Star Wars: The Korasa Trial
Chapter 7:
Dustil Onasi rolled to his feet, surprisingly unhurt. One hand fell across his lightsaber hilt, though he couldn't see the dropped breather; he could however, taste the lightning that he knew he had heard. Bastila was on her knees between two prone figures, her face made quite dreadful by the terrible anguish that was reflected everywhere in the Force. Her eyes were riveted on the face of the taller body, but he couldn't make it out from the angle he was standing at.
"Oh Force," he muttered, low, as he moved closer. It was the same face; impossibly younger, and without the lopsided burn scar, but even as he reached Bastila's side, more of the masked men convened on the ship. Bile rose in his throat as the Force twisted revoltingly. There were two of the black-robed men, grey armour showing underneath and their hands resting on the lightsabers at their waists; three each, but the weapons were identical and crude. They were flanked by stockier soldiers; mostly white, but some of the stabiliser masks with silver markings overtop the black.
One of the first men gestured to him, the other stooping to collect the long hilt that was Bastila's weapon. Slowly, Dustil extended his hand, his lightsaber resting on the upturned palm; the black mask moved as the man tracked its progress, summoning the metal cylinder across the last few metres. He hung it on his belt with the others and stood to attention, mirroring the actions of his counterpart. Everything was the same, the leanly muscled frame and dark hair; without looking at the body below, Dustil knew that the face behind the masks would match it, and the face he hadn't seen since Korriban.
"Get her up." Dustil winced at the familiar tone; serious but reassuringly solid. Bastila looked up at the sound, her expression torn between confused hope and loss, but dismay won out as she caught sight of the other still form. Half standing, she glanced between the surrounding soldiers, blind panic threatening to drop her back down again.
"Not her; the other one," the robed man said harshly, ignoring the stricken Jedi Master. Dustil held her elbow until she could steady herself, hoping she would recover before they decided he was disobeying them. But within a minute, her breathing slowed down, and her gaze settled on the young woman crumbled next to the ship. He vaguely felt the walls that Bastila was forming around herself; roughly suppressing the pain she didn't have time to resolve fully, but there was anxious guilt mixed in. Aware of the cold gaze on him, Dustil set her on her feet and approached the girl, hands spread wide in compliance.
She was older than he'd first assumed because of her height, and surprisingly heavy. She was unconscious, a small scar of two parallel lines just below her right eye, fractionally longer than they were close together, and very pale. Dustil frowned, the memory patchy, but someone had shoved him aside before the lighting came. The slight rawness of her palm was nothing compared to the sickly burnt smell he remembered from his time at the Sith Academy; but the paleness seemed to be due to more than lighting or natural coloration alone.
A thin trail of blood spilled down the other side of her face, a purpling bruise becoming visible as he turned her over. The remains of a white mask remained on the metal deck, half- crushed, and blood mixing with the powdery fragments. There was a similar stain on the Galmod's hull; pinkish, against the red-painted metal, and surely higher up than the girl could have possibly reached; Bastila's eyes slid across it, then quickly away again.
"Naa, Jedi-dana, that was unkind of you." A young man, startlingly pretty with long straight hair that matched his black eyes and robes, ambled between the assembled soldiers. Delicately reproachful, he stopped just before the Jedi Master, smiling blandly.
"She was just trying to protect you from my Kouven," he continued, nodding past her at the girl in Dustil's arms.
"I didn't mean –" Bastila's voice shook, fragile calm wavering. The man grinned pleasantly, taking a long step around her.
"Ah well, you didn't kill her; a shame about my clone, but then I can replace him easily." He nudged the body with his foot and sighed. "Seven-dee, take her; Tae-San, that's close enough please." With a single, languid motion, he brought the tip of his red saber to just touch against the girl's neck, a few strands of hair sizzling into dust, and the armour jumpsuit shining wetly beneath the blade.
Facing him was another man; younger, the hood of his robe blown back to reveal a cold face framed by dark hair drawn back in a severe ponytail. His lightsaber – a much softer shade of red – hummed quietly, giving a pink cast to the other's exposed throat.
"It's Gotae now, Saru-da," he said neutrally, ignoring the Kouven behind him. Equally dispassionate, the clone bent his head to Bastila's height, offering a gloved hand. She had spun around as the blades ignited, indecision now clouding her features. Dustil didn't dare move; tiny beads of molten weave were rolling away from the point of the lightsaber.
"Saru died with his brother." The older man's carefully crafted disdain had faltered, hot anger rising at the bait. His knuckles whitened around the narrow hilt, and for a moment the overly sweet face seemed to shift.
"I beg your pardon, Vessel," the other said easily, gaze shifting to look past him. Dustil couldn't turn to see, but he heard the footsteps; rapid at first, slowing to a cautiously reasonable pace as they drew near. Vessel smiled again, his eyes still hard, the lightsaber drawing a tiny line over the thick fabric.
"They made you a senior captain? You, who won't even try to save an ally?" He withdrew the blade, giving him a clear view of the girl. There was a startled intake of breath somewhere behind Dustil; the presence was naggingly familiar, but it kept shifting free of his grip.
"There's no need to save her; you're currently outnumbered," San pointed out midly.
"Huh, so cold. How disappointing. Oi, Five, do you want to try anything more interesting?" he asked lazily, glancing back over his shoulder. A woman responded sharply, foreign words hissing between clenched teeth, but strangely delighted with the prospect of impending violence. Vessel's grin widened, a cruel gleam coming into his eyes as the Kouven beside him gently tugged Bastila to stand beside him.
"You can have the Jedi if you want them – if they want to go with you that is – but I think I'll keep miss Eight; it could be fun." At this the woman behind them let out a derisive snarl.
"Keep her then. Your master's interest in her is for her own abilities, not as a template. He's wasting his time, but he won't let you kill her." San's grey-tinged eyes were purely indifferent, and he held his lightsaber steadily. Vessel began to laugh, but the expression froze in place as a ghastly shiver resounded through the Force.
The armoured men dropped, the last Kouven still holding Bastila's hand, but Vessel danced aside from both the pink blade and the lightning-wreathed hand that clawed towards him. Theoretical safety was clearly enough for the alien woman; she'd done something to simply splinter the soldiers' minds, and bulled between them as they fell. She set up a bloodthirsty yowl, fingers curling viciously around twin handfuls of brilliant energy. Dustil staggered under the girl's weight, stray tongues of lightning flickering towards him. They fell short as he regained his balance, but the air still reeked of the naked, malevolent power, and the sudden pain and death in the Force was overpowering.
"Charming woman," Vessel remarked, stepping smoothly out of reach; and there was something smug in his expression as he turned back towards the rift. San's eyes widened but he didn't take the futile steps towards the edge. A moment later, the explosions started; great plumes of smoke converging along the gorge from both directions. They drowned out Bastila's pathetic cry as she wrenched her hand out of the Kouven's death grip, and the veiled woman's shuddering laugh; her thin frame shook beneath the wine-coloured robes, and she charged after the man, pointed teeth bared in a feral grin.
The pair of them disappeared over the lip, smoke spirally up with an ear-splitting blast that seemed to set the very air trembling. Both Jedi would have fallen, but San caught Bastila's arm, and a red-skinned hand steadied Dustil from behind. Kagen stepped around in front of him, pointing animatedly at the ship. The Padawan's face was taut, but strangely confident, despite the harshness in the Force.
Dahy came limping across the stark plating, trouser leg stained dark above his tall boots. The ship itself offered only a little refuge; the shattering explosions had stopped, but the smoke followed them up the ramp. Dustil laid the injured girl out in the medbay as gently as he could manage and hurried back into the main corridor. The ship's medical droid squawked at him indignantly, cut off only when the door slid shut. Lurching slightly as the ship took off, the would-be pilot his access to the cockpit barred.
Kagen was in his way, blathering about some droid that was taking them back across a rift; but that was unfair. Resisting the urge to swear, Dustil drew in a slow breath, letting the air hiss away between his tightly clamped jaws.
"Obee has the codes to get the ion cannons to hold off, but he'll land the ship as soon as we're across. Everyone else is in the main hold, but Dahy's injured; he wants to explain everything first." Relaxing his taut shoulders, Dustil followed him back, the boy's efforts to be reassuring washing over him with no real effect.
They were all seated around the circular table, Dahy sagging a little in the sparingly padded chair; except San who stood in the corner, talking into his comlink with quiet urgency. The Jedi Knight had clapped a medpac across the blaster wound, and seeping red glistened at the edges of the bandage. But it was Bastila who looked truly wretched, haunted and her free hand moving convulsively back towards her wrist where the Kouven had held it.
"They cloned him," she said faintly, not to anyone in particular. Glimmering tracks appeared on her face as tears leaked out from under her closed eyes. The tight bun she had adopted since being invited onto the Council had come undone, the stiff coils unwinding slowly down her back. Dahy glanced towards her, rough sympathy rather out of place on his stern features. He gave her a moment longer, an exasperated snort escaping as she composed herself; the display of self-control took an impressively short few moments, though her grey eyes remained affected.
"Revan disappeared for more than a year before his campaign against the Jedi; we now know that he came here, following the records of the 'Korasa Trial', buried somewhere in the archives." His voice seemed to echo in the enclosed space, ringing against Dustil's ears.
"The project itself was much older and the original date of its conception is unknown. But three Jedi, and their Padawans, backed by the Council of the time came to Kamino intending to research the possibility of cloning Force-sensitives. They set up on Gaara, hidden in some part by the ishiri concentration in the rock, but the project was renamed. Korasa is the largest moon; almost uninhabited, but the trials went very badly and the Council decided to cover everything up. One of the Jedi killed the others and one of the Padawans; Master Arcanys. He used their genetics as templates, successfully cloning an army of Force-capable soldiers which he fully intended to use.
"The Kaminoans themselves supported the project for several years more, building Synegral Station as you see it now, but eventually they were forced to withdraw. Because of their planet's unstable climate, destroying the station would be impossible; the resulting change in tides could have swamped their cities. Simply poisoning the air was another solution, but would only destroy the current batch of clones. The station had been built to be self-sufficient, and so long as Arcanys survived, he could vent the air and start again. They activated the moon's shielding, centred in the upper hemisphere, to contain and conceal the damage." Dahy paused, stilling the nervous twitch in his leg.
"The remaining Padawans and several other Jedi decided to return to Gaara to defend the shield generators, sealing the middle gates and bulkheads. Over time the clone genetics deteriorated until their sensitivity was lost completely, and the Council sent a task force of Jedi to eliminate Arcanys.
"They were slaughtered, and with new clone sources he breached the Mid-Gates, only stopped when Padawan Ma'San did vent the entire lower hemisphere, and the compromised sectors. It's doubtful that any of the strike team survived that first encounter, but if there were survivors, they were lost then. Things were quiet for a while, but the Ven did recover: in the meantime, the official Jedi involvement had shrunk down to a single sentry on the planet who knew what was under the shield. That position eventually disappeared - then Revan found the records." Bastila's face tightened again, but she did not look away. The atmosphere was grim, Kagen keeping a strained neutrality in his expression, but Dustil felt less obliged to stay silent.
"And the Republic didn't do anything, across all the time this was happening?" Dahy met his gaze, blue eyes turned quite remote.
"The Republic never knew and still doesn't," he said bluntly. San took an empty seat, his dispassionate self-assurance uniquely unforced.
"Why not?" Dustil's tone was icy and he was holding himself very still. The ship's landing struts extended, the whirring mechanics grating conspicuously.
"Both the Republic and the Jedi were still fighting the Sith, and the lure of such an army might have overcome their reluctance to let Arcanys loose on the galaxy." Dahy matched his coldness, continuing over the pilot's half-spoken objections. "The decision was left to each of caretakers; the Council had long-since forgotten the danger he posed. Revan was defeated: easily, but Arcanys spared him and let him go again. He'd cloned him a thousand times over in the meantime–"
"And Bastila, you knew about this?" His incredulous challenge was met with empty air. At some point in the landing cycle, the Jedi Master had slipped away.
***
The door to the medbay was closed; it was as battered as any on the borrowed freighter, and the designating stripes of white were peeling away. Bastila leaned back against the wall, just beyond the sensor's reach, reminding herself yet again loosen the grip on her wrist. It had been bad enough aboard the Star Forge, his remorse as he killed each of the captive Jedi resounding in the back of her consciousness. They were all but shells, ravaged and drained by Malak, but it had been left to Revan to sever the last, pitiful shreds of their existence.
She had felt his indecision then, trickling down the conduit in the Force that was their bond; his death, the Kouven's deaths, cut a bloody swathe through very being. She could see them in her mind's eye; livid black threads that surrounded her in choking coils, biting, raw. Her breath turned short and choppy, and she stumbled forward without registering the jolting hiss of the door sliding into its housing.
The woman inside was staring up at the ceiling, armour stripped away from her torso as the medical droid bound her left shoulder. The lights were reflected in the metal plating of the prosthetic limb; softly blurred to Bastila's eyes. A smaller bandage had been applied to her face, smooth against the pale skin, but her sense was quiet.
"I thought Jedi were supposed to avoid that sort of attachment," she said, turning her head gently to meet the damp grey eyes. Bastila would have flinched away from the diffident calm, but the haze of emotion around her seemed to wane. The Force was stemming from this woman, serene and somehow cold, but gradually driving the wrenching pain down.
"Yes, they are," Bastila managed through her mortification. She had lashed out, unthinkingly – unable to think – in the dreadful wake of the first Kouven's death, but the woman's voice was merely curious. She considered this, absently flexing the metallic fingers.
"Members of the Divisions are allowed to marry, but we're raised to be less afraid of losing people."
"The Jedi aren't afraid; we value all life and forgo such individual connections so we can protect people equally." Bastila spoke hotly, the protest familiar and comfortable, but all the moisture in her mouth had leached away. The lack of resentment was confusing; the woman clearly knew who had thrown her against the ship, but was indifferent –
"Master?" Bastila started guiltily, moving aside to admit her Padawan. He met her eyes questioningly; they were kind and reassuring, but so much older than she remembered. It was too late to conceal her spent composure, and there was a vague, cautionary notion that fluttered at the back of her mind; she was meant to resolve her emotions, not hide them, but Kagen did not press her.
"How are you, Yasue?" he said instead, quietly addressing the younger woman.
"I'll be alright," Yasue said; she would have surely shrugged if she had been standing. "My shoulder was dislocated, but nothing broke. I don't suppose you brought that mask? Ma, it's traditional to bring them back, but I can probably retrieve it later. What happened to Si'en?"
"She went after Vessel; the whole Rift exploded." Her eyes widened fractionally, a queer shade that wasn't quite blue or green, and she made a small hissing noise under her breath.
"That's bad, I need to get my orders." She sat up sharply, sliding off the cot with only a bare shadow of pain crossing her face. The medical droid made after her, an elaborate beeping reprimand ringing out in the small space. Kagen looked after her, exasperation twitching down his patterned lekku.
"Are you alright, Master?" he said a little crossly, turning back to Bastila. She met his eyes, struck, once again by how much they'd changed, and found she couldn't answer.
A/N - Oh yeah, I don't own Star Wars; I'm just borrowing the setting and some of the KotOR characters with every intention of giving them back again. These last two chapters have been my first attempt at portraing canon characters, so I'd love to know what people think of that and the developing plot. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with the story so far.