Atton managed to land The Direstar on a flat stretch of black rock on the planet's surface. It was just as Konrad had described it. The small world was a barren place composed almost entirely of onyx and volcanic rocks, its surface dark and glassy under the ship's lights.

Atton turned off the engines and started an environmental scan. It would be nice to know if the air was breathable before he decided to head out and take a stroll.

He tried to avoid thinking about the Force too much, if only because he hadn't quite accepted the idea of being a Jedi and doing all the things he'd once despised. Nevertheless, sometimes the premonitions were just too strong and he couldn't help but listen to them. He could sense something out there, in that vast galactic night, something dangerous.

"[Statement:] You have been noticeably silent lately, Meatbag. [Concerned Query:] Has a tech interfered with your vocabulator?"

Atton stared out at the darkened planet. The ship's floodlights illuminated a few distant craters and a range of ashy hills, a veritable wasteland.

"Shhh. My Jedi senses are tingling," he smirked. "There's definitely something going on here."

"[Commentary:] It will be pleasant to explore outside the ship. I have been practicing my enemy elimination protocols most diligently. I trust that we will have occasion to blast some fleshy targets?"

Atton spun around in his seat. He wasn't going to say it outright, but he didn't trust the heap of junk.

"You aren't invited. Stay here. I don't want you getting in the way."

"[Cautionary:] It is always advisable to bring along a valuable assassination model like myself. Especially since your primitive Jedi weapon has recently been misplaced."

"What?" Atton glared at the droid. "Where did you get that idea? I never told you about the missing lightsaber."

HK paused, his gawky body stiffening as though he needed to recalibrate his systems. His eyes flashed twice, flickering from bright yellow to dull amber before returning to their usual malevolent golden glow.

"[Correction:] I regret the system error. I simply meant to explain that you cannot rely on Jedi weaponry alone. It is very easy to put down a lightsaber and have it just disappear somewhere, perhaps down the trash compactor or out of the airlock, to some place where no organic will ever find it again. In comparison, a sturdy and highly functional droid model is notably more difficult to dispose of."

Atton made a mental note to check the trash compactor before he left the ship.

"Sure, HK, I get it. But that's why I need you to stay and guard the place. Chances are, anyone out looking for a fight will see the ship and come try to hijack it before they ever catch me skulking around. If they try anything funny, I'm going to want you here to blast them. I'm relying on you for that."

Sometimes he was so good at lying, he even surprised himself. Not that it seemed to fool HK too much. The droid almost managed to look depressed, which was no mean feat since he was carrying a blaster carbine with enough juice to blow a small village of Wookiees back to the Shadowlands.

Atton was itching to get off the ship, even if it meant wandering around in some black abyss searching for a pair of loony Jedi. Not that he knew what he'd do if he actually found them out there. What in the hell was a guy supposed to say to his former boss, the genocidal dictator who probably saved the whole fracking Republic? And exactly what verbal wizardry was he going to conjure up to placate an angry ex-girlfriend who was disturbingly talented with a lightsaber?

He could just imagine his introductory patter:

"Um, hello, folks, just happened to be in the neighborhood. Small galaxy, isn't it? Hey, don't let me interrupt anything. You go ahead and finish gutting that Sith. When you're done maybe we can talk over old times, play a few games of pazaak. Republic Senate Rules, of course. And deck of your choice too. Or, uh, yeah, you can just keep killing Sith. Whatever works for you."

There weren't a lot of etiquette books or electronic greeting cards covering this particular social situation and for once, he almost wished Mical was around. Good ol' Blondie would make some fancy little bow, maybe do a couple curtseys, and everything would be forgiven. Either that, or Revan would cut him into little bite-sized pieces and forget all about the friendly Sith defector standing well out of range of the blood spatter. Win-win scenario.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost forgot to switch off the trash compactor. He wasn't looking forward to mucking around in that mess searching for his lightsaber, but he supposed it was all in a day's work for the galaxy's unluckiest Jedi impersonator.

Revan unscrewed the cap of the bottle and poured himself a glass of Purple Paxa.

It was good to be back on the Ebon Hawk, even if they were cruising towards a Sith hellhole with a Chiss murderer in tow.

The cloaked warship behind them was laden with enough bombs to blow up a small planet. This was also good, because blowing up a small planet was exactly what he planned to do.

He raised his glass in a toast to no one in particular and took a drink, enjoying the way the drink scorched the top of his mouth. He'd become so accustomed to its bitter aftertaste that it was reassuring, almost pleasant, when it arrived - a promise kept.

Shira sat curled up in a chair, reading with more focus and intensity than Revan thought any datapad merited. She still hadn't cured herself of the unsightly habit of biting her fingernails. If she was forced to sit still for any length of time and she thought no one was watching, she'd begin gnawing away. Revan was surprised Kreia had been able to stand it – it took all of his self-discipline not to stand up and yell at her whenever he caught her at it.

He wondered if it was possible for someone to fall to the dark side simply out of annoyance. Living at close quarters, it was almost inevitable that they'd get on each other's nerves. Shira spent half her time wandering around in a daydream, toying with the silver chain around her neck and humming some old Twisted Rancor song that he hadn't liked even when it was popular. Three days ago he had decided that if he ever discovered where she hung that raggedy blue robe of hers out to dry, it was going to meet an unfortunate accident.

Of course, he changed the temperature in the cockpit on a whim and had been known to lock himself in the 'fresher for up to an hour at a time (it was where he did his best thinking) but he tended to think he was the better shipmate. Shira could be perfectly companionable at times, but then her mood would shift and attempting to have a conversation would be like tap-dancing through a mine-field. She practically burst into tears, for example, when he tried to re-arrange items in the garage to cover up the electrical burns on the floor. It certainly didn't help when he reminded her that the Hawk had been his ship first and that, under his care, it had been much better maintained.

At the moment, he figured he'd try the friendly approach, if only because booting her out of the airlock wasn't a viable option and she didn't respond well to threats.

"You want a drink? It's Purple Paxa."

Shira looked up from her datapad. "No, thanks. I don't drink."

Grinning, he shook the bottle from side to side and watched the purple liquid bubble and foam. "How very Jedi of you. They obviously kicked the wrong person out of the Order."

"It has nothing to do with being a Jedi. I just gave all of that up a while ago."

He arched an eyebrow. "With no reason at all? Hmm. A trifle masochistic, I think. Well, I guess that means more for me."

She watched him drain his glass, her green eyes wide and apprehensive.

Every once in a while, he'd look at her and see the precocious teenager she'd been before the wars had claimed her. She still possessed aspects of that sad, brave, childish self, a vulnerability left unarmored in spite of everything they had seen and done. He wasn't sure if it was something to envy or to pity.

"Revan?"

"What?"

"This bombing plan - I'll admit, it concerns me. If we succeed, I know it will be a huge blow to the Sith threat. I realize there are no civilians there. I'm aware that it's a practical solution. But we'll still be destroying a planet, a place with an eco-system and living organisms. It's very close to…I don't think have to tell you what it's close to. I'm going to have some trouble with that."

"So you're saying you want to go back on this? It's too late, Shira."

He picked up the bottle and poured himself a second drink.

"That's not what I mean," she said. "I'm simply saying that it's difficult. That I have some qualms about it."

"It's necessary. It's going to save lives. I'm not going to send Chiss soldiers in to combat these Sith if I can help it. We blow up the Xendrin base and we save ourselves a lot of trouble fighting their troops or that dreaded 'Asmortis', whatever the hell he is. Be rational about it. It isn't Malachor. We're not making those sacrifices again. If anything, we're doing the opposite."

"You're probably right, Rev," she sighed. "But that doesn't mean I have to feel good about it."

"You sure you don't want a drink?"

"Pass me that bottle." Her arm reached for it, fingers outspread.

"What?" he chuckled. "You give up so easily now? You always were a funny girl."

Revan handed the bottle to her and then took out the extra glass, one he'd put aside especially for her. His surprise was feigned. He knew she'd want the drink eventually.

She poured out two fingers of Paxa. "I just reconsidered it. I had a reason when I gave it up and it was a good one. I don't have that reason anymore."

"Well, a toast then?" he proposed.

She nodded.

"To exile and the Unknown Regions!" he said. "To leaving all our reasons to stay and, maybe even our reason, behind!"

"I'll pretend that last toast wasn't a jab at me," she smirked. "Cheers, Rev. To us. To the exiles."

They clinked glasses and drank.

Atton strolled along the black surface of the unknown planet, humming a little number by the Twisted Rancor Trio. It was a catchy tune even if he didn't remember any of the words. Oh well, the lyrics were probably just the usual steaming heap of bantha poodoo anyway – some doll-faced singer crooning about how love solved all her problems and gave her a reason for living.

If love was so great, he reasoned, the Powers That Be wouldn't have needed to come up with juma.

Atton kicked a rock out of his path. It skipped over the dark earth and then slid down a steep crater to his right. He found another piece of rubble and booted it hard. It made a graceful arc through the air, hit the ground and then rolled out of sight.

He still hadn't managed to track down his lost lightsaber, which made him cranky as all hell. He'd liked that yellow 'saber, liked it a lot, even if he wasn't too fond of being mistaken for a Jedi. It had felt good to build it, to select the crystals with Shira's help and graft them into place, even if he had exasperated Bao with the clutter he left in the garage. In the end, that 'saber had become one of the few things that really belonged to him, something that nobody else had a claim on, that no one could wrench out of his hands. Until now, anyway. But he'd get it back somehow. He'd bide his time and catch HK off guard, find a way to make the droid give it up.

The air was dusty, barely breathable, so it took him some time and a whole lot of squinting to make out the structure amidst the haze. At first, it just looked like a series of scratches across the horizon.

It was only when he came closer that he realized it was a huge black gate. He couldn't make out what was caged inside, but if he craned his head back, he could see a tall obelisk jutting skywards, sharpening its dagger-point against clouds of ash.

In front of the black gate, someone had mounted an enormous bell, deep-throated and bronze. It hung, still and heavy, from a series of ropes that trailed down into the dirt and lay in snake-like coils.

There were inscriptions engraved on the archway above the bell, but Atton couldn't understand any of them. They just looked like a bunch of weird etchings and squiggles, something a kid might graffiti on an old cargo container back in the Shad.

He looked around, scanning the area, but it seemed as though the coast was clear. It couldn't hurt to try. He grabbed hold of the rope and pulled it hard, swinging the heavy bell back and forth. Its tolling reverberated over the landscape, a sonorous voice mourning the barrenness that surrounded it and shaking the sky with its grief.

Nothing happened.

Atton chuckled, the bell still booming in his ears. He'd always been one of those people who had trouble resisting the urge to poke a red button or pull a forbidden lever. Teaching himself to fly had tamed the impulse, but it was still nice to indulge the whim once in a while.

It took Atton a few more seconds before he glimpsed the small, squat figure walking towards him, moving steadily over the black rubble. It didn't look like a threat. Hell, it didn't look like anything he'd ever seen before, neither human nor alien, Jedi nor Sith.

As it moved closer, it gestured a greeting with tiny paw-like hands, its wizened face slowly configuring itself into a tight-lipped smile. Atton couldn't tell if it was male or female, but it was short, shriveled like a piece of fruit left out in the sun. The body underneath its hooded red robe was indistinct, but it seemed to have two legs, two arms and a twisted question mark of a back.

The little creature gazed up at him with shiny black eyes, tilting its head slightly as if it was still listening to the echo of the bell.

"You rang?" it said. "How nice of you to visit."

"Uh, no problem. I'm guessing you don't get many tourists out here?"

"Not so many guests, no," the puny creature chuckled. "It's strange. One would imagine that seeing the True Sith in the flesh would be quite an attraction. Perhaps they're afraid. Perhaps they are right to be."

Atton guffawed. "You gotta be kidding me. Look, I've met Sith before. They're usually over four feet tall."

"Ah, but were they True Sith? That is the more compelling question."

Atton laughed so hard and so long that he ended up doubled over, gasping and wheezing. "Oh, sweet Force! Oh, I don't think I can take it. Oh, that's priceless! Do you know Shira and Revan? Please don't tell me you've met them yet. I really gotta see their faces when they hear this."

The 'True Sith', if that's what he was, looked unimpressed by this display.

"You're beginning to bore me. I hope you don't plan to insult my people further by continuing to compare us to those pretenders who dwell in your shabby Republic. They are stupid brutes and a depressing waste of flesh. But the will of the Force be done," he sighed. "They serve their lesser purpose."

"Hey buddy, don't get me wrong or anything. You 'True Sith' are actually pretty cute. If my Jedi friends saw you, I'll bet they'd think you guys would make great pets."

Atton just managed to cap off the punch-line before he realize he was slowly being levitated above the ground. He tried to push himself back down using the Force, but the True Sith's will was much too strong. He felt his body tugged upward against gravity, as though it was being stretched out on the rack.

"Whoa, okay. I get it. I went a little too far. I crossed the line. Put me down."

"My sincerest apologies, friend, but you've exhausted my patience," the hooded creature said. "Do not worry. There is no need to fear me. I do this only to show you what is true. I promise it will only hurt a little."

When the pain hit him, Atton wasn't sure if it was his voice or simply his mind screaming out, whether his arms were flailing in panic or if the muscles just twitched in spasms of agony. He knew that losing consciousness would be a mercy and yet all his instincts, every nerve in his body, fought against it. It took him a while to black out and when he finally did, he couldn't appreciate the blessed release.

The Ebon Hawk moved into orbit around Xendrin. It was a lush green planet warmed by a pair of red giants, two stars slowly dying, feeding off one another's waning light.

It comforted Revan to think that the planet was going to die anyway when the giants collapsed under their own weight, fires extinguished. That event was probably a million years into the future, but he liked to look at the big picture. In the big picture, even a bombing became such a miniscule thing, a piece of colored glass in the mosaic.

Shira couldn't see the big picture and that was why he slipped the powder into her Paxa. She usually checked her drinks for any "added" ingredients but this time, for some reason, she'd trusted him. Maybe she knew it was for her own good. She'd sleep for eight hours and by the time she woke up with a splitting headache and maybe a bit of nausea, Xendrin would be space dust. With Sandor locked up in the med bay and Shira knocked out in the dorm, it was up to him and T3 to pilot the ship and direct the Chiss bombers.

The little droid whirred around the cockpit, chirping happily in droidspeak. T3 still wasn't much of a conversationalist, but he was just the sort of company Revan needed: friendly, compliant and pleasantly unfazed by even his wildest schemes.

Otranian's voice came in over the comm.-link. "[Sir, we're preparing to drop the Baby Blue.]"

That was the name the soldiers had given to the smallest bomb. There were three of them, a dangerous little family, Baby, Mama and Papa Blue, all lined up in a row.

"[How long will it be?]"

"[Approximately eight minutes to get into the first position.]"

"[Sounds good.]"

Revan looked down at the radar. Bad news. A scattering of red dots creeping their way across the screen. The cloaking devices might allow his team to escape detection, but he still didn't like the unexpected presence of a Sith fleet.

"[Otranian? We've got company.]"

"[I just received word. We'll wait it out and see if they spot us, but if the Sith get too close, we'll have to engage. The ship right now is highly vulnerable. We can't risk -] "

"[I understand that, Captain,]" Revan interrupted. "[Do what you must, but try to avoid compromising our position.]"

"[Yes, sir.]"

On the radar, the red dots veered closer. From his position, Revan still couldn't see the enemy ships themselves, but he knew they were approaching.

He pulled out of orbit and flew back into the shadow of a nearby moon. If something happened, he wanted at least partial cover.

There was nothing the Hawk could do in a battle like this. The small freighter was unparalleled for its speed and maneuverability, making it ideal for reconnaissance, but its single turret wouldn't do much damage against the kind of ships these Sith flew.

Revan kept his eyes trained on the radar screen, all too aware that the red dots were converging around the warship. He got back on the comm. link.

"[Captain, I've pulled back out of Xendrin's orbit. What's the situation on your side?]"

Otranian sounded tense. His voice was hoarse, but it didn't quaver. "[They're getting very close. I believe we may have been detected. I've given the signal to engage.]"

Revan swallowed hard. "[Alright. If you have Baby prepared, drop her. At this point, we have to take the chance, whether we hit our primary target or not.]"

"[We'll try our best, sir.]"

"[You're a good officer and your men are good soldiers. I know that you will fight as well and as bravely as anyone in your Ascendancy could wish. No matter what happens, we will find a way to rid the galaxy of these Sith.]"

"[Th-]"

Otranian's reply was lost in static.

Revan looked out the window but he couldn't make out the battle, only sensing the tumultuous feelings it provoked. The Force gathered around him like the chill that comes before a storm, a sharp scent in the air that jolts a man awake and makes him aware that the wind is shaking down the trees.

He knew he should stay back, but he hated to be so far out of things, so useless and out of touch. He edged the ship out of the moon's shadow, closer to Xendrin's orbit.

The explosion was silent, but no less horrible for that. It began as a glaring red eye and then flattened out into a long line and rippled towards the Ebon Hawk in a tide of fire. The ship shook, riding the crest of the wave.

As they plummeted through the atmosphere, Revan concentrated on the Force, steering the ship and working to slow their descent. He braced himself for a fiery death or a hard crash onto Xendrin's surface