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Bastila awoke feeling slightly more refreshed than she had expected. Vincent must have been right; she was pushing herself too hard. Lying there with her eyes still closed, she thought back on the few minutes before she had fallen asleep. She remembered the feeling of being in Vincent's strong arms, the warmth of his body seeping through her clothing, the way she felt completely safe and protected. Suddenly, the thought of what the she and the Council were doing to him struck her, and she shut her eyes even more tightly than before. It was wrong, and she hated it. The Council had decreed that she was to tell him nothing, though she felt it was better to do so than leave him in the dark.
"Are you just going to lie there all day, or are you going to get up?"
Bastila opened her eyes at the sound of his voice. Sitting up, she saw that he had a stupid, lopsided grin on his face. He looked so innocent sitting there, completely oblivious to everything...
"How did you know I was up?"
He tapped his temple with a finger. "When you're asleep, your aura is different. When you're awake, it's...alive. Vibrant, pulsing. Asleep, it's tranquil and...soft, if you could feel it, I guess."
This man never failed to impress her with the ease in which he controlled the Force. It came so naturally to him that he didn't even appear to think about it. She slid out from under the sheets of the bed and stood up, stretching her tired muscles. A wave of dizziness caught her by surprise, and she felt her legs go weak and begin to crumble beneath her. Vincent was at her side in an instant, gently holding her up.
"Are you alright?" he asked with concern.
Bastila rubbed her eyes and nodded. "Yes, I'm fine. I just stood up too fast, that's all."
"Okay," he said slowly, releasing her with obvious reluctance. For a moment, she felt a flutter in her stomach. She had been allowed a brief glimpse into his mind in that instant that he had caught her. The depth and power with which his emotions flowed through to her was frightening, but she had been given a small measure of comfort. In that split second, she had touched some of the feelings that he held for her, and their intensity had surprised her.
She realized that he was looking at her oddly. "Are you sure you're okay?" Vincent inquired with an unreadable expression on his face.
"I'm fine. I just...it's nothing," she lied. Attempting to distract herself from the fact that he was staring at her intently, Bastila went over to Jolee's sink and began to brush her teeth.
"You felt something, didn't you?" Vincent asked when she was done.
"What?"
"You felt something in me when I caught you."
She swallowed nervously. His voice carried no trace of emotion, but that didn't mean anything to her. He was very good at hiding things, and the coolness in which he had stated the truth was unsettling.
"I...I didn't mean to," she began. "I...it just...happened."
He didn't answer her. Rubbing his face with his hands, he sighed heavily. Walking over to the sink Bastila had previously occupied, he turned on the water and splashed his face a couple of times before brushing his own teeth. He grabbed a small mirror that was sitting next to the sink and stared into it for a few seconds. He looked horrible. His face was pale and haggard, his normally electrifying green eyes were dull and bloodshot, and it looked as if someone had smacked him around with a blunt object.
"I look like shit don't I?" he asked turning to Bastila.
"Am I supposed to answer that?"
"I'll take that as a yes." He fingered the stubble that cast a dark shadow on his jaw, and a thoughtful look passed over his face. "Do you think I should grow this out? Just around here," he said, indicating the area around his mouth.
Bastila had a brief vision of herself on the bridge of the Dark Lord Revan's ship, removing the mask from the Sith Lord as his life hung in the balance. She had expected to see a horribly twisted and evil face, but she was instead met with an incredibly handsome picture of a man. The only thing to indicate that he was a disciple of the Dark side was his ashen skin and the neatly trimmed beard that encircled his mouth, commonly worn among Sith. His eyes betrayed him as well, a shockingly pale color of green, so much so that they were almost white...
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Vincent's voice. "Bas, are you sure you're okay?"
She blinked. He had never called her that before. Was she alright? She didn't think so.
"I'm fine, just thinking. You can grow it out if you want to."
"But do you think it would look good?"
"It matters what you think, not what I think."
"I happen to value your opinion," he said seriously. "It's not like I can't shave it if I don't like it anyway. I'll let grow out."
Vincent fell silent, his eyes becoming far away and distant. He was remembering the vision of Revan and Malak that had manifested itself in the Lower Shadowlands before he had been speared by the tarentatek. Jolee was now back, and he and Bastila were talking. Their voices seemed muffled, and he couldn't make out what they were saying, no matter how hard he tried. Abruptly, other voices became intelligible though there was no one else in the room. Vincent dimly realized that he was having another vision.
The other voices faded away, and he soon found himself staring at the cold metal walls of a starship. Turning, he found that he was in a large room, comfortably furnished, though it lacked true decoration. Revan was sitting on the edge of a sizeable bed, his back to Vincent. A pretty young woman entered the room and walked over to where Revan was.
"What do you want?" the Dark Lord asked with obvious contempt.
"M...m'lord," the woman stammered, "your apprentice, Malak, sent me. He thought you might want company." She hesitated again, shifting uncomfortably. Revan stood, and Vincent could see that his face was still covered by a mask. The man raised an uncovered hand to the young woman's face and trailed a finger along her cheek.
"Most people are not comfortable in my presence. It is something that I have grown accustomed to." Revan paused as if thinking, then continued. "My apprentice sent you?" The woman nodded meekly. The Sith Lord made a disapproving noise and began to pace the room. "I want you to go back to him. Tell him that I would like to speak with him. Can you do that for me?" he finished, his voice almost tender.
"Yes, my lord. Of course. Is there anything else you would like me to tell him?"
"No, that will be all." The woman turned to leave. "Tell him to make it quick," he added as if thinking of it for the first time.
"Yes sir."
Within minutes, Malak strode through the door. "You wished to see me Master?"
Revan had been standing with his back to the door, but turned when Malak entered. He advanced toward his apprentice with purposeful strides, stopping barely two feet away from the taller man. Without warning, the Dark Lord lashed out viciously with an incredibly powerful right hook, catching Malak completely by surprise. Though the punch had been intended for Malak's jaw, the apprentice had turned just in time to have Revan's fist impact with his nose, crushing it painfully. Staggering backward with blood pouring from his broken nose, a flicker of fear clouded his eyes for a moment.
"Why did you send that woman in?" Revan hissed, his body rigid with anger.
"I thought you might want something..." Malak winced in pain, "...to take your mind off things."
"You thought so, hmm? How noble of you." Revan brought his hand up threateningly. "Don't do it again," he stated coldly. "If I want a whore, I'll call for one. I don't need you making decisions for me, my apprentice. Or are you getting delusions of grandeur? What next? Will you decide on how to torture Republic captives? Or maybe you'll tell my fleet where to attack next? ANSWER ME!" Revan thundered, thrusting a powerful force wave at Malak which sent him flying into the wall.
"Ne...never, Master."
"Never?" the Dark Lord said with amusement. "Ah, you still have much to learn, even since your lesson on Kashyyyk. You say you will never challenge my authority, yet you know it is the way of the Sith to do so. You blatantly lied to my face, Malak."
"My lord, I did not mean – " Malak began to whimper.
"Get out! Your sniveling wearies me."
"Vincent!"
His head snapped up at the sound of Jolee's voice calling his name. "What?" he asked dumbly.
"You've been sitting there staring at the wall for five minutes, completely ignoring everything we've said to you."
"Oh, sorry."
"What's wrong with you boy?" the old man asked, a hint of genuine concern in his voice. Vincent hesitated. He wasn't sure if he should tell them about his visions, they might think he had gone mad. But he didn't see any other way out of this...
Sighing, Vincent began to explain. "I've been having these visions. Not like the ones of the Star Map," he said when Bastila opened her mouth to speak. "They're a lot clearer, and a lot longer too. I keep seeing Revan and Malak. The first time, I saw them find the Star Map down here on Kashyyyk. Just now, I saw Revan punch the shit out of Malak and break his nose for sending in some 'company'. They were on a ship that time."
"Do you ever see Revan's face?" Bastila asked in a slightly panicked voice.
"No, it's covered by that mask he always wore. It distorts his voice too."
"As much as I would love to have a counseling session, we need to get back to Rwookrrorro village. Now," Jolee said firmly.
"Lemme guess," Vincent began, "you found Bacca's blade, gave it back to Freyyr, and now Freyyr's gone to challenge Chuundar?"
"Exactly."
"Okay, that's great, but I have no clue where my armor is."
"Over there," the old man pointed, indicating a small closet.
Dressing quickly, Vincent clipped his lightsaber to his belt and met Jolee and Bastila outside the hut. They made their way as quickly as possible to the upper boughs of Kashyyyk, and were escorted to Chuundar's hut upon reaching the Great Walkway.
Inside the hut, the tension was thick enough to slice with a vibroblade. Wookies and humans alike were shifting in nervous anticipation, and everyone's hands were near their weapons.
"So...what did I miss?" began Vincent, directing his question to Freyyr.
(We are at an impasse,) the Wookie stated tersely. (Chuundar has the hilt of Bacca's sword and I have the blade, both artifacts of great importance. My son does not know who to side with. I am hoping you can help him.)
"Zaalbar, who do you think is right?" Vincent asked his friend.
(Chuundar has been telling me things, things that make sense. But I just don't know. I hate slavery but...)
"There's your answer. If you hate slavery, then why would you support it? Your father wants a second chance. Help him."
(I was hoping that I wouldn't have to kill you brother,) Chuundar stated,(but I guess I was wrong. That's too bad. Kill them!) the Wookie ordered.
The ensuing battle was tantamount to a drunken brawl. The hut was not suited for a group the size of a small crowd, nor was it well ventilated, and smoke from blaster fire soon hung in a thick, grey cloud that severely impaired vision. Vincent could barely see the Czerka guards he was killing, and they were in bright yellow uniforms. He concentrated on covering his own six, figuring that since he couldn't see anything, trying to blindly attack would do more damage than help things.
Thankfully, the smoke was beginning to clear, allowing slightly more visibility than before. Vincent could see that all of the Czerka guards were dead, as well as the Wookie guards, and that both Freyyr and Zaalbar were hacking away unmercifully at Chuundar. The Wookie chieftain soon fell, unable to stand against the fury of both his father and brother. To Vincent, everything seemed in a haze, and before he knew it, he was being escorted back to his ship amidst the fighting that had broken out between the Wookies and the Czerka Corporation.
"You alright kid? You look a little pale..." asked Jolee quietly.
"Yeah," Vincent said swallowing with some difficulty. "Yeah, I just need a hot shower and some rest."
"You do that," the old man said as he departed to explore the Ebon Hawk. Vincent took his advice, quickly making his way to the bathroom and cleaning himself up. Feeling decidedly better, he figured he'd hold out on the nap for a little bit. Wandering around the ship, he found himself standing in front of the door to Bastila's room. How in the Force did I get here? Maybe I do need that nap...
Vincent entered the large room that he shared with two others and found that it was mercifully empty. Collapsing onto his bed, he closed his eyes and was almost immediately out like a light.
The bridge of a ship became visible, and three Jedi were battling with an equal amount of Sith. Though the scene was complete turmoil, a lone figure stood at the head of the bridge seemingly oblivious to it all. The Sith's cape was drawn over his head, covered his broad shoulders, and came to an end just above the floor, leaving combat boots visible from the ankle down. It wasn't hard to tell that the man was heavily armored, and a single lightsaber was clipped onto a belt that hung low on his waist. Behind him, the fight raged on, yet he did not turn. His gaze was fixed on the massive fleet of battleships and destroyers outside of his own ship, and he watched them intently. Another Sith fell to the onslaught of a young female Jedi, and the cloaked figure half turned in annoyance. Raising a hand, he brought his fingers together ever so slightly, and the last remaining soldier that stood between him and the Jedi feebly clutched at his throat. Clenching his fist, the man heard a satisfying crunch as the soldier's neck snapped in two.
"You cannot win, Revan!" the female Jedi stated, determination in her eyes.
Vincent had seen this vision before on Taris, when he first met Bastila after the swoop race. This time, however, it was different. He could feel Revan's dark amusement at the defiance in the Jedi that stood before him and the slight undertone of boredom that arrogantly laced his attitude.
Revan's response was to lazily ignite his lightsaber and twirl it expertly before bringing it to rest above his right shoulder, the blade parallel to the floor and the tip pointing toward the Jedi. He studied the young woman standing before him with a detached curiosity. She was of medium height, maybe five foot six, and had a slim yet athletic build that was enhanced all the more by the taupe body suit that hugged her every curve. Her brunette hair hung loosely in her face, pulling free of the twin ponytails she wore it in, and shockingly blue-grey eyes burned with a fiery determination that unsettled Revan. She was holding her yellow lightsaber low, the tip of it barely reaching her chin. Her mouth was drawn into a tight line, and her body was tense, ready for action. He recognized her as the Padawan Bastila Shan of the Jedi Order, one of the only Jedi in some time to master the art of Battle Meditation. This woman stirred something in the Sith Lord, something that he had not felt for a long time. At that moment, he decided against killing her, opting instead to slay only her companions. A disturbance in the Force demanded his attention, and his concentration broke from her. The Sith Lord's fury blazed at none other than his turncoat young pupil. He sensed his apprentice's betrayal barely a second before two massive plasma torpedoes slammed into the bridge, exploding in flaming brilliance. The blast immediately killed the two Jedi flanking Padawan Shan and brought her to her knees. Revan had caught the brunt of it, and a pool of blood was already forming around the Dark Lord's broken and mangled body. Bastila had miraculously survived, and kneeled over Revan's all but lifeless form. Placing a hand on his armored chest, she reached to remove the visor that covered his face. Pushing back the hood of his cape, Bastila lifted the mask slowly, apprehension apparent on her face...
Sitting up suddenly, Vincent swore. He had seen more that time than ever before, but the dream had ended just before he had discovered who the man was behind the Dark Lord's mask. What was more, Vincent realized that he had been acutely in tune with Revan's emotional state. It was as if he was almost there...or had been. Rubbing his eyes, he threw the sheets off of his body and slid out of bed. Standing, he bent over to touch his toes, stretching languidly. A booted foot planted itself on his backside and pushed hard, sending Vincent to eat if face first on the metal grating of the floor. Ignoring the stinging of his scraped flesh and the throbbing of his bloodied nose, he called his lightsaber to his hand and ignited it, casting a violet glow on the walls of the room. Turning, he faced his assailant, preparing to kick some serious ass, only to stop in utter disbelief.
"I hate you old man..." he muttered furiously.
"HAHAHA! I'm sorry...I couldn't resist..." Jolee gasped in between fits of laughter. He sent a wave of Force healing over Vincent, and clutched at his side, a painful stitch from lack of air forming.
"YOU..." Vincent stopped, too flustered to continue. Leaving a chuckling Jolee behind, he entered the main hold and sunk into a chair.
"We've landed in Tatooine!" the Jolee's voice chased after him.
"Yeah thanks," he called back, already moving again. His destination: the workbench in the garage. Needless to say, Vincent was quite surprised to find his armor completely spotless and in perfect condition.
"Did you...?" he asked Canderous, seeing as the Mandalorian was the only person who ever spent a good amount of time in the garage.
"That's a nice set of armor you got there. Almost better than Mandalorian," the mercenary replied, a small smile appearing on his face. "Almost."
"Thank you," Vincent said, still in a state of shock. Canderous never did nice things for other people...
Donning his body armor, he clipped his lightsaber on his belt, stocked up on supplies, and walked briskly into the Ebon Hawk's cockpit.
"You, my friend, are a mind reader."
The Republic soldier smiled. "I figured after a ton of lush, green forests, you'd need a massive change of scenery."
"You were right. Are we docked?"
"Yeah, but you've gotta bet on a docking fee..."
Vincent rolled his eyes. "Always." Departing from the cockpit, he reentered the main hold to find everyone waiting expectantly for him. "So," he started, "who wants to come with me into a hot, sandy, sure-to-bring-death-if-you-wander-off desert?"
"I'm coming," Bastila stated a little too quickly, earning her some curious looks from the group.
"Right...anyone else?"
"I'm in."
Nearly everyone turned to look at the owner of the voice that had spoken.
"What the hell's so damn interesting?" Canderous asked irritably. "I want to get off this fracking ship."
"Well, that's settled then. C'mon, let's get going," said Vincent, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen. Sure enough, as soon as they departed from the ship, they were greeted by a Czerka employee claiming he needed a docking fee of one hundred credits. Bastila distinctly heard Vincent mutter something that sounded like 'damn vultures' as they made to leave the Anchorhead port and enter the city. A Twi'lek woman approached them, and Vincent's hand inconspicuously strayed to his lightsaber.
"Excuse me, but aren't you Helena's daughter Bastila?"
"I am Bastila, yes. How can I help you?" Vincent could clearly see the way that Bastila had stiffened at her mother's name.
"Your mother is here, on Tatooine. In the cantina, I think. She desperately wants to speak to you before, well...you know," the Twi'lek said with a sympathetic air in her voice.
"No, I'm afraid I don't know. We're very busy, so unless this is of utmost importance..." Bastila said in irritation.
"Don't be rude Bastila. If this woman has something to say, let her say it," Vincent butted in, earning himself a glare that could have frozen over hell. The woman nodded at him appreciatively.
"Your mother is ill, I thought you knew. She's been trying to find you before she dies, but she hasn't had any luck until now. Please, at least go see her in the cantina."
The Twi'lek left without any chance for Bastila to respond, quickly disappearing around a corner. Vincent turned expectantly to the headstrong young woman on his right.
"What?" she said eyeing him. "I've told you before that my mother and I didn't get along. How would you feel if a stranger came up and started talking to you about one of your parents?"
"Do you think we should see her?"
"The news of my mother's illness is...distressing. Though I'm not entirely convinced she's sick at all. It could be another ploy to manipulate me..."
Vincent sighed. "If we have the time, will you promise to go see her?"
"If we have the time," she answered, stressing the 'if.' It was obvious that Bastila did not look forward to seeing her mother. Vincent was becoming increasingly frustrated as every attempt they made to leave the port ended in failure. This time, an alien stopped him by holding out a clipboard.
"Yes, it's all here. Docking bay 32...good luck with the shipment."
"Uh...what shipment?" Vincent asked perplexed.
"You are in docking bay 32...the shipment of gizka is your problem now. No refunds. Oh, one of the loaders said that a crate might have broken."
"Gizka! How did – "
"I'm sorry sir, but if there's a mix up then you'll need to fill out this form right here...where did I put that stupid thing? It's so unorganized around here. Sorry, but like I said, the gizka are your problem now. Have a nice day." And with that, the alien walked off leaving a spluttering Vincent behind.
"What have I done to deserve this?" he asked while looking up into the bright Tatooine sky. "So now I have to deal with a bunch of damn gizka on my ship, who, if they've gotten loose, I'm quite sure have multiplied by now. DAMMIT," he said loudly enough to attract the attention of several dock workers.
"I couldn't help but overhear your predicament, and I think I might have a solution."
Vincent directed his attention the alien merchant that had set up shop only a few feet away.
"And how can you help me?"
"I have gizka poison, if you're willing to buy it. Not the most humane way to dispose of the little creatures, true, but effective nonetheless," he added upon seeing Vincent's look of uncertainty.
"I'll buy some. How much?"
"Fifteen credits."
Vincent handed the merchant the credits and pocketed the poison. He didn't plan on using it unless he had to; he wasn't about to go slaughtering the gizka unless it was a last resort.
"Does it normally take this long to get out of port?" Canderous complained.
"No, I normally don't get accosted by fifty million people like today, but you didn't have to come."
"You aren't one to dance around the issue, are you?"
"I say what I mean in the shortest, most efficient way possible. It makes life much easier if you know when to turn on the charm, and when to get down to brass tacks. Unlike yourself there, who could use a little discretion in dealing with the locals," Vincent retorted.
Canderous laughed. "I respect that in you. You know how to get a job done."
They were finally outside of the port, and the sparsely populated city of Anchorhead stretched before them. A strong gust of wind buffeted Vincent, kicking up a sizeable cloud of dust. Wiping the dirt off of his face, Vincent sighed.
"God I hate sand."
