Nexus: Advent


Sharlan Nox:

Thirteen slayers stood before me. Upright, at attention, each clasping a metallic sphere of Fett technology, ready to activate a field as null as their aura. Thirteen slayers, the legacy of Jonn Dan, a Dark Jedi pioneer with the foresight of a Selkath sea-sponge.

I smiled.

"And how many Jedi have you ended in your tenure?" I asked the closest slayer.

The duramesh-armoured assassin stood still as the night. Her reply echoed through an anonymous voder. "Seven, my lord. Three were successfully turned."

"And tell me," I drawled, stepping around the figure, allowing my fingertips to trail lovingly down her scaled shoulder carapace. "Do any still serve?"

Don't play with your food, an echo of my master snapped in my head. Ah, but these ones weren't food. Nulls. Not much more than carrion beasts, truly, and I had stopped snacking on dead meat long ago.

"None still live, my lord." The slayer didn't flinch, even when I sauntered behind her, skimming my fingers across the barely-covered sheen of her neck. Jonn Dan's little tools- different from mine, far less powerful, but I wouldn't deny their effectiveness. He'd trained them well. A pity Jonn hadn't directed the same level of diligence towards his interactions with his peers, otherwise Yudan Rosh may not have split open his entrails to the air.

And wasn't it amusing to hear that Rosh still breathed?

...

The Force choked tight around Lord Malak, a viscous cloud of barely-checked anger. His eyes were slits, spitting yellow poison as they fixated on me.

The common colour of corruption.

When my own gaze had turned a smooth amber, I'd been surprised by a vague stirring of disappointment. Hubris on my part, perhaps, to assume that a creature such as I would possess a hue of something special, something distinct.

Nisotsa Organa's studies on the Dark Side's interactions with organic physiology found little logic behind the transmutation of optical organs: neither genetics nor Force-power explained why most darksiders bore a shade of yellow, barring a scant few.

Not that it mattered. Flesh was simply fuel: either to control or to be consumed by someone greater. Flesh was hardly what made one special.

"I hope my pets are serving you well, my lord," I murmured in a placating tone. Malak looked truly riled. Perhaps all those incoming toy ships were aggravating him.

Sometimes I wondered at just how exhausting it must be, to constantly surge from fiery rage to deathly amusement the way he did.

Anger might fuel the Force for Lord Malak, but we were all different. Some of us drew power in other ways.

"They'll do," he snapped, without offering more. He'd taken my pets into the bosom of the Star Forge, a place where I was forbidden to follow. The heart of the Force in this sector of the galaxy.

It wasn't in my interests to disobey Lord Malak, but I'd tried to enter that chamber. For there was a tantalising scent upon the Force, here, and it originated from the very nexus of this factory.

Something great was housed there. Something magnificent. Something that would be a true joy to taste.

But every time I walked towards the Star Forge's black heart I found myself elsewhere. Esoteric whispers murmured in my mind; I couldn't decipher the words, but the tone was forbidding. Almost as if the Star Forge itself was warning me away.

No matter. I still had time to try again. I knew how to be patient.

"The echo of Revan travels here, Sharlan," Malak said. His eyes narrowed, and now I wondered if it was satisfaction burning the fire in his soul. "In her tin can, the Ebon Hawk."

A showdown between those two would be a sight to behold. From a safe distance, of course. I had knelt to Revan once, as I had knelt to Malak. Sometimes, I fancied myself as nothing more than a prized bantha, passed from master to master. And with each reincarnation, my need and my knowledge grew.

"What are your orders, my lord?"

"Revan is mine." He looked past me, one fist clenching tight. White sparks traced a spider web of static around his gloved hand. He did not seem to notice. "When she walks upon the Forge again I will end her once and for all. You will take out her followers."

I felt my lips curve and my belly tighten. "I believe there are at least two Force-sensitives amongst her crew."

His marked visage snapped back to me. The inked lines of tattoos on his scalp morphed into ripples of corruption along his deathly pale cheeks. "Kill them, Sharlan. I want her to feel their deaths. Take whatever slayers are here and assault that freighter the minute it is docked and Revan departed."

It would be a relief to have something tangible to do. I enjoyed idleness when surrounded by ripe pickings – but the Star Forge was noticeably lacking in desirable fruit. Lord Malak had filled this entire factory with nulls, and the only life-forms onboard that drew me were my now-forbidden pets and the untouchable, delectable Bastila Shan.

Malak often left her alone, these days-

An invisible band snapped tight around my throat, clawing deep without warning. I could feel the fleshy sides of my oesophagus cave under the pressure.

"Do you require a physical reminder to stay away from my Shadow Hand?" Malak murmured, a whispering rumble through his vocabulator. When Lord Malak spoke softly, it paid to take heed. "You can still obey my commands with only one arm, after all."

My wandering thoughts stilled with quick precision. Sometimes, Malak's brutish demeanour obfuscated my assessment of his abilities.

Sloppy. Your extended life-span curses you with insolence to your betters. It was a reprimand I had heard from many, including Lord Malak. If you cannot control your hunger-

The pressure eased, and I bowed my head in submission.

"I do prefer both my arms, my lord. And your Shadow Hand is safe from me for as long as you will it."

There was a pause. I did not raise my head.

"I destroy tools when they outlive their usefulness, Sharlan," Lord Malak rasped. "If you allow your appetite to become a liability, I will ensure it no longer exists."

"My appetite serves you the same as my skills, my lord. Both are yours to command."

"Good." Satisfaction thrummed through his voder. "Keep an eye on the dockmasters' logs for the Ebon Hawk. I shall ensure the battle droids are mobilized. On the off-chance Revan scrapes through my defences, well... the heart of the Star Forge awaits her. My Star Forge."

Lord Malak turned, a looming figure in black-and-grey armour, striding away from me in a sudden move of haste. Unlike his former master, no midnight robe billowed out behind him, just as no ominous mask concealed his face. Malak's presence meant such tools of showmanship were not necessary; his musculature and height made him imposing in his own right.

Lord Revan, on the other hand, had played on her iconic appearance, allowing the mystique and mystery of her anonymous spectre to unsettle her enemies.

Perhaps there was an advantage in both methods of presentation.

Malak had paused at the hatch, which opened beneath a wave of his gloved hand. "At least three, Sharlan."

"Three?"

The Dark Lord of the Sith threw me a speculative glance over his shoulder.

"Three Force-sensitives amongst her crew. I saw three on Lehon." His voice had deepened with what I could only label as feral anticipation. "An old man, a Cathar and Yudan Rosh. Kill the first two, but if you encounter the Twi'lek then I shall allow you to choose. Dead or one of your pets- either would be acceptable."

...

So many Dark Jedi fell victim to delusions of power, but I knew my own limits. Yudan Rosh had been beyond me – nor had I ever had reason to challenge the man. Now... well. Taking down a Dark Jedi of his calibre would be an interesting venture. I would simply need to be smart about it.

One day, sentients with the power of Yudan Rosh- with the power of Revan Freeflight- would easily be mine for the tasting. But that day was not here yet.

With each meal, my strength increased- but it was a transitory peak only, the energy bleeding back into the fabric of the Force. The loss would be frustrating, if the meal itself wasn't so satisfying.

A slight shuffle refocused my attention back to the lines of Force-blind assassins. After Jonn Dan's evisceration, Lord Revan had passed leadership of them to Malak- who may have utilized the slayers effectively, but did little to fill their ranks. Still, I'd seen the slayers in action. These nulls might not have the Force sharpening their senses and augmenting their speed, but they were dangerous in their own right.

The Jedi were wise to fear them.

I eyed over the slayer that had shifted on his feet. "And you?" I drawled, taking a step closer. "How many Jedi do you claim?"

"Twelve," he muttered. His form had stilled, but his visor pointed down. "Only turned one, and she's spacedust now."

A sudden pulse- the tiniest of sparks- something peaked on the Force before vanishing. My head cocked, and the hidden gills on my face flared at the scent. They were Force-blind, all of these sharpened tools of flesh-murder, but for a second there I could've sworn the Force had glowed from the slayer in front of me-

"The Force- it glowed from you, for a second-" A wisp of a memory, surprised words from a gentle soul, the first to sense my true potential when I had been nothing but a craven parasite nibbling at the edges of the galaxy. A pity what had happened to her-

The same shuffling noise from earlier snapped me back to the present. The slayer still stood, head bowed, form poised in readiness. He'd moved again- or so I thought, just like I'd wondered if that flare of Force had spiked from him- but there was nothing, now. Just a blank slate awaiting my command.

Slowly, softly, I unfurled a gentle finger of Force into the null's little mind.

Flip over a 5, that makes 21, but the +/- 2 bonus scores a certain win-

Witless mark seemed to be ruminating over basic mathematics. Still, he'd taken down his fair share of Jedi, if his words held true. I felt my lips smile as I reached a hand out to lift the null's armoured chin.

His asinine addition skills ceased, mid-thought.

"You all have your orders," I whispered to him, but my words were for each and every slayer. "If the Ebon Hawk docks here, we expect a small party of them to disembark. One, maybe more. Leave those to the battle droids and our lord. Your task is to kill any who remain behind with the ship."

I leaned forward to kiss the man's mirrored visor. Beneath my fingertips, I wondered if I felt the null shudder. "Complete your objective, or die in the attempt. Lord Malak has promised me any survivors who fail."

The visored head dropped away from my hands in a short, compliant nod.

I stepped back, allowing my smile to rest on all of the sharp little tools. "I am without playthings at present. And a failed slayer would make a satisfying plaything." My smile widened. "For me, at least."

xXx

Jolee Bindo:

"Revan."

"Trio of marks coming in port-side," the darn woman muttered, flat-out ignoring me. "They'll be in Canderous' sights within seconds."

"Tell Ordo and Rosh to improve their blasted aim," Carth snapped. Through the cockpit viewport, a flare of red sputtered against the fin of a friendly. Like a wyyyschokk's flying-web glancing off a daubird's wing. Not fatal- but not good. "Dodonna's squad is covering us, but we've lost half of them already."

"Revan."

The thrumming sound of the dorsal turrets re-engaging was noticeable, even at this end of the ship. It wasn't loud enough to drown out conversation, though. Revan pretending not to hear my hail was as unconvincing as it was irritating.

"Another five coming in aft of our lead snubs," Revan rapped out. Her voice had turned flat. "Any more and they'll outnumber us."

Aye, and they have that fandangled battle meditation on their side. The Force was thick out here; humming tendrils of psychic manipulation clawing deep into the enemy ships. I could feel it like a burr chafing against my shoulder blades.

"Lame-brained chit," I grumbled. "You can't save Bastila if she accidentally kills you." In front of me, Revan tensed. "You can't save her if you keep hiding from the Force."

"I know." The words were growled out through gritted teeth. "I'm waiting for the opportune moment."

A prox alarm pinged from the console; our pilot swore as he wrenched the freighter into a sideways dive. The safety harness bit into my torso as Carth stood hard on the thrusters, and the entire framework of the 'Hawk shuddered in response.

"Sithspit," Revan cursed. Something red flashed on the telemetry. "We're hit. Glancing one, but there's minor damage to our shields-"

"Now's your opportune moment, young pup!" I snapped. "Talk to your darn bond-sister. Or maybe I'm wrong, and you do have a preordained destiny. One that involves plasma, suffocation, and a new existence as space dross decorating Darth Malak's pretty little fortress!"

"We can't make it to the Forge like this, Revan," Carth added in a low tone. I could see the Star Forge through the viewport, an alien canker with three elongated pincers needling downwards, but between us and the Forge were just too many blighted ships. "You have to risk it, even if Malak senses you."

I wasn't sure what Revan was most wary of: Malak, Bastila, or the sibilant temptation of the Star Forge itself. Aye, her caution was warranted, and shrewd- but not up to the point of near-death.

"Fine." Her assent was swift, followed by the bright beacon of pure Force splaying out from her core. Like a monsoon deluge drenching me in power; all the more obvious when contrasted with her absence a nanosec ago.

I blinked, momentarily startled. Ach, when Revan decides on action, she doesn't dither about it. The Force pulsed, strong enough that I had a fleeting worry on it rousing our injured Cathar from her drug-induced coma.

I stilled my thoughts; allowing my tired eyes to close and my mind to centre. Somewhat akin to ignoring the brilliance of a supernova in high blast. Possible, but intrinsically difficult.

"She hears me." Revan's words were thick and slow. The Force ebbed, contracting back to her. "She- she won't talk to me now. But she's drawing away from us. Focusing on the rest of the battlefield." A broken laugh choked from her. "We'll get through. She'll make sure of it. Bastila wants me on the Forge."

"Meridus, this is the Ebon Hawk." Carth was snapping out a despatch to the comm, but his profile never strayed from the viewport. "We have confirmation that the enemy are pulling their battle meditation away from our squad. Get any nearby fighters to follow in our wake-"

"The enemy." Revan's words were muttered to herself. "You mean Bastila's battle meditation."

"-they'll have a better chance staying within proximity of the Ebon Hawk. Any Sith near us won't have the same advantage."

"She's our enemy out here, lass, whether willing or not," I said quietly. "Better that our pilot keep her involvement as impersonal as possible." If she's to have any hope of forgiveness. Ach, I'd never met the woman, but I could guess at her character. Proud. Impatient. Flawed, just like the rest of us.

::Understood, captain.:: The audio acknowledgement spat from the speaker. The same admiral as from earlier, I'd wager, keeping a close eye on our movements.

Revan didn't answer me, but simply kept her head bowed over the nav-screen. "That's one ship knocked out." Her report was crisp and clinical, cold enough at first that I had no idea which side she referred to. "Make that two. Tide's going to turn, at least in this small corner of the carnage."

"So long as it's enough to get us there." Carth angled the freighter slightly to the right. Near the ship's blunt nose, I could spot four friendlies moving into protective position. "So long as it's enough to make a blasted difference."

"It will be." There was no measure of fragile hope in Revan's words, merely a hard statement of fact. "Jolee. You're staying behind with the 'Hawk."

I blinked. "Eh, what?" Sometimes, conversations with that darn woman felt like a continued barrage of unexpected sideswipes from a kinrath hive.

"I want a Jedi staying behind."

"Labels, young pup," I harrumphed. "You've always done me the courtesy of not lobbing labels in my direction. Don't disappoint me now."

"Force-user then." She was impatient. "Dustil has to keep his signature hidden unless absolutely necessary. None of us trust the constancy of his mental guards-" she cut herself off with an irritated sigh. "Jolee. I need you with the ship. With Carth and Mission."

I'd expected to enter the Forge with her. I'd expected the Wookiee or the Mandalorian, at least, to stay behind and secure our route of escape. Didn't sound like it, from what she was implying.

"I should go with you." Carth's rejoinder was muttered- and torn.

"No."

"Revan, this is hardly the time to debate it." The growl from our pilot told me that it wasn't the first time they'd spun this conversation, even if he, ironically, was the one still contesting it.

"It's not a debate." Her voice steeled with authority. "Your place is with Dustil and the 'Hawk, and you know it."

"It's easier to wrench a stone mite from a ship's hull than change your mind, sometimes, you know that lass?" I grumbled. "Damn parasites. Had a group of them bore through my scoutship once-"

"Revan, I-"

"It has to be this way, Carth." Her voice had gentled. "Look. We're closing in."

As a measure of halting objections, it worked. There were eight friendlies in front of us now, fragile-looking Aurek II's the Republic had started favouring in place of their aging, less-manoeuvrable Aureks. The nearby Sith snubs had deviated away from our path, clustering around a distant Republic destroyer that could only be seen on the sharp starboard pane of the viewport.

Whether the enemy had been gifted new orders, or simply trailed after the lingering tendrils of battle meditation, I didn't know- but we now had a clear run straight to the Star Forge.

"The closest prong is the ventral one," Revan said. Her voice had switched to monotone again. "Halfway down, that black circle- that's the factory bay. We aim straight for it."

"I thought you-"

"Just before we're in range of any turret matrix, we veer upwards. The officer's dock is much higher. Near the apex, just below the lip of the viewing chambers. I'll guide you."

There was something in her voice- or nothing. Maybe that was it. Somehow, I had the feeling she wasn't navigating due to any deep study of the schematics. The jaws of memory are biting deep again.

I coughed loudly in an attempt to distract her. "So. You're taking Ordo and Zaalbar. Why?"

Revan was silent for a minute, her concentration fixed on the encroaching factory. "I'm not sure either of them would stay behind if I told them to."

"Bah. Quit dissembling." I'd been around Revan long enough now to recognize when she was trying to tease me down a fool's trail. "That's not your reason."

I was following her, aye, and I'd hold the fort if she insisted. But it was her reasons that interested me.

There was a time when Revan had no need nor desire to explain herself. But while echoes of that woman might still cast darkness over her from time to time, that wasn't who she was anymore.

Sometimes, it didn't hurt to remind her of that.

A quiet sigh slipped from her lips; a soft sound of concession. "Zaalbar... his life-debt shackles him. His part in Bastila's capture weighs on his soul, even though there was nothing he-" she paused, one finger flipping the console's mini nav-map around as something caught her eye. A generation or two ago, we made do with a simple 3d holo-pic from the dash, not some fancy glittering doodad that one could spin around like a top. Revan hummed, evidently satisfied with what she saw, and continued. "Zaalbar has a right to address what he sees as his debts. And... did you know that Juhani and I were captured by a mad Sith on Korriban?"

Once more, she veered the conversation on an incomprehensible tangent. I shrugged. "Eh, can't say I'm surprised. Korriban has mad Sith the way Kashyyyk has trees. Got a point to that sentence?"

"Yeah. We were too reliant on the Force. Totally missed a gas trap." It sounded like an interesting yarn. But, much as I liked to hear stories – almost as much as I liked to tell 'em – we were busy pootling along in enemy airspace heading to an enemy fortress. This wasn't really the time to be waffling. If even I realized that, then surely Revan did-

"We underestimate those without Force ability." Her voice had lulled to a whisper. "All of us. Jedi, Sith, anyone who wields the Force. The more powerful we become, the more we see Force-blind sents as checkers on a game board. Figures on a data-sheet. And we forget... we forget that anyone can be killed by a single blaster shot."

Revan cleared her throat suddenly, profile slanting to face the pilot. "And, sometimes, a blaster shot is all that's required."

"We're nearing," Carth said. Whatever Revan was referring to, he had no interest in recognizing it. "The lead snubs will be in range of any automated defense matrix within minutes. Keep your eyes ahead, Revan. Tell me when it's time to deviate course."

The view out the cockpit was completely dwarfed by the Rakatan factory, now. All shiny metal and sleek curvature, with a gaping maw of black that belched out a trio of strikefighters as we drew close.

The Force thrummed around me. Hidden within its beguiling power, lurked a slippery, suggestive coil that I had waded through on Lehon.

-glimpses of the truth can be found here-

Laser spat between our friendlies and the new marks, Revan whispered "now", and the 'Hawk lurched upwards to our destination.

xXx

Rulan Prolik:

"That's the ventral wing released," Kampton muttered, bending over his console. "You done yours yet, Carly?"

I hummed in response. My fingers tapped the keys in idle pretence, for my attention was absorbed in the data-feed scrawling down the inset of my visor.

Full-body titaplate armour. Inlaid cortosis weave to block lightsabers, and resistant to any form of ionization. These battle-droids were custom-built to face down Force-users. They had gone through many design iterations, but the ionization resistance was new. There'll be a weak spot somewhere, if I can just figure out how to best shear through that plate.

"Carly? You heard General Daelidar's order. You'd better release the droids-"

Thermal motivator's in the torso. Three inches down from the neck segment. If one can get through the armour, a hit straight there would-

"Do you want me to show you how?"

I glanced up, to see Kampton's shiny green face staring down at me in solicitude. One mention of my nervousness, and the poor sap had been all over me like nerf-pox.

My smile would be visible beneath the edge of the visor. I let it blossom. "Thank you, Corporal. I- I'm not really sure how to work this system."

He flushed a dark green as he leaned over me. "You can call me Kampton, y'know. While- while there's no one else around."

"Thank you," I murmured again, ducking my head like a simpleton. My painted hands retracted from the console, allowing Kampton to accomplish his basic data-entry. Magenta nail varnish looked ridiculous on the skeletal digits of a Rodian, but the luckless sentient I was emulating had primped herself with all manner of mating inducements. Powdered snout, waxed antennae, plucked eyelids and bright nails.

I had no idea if it was bumbling Kampton she'd had her eye on, but the inept corporal certainly seemed receptive.

"There," he said with satisfaction, laying one limb possessively on my shoulder. "It's okay, Carly. I'm sure this is simply a precaution. You don't- you don't have to suit up, y'know."

He was staring at my visor, before his gaze dropped to the duramesh-and-leather armour wrapped around my slender form. Not a piece from dear Carly's ensemble, it was true, and I'd had to make some modifications to the enclosures before it suitably fit this body.

Armour like this was beyond difficult to procure. Even allowing for safe harvesting of the source material – and terentatek hide was hardly simple to obtain – the manufacturing process failed more often than succeeded. I still maintained Spymaster Gaalin had been an imbecile to sell a suit of it to that bounty freelancer, even if Nord had shelled out a king's ransom.

"There's a chance of an invasion, or we wouldn't be ordered to ready the droids," I whispered, allowing my lips to tremble. "Will we be safe here?"

"'Course." Kampton's antennae flared in my direction. I supposed it must be some sort of masculine display for his species. "There's few enough of us sents here – so long as we stick to the lower levels, the droids'll leave us alone. Don't you worry about any Republic slugs actually boarding, Carly. They can't get through our star fleet."

But I did, little bug. True, finding a way onto the Star Forge had been a far greater challenge than slicing the factory's location from the Ebon Hawk's transmission to the Republic. But, well. No one could impersonate other sentients that way I could.

I allowed myself to lean against him, adroitly switching data-feeds as I did so. I'd intercepted enough transmits to inform me that the intriguing sector-wide scrambler had been destroyed, but Kampton was right, regardless. The Republic forces were taking a hammering.

Still, the assault might be enough cover for the Ebon Hawk to slip through. I had trackers on the dockmasters logs linked to my data-feed, and would be aware the instant that smuggling freighter dared broach one of the factory docks. It would be tempting to meet the fragment of Revan Freeflight there-

Eridius' words whispered through my mind. It is in our interests to see Darth Malak overturned, but only if we can do so unnoticed. There was too much surveillance in the factory docks, even for one such as I. The GenoHaradan worked best from the shadows.

We pull strings in the dark. We aim for stability, but only from the depths of secrecy.

The GenoHaradan might desire to pin Revan down and see what answers we could shake from her damaged mind- but only if the risk was worth it. And the neural scans we stole from the Jedi databanks are disheartening: the damage to her mind is, indeed, severe. Although our slicer's hack was incomplete; I had little data on Revan's cerebral cortex, and the reconstructed graphics of her hippocampus looked like a corrupted feed.

The scientist in me itched to strap that notorious woman down and get a half dozen medi-droids to cut open her mangled mind.

"We should head back to the commons," Kampton said. "All remaining personnel have been directed to the sub-levels. We're the only techs left on the cardinal floor."

Ah, but I am headed up, not down.

I threw the hapless Rodian a coquettish smile. "Have you- have you sent our job acknowledgment through?"

"Yeah." His fingers tentatively pressed against my hide-covered shoulder. "Defense diagnostics double-checked. Surveillance re-routed to the battle droids. And them released, of course. Our sector is cleared for droid-only control, Carly."

"So you mean-" I let my voice turn coy, "No one will expect us for awhile?"

The hitch in his breathing was pathetically obvious. Poor insect had probably never got into anyone's pants before. "I-" He licked his lips. "No. But- surveillance-"

I scanned the room quickly. There, close to the main server rack, an innocuous utility hatch that was likely never used by anything but mini clean-bots as they benignly whirred and buffed every inch of factory floor.

"Bet there's no surveillance in the clean-bot closet," I breathed, wrinkling my snout at him. The powder had a disgusting florid scent. "And those closets are roomier than you would think."

Kampton's thin lips twitched as his blood travelled south. He grabbed my hand and dragged me as I giggled stupidly alongside him, tripping past the empty bucket-seats and the morass of sentient debris on the ground. Looked like the clean-bots had a fairly shoddy routine, at least in this section of the Star Forge.

The grilled hatch to the utility locker yawned ajar under Kampton's bony hand. I saw a brief flash of graffiti defacing the door, lower down at knee level, in what oddly looked like scrawled Massassi script of all things- but then the closet opened fully and Kampton tugged me inside.

His hand moved hesitantly to the back of my helm as the hatch groaned shut and immersed us in relative darkness. My limb moved swiftly to the shiv-blade in my armour's hidden side-sheath.

That was the good thing about clean-bot closets: even if someone had installed holo-cams, no one would bother looking up the footage without reason. A dead tech's body could stay there, unnoticed, for days.

xXx

Revan Freeflight:

Canderous, HK, and Yudan were already out of the freighter by the time I cleared the loading ramp.

"Not much of a dock," Canderous grumbled. His helm swivelled in tandem with his repeating blaster, sweeping over the deserted consoles and empty corners. "And no defense matrix to stop an enemy infiltrating. Kriffing airlock was wide open. Suppose the Sith thought leaving this dock off the schematics was enough. Blithering di'kuts."

"Statement: Infrared sensors are picking up a disappointing lack of sentient life." HK had already stalked deep into the hangar, pausing only to stare disconsolately into a trio of empty snubs parked ahead of us. "Reminiscence: In your heyday, master, you at least left this area armed with a whimpering fleshbag. Or twelve."

"I don't think the airlock's normally left open, Canderous," I said absently, scanning the room myself. The three abandoned Aurek-class vessels HK was nosing into were bordered by discarded refuelling gigs, almost as if some unwitting tech had considered jumping in one himself before abandoning the idea. It was odd to find ex-Republic craft here, rather than the alien strikefighters we'd encountered so far. "Bastila ensured the interior bay doors would open for us."

"Pity she didn't leave them open," Carth commented, hot on my heels. "Two snubs came in with us before the airlock closed, but the rest of Dodonna's squad are left outside."

I turned, to see a grimace on Carth's face as Zaalbar edged past, bowcaster in hand. Carth's gaze was bleak.

The Republic's main thrust was to obliterate the Forge from the outside, but Dodonna had been gunning for the entirety of her "protection" squad to dock with us. Aid us, maybe.

Maybe.

Part of me wondered if they had an ulterior agenda. Backup orders of assassination, should events turn awry. Myself, Bastila- maybe we'd both be targets. Sun and stars, it's likely what I'd have done, in Dodonna's boots. Carth might not imagine such a thought, but the admiral struck me as shrewd enough to consider it.

Worst part was, I wouldn't blame her if she had.

"Get Teethree to see if he can hack into the Forge from the cockpit. Or, failing that, from one of the consoles out here," I commanded, shaking the irrelevant notion from my stream of thought. Orders or not, these soldiers would be nothing more than starpilots, considering they'd been hot in the skies before we'd even left Lehon. They weren't a threat to me, not at this point in time. "See if he can find a way to override the bay doors."

"Teethree and Mission are already on it. I'm going to talk to the pilots." Carth jumped the final metre from the loading ramp, before striding off to the rear of the 'Hawk where the two Republic snubs perched, repulsors whining softly in cool-down mode. I could hear the clatter of booted feet from around the hull of the freighter, and hoped the unknown grunts would be amenable enough to follow Carth's leadership.

We didn't have time to knock any heads together, as Canderous would say.

The dock itself was smallish, its total capacity a dozen snubs- give or take a few. With the three Aureks ahead of us, the duo of Republic strikefighters behind, and the 'Hawk itself taking the space of at least another four, this place was almost crowded.

It made the lack of both organic and artificial company feel a bit discordant in contrast.

A glimmer of light drew my attention from beneath the nearest Aurek snub. Broken shards of transparisteel, glinting a rainbow sheen of dross on the ground.

My eyes narrowed. The cockpit of the snub in question was smashed. Like someone had forced it down so hard it smattered the space-strengthened glass – even though that seemed patently ridiculous considering the military-class hydraulics of the cockpit mechanism-

Malak. Bastila. My breath hitched. Suddenly, I was seeing through her eyes again, panic burning wildfire in her throat, the interior bay doors opening as we scrabbled desperately up the side of the ship-

This is where Bastila almost escaped. Something clutched at my heart. It'd felt like we'd been so close to freedom, that day. Maybe we had.

Or maybe Malak had simply been playing her all along.

It didn't matter. That snub means she's nearby. She's close. She wouldn't have sent me to this dock if she wasn't.

-she is here. you are here. together, anything you desire can be made truth-

"Place is deserted," Canderous called out, chasing the opaque voice from my mind. "No turrets, only one exit. Should be easy enough to defend. I'll knock out the surveillance."

It was tempting to tell him not to bother. The holo-cams sat on the ceiling sidings like fat round grenades, prime for the plucking. A short burst of ionization and the whole lot would fry-

-you can save everyone. if you just reach out-

Hold tight on the Force. Keep it drawn in. Don't be a frelling bonehead.

"Do it," I said shortly.

HK whirred in acknowledgment, taking the order as his own with a certain glee apparent in the crimson flash of his eyes and the sharp rise of his rifle. Canderous simply grunted in acknowledgment before striding deeper into the dock.

Yudan, standing still mere metres away, shot me an unreadable look. I wondered if he'd predicted my errant desire to short out the cams. Likely. Bastard knows my instincts better than I do, at times.

"Lass." Jolee's voice from behind had me turning. The first shot from Canderous ended in a fizzle, echoing throughout the hangar. "You sure about this?"

I knew what he was asking. The old man still wanted to go with me. I could see it in the set of his grizzled jaw. But I wanted- needed- a Force-user behind with the others, with the 'Hawk. With Dustil. Mission. Carth.

I nodded at him firmly. And at the very top of the ramp, deep in the shadow of the open hatch, Mission's young face peeped out to stare curiously around the hangar.

"S'not very big, is it?"

"It's not meant to be." What had HK said? Something about these docks being for the private use of high-ranking meatbags? I grimaced, and supposed I could qualify as that, even now. "Thought you were in the cockpit?"

The grin on her face was bright. As always, showing eternal optimism and bravery in the face of everything the galaxy hurled at her. Sometimes, I had no idea how a chivhole like Taris could've produced Mission Vao.

"I'm allowed to say goodbye at least, right?"

"So say goodbye." It was a mutter from Dustil as he sidled past her, before leaping off the ramp and slouching against the 'Hawk's hull. His null aura was as obvious to me these days as Jolee's Force signature. Dustil had years of experience under his belt, holding the Force at bay. I simply had to have faith he'd keep it up.

Dustil shot a frown back at Mission. "You should get back to the cockpit. It's dangerous out here. You should go where it's-"

I winced. Somewhere, behind me, was the ping of HK's blaster. Dustil, don't say it-

"-safe."

"Hey, ronto-breath!" Mission flared, before side-stepping to aim a kick at his shoulder that he narrowly avoided. "I can take care of myself! I can't believe you-"

But Dustil was grinning. And despite everything – the danger, the risk, the frelling galaxy at stake – seeing Dustil Onasi learn to tease a friend choked a startled laugh of joy from me.

Mission must've realized, too, because she stopped squawking and settled for poking her tongue out at him.

"(Mission)," Zaalbar rumbled gently. His bowcaster was still held aloft, but he'd turned back to face the others. "(Go inside now. We need you to work with the astromech)."

Mission's gaze slipped back to mine. "Jen-"

My smile was tight. Tell her to get back to the cockpit. Tell her this isn't the time for goodbyes, for as every warrior knows, goodbyes do nothing but bring bad luck.

Ah, sod it.

I stalked fiercely back up the loading ramp and flung my arms around the Tarisian street kid. "Hold the fort and get the bay doors open," I whispered. "I'll go find the princess, kill the bad guy, and then we can all haul jets back to a known world. In less than a standard week, we'll be in a cantina somewhere and I'll introduce you to Corellian whiskey."

Her giggle against my chest was more of a snort. "Too late, Jen. Canderous has already done that. An' that stuff is foul."

I pulled back to stare down fondly at the girl who reminded me of a childhood I barely recalled. Leaning forward, I kissed her gently on the forehead.

"I'll see you soon, Mission," I whispered.

Zaalbar lurched past as I left. His footfalls thumped softly up the ramp. I heard him rumble an endearment to Mission, and then I deliberately blocked the rest of his Shyriiwook out.

I didn't need to hear their farewells. I hadn't teared up yet, but listening in to those two parting might be the thing that tipped me over.

He'll get out. We'll all get out, dammit.

"Uh, Jen."

The name had me stiffening. No matter that it wasn't mine; I imagined that in some small way Jen Sahara would always have a hold on me. It was strange to hear it from Carth- even though the four troops in his shadow immediately explained why.

Two pilots, two gunners, I assessed quickly. They all wore standard Republic flight suits – better protection than nothing, sure, but I still had an irritable desire to rush into the 'Hawk and throw whatever duramesh suits I could find at them.

Would've been a good idea, too, if Carth hadn't offloaded everything we collectively owned just to keep that alcoholic Rodian back on Yavin quiet.

"This is Corporal Tensey. Ensigns Joss, Lilani, and Tobards."

They all nodded cordially. I supposed Carth must have informed them I was in command, as one even made it halfway through a salute before dropping his hand awkwardly.

Good thing they're all lower ranks. I grimaced. No conflict of hierarchy here.

"Protection of the Ebon Hawk is priority," I stated, eyeballing the assembled troops. They all grasped blasters and wore grim expressions beneath grimy orange blast helms. I didn't want them anywhere near me when I left the dock, but an extra four guns for the 'Hawk's defense was nothing but a good thing. "Defend under the assumption you'll be leaving with us in our ship. Our resident slicer inside is working on the bay doors, while my team head in to extract our target."

"Statement: Objective complete, master." At some stage, Canderous and HK's blaster volley had died out. I was vaguely aware of both of them striding closer behind me. "Reflection: Performing as a mechanism to destroy our enemy's hardware was mildly amusing. Consider my weapon modules adequately warmed up. Plea: Let us depart this area and find something that offers at least a modicum of challenge to eviscerate?"

The flight helms of the Republic grunts swivelled sharply in HK's direction. One poor sap even took a wary step back.

"Er... what type of robot is that?" one of the pilots muttered stiffly.

HK's angular head twitched in her direction, and one mechanical limb waved in a dismissive flourish. "Statement: Just a simple droid here, ma'am. Nothing to see. Move along."

My lips twitched as I glanced back to Carth. He wore the same stony look of exasperation that HK always evoked in him. He must have felt my gaze, for he turned back just in time to see my smirk before it vanished.

"Airlock," Carth muttered, but for once the threat almost sounded fond. His expression slipped, then, before turning serious. "You should go, beautiful." His words were low, almost whispered. "It's time."

It was.

I allowed myself one last look over the Ebon Hawk. Mission had disappeared back inside, but Jolee stood ready near the freighter's entrance, scant metres from Dustil who was gripping his Korriban-grown lightsaber tight in one hand. The four soldiers all had their attention on Carth, awaiting his orders.

It was the best party I could leave behind to defend the 'Hawk, and Carth the best leader. I had to carry on: with a Wookiee, a Mandalorian, an assassination robot, and a Dark Jedi as my allies.

With a muffled oath, Carth strode forward, grabbed me around the waist and kissed me soundly.

His kiss was more a hard press of need than anything else- desperation- hope- a fierce display of faith that we'd both get out of here, because we simply had to-

Then his lips gentled. Suddenly, softly, moving tenderly against mine, as I was kept safe in the cocoon of his arms. I could almost believe we were back in the 'Hawk's pilot quarters-

He pulled back, just as abruptly. "Go," he choked out.

In that very moment, it seemed like all the iterations of Carth I had come to know overlaid one another. The suspicious soldier on Taris, the grudging one on Manaan, the man who had learned to trust me on Korriban and love me on Kashyyyk-

"Come on, Flyboy," I murmured, as I felt an impish grin widen my mouth. "No tears. Don't I always come back from certain death?"

His gaze warmed, but he said nothing, as I turned, and walked into the Star Forge proper.

xXx

Vrook Lamar:

It had been hours. Hours of evasion: masquerading as a lost mechanic, chancing an occasional mind-trick, slipping into empty rooms when my senses warned me of company nearby. All the while, holding tight onto a fragile faith that my slight use of the Force would go unnoticed.

But compulsion wasn't a trick worth anything, now. Not on the upper levels. This part of the Star Forge was run entirely by droids. Some of them were benign-

"Bleep! Dur-whoop beep!" a clean-bot squawked, as a tiny infrared scanner protracted from its carapace, scanning the name tag visible on my stolen coveralls. The clean-bot whined in complaint before scurrying down the corridor.

-some were infinitely more dangerous.

I'd kept to the shadows, concealed in the corners, shrouded my signature from the psychic probe of the almost-sentient Star Forge- but I couldn't hide from biothermal scanners. And those battle droids I'd seen eject from internal blast doors only minutes ago were bound to have biothermals.

All a clean-bot could do was log my unauthorised presence somewhere in the databanks of this rotten Dark Side relic. Somehow, I doubted the armoured droids now clanking a few shiny floors below would treat me with the same ambivalence.

It was fortunate I'd been some levels higher, on an open-air railing that crossed over the heads of the mechs as they spat out and unfurled, snapping disruptor rifles to their serrated forearms. Fortunate that I'd been quick enough to sprint through the next hatch before one of them could get a read on me.

But they were nearby. And if Darth Malak had kicked a load of battle droids into open sentry, then he was concerned about infiltration. I didn't think he was aware of me-

The Fleet will be here by now. They'll be attacking. Had someone managed to actually board this forsaken place? If so, they'd be headed straight for a reactor, or some other sabotage vector meant to obliterate the Forge from within.

Republic resources wouldn't be wasted on a fallen Jedi who'd been failed by everyone.

A fallen Jedi who – I could damn well sense it, much as it blackened my heart – was now reaching out to smite those she had once named ally.

-you can reach her. you can help her-

Every now and then, my mental guards would drop and that infernal voice would susurrate through my mind, a creaking promise of whatever I desired most.

-the power is here to save her-

I wasn't an idiot. I wasn't about to trust whispers from the dark. But I had to keep my walls up lest Darth Malak became aware of my presence.

I had to reach Bastila on the quiet.

The corridors here were a muted silver, almost perfectly circular in shape, marred only by the occasional scratch of graffiti that the clean-bots likely couldn't buff out. There had been little sentient life on the lower levels, but here- nothing but these damn droids.

Malak's released them to guard Bastila.

No doubt he saw her as the most prized jewel in his stolen treasury.

But I could be wrong about the Fleet. Bastila's unleashed her gift on them- on us. Could be they've sent a special ops taskforce to take her out.

It was a foreboding thought, but truth was- I had no idea. None. For all I knew, it could be blasted Revan Freeflight boarding that had sent Darth Malak into a tizz.

Regardless, the battle mechs were spanning out here. Which meant I was in the right place. The intelligence I'd scored was correct.

I grimaced down at the name tag on my lapel. Alan Ber'keek was stunned and trussed up in a supply closet. A voice in my head had murmured that it would be safer- cleaner- to kill him.

Jedi do not kill.

He might escape; aye, I knew that. Or someone might stumble on the hapless mechanic, learn of an intruder on the Forge-

I had a choice. Jedi do not kill unless they have no choice.

What choice had it been, really? A rogue Sith worker, if found, might bring about my capture- throw away my shot at saving Bastila.

There is always a choice.

In the end, I simply couldn't bring myself to lay a death blow on a comatose man. Whether it was Jedi mercy or simply a way of proving to myself that the damned Dark Side wouldn't control me- bah. I didn't know.

I'd made the choice, no point lamenting the stupidity of it now.

Up ahead, the corridor flared into a junction.

The internal diagrammatic I'd studied with Alan's comp login told me that left spiralled downwards to crew quarters, and eventually a hidden officer's dock – one not detailed on any schematic the Republic brass had eyeballed. But right, ah- that wound higher to the upper viewing decks. Chambers that were restricted to system droids and the master of the Star Forge.

Presumably, also, holding the woman he labelled his new apprentice.

I drew right, and the 'saber on my waist hummed.

No Force, though. I didn't dare. Stayed small as a gnit-fly, an old fool that was no threat, slipping between the radars of Dark Jedi and the Dark Side alike. But the kaiburr housed in my lightsaber's casing buzzed like I was waving it about in battle.

Even my damn weapon can hear the blasted Star Forge.

There was a dark, slippery taint in all of my senses – like a sheen of oil both polluting and pervading through an ocean.

To think that my padawan had been helpless and imprisoned in such a place for so long...

The burn of attachment cinched tight around my heart. Attachment was a danger; aye, I'd always known that, and fiercely believed in the truth of it. But without attachment, what was left but isolation?

...

Place hasn't changed.

That was the first thing I'd said, in a voice abrupt enough to discourage Dorak from indulging in any more superfluous chitchat.

Dantooine hadn't changed. I'd left the planet an inexperienced padawan decades ago; heart a little bruised, maybe, but otherwise a typical young Jedi in need of shaping and moulding beyond Dantooine expertise at the time.

I didn't much enjoy my time on Coruscant. Hadn't expected to, and wasn't that just the way of it- cast a shadow on your own future, and most of the time you'll draw it true.

Aye, knowing the wisdom didn't necessarily mean one was smart enough to prescribe to it. People were idiots. Myself just the same as any other.

I'd never liked Coruscant. I could've ignored the politics, the annoying training partners, and the ceaseless millions of sents all scheming just outside the Temple's walls.

But no one could ignore Exar Kun.

Dammit, I'd known the bastard, and still never imagined his depth of depravity. The reach of his influence had been far, farther than any Jedi could've foreseen.

Knights turned. Masters fell. Padawans broke the code- and, aye, no matter how I grieved over Nayama's fall to Kun's ranks, I couldn't help but blame it partly on her unsanctioned marriage to Jolee Bindo.

She was turned away by us, though. Her sister wasn't. Her sister never fell, despite a marriage.

I wrenched the thoughts in. They were always bitter, and the what-ifs even more so.

"...good to have you home," Dorak said mildly. He'd always been an affable sort, even when we were both padawans. Reminded me a bit of Zhar, back on Coruscant – and one day Zhar would come back home, too; him and Karon both. I'd wager on it, if I'd been a betting man. "We have too many apprentices without a master."

I grunted in non-committal response. "Place really hasn't changed then."

I didn't want an apprentice, but I had little choice in the matter.

We must train the new generation. Heavy words laid on me, what seemed like a minute after I'd ascended to masterhood. All of us have a responsibility to rebuild the Order from the ashes of Exar Kun's corruption.

Ach, I couldn't deny that. At least I'd used the High Council's desire as a way to wrangle myself back home.

"Walk with me to the younglings," Dorak suggested. "Allow me to acquaint them to you. They're all in the courtyard beyond, listening to Vandar."

Some things didn't change. It was an echo of my earlier ruminations. Men like Exar Kun would rise and fall, but the renni-grass on Dantooine would forever grow wild, and Vandar would forever lead the Enclave.

There was a certain peace in that thought. I might not admit it to Dorak, but I was glad to be home.

"I'm hardly going to choose an apprentice on my first day back," I groused.

As we traipsed onwards, the courtyard opened into view. There were a dozen or so younglings, ranging from little more than toddlers to a bright-eyed tweener, all sitting cross-legged in a semi-circle facing Vandar and an older Twi'lek padawan who stood in his shadow.

A couple of kids were making lewd faces at each other – and I had a sudden, bittersweet recollection of the Qel-Droma twins. I'd never liked the brats, but that didn't mean I hadn't mourned their fate. Both of them.

The rest of the younglings had their keen eyes and expressive faces fixed wonderingly on the short green master.

Apart from one girl.

She was sitting slightly apart from the rest. Young, maybe six or seven, dark hair knotted into decorative braids that looked more at home on a Core noble than a kid learning in the Dantooine wilds. Her expression was blank. But her gaze was aimed intently on Vandar just the same.

Dorak chuckled. "No one expects you to select your apprentice immediately, Vrook. We all appreciate such a responsibility should not be rushed."

Vandar rasped something that made the kids giggle. All but the girl. Her head cocked, as if she were digesting every word.

"Who's that?" I asked, abruptly pointing to her.

"Bastila Shan," Dorak offered. "Middling strength for her age, although it's always hard to predict how that'll come out after puberty. The girl's shy. The other younglings see her as snobby and standoffish, but honestly, I think she just doesn't know how to be a child."

I was aware of him shrugging in my periphery, the corners of his mouth twisting in a wry grimace – but I kept my gaze on the girl.

"She was home-schooled by her mother, a Talravinite noble who lost her fortune. The woman never bothered to socialize her daughter. My observation is the girl's hampered by a fair wallop of social awkwardness – but she's young. Young enough to change, to adjust."

Shy. Socially awkward. Seen by others as standoffish.

I'd be a liar if I couldn't see myself in that description. My acerbic manner was my own damn fault, I knew – but, well. Knowing the wisdom didn't necessarily mean one was smart enough to prescribe to it.

Dorak was looking at me with a gleam in his eye. "Not going to choose one on your first day, huh, Vrook?"

I threw him my fiercest scowl. "Thought you were going to introduce me, Dorak." I flourished a hand towards the students, and demanded, "Well?"

Dorak chuckled. "You say Dantooine hasn't changed. Neither have you, my old friend. Neither have you."

...

I'd immediately been drawn to Bastila because of her isolation. Because I felt a certain kinship with a young girl-child.

In all likelihood, that probably made me the worst damn master for her- for if I shared the same weaknesses, how could I ever help her overcome them?

The corridor ended up ahead, drawing into a mammoth oblique hatch inlaid with foreign sigils I didn't recognize. One of the upper viewing chambers, if I recalled correctly from the schematic.

I unfurled a tiny finger of Force-

-she is here. draw on the power, make her listen-

-and snapped it hard back to me.

My lips tightened. One hand clenched my 'saber, and the other threw a sudden burst of Force directly into the entry sensor.

The half-moon doors opened. I had the briefest image of a kneeling robed figure alone in the centre of a cavernous room, as I took a cautious step forward-

A movement along the edges of my vision had me ducking sideways, lightsaber flaring high, reflecting the first laser bolt back into the midriff of an armoured guard-

Everything dulled. Like a cessation of light, the entire room was immediately muted in coagulation.

Another bolt streamed at me- so fast- and my limbs were sluggish in lifting the 'saber to block-

The Force. It's- it's- gone-!

A burn of agony punched into the side of my chest. I felt it, a nanosec before the scent of charred cloth hit my nostrils, and then the pain hit higher-

"Halt!" a woman's voice ordered. Stone-cold, and ringing with command.

The flare of green wavered unsteadily in my hand. My other clutched desperately at my mangled chest. Pain was an iron band squeezing hard against my ribs, but I kept my eye on the black-armoured guard who held a mini-pistol aimed directly at my heart.

Behind me, I thought, was another.

And the Force- it had completely vanished! I reached out desperately, frantically- at this stage I'd welcome the cursed murmurings of the Star Forge itself, but- nothing!

"Vrook."

My head turned to face her. My fingers seared with the heat of scorched flesh and warm blood. I could feel the shaking of shock set in on old limbs disconnected from any aid of the Force.

"My padawan," I managed through dry lips, as my gaze roved over her. She was so pale. And thin. And her eyes blazed-

My breath hitched, and the stones in my soul grew heavy.

"I am not yours any longer, old man," she hissed, and I saw the flare of emotion lighten the unnatural yellow taint in her eyes.

The taint I had known would be there.

"Perhaps you have gone through too much to be mine any longer," I rasped. "But you are not Malak's. You are too strong for that. I know you are."

Something snapped in her countenance. "You should not be here." Her voice was cold, and damned me for my presence. But her tawny eyes- there was distress, there. I could see it. I simply had to find a way to reach her.

"I used to say that to you every Baker's Day," I whispered. "Do you remember?"

...

"You should not be here, Bastila," I said. My heart was burdened each day of freedom I found her in Dorak's library – because it reminded me of myself. Aye, other than a singular year in my own youth, I'd done exactly the same.

Hidden away amongst the dusty archives, in the pretence that learning was my only desire.

Her head lifted, and a small smile of welcome flittered nervously on her young face. Almost a teen, now – a time I'd been expecting to lecture her on the dangers of attachment, of emotion, of allowing reckless idiocy to reign over logic.

But not my Bastila.

"I am studying the building blocks of deep meditation, Master." Bastila indicated to the crystalline polyhedron that sat, deactivated, on the beech wood table next to the plasticeel datasheets she had been perusing. "Master Galdea has directed me toward a holocron that might aid in my understanding."

"Child." I could hear the grump in my voice. I certainly didn't besmirch my padawan from honing her burgeoning knowledge, but Baker's Day was a traditional rest day on Dantooine, a break from study or work- be one a Jedi or a common-folk tilling the fields. "You should be outside. Mingling." I cleared my throat. "With the other padawans. Having- having fun."

Forming attachments.

Aye, singular attachment was dangerous, but a complete lack could be just as perilous. The Force interconnected all life, and that was not something Bastila could experience while hiding away with her nose in a book.

Bastila blinked, before her gaze dropped from mine. "Master, I train with them every day. If Baker's Day is meant to be a pursuit of pleasure, then can I not utilize it in the way I see fit?" She loosed a tinny, awkward laugh. "This is what I wish to do, Master. I am learning so much-"

I harrumphed, cutting off her stilted tirade. Ach, and how could I berate my padawan for living a childhood so similar to mine?

Her young face tilted up, but there was an edge of guardedness in her countenance. It'd never really left, not since I'd first laid eyes on her.

"One more hour, Bastila," I told her severely. "I shall return and expect this room to be empty. A Jedi should embrace experience beyond just the academic. Galdea's teachings can wait."

She bowed her head in compliance. "Yes, master."

...

Most days I hadn't had the heart to cut short her solitude. And as the years passed, Bastila had slowly escaped her self-imposed shell, slowly allowed others to reach her-

Aye, and I'd been such a grateful idiot to finally see another befriend her that I'd completely failed to comprehend the inequity of their friendship, the fractures of corruption that must have been prevalent in Kylah Aramai, even as a padawan.

I'd always been a suspicious old bugger. But I'd been blind to the sandsnake as it slithered into our den.

"I remember Baker's Day." Her voice was a blast of arctic wind. I'd hoped a stab of nostalgia would reach her, but I couldn't even spot the slightest chip in her impassive face.

"Bastila," I said softly. The beat of my heart drummed against my fingertips. I punched off the 'saber in my other hand and held it aloft, in surrender. "Come with me. Leave this place. Please."

She was silent for the longest time. Behind her, curved transparisteel viewports shot through with the flashes of battle. I didn't know what she saw in my face, but in hers I saw disdain. Condescension. Supercilious emotions that everyone had always believed as her true self, even when young. Whereas I'd always seen them as nothing more than the mask of the insecure.

Bastila wore those emotions well, now.

"Too little, too late, old man," she said at last. There was grief in those words. Dammit, I was sure there was.

"It's never too late!" I growled, feeling the surge of my emotions briefly overwhelm the gripping pain of my injuries. "You of all people know that! Any other Jedi would have left that woman behind on the Nexus, but you didn't. You didn't-"

...

She is alive.

The thought was a savage prayer of faith. A need to make desperate hope a reality. Because I would know if my padawan had fallen in battle, no matter what the Republic comms from Deralia spouted forth.

Galdea said nothing, merely nudged a tray of Dantooine tuber-roots smeared in white sauce across the mess table. He knew better than to speak pithy platitudes.

And if damned Karon or Zhar came anywhere near me right now I'd clock 'em straight in the face.

There is no emotion. There is peace.

It was hard to calm down. Had been all week. And annoyingly dim as those two could be, I had to concede they meant well. They always did.

No one felt the fall of Revan or Malak more than them.

Revan and Malak should never have been trained in the first place-

"There's a presence in the sector. Just exited hyperspace." Galdea's large head jerked up, nose in the air like a kath hound. He'd always had a strong sense for that sort of thing. "Fear. So much fear. I-"

"Who?" I demanded, my voice hoarse as I shoved the lukewarm tray to one side. Galdea's unerring accuracy at recognizing Force signatures was as adept as his detection skills. "Who is it?"

His eyes shot to mine. There was a widening to them that told me the answer before he did. "Bastila Shan," he breathed. "But she's so scare-"

I ran.

Every step, my heart in my throat, vowing I'd never let the Republic sympathizers collar her again. It'd been Kester this mission, but if not him then it was Galdea or Vima-

By the time I'd reached the small dock a klick outside the Enclave I could sense her, too. A few minutes later, and the speck of her craft dotted in Dantooine's pale blue sky.

Another few before I saw the shape of it clearly-

What manner of ship is that?

The realization was numbing. One of Darth Revan's. Somehow, my padawan had escaped in one of the Sith Lord's own vessels.

As the sleek snubfighter descended on an erratic landing trajectory, Bastila's Force signature became apparent to my own senses. There was only hers. No one else on board, and my padawan's fear eclipsed all other emotion. She'd last been with masters Kester and Jai'lel, two of Dantooine's most powerful and most experienced.

I accepted they were dead before the ship landed with an unstable skidding on the open dirt dockyard, spitting billows of dust into the air. I'd feel grief for the masters later. All I cared about was Bastila, safe.

But why is she so petrified?

Galdea and Karon and Vandar were flanking me by the time the ship's curved hatch opened and Bastila tumbled out. She was a mess- but not visibly wounded- no obvious reason for the overwhelming fear that buffeted against my grip on the Force-

"Master!" she sobbed, and the closest thing I had to a daughter launched herself at me. My arms tightened around her awkwardly.

"It's alright," I said, voice gruff, blinking back tears of relief I'd deny to my dying breath. But this last week, since the news from Deralia had broken- I hadn't truly thought that Bastila was gone- but I'd feared it-

I cleared my throat hurriedly. "You're back home, Bastila. It's alright. It's over."

"No." She whimpered like she hadn't done since she was a tweener. And then her entire body stiffened. She drew back and stared up at me bleakly.

The look on her face- and I saw, then, the dark hollows in her cheeks, the tracery of veins taut on her pale forehead, the smudges of exhaustion starkly visible under her eyes-

Like she'd been pumping herself full of stims for a week just to stop from sleeping.

"It's not over, Master." Her eyes fluttered closed and her voice dropped to a stage whisper. "I'm not alone."

The words were a kick in the guts.

I threw the Force outwards, my gaze snapping to the alien ship as my hands tightened on Bastila's arms, and then- there- I felt it-

The faintest spark of evil. A dying black hole of grief and shadow.

"Oh no," I whispered. There was a sharp, startled gasp of recognition from Karon, and that told me exactly who Bastila had brought back with her. "My padawan. What have you done?"

"Mercy," she mumbled, her eyes still squeezed tight. "I couldn't... Malak fired on her flagship- then she was out cold and her mind broken... I couldn't leave her! Not when... not when I could save her. We preach mercy, and I- I just couldn't- I couldn't leave her to die."

I said nothing, even as my limbs stiffened and Karon and Vandar strode forward in haste. The only thought running through my mind, as I pushed Bastila roughly behind me and glared at the now-threatening snub, was simply that I wished Bastila had.

...

"No one else could have accomplished such a thing in the face of their own fear. But you were right, Bastila, right to show the mercy of the Jedi. Right to understand that it is never too late-"

"It is too late! Too little, and far too late!" The words seethed like acid, and her eyes flared golden. "You believe I refer to a redundant redemption of my own actions?" Her words cut through me like a razor of ice. She followed it with a mocking laugh- a sound of contempt I had never thought to hear from her. "You misguided old fool. It is too late for you to comprehend what is truly at stake! It is too little- this- you reaching out for me after all this time, like there is any time left-"

Her mouth snapped shut with a click, and she threw a sudden glare at the viewport. "Time. This wastes my time. I have a battle to attend to, Vrook, and you- you made the choice to step foot on enemy ground."

"I am not your enemy." I would believe that, say that, until the last breath had choked from my lungs. "I am on your side, Bastila!"

I kept my palm facing upwards, the deactivated 'saber rolling loose between my fingers. Still no Force, and the dizziness of blood loss was setting in, as it seeped through the calluses of my other hand. But I'd hold it together. I had to. "Please. Listen to me. This is not- whatever is happening, whatever it is that I don't understand... this is not the right path. Tell me what's going on. Tell me, Bastila."

The slightest flinch- if I hadn't been watching her so intently I wouldn't have seen it- but she was tempted. Part of her was, I could see it.

I stepped forward. Wounded and with one hand open in a gesture of peace, I was no threat to her. So I thought, so she must know, but the damn silent guards I'd forgotten thought otherwise-

It felt like two flaming shiv-blades stabbed deep into either side of my lower back. A scream tore from my lungs. The 'saber dropped with a clatter-

"Halt!" The same stone-cold command from the same frigid voice.

I was still standing. How, I had no idea, as the agony of seared flesh was overriding everything.

"The Force." It was Bastila's voice. But so cold. So emotionless. "You. Slayer. Why does it disappear when I step forward?"

"Null field technology, my lord." A mechanized response. One of the damn guards. Slayers. She called them slayers.

I was swaying, both hands now clutched tight around blazing ribs, breath coming in shallow gulps that rasped against my throat.

"Our portable devices have a six metre radius, my lord." My lord. The bastard was naming my padawan a dark lord. "If you stay back it shall not affect you."

There's been whispers in the Core. Whenever I landed on Coruscant, making my grudging report to High Council. Jedi assassins. Assassins of the night. First Revan's and later Malak's- deadly silent warriors the Force didn't touch.

Could it be these slayers, who now pledged obeisance to my old padawan?

A flicker of movement through my half-closed eyelids. One of those anonymous bastards had scooped up my dropped 'saber as a trophy.

My thoughts were fraying like a lit fuse. No Force to hold the pain back, to hold me upright. But I had to keep talking, keep fighting for her, keep thinking-

"Did you honestly believe you could rescue me from Malak?" She was speaking to me again. And her voice oozed with scorn. The pain blazed whenever I moved, but I was still standing- I lifted my heavy head to stare at her-

Bastila's yellow eyes flared with disgust. "You cannot even make it past two slayers, Vrook. Look at you. You are dead on your feet. You should have stayed on Dantooine."

Numbness was setting into my body, my mind. "Dantooine was- was- bombed-"

She knew that. She had to know that. And the Enclave was already being rebuilt, having mostly survived-

Her expression didn't budge, even as it blurred in front of me. "Dantooine would have been a more noble death for you than this pathetic display."

"Bastila." I wouldn't let those words cut me. "I believe in you. In the Jedi you are. No matter what has happened, what you have done in the name of Darth Malak or simply to survive, you can come back. You believed that of Revan, and I believe it of you. Come with me-"

Her gaze was pitiless, and that was enough to choke the words in my throat. "I shall not allow you to interfere, Vrook. You made your choice to infiltrate the Star Forge. This is the price of your ignorance." Her profile swivelled to the left. "If he disturbs me or moves another step closer, shoot out his knees."

"Bastila!" I cried. The words stabbed something deeper than the blaster burns that'd butchered my flesh. "I don't believe you'll kill me." I didn't. I would keep faith with her. I had to show her- and she could control the blasted guards- "Tell your slayers to stand down. Leave this place. Come- come with me- p-please-"

My words were starting to slur together as my head swam. I couldn't raise my hands from their tight grip against my torso, but I could make my next step so obviously slow that it'd give her a chance to halt them before they fired-

The impact was a detonation of pain. Nothing but pain as it eclipsed everything else. I couldn't see, couldn't hear, just the hard, sticky press of metal against my face as my body burned.

I'd fallen.

"Scrape him off the floor of my chamber." I barely heard the words made of ice. "Put him by the wall. If he tries anything, kill him."

It was a place beyond pain, now. Coherency had completely shattered. Vision was fuzzy, but opening my eyes I could see a black-robed figure in the distance-

"Perhaps you are a fitting witness, Vrook. Perhaps as you lay here; a useless, old, dying fool; you can bear witness to the heights of my battle meditation married with the galaxy's most powerful defence."

She turned. A blurry cape of black spidersilk flurried over her shoulder as she stepped away. Further, further away from me, and knelt to do the Dark Side's bidding.

xXx

Author's Note:
Coming up next: Battles on the Star Forge.

A year's worth of clean-bot service to kosiah for the beta.