Chapter 6
Outpost at Universe Edge
Suvan Tam was used to being alone. He got his visitors every so often, of course, but the old Rodian was just happy to be somewhere where interruptions were few.
He had been brought to the Yavin system as a boy, during the time of Exar Kun. The fallen Jedi had hundreds of slaves brought to the system to rebuild and restore the ancient temples on the surface of Yavin 4. Life was simple – one worked or one died. Among them was a Baragwin weapon-smith and inventor that quickly saw Tam's talents and took him as an apprentice.
Ah, but gone now…all gone. Most of the slaves died when the Republic razed the planet's surface. Others simply left the system when there was nothing for them, but Tam found this isolated space station and slowly brought it back to life. His old shuttle still made trips back and forth to the planet to gather the wreckage of droids and equipment, digging them out from old airless bunkers and dusty temple ruins. He had never been bothered by the ghosts he knew were there. They probably just thought of him as one of the slaves still.
Tam was at his workbench tweaking his latest creation – black armor with servo-motors and neural links that would work with most humanoids. It would allow for much greater flexibility and dexterity than anything he had seen before. It was best to save it for a really nice buyer. He pushed it into the corner and took a moment to inspect it for any previously unseen defects.
Davik was overdue. He knew the Tarisian liked to visit at least once every couple months. Tam was very proud of the armor he had made for Davik, and Davik wasn't such a sore loser at Pazaak as many of the other Exchange clients. He never saw any trouble in dealing with a criminal Syndicate. He spent most of his boyhood in Hutt Space, after all. To him, rule by crime lord was perfectly normal. Besides, they weren't Sith, and the Hutts could use a little competition.
He got an incoming transmission – text only – and his antenna stalks perked up when he saw the readout on the monitor. It was the Ebon Hawk. Well, something must have kept Davik busy, he guessed, and company was company. He sent back a greeting, and dispatched his favorite repair droids – AT-5 and D-403 – to prep the landing bay and see to the repairs the ship appeared to need.
After the ship docked, Tam heard the familiar code punched into the access panel.
It wasn't Davik, which puzzled Tam for a moment. He recognized the Mandalorian – Davik's favorite enforcer. He had a big and hairy alien he had never seen before, and a Twi'lek girl behind him.
"Uh, hello there. I know you – you Davik's muscle man, but who's that with you?"
"I ought to fill you in on a few things, old man," Canderous said. "Davik's dead. The Sith blasted the whole planet. A few friends and I stole the Hawk for ourselves, but we took some damage – damn Sith again."
"More Sith?" Tam shook his head. "Not shocked. Sith like Exchange that way. Kill one, someone else takes his place. Always it has to be – guess universe likes it." He walked up to the large, hairy creature and examined. "Never see one like you before."
"His name's Zaalbar," explained the young Twi'lek. "He's a Wookiee. Sorry that he can't speak your language. I'll translate if you want. By the way, I'm Mission. Nice place you have here."
Tam beamed. "You like? Well, you friendlier than most Exchange. And so this is what Wookiee looks like. I hear those nasty Trandoshans talking about Wookiees – never thought I would see one."
"We're not exactly working for the Exchange, Tam," Canderous explained. "More like freelancing at the moment. And those boot-scrapings are still causing you trouble?"
"The Exchange hasn't shown up here in many months. But you telling me Davik's dead – makes sense as to why no visitors. Unfortunately, no Exchange means they start to get ideas…"
Canderous groaned. Bloody well figured. Well, he hoped they wouldn't visit while he was here. They were already down three crewmen.
Zaalbar signed with his speech to make it clear to Canderous. "Trandoshans here? That can be very bad."
"Mercenaries and thugs," explained Canderous. "They're frequent guests to this outpost, and the Exchange wielded the bigger club here."
"Beks and Vulkars all over again," muttered Mission.
"More like your Beks and Vulkars on battle stims, Mission," he told her.
"Trandoshans have a system of honor," Zaalbar said (and signed). "Closer to your people's than mine, Canderous. Czerka never got a good hold on their planet because they believed they would be rewarded in the afterlife by how many they killed. Wasn't 'cost-effective' as the Czerka would say."
"I don't suppose it would be," Canderous said. "Unfortunately, gaining an outpost like this would look pretty good on their score card."
"Anyway, you here now. I sent my droids to fix your ship. Anything else you need?"
"We've two badly injured crew," Canderous said, then the words seemed to stop in his throat. "Tam, I think you need to know that there are Jedi on the Hawk now."
"Jedi? How you get in with Jedi? Must be good story – that will be part of your payment."
"Oh, it's a good story, all right. I also have some other means of payment…" He gestured to a metal cargo box in the hallway. Tam hobbled past Zaalbar to open it. He took out the contents and inspected them. Ration bars, droid parts, computer spikes, security spikes, and grenades. Aside from the ration bars, the other things had been cobbled together by the crew – mostly as a way to earn pin money in port.
Tam's eyes lit up. "Wow. You know what I like! I get your friends to my infirmary. PA-S5 is good droid. Won her in a Pazaak match from Danya Mel."
"Dayna doesn't scrimp on the medical supplies, either," Canderous commented. "Not often you see a surgeon change careers and go into arms dealing." He thought a moment. "One of the Jedi aboard is a medic. He'll probably want only one to go to your infirmary. The other is going to stay on ship, I think."
"Oh," said Tam. "They injured trying to kill each other?"
"Another long story, Tam."
Carth groaned. His head felt like it was splitting open. At first, he was disoriented. Had it all been a really bad dream? Please, tell him it was all a bad dream…
He looked down. One shoulder, his entire left shin, both his hands, and his waist were swathed in kolto bandages.
No dream. Damn it, where were his guns? Where was…
No, "Kairi" was nothing more than a lie. The Queen of Traitors, and I've betrayed…He wanted to be sick. He had been so close to giving himself over to her – no, he had given himself up to her. The fact they hadn't arrived at the main event was a technicality. Nice going, Onasi, you fell into bed with Morgana's killer. You're not much of a man, are you?
Carth didn't know what to think anymore. He thought all this time that he was just waiting to get his revenge, or doing what he had to. But…if it was just that, then how could he explain what had happened? He was supposed to be dead inside. Didn't he boast on Taris how he trusted no one? Didn't he promise himself at Morgana's grave that he would never love another woman?
You got lonely and weak, Onasi, he scolded himself. You trusted the pretty face and feigned innocence of the Jedi's little pawn. All her flattering words and questions – all designed to get you lowering your guard. Then, you really get stupid. How many of your own "brothers" in the Republic army were killed by Canderous of Ordo? And that Mandalorian isn't one damn bit sorry for the carnage. Remember how thrilled you were when you helped load an entire freighter with all of those bastards' weapons and armor, then stood next to Saul and cheered when Revan's flagship blasted it all to atoms?
He got up from the makeshift sickbed and went pacing the ship. He was still limping from the bandages on his leg. Frack, what possessed him to survive that in the first place? He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of the deck plates beneath his bare feet. No, they weren't moving. Did they even…no, he wouldn't even be on a ship if that were the case. He looked out one of the ports. They seemed to be at some space station he didn't recognize.
His search of the ship turned up empty. He was alone. At least they were nice enough to hang up his blasters in the armory. He strapped them on, more or less without thinking. Where to go? He considered the cockpit for a moment. He'd spent most of his life behind the controls of some ship or another. No, he might end up damaging something.
The armory was out, and so was the crew quarters.
Make this as clean as possible.
He finally decided on the cargo bay, It was nice and quiet, the soft hum of the engine on standby providing soothing white noise. Sitting down on the bare metal plates hurt somewhat, but that was going to be temporary. He settled into place, pulled up the blaster, and was about to place the barrel behind his teeth when something clanked and startled him. Putting the blaster to the side, he saw he'd knocked one of the panels ajar. One of the many secret compartments on the ship, no doubt. This one was filled with quarter-liter glass bottles. The sour-bitter smell confirmed the contents – Tarisian ale.
Hey, under the circumstances, what's one last drink going to hurt?
Twisting off the cap of one, he held it up in a toast to no one. "Here's to Taris…Telos…who knows how many other worlds…And here's to Revan. Long may she rot."
Hovering…
Again…
Not dead…
Not alive…
Without the energy to move forward or back, Kairi floated inside the kolto tank suspended by the diagnostic harness, floating in the viscous, pale blue substance like it was a metal womb.
Who am I?
Before…Before waking up on Taris and seeing Carth…before feeling instantly safe in his presence…
Before being hit with a terrible bolt of energy, screaming, and blackness…
Before waking on the Endar Spire and being afraid…alone…pulling on clothing from a nearby locker when she heard noises at the door.
Before those things, before the start of her life as she knew it…
"May…may I name her?"
The room was dark. The only light seemed to come from the kolto tank on the far wall. Illuminated from the back, it seemed to glow a pale blue as light passed through it. Within it, the broken body for the former Sith Lord floated. The physical injuries were healing. The ashen pallor and other deformities caused by the Dark Side's ravages were all but gone, but if Bastila tried to sense consciousness…
Bastila touched the outside of the tank, and the part of her life she had given up seemed to answer her. No sentience yet, but life in an unfinished state of potential. If she had to describe it, it would be like what she sensed once when Jan-Della Cor, one of the Knights at the Dantooine Enclave, came to visit her. While the Council discouraged marriage, it didn't forbid it outright. Jan-Della wed one of the local farmers and was heavy with child during one of her visits to the Enclave. Bastila remembered touching the woman's swollen abdomen and feeling the life-in-progress. No consciousness as one would define it, but the potential to grow into it. Bastila could also sense the strong bond the forming life had to Jan-Della, that part of the Knight's life had been fused into the new creation.
She knew what Revan's consciousness had been like. The Sith Lord was like a vortex of pain and fury, and a powerful will…so powerful…When Malak's ship blew the plasma conduit behind Revan, the Dark's Lord's last thoughts hadn't been what she expected. It was only a flash of betrayal, followed by grief, sadness…and the last moment was like a letting go as that which had been Revan fled. When Bastila removed the mask, there was nothing but ashes – dead in all aspects save the basest of functions, and even they would flicker out in seconds unless something was done.
She took the choice of a Jedi, hadn't she? To preserve a life, even that of a foe? Except, she now realized, she hadn't preserved a life. There was some of Revan present, to be sure, but Bastila could sense the part of her own life she gave up had fused onto it, like a cortosis weave on steel. What was growing was neither herself or Revan, but something…different.
"Bastila."
So engrossed she had been watching the kolto tank that she hadn't even sensed Master Vrook's presence. Straightening her robes as she turned, she addressed the gruff Jedi Master.
"I'm…I'm sorry." Inwardly, she cursed herself for being caught off-balance. Surely, she could do better! "This whole matter with Revan has left me uneasy. I can't seem to get her out of my mind."
"Your actions were brash and impulsive," Vrook said, attempting his usual scolding. He hesitated, and sighed heavily. "Yet noble, and acting from the Order's tenets."
"You and Master Vandar asked for Revan to be brought back alive," Bastila reminded him. "Was that an error?"
"Yes…and no," Vrook admitted. "We would have preferred Revan alive for questioning, but we hadn't believed it was possible. We hadn't factored in Malak's sudden turn, either. And now you've gotten yourself Force-Bonded to this abomination."
The door opened and Zhar was next to come in. The pink-skinned Twi'lek nodded politely to them, then walked up to the tank, hanging his head. Was it grief? Bastila never could read the Masters well. Zhar's lekku were visibly drooping as he placed a hand on the tank.
"What a waste. A terrible, sad waste."
"I cannot grieve, Zhar. Especially when it was the indulgences granted to them by you and your kind that allowed it to happen in the first place."
"Vrook," Zhar scolded. "Disagree with me if you have to, but not in front of a student. As you no doubt recall, the High Council's decisions only came after days of debate."
"Speaking of the High Council, have they decided?"
"No," Zhar admitted. "This situation is utterly without precedent. We have confirmed that Revan's body can be healed fully. But there is no life, no sentience. "
"Then…" Bastila felt small in the presence of the Masters. "Then what are the visions? The memories I keep sensing from her? If she is not conscious, how can I see what lies her mind?"
"It is your life which sustains hers," Zhar answered. "And allows you to see what remains of Revan's memories."
"Perhaps there may be a bright spot in this after all, Zhar," Vrook said. "If Bastila is able to access Revan's memories, then there might be something useful within them…something to explain the Sith fleet or their tactics."
"And you would leave her suspended like this? Neither living or dead?"
"If Revan dies, we are left with nothing. If she lives, she will endanger us all. This is the only possible way."
Zhar scowled. "And you would consider this to be mercy or compassion? She may be suspended like this for a very long time – perhaps even years. Maybe it best that we send her to the Force."
"And lose what could save our Order?"
"What good will the Jedi become if we do not hold our own tenets sacred, Vrook?"
"Masters?" Bastila said.
Hearing her voice, the two masters stopped their discussion and turned to her. "What is it, Bastila?" Vrook asked.
"There… " Bastila said hesitantly. "There is always a third option…."
Vrook shook his head. "There is always a third option" was a constant quote from Revan when a black or white issue was introduced. Even as an apprentice, Revan rarely considered things with a "yes" or "no" answer.
"What do you suggest, Padawan?" Zhar asked.
"Can you not sense it?" Bastila said. "There is life within that broken shell – a bit of Revan's and a bit of mine. Perhaps there lies a solution."
They looked at one another, silently communicating.
"The Force bond you share with Revan is the only thing that keeps her body alive. We…may be able to sever it and set you free," Vrook said.
"I…I'm not certain I want to." Bastila said.
The eyes of the Masters grew wide with shock, but Zhar recovered first. "What is it, Padawan?"
Bastila studied the body in the blue tank. "If I…if I strengthen the bond, it is very likely that she will remain alive. Perhaps it may be enough to allow the healers to restore consciousness."
"Use you as a vessel to give birth again to the Dark Lord?" Vrook asked. "Even if it could be done, it will endanger your life should the attempt fail."
"You must also realize, Bastila," Zhar warned. "That while the Force Bond now can be broken without much consequence, this action will bind you to her permanently. Even if what you are proposing can be accomplished, Revan's mind cannot and never will be fully restored. "
"I…know," Bastila said. Why were her eyes stinging so? Why did she feel a need to protect this…this abomination? Something that never should have been. Could it be because of that life growing within? "She cannot be Revan. It…is far too dangerous. But what if those memories she still may have could tell us her secrets? There may be enough fragments to discern something – like the source of the Sith fleet or Malak's weaknesses?" Bastila somehow knew these were excuses. Deep in her heart, she wanted this new life to have its chance, even if her Jedi rationality was more in agreement with her Masters.
Zhar glanced over to Vrook. Could it work? Vrook seemed to think it over. "That does seem…more like a merciful option. A blank slate…more like a newborn than anything. We can keep her here, I suppose."
"But keeping her as a stunted infant would be no more merciful than leaving her in a coma," Zhar pointed out. "Padawan Bastila, you are proposing something very dangerous. This may be far too much to leave on your slender shoulders. To craft an adult, one with the potential to still turn to evil…it is very risky."
"We've little to lose," Vrook said. "We can attempt cutting Revan off from the Force as Nomi Sunrider did to Ulic Qel-Droma. It won't be complete as the Force Bond still needs to be in place, but we could do a good enough job in preventing her from using the Force again – maybe even kill off that empathic ability that sent her into Darkness in the first place."
"We…will propose this before the Councils, Bastila. Only then, will we have a decision."
"Masters?"
"Yes, Padawan," asked Zhar.
"If the Council…decides on this option, I have one request. May…may I name her?"
If Vrook were not a Master, he would have groaned and smacked his forehead in frustration. Zhar was more intrigued by the idea. "As she will be your responsibility, Bastila, I do not see why not. After all, we cannot continue to call her Revan if this plan is taken."
The pair left the room, allowing Bastila to be alone once more with this neither-her-nor-Revan. But what would she call this? After a moment, she thought of a perfect name. She had never said a proper farewell to dear Father before she was given up to the Order. Dedicating herself to the Jedi meant she would never see him again, anyway. Yet, the thought of him gave her an idea. He told Bastila often that she took on many features of her grandmother, his own mother. Now, what was Grandmother's name?
Kaireana Nikovan-Shan – that was it.
"Kairi…" She rolled the name around on her tongue like a sweet. Yes, that would be very suitable. "Kairi Niko," Bastila said, a little louder, feeling giddy…and terribly worried. This was not befitting a Jedi, but she now knew just a bit what Jan-Della must have felt for that child growing in her body.
"Please, Kairi," she whispered to the still-forming life. "I want you to come into this world…Please let this be the right decision."
"Move, damn it!"
Canderous charged down the corridor, canon at the ready. "Team one, position?"
"Holding at Airlock Three" Juhani said. "Wait a minute, incoming fire!"
There was a sound of static over the com channel and Canderous grumbled, signaling to Jolee, who was right on his heels.
"Must have got the drop on them, and using grenades, too. We'd better double back to make sure –"
HK-47 came into range. Upon seeing them, the demented protocol droid raised his rifle and took a shot. Jolee deftly used his green lightsaber to reflect it back, hitting the droid. Surprisingly enough, the first shot only took out the droid's shield. Canderous managed to dodge the droid's counterattacks, one shot glanced past his armor before he countered. It took the second shot to power HK-47 down, the droid slumping over. Jolee, by then, had sensed the other set of "invaders" behind him, and Force pushed them back. The grenade in Mission's hand rolled a short distance away and detonated.
When the flash faded, Mission and Zaalbar got up. "Damn. Thought we could get you with that one. What's the score?"
"Two dead, Three wounded," Juhani said, coming back into view with T3-M4. "I will admire that most clever trap you and Zaalbar set for us at the airlock."
"Yeah, I'm still no match for a good set of Force Powers, though," she said, looking at Jolee. She checked the watch.
"Ten minutes, eighteen seconds, Canderous."
HK-47 powered back up from dormancy. "Correction: Ten minutes, twelve seconds for the actual scenario. The additional time was for you to mimic expiring life functions after your grenade went off in your hand."
"We're going to try and get a win under ten next time," he said. With Bastila, Carth, and Kairi out of the picture, the others were looking to him for guidance. So, he did the best thing he knew how to do. With Tam's permission, he'd started running drills on the station – three a day. Damned if the Sith would catch them with their pants down ever again. They set their blasters and lightsabers to the lowest settings, and used flash grenades that did little more than emit a moment's worth of blinding light.
This was somewhat different than commanding Mandalorian troops, or Davik's half-drunk security staff. Not all of them had the same method of fighting, and even the Jedi were on opposite ends of their Order's teachings. So, team assignments were done by lot, so each would learn how best to coordinate with the others. He learned that while Jolee wasn't the strongest of fighters, his Force abilities were impressive. He learned just how nasty and creative Mission could be with booby traps, and he developed an appreciation for Zaalbar's strength and prowess with blades.
"Next time, street rat, use a stealth belt, and get the Jedi looking elsewhere. Juhani, your own stealth abilities are good, but you need to learn how better to check for traps. And you'll be sparring with Zaalbar, I think, old man."
"Set me against a Wookiee. Nice of you," Jolee commented.
"He knows a few tricks with a blade you don't," said Canderous. "All right, everyone. I think the droids have finished some of the airlock repairs by now. Mission, you and I will go out with EVA suits and check that aft shield generator. The rest of you, I expect to see at 0500 for another drill. Dismissed!"
The group broke apart in twos and ones, as Canderous and Mission made their way back to the Hawk's berth.
"I think I figured out why you're doing this," Mission said as they approached the airlock.
"The Sith can't catch us flat-footed again," he grumbled. "We have to stay battle ready – especially with three of our best fighters down."
"Well, that's one reason," she said as she opened the door to the airlock. "Other reason is that you hate sitting still as much as I do. Better to do something rather than sit and keep getting antsy." She paused. "You're scared."
"Scared? Don't make accusations like that unless –"
"Not that kind of 'scared,' you nerf-herder!" she said. "Thing is, you can't really do anything about Carth and Kairi, like the rest of us, so you're doing your best on what you can do – like making sure no one else is going to get hurt."
"Still can't bloody believe she is who they say. Revan was the greatest warrior of our age. In that final battle over Malachor, it was only by his -" he corrected himself. "Her actions that the Republic prevailed. Nothing could have stopped us had that little woman been one of my people." He looked up. "And to know I have fought by Revan's side all this time. It is…humbling. And I won't use a word like that lightly."
"I just…well, I try not to think about it. But these drills help keep me from dwelling on it, so…thanks."
A sudden clatter of broken glass from the direction of the cargo bay stopped their conversation. Mission was quicker to investigate. She peeked around the stack of cargo containers. Three bottles were rolling around the deck already. A fourth was broken, lying next to a discarded blaster. A half-finished bottle was in Carth's hand.
"Carth, that's…" She picked up an empty, sniffed, and grimaced. "Tarisian ale?"
Canderous had now caught up. He let out a noise of disgust. "Five bottles? With your injuries? Your stamina is impressive, but your judgment is obviously shot."
"Who cares?" Carth's words were quite slurred, and he had a bit of trouble getting to his feet. "Not you, I hope."
Mission scowled and moved to his side to steady him. "Carth, I'm getting you back to bed. Jolee's gonna blow his stack if he catches you like this."
He shoved her back. "If you were smart, little girl, you'd get away from me."
Hurt crossed Mission's face, but she tried to cover it. "Yeah, you smell like a Vulkar," she retorted.
"Dead…Bastila shouldn't be…it's that damn Sith that should be. And I'm still here…should have left already. There's nothing for me here."
Canderous grabbed his other arm while Mission got into position again. "You've all the wit of a bantha right now. You come along – willingly or not."
Carth laughed in a way that made even Canderous uncomfortable. "What was I thinking? Sure, rebuild…renew…just forget. Just try to replace what's gone like it's nothing more than a droid part. We're not family."
"That's the ale and the drugs talking. May you pay for this idiocy with the hangover of your life."
"We are NOT a family!" Carth roared. His words were slurred, and he stood unsteadily, but he tried to shake them off. "Damn it. We wish, we play, we pretend, but it's not the truth! I can't be your brother. I'm a 'Republic man.' I probably killed your brothers!"
"Then they died well," Canderous fired back. "At the hands of a worthy foe. The war is over."
"Our families are DEAD! All of them! And it's because of Revan. Revan, who's got all of us wrapped around her like slaves. Revan, who can't possibly know the pain she's caused. Revan, who was supposed to die! I don't give a damn what the Jedi call justice. And -" In mid-rant, the infamous Tarisian Ale "kick" took effect and caused him to utterly lose his footing, dropping most ungracefully to the deckplates.
Canderous let out a sigh and shook his head. "Why do I not wish to kill you for what you just said…" He hefted the smaller man over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "Come on, Mission, he'll sleep this off."
No answer. He looked around. The Twi'lek had vanished.
The station's infirmary was old, cramped and small. Once it had patched up (or more often, acted as a morgue for) Republic soldiers sent to the thick of battle in Exar Kun's War. Even after four decades, the walls still held the cold of death. The dim light added to the feeling of walking into a mausoleum rather than a healing center.
Tam's two droids hovered on their repulsorlift bases, keeping their silent guard over their sole patient. Kairi floated in a kolto tank, clad only in a sensor mesh that provided the droids with a constant readout of her vital signs. She hung limply in the harness, a mask over her nose and mouth providing air. Again, the fact that their previous stop had been Manaan was a blessing, as they had plenty of medical supplies and kolto. Jolee had the foresight to stock up, especially when he won the Republic a discount in Sunry's trial, grumbling that this was the only good that came of it.
Juhani had not broken her vigil, save for meditation or some kind of battle practice. Sleeping on a foldout bunk attached to the wall when she was able, eating little, she kept staring at the small tank. Lit from the floor and from behind, it seemed to glow a soft blue. She prayed to the Force, to the Elements, to Gods dead and alive, that somehow Kairi would live. When she wasn't, she was trying to fathom how events had come full circle. With half of her face covered by the breathing mask, the resemblance was greater, certainly. Still…Juhani remembered the woman who still resembled a goddess in her thoughts – the white robes trimmed in scarlet, the eyes dark as space, and how she seemed to float like a ghost above the squalor of Taris. When she had heard of Sith Lord Revan, it seemed impossible. Of course, after her own foray into Darkness, it was a bit less of a stretch to her imagination as to how such a shining light could plunge into despair and rage.
But Kairi being the same as both…it seemed impossible at first! But Juhani could put together the smaller details. Kairi could no more abide suffering and genocide than Revan could. She remembered hearing that she had gone to the Czerka office in one last effort to plead for a peaceful solution to their conflict with the Sand People, only to face a brusque and angry dismissal of any solution other than mass slaughter. She remembered Kairi's barely controlled sorrow and rage on Kashyyyk when the slavers ran wild. Both times, she admitted it was not the thought of the Dark Side that stayed her hand, but the safety of those around her and what her instinct told her was just.
Had she been like Bastila – constantly told to forsake attachments and deny emotions…On the Hawk, dogma of any sort took secondary consideration. The diverse histories and concepts of honor amongst the crew dictated that recourse. Quatra had an eccentric interpretation of Jedi precepts, even though she held strict standards, often weaving divergent concepts and the teachings of the many cultures she had visited into her teachings. Lessons that seemed bizarre at the time were now making perfect sense. Ah, more to add to the list of things to be grateful for should she ever see her beloved master again.
She sat in front of the tank cross-legged when her ears caught the faint sound of weeping from nearby. Standing, she went off in search of the noise, but could see no one in the room. With a deep breath, she reached out with her other senses and noticed it was coming from a maintenance panel. The cover was slightly ajar. She was able to pull it off when she discovered Mission, face streaked with grime and tears, half-curled into the cramped space. Upon being discovered, she looked embarrassed and a little upset to be found.
Mission wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. "This is stupid! Here…here I am…bawling like some little kid!" She was wracked by another bout of sobbing, hugging her knees and curling into a little ball, as if she could shrink away. Juhani knelt next to her, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"I would worry more for you if you did not cry, Mission," Juhani admitted. "Elements, look at what's happened."
"B…but you don't cry, do you Juhani? You and…and Jolee…and Canderous…"
"Jolee is much too tired to cry, I think," Juhani explained with a sigh. "That, or the old man does his weeping in private. I think it is the latter. Though he will not call himself Jedi, old habits are very hard to shatter. Our Masters constantly tell us not to betray our emotions. We are to let them pass through us with no effect. That is the theory, anyway. In practice, we keep our stoic face long enough to escape away from anyone who may see us weep, and scold ourselves later for it."
"That…that sounds so wrong."
"Really? You grieve much like a Jedi – in the dark, alone, and with shame," said Juhani.
"Thanks a lot," Mission grumbled, getting to her feet and brushing the dust from her coveralls.
Juhani sighed, and put a hand on Mission's shoulders. "I do not have Kairi…Revan's gift of words, I'm afraid."
Mission shook her head, gesturing to Kairi's tank as she spoke. "I…I… My brain just can't wrap around the idea of her being a Sith Lord, y'know. She's the kindest person I've ever met!" she rubber her arms and crossed her lekku as if cold. "Then there's Carth – it's like something crashed in his brain. And the look in his eyes – I didn't recognize who I was seeing, Juhani." She blinked, and fresh tears started to fall.
Juhani wasn't so certain how to comfort Mission, and felt somewhat clumsy trying to make the attempt. There was so much of her young self in the Twi'lek, though Mission had a different interpretation of events and the topic of urban survival. Juhani had admired the girl's optimism and resiliency. She had always been the bright spot in dark times. It was painful indeed to see her so broken.
Mission shuddered. "Juhani, promise you aren't gonna laugh at me?"
"I swear on the honor of the Jedi," she said solemnly.
"Griff…Griff never talked about my mom and dad much. So, I did a lot of imagining – what they were like, y'know? I dreamed of having a home – a real home – and people who cared about me waiting there. Zaalbar's become the brother I wished Griff coulda been…and Kairi and Carth, well…" She sheepishly admitted the truth. "They've got fur on their heads and no lekku, but they're just like the mom and dad I imagined. To see 'em like this – Carth all crazy-mad and Kairi stuck in a kolto tank - it hurts, Juhani. It hurts so bad."
Juhani wrapped her arms around Mission the way her own mother would. Maybe there had been some small blessings in her life to know, and that she would attempt to share. "No, my friend. No…" Juhani reassured her. "I know grief. I sat by my own mother's deathbed, and to sit by Kairi as she lingers between the worlds…it pains me. And knowing Bastila is gone. We grieve for her loss as well." Juhani rubbed the Twi'lek girl's back as she cried into her shoulder. "Quatra was fond of saying that grief shared is grief halved. So, we grieve together, yes?"
"Carth…What hurt worst was when he started screaming we weren't family, telling us our families were dead 'cause of Revan and Malak. He's right, I guess…I mean, it was all just a dream. My parents were probably more like Griff or something like that…"
"Mission, dear…Carth has a painful lesson of his own to learn. The choice to embrace or reject what the Force has offered is his alone. This does not make anything easier, I realize. Yet, if there is a time where we must all rely on each other, it is now."
"I guess…guess you're right." Mission thought a moment, the stepped out of the hug. "Well, since…since we have nothing to do but wait and talk, I was wondering something."
"And that would be?"
"Did you learn how to play Pazaak when you were down there? Bek and Vulkar variants?"
"I…cannot say as I did," Juhani said with a smile.
Oh, frak…
He was back in the sickbay, sporting a nasty headache. That Tarisian ale binge was far from the brightest idea he had ever had. His head pounded and his mouth felt like something scraped up from the Lower City. Worse was that his stomach had inverted during his last (and mercifully brief) moment of consciousness, but that still hadn't kept his innards from doing the three-step jig.
He tried to sit up, only to find he couldn't move. He jerked against the invisible bonds, only to find they weren't going to budge. That's when the door opened and Jolee walked in.
"Good. You're awake."
"What do you want?" Carth said bitterly.
"Sorry about the restraining field. I put it on so you didn't hurt yourself. You almost died on me twice during the journey here, and that idiotic maneuver in the cargo bay. You planned on letting Mission and Canderous find you with your brains blasted out, but stopped to get drunk before you did it. You deserve a worse hangover than that, but it would be wrong of me to give one to you."
"Did Revan die yet?"
Jolee glowered sharply at him. "Kairi is in this station's medbay, and barely hanging on to life. Frankly, it's in the Force's hands if she makes it to another day, much less recovers."
"Kairi…" Carth's voice was choked. For a moment, he was grieving. His anger and rage quickly took hold again. "She never existed. Just another damn lie," he said bitterly.
Jolee shut the door and locked it. "No, I say what I mean. I didn't blab what I knew right away because I wanted to see whom we were dealing with. Now, the house is Revan's, some of those furnishings might be Revan's, but the occupant…" Jolee swore quietly. "The damn Council was luckier – and I AM calling it luck – than they deserved to be."
"She's Revan – Darth Revan. No matter what the Council did, it still won't change that fact."
"No, what I knew was that Revan was captured, and the Jedi Council decided to play at being gods in order to get what they want – and probably without the slightest consideration past it, though they'll profess otherwise." Jolee sighed.
"Does it matter? That woman's waded in blood. She betrayed the Republic once and look what happened. And I'm not going to betray –" He corrected himself. "Let her betray again."
Jolee folded his arms. "Nice try." Jolee moved in for the kill. "You're going to shut up and listen to me, Carth. Yes, I knew what Kairi was, but I kept quiet because she should have had the right to know first. And what do you think this is doing to her? The revelation, losing Bastila, and your hatred? She's an empath, Carth. It's killing her as surely as surely as Malak's saber did. You're being quite the selfish bastard, just thinking of yourself."
"Selfish –?" Carth was about to let the old Jedi have it, but Jolee didn't let him get a word in.
"What? You think you're the only one that Revan or Malak caused grief? Look around, man! All of the people Mission and Juhani grew up with are dead in that Sith bombardment. Canderous calls you his brother because his kin perished at their hands." Jolee twisted the knife some more. "You think you're the only one who has lost a wife?"
"Jolee…you…"
"This is a story I've told no one in forty years," Jolee said bitterly. "It's one I wanted buried with me, but the time's come to tell it, I suppose. You need to hear it, so you will shut up and indulge this decrepit old man."
There was something too familiar in Jolee's voice. Carth kept silent.
Jolee sat heavily on the foldout bunk that he used as his own. "One thing I will - very reluctantly - grant the Sith is that the messier baggage of being a sentient can scare a Jedi out of their mind. It's something too many Jedi would rather run from than face," Jolee admitted. "It's why I never made it past Padawan, and probably would have made a very poor Knight, especially in the here and now. Exar Kun's War changed so much…"
Jolee sighed. "My wife's name was Nayama. I won't call it the smoothest of courtships – it did start with her shooting me out of the sky after all. I think I told you earlier about my foray into smuggling," he said.
"Mission…mentioned something about it."
"She was a hell of a woman. Fiery, determined, strong…and oh, that body…" He was smiling slightly with the memory. "Foiled three of my attempts to escape prison, too. I ended up having to kidnap her to escape the system! As I said, not the smoothest of courtships…" With a heavy sigh, he forced himself back into the present. "I could tell she was strong with the Force. That's how she was able to shoot me down in the first place. After we were wed, I trained her in secret – AFTER the Jedi Council forbade it. She was headstrong and proud, but I loved her…I loved her so much." He hung his head and sighed. "Like you, I married a great woman and lost her."
"She was killed in the War, you mean?"
"Yes," Jolee said "But I didn't lose Nayama as you lost your wife. The Force decided it wanted to be crueler than that. She joined the war with Exar Kun - as a Sith."
"Your wife jumped ship? She betrayed you, the Jedi, the Republic…?" Carth's head was spinning, and only part of that was due to the injuries. "What…what did you do?"
"I couldn't stop her. She came to me, pleading to throw off the 'decrepit trappings' of the Jedi. I tried reasoning with her, begged her to reconsider, but she would have none of it. In a rage, she drew her lightsaber."
Carth was stunned past belief. "You…you killed your wife?"
Jolee shook his head. "No. I had her unarmed and defenseless. She looked up at me and knew…she knew I couldn't."
"I…well, I couldn't either. Not in your boots. I…I mean Saul was one thing, but…"
"Ah, but I should have. I let her go, and she went on to kill many others before being killed herself in the final battle. I grieved for her death, inevitable though it was." Was it a trick of the light or was the elderly man battling tears? "All that fighting, all that madness, and in the big picture, it didn't seem to make a damn bit of difference. After all, the Sith are still here, right?"
"So what did you do? I'll bet the Jedi kicked you out so fast you hit lightspeed."
"No, the Council wasn't happy. They put me on trial." But then Jolee said the unexpected. "And they found me innocent."
"Innocent?"
"I deserved compassion, they said. I learned wisdom the hard way, they said." Jolee threw up his hands and paced to the sickbay's small window. "I deserved every punishment and more, Carth. I don't have to explain it to you so much – you've walked this path."
Carth tried to make sense of what Jolee told him. Yes, he had walked that path, Saul arguing with him to "show a bit of sense" and resign his commission, then storming out. Carth keeping silent when Saul's aide asked him if the admiral was "acting strangely," and blowing the argument off as the heat of the moment and the half-bottle of Telosian brandy. How many lives could he have saved if he trusted his gut and not the illusion of friendship?
Jolee chuckled mirthlessly. "I probably would have better luck with the current crop of masters. They're so frightened it will happen again that the robes are more straitjackets. Not that I can blame them for being so overcautious - discouraging marriages, taking kids from the cradle, elevating the council to a near-deity status, etcetera. Bastila is their best example of the Jedi they want, and she's so brittle that..." Jolee didn't want to say it aloud, obviously, but that possibility couldn't be discounted. "Hell, even if we do rescue Bastila from the Dark Side, and stop the Sith this time, they'll be back. They always come back. It's blasphemy for me to admit this, but the Force doesn't like one extreme or another, I've noticed."
"So that's why the indifference? That's why you don't care that we have a Sith Lord on the ship, or why you don't think this whole thing with Malak matters."
"Not so much indifference as just being old and tired," Jolee admitted. "It sometimes works as a way to keep the pain and anger at arms' length – not exactly a Jedi's way, but I'm not exactly a Jedi. I will have to admit that Malak makes up in cruelty what Exar Kun had in cunning, though, and I don't exactly relish watching the Republic fall."
"Well good to know you give a damn about something."
"Oh, it'll fall one day, Carth. Everything dies eventually. Trust someone who's already got a foot in the grave. I used to think none of it mattered. That's why you saw me in the Shadowlands. I had been just waiting for the forest to claim me. But unlike me, who took his saber and walked into the woods with aspirations of oblivion, I've seen you do the bravest thing someone can do - start over and keep going."
"I will say this only once, Carth. What I see in you and Kairi is more courage than I ever had. The two of you walked into darkness willingly and together to try and fight it. More importantly is that I know damn well what you are to each other, and it's the most beautiful, rare, and terrifying thing in the universe. It won't amount to bantha pile if you turn away from it now. She needs you now - more than she's ever needed you. You need her, too. Don't do what I did." He finished it off with a brusque. "Now, lecture's over. You think about what I said."
