CHAPTER FOUR: RENDEZVOUS
Dustil Onasi leaped out of the speeder, stirring up a cloud of dust as his heavy boots clunked to the ground. The light wind ruffled his hair, bringing with it the smells of Telos, familiar scents of home. Crouching down, he scooped up a clump of thick Telosian earth, the bulky texture feeling heavy in his palm. He turned his gaze upon the foundation and wreckage where his childhood home had once stood, but now lay leveled, nothing more than a razed pile of debris. As his dark eyes scanned the mass of devastation, he felt his heart tug with resent.
The only thing left standing was his Mother's garden. Even though it was overgrown with weeds, the herbs and flowers flourished, edging over the tangled brush to catch the midday sunlight.
After his father signed back with the fleet, Morgana plunged into gardening. Throwing herself into the care of her plants kept her mind from driving her mad with worry. There was something about sowing the seeds, watching them grow into plants, nurturing them throughout the season with her careful touch that had always brought her an assurance of faith. As long as the garden makes it, Dustil, your father will, she had said often.
Dustil rose, looking down at the clump of soil still clenched in his fist. So many memories had been made, his whole childhood resting here where it had been left behind the day the Sith attacked. But, his mother's flowers were thriving, maybe a little tattered, but thriving. Dustil felt bitter. His father had promised to protect his family, to fight for them with his life, but it had been his mother who paid the price.
He took one last look, envisioning the site as it had been before the war, when nothing had been tainted. Not the land, not the garden, and especially not himself. He stared grudgingly at the dirt clenched in his fist. He would never become like his father, forsaking his family to seek the respect and honor of his fellow soldiers, to find his own share of glory. If only he had stayed, Dustil thought with so much resentment he could feel his blood boiling within, he would've had respect and honor from his son. Dustil stared at his mother's flowers as he let the mass of soil swiftly sift between his fingers, watching as it fell morsel by morsel back to the rich, hard ground.
"I owe it to the Republic," he told her.
"To the Republic," Morgana spat bitterly as she moved towards the window to watch Dustil. "You paid the Republic, Carth. You served more than your share of years. Why do you have to go back?"
Carth gazed out the window watching as his eight-year old son hopped onto the rusty frame of an irreparable fighter. Morgana's father had brought it to Dustil for his birthday two days ago. Dustil would sit in the pilot's seat for hours, pretending to soar through the endless skies, fighting the enemy and defending the Republic. Just like his father.
"He wants to be like you, you know, pilot his own ship. He stares every night at the docking bay, wondering if your own your way home." She paused turning to face him. "But I always wonder if you're on the Crusier shipping people into the Base's hospital. I watch the holovid, wondering if you're one of the casualties announced or if I'll go in to work the next day at the base hospital and see you in the Fatal Wing."
"Morgana I-"
She cut him off, denying him the chance to speak. "Carth, I'm worried. The war isn't going to be quick. The Mandalorians are ruthless, and it will only get worse before it gets better."
"Saul seems to think that we can end it quick. He's pretty confident that Mandalore won't be able to hold out against our forces long and with help from Malak and Revan..."
"No. Mandalore isn't attacking core worlds. He's hitting the little guys in the outer rim, capturing planets he knows he can take. They're glory seekers Carth, they only look for a fight that will bring them honor. Fighting and losing to the Republic doesn't fall under that category. This will not be quick, Jedi involved or not. And as for Saul," She paused, the sharp edge in her voice turning to firm distaste, "There's something I don't like about him. At the ceremony last night, I was talking with Jordo's wife, Ailynn. She doesn't like him either, commanding officer or not..."
A high pitched ringing filled Carth's ears, bringing him back to reality instead of lost in a distant memory. Revan hadn't returned to her room that night and Carth became restless. Around 0200 standard, Carth lay awake listening to the soundless streets of Alderaan. There were few people who ventured out so late at night, most were bar hoppers, or off-worlders looking to make a shady deal without the Alderaanian officials involved. Suddenly a roar had resonated through the room and he could make out the distinct sound of the Ebon Hawk's engines, whining as they propelled its passengers out of the Alderaanian atmosphere.
As he left the hotel room, he ran into Mission trying to sneak back into her quarters. She hadn't been able to keep Revan's destination a secret long. Although she could charm credits off a hutt, there was just something about Carth that Mission couldn't lie to. Her head tails would begin to twitch erratically, giving her away.
Now, stars hurtled past the portholes on the bridge of the Strider, meshing into the bright lines of hyperspace. Easing back in his chair, Carth thought back on the day's events. Revan had listened to the Council's proposition and considered it. Carth couldn't understand. Why would the Council even ask her to take Dustil as her padawan? There something about it that didn't make sense. The Sith were almost annihilated. There were a few pockets of resistance left. But now, with the end of the Sith being so close, why would the Jedi take the savoir of the galaxy and stick her in an enclave all day showing Dustil how to levitate chairs? Why didn't they let her finish what she had begun?
Sighing, Carth hit the Strider's comm system and began decoding the message he had received early from Admiral Dodonna. The holographic image of the Admiral appeared, with an almost dismal expression on her face.
"Carth, I know we talked about this once already, but you were pretty elusive. I hope you've had enough time to think about it, and I'm going to offer it one last time. If you change your mind and decide to stay with the Republic, you'll have your promotion. I know it is far too long overdue, but we're talking Admiral Onasi. You'll have your own fleet of ships ready at your command.
"But if you don't, know that you've been a great asset to the Republic. I can honestly say that without you, the Republic would have hardly stood a chance. I wish you and Master Jedi Revan the best, Carth."
The admiral's image disappeared, leaving Carth in more distress. Indecision. He was beginning to hate the word. He had wanted to talk to Revan about a future. He was tired of being a dedicated soldier and a war hero. Everyday he thought back to Morgana, and what they had together. A home, a life, a son...an ever after. Carth wanted that again.
The Strider beeped and chirped as he arrived into Telosian airspace. He maneuvered the control's sending the ship plunging into the thick atmosphere, and Carth's thoughts were forced to concentrate on the safe landing of the Strider.
Revan walked down the main street of Telos, wondering if the planet was always this humid. The sultry night air was so thick, drawing a breath almost became a chore. Masked with fog, the familiar street became foreign, but Revan plowed on, her mind reeling. Carth didn't want her to train Dustil, which was understandable, but she had an inkling there was more to it. But Revan was too tired to even ponder on the subject. Tired of secrets, tired of things never being what they seem, and tired of all the conflicts keeping Carth from her. Was it so much for them to just simply be together?
I suppose it is, but for being savior of the galaxy you should get a lot more perks, she thought wryly.
Canderous stopped suddenly behind her, the constant clank of his armor ceasing, leaving the dank evening in abrupt, eerie silence.
"Canderous, what is it?" she breathed. Revan was watching for any sign of danger, her Jedi senses suddenly vigilant.
"Hold it." He maneuvered his gun into a better fighting position, staring at a dark balcony three stories up. Never taking his eyes off the terrace, he instinctively moved in front of Revan, who had silently drawn her lightsaber, though still unlit.
"Don't," he took a step back, slowly easing the barrel towards the balcony, his eyes searching for any sign of sudden movement. His finger touched the cool metal of the trigger, half way pulling it back. Only millimeters more and a shot would resonate through the quiet street. After a long moment he slowly turned his head back toward Revan, "We need to move out. Quickly."
Revan gave a curt nod, but continued staring back up at the balcony. She sensed a familiar presence, though she couldn't place it. Curiosity intrigued her. The being hiding itself among the shadows was full of anger, but it did not wish to cause them harm. Revan slunk back against the damp wall of one of the many buildings lining the street, gliding soundlessly around the corner into an even darker alleyway.
With Canderous in her wake, she sauntered into a Cantina on the other side of the city. Mist was now drifting lightly toward the ground, the air finally too saturated to hold it. As soon as she stepped over the threshold she felt his presence; it held many of the same scars as his father's. He was sitting slumped at the bar, staring intently into the bottom of an empty glass as his fist clenched and unclenched the color draining out of his knuckles then back in. His shoulders were tense, hair disheveled, and his boots caked in dried mud.
Revan sat back into a corner table, keeping him just in her sight, as Canderous followed her lead. The Cantina, apparently an all-nighter, had only two other customers, one of which was passed out in their booth. She watched Dustil for a long while, trying to make a judgment on his learning ability and character. It said a lot that he left the Sith Academy, but he carried around a huge weight on his shoulders, tossing it around like everyone owed him something. She also sensed resentment in him, anger with his father, dislike of her, and puzzlement with the Council. He would be difficult, indeed.
"What do you think, Ordo?"
Canderous took a long look at him as well, thinking about his answer carefully. "I believe taking him as your padawan would be a complete waste of time."
Revan still looked at Dustil placidly, "Why is that?"
"He looks like he thinks the galaxy owes him something. He's carrying a huge chip on his shoulder. Typical teenage angst, and if he's anything like your dear Republic boy..."
Revan stood, finally looking back at Canderous. "That's what I'm counting on."
She eased her way toward the bar, taking the seat next to him. "Corellian spiced," she told the bartender. He grunted in acknowledgement, swiftly grabbing a bottle and banging down her glass. As he filled the tumbler, she glanced idly up at various holovids, acting as if Dustil wasn't even there. But she soon fell out of her reverie, feeling his eyes bore into the side of her head.
"You..." he said accusingly with a slur as he unsteadily stood up off of the stool, "You ruined my family. Killed my mother. Caused the pain and suffering of millions of people." He pulled his lightsaber from his belt, the red glow dancing across his features. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't strike you dead right now."
Revan turned to face him, a small smile creeping across her face, "I don't think your dad would appreciate that too much. Besides. We need to talk first." She force pushed him gently back onto his stool, then drew his lightsaber from his hand to hers, extinguishing and laying it on the opposite side of her.
"First, the old Revan did do all those things, and if you never forgive me for it then it's something I'm going to have to live with, but the new Revan's going around, trying to fix all those things. Second," She waved her hand over the empty shots of Tarisian ale. "You gotta give this stuff a rest. Not only is it now one of the most expensive drinks on the market, it makes you violent. If you just want to lose yourself, try this," she held up her own glass of Corellian spiced ale. "And finally, if you want to be a part of the Jedi Order, you've got to control your anger."
"You know about me wanting to join the Order? Well, I suppose my father mentioned something to you." He shook his head as if trying to clear it. "Why else would you be here."
"You're right. I heard, but not from Carth."
Dustil stared at her with bewilderment spread across his face, "What exactly do you want?"
"Well, the Council on Alderaan has encouraged me to think about taking you as my padawan and I'm trying to decide if that's a good idea."
"What?" he shook his head as if the clear it from the ails of the drink.
"Don't worry about it, Dustil," she ordered, rising to her feet and downing the glass of ale. "Go sleep that off. I'll see you in the morning. Or by the looks of you, in the afternoon."