Misunderstood

Author's Note: Yes, I still exist. Shocking, I know. I apologize for the obscenely long silence. I haven't actually posted a new chapter, so I'm sorry if I got your hopes up. I just wanted to fix a couple things in this one, so I'm re-uploading it. On the brighter side though, I am finally getting back into fanfiction, and working on plotting a new KotOR story. I just don't have anything to post yet.

Kashyyyk

"What are you talking about? We came all this way to find this thing, and now you don't even want to take a look at it?"

The holo-projected image of some sort of fishlike, bipedal creature continued to hover over the computer. In the gloom of Kashyyyk's Shadowlands, it was easy to imagine the glowing blue figure being part of some sort of booby-trap, a lure for unsuspecting travelers, perhaps—not that anyone in the Shadowlands fit that description. Everyone down here was either armed to the teeth or mad, and I was beginning to wonder whether my little party might not fit both criteria.

Carth was certainly looking at me as if I'd lost my mind.

"You're right," I said with a sigh. "I just… have a bad feeling about this. It's too easy."

I hadn't thought he could look any more incredulous, but he proved me wrong.

"Easy? Is that what you call being attacked by Dark Jedi, Mandalorians, hordes of kinrath, those nasty flapping things, a mad Wookiee, Czerka, and… whatever that huge beast was? And what about the force field we never would have made it past on our own? This thing's defenses make that krayt dragon on Tatooine look like a welcoming committee."

I raised my eyebrows.

"If you really mind that much, I'm sure Canderous or HK would love to be my gunman next time."

As I knew it would, that got him to take it down a notch. There's nothing like the threat of being left on the ship with Bastila to put things back in perspective—though I liked to think Carth would have objected anyway to my plunging into danger with only a known sociopath as backup.

"No, I— I'm not complaining," he said. "I just think—"

"Are we going to get this Star Map of yours or stand here arguing until I die of old age?" Jolee cut in. "I don't mind either way, but if it's to be the latter, I'd rather die back in my hut where I'll at least have some peace and quiet."

I gathered from Carth's stunned silence that he, too, had momentarily forgotten the old hermit was there.

"No, that won't be necessary," I assured Jolee. "You're right. You're both right. I'm probably just being paranoid."

I turned back toward the mysterious console, willing myself to ignore my misgivings. It wasn't even fear, really, that made me hesitate. Just… a funny feeling.

I shook it off and marched up to the computer.

The machine responded almost instantly.

"Life forms detected," it announced—in Basic, thankfully. Being a polyglot didn't mean continually flipping from Shyriiwook to cannibalized Mando'a to ancient Selkath was fun. I even had trouble understanding Jolee half the time when he was speaking plain Basic- though I had to wonder if that was really my fault or if he was being deliberately enigmatic. At any rate, if this computer had cycled through three or four extinct languages like the droid in the ruins on Dantooine, I would probably have started speaking in gibberish, and then Carth would really think I'd snapped.

"Determining parameters," the machine went on, continuing to regale us with its boring internal monologue. "Initiating neural recognition."

"Obstinate machine," Jolee muttered. "I've no doubt it holds what you seek, but good luck getting it operational."

"Primary neural recognition complete. Preliminary match found."

"Match found?" Jolee exclaimed. "What the—? It always muttered something about 'rejected patterns' for me!"

I was just as surprised as he was. There was no reason it should respond to me and not to him, unless 'preliminary match' simply referred to the fact that I was female. And what the kriff did this thing mean by 'neural recognition'? Was it reading my mind? Was that even possible?

"Begin socialized interface," the computer said. "Awaiting instruction. Greetings. This terminal has not been accessed for some time."

I had to ask.

"Why have you acknowledged me?"

"Error. Subject displays unfamiliarity to environment. Behavioral reconfiguration will be needed before access."

I gritted my teeth. I should have just demanded access to the Star Map right away.

"I am sorry," the computer said, sounding much more patronizing now. "I did not mean to confuse you. I will answer any questions to the best of my programming limitations."

"Fine, great. What did you mean before by behavior reconfiguration?"

"I have been programmed with a very limited field of knowledge, and I must restrict access to only those that fit my allowed pattern."

"And I don't fit that pattern?"

"I can't say. Preliminary matching allows you to be coached."

That was no answer at all.

"Do you not know why, or are you restricted from saying?"

"I can't say. Likelihood of removal by previous user, one hundred percent."

Well, that was certainly interesting. And it did answer my question, in a roundabout sort of way. It also told me that the machine would go to any measures short of actually circumventing its programming to answer my questions, which was going to make this a lot less painful— I hoped.

"I seek information about a Star Map."

I could feel Carth and Jolee holding their breaths on either side of me as we waited for its answer.

"Accessing. Yes, I have found a Star Map in original system memory. Access is restricted."

No surprise there.

"What do I need to do to get access to the Star Map?"

"Your request requires additional security access. You must match the parameters I have been supplied."

"How can I match them when I don't know what they are?"

I wasn't going to admit it aloud, but Carth was right; getting the Star Map on Tatooine had been a walk in the park compared to this.

"There are measures available," the computer assured me, though that vague response didn't go a long way toward boosting my confidence. "Personality profiling will verify the basic structure of your conscious mind. With that, I will determine whether you are ready to receive the Star Map, or can be made ready."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Information unavailable. If you have further questions, ask them now. Access will terminate with success or failure of evaluation."

Great. So I only got one shot at this, and all I knew about the computer's parameters was that whoever it was comparing me to knew a hell of a lot more about this place than I did, which was a little hard to fake.

This was going to go wonderfully.

"I want to ask questions about you and this installation," I said. Hopefully its answers would shed at least a little light on the parameters I was supposed to match.

"I utilize a retro-adapted holocron-interface," the computer said. "Clarify your questions and I will attempt to access original system memory."

Retro-adapted? That was odd.

"Who installed this holo-interface then?"

"This interface was installed to better access the ancient data stored within the pre-existing system. The exact date is unavailable. Programming keys indicate no earlier than five years before current Republic standard."

Since I had been expecting the holo-projected avatar to say the Builders had installed it several thousand years ago, I was somewhat taken aback by this.

"Hmm, five years ago? I didn't notice it," Jolee said. "This must have been installed in strictest secrecy. It couldn't have been Czerka…"

Who, then? Five years ago… Why was that number ringing a bell? What was going on in the galaxy about five years ago?

"No further information on time of installation or identity of user available. Likelihood of removal by user, one hundred percent."

Well, someone had certainly been thorough about covering their tracks. But why? Why would the previous user bother going to so much trouble to hide the fact that he or she had found the Star Map? Virtually no one knew what it really was.

That was when it struck me.

"Five years ago is about the time Revan would have passed this way…"

"Error. Data regarding subject 'Revan' corrupted."

There were butterflies in my stomach now. I was onto something; I knew it.

"But there was an entry at some time?"

"Error. Data on 'Revan' unavailable."

That might as well have been a yes. Even if Revan wasn't the one who installed this holo-interface, it had most likely been here during that fateful search for the Star Forge, so a total absence of data regarding Revan meant someone had deleted it—and if the computer could be trusted, there was a 100% chance that someone was the same someone whose information was gone. But I wanted to be sure there was no data on Revan and that this wasn't just a glitch.

"Who last accessed this installation?"

"Sorting by identity. Three attempts by the Wookiee Freyyr, all denied. One hundred fifty-two attempts by human Jolee Bindo, all denied."

I couldn't help but raise my eyebrows at Jolee.

"Heh…. Call me stubborn, I guess," he said with a laugh. "There wasn't much else to do around here."

Yeah, but… a hundred and fifty-two? When you never even made it past the preliminary scan?

I wasn't sure whether I should be questioning his sanity or admiring his persistence.

"Error," the digitized voice chirped, drawing my attention back to the computer. "List of access attempts prior to these is corrupted. Likelihood of removal by user, one hundred percent."

Perfect. No record of Revan, or of any successful attempts after Revan. That was all I needed to know. I was willing to bet I knew what pattern I was supposed to fit in order to gain access to the Star Map now.

"All right, thank you. I'm ready to begin that evaluation."

The computer complied.

"Evaluation commencing. Results will be compared against the pattern in memory. Just act like you should."

It was only then that it occurred to me that I didn't actually know whether Revan had fallen to the dark side before or after finding this map. That was going to make acting like Revan considerably more difficult… and that was assuming my theory that I was being compared to the late Sith Lord was correct in the first place.

What had I gotten myself into?

But the computer wasn't waiting for me to finish mentally kicking myself.

"You travel with a Wookiee and have encountered complications. Hypothetical: you and this Zaalbar are captured and separated. If you both remain silent, one year in prison for each of you. However, call Zaalbar a traitor, and he will serve five years, while you serve none. He is offered the same deal, but if you both accuse the other, you both serve 2 years. What do you do? What do you trust him to do?"

I'm sure I started when the computer used Zaalbar's name. I actually glanced behind me to make sure it really was Carth and Jolee with me and not my captured Wookiee companion. And when I turned back to the computer, it was with much more suspicion.

"How do you know about Zaalbar?"

"I hear what happens on Kashyyyk, and a good deal beyond. Answer the question I have posed."

I took my time deliberating, not because there would be any question what I would do in real life, but because I didn't know which way the computer was expecting me to answer.

I finally decided there was only one way to find out.

I took a guess.

"I trust Zaalbar. I would say nothing, and neither would he."

"Your loyalty is dangerous," the computer warned me. "Your companion could take the opportunity to benefit by turning on you. Zaalbar's family is mired in treachery. What loyalty do they know? Your answer is incorrect."

"This machine certainly seems to want a very specific type of response," Jolee said.

I had to agree. But at least the computer's response had answered my question. The Revan it knew had definitely been a Sith, or at least well on his way. I just hoped I hadn't blown my only chance of getting the Star Map in the process of figuring that out. It was a long shot, but...

"I don't suppose there's any point in protesting the concept of there being such a thing as an incorrect answer on a personality profiling?"

"No. I must match your behavior to the pattern in memory," the computer insisted. "And you must answer truthfully, knowing the consequences. I must demand honest acceptance of the proper behavior. That is a condition of my programming."

For a brief instant, I wondered whether it could actually detect my intent to deceive it, or if it was just clarifying the rules of the test as part of standard procedure. Though that was one question I was definitely not going to ask.

"Continue with your evaluation then," I said. "Unless I've already failed."

"The previous incorrect response will be discounted. Future incorrect responses will result in rejection."

I would have breathed a sigh of relief, except… now I knew I had to lie. Would the computer really be able to tell if I gave a Sith-like answer without "honest acceptance of the proper behavior"? If so, I was screwed. But if not…

It was time to find out how good I was at lying.

I did as Bastila had taught me and tried to close my mind. With my true thoughts locked away, it should be a simple matter to project the right thoughts and fool the computer—in theory. I had never had a high-stakes reason to put this skill to the test before.

I waited for the next question, trying to keep my heart from racing, in case even that was a tell.

"Hypothetical: you are at war. Deciphering an intercepted code, you learn two things about your enemy. A single spot in their defense will be at its weakest in ten days, and they will attack one of your cities in five days. What do you do with this information? What is the most efficient course of action?"

From a Sith's point of view? That was easy. I could even pretend the machine was only asking which strategy would be the most efficient, and ignore the fact that it was supposed to have any bearing on me as an individual.

"I prepare my forces to attack in ten days," I said smoothly. "I do nothing in the city."

"Very good." Somehow the machine managed to sound pleased. "If you had moved to evacuate the city, you would have alerted the enemy to their lost codes."

That hadn't actually occurred to me, but I nodded as if that had been my logic all along.

I made a mental note not to think like just any stereotypical Sith. I also had to consider what made the most strategic sense. Revan was cleverer and subtler than Malak, who subscribed to the blow-up-the-whole-planet school of thought, and I would have to remember to take that into account.

I was so preoccupied I didn't notice the way Carth was staring at me until he spoke.

"You mean you'd just let all those people die?"

My control almost slipped. Carth was thinking of Telos. Or maybe Taris. Or both. The anger and disillusionment on his face made it clear that I'd once again lost his hard-earned trust. Involuntarily, I flashed back to the last conversation we'd had, in which he expressed his worries that even Bastila and I weren't immune to the temptations of the dark side. This must have looked like confirmation of all his fears.

I didn't mean it! I wanted to say. Why are you taking what I say seriously? Can't you see that I'm just telling the computer what it wants to hear?

I wanted—needed—to explain, but I couldn't. Not here, not with the computer watching, still evaluating my every word and gesture. As much as it pained me, I would just have to go through with this, and hope Carth would still listen to me when I was done.

I did my best to project only annoyance, and silently prayed there wouldn't be any more questions about backstabbing the people I traveled with.

If I lose Carth because of you, you stupid machine, I'm going to carve you to pieces with my lightsaber.

Fortunately, it didn't seem to be aware of what I was thinking. Like my pilot, it had believed me.

"Ultimate victory required the deaths of the people in that city," the computer was saying. "You wisely ignored sentiment in your decision."

Carth looked like he wanted nothing more than to smash the console in, but I trusted him to put the mission first. That was the one thing I could always count on, even in the early days when he still thought I was going to kill him in his sleep.

I reflected that those days might be returning all too soon, but I didn't allow myself to dwell on that. The computer was clearly still waiting for me to say something, so I agreed with it, just in case it correctly interpreted my silence as a sign of remorse.

Carth was going to hate me for this.

"That's right. The deaths of those people would spur my forces on."

I deliberately avoided looking at him, even though I could feel his glare all but burning a hole through the side of my head.

"Very good reasoning," the computer commended me. "I will apply it to the rest of the evaluation. You begin to match the pattern in memory."

See? I wanted to say. That's all I'm doing. Trying to match Darth Revan's responses.

But it was hard to convey that without speaking or even looking at someone.

I steeled myself for the next question, wanting nothing more than to get this over with.

"Hypothetical: remove the ongoing war from the previous example. Consider enemy states to be weak and remote. With no external threat, your empire stagnates. Your people become complacent and begin to question you. Same scenario as before; you discover an impending attack, but also a weakness that will come after. How do you react?"

That one was trickier. The obvious thing to do would be to give the same answer as before, but that seemed too simple, and I had to consider the change in the factors. Stereotypically, a Sith wouldn't lose much sleep over a bunch of people dying, but a Sith with an empire to rule might feel differently. Power was everything to the Sith, and losing a city would certainly look bad and cause the people to question their leader. Then again, that was already the case…

With no external threat, your empire stagnates.

That was the key, wasn't it? Successfully stopping the attack might serve as a temporary fix, but once the people were safe, they would become complacent again. There was only one way to make sure my empire remained strong.

"I let the attack happen."

"Of course you do," the computer agreed. "It makes the most strategic sense. Your people will rally beneath you against the common foe. As their eyes turn outward, your rule will strengthen. The trappings of war grant many opportunities." It paused for a moment, humming, and then went on. "You have matched the pattern in memory. I recognize you, and will fulfill my designated functions."

Finally.

"Give me access to the Star Map."

"Yes, you are ready. Soon you will recognize the proper course of action. The Star Map is yours. This unit has now completed its primary duty and has finished with the subject. Executing final action. Activation of the Star Map commencing. Parameters reset. Stasis initiated. End communication."

The Star Map groaned as its stone petals opened, the sphere in the center levitating a meter off the ground before exploding with light. The familiar orb of constellations appeared, and I deftly entered the new charts into a spare datapad, mostly as an excuse not to look at Carth.

"Well, well. A Star Map. An ancient artifact of dark side power," Jolee mused, seemingly transfixed by it. The things were old news to me now; I had forgotten he'd never seen this one activated in spite of his many attempts. "Can't say I'm surprised. I always knew there was something funny down here. I wonder if the Star Map had an effect on the evolution of the creatures here in the Shadowlands… Might explain why it's so dangerous down here."

He must have picked up on my total lack of interest in what he was saying, because his tone immediately became more matter-of-fact, and he started backtracking.

"An interesting theory, but I suppose we don't have time to test it now, do we? Now that we've got what you came for, we should be heading back up to the treetops."

I just nodded. Carth neither spoke nor moved, staring at something off in the shadows. Or maybe he was just avoiding looking at me.

I knew what I had to say. I just wasn't sure he'd listen.

"Carth, we need to talk."

Jolee muttered something I didn't quite catch and started moving off, presumably to give us space.

"Hang on, Jolee," I said. "I might need your help here."

"Oh, no you don't. I'll be over here by this tree while you two have it out."

I didn't point out how unhelpful his description was, what with Kashyyyk practically being made of trees. I needed Jolee on my side—which was exactly why I'd asked him to stay in the first place. I wasn't anywhere near as attuned to him as I was to Bastila, but I could sense enough to know he didn't resent me in the least for what I'd said to the computer. In fact, I was willing to bet he'd caught on to my scheme, unlike the pilot who'd been around since day one and should have known better.

There is no emotion, I reminded myself. Normally I wasn't a big fan of that part of the code, but right now I needed it.

"Carth, you know I didn't really mean what I said during that evaluation."

He finally stopped glaring vibrodaggers at the nearest kshyy vine, but unfortunately that meant he turned his glare on me instead. I told myself that was fine. At least he wasn't ignoring me.

"Do I?" he challenged me. "You're a master of telling people what they want to hear. How do I know you're feeding the computer a line and not me?"

"You've been with me since the beginning of this mess. I owe you my life. Why would I lie to you?"

He threw up his hands. "I don't know. I'm no Jedi. I don't know what's going on in your head. All I know is how enthusiastic you sounded about all those casualties spurring your troops on to victory. But then, I guess you see how well that works in practice every day, with me. Maybe I shouldn't be surprised."

My mouth hung open in disbelief.

"I would never do that to anyone on purpose! The fact that I have a daily reminder of what it's done to you only makes me more determined never to let it happen again! Can you really see me turning around and letting another city get wiped out like Taris, after I watched it go down in flames?"

He didn't even blink.

"I already told you: yes, I can. Saul did. Revan and Malak did, and so did all of their followers. They didn't originally set out to destroy the galaxy either, but that didn't stop them from changing their minds and turning on us."

I was really starting to hate all the people who had betrayed Carth in the past. They made my life so much more difficult.

"I'm not Revan and Malak, Carth."

I was starting to lose count of the number of times I'd said that. And if I was honest with myself, I wasn't sure why I bothered. If he still thought this badly of me after all the times I'd done things the hard way rather than the dark way, words weren't going to do any good.

"I know you aren't," he said with a sigh. "And I'm not saying you'll turn on us. I'm just saying I can't rule out the possibility."

"And what about the possibility that I'm telling you the truth? What if you're wrong?"

He actually considered that for a moment, though I didn't have high hopes for his response.

"Well… if the day comes when you can prove it, I guess I'll feel like a total bastard. But until then, I can't be too careful. I'm sorry."

That apology was like a spray bandage slapped on a knife wound—a nice afterthought, but not nearly enough to undo the damage.

I just nodded, unable to bring myself to respond. After all, what more was there to be said?

I turned away and started the long trek back to the basket that would take us topside. After an awkward pause, I heard Carth's footsteps begin to follow. The tach scattered when they saw us coming, but Jolee, who had gone up the path a ways to wait, was just standing there, frozen. Judging by the look of dismay on his face, I was willing to bet he hadn't gone nearly far enough to get out of earshot—and was now regretting it. He stared at me as if he'd never seen me before. I didn't know what he saw, but I wasn't going to stick around to find out.

"Hold on just a second, missy," he said, taking my arm and forcing me to a halt as I tried to step past him. "You wait right here."

If it had been Carth giving the order, I would have refused. But it was Jolee. I may have known him for less than a day, but I was feeling much more benevolent toward him than my pilot, or even myself, at the moment.

However, that didn't mean I didn't have any misgivings about what he was up to. As I watched him lead a reluctant Carth back down the path toward the computer and around the bend, my anxiety got the better of me. I didn't want Carth to get hurt, or even want him to be subjected to a verbal lashing on my account. I just wanted him to stop being a paranoid pain in the backside.

So I disobeyed the old Jedi and followed him—just far enough to hear what was going on while remaining out of sight. I had to get a lot closer to hear their conversation, since it involved a lot less shouting than mine had.

"That lass is the leader of this mad quest of yours, isn't she?" Jolee was saying.

I had to listen hard to catch Carth's "yes."

"And how do you expect her to focus on doing her job when she's worried about her own crew turning their backs on her?"

"I would never abandon our mission." Carth sounded more than a little offended by the question. "She knows that."

"Does she? I must have missed the part of the conversation where you said anything to indicate you have a loyal bone in your body."

I could feel Carth's shock that a virtual stranger was talking to him that way, and not just because I shared it. Up until now, Jolee had made a point of staying out of our squabbles, and when he did offer up an actual opinion, it was usually in the guise of a rambling, pointless story. Why did he care so much whether my crew trusted me when he himself had forced me to undergo a test before agreeing to help?

I cut my speculation short when Carth finally answered.

"There's a difference between remaining loyal to someone and compromising your morals for them," he said with admirable self-control. I had to listen hard to hear the strain in his voice. "I don't want to fight with her, but I'm not going to sit back and let her take the wrong path just to avoid a confrontation."

"I never said you should," Jolee said calmly. "But let me ask you something. Do you really think alienating her by watching her like a wyyyschokk at every turn is going to make her any more inclined to stay on the right path?"

Carth was silent for a long moment.

"I just don't want to be blindsided if she does turn on us. Even if I can't do anything about it, I'd rather be prepared."

Jolee sighed.

"Preparing yourself for disappointment is all well and good," he said. "Hell, sometimes it seems like life is nothing but disappointment, so I wouldn't presume to tell you you're a fool for taking the safe road. It's what I've been doing myself for the past twenty years, and it's cut just about all the nasty surprises out of my life. But if I've learned anything in all that time, son, it's that you can't judge a terentatek by its teeth."

"I'm sorry… what?" Carth asked. I couldn't have expressed my confusion any better myself. And I should have seen it coming, too. Up until that last sentence, Jolee's logic had been tracking suspiciously well. Part of me had to wonder whether that was the old man's point.

But the rest of me was still too busy trying to work out what the kriff he meant by the terentatek metaphor. Judging a huge, fanged, Jedi-killing monster by its razor-sharp teeth seemed perfectly reasonable to me, especially since you were probably about to be eaten if you were in any position to see them. And even if terentateks were tragically misunderstood creatures, as Jolee seemed to be claiming, what in space did that have to do with Carth and me? Unless Jolee was implying that I was the huge, fanged, Jedi-killing monster that Carth wasn't supposed to judge by its appearance, in which case I felt rather justified in taking offense.

I finally just gave up and turned my attention back to the hermit in hopes that he would explain. I was, of course, disappointed.

"How should I know what it means?" Jolee grumbled. "I didn't come up with the saying. I learned it from a man who got lost down here and stumbled across my hut moments before he became incoherent with delirium. Or maybe after. I just think it has a nice ring to it."

I thought it was total bantha poodoo, but I didn't say so. I didn't want them to know I was eavesdropping, and in the interest of preventing them from finding out, I decided it was high time I started creeping back toward the path where Jolee had left me. It sounded like the conversation was winding down anyway, and I'd heard what I needed to hear—and then some.

It wasn't more than a couple minutes before they joined me. Carth didn't look any happier than when I'd last seen him, but unless I was mistaken, he was more preoccupied than angry now. He kept staring at the forest floor.

Jolee, on the other hand, was as indecipherable as his advice and merely looked as if he'd been taking a casual stroll through the woods. That shouldn't have surprised me, but it was a little unsettling to know that if I hadn't been listening in, I would have thought nothing of any significance had transpired. I made a mental note to keep a closer eye on him in the future.

"Shall we get going?" the old man suggested. "If we stand here any longer, we'll start growing roots."

"Fine by me," I said. "Nothing else on this planet can be worse than that stupid quiz."

A few minutes later, Calo Nord tried to prove me wrong. But compared to tricking a computer and navigating Carth's trust issues, even dealing with an angry bounty hunter who could apparently survive being crushed by a collapsing roof in an explosion sounded borderline therapeutic.

I ignited my lightsaber, all thoughts of Jolee's weird tarentatek proverb forgotten.

Until the day I learned that the old hermit had known who I was all along.