Hyperspace VII – part three
Traya:
Unifar Starport, Iziz, Onderon
"Master." The honorific rumbled from the hulk of a man who stood with his back facing me. His deep growl was more akin to the grinding of slag beneath a sandcrawler's tracks than that of a Human's intonation. "You have returned."
"Stating the obvious ill becomes you," I clipped out. The man did not turn from his position, not even as I neared. His large frame remained hunched over our freighter's central console, either to conceal the screen or offer me the insult of his back. A trifling deed of rebellion, perhaps, from one whose spirit already crawled in servility. No matter. I could afford to ignore his belligerence for now. "Tell me, my scion, how fares our valiant general?"
As I reached the man's side, one meaty fist jerked: punching forward to clear the contents of the console screen he had been perusing.
Like I could not guess whom my obsessed scion was trawling the holonets in search of.
"General Vaklu refused to speak with me."
This close, the man towered over my shorter stature. A physical discordance that mattered not at all when compared to the mastery of the Force.
I could feel my eyes pinching in displeasure, and the crisp of steel strengthened my next words. "I trust you did not allow Vaklu's truculence to thwart you."
It was not a question.
"Of course not, master. I instead approached Vaklu through an exiled separatist group, currently camped within the slums of Iziz." The man turned, at last, to face me. His pale and cracked lips twisted in a smirk. "At first the general wasn't pleased to see me, but I changed his mind. Vaklu is ours, or as good as."
My head dipped in the slightest of nods. Onderon was important; would continue to be important in the years to come. This resource-rich, relatively unscathed planet was a direct - and short – hyperspace jump to the first of the Republic's quixotic restoration endeavours: Telos.
Onderon could become the indelible lynchpin of the battered Republic's resurgence – or its fall. One did not need precognition to foretell that material resources and logistical support would be requested from this wealthy planet, and that Onderon's impressionable, pro-Republic Queen would fold beneath the weakest of pleas from the Core.
General Vaklu, as the Queen's cousin, was second-in-line to the throne. He was older, war-hardened, a famous military general from Onderon's ousting of the Mandalorian invasion – and he was also a closet secessionist.
I could feel my lips curving. "Good," I murmured.
My apprentice cocked his head, but did not reply. The dim lighting of the freighter gleamed against the scars rippling over his uncovered scalp. His eyes were deadened orbs of swirling white corruption, boring down at me dispassionately.
Such a physical change from the midnight-skinned boy he had once been; the boy who had traipsed eagerly down the hallowed halls of the Jedi High Temple. The boy who had once yearned to master the art of healing, to breathe in all the knowledge of the Jedi, to transform into someone bright and powerful and good.
Ah, the naive idealism of youth. That boy had been a padawan of mine, then; my first true scion- before the Jedi Order exiled me for failing to adhere to their rigid hypocrisy.
The boy grew into a man whilst I travelled my own path. He had lived his own set of adventures: a new Jedi master, a triumphant knighthood, a call to warfare and fanatical heroism as his deeds blazed across the galaxy next to the brightest of stars.
Until Malachor shattered his soul, and the Jedi Order cast him away like dross.
These days, the pained hate rolled from the man in waves of power: fast like wildfire, before ebbing to a slow-moving tar as black as his heart. Amazing, the strength my apprentice had garnered in the ten months since I had found him bleating into the depths of a bottle. The ancient Force rituals I bound his life-force with had borne fruit within the empty husk of what had once been a mighty Jedi Knight.
For Xaset Terep had never been a weakling. None of the Jedi Thirteen had ever been weaklings.
Muscles rippled beneath weathered skin that had turned as pale as sandstone. "Was your journey to the Core successful, master?"
"It was." I did not deign to offer details. My fingers within the web of holo-media plucked their strings well: public opinion was burgeoning against the battered ranks of the Jedi Order, and that would steer the ship of Senate bureaucracy.
Politics, I had learned, was simply the continuation of war by another means. And the Jedi Order were but one of my eventual targets.
I had once emulated the façade of Jedi serenity, spouting platitudes and hollow counsel even as my soul questioned the dichotomies within the Jedi ethos.
I had once been little more than a blind idiot, living a life in a darkness I did not perceive, not until the harsh light of a dawning sun cast its rays on all the preconceptions that had blinkered my vision.
I had once fallen in love.
"So," Xaset ground out. His large shoulders tensed. "Is Revan truly dead this time?"
My lips thinned. So, Xaset knew of Jen Sahara. Sharlan, that nihilistic craven, had never learned the wisdom in holding his tongue. If it were not for the sheer potential in harnessing and directing his hunger at my will, I would have euthanized the fool long ago.
At least I could console myself with one amusing consequence of the Star Forge: Sharlan's tendency to mouth off was now permanently hindered.
Xaset's strength was different to Sharlan's, but no less powerful. The deaths at Malachor rippled through my scion's Force aura, burdening the man to relive that day of darkness over and over again, granting him both power and pain beyond what I had first predicted.
The enduring chink in Xaset's armour were those he once named as his comrades. Those he had watched from afar, as they spiralled into the depths of depravity he had once sacrificed his soul to halt.
The war turned, after Malachor, and in such a way that Xaset could neither understand nor forgive. Even now at the very mention of Revan, his loathing trembled with enough raw fury to manifest on a physical level.
Plasteel tubes of condiments rattled loudly against the shelves.
"Rein it in," I snapped. "Revan is dead."
The Force swirled before choking tight around the man, as if my words afforded him a small measure of comfort.
Perhaps they did.
Still. Even Revan's asinine droid had not granted a surety of her final demise. My game would continue without Revan's piece on the board, but I was no simpleton.
If there was one sentient known for upending the game-board entirely, it was Revan Freeflight.
"Good," Xaset growled, turning back to face the blank console screen. "With Malak also gone, that only leaves Yudan alive."
My voice turned cold. "You will not chase after gnit-flies when rancors are our true quarry."
His large shoulders bunched as he shot me a glare filled to the brim with malcontent. "He is with the Jedi. The Jedi!"
Xaset's weakness of temper was not one I would accommodate – even if I understood his resentment. Once again the Jedi Order sheltered a war criminal from Republic justice – if the holonet rumours were to be believed. Such a sharp contrast to their treatment of Xaset Terep who, alongside Meetra Surik, had been exiled by a passel of blind robes who would not accept the price required for ending the Mandalorian Wars.
But the Jedi Order have never been balanced in their judgment, have they?
No. I knew that well. I had been circumspect with my one affair of the heart. After all, it was not particularly difficult for a Jedi Master to conceal a brief dalliance of carnal pleasure with an outsider.
Until I did the unforgiveable. The prohibited. The absolutely shocking, at my advanced age.
I fell pregnant.
"You have only the lurid hearsay of fanciful holonet reporters," I snapped. "If there is truth in the matter of that one's survival, then time will show the Order lack the teeth to shield him from the braying howls of the masses. Your old friend is of no import to my plans-"
"He is not my friend!"
"Silence!" The Force surged, unchecked, around my body and deep into my psychic hold over the man's soul. Xaset's mental guards flapped futilely before they collapsed. "You will listen. You will obey. You will do my will."
The large man trembled, before bowing ever so slightly. But even that minor act of subservience was enough. Xaset Terep was mine.
The man hated me for his pain, for his subjugation; just as he loved me for the gift of restored Force – and it was those twin bonds of emotion that shackled him well and truly to my side.
"The Jedi Order will face their own reckoning," I murmured, in a tone one would use to soothe a frightened loth-kitten. "Fear not, my dark scion. Their time will come."
The most satisfying side-effect of the Order's eventual demise was my own savage foretaste of retribution. I did not deny there was wisdom within the ethos of the Jedi, but their wisdom was married with a casual cruelty: their rank and file preached acceptance, whilst their leaders offered only repudiation for the odd Jedi who dared procreate.
I had been tasked to put the babe up for adoption and cut all ties with my Echani paramour, or leave the Jedi Order forever.
And, as vast as my love blossomed for that squalling, snot-nosed spawn of my own flesh, I could not bring myself to abandon what I considered to be the most essential part of me: a Jedi.
At first, I had believed my decision to be the right one. I sat on the Council no more, but I still wore the robes and spoke the same invective as always. I walked amongst my peers with a mother's grief burning in my heart and a forced smile upon my lips- but the doubts trickled in, doubts that I first concealed beneath the stringent doctrine of the Jedi Code.
Singular attachment is dangerous. Singular attachment can lead to the Dark Side. Singular attachment will not be allowed within the Jedi Order.
To this day, I was not sure when the Order's ethos had changed so radically, so abstemiously – but once there had been a time when Jedi did not frown upon attachment, when they did not separate mother from child, brother from sister. When they counted familial love as a blessing.
I remained Jedi, but my doubts grew. The fierce yearning to know my child did not abate. It was belittling to accept that I was no more than a mother stripped of her young – my meditations would drift into daydreams of the babe's rounded cheeks, of her toddling first steps, of her child's delight at the world.
Sentiment. Foolish, weak-minded sentiment. Basic and yet overpowering with its primal simplicity.
The Force slowly transformed into a burden rather than a comfort, and so I addressed the High Council once more. Begged them, pleaded for consent to know my child. Only to be faced with the same decision as before.
This time I chose exile.
But years had passed, and the Echani Yusannis had grown bitter. He would not see me. He would not forgive. I forced a meeting, only to learn that he did not even know where our child had been fostered. That he had cast her away like I had him.
In the end, I found myself with truly nothing, and that was when I had first learned to hate.
"What now?" Xaset shuffled on his feet, his large head turning back to stare at the blank console screen. "Do we stay on Onderon?"
"There are other plans I must see to. The separatist movement on Onderon requires time to ignite, time that we can use for other means." I paused, sifting through my connection with the Force to focus tightly on him. "Have you found her?"
Xaset stiffened, like a broken statue slowly shifting to attention. "No, I- You are still searching for her?"
"Of course. Malachor birthed gifts in you and Sharlan. Did you expect Meetra Surik to be any different?"
"You- you- you cannot hurt her!" His voice cracked on the pathetic plea, as the Force vanished entirely from his aura. For the briefest of moments, Xaset Terep was nothing more than a walking void again.
My scion's once-comrades were enough to send him into a tailspin of unchecked fury, but Meetra Surik might be the only sentient in the galaxy who could break him.
"I will give her the Force again. Just like I did with you."
Malachor had blinded Xaset and Meetra and, like wounded kath-pups seeking shelter, they had scurried back to their den in hope of salvation. Instead- instead- those blinkered Jedi hypocrites cast them out as nulls, ripped cruelly from the lifeblood and the doctrines they had always depended on.
Take the greatest Jedi Knight and strip away the Force, and all that remains is a cowering child. The High Council would have been more merciful in executing the pair of them.
The Jedi Order knew nothing of true enlightenment. Their rigorous standards were completely at odds with their unconditional forgiveness of any fallen Jedi who had committed atrocities but claimed redemption. The Jedi preached love in all its forms – except the physical, except the familial, except the singular.
"The Force... she was- she was broken, when I last saw her." Xaset bore no expression as he faced me, but nascent hope flickered through the Force as it returned to him. Mingled with fear – for the man knew well the price required for such a resurrection. "Maybe we should just leave her-"
"Would you return to how you were?"
Xaset did not answer.
"Meetra Surik matters little unless we find her. I have weightier concerns than your old lover, my apprentice."
The Unknown Regions.
The years after I shed the brown robes had been a search for understanding. I stood on my own, delving into dark corners if knowledge could be gained. No longer would I judge myself on the ideals of a broken organization that was more a controlling religion than a force for good. I would do what I thought was right.
And when the Mandalorian Wars broke out, and Revan Freeflight led a band of renegade Jedi to aid the Republic, I took notice. When she started winning battles and the galaxy spoke of the Jedi Thirteen in awed tones, I travelled to her side.
But I stayed in the shadows. I did not need the fame of her generals, her Guard of Twelve, her Jedi Thirteen. I was no longer Master Arren Kae – Kae had died when the Order betrayed her and Yusannis denied forgiveness. Master Kreia, on the other hand, was a hidden advisor and teacher to Revan; an undeniable part of the drive for Republic victory against the Mandalorian menace.
And then we won, and Revan led us to the depths of space beyond the Outer Rim.
Even now, my mind shied away. Revan believed a stronger Republic was the only solution – I had my doubts, but Revan's charisma and power were enough to sway me at first. I had been by her side through the horrors of battle, after all, and there were few sentients I esteemed as highly.
But not even Revan Freeflight could control the Dark Side, and her objectives slowly corroded, until her desire was galactic domination instead of galactic defense.
I left, before it all fell apart. I mourned, when I heard of her death above Deralia. Finally, my mind started working on its own plan.
"Where are we headed, then?"
My lips curved in a cold smile. Where it all began, my dark scion. Sharlan will scuttle back to my side soon enough, and there is but one place in the galaxy for the three of us to strengthen before it is our time to strike.
"Malachor," I murmured, and headed to the cockpit.
xXx
Mekel Kadoni:
Jedi High Temple, Galactic City, Coruscant
"So, er, how was this morning with Master Ell?" Kel asked, shifting uneasily on his feet.
Like he couldn't guess the frakking answer. Did I bleeding well feel any different to his gods-damned Force senses?
I threw Kel a shrug as I rifled through the rucksack I'd emptied on the table. "Bit like clubbing a nest of baby shyracks. Sure, you could argue it's community service, but with the way those things breed you're just wasting everybody's time for a bit of unchecked gore."
"Oh." Kel blinked, his eyes crinkling in confusion. "So, not well, then?"
"No, Kel," I drawled. If I'd still had the Force, I'd've whacked him over the head for being a gormless idiot. Kel was a nice guy, but sometimes I wondered if he'd spent his childhood in a frakking box. "Not well. Would've been more bearable if they'd sent a robe easy on the eyes, but only Sadface comes to look at me these days."
"You're lucky he still tries, Mekel," Thalia weighed in, with her customary tactlessness. "It wouldn't hurt to keep a civil tongue and show Master Ell a modicum of civility."
I scowled at the dark-haired woman leaning against the wall of my quarters. Yuthura's quarters, actually, but I hadn't mustered up the balls to walk out on her yet. "I'll be sure to send him a thank-you note."
Thalia's eyes flashed, and I remembered she'd never been one to back down, even on Korriban. She was an alright sort, really, when she wasn't lambasting me about my frakking language.
"Kel," Thalia said abruptly. "Go get us some lunch, would you?"
"I, er, alright then," Kel muttered, rubbing his neck awkwardly as he skulked out of the room.
I rolled my eyes as the hatch swished closed behind him. "How sweet. Just the two of us. I have to remind you that I'm already taken-"
An invisible cord lashed me warningly on the back.
"Frakk!" Damn, I'd forgotten just how much that could hurt. "Like old times, huh? For frakk's sake, Thalia, that bleeding stings-"
"This is nothing like old times," Thalia snapped. "Yuthura's not our master, none of us are Sith anymore, and you're a space-damned null!"
My scowl tightened with bone-deep resentment as I glared at her.
When Yuthura and I'd first arrived at the Temple, it'd been Thalia's unexpected presence that'd smoothed things over. Not like the damn robes had been interested in me then – not when they had frakking Yuthura Ban camped out on their doorstep.
Sure, her Sith markings had mostly faded, but it wasn't like the dusty-brained gimboids were ignorant of the position she once held. Thalia, Kel, Dak – they'd all been admitted into the Order – even if Dak had pissed off to who-knew-where – and their supposedly exemplary behaviour had at least grudgingly allowed us inside.
Not that Yuthura had been interested in joining, at first. Jen Sahara – or whatever the frakk her name really was – may have persuaded the others, but Yuthura wasn't the sort to bend easily, not even to insane bints who could gut the likes of Jorak Uln and Uthar Wynn and then throw cocktails over bleeding Yudan Rosh.
In the end, it was a freak Force event that finally pushed Yuthura to head for Coruscant- to search for answers, to plead for my salvation, if necessary.
Because the Force was gone from me. It'd been gone for months, now, and no amount of spice or booze or even frakking robes fiddling around in my head had done a damn thing to change that.
And everything felt slightly less alive.
"The Force isn't coming back to you, Mekel," Thalia said, her voice gentling. "The other mind-healers have given up. Master Ell only keeps visiting you to assuage Yuthura. Do you understand?"
My jaw clenched. "No," I said flatly. "Maybe try spitting out what you mean? Last time I checked, Yuthura didn't need any frakking assuaging for frakking anything."
In the early days at the Temple, Yuthura had retreated into that frigid coldness she did so well, but over time she'd thawed. I'd seen the look on her damned face when the masters spoke to her. And Yuthura treated Thalia like an equal, now – something she'd never done with me, not really, and that'd never happen now I was a null.
Thalia sighed. "Yuthura feels responsible for you, Mekel. She cannot join the Order while engaged in an emotional attachment-"
"Shagging," I said bluntly. "Try using the correct term instead of glossing it over with Jedi-babble, will you?"
"Don't be a jerk," Thalia cut in. "You know exactly what I'm saying."
Yeah. Yeah, maybe I did. Yuthura still regarded the Jedi with suspicion, but it was waning. Master Vash intrigued her. And Thalia had her ear, well and truly. Yuthura wouldn't give up on me willingly, but maybe- maybe that wasn't her choice to make.
And, frakk – Yuthura and I might not be the love of each other's lives, but I cared for her. I wanted her to have this chance, to do things right, to be better than we once were – she'd always had a cruel streak that rivalled mine, but there was a righteous drive in her as well. She fought for the underdog, even if she flat-out denied doing so. It was why she'd protected Kel – Kel, who in any other life would have karked it two days into Korriban.
The Sith didn't nurture that side of Yuthura's character, but maybe the Jedi would. And the Jedi didn't approve of their members banging outsiders.
And, frakk it, if the Jedi couldn't help me then maybe it was time I found a life elsewhere.
"I know," I said, hearing the heaviness in my voice. "It just- it just doesn't make any bleeding sense."
The Star Forge had blown up the same time I'd collapsed, I found out later. The robes had thought that coincidence meant something, but couldn't explain why. Or how the Force had suddenly vanished from me – I'd heard murmurs of "residual corruption from Korriban", but that didn't seem frakking likely either, given that everyone else connected to the Academy was doing just super.
Well, those who hadn't choked on the fallout.
The weeks had dragged on like a fat man crawling in a desert, and slowly the haggard old farts lost interest in me. The Force wasn't coming back. Thalia was the first to voice it – but I didn't need fancy magic to read the faces of the mind-healers as their mouths turned down in disappointment and boredom. I'd given the damn Order over a month to sort me out, and now they were raising their hands like useless twats and walking away.
Thalia was right. The only thing I was doing here was holding Yuthura back like a gods-damned shackle to the past – but I'd already figured that one out on my own.
I eyed over the rucksack on the table.
"No, it doesn't make sense," Thalia agreed, plucking at her excrement-coloured robes. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mekel, but staying here is no life for you either. Maybe it's time you learned how to live without the Force."
"What the frakk do you think I was doing before you and Kel barged in here?" I snapped, waving to the foodstuffs and utility tools laid out on the table. "Planning a daytrip to Coruscant's red-light district?"
Thalia blinked, turning to eyeball the spilled contents of my rucksack for the first time. "You're- you're leaving?"
"Yeah, so stop with your sermon already, alright? Just- just look out for Yuthura. She's never been one to accept failure."
For the first time since I'd known her, Thalia looked as awkward as Dee sometimes did. "Of course," she murmured, blinking. "Take care, Mekel. You may no longer feel the Force, but it can still guide your actions-"
"Piss off already, before I throw a damned multi-tool at your head," I growled, and the corner of Thalia's mouth twitched. She pushed off from the wall, strode to the door, and turned only to give me a short nod of farewell.
I nodded back, throwing her a jaunty smirk as the door closed behind her.
A silent farewell was a crappy way to split from someone who'd lived through the same hellhole of vipers as me. I sighed, and felt a trickle of sweat nudge down the back of my neck.
It was gonna be one of those stifling days. Still hours to go before the lunch meal, and the damn place felt like an underground clay-oven. Bleeding ironic, really, that here in the heart of Coruscant – the frakking Core of the frakking galaxy – they refused to install something as basic as air conditioning.
A snarky Zeltron kept offering me a room in the visitor's wing – loaded with all the technological needs that non-Force sensitives require! – but I was with Yuthura. Yuthura, who could regulate her own body temperature, like every other robe in this pristine palace.
Yuthura, who could have a second shot at things if I wasn't around, chaining her to the past.
I hadn't... I hadn't told Yuthura everything. My collapse in that dingy cantina, the sudden blast of raw power, tearing deep into me and uprooting every strand of Force clean from my core- she knew all that, and it mystified her the same as those mumbling robes she'd gambled on.
No, what I hadn't told Yuthura was that for a brief second there'd been someone else in my head.
"Where is the frelling Force?!" the presence had screamed, as they completely booted me out of my own damned body. "There's someone else- I can't sense my bond-sister, but there's someone else-"
The presence vanished seconds later.
I'd heard enough about bleeding Force-possession back at the Academy. Mention that little factoid to the masters here, and I probably wouldn't see the outside of a locked-down med-chamber for years.
In the end, it didn't matter. Not enough to tell anyone – because the presence hadn't returned. The Force hadn't returned. And now... now, it was time to split.
I leaned forward to stuff everything back into the rucksack before pulling the clasps shut and shrugging it over one shoulder. The only thing left on the table was a data-note.
I stared down at the message.
Yuthura,
It's time to stop beating a dead bantha. It ain't coming back alive.
I've gotta learn how to do things like a normal sent, and I can't do that here. And you can't follow. Stick with Thalia.
There's enough ex-Dark Jedi in the Temple to throw a party. Think well of me, but move on, okay? We live in different worlds now.
I've got resources, so don't freak out. I've got a plan, and you know I always fall on my feet.
Wear the robe. I reckon it'd suit ya.
Mex
I turned away. In the end, I was just another Force-blind sent, waltzing away from a Temple where I didn't belong.
No one bothered stopping me.
The hum of civilization hit my ears as I turned into a public access-way that led through a retail complex dotted with hover-cabs. My hand slipped into a pocket, fingering a credit chit and a data-pad loaded with hyperspace coordinates for Telos.
For not every ex-student from Korriban had ended up on Coruscant.
xXx
Juhani:
Khoonda Farmlands, Dantooine
The lands stretched into the horizon: blackened fields of what had once been crops of kassi grain and sugar-cobs, the lifeblood of the average Dantooine farmer. In the distance, a pair of Jedi younglings toiled meekly beneath the command of a stern-eyed settler, one of many who had lost their livelihood simply due to proximity to a Jedi Enclave.
I sighed, kneeling down to dig my fingers into the dirt. Beneath my feet, the echo of the Force thrummed faintly.
The vista was how I remembered and yet not: I could close my eyes, and the scorched earth would transform into farmlands of abundance. The faint ash on the air dissolved into the sweet scent of wild renni grass. The Force remained the same; even an airstrike from the Sith could not deform the abiding spirit of this planet, and I knew in my heart that Dantooine would flourish as it had before.
I had returned home, and nostalgia battered me as fiercely as grief.
There were so many memories of mild Dantooine nights. Of Belaya, slipping her hand into mine and offering gentle counsel that I repudiated more often than not.
"Juhani!"
Or Dak, calling out to join us, simmering with malcontent as he escaped the confines of an enclave he would not embrace.
"Juhani?"
The three of us would dig our toes into the warm soil and gaze up at the night sky, subsiding into the comfortable silence of true camaraderie. Once, the strictures and demands of a padawan had felt restricting, as I struggled to reconcile my primal emotions and seek serenity within the Force. Only out here with the easy acceptance of friends had I found the means to truly relax.
A hand touched me gently on the shoulder.
I jerked, snapping upright, twisting on one heel with hilt already in hand-
The intruder froze, arms raised in swift appeal, and I almost fumbled my lightsaber in shock.
"Dak?" I gasped, heart stuttering.
He was there, right there, laughing at my unlit weapon before striding forward and engulfing me in a bone-crushing hug.
My cry of delight was muffled against the coarse cloth covering his chest.
"Not often I get the jump on you, Juhani!" Dak crowed. I choked back a sound of disbelief, pressing my face tight into his shoulder. The present faded and, for a brief moment, I was that young padawan again, cherished and strengthened by the companionship of a friend.
But Dak had once desired more than I had to offer, and I- I stood strong on my own feet these days, no matter what loss I had to endure.
I pulled back, lips tugging wide in delight. It felt like eons had passed since our paths had diverged – so much had occurred since Dak had ascended away in a rickety elevator, whilst I followed Zaalbar into the dark of the Shadowlands.
My smile faded at the reminder.
"My friend," I murmured, chasing the thoughts of grief away. "It is so good to see you. But I had heard you were on Coruscant?"
The corner of Dak's mouth twitched as he drew back. His dark eyes were hooded, but there was a steadiness to his expression I had not seen before. His shoulders were pushed back, his stance relaxed, and even his scent on the air was barely noticeable. "I was, for a bit. My new, uh, master, wished to return here."
"Master?" I echoed, gaze roving over his dear face. Dak stood before me in the humble robes of a padawan, offset by the glint of a lightsaber on his belt. He had left Kashyyyk to return to the Jedi, and I could not deny I had worried he would run – like he had once before. "You are a Jedi again."
"I promised Belaya," Dak said simply, and the shadows in his eyes cleared. "Y'know, I've come to realize I never set my heart on the Jedi before, not really, but after meeting you and Jen Sahara-"
He cut himself short, grimacing into silence.
My eyes closed, my breath hitched, and a fresh surge of grief assailed me.
Dak's hand returned to rest on my shoulder. "I'm sorry about Jen," he muttered. "I couldn't believe it when I heard. Thought she was a knight, though, not Shan's frelling apprentice-"
"She was," I croaked, resisting the urge to clench my fists. "Do not- do not believe everything you hear."
Dak's fingers tightened and, despite my struggle for control, the first teardrop slipped free.
"Shavit," he cursed. "Me and my big mouth- dammit, Juhani, I've never seen you cry before!"
I laughed brokenly, before sniffing and wiping my face on the sleeve of my robe. "I am trying to find peace, Dak, but everything is still so raw. Belaya, Zaalbar, Bastila, J-Jen-"
I swallowed and looked away blindly, for the false name that had once been automatic now twisted on my lips.
If there is one sentient I could tell the truth, it would be Dak-
It was tempting to unburden myself. Oh, indeed, for Revan's death was so intrinsically difficult to accept, harder perhaps than even Belaya's, given the profound impact Revan had borne on my life.
But would Dak ever see beyond the notoriety of Revan's past? He knew Jen Sahara for a short while as a heroic Jedi Knight. To reconcile that with the Dark Lord who resurrected the Academy he suffered through-
Dak's hand slipped down to tug at my own. "Let's go for a walk," he said gently. "You could show me how good that fake leg of yours is."
I blinked away the sheen in my eyes, staring at the warm fingers entwined with my own. "Your arm," I murmured, dragging his limb upward to stare at it intently. Brown skin was smattered with fine Human hair, covering a healthy forearm. "A biotech prosthetic," I wondered aloud. "This is good work. I would not be able to tell the difference, Dak, did I not already know."
"Yeah." His voice thrummed with warmth as his fist flexed in my grasp. "The nerves still jangle a bit, but that's to be expected. I heard about your injury on the nets. How's the new limb?"
"Cumbersome," I admitted, lifting the hem of my robe to expose the robotic appendage beneath. "I need to allow time for the primary nerve centres to re-align. I will have another procedure which should grant me more flexibility before they overlay the bio-tissue."
"You mean, now's my one shot at kicking your arse in a duel?"
I shot him a mock-glare and Dak laughed again, his brown eyes twinkling with mirth. He looked- steady. It was one of the last characteristics I would have once attributed to Dak Vesser. "Look at us, Juhani – both part-robotic Jedi," he chortled. "Who'd have thought?"
"Belaya would be proud," I whispered, blinking again. The grief lodged in my soul was fresh and raw, but somewhere beneath it all was something stronger. Dak's expression softened, and he pulled on my arm again.
"Come on," he murmured, and this time I fell into step.
We walked in silence at first. The slight breeze was warm, carrying the scent of freshly dug soil intermingled with the lingering odour of carbonized earth. To our right were the plainly visible buildings of the Enclave: battered, damaged, but still standing – an icon of hope and rebirth amidst the ashes of destruction.
"It was harder than I thought, coming back here," Dak admitted, following my gaze. "Seeing the inner chambers caved in. Hearing about Master Dorak."
I glanced at him sideways; Dak's mouth twisted in self-deprecation as he returned my stare. "I know," he acknowledged. "I complained so much about my old master, but even on Korriban when I told myself he was weak and pathetic and... well. I never wished this on him. On any of them."
I nodded in silent understanding. I had been on Dantooine for less than a day, and had walked through the Enclave's halls only once thus far – and yet I could sense the loss and grief hanging heavy in the air, dampened only by the footfalls of the few returning younglings. Master Dorak, I had heard, fell beneath the collapse of a training hall after leading a half-dozen children to safety beyond the Enclave's crumbling walls.
The only masters who remained were Vandar Tokare and Vrook Lamar.
My attention sidled back to my old friend. "You said you arrived here with a new master?" I asked delicately.
"Yeah." Dak's shoulders bunched, but his half-grin widened. "You're probably not going to like it."
I blinked, stiffening. "No. Tell me you are not-"
His chuckle cut through my words, and I was struck again how oddly at peace he seemed. "Quatra only planned escorting me to Coruscant, you know? Find a more... appropriate master for Kel and I." He snorted. "She was impatient to get back to Dantooine, and hitched a ride with Master Sunrider- did you hear Sunrider's got her master's robes now? Well, the two of them thought they'd be needed here, to train the younglings-"
"Younglings," I echoed, stunned at his implication. "I would hardly label you as a youngling, Dak-"
"It's a refreshing label in a way, Juhani." His chin lifted as his gaze wandered over the farmlands. "Dantooine's home, hard as it might've been to return. I asked to tag along, asked Master Quatra to consider me as her next padawan."
"Dak-"
"She says she's still thinking about it." His eyes creased with amusement. "I reckon I've got more of a handle on her, now."
I couldn't halt the dismay at the thought of Dak training under my old master – he may have disliked Master Dorak, but that was nothing on the enmity he'd once reserved for Master Quatra.
"She's as strict as ever," Dak commented wryly. "And I'm not sure I'll ever like her, as such – but respect? Yeah, I think I can manage that. She's challenging me. And in a good way."
I halted, uneasy. Dak had once loathed Quatra with a passion unbecoming of a Jedi – although how much of that could have been attributed to nothing more than jealousy? I swallowed as the burn of past chagrin rose in my throat – for Dak's unrequited desire for me had clashed with my own unseemly thoughts regarding Master Quatra, and I understood then it was that dichotomy that had been the core of his contempt.
"Are you certain, Dak? The master chooses the apprentice in the end, no matter your inclination-"
"Well, yeah, of course. But maybe padawans should have a say, too," he cut in. "Think about it, Juhani. Dorak and I were terribly matched – he'd leave me alone to meditate on my failures, when all I did was seethe about his lectures and run off. Master Quatra forces me to actually acknowledge my weaknesses and overcome them. And you- you and Quatra were an even worse mismatch. How different could things have been if we'd actually had a say in who trained us?"
"Dak," I snapped, hearing the warning in my voice. "You cannot cast blame for our respective falls on our masters!"
"I'm not," he continued doggedly. "I take full responsibility for my past. But that doesn't mean there aren't elements of the Order that could be improved. Shavit, even I knew that Dorak couldn't keep me in line or inspire me to have faith in the Jedi."
I blinked, my gaze roaming over the robed figure of my friend as I wondered on the changes wrought in him. Dak's voice had not risen to match mine – he stood facing me instead; calm and sure and-
And a Jedi.
My lips curved in an unbidden smile. "Perhaps there is wisdom in you after all, Dak," I teased gently, seeing his eyes crinkle in response. "Perhaps we have both grown from the trials we have suffered through."
"Well, I won't be recommending a dalliance with the Dark Side as a suitable apprenticeship," Dak returned drolly, before resuming our walk. "What about you, Juhani? Do you- do you want to talk? About what happened?"
"I- I am not sure," I hedged, drawing in a deep breath. There was a blurring at the edges of my vision again. "The hardest thing to accept is that I was not even there at the end, Dak. I woke to the sensation of Bastila and Jen fading into the Force..."
"What, at the same time? That's not what the official transcript says-"
"Dak-" I cut in warningly.
"Okay, I get it, the holonets are full of crap," he murmured. "Still, the story goes that it was Bastila and Darth Malak at the end, fighting each other to the death. You saying that didn't happen?"
The air was shaky in my lungs as we traipsed onward. On one hand, it felt almost cathartic to talk about it to someone other than Jolee – who, for all of his dry self-aspersions and rambling parables could not quite conceal the grief he felt. But I wasn't ready to analyse every detail yet. Particularly not when no one from the crew could even say how the end had come about.
"Not Bastila," I answered finally. "Perhaps I understand why the Jedi Order seek to label Bastila Shan as the hero..." I trailed into silence, eyes closing briefly.
Because the crimes of Bastila Shan can be forgiven. Because her acts of heroism over the years truly overshadow her brief fall.
Because Jen Sahara is a cover story both the Republic and the Jedi Order hope will fade away into abstraction.
To be fair, I knew that Revan would not have cared about any sort of acknowledgment for herself. In the end, her actions and her character lived on in the hearts of those who mattered.
"Jen faced Darth Malak," I continued quietly, "whilst Bastila utilized her battle meditation for the Republic fleet. Jolee Bindo found Bastila and Zaalbar, later – they had been cut down by Darth Malak, but we do not know where Jen fell." A broken slip of air feathered past my lips. "Darth Malak died after we escaped the Star Forge. Perhaps from his wounds or due to the factory breaking up."
His passing had tremored in the Force, a scream of disbelief that morphed into a sudden dark acceptance before vanishing completely. Minutes later, the Star Forge itself had disintegrated completely.
Dak's hand found mine again, squeezing it gently. "That's hard," he commiserated, and his words were a comfort, no matter what little use they had. "I didn't like Jen at first, you know? But she grew on me. She was- she was a pretty amazing Jedi."
Yes. She was.
What had it been like for Revan, at the end? She had resisted Bastila's caliginous influence on Lehon, despite the hold her bond-sister had had on her soul, despite the interference of Yudan Rosh. Revan had demanded another way forward, rather than embracing Bastila's path of conquest and subjugation at the cost of the light.
Oh, that moment when Revan had held firm, relief and admiration had completely engulfed me – and that emotion had been at the forefront of my thoughts when I woke, hours later on the Star Forge-
-just as everything had dissolved into ash.
Revan faced her past. She faced Malak. And I know, in my heart, that she stayed true to herself in the end. That the outcome was the victory she had fought for.
Even if she is no longer around to see it come to fruition.
"She lives on in the Force, right?" Dak said, as if he could guess the track of my derailing thoughts. Perhaps he could. "They all do. There's a comfort in that, I reckon." His hand slipped free of mine, then, as he turned to glance back at the Enclave, his brow creasing. "I should probably head back. Master Quatra wasn't expecting me to skive off so soon after we landed."
I smiled weakly at him and, for all the raw emotion stabbing at my heart, I somehow felt more grounded than I had for weeks. "Master Quatra is not one to accommodate tardiness," I murmured, and Dak laughed.
Just like that, the air was easier to breathe.
We turned, together, and began retracing our steps back home.
xXx
Vrook Lamar:
Jedi Enclave, Dantooine
"Vrook Lamar," a dry voice commented behind me. "Suppose it was too much to ask I could come here without running into you."
It had been decades, but still, I recognized that voice. A reunion I could have done without, I thought with irritation. "Jolee Bindo," I muttered, before turning around. The morning sun bathed the robed man in a pool of light, and shone brightly throughout the well-kept outer courtyards. The Enclave's training grounds, at least, had been mostly restored. "If you didn't wish to speak to me, why hail me at all?"
It was a funny thing, seeing someone you'd known in your youth as a geriatric. The minds-eye recalled a smoother, younger version, untempered by the weather of time, and the overlay with reality was jarring.
Jolee Bindo had been losing his hair even as a young man, but now his scalp was completely bald. His skin was dark and leathery, and his form whipcord lean. Old like me, he might have been – but Jolee Bindo still gave the overwhelming impression of fortitude.
"Heh. Suppose my curiosity won out," Jolee commented, lines of age etching deep around his dark eyes as he gave me the once-over in return.
I'd been expecting to run into Jolee Bindo. Aye, for Vandar had told me of Knight Juhani's return the previous day – along with the identity of her cantankerous escort. Given that I evidently owed my life to Jolee, I'd grudgingly conceded that I owed him at least one attempt at civility.
Gratitude was not an emotion that came easily. Particularly not now, not when my own failure to save my padawan was still so raw.
"You saw Bastila at the end," I said abruptly. Jolee Bindo didn't need my thanks. He was wily enough to appreciate the debt I owed him, and no doubt annoying enough to rub my nose in it should the mood take him.
"Aye," Jolee said gravely, inclining his head. "It was a quick death, I can tell you that much. She fought on the right side in the end, Vrook."
"I know."
Vandar's reports on the effects of Bastila's battle meditation had done a little to assuage my grief, but nothing could erase my last memory of her, cold and forbidding and repudiating the desperate plea of absolution I had offered-
"It is too little! Too little, and far too late-!"
But Bastila had turned, in the end. Whether it was a consequence of my presence – as that miscreant Yudan Rosh had proclaimed, the one time I bothered seeking him out – or simply the effect of damnable Revan Freeflight, at least I had the cold comfort of knowing that Bastila Shan had made the whole Jedi Order proud with her final actions.
If I only could have told her that myself.
"So," I grunted, shucking away the turmoil of my emotions. "You are here to return to the Order, I take it?"
I'd first encountered Jolee Bindo on Coruscant, decades ago, after I'd been transferred there during my padawan years. The morass of civilization in the heart of the galactic Core hadn't sat well with me, and I'd liked my new training partners even less.
Aye, I'd made a poor first impression on Jolee Bindo, Karon Enova, and Zhar Lestin. Over the years, my working relationship with Karon and Zhar might have mellowed, but Jolee had vanished while the height of acrimony still simmered between us.
Well, Karon and Zhar were at least affable, even with their blinkered naiveté at the world. Blasted Jolee Bindo was nothing more than an aggravating cacti-thorn in my foot.
It was hard to believe the years would have changed him overmuch.
Jolee snorted at my comment. "I think the Jedi have enough irascible old men without bothering with the likes of me."
"You'd be a fool to walk away from the Jedi again," I said bluntly, no matter my dislike for the man. It was dangerous for Force-sensitives – particularly half-trained ones – to live a life without the tools necessary to both understand and control the Force. To hold firm against the temptations of the Dark Side.
Jolee Bindo might irritate the heck out of me, but I didn't wish to see any sentient fall.
"Ach, you're still the same stuffy grouch you always were," Jolee drawled, his beady black eyes glinting with amusement. "There's more to life than wearing robes and reciting the Code, Vrook. The Jedi don't have the monopoly on how to live a worthwhile existence."
"And you're still the same irreverent bastard you always were," I growled, my brows lowering. "I'll not waste my time trying to convince you. History can do that all on its own."
"You can't judge people on their odds of falling, Vrook." His voice had turned serious, almost cold. "Do that, and you may as well damn them from the get-go."
Oh, I knew exactly what he was really talking about.
"There are valid reasons why we don't train adults," I returned, just as cold. "I can give you three recent examples who were beyond the accepted cut-off age, and who all fell. Yudan Rosh. Malak Devari. Revan Freeflight. All caused almost unprecedented chaos, regardless of whether two of them regretted it later."
"And the alternative is to let adults wander around the galaxy until the Sith seduce them first?" Jolee fired back. "Brilliant logic there, Vrook. Those three would have had less chance had that happened, and you darn well know it."
But he wasn't talking about Yudan or Malak or blasted Revan Freeflight. I could feel the growl in my throat grow. "Dammit, Jolee, the Sith weren't around when we were young! The Order would never have accepted Nomi had it not been for Master Thon's interference- you can't blame them for holding true to that ethos with Nayama!"
His eyes had narrowed to slits. "How old was Exar Kun when he was admitted?"
I stiffened. "Nine," I ground out. "Almost at the edge of the cut-off."
Jolee snorted in reply. "Almost means he was in the accepted range. Shining example of a Jedi, wasn't he? Aye, and I know Ulic Qel-Droma was a babe when he and his twin joined the Order, and Ulic caused near as much damage." He returned my glare with the bitterness of age. "Use statistical odds to judge people and you lose your humanity, Vrook. You end up with people betrayed as badly as my wife."
"Excuse me, Master Vrook?" someone hailed. We turned, both bristling, to glare at the intruder.
A middle-aged woman was strolling calmly towards us, clad in the humble brown robes of a Jedi Knight. There'd been another transport arrival on Dantooine I hadn't yet greeted, and the occupants were substantially more welcome than the ornery presence of Jolee Bindo.
I breathed my frustration out, nodded my head in greeting, and almost managed a smile. "Master Vima," I acknowledged, meeting the serene gaze of the newly raised master. I wasn't sure if she'd interfered deliberately, to derail what was probably turning into quite the public scene, but I accepted the interruption gladly.
It didn't surprise me to see Vima Sunrider still clad in knight's robes. Some masters stuck to the brown, some didn't, but in general we all stayed nondescript in our appearance. A reminder of our station to outsiders: a non-threatening form of counsel and wisdom.
Or so we tried to emulate. At times, even the Jedi got it wrong.
Vima smiled, a ray of sunshine illuminating a face that was framed in the same honey-blonde locks as her mother's. I hadn't been entirely sure of Vima's recent ascension to masterhood, considering her comparable youth – although there'd been no doubt Vima's life-path had been set on that course for decades already.
And she'd always done well with Bastila, I thought, with a sharp pang of grief.
"It is good to see you again, Master Vrook," Vima murmured, shooting Jolee Bindo an impersonal nod of greeting but otherwise keeping her attention fixed on me. "I do not wish to intrude. I only came to ask if you could spare some time to converse later today?"
"Of course, Vima," I said heavily. Aye, she was a stalwart Jedi and would make a good master, but I'd been wary at the idea of ascending powerful Jedi too quickly up the ranks. Vima had barely broken four decades of life. Still, she was her mother's daughter, battle meditation or not. And the Force knew that Dantooine would benefit from her return. "I will make the time."
Vima would want to talk of Bastila. Of Revan. Of their bond, the identity replacement, and exactly how it all fell apart on the Star Forge. All matters I owed it to discuss with her, no matter that the details were painful- and that I knew little of their adventures, at the end.
In that regard, Jolee Bindo would be a better one to speak to.
My gaze slid to the annoying hermit, who was staring at Vima in overt fascination. With a sharp jolt, I kicked myself for missing the obvious link between the two.
"Thank you, Vrook," Vima murmured, taking a step back. "I apologize for interrupting. I will leave-"
"Vima Sunrider," Jolee cut in, his dry voice alight with curiosity. "And a master, to boot. Well, well. Isn't this a lark."
Vima turned to look at him a second time, puzzlement creasing her rounded face as she took in his attire: humble enough to be a Jedi, but not the robes of a padawan or a knight.
"You are a Jedi," Vima murmured. "I can sense that, but I'm afraid I don't know your name?"
"Heh. I suppose you could call me Uncle," Jolee returned. There was a definite glint of entertainment in his gaze- but his voice was bitter.
"Jolee Bindo," I muttered in introduction, gesturing at the man.
"Oh," Vima breathed, mouth slackening with astonishment. Her bright blue eyes blinked. "Nayama's husband. It is… it is good to finally meet you, Jolee."
"Really?" Jolee drawled, raising one brow in disbelief. "Your mother deliberately avoided me."
I could see the awkwardness tighten Vima's face, before her self-control snapped her expression into serenity. "I am pleased to see you here, Jolee Bindo," she said, voice calmly neutral. "I had heard you travelled with the crew of the Ebon Hawk. The Jedi Order will be gratified to have you return to the fold."
"I'm not here to be a darn Jedi," Jolee groused, crossing his arms. "I only came to Dantooine to see if there was any truth to those darn rumours-"
He cut himself off abruptly, head snapping back to stare at me. Hard.
I kept my expression deliberately blank.
"Huh," Jolee grunted, his shoulders relaxing. "Good. Want to tell me where I'll find him?"
"I have no idea what you're blathering on about, Jolee," I said blandly. "You should go for a walk to clear the cobwebs out of your head. Past the eastern farmlands and out into the wild. There's an ancient grove deep in the hills that might help you meditate on the Force. Maybe you'll realize that your place could be with the Order, if you stop being such a stubborn gill-goat about the past."
Jolee's bushy white brows twitched, but otherwise there was no indication regarding my hidden message. "I'm more than old enough to choose my own path, Vrook. I'll be going back to Telos tomorrow, I wager, after saying my farewells to Juhani and making sure you lot treat her well."
"Treat her well?" I retorted, feeling an irritated scowl return at his unwarranted implication. "From what I've seen of Knight Juhani, she already has the makings of a fine Jedi and doesn't need a runaway padawan to speak for her."
Jolee harrumphed. "Aye, you have the right of that, I'll concede. Maybe I just wanted to see if Juhani would get an apology for the ridiculous knight trials she was forced to endure."
"That is hardly your business, Jolee," I growled. Damn if he wasn't the most irritating man I'd ever had the misfortune to encounter. "Member of the Order or not, that is nothing more than sticking your beak in where it doesn't belong."
"Mayhap if someone had done that from the get-go, then Juhani would never have spent a year out in the desert." Jolee sighed, then: a gusty lungful of air rattling his chest as the corners of his mouth turned down in defeat. "Bah, I'm a nosy old bugger, and Juhani wouldn't appreciate me interfering in her business – nor does she require it. Maybe, at the close of it, I wanted to see for myself whether the Order had learned anything from their mistakes." His dark gaze sharpened as it fixed on me. From afar, I wondered how the picture of us would appear: two old men scowling at each other with the resentment of the past etched deep into the wrinkles on their faces.
Jolee glanced back to Vima, who'd taken a step back, as if to retreat. The old man snorted. "You spoke of historical failings before, Vrook," he said to me, but his attention was fixed on the young master. "Shall we ask Master Vima's opinion on how many were failed by the Jedi Order?"
The name was unspoken, but it simmered in the air between us. Again. Nayama. The woman we had both loved. The woman we had both lost to Exar Kun, at different stages of her life.
"No one is infallible, Jolee," I said heavily. "Not even the Jedi, much as we strive for the best outcome." Just like that, my irritation dwindled. Maybe the old hermit would always annoy me, but beneath his bluster was a very real bitterness regarding the fate of his wife, no matter if he otherwise seemed at ease with his lot.
I couldn't fault Jolee for that bitterness, not without being a hypocrite. I felt the same. And Nayama had never even been mine.
"I have matters to attend to," Vima murmured, gaze darting between us both as she retreated another step. "I shall leave you both-"
"Wait." Jolee's demand was low and sharp. Sharp enough to scythe through the air. "I returned to the Order, briefly, after Kun's defeat. I was searching for answers, but no one had any to give. Pithy replies about the will of the Force was all I got, and an unwelcome forgiveness I neither deserved nor desired. But there was one Jedi who might have known something... one who flat-out refused to meet with me, despite my pleas."
"My mother was grieving, Jolee Bindo." Vima's naturally serene voice had hardened; her heart-shaped face taut as she stared at him coolly. "She was in no state-"
"So was I!" Jolee snapped, his white brows bristling with anger as they bunched over his dark eyes. "Nayama was my wife! I loved her! If Nomi knew something about Nayama's fate, then I have a darn right to know what it is!"
"Nomi is one with the Force, Jolee," I said heavily. "Whether she knew something of Nayama or not, the point is surely moot now."
"Aye, Nomi Sunrider might be dead, but her daughter knows something." Jolee fired an abrupt nod at the young master, and I swivelled back to face Vima in surprise.
Her lips had thinned, her gaze was wide, and she looked awkward, uncertain-
"What?" I growled. "What do you know of Nayama?"
Vima's shoulders sagged as her eyelids fluttered. Whatever Jolee was digging for, Vima was on the cusp of revealing it. I found myself leaning forward, fingers clenched, still after all these decades desiring to hear about the only woman I'd ever really looked twice at-
"You may as well tell him, too," Jolee muttered. "That old bugger cared for Nayama before I even entered her life."
A flash of surprise crossed Vima's face, and I inwardly cursed Jolee Bindo again. I could have done without you slipping that in, you irreverent old coot!
"My mother…" Vima began hesitantly, knotting her hands in the folds of her robe. "My mother was strong in the Force. I believe… I believe Nayama was too, but…"
"But what? Your blessed mother was the more powerful?" Jolee snorted in disparagement. "Does that even matter?"
"No." Vima shook her head. "Nomi wondered the opposite, actually. But Nayama was ill-trained… and you must have known she led squads of Force-sensitive assassins under Kun's banner."
Jolee's jaw hardened. I felt a tightening in my gut. Nayama had once been someone completely different to the woman Vima was describing. A non-sensitive, dumped on a planet full of Jedi. A nobody, just like her sister Nomi at the time – but Nomi's marriage to Andur Sunrider had granted her an informal welcome within the Enclave, while Nayama- Nayama had never really found her own place in life.
Oh, she'd been a wild, wondrous spirit, though. With a stubborn streak, a heart of gold, and a soft spot for the down-trodden.
The Dark Side... the Dark Side would have burned all of that away. But the Jedi Order had turned their backs on Nayama well before she even considered that road.
"My aunt and Ulic Qel-Droma sometimes worked together," Vima continued, her voice lowering to an almost-whisper. "Ulic was Kun's Second, but Nayama ranked fairly high in Kun's favour, too. On the more difficult missions Ulic and Nayama would... they would... work together..."
Her voice broke. Trepidation clutched at my heart, and I felt suddenly cold. They would work together... I'd never thought of a link between Ulic Qel-Droma and Nayama beyond the spectres of Exar Kun and Nomi Sunrider. But Vima was struggling to articulate something more-
"She was there," I gasped, heart stuttering, horrified at a flashfire of thought. "Nayama was there when..."
When Ulic murdered his own brother. When he faced his lover, Nomi Sunrider.
Nayama was there when Nomi stripped the Force from Ulic Qel-Droma. And Nayama was on Ulic's side of the war-
"Mother didn't know!" Vima pleaded, her wide blue eyes glistening in the morning light. "She didn't see her… she-she didn't mean for it to happen to her too-"
"Oh no," Jolee choked out, the words strangling in his throat. "You can't mean to say that- that-"
Vima's expression was distraught as her gaze darted between us, but her agitation was nothing on mine. And mine was nothing on Jolee's, who should have been told this years ago.
Vima breathed in loudly, audibly, before making her point abundantly clear. "It was not just Ulic Qel-Droma who lost the Force that day."
Jolee's eyes closed, and it was as if another ten years had suddenly whittled the life out of him. His shoulders slumped and his voice cracked. "Oh, my love..." he whispered inaudibly.
In contrast, coursing through me was the latent heat of anger. For, in some ways, blasted Jolee Bindo was right. The Jedi Order did fail, at times, and there was no one they had failed more than Nayama Da-Boda.
"If that's so," I growled at Vima, feeling my eyes pinch tight."Then why didn't Nomi bring Nayama back to the Jedi? Force, Nomi dragged Ulic back, so I can't believe she'd leave her sister behind in the same situation."
"Nayama refused to return," Vima answered, glancing away. "By that stage, she hated the Jedi Order with unreserved passion. Mother sometimes spoke of the injustice regarding Coruscant's refusal to train Nayama. From what I know, I believe my aunt's resentment of the Jedi grew to impregnable enmity in her heart."
"That's not the whole of it," I muttered, shaking my head in dismissal. "Kun hadn't been toppled then. Not until Nomi returned with Ulic, and Ulic spilled his guts to the Republic brass. No, Nayama was one of Exar's leaders, too, and you're saying she was there when Nomi captured Ulic. Nomi wouldn't have left her behind, not if her sister could've warned that bastard."
Vima's expression didn't budge. I wasn't sure if she knew more or not, but there was something else to it. Nomi Sunrider had been revered because she placed the stability of the galaxy above any other consideration – much like Revan Freeflight was once known for, an annoying voice muttered – and however Nomi had grieved over what she'd done to her lover and sister both, it simply made no sense that she'd capture one and leave the other behind.
I'd known Nayama as a teen, years before Jolee Bindo. She'd been the same age then as when I'd first met Revan, actually, on one of my return placements to Coruscant I'd always suffered through. Aye, Revan Freeflight had been a newish padawan, but I could still recall the unwelcome punch of shock to the gut when her curious gaze had landed on me, a grouchy master from the infamous Dantooine Enclave who resented his Coruscanti obligations.
Her sharp chin. The tilt to the tip of her nose. That high forehead, and those eyes, slightly wide-set- oh, but the colour had been different, different enough to jerk me from the mire of the past, and instead walk briskly away from the young Jedi who was already the talk of the High Temple.
Yes, the colour was different. I swallowed, as a sharp recollection of a charismatic, smooth-talking knight flashed through my mind. One with sharp green eyes and almost-black hair that matched the shadows in his soul. One who Nayama's gaze had followed around unerringly, years before the Force had awoken in her. Years before she'd even met her future husband.
Years before she'd left everything behind to follow that same dark knight into corruption and depravity.
"She was pregnant," I whispered, and Vima jerked with evident surprise. Her eyes rounded in shock and her mouth dropped open. Either I was wrong- or Nomi had never shared this with her.
A mother's love... Nomi had been renowned for stepping into battle with a young Vima strapped to her back. Maybe… maybe the one thing that would have turned Nomi Sunrider blind to Nayama's presence was a plea for her sister's unborn child.
Nomi would've seen, much as I did now, that there was no way the Jedi Order would allow such a babe to stay with Nayama, broken and fallen and Force-blind. Not with that sort of parentage.
"What?" Jolee roared, his growl loud enough to attract the attention of a group of younglings seated along the boundary of the courtyard. "Where in the Outer Rim did you get that from?"
Vima's gaze had not moved from mine. "I never understood my mother's reasoning," she admitted, blinking, as she stared at me in puzzlement. "I always found it odd she would take Ulic and leave Nayama... but Mother was half-blind with grief, then. At what they had done... at what she had done."
My hand trembled as I raised it to scrub at my eyes. Could it be true? The timing fit, but there were a trillion sentients out in there in the universe.
Aye, but how many with the Force-strength of Exar Kun... or Revan Freeflight?
"It doesn't matter," I muttered, trying to persuade myself. "It doesn't matter... not anymore."
Would I have viewed Revan Freeflight any different, had I known? I'd been predisposed to think ill of Revan from the start, hating the uncanny resemblance to a woman from my past, but assuming it was no more than a cruel coincidence. I'd had little to do with Revan anyway, being joined to a different enclave... but I'd known my judgment regarding her wasn't objective, and hence had striven to avoid the notorious woman as much as I could.
Bastila certainly made that impossible, in the end.
"How can you say it doesn't matter?" Jolee snapped. His gaze was furious as it bored into mine. "How can you drop a plasma bomb like that and then say it doesn't darn well matter?"
My shoulders sagged. Vima was still staring at me in confusion, and right then I didn't think Jolee and I would ever find an amicable reckoning between the two of us. "Because it's just supposition, Jolee. And even if I am right-" and the Force has a lousy sense of humour- "then it doesn't matter, because Nayama's daughter is already dead."
I'd had enough. So had we all, I suspected. I turned my back on them, and strode away.
Neither of them stopped me.
xXx
Jolee Bindo:
Ancient Grove, Wildlands, Dantooine
The dry grass crunched beneath my boots. Each footfall crushed a hundred or so blades of brittle green, emitting a crackling sound that was perversely satisfying.
Lying, boorish, meddling old bugger!
The late afternoon sun drooped weakly in the sky, casting shadows that lengthened over the rolling hills of the wild. I had enough sense to stretch my awareness out and change my path to avoid any predators, but other than that bare modicum of self-preservation, I barely paid any attention to my surroundings.
Instead, my thoughts derailed, like an angst-ridden young'un fuming at the injustice of the world.
Where does that half-wit get off, slinging around dung like that? And he calls himself a blasted Jedi!
The morning's conversation burned. My final memories of my wife were bitter enough, but there'd still been good in her then: blind, stubborn goodness with how she'd naively believed that blackguard Kun's promise of training wouldn't tarnish her soul, even as she'd decided the sacrifice of a marriage was a price she was willing to pay.
Maybe she'd hoped I'd chase after her. Mayhap she hadn't thought she was leaving me so much as luring me to her side – after all, hadn't I foolishly believed she'd see Kun for the black-hearted blight on the galaxy he was, before retracing her steps back to me?
But I could not sway her, and I did not stop her – and then I never saw my Nayama again.
I hated to think my wife's end had been at the hands of her stars-blessed sister. Rationally, I'd never had any issue with the golden heroine Nomi Sunrider, but the perceived success of that woman's life had been a constant fraying against Nayama's self-esteem, and- and-
-and the crevasse that allowed the dark to seep through.
I'd seen first-hand my wife's resentment, in all of its bitter glory. Her chokehold of jealousy was precisely why I'd put a halt to any more of my ill-advised tuition. Nayama had grown up in her smarter, prettier, stronger sister's shadow and, much as I'd adored my wife, I could admit she'd never grown the inner strength to stop comparing herself to Nomi.
In hindsight, it was no wonder that Exar Kun's promise of power would eventually tempt her.
But- pregnant? Pregnant?!
In that moment, I almost loathed Vrook Lamar more than Exar Kun himself.
Precious Vima Sunrider didn't know anything, no; this was all inane blather on Vrook's part. A daughter, he claims, already dead-
"Keep crashing blindly through the grass, old man, and you're liable to walk straight into a kath hound's jaws."
My head jerked: to my right, eyeing me over in overt amusement, was the very man I'd originally intended to seek out. Our moody crewmate we'd given up for dead, the one we'd all feared we couldn't trust, that infamous general from Revan's shadowed past-
An icy fist clenched around my heart and, in that instant, I knew.
Because there'd been a moment, back on Lehon inside the 'Hawk, when I'd seen my wife staring at me from the face of a powerhouse strong enough to overshadow Exar Kun himself.
There were times when the Force sprang free from an untapped lineage. But Force-rich bloodlines, I knew, were a darn lot more likely to breed true sensitives.
"What do you know of Revan's mother?" I snapped, feeling my hands clench at my sides. I was riled enough to throw a punch at someone, and Force help Vrook Lamar if he crossed my path on this blasted planet again.
Yudan Rosh stilled, his expression smoothing into impassivity. "It is good to see you alive too, Jolee Bindo."
"Answer the darn question," I ground out, and the man's face tightened in irritation that, I had to admit, was well-warranted. I sighed, my shoulders slumping. "Ach, look, I've just had a run-in with one of my least favourite people and- grant an old man a boon, would you? Answer the question."
Yudan's head cocked, but other than that, the darn man didn't show any reaction. He stood at ease in the long grass, clad in clothing as non-descript as mine, with the glint of a lightsaber at his belt his only adornment. "Neither Revan nor Malak spoke easily of their past," he said slowly, his blue eyes sharp on mine. If I wasn't so aggrieved, the sight of his uncorrupted gaze would've been gratifying. "Her mother died when she was very young. A crippled man in the slums raised her. I know little other than that, Jolee."
I felt my fingers unfurl as the heaviness of the past washed over me. I'd known, in my heart, that Nayama was long dead. If she had really been Revan's mother-
Emotion choked in my throat.
"Why do you ask?" Yudan had crossed his arms, intently studying me from his place in the grass. His golden Twi'leki headtails swooped casually down his back, but I doubted the man was truly relaxed.
"I-"
It doesn't matter, Vrook had claimed, and maybe the old blighter was right. Nayama and I had never tried for children, being so early on in our marriage – and had I suspected Revan was my wife's daughter to blasted Exar Kun, it would've coloured my every interaction with her.
But Revan came back, came back from the dark in a way that so few sentients have ever found the strength to do. I mourn for her, but I'm also so proud of that reckless chit.
And Nayama- Nayama would have been proud, too.
Judging sentients on their ancestry was short-sighted at best. But Nayama had fallen to the dark. And Exar Kun had not so much fallen as revelled in it. Maybe, maybe, there was some comfort in the thought that Revan had redeemed more than herself in the end.
Maybe, one day, I could find peace in the idea that Nayama's spirit might have found absolution in her daughter.
"It doesn't matter." I growled out Vrook's words with an irritated shake of the head. "Ach, that ain't why I came here in the first place. It is good to see you, sonny boy, because we'd all thought that soul-sucking Sith had been your demise."
"It was a closer call than I would have liked," the man returned drolly, before his voice sharpened. "I believe Sharlan Nox still lives. I have informed Vandar but I am not so sure he takes the threat seriously."
"Huh. Well, with ole Malak gone and the Sith Empire in ruins, I'm actually inclined to side with the roundabout Jedi for once," I mused, as the embers of my acrimony slowly faded into acceptance. "Can't think a rogue Dark Jedi will do much damage after a resounding Republic victory."
"I disagree," Yudan clipped out tersely. Behind him, my gaze fell on the distant shadows of crumbling stonework etched into the lean of a hill. "Sharlan Nox overwhelmed my will with startling ease. I may have been momentarily incapacitated, but it is not arrogance to claim that even in such a state my mental shields are formidable. There was something about him..."
The man trailed off, frowning.
Ach, I would be foolish to outright dismiss Yudan's unease- and I'd felt the strength of that damnable Sith myself, as my life had drained effortlessly into his grasp-
Aye, but I'd been badly wounded. And Yudan more or less admitted the same of himself.
"I can tell I am not convincing you," Yudan drawled, his voice flattening into monotony. "So. You see for yourself that I survived. Did you have any other reason to seek me out, or are you merely enjoying a scenic trek through the wildlife?"
"You're as socialable as ever," I grumbled. "Did it even occur to you that the crew might be happy to hear you lived?"
A hairless golden brow quirked in disbelief. "Yes, I can see Mission Vao jumping for joy," he shot back smoothly.
"Hah! Well, Mission might not be your biggest fan, but the Onasis-" I paused, as his gaze narrowed on mine. "They understand the debt they owe you, Yudan Rosh."
"There is no debt," he muttered, turning away to stare at the remnants of what I suspected had once been a stone archway. An ancient grove steeped in Force, Vrook had said. Seemed a strange, if fitting, place for Yudan Rosh to find refuge. "What I did, I did for Revan."
I sighed. Mayhap that didn't really surprise me. Revan's entanglement with Onasi senior was hardly a secret, and as for Yudan Rosh... well, I had the niggling feeling he'd have cut his own arm off if it would've kept Revan happy.
So many things came back to her, that it seemed impossible to think she'd truly come to a final rest. I wasn't sure I'd have believed it, had I not felt Revan fade into the Force myself.
Seeing the way the Twi'lek's smooth face contorted with barely-checked emotion, I knew he was having a harder time accepting it than me.
"Doesn't matter your reasons, sonny boy. In the end you saved their lives, whether it was for altruistic reasons or otherwise."
Yudan shrugged, once more retreating into a mask of disinterested composure, like he believed it would convince anyone who'd had the dubious pleasure of trekking halfway across the galaxy with him.
"You tell them they owe me nothing," he declared, as if it were his place to state what other people thought. "Unless, of course, you plan to stay on Dantooine."
I snorted. "Heh. Fine thing to assume of me, I've only been here a day. You're the one sulking around an ancient Force grove and having idle campsite chats with the enclave's grandmaster."
The man didn't so much as twitch a muscle. "You truly believe, with my history, that the Jedi Order will welcome my return?"
"Oh, go bark up a tree. You'll get the same response out of me. I'm hardly about to start grading you," I grumbled. "Besides, I'm not senile enough to miss when someone's deflecting. You know darn well that the Order will take you back."
Yudan inclined his head in concession. "Perhaps. Yet I have to ask, why are you so interested?"
"Well, I certainly don't have a vested interest, as such." I shrugged, before pulling at my travelling pack and dislodging a ration bar from a side pocket. Darn things tasted like ground ferracrete dust, but it'd been a long day. "Call it more idle curiosity. I'm old. Doesn't take much to amuse me, these days."
"Treat me like a show monkey, old man, and I'll lure the nearby kath hounds here and leave you to your own defences."
"Ooh! You've got a smart mouth on you there, you know that? If ullers could talk, they'd sound like that."
"Fine," Yudan snapped. "I do not know yet, is that what you wish to hear? I am still..." he trailed off, mouth twisting in displeasure, as if he despised the admission. "...finding myself, as asinine as that sounds."
Lines of frustration creased around the normally-stoic man's face, but I could tell at a glance he wasn't truly angry. No- the man had one heck of a past to work through, but he had the fortitude to keep dragging another step forward.
"Heh. Well, there are moments when I think you must be much older that you seem... but this ain't one of them." I almost chortled at the outrage that flickered briefly in his gaze. "An honest answer, though. I can respect that. If I had a drink in my hand, I'd salute you."
"I appear to be all out of whiskey," he drawled, sliding effortlessly back into neutrality. "And you, Jolee Bindo? You did not answer. Do you plan to stay?"
I unwrapped the bar of dubious nutritional content, pausing to take a large bite. It tasted worse than I feared. "Is this where I question why you're so interested?"
Yudan looked supremely unimpressed. "Idle curiosity, old man. I'm bored. Perhaps it takes little to amuse me, also."
"Throwing my words back at me is a cheap shot," I grumbled, tucking the unfinished ration bar back in my pack. With luck, I'd find something more edible to scavenge on my return trek. "You know what I hate? Well... you know, lots of things, really. I'm old and easily annoyed. But that's beside the point. What I really hate is how most people view the Order. Like it's the only place for a Force-sensitive other than the Dark Side. Like the Jedi Council is completely incapable of injustice and imperfection, and to use the Force outside of their jurisdiction is tantamount to heresy. Bah..." I trailed off, frowning at the mild amusement sparking in the younger man's gaze. "Somehow, I suspect, I'm waffling to the converted."
"Quite."
"Shush, you," I muttered. "Don't interrupt your elders. What I'm trying to say is... well, your path to redemption – or whatever pithy word you choose to label it – is a noble one. But the Jedi Order isn't your only road to reach that goal. Ach, I ain't saying it's not a good option, as such, just that it ain't the only one."
"I... am aware of that already," Yudan replied, in a voice soft enough I had to strain to hear it. "But I appreciate the sentiment."
"Humph. Well, I suppose it's only fair to answer your question. I'm not here to re-join the Jedi. I'll be headed back to Telos in a day or so." I paused, my gaze landing back on that glint at his belt. "You know, we never had that talk I promised."
Yudan's mouth thinned. "Zhar's lightsaber," he acknowledged slowly. His hand rose to his belt, fingers wrapping tight around the hilt that had once belonged to an old friend. "If you wish to hear me apologise for his death... I do regret it, Jolee Bindo. I had... darker objectives in mind at the time."
"Ach, I know," I conceded, suddenly weary. Zhar, and Karon, and... and Nayama. The ghosts of the past stayed with me, grave and heavy, but I wouldn't chase them away for all the wasaka-berry juice in the galaxy. "Zhar was a good Jedi. Zhar and Karon both."
"They were," Yudan agreed in a low voice. Of course, he would have known them well, considering who they had trained. The Twi'lek unclipped the hilt and displayed it to me, holding it loosely in one bronzed fist. "I would not object should you desire his lightsaber, Jolee."
I waved away the unrequired offer with a sweep of my arm. "Keep it. I have my own 'saber, as I'm not in the habit of losing it. But that reminds me..." I paused mid-speech, as I reached around to scrabble in my pack again. "I picked something up from the Star Forge. Here, catch!"
With reflexes honed from a lifetime of conflict, Yudan effortlessly snatched the cylindrical object I lobbed at him with his free hand. He paused, eyes widening in shock. I should've figured he'd recognize the hilt without even turning the blasted thing on.
"Why does everyone persist in handing me Revan's belongings?" he choked, staring fixedly at the second lightsaber. "I do not need material possessions to remember her!"
"That's Karon's 'saber, not Revan's," I snapped, for all the good it did me. The man seemed unable to draw his eyes away from the hilt in his hand. "Revan merely held onto it for awhile. I reckon Karon and Zhar belong together, even in death. If you don't want it-"
"I did not say that." Yudan's eyes closed as he breathed in unsteadily. "I was simply... not expecting this."
"Ah, well." I shrugged, uneasy in the presence of his apparent grief, but even so- this felt like the right thing to do. "Life has a habit of throwing surprises at us all. It's how you deal with those fun little shocks that define you. Reckon you can wield two lightsabers?"
"I can master more than one form, old man," the Twi'lek murmured, as composure battled emotion across the fine planes of his face. His blue eyes snapped open to face me – shining bright and wholly uncorrupted – and in that moment I had faith that the man would be okay, whatever path he chose. "Perhaps I shall modify the crystals into a double-blade. I will remember Karon and Zhar... and their padawans. Both of them."
"Good. That's tribute enough for me." I nodded firmly, before taking in the lengthening shadows that darkened the grassy hill tops. "Ach, well, suspect I've said all I need to. Better head back before this old body demands a nap."
"You won't beat the setting of the sun, not as far out as we are."
"Pah. The nocturnal life here ain't a match for my wily bones." I shrugged my pack back over my shoulders, casting a last beady gaze over the notorious man standing before me. "One last thing. I've had my own draw of missteps in the past... nothing like yours, you might mutter, but they were enough to send me sulking into the Shadowlands for some time. Don't... don't make the same mistake as me, sonny boy. Decades of regret in the wild ain't a way to live, nor would it make those who have gone happy."
"I shall make a decision, Jolee Bindo," he promised, his eyes gleaming in the gathering dusk. "One way or another, I shall make a decision soon enough."
"Good." My lips twitched as I turned to face the trek back to civilization. "I'd wish the Force to be with you, Yudan Rosh, but that'd make me sound far too much like a stodgy Jedi. So all I'll say is this: live your life well. If we meet again, make sure you bring me a bottle of whiskey or I'll slap you over the head for being impertinent."
The man's soft chuckle stayed with me for some time after I left.
xXx
Roland Wann:
Republic Embassy, Ahto City, Manaan
"Happy retirement, Roland," a voice commented behind me. "Where are you headed?"
I turned, to spot the Republic scientist Kono Nolan eyeing me over curiously. It was strange, to see the man out of his standard white-jacketed uniform.
"Coruscant," I answered, taking a swig of what was meant to be non-alcoholic fizz-pop, but tasted suspiciously like Corellian ale. Damn Laconi. If the military arm of the Embassy wasn't in the throes of shutting down, I'd rake the crooked con over the coals for smuggling booze in under the Selkath's strict orders. "No brass allowed on Manaan. I have to go to the Core to claim my final papers."
It wasn't so bad, really. I used to dread the thought of leaving active duty behind – but the Sith attack on the embassy months earlier made me realize just how old I felt. Especially when contrasted with the acts of some – some who were now galactically famous.
I'll admit, I hadn't thought much of Carth Onasi at first. But a man willing to charge into an invasion on his own-
The Republic had better defenders than me, these days. It hurt to admit that – but it was the truth.
"Me too," Kono said softly. His attention had shifted to the huddle of soldiers joking loudly around the head table. Bloody Laconi was clambering up on the plasteel surface, like he was about to break into dance. I couldn't see that twit headed for anything other than a dishonourable discharge. "Good to see the grunts celebrating, for once."
"We're all glad the embargo's been lifted," I admitted. "Even if the Republic's being booted from Manaan."
"The Selkath love their neutrality," Kono commented idly. "I'm not much for politics... but at least the Embassy's staying open. Even if it'll be civilian only."
Blasted Selkath bureaucracy had taken just about as long as I'd predicted, before they'd finally issued a ruling regarding the secret kolto base half their leaders had known of anyway. The dismissal of all Republic military was a public dressing-down, but a weak one, considering they'd agreed to a civilian ambassador and the retention of political ties.
And the Sith weren't even around anymore to keep their embassy open. The Republic officer in me rejoiced at that.
I could've applied for the civilian post. Maybe even attained it. But I'd wanted to keep my military ties, even if it meant retirement. And, truth be told, I just wanted to see the back of the bloody Selkath.
Much like the rest of the rejoicing soldiers beneath my command.
"And kolto will still be offered to the Republic at market rates, right?" Kono continued. "Considering everything, there's a lot to celebrate."
"There is," I agreed quietly. Kono had a smile dancing around his lips, but he was conspicuously alone, given that this was the final night for all military-affiliated staff. Even in his role as scientist, Kono still reported to the rank and file. "Where's your off-sider, Kono? Sami, wasn't it?"
"She-" His mouth twisted wryly. "She's left the Republic. Accepted a biologist's post with a new Selkath deep-sea base. Sami was always more... passionate than me about the wildlife here. I don't want anything to do with the ocean anymore, if I'm honest. I still see those damn feral firaxan at times..."
The man trailed into silence, his eyes closing briefly as his shoulders hunched.
"By all accounts it sounds like it was as hairy underwater as it was up here," I said in commiseration, drawing in another mouthful of booze. Laconi might like to dance on the wrong side of the law – but the Selkath's prohibition of alcohol on-base was pretty pedantic. This late in the game, I was happy enough to plead ignorance at Laconi's transgressions. "It's hard to lose men."
"Yeah," Kono murmured. He and Sami were the only staff that'd made it topside, and that was probably why I'd barely seen either of them since the lockdown. Survivor's guilt was never easy. "If it weren't for the Jedi... I saw Bastila Shan, you know that? Watched her on the cams as she charged a roomful of crazed Selkath just to save a mercenary. And that Cathar... she braved the ocean to sort the harvesting machine out. Her and that ugly merc. I don't care what the holonets are saying, the Jedi are heroes. Without them..."
"Hmm," I murmured. I still maintained if it hadn't been for Bastila Shan, the Embassy wouldn't have been attacked in the first place. But, still, she'd gone off and saved the Republic, hadn't she? Her, and that ragtag crew of hers. When I didn't see the empty bunks in the quarters staring at me accusingly, I could concede it was a small price to pay.
"We're headed for a brighter future, Roland," Kono murmured, as he uncapped the bottle in his hands. "Whether it's retirement or another posting... we have peace, now. The Republic will prevail."
"I can drink to that," I said. There was a warm satisfaction in my heart as I considered his words. Retired or not, I could still find a place in the Core. Enjoy the golden years, as such, and be glad that the next generation would grow up in a safer galaxy than the one I'd lived in.
I leaned over, and clinked my drink gently against Kono's.
xXx
Canderous Ordo:
Nearing Equator, Ordo, Ordo System, Mandalore Sector
Ordo was a barren rock of a planet, always had been. Wastelands covered near-all of the surface: scorching deserts inhabited only by the most hardy of non-sentient life.
Rimmed thinly around the planet's equator was a strip of vegetation that offered relief to the relentless temperature, but that relief was mitigated by the presence of the planet's more vicious predators – horned-tooth lizards the size of basilisks, venomous sandsnakes that could kill a man with a single bite, winged claw-monkeys able to shred armour not made of the finest beskar – ah, my home planet wasn't a place for the faint-hearted.
Clan Ordo had never settled on Ordo with any sizable population – no point with such an inhospitable climate and the lack of any substantial material resources, and that wasn't even counting the carnivores who claimed supremacy on the planet's surface. But Ordo remained a testing platform for the blooding of young warriors – and the ritual grounds for the ascension of a new clan leader.
Next to me, in the co-pilot's chair, Jacen Ordo shifted uncomfortably on his seat. "Before we touch dirt, ori'vod, there's something I must say."
"So, speak," I grunted, canting our transport into a landing trajectory following the coordinates Jacen had pre-programmed. The journey home had been... interesting, what with a pirate interception of the freighter I'd first boarded, not to mention the customs takeover when we'd finally landed on Ord Mantell. It'd felt like old times – cracking some heads together, showing those upstart pirates exactly why it was idiotic to mess with a Mando'ade – but I'd had my ride impounded and been left stranded on a planet riddled with bounty hunters and smugglers – none of who were at all interested in venturing into Mandalorian airspace.
Running into Jacen Ordo had been a surprise – until my cousin confessed he'd been hunting me down.
"I'm running for clan leader," Jacen admitted, leaning forward to confirm the landing beacon that'd been transmitted from the clan's gathering camp. "I told you before the Elders expected you to run – if you made it back – and there's no denying you'd be a strong contender, but..."
"Huh." I knew what he was leaving unspoken. My notoriety throughout the Republic – and that shiny Cross of Glory now warming the bottom of a pack somewhere – was both a blessing and a curse. Many Mando'ade felt now was the time for rebuilding, for the reconstruction of our clans and our strongholds – and that an ongoing neutrality with the Republic was almost a necessity for these goals to be achieved. Better not to poke a sleeping terentatek when our spears were still so dull.
But there were others who hung onto the old views of glory – of galactic domination, that grandiose dream Mand'alor the Ultimate had breathed – the one where expansion at the sacrifice of clan was worth seeking.
Where conquest and the subjugation of all others was the only path to honour.
"I'll back you, Canderous. I'd have you know that. Your deeds in the Wars speak for themselves, and I can only see a potential... cessation of hostilities with the Republic as a good thing."
"There are no hostilities to end. We haven't been at war since Malachor," I ground out, annoyed. My only true tie to the Republic was Onasi and – Commodore or not – he was hardly going to spearhead an alliance with the weakened Mandalorian clans still picking over the remnants of our lost empire. "We'd be a pack of di'kuts if we tried sniffing into their territories when we can barely hold our own."
"Yeah, I know that. But you haven't even said if you plan on running or not-"
"I'll talk with the Elders first, vod. Ain't no point making a statement until then."
Jacen simmered into thwarted silence as our light transport descended through the lower atmo. We'd had a talk or two on my final leg home, and there was no denying I felt the call to leadership. Seeing first-hand the dregs of my people scrabbling for creds on Korriban and Kashyyyk had galled, the more so because it had forced me to admit that I'd been doing exactly the same back on Taris.
The Mando'ade could do better. I could do better.
Still, it'd been gratifying to hear that the clan I'd saved in the Shadowlands had taken my words back home. Clan Ordo had called a leader-seek. Jernnin had been cemented as the First of the Lok Clan. Trallia had convinced the Kelborn elders to talk with Ordo about a potential alliance. And – or so Jacen told me – the murmurs of raising a new Mand'alor to unite our rebuilding had grown to a dull roar.
The scrubby vegetation near our landing coordinates burgeoned into view and with it came the visible peaks of portable tents, all framed with durasteel spires holding metres of sack-cloth that marked out temporary bases. There were dozens of docked freighters, light transports, snubs- no, more than dozens-
"This ain't just Ordo," I muttered, transferring auxiliary power into the landing thrusters as the sublight engine shut down. The transport turned beneath my hands, before descending cleanly towards an available landing pad. "How many other clans are watching our leader-seek?"
"Bala's here, they've always maintained close ties," Jacen admitted, as the ship landed with a soft thump. The repulsors whined, slowly whirring into silence. "Kelborn and Lok have both sent representatives. There was talk of a Fett leader, too, and as I left I caught wind of a contingent of akaanir dala landing. Haar'chak, Canderous, you know that Ordo are probably the strongest clan left standing. Our leader-seek was always going to invite interest from the other clans."
"I'm coming home to a kriffing side-show," I muttered, as I unbuckled the safety restraints of the pilot's chair. "And how many are expecting me?"
"I didn't keep our return a secret, if that's what you're asking," Jacen returned drily. "Fame happens when you take on a Sith Lord and return victorious."
I stood, throwing my cousin an unimpressed stare, before retrieving the second-rate helm I'd procured and tucking it under one arm. Walking into what I expected was a waiting crowd would be better with a full set of beskar'gam, but all I had was Davik's lousy purple chest-plate, and a patchwork of body armour that said more about my recent past than I cared it to. I could feel myself scowling. "Let's get this damn circus over with, then."
A trio of akaanir dala were standing closest to the landing ramp as I exited the ship, and I was immediately relieved to note my estranged wife didn't number among their ranks. The blonde one, though, I did recognize – she shot me a cheeky grin that instantly reminded me of a brief hour back on Korriban-
"Olarom, Canderous Ordo," someone else said; a man decked out in full body armour that gleamed beneath the sunlight. His gauntleted fists rose to remove a shiny helm, revealing a face I knew well. "Welcome home."
My muscles tensed, and I was immediately aware of the blaster closest to my fist, and the rifle ready at my back.
"Su cuy'gar, Jagi of Bala," I offered formally. Jacen stomped down the ramp, stopping at my side, an easy smile pasted on his face. Jagi, on the other hand, was entirely expressionless. "Don't mince words with me," I continued, in an almost-growl. "Are you here as friend or foe?"
Jagi's thin lips twitched. "I'll admit I've been waiting for you. Wanted to speak to you first. I did what your Jen Sahara suggested, conferred with my elders, and- well. I'll repeat what I said on Korriban. There is no debt of honour between us – at least, not on my side."
I paused, considering the younger man. The insignia of clan Bala was etched proudly on the shoulder-piece of his beskar'gam, along with the marking as Third of his clan. Jagi had been a war leader I'd once respected, and his homecoming, it seemed, had done him good.
His little brother, on the other hand... I half-hoped Allen Bala was lurking about somewhere, just so I could find an excuse to bloody his mouth.
"I hold no grievance with you, Jagi," I said finally. "If someone comes looking for a fight then I'll give them one. But our clans have been allied for generations. It would be good to count you as a personal ally again."
"Let it be so," Jagi murmured, tucking his helm beneath one arm. "Your clan wants to talk with you, but I suspect you might like to unload your belongings first. I'll walk you to your tent."
Showing me my quarters was a courtesy bordering on subservience – maybe one Jagi thought I was granted, considering the public challenge he'd thrown at me back on Korriban. But, still-
"I have a tent already?" I felt my brows rise. "Didn't think I was that famous."
"We needed somewhere to put your stuff," Jagi muttered, waving me down a line of Ordo-marked tents. The akaanir dala didn't follow, but I was aware of the blonde one watching my retreat with interest. Damn, but I'd have to find out her name. "Kriffing thing wouldn't shut up until we found him a place to standby and wait for you."
"Wait." I halted, gaze narrowing. "What stuff? I haven't sent anything ahead, Jagi. What the kriff are you talking about?"
"Come and see for yourself." Jagi motioned to the entrance of a one-person tent. "He's pretty adamant he belongs to you. If you disagree, well- we can always use him for target practice."
I lifted the flap of sack-cloth, bemused. The tent Jagi claimed as mine was the standard shelter Mando'ade used in times of ground-war or clan gatherings – no flooring, just the required protection from the elements with a portable heat-generator in the centre and a simple stretcher laid out on the dirt floor. And in the corner-
"Mand'alor's balls," I muttered, as crimson photoreceptors flared to life, inset into the triangular headpiece of a burnished red droid I hadn't thought I'd ever see again. "Tinhead. What the kriff are you doing here?"
"Observation: Master, you certainly took your time," HK-47 intoned, his eyes gleaming a deep scarlet. "Elucidation: My former master's final command was that my service be rendered to you upon her death, suspected or confirmed. Query: Is there something you need killed?"
Jagi followed me in, his thin mouth curving in amusement. "I have to say, I've never seen a droid quite like this one before," he drawled. "I had a bet with Melaani of the akaanir dala on whether you'd actually recognize the damn thing. Guess I owe her fifty creds."
My arms were crossed as I stared hard at HK. The droid's head cocked, but he remained silent, awaiting my next order. Because kriffing Revan had entailed him to me-
I'd never desired a personal droid, protocol or... otherwise. Such things weren't uncommon among the Mando'ade, but all I'd ever cared for was my own basilisk war droid.
Not that I was entertaining the notion of turning HK away. I knew damn well the capabilities of Revan's old assassin.
"Haar'chak," I muttered. "HK, last thing I heard, Onasi shipped you down to the bowels of Republic Intelligence. Why am I not surprised you found a way to break out?"
"Query: Was that a rhetorical question, master? I can refresh your memory with a litany of my superior functionality, if your organic brain has decayed to the point of senility-"
"Hah!" Jagi cut in, chortling. "Bastard thing's just as rude to you-"
"Cut to the chase, Tinhead," I growled at the droid. "Why did she send you to me?"
HK's crimson gaze flared. "Observation: Considering the dross of peace-loving fleshbags my former master surrounded herself with, one could argue that you were simply the best of a sorry lot. Conjecture: Or, perhaps, she considered me a suitable Mandalore replacement."
"You've never had much of a self-preservation instinct, have you, Tinhead?" I said drily, amused, while Jagi choked in response to what many Mando'ade would take as fighting words, regardless of whether they emitted from a programmed machine or not.
"Objection: If that were true, I would no doubt be laid to waste several times over-"
"What have you heard, droid?" Jagi demanded, taking an aggressive step forward. "A Mand'alor replacement... have you been bugging the Elders' meetings?"
HK's right forearm cocked, and something thunked inside his robotic limb.
"Stand down, Tinhead," I snapped out. I didn't wait to see if he listened, but instead turned to shoot a questioning glance at Jagi. "What's going on?"
"If that damn droid has been listening in to private discussions-"
"What, about a new Mand'alor?" I drawled. "Haar'chak, Jagi, even I've heard whispers and I've only been around the Clans for five kriffing minutes."
"What do you know?" Jagi rapped out, still glaring at HK.
"Answer: That droids are vastly superior to organic meatbags in functionality, robustness, and rationality. That pain is the only reliable means by which truth may be obtained. That there are a lot of politicians on Coruscant; why, I could spend decades assassinating them and barely even make a dent. Sarcasm: Or were you looking for something a little more specific, Choleric Primate?"
"Ne'johaa, HK, shut up," I muttered, before raising an arm to forestall Jagi. As much as a brawl between my old comrade and HK would be entertaining, there was still part of me that reckoned HK had additional reasons for being here – and I wanted to know what those reasons were. Maybe the damn droid had already disclosed everything – after all, I probably was the best suited to take care of him now that Revan was dead...
...my service be rendered to you upon her death, suspected or confirmed.
Suspected. Revan had never been one to piss around with words. The Jedi- all of them had felt her die- but then we'd never seen her damned corpse, and it wasn't like this was the first time-
I scowled.
"Jagi, what's got you so riled up?" I ground out. "HK's always been a mouthy bucket of bolts. Why's the very mention of a new Mand'alor making you so twitchy?"
Jagi's glare swung back to me, but he sighed, his shoulders sagging in defeat. "Shavit," he muttered. "Maybe I am on edge. I'm Third of Bala, now, and it's the first time I've been privy to- look, all clan leaders have agreed, and it would've been declared days ago, but the Ordo Elders asked for a week's cycle grace before an official decree was announced. This was after Jacen Ordo commed in, saying he'd found you on Ord Mantell. There's a reason so many clans have congregated on Ordo, y'know. The clans who ain't here are gathered on Dxun."
"Mand'alor," I breathed, straightening. "It's true, then. We'll be seeking a new Mand'alor."
"Yeah," Jagi conceded. "Standard two month contestation. What with the Ordo leader-seek happening concurrently- well, I guess your Elders wanted to make sure you were here. To see what you would do."
"Query: Is this an official confirmation? Extrapolation: Is there any chance the seeking of your new meatbag leader may be retracted?"
HK's questioning was strangely intent- Jagi turned to glower at the droid again, but I waved him on. "All leaders have voted already, Jagi?"
"There's no turning back, if that's what you mean. We'll be following a new Mand'alor once the two months are done," Jagi clarified. "And if you plan on running for Ordo – or anything else – then you might want to kick some attitude readjustment into your damn droid before someone else smashes his head into the dust."
Running for Ordo - or anything else. Jagi's implication meant that someone, somewhere, was already considering me as a potential-
"Statement: Master, I have a private message for you."
I blinked, turning back to stare at the droid. Jagi was frowning at my side. HK said nothing else, but his crimson gaze was levelled almost accusingly on Jagi.
"Jagi," I said slowly, not moving my focus from the robotic relic of the woman who had almost broken my people. "Give me a minute, would you? If there's any of my clan elders waiting, tell them I won't be long."
"Fine," Jagi muttered, but – surprisingly – turned to move away. Jagi's bearing towards me, his acquiescence to someone outside his own clan or reporting line said more than his words did. Jagi Bala, at least, considered me worthy.
Worthy of Ordo leadership, maybe – or maybe something more.
"Vor'e, Jagi," I said, as the man moved to leave. "I am glad to see you again."
Jagi nodded in response, and then left.
"Alright, HK," I ground out, as the sack-cloth entrance flapped closed. "What's Revan got to say to me?"
The droid didn't answer verbally; instead, a panel retracted from his forelimb, and the blue illumination of a recorded holo-message shone brightly on the dirt floor.
It was no surprise to see her kneeling figure.
That's kriffing Lehon, I thought, frowning, glimpsing the entrance of that damn pyramid at her back. The woman I respected and mourned for ran one hand through her mop of curls, before staring intently at the holo-cam.
::Canderous,:: she opened, leaning forward. ::If you get this message then your clans have announced the search for a new Mandalore, and I'm probably dead.::
The recording grimaced, and I scowled.
::Look, I recalled something regarding my duel with Mandalore the Ultimate. This is important. Before the Wars, Mandalore was approached by... I'm not sure. By someone. An emissary of someone. Mandalore's vision of conquest was not his own, Canderous. That vision of conquest, of crushing the Republic- it was implanted in him by something or someone beyond the Outer Rim. How much Mandalore remained his own man I cannot say...::
I could feel my face tightening in the beginnings of anger, and holo-Revan's mouth twitched.
::I can only imagine your expression right now,:: she murmured. ::The truth is that Mandalore the Ultimate believed there was something out there. Something that used the Mandalorians as a means of testing the Republic... of testing the Jedi. It was not your peoples' decision to wage war on the Republic. You only have to look at the over-extension of the Mandalorian offensive to see how futile a future empire that vast would have been.::
I shifted uncomfortably. As galling as Revan's words were, I couldn't deny the truth in her last statement. We Mando'ade had certainly had the forces to make the Republic tremble, but to hold such a swathe of the galaxy long-term?
I hadn't been the only general to doubt that vision.
::I once believed there was a war coming, Canderous. And that it was waiting out in the Unknown Regions, in the dark, waiting for us to destroy each other. That's why Malak and I ventured into unknown space after Malachor. That's why I turned on the Republic... I justified it as a military takeover. Capture the Republic, strengthen it, and make the galaxy ready for what would come.::
She sighed, looking away from the holo-recorder. Etched in wavering lines of blue, Revan looked more like an artist's impression of a battered crusader at rest; all burred lines as she stared soulfully into the distance.
::I was wrong to believe I could master the Dark Side without losing myself. But I don't know if I was wrong about the Unknown Regions. I don't remember what Malak and I found. All I know is that if there is something out there, chances are the Mandalorian Clans will be hit first. And a weakened Mandalorian empire is bad for your people, for the Republic – and for all in the galaxy.::
I frowned, folding my arms. There was no denying that whatever happened to Revan after Malachor had been her turning point- but to think she'd been led there by Mand'alor- by what must have been his dying words-
::Strengthen your clans, Canderous.:: Her tone had turned crisp, almost commanding. ::As your friend, I ask this of you. As the woman you followed, and the one who once defeated your clans, I command it. Preserve your people and stand ready at the edges of the galaxy. I never destroyed Mandalore the Ultimate's helm of leadership. HK-47 knows where it is. Retrieve the helm, lead your people, and hold the Outer Rim firm.::
The holo-recording of Revan winked out, to be replaced by a navigational map. HK's eyes gleamed in the shadows of the tent, but the droid said nothing as I stared at a map of the Chorlian system, centred around the frozen wasteland planet of Rekkiad.
Mand'alor's balls! The kriffing helm?
I rocked back on my heels, shaken. The iconic full-helm had been passed down from Mand'alor to Mand'alor, its frontal mask carved from a mythosaur's sternum. Such a relic wasn't exactly necessary to hold the title of Mand'alor – and nor did it guarantee confirmation of the title – but there was no denying the power that symbol held with my people.
And one of Revan's final acts was to bestow the fabled helm back to the Mando'ade – to me.
"Preserve your people and stand ready at the edges of the galaxy."
Rekkiad was little more than a handful of days' jump from Ordo. I could be there and back before half the contestation period had expired.
"I once believed there was a war coming, Canderous. And that it was waiting out in the Unknown Regions, in the dark, waiting for us to destroy each other."
There were few people I esteemed as highly as Revan – and none outside of the Mando'ade. Something tightened in my chest as I considered her last order given to me – and I knew, in my heart, that there was no question on whether I would follow it.
Jacen would make a fine leader for Clan Ordo. It seemed my fate was leading me elsewhere.
xXx
Carth Onasi:
Government Sector, Citadel Station, Telos
Citadel Station still had that new smell: burnished durasteel overlaid with fresh lacquer on the sidings, differing colours of paint demarcating the separation between residential, retail and governmental sectors. Many of the station's walls were blessedly free of any commercial holo-ads, although surely it was only a matter of time before retailers snapped up the remaining real estate for their product placement.
I hadn't spotted any graffiti, either. That was something I made sure not to mention to Mission – for all that she'd signed up to a piloting course alongside Dustil, I figured sooner or later she'd sneak out to wreak her own brand of special havoc.
I was almost looking forward to it.
The sidings shifted to the yellow of the public governmental sector as I left the residential complex behind. Jolee had returned that morning – now safely ensconced with Dustil in what was beginning to feel like home – and the old man's arrival had been a welcome relief in an otherwise melancholy day.
Remembrance Day.
It was fitting, I supposed, that the authorities decided to honour the more recent casualties on the fifth anniversary of the bombing. We'd lost more than our planet the day Saul had betrayed us, but it'd felt like a double-edged sword this time, when the local brass saluted those brave Telosians who'd fallen in battle since then.
Captain Jordo Merrix was one of the more prominent names.
I'd heard weeks ago, of course; the news of his death was just another chink in my already battered heart. But I hadn't expected his so very public funeral to hit so hard. Men and women who'd flown beside him stood in silence, stoic acceptance plastered on their faces, as they later mumbled impersonally about what a good soldier he'd been.
Before raising a glass and moving on to grieve the next comrade.
Jordo'd had no spouse to witness the etching of his name on the ceremonial plaque. No best friend to shed a tear – sure, we'd been close once, before the destruction of Telos had catapulted us both into a life that didn't exist beyond the obligations of war. There'd been no child or parent or even a damn civilian neighbour to weep at the reality of his death.
And as my fingers traced Jordo's name on the newly-erected public memorial, I was hit by the staggering realization that had I died on the Endar Spire, my own funeral would have looked exactly like this.
Official and proper and completely impersonal.
I was lucky. So damn lucky. And stang, did that understanding hurt, when I still sometimes mourned Morgana, when I could barely even say Revan's name without my voice cracking.
The days were getting better. Even though I was still officially on leave, the Senate had a vested interest in the Telosian Restoration Effort, and I was conveniently seen as a bridge between political investment, military presence, and local governmental ties. Telos hadn't been the only planet devastated by war, of course, but perhaps it was the most prominent one. And if the Republic could show that a restoration effort was fruitful, it paved the way for other sectors to claim taxpayer funds in the name of rebuilding.
Of course, I wanted Telos to succeed more than anyone, and therefore I welcomed my not-yet-official involvement with the Telosian Council.
But, really, it was the kids that kept me whole.
Kids, I thought with a wry smile. Morgana had wanted a second child. A daughter, she'd teased, to keep the gender balance in our household. I couldn't help but wonder what she'd have made of Mission.
"Cap- er, Commodore? Commodore Onasi?"
The downside to becoming absurdly well-known was the frequent hails from strangers. I could still remember a young Dustil gushing over Talvon Esan, or my own regard for Saul that had blinkered my ability to see the man for what he had become. The famous were, well, just sents like any other. I was highly uncomfortable with the fact that I now numbered among their ranks.
I turned, a friendly smile plastered on my face, to survey an older Human grinning tentatively at me. The man held a datapad loosely in one fist, and I inwardly grimaced. Requests for holographs weren't uncommon, but I'd gone five days without one, and that was getting close to a personal record.
"I, uh, sure. Of course," I said hurriedly, staring down at the man's 'pad. "Do you have a datapen?"
"Eh?" The man blinked, before following my gaze and laughing. "Naw, this is my map of the station. Only been here two days, and I'm getting lost with every- say, Captain, don't tell me you've already forgotten me?"
I glanced back up at the Human, and the dawning recognition was slower than it should have been.
"Tobards," I breathed in shock. "Ensign Tobards. I- of course I remember you!"
The heat of chagrin flooded me; I hadn't even thought on the Republic gunner since he'd slipped away from the 'Hawk. Sammy Tobards had done his part in taking out a slayer or two, but then he'd disappeared and became nothing more than a distant memory of someone who'd once shed blood beneath my command.
"It's fine," Tobards said, still chuckling, waving away the embarrassment that must have been evident on my face. "Guess you never expected to run into an old blighter like me again."
"It's good to see you," I said sincerely, eyeing the older man over. He'd been injured, I remembered, and then vanished with the second round of medics after we'd docked on the Meridus. Obviously he'd had to report to his own superiors, but the man had had the grace to leave us alone to our grief in the days that followed, and I felt a belated rush of gratitude for his consideration. "How's the shoulder?"
"It aches at night," Tobards admitted. "There's some permanent nerve damage. I ain't complaining, though, 'cause there was a moment back on the Forge when I truly thought we weren't getting out alive."
"Yeah." I searched for an elegant way to change the topic. Today had already been too much rehashing of the blasted past. "What are you doing on Citadel Station?"
"My son married a Telosian girl," he said, breaking into a wide smile. "She gave birth to my first grandchild a week ago."
"That's- congratulations," I offered, touched despite myself at the evident joy wrinkling the man's face. "Are you on leave, then?"
"I applied for early retirement. Only a few years left in me, anyway, and now that peace reigns it ain't that hard to wrangle a speedy discharge. Here, check this out-" Tobards thumbed the screen of his datapad, before turning it around to display the scrawny image of a sleeping newborn. "Isn't he something?"
"Yeah," I said quietly, gaze fixed on that tiny bundle of rebirth. At that moment, it didn't seem so long ago when Morgana had held a tiny babe in her arms, her soft gaze burning with all the love in the galaxy. "He really is."
Tobards powered off the 'pad, still grinning, and slipped it into a pocket. "Not sure what you'll think of his name, though. My daughter-in-law is quite the patriot."
"What?" I blinked. "No, tell me you didn't-"
"Hey, I had nothing to do with it," he chuckled. "Okay, so I wrangled her into the boy's middle name, but then Jedi Bindo did save my life."
"You- you haven't saddled the poor thing with both our names-"
"Carth Jolee Tobards," he confirmed proudly, as I stared at him in disbelief. The man's chuckle grew into a deep belly-laugh. "Ah, I can guess what you're thinking. But the boy will grow up to be a proud Telosian, if my daughter-in-law has anything to do with it. And it's important to remember the past."
"I-I guess," I said weakly.
Tobards walked closer, clapping me amiably on the shoulder. "I saw you at the remembrance ceremony. Guess I was hoping to run into you. It's a good thing, to honour those who died for our freedom, but I reckon it's just as important to enjoy the peace they fought for. That's why I left the Fleet. To be with my family, you know? To live."
I nodded, subdued, and suddenly lost for words.
I was a military man, and deep down I knew I always would be. But if there was one thing I'd learned it was that family had to come first – and I was fortunate enough to be given a second chance to prove that.
Fleet obligations or not, Dustil – and Mission – would forever be my first priority.
"Well, I won't waylay you any longer, Commodore. I hope- I hope everything is going well for you."
The man's last words had lowered in volume, as his expression turned solemn in respect for the dead. Of course, Tobards had seen Revan and Zaalbar leave the 'Hawk, never to return. And half the blasted galaxy seemed to think Bastila had been my clandestine lover.
Mission might find the idea hilarious, but if I ever found out which reporter started that lurid rumour, I'd strangle them with my own bare hands.
"Everything is as well as can be expected, I suppose," I answered wearily. "And- you can call me Carth, you know, being civvie and all."
"Okay, then. S'long as I'm Sammy to you." The ex-gunner paused, as a flash of uncertainty skittered across his expression. "I'm on the Station for good now, Carth. Don't be a stranger, okay? My son is a mean cook. It'd mean a lot to me if you'd come over for dinner one night with that boy of yours."
An unexpected offer of what felt like friendship from a man little more than a stranger caught me off-guard. "I'd- I'd like that," I managed, if a little slowly.
My acceptance was genuine, and that in itself surprised me. I had no desire to relive the battle on the Star Forge, but then Sammy Tobards didn't strike me as the sort of man interested in the glorification of past battles. "Maybe I'll even drag Jolee along."
"Oh, he's here?" The side of Tobards' mouth quirked. "Yeah, bring him too. You never know, he might even get my name right for once."
I chuckled. Knowing Jolee's propensity for acting the senile old coot, I rather doubted it. "Call on me then, Tob- uh, Sammy, when things have settled with your new grandchild. My address is publicly listed. We'll organize something."
The man grinned, before nodding in farewell and slipping silently away. I could feel the faint smile on my face linger, even after Sammy Tobards disappeared from view.
I turned, shrugging my hands into my pockets, and resumed walking down the sparsely crowded governmental halls. These pathways led into the public service sector, and there was one route in particular I often found myself following, during those brief moments I was at a loose end.
The trial arboretum erected along the most western chambers of the Station.
The atmosphere of Telos had acidified to the point where little life was currently sustainable on the surface. The Telosian Council's initial restoration goal was detoxification of the climate, of course, but from that lofty objective arose the question of which vegetation to introduce. A herd of Ithorians had secured permission to cultivate suitable flora within the Station itself, which they hoped one day to transplant down to the surface.
Heat lamps shone within enclosed transparisteel domes, illuminating seedlings of flax-grass and chocha-bushes imported from Onderon, and other varieties of plant-life I had no hope of recognizing. The domes themselves boasted artificial atmospheric conditions that were an emulation of what the Ithorian herd expected Telos to exhibit, given more time and funding.
Frankly, I wasn't all that interested in the plants, other than the future they offered my planet. No, I was drawn to the vast screens covering the outer walls. Some displayed a real-time view fed back from the holo-cams stationed down on Telos, along the lands chosen as the first point of plantation. Others showed projected images of the same land – now starting to thrive – in a month, three months, and even a year's time.
Hope. They displayed hope.
"You really reckon they can do it?" someone piped up behind me. "Fix Telos, I mean?"
I spun around to see Mission wandering slowly towards me. Her bright gaze was fixed on that final screen, the one with visible crops and shrubs growing unaided beneath a blue sky.
"I hope so," I said quietly as she neared my side. "It's certainly a dream worth fighting for. What are you doing here, Mission?"
"Following you, I guess." She made a face. "S'not like you're that hard to find, Carth. I just gotta follow the adoring stares of the dumb crowds."
"Ha ha." I looked around anyway, relieved to see that the arboretum was as quiet as normal. Mission grinned, nose crinkling, as she followed my gaze.
"Hey, was that Sammy I saw earlier?"
"You really were following me," I grumbled. "I thought you were back home?"
"Old man Bindo started lecturing Dee on the Force. Sheesh, I mean it's good to have him back an' all, but he can really go on a bit, y'know?"
I chuckled, before slinging my arm over the girl's shoulder and drawing her close. "Get used to it, Mission. The Force is a part of their lives, so I guess that means-"
"-it's part of ours, yeah, I know," she muttered, tucking her head into my side. "Did you- I mean, I was just wondering..."
Mission trailed off into silence, head bowed. I stared down at the top of her lekku, criss-crossed in those black leather straps that I wasn't sure had any purpose beyond ornamentation. "What is it, Mission? You- you can ask me anything, you know."
Unless it's about boys. Or Dustil. I blinked, thoughts frozen, suddenly aware of how highly uncomfortable raising a teenage girl might become.
"I just- well, you two were a thing, right?" she mumbled against my chest. "Did you- did you love her? Like, love love her?"
"I-" The breath whistled out from my lungs as a stab of fresh grief completely blindsided me. Talking of Revan was still so damnably raw, but if I owed the words to anyone, it was to the girl in my care who had lost so much.
A quiet sigh escaped me. "I think I could have loved her, given the chance." I could feel my voice lowering as the truth forced itself free. "I did, Mission. I did love her."
"So did I." Her reply back was timid, muffled as she leaned deeper into me. "We're gonna be okay, right? I mean, are you gonna be okay?"
My eyes closed. Flickers of bittersweet memory flashed-
-"I named you well, Blaster Boy," Revan hissed, hefting a rifle as she stepped deeper into the Vulkars' base. "Though I seriously think you need to get out more."-
-Dusty boots, dropping with a thump on the 'Hawk's common room table. Green eyes rolling at my pointed look. "You do know this isn't your ship, right Flyboy?"-
-Revan, laughing, her gaze dancing with unrestrained mirth over my purloined flight-jacket. "Carth, it's puke green. Honestly. Couldn't you find anything better in Davik's cast-offs?" Her impish grin widening beneath my glare as she held in further laughter. "It's not really your colour, you know. I don't think it's anyone's colour."-
-Uncertainty widening those bright eyes, as her cheeks burned with desire. "I-uh, um," she stuttered, pulling back from my kiss, caught completely off-guard for once in her life.-
-"Okay," Revan whispered, flushed and tousled after a night of stolen pleasure. "Honestly, Carth, you've got to be a complete borkhead to take me on."-
-"I won't fall, Carth," she vowed on Korriban, when the darkness of that planet threatened to leech into her soul. And on Lehon, when she begged for my faith if not my forgiveness- "Please. Follow my direction. Trust me."-
-Then, later, standing strong and sure, a warrior at the end but also the woman who had claimed my heart. "So. Are you going to kiss me, or do I have to do all the legwork around here?"-
-And, finally: "I promise I'll do everything I can to make it out. Promise me you'll do more than just survive if I don't."-
"No," I answered finally, quietly. "I'm not okay. But- but I will be." The words were a promise, a truth, the dawning hope of future closure, as I gathered the girl close and hugged her to my chest. A shudder racked Mission's frame, and I knew she was holding back the same tears that were burning at my eyes.
"Promise me you'll do more than just survive."
When I struggled to view events beyond my own grief, it was simply amazing to consider the changes Revan had wrought in us all. Jolee, now free from decades of self-imposed exile. Zaalbar, even in death – his past redeemed, his corrupt brother overthrown. Juhani once more a Jedi of honour returned to the fold. Canderous, purpose renewed, reborn as the Mandalorian commander he once had been. Bastila-
Bastila who, in a sense, had been the key to everything. In the beginning and at the end.
And the kids. My kids. Mission had once been just a street kid, with nothing to her name but an exiled Wookiee and a dubious affiliation with a shady swoop gang. Now, despite her losses, she had the opportunity for- well, for anything, really. And Dustil – not only alive, but also strong and powerful, making his own decisions – right or wrong – and I couldn't be any prouder of the man he was growing up to be.
Revan had changed us all.
Before the Endar Spire, my entire life had narrowed to a tunnel vision of war and retribution. I hadn't thought I'd had a heart left to give, nor would I have believed I could go through the same sort of grief a second time – and come out whole on the other side.
But, perhaps, Revan's biggest gift to me was exactly that. The strength to love again.
The ability to close my eyes and think on Morgana with a smile that was more fond than grieving, and know that one day the same would be true for Revan.
xXx
Malak Devari:
Peragus Mining Facility, Peragus Asteroid Field, Xappyh sector
The Force twined deep into everything. From the largest leviathans of sentient life down to the intricacies of the atoms themselves. Such a truth I had always known, but seeing that truth from the infinite was something else entirely.
The Force was awesome. Magnificent. And I waded through it, a lost spectre, able to conceptualize the beauty and the power of the Force, but incapable of influencing anything from this side of the veil.
For I was no more than an eddy of the past, unable to release my consciousness and dissipate into the stream of life as sentients of all types normally did upon death. Instead, I remained a transient echo of a man who had once grasped the galaxy by the throat, even if only for a short time.
So I wandered, unseen, past the glyphs of living prisoners with souls of grey, and their guards who flared a red righteousness of energy. Fascinating, how even nulls flickered on the fabric of the Force, but on such a minute scale as to seem truly insignificant. Of course, I had known that the spark of the Force existed in all living matter, but to envision it on such a minute scale-
It made me long to see a true Force sensitive burn in front of me. To know what I would have looked like, before Revan had taken to my heart with a shard of glass.
I knew why I was here. The anger, the desire for control, my underlying drive for vengeance – none of that had dispersed entirely. And yet, and yet…
…I could no longer ignore what had come before. We had been so great together, so powerful and true, before it had all turned so very dark.
I had once promised to always guard her back, no matter what would come, no matter what she wrestled with.
I had failed Revan as badly as she had failed herself.
For so much of my life, all I had desired was her. And now, even now, I could not let her go. I could almost... almost accept that she would stand alone, that I should have known she would in the end, that despite everything we had accomplished together, I was no equal to Revan Freeflight.
Perhaps I could have accepted that, had she not been caught in a limbo as futile as my own.
The nulls were cordoned into groups, like beasts of burden, sent into the bowels of a mined asteroid equipped only with flimsy face-masks and brittle tools. Sent to do the work of droids as penance for the sins of those who had led them.
Revan was quiet as she played the part of a subdued prisoner, but she was not defeated. I could not ascertain the emotions beneath her mask of composure, but defeat did not feature. I was sure of it.
So I stayed, and watched, as Revan lived and breathed through an existence far beneath her, scraping by in a mining station amongst so many of the insignificant lives who had once been the dirt-bugs of our Empire.
Oh, I knew why I was still here, but I did not know why Bastila was.
The young woman I had moulded and tortured and all but broken should have been able to let everything go and join with the Force, but she hadn't. Was it remorse at the fall I had pushed her into? Or a residual bitterness, directed at the Jedi who had manipulated her talents since childhood?
Or did she stay, like me, because of Revan?
Bastila did not acknowledge me, at first. I could not touch her on this plane, but she could see me as clearly as I could her. My taunts she ignored with a grace I hadn't expected. My comments on the fickle nature of the Force did nothing but tighten that prim mouth.
Of course, it would be the subject of Revan that finally had her speaking.
Revan could not see us, not here, not stripped of the Force the way she was. And it was on one day, as I stared sadly at Revan's back while she retreated into a sleep-cell, when Bastila finally responded.
"This is no place for her," I murmured, thinking on the nulls surrounding Revan. All muted points of light, like the outer embers of an asteroid field, held captive to the gravitational pull of a larger celestial body.
Considering Revan's captors were no more than paid Czerka officers equipped with blasters and shock-collar controllers, it seemed absurd that one such as she had been held for so long already.
"Why are you here, Malak?" Bastila clipped out. "Surely you can see that Revan's path is beyond your influence now."
I turned, slowly, to stare into a ghostly gaze that was devoid of any emotion whatsoever. I wondered idly whether Bastila hated me – and if she did not, as her impassive countenance seemed to suggest, where she had found that strength of character.
"There is something I must do," I returned, even if I was not sure exactly what that something entailed. Revan's fate, the Unknown Regions – the danger still called to me. Still strung a discordant tune, thrumming unease in my soul.
"There is no must here – can you not see that now?" Bastila replied. She was a shimmering coalescence of energy at my side, staring thoughtfully at me. "Can you not feel it? Here, there is only the Force. You can find your peace here."
There was a generosity in her words that went well beyond anything I deserved. Or expected, given our history. "Revan has no allies left," I said slowly, eyeing over the shade of the woman I had tormented beneath my will. "I cannot read Revan's mind, but I can guess at her thoughts. The Unknown Regions will plague her. She will tiptoe down the same quest as before, but with no Force, no allies – no backup. The least I can do is watch over from afar."
"If this is about making amends-"
I laughed, turning away from her. "Call it restitution, if you must find a label to dignify my actions."
"Very well. You choose a lonely path, Malak."
Bastila did not speak to me again for some time.
I found myself receding into a pensive silence as I watched Revan from afar; as she spoke little to her bedfellows, other than that smirking man who kept seeking her out. The Force would flicker, and my consciousness would lapse out of existence before I became aware again – now staring at the same prison some days later, without any understanding of how much time had truly lapsed.
It was an odd existence, this ephemeral life flitting between the dead and the living, as if only the strength of my emotions kept me semi-corporeal.
I knew it was the uncertainty of Revan's future that kept me stranded here.
There had never truly been a time for us. Perhaps... perhaps if we had never been discovered. Perhaps if we'd remained on the streets of Talshion, effectively Force-blind, eking out a living worse than what Revan endured now. We might have been happy, regardless.
But fate had intervened in the shape of Jedi Master Karon Enova, and that fate then solidified into the Mandalorian Wars before dovetailing into darkness. At the end of it all, perhaps I could finally admit the underlying difference between Revan and I – the difference I had always known, even as far back as those desolate days on Talshion.
I would have damned the entire galaxy to see her happy. But Revan had always thought of the big picture first, and her lover second. That was what made her the better Jedi... and the better Sith.
When that truth became undeniable to me, I had desired instead to become ruler of the Sith – maybe as a retaliatory slap back in the face of the woman I had cut my own heart out for, or maybe simply as an outlet for my darker emotions.
But that destiny was not mine.
It might have been Revan's, but it was never mine.
"She is going to try again," Bastila murmured, honing my concentration back into focus. How long it had been since Bastila had last spoken, I could not tell. Time was a faithless master in this realm, as flighty and capricious as the Dark Side of the Force.
Revan was standing near an unmanned door, staring at it intently. One thin arm rose ever-so-slightly from her side, as if she meant to manipulate the hatch controls into obedience – a trick she had learned far too easily back on Coruscant.
The Force had left Revan, the brightest star in the galaxy. Perhaps it was no more than the endless cycle of cause and effect, of some esoteric punishment meted out to one who had effected such devastation in her burning drive to save the galaxy.
Yet the Jedi Order had pushed Revan into a journey that had transformed her into something perhaps even mightier than the Jedi she had once been. Somehow, it didn't seem fair or right that the Force no longer sang to her.
What was Revan thinking, staying in this prison? Surely she could find a way to contact her allies, to remove herself from this place. I wondered, not for the first time, how much she recalled. How much was left, after the brain damage and the Jedi mind-screw that had been forced upon her.
Did Revan remember what we had found beyond the Outer Rim?
It had messed with our heads, all of us. I still did not believe the danger was imminent, but Revan had been convinced action was necessary. Maybe she had been correct. And if she was correct, then what would she do now?
There was no one nearby as Revan's hand lifted. I had seen her try twice, before, and the Force had utterly failed to respond.
The Force felt different to me now. So alive. An interconnected web of energy through all living things that I was acutely aware of, even if ghosts had no ability to interact with it.
I had never seen it like this when I was alive. Not in the serenity of a deep Jedi meditation, nor the wild throes of a Dark Side culmination of power. The Force now was simply staggering in its entirety. Even electricity at its basic level sparked along golden threads of energy, a culmination of many million particles all dancing to their own tune.
And, as Revan stared at the door, an intense look of concentration on her beloved face, I felt it.
The faintest swelling of power, the slightest shift in the movement of electrons running through the electronic mechanism that held her in.
It was not enough. Her brows lowered in resignation, and her hand dropped to her side.
"Did you see that?" I whispered in awe.
"Did I see what?" Bastila's enunciation was crisp and taut with ignorance. "She did not open the door, Malak."
Revan's expression resumed to a composed mask. She turned and walked away from me, as she always had – and always would.
"No," I conceded, but I cherished the triumph that swelled within me. "She did not succeed this time."
The Force. It's healing. It's returning to her.
"But she will, Bastila. The next time Revan tries, she will."
xXx
Author's Note:
Coming up next: A brief epilogue, and some author's notes. Drop me a review if you're reading this. I would love to hear from you, even if it is years after this fic has been posted!
An almost-million word count worth of thanks to kosiah for the beta.
Also, a shout-out to WildFire on ao3 for inspiring me on some facets of Sion's background.
