Chapter One: Taris
Revan braced for the 'thud' of landing, but he did not expect more falling after the initial crunch. His escape pod jolted and fell twice before stopping.
"Layered city," Revan muttered, "either that, or weak, cavernous terrain."
The control panel in the pod chirped that they had landed successfully on Taris, just as the door was wrenched open from the outside. Revan took in cheap battle armor and a heavily modified blaster as he launched himself forward. One hand grabbed the other man's wrist, fingers digging sharply into the nerves. The blaster clattered to the floor of the pod, as Revan's other arm smashed his head back against the reinforced steal. Revan left the body dangling over the escape pod's entrance and stepped out into a brawl.
Light came, not from above but from glaring ground lights. The shoddy illumination cast shadows on the bloody free-for-all that had erupted around the five escape pods.
It looked like a gang, Revan mused, as a shout went up near him. Another pod had been forced open. Revan pressed back into the shadows as others came running.
Definitely a gang Revan decided. They all wore the same cheap armor, held the same run of – probably illegal – weaponry.
Hoarse cries went up from the group surrounding the escape pod. "We've found a Republic officer!" One of the group ran off – presumably to get whoever was in charge.
Revan frowned. Was that Carth's pod? Why wasn't he fighting them off? He knew Carth favored double blasters; surely he wasn't so weak as to let himself be captured by a street gang.
The messenger was returning now with another man. This new arrival wore more expensive armor, Revan noticed. He was obviously the head of this stagnant beast. Edging forward, Revan caught part of the conversation.
"-woman. Looks like she wasn't strapped in properly – had a rough re-entry… unconscious-"
Revan grinned. He knew of only one woman who could fit that description. The grin stilled to a frown as he crept toward the group."
"-worth a fortune," the leader was saying.
If it is Bastila, where is her lightsaber? Revan wondered. They just thought her an officer, so the gang members couldn't have seen it yet-
"Hey you! You came from the other pod!"
Revan uncoiled from the shadows as he was swarmed from behind. More grunts. He rolled as one of them fired, using the pod for as much cover as possible.
Brejik turned as commotion broke out behind him. Another survivor, perhaps. He allowed himself a smug smile as his men swarmed the escape pod; the other survivor was as good as his. He frowned as a strangled scream exploded from behind the pod. What were they doing? He wanted survivors alive! Cursing softly, he turned back to those who were maneuvering the woman out of her pod. Two slaves would have brought a lot more than one – whoever messed up and killed the other survivor would understand that when he was through with them. But the woman was quite pretty, even if there was a rather nasty gash on her forehead. Once that was seen too, she'd fetch more than just a few credits.
A Vulkar came running up to him, panting and out of breath. "Brejik, there's a problem!"
"What?" Brejik drawled as the Vulkars carried the officer to where the Vulkar medics were waiting. Yes, cleaned up she would be worth something all right.
"There's another survivor! And he's taken out Kandon's section!"
"What?!"
The Vulkar pointed back at the other pod. Brejik followed where he was pointing with his eyes and frowned. A man stood, leaning against he pod. At his feat, Brejik could see Vulkar corpses.
"And why haven't you subdued him yet?" Brejik hissed. A man like that was too dangerous to attempt to sell. They should have just killed him when that became apparent.
"He says he's not Republic," the Vulkar reported, "and he says he wants to talk with you."
Brejik sneered at the figure. "I'm too busy to talk to him right now. If he wants my attention, he'll help with bringing the salvage back to the base. Go tell him that."
He ignored the Vulkar's gibbering as he headed back to the base.
Revan sent the Vulkar away with a glare. So this Brejik wanted to deal with him later? Foolish. He sunk into the shadows as he watched the Vulkar leader leave. Well Brejik, he thought with a smirk, Let's see how long you evade me.
Carth checked the readings from the escape pod as quickly as he dared before opening the hatch. It was evening for this section of the planet-wide city; the fact that he could see the sky showed that he'd landed in the uppercity of Taris.
He ducked into an ally as he caught sight of bronze-tinted armor in the light of the street lamps. Sith. Probably coming to look for whoever came down with the escape pods.
Carth continued deeper into the ally. He hadn't seen anyone around when he'd left the pod, but it was better to err on the side of caution if there were Sith about.
The two Vulkar guards dropped to the floor as silently as two bodies could. Revan glared down at them in scorn as he emerged from the shadowed hallway. They hadn't even seen him coming. Pathetic.
Stepping directly into the light of sight of the hidden camera, Revan looked up at it meaningfully. I know you saw that, Brejik, the look said. Now what will you do?
The look on the door clicked open in response. Revan entered to see the Vulkar captain mostly unshaken by the display, yet his eyes betrayed his fear.
"You are the one from the Republic escape pods. The one who says that he is not with the Republic."
It was not a question, but it was no statement either. It wasn't bad for a gang leader, Revan mused, as he leveled Brejik with a bored look.
"You could have made it harder to follow you."
"If you're not Republic, you must be Sith."
Revan waved off the accusation. "I'm not in the habit of following Malak's orders." The guile-less smile did not fool Brejik, but Revan hadn't truly intended for it to do so. "I'm just a prisoner wrongfully imprisoned by the Republic. A shame really."
"Never let it be said that the Black Vulkars don't help those in need." Brejik's eyes had taken on the familiar sheen of greed which Revan had often seen in corrupt leaders. "Especially when we both stand much to gain."
"I only require one thing, then you'll never see me again." Revan's tone was musing, but his eyes shown in warning.
Brejik's smile was reptilian in reply. "Of course. Sit down, please. I'm sure we can work something out."
Revan shook his heat at the offered chair. He preferred to stand. "I find myself with a need to tinker with Coruscant Technology. Do you have the equipment required, or must I search elsewhere?"
"We should have what you need. We pride ourselves on having the most advanced equipment available on Taris."
Revan nodded.
"Now, may I speak to you about swoop racing?" Brejik's smile was feral.
Again, Revan nodded. He'd never raced a swoop bike in his life, but it couldn't be that different from the plethora of war droids he'd piloted.
As a Mandalorian, Canderous Ordo had never been really interested in swoop racing. Once one had piloted a Basilisk in the heat of battle, everything else couldn't hope to compare. But even so, Canderous Ordo would not miss this particular swoop race. This was to be the culmination of the swoop gang war that had been stewing in the Taris undercity for longer than Canderous had been on Taris. It was rather archaic of them, in his mind, to organize this. Each gang placed their faith in one pilot and that one pilot who won would bring victory to his gang; it was like the ancient lore of old when armies would send only their best warrior to fight. Unlike the ancient lore, this truly wouldn't solve anything. This was just a sugar-coated production to reassure the terrified locals whose livelihoods relied on the stability of the swoop gangs.
Someone would win, but that wouldn't matter. Either the Beks or the Vulkars, whoever lost, would have a problem and they would not solve it peacefully. That was what Canderous was waiting for. It was his job, after all, to make sure the gangs didn't get too rambunctious.
His grin was dark as he watched the first racer set up for his first heat. If that meant wading into the thick of battle and utterly demolishing anyone stupid enough to fight back, so be it.
Canderous hoped there were a lot of stupid people here today.
Bastila's first conscious thought was 'neural restrictor'. It was not a particularly comforting thought, but it was an empowering one. She could beat neural restrictors – had been trained to resist them.
Sensory input came to her in small rivulets, coming smoother and more rapidly as she calmed and focused on interfering with the restrictor. She was somewhere with people, a lot of people. People cheering, screaming, avidly paying attention to something. She saw through lidded eyes that she was in a cage, surrounded by guards. She knew it would be no problem once she had planned out her next move.
Memories came next. She remembered crashing into Taris, the jolt as the ground gave way beneath her pod. Frantically diving after her 'saber as it was torn loose from her hand. Another jolt as the pod cashed down again. The searing pain in her forehead as her body crashed upward from the pod's movement.
The plan came last, structurally simple but lacking in the depth of detail it would require. She had to get out of here, and then she had to find Revan and make sure he-
"Mars Almasy!"
Training kept her body listless, even as her attention started at the announcer's loud words.
"-won by Mars Almasy, representing the Black Vulkars!"
Bastila felt him before she saw him out of the corner of her half-lidded eyes. Revan strolled casually up to the man who stood before her cage.
"And in only one heat, Mars!" The man seemed overly friendly to Revan, and the Force shifted warily around Bastila in warning. "Gadon and his Beks will be furious!"
"I don't care." Revan's reply was frosty.
"Oh, I know, but surely I can reward you." The man feared Revan, Bastila realized. Winning whatever Revan had won, in whatever way he'd won it, had frightened the other man. "How about the woman? You won her for us – surely she would be worth-"
"I have no need for Jedi slaves, Brejik," Revan replied darkly. Ignoring the other man's sputtering, which had begun at the world 'Jedi', Revan leaned closer to the bars of the cage, his voice low so only the occupant could hear. "Besides, if I had to pick up a Republic slave, I'd much rather have that Republic pilot warm my bed. He's found his way here, you know – just arrived in fact. If you make enough of a racket before you pass out, he might be able to get to you."
There was not much that would make Canderous Ordo ignore a fight, but he chose to ignore the brewing brawl in favor of watching the strange swoop pilot walk – no 'ooze' was more accurate – into the shadows of the undercity. It quickly degraded to blasters and vibroblades, even the Republic officer the Vulkars had offered up as their portion of the prize for the race was fighting – somehow freed from the cage. Yet Canderous remained where he was, only half-watching the fight.
That pilot had been… crazy. He flew the swoop bike like it was a war droid and half the former strength of the Mandalorian army was after him. He flew maneuvers that the bike technically shouldn't have been able to do, yet somehow it hadn't been a problem for this Mars Almasy.
But perhaps Almasy was just skilled enough, just crazy enough, to prove useful to Canderous. Perhaps this Almasy pilot could outwit the Sith in their own base.
Bastila's next sight was of the overly sterile walls that could only belong to a medical facility.
"Ah, she's coming around, Carth."
Carth's name triggered a chain of memories which overwhelmed her. The Endar Spire. The Vulkars.
Revan's face as he jeered at her, telling Brezik that a Jedi was useless to him and he'd rather have the Republic pilot warm his bed instead.
She sat up with a gasp and instantly regretted it. Her vision swam as her balance tilted, before she was grasped by two hands and held upright.
"Whoa, Bastila, take it easy. You shouldn't be moving so fast."
Carth. Her anchor. He could help.
"Carth, where's Mars? Did you see him?"
"What?"
"At the swoop race. Did you see Mars?"
"No I-"
"He has to be found!"
"Bastila, calm down! He's a Jedi; I'm sure he's alright."
Oh yes, of course Mars – Revan – was alright! He was probably having the time of his life – especially if he found a way to get the force inhibitor off!
The Dark Lord Revan running around Taris unchecked. Bastila shivered, but not from cold. "I need you to tell me exactly what's happened since I was captured." Her voice was surprisingly calm, even to her. They did not have time for shock or fear. They had to act fast before Revan disappeared from the planet completely.
Revan hissed as the bracelet sparkled on his wrist and burned against the thin strip of skin underneath.
"Watch what you're doing, bug-face!" he swore at the Vulcar tech.
The alien gibbered about make of tools and technology not on Taris. But when it said it had to take things slowly or else run the risk of burning the skin with a permanent scar, Revan had heard enough.
The intricate, state-of-the-art hydrospanner was kicked from the alien's hand, and the alien himself was thrown to the floor, faster than the time he would have needed to scream for help.
Revan brought his boot to the alien's neck and smiled grimly as it easily crunched through the delicate bone underneath. "Useless," he snarled at the corpse, before sweeping from the room.
Carth winced as he nursed his drink of Tarisian ale. This stuff was just awful, but if he was going to sniff out anything about the swoop champion, he would need to be here, and he would need a drink in order to blend in. He just had to sit in the back of the cantina and watch. Sooner or later, somebody who didn't belong would show up with a lead. It always happened.
And right on cue, a disheveled Twi'lek stumbled into the cantina – obviously worse for wear. He stumbled up to another man, sitting comfortably at the bar. The Twi'lek's voice was still shaky as Carth edged close enough to hear what the Twi'lek was saying.
The man the alien was talking to seemed annoyed at the Twi'lek's stuttered words. "And did you find him or not?"
"He said he'd come if he wanted to, Canderous."
The man, Canderous apparently, threw back his head and laughed, which seemed only to frighten the Twi'lek even more. "Get out of here; you'd better hope he shows."
Carth settled back at the bar, where he could see the entrance of the cantina and hopefully spot Mars, if he was the man they had been talking about.
He needn't have worried. Mars was no longer trying to hide his unmistakable features, and – when he entered the cantina – he sought out Carth the second their eyes locked.
"I'm glad to see you survived, Carth." Mars lounged against the bar with a practiced ease. "Have you figured out what's good around here yet?"
"If you're going for taste – don't bother. But if you want something that will knock you out after a few hours, try the Taresian Ale," a gruff voice cut in before Carth could speak.
Carth looked up to see the man that the Twi'lek had been talking to before. So he had been looking for Mars.
"You must be Canderous Ordo," Mars purred and Carth reeled at the strangely sinister tone. This Jedi was so very strange.
"I am. And you're the winner of that big swoop race. Impressive flying – especially since I know you're not a Vulcar."
"You'd be surprised how persuasive I can be." If Mars had been a dog, his teeth would have been bared in a warning snarl.
"I doubt it. I have a good imagination. Which is why I have a work proposition for you."
Mars snagged Carth's half-full glass of Tarisian ale and downed it in one gulp. "I'm listening."
Canderous' eyes darted to Carth, as if just realizing that Mars was more than allowing him to listen, unabashedly, to the conversation.
"I work for Davik and the Exchange," Canderous' concentration was back on Mars, "but recently Davik hasn't been paying his cuts."
"You want him dead?" Mars cut in boredly.
Carth kept his face neutral at Mars' calm countenance. Mars was a good actor – better than any Jedi Carth had ever seen. So this was what happened in war, even Jedi learned new tricks.
"I want off this planet. Getting rid of Davik would just be part of the process."
"So you have a ship?" Mars' ears had pricked up at the mention of getting off the planet.
"No. Davik has the ship."
"Even better."
"But with the Sit barricade, no one is going anywhere without the Sith launch codes."
"And you want me to go get them," Mars drawled.
Canderous nodded.
"Sneaking into the Sith Base won't be a quiet thing. Once it gets out, the Sith will be after our blood," Carth murmured a warning. Jedi or no, Mars had to see how risky this was, didn't he?
"Hey, I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to your friend, wasn't I?" Canderous glared at Carth.
"I'll break in if I feel like it," Mars announced, moving slightly so that he was physically between Canderous and Carth. "I trust you'll know if I do." And, with a firm hand on Carth's arm, he dragged the Republic pilot from the cantina.
"You're going to do it," Carth realized as Mars' steps turned toward the lift to upper Taris.
"Getting off this planet is a priority," Mars pointed out.
"And how are you going to deal with Davik?"
Mars frowned. "I don't know. He could be a small problem. But getting the codes is the issue at hand right now."
"Do you know if there are any other survivors from the Endar Spire?" Carth asked cautiously.
"Haven't seen any."
Carth frowned at the nonchalant response. Bastila had been so sure that Mars had been right in front of her during the swoop race winner announcements. Who isn't telling the truth? Carth wondered.
Bastila glanced cautiously around her before dropping down into the gaping hole her pod had left while crashing into the depths of the undercity. Using the Force to cushion her landing, she landed next to the pod.
It had been ravaged by salvagers, that was quite obvious, and that thought scared her a bit. If someone had found her lightsaber-
But no, her 'saber was wedged back underneath her seat in the same place as she'd last touched it before she'd fallen unconscious. Its weight was comforting, as if a much larger weight had been lifted from her shoulders, even though she hadn't yet found Revan. She knew that Revan was still without his favored weapon, and therefore had probably not yet rid himself of the inhibitor.
She straightened at the sound of hurried footsteps. A young blue Twi'lek girl ran out of the dark surrounding passageways of the undercity. Bastila did not need the Force to know something was wrong, but though it she felt the fear and desperation of the young Twi'lek.
The Twi'lek had seen her movement, and hurried over, her voice proceeding her. "Oh please, you gotta help me! No one else will help me – even the Beks won't help me!"
"What's happened?" Bastila asked, raising a calming hand to the Twi'lek's shoulder.
"Me an' Zaalbaar were just exploring the undercity – you know, just seeing what we could find – when we were ambushed by Gamorreans! Big Z shouted for me to run, so I took off. I thought he was right behind me, but when I got out he wasn't. I just know they're gonna sell him – I can't let that happen!"
"Of course not," Bastila soothed.
"So would you help me?"
Bastila looked down at the hopeful eyes and she could see the shadows of past refusals lurking in their depths. Torn, Bastila hesitated. She had to find Revan, but she wanted to help this Twi'lek.
"I will, but I am in the middle of looking for someone as well. I believe he may be in the Black Vulkar base-"
"Oh! I can get you in there!" the Twi'lek perked up. "Right after we find Big Z, I swear!"
Bastila nodded. Help getting into the Black Vulkar base was well worth a little rescue mission. "That sounds like a good plan… um, I don't believe you told me your name."
"Oh, I'm Mission!"
"Bastila," Bastila replied, "Now where are the Gamorreans?"
"In the sewer. I guess they think it smells like home." Mission wrinkled her nose in disgust.
"Lead on. If we're quiet enough, we can sneak your friend out without the Gamorreans noticing."
Mission set off at a trot, navigating the darknened paths of the undercity with the complete absence of fear which spoke of familiarity to the area. She stopped by a stone outcropping and pointed out a rusted grate that seemed to have been built into the stone.
"Help me shift this over."
The grate slid slowly, rust flaking off to the ground as both bulled at it. It opened to reveal a ladder and just enough space to crawl through.
"We should come out practically on top of them," Mission told Bastila as she gripped the top rung of the ladder and began to climb down. Bastila followed silently.
The smell in the sewers was almost overwhelming, but Bastila forced herself to ignore it. Mission had continued onward as if the smell hadn't affected her at all, and she waved at Bastila for the woman to catch up.
"They should be in there," she whispered, pointing at a door. The rooms the Gamorreans were using as their base had probably been filtering and sanitization units back before Taris' age of expansion, when the undercity had been the uppercity.
"Is there any other way in?" Bastila asked.
"There's another door on the other side, I think," Mission frowned in thought as she pictured what she knew of the sewers in her mind. "But to get there we have to walk through half of the sewer system and it could be just as guarded as this door."
"We'll take our chances with this door then." Bastila did not relish the idea of hiking through the sewers.
Mission fiddled with the lock on the door, and it opened without protest a few seconds later. The room was empty as the girls cautiously crept inside.
"They must be out on patrol," Mission whispered.
Bastila nodded, but she didn't quite believe Mission's explanation of the situation. The Force was shifting in warning around her; there were Gamorreans here somewhere, Bastila was sure of it.
Mission's attention was caught by another locked door, and she walked over to examine it. "Hey," she spoke in a normal voice and Bastila winced, realizing that the Gamorreans would hear it if they were here. "This isn't a computerized lock. It's old, like manual lock old. But I know how to handle these."
Bastila had long stopped listening to Mission. Her attention was on the other door that had opened during Mission's chatter.
Mission missed the opening of the other door complexly, fiddling with the manual lock. She crowed in triumph as it opened, turning to show Bastila. Words of self-praise died on her lips as two Gamorreans charged them from the door, axes raised.
It happened so quickly, Mission wasn't sure she had actually seen it. There were flashes of bright yellow light and then the two Gamorreans fell to the floor, dead.
Bastila stood in the center of the grime-coated room, double-bladed lightsaber glowing in her hands.
Mission gaped at her, even as Zaalbar rushed to her from inside the room she'd unlocked. "You're – you're a Jedi," Mission stammered.
Bastila nodded, her gaze falling to the wookie who stood behind the Twi'lek. "Is that your friend?"
Mission grinned up at Zaalbar. "Yup, this is Zaalbar. Big Z, this is Bastila."
Bastila deactivated her lightsaber as the Wookie looked at her with kind eyes. He growled a question in his own tongue, asking if Bastila had been the one who saved him.
"Well, I wouldn't say that-"
"No, you totally did," Mission cut off Bastila's attempt to be humble. "I had no idea the Gamorreans were there. If you hadn't been here, Big Z would still be locked up!"
Zaalbar cut her off, snarling softly that then he owed her his life.
"This really isn't the place to be standing around talking," Bastila started. "More Gamorreans could-"
Zaalbar explained firmly that his people spoke of life-debts where they were incurred.
"Woah, a life-debt?" Mission was awed. "This is big. Big Z, you sure?"
Zaalbar replied that he was sure, that without the Jedi, the Gamorreans would have sold him.
"If you're sure." Mission turned to Bastila. "Do you know what this means?"
Bastila did know what a Wookie life-debt meant: life-long fidelity until the debt was paid off. Considering the weight of the debt, it was very hard to pay off. And here she was, in a Gamorrean hide-out in the sewers, contracting a life-debt. How did she get herself into these things? Still, she had been taught that she must respect all cultures, even in these strange situations.
Resigning herself to the fact that this was happening, Bastila nodded to Mission. "I am aware of what a life-debt is, Mission." Bastila bowed formally to Zaalbar. "I do not believe that such a powerful bond is needed for this situation. However, if you are certain, I am honored to accept your help."
"Then Big Z and I are sticking with you. 'Cuz where Big Z goes, I go."
She would deal with this later, Bastila told herself firmly. Finding Revan had to take priority now. "Very well, but I must find Mars now."
"He's the one in the Vulcar base, right?" Mission grinned as she lead the way back into the sewers. "See? I remembered! One tour of the Vulkar base coming up!"
Zaalbar was not so peppy. He queried Mission about a rancor as he trailed behind her.
"We've got a Jedi on our side, who cares about the big ol' rancor?"
Bastila cared. She cared very much. 'Big ol' rancors' were a problem, even to Jedi. One couldn't just charge in, lightsaber swinging. Sure, one might decapitate it, but the odds were that one would just maim it, which would only make the rancor even harder to deal with. She would need a good plan if she was going to get rid of-
"Eww! What's that smell!" Mission held a hand up to her nose. She had led them to a hallway, closed off on one side by a force field and it stank.
"Let me fiddle with this a bit, and we're out of here," Mission grumbled as she hurried to unlock the force field. "Smells like something died in here."
The force field was down in moments, and the stench only got worse, rolling down the corridor in waves. "Oh, ewwwwww, that means the Vulkars probably killed something and left it to rot out here," Mission muttered. "Come on, the rancor's this way."
Bastila very much so wanted to go the other way, away from both the rancor and the smell, but duty kept her following Mission.
The Twi'lek led them cautiously down the long hallway. Slowly, she poked her head around the doorway into the large cavern at the hallway's end. She gasped and bolted into the room. "Wow!"
Bastila and Zaalbar followed her. In the center of the room lay a very large, very dead, rancor. Stuck through its skull, like a bizarre trophy, was a standard vibroblade.
"You have to be really good to kill a rancor that way!"
Bastila did not share Mission's awe. Unlike Mission, she had a very good idea of who had killed the rancor and, compared to his other feats, one rancor would not be a challenge to him.
"The door to the Vulkar base is open," Zaalbar growled. "Something is wrong."
Bastila highly agreed, but she had to locate Revan, no matter what he'd done. "Let's go inside."
Inside was more rank than outside. "Hey, I thought the rancor was the smell!" Mission held her nose with one hand. "This can't just be from the rancor."
"No, it's not." Bastila had seen the first corpse, slouched against the wall. She could see other awkward shadows down the hall that were probably others.
"Oh, gross!" Mission stepped away from the body as Bastila stepped closer to it.
It was glaringly obvious how the former Vulkar had died. "He's been killed by a vibroblade."
"This one too," Zaalbar added from a little way down the hall.
Bastila frowned and began to make her way through the base, checking corpses as she went. All had been killed by a vibroblade and left behind, slumped over in whatever place they had been killed. There was only one corpse different from the rest. What looked like a former technician had died when his neck had been snapped.
"Did we find your friend yet?" Mission whimpered. "This place is giving me the creeps."
"He isn't here," Bastila murmured. He wouldn't be; Revan was smart enough to know that even the great Dark Lord of the Sith shouldn't hang around after he murdered an entire gang. His trail would be colder than a snowstorm on Hoth by now. The vibroblade through the rancor's head was most likely the one he'd used to get rid of any and all who had interacted with him – perhaps even those who hadn't – just to make sure he couldn't be followed.
She held in a sigh as she started back to the small abandoned apartment Carth had commandeered as a hideout. She could only hope he would not fail where she had.
Revan held back his nausea as he pushed the naked, unconscious, Twi'lek off him. This, he swore, would be the last time he mistook how much alcohol it would take to knock out a non-human.
Pawing through her clothes, that she'd practically flung to the other side of the room, his fingers closed around a thin, plastic card.
"You're superiors won't be too happy with you tomorrow," he told her as he pulled out the ID card. "Not after your wayward amorous exploits allowed me to steal their launch codes."
Bastila nearly pounced on Carth as he entered the hideout. "Have you found Mars?"
"He's breaking into the Sith base as we speak," Carth replied. "If all goes according to plan, we're headed off Taris tomorrow."
"We?"
"I remembered not to mention you, though I still don't know why that's so important." Carth trailed off as he noticed the other two occupants of the room. "Who are they?"
"Oh," Bastila seemed to suddenly remember that they weren't alone in the hideout. "Carth, this is Mission and Zaalbar."
Carth eyed the blue Twi'lek girl and the Wookie – a truly unusual pair. "Are they the ones who live here?" he asked.
"No, they helped me break into the Vulkar base. I found that, though Mars had been there, he disappeared after the race. But you found him! We have to go get him at once!"
"We can't do that, Bastila, he's got to be in the middle of the Sith base by now!"
Bastila paled but her calm never wavered. "Fine. What is the plan for after he comes out of the base?"
"He and Canderous are going to go get us a ship."
"And you expect Mars and this Canderous, whoever he is, to just come and pick us up once they have one?" Bastila seemed scandalized.
Carth looked at her suspiciously. "What aren't you telling me about Mars? Of course he'll come to get us. He is a Jedi – isn't he?" Bastila was silent and that was enough of an answer for Carth. "He's not a Jedi."
"No, Carth, he's not." Bastila's eyes were downcast. "He's a former Jedi, our prisoner."
"He said he would come here once they'd stolen the ship."
Bastila sighed. "Then I'll have to lay low and we'll have to hope that he wasn't lying to you."
Revan fought down a purr of contentment as he felt the life of the Sith apprentice sputter and die underneath his fingertips. This apprentice, who had taken the Force for granted, was a product of Malak's new breed of Sith.
Pathetic. Just like their Lord.
The apprentice's ID allowed him to access the computer but he didn't bother to download the codes. He wouldn't trust Canderous farther than he could throw him without the Force. Not yet, at least.
Besides, with his eidetic memory, it only took him a few seconds to memorize the codes.
Nodding to the corpse he left behind, Revan swept out of the Sith base and into the pale Tarisian morning. He wondered idly if Canderous would still be drinking in the cantina. Well, he'd better be, Revan thought, because there was no way Revan was waiting around for him. He could just as easily break into Davik's estate by himself.
The only thing that the Mandalorian saved him was time. Which, he admitted, he might not have much of. Malak had never been one for patience, and he'd obviously not found Bastila yet. Taris was safe only until Malak found her, or ran out of patience and decided she wasn't worth that much.
Still, Canderous was a Mandalorian. He would have served in the Mandalorian war. He would have also, therefore, served watch duty in that war, in much more uncomfortable places than the undercity cantina of Taris.
He hadn't underestimated Canderous. The other man was waiting for him with a smug smile and an all-knowing look.
"I know the Sith base had a break-in, and I know it was you," he started without preamble. "I know you've got the codes I need."
"You're very well informed," Revan replied. "I might know what you're talking about. I also might agree with you."
"I've got a speeder waiting. Davik's interested in meeting you."
Revan frowned, but nodded and followed Canderous toward the outside of the cantina. Just as they reached the door, he swerved and grabbed a nearby patron by the neck. Head and wall met; one could not miss the audible crunch as the patron's struggles abruptly stopped and blood trickled down from a head-shaped imprint on the wall.
"In future, Canderous, it would be wise of you not to schedule any appointments for me."
Canderous said nothing, just as Revan knew a Mandalorian would not.
Davik was a thoroughly unimpressive man, Revan mused. Had he full – or even partial – use of the Force, he wouldn't even have bothered with allowing the man to speak. But that was one luxury he did not have, so he couldn't choke off Davik's voice.
Not that Davik would pay any attention to him for a while. The Exchange boss was busy with the standard imitation tactics that smuggler crime lords always overused. Davik had met them flanked by another one of his employees. The other bounty hunter was equally unimpressive and unimposing, and Revan wouldn't have given him a second glance if not for the hatred that began to roll of Canderous toward him.
This, in itself, was a surprise. He should not have been able to sense that shift of emotions, no matter how potent, without the Force, and he truly hadn't felt had a connection to the Dark Side since Bastila had tampered with the Force inhibitor.
He fought back a grin and the desire to check the bracelet. The Dark Side was as loathe to be parted from him as he was from it, it seemed.
His obvious ignoring of carefully planned intimidation tactics was annoying Davik. The Exchange was soon mentioned, to which Revan could only smile.
"We'll see if the Exchange can handle me," he replied to the obvious threat with a smugness that made Davik also smile.
Smile while you can, you idiot, Revan thought savagely as Davik suggested a tour of the estate. In fact, why don't you smile as I slit your throat. It would be a good dieing look for you.
With the Sith blockade so relevant in the mind of the Exchange member, Davik was eager to show off his newest prize: a ship capable – supposedly – of outrunning a Sith starship. Of course, this was useless against a blockade without the codes, which Davik properly bemoaned.
Revan wasn't sure what he thought of the Ebon Hawk. She was not, in his opinion, a beauty. The last model of Mandalorian Basilisk war droids before the end of the war – now they had been truly beautiful. The individual Sith warships of the fleet threatening Taris – they were also beautiful.
The Ebon Hawk had only one gun turret. It was obviously a smuggler's ship; it was not supposed to attract attention to itself with a sleek or dangerous exterior. It was designed to sneak into ports, to hide from authority.
Revan disliked stealth immensely. He'd had his General, Muraki, to lead ambush or stealth attacks during the war. Or even Malak could have been goaded into it. He had always lead the main forces, he was the authority that people used ships like the Ebon Hawk to try and avoid.
But his thoughts kept returning to the ship as he followed Davik to what he assumed where the residential quarters – unless there was some other supposedly impressive torture chamber, or weapons cash, or some Jedi-be-damned ballroom that he truly had no interest in seeing. The ship… was very new. The stark kind of new. There were indeed options in that new, untapped, untried, potential. Perhaps Carth would think of some other modifications that could be made to it – apart from the obvious need for another gun turret.
Revan removed the small frown from his face that grew from thinking of Carth. What was he doing? He was making the same mistake all over again. He was creating a potential Malak all over again. He'd sworn – over and over again – between sessions in the temple basement on Coruscant, where Jedi masters painstakingly attempted to peal layers of memories out of his mind, that he would never trod that road again. It was an easy mantra on which to hone his rage. It had kept his mind intact.
Never again. Never again. Never ever again.
Yet he had somehow failed to follow this oath. He'd agreed to take Carth, and whatever remnants of the Endar Spire crew the pilot managed to find, off of Taris. As if they were equals, comrades…
Partners.
It was not something he should be doing. What he should do was escape on the Ebon Hawk, leave Carth to whatever fate Taris would suffer at Malak's hands, and deal with Canderous once safely in hyperspace. Then find a planet advanced enough to remove the accursed Jedi technology from his wrist.
But he probably wouldn't even kill Canderous in the long run. It had been too long since the Mandalorian wars to be killing Mandalorians without thought. It had been too long since he'd last worked with a Mandalorian, as well. He knew Mandalorians, he understood them. He'd even enjoyed working with one of them during the war.
That is, until she'd left him at the end of it.
Muraki. He should have suspected she could walk away after the Mandalorian war – she'd already walked away from her own people when the Jedi had come for her at the tender age of five. She did not owe Revan companionship, as Malak did. She had not even been raised in the same Enclave. She'd met Revan at the start of the war, when she'd left the Jedi to lend her aid – her embedded knowlage of the Mandalorians from her own childhood – against her former people. And honor had demanded she return to the Jedi after the war, to return home victorious and hold her head high.
Muraki would always follow where her Mandalorian honor lead. Not even the Jedi code had managed to squash the Mandalorian inside of her.
And for what? For the pathetic Council to rip her from the Force and exile her. What had she gained? Nothing!
Nothing except her Mandalorian-be-damned honor.
At least the Jedi had not tried to take away her memories.
He should have tried to find her before Malak's betrayal. Before she'd had the time to disappear as effectively as Muraki did anything she truly wanted to do. Now it would probably be a hopeless search. Besides, he should be focusing on Malak's destruction, focusing on getting rid of his only true threat before he sent someone on the search for his wayward, prodigal General.
"Are you going to just sit there, or are we going to get out of here?"
Revan's eyes rolled to light on Canderous.
Are you going to order the attack, or shall I just tell my men we're going to have time for that tea party after all? We're ready to fight, Revan!
Such similar attitudes, Canderous and Muraki.
Revan blinked and stretched. Since when did he indulge in nostalgia? He'd obviously been cut off from the Force for longer than was healthy. It was beginning to mess with his mind. He missed the whisperings of the Dark Side.
"Let's go get that ship and get out of here," he replied, and headed for the door. The hallways were eerily quiet. "I guess other people take him seriously when he tells them to stay in their rooms," Revan mused.
"He represents the Exchange; of course they listen."
Revan made a noncommittal sound. He remembered when the Exchange had been a small drug ring centered at Nar Shaddaa and Nal Hutta. How that small parasite had grown during the War was truly amazing.
He'd have to destroy it. Malak had let it grow too powerful – unchecked all this time.
"You do realize that we'll need Davik's security codes to get into the hanger," Canderous drawled as Revan meandered down the hall, seemingly without a care.
Revan looked back at him in mock surprise. "You fought in the Mandalorian war and you don't know how to break into that kind of security?" Canderous' face grew thunderous and Revan laughed. "Ah, I can't either. But I did memorize what the code was when Davik entered it." His eidetic memory served him well, even without the Force to enhance it.
Almasy was just typing in the first numbers of Davik's security passcode when the ground shuddered.
"What the hell?" Canderous cursed as another, more violent, shudder sent him sprawling onto one of the tables.
"The Sith haven't found what they're looking for," Almasy murmured, still upright even as the tremors increased in both frequency and magnitude. Then, more quietly, he added, "His patience has run out."
Whose patience had run out? Canderous wondered as Almasy calmly finished typing in the code. Almasy knew much more than he let on, which was fine with Canderous – he didn't want to know Almasy's life story after all – but it did raise some questions that couldn't be ignored.
Mars Almasy was an exercise in contradictions. He wore Jedi robes, but acted in a manner which clearly indicated he was no Jedi. Canderous hadn't even seen a hint of a lightsaber or the strange Force powers both Jedi and Sith used. But he obviously wasn't from this Sith fleet either. Was he a rouge Force user? Or from another Sith fleet? Or perhaps he didn't even have a connection to the Force and the robes meant something else to him entirely.
The hanger doors hissed open and Canderous could now see the storm of attacks that the Sith fleet was sending to Taris: the source of the violent tremors. It looked like a rain of fire.
"We have company," Almasy murmured.
Canderous saw that. They were indeed not the only two in the hanger. Davik and Calo Nord were making their way across the hanger towards them.
"Get to the ship and start it up. I'll join you momentarily," Almasy ordered, his voice just audible over the roar of Sith missiles and ground tremors. He then began to saunter towards Davik, as if he had complete faith that Canderous would carry out his order.
"Blast these Sith! They'll destroy the entire planet!" Davik stopped short but Almasy continued to walk toward him. "Well, look what we have here. Thieves in the hanger."
"Let me take care of them, Davik," Calo Nord grinned at Canderous, even as Almasy closed in on them, "I've been waiting for this for a long time."
Revan's eyes narrowed and he felt Canderous' anger spike to match his own. Such men as this bounty hunger were men whom he loved to destroy, loved to see their arrogance crushed into fear. His hand jerked sharply towards the ship, reminding Canderous of his order. It was imperative that they leave now and, no matter how much fun he would have had decimating Davk and his hunter, that took priority
He could feel a jolt of electricity on his wrist, and he glared down at the sparkling mesh of metal. But he could feel the Dark Side looming around him, only a hairsbreadth away – as if he could reach out slightly and touch it.
So he did. His hands lifted skyward and he focused all of his hatred. Hatred of the Jedi, hatred of the inhibitor itself, hatred of Malak's fleet above Taris, and hatred of himself for opening himself to betrayal to begin with.
The bracelet hissed and Revan winced as the metal burned against his skin, but the Dark Side roared to life around him and a tendril of Force arched upward toward the steel scaffolding of the hanger.
It all came crashing down on top of the other two men. Revan grinned arcanely and waved in the direction of their corpses as he headed up the ramp.
Canderous was already at the controls shouting about Sith passcodes, though Revan was willing to bet he'd watched the whole scene like the good Mandalorian Canderous was. He entered the passcodes, reminding Canderous that they would have to pick up Carth first.
Canderous huffed incredulously but turned the ship towards where Mars indicated.
"Remember to stay hidden, Bastila," Carth warned as they made their way out of the hideout.
"If Mars holds his promise at all," Bastila shot back.
Carth did not respond. How could he? If Mars did not come as promised, they would all be dead in no time with this Sith barrage.
Behind them, Mission cowered in the protective shadow of Zaalbar. "I don't like this, Big Z," she told him. "I don't like this at all." She had heard Carth and Bastila arguing about this Mars Almasy person. She only hoped he would bring the ship as he promised.
Her eyes scanned the sky, looking for something that did not match the sheets of red which hailed from the sky. She nearly crowed in relief as she saw a black dot emerge from the richest sector of the Taris upper city.
"There!" she yelled, pointing.
"That's him," Bastila confirmed, though in a much less joyful tone, ducking low behind the rubble that now littered the streets. "I can sense he's on that ship."
The ship came closer and hovered just above the ground as the landing ram descended. In the entryway stood a man dressed in Jedi robes, with long purple hair that the wind ripped free from collar and robes. It had to be at least as long as Mission's head tails, Carth thought as he helped her jump onto the loading ramp.
"I'll tell Canderous we're leaving," Mars called down to Carth and disappeared into the ship.
In the few seconds before the ramp began to close, Bastila leapt from her hiding place and jumped onto the ramp. She slipped inside the ship as it closed securely behind her.
Mission 'eeped' as the ship lurched through the atmosphere. A gruff voice yelled something from the cockpit about Mars and a gun turret, before it began swearing in a language she thought she'd heard before but couldn't place.
The strange Jedi from before walked past her, making his way to the gun turret most likely. He was not out of sight for two seconds before the ship lurched, sending Mission sprawling to the floor.
They were being shot at! Mission cringed, remembering her brother's warning that most ships' shielding couldn't take more than six or seven shots before it failed and the ship was history. Had Mission been religious, she would have begun to pray. But since most of the new religions nowadays were scams anyway, she lay against the cold floor and hoped Mars was a good shot… no, hoped that he was a great shot – a spectacular shot.
The ship shuddered once more and then Mission felt the hum of the hyperdrive kick in through the floor. She sighed in relief and scrambled back to her seat.
The strange Jedi – was this Mars Almasy? – swept past her against, muttering. "Increase shielding, more gun turrets, different style targeting system…"
He must have been listing off things to change on the ship. Mission didn't know why he was complaining, they were alive after all, and that was always what mattered most. This Jedi person needed to get his priorities straight.
Mission followed him to the cockpit, where Carth was taking over the pilot's chair from a guy she didn't know. The Jedi was leaning on the navigational map. He raised an eyebrow as she entered, but said nothing.
"We have to decide where we're actually going once we come out of hyperspace," the guy with the gruff voice who'd sent Mars to the gun turrets before, continued speaking as he let Carth take his place. "We're gonna come out of hyperspace right near Nar Shadaa – you can get anywhere from there."
"We'll go to Dantooine," a voice from behind Mission declared.
The three men whirled to look at Bastila, who stood with one hand on her lightsaber, watching the other Jedi warily.
"Force, no," Mars snarled as the gruff-voiced guy demanded, "Who the hell are you?"
Carth seemed the least flustered. "Are you sure Bastila?"
"There's a Jedi enclave hidden on Dantooine. Malak won't find us there."
Malak? Mission's eyes widened. They hadn't said they were on the run from Darth Malak. What had she and Zaalbaar gotten themselves into?
"I'm sure not going to hang around some Jedi enclave," gruff-voice snarled. "You can drop me off on Nar Shadaa."
"It would be best to go right to Dantooine," Bastila seemed to ignore him, even as she addressed what he had just said. "The faster we get there, the safer we will be."
She looked at the other Jedi as if daring him to object. Gruff-voice, too, looked at him, as if expecting him to react. Even Carth was watching him out of the corner of his eye.
Mission was baffled. Why was everyone waiting on that strange Jedi's response? What he that important? Wait… was that guy the Mars person they were talking about? The one who was supposed to defeat Malak for the Jedi? Mission hadn't seen any other people on this ship, so he had to be Mars. But, if he was Mars, he was just a prisoner, right? Why was he wearing Jedi robes? And why would he be deciding what to do?
The Jedi finally lifted his eyes from Bastila's lightsaber and Mission held in a gasp at how red they were. She nearly recoiled from his tone as he spoke, even if his words weren't aimed at her. His voice was like poison – just like the poison Taresian nobles slipped into each other's ale when they wanted to make sure the other never became a threat. Mars' voice was just like that – in intent, sound, and the aftertaste it left in her mouth.
"Only after the fighting is done, do the Jedi crawl out of the framework, I see. And they still expect to be catered to as if we're alive only because of their cowardice. They don't care about those who actually fought and helped them – only themselves." He drew level with Bastila, towering over her even as she refused to back down. "Because you refused to act before on the Endar Spire, Malak just destroyed a planet. Think about that as you go scurrying back to you enclave." He spat out the word as if it was vile. "You disgust me." He swept past her with a glare.
The energy in the cockpit seemed to drop when Mars left. Bastila relaxed, though her countenance remained grave. She slid bonelessly into the co-pilot's seat as Carth returned his full attention to the controls. There was nothing he could do while in hyperspace, but no one seemed to want to look at one another.
And Mission could not seem to get Mars' words out of her head.
"Malak just destroyed a planet."
Malak had just destroyed a planet. Her planet
Malak had just destroyed Taris.
Mission bolted from the cockpit to burry her head in Big Z's fur as the sobs began.
Taris, and everything about it – everything it had meant to her – was gone.
Revan held in a shriek of rage as he stormed from the cockpit. Bastila had snuck on the ship without his notice! Him, the Dark Lord Revan! His left hand slammed against the wall, the metallic sound of his bracelet hitting steel accompanied by a shower of sparks that would have made a lesser man wince.
And he might have sensed her, had he not called out to the Dark Side to kill Davik and his bounty hunter. Had that one moment of triumph been worth the resulting backlash that allowed Bastila to avoid his detection?
His mouth set in a grim line as his steps continued their perusal of the ship. He would have to make it so.
Revan eventually stopped at the garage of the Ebon Hawk. The workbench had been stropped of anything he might have found useful, and the mangled remains of those tools bore the signs of lightsaber sabotage.
Bastila's work.
He turned his back on the workbench and surveyed the rest of the room. Davik had stored a swoop bike in the garage – obviously he was planning to race it. Revan crossed to the bike and began to look it over, wondering how a man like Davik would outfit his racing bike.
It was more up to Revan's standards than the Ebon Hawk was, but he still found components that could be adjusted, little things he could tweek here and there. A mental list was forming in his mind as he heard thick boots approaching the garage.
"I'm surprised you didn't do more," Canderous commented from the doorway.
"Lightsaber against no lightsaber in close quarters where she was just waiting for me to attack would not bode well for a victory."
If Canderous noticed that he had implied he could still manage it, he said nothing. "I take it you know most of these people then," he said instead.
"I know Carth. I unfortunately have an acquaintance with Bastila, that I'd as soon terminate as admit to. The Twi'lek and the Wookie are new to me, though; no idea where Carth picked them up.
"From what I heard, they seem to be following that Jedi princess around."
Revan snorted. "They'll regret that eventually."
"Sounds like you don't like the Jedi," Canderous mused.
"The Mandalorian wars skewed my perspective," Revan commented idly, his smile mirthless, "Or so I'm told." He leaned back against the swoop bike's side. "Then again, you served in them as well and you seem like a sensible person, so I have no idea where that logic comes from."
Canderous snorted in amusement but didn't say anything.
"Got any stories?" Revan asked, turning back to the swoop bike.
"Of what?"
"Oh, anything. The only thing I've got to entertain myself with until Dantooine is this swoop bike, and I can't do anything without the right tools and they're all slag. A war story would be more interesting." A sinful smile was shot Canderous' way. "Be as graphic as you want."
A calculating look answered that statement. "So you want to hear about my exploits. All right."
Mission slowly made her way towards where she could hear two voices talking about 'invasion forces' and 'war droids'.
They abruptly stopped as she peeked her head in the doorway.
Mars and the man Carth had identified as 'Canderous', when she'd asked, were leaning on the swoop bike. On the floor in front of them, drawn out in chalk pilfered – no doubt – from the workbench, was the blueprint for a strange, triangular-shaped droid. She recognized it immediately – anyone would – as a Basilisk war droid model even though she'd never seen a real one.
They both stared at her and she wilted under their scrutiny.
"Um… sorry to bother you. Whacha talking about?"
"War," Mars replied simply, looking back to the drawing.
"Oh," Mission was unsure whether she would be allowed to stay or whether she should go, but she had to be with someone and Big Z was standing guard over Bastila as the Jedi meditated, and Carth was flying the ship. "I've never been in a war."
Canderous rolled his eyes at her statement as if to say 'of course you haven't', but Mars smiled at her. She wasn't sure if it was a kind or unkind smile.
"Kid, what you just saw on Taris was war. Not all war is invasion forces. Sometimes it's little things, like a loss of patience."
"Loss of patience?!" Helpless rage at Taris' destruction bubbled up inside her. "You call destroying a planet, a loss of patience?"
Mars nodded serenely. "Taris was of no consequence to the Sith. The only reason they paid any attention to it at all was because Bastila was hiding there. The Sith's search for her on the planet was taking too long, so they took the impatient way out. They killed all the citizens and their own troops still planetside in the hopes that they'd kill Bastila in the process. Which, of course, was a complete waste of their time."
"That's disgusting." Mission felt sick, but she wasn't sure if it was because of what Mars had said, or because he'd said it in such a nonchalant way.
"A Sith does that," Mars' reply was flat, his tone dead.
"Revan wouldn't have done that," Canderous murmured, his gaze falling to the drawing on the floor. He missed Mars' head jerking towards him with an unreadable expression, but Mission didn't.
"But Revan was a Sith," she pointed out as the strange expression faded from Mars' face.
Canderous shook his head. "Taris was a military disaster compared to how Revan lead his army in the wars. He had a genius Malak will never be able to touch, no matter how powerful his fleet gets. He'll always stand in Revan's shadow."
Mission had started at Malak's name, as if just remembering something. "But you're going to defeat Malak, right?" she asked, looking hopefully at Mars. "Bastila said you're supposed to."
Now it was Canderous' turn to start and look at the other man.
Mars' mouth set in a line, and something dark lit his eyes. "Bastila is still an idyllic child when it comes to war. I plan to kill Malak. I'll only defeat him if I have to."
"But he'll still be gone, right?" Mission nodded to herself. "Yeah, and that's all that matters."
Mars nodded, "You're a smart kid. You learn quickly."
"I'm not a kid. And I have a name, you know. It's Mission."
"My apologies Mission. You're a very bright young woman."
"Mission?"
Bastila rounded the hallway on the other side of the garage, her surprise at seeing Mission with her present company obvious. She took in the two men with a disapproving glance, and the floor drawing with another.
"What are you doing?" Her voice was laden in suspicion, the question aimed at Mars instead of Mission.
Mission bristled at the tone. Should Jedi talk that way? Even to their prisoners?
"I believe the term is 'fostering friendship with potential allies'," Mars drawled. "Or it was when I was taught the Code. Granted, that was when I was very young, so I might have misinterpreted-"
"Be quiet Mars," Bastila snapped.
Mars merely smiled at her as if he'd won something.
"Any reason you're here?" Canderous drawled at her.
"Yes, actually. I wanted to speak with you, Mars."
"Weren't you doing that already?" Mars asked bemusedly.
"About the Order." The emphasis on Order was tangible.
Mars shrugged, as if in apology – as if the Order wasn't that big a deal – to Canderous and Mission before walking out to join Bastila in the hall. They headed for the starboard dormitory and Mission couldn't help craning her head around the doorway to watch them before Bastila closed the door.
There was silence for a few minutes, then Mission began to hear low murmuring, followed by raised voices. Yet, no matter how hard she listened, she could not make out the words that were spoken.
"What do you think you are doing?" Bastila demanded the instant the door sealed shut behind her.
"I was talking. Am I not allowed to do that now?"
"You drew a Basilisk war droid on the floor! You were talking about the Mandalorian war!"
"Which is a good topic of conversation when talking to a Mandalorian," Revan drawled.
"What if he suspects who you are?"
"What if he does?" Revan shrugged. "He's just a Mandalorian. He's no threat to me."
"No threat to you? What if he tells other people? What if Malak finds out?"
Revan was nonplused. "If he's a threat to the Order, then get rid of him."
Bastila stared at him. He'd said that as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. The Sith Lord, for she been reminded how apt that title was, raised an eyebrow at her silence.
"That is not the Jedi way and you know it. Stating such is pointless."
Revan's posture took on one of helplessness. "Then I can't help you, if you won't listen to reason."
"The Sith teachings are not reason, Revan," Bastila stated.
Revan rolled his eyes. "Someday you'll realize how wrong you are. But until then, perhaps this will make sense to you. Canderous is not a threat to you or your Order. He's a mercenary, a Mandalorian, that's all. We talk about the Mandalorian wars because it's something we can understand, having been there."
"There's nothing a Mandalorian can understand that other people cannot also understand."
Revan's smile was feral. "There is a great deal a Mandalorian can understand that other people cannot, and an even greater deal that a Mandalorian can understand that a Jedi cannot. That is the reason my General was a Mandalorian by birth."
Revan swept by her and out of the dormitory, the door opening to his touch, leaving Bastila to ponder his words.
When Bastila finally returned to the cockpit, Canderous and Revan were arguing about the Mandalorian invasion plan at Seraco, as Mission listened, wide-eyed.
status: beta'd by Hell's Bell