Chapter Fifteen: Malachor V
The murdered orb hung in space, surrounded by wreckage, consumed by the forces that once held it together. Thousands of artificial satelites orbited the dead world, the last remains of those who caused the destrutction. Ships of the Republic and Mandalorian battle cruisers lay side by side in the dark graveyard, their silent hulls still inhabited by their crews. Gravity is a basic force in the universe, the strength that hold worlds together so that they might bring forth life. Here, it has been twisted; here it is death.
Not all of the combatants died here, though history records this as the final battle of the Mandalorian Wars. Some vessels made their way out of the graveyard, carrying soldiers, slaves, wounded. The horror would live on in those survivors, though many of them led normal lives after that. Malachor V was a place to be remembered only in nightmares.
No one knows why the weapon that won the war and destroyed a world was created and used. The Zabrak technician who invented it would call it a technological marvel; the Jedi Knight who ordered its use would call it a tool, another order in a series of orders that brought merely death; none understood the truth. Revan, however, realized that Malachor V was not the last battle of the war; it was the first of the new campaign.
The flotsam of the battle drifted, as it would always drift, ruined vessels moving in a sick mockery of the fight they had waged. At the edge of the debris field, there was a flicker of psuedo-motion as an undamaged cruiser entered the system. The Juggernaut glided gracefully through the ruined hulks to take up orbit around what remained of the planet.
On the bridge of the ship, Revan and Malak stood at the viewport, watching the fierce gravity storms rage across the ruined surface of Malachor V. They looked around them at the ruins of the two fleets that had done battle here. They wondered at the power that had been unleashed, knowing that it paled in comparrison to what they had recently discovered.
"What price have we paid for victory?" Malak said, spying a blacked Republic cruiser, the mangled crew visible through its shattered viewports.
"Victory?" Revan answered, half to himself. "We have not won victory yet, but the price will be steep. Can we pay it?"
"Mandalore may have lied, Revan. We didn't really find anything out there, nothing substantial anyway." Malak looked at Revan uneasily. His friend had been withdrawn and brooding ever since they returned from scouting the Mandalorians' back trail. For Malak, the war was over, and he wished to return to share the glories of the victorious armies.
Revan looked at his friend, and knew he didn't fully comprehend. "No, nothing substantial." Could he bear to tell Malak what he suspected? His friend was loyal, he knew, but how deep did that loyalty run? He now knew that he was willing to pay the price, no matter how high, and recoup his loss in the end. He did not know if Malak could afford to share the debt. He hardened his resolve; he would do what he must, and if Malak fell short of the goal, he would accept the burden. He had ordered men to their deaths before. He stirred himself from his reverie.
"Very well, we've seen enough here. Let's go back."
Malak smiled. "To Coruscant?"
Revan shook his head. "Dantooine."