Hyperspace: VI – part three


Carth Onasi:

Awareness returned slowly; at first, just a small degree at a time.

Dry mouth, followed by a pounding in my head. Bright light against closed eyelids. Aching in my muscles. I've drank too much. Stang, I swore I'd never go that path again-

Then, it became a torrent of images.

The ping of blasters. Juhani falling first. The Dark Jedi walking out from the 'Hawk, proclaiming himself as Yudan Rosh – a monster from Revan's Guard of Twelve. A monster that Jen was pinning her hopes on.

Jen, collapsing to her knees, as I faded into unconsciousness.

The breath shuddered in my lungs, and I jerked upright.

I was sitting on a hard-backed chair, having slumped over a plasticeel table. My hands were restrained tightly, locked behind the arms of the chair. And seated opposite me was an old human dressed in the starched uniform of a Sith officer. His shoulders were adorned with Admiral pips.

It took a moment for his weathered face to dissolve into familiarity.

"Saul," I hissed. My voice came out garbled, the after-effects of too many stun bolts landing at once. A residual weariness ached deep in my bones.

"Carth," he acknowledged, staring at me with a neutral expression. The years had aged him, I realized with a bitter triumph that was probably emotionally unhealthy. Blast it, I didn't care. I wanted to see the bastard burn, just like everyone had on Telos. Just like Morgana. "I would have kept you out of this, if it was possible. If you hadn't been travelling with her."

His gaze drifted beyond me. I twisted my head sharply in reaction.

Behind me there were three Force cages, all occupied with a slumped, unconscious figure restrained tightly around a central pillar.

The middle one held Jen.

No! Reflexively, I twisted my hands, trying to find any purchase within the solid cuffs behind my back. It was no good; they were hard and unyielding.

"I can give you a clean death, Carth." Saul's cold words dragged my attention back to him. And now he was staring pointedly a lightweight blaster placed in the middle of the table. "I owe you that much, at the least."

A clean death. The bastard actually wants me to agree to a blaster shot.

"Owe me?" I growled. The hate that blazed through me was pure and savage. My arms and legs yanked roughly at my confinement, even as logic told me not to bother. "You more than owe me, Saul," I seethed. "You owe the millions of people you killed, you betrayed-"

"I made a choice, and had to follow through." His hard words cut through mine, pitiless and implacable. "I don't expect you to understand. I knew, the last time we met, that you would never understand."

Oh, I remembered that conversation. Over the bleak years that followed, I'd cursed myself bitterly for not seeing through him, not grasping the import of his words, the evil path he'd been about to embark on-

I could have pulled out my blaster and shot him dead, that day. Saved Telos before it was scorched into ruin. Or, or, called someone, and warned them that Admiral Saul Karath was on the cusp of treason. The what-ifs would sear with feral rage in my chest, playing over and over, a sickening reminder that I'd had a chance to do something-

Logically, I'd known my guilt was erroneous. For, even if I'd had been sharp enough to suspect Saul's next actions, no one would have believed me. Admiral Karath and Revan's Guard have turned on us? Half the Fleet are… attacking Outer Rim Republic worlds? Heck, it'd taken weeks after Saul's involvement was publicized before I'd truly believed he'd betrayed us along with the Jedi heroes of old.

Yes, I did remember that conversation. Morgana had still been alive. All I'd really been focussed on was seeing her again. Because of him, I never had that chance.

"Saul, you're back!" I said in greeting, walking forward to grasp his shoulders. He was more than just a superior, more than just a mentor. In many ways, he was the father-figure my own had failed to be. "I heard the Fleet returned. It's been hard to celebrate, with all of you gone for so long-"

"Carth, I don't have much time," he interrupted, in a voice terse enough that I wilted into silence. This wasn't going to be a social visit, then.

"I guess you've got a lot of debriefings to look forward to, huh?" I said, stepping back and trying to halt the litany of questions that rose on my lips. The last few months had been crazy. Public fanfare and blowouts all over the Core, as the Republic both celebrated the end of the Mandalorian threat, and mourned those we had lost.

I was itching to go home. Two weeks, before I could head back to Telos. Morgana hadn't concealed her irritation last holo-call, and I couldn't fault her for it. Months of peace, and I still wasn't back. She understood the paperwork, and the ceremonies, and the clean-up required on some of the more ravaged worlds – but she needed me, too. Dustil kept sneaking out to practise illegal swooping, and nothing she'd say stopped him. Heck, he'd started a new college some weeks back, and I'd missed it. I'd missed a lot.

It'd be different, soon, I vowed. The Wars were over, and I'd be home.

"Yes," Saul assented with a thin-lipped smile. "Carth, I wanted to speak with you, first. This conflict has made… it has made us all re-think a lot of things we once took for granted. The Senate, I hear, overturned military command the day after the triumph at Malachor was broadcast."

He said it like it was news. Surely Saul and the rest of the absent Fleet had kept abreast of events in the Core. They'd been mopping up the last remnants of the Clans along the Outer Rim, or so I'd heard, but little detail of their exact whereabouts had actually trickled back to us. I'd been concerned, on a personal level - and I'd seen the edgy look on some of the military brass left behind.

Why aren't they back yet? What if there are more Mandalorians out there, when we'd thought Fett and Mandalore had been the biggest threat?

What if the deaths at Malachor aren't enough?

But Saul was back, now, and I could only assume the Jedi heroes were, too. I didn't think the bureaucrats Saul reported to - now that peace reigned - would be particularly impressed with the lengthy absence of half the Republic Fleet and all of Revan's Guard. I didn't envy Saul the fallout he'd inevitably have to wade through.

Saul continued talking, and I thought I heard an impassioned plea underlying his normally neutral tone. "You'll recall how we first crumbled beneath the Mandalorian might. How far their strength punched through our defences, before military order was imposed."

I frowned, unsure where he was going with this. The first years of the Mandalorian Wars had been devastating, true. There'd been enough times when everyone was convinced that we were one defeat away from surrender – or worse, annihilation. Sometimes, I couldn't quite believe we hadn't all ended up speaking Mandalorian.

"You've been on the frontlines the whole way through, Carth. You saw the transformation when Revan's Guard entered the war, when the Senate granted full authority to the Fleet. When we didn't have to wait on Coruscanti approval before implementing the smallest decision."

"Sure," I said slowly. The Senate had dragged their feet for years, unwilling to grant supreme power to the Navy or Army chiefs - until things became desperate. Until Revan Freeflight had turned up with a blazing group of Jedi Knights, and inverted everything.

I'd heard she'd stormed into a Senate meeting, demanding complete strategic privileges to be handed over to the brass. Although, the rumours swirling around everyone in Revan's Guard had always run a bit rampant.

Apparently, Revan Freeflight wore a mask because a Mandalorian had slaughtered her parents and disfigured her face as a child. She was seven-foot tall, a man, no, a Zabrak from a forgotten planet along the Outer Rim. Malak Devari was an assassination robot in disguise, when he wasn't single-handedly saving millions of orphans from slavery. Meetra Surik cut down half the Jedi High Council with her lightsaber when they refused to follow Revan, and Yudan Rosh infiltrated the Fett Clan and beheaded Cassus Fett with a shiv-blade. I'd rather enjoyed hearing that one, myself, even though I knew Cassus had been personally sighted at the battle of Malachor, and apparently met his end there.

The latest was that Revan defeated Mandalore in hand-to-hand combat on the surface of that cursed planet – which was completely ridiculous since the reports stated it had been destroyed the moment Mandalore had set foot on it.

Yellow news, and all complete trash.

I'd only ever known Talvon Esan, myself, and he was both steady and level-headed. Nothing like the mystical legends most of the grunts expected from Revan's Guard. Once, I'd met Malak Devari, when his fleet docked on Telos. He seemed a decent sort, too – calm, but with a sharp mind behind his relaxed demeanour.

I couldn't deny that the Jedi crusaders who had followed Revan Freeflight into the Wars were inspiring figures. That their power was awesome. And that when leaders like Saul had full command, our tactical warfare had been a heck of a lot more effective. But while a military government was a compelling one amidst conflict, it wasn't what the people needed during peace-time. Otherwise, the Republic might as well be a stratocracy.

"Our forces became stream-lined, brutal and effectual, when we weren't tied to the bureaucrats back in the Core," Saul continued, echoing my thoughts. "When we had one powerful leader, overseeing everything."

"I certainly won't deny the power of the Jedi, Saul," I said, feeling a bit puzzled at the conviction I could hear in his voice. "And, yeah, things turned around when the brass could focus on the battles we faced instead of appeasing the politicians back home. But we've peace reigning, now-"

"And what happens the next time something threatens our peace, Carth?" he cut in, his grey eyes intent and serious as they held mine. "Do we have to go through the same process, lose the same number of lives and territory, before the Senate cedes any meaningful control back to the military?"

I laughed, and it sounded uneasy, even to my own ears. "Saul, it almost sounds like you're advocating a military dictatorship."

He said nothing, but simply stared at me. I felt my brows lowering. "You can't truly believe that's the best form of government. The Republic is founded on the sharing of control between its members, to allow every culture, every planet a say-"

"And it almost broke us, Carth."

His words might ring with truth, but it was a blind truth that ignored its own inherent dangers. "Saul, you only have to look at history to see how badly a one-leader empire turns out. It always relies on a benign dictator staying that way. Who would you even put in that position? Blasted Revan Freeflight?"

He didn't answer, again, and my confusion was starting to mar with the beginnings of frustration, now. "That would mean- it would mean loyalty to a person, rather than a set of ideals. The Republic is founded on its ideals, Saul! The idea of one person leading it alone is so fraught with risk, that I can't- I can't even understand why you're thinking about this!"

Saul took a step back from me, a look of resignation on his face. "Well. The Mandalorian Wars have made us all reassess our established beliefs, Carth. Loyalty to a leader is important. As a military man, you should understand that."

"Yeah, sure," I snapped. "But that's because I am a military man. I sure as heck wouldn't want our government to rule civilians that way!"

"Alright, alright, I see we're not going to agree." He raised his hands in mild surrender. "Peace will give us all time to thoroughly debate topics like this. I have to depart, now, as I've some meetings to attend. I'm sure we'll see each other again soon."

He left quickly, after that. Uneasiness sat cold in my gut as I watched him go.

"No, Saul, I would never understand such a cowardly act of betrayal," I said, the words hard and low as they left my lips. Saul had the codes to bypass the planetary shields. Telos had no warning, no defence, no opportunity to rally against his fleet. No time for any sort of evacuation against an attack that wasn't just an invasion or conquering of territory. The devastation he unleashed on my home planet had such an effect on the ecosystem that the atmosphere acidified months later, to the point where it was, still, uninhabitable. It ranked right up there with the sort of genocide displayed by the worst of the Mandalorian clans. "Telos was a civilian target. Because of you, it was bombed into obliteration, and the blood of those innocent people is on your hands."

He sighed, and a look of weariness crossed his face. "Innocents die in war, Carth. You know this. I had to prove myself to Talvon-"

"Morgana died in that attack, Saul. And for that, I swear I'll kill you."

He retreated into silence at my hissed words.

And, once more, he looked beyond me to my friends, hanging helpless in the Force cages behind me. I'd had no chance to talk to Jen properly, to find out what happened in the Shadowlands and if she was truly okay - and now she was at the mercy of the man I hated most in the galaxy. The man responsible for the death of my wife.

My fear for Jen was a wedge of ice in the core of my anger. I didn't think I could bear losing another person I cared about. Not again, and certainly not to Saul.

Saul's chair ground against the floor as he pushed it back, a discordant sound that struck me with alarm. Whatever his next move was going to be, I wouldn't like it. He stood, still staring beyond me.

He was staring at Jen. I couldn't tell from this angle, but somehow I knew he was.

"Empty words, Carth, restrained as you are," he murmured, as he walked around the table. Around me, and towards the Force cages. A bitter laugh dropped from his thin lips as he brushed close, and one hand rested gently on my shoulder.

Like a friend, offering comfort.

Like the last four years had never happened.

I growled in hot reaction, jerking away, lashing out with my feet – but they were tightly fettered to the chair legs, and the chair itself was bolted to the durasteel floor. There was no give, no movement to be found. All I accomplished were mild skin burns and a mounting exhaustion.

"If it's any consolation, Carth, you are an insignificant part of all of this." His voice was bland and unemotional. He could have been talking about the blasted weather. I hated him all the more for that. "I am genuine in my offer of a clean death. Your companions will not be granted the same egress."

Torture. The word slipped through my mind, a lightning strike of horror cutting through the seething hate.

Jen had been convinced it would happen to Bastila in Sith hands. Hurt someone hard enough, and long enough, and they'll do anything to stop the pain. But there was motive to torture Bastila, to turn her, to misuse her gifts. For the rest of us-

This happened to Jen on Deralia simply because she is a Force-sensitive. This is what the Sith do.

Jen had barely survived, last time. It was a mercy she had no recollection of the suffering inflicted upon her by Darth Revan's forces, but it was the reason behind her mind-damage. The thought of the same happening to Jen a second time rekindled my blistering rage into nothing more than a primal need to pummel Saul into a bloody, broken mess.

"You- you complete bastard!" I thundered, barely feeling the skin of my wrists tear as I wrenched violently at the restraints. "How do you sleep at night? How do you justify torture to yourself?"

"I don't," he snapped, and he slung his head back around to face me. There was anger in his grey eyes - hypocritical and unjust considering all he was responsible for. His mouth twisted in a sneer. "This isn't what I believed in, Carth. This isn't what I agreed to. The Force- it turns them all insane; into sadistic, perverted shells of what they once were. Malak, Talvon, and even Revan."

His voice dropped in volume on the last words, grown hoarse and husky. And, again, his gaze moved to Jen. There was something akin to fascination in his expression, and the feeling of unease crawled over my skin, undercutting the blazing anger owning me.

I've got to do something. I've got to-

"Damn you, Saul! You lot already have Bastila Shan. But Jen- the others- they're not important. They don't deserve this, they're not-"

His hand dug deep into my shoulder, and the harsh sound that escaped him was a dark mockery of a laugh; discordant and guttural and broken.

"Of course you don't know the truth. I didn't think so. Your presence here wouldn't make any sense otherwise."

Saul removed his palm then, but my neck was still craned sideways, glaring at him, inwardly vowing that somehow he would met his end today, in this very room.

Even if I couldn't see how. Maybe- keep him talking- and bank on Yudan Rosh of all people coming through for Jen. Or, whatever Jen had planned with the droids in the cargo bay-

I won't die. I'm not going to take the coward's way out, and leave the others behind. If Jen's shown me anything, it's that there's always room for hope, for another solution to present itself.

I didn't know what Saul's enigmatic words meant, and I didn't care, not when he started walking ever so casually to the middle cage, the one holding Jen prone as she slumped forward, linked flexisteel belts fastening her arms to her side and her body to the conductive pillar.

They'd even removed her shoes, I realized with an absent sort of horror. Her bare toes seemed completely out of place on the chrome floor. Her hands were barely visible, I could only see the edges of two knuckles – curled into tight fists strapped to her thighs under a belt restraint, as if she were seething with anger even in her unconscious state.

The static of a golden prism enveloped her. They used to employ old-fashioned torture cages and neural disruptors for enemy Force-sensitives, before someone had invented the technology behind Force cages near the close of the Mandalorian Wars. I didn't know how the tech worked, but the end result was a prisoner completely unable to use the Force. And the central pillar they were strapped to could carry an electric current or inject meds as per the warped desires of the jerk behind the controlling console.

"She doesn't look like much, here," Saul commented. It sounded like he was speaking to himself, like he'd forgotten I was even in the room. And through the black tar of my hate, the uneasy confusion grew. Why was Saul so interested in Jen?

How in the Outer Rim could I get him to stay away from her?

"It seems strange, after all this time, that she was brought in by Yudan Rosh." Saul had never been one for lengthy disquisitions. Short and to the point was his style. Or had been. "You didn't realize he was on your ship either, did you Carth?"

No. And Jolee's slumped presence on Jen's left meant he'd been betrayed – obviously from that black-hearted villain Jen had gambled on.

Saul sighed. "You're a good man, Carth, and it's a shame you were dragged into this. They all turn on each other in the end. Revan's Guard of Twelve." His voice dropped, a cruel note twisting it. "To think, how many of them were taken out by their own. I truly thought it was going to be great, you know. A better galaxy. A stronger one."

Maybe, maybe, that was regret underlying his bitterness. I didn't care. So what if the insanity of the Dark Jedi finally opened his eyes? The bastard has killed too many for any sort of redemption.

"I wonder, Carth, if I should enlighten you to the truth before I grant your death." His voice switched back to the bland, neutral tone of earlier, and for some reason that fanned the flames of my black fury.

"You can take your clean death, Saul, and shove it where the stars don't shine!"

Saul gave a dismissive snort of disgust. "You could never view events through a logical frame. Always, your emotion and empathy gets the better of you. I suppose it would be a shame for your trust, once more, to be broken." He'd turned back to face me, impassive and cold as his flinty stare held mine. My enmity burned as I glared back, taking in the grey complexion of his face, the deep inset lines around his mouth. He looked old. "But there is no such thing as trust, not in this galaxy. As for your precious Jen Sahara-"

A racking cough from behind shocked him into silence. My gaze swung, once more, to Jen.

Her eyes opened, misted and cloudy from the dreams of unconsciousness, before settling on me. My breath stuck in my throat. She blinked once. Twice.

Saul spun around, and I knew his attention was once more fixated on her.

"Carth," Jen whispered.

Saul took a step closer, and then her gaze narrowed, hardened, and shifted to him.

"You've had enough sedation to knock out a rancor," Saul mused softly. "It's never easy to calculate the correct dosage on powerful Force users. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you've woken. You always did manage to defeat the odds, didn't you?"

Jen said nothing. I said nothing. And I heard a rough gust of air release from Saul's lungs. "Kylah says you have no memory from the past. It doesn't seem possible, but then neither does your capture. Tell me, is it true?"

Jen's gaze slipped from Saul's to meet my horrified one. My neck was beginning to pinch with pain at the awkward way I was craning it. There was a flicker of emotion on Jen's face as she looked at me – relief, maybe, although there was no perceivable reason for her to feel that – and then she glanced upwards, eyes roving around the circular crackle of energy that stopped her from using the Force.

I had no way to disable such a device, but still, I felt the small flame of faith deep within my fear. Jen could always defeat the odds.

That's exactly what Saul just said about her.

My uneasiness grew into an edgy disquiet. The perils of our situation meant I hadn't been following the conversation intently, but one thing was becoming abundantly clear – Saul had known Jen, once upon a time. She didn't express any sort of recognition in return, but he knew her.

Had he been on Deralia, maybe, when she was captured?

That idea – that Saul may have been involved in what happened to her – was even more horrifying.

"There was one of these on Korriban," Jen murmured. I didn't understand what she meant, at first, but she appeared riveted by the amber prism that enclosed her restrained form. She's trying to take stock of her environment, look for a way to escape. "A Force cage."

"Yes. It's technology we stole from the Fett," Saul said. There was a sharp edge to his voice, as if he didn't appreciate her ignoring him. My stomach twisted as Saul took yet another step closer, but Jen kept her gaze averted. "If your mind-wipe really is truth, then I suppose you won't recall. The Fett had portable Force-inhibiting devices that gave them an advantage against Force-sensitives. When we finally got our hands on one, we incorporated the science behind it into prisons that could incapacitate any Jedi we captured. Neural disruptors, after all, are challenging to mass-produce with the specialized crystals they require."

did he say mind-wipe?

"They stop the Force from being used within a small radius," Jen said, her voice soft and almost wondering. "They generate a repelling effect on the connections within the fabric of the Force itself, but it takes an awful lot of power to run. There's no real way to counter it. Not unless you held some sort of Force amplifier."

Beneath the restraint that pinned her body to the pillar, I saw her fists clench in what I could only assume to be futile anger.

She didn't look angry.

"Who put me in this cage?" Jen whispered. She was looking at Saul, now. "Tell me, who should I thank when I get out of here?"

At that, Saul laughed. It was a hollow sound that echoed throughout the grotesquely coloured room. "Your overconfidence remains, I see. Even with your mind broken and painted over." He cleared his throat. "Kylah Aramai and Yudan Rosh restrained the lot of you, and my second double-checked the restraints, the cages - everything. I'm afraid there's no escape for you here."

A piercing siren cut through the charged atmosphere. It made me aware of another, higher pitched alarm that had been wailing faintly in the distance since I'd woken.

"Isn't your ship under attack?" Jen asked. I saw her brows lower in concentration, as the louder siren abruptly ceased. There was an intent, calculating look in Jen's eyes, like she believed she held all the flip-cards. Her lips twisted in a smirk. "Let me guess, someone relieved you of command? Tut tut. What did you do?"

I could feel my heart thumping. I could feel my confusion being overshadowed with a sinister foreboding. I'd thought the showdown would be between Saul and me – but he was wholly focused on Jen.

Despite our history, despite the years we had worked together, despite his betrayal of me and my entire planet.

And the awareness that Jen was more important to him – for some reason - stoked the fear churning in my gut. He'd offered me a quick death. He'd already said that same wasn't available for my companions… and now I realized he was specifically meaning Jen. But why?

Who, exactly, is Jen Sahara to Admiral Saul Karath of the Sith Empire?

"I was foolish enough to follow a Force-user," Saul replied. He took another step. "You're not as broken as we thought, are you?"

"No," she whispered, and her eyes dropped closed.

And a flare of scarlet gleamed beneath a belt restraint, from one clenched fist.

There was a buzz of visible static, then, enveloping her limb. Saul grunted in surprise, and suddenly Jen was covered in a cocoon of blazing shards of red lightning, her mouth dropping open in a scream-

"Jen!" I yelled in fright. Saul ran forward, just as the metal restraints pinning Jen ripped free from her body, and all three amber forcefields fizzled into nothingness.

There was a blaster in Saul's grasp, pointed directly at her.

"No! Saul, stop! Don't do it!" I screamed.

Saul fired.

The next events happened in breakneck motion.

Jen jerked sideways as the blaster bolt spat against the pillar of the Force cage. Something red dropped from her hand as she lifted it; there was a whistling blur through the room, and a metal object slammed into her grasp.

I didn't recognize it as Saul's gun until a retaliatory shot was discharged.

Jen stumbled forward into a crouch, dumping the blaster to the ground as she caught herself on her primary hand.

Saul fell back with a thump. My stupefied gaze was transfixed on his chest. He'd only been wearing an officer's uniform – no armour, no activated energy shield - and the beige material of his shirt was black and smouldering around the edges of melted flesh. The bolt had caught him in the centre of his torso.

Saul Karath was dead.

I swung back to Jen. She'd pushed herself into a sitting position, one limb tucked into her chest, and the other outstretched, calling a small object to her. It glowed a scarlet red as it floated from the ground into her palm. That's what she had earlier, I realized numbly. That's what flared in her fist inside the cage.

Slowly, I tried to scrabble my thoughts into a semblance of order. Saul is dead. Jen killed Saul. It didn't seem real, or possible. I had to double-check his body. I had to get free. And Jen only appeared interested in scrutinizing the thing that must have had something to do with her escape-

"Jen," I rasped, swallowing back the dryness in my throat. "What- what is that?"

She'd done something back on the 'Hawk, in the cargo bay with the droids. Could they have slipped her something, something the guards hadn't found on her person?

Her moss-green eyes shot to mine, and they were clouded with bewilderment. "I think… I think, maybe, it's the redressing of an old debt." And with those whispered, enigmatic words, her shoulders slumped and she fell forward.

"Jen- Jen, you have to get up!" I cried out. My arms were pinned, my legs restrained, and Jolee and Juhani were both still out. If Jen drifted back into unconsciousness, we were just as damned as if she'd never escaped. "You've got to get me out- Jen, you can't collapse on me now!"

My fears were unfounded. She raised a wavering hand from the ground, and I heard a mechanical hiss as the restraints pinning my wrists together snapped open. A second later, the cuffs around my ankles followed suit.

For a moment, I was struck with the sense of awe at how easy that was to her – even while she was injured, exhausted and likely still feeling the after-effects of sedation. The depth of power at her fingertips had been growing with each step of our journey since Taris, and now seemed immeasurable.

And then, I shot to my feet and stumbled towards her.

"Jen," I whispered, pulling her upright. She moaned in discomfort, before slumping against me.

"Carth," she muttered against my chest. I could feel her shaking, ever so slightly. I closed my eyes, unable to make sense of anything anymore.

And as the sirens wailed around us in discordant harmony, we clutched at each other for a brief moment of respite. Her tousled head was tucked under my chin, her arms tight around my waist, and I took a moment to breathe in the sharp relief of having her once more safe in my arms.

Yet, somehow, I had the ominous feeling that the worst was yet to come.

xXx

Kavar Kira:

"Kavar! Kavar, I would have a word with you, now!"

The temptation to keep walking was strong. A brown-clad Padawan stared in askance behind me, at the shrill voice that hollered for my attention. Atris Surik was well-known in the Jedi High Temple for being icily composed, and shrieking like a commoner in a produce market was probably a new look for her.

I should face her. If I slip away without letting her unleash her wrath, she'll likely track Zez-Kai down. And he'll just apologise and make excuses and tell her every blasted thing that was said in the meeting.

Suppressing an inward sigh, I stopped striding along the Temple's courtyard and slowly turned around.

Atris was a sight to behold, having donned an outfit of ivory busk-leather that held the shimmer of cortosis weave about it. While simple in cut and design, it had an elegance and striking appearance that set her apart from most Jedi Masters, who tended towards the nondescript, even after shedding their Knight robes. She spends so much time around her Echani handmaidens that she's turning into one. There were three of them trailing her, hair like snow and eyes like ice, silent silver wraiths with wooden poles strapped to their backs. An honour guard to the queen of white.

"How dare you, Kavar? How dare you?"

It was pointless and immature to pretend I didn't understand. "I'm sorry, Atris, is there a problem?"

I could see the moment her outrage turned frigid. Long had Atris held firm to the mandate of controlling one's emotions, but I always believed she suppressed them rather than rose above them. "You play the fool, Kavar, the way it has always amused you to do so," she returned, and her voice dropped in both tone and temperature. The three Echani stood behind her, impassive and unseeing, warrior clones of one another. "But I know well who was behind this assembly, and I shall not stand for the insult of being overlooked. I have sat upon the High Council for years longer than you. You have no right to exclude me from an emergency conclave. I, who know more than any Master the truth of current events!"

"Yes, Atris, you do," I growled, my equanimity slipping, as it always did around her. "A shame you saw fit to share it with the Senate before the Jedi, isn't it? You can't expect me to believe you are confused over why we elected to discuss matters without your presence?"

There was a flicker across her face, like she was holding back a sneer beneath a mask of detachment.

Let it go, Kavar. She isn't worth your anger. The Jedi Code is more than just words. I sighed. "I don't deny the Senate had to be informed, Atris. None of us deny that. But to find out that…" I trailed off, my gaze slipping to the three guards standing to attention behind her, all within earshot. The closest one was slightly shorter, slightly less identical, than the other two. "To find out that she is still alive in the midst of a dressing down from the highest ranking senators in the Core was a slap in the face to us all. You should have told us."

My words didn't touch her. I couldn't detect the slightest hint of remorse, nor even a smidge of uncertainty. No indication that she even considered her action may have been the wrong one.

"And risk the High Council hiding the truth of Dantooine's betrayal?"

"Huh." She's lost all her trust in us. I wonder, does she even see herself as one of us anymore? "I see it more as an act of desperation than betrayal, Atris. But you should have believed in the High Council. We would not, do not, condone the actions nor the secrecy of the Dantooine Council. This is a war against the Sith, against the Dark Side itself. Of course we would have involved the Senate. The last thing we need is to be at odds with the Republic."

"And that, is exactly why I told them." Her face was still and carved from ferracrete. "The Jedi need the Republic, Kavar, and you are a fool if you don't perceive how much. If you think they don't hold us accountable for unleashing Darth Revan and Darth Malak upon them, then you are blinder than a shyrack."

"Name-calling, Atris?" I raised an eyebrow, but her expression didn't change. "The Jedi work with the Force. Our interest is the harmony and balance of the Force, not appeasing the Republic. The way you are talking, you remind me of the very one you are set out to destroy-"

"Don't you dare make that comparison, Kavar!" she hissed, and the fire flashed in her eyes before she visibly forced it back down again. "I am an agent of peace, always! I never counselled direct action by the Jedi, but you were certainly tempted once, weren't you?"

Oh, that one hit below the belt. Funny, how our conversations always seemed to devolve into a dung-slinging match. I blamed it on the Force's odd sense of humour, constantly throwing together two Jedi Masters who failed to see eye-to-eye on any topic ranging from the true meaning of the Jedi Code to the interpretation of Coruscanti's five-day weather forecast.

Well, I couldn't deny she was right. Atris beheld an acidic pleasure in dredging up the past, but I had been tempted. I'd thought, then, I'd made the correct decision in turning away.

But my certainty began to erode many years ago, and now it was barely more than a token effort held up to others. I could still recall, so vividly, the day that offer had been first suggested, from one that had meant so much to me.

"Em," I said in greeting, walking forward to embrace my old Padawan. Sometimes, I still saw her as the charming girl she had once been, always free with her smiles and gentle with her words. She was a younger, golden version of her half-sister; warm instead of ice and considering instead of judgmental. In essence, she was simply one of those sentients everyone felt better for being around.

But Meetra Surik had not been a child nor my Padawan for over a decade, now.

"Master Kavar," she murmured, pulling back to give me a sweet smile. "Thank you for coming at such short notice."

"Always," I replied. "But I must confess my confusion at your presence, here on the front-lines. I'm sure I don't need to remind you of the Order's decree on non-interference."

"I am not the only one here, Master." Her blue gaze was serious.

I felt my heart turn heavy. I was afraid of that. For a full year, I had avoided Knights Revan Freeflight and Malak Devari as they travelled deep into the Outer Rim with Republic reconnaissance troops, testing the might of the growing Mandalorian threat. Gathering intel first-hand instead of trusting the High Council to disseminate what information was required amongst the Order.

When Revan and Malak returned to Coruscant, I had hoped that would be the end of it. My ties to the resisting Onderonites held me here, thick in the Republic war effort – but I was also a Jedi Master, and to a large extent could find ways to circumvent a direct edict from the Council.

And could be trusted to withdraw from conflict, when necessary.

They were raised too swiftly to full Knights. I don't know what Karon or Zhar was thinking, testing them so soon. Raw power alone does not make a steady Knight, and without the impediment of reporting to a Master, of course Revan would run off half-cocked at the first glimpse of adventure.

And Meetra Surik, my empathic ex-apprentice, was just another powerful Jedi Knight under Revan Freeflight's thrall.

"Em, it is dangerous for Jedi to be involved directly in combat. Our connection to the Force enables us a unique perspective to counsel and mediate. Once we turn it into a weapon against our enemies, it forces us along a slippery path that is difficult to turn back from."

"And yet, here you stand," she said simply. There was a core of steel resolution in her words. Too many wrote Meetra Surik off as a soft-spoken hood-mouse, a Jedi suited for nothing beyond the placating of younglings and the guardianship of the Archives.

"I have diplomatic obligations to the Onderon front, Em." I tried to wedge a rebuke in my tone, but it did not appear to shake her composure in the slightest. "And these will be complete within the week. I shall be returning to Coruscant. Come with me."

Meetra's eyes widened. "You are leaving the Wars?"

"For now, I must. It is not idle words when I say that bloodshed affects one's soul, Em. The damage is amplified for Force-sensitives." We said it over and over again. And yet some in each new generation thought they were immune.

"I understand that, Master, I do. But inaction against grievous wrong can be just as damaging." There was a shine of conviction about her, as if she beheld a vision of a perfect future that her involvement in the Mandalorian Wars would somehow make a reality. "It is not the path I can take any longer."

I could feel my lips thin. "Are they your words, or Revan's?"

"My will is my own," she retorted, folding her arms. "I respect and admire Revan, but I would not follow her if I did not also agree with her."

I sighed. Meetra was a child of peace. She'd barely been more than a tot when Exar Kun fell. "Em, you have no idea of the bloody truth of warfare."

"Perhaps not, but Revan and Malak do."

I tried not to let my teeth clench, as I couldn't entirely refute that. The year in the depths of the Outer Rim would have taught the two troublemakers something about the Mandalorian campaign. And before that- well, Karon Enova had always been a nomad and Zhar Lestin followed her lead. They were both gentle souls, but their wandering ways often landed them right in the thick of hotspots or local skirmishes, regardless of any Padawans they had in tow.

Even in a galaxy enjoying decades of peace after Kun's fall, there was still conflict to be found. And, somehow, Revan Freeflight always seemed to find it, even when she was no more than a curious Padawan new to the galaxy, equipped only with a sharp mind and a fistful of potential.

"So, the trio of you plan to rush in and save the Republic?" I could hear the disbelief in my voice. "Em, can you not see how hopelessly romantic that sounds?"

A musical laugh escaped her, and her eyes crinkled with amusement. "I think your idea of romance and mine might differ somewhat, Master." Meetra's idle comment roused an uncomfortable thought of her with some other Knight the same age, perhaps that intense Twi'lek who shadowed Revan around. Attachments were forbidden amongst the Jedi, ever since the fall-out surrounding Arren Kae's secret family and subsequent exile, but if Revan and Malak could openly flout the Council, then what was to stop their friends-

"And it is not just us three, Kavar," she continued. She reached out with one hand, clasping my forearm gently. Her fingers were warm. "There are thirteen of us, talking with the Fleet brass, seeing how we can assist. And many, many more have expressed a desire to follow."

"To follow Revan Freeflight," I said flatly.

"No." Her voice was a gentle whisper, and her hand retreated. I felt the imprint of her clasp still, gently encircling my wrist. "We were hoping you would lead us."

I was tempted. Despite myself, I allowed Meetra to persuade me to talk with Revan. Oh, Revan was powerful and quick-witted and charismatic indeed. And convinced that she required a Master to legitimize her truancy from the Order.

I'd walked away, in the end. Begged Meetra to follow, and held onto the hope she would.

But she did not.

Atris always blamed me for not returning her beloved younger sister back to the Jedi fold. And that emotion burgeoned into deeply buried enmity after the events at Malachor.

There was word that Revan and Malak returned after Malachor, to visit the Dantooine Enclave, flaunting their victory to the Jedi there before they vanished for months. When they reappeared as self-proclaimed Sith Lords, I was not wholly surprised.

From the moment Karon Enova brought the two of them to Coruscant, I had always suspected the Dark Side would overshadow their destiny. They were found so late in life, their power so staggering, their emotional attachment so entrenched- the odds were against them from the start, really.

After her rebirth as Lord of the Sith, Revan and her fallen Jedi began a campaign of attrition on the planets who had once idolized her as a saviour, and revered the Jedi Thirteen as their heroes.

But there were two who didn't follow, two who returned to Coruscant, unnoticed and unseen by the galactic stage.

Two who were judged by us, the High Council.

Xaset Terep was in such spiritual torment that he barely said a word. I couldn't feel him or Meetra in the Force at all, just a void of nothingness where two bodies stood and spoke and breathed. But Meetra's spirit still held firm, even against the fires of condemnation from the High Council. Even against the bitter recriminations of her elder half-sister.

I only remembered snippets of that awful day of judgement.

Zez-Kai, sad and weary at the thought of so many fallen. "Revan and Malak go to war with the Republic itself. This is the evil you both bought into, the day you elected to leave Coruscant and follow Revan Freeflight into war."

Vrook, on placement from Dantooine, as disapproving as ever. "You have both been corrupted by years of engagement with warfare; engagement that we directly forbade. You cannot be sensed in the Force itself anymore, as if it has departed you in justice for your actions."

Atris, throwing verbal daggers at her half-sister. "The only reason you stand before us now is because you have not the power to follow Revan any longer. Otherwise you would be calling her master."

Lonna, implacable with her final judgment. "You are exiled, and you are a Jedi no longer."

There were other words, and other speakers, and I knew not what I had said, only that I judged her too.

But Meetra's final words never left me. She was calm and sure, despite the deep weariness etched into her beloved countenance. Her strength of character was bruised and bloodied, but not defeated. "I stood against the Mandalorians as a guardian for the innocents they were slaughtering in the name of conquest and expansion. I followed Revan then, because I believed in her. But even Revan understood she required the guidance of a Master of the Force." And her gaze slipped to mine. It didn't blame, no; rather there was a sadness in the depths of blue, as if she dreamed for what might-have-been. "I would not follow Revan's way now, had I the Force still within me. But I would do the rest all over again, and call it the correct path."

And she left us then, forever, Xaset trailing silently in her wake. And they disappeared into space.

They left as Force-blind sentients, and there was every chance they'd met an anonymous death somewhere out there amongst billions.

The Republic remembered Xaset Terep and Meetra Surik only as their Jedi heroes who had never turned on them, never fallen to the darkness that Revan Freeflight unleashed upon the galaxy.

"But I would do the rest all over again, and call it the correct path."

We labelled her final words pride, an unwillingness to confess accountability, to repent or show humility.

But that had never been the Meetra Surik I had known. She wasn't overly proud. She was wise beyond her years, considering and thoughtful- and if she still thought she was right, after Malachor, then why had I never stopped to consider that she actually might be?

Why had I never taken her assessment of Revan Freeflight seriously, and considered re-evaluating my own snap judgment?

I'd always credited Revan for her conviction, but thought it tarnished with a self-serving arrogance. But what if she truly desired my counsel as a tempering voice rather than a pretext for Order approval?

What if Revan had first gone to war because she actually cared, rather than as an outlet to advertise her depth of power and bask in the adulation of billions?

For I'd assumed the years of Jedi fawning over Revan's power must have turned her conceited, eager to stretch her wings and show off to the galaxy. Revan's breathless audacity at not only flouting the High Council, but also recruiting so many Jedi to join her, smacked of narcissism coated in a fake veneer of heroism.

But Meetra Surik was not the sort of woman to follow a leader like that. And I should have realized it a long time ago. Even after all Meetra had done under Revan's command - even after losing the Force because of it - she still stood up to the High Council and defended Revan Freeflight, while simultaneously condemning the Sith Lord she became.

What if I had elected to stay, to lead the Jedi Thirteen directly?

The thought was both bitter and devastating.

"Your attention is wandering, Kavar," Atris spoke, shattering through my reverie. "I'll take your silence as an admission of culpability."

Atris, a cold mirror of her half-sister, had never liked me since the day I'd become Meetra's Master. And after Em stepped up as one of Revan's top generals, we'd barely been able to avoid the sort of arguments that the both of us, as Jedi Masters, should really be above.

But, well. Too many other Jedi let Atris Surik stomp all over them. Someone needs to be a balancing force.

"I'm sure you'll do what you want, regardless," I retorted. "But know this, Atris. The day you decided the Republic Senate trumped the High Council, was the day you showed where your true allegiance lies."

"I am a Jedi," she countered frostily. "My truth is the Force, always. But we cannot bring about the peace and order we desire without senatorial engagement. If any of you ever bothered to step down from your lofty heights and engage with the politics of the real people out there, then you would see just how far the Jedi Order has slipped in status and standing."

It was hard to suppress the urge to roll my eyes at that. So I didn't bother. "Status and standing should not be the concerns of a Jedi Master-"

"Face reality, Kavar," she cut in over me. "The billions out there, all they see is us hiding criminals like Ulic Qel-Droma from justice, and then training a new generation where half of them turn into monsters. And you know well what Dantooine would elect to do with her, should she actually survive."

I snorted. That was making some pretty large assumptions. We are not the Dantooine Council, and they are subject to our decree. "From all accounts, she is not even the person she once was-"

"And that makes it acceptable for her to evade justice?" The breath whistled from her lungs. "So all we require is a little brain damage and repentance, and suddenly we can forget mass slaughter and depravity-"

"You are putting words in my mouth, Atris," I growled. I've had enough of this. I can only take so much of Atris before I want to go crack my head against a ferracrete wall. "You assume the actions of the High Council, and then denounce the whole of us in favour of politicians."

"Well." Her voice was as sharp as ever, and frigid with ice. Her and Em were as different as the seasons. "I see we shall not agree on this. But I hold a seat on the High Council, Kavar." Her eyes narrowed. "You shall not omit me again."

"As you will, Atris." I breathed in, and prepared my parting shot. "But if you continue to put your loyalty to the Republic Senate above your loyalty to the Jedi Order, then you have a lot more in common with Revan Freeflight than you realize."

She looked as if I'd slapped her. The Handmaiden - the slightly shorter one – flinched. I made a mental note to scold myself later for the warm satisfaction I was feeling, and turned on my heel to walk away.

xXx

Vrook Lamar:

"Their subsidiary reactor is down," Commodore Tar'coya slurred, pausing only to shoot me a suspicious glare. He didn't like Jedi, and he didn't like humans. "Hull shield's gone, but their squads are swarming all over it. The fact they haven't shot into hyperspace yet means they haven't been able to recover the drive."

"Keep the pressure on the hyperdrive and the secondary hull shield generator," Admiral Dodonna ordered to the worker behind her. Green and red specks swarmed like bugs through the enlarged holo-map, as busy as the comm techs on the consoles that encircled us.

"Good to see you here, it is," Vandar murmured, hobbling closer. It'd taken longer than it should have, to navigate the halls of the Meridus and gain access to the bridge. Even when I'd first docked my scoutship in a landing bay of the giant heavy cruiser, I'd had a damn Ensign "suggest" I go to a set of assigned quarters for a "nap".

It'd been hard not to mind trick my way straight here. Politics and showmanship. Ah, but the blasted Republic brass don't think much of us these days, do they?

And how could I blame them, really? We should never have trained Revan and Malak. Better to have left them to their non-Force life on that forgotten Outer Rim planet, where the most damage they could have done would've been forgotten beyond the walls of a city that the galaxy cared nothing for.

But Karon Enova had always been soft-hearted, even as a kid, and Zhar Lestin was just the same. 'Had' been just the same. Zhar is one with the Force now, same as Karon. We might not have seen eye-to-eye, but I couldn't deny Zhar's death grieved me. In some ways, I believed Karon and Zhar had made the perfect Jedi Masters – at least, in a galaxy bereft of villains and greed and wrong-doing.

In the real world we had instead, their unending empathy and forgiveness had hindered their outlook on reality. Too often, it just led them into the wrong decisions.

"Phi Eight has auxiliary damage and is returning home. Phi Four is down," a tech muttered in the background. "Bogey squad six has been eliminated in totality."

"That's another enemy squad gone," Tar'coya said in evident satisfaction. "We've had no more signs of stealthed snubs since that first squad. Karath's losing this one, Forn. We've got him, it's just a matter of time."

Dodonna said nothing in response, but there was a gleam in her steely gaze that suggested she agreed with Tar'coya's assessment.

"So, the 'Hawk is captured," I muttered, staring back to the holo-map. Dodonna was too busy to brief me, and Tar'coya too resentful. "And without an avenue of escape for the Leviathan to run to, this is shaping up to be a victory for us."

"For the crew of the Ebon Hawk, it is dark times," Vandar murmured. He did sometimes have a penchant for stating the obvious. "I hold onto hope."

I said nothing. Freshly risen Jedi Knight Juhani was onboard, her misplaced loyalty sending her down the same route it had so many others. She'd surprised me, with her steel and courage when she faced us in Rwookrrorro. Her trials away from the Order had seen her grow into a formidable young Jedi.

And she laid part of that on Revan's influence.

Ach, I never liked the woman. And I could admit, in the privacy of my own head, that some of it was irrational and personal. Revan was the spitting image of someone I'd known and cared for a lifetime ago, but her personality was the complete opposite. Outspoken, overconfident, and far too damn powerful.

It would be better, for everyone, if the Leviathan faltered with the Ebon Hawk still onboard.

I'd been against the damn fool plan from the start. Even having faith in Galdea and Vima's expertise at occluding what was left of Revan's mind, I'd still seen risks and little benefit. Mining the dreams of a broken, amnesiac Sith Lord was the act of the desperate – and while I could concede that desperate might very well describe our position in the war, it had galled me that no one else seemed to take the inherent dangers to Bastila at all seriously.

Bastila. She was a good Jedi. She worked hard, she was principled, and she didn't take her gifts for granted. I cursed myself for not going on the Endar Spire, with her. But Bastila was a heavily experienced Padawan, and used to travelling with other Masters, given the need for her Battle Meditation.

I'd hated that. Shipping her out to Kester and Galdea and Kavar, sending her into war so our troops could lean on her emerging Battle Meditation. Bastila should have been spending her years at the Enclave, preparing for the Knight Trials I should have approved earlier - not being dragged from pillar to post as the last advantage our side could scrape together against the wrath of Darth Revan.

But, in that regard, Bastila had known her own mind. She was in many ways a biddable Padawan, but she had a fierce understanding of right and wrong. And for all of Bastila's self-doubts, she did not shy away from what scared her.

"Even now you can still pull out, Bastila," I said, hearing the gruffness in my voice. I didn't like being at odds with the Dantooine Council. But everyone, it seemed, saw wisdom in this foolish mission that I did not. "We have enough to go on for now. You don't need to travel to Tatooine as well."

"Master Galdea believes it prudent for me to be nearby," Bastila commented, looking up from the data-book she was scanning. It had something garbled about dream interpretation on the chapter title. "He wishes to know immediately when I experience anything through the mind-link."

I grunted in mild annoyance. Jedi did not kill their prisoners, and above all we respected the sanctity of life. But everything would have been a damn sight easier if my Padawan had just left that cursed Sith Lord dying on the deck of the Nexus. "Did you intercept anything last night?"

"No, Master." She shook her head faintly. There were smudges of tiredness under her eyes. I didn't believe my gifted Padawan had slept more than an hour straight since she'd stuffed Darth Revan into a space-worthy escape pod and fled the Deralian sector. "Her dreams have been quiet of late."

I couldn't help but feel that was a good thing, even if I was the only one.

Ever since Bastila's vision had precipitated Nemo's discovery of the Dantooine Star Map, every Master involved suddenly had an appreciation for Bastila's unlikely Force-bond – and how it could be exploited to excavate the secrets of Revan's shattered mind.

And the need to push and use Bastila had grown.

The whole damn mess was turning her into nothing more than a tool to be used. And Bastila, highly-principled as she was, would accept this for the greater good.

I cleared my throat. "Stay on the Endar Spire. You don't need to land on Tatooine yourself."

She blinked, before nodding in acquiescence. "Yes, Master. I believe Master Galdea's intention is to send down a small scoutship to the desert planet, and investigate from there. I will stay behind on the Endar Spire with Knights Seris and Kylah. And- and so shall Jen Sahara."

I could feel a grumble of discontent wanting to rise from my chest. Since the day Nemo had returned with the Rakatan data, our best academics had been researching the four identified planets for clues. While Darth Malak may have overlooked the obvious, he wasn't a floundering idiot. The minute he saw an expedition of Jedi to one of the Star Map planets, he would start to wonder if the Rakatan knowledge was unearthed.

The Endar Spire was a sizeable vessel, armoured and battle-worthy, and its cover story as a Republic warship meant it could be called into nearby skirmishes – with the dual benefit of Bastila's gift being available while Galdea kept the secret mission on track.

I'd argued for greater stealth. A small squad of Jedi, led by Galdea, travelling anonymously in a scoutship or freighter rather than a cruiser that wasn't exactly easy to hide in space-

But, again, I'd been out-voted. I was getting sick of that.

And now Bastila was one day away from leaving to the first step in the journey Revan and Malak once took.

Huh. Well, at least we've got a solid lead on Tatooine. Treasure-seekers and big-game hunters were prevalent on that desert trap, and it was common for them to transcribe their adventures. We'd found reports of a pair of Force-users leading a krayt dragon hunt there three years ago, that had culminated into a discovery of an ancient cave structure a desert tracker had logged about.

Nothing for the other planets. Nemo was inveigling himself with the officious Republic Embassy on Manaan, but what he really need to do was find a Selkath geologist or historian who knew the planet. As for Kashyyyk and Korriban – well. No wonder the others wanted to employ Bastila's Force-bond. We had little else to go on, and what was the risk to a gifted Padawan when balanced with the outcome of a war we were losing?

Dammit. I felt like cursing to the stars. Sacrifice was part of being a Jedi, but Bastila was so sheltered in some ways, so young-

I harrumphed, well aware it made me sound like a crochety old man. "You are sure, then, that this is what you want to do?"

She was frowning, but gave me a quick nod. "It is what I need to do, Master. And I have faith in Knight Vima and Master Galdea. She- she exhibits no sign at all of her past."

"Except when she dreams," I grumbled. Galdea said that was normal. Vima said her consciousness would never recollect a thing, due to the damage she had sustained. I could only see the disastrous consequences if they turned out to be wrong.

And the ethical blurriness. Let's face it, old man, if this wasn't Darth Revan whose mind they were scrambling, you'd be a lot louder about the moral ambiguity of stripping someone's personality away and replacing it with another - all in the name of the greater good.

Ach, but I'd never liked the woman.

"I- well, yes." Even after all these years at Dantooine, Bastila still retained a polished accent from her Talravinian beginnings. "But of course that is to our advantage. We can only hope we do not require it."

I gave her a curt nod of acknowledgement. I could see fear in her eyes - fear of the unknown, fear of the wretched woman bonded to her - but Bastila still had the gumption to face down her fear. Truly, she was ready for her trials, if only the blasted Wars would stop interfering.

"There is one thing that bothers me, Master," she added quietly, her braided hair swinging as her head drooped. "I wish I could enlighten Kylah. She does not appreciate being left in the dark."

"There are too many involved already," I warned. "The more who learn, the less of a secret it becomes."

"I- yes. But I believe she feels slighted, perhaps, that there is information being withheld from her and not me, despite her rank." There was a tense note to my Padawan's voice that surprised me. I wasn't sure if it was concern or irritation toward her friend. Kylah Aramai had always been protective of Bastila, and I hadn't minded that, truly. She was more experienced and worldly, and seemed to appreciate that many would see Bastila as no more than her Battle Meditation.

I felt my brows rising. "There are other Knights travelling with you as well, Padawan. And, yet, only yourself and Galdea know the full extent of our mission. If Knight Kylah is feeling aggrieved, she should be speaking to a Master, not whining to you."

Bastila blinked. "I- this is speculation on my part, Master, not a retelling of Kylah's words. She means only to protect me."

That was true. Kylah Aramai had done her best to shelter Bastila from the world. As had I. And yet, her Battle Meditation kept shunting her out into the spotlight, again and again.

Young Jedi with vast amounts of power were more at risk to the dangers of the Dark Side. I knew that, and had always vowed Bastila would be as protected as possible, but her gifts had made that a challenging task. Or, more accurately, Revan's fall and the subsequent requirement for Bastila's skills to be utilized made it damn near impossible.

Although I had little common ground with Jedi Knight Kylah Aramai, at least she seemed to have Bastila's best interests at heart.

"Ah, well. Kylah is devoted to you," I said, with a faith I did not quite feel. "Kylah Aramai will keep you safe."

Kylah Aramai. Now there was a fallen Jedi I could not blame on Revan. No, I had been blind to Kylah's faults, and allowed a poisonous friendship to flourish with my Padawan, when she had warmed to few others. In that, I had to take some of the blame for Bastila's current predicament.

"Incoming holo-call from the Leviathan, ma'am!" The breathless words from an excited tech had us all turning. Forn Dodonna strode quickly to the console.

"Put it on speaker," Tar'coya growled. At Dodonna's nod, the tech pressed a button and the stocky image of a female Sullustan filled out the small holo-stand.

She blinked, her attention fixed on Dodonna, as the human Admiral shifted to stand in front of the console.

::I am Commodore Delia, Acting-Commander of the Leviathan. I want- I am requesting an acceptance of the full surrender of our forces, and an immediate cease-fire.:: She looked behind herself nervously, before turning back to stare the holo-cam.

"Acting-Commander?" Dodonna questioned. She was bristling with intensity. "Where is Karath?"

::He has been relieved of duty, ma'- ma'- ma'am.:: The Sullustan's nervous stutter was the braying of a fleece-lamb, naming a bantha its mother in the absence of its own.

"We're tracking an escape pod from the Leviathan, Admiral," a tech three consoles down called out. "Just the one, so it's probably a runner instead of an organized evac."

Dodonna hadn't moved from the transmission. "And who relieved him of duty?" she demanded.

The Sullustan blinked again, her shoulders hitching. ::Please, we know we're losing. There's thousands of men onboard. We are ready to surrender.::

"She doesn't have the authority to make this call," I growled, and Vandar's bright gaze shifted to mine as he nodded in agreement. "She's doing it behind the back of whoever is really in charge."

"What leader of Darth Malak holds command there, Delia?" Dodonna asked, her voice steely with ingrained authority. "I will not contemplate any cessation of combat without speaking to them. Which Dark Jedi is calling the shots?"

::I-I-,:: Commodore Delia swallowed, before lifting her chin and staring straight into the holo-cam. The rebuilding of her composure looked to take a lot of effort. ::I am in command of the Leviathan. There is no one else. Again, I request a cease-fire of hostilities, and negotiations for our immediate surrender.::

Admiral Dodonna leaned forward and cut the connection abruptly.

"There is a time for mercy, and it is not when an underling is trying to save her troops without the accordance of her superior," Tar'coya muttered. "No matter how honourable her intentions are."

"There's at least one of Malak's leaders onboard, probably caught up dealing with the crew of the Ebon Hawk," Dodonna mused. "I would like to know which one. Bandon Stone, Yudan Rosh, Nisotsa Organa… any of their deaths would be a blow to Malak's offensive. His trained generals are few, now – Force-born or military."

"As evidenced by a kid running around as Acting-Commander on a heavy cruiser," I grumbled. I wasn't exactly adept at devising Sullustan age, but Commodore Delia looked to be a sight of a lot younger than Commodore Tar'coya. From the way Tar'coya wasn't glaring at me for vocalizing an opinion, I figured I'd hit the mark pretty well dead-centre.

Dodonna clasped her hands together. "An infinite navy of ships is not insurmountable when it has greenhorns at the helm."

We were losing the war. But Malak's lack of manpower – both skilled starpilots and leading officers -was a potential weakness of his operation. We needed to knock out Malak and his weapons factory first and foremost, but this could be another pressure point to hammer our counter-offensive home further.

"Karath is onboard too, even if he is disgraced," Tar'coya growled, and this time he did shoot me a hot glare. "Or already killed by one of those insane Force-users."

Huh, there was a lot of blame toward us coming from the Fleet. And how much is unwarranted? Two of the three Dark Jedi Dodonna just named were trained by us. Malak was trained by us. And, of course, Revan was too.

This might be her final end, and I could not help but find it fitting.

"Separates us from the Sith, mercy does," Vandar murmured, taking a halting step toward Dodonna. "To take out a leader, you would sacrifice so many?"

"There's more than one leader there, Vandar. And they're all responsible for too many Republic lives." Dodonna sounded sad, which surprised me. Of course, she had fought on Revan's side, once. The loyalty amongst the Fleet towards Revan and her followers had been strong as permacrete, then.

It was a familiar story. The war against Kun had been in my lifetime, and Revan Freeflight's journey was a parallel to Ulic Qel-Droma's. Young, powerful Force-sensitives that have never known the meaning of humility. It all starts with intentions of saving the galaxy, and always ends with damnation. Kun and Qel-Droma may not have caused quite the same scale of destruction, but their actions had ripped the Order apart. And, yet, we hadn't learned enough. Revan should have been curtailed, penned-in, kept within the Temple's walls-

Revan should never have been trained in the first place.

"Press on with the attack," Dodonna ordered, before turning her attention back to the massive holo-map. "Any sight of more escape pods?"

"No, ma'am."

"Any should be followed and destroyed," Tar'coya added. There was a permanent crease of anger over his large black eyes. I saw the same lines when I looked in the mirror. "They might be housing Dark Jedi or Sith officers that could slip through our line and run-"

"We keep the focus on the shields and the stem of the hull," Dodonna interrupted. "I don't want any chance of their hyperdrive becoming operational. Once the Leviathan is destroyed, then we can concern ourselves with escape pods."

"As you say, Admiral." Tar'coya's concession sounded gruff, but he was nodding in agreement. "Although, if they happen to be directly in a snub's sights-"

"Destroy them."

Vandar cleared his throat. "And what of the Ebon Hawk, should she escape?"

Admiral Dodonna turned, once more, to appraise Vandar Tokare. There was a grim set to her features. "That is grasping at renni-grass, Vandar." She sighed, closed her eyes briefly, and then raised her voice in volume to all nearby communication techs. "If the Ebon Hawk is sighted leaving the Leviathan, it cannot be given any chance of escape, not with our interdiction down. One warning, only, for the freighter to dock with the Meridus. If there is the slightest hint of non-compliance, then the Ebon Hawk is to be shot down."

Vandar's shoulders drooped. He believed the will of the Force was at work, here; that Revan had survived so long because it was her destiny to clean up the damn mess she'd made of her former lover.

Bah, I didn't know. Zhar used to spout that she held the Force's own luck. Damn fool thing to say. There is no such thing as luck. There are only some born with more power than is safe for one sentient to wield alone. All one has to do is look at all the lives she has ruined-

And my bitter thoughts turned, again, to my Padawan. Being held hostage somewhere under the cruel hand of Darth Malak.

Bastila is on the Star Forge.

The thought came, pure and potent, like a message from the Force itself. And my logic, slowly, built upon it. There's no Malak here above Kashyyyk, nor on the frontlines at Lannik or Rodia. He hasn't been sighted for weeks.

From the moment Zhar had given me the awful news of my Padawan's fate, I'd known what Malak's endgame would be. It wasn't just our side that saw Bastila as a prize.

He's retreated to his damn stronghold, to focus on corrupting her into his own weapon. The Star Maps were reportedly entrenched in the Dark Side of the Force. What better place to turn Bastila, than on the Star Forge itself?

Always, always, Bastila's gift turns her into nothing more than a tool. I should have protected her better. I never should have let the Council use her to leash Revan.

The Republic Fleet would rally after this conflict, and turn their eye on the Star Forge. But even with a victory here, it would still take time to organize an offensive, to gather together other capitol ships in nearby sectors-

A lone scoutship could get there quickly. A single Jedi might be able to infiltrate the Forge and track down Bastila. Because, let's face it, everyone else's goal is to destroy Darth Malak and destroy the Star Forge.

Who is actually thinking of Bastila Shan?

The idea budding in my head was an ambitious one. Vandar shot me a frown, as if he suspected the racing of my thoughts. It might be possible. Was that actually a spark of excitement, glowing faintly in my chest? If I could slip in without Malak sensing me…

But grim realism had a way of shattering such foolish pipedreams.

Darth Malak is the Master of an ancient Force relic that almost allowed Darth Revan to conquer the Republic within three years. Short of using a neural disruptor, how in the Outer Rim could a Jedi like myself slip in unnoticed?

I felt old, suddenly. I hadn't been out in the field for years. My heart desired to rush out in defence of my forgotten Padawan, but my head knew it bordered on feeble-minded.

If I was caught – and let's face it, that's what the odds say – then Darth Malak would have a powerful tool to use on Bastila. Her own Master.

I couldn't do that to her. But staying here, under the thumb of glowering Republic officers who were one step away from chucking the lot of us out of command, did more than chafe. It damn well aggravated the heck out of me.

I have no other choice. I stay here, I do my best not to snap at the likes of Tar'coya, and I accomplish whatever else I can from the sidelines.

I breathed in a deep, raspy breath, and felt like a useless old fool.

xXx

Revan Freeflight:

The warm comfort of Carth's embrace anchored me in the depths of craziness we had descended into. My face was pressed against his lightly clothed chest, and I could feel myself shaking. Tightly clutched in my hand, pressed against his back, was a synthetic kaiburr crystal. One that would typically power a Sith lightsaber, for the natural ones did not sing as strongly to those entrenched in Dark Side corruption.

But any Force-sensitive could tap into most kaiburr crystals, even if the end result was unstable. My skin burned, where the discharge of pure energy had sheared over it. It had been difficult to control. Kaiburr crystals worked as an amplifier for Force power, but there were reasons we normally left them enclosed within our lightsabers.

Funny, how snippets of my past knowledge came to me at times, like established fact – even without any associating memory backing it up.

Someone slipped me a lightsaber crystal. Packed it into my fist, strapped it under the restraint, while I was out to it. Someone who understands how to counter Force-inhibiting technology. I shivered, and my thoughts were slow and sluggish. Force-inhibiting technology that originated from the Fett. The synthetic crystal had been enough to offset the hindrance of the amber energy cage, enough for me to pull deep on the Force and short the entire system out.

Why would Yudan do that? Why would he betray Jolee Bindo, and then grant me an opportunity for freedom?

Maybe, to pay a debt from the past on his own terms. Maybe now, the unseen hand that had stopped Yudan Rosh from killing me in the Shadowlands was gone. Now that we had saved one another apiece, he could finish me off without feeling any inkling of guilt.

Because inklings of guilt are paramount to Dark Jedi, an inner voice snarked.

It had to be from him, didn't it? And there had to be other debts between us, darker debts, unholy reasons as to why he'd sought to kill me in the first place. It felt like - even if this crystal was a gift from Yudan - he was still entrenched in a black cloud of suspicion.

"Jen," Carth murmured, his voice a deep rumble beneath my ear. "We have to move." He pulled back, and I looked up to see his warm gaze burning into mine before he leaned forward to kiss me softly.

I didn't deserve Carth. I was painfully aware of that, as I closed my eyes and felt the soft press of his lips brush against mine. At how wrong this was, to have him touch me without the knowledge of my baleful past. For me to act as if our relationship wouldn't completely implode from what it was now, once he learned the awful truth.

Carth stepped back, away from me, his attention caught on the remains of the officer who'd stirred a faint recognition in the back of my head. His uniform had marked him as an Admiral – this must have been Admiral Saul Karath… and he'd known me well, judging from our conversation.

My mind was leaden and hazy; I felt the need for at least five cups of caffa just to get a handle on everything going on. I knew it to be the effects of sedation drugs still processing within my system. It should wear off soon. I just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other, and I'll come right.

Still, if I recalled correctly through the depths of fuzzy memory – then Saul had been the one Carth was so torn up about, just as we'd been leaving the 'Hawk.

I swallowed. "Who… who was Saul to you, Carth?"

Carth was already kneeling next to the corpse, but shot me a look fractured with wariness. I could see the retort who was he to you, Jen? on his lips. "A mentor," he said curtly, before turning back to check the vital signs of the body. Like he didn't really believe the man was dead.

A mentor… And I was reminded, then, of a whispered conversation between Carth and Mission, back on the hot sands of Tatooine.

"There was a man who mentored me when I joined the Republic. He was everything my father was not; intelligent, strong, charismatic."

"He moulded me into the officer I am today. I grew to care for him more than I ever did my father."

"He turned traitor and joined the Sith army. Spilled the secrets of the Republic, and commandeered attacks that killed millions of innocent people. All for his own ambition."

Those words had not been for my ears, and Carth had certainly turned pissy when I'd referred to them later. But, well… I'd not exactly been the most sympathetic or stable back on that desert planet.

As for Saul Karath - he'd had an obvious Telosian accent, same as Carth, but clipped and higher-pitched in tone. And with the slamming of an illusory fist into my solar plexus, I was struck with the premonition that Saul had something to do with Telos.

My stomach bottomed out.

He turned traitor and joined the Sith army. He spilled the secrets of the Republic…

for me.

Carth's mentor. Carth's wife. Carth's planet.

My gut heaved. My fists clenched, pulling tight against the charred, aching wound on my off-hand. It took all of my self-control to not release the contents of my stomach, right there on the lilac floor of a Sith interrogation room.

Black spots sprang into existence around the periphery of my vision, and I felt both light-headed and nauseous. Later! I can angst later! We must focus on the frelling task at hand! My body was lethargic, and my eyelids blinked over dry eyes that had seen too much. Carth was still searching uselessly for a pulse on a cooling corpse, as if he, too, was currently hamstrung against accomplishing anything remotely productive.

"He's dead, Carth," I said tiredly.

Carth sighed. "I used to dream of pointing a gun to his head and pulling the trigger," he murmured, before shaking his head and clambering to his feet. He turned to focus on me anew, gaze roving over me, taking in the clenched fist at my side, the malformed one at my other-

I heard the intake of breath, and then Carth was striding forward, grabbing my hand-

"Jen," he breathed in horror, staring down at the blackened edge of my palm where two fingers had once been. The skin around it was inflamed and painful, but not infected. Cauterized wounds rarely turned that way, and Jolee Bindo's ministrations had certainly accelerated the healing process. "What… what happened?"

My mouth twisted, and oddly enough I felt on the verge of tears. "Yudan Rosh. He… well. We had an encounter in the Shadowlands."

Carth raised his head to frown at me. His hand was still cradling mine, as if he thought to protect it from worse injury. "And you didn't kill him on the 'Hawk?"

How could I answer that? How could I say, that some damaged part of me had actually hoped he was on our side? A Dark Jedi from my past I could barely recall?

And that the crystal in my other hand now muddied the waters even further?

"It's because he knows you, isn't it? From… from before?" Carth whispered. He turned, slightly, to stare back at the corpse of Saul Karath. "Just like Saul knew you. I- what did Saul mean about a mind-wipe, Jen?"

My eyes squeezed shut. It was the worst possible place for a conversation that could only end in the worst possible way. We were on the cusp, here, of knowledge there was no turning back from. And I couldn't stop the incoherent words-

"My mind was… Bastila, she… I don't know why they picked Jen-"

Shut it, you babbling idiot!

I felt Carth tense, and forced myself to open my eyes. The bewilderment in his expression was sharply intense, and I knew my use of Jen's name had not escaped him. My mouth twisted further, and I swallowed past a blockage in my throat. I felt unsteady on my feet, in my own head. "Jen Sahara died from what happened to her on Deralia, Carth. I needed an identity. But I didn't know who I was- I, please, this isn't the place. As soon as we get to the Ebon Hawk I'll explain everything that I know. I promise. But I need you here, now – we have to get out of here first."

I kicked myself for the blank shock in his gaze. My composure and logic was completely frazzled, and the befuddlement of sedation had obviously frelled any filter between my mouth and my brain. There was no excuse for letting that detail slip, here; that detail which would start Carth questioning absolutely everything-

"Please," I whispered, blinking. "We have to get the others. Find a way out. Please, for now, I'm asking you to trust me."

He nodded slowly, and raised a hand to touch my cheek. He was dumbfounded and confused, but he was also worried. For me. Me.

I held onto the feeling tightly, knowing it wouldn't last.

For how much longer before Carth began to piece together the monstrous truth?

He knew I'd fought in the Mandalorian Wars. He knew I was once a Jedi Knight. But he thought the darkness within me was due to the experience of torture on Deralia… torture that was inflicted upon innocent Jen Sahara, whom he now understood was not me.

Because I was an idiot who couldn't hold back a simple truth from a man I cared about.

How long before Carth began to speculate that the darkness simply… belonged to the person I was?

The lights flickered, then, three times before cutting out completely. A reverberation thrummed through the ground beneath us, and another wail echoed the one that had been steadily ringing in the background for some time.

A moment later, orange and red strips of halogen lighting sprang into existence along the walls.

I felt Carth's body tense, his muscles bunching in readiness to move, and his attention shift to the darkened room as he looked around. It was a hideous purple colour in the glow of emergency lights. "See if you can release the others, Je… Jen." I heard him swallow. "I'll see what I can find. A weapon, stims, anything to help us leave this place and find the rest of the crew."

I nodded, as he stepped away and bent to scoop up Saul's blaster, the one I'd unceremoniously pitched onto the floor. I couldn't imagine what Carth must be thinking, right now. All I knew was that it would pale against reality.

But the drive to move, to find a way - to stop wasting precious seconds on self-flagellation! - ignited within me. It took more effort than it should have, to pull myself out of this useless funk, and I blamed it on the frailties of my recovering body.

Think, you half-drugged moron. Think and focus on what needs to be done. Get Juhani and Jolee free, and wake them. Find the remainder of the crew. Locate an escape vehicle. And don't get caught.

I lifted my chin, forced myself to ignore the residual dizziness, and looked around the room proper. The main doors sat to one side, on the edge of a long chrome wall blinkered in the orange-red glow. On the other side was a smaller exit, as if it led to some utility room or service way. In the centre was a plasticeel table with a handful of chairs, one of which had held Carth, and a pair of large footlockers he was busy investigating.

Behind me lay the three inactivated Force cages. I turned, and strode over to the slumped form of Juhani.

The Force-inhibiting field had shorted out around all three cages, but she was still strapped tightly against the conductive pillar. The flexisteel belts cracked and bent as I reached out with the Force - trying to avoid disrupting the unstable crystal still in my grasp, while focusing on ripping apart the molecular bonds of the restraint.

The metal shattered, and I leaped forward to catch the slumped form of the Cathar, staggering back as I did so. There was a thump from the side as Jolee's body fell to the ground, and I winced in reaction.

"Don't suppose you've found any stims?" I called out, allowing the muscular Cathar to slowly slip through my grasp and land in an inelegant heap on the floor. There was a twitching, still, deep in my muscles, and I opened myself to the Force in reaction.

Fresh power surged through me like a warm torrent of life, brushing away the cobwebs of my mind, and stabilising the unsteadiness of my limbs. Somewhere, far, far away, my bond-sister half-stirred in her slumber. It was with a grim reckoning that I once more raised a shield between us.

And within my clenched fist, I could feel the corrupted mineral react ever so slightly to my Force use, reverberating in a mildly twisted spike of power.

Behind me, a cleaner source of energy echoed it.

"Karon's 'saber," I gasped, spinning around in surprise. Carth had straightened from a footlocker, looking back to me with a frown.

"Your lightsabers are here. No other gear that's ours… just the lightsabers."

I walked back to him, feeling his heavy gaze on mine. I heard him breathe in, felt his confusion and concern and burgeoning worry, and bent over to collect the lightsabers that had once belonged to my old Master… and Malak's.

"That's pretty fortuitous, don't you think?" Carth asked. "Why would your 'sabers be left in an interrogation room?"

"Laziness, maybe," I muttered, sifting through the remaining detritus in the large locker. Jolee's 'saber and Juhani's were here also, and I put them aside on the darkened floor. Holo-mags, credit chits, a utility belt that I hastily clipped on over my loose singlet. It'd be enough to hold my 'sabers and contain that cursed crystal, but a pair of boots as well would've been nice.

And then I stilled, glancing back to Carth. Laziness would mean all our gear left here, not just weapons. This was deliberate.

Was this some sort of a game to Yudan Rosh, or a genuine attempt to aid? And my gaze swung back to the prone form of Jolee Bindo, who in my plan would've been snug in a cell with the others.

And, somewhere, was the wildcard only I knew about. Should I tell Carth about his son?

"Who's been helping you?" Carth whispered, and I couldn't tell anymore if he was confused or suspicious. "Did you get the droids out? Are they free?"

"No, I- I don't know." But the thought of Dustil had me searching outwards, closing my eyes and drawing deep on the Force-

Nearby sparked the dark aura of three powerful sentients, moving directly towards us.

My eyes snapped open in terror. No, no, there's four- A fourth one, much weaker than the others, but pulsing a black inverted wrongness in the Force, like a dependent wound with no soul of its own-

"Sithspit, Carth, they're coming!" I hissed, wildly looking around the room. They'd enter through the main door rather than the service exit I'd noticed on the side, and Juhani and Jolee were completely helpless-

"Who?" he asked, his voice sharp.

"Dark Jedi, strong, I don't know!" I gasped. "Kylah frelling Aramai and her best buddies, at a guess. I can't- I can't let them come across Juhani and old man Bindo like this!"

"Can you wake them up?" he fired at me, stepping forward to clasp my forearms tight. "With the Force?"

"No!" The very idea had me panicking. That was akin to healing, and I'd royally flubbed that one, last time I'd tried on Belaya's broken ribs. Bastila might be able to do wonders – stars, she'd brought mouthy Mekel back from the other side of oblivion using my Force connection, before immersing the three of us in an awesome healing – but I had absolutely no idea about human physiology!

Whether it was my lack of memory or actually an area I didn't shine at, I had no idea.

"Carth, I can't-" I had to leave him here. I realized the truth, then. If I were to give him a chance to escape, the others a chance to wake, I had to face my own demons – and they were mine – on my own.

But the look of growing tenacity on Carth's face as he accurately interpreted my thoughts meant I needed ammunition.

"Dustil's here," I said, my voice low and dark.

Carth's eyes widened with shock. "What?" he hissed. "What- you can't be serious?"

"He snuck onboard," I rapped out, half my concentration focussed on the nearing Dark Jedi, as my gut clenched tighter. "I only sensed him just before… he'll have got the droids loose, Carth. I ordered them to obey him. He'll be somewhere on the Leviathan, searching for you. You must wait here, protect the others-" I flung a wild hand towards Juhani.

Carth was pale, shaking his head in disbelief. I didn't have time, I couldn't give him time to rally and make the wrong choice-

"Good luck," I breathed, and strode away, Karon's 'saber in my grasp and grim resolution in my soul.

The double doors, also a putrid purple hue, swished open under my command. The room beyond was a large, octagonal meeting room, bereft of any furniture bar a control desk, with additional exits dotted around the wall segments. Most were coloured in varying pastel shades – likely leading to similar interrogation rooms. The lighting was still on mains, here; bright and harsh to my eyes.

Two armoured guards were leaning over the desk, deep in hushed conversation, and barely had a chance to look up before my 'saber went flying.

The first collapsed. The other was pushed back against the wall beneath the weight of my will, gasping and crying out for help.

I didn't feel pity. I didn't feel anger or hate either, just a calm conviction of what I had to do.

I caught the lightsaber, and threw it again. The cries stopped.

The door. An upsurge of power crested within, and I channelled it behind me to the lilac atrocity. I didn't have to turn around to see the coloured durasteel fuse within the locking mechanism, I could feel the malformations ebbing on the Force. It was enough that no one would be able to - Carth would not be able to - walk through that door. Not without a fusion-cutter or a lightsaber, anyway.

The Dark Jedi were just in the next room. I could clearly recognize one as Yudan, now.

At least I wasn't risking anyone but myself, here.

"Jen."

I whirled around in horror. My mouth dropped open, gaping, at the figure standing in front of the permanently closed lilac door.

"Carth!" I cried. "No, no, you weren't meant to follow me!"

His eyes flicked briefly to the two corpses by the control desk, as if he were taking in just how easily I could dispatch anyone in my way. He'd seen it before, many a time, and each death came quicker to me.

"You could do with a gun at your back," he whispered. His grasp tightened on Saul's blaster, and I suddenly saw him from afar, a military soldier clothed in singlet and shorts, barefoot and exhausted, armed with nothing more than solid determination and a frelling blaster against four Dark Jedi-!

He was remembering Uthar Wynn. He didn't believe my riposte regarding Dustil, and thought it a ploy to keep him safe. He was thinking of the end-game, back in the cursed Sith Academy.

"You got to Uthar because he thought you were out cold!" I hissed. What's he going to do, play dead and hope for a lucky shot? "Dammit, Carth, you have to get out of here! Pick a coloured door and run!"

A silver hatch to our left opened.

And a woman clothed in a burgundy tunic that matched her painted lips stalked in. Dark tresses adorned her bare shoulders, and her slanted yellow eyes narrowed on me. My fists contorted in sick recognition, my teeth gritted in remembered fury. Kylah.

In her wake, an older woman followed, an activated scarlet 'saber in her grasp. And a young male Togruta, thrumming a muted lesion of ill on the Force. The three of them fanned out into the room, the Togruta walking softly with his head tilted sideways, staring unblinkingly at the older woman.

And behind them all strolled in Yudan Rosh.

He still wore that battered Mandalorian armour, and his expression was blank and fixed solely on me. There was an unlit hilt in his grasp. I wonder if it's missing a sodding kaiburr. No, I couldn't count on that. For all I knew, he kept spares in his pocket, ready to plant on comatose prisoners he'd threatened to kill.

His gaze, a sharper, brighter yellow than Kylah's, trailed down my form and his mouth tightened in disapproval or disgust or something I couldn't decipher. Next time, leave a frelling robe or suit of armour if my state of undress annoys you so much, you ass. My thumb twitched, close to the 'saber's activation button. I could feel my eyes narrowing, glaring hotly at Yudan, as his gaze returned to meet mine.

"Well, well," Kylah drawled, and my attention wrenched back to her. She took one step closer, some ten metres away now, and her artfully crimson lips pursed. "The failed Jedi experiment escaped her cell."

"Saul was very helpful," I snapped, shoulders tensing. I heard Carth shift behind me, and cursed him again for his presence.

There was a flicker of suspicion on the groomed face of the humanoid woman staring at me. She wasn't sure whether to believe my words, and I had no idea how conceivable they were, anyway. Or if it was necessary to protect Yudan in such a fashion, seeing as I still had no idea whose side he was actually on. Sod it all. Just run with it.

"Saul didn't think I looked good in a cage," I added. "Neither did I, to be honest."

"I'm sure you had a lovely reunion," Kylah purred, her eyes narrowing to slits. She'd coated a thick layer of silver powder around the slant of her eyes, contrasting with the corrupted gleam of yellow. Even her high cheekbones were coloured in shades of pink and rouge, thickly enough that I wondered if she'd been holed up in a refresher unit with a cosmetic kit, while her minions ran around doing the unimportant task of fighting the enemy. "And I've been looking forward to ours," she continued. "The odds are on my side now, don't you think, Jen Sahara?"

I could feel the susurration of rage kindle inside me. Here was the schutta who'd killed Karon, who'd kidnapped Bastila, strutting in like she was the Dark Lord of the Sith herself-

Dangerous line of thinking, bonehead!

I was barely cognizant of Carth's faithful presence behind me. I wished him anywhere but here. He'd either get cut down like renni-grass – or live to hear the whole truth. He deserved the whole truth, but not like this. Not like this.

"Flyboy," I whispered. "Back away. Get out of here."

I kept my gaze on Kylah's yellowing one, breathing the Force out slowly, settling it gently on the occupants of the room. Yudan was stronger than her. The unknown woman, also. The Togruta I was wary of, but didn't seem to pose as much of a threat, as he took a step back and dropped to his knees in quiet submission.

If Yudan really was my adversary here, then I was facing a powerful trio. One where Kylah was the weakling.

Oh, kath crap in a sandstorm.

One on one, I'd beaten her – succumbing to the Dark Side – but against three?

"No way, beautiful," Carth said softly. Loyally. "I'm not leaving you."

Kylah's eyes landed on Carth, standing behind me, and then widened with elated surprise. "Oh my. That looks remarkably like the Republic soldier I fried back on Manaan. And I did hear you were travelling with the war-hero Carth Onasi. Could they be one and the same?" She laughed, a high, piercing sound that echoed through the room. "My, my, he is resilient. I might keep him as a slave."

Black, boiling rage surged like a tsunami inside me, like thick tar that threatened to sink into the very marrow of my bones. Passion, rage… use it! It fuels the Force, and can grant me the strength I need!

I couldn't win, not against three of them, not even if Yudan stepped out – not with such an obvious weakness standing at my back. The Dark Side beckoned, with instant might and gratification, and I would so enjoy gouging out that bitch's eyeballs before feeding them to her.

With the power of the Dark Side, I might just be able to do that. I could feel I was standing on the very precipice, shaking with fury and the need to relinquish control in return for sheer power and almighty strength. But if I did…

Would I remember to protect Carth? His solid presence behind me was a focus in itself. I loved Malak, once. That withered and died when we embraced the Dark Side. The same cold, logical voice pointed out that, years ago, my driving desire had been to save the Republic. Somewhere along the corrupted path I took, that had lost meaning.

There must be another way. Search for it. The rage pulled back, simmering, under the most tentative of holds, and I let my gaze land on the unknown Dark Jedi.

She was solemn, staring at me from behind wispy remnants of light hair. Most of it had fallen out, I noted. She was human, my age or a few years older. Deep black crevasses marked her face – Sith markings. Not everyone had them, but those that did had been entrenched in the Dark Side for a long time.

Her eyes, staring at me straight, were the same yellow as Kylah's. They should have been grey.

"Let me take the Countervail and support Yudan," she entreated, grey eyes shining with fervour. She was leaning over a table filled with datapads and roughly drawn sketches of proposed advances. In the centre of the room shone a holo-map of the Serroco system. "The Mandalorians have us outnumbered and outclassed. Even with Karath's forces there, it's going to be a rout. I can get there quickly-"

"Not quick enough," a holo-image of Malak said. "And even so, the Countervail and supporting fleet won't be enough to repel Fett if he gets a stranglehold on Serroco. We need to lure the bastard away."

"Nisotsa, this very information you have unearthed is why I need you in Intelligence," I answered. I saw the holo-image of Admiral Sara roll her bulbous eyes. She'd never thought highly of Nisotsa, but then Sara only respected obvious power. "This is what you shine at."

Nisotsa's grey gaze hardened in resentment. She'd been mediocre as a War General, but brilliant as an Information Specialist. If only I could convince her that this was just as important as leading troops.

My eyes widened, still staring at the blonde, and I took a small step backwards. Nisotsa, I mouthed, and her gaze sharpened in response. She was… she was important. Once, she'd been important to me.

My attention swung back to Yudan. They're from the same time in my past. Yudan's already tried to kill me, and Nisotsa's here to do the same.

"I thought you said she recalled nothing, Kylah," Nisotsa snapped.

"Jen Sahara is a walking corpse of a forgotten time, Nisotsa," Kylah drawled. Her finger twitched on the hilt in her grasp, and a red plasma beam hissed to life, mirroring the one in the older woman's hand.

"Really?" Nisotsa's voice was sarcastic. "Because I think Jen Sahara just remembered me. Didn't you?" Her voice, raspy and low, challenged me directly.

I licked suddenly dry lips. I heard an intake of breath behind me. "We – we fought together," I said haltingly. "Against the Mandalorians."

"Yes. A lifetime ago," she said simply.

"Nisotsa," Carth echoed from my side. His voice was shocked. "As in, Nisotsa Organa? Jen, she and Yudan Rosh are the only surviving members of Revan's Guard - other than Malak himself. And they know you… Saul knows you…" I felt, rather than saw, him step closer to me. I tensed, and his voice dropped lower. "Jen… were you… were you in the Guard?"

My throat dried up. I heard a laugh from Kylah, a sound of delight and mockery, and found I was unable to respond as I turned to stare helplessly at Carth.

Nausea burned in my stomach.

"Jen." His eyes were glistening with something akin to awe. "There were two unaccounted for after Malachor. That never- that never followed Revan and Malak's dark path." He paused, his gaze deeply intent and fixed on mine. "Xaset Terep and Meetra Surik." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Do you know who you really are, Jen?"

Oh, sithspit.

"You're Meetra Surik," he said quietly, his eyes wide with emotion.

xXx