Star Wars: The Dark Empire

Episode 2 - Jenesis

Part 10 - Unwitting Attraction

Two and a half months later (three and a half months after the battle of the Telos Polar Academy)

Fondor, Wilderness

"So you came," a voice spoke out nowhere.

Hanharr roared with rage. I can smell him, let me kill; kill NOW! he howled.

Jezebel shot him an icy glance, and the wookiee backed down immediately. Mad as he was, he still knew better than to test his mistress.

Jezebel had recently got into contact with Korgul, the leader of Phantoms, through her contacts on Nal Hutta. She had done her research on him and knew that he could possibly be the only one in the galaxy capable of killing her. But if their goals were compatible, he could well be a powerful ally. She shivered with pleasure, the excitement coupled with fear was an emotion she hadn't felt for a long time. The morning wind was crisp and clear, but the pungent scent of industry was still evident.

There are many of them, hiding all around, growled the wookiee.

Although Jezebel had been allowed to bring up to five followers with her, she had chosen to bring just Hanharr. The only others that had skills that would of use to her were Jaq and Visas, and both were still abroad. The rest of her followers were little more than drones, existing to do her bidding. The way she had bonded them to her meant that there was no chance of them betraying her, she was still smarting at the loss of Bao-Dur and Mical, but at the same time their potential usefulness had been stunted. Looking back, it had probably been a mistake to exert so much control over them, they were little more than baggage to her now.

"I'm surprised you didn't bring more of your people with you, Exile," said the voice that she supposed belonged to Korgul. He appeared about twenty meters in front of her, shimmering as his strange stealth-suit deactivated. "My reports would have me believe you have nearly a sixty retainers."

"I don't need them, assassin," she replied smugly, "I know you have snipers trained on me, order them to open fire." If she impressed him with her power early on, negotiations would be far easier.

The assassin shrugged, and raised his left hand with one finger extended. Instantly five high-powered laser rifles fired, their searing bolts aimed for her most vital parts. A powerful Jedi would have been able to stop one of those bolts with the Force, had he known exactly where it was coming from and when it was going to come (which was, of course, impossible when the sniper was Force-dead), but it would have taxed them greatly. Jezebel though had been maintaining an invisible shield for the best part of an hour with little effort on her part, one so solid few would even be able to comprehend its strength. The five bolts dissipated immediately upon striking it.

What happened next though she wasn't prepared for. The assassin lord sprinted at her with impossible speed, covering the ground between them in two seconds flat. Hanharr was quick, drawing his blades and positioning himself between Korgul and his mistress with a roar. But even he seemed slow against the assassins terrifying swiftness, Korgul slipped past the wookiee before he had even had a chance to raise his blade to strike.

Jezebel's shield was strong enough to stop a good sized ship, but an instant after he was past the wookiee he slid through the shield as though it was not even there. Alarmed, Jezebel unleashed a Force-wave strong enough to demolish a whole block of buildings. The ground churned around Korgul, and Hanharr was sent flying into the trees, but the assassin lord was only slowed. The only thing that seemed to have effected him was the artificial wind that had been created by the massive wave, not the wave itself. Still he came. Desperately she reached for her lightsaber.

Since she was facing the Force-dead, Jezebel had not bothered to put up her normal defences against Force-based attacks. Thus she was completely surprised when Korgul struck her with a Force-wave from nearly point-blank range. She spun through the air, her weapon flying out of her hand, and landed hard on her mechanical side, the wind forced out of her lungs. Immediately Korgul was upon her, his silver lightsaber ignited and at her throat.

"What are you?" Jezebel gasped coarsely.

She had known that this man was dangerous, if the rumours were true he had fought against both Revan and his look-alike Marka at the same time, and emerged from it better than the other two, but she hadn't expected him to be able to make short work of her. Jezebel knew that even facing five Jedi of Revan's power she would be easily able to prevail, and based on that had assumed that she would be able to beat Korgul, even if he was a potential threat to her. She could almost hear Malak's voice in her head, lecturing her and the other Jedi Generals years back. Never assume anything in war, it is unforgivable, it costs lives, and could very well end your own.

"I am Korgul Juglur, the Dark Lord's assassin," said the man, pulling off his mask with his free hand. Jezebels mouth worked soundlessly when she saw his gleaming red eyes. "You are Jezebel the Exile, and you are going to help me capture Marka Cabanic. In return, I will help you to kill the one you call Revan, not because it was your requirement for partnership; but because it suits my purpose. From now on, you belong to me."

Jezebel had misjudged gravely. While she had been obsessed with killing Revan, the man who had damaged her so badly, she had never intended to become the slave of another in order to do so. She was in too deep to back out now, she had to complete her revenge. But she would not suffer a leash for long. In her heart, she vowed that as soon as Revan was dead, she would break free of this bondage and find a way to kill Korgul.

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Marka's apartment, mid-upper levels of Coruscant

Marka woke with the dawn's first light glowing in his room. He slowly raised his head, stretching his neck muscles. Then he sat up, rolling his shoulders back to get the blood flowing. Next he isolated his body's pressure points and pressed on each of them, awakening his nerve centres and muscle groups. Finally, he got up, stretching back and reaching for the ceiling. As he came down, his gaze passed his loose sleeping pants, and he let out a quiet string of curses. Why did he always have to wake up in this state?

He looked back to the other side of his double bed. Not surprisingly, it was empty. It was his morning ritual, to check that in fact Kaya was really gone and it hadn't all just been a bad dream. Of course, if she had still been alive it was unlikely that she would have been on Coruscant at the same time as him, but it was his way of honouring her memory.

Few would ever be able to fathom the depth of his loss. She had been his soul, his conscience; he had come to the light side because of her; she had played a massive part in his decision to leave the Sith. After the death of his father she had been the one he had been living for; although he hadn't realised it at the time. He had agreed to come to the Republic because of her, Never had played a part there too, but Marka never would have agreed to the plan had Kaya not brought it up first. Everything he had done since his fathers death, perhaps even before that, had been because of her. And now she was gone, the centre on his universe had departed, his world was shattered.

He could still feel the hole in his heart where she used to reside, the feeling of constant closeness and warmth no matter how far they were away from each other. At any given time he could have pointed in the exact direction she'd been, no matter how far away she was. The security that came with the knowledge that she loved him, and trusted him; despite all he had been; despite all he'd done. Gone, all gone, forever. What he wouldn't give to be able to hold her in his arms one last time, to squeeze her close to his heart, tell her how much she meant to him, how much he loved her. He hadn't told her enough, if he'd spent every waking moment they'd had together telling her it still wouldn't have been enough. Force, how he missed her.

"Damn it, Kaya, why did you have to die in such a stupid way?" he cried out suddenly, half expecting her ghost to show up and explain it to him.

"Master Marka, did you want something?" said Danio, entering his room. Her mouth parted slightly and a blush formed on her face at seeing him topless. Then her gaze lowered to the tent at the front of his pants, and her eyes widened.

Marka felt his face burn, but didn't change his expression or attempt to cover himself. "'Morning Danio, can you prepare a cooked breakfast for me?"

"Y…yes, master," she muttered, guiltily tearing her eyes off him.

"Thank you," he said curtly, and headed to the refresher.

Danio was a refugee from Lannik, her entire family had been killed or reported missing during the fighting there. Lydale, Marka's old padawan who had recently become a knight, had found her trying to make a living selling trinkets on Onderon a few weeks ago, and organised for her to be Marka's housekeeper in his Coruscant apartment. Most of the time he wasn't even there, so she just got a free place to stay.

Lydale's reasoning behind the move was painfully obvious. He was trying to set Marka up with this girl. She was around eighteen years, shy, beautiful, and in total awe of him. She even bore a passing resemblance to Kaya. Her eyes and hair were different though, hazel instead of blue and sandy-straight instead of reddish brown-curled.

But Marka wasn't interested. While he was aware that he would sooner or later have to get over Kaya and move on, it would be with a woman that he could respect as an individual, an equal. This woman, this girl, was far beneath him. While she was in awe of his image and attracted to him, she knew nothing about him.

Marka entered the bathroom and pulled off his pants, after first making sure that the door was closed and locked behind him. He got into the refresher, and turned on the streams of hot, steaming water. Raising his head to the downpour, he allowed it to purge all of his thoughts. If only it could wash away his pain as easily as the grit and sweat.

His next lover, or wife, would have to be someone just as amazing as Kaya had been; or he would remain a widower for the rest of his life.

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Ossus, City ruins

Morning's were Dustil's favourite part of the day. Besides the shimmering colours in the sky, it was the only time when the air on Ossus was truly clean, free of the ash and dust particles that the noon and midnight winds would raise. That ash currently covered everything in a thick, fluffy layer. When the wind was strong enough, the air would become unbreathable with the copious amounts in it. The strongest winds would make it move so fast that it could strip paint off vehicles, or the flesh of ones body. Those ash-storms were the main reason why the planet hadn't been resettled yet, despite having a habitual atmosphere and tens of thousands of square kilometers of unclaimed land.

Dustil meditated slowly, his back to a dead tree. He didn't know why, but this was the one place where he could reach a state of inner peace, the only place he had ever known that had this effect on him. He had heard spacers talk of a mysterious 'tree of knowledge', which would impart wisdom if one was to sit under it for long enough. Perhaps this had once been that tree, certainly it was the only stump that remained on the planet where even the tallest buildings had been reduced to a single story of rubble.

"I knew you'd be here," said a voice, "My visions never lie."

Dustil had heard that voice before, but something was blocking his brain from knowing who it belonged to. He swivelled to his feet, staring at the newcomer. His eyes saw, but mind couldn't comprehend the face, it was like looking at nothing. He could see the rest of the newcomers body, whoever it was they were noticeably shorter than him. He; if it indeed was a he; was wearing pure white Jedi robes and carried a double-bladed lightsaber on one hip and a vibrosword on the other. That's strange, Dustil thought, there's no way that both could be used at once.

"Who are you," he demanded, "What are you doing here?"

"Only setting events in motion," said the other mysteriously, "You have a part to play in this too, Dustil Onasi."

"That doesn't explain who the hell you are," said Dustil angrily, setting his hands on his lightsabers threateningly.

"Morningstar."

"What kind of name is that?"

"My, my, you don't get out much," the stranger laughed, "Ramon truly has kept you all isolated from the rest of the galaxy. I suppose you don't even know that the Republic is at war with the Hutts, or that the Dark Lord's left hand; Korgul Juglur; is helping them."

"Who cares?" said Dustil forcibly, "We're training for the war with the true Sith, I will be one of the elite Jedi at the forefront of the war effort. Who cares what else is happening in the galaxy."

For the last four months, council member Ramon Naj had been training Dustil and forty-nine others on the secluded planet. He had taught them a lot about the Force and its combat applications, but the true focus of his training had been on lightsaber forms. Once they had mastered the initial seven (Shii-cho, Makashi, Soresu, Ataru, Shien, Jisu and Sokan) they had moved onto and learned the four advanced forms (Niman, Juyo, Trakata and Dun Moch). The final goal was for them to be able to learn and master the twelfth and ultimate form, Yoshi Ma. Most of the students had progressed to the level where they had begun training with it, Dustil was nearing the stage where he could be considered competent enough to use it in battle; such had been his desire to learn; his compulsion to get strong enough to avenge his wife's death. He was still a long way achieving full mastery though.

"You should. Your father was killed nearly three months ago, he was buried two weeks later."

Dustil stared at Morningstar incredulously, "You lie!" he cried, "They would have made sure to tell me."

"Not if they thought it would thought it would set you on the dark path, when you've made so much progress recently in controlling your inner demons. Search your feelings if you have to, you know it's true."

Dustil fell to his knees, shock written all over his face. "What happened, he should have been safe, he was well guarded…he should have been…protected…"

"He was attacked outside his room, and disarmed - literally. Then he was beheaded." The stranger who called himself Morningstar spoke factually, without a hint of emotion in his voice. He almost sounded detached, as though truly didn't care what effect his words were making on him.

"Who did this?" Dustil growled, slowly getting up. He hadn't been on the best terms with his father, but he still loved him. He was the only family Dustil had had left.

"The suspects are…"

"I didn't ask who you suspected, I ASKED WHO KILLED MY FATHER!" he screamed. His body trembled with rage, his eyes were unnaturally wide and staring. Small pebbles started to levitate around him.

"…Korgul, the Dark Lord's assassin," said Morningstar. He was unnaturally calm, as though he had already known what reaction Dustil's reaction would be.

"Blood calls for blood, I will avenge my father," Dustil muttered to himself, getting control over his power and anger. The pebbles dropped all at once, raising a small cloud of dust that quickly began to settle. Then he spoke up, "Tell me where I can find him."

Morningstar handed him an activation clip, "I'm going to help you," he explained, and pointed to a section of ruins. "There is a craft capable of hyperspace hidden there, it is for you. Inside there is a communicator that will allow me to keep in contact with you, and guide you to your target. But before you leave, there is something you must obtain to defeat Korgul."

"I suppose you will expect something in return for helping me?" said Dustil, narrowing his eyes. "Name your price."

"I want nothing from you, Dark Jedi, all I ask in return is that afterwards you would direct all your energies into saving the Republic."

Morningstar walked up to the dead, burned tree Dustil had been meditating under, and placed a white-gloved hand on it. "This is all that remains of the Neti Jedi Master, Ood Bnar. His presence still lingers in the air, creating the aura of peace that undoubtedly drew you here. He sacrificed himself during the Sith war to protect a cache of Jedi treasures from the Dark Lord Exar Kun. Those included some of the first lightsabers ever created, it was those that the Jedi Master was protecting. But besides ancient lightsabers, holocron recordings and scrolls, there was a far greater treasure hidden that neither Jedi Master nor Dark Lord was aware of. And a good thing too.

"Hidden within the largest scroll-box in the cache are a pair of swords dating back to a time before lightsabers were invented, dating back to the earliest days of the Jedi order when those who followed the light side and the dark side were still united; if not in perfectly in harmony. They were never used, the first great schism happened first. The Legions of Lettow, the Dark Jedi, lost the war and were exiled. The Jedi retained possession of the swords, but the council forbade their use, so they were hidden away; and eventually forgotten about."

"The first great schism, that was over twenty thousand years ago," Dustil said, trying to sound calm, "How the hell do you know this? And why weren't the swords used, if they are as powerful as you say?"

"It is enough that I know," said Morningstar, cryptic as a Jedi Master. "As to the other, what you must understand is that the swords draw on the users resonance. One feeds off the dark side, while the other strengthens through the light side. But without the full use of its partner, each sword is no better than a ordinary one. To unlock their true power, the user must achieve perfect harmony between the two extremes of light and darkness."

"So with these I can defeat Korgul?"

"No you cannot, not alone. But if you have the right person fighting at your side, then you could win."

"Who, Marka, Ramon?" said Dustil, quickly thinking of the best lightsaber duellists he knew, "Revan, or is it you?"

"You'll see," said Morningstar mysteriously.

"And these swords are hidden under that tree that used to be a Jedi Master, with a lot of rusty lightsabers and mouldy tombs?"

"Yes."

"And all I have to do is dig them up and fly off to the place you tell me to?"

"Yes. You think you can do that?" There was more than a hint of sarcasm in the others voice, and Dustil bristled with anger.

"How do I know you aren't intending to lead me into a trap. Why should I trust somebody who won't even show their face?" he snarled.

"Because you have no choice," said Morningstar simply, and clicked his fingers. There was a snap-hiss of a lightsaber, it ignited right next to Dustil's neck. He fought the urge to jump away as another figure materialised behind him, he hadn't even felt her presence. Cautiously he looked from the golden blade to its wielder, who was dressed in the same style as Morningstar, except her robes were grey. It was cut differently along the chest though, in a more feminine style, accenting her breasts. Her face wasn't indistinguishable like Morningstar's, but in a grey theatre mask that covered all except her bottom jaw. Her eyes were hazel, and a few strands of blonde hair hung loose in front of them. She was short, noticeably shorter than Morningstar even. Dustil couldn't help but find her attractive.

"If we had wanted you dead, you would be dead," said the newcomer softly, before lowering her lightsaber and de-activating it with a hiss. She started walking away, the air shimmered around her and she disappeared from sight.

"We'll be in touch," said Morningstar, and pressed a button on his belt. A moment later he had vanished as well.

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Coruscant, Jedi Temple, Training roomb

Marka had been training for three hours, dried sweat caked his body in a thin layer of salt. His hair was matted, damp and untidy. His muscles ached and begged for a break, but Marka was far from done. Today he was building up his combat endurance, something that had failed him badly during his last fight with Korgul. He adjusted his short loose-fitting pants, his only item of clothing, and continued.

Ever since he had had his real feet replaced by the Mandalorian iron ones, he had been prone to get tired more quickly than he had used to. It was hardly surprising, considering that while they had replaced a three kilogram piece of flesh and bone, they weighed twelve kilos. Extra weight in the leg region tired one far faster than treble the weight on the shoulders would. Since he couldn't possibly reduce the weight without resorting to weak plasteel replacements, he simply had to get strong enough to be able to work with them. Besides, he quite liked the combat possibilities that having retractable claws and lightsaber-proof feet gave him. It was something no other Jedi or Sith would have, and could well give his a surprise advantage in the foreseeable future.

Marka finished his ninety-second break between sets, and was about to continue when the door gave a warning beep and opened with a hiss. He grabbed his sweat-towel and swung it around his shoulders, mildly surprised that somebody was interrupting his session. He didn't bother to feel for a Force-signature, whoever it was, it had better be important.

It was Bastila. She waltzed through the doorway and said, "My, my, your thighs are big. Is that natural?"

"No, but necessary, with all this extra weight," he replied, pointing to his metallic feet and ankles.

"Put on some clothes," she said, throwing his discarded robes to him, "And stop scowling, its so close to your normal expression I can barely tell the difference."

The tone in her voice somehow cut through his constant melancholy, and drew anger to the surface. Marka took a breath to keep his voice calm.

"Did you come here just to insult me," he said, "Or is there actually something that we need to discuss."

"There are always going to be things that we need to discuss," Bastila replied, "Considering the scope of our responsibility, we could never spend enough time doing that. But yes, something has come up."

"Good or bad," said Marka, starting to dress. He could feel her eyes on him, something that would normally annoy him, but instead his face heated up.

"Hard to say. Morningstar's appeared on Kashyyyk, and taken twenty-eight initiates. They don't seem to have been abducted, rather that they went willingly."

Since Morningstar's appearance shortly after the battle for the Telos Academy three months before, he had been so active that it had become a popular saying in the Republic to 'look to the Morningstar' when one was in trouble. He had rescued refugees, saved individuals in various perilous situations, stopped raging infernos from engulfing entire cities, disarmed militia bands and done countless other noteworthy and noble deeds. Scarcely a day went by when Marka wasn't hearing about something that Morningstar had done. So far, that one person had done as much as the entire Jedi order and Republic combined in terms of relief efforts. More than anything, he was giving hope to the people.

"Why would he do that?" said Marka, not really expecting an answer.

Bastila passed him a list of the names of those taken. He looked over them, and the notes about each initiate that were attached. Out of the entire group, only twelve could possibly become Jedi Knights, and just two of them had the potential to become truly powerful. He had to put it down to put on his vest.

"He didn't exactly take a good quality bunch," said Bastila, echoing his thoughts. "I suppose he's doing us a favour, presuming that he's going to train these people."

"Are you going to call a council meeting over it?"

"No need, there's nothing we can do about it anyway. It'll be on our agenda in the next one."

Marka had finished dressing, he strapped on his utility belt with his double-bladed lightsaber attached. "I would like to meet with this 'Morningstar' person, whoever he is. He'd make a good council member."

"We already have a full Jedi council," said Bastila stiffly.

"We are at war, Bastila," Marka reminded her, "We've already lost some of our best Jedi." His voice wavered slightly, but firmed as he continued. "It's too much to hope that we won't lose any more, even if we don't there will be a place available in the council when we find the traitor in our ranks. There are precious few Jedi ready to step into council positions, the few that there are; are ex-Sith. And you know how well that sits with the other Jedi."

Bastila nodded. They both knew how reluctant the others had been to accept Venoak onto the council, and he was the one who followed the Jedi ways the best out of all the ex-Sith. They had only accepted him in the end because Marka had been promised four seats on the council when they had first come to the Republic, it had been part of the deal when the ex-Sith had joined the order. With his wife Kaya's death there had been one seat empty.

"Even still, you are not going to use your leave to find this person," Bastila's voice was quiet, but firm, and her eyes flashed dangerously.

"Why not?" Marka retorted, refusing to back down. "While I am resting easy, thanks to you, other men are fighting and dying. I should be doing something useful."

"For the fiftieth time, you were long overdue for leave," said Bastila exasperatedly, "You had refused to take a break on numerous occasions, even after three months on the front line. No soldier will spend more than a month there before he is rotated. I'd been getting reports of you taking strain, and behaving erratically at times. You had to be pulled out, and I was the only one with enough authority to make sure that happened."

Marka remembered quite clearly how a few days ago four Jedi, led by Bastila herself, had appeared in the forward base and frog marched him to the spaceship that took him back to Coruscant. Just to make sure he didn't hijack it and turn it around, Bastila had accompanied him for the entire journey, and even threatened to tie him up if he didn't behave. The experience had been downright humiliating.

"I couldn't have rotated, there was no-one who could have taken my place. And what if they attack, while both of us are away," said Marka, trying a different tack. He didn't really hold a grudge, well maybe a small one, but his pride hadn't fully recovered yet.

"That's not likely, there's been a lull in the fighting these past few weeks. But if it happens, then I will go back," said Bastila calmly, "But not you, you are going to complete your leave, I don't care what comes up. I need my best Jedi at peak condition when we invade Nal Hutta."

She obviously wasn't about to change her mind, so Marka relented, "Very well, for your sake I will complete my required amount of leave."

"You make it sound like a prison sentence," she joked.

Marka sighed in reply, unsure how to respond. He wasn't a particularly emotionally in-tune man, but he couldn't help but be aware that something important had just transpired. In his heart, he knew that something was changing between them, he wasn't entirely sure what, but he was beginning to suspect. She was watching out for him far more closely than her position required her to, and the feelings he had been getting around her recently were not ones usually associated with friendship. Worse, he was becoming increasingly certain that those feeling were reciprocated.

"Bastila…" he began, but when he turned to face her he found his gaze locked with hers, and his words died. Her liquid aqua eyes seemed to reach into his very soul, his mouth dried up and he froze like a hopper caught in searchlight's beam. Light, how was it even possible for someone to convey so much emotion with a simple gaze. He watched, fascinated, as the tip of her tongue flicked out slightly to wet her lips. He gulped dryly, and backed away so fast that he nearly tripped over his own feet.

"Would you… would you like to spar with me," he said, quickly thinking up an excuse for his behaviour. He doubted it would fly, it seemed shallow even to him, but was surprised when she agreed to it. Marka's head was spinning as he went to retrieve the training staffs, but he knew one thing for certain. Life with Bastila had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.

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Nar Shaddaa, Refugee Sector

Never hadn't been to the smugglers moon for many years, not since before his fall. The change since then was impossible to miss. While even before it had been a haven for the worst kinds of people, at least when they'd been here they had behaved themselves, the toughs employed by the Hutts effectively keeping the peace. It had been built on the backs of taxes that the Hutts had taken from smugglers and other criminals using it as a base of operations, they had reinvested the money into the infrastructure in the hope of attracting more people; and it had. While they had all been profiting off organised crime, at least they had all been profiting.

All that had changed in the last decade.

With the constant warring and uncertainty in the Republic, people naturally had got afraid. They had all quickly grabbed what they could for themselves, not daring to invest in any ventures. Such a fear was contagious, and with a loss of capital there had been a massive recession. With everybody watching their few possessions so carefully, crime suddenly didn't pay nearly as much as it used to. Smuggling still was, but so many more people had got into it that those on the smugglers moon had to either move closer to their routes or suffered a massive disadvantage. Nowhere were the signs of this the recession apparent than on Nar Shaddaa. It was now a festering cesspit, where murder and worse happened constantly. There was not even a semblance of order any more.

Never did not like the Hutts, especially since they had sided with Korgul against the Republic; but here they had been the local law enforcers. Now they could barely uphold it in their own palaces. The current state of affairs was as bad for them as anyone else, while many Hutts made their living off crime they generally focused on long-range operations that would be difficult to link to them; they definitely did not want it happening in their backyard.

"Fair makes me sick, it does," said Hugas, referring to the dark aura the place radiated.

Never nodded. "It was a mistake for me to leave," he said quietly.

They were standing just outside the docking bay, looking out into the city square. Everybody moved differently, making sure that they were in groups, some staying in the open so that they could see attacks coming, others only moving from shadow to shadow; hoping not to be spotted. Every one of them was armed.

"You can't be serious," his padawan laughed, "This has got to be the most light-forsaken place in the galaxy."

"I wasn't talking about this moon," he replied, "It was a mistake for me to leave the Republic. I never thought things would get this bad."

"Then why did you?"

"Partially guilt, I had betrayed the Republic to make it strong enough to beat the Sith Empire. I did the wrong thing for all the right reasons, and it backfired terribly. That backfires name was Malak, he only reigned as Dark Lord for a year, but the Republic is still counting the cost. After his death, and the destruction of the Star Forge, word quickly got out that Revan was alive; and redeemed.

"Suddenly nobody would treat me like a man anymore, they would either hate and try to kill me or worship the ground I trod on. For a year I tried to live quietly with Bastila, helping out where I could. But the rest of the galaxy refused to leave me alone. Then my memories started returning, and I remembered why I had betrayed the Republic in the first place."

"I already know the story; how you ran off and raised a rebellion on the Sith planets. Why are you telling me again?"

"Because I realise now that I should have persevered. If I had stayed, things would be different, I just know it. We wouldn't be in this desperate situation."

Hugas put a hand on his shoulder, and gripped it firmly. "I'm going to repeat some of your own advice back to you, Master," he said, "We cannot change the past, and no amount of regretting will achieve anything. All we can do is learn from it, and take those lessons forward into the here and now; so that we can create a brighter future."

Never blinked, "You were listening?"

"Amazing, isn't it?"

At that moment, a clip-on on Never's belt began to beep. Hugas frowned, and asked what it was.

"It's a link to the ship that tells me if there's anybody has left a message for me,"

"But then someone knows where we are!"

"Not if we don't answer. It's probably Marka, telling me about some development I should be aware of."

They walked back to the corvette, to the surprise of the docking attendant who had just seen them leave. Entering through the low ramp, they made came into a central room where the holo-generator was situated. There was indeed a recording waiting for them, but not one from Marka. This one was from a person they had never met before, but had heard no end of rumours about. Morningstar, the shining light of hope in the Republic. A person who had done so much it made him seem lazy. The message he had left though was nothing short of shocking, Never felt his body go numb just listening to it. As soon as it was over, he walked past his even more stunned apprentice, and entered the coordinates in the navicomputor.

They were going back to Coruscant.

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Coruscant, Jedi Temple

Bastila walked through the familiar corridors of the Jedi temple, wiping the sweat off her neck and forehead with one of Marka's purple towels. Their sparring match had been remarkably close, and she had ultimately prevailed over the better-trained Marka. Of course, he had been pretty tired from his training even before they had started, she had gone in fresh. Still, a victory was a victory, and it proved that her training with him had paid off; even if the Suppression War had cut out most of their one-on-one tuition.

Her thoughts and emotions regarding Marka though were so jumbled she didn't even know where to start. Something had happened when she had been talking to him, she wasn't quite sure what. She had liked him for a long time, and carefully concealed that fact for fear of rejection. But if his reaction was anything to go by, he too had realised that things had changed between them.

At times like this, she knew that the best thing to do was to talk to a friend. The problem was that Bastila didn't have many friends. She had never been the most sociable person, and while she had many friendly acquaintances she had few true friends; and for some reason her friends all seemed to be male. She had been closest to Marka recently, but since he was the source of her confusion talking to him about it was out of the question. Her oldest friend had been Carth, but in an incident that had shaken the entire Republic military; he had been found beheaded outside his office. His head had never been recovered. Bastila had been beside herself with grief at the time, it had been Marka who had consoled her, Marka who had held her close and whispered sweet words of nothing. It had felt so good to mold her smaller body into his strong arms. But it was so wrong, she shouldn't have enjoyed it, not that way. Mentally she shook herself, she had to make sense of it before it drove her insane. She had to go with her third, and final, option.

So half an hour later she was sitting in the Temple cafeteria, across from Mical. She had managed to convince him to take a break from his ongoing investigation, long enough hear her out. Mical proved a remarkably good listener, only speaking to prompt her with questions. It took nearly an hour for her to get it all out of her system, she felt like she had run an emotional marathon by the end. The remains of their lunch had all gone cold.

"Tell me about your husband, Never; Revan; whatever you wish to call him," Mical said, staring into the distance.

"I love him of course," she replied quickly.

"But not as you used to," he said, glancing back at her, his blue eyes knowing. "Six years now, isn't it?"

"I know," she inclined her head, there was no use denying it, he already knew. "I thought I could hold onto my love for him forever. I haven't been able to feel my bond with him for nearly two years now, I'm starting to wonder if it ever existed."

"I've studied Force-bonds a lot," said Mical, leaning back on his chair and looking out at the other tables, "All bonds ever recorded by the Jedi. With the sole exception of those created by Jezebel, they are all made and maintained by the feelings of those involved in the bond. Time and distance were said to weaken Force-bonds, but in truth that is not the case. They simply weaken the feelings between those involved, thereby weakening the bond."

"But isn't love different?" said Bastila, "Love isn't just an emotion, it's a choice!"

"There are many different forms of love, Bastila. For compassionate love, yes, a choice is enough. You or I could see a drunk beggar on the side of the road, be totally disgusted by him, but still feel compassion enough to help. But the type of love one would feel for a lover or spouse, the erotic love, one needs a sense of attraction and closeness; amongst other things."

Bastila felt her face burn, her imagination going wild at the thought of 'other things'. Mical, conversely, appeared perfectly calm.

"So err-, intimate love is not possible without close contact with your partner?"

"Intimate love is what one has with family or close friends. It's not the same as erotic love, although it can be a part of it."

"I was using a euphemism!" Bastila muttered, blushing horribly.

"You've been married, had a child, and you're too embarrassed to use the word 'erotic'?" Mical looked politely puzzled.

Bastila took a breath. "I'm being irrational, aren't I?"

"You are. But that still doesn't explain what you're doing with Marka. Is it because he looks like your husband?"

"I wish it were that simple. But nothing in life or love is ever."

"Don't you think that the time when Never returns will be coming soon?" said Mical, "It seems a bit strange to me that after six years of waiting, you're ready to move on when he could be back in less than a month."

"He's running from his past, Mical, he's not coming back," replied Bastila, sighing, "Why do you think he insisted on being called Never, instead of Revan? He's still trying to hide. He shouldn't have run in the first place. If he had stayed, he could have easily set in motion the rebuilding of the Republic, as the strong leader he is. Instead he left, and let everything deteriorate and collapse behind him."

"That's not fair, Bastila," said Mical, "He went straight to the heart of the problem, the Sith Empire. He raised a rebellion that took them six months to put down."

"All it did was give them a chance to practise, a warm-up war if you like. I've spoken to many of the ex-Sith about it, they all agree. While it did cost them in terms of military resources, it was nothing substantial that wouldn't have been more than replaced by now. His leadership here would have done far more for our cause. And he can't return now even if he wanted to, not with Jezebel hunting him. Anywhere she thinks he is she burns to the ground."

"What if Jezebel is killed?"

"What if the universe ends tomorrow? You know better than anyone how powerful she is, even he wouldn't stand a chance against her. Even if she is stopped, he'll probably fly off somewhere else to wage his private war with his past."

Silence followed Bastila's angry declaration.

"Out of all of us; Marka is the one most responsible for the rebuilding of the Jedi and the Republic," she said, picking up a small piece of soft fruit, "Never should have done that. With the reputation he has, it would have been so much easier for him."

"It sounds like you've already made your decision," said Mical.

Startled, she clenched her hand. Fruit pulp sprayed out of both ends. Embarrassed now, she started to clean up the mess she'd made.

"Well, have you?" he prompted.

Bastila's answer was long in coming, extracting it was like pulling a vibrodagger from her body; it hurt like hell removing it but felt far better after. "Even if I have, I've got no way of knowing how he feels. It wasn't that long ago that his wife died. He probably hates me now," she said, her voice cracking with emotion.

"I doubt it," said Mical with a small smile, "He has a soft spot for you, even I can see that. I don't know if it goes any deeper than that, but I do know that he genuinely cares for you."

Bastila's body was racked with sobs. Tears streamed down her eyes, and she hiccupped. "I don't know what to do any more, Mical. I like him, I do, but I know I shouldn't. I wanted so much to wait for my husband, but I can't bear being alone any more. Oh Force, I'm such a bad person, aren't I?"

Mical stood up, and walking across to her. She looked up at him questioningly, with wet eyes. Slowly he lowered himself and wrapped his arms around her. Dilemma

"It's alright, just let it all out," he crooned, rocking her gently.

Bastila hugged him tightly, glad of his closeness and warmth. Then the sobs hit her again, and she buried her face in his shoulder. When they finally ran out, Mical took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. The feeling of being loved and cared for was intense, Bastila felt like a child in the embrace of a parent. It was too much for her, and she began to weep.

Unknown to either of them, Brianna had seen walked into the cafeteria just in time to see the kiss, and walked out just as fast; pain and anger only visible for a moment before her face became an emotionless mask.