The Exile paused as the shock reverberated through her system. It was true that Bao's refusal had been a possibility all along; however, she had thought that it was a remote chance at best. For the first time the realization that he might leave them all behind hit her. It was impossible to hide the devastation in her eyes and she quickly looked towards the floor in embarrassment. "…No?" she whispered.
"I'm sorry, General" he said gently, "But I can't." He removed his good hand from hers and raised it to her chin, tilting her face upwards. "Please, don't be upset. It's not what you're thinking and if you'll hear me out I promise I'll explain everything to you."
His deep brown eyes were filled with compassion as he stroked her cheek tenderly with his thumb. It took all of her control to maintain an even tone in her voice, "Of course," she said softly, "I will always listen to whatever you have to say."
He smiled at her in that shy way of his and it made her heart clench. "Thank-you," he said, "Only this isn't going to be easy for me to tell and I think it will be even harder for you to hear." He reached to the floor, retrieving the brush, "Would you mind turning your back to me? It's always easier for me to think when I'm doing something with my hands."
She eyed him cautiously, "Alright," she replied, "And I apologize for how this sounds but do you know how to use one of those?"
He chuckled lowly, "Yes, trust me. Most Zabraks have hair and believe it or not so did I before I got these," he said, gesturing towards the neat circlet of horns on his head.
She blushed as she turned to face the wall, "Sorry, but I had to ask." she said sheepishly.
There was a sound of metal scraping as he pulled his footlocker in close behind her, "It's alright," he replied. His hands were enormous – the mechanical version had obviously been built to scale. But his movements were surprisingly deft and gentle. He did not once pull or snarl her hair and she closed her eyes blissfully.
"I have to be honest," he began, "When you crash-landed on Telos I thought you weren't being entirely truthful with me about your memory loss. I didn't think it was possible for you to lose all of that time we spent together working on the shadow generator so I asked around. No one else really seemed to know much about it, so I thought that I'd take you at your word for the time being."
The Exile began to reflexively twist her fingers in her lap, she didn't know where he was heading but it was making her uneasy.
"But the longer I was on the ship the more it bothered me," he continued, "It was like I was a total stranger to you…the doubt just sort of lingered there in the back of my mind. I wasn't totally sure if you were being genuine or if it was an elaborate lie to push me away from you."
She stiffened.
"Please," he said, "I'm not accusing you of anything and believe me, if it was a lie then I would have deserved it and then some. For years I thought you hated me…"
"Hated you?" she asked quietly, gripping her fingers tightly, "Why would you ever think that?"
"Do you remember Dxun?" he asked, "The afternoon we spent together gutting cannoks?"
She felt her cheeks burn as the memory of him flooded back to her, his arms, his chest, his...
"Yes," she replied, "We talked a lot as we went, you asked me straight out about the memory loss."
"And do you remember what you told me?" he asked softly.
"I told you…I told you that it was tied directly to having the Force severed in me. That it was a necessity for those memories to be obliterated…that with the open wound in the Force echoing through me I was vulnerable…that all of those voices would come screaming back in…thousands of them…the first time, it nearly killed me…and that I was sorry because I really wanted to remember you…" she trailed off, her hands now trembling.
"Well, I believed you," he said as she listened to the unencumbered swish of the hairbrush, "As a matter of fact; I've been hiding the truth about me to keep you from remembering anything."
"But now…" she whispered, "Since the destruction of Malachor, the wound's closed."
"It is," he said, setting aside the brush and running his fingers through her newly untangled hair. She shivered.
"And if you will hear it, I'd like to tell you everything," he said.
She turned slowly, meeting his eyes and nodded wordlessly.
"Alright," he said, "Just please remember that I've only kept quiet for so long because I didn't know what this knowledge would do to you…I didn't want to be the one to rip open that door on you again…"
"Again?" she asked a little sharply.
"Yes," he said, "You are a Weapons Master much in the way that Kavar was. Others focus on different kinds of Mastery and some choose to dabble in several things. Mical will be a great Master Force Healer someday and Atton has the potential to be a Jedi Ace. But some of us…well some of us can just hear machinery through the Force. We can sense what's wrong without even looking; we can build and repair what might seem impossible to someone who isn't sensitive…"
She felt the intensity flash into her dark eyes, "We?" she asked with a severe undertone in her voice, "What are you trying to tell me?"
He paused, holding her gaze in his, "It would have been impossible for someone who wasn't Force sensitive to construct a technological nightmare like the Shadow Generator," he said, "It was something that came into being through guidance from the Force. The trouble with that is that when you draw inspiration from the light you leave yourself open to deception from the dark."
Her eyes widened.
"I was taken to the Jedi enclave when I was three years old," he said, "By the time I was ten I showed equal promise in weapons and technology and was made Padawan to Master Kavar. I was a Knight by eighteen and when I worked on the generator under your command I was taking my first steps towards Mastery…"
Kavar.
No…it wasn't right…it couldn't be right. She stood abruptly, moving away from him silently and nervously pacing the floor.
"Why don't I remember you from earlier? From the Enclave?" she asked anxiously.
"We didn't exactly move in the same circles back then," he said, "But it was something I wondered about as well until I found out that you also didn't remember Mical. He used to follow you around like a lost gizka…to forget him…well…I think that there are probably more holes in your memory than you know."
She gripped her elbows, "It doesn't make any sense…" she muttered, increasing the speed of her pace, "Kavar was different…if you were his Padawan then I would remember you…"
"I can't explain it," he said, "But we didn't really spend much time together until our work on the generator and by then…well, let's just say that the bond with my Master had been severed. But there's more…the night that you gave the command to activate the generator I heard them…thousands of men both ours and theirs as they crashed to their deaths. I thought I was going insane…I…died inside…but it was nothing compared to what happened to you. You collapsed and started to hemorrhage blood everywhere…from your eyes, ears, mouth…your stomach…they carried you out. I thought that I'd killed you…"
He paused, lowering his head and grasping at the sides, shoving his fingers between the horns. She crossed the room, standing just to the right of his shoulder, his tone was placid but his anguish was palpable. "The loss was catastrophic…" he continued, "It wasn't just the Mandalorians, it was our men too, our comrades…I…I destroyed my lightsaber on the spot…"
She reached down, grasping his firm shoulder supportively and squeezing gently. "When it was over," he continued quietly, "I had to get as far away from others as I could. I had killed so many…I couldn't stand the sight of other people, especially those who were kind to me…I didn't deserve it. I spent the first three years in total isolation. I vowed to never use a Force weapon again, whether it be a lightsaber or a power and I never have…standard weapons for defense only."
He stood, facing her, "You would have had every right to lie to me at the very least…or even to hate me…it was my creation, my activation that did this to you…I'm so sorry…"
She reached up, gently stroking his tattooed cheek, her eyes filled with sympathy, "I don't hate you," she whispered, "But this is a lot for me to take in…would you mind giving me some time to meditate on it?"
His eyes flickered with a small amount of relief, "Of course," he said, "You know where to find me when the time comes." For a moment he wavered, drawing near her but pulled back at the last moment. He turned, squeezed her hand gently and slipped out into the hall leading to the garage.
The Exile's tenuous hold on her composure all but shattered. She sank to the floor drawing her knees up close to her chest…it was so much to take in.
Kavar…