The Iridonian walked along the panels and consoles of the Risen Star with a sense of trepidation. Techs were not often summoned by personal communicators by a commanding officer. Franticly he began to retrace his repair duties of the last week. Had he fouled up the ion cannons he had reconfigured for Mandalorian shields? Had he forgotten to recalibrate the sub-light engines of the General's personal shuttle to ensure quicker travel to the surface? On and on he ticked off his tasks mentally, and each time he came up blank.
Looking up, he noticed the small figure standing before the viewing glass atop the bridge. She was covered in tattered robes, and from a distance, she looked like a human child. She was of slight build and physiquie. One would hardly recognize her as the warrior she was. Her shoulder length blonde hair hung loosely around the hood of her robe, and as he made his was closer to her, he could see that her small hand was shaking terribly.
"General," the Zabrak stated quietly. "You summoned me?"
Jul turned around and locked eyes with the young tech. He was a quiet man; that much she had gathered when he had first come to her with the idea for the mass shadow generator. But while he seemed almost bashful, he had a reputation that had become known throughout the ship. He was a master technician, capable of almost anything. He was also considered, as one brash Corellian lieutenant had put it, "one tough sonofabitch", a testament to the arm he had loss months earlier in a plasma explosion while repairing a droid during the Mandalorian siege of Dxun.
Now, a stream of blue energy comprised his arm, while a droid-like replica of a shoulder and hand, completed the visage.
He is indeed very strong. And I've sensed something else about him... perhaps, he could be...
"General?" the tech asked again, this time with a hint of concern in his voice. She had yet to quit staring at him for the past few moments.
"Bao-Dur," she replied, pulling herself back to reality. "We have orders to engage your creation."
The statement was a plain one, with no sense of foreboding nor excitement to be found within the words. Bao-Dur's eyes went wide.
"Sir? What of the troops still stationed..."
"I have my orders... as do you... how long until it can be done?"
"I did not know the device had been activated..."
"It is of no matter," replied the General. And for a flicker of a second, he thought he could sense a tide of despair float along the words, but he paid no heed.
"Very well, General. I have the triggering mechanism right here. I simply need the order to be given."
Again, Jul stared deeply into the brown pools of the Zabrak's eyes. And this time, Bao-Dur could sense the despair. Gone was the lively young woman who had stepped onto the Risen Star as a General so long ago. Instead, what stood before him was a battle hardened shell of a woman, whose eyes shown into a soul that was hollow... dying...
"Engage the mass shadow generator," came a whispered order, almost too soft for Bao-Dur himself to hear.
"General, are you..."
"Do it, Bao-Dur."
It was a stern order, but Bao-Dur noted that her eyes were seemingly pleading with him to disobey. Nevertheless, he pulled the small triggering device from his tech vest, set a series of numbers and turned his gaze toward Malachor V.
The result was little more than a blur to any and all that saw it. The planet itself began to quake visibly, even from space, as a large green fog seemed to envelop the entire sphere. Suddenly, explosions began to rip across the planet's surface, causing the vaccuum of space itself to be lighted by a kaleidoscope of green, orange, red, and white. Bao-Dur looked on in shocked awe. Large chunks of the planet began to break away from the sphere as the whole planet seem to howl in pain. And it was by his hands.
What have I done? The thought echoed through his mind.
Then the distress signals began. Republic ships were being sucked into the new gravitational pull of the planet. Voices were filled with panic as they made their descent toward their deaths, rendering gut-wrenching pleas for help. Bao-Dur tried to block out the frenzy. He looked at the General, who stood staring with her back to the view window. Her shaking was more violent now, like a spasm ripping through her body. She fell to one knee, arms gripped tightly around her midsection. She fell to her other knee, then to the floor, and the writhing became more violent, incoherent whispers turning to loud babbling until finally she let loose a haunted scream that seemed to echo throughout the ages. And then she was still.
She had refused to turn and watch the destruction of Malachor, the destruction of her troops. It was an act she would have to live with, but it was easier to cope if she did not witness the destruction. But as the planet began to rupture, she could feel them. All of them. At first like a frenzy of whispers, but growing louder with each second. She closed her eyes and tried to focus, tried to block out the voices. But they grew louder and louder. Then faces began to scream by her closed eyes. Faces of such pain and agony and... hatred... that she could feel their torment. Thousands of lives crying out from the pain that she had been responsible for. It was too much for her to handle. She could sense them through the Force, sense their outrage and desperation. It was killing her, as she was killing them. She had to make it stop. With a guttural scream, she lashed out against the Force in her mind, somehow driving both it and torture away... then, her world went black.
The scene itself was a frenzy of destruction. As the Republic soldiers waited along the Malachor Ridge, they watched as hundreds of explosions began ripping across the battlefield. On cue, Mandalorian soldiers began to appear out of nowhere, only to drop to the ground in death. Metallic remnants of their battle armor exploded, scattering shrapnel among their ranks as more and more warriors fell.
Many soldiers let out cries of victory, while others opened scattered fire from the ridge, aiming not for precision, but for simple firepower. Republic grenadiers rained down a fury of grenades on any Mandalorian that might navigate the minefield. The Mandalorians were being decimated. Victory was at hand.
Suddenly, the Ridge itself began to quake and an explosion ripped the Republic forces, from the rear in a domino effect to the front lines and across the battlefield. Untouched mines exploded and the ground itself began to break apart and release a bellow of gas and fire. The explosions began to rip the Republic lines apart, as soldiers found themselves suddenly being crushed to ground and an invisible force. Anguished cries and bloodcurdling screams filled the air as bodies began to explode, blood and bone filling the air as the very essence of life was snuffed from the planet.
Jul Reyns could only watch in horror as soldiers she had led were killed in the most savage way she had ever witnessed. Tears streamed down her pale face as the skies opened with thunder and watched as Republic and Mandalorian ships came crashing to the surface, exploding in great balls of fire and durasteel before they too were crushed under the pressure of the gravity well. She had never seen destruction like this. Never felt the anguish. Looking down, she saw the blood spattered face of a lieutenant. The same young man she had spoken with earlier. She reached down and took his face in her hands, sobbing.
"I'm so sorry."
His eyes snapped opened and he lifted a mangled hand to her face. He tried to speak, but all that came was a gargled response as blood spilled from his mouth, covering his chest and the Republic insignia above his heart. He looked around briefly and then his eyes met hers once more. He pulled her closer, almost placing his lips upon her ear, and began to whisper.
"Traitor..."
Jul leapt awake from her bunk, her face moist with freshly spilled tears and her body covered in a thin sheet of sweat. She fell to the floor, gasping for air, trying to find some hold on her bearings. She felt the cold durasteel floor beneath her and it gave her a center to concentrate on. Slowly, she began to breathe easier as the room itself began to stop spinning. She realized that she was far from the battlefield on Malachor. She was in her private chambers aboard the Risen Star.
A dream, she thought. But no... far too real to be a dream. I was there... through the Force...
She tried to reach out to the Force itself, and to her shock, there was nothing there. Only a small, bitter remnant of pain.
What have I done? She wondered frantically. Have I killed the Force with my actions?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a small metallic beep. Her communicator. Reaching into her robes, she pulled it from the tangled mess.
"General, this is Captain Badren. Your shuttle has arrived and is awaiting your departure."
Revan, she thought as a feeling of malice slowly began to build inside her.
"I'm on way, Captain."
Slowly, she pulled herself upright. She looked down at the tattered rags that had once been her Padawan robes. No doubt, she should change into something more respectable.
No, I will not stoop to impress Revan further. These rags will remind me of who I am... and what I have done... and after I meet with Revan, I shall wear them back to Coruscant... and I will stand judgment for the crimes I have committed in the name of the Republic... in the name of Revan...
She checked to find her saber hilt still clipped to her belt. Wiping the tears from her face, she opened the door and made her way to the docking bay.