The power of a name
- Jen Sahara -
The streets outside the starport stank of cheap ale and decaying food. People from all the slummy walks of life – mostly mercs, peddlers and whores – filled the area with eager offers and pleas for credits. In the distance the glittering dome of central Emnaad rose majestically, promising civilization and safety under Selkath rule. Here, in the wrecked suburb attached to the starport, nothing governed but strength in numbers - which usually meant the Exchange. At least there was certain anonymity here. Another scruffy stranger staying out of everyone's way didn't draw a second glance.
I couldn't brush off the taste of blood. I felt it, the coppery tang in my mouth. All those bodies, the death, the slaughter-
-the power, to know that I have complete control, that I am the master, that victory is mine-
The sudden sharp pain of cramp from my hand drove the dark voice from my head. I winced, and then realized my fingers were locked fiercely around the lightsaber hidden discretely under my robe. Slowly, I relaxed and drew my hand away. No. No. I will not. I'd lost one of the 'sabers, back at the warehouse. Lost my sanity, too.
I'd flatly ordered HK to leave me alone and go find some way of getting off Rii'shn within the hour. That, perhaps, wasn't the brightest thing I'd ever done – letting HK lose without supervision – but at least I'd had the sense to command him not to kill a soul.
Far too many had already died by my hand in the last day alone.
My fists clenched again, and I realized I was shaking. Get yourself together! Things could be worse... yeah, I could still be Dark Lord Bitch. I was trying to stay angry, trying my damnedest to hold onto the angst over having such a disgusting piece of Sith filth trapped in my head. But chilling horror kept slipping through the cracks, gripping me with trepidation that far outweighed any patronizing revulsion I could muster.
Revan's in my head. Revan's in my head. Revan's in my head.
That, of course, begged the question: How did she get in there?
And: Who put her there?
Which all followed onto: How do I get rid of her?
I swallowed convulsively, biting the insides of my cheeks in a fruitless effort to stay focused. The same thoughts still circled dizzyingly through my head ever since HK first extricated me from that ill-fortuned warehouse. I was getting nowhere. I couldn't even make sense of myself, let alone come up with a decent plan. I had to figure out what to do now.
I can't keep blindly running. Somewhere, I need to look for help. I thrust away the first obvious source – no sense in taking that course unless I had no other option. But what options were there on an unknown planet, with a powerful assassination order after me?
The only way I'd find out, was by exploring.
Even in the unguarded outlands of Emnaad, civilization still prevailed. Shantytowns of plimfoam and non-hardened plycrete had risen alongside the outer borders of Emnaad's dome. There was no government to speak of – apart from the Selkath city, this entire planet was riddled with Czerka outposts and Exchange figureheads all trying to make a buck from the mining industry. An overabundance of cantinas and black-market trade swamped the area, and I knew it was just the sort of place where anything could be bought.
But I'd already spent my last credits - on a full-length black cloak, that easily covered the blood stains and gaping rents in my armour. Walking shadowed underneath such a concealing garment may have looked suspicious had not every second sentient been clothed the same. Let's just ignore the fact that black, sweeping cloaks are probably the sum total of Revan's wardrobe. I winced. I couldn't even think her name without cringing.
And now I'm out of credits. It's Taris all over again. Except this time, there was no suspicious pilot to help and harangue me into rescuing a snot-nosed Jedi. There was no Twi'lek street kid to befriend me, and acquire my aid in rescuing her overgrown side-kick.
Shame coursed through me at the thought of my former crewmates, and I closed my eyes in despair. I'm being pathetic. I've got HK-47 instead. I figure I'll be out of here in an hour at the most.
Let's just do what I came here for.
In places like this information was readily available – for a price. However, there was one free source, universally accessible through most of the galaxy – the lower-base holonets. You could find anything on the HoloNet. Though usually not what you were looking for, I added to myself sourly.
I'd wandered into a small emporium, where hawkers were trying to lure any passer-by towards their goods. I spotted a couple of old public terminals - the really antique ones that didn't even have a headset, let alone a cerebral plug-in. Not that I'd use it anyway; my mind's already a walking minefield. With a sigh I tapped into one.
Browsing the HoloNet was child's play – unless, of course, you needed information from the uppernets. I hoped I didn't – I wasn't even sure what I was looking for.
I switched to text feed only, turning off voice input. The last thing I needed was curious locals to overhear.
Query: multiple personalities created by the Force
I'd never heard of the famous dance troupe 'Multiple Personalities' until now, but apparently they were quite big in the Forlox Sector. Their smash hit, 'The force of our love,' did nothing to help my search. I scowled, and cleared the screen.
Query: suppressed memories of a different personality
Filter: Subject: the Force
Filter: Organization: Jedi Order
Some Rodian psychoanalyst had become famous after publishing a thesis that claimed Order-trained Force-users not only suppressed their childhood emotions, but also often created a separate persona of themselves to fit in with the disciplined Jedi environment. I chuckled grimly and wondered if any Jedi had ever had a quiet word with him. Oddly enough, the Rodian had never published anything else.
Query: Brainwashing extra identities
Filter: Subject: the Force
Filter: Organization: Jedi Order
I was fast acquiring a painful headache. Limiting the query to Force related results generally pointed me to databanks I had no security clearance for. That, or visually guided tours explaining about the mystical nature of the Force. I grimaced, realizing I was fast running out of time. HK would soon be meeting me in an alley a block away, and I couldn't afford to hang around long on Rii'shn. The GenoHaradan had already shown how powerful they were, by sending twenty assassins after me – two of whom where Dashade.
I shivered, jerked my attention back to the screen, and cleared the search results. A strange inspiration hit, and I changed the primary filter.
Query: transplanting memories mindwipe
Filter: Organization: The Sith
Filter: Subject: the Force
Half-way down the screen, I noticed a record pointing to a free archaeological databank. I would have ignored it, but as I glanced over the author's name, a quiet part of my mind stirred in recognition. Jen.
The entry was of one Pablo Hinterro recording the translation of an ancient journal. I'd heard of him – or rather, Jen had. There was a faint recollection of studying his work for a project back at the Academia. He was some famous archaeologist who'd spent his lifetime digging up findings on Eltron IV. Died on the primary moon of said planet when a cave mysteriously collapsed on him. But I – or rather Jen – had never read this excerpt before:
…
Location: Seizon, moon of Eltron IV
I found a written journal in the dig site. Most of it had decayed; in fact only one page was legible. Odd that it was scripted by hand – the findings here are only a few centuries old, so I don't understand why a datapad or techJournal wasn't used. It's composed of lyr-bark paper, and written in Ancient Elisin.
The rest of the journal has decayed. Considering the content of the one page I translated, I thought strongly about contacting the Jedi Order. Jayna convinced me against it; the site would likely be shut down for mere academics like us, and she is still firmly convinced this place was some secret Sith base used to experiment on the unfortunate.
While I agree with her on the first point, I think with the latter she is letting her imagination run wild. More likely, perhaps, that this is the diary of a rambling madman.
Regardless, here is my current translation:
"... fragmentation of self, and an increasing inability to distinguish between his real personality and the imbedded memories. Surely a mindwipe of the original identity is preferable, but I think Lord Sevra prefers this sort of twisted release of information, despite the lack of efficiency. This method of transplanting memories is still in its infancy, in fact I doubt any other Force user has ever conceived of it, let alone experimented.
The subject is showing more signs of confusion, and his memories are beginning to mix with the embedded ones to the point where neither memory can be separated. I do believe he is well on the way to insanity, though at least he is not Force sensitive. I wonder how a Force sensitive would fare?"
…
I gave a bitter laugh. Guess what? I'm Force sensitive and I'm still going insane!
My hand shaking, I cleared the terminal screen.
Is that my only option? Insanity? All because some Jedi decided to put a couple of identities in my head? The sound of harsh, quick breathing reached my ears, and I realized it was me. With deliberate effort, I drew in a deep, slow breath.
Focus. I've been a Force user, a Jedi in the past if I believe Bastila. There must be a sane, logical reason for Jen Sahara... and for Revan. What irony, that I knew their names, but not my own.
Theories I could come up with – they needed Revan for some reason – it was all a freak accident – maybe I agreed to it all – but nothing really seemed right. And no matter how I tried, I could not think of a single reason why Jen Sahara was also in my head. If this journal said their subject was going loony – then what about me, with two extra personalities?
I couldn't escape the inevitable course of action. No matter how furious I was with her – no matter how much I would trust a Hutt before her – she was my only source of help. Insanity didn't appeal. And neither did letting Evil Bitch out. Can I keep Revan at bay forever? Can I?
I wasn't ready to reach out through the bond – touch the Force – just yet. The sheer life of it was too overpowering for me to handle just now.
Find HK. Just keep moving, and stop thinking. I blanketed myself with a detached numbness, and forced my feet to walk.
xXx
The droid's red eyes gleamed in the darkness of the alley as I walked towards him.
"Statement: Master, I have acquired us a shuttle. By my calculations, we have approximately twenty minutes to board and depart Rii'shn before members of the Exchange are alerted to the lockdown of their south-western landing bay."
Something clenched in my chest. "HK, you - you didn't – kill anyone!" It wasn't a question.
"Affirmative: No meatbags have had their miserable existences ended by my hand in the last hour, master." For some reason, his voice sounded oddly smug.
The plimfoam walls of the alley were cracked and stained with age and who knew what else. I drew in a deep breath. "HK, how the frell did you lockdown an Exchange landing bay without killing a single person?"
"Observation: It was a mindless oversight of those Exchange meatbags to leave all that Gelosian toxin lying around."
I stiffened. Gelosian toxin? I had no idea what it did, but if it could knock out a group of Exchange guards- "I thought you said no one had died!"
HK's eyes flashed. "Conjecture: My chemical database precisely states that Gelosian toxin is rarely lethal, provided medical assistance is sought within twenty-four hours! If there are any fatalities, then it is clearly due to a lack of proper medical attention."
I choked. "What are you saying? That's there's a whole bunch of comatosed Exchange thugs littered around this shuttle, that will die within a day if no one finds them?"
"Answer: Why, yes, master." Whoever created HK should have drawn a big, evil smirk on his blood red face.
More blood on my hands. This time, I can't even blame Revan.
My teeth clenched; now was not the time for self-recriminations.
"Let's go then," I hissed. "And for future reference, HK, if someone dies as a cause of your actions, then it counts as killing them."
I could almost hear the droid shrug as he stepped forward to lead the way.
"Objection: Master, that is too broad a parameter! Scenario: If I was to buy the last kassi loaf, causing a settlement to starve to death before the next import, then technically I would be the cause of their death. Summary: This does not compute as killing the inhabitants of the settlement firsthand. You cannot expect me to accurately predict the future, master; not without additional core upgrades."
I bit back a frustrated growl as we turned the corner. "No, but even you can predict that people may die from Gelosian toxin!"
A Rodian garbed in combat armour glanced warily at me; belatedly I realized how loud my voice was and cursed myself inwardly.
"HK," I hissed quietly, cutting off whatever objection he was about to put forward. "Just tell me we don't now have the sodding Exchange after us as well?"
"Prediction: Provided we use the fake signature I acquired from the Czerka databanks, and depart this shuttle promptly at our destination, then the Exchange will have no source to lay the blame on but Czerka Corporation. Observation: the cantina mook at The Lady's Garter believed the GenoHaradan ambush to be an Exchange operation. They will likely blame Czerka for that, also." HK's red gaze gleamed. "The GenoHaradan is a worthy opponent, Master, but not one we wish to draw attention to."
Despite myself and my growing horror at the bloodthirsty nature of this droid, I couldn't help but respect his abilities. And if I could slip away from the GenoHaradan, all the better.
We walked quickly and silently to the landing bay.
xXx
The shuttle was small, and not made for intergalactic travel. Its fuel tanks could withstand only a handful of days in space; fortunately, Manaan was not far away.
The repulsors hummed through the floor as I belted myself in, concentrating fiercely on the controls so as to forget the comatosed Exchange guards I'd walked over just minutes ago. I was becoming sorely tempted to melt HK down for scrap – yet so far, everything he had done had been under my command, no matter how brutally efficient he had been.
But it all added up to more people dead.
The GenoHaradan attacked me – I can't feel guilty for that! The Exchange guards, however, had simply been in the way.
I shivered at how cold my thoughts were sounding, and they weren't even coming from her. No, not her – Revan. I will not be scared to name that schutta. Not if she's taken up permanent residence in my own head.
The shuttle manoeuvred quickly out of the landing bay, and I was glad of one thing – Rii'shn had no centralized government to speak of, and hence no firm astrogation laws. No official would bother with our ship leaving Rii'shn space.
As I activated the sublight drives, it occurred to me – I was flying a spacecraft. Confusion swamped my mind and I fumbled the controls, causing the shuttle to bank. What am I doing? I'm flying a ship! An alarm sounded from the console, and a dormant instinct took over. I steadied the ship, raised thrust to seventy percent, and increased the craft's attitude to match the computer's suggested exit trajectory.
"HK." My voice shook slightly as the vehicle stabilized. "You got me a ship like I asked. But how did you know I could pilot?"
There was only one other seat in the shuttle, which the droid was currently occupying. He was silent for a moment. "Answer: I had... assumed, master. Observation: This is highly unusual. My programming does not allow for assumptions of this type."
You're not the only one who assumed. I ordered you to get me a shuttle, and didn't even think twice about piloting it until I was already in the sodding air! I remembered the feeling I'd had, after we left Tatooine and I joined Carth in the cockpit – I was convinced I knew how to fly. It was a part of my past – my past, not Jen's or Revan's – I was certain of that. But how had a street kid learned how to pilot?
"Statement: It is time to program in our destination, master. Where are we headed?"
I tore my thoughts away from questions only Bastila could answer. "Manaan," I said flatly. "We're going to Manaan."
HK paused, as if taking the time to process this command. "Commentary: While this would certainly not be expected by our enemies, Master, it will be difficult to travel there without being detected-"
"We're going to Manaan," I repeated. "I need to see Bastila."
His eyes flashed. "Statement: It will be a pleasure to combat a worthy opponent, Master!"
"HK." My teeth were clenched. "No more killing. No. More. Killing. Understood?"
How a droid managed to deflate in despair was beyond me, but HK did it. His shoulders even seemed to droop.
"Objection: Our en-"
"Shut up, HK. In fact, power down for the remainder of the trip."
HK dimmed as the sky transformed into space. Without the ongoing commentary from him, I was left with the sound of vibration coming from the small ship's engines, and the whirlwind of my own thoughts. I was headed back to Bastila – yet the last time I'd spoken to her, she'd sounded as if our association had ended. What had she said?
You forge your own path, Jen.
That had been over a day ago. There was nothing for it.
I opened myself to the Force, and reached for Bastila.
xXx
