The computer screen projected a map of astounding proportions, an enormous sphere crisscrossed by the yellow trajectories of hyperspace routes and dotted with planets, moons and asteroid fields. The image flooded the ship's control room, sending beams of light dancing across the low ceiling and shadows slinking across the thick walls.
It was amazing, so miraculous that before he could stop himself, before he could think of a hitch in the plan, Atton actually gasped.
"Beautiful sight, ain't it?" Konrad said. "This is years of exploration you're looking at. Maps out the better part of the Unknown Regions."
"I guess they're going to have to come up with a new name for this place. 'Unknown' isn't going to cut it anymore," Atton murmured.
"Oh, they can call it whatever they want. Once I've sold this to some high-and-mighty folks back in the Republic, I'm taking my credits and settling down far away from these damn filthy blue-faces. I've spent near thirty years around them Chiss and I'm getting to the end of my rope."
"It seems like you've got yourself set up. What do you need me for?"
"Well, the map ain't finished yet, see?" Konrad spun the projection around and pointed to the black patches. "I'm looking for somebody to help me scout these out. Czerka don't pay for half-measures, you know."
The map whirled around again, the tiny lights blurring before Atton's eyes.
"Czerka. What have they got to do with this?"
"Now, now, I don't want to be givin' away my trade secrets." A sly look crept onto Konrad's face. "Let's just say that Czerka is always looking to exploit new and interesting opportunities for business."
"[Approving Statement:] While they are not my manufacturers, I consider Czerka's organizational policies to be most…satisfactory. It is rare to find sentients who are so very ruthlessly profitable."
Atton glanced at HK, who was leaning over the map with unnerving interest, his golden eyes tracing paths from world to world. Go figure, he thought. The president of the Czerka fan club.
"Look, buddy, I know quite a bit about Czerka. I've seen firsthand what they do. I like credits as much as the next guy, but I don't think they're the sort of people you're looking to get involved with."
"Oh, really, now do you, sonny?" Konrad said. "I know right well who I want to be involved with and that's the people who can get me paid. It don't make a lick of difference to me whether they're good, bad or ugly. Czerka can blow the Csilla Foreign Quarter, the Chiss and all their clannishness to high hell for all I care. Good riddance to 'em, that's what I say."
Atton looked at the map and this time, every nameless planet that shone from its grid was Telos. Even after everything that Bao-Dur had done, the life he'd lived and the sacrifice he'd made, Telos would die, not just once but a hundred times over.
"You want to cancel this deal with Czerka," Atton said, waving his hand in front of Konrad's face. "You want to hand the map over to me. You know that I'll keep it safe."
The old man's leathery face contorted into a sneer. He waved his hand back at Atton. "You're not very good at them Jedi mind tricks, kid. Now those Chiss would probably sell you out at the first chance – they don't cotton much to off-worlders, you know. Why are you going to do them any favours?"
"I don't know. Call it a whim. Blue has always been my favourite colour," Atton smirked. "You don't have to like my reasons, but one way or the other, I'm taking that map."
Konrad withdrew his blaster but before he could fire, his body froze in a beam of pulsating static.
Electronic eyes gleaming with anticipation, HK leveled his blaster carbine at the old man's head.
"[Commentary:] I am so fond of a stationary target."
"Lay off, HK. I need you to help me download this map file."
"[Cautionary Statement:] Very well, Meatbag. It is most fortuitous that my programming prevents me from entertaining petty human grievances. Otherwise, I would be quite disappointed in you."
Atton didn't glance up from the computer console. "Trust me, you'll get over it."
A metal plug extended from HK's side and inserted itself into the computer. The droid's vocabulator gave a faint rumble, his metal frame vibrating as his systems read and copied the data.
"[Helpful Suggestion:] Next time you wish to download information, perhaps you should invest in a datapad."
"What, it wasn't good for you? I always thought interfacing was the most fun a droid could have without a hydrospanner." Atton squinted back down at the computer console. "Now how am I supposed to delete this thing?"
HK solved the problem with characteristic ease, bashing the computer with the butt end of his carbine. He repeated this several times for good measure.
"[Evaluation:] There. Ah, yes. That should be quite sufficient."
Atton glanced at Konrad's paralyzed figure, just beginning to ease out of stasis.
"Sorry. It's a tough break, huh?" he said to the frozen face still twisted with scorn. "You really should learn to pick better friends."
By the time Konrad shook off the stasis and stared, aghast, at the wrecked console, they had slipped back into the courtyards of the Foreign Quarter, just two more off-worlders in a bustling scrum of strangers.
Twenty-four Chiss recruits from Rhigar's military academy. Less than a quarter of the number they'd promised him. Two officers, two ships and ten turrets. No matter how many times Revan went over the math, the numbers refused to increase and the odds didn't get any better. A direct assault was out of the question. He had been forced to change plans.
Sitting in the captured Sith ship, he watched the red button flash on the console. He had activated the distress signal two hours ago. Now it was a matter of waiting, one of the worst parts of waging war, the slow bleeding out of doubt, the agonizing attempts to kill time until the unsuspecting Sith came and the ambush could begin. The cloaked ships waited on either side of the drifting craft, ready to the attack.
"[Sir, we've sighted a ship,]" a tall soldier said.
Revan nodded. "[Well done. Prepare yourselves, men.]"
He glanced out the bay window and caught a glimpse the ship in question. It was undeniably rustier than the last time he'd seen it, but its bronze plating, its double barreled engines and the quick-silver flash of its underside as it swooped past were unmistakable, unforgettable. The Ebon Hawk.
Revan flew to the comm-link. "[Don't fire on that ship! We're receiving reinforcements! I repeat, do not fire on that ship!]"
"[We copy,]" a voice answered. The young corporal. Revan recognized the voice but couldn't remember the name to save his own life. Something with too many consonants. During the Wars, he had known every officer under him by name, where they were from, what their prospects were. He was slipping.
But it didn't matter so much anymore, now that he wasn't alone. After all this time, she had come. He'd been watching for her through it all, hoping in spite of himself that she would find him. And now she was here. Wonderful, darling, stubborn girl. He should have expected it. He couldn't wait to see the vexation melt from Bastila's face when he took her in his arms.
"[They're docking,]" the soldier reported.
"[I'll be right there,]" Revan said, smoothing down his black hair.
He rubbed his beard with an anxious hand. If he'd known, he would have shaved for the occasion. Bastila would never mention it. No, she wouldn't say a word. She'd just regard him with a sideways smile of admonishment, understanding his haphazard grooming as evidence that he couldn't get along without her. As usual, he'd let her think she was right.
He strode down the narrow corridor, brushing the wrinkles from his coarse robe. By the time he entered the central chamber, he had assumed the persona of Revan the Redeemed, the Savior, the Jedi Paragon Restored, his head lofty, his posture straight, his vision unclouded. There was only one problem. Bastila wasn't there.
In her place stood a woman dressed in a tattered blue robe with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She looked at him from beneath sullen brows, her body bristling with contempt. After all these years, she still possessed the brooding beauty of her Academy youth but now there was a famine in the glimmer of her green eyes. She was as pale as a ghost and she looked like something that would haunt him to the end of his days.
"Shira?"
"Hello, Revan."
"You haven't changed much."
"You have. Or, at the very least, your face has," she said. "I wouldn't have recognized you if it weren't for the eyes."
"Make-over courtesy of the Jedi Council. I'm not too fond of the nose, but the rest of it is tolerable."
Shira frowned. "Well, how nice for you. A new beginning."
He paced back a few steps, turning his back on her. He didn't want her eyes upon him. It was during moments like these that he remembered why he'd started wearing the mask.
"Why are you here?"
"It's not a social call," Shira said. "I came on Kreia's instructions."
Revan gave a bitter laugh. "I'm sure Kreia must be pleased to have such a good little apprentice. In my day, I certainly was never so obedient. What did she tell you? Go to the Unknown Regions and berate Revan unceasingly?"
"No, unfortunately, she thought you did the galaxy a favor. She told me I had to help you. So I gritted my teeth together, ignored all my better instincts and found my way out here. You want that help or not?"
"I'm not in the position to reject any offers of assistance. If you help me, I'll be grateful for it."
"I'm not here for you," she said. "I'm here because I want to put things right. If that means we've got to work together, then so be it."
"Just keep the past in the past then. I can't change what happened, Shira, and I can't spend the rest of my life hating myself, thinking the galaxy would be better off if I blew my brains out. All I can do is learn from the experience and move on as best I can."
The woman shook her head, her brows knotted together. "Well, from what I see, you've done a pretty good job of moving on, Revan. I just hope you've learned a hell of a lot from the 'experience' because it was an expensive lesson. For Alek, for me, for all those Jedi who trusted you, for those worlds that called you 'hero' that you conquered and destroyed. And why did it all happen? Because it lined up with the little dejarik game you were playing in your head. Well, you win, Revan, and, the rest of us, we lost."
"I don't have to justify myself to you. You chose to follow." He was surprised at the sound of his own voice. It was firmer, more confident than he had anticipated when he'd played this scenario over in his mind. "From what I recall, you were the first to propose we execute Mandalorian prisoners to save on supplies. You were so persuasive, so impassioned. We thought it was a very practical suggestion at the time."
"I know what I did, Revan and I live with it everyday. I don't try to pretend I'm not the person who did those things, that I'm somehow not responsible. I don't just 'put it in the past' as though I can change my name or my face and become a new person."
Revan sighed. "Who says I don't live with it too?"
The familiar sound of droidspeak came babbling from the docking bay corridor just behind Shira. A little droid with a big block of a head came wheeling in, much rustier and worse for the wear, but undeniably T3-M4.
"Mee-mee! Dwoo!" T3 announced, skidding into the center of the room.
Revan crouched down and patted the droid's metal frame. "Hey, little guy. Good to see you."
He glanced up at Shira, who was regarding the touching reunion with a look of distaste. She obviously didn't like having to share her pet droid with a former Dark Lord of the Sith.
"Where'd you find him?"
Shira shrugged. "T3 came with the ship. Kind of a two-for-one deal. He's handy to have around."
"You have no idea."
"I'd forgotten that you were so fond of droids, Revan. I guess it makes sense. You always liked to have your orders followed without question."
Revan turned away from her again, planning his escape route. "As much as I'd love to continue this undoubtedly delightful conversation, we have more pressing concerns. This is a Sith ship we're standing in. I've put out a distress signal. Any minute we should be intercepting a crew of helpful, friendly, vicious Sith who will be sort of perturbed when they discovered it's an ambush. If they manage to board this ship, we're going to have a fight. I hope you're still good with a lightsaber?"
"I was then and I am now," Shira said. "I'll be there when I'm needed."
She pushed past a bewildered Chiss guard and strode off down the corridor.
Revan returned to the cockpit, with T3 chasing at his heels. He eased himself back in the pilot's seat and half-listened as the little droid prattled out pleasant nonsense, more sound than substance Revan patted the droid on the head as though the little metal contraption was an old, drowsy-eyed dog sitting at his feet before a blazing fireside. He tried to clear his mind, to tap into the Force's ceaseless calm, but this time the images were more vivid than ever, both the things he'd done and the things they'd done in his name. When the Sith came, he knew that he'd fight all the more relentlessly because of it. He'd fight the Sith if only to prove he wasn't one of them. Not now. Not ever again, he vowed.
Two grey ships glided through the murky sky. From far off, they looked like pointed slabs of flint, arrowheads carved on some primitive planet. It was only when they swooped low towards the concealed Chiss ships that it was possible to see the turrets that rose from their sleek bodies.
Revan waited until the last possible second. He could feel the anxious presence of the soldiers behind him and Shira's eyes burning into his back. The air was thick, the room heady with adrenalin and the slow, deep breathing of people trying desperately to remain calm in the face of death. At last he felt the net close and he knew the moment was right. He drew the . up to cracked lips.
"[Fire.]"
The Chiss ships revealed themselves in a furious stream of laser blasts, damaging the hull of the nearest Sith cruiser.
Reeling through the sky, the cruisers retorted with a flurry of blood-red beams. They buzzed around the less-maneuverable Chiss vessels like insects tormenting a boma beast, stinging its thick hide with well-placed shots.
Revan smiled his first genuine smile in what felt like days. He still lived for these moments, the lightning play of lasers over the sky, beautiful because it was deadly. This is how a conductor feels at the head of a symphony, he thought.
Another powerful blast from a Chiss turret ripped the side of the already-damaged cruiser asunder, incinerating supplies, scattering scraps of charred metal and debris around the floundering ship.
The other Sith cruiser turned tail, feeling the full wrath of Chiss firepower shaking its frame.
"[Permission to give chase?]" Captain Otranian's nasal voice crackled through the communication system.
"[Yes,]" Revan said. "[I will be boarding the remaining ship to investigate. Do not resume hostilities on it unless I give signal.]"
"[Yes, sir.]"
The larger of the Chiss vessels, the Karkoskhan, jolted forward after the fleeing Sith cruiser, a golden blaze of laser fire cutting through the sky.
Revan sprung from the pilot's seat and gave his guards a few quick instructions in Cheun before Shira cut in.
"What you are doing?"
"What does it look like? We're preparing a shuttle. We're going to capture the ship."
"But why?" Shira asked. "Why not push a few buttons and blow it all to hell?"
Revan glared at her.
"I'm not going to stand for insubordination. Next time you decide to question me in front of the troops, you can get in the Hawk and fly your attitude back to Republic space."
He paused, relenting. Whatever his personal feelings, he could use her help. "We need more information about them – data, maps, weapons, hostages, some kind of collateral. If we don't go in and see who they are or what they are, we're fighting blind."
"Fine," Shira said. "If you gave me your reasons, maybe I wouldn't have to 'question you'. I like information, too, Revan. I remember what happened the last time we went into a battle blind and I don't plan to trust you blindly again."
The soldiers readied the shuttle. Within minutes, Revan and Shira were strapped into a glorified tin can and sent spiraling through space towards a damaged Sith vessel, unsure of what fresh new hell awaited them inside