It takes Darth Sion less than a day to renege on forgoing torture in favor of Force healing. Meetra hears the sounds of a prisoner being beaten the very next morning. This time, the sounds of the blows followed by grunts and moans are coming from across the right cell wall, not the left.
Immediately, she begins pounding on the wall to protest. "Sion, stop it! Stop it now!" Does he hear her? She hollers louder still. "Stop it now, or I won't heal you! Do you hear me? I will not help you!" Force damn that deceitful masked fucker. Is the bond working on his end? She hopes Sion heard that thought.
The message gets through. The beating stops.
Five minutes later, Tony the jailor barges into her cell. He looks alarmed and out of breath. "Are you alright?"
"I am, but the guy next door sure isn't."
"Yeah, I know."
"Your boss—"
"That wasn't the boss."
"Yeah, right."
"It's true!"
"Who else beats prisoners around here?"
"The guards."
"Oh."
Tony keeps looking her over as if to be certain she's really okay. "If they're stupid enough to come for you," the stressed jailor snarls, "you have Sion's permission to kill. Light that sword he gave you and start swinging."
"You know about that?"
"Yes. Next door is the reason he armed you." The rattled jailor runs a hand through his perfect hair and looks annoyed. "He's pissed they did that . . . "
"You mean he's pissed he wasn't around to witness it. You know, to benefit from when his guards accidentally on purpose disobey orders."
"Yeah, probably that too," Tony concedes. He shrugs. "Pain is power."
"You people disgust me."
"You've made that pretty clear." Tony eyes her for a moment with a stern face. "May I point out that no one's beating you?"
Meetra crosses her arms and lifts her chin. "Am I supposed to be grateful for that fact?"
"Yes! This isn't the Republic. We punish, but we don't do the judge and jury thing much." Tony shoots her a hard look of consternation. "There is no due process, especially for enemy Jedi. There's only rough justice and it's always violent, so count your blessings Sion's so protective. If this was any other Lord's jail, the guards would be commended for beating you . . . or worse."
"How do you know about due process?" She's surprised he just namedropped a Republic legal concept.
Tony doesn't answer. Instead, he keeps schooling her on the harsh ways of the Dark Side. "People are not created equal here and they don't get treated equally. No one cares about fairness. It's all about power. Do you have power or do you have a powerful person protecting you—that's what counts for winning! So be grateful that you've got Sion as a protector. In this context, you're a high-status captive. Very high status, if he gave you weapons."
"The operative word is captive," Meetra retorts acidly.
"You're not getting this, are you? You are the Exile! A woman forbidden to set foot within the territorial boundaries of the Galactic Republic. That means you must reside here among your enemies, a forever fugitive with a bounty on your head. Look, you might not perceive it, but while Lord Sion hides you here, he protects you. And you," the jailor is emphatic, "require protection."
She raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Let me guess-the Sith you know is better than the Sith you don't?"
"Precisely. No other Lord will value your life like Sion. You still don't sense the Force . . . and you don't sense him . . ." Tony sighs and looks especially frustrated now, which is weird since why does he care? But it's even weirder how Sion's layman jailor knows this information about her.
She stiffens with self-consciousness. "How can you tell?"
He doesn't answer.
"How do you know if I sense the Force?" Meetra is suddenly feeling suspicious.
"I know because if you sensed Sion's proximity, you would know he wasn't the one beating that prisoner."
"Oh. Right." That makes sense. Meetra grumbles, "I only sense the Force when we touch." And wait, why did she reveal that? She shouldn't have revealed that.
Tony is apparently very interested in this topic. "Wait, so you feel the Force when you touch Sion?" The jailor flashes white teeth in a wide grin. "How—"
"Cheesy?" she volunteers.
"I was going to say romantic."
"Of course, you were." She eyes the smirking jailor in his crisp black uniform. Tony looks like a middleweight prize fighter. And that prompts her to ask, "Do you ever beat the prisoners?" Those powerful shoulders look like they could throw a throw a vicious punch.
"Sometimes," he admits, "but never without Lord Sion's permission."
"Right." Clearly, the transgression in Tony's eyes isn't mistreating the prisoner, it's doing so without permission. And that attitude seems very Sith. The friendly jailor might bring her cookies, but that offhand kindness isn't an indication of any true regard. For he's as likely to harm her as he is help her, so long as he's following orders.
"Well, I'm glad you're okay," Tony decides even as he complains, "I'm glad you're okay even if you don't seem to appreciate it." The jailor has gone from being frustrated with the prisoner beating to being frustrated with her. He scowls and demands, "What was your plan exactly?"
"What?"
"How were you planning to live as the Exile?"
"I just wander."
"Keep on the move? Is that it?"
She nods. "I would endanger anyone who helped to hide me."
"Why not disappear into a new identity? This is your chance to start a new life. You say you don't like the Jedi rules. They don't apply any longer. You could be a regular woman now."
A regular woman. Tony says that like it's a good thing—like an improvement over being a Jedi. "So . . . find a husband and settle down into anonymity?" Meetra suggests sourly.
"That would be one solution."
Meetra cocks her head at the jailor and squints. "Why do you even care?"
"Just curious." Leaning forward from his perch against the far cell wall, Tony shrugs sheepishly. "You interest me. I've never met anyone like you. So, tell me," he prods, "why not begin a new life?"
Meetra has thought about that idea from time to time. "I don't want to live a life of lies . . . and telling the truth just burdens other people with my secret and increases the risk. Besides," she harrumphs, "announcing to a guy that you're an ex-Jedi and an ex-General is sort of—"
"Intimidating?"
"Well, yes." Super intimidating for the fragile male ego that inevitably wants to feel powerful in comparison to a woman, no matter what the guy says to the contrary. Even in Jedi circles, Meetra ran into that attitude.
"You need a man who can handle that. Preferably one who will honor and applaud those achievements."
"Guys like that don't exist in the Republic. I can't believe they would exist out here," she grumbles.
"You're right. They won't," Tony concedes.
"Well, there you have it. I couldn't start over with a conventional life even if I wanted to. That's why I wander. Or, I used to wander before I ended up here . . ." Meetra casts a glance around her cell glumly. "I hate this cell."
"There's always Sion."
"What?"
"The boss could handle the risk of a woman like you."
"Don't start in on that again." Meetra shoots Tony a quelling look.
He ignores it. "I'm just saying . . . Sion's a good choice."
"Don't start. I mean it. I had enough of your boss' simping last night."
"Simping? What's that mean?"
"Let's just say Lord Sion is neither subtle nor smooth."
Tony agrees. "Subtlety is not how men and women relate to one another in the Empire. Especially in the Lord class. Those guys don't date, they marry. And that requires rounds of negotiation and posturing as lead up. It's all very logical and primarily strategic."
"And here I thought seduction was a hallmark of the Sith," Meetra drawls out sarcasm.
"Do you want to be seduced? Careful, or I'll tell him that," Tony teases.
"Don't you dare!"
"He's still sending you roses, right? It's clear he's interested. Rest assured, the Master's intentions are honorable."
"And how would you know that?" she challenges.
"It's like I told you. Those guys don't date. You can't play the field if you're a Lord. There are too many midichlorians involved. Sex is power on the Dark Side, and power is serious business with ironclad social customs."
Whatever. "Why are we even talking about this?" Meetra complains. "Stop trying to put me together with your creepy boss."
Tony takes the hint to shut up on Sion but he keeps pursuing the topic. "Have you never thought about a life beyond the Jedi Order?" He asks this in a quiet, thoughtful way to invite conversation.
"Well, before the war, when I was a Padawan on Coruscant, some of the girls and I used to sneak out nights. We would mind trick our way into clubs to go dancing . . . sometimes bars . . . We wanted to see how regular women our age lived."
"What did you think?"
"It wasn't too hard to get male attention," she recalls. "You just wear minimal clothes and maximum makeup. It was a game for us. We'd flirt all we could, kiss a little, and then walk away."
"We'd call that a tease."
"Sounds about right," she smirks, remembering how her younger self once delighted in playing the role of heartbreaker. She could get away with those antics when she had the Force and a small dagger in her pocket just in case any of the young men she toyed with took objection to her behavior. "That all ended when I followed Revan to war. There were no nightclubs where we ended up." All those frivolous nights out were over. War matured her fast. She put away silly escapist fantasies and settled down into the serious business of being a Jedi. Meetra had found her purpose and she never looked back.
"Nightclubs . . . bars . . . none of that exists here," Tony comments. "Not for elites, at least."
"Yeah, I skimmed that datafile. I read all about arranged marriages and family honor. Being the wife or daughter of a Sith Lord sounds miserable. You have so little control over your life."
"Oh, it's not just the women," Tony corrects her. "That lack of control is pretty typical for both sexes. You don't get to find yourself on some individual life journey here in the Empire. You do what is expected of you by your family and by the Emperor. Most of the Lord class live their father's lives all over again. That's how the Emperor wants things—stable and predictable—so he stays in charge."
Tony frowns at her and asks, "How much control did you have over your life as a Jedi? A lot of control is really an illusion, you know. And choice isn't all it's cracked up to be."
"No one made us stay, if that's what you're asking. You could leave the Order. No one did. But there was always that option."
"Why did no one ever leave?" Tony wants to know.
"Probably because the Order is all any of us ever knew. Why are you asking me this?"
"Just wondering. I've never spoken at length to a Jedi. Or to anyone from the Republic, for that matter. It's so different. I like hearing about it."
Tony seems honestly curious, so she accepts that answer. Plus, the generally low key, affable jailor is easy to talk to, unlike intense, scary Sion. And since she's basically in solitary confinement, Meetra appreciates the opportunity for any conversation. So, she keeps talking.
"I was a toddler when my parents surrendered me. I don't remember them. I don't even know their names. If you leave, supposedly the Order will tell you in case you want to find them."
Sion clearly views this institutionalized familial estrangement to be a travesty. "How awful to never know your kin. It's like you're all orphans."
"You a family man, Tony?"
"I was. Not anymore."
"You and the wifey split up?"
"She's long gone, along with the kids."
"Sorry," Meetra offers, feeling bad for asking. She hadn't meant to poke at a sensitive topic.
"Guess I'm living the Jedi lifestyle now too," he offers sheepishly. It's clear that he's trying to make light of something that bothers him.
"You misunderstand me. I wasn't unhappy being a Jedi. I mean, I blew off a lot of the rules, but at the same time I honored the goals of the Order. Over time, I ended up having far more issues with those goals than I ever did with the rules I broke. The rampant hypocrisy . . . the toxic internal politics . . . the rote dogma . . . the fear of change . . . the ongoing power struggle with the Senate . . . Those things are what bothered me. Not shit like celibacy. Sex just isn't that big a deal."
"We are people ruled by passions. We think celibacy is unnatural," Tony volunteers. "Especially for a woman. To deprive a woman of motherhood is to subvert her primary purpose in life."
"Yes," Meetra sniffs, rolling her eyes at this priggish viewpoint. "I read all about your Emperor's mandate to be fruitful and multiply to repopulate your Empire." Ugh. Just ugh.
"Well, like I said, the Lord class doesn't date. They marry. Sex on the Dark Side is between married couples."
Meetra smirks. "How very boring."
Tony defends Sith family values. "We like rules, we like order. Family ties and kinship matter."
"Sounds like a lot of patriarchal social control to me," Meetra observes dryly.
"That too," the jailor readily agrees. "So, what is it that you want, if you don't want to disappear into a normal life?"
"What do I want?" Geez, what a deceptively simple question. Suddenly wan about where this bizarre conversation has ventured, Meetra looks away. "I stopped asking myself that a long time ago."
She used to want a life of significance, and that meant she wanted to be a bona fide Jedi hero. But that didn't work out and she ended up a war criminal for trying. So why try to live a normal life now? She'd probably fuck that up too.
"Tell me," Tony presses. "What do you want?"
Increasingly uncomfortable, Meetra abruptly lashes out. "Why do you care? You're a—a prison guard! What the Hell does it matter to you what I want to do with the rest of my life?"
Tony ignores the point. "What would make you truly happy? Go on. Tell me. I want to know."
"Yeah? Why?"
"Because I like you."
"Do you like all the prisoners?"
"Just the tragic, pretty Jedi girls."
"Tragic. Oh, so I'm tragic now . . ." Meetra makes a face.
"Don't take that the wrong way," Tony immediately apologizes.
"Is there a good way to be tragic?" she bristles. This is another strangely personal conversation with the jailor, but Meetra just goes with it. This guy's a sounding board and he seems the harmless sort. "Well, what I really want—besides getting my Force back—is to clear my name back home." Some vindication would be great, but she'll settle for forgiveness.
Tony shakes his head at her, his eyes filled with unspoken pity. "That will never happen."
He's right. Meetra ducks her chin. "I know." She's bitter about that fact. Still, she posits, "But do you think that if I did something good . . . something important and good . . . that would make a difference? Maybe not excuse or absolve me . . . nothing will do that, I know . . . but perhaps it might offset things a bit . . ."
"Define good."
"Something that meaningfully helps the Republic." She saved the Republic once, but no one seemed to notice mostly because they blamed her more than they blamed the real threat posed by the Sith.
Tony is very solemn now. He seems to appreciate the heaviness of the point. He tells her, "The biggest risk to the Republic is Vitiate."
"Yeah, but once he's gone, who takes his place? Someone even worse?" That's the issue that concerns Meetra the most about joining Sion's treason plot. What if it succeeds and things are worse off?
Tony himself seems pretty treasonous. He is unequivocal: "You can't get worse than Vitiate."
Meetra puzzles over this attitude, protesting, "From those datafiles I read, everyone supposedly loves your Emperor."
"Officially, everyone loves him. Unofficially . . . " Tony shrugs and makes a face that conveys his point. "The boss hates him."
"So I gathered. But doesn't every Sith Lord want to be the Emperor?"
"It's not just about power, it's about revenge. Sion blames Vitiate for the slaughter of his family."
"Is that true?"
"He thinks so. These days, the Emperor sends his assassin squads to take you out. But back then, he was less direct, at least with the foremost families. He didn't strike at them overtly. He would manipulate petty feuds and get others to do his dirty work. It kept all the most powerful clans fighting amongst themselves so they wouldn't join together to oppose him. It also gave Vitiate plausible deniability for crimes like what happened to Lord Sion's family."
"Sion told me he achieved his revenge."
"Not against the real culprit."
"I see." This is a whole new gloss on Sion's desire to depose Vitiate. She should have known that the zombie Sith would have multiple angles and complicated motivations. That's sort of how his kind operates.
His boss' political views clearly embolden Tony to speak freely. "Vitiate's paranoia for control holds the Empire back. The more prosperous and stable we become, the more he cracks down. All that tyranny requires constant effort, and it's a waste of resources. We don't need such a repressive society. In Marka Ragnos' day, things were much more open and no one complained that we were becoming Light."
"Freedom? On the Dark Side?" She's skeptical.
"Well, it wasn't egalitarian democracy," Tony admits, "but it was better than now. There are degrees of authoritarianism, you know. Vitiate is at the far end of the spectrum. Lords like Sion want to change that."
"Quite the enlighten brute, isn't he?" Meetra is cynical there is any real altruism at work. "Did he send you here to make his pitch for regime change?"
"I'm here because the guards were beating the guy next door," Tony reminds her.
"Right." She almost forgot. Yet again, they have gotten off on a tangent. But Tony's pretty easy to talk to and, well, he's the only person around to talk to. His unfiltered perspective is sort of helpful, though. She adds his views to the mosaic of information she's amassing to help her make decisions going forward.
There will definitely be decisions to make soon. Meetra knows she needs to remain useful to Sion for him to keep her alive. That's a large part of why she agreed to heal the Sith. Darth Sion holds all the power. If she is too stubborn, too condemning, too confronting to her captor, she risks he will lose interest. And then, he will kill her or hand her over for others to kill. She also wants to feel the Force and to spare the lives of other prisoners, so cooperation at least for healing seems like the right decision.
But Sion wants to take things further. He clearly wants to enlist her in his treason. She's spent the last few years trying to avoid getting dragged into the petty plots of the Sith factions. How plausible is Sion's coup idea? Meetra doesn't know enough about Vitiate and internal Sith politics to gauge the likelihood of success. But she is intrigued. It could mean a chance to rescue Revan and to strike back at the Sith mastermind who orchestrated the proxy war she and others fought so foolishly.
What would Revan do in her circumstance? Revan was a mix of idealism and pragmatism, and Meetra has long sought to emulate his decision-making. She thinks Revan would tell her to put things in motion with Sion and wait for the right opportunity to determine whether to commit or pull back from his schemes. But that's a lot easier done when you have the Force as your ally. Meetra feels very overmatched by Sion now that she only has her wits to help her. Worse still, Sion seems to want to make things very personal between them, and that just complicates things further.
An awkward silence has fallen now. Tony breaks it by promising, "I'll bring you some cookies later." He adds, "And the Master has decreed that you can have a pillow and a blanket," like it is exceptional magnanimity.
"Can I get something else to read?" She gestures to her datapad.
"I'll work on that."
"Thanks."
"Oh, and here." Tony digs into his pocket to produce a comlink. He pokes at it before handing it over. "Take a look. The Master asked for your opinion."
Meetra accepts the device and stares a moment at the picture it displays. "Revan . . . " she whispers.
"Is that his likeness? Or similar to how he looks? I figured you would know. There are very few pictures of him on the Republic holonet and they all have him wearing the mask."
"That's right. The Order discourages publicity for its individual members," Meetra explains, still staring down at the photo. It feels like seeing a ghost. "The only Jedi who give interviews are typically the Council members. They alone are authorized to speak freely on behalf of the Order." She recalls aloud, "Revan didn't start breaking that rule until pretty deep into the war when he had already adopted the mask in public.
"But that's his likeness? You're sure?"
"Yes, it's him." The photo must be from his Sith Lord phase. Revan never wore black when she knew him. He always wore traditional Jedi robes, usually light colored, with his armor. "The hair's shorter than I remember. When I knew him, it was longer. Revan started the man bun trend in the Order—we teased him mercilessly about it." Meetra looks up to ask, "When was this taken?" as she hands back the comlink.
"I don't know the details. Ask the Master," Tony offers.
"Does he know where Revan is?"
"Ask the Master."
"He does, doesn't he?"
"Ask the Master."
"I will. But I'm also asking you now because you seem to know a lot about what goes on around here. Does Sion know where Revan is?" she snaps. Enough of the jailor's stonewalling. She wants an answer so she can compare it to Sion's response.
Tony now makes one of his quiet, unerring observations. "Revan gets you upset."
Flustered Meetra doesn't know how to reply to that comment. So, she repeats herself angrily. "Does Sion know where Revan is?"
Tony isn't the least bit intimidated but her gruff demand. If anything, he seems disappointed by her question. "You don't trust Sion, do you? No, you don't." The jailor practically pouts. He complains, "What more does he need to do to demonstrate that he is trustworthy?"
"He's a Sith Lord! They deceive!"
"We're not all betrayers," Tony huffs. "Some Lords—many Lords—are honorable men. But you can't see it because your prejudice blinds you!" Offended on his Master's behalf, he snorts, "And the Jedi consider themselves to be open minded . . ."
Meetra feels herself flush. "I'm sorry, but it pays to be cautious when you're me."
"You don't appreciate how well you're being treated at all," Tony accuses. This is apparently a point of professional affront for Sion's jailor. "Has he not earned some goodwill? He gives you weapons and roses and a datapad. You get decent food that you disdain. I bring you cookies. But all you do is complain. You, lady, are a hard woman to satisfy."
Meetra's reply is scathing. "I suppose it's too much to ask for you people to understand the importance of personal freedom."
"You still don't get it. There is no freedom in the Empire. There is only power. Listen, there's one way out of this cell, my Lady, and it's through Darth Sion."
Yes, Meetra fumes, recalling his smarmy open offer to spend the night in his room. So much for Tony's 'Sith Lords don't date' prim bullshit.
Miffed, Tony pushes off the far wall to advance on her. Waving a scolding finger under her nose, his own temper flares. "The Empire is a society of negotiated, strategic alliances. There is a transactional approach to everything we do, from business to personal affairs. And among the Lord class, those things are inevitably intertwined. Get used to it. You want things to change for the better? Give the Master what he wants. You might find out it's what you want too."
With a resentful glare, the heretofore pretty chill jailor storms out.