"So, what lesson were you looking to revisit?"
"Sit with me." Kreia motioned to the ground across from her, and Trista settled down. "Remember after the Sith forced you to see through the Force?"
"I remember."
"There is more that you may learn."
"I remember you saying that, too."
"Close your eyes." Trista did. "Focus again, as we did before. Feel the ship around you, the Handmaiden as she trains in the hold, the welding of the droid, the rumble of hyperspace."
It was far easier this time, and part of her held back. To say she was uncomfortable with how easily she was diving back into the Force — or even how she wanted to, like a hunger her body craved to fill — was an understatement.
That was something to think about later, before Kreia could call her out on it.
"You have brushed the thoughts of another — and that is a start. This time, silence your thoughts, keep them still."
Ah, yeah, of course she'd've sensed that unease already.
"Imagine the waters of the Room of a Thousand Fountains, each stream falling silent and still. Imagine the ice of Telos, cold and smooth, as it gathers on the plateau. Now stretch out.
"Strip away the metal, and see the souls and minds of those that fill its corridors — more thoughts and dreams and worries than can fill the space of this ship."
Trista, despite the part of herself that wanted to pull back, that begged her to never bother with the Force again, let the hypnotic quality of Kreia's voice pull her in. Almost instinctively she drifted to Visas first, remembering how easy it had been to hear her, and figuring she'd be fine with Trista trying.
"... as my feet walk from the ashes of Katarr, I shall not fear, for in fear lies death, and..."
The Miraluka's voice reached out to her like a lifeline, and Trista used it to pull herself the rest of the way in. The next one that caught her ear surprised her, as her attention drew to the medical bay.
"... how could the Jedi leave the Republic? Was it because of the Jedi Civil War?" From what she could tell Mical was working, his mind wandering as he prepared medipacks and first-aid kits. "Was it the Sith? Or ideological? Simply numbers? Is it possible that they..."
"... from the first movement flows the second..." The sound of Handmaiden's hands breaking through the air, her bare feet light on the metal floor of the cargo hold. "... strike, repeat, circle one's opponent... repeat, faster, quicker..." Not unlike she remembered Revan in training, meditating as she ran through lightsaber forms, her mind repeating three steps ahead like a mantra. "... if Father had been quicker... if only Father had been faster..."
Well, that was only mildly intrusive. Trista pulled away, a quick breath through her nose startling her out of her focus, regardless of how deep she was in.
"... place is too frakking quiet." Mira. Fantastic, someone hopefully less screwed up than most of her crew. "... Nothing like Nar Shaddaa. Not even sure why I'm here. Coulda just stayed, kept doing my thing. Hm... wonder how much that bounty on the Jedi is now..."
Thank the Force.
"Don't understand how she keeps in shape like she does. She's barely changed from the holorecords. Just... naturally beautiful." Right, weird. "Gotta ask about her skincare routine. Hm. 750k. Nah, not quite worth it yet."
"... switch the face of the 1/-1 card, the totals are nine-ten." Atton. Without hesitation, at first, she turned towards him like his voice was a relief. "Switch the face of the 2/-2 card, the total is eight-eleven. Switch..."
"Your command echoes still, General. And I obey, as I did at Malachor."
The abruptness with which Bao-Dur's voice hit her nearly knocked her out of her focus again, and it was only her will that kept her from coming out of it altogether.
Instead, almost out of spite, she dove.
The voices of her crew faded, a dull murmur in the back of her mind as she stared at the impenetrable depths of the Force, something she hadn't felt since that horrific day at Malachor.
The Jedi didn't do this often.
For all their talk of using the Force, it was well known in the Order that they rarely brushed past the surface. That was what the Covenant did, what select Masters did... what Revan did. But to truly be in it, surrounded by it — it was like leaping from the safety of a water-world's city into the open waves, and looking down to watch the light fade into the abyss below. To feel, lurking just out of reach, things that would love nothing more than to drag you into the depths until the pressure crushed and reshaped you into the very things you feared.
That somewhere, down there, lay the real border between light and dark, the last point of return before one was truly, wholly gone. It was here, just below her, that the threads of light stretched between all of them, binding the life on the ship together before stretching out across the galaxy. If she tried she could dive further, touch the threads, grasp and pull.
As she hung there for a moment, allowing the sensations of life and breathless awe and fear to surround her, something stirred. A sound, less like the song of a whale than the keen of a far-distant predator, echoed across the currents, resonating somewhere inside the void around her heart.
:That sound in the distance: she thought, knowing Kreia would hear. :What is it?:
:Not now: came the answer, :focus on my voice.:
She did; but it was always there, a resounding lament in the depths. She couldn't see Kreia, but it was almost like Kreia's voice emanated from inside her, not near her.
:Now, do you hear me? Truly hear me.:
:Yes.: Even though she didn't speak, it was like a breathless whisper that left her.
:You have taken the first step on a much longer road, Trista. Come with me.:
She felt Kreia rise, but for a moment, she let herself hang suspended. The noise returned, warbling across the current, and she burned it into her mind before following Kreia out of the Force and back into the dormitory on the Hawk.
"It is not perfect," Kreia said as Trista opened her eyes. "As for the alien who served with you in the war, its thoughts are more difficult, requiring many translations in meaning. Often, it is better to read their impulses than their spoken thoughts. That is why it is deaf to you — I have found its impulses are cold, like a dead weight, and its thoughts are black."
"But I—" Trista started to say that she'd heard Bao-Dur and that, as a near-Human, he shouldn't be any harder to read than Visas. But something stopped her. "For one, he's a sentient, with a proper gender, so you could have started out using it. But if that's the case, it'd explain why I didn't hear him."
"Such is the case with more primitive minds. It is of no matter."
"More... He's an Iridonian, not a tach, and a genius inventor."
"Indeed."
Trista blew a frustrated breath through her nose. "There was something with Atton's thoughts, too."
The frown that tugged at Kreia's lips echoed in her voice. "Of course there was. It is because he is not playing pazaak, and yet he counts cards in his head. Sometimes he lists off engine sequences, memorizes the hyperspace routes on the other side of the galaxy, or counts the ticking in the power couplers."
"We fixed those."
"Indeed. And at other times, he imagines certain... base lusts, or certain... indignities."
Trista echoed her mentor's frown. "But, why?"
"Perhaps Atton is far cleverer than he feigns to be. Or, perhaps, he is simply a fool."
"Hm." Trista tucked her robe around her. "Are my ears deceiving me, or was the first part of that a compliment?"
"It was nothing of the sort. I have made my opinion of his... capabilities known, and you have made your intention to ignore them equally known." Kreia's head turned, as if she were scrutinizing her far more intently than she deserved. "I will not dictate how you waste your time. I merely expect you to remember what is at stake."
"Yeah, and I do. It just—" She frowned, and pushed further thoughts of her and Atton out of her mind. Kreia was a profuse killjoy at the best of times, and she wasn't giving her that small indulgence to ruin. "—it's not important."
"Good, and do not allow it to become so. His potential lies downward, and you should not be dragged with him."
"Yeah, don't worry, I won't be." She gripped her feet, almost unconsciously, and frowned. "Did you talk to Zez-Kai Ell when he was on board?"
"I did not." Kreia paused. "You are still thinking about Revan."
"Yeah." She hoped Kreia couldn't sense a topic change when she saw one, even though that was a futile wish. "You've at least insinuated you knew her — well, even. How? Were you one of her Masters?"
Kreia was quiet for a while. "She came to me, yes," she continued, and Trista's hands tightened on her feet. "Both before and after — before Revan knew herself, and after, when she was coming into her own and learning she was so much more than she had been told."
Trista narrowed her eyes, studying Kreia as the woman looked away. "What was it like, having her as a student? I imagine she was insufferable."
A fond smile crossed Kreia's lips for just the barest moment, fast enough that she thought she'd imagined it.
"She was. But yes, once, she was my Padawan — long ago. But Revan, when she had learned all she could from me, had other Masters... that fool Zhar, Kavar, other Jedi on other worlds. She learned from each."
She trailed off and, for a moment, Trista thought she was done. Just as she opened her mouth, Kreia continued. "But in the end, she turned back to me — when she realized there was nothing more to be learned of the Jedi save how to leave them forever."
Her voice lowered, echoing with a near-reverence that nearly held her enthralled. "Revan was power. It was like staring into the heart of the Force. Even then, you could see the Jedi she would slay etched on her soul. Where she moved, she cut a path through the Force, like a vessel cutting through a wave. Her potential... I have seen few who might climb to the heights she is capable of."
Trista, despite herself, frowned. "What do you see when you look at me, then?"
Kreia's head turned, and again, Trista felt scrutinized despite her lack of sight. "You are different," she said softly, almost with the same reverence. "When I look at you, it is like staring at the death of the Force."
"Oh." Sure. She didn't know where to even start processing that, and filed it away while knowing full well that it would likely rear its head again at the least opportune moment. "Can I ask something else?"
"I am sure you can."
"Right, well, uh... why wouldn't you have asked Zez-Kai Ell what happened to her while he was on board?"
"Because I am not interested in the opinions of those who did not know her."
"We're headed to Onderon. I'm sure Kavar would—"
"Again," Kreia repeated, "I am not interested in the opinions of the Council."
"Fair enough. Then..." Trista resumed her usual posture, sitting with her knees up to her chest. "Do you know what happened to her? Not after the war. Why she fell and turned on the Republic."
Kreia was quiet for a moment, enough that she wondered if she had crossed another unspoken line that, in retrospect, was clearly visible.
"Already, you presume much." Kreia's reprimand barely bore the harshness of previous ones.
"Then what made her turn to the dark side? Or become a Sith Lord?"
"Is that truly what she was?" Trista arched her brow. "Or was she always true to herself, no matter what personality she wore?"
That was... true. She was always, aggressively herself. Dominant, ambitious — to use an old idiom Zez-Kai Ell had once used for her, a "mind like a durasteel trap." Playing three steps ahead, whether sabacc, dejarik, or battle. Uncompromising. But always willing to do what had to be done, the first person to put herself in danger, often without even thinking.
"And there is, perhaps, something the Council may never understand. That perhaps, Revan never fell."
The eyebrow reversed course, joining her other as it furrowed down. "What do you mean?"
"The difference between a fall and a sacrifice is sometimes difficult... but Revan may have understood that difference, more than anyone knew."
"But everything she did—"
"The galaxy would have fallen had she not led the Jedi to war. So perhaps she too became the Dark Lord out of necessity, to prevent a greater evil.
"I do not believe the Council changed Revan, as they claimed. They merely stripped away the surface and allowed the true self to emerge again — one willing to wage war for the sake of others. But that is simply my belief, as one who knew her long ago... as a master knows their apprentice."
Trista sat for a moment, turning over Kreia's words in her mind. Revan was more given to opportunism than she was — she was more willing to hold to her ideals than adapt to a situation. But if anyone would 'fall' to the Dark Side out of bloody pragmatism, it would have been Revan. Absolutely.
"You think pragmatism drove her?"
"Perhaps. She was never given to the extremes of the Force, as I am sure you know."
"But what would have forced her to do that? What threat would she have seen that would have warranted..." Any of the things in her arrest warrant? Anything that caused the horrific instability Trista now had to fix? What could have driven her to see them as necessary?
Neither of the two answers were comforting. Either she was wrong and Revan had just taken a stroll into the deep-end… or she was right, and Revan had seen something that scared her so much that thought full-scale war against a weakened Republic was the only solution.
Kreia was quiet for another moment after Trista trailed off, and she was half afraid that Kreia would make some excuse, some comment seeking to push everything Revan had done aside — and half expecting no answer at all. Or, perhaps worse, an answer that would try to absolve those actions, or shove them off onto the Jedi Council.
She didn't know what would be worse.
"I believe," Kreia said, slowly, weighing each word, "that it is often easier to remember how a story ended than how it began. And that when the Republic looks toward the Jedi Civil War, it sees the actions of Malak, not of his master, yet, it prescribes those actions to her. Perhaps we should not be asking why she did what they have attributed to her."
Trista knew what Kreia expected — there was a "right" question buried somewhere parallel to the one she'd asked. "Then what should we ask?"
"Sith are not given to subtlety, and yet, the path of destruction Revan caused was minimal compared to others of her ilk. What prevented her, restrained her, from following the same path of Malak? Or of Exar Kun and Ulic Qel-Droma?"
"Do you know?"
Kreia scoffed. "As I have said, I have only my suspicions — which I will not share. And I fear we have spoken long enough for this lesson."
"You know what I appreciate, Kreia?" She replied with a hmm as Trista got to her feet. "You're never afraid to tell me to get lost."
She thought there might have been some amusement written in Kreia's face as she turned back to her meditations, and Trista backed out of the room.
Without thinking, she wound her way through the ship, passing HK in his endless prowl through the halls and T3 fixing a sparking wire by the turret ladder. Her feet carried her toward the cockpit, almost unthinkingly, as she mused.
What was the "death of the Force," and why did Kreia see that in her? What did that mean? Why... She looked up, almost stopping when she caught Atton with his shirt halfway on. She must have gasped, because he stopped halfway and looked up.
"I can take it back off if you want."
Trista laughed. "Force, you're difficult."
Atton echoed it as he finished pulling it down. "Standin' offer."
She made her way past him towards the copilot's seat, then paused. "Wait, I think that's your second shower this week."
He motioned at himself as if to say, "who, me?" and pulled on his jacket. "You told me before Nar Shaddaa you'd give me head massages if I washed my hair more."
Trista rolled her eyes and settled into the chair. The pilot's creaked as Atton settled down.
"Washing your hair more than once a month won't get you a head massage."
He stuck his lip out like a petulant child. "You promised."
She laughed. "I did nothing of the sort."
"I remember it."
"Okay, maybe. Maybe. If you behave yourself."
Atton threw up his hands with mock umbrage. "Stars, what's a man got to do around here to get a head massage?"
"Force's sake." Trista stood and moved behind him, running her fingers through his slightly damp hair. "Better?"
"Much better. Now if you can do it better than those Twi'lek assassins I distracted for ya—"
"Yes, yes, it takes a big hero to get hit on by two hot Twi'leks so I don't have to suffer." He rolled his eyes. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure, sweets."
"Why do you play pazaak in your head?"
Atton didn't answer for a moment. "Well," he said finally, "it passes the time."
"That's it?"
"Well, it's better than listing off engine sequencers, memorizing hyperspace routes, or counting ticks in the power couplings."
"The power couplings are fixed, though."
"Of course they're fixed." He paused again. "And that's why you should count 'em, too."
"But if they're fixed..." Atton frowned. "I'm missing something."
"Sit. Head massage later." He waved her at the copilot's seat. "You got your deck on you?"
"Yeah?"
"If you want to know why I play pazaak," he said, dealing out a hand, "I'm going to show you."
They played a round — she lost, of course, though she blamed it on watching Atton and trying to figure out where he was going with this. He paused afterward, skimmed her expression, and dealt again.
"You're smarter than this, Tris. Stop tryin' to game the system and play the game."
The second round, she tried. Still lost, but she tried to focus on the game, not on Atton. He studied her as he picked up the cards and packed them back into their deck. "There. What were you thinking about this time?"
"I mean..." Trista motioned. "The game. Trying to get the totals to twenty."
"Right. And that's why I play pazaak in my head — because if you don't, you've left the door open, and anyone can walk right in."
Trista looked down at the cards. "It's a shielding technique. I... didn't consider that."
"No," he said, "I just play pazaak in my head. But when I'm doing that, it's a lot harder for someone to get in."
"Yeah. Atton, I, uh..." She cleared her throat. "Earlier I was working with Kreia, and I heard your... well, your thoughts. That, at least. I'm sorry."
"Of course you did." He tucked the deck away. "Jedi, light, dark, whatever... they do it. I've never had one say they were sorry for it before, so that's a new house rule."
She smiled weakly. "I promise I won't make a habit out of it. Got any pointers for this?"
"Nope, I can only teach you how to play pazaak. You get me?"
Trista studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Your deal then."
He responded with that sideways smirk, that annoying, cocky-ass grin that got him in trouble just about everywhere, including in her good graces. "My deal then."
As he laid out the cards, he continued. "If you're fightin' someone who's got power over your mind, light or dark, play pazaak. Start listing hyperspace routes, recite engine sequences." She dealt out her side deck with a nod. "And when they try to use their powers on you, it's not as easy as they figured."
He grinned at her again. "Because you'll be right here with me, playing pazaak, where they can't reach you."
