Bastila shivered. She was hungry, tired, disoriented and thoroughly miserable. Her wrists ached painfully where the manacles had cut into them. How long she had been cuffed to that stone slab, she did not know. She had been greatly surprised when, following their last 'interview', Malak had ordered the manacles removed. Of course she had been suspicious - and she did not hesitate to say as much.
"Not afraid that I might use the Force against you?" she had hissed.
Malak had laughed at her. "Use the Force? Ha, ha, ha...! My dear Bastila - you are welcome to try," he said. "Only I'm afraid that in your current state, you will meet with little success."
Then he called for more light to be brought. A female Dark Jedi came bearing a torch... a lit torch, one with an actual flame, not the usual halogen variety -
"Perhaps a little experiment, my dear?" Malak had stated in his horrible tinny voice. "A Jedi of your skill and training should not find it difficult to extinguish the flame using the Force."
Bastila shivered again, more from remembering what had happened next than from the all-permeating chill of the stone walls that surrounded her. She had been hesitant, reluctant to try at first. After all, Malak was a Sith, and the Sith were known for manipulation. Also, she was a Jedi - since when did Jedi do the bidding of the Sith? So she had resisted, and stubbornly ignored Malak, preparing herself to endure another excruciating round of torture. It didn't happen.
As a matter of fact, Malak had been impressively restrained, for a Sith, in his response to her insouciance. He had merely raised an eyebrow and given a tersely-spoken order for the torch to be placed in front of her, just out of reach - and then he had made his exit, leaving her all alone with the burning torch for company. He hadn't even bothered to re-secure her to the slab. For the first time since her captivity, Bastila had been able to stand on her own feet and walk.
Not that I managed to do more than stand and stagger about briefly before having to sit down for a breather, thought Bastila ruefully. I've become so... weak. She stared morosely at the burning torch, wondering if - and whether it would be appropriate - to test her Force skills by attempting to put it out.
For the first time in her life, Bastila found herself unable to decide. Should she attempt to extinguish the light? She would be able to gain a rough idea of her current emotional and mental state by doing so... but did she really want to know? Physical weakness was one thing - mental weakness, another. The Force is the true source of a Jedi's abilities, thought Bastila. A Jedi had to be attuned to the Force - alive to it - in order to harness its power. But that required a single-minded dedication to the Force - the Light side of the Force.
What if she attempted to extinguish the flame, and failed? What did that mean? Bastila wasn't sure she wanted to go there. Apart from the what-ifs, she was plagued by other disturbing thoughts: Revan - did he blame her? Would he choose to remain in the Light now - now that he knew? Juhani - a brand, plucked from the fire - what would become of her? Jolee - 'grey', the Masters would have called him... but there was no denying his devotion to the Light. What did that make him? Or any of them? Poor Carth - his paranoia was sure to worsen - she was responsible for that, too... would she see them all again? Then there was Malak. Lately, he had started to make an odd sort of sense, and this perturbed her greatly. Was she going soft in the head? Was she going Dark? Did Malak actually have a point after all was said and done - or was he really, truly, completely corrupted?
Then her thoughts revolved back to the torch, still burning away. What if she tried to summon the Force to extinguish the flame, and failed? That would mean that she had failed to centre herself, failed to achieve the internal equilibrium fundamental to a Jedi... would it also mean that her dedication to the Light was wavering, that she was no longer attuned to it? What would that make her?
It all frightened her. So she had allowed the torch to burn itself out. When Malak returned some time later, he noted the pile of ash on the ground and ordered for another torch to be brought. She had allowed that one to burn out, too. And the one after that, and the one after that.
Now, with the light of the fifth torch casting shadows on the wall behind her, Bastila knew that Malak would not stop bringing torches in until she had tested herself, her connection to the Force - her validity as a Jedi. There was no running away, not here, not anymore.
Bastila reached out a trembling hand to the flame, shut her eyes and tried to focus... focus, focus... the flame - the Force - extinguish the flame...
After what felt like an eternity, she opened her eyes again.
The torch continued to burn.
He was running down a corridor he had never seen before. Its grilled floor plates clanked sonorously beneath his feet every step of the way as he ran madly down its seemingly-endless length. Occasionally figures would emerge, like ghostly shadows, from the walls - red blades glowing dangerously. Onward, forward he pushed - cutting each adversary down, some more easily than others. Still he ran on. Eventually he came to what must have been the end of the corridor, only to find that it culminated in a dead end.
No, not a dead end - a door. He tried it - it was locked. He looked behind him: no more Sithy things - only two figures, running towards him from the distance... he wasn't sure who, or what they were, and he didn't want to find out - he tried the door again, and then the floor shook violently as the door flew open, sucking him inside a vast chamber filled with glittering stars...
Bonk. Ow! Head hurt. Dizzy. Something heavy landing beside him...
"Sweet Trandoshan flatcakes - buddy, you okay?" Carth and Juhani bent over Revan as he lay in a heap on the floor next to his bunk.
"Good grief - he's still out of it..." The Republic officer slapped Revan on both sides of his face to wake him up.
"Ow! Carth, stop it - I'm awake!" Revan opened his eyes and sat up, rubbing the back of his head where a bump was forming. He grimaced. "I think I fell out of bed."
"Full marks to observation," quipped Juhani drily as she helped Revan to his feet. The Cathar Jedi nodded at the tangle of blanket and bedsheets. "Careful. You took everything with you."
Satisfied that his friend was no longer in immediate danger of braining himself on the floor, Carth busied himself with tidying up. "What's on the agenda today - tombs? More spelunking?"
Revan yawned and stretched. "Marko Ragnos, Tulak Hord, and Ajunta Pall. Take your pick."
"Thought you said there were four?"
"The fourth one - some Naga Sadow chap's - is apparently out of bounds, except to the 'privileged' select," replied Revan. "Which makes me suspect that there's something in that last one that we really want to look at." He rubbed his nose and yawned again.
Juhani stroked her chin. "Another Star Map?"
Revan nodded. "Quite likely. Only one way to find out, though - earn more 'prestige'..."
Half an hour later, the trio were creeping stealthily down the hall of Marko Ragnos' tomb. Tiny, glittering eyes stared at them out of the darkness and then darted away to the sound of skittering feet. Juhani bared her teeth in a silent hiss. Rats! Filthy, disease-ridden creatures...! But of course there would be many, many rats here... The Cathar told herself to ignore the rats, and pressed forward, her sharp eyes scouting ahead in the dim light for any threats. Nothing that she could see... or sense. Juhani sniffed. The air of the tomb was stale, but carried with it the faint stench of something that ought to have been buried long ago... what was that on the floor just ahead?
Motioning for her companions to be very quiet, Juhani crept soundlessly towards the thing she had spotted. A body...! Ugh - rotting and wormy... no wonder the rats - half-turning about, Juhani fought down the urge to retch and gestured to the two men behind her to watch their step. While stepping over the corpse, Juhani noticed some discarded equipment lying on the floor a short distance away. A datapad - a stealth unit?
Carth and Revan huddled around Juhani as she powered up the datapad and read its contents.
The Republic officer's eyebrows receded into his hairline. "A droid that goes bonkers when it hears stuff? How's that for impractical programming?" he whispered.
Juhani handed the stealth unit she had found to Revan. "Still working - to use," she instructed. Then she felt about in the pouches on her belt for her own stealth unit, put it on and activated it. Carth did likewise, and the trio continued deeper into Marko Ragnos' tomb. At last they reached a door set into the carved rock. Juhani put her ear to it and listened intently.
"Something behind the door is moving," she told the men. "It make a sound like HK-47."
"The droid," whispered Revan. He searched their vicinity for a means to open the door but found none. Strange - a door with no means to operate it? Then it occurred to him that perhaps the door was meant to be opened only by means of the Force: after all, this was the tomb of a Dark Side Force-user...
Revan concentrated for a moment before raising a hand and making a small sweeping gesture. The door slid noiselessly open, revealing a large circular chamber which echoed with the sound of regular, clunking footsteps.
The patrolling droid stopped in its path around the chamber as soon as its photoreceptors registered the presence of the trio.
"Query: What are you doing here?" it asked. Revan and Carth exchanged wary glances - the droid talked just like HK-47!
"Our apologies - we did not mean to interrupt your, ah, duties," said Revan as amicably as he could. "Please, ah... continue."
The droid whirred as it tried to assign this statement a suitable logarithm value in order to determine the appropriate response. It couldn't find one. Confused, it fell back on its primary programming - protocol.
"Statement: Thank you for being considerate of my audioreceptors, organics. I regret that I am unable to be of any assistance to you. You will have to leave."
"Erm, it was... no problem, really," said Revan, thinking fast. Noise - the droid hated noise - but of course! How long had the droid been here? Five, ten years? More? How long had Marko Ragnos been dead? Listening to the echoes of its own footsteps day in and day out - no wonder the thing had gone funny. He attempted to dialogue with the droid.
"I must say that you're an excellent specimen of engineering," he commented. "If I didn't know better, I'd have said you were brand new! Your welding is perfect..."
The droid's processor lights brightened perceptibly. "Appreciative response: Thank the Maker - an organic who notices and appreciates detail! I do like to make the effort, you know. Regular maintenance is key! I give myself a good polish once a fortnight."
Carth started to laugh at the droid's unintentional double entendre, but quickly turned it into a choking cough when Revan stepped on his toes.
"True, true - and you've done an excellent job - your circuits haven't corroded, or anything," Revan remarked.
"Shock: Circuits? Are my circuits showing?" The droid lowered the blaster it was carrying and looked about itself in alarm.
"Oh no - I was merely remarking on your excellent upkeep."
The droid practically buzzed with delight at the compliment. It had been so long since it had had a proper conversation with anyone - particularly an organic! - and the organics who had been trying to get into this tomb? Well! They were rude. Noisy! Always setting off mines, making a ruckus... but that was all in the past. This organic was nice. Polite. Quiet. Its cores hummed with android approval.
Seeing that the droid had started to warm up to the idea of conversation, Revan continued to talk. "I don't suppose you get many visitors?"
"Disappointment: On the contrary - many are the visitors that have come here... or attempted to. But they are all so noisy! Bangs, crashes, shouts, explosions - " the droid whined. "Does my audioreceptors in. No consideration, at all!"
"Dear oh dear," murmured Revan. "Nasty. How long has it been going on?"
"Regretful expression: Forever," replied the droid. It clunked over to the sarcophagus in the middle of the room. "I myself do not know how long I have been here - only that I have been here too long, too long."
"But you're in excellent condition - surely you could always... seek alternative employment?" queried Revan.
"Amusement: You do not understand, organic. I do not possess the programming necessary to operating the door which you obviously do. Egress is therefore impossible. Even if it were not, my, ah... secondary programming..."
"Secondary programming?" repeated Revan, pretending he did not know what the droid was referring to.
The droid's processor lights blinked momentarily. "Observation: You are a most atypical organic, organic. Your kind are not usually this interested. Perhaps you can assist me. I would like my secondary programming deactivated."
"You do not like your secondary programming?"
"Regret: It is an inconvenience, organic. Now that you have opened that door, I might, as you have suggested, seek 'alternative employment' elsewhere. Unfortunately, many organics are uncomfortable with assassination droids. Their processors seem incapable of handling the very suggestion."
Damn right you are, thought Revan. One HK-47 roaming the galaxy is bad enough! "How can I help you?" he asked the droid.
"Statement: There is a means of deactivating my secondary programming permanently, organic. However, my primary programming prevents me from informing you exactly how this may be done."
Revan frowned. "Then how - "
"Elucidation: I may, however, provide clues. A warning, organic. Should you fail in your attempt to assist me, my secondary programming directs that I am to shut you down permanently."
Charming - just charming! "Erm... all right, I get it. Erm. You... ah, can start giving me the clues."
Revan, Carth and Juhani listened very carefully as the droid reeled off a series of interrelated clues, the Cathar making a recording of what was said on the datapad she had retrieved earlier on. Once the droid had finished its recital, she handed the datapad to Revan, who studied it carefully, burning notes into the floor with one of his lightsabers as he tied the clues together. Then he went over the clues again, comparing and cross-referencing them with what he had himself written. Once he was satisfied that all was in order, Revan approached the waiting droid.
"Think I've got it. With your leave...?"
"Agreement: Of course. I wish you success, organic. It would be most unpleasant for you if you were to fail."
Careful not to confuse the order in which the droid's various functions had to be deactivated, Revan proceeded to shut down one matrix after another - combat... motor function... sensory systems... memory - what was next? Ah, yes, cognitive... emotional construct - this thing had emotional constructs, what a joke! - creative simulation. That was it. He wiped the beads of perspiration that had formed on his forehead and watched the droid warily.
The droid did not move. Its processor lights blinked several times, then dimmed and blacked out entirely.
Carth drew his blaster in readiness. Juhani activated her weapon. "Is it done?" she asked warily.
Revan continued to observe the droid. "I... think it's powered down. As in - its core seems to have shut down automatically."
"Is that a good thing or a bad?" queried Carth, as he advanced slowly towards Revan.
"...not sure," confessed Revan.
"Not sure! What the -"
"Hey, as long as it's not actively trying to kill us, that's a good sign! We'll just have to - oh." A low hum emanated from the droid as its servos and core powered up again. Carth primed his blaster and aimed at a weak spot in the droid's chassis. Revan peered at the tiny script which appeared on the small technician's screen built into the droid.
"'Delete assassination programming'? 'Activate self-destruct mode'? ...delete programming," he muttered, selecting the former option. The droid's core hummed gently for a while, then went quiet, the soft glow of the processor lights being the only indication that the droid was not completely powered off.
Eventually the processor lights brightened and the droid came back to life with a series of clicks.
"Oh, hello!" said the droid cheerfully. As it raised a hand to wave at the organics, its photoreceptors registered that it was holding on to a blaster.
"By the Maker...!" The blaster dropped, and Revan caught it neatly before it hit the floor. Deactivating the weapon, Revan placed it on the top of the sarcophagus.
"How do you feel?" he asked the droid.
"Positively salubrious," the droid informed him. "My servos are static-free! Oh, I say - you've done a very lovely job!"
Revan grinned at Carth. "That's great. You're free to go now - just... don't talk to too many organics outside, all right? They... might not like your lack of... programming."
"Naturally," replied the droid. "They're Sith. They're the ones who gave me that horrid secondary programming to start with!" Having made this remark, the droid proceeded to divest itself of its weaponry before clunking its way to freedom.
The trio quickly ransacked the sarcophagus and left.
Darth Malak's eyes creased at the corners as he smiled. Not that anyone would see, of course. The heavy prosthetic jaw fitted about the lower half of his face had been deliberately designed to intimidate and impress - which functions it discharged most admirably, much to the pleasure of the Dark Lord of the Sith. Alek the sidekick had been largely ignored, while Revan received the adulation, admiration, and approbation befitting his hero status. Alek's speeches and calls to arms tended to draw polite applause and few volunteers: Revan's, on the other hand, won multitudes to their cause. If Alek had been the symbol of courage and death-defying bravery, Revan had been so much more. Revan had been hope, fortitude, justice, retribution and leadership combined. Revan, as the press had put it then, had been "the Jedis' own Crusader". Their movement had even been named after him - the Revanchists. And they even gave Revan a snappy new title: The Revanchist. Not 'a' Revanchist - The Revanchist.
It didn't stop there, of course.
There had been many... admirers of Revan, both from within the ranks of the Jedi who had followed them as well as from the Republic army itself. Some of these admirers had allowed their admiration of Revan to ferment into something quite extraordinary. Malak remembered that Revan had 'freaked out' when Alek and he returned to their hideout from a night-time reconnaissance mission to find two young females literally lying in wait for him: the idea that beings might desire to sleep with him purely because of his iconic status had obviously never occurred to, and in fact disturbed, Revan greatly. Thereafter, Revan started being much more secretive - even going as far as to start wearing a full hood and cloak at all times of the day, regardless of the season.
Of course it backfired. The new air of mystique surrounding Revan only made him more popular. Consequently, Alek had been forced to step up security around his friend. What a fool this Alek was! mused Darth Malak. So weak! So ineffectual! No wonder the crowds gravitated toward Revan. Alek, forever in the shadow! Alek, forever playing second fiddle! Revan could have snapped his fingers and dozens of women would have swooned at his feet, offering themselves to him - but Alek? He had pleaded with a girl once, the fool - and she had turned him down. Alek had been very hurt. He had wanted someone to care for, weak and simpering fool that he had been - but nobody, it seemed, wanted to care for Alek. Everyone cared about Revan - but Revan simply didn't want to know.
Upon hearing a soft brushing behind him, the Dark Lord of the Sith turned to look. Bastila stood with a hand raised, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun, which now seemed harsh to her eyes for all the time she had been locked in the dark. Gone was the tan-and-brown outfit: in its place she wore a dark-coloured tunic and bottoms, which served only to highlight the ethereal pallor of her skin.
"Ah, Bastila. My Apprentice." Darth Malak motioned to Bastila, who obediently knelt before him, awaiting his command.
"Your lightsaber, Bastila," said the Dark Lord. A Dark Jedi Master hurried over and presented Bastila with her own lightsaber, which had been confiscated from her following her capture. She received it with a nod of thanks.
"You will need a new crystal as befitting your status, my Apprentice," intoned Darth Malak as he floated a single red crystal to the kneeling girl. "As your Master, I now gift you with one."
"Thank you... my Master." Bastila said quietly, as she pocketed the crystal. At a nod from her new Master, she rose to her feet and withdrew.
Darth Malak's eyes creased with glee again as he resumed staring out of the window at the wilderness of Lehon. How the tide has turned, Revan! he thought. You never understood Alek. How could you? You had everything Alek desired but did not! And Alek was a damnable cretin for having neglected to even the score. But I - Darth Malak - am no fool. You love this Jedi girl, Revan? I have made her my apprentice. Is she not the brightest star in your firmament? I will obliterate the sun of her being from your sky. Think you that she is beautiful, and lovely, and good? I will scar her soul and corrupt her mind. Would you lay down your life for her, Revan?
I will teach her to destroy you, and all that you would protect.
Carth sat down heavily on the edge of his bed and started unlacing his boots. "Three tombs in one day, buddy - that enough 'prestige' for you?"
"I should think so," said Revan. "We'll find out tomorrow."
"My congratulations to you, Revan," said Juhani as she ran a hand through her hair. "I did not think that to convince the... Mekel boy, you could. But wrong you have proved me to be: and glad I am of it."
The Republic officer looked up. "Where's the kid gonna go? Dantooine's all... dust now. Coruscant?"
"I don't know," said Revan. He flopped onto his own bed and kicked off a boot. "Sounded to me as if he was just... going to give up the Force altogether. Still -" he kicked off the other boot "- even that's preferable to staying here with them lot..." Revan jerked his head in the direction of a series of loud bangs and crashes which reverberated through the stone walls of the Academy. Another student fight!
"I've more hope for the Algwinn fellow. Let's hope he's got the sense to go to Coruscant and not Dantooine."
"What about Dustil?" asked Carth abruptly. Revan sat up and looked thoughtful.
"So far nothing useful we have found. These Sith are careful," observed Juhani.
"Still - there's got to be something, right? I don't want to leave my boy here!" Carth exclaimed.
"...we could... break into Uthar Wynn's room," Revan ventured. "I overheard him talking to the other Masters on our way here. Said he'd be going out for a drink or two tonight, and would they make sure not too many students end up killing each other prematurely -"
The Republic officer brightened. "You think you'll find something in there?"
"Worth to try," said Juhani. "I do not think us he will suspect for breaking in. Too many are the troublemakers here to count. Any one of them also it could be."
Carth considered this for a minute. There really weren't that many options, and already they were running out of time. If Revan proved to have earned sufficient prestige tomorrow in order to enter the fourth tomb, and if that tomb contained what they had come here to find, then they'd likely be out of Korriban by this time tomorrow, without Dustil. It would have to be Uthar Wynn's room, or nothing.
He agreed to the proposal.
Late that night, Revan lay awake on his bed as his companions slept. His mind replayed the events of the day: Marko Ragnos' tomb, followed by that of Tulak Hord, then Ajunta Pall's crypt. He had been able to achieve something truly positive at each Sith tomb he had visited today bar one - that of Ajunta Pall's. Sighing at the thought, Revan turned on his side and drew the blanket more securely about him.
He'd sensed the unmistakable presence of the deceased as soon as he stepped into the tomb. The others had felt it, too, and clearly expected the wraith - it certainly resembled what wraiths were commonly rumoured to look like - to attack. Instead, the disembodied spirit had simply floated up to them, moaning and mournful, exuding regret with every syllable. Much to the horror of his companions, he had conversed with the Force ghost of Ajunta Pall. Their conversation revolved largely around the deep and abiding regret the dead Sith felt for his past misdeeds, which Revan could only empathise with all too well. He had tried to convince the departed Sith that redemption was still a possibility, but ultimately failed in his attempt.
Ajunta Pall had been touched, though. If Force ghosts were capable of being touched. What interested Revan more than how Ajunta had felt was something the dead Sith had said to him before dissolving into thin air: "Too late, too late! It is forever too late for me, young one. So many times I could have turned back, but I never did. The days of my choosing are over, and now only regret is left! Choose wisely while you may, young one... let my history not be yours."
The woeful spirit had a point, Revan thought. The power of choice was a good, yes - but its intrinsic value lay only in its ability to effect a result - whatever that result might be. As long as a being lived, it was connected to the world around it in various ways, and could change that world for better or for worse by virtue of the choices it made. But when a being passed from the world of the living to that of the dead - when it ceased to live - its days of choosing, of touching and changing the lives of those around it, or of actively constructing its world were well and truly over.
Revan thought about the countless Jedi Masters who had since gone to their rest. Some of them had been very powerful individuals during their lives. If people were able to 'change allegiances', so to speak, from beyond the grave - it would be a dire thing if, for argument's sake, the spirit of Exar Kun or some other pathological Sith Lord were able to make the rounds and convince these powerful 'elder ones' to turn...! The havoc currently being wreaked by Darth Malak and company would be a playground fight as compared to the incalculable damage potential of generations of powerful Force users who, being already dead, would be quite impossible to kill.
So there is a limit to the Force's offers of redemption, thought Revan as he turned on his bed again. Life is like a long period of probation. Here and now is where one decides: every decision postponed, every choice bypassed is a gamble. Nobody - not even the greatest of the Jedi Seers - can know precisely when they will meet their end. You can be breathing and warm one second, dead and cold the next. Life is fragile like that. And when death comes for you, as eventually it must, there is no telling whether a final opportunity to turn around will be there, waiting for you at the very end. One must therefore seize every opportunity presented along the path of life to do what is right, to make amends where possible - to turn back, if one has lost their way - because one never knows. A feeling of immense gratitude flooded through him as he considered his own situation.
Sitting up, Revan re-angled his pillow and lay down again. Carth mumbled something in his sleep and continued snoring: Revan wished that he too was fast asleep.
Other thoughts flooded into his mind. Bastila! He wondered where she was - and how she was doing. The bond they shared - would he be able to use it, to get a sense of how she was faring? He stared into the dense blackness and decided to give it a go. He wasn't sure it would work - after all, Bastila could be hundreds of parsecs away now - but something told him he must try.
Rolling onto his back, Revan shut his eyes and willed his mind to focus on Bastila, remembering how the Force felt when she was beside him... the brightness he associated with her... how it had felt in his mind when he had one of those shared visions...
...Bastila. Was that Bastila? So... unhappy and... cold, and... hurt and resentful - that wasn't like Bastila at all! - so... despairing. And such anger, too!
Thoroughly disturbed, Revan brought himself back to the present and tried to make sense of it all. So it was possible to touch their bond - did that mean Bastila wasn't too far away? What had happened to her? So many dark sentiments! So unlike the obstinate, doggedly stoic, dependable - and unwittingly funny - girl he had met and fallen for...! Had she - could she have - no, it was terrible to think of - Malak! What had Malak done to his Princess?
The night dragged painfully on.
"Impressive. Most impressive!" The corners of Uthar Wynn's mouth twitched in a twisted semblance of a smile as he stared down his nose at the young Sith aspirant. "You have earned sufficient prestige, Candidate. But there is one final test."
Hooray, final paper, thought Revan sarcastically. He kept that opinion to himself and smiled at the gloating Sith Master. "Naturally."
"Your instructor is Yuthura Ban, I believe? A most promising one. You will proceed to the tomb of Naga Sadow. She and I will meet you there for your final test, Candidate."
"Got it. What's this test, by the way?"
Uthar Wynn bellowed with laughter. "Scared, are we? You'll find out soon enough. Maybe you'll survive it, maybe you won't." Still rumbling with laughter, the Sith Master strolled in the direction of the training rooms.
Carth trotted alongside Revan as the trio made their way back to the student rooms to begin final preparations. "We have to find Dustil now," he urged. "I read that datapad we found. Who this 'Selene' is, I haven't a clue - but damn! I'll bet every last credit to my name she must've meant something to my boy. Otherwise the Sith wouldn't have done her in, would they?"
"They did who in?" queried Revan.
"Selene! These bastards killed some kid, some girl, because she was apparently holding Dustil back or something -"
"Holding him back?"
Juhani interrupted. "Meaning that Carth's whelp had a liking of the girl. The Sith, more than the Jedi, are averse to... such feeling."
Revan stopped short. "You mean Dustil had a girlfriend? And they... the Sith killed her for that?"
The Republic officer gestured animatedly. "Yeah! Look, I read the whole damn datapad, okay? There's... there's seriously a lot of frackin' questionable content on it, and it's all down there, detailed like - like Uthar what's-his-face made notes of every poor sod he murdered -"
"- all right, I get the picture," said Revan quickly, detecting a sharp spike in emotion from Carth. "We go find Dustil now."
Dustil received his visitors with an expression of boredom. "Don't waste my time if you've nothing solid to show me. I have better things to do."
Carth produced the abstracted datapad from a secret pocket in his jacket. "Recognise this?" he asked his son.
The younger Onasi's brow furrowed. "Hey...! Yeah, that's - that's Master Wynn's datapad - where did you... did you, you guys broke into Master Wynn's room?" He snatched the datapad from Carth and looked it over. "One datapad, scratches to the casing, lots of oily fingerprints. Wow. Some proof."
"Power it up, son."
Dustil raised his eyebrows, set his lips into a stubborn line and turned the datapad on. The screen glowed and came to life, displaying a lurid picture of three very naked, very nubile humanoid females, all of different species, locked together in a tangled embrace of arms, lekku, montrals and legs. Revan, who had been peering curiously at the datapad over Dustil's shoulder, gawped and bit back a laugh.
The younger Onasi ignored the datapad's explicit wallpaper as he went through the contents of Uthar Wynn's datapad.
"Dad - what the - look! This? Is by very, very far, the largest single collection of... porn that I've ever come across - and in this place, that's really saying something - but if you're actually expecting me to up and leave just because of some... overweight balding guy who probably hasn't seen his hydrospanner in years and needs to view this... trash just to reassure himself that it's still attached, you've got to be kidding!"
Carth smacked his palm into his forehead. "Not the frackin' porn, Dustil! Oh, give it here - see? Under 'Mentorship Notes'. Down - there's a folder with... yes, that's the one. Selene... you know any Selenes, son?"
Dustil blinked a few times. "Y-yes... I mean, not now, I... I did. Once." He blinked some more. "She had an accident. She died. I don't want to talk about it." He looked at his father. "Is this really necessary, Dad?"
"Read it, son. You wanted proof. I got you proof! Don't back out on me now," Carth urged.
Figuring that the best way to get his unwelcome visitors out of his room without drawing the attention of his fellow students would be to just read the damn entry, Dustil complied with his father's instructions and started reading.
The minutes ticked slowly by as Dustil read and digested the contents of Uthar Wynn's diary. The more he read, the more unsettled Dustil felt. So Uthar Wynn had known of the relationship between Selene and himself, and he had disapproved? But he - Master Wynn - he had always asked after her when they happened to run into each other... I thought he liked her! I thought - Dustil's brows started to knit in consternation. Trembling, he raced through each subsequent entry with a growing panic - Selene, mission to... dangerous... to go alone... Dustil is not to be informed... must be kept away from her... assassins? Assassins! Uthar Wynn had sent assassins after Selene!
The datapad fell from Dustil's fingers. Juhani reached out and caught it in time to prevent it from breaking.
"...son?" Carth hovered beside Dustil, compassion in his voice. "Dustil, I -"
"...oh my goodness..."
"I'm sorry, my son."
"I didn't know - Selene, she - "
The Republic officer laid a tentative hand on Dustil's shoulder as the young man gave in to his grief. No words were needed. Revan and Juhani tactfully moved to the far corner of the room, where they manifested an absorbing interest in the masonry.
"How could I not have-"
Carth put an arm around his son. "It's not your fault, Dustil."
"I could have been there for her, I should have -"
"Son, I understand."
Revan and Juhani stared uncomfortably at the wall and at each other as Dustil wept in his father's arms. Eventually, Dustil collected himself.
"You were right, Dad. I'm done with the Sith."
Carth heaved a sigh of relief and nodded. "You... got any plans?"
"I - I don't know. I mean, there're lots of kids here, Dad... like me. Taken. I kinda owe it to them at least to... to share what I've learnt."
Dammit, Dustil - now you start going all sensible and decent on me, thought Carth. But he knew his son was right. "Be very, very careful, son. I already lost you once. I don't want to lose you again."
Dustil nodded. "I know, Dad. Not everyone here's... nice. But there are one or two people I'd like to... to save. Before it's too late."
"Where will you go after that?"
"Telos, I guess."
"I'll meet you there, son. But what about after?"
The younger Onasi looked at the two Jedi standing in the corner. "If they'll take me, I'm going with the Jedi," he told his father.
Redemption! thought Revan as he eavesdropped. Dustil had chosen well.
He hoped the others would, too.