eyed Ruhol curiously instead of with a desire to kill.
"Drew you in with lies, eh? Impressed you with power she no longer possesses? Oh no, my friend, Revan is no longer the Dark Lord." He seemed almost gleeful. "I should have known under that mask that you were no better than any of the politicians you insulted so gravely at that party. You're just as willing to lie and manipulate to draw others to your cause, aren't you?"
"What are you talking about?" she snapped, not sure how long she could control herself. Her fingers itched to make a swing, to crackle with dark energy.
"I'm one step ahead of you Revan,"Ruhol giggled. "This datapad will destroy the government on Anelli. Cripple it to its very foundation. Who's the master politician now, eh? Am I still the insignificant worm you found me to be so long ago?"
"If you think a datapad will cripple the planet, then yes." His mouth curled up into an indignant snarl, and she didn't know if it was because she had insulted him again or because she doubted his plan.
"How little you comprehend. I haven't been crawling up the political ladder for my health, you know. I've amassed the secrets and intrigues of every member on that Committee, and every wealthy or influential person involved. What I hold in my hand is delicious blackmail, Revan, something you and your strong-arm Sith could not possibly grasp the sublimity of."
"You do know what that means, don't you?" he added, after receiving no reaction.
She heard 'Committee'. She thought of the only voice that had spoken to her, calm, collected, and self-assured. She heard 'blackmail'. She thought of her gentle, well-spoken brother, living a life alone and then having everything he had accomplished ruined by this vindictive little man.
"That means absolutely nothing, considering that you are holding it in your hand, and I am holding a lightsaber in mine." Katrina launched herself over the desk, knocking him down with a slight flick of her wrist.
Ruhol began firing wild shots from his repeating blaster. He was not incredibly accurate, but the blaster was incredibly powerful. Katrina paused to deflect them.
It was easy to overtake him. She drew the blaster out of his hand. He stood for a moment, completely out of options, looking exactly the way she had wanted him to look.
She fought the urge to salivate as she stepped forward menacingly for the kill.
"Revan!" Bastila's voice was a hazy echo.
"Revan, don't! REVAN!" She reached her arm back, ready to throw her weapon. Finish him off with one satisfying and precise move.
"Revan, we need that datapad!"
The mention of something other than her name, than her past, made her stumble as she threw her weapon, and it grazed the side of Ruhol's hand.
Ruhol screamed out, high pitched and piercing, and dropped the datapad.
He held his burned fingers, looking helplessly at her as if she were a bully in the schoolyard; taunting the fat kid. She thought for a moment he might cry; foiled by Revan again.
Instead, he whirled towards Mission, firing his blaster as if all hell had broken loose.