Clear your mind.
Feel the Force around you.
Feel it flow between you, the wall, the door, the crystal in your lightsaber.
The crystal is the heart of the blade. The heart is the crystal of the Jedi. The Jedi is the crystal of the Force. The Force is the blade of the heart... all are intertwined: the crystal, the blade... the Jedi.
The Force touches all life: you, Juhani, Carth, Canderous, Jolee, Mission, Zaalbar... Revan.
Revan. Her heart sank, and Bastila sighed resignedly as her meditative connection to the Force was interrupted. Revan. She did not know what to think.
Was he still Revan if Revan's memories were lost to him? If he had no inkling of who he truly was? Did she - did anyone - have the right to condemn him for his past, when he himself was innocent as to its existence? Was she wrong to have judged him as harshly as she had?
He was so different now... completely, utterly different from the Dark Lord of the Sith she had once stood before, her lightsaber at the ready. Bastila well remembered that day.
She had felt his presence - felt the darkness - even before she saw him, and it was monstrous. She had imagined a great hulking mass, one so disfigured and twisted by the corruption of the Dark Side that he would be barely recognisable as Human; a form - more than a person - draped in shadow, cloaked in mystery. But she had been wrong. When she and her companions found themselves confronting - actually confronting! - the Dark Lord of the Sith, there had been no time to think. None at all. She had challenged him - he raised his lightsaber in response - and then the ship they were on shook violently, throwing everyone to the floor... it went completely dark... there had been sparks - something must have shorted - and then, the emergency lighting came on, and her companions were... gone, all of them, and she was left alone.
No, not alone.
She could barely see for the smoke that was rising from the gaping holes in the floor, but she could feel him: dark and desperate and despairing, but clinging to life with all the tenacity of a committed despot. She had despised him cowardice! A true Jedi, one whose path lay in the Light, one whose will was lost and immersed in the Will of the Force, would not have turned from death! Only a Sith would cling to life when life itself has abandoned him, she had sneered as she half-clambered, half-crawled to where he lay, a dark crumple on a shuddering floor. With fingers still numb from shock she had pried off his mask - and looked into the face of... a man.
And then she had saved his life.
Why, she did not know. Perhaps it had been because he still looked so... human. Perhaps it was because his visage, though pale and drawn, did not bear the marks of corruption. Perhaps it was because in that instant, she had seen him for what he was: a Jedi, forced to the edge; a man, broken by the destruction of worlds he had been forbidden to aid; a flame, growing steadily weaker, but resolute and defiant in the face of utter defeat. She did not realise it then, but in choosing mercy over retribution, compassion over vengeance, she had forged the bond that now linked them both.
He is no longer what he was. He is kind, compassionate, irreverently funny, committed, a natural leader - he is all this, and more. He even makes you tea the way you like it without your having to ask. Is this what he was, before... before? You know, in your heart of hearts, why Revan made the choice he did. You know too, that his tragedy was not entirely of his own making. You know - Bastila shook her head, willing the thoughts to stop. They were traitorous thoughts, ones that would, if not dismissed, surely turn her feet down the same dark path that Revan had once trod. And this she could not allow to happen.
Other discomfiting thoughts quickly rose to take the place of those she had banished.
You are fond of him, Bastila. You have seen the way he looks at you, and the smile he reserves only for you. He has shared the few memories he possesses - those that the Council gave him. He has made you his confidant, his friend: his insecurities, his fears, his worries - with these you are well acquainted. He has hidden nothing from you, given you all he can, respected your boundaries... and yet you constantly judge, and criticise, and preach... Have you lived as selflessly as you have seen him live? You coveted that holocron, Bastila. You would have kept it, denied your mother one final audience, denied her the one thing that would bring her some measure of comfort in her last illness. You would have, if not for his intervention. You lose your temper at Mission, and delight in sarcastic utterances. He lets her be what she is - a lost and searching child, and tries gently to nudge her in the right direction.
How are you any better, Bastila Shan, than the man you call a Sith Lord? He is ten times the Jedi you are, and you love him.
No - no, no... no! You dare not love him... you cannot. You must not love him... even if you wish to.
In the stillness of the cockpit, Bastila covered her face and wept.
Carth nursed his morning caffa bemusedly as he watched his former colleague potter about the small pantry. Pick out fruit, wash fruit, glance over shoulder towards door, proceed to quarter and core fruit... scramble to 'catch' the tea before it over-brews, drop fruit knife... He rubbed his nose and sniffed. "Pullin' out all the stops, aren't we?"
The Jedi looked up from arranging the freshly-cut fruit on a plate. "The what?"
"Pssht - think I was born yesterday? Been there, done that, buddy..." Carth took another sip of caffa, swirled it about inside his mouth, and swallowed before continuing. "I suggest you put it all on a tray for her. Women have a thing for trays."
"Aaah...? Ah, no - no, I ah..." the Jedi started to protest, but thought better of it. He tossed the dirty fruit knife into the sanitation unit, and scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "...it's that obvious, is it?"
The Republic officer nodded sagely. "Even old metal-panties back there's starting to ask questions, and he's not the type to notice anything that doesn't involve a good chance of a brawl."
Ah. Well. Erm. "You... sure about the tray thing?"
"'Course I am. Wouldn't lie to you. Officer's honour and all that." Carth placed a hand over his heart solemnly. "And I know the subject, buddy - got married, yeah? Had the wife and house with bills and kid and all that..."
The next few minutes saw a sudden flurry of activity as the Jedi flung open overhead storage units, rummaged through their contents, then turned his attention to pulling out the lower storage units and dug through the miscellany...
"Got it!" Grinning like an idiot, the Jedi brandished his find aloft.
Carth gave him the thumbs-up. "Very good, my young apprentice. Now, here's an extra bit of knowledge for you. Women like trays. That's lesson number one. Lesson number two: women like trays with doilies on them more. The fancier, the better."
"Doilies?"
"Yeah - fancy bits of lacy-type stuff, usually handmade, take a ridiculous amount of time to do - women are absolutely crazy about them... well, my wife was, at any rate..."
"Hmm. Davik doesn't seem to have been a... doily type of chap," remarked the Jedi.
"Nah, you'll be fine. You made breakfast for her. Gonna love you for it," replied Carth airily. The pantry door slid open just as he finished speaking, admitting Bastila. Carth nearly fell off his seat trying to appear nonchalant. "Mornin', your Royalness," he chirped.
There was a clatter of crockery on metal as the Jedi hurriedly piled the plate of prepared fruit and a mug of tea onto it. "Hello, Princess..." The greeting died on his lips, just as the temperature in the pantry seemed to drop a few standard degrees.
Bastila looked down her nose stiffly at Carth. "I have a name, and it is about time you learnt to use it," she told him archly. "That goes for you as well," she told his companion, who was balancing a full tray and regarding her with a stunned expression.
Boy is someone in a mood, thought the Jedi. Be diplomatic... he set the tray down on the table and smiled at Bastila warmly. "You must be worn out from staring at the controls, Bastila. I put your breakfast together for you. Eat up and get some rest."
A silence fell in the pantry. Bastila remained where she stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip and the other worrying at the edge of her leather tabbard. A fleeting look of uncertainty passed across her face, and for a moment it seemed as though she might thaw. Then her features seemed to harden, and both men found themselves the target of one of Bastila's legendary glares. Her lips curled upwards - not into a smile, but a snarl.
"I should think I am perfectly capable of seeing to my own needs," hissed Bastila. She looked sideways at the Jedi. "I do not need to be coddled, least of all by you." With that, Bastila turned on her heel and strode out of the pantry. Thoroughly puzzled, the Jedi made to follow her but found himself being pulled back into the pantry by Carth, who was shaking his head knowingly.
"Leave her - leave her - "
The Jedi sputtered confusedly. "What - I, I don't understand - you said - tray, right?"
Carth motioned for him to be quiet. Then he put his hands on the younger man's shoulders, and looked him in the eye. "Buddy, it's not the tray. It's not the tea, not the food - and it's not you."
"Well then what -" the Republic officer motioned for silence again.
"Lesson number three. The most important lesson a man can ever learn," intoned Carth seriously. "Make a note of today's date, buddy. Then count forward about twenty-five to twenty-eight days, and mark out that date as well. And then count forwards another twenty-five, twenty-eight days after that, and so on so forth. You'll thank me for this one day." He patted the Jedi's shoulders in a show of male solidarity.
Not the tray? What's eaten Bastila? Calendars? Count? The Jedi gave Carth a bewildered look. Then comprehension set in belatedly, and he groaned. "You're not suggesting what I think you are, are you?"
"That would depend on the nature of what you think it is I'm suggesting, though I think I'm right in thinking that you're thinking of the suggestion which I am, in fact, suggesting," stated Carth. "Fact of life, buddy. Fact of life."
The Jedi stared at Carth almost incredulously. "Wha - but - but... she's a Jedi! I'd have thought the Order would've... you know, for this? Specialised... meditation... techniques?"
Carth's laughter could be heard across the Ebon Hawk.
Fifteen hours later, Tatooine was a distant memory and they were in hyperspace again. The Jedi reviewed the day's events as he tried to make sense of the sudden about-turn in Bastila's behaviour. The more he thought of it, the more he was certain that Carth's diagnosis did not adequately account for her baffling conduct. Carth's guess had been, at best, an educated one born of experience - but experience was all Carth had to go on. He, however, had the Force. And a bond with Bastila. At first he had accepted the Republic officer's words at face value. However, the strange and confusing barrage of... what should he call them - vibrations? tremors? - well, something, at any rate... which had transmitted so strongly across the bond they shared when he was focusing on 'feeling the Force' shortly thereafter... couldn't have been just hormones.
No. There was... something more. It felt - so like Bastila, but so unlike her at the same time. Hope - and regret. Focus - and fear. Confidence, a sense of rightness - and with it all, doubt and questioning. He thought he'd even sensed something more: anger, and what might have been love - but then she must have felt him exploring their bond, and thrown up some sort of mental wall. He pulled back when she did that, more for her sake than his own.
She's conflicted, the Jedi mused. It isn't healthy to carry so many inner demons about, and by the feel of it, Bastila has dozens... wish she'd talk about it, open up... I thought I - we - were getting somewhere, and then... pfft. He took a slow, deep breath and exhaled through his teeth.
"Uh... hi. Is this a good time?" Mission's voice recalled the Jedi to himself. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he'd failed to sense her approach. Swivelling around in the pilot's seat, he smiled kindly at the teenager.
"Sit down, Mission. You want something?"
Mission stared at her feet and gnawed at the nails on her right hand distractedly. Her lekku twitched behind her. "Um, yeah. Uh, kind of. Um. I, ah..." she stopped, her blue cheeks turning violet. "I... wanted to... say... man, this is - I mean, you know, Griff means a lot... to me. And, uh, yeah. I, uh... wanted to tell you that, y'know, um... he's like, the only family I have, and, and, I know he has his flaws... and lots of people don't like him and you didn't have to, I mean, he's not even like, y'know? Related to you or anything but you've totally, um, like done stuff for him... stuff and, um... it's more than, more than what anyone's ever done for me before, because like, he's my brother and you're being so good to my brother, and that's like - I mean, it's like, I feel you're being nice to me... too. And, and I guess... well, not guess, really, kind of like I know - but y'know - um, I don't really deserve you being so nice and all 'cos I've been kind of... a brat, I think... and... yeah."
The Twi'lek girl was speaking so softly that the Jedi found himself lip-reading her just to make sense of what she was saying. Griff? Oh, that. "Don't worry about it, Mission. That's what friends are for."
The teenager's reaction was as sudden as it was unexpected. Mission's eyes suddenly brimmed with tears, and very soon, the Jedi found himself leaping out of the pilot's seat to comfort a very emotional adolescent who seemed to be more interested in emotional dramatics than actual communication. Between patting Mission's back and cooing at her to calm down and hoping that Jolee or Carth would come to his rescue, the Jedi managed to ascertain several things: one, Mission wasn't sad; two, she was actually overjoyed; three, she was immensely grateful; and four, that the combination of intense joyfulness and gratitude induced waterworks. The last conclusion was significantly buttressed by the teenager's alternating her crying with giggles and smiles, and impulsively hugging him before running out of the cockpit, doubtlessly to pursue her emotional theatrics elsewhere.
Now that's hormones, the Jedi told himself as he stared, bewildered, at Mission's retreating back.
Manaan. Who would ever have thought that there'd be a queue just to dock at Ahto City? The crew of the Ebon Hawk loitered about, busied themselves at the workbench or chatted idly in random corners of the ship as they waited for the starport authorities to clear the Ebon Hawk for landing. Juhani and the Jedi sat gazing out of the viewport at the planet - a glowing azure orb in the black vastness of space.
"It is a water world, I am told?" Juhani's ears twitched. Water was all right, in controlled quantities. She liked water when it was in jars or glasses or containers. But water everywhere on a world? It offended her Cathar sensibilities.
"Yes, it is. The Selkath live in large underwater cities - but don't worry, Ahto City is perfectly dry. Most of it, at least."
"That is good to know. Me, I do not like the water too much. Too wet it is."
Both spent a few minutes in silence, contemplating the intricate swirls of clouds that floated languidly in Manaan's atmosphere. Would talking to Juhani help? the Jedi wondered. No reason why it shouldn't... after all, she has been a Jedi far longer than you have. He broke the silence.
"Juhani? I'd like your advice on something."
The Cathar Jedi grunted softly. "I am listening."
"Well... you must have noticed that Bastila's been... out of sorts. Lately."
"Mmm."
"I... get the impression that... she's upset. And uncomfortable about me. As if I've done something to... offend her. I've been trying to think what it could be, but..." - he frowned, lines creasing his forehead - "...for the life of me, I can't."
Juhani turned a pair of brownish-yellow eyes to her comrade. "That is not all that bothers you, no?"
Ruffling the hair at the back of his head, the Jedi nodded. "Yes. There's more, you're right. I... don't know how to say it, Juhani. Please don't think I'm badmouthing Master Atris..."
"Master Atris?" Her full attention engaged, Juhani looked over the partition and listened earnestly. "What about Master Atris?"
"Master Atris was... unfriendly. Her dislike for me was obvious, but why? I mean, I don't even know her - I certainly never met her before the Order took me in. But she seemed offended by my very existence, if that were possible. And... Bastila - she's going all Atris on me now. I don't understand it."
Choosing her words carefully, Juhani replied. "Perhaps she too does not understand it." Seeing the question in her fellow Jedi's eyes, she hastened to clarify herself.
"I do not think she means to... distress. Bastila is not Master Atris, my friend. They are two different ones." She paused, arranging her thoughts. Diplomacy had never been her strong suit... Clearing her throat, Juhani continued. "Master Atris... is unlike other Jedi. To her, the judgement of others, it comes quickly. But Bastila is young, and not always does she know what to think. I feel she has much to think of. Perhaps confusion to her it has caused."
The Jedi pondered Juhani's advice solemnly. There was something to be said for it, he decided. Bastila had grown up in the shelter of the Order, surrounded by Masters. Their counsel and direction would have effectively marked out the path she had trod in life thus far. Given recent events - the wedding party! - it was amply clear that well-intentioned and rigourous though Bastila's Jedi education had been, it had ill-prepared her for some of the starker realities of life in the galaxy at large. To have full responsibility for a mission such as theirs suddenly thrust onto one's shoulders at such short notice? His heart went out in sympathy to Bastila. Poor girl! Small wonder she was temperamental, confused and moody. Anyone in her position would be, Jedi or no!
"You're right, Juhani. She's got lots on her plate as things are. Thank you." He nodded gratefully at Juhani.
The communication interface crackled, and a raspy voice announced in heavily-accented Basic that the Ebon Hawk had been cleared for landing.
Far in the deep recesses of space, a destroyer of prodigious proportions lurked unseen. Approaching the red-cloaked figure who stood at the bridge, Admiral Saul Karath felt his throat tighten in apprehension. He steeled himself to speak.
"We have lost contact with the assassins on Kashyyyk, Lord Malak."
The red-cloaked figure said nothing. There was no indication that he had heard the report. Nervously, Admiral Karath continued his narration. "That was four standard days ago, my Lord."
Still no response.
Admiral Karath began to sweat profusely. He hated it when Lord Malak was quiet. A raging, violent Lord Malak was infinitely preferable, in his opinion, to the silent, brooding figure in whose audience he was now standing. A raging, violent Lord Malak was obviously displeased and therefore easy to read: a quiet Lord Malak on the other hand, was dangerously unpredictable. And Saul Karath hated unpredictability.
"My Lord, I will send out more assassins. I will dispatch our most highly-trained spies to Kashyyyk. I will -" The red-cloaked figure turned and silenced Admiral Karath with a commanding gesture.
"You will do no such thing, Admiral." Despite its unnatural timbre, there was no mistaking the voice of the Jedi once known as Alek 'Squint'. "Mere assassins and bounty hunters will not stand a chance against my old Master. No, I will send someone else."
The Admiral ventured to look directly at Darth Malak. "...someone else?"
"My apprentice." Darth Malak raised a hand and beckoned to a dark figure who had just entered the chamber leading up to the bridge. "Darth Bandon."
In response to an unspoken command, the figure strode confidently towards the Dark Lord of the Sith, kneeling at his feet.
"What is your bidding, my Master?" Darth Bandon's voice was low and laced with malice.
Darth Malak turned away from his apprentice and resumed his previous position. "Revan awaits you on Manaan. With him is the young Jedi Bastila Shan... and their companions. Bring me Bastila... alive. The others you may slay."
"As I am bid, my Master." Rising to his feet, the Sith apprentice backed a respectful distance away from his Master, before turning smartly and exiting the bridge.
With Darth Bandon out of sight, Admiral Karath found both his voice and the nerve to speak again. "My Lord?"
"Yes, Admiral?"
"How did you know, my Lord - Manaan?"
"Impertinent today, Admiral?"
Eyes widening in terror, Admiral Karath held up his hands submissively. "No, my Lord - never...!"
Darth Malak turned around, eyes narrowed. Pitiful, weak-minded fool...! "Set course for Dantooine," he ordered.
Admiral Karath hastened to obey.