Author's Notes: Whoohoo! To make amends for ending the last chapter on that horrible cliffhanger, I'll now give you the longest chapter yet! Oh wait...that may not make amends. Oh well! On to the third and final part!
Part III: Braving the Storm
Chapter Nineteen
"General Lucullus," said Revan. "It has been a while, has it not?"
Caius's mind was numb. "You're…you're a Sith Lord…" he said accusingly. "How…?"
Revan, sitting down in a chair across from him, lightly chuckled to himself. "Of course I am—how else would I infiltrate a rogue society like this? Should I walk up and introduce myself?"
The Exile was still too confused to say anything. He glanced quickly around the room, surveying his surroundings. It was a very dark room, the only light was emanating from some strangely familiar screens in the back of the room. Revan had likely constructed them himself, as with the apparent communications equipment, as it was of a more human design. They cast an eerie glow on the man who had once saved the Republic. His face was familiar to Caius now that he saw it again—though it had been ten years and it was much more worn than last he saw it. Still, the man looked charismatic. He had brown hair and eyes, though only a little bit of a glint reflected off of them in the darkness.
Caius stuttered, said, "I don't…understand."
The Exile, still kneeling on the ground, tried to get up but was barred from movement by a disproportionately large Hasan. The alien grabbed him by the shoulder and kept him on the ground. Only then did Caius realize he was still wearing handcuffs—he found that strange, but he was more curious than anything else.
"I am a Sith," said Revan with a sardonic smirk.
"But…but, we heard the tape T3 had. You said Lord Severus knew about you…you weren't him."
"Your grasp of the obvious is inspiring," Revan said impatiently. "Then again, you never were the smartest general under my command—though you were the most successful."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Caius asked.
Revan put his hands on his knees and leaned forward. The former Jedi was wearing all black, but the breastplate he had over his robes consisted of a faded mix of black and crimson. He had a hood, but it was down, hanging over his shoulders. He said condescendingly, "You are correct. I am not Lord Severus. But the Sith do not know that. Neither do they know that I was going to assassinate Ardashir tomorrow."
This was an odd revelation—how could Revan possibly have posed as a Sith?
Revan seemed to anticipate the question. He leaned back and said, "I killed Lord Severus—the real Lord Severus—several months ago, on Scythia. Then I took his place. None know the difference as these abominations have such a puerile obsession with masks and hoods that I am easily able to impersonate the fiend. Only Hsintah here knows who I really am. They don't bother him, either—it is not uncommon for Sith Lords to enslave the alien species and use them as servants, they believe I have done just that."
Caius looked upwards at the grim Hasan who was still grasping his right shoulder. The creature looked very disagreeable. Not like the Hasan he had met on their planet.
Revan spoke again, said, "I never thought I would see you again, Caius. What, exactly, are you doing here? Why are you blundering about so idiotically in the middle of the Sith homeworld? Are you lost?"
The Exile, for some reason, did not understand where the acid behind his words was coming from. He said, "We came…to help you. To help defend the Republic." Caius felt funny saying this. Of course he knew that the biggest reason he wanted to find Revan was to help heal his wound, but he found it would be rather silly of him to say it at this time.
"I see," said Revan, crossing his arms over his breastplate. "So, you decided to come after me—to the middle of the Sith Empire—because of some vague ambition to aid me? Did it not occur to you that I knew what I was doing? That I needed no help?"
"You've been gone for five years," Caius protested, "everyone assumed you were dead."
"That was part of the plan, Caius," lamented the Sith Lord. "If I was thought dead, then no one would come after me. Not even Bas—" he stopped himself before finishing the sentence, as though the name literally hurt to say. After all this time, apparently he had not forgotten her.
Caius tried to stand, as the conversation was not exactly going according to plan. He wanted to be able to talk to Revan on equal footing, but as soon as he tried to get up Hsintah forced him downwards again. He glared up at the alien, who looked back at him with clear disgust.
Revan then said, "Let him stand, Hsintah."
The creature backed off and Caius was allowed to take to his feet, although his hands remained cuffed. He glared at the Hasan and then looked at Revan, who was now standing as well, walking slowly around his chair. He dragged his fingers across it before approaching Caius. He said, "I wish you could know…how much you cost me and our so…precious Republic."
"I don't underst—" Caius could not finish his sentence, as he was violently interrupted by Revan's fist. The former Jedi had unleashed a ridiculously strong blow right to Caius's stomach. The Exile shuddered in pain and fell to the ground, landing on his side. He groaned and tried to get to his knees, but could not.
"Notice how I said that I was going to kill Ardashir tomorrow," Revan said angrily, "not that I am going to. I suppose such subtle tense was lost on you, but you would be glad to know that you are the reason I am not going to kill him."
Caius slowly got to his knees. He had intended to blow Revan backwards with the Force, or at least in some way fight back, but his antagonist's words were getting the better of him. He waited to hear what the man would say.
"Months of planning and all for naught. I had timed it perfectly—Ardashir would have died tomorrow. I hope you realize who he is and what that would have meant. He is the leader of these Sith. The messianic prophet—their savior. His face is plastered all over the city. He was going to bring war to the Republic, but not yet. Tomorrow, during one of the assemblies of the remaining Sith Lords, I was going to kill him." Revan pulled his hood over his face as he spoke. He continued, "But now I cannot. The assembly has been aborted and full-scale war is beginning now. A full month before he had been planning it. And do you know why he had this oh-so sudden change of heart?"
Caius did not bother to answer.
"It is because of you. Because of your blatantly conspicuous rampaging throughout the unknown regions. But maybe even that would have been ignored had you not killed one of the other Sith Lords. But no—you did. And now the whole Sith Empire believes the Republic has struck first. They are going to act, and they are going to do so immediately."
The Exile was stunned, to say the least. Was this true? Should he believe Revan? Would he have any reason to lie? He had answers to none of these questions.
Revan put his mask over his face, and Caius felt his stomach turn. It was the same mask that he had worn while he was a Sith Lord of his own. The same blank, black face with the streaks of red. He spoke from behind it, his voice getting more metallic. He said, "Naturally the other Sith will want to kill you. Since you so obviously wandered into my camp, I'll keep you alive as long as possible. Though, if you live past the week I would be surprised. For now, I will have to incarcerate you in order to maintain the charade." He adjusted his mask and then cracked his neck. He said, "No hard feelings?"
The door behind Caius burst open and a half dozen Sith guards burst through. Revan barked something to them in the Sith language and they approached form behind. Caius tried to resist, he thrust his elbow upwards and smashed one of the soldiers in the face. He used the Force to throw another backwards. Suddenly, however, he was thrown to the ground by an invisible hand. He flipped over and felt a strong kick to his side. He jerked sideways and looked up to see Revan standing over him, still.
"Let's keep this civil," said the Sith Lord.
Caius felt an alien fist collide with his jaw and he lost consciousness.
Bastila was still jittery. She had tried desperately to calm herself, but she could not do it. She was terrified of panicking and blowing her cover, but for some reason none of the Sith she saw had paid any attention to her. She thought for sure she would have seemed out of place, or behaving oddly, but somehow no one noticed—or cared.
Her plan was simple; though she was terrified that in her frazzled state she would foul something up. There was no room for error. She would have to find Revan and tell him that Caius and Xristos had been captured by the Sith. He was her only chance for help. She could feel him through their bond. She wondered if he could feel it too, or perhaps it had been so long that he had forgotten about it.
But she was able to use this complex web of feelings to trace him throughout the city. She ducked through alleyways, hid in cracks and crevices, ran though open areas when she was sure no one was looking. She would follow her gut instinct and trace Revan to wherever he was hiding. She was not sure now what she would say. The thought of even seeing Revan again now, after all this time, was secondary to her fears for her companions. She was terrified they would die. And at the same time she realized that this was what she had wanted to do for years. She had wanted to find Revan again, but she had never anticipated doing it in this way.
It certainly was not the romantic reunion that she had anticipated. But she had to ignore those psychological things; she had to find him for so many reasons now that he became an otherworldly savior to her. She needed him to help save Caius and Xristos, she needed him to learn how to defend the Republic from these Sith, and most of all she needed him. In the strictly personal sense.
She skidded to halt outside of a strangely obvious structure. It seemed to be right in the middle of the city, and it was visible from almost everywhere. She wondered why Revan would be there. She had expected to find him in some sort of cave. But here he was, she knew for certain. The building was a large, windowless structure with completely blank walls. There were many doors around the outside, though all of them blended in well. She determined to break into the facility immediately. She just…was unsure how.
Something had gone awry—Ardashir could feel it.
Standing amidst the dreary and darkened hallways of his stupendous palace, the Sith messiah felt the confusion through the Force. There was conflict, familiarity, and hatred. Through the channels of the Force he could feel it.
The Sith Lord looked every bit as terrifying as the countless portraits of him posted all over the city. Unnaturally tall and strong, and covered with black, pointed armor—he presented the image of an immortal demon.
He summoned one of his Sith lackeys.
"My Lord…" began the Sith.
"Gather together an entire regiment—Severus has done something. I will need to deal with him."
The Exile dreamt again—the blow to his head thrusting him back into his violent and unhappy past. For once, he was not reliving the Mandalorian War. Years had passed, connections had been formed, his exile had been suspended. He was back in the Republic, continuing his fruitless search for the Jedi Masters. Fate cheated him, and he got nothing from them—instead he was forced to go to Telos again, to face the Sith in glorious battle.
He stood on the bridge of the Ravager, the shredded metallic coffin of a man who was not even fully alive. He was a wound, just as Caius was a wound, but his black hole was that of a slavedriver. He was a singularity in the Force, a brutal master who fed on the very breath of his tortured subjects.
Visas lay on the ground, unmoving. She was sprawled out in a broken contortion; face down on the deck of the ship. There were no wounds on her body—Nihilus had simply bled her of life. He reached out and consumed her soul. She had tried to intercede, tried to prevent her master from committing such an act of atrocity, and it had cost her life.
If he had been a man once it was surely long ago. Now he was pure monster. He was undefeatable—he could simply consume those who challenged him.
Except for one.
Kneeling next to the broken body of Visas was Caius Lucullus, the infamous Exile. He knew she was dead; there was no need to check for a pulse or try to save her. He made sure her face was still covered by her veil and he turned her over so as to be in more respectable position. He stood up and looked at the Sith Lord.
"You will not survive," he said. He held his blue lightsaber in front of him, warily cautioning Darth Nihilus with it. "Your ship has been mined—your soldiers are fleeing. Your life will finally end."
Nihilus groaned a violent cacophony of disturbed noises. The animalistic Sith could not even speak coherently anymore—so far detached was he from life. His personality had become irrelevant. He was not a person or an individual—he was a manifestation of the failure of the Force. He was not a vessel for the dark side, even—he had progressed past that. His humanity was lost—he existed only as an abstract indication of the world to come. A world with no Force, no sovereignty, no morality, no equal dignity of souls. He was the end of existence.
A flurry of lightning exploded from the debased creature. Caius held his weapon out, bisecting his body. The lighting did not even impact. It split through the air, cracking and hissing and flying all around him as though a funnel were diverting it around his body. The blue light flickered on his face and the energy bounced off of his aura and ripped into the walls and ground around him.
The torrent of electricity stopped, and the Exile stood still, his weapon elevated. "That will not work," he said. "I am like you—I do not exist in the Force. And you can't kill what doesn't exist."
Nihilus screeched a blackened curse at the Exile and unsheathed his red lightsaber. The large Sith Lord did not waste any movement—he flew at the Exile and launched his attack.
Caius parried a blow, took a step backwards. Two more blocked hits and a counterstroke found them at an impasse.
The Exile took a step back and then poked his weapon towards the Sith, hoping to elicit a response. The Sith Lord did not bite, just matched Caius step for step. The duel devolved into an actionless stare down, each man trying to gauge the movements and eccentricities of the other.
The fight continued on this way for a length of time neither of them could determine. Caius held the defense the whole time, countering the scattered and sparse attacks of Nihilus. He would sometimes counter, but the Sith would effortlessly strike them down.
It took Caius a long time to get back into the rhythm while facing a lightsaber-wielding foe. He had not faced one since he had trained against several of his friends during the Mandalorian Wars, and that was nothing compared to this high-risk situation. The last duel he could recall had been a simple exercise against his friend Marcus, only a week before the latter's death. He meant no disrespect to his deceased friend's skills, but Nihilus was superior in almost every way. Caius would have been overwhelmed by the situation had he not had the ace up his sleeve—his wound. He knew Nihilus could not touch him. And he could exploit this.
A certain rage began to build within the Exile the more he thought of Nihilus. He was a complete enigma, totally indecipherable to the Exile's mind. It was as if he had always been, he never had a beginning. He was the great devilish presence responsible for all the evil in the universe since the dawn of time. Up to and including the deaths of all of his friends. His emotions kicked into overdrive and he suddenly went on the offensive.
He leapt at Nihilus, driving the shocked Sith Lord backwards. His defenses reeling, Caius determined to strike, but try as he may, he could not penetrate. His saber skimmed off of the shoulder of Nihilus, eliciting a ferocious roar from the Sith Lord. Sparks flew off his arm as he countered. His red lightsaber flared through the air and nearly singed Caius's eyebrows. A backwards drive and once again they were even, having gotten nowhere.
Neither had the advantage in terms of personal combat, but Caius knew that time was on his side. The battle was going in the Republic's favor, and soon Nihilus would have to kill him or they would both perish.
His calculations were correct, as Nihilus then made a mistake. It was not a physical one, however. He made a mistake through the Force. Despite the Exile's insistence that he was immune to Nihilus's Force consumption, the Sith Lord decided to chance it anyway. He reached out through the living connection and tried to consume the Exile's soul, but the result was not what he had hoped for.
There was a tremendous backfire. The Sith Lord, full of power, was suddenly depressed like a bloated balloon would be on the verge collapse. His strength vacated his body, fleeing through the bond to the Exile. His life was being siphoned out of him in a bizarrely ironic reversal of what he had spent years honing and exploiting. There was nothing he could do to halt the process.
Caius clenched his fists and yelled, his lightsaber even seeming to flicker and fluctuate in power due to the horrendous siphoning bond that was sucking the very existence out of Nihilus's being. Pain rolled off of the Exile as he weathered the storm, absorbing the violent and twisted nature of the Sith Lord. Bolts of energy and electricity floated around his body, red discharges signifying a literal physical consumption of Nihilus's soul.
In an instant it was over. The funnel closed and Nihilus was left as a void. The Sith Lord stumbled backwards and nearly fell down, slumping to his knees and howling in agony. Caius was almost possessed by the energy that he had allowed to filter through him. His vision went frazzled and red, a wave of fury washing over him. He cried out, yelling in gibberish, and charged the weakened husk in front him. His saber was raised over his head as he ran.
Nihilus, in a pitiful attempt to save himself, held up his lightsaber. He had only a fraction of his strength left, and Caius put all his power behind two vicious swipes at the blade. He succeeded in batting the weapon out of Nihilus's frail hand, vaulting it far away and rendering it irrelevant. He followed through with a violent vertical swipe that Nihilus barely averted by throwing his body sideways. Caius spun around and brought his weapon up again, but this time Nihilus was not so fortunate. The Exile's weapon connected with the Sith Lord right above his elbow, severing his left arm from his body. The Sith howled, but Caius did not relent. He immediately followed this blow with a strike to the Sith's chest—running his blue blade straight through the Sith Lord.
There was almost no noise anymore. Nihilus's shrieking was replaced by a wounded coughing, a reminder of the Sith's past humanity. He was dying—choking away his life. Caius felt the aura around the Sith fluctuate, feeling it get cast into a whirling maelstrom of confused wickedness and desperate redemption. The last observation confused the Exile. What was this sensation? Was it the last evidence of the Sith Lord's previous humanity?
He deactivated his lightsaber and pulled his hilt out of the Sith's body. He felt Nihilus's life expire with the act. Somehow, through some kind of poetic justice, the Sith Lord remained standing, even in death. But he was surely dead; there was no contesting the fact. A curiosity piqued within Caius as he stared at the dead body, beholding the disturbed, skull-like mask on Nihilus's head.
Should I take off the mask? Caius thought to himself.
Hesitantly, he extended his arm towards the mask. He moved slowly, almost afraid that Nihilus would spring back to life. He inched closer until his middle finger could almost touch the chin of the mask. Just as he was about to touch it, however, a flood of second thoughts surged within his mind and he instantly pulled back his hand.
No, he thought. Better to leave the identity unknown.
Nihilus was dead. An impersonal evil and threat to all life. His death could not be more complete. Knowledge would not help Caius in the long run. He turned around and gazed at Visas again. She would have liked to know who Nihilus was, but Caius did not want to. He did not need to.
He did not look back. He began moving slowly, step by step, away from the deceased Sith. If he had bothered to turn around he would have seen the creature's body begin to dissolve and fall apart, but he did not. His pace quickened until he was sprinting, hurrying to get off of the Ravager forever.
Nihilus's mask fell into a pile of debris, and then it too dissolved as a metal in acid. Never again to be seen.
Caius awoke. He hastily recalled the dream and wondered why. Slowly the memory came back to him, and he determined that his confrontation with Revan had brought out one of the most extreme and tense moments in his past. Another conflict with another Sith Lord, no less.
He found himself in a dark, dingy cell. It was not nearly as accommodating as the force cages he was accustomed to. It was an old-fashioned prison cell, the kind one would find in a dungeon underneath a castle. He tried to move and discovered that he was chained to the wall. He could hardly see, but slowly his eyes accustomed to the light. He looked ahead to see that there was but one guard outside of his prison, and he seemed very inhospitable. But he remained distant, several yards away.
He heard a voice from the cell next to him. There were a few holes pierced into the stonewall, and it allowed the sound to funnel through it to him. With a whisper, the guard would not be able to hear it. Even so, he certainly would not understand it.
"You all right, Caius?" the voice asked, concerned. It was Xristos.
"I…don't know," he answered. "I don't remember how I got here."
"You were knocked out when they brought you in," stated the old man. "I wonder why they didn't just kill us. If they're Sith…" he started musing to himself. "So much for finding Revan."
"I found him," said Caius acidly. Xristos seemed to swallow his breath at the statement, but said nothing. The Exile continued, "He is the one responsible for this."
"What…?" asked the old man. "What are you talking about?"
"Lord Severus," Caius explained, "is Revan. He just explained the whole situation to me. Sounds like we're just part of his plan."
"I don't…understand," said the old man.
"He's been posing as the Sith Lord. He told me that we ruined his plans and now the Sith are going to invade the Republic. He also said he's going to turn us over to the true Sith Lord in order to maintain his charade. As prisoners we're to be executed."
"Well…that is…unexpected."
"What the hell are we going to do?" Caius lamented.
"It doesn't look like we're in much of a position to do anything."
Caius grumbled to himself. Revan was always like this. He had always had a plan, some sort of master scheme that he kept to himself because he was so ostensibly brilliant. Sometimes, and the Republic media never made mention of this during the Mandalorian Wars, the plans would backfire. Tremendously.
Dxun was one of those instances. As well as Malachor V. Caius had played a large role in both of those battles, so his views of Revan were somewhat skewed. The man was a good tactician. They were not incorrect when they praised his ingenuity and power…for some of the battles. But he was not always consistent—though he thought he was. His fatal flaw had been arrogance. If he had been such a strategic genius as the newsreels so frequently portrayed him, the Jedi would not have captured him. He would not have allowed Dxun to get so out of hand. And Malachor would not have become the death trap that it did.
Generally, his tactics consisted of the belief that trying to defend everything meant defending nothing. This was a tried and true maxim, but it was hardly groundbreaking. Revan only took it to a new level. He had a sort of persistent intensity that no one previous could match. When it looked like all was lost, he would adhere firmly to his strategy. His subordinates would beg him to deviate, but he would not. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. But in the end the death toll was always extreme. Regardless of how the soldiers felt about it, the Republic lauded him for getting the job done. He did, after all, win the war that no one else could. He had the strength to do what the other leaders could not, but he lost his humanity to it.
That was the secret to his success. In the decades of peace before the war, the Republic had grown complacent militarily. That, and they had a remarkable string of bad luck where all the most inept people had somehow gained high military rankings. When Revan took over he refused to buckle down—to anyone. Quite simply, he was the only one with the balls to win the war.
Revan had always played all the angles, and it appeared to Caius that this time one of the steps in his plan involved him getting killed. The Exile then had a revelation about Revan and his fall to the Dark Side. Never mind what Kreia had said about sacrificing himself, as with most everything else the old woman said, that was likely untrue.
No, it was opposition that caused Revan's "fall". His arrogant confidence in his military abilities led him to believe that his strategies were the most legitimate. An ongoing conflict within the Republic military during the Mandalorian Wars had been the one between him and the Fleet Admiral and the rest of the naval hierarchy. The only conceivable way for Revan's will, his strategies and plans, to be enacted without contest was to change the fundamental structure of the society.
He would change the Republic into the Sith.
With protocol, order, and defiance out of his way, Revan would be free to do as he willed. Maybe he really did believe he was doing the right thing, maybe he no longer cared. But in the end pride did, indeed, lead to his fall. And that was what allowed the Jedi to reprogram his mind.
It all made sense to the Exile now. And now that Revan was more or less uncontested as another Sith Lord, he would be able to do as he willed. The Exile hoped that this did not mean he had once more fallen to the Dark Side…
Caius felt himself jump as he noticed the enigmatic figure was standing in the doorway to the prison cells. The Dark Lord Revan was standing there alone, having dismissed the single guard so he could speak to his prisoners in private. He strode up to the cells solemnly and then removed his mask in front of Caius's barred cell door.
Xristos could see and said, "Well, if it isn't Revan. I can't say I envisioned meeting you under these circumstances. Well…maybe six or seven years ago, but not now."
Revan said to him, "Silence, old man. I have nothing to say to you."
Caius asked pointedly, "Have you fallen to the Dark Side again?"
"Whatever do you mean by that?"
"I mean…why are you doing this?"
"I already explained this to you," Revan said casually. "It is the most logical plan. I knew you would come snooping around this planet, so I took the liberty of capturing you before you so ingloriously shredded my cover. I must protect my identity at all costs. Of course, now that I have incarcerated you, the Lord Ardashir would probably like to know why I have two humans locked up. There was no way to prevent him from learning. And that's why I am keeping you here. He won't come see you himself, but he will send an envoy to come examine, interrogate, and then kill you."
"I'm grateful for all your help," Caius said sarcastically.
"I am sorry," said Revan. "Truly, I am. But you must have seen this as a natural consequence of your actions. Who goes stumbling blindly through the Sith Empire?"
"We were looking for you," answered Caius.
"And I already explained that I did not want to be found. I voice locked the Ebon Hawk's navicomputer for a reason. If I wanted you to follow me I would have built a sign." He took a deep breath and then continued, "Still. You showed remarkable ingenuity getting this far. It is a pity that the Sith will kill you. I would have appreciated the help under different circumstances."
"You bastard," Caius said, "you're letting us die and you're not going to raise a finger to stop it."
"What would you have me do? This situation is not something for which I can be blamed."
"You threw us in prison!"
"You forced my hand," answered the Sith Lord serenely. "Now," he said, changing topics, "I did not come here to argue flawed logic with you."
"And what did you come here for?" asked Caius.
"Merely to explain the situation."
"You don't have to do this," Caius said, though his exhortation was becoming more and more like pleading as the conversation went on.
"I have already apologized, but I do have to do it," he answered. "I cannot be compromised. I must be allowed to continue with my plan."
"You already said that your assassination plan was destroyed. You said that the invasion is happening now!"
Revan smiled a slight, eerie smile. It was almost unnoticeable. He then said, "Yes, it is. Fortunately, through years of work I've managed to convince Ardashir that the Republic's military heart is on Coruscant. He believes the planet to be a fortress, and a quick strike will knock out any possibility for counterattack. Fortunately, such a foolish attack would leave the Republic navy virtually unscathed, and then a counterattack would not only be possible, but it would also be a killing stroke."
Caius was shocked to hear this…but then he knew. Revan was still appealing to his give and take military logic. "But," he protested, "the whole planet would be destroyed. The…Senate and Jedi Temple would be totally obliterated."
Revan thought for a moment, then said, "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It is," answered Caius, "and you are nothing more than the same Sith you've been before."
"I am not!" Revan shouted, much louder than anything else he had said thus far. He clenched his fists, and Caius could see fire in his eyes. He thought that the Sith Lord was going to throw lightning at him and kill him right then, but his hand was stayed. Instead, Revan wheeled around to face a Sith soldier that had burst into the room and shouted something.
Revan's already pale face went pearl white. His teeth bit down on his bottom lip before he shouted in the Sith language, "Do not ever interrupt me!"
The Sith soldier looked utterly appalled at what he was seeing. Revan's mask was not on his face, and the Sith saw nothing but a human. A human masquerading as a Sith Lord. His confusion and shock would cost him dearly. Revan caught the stunned creature by the right elbow and smashed the joint backwards. It bent unnaturally, making a sickening crack in the process. Before the Sith could scream Revan had his hand around the creature's mouth. He flung him through the air, over his shoulder, and onto the ground. The body slammed into the ground, unmoving. Caius saw a knife was wedged into its back. The move had been so seamless that the Exile had not even see Revan go for the weapon or plant it in the alien's body.
Revan blew out his mouth angrily and snapped his mask over his face. He used the Force to summon the knife to his hand and then he launched the dead body across the room. He pivoted and turned to Caius, clearly perturbed. Behind him, however, was another shadowy figure. This one was the Hasan, the one who had socked Caius earlier. The alien strode up to Revan and spoke something in his ear. Revan stood very still while listening, as though he were caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle.
The Hasan leaned away from Revan's ear and the former Jedi turned slowly away from him and towards Caius. He said with an almost violent hiss, "You didn't tell me that she was here…"
Caius was unsure what to say, but when he looked back up, he noticed that Revan was long gone.
"This isn't good," he said.
"No kidding," came the old man's response.
Bastila sat still in what appeared to be the main communications and control room of the fortress she had found. She was unsure of what was going on, that much was certain.
She had been provided with a chair behind a small, wooden table in the dimly lit room. It seemed that most of the light in the place emanated from the various screens and other devices around. She sat quietly in the dark chamber and tried to think of what to do, and contemplate what had just happened to her.
Right outside of this large structure, the one of which she was certain Revan was inside, she had been captured. But not by a Sith. She was not sure what he was. He was some kind of leathery skinned green creature, very unlike the Sith. She was so shocked to see him that she was caught off guard. He had held a gun to her, but she could have easily dispatched him. However, seeing clearly that he was not a Sith, she had allowed him to bring her inside as that was the best possible way to get into the building. She could feel Revan's aura was close, and she believed that this creature would be the one to get her closer.
She did not know that he was Revan's right hand man. Or that Caius and Xristos had been imprisoned in the very same building.
She only sat in confused bewilderment as to her surroundings, and about what to do concerning her kidnapped companions. She only needed to find Revan, and she was sure that he was on his way.
Still, that could not have prepared her for when he walked in.
Six years time and all the training in the world could not have prepared her. The door burst open and then slammed shut. There was a hunched figure in a dark cloak, but he quickly slid the hood off of his head and removed his mask before she could really see it. He strode closer, the weak light in the room reflecting off of his face, and he looked her in the eye.
Bastila was stunned. She was not sure what to do, she simply sat and stared. Six years of trying to figure out what he meant, why he left, and where he was. Now all the answers were before her and she almost did not want to know what they were. She was simply startled by his presence, thrown into an unintentionally awkward silence in which both of them just stared at each other. It was so odd—the friction was palpable. Even without words, the air hummed around them. She could only stare and think to herself, is this it? This is the moment I've been waiting for? Only Revan was able to eventually break the quiet.
He said weakly, "Hello, Bastila."
She did not know what to say.
Hsintah moved in between both of them and stood at an adjacent angle to the small table. He set down Bastila's small comm link, a pistol, and some other trinkets down on top of it. He said, "This is all she had on her. The comm link is the same as the other one."
"Thank you, Hsintah," Revan said. "You may leave."
The Hasan obliged and left the two of them alone.
"It's been a long time," Revan began.
Bastila, despite rehearsing this scenario in her head thousands of times before the occasion, did not know where to begin. But she found that she was somewhat…angry, deep down. She found this disconcerting, as she was not supposed to feel anger. But she did. She asked accusingly, "Why did you leave?"
"Dispensing with the pleasantries already?" he returned smoothly.
"I would like to know why you did not tell me you were leaving," she stated.
"You came all this way just to ask that?" Revan blew out from his mouth and plopped down heavily in the chair opposite his former lover. He leaned forward and put his hands on the table, lacing his fingers and then slowly preparing to speak. He said, "Because I wanted to avoid this conversation if at all possible."
"Avoid the conversation?"
"I know you would not understand."
"You're right—I don't."
"Come on, Bastila. I couldn't tell you, you would have come with me—and this is, obviously, something I must do alone. Or at least…I thought that was obvious."
"You should have told me. If you thought it was so obvious, I would have understood."
"Would you have? You were always so stubborn."
"You are just content to discard me from your life? After everything that had happened?"
"I never…" Revan actually seemed at a loss for words. Given his natural speaking ability and reputation for smooth talking, this was a strange occurrence. He gulped and then continued, said, "I never…stopped loving you, Bastila."
"But…" Bastila had a retort to this, she knew the words, but she could not say them. Instead she became choked up. She leaned forward. She wanted to hide her face from him. She did not feel like she was crying, but she could not tell for sure. Her eyes stung, and she looked down and away. This moment was too hard, and too painful to be worth going through, even for him.
Revan continued, "But sometimes…Bastila," he savored the pronunciation of her name, "we have to give up the things we love to do the right thing."
Bastila looked up at him and saw a face more stricken with grief than she had ever known. Nothing she had seen in her young life was more hopeless, downtrodden, or depressed than Revan's face was at that moment. It was as though his very will to live had been siphoned out of him slowly.
"To do…the right thing?" she said, her voice quivering.
Revan sighed and stood up. He turned away from her and said, "The Republic must be preserved, no matter what the cost. That is…what makes this so difficult."
Before she could ask what he meant, Bastila suddenly felt two tremendously strong hands grab her from behind. In a brief glance backwards, she saw that Hsintah had her within his grip. He clenched her arms and forced her hands into some kind of bind. She shot out from the chair violently and tried to resist. As she flew outwards, she kicked the bottom of the table and caused her comm link to jettison into the air. Without the use of her hands, she reached out with the Force and called on it to activate the emergency transponder on the device. It was almost a reflex—she was not sure this would accomplish anything, but she had to do it. There was a subtle click and then she could not see the link anymore. She was thrown to the ground, but before she could use the Force to attack her unseen assailant, she saw Revan's sorrowful face again. She was rendered immobile by it.
Was this what it had come down to? Six years of yearning and searching for answers, six years for her journey, and it would end like this? The very man she had given herself to willingly was betraying her? She had spurned the code of the Jedi and given up everything for him…and now he was betraying her. She would have been angry, but instead she was heartbroken. It could not be happening to her, not her story, not the fairy tale love story that she had lived up until this point.
But it was happening. Real life was not so pleasant as fiction.
Revan's dismal expression went even whiter. He allowed one more glance at the woman on the ground, and said quietly, "I'm sorry, my love." And then he turned away.
Bastila's vision went to black as her head was covered.
Allie was sitting in the medical room with Dustil, trying to ask him what they should do. He was not really in a position to adequately judge, but she was asking him anyway. He was still sickly, and he would slump over when he tried to sit up for too long. Walking was, for all intents and purposes, out of the question. Elliott, HK, and T3 were all standing behind her.
In her hands, she held the small comm link that had recently given off a burst of noise meant only for emergencies. Bastila had said that they should leave Malacandra if this happened, but she was unsure.
"Dustil," she said, "I don't know what to do."
He groaned slightly and wheezed before speaking. He licked his lips, a reflex due to his now perpetually dry mouth, and then said quietly, "What was it Bastila said?"
"She told us to leave and warn the Republic if she was captured."
"That won't…do any good," Dustil said. "If that were enough, we would have done that without landing on this planet. We need to find Revan…Bastila said she knew where he was, right?"
"Yes."
"Then we should try to follow, or else the Republic is doomed anyway."
Elliott then interrupted, said, "How is it we're supposed to find them? We can't just look around blindly."
"Statement: I am fully capable of tracking the Jedi Bastila's location and that of my former master," HK informed them.
The three people looked at each other uneasily before saying anything.
"Is that…wise?" Allie asked everyone.
"Answer: The Sith have many droids, we already know this. Revan designed me using the archaic Sith schematics on Malachor V and the engineering of the Star Forge. In truth, I am more closely related to these droids than the ones of the Republic."
Allie was not very convinced, she said, "You mean…you want us to just follow you through the streets looking for Bastila and Revan?"
"Answer: Yes, and if you do not then I will. My master's protection demands action regardless of your decisions."
Elliott then chimed in, he said, "If the droid is going he'll blow our cover anyway. Someone should go with him, unless we can stop him."
"Statement: Not a chance, meatbag."
HK then moved to leave. He shoved Elliott out of the way as he departed. The pilot was upset at the assassin droid's antics, but there was not much he could do about it.
"I think you should follow him," Dustil advised.
"But what if we don't come back?" Allie asked. "What will happen to you?"
Dustil winced as he tried to lean forward, and resigned to holding still against the wall. He answered, "T3 and I can handle ourselves."
Allie looked at him closely and saw the defiance within him—there was no way he would let them leave without trying.
Elliott said, "Are you kidding me? We're really just going to wander out there and follow that psychotic droid? That's our plan?"
Allie shrugged, said, "I guess…we don't have an option."
Elliott sighed, said, "I can't believe I'm doing this. This is not what I signed up for." Another breath and then he actually provided useful information. He said, "We can use the extra Sith uniforms. You're tall enough to blend, right Allie?"
At five feet and ten inches, Allie would have an easier time blending in than Bastila did, but it would still be difficult. Elliott was over six feet so he would have no issues.
"Okay," Allie said reservedly, "we'll go with HK." She stood up and cast another glance at the young Jedi, said, "Goodbye, Dustil."
"Good luck," he said. "May the Force be with you."
Allie and Elliott found HK at the foot of the loading ramp and ordered him to wait and then guide them. He was unhappy, but compliant. Meanwhile, they both hurried back inside to grab their things. They each took a Sith uniform and their blasters.
"Should we take their lightsabers?" Allie asked.
Elliott shrugged, his face much whiter than it had been previously, and he seemed to be shaking slightly.
Allie grabbed Caius's lightsaber and Xristos's. They hurried outside, donned their hoods and covered their faces, and then ordered HK to guide them. They only made it a few yards before Elliott stopped them. Allie turned to look at him as he removed his hood—his face was pale white and he seemed much more erratic than she had ever seen him before.
He weakly stuttered, "I can't do this. I'm not doing this—I can't go."
Allie lunged towards him and grabbed him by the arm, said, "Yes you are! You have to help me! I can't do this by myself!"
He ripped her hand off his arm and took two cautious steps backwards towards the Ebon Hawk. "I can't," he said, the words stumbling out of his mouth, "I just…I can't…I didn't sign up for this."
Allie slowly let her arm fall to her side. She watched helplessly as Elliott nervously looked two different ways, paused for a moment, walked in a circle, and then started hobbling back to the Ebon Hawk.
He went several yards before Allie yelled at him, "You can't do this!" Her normally pleasant voice was raised well beyond its normal pitch, and her words shook throughout the chasm of a canyon, echoing several times.
As her echoes slowly withered, Elliott turned around slightly, looked askance at her and said, "You're right…I can't."
And with that he continued up the slight incline towards the Hawk.
Revan was rendered nearly immobile by the day's events. He was normally so serene, so sure of what he was doing, but now he was questioning himself in ways he had not since the Mandalorian Wars. Could he really give up Bastila like this? Should he? He did not know. He sat, incapacitated, in the chair that Bastila had occupied when she was in the room. He had not gotten to explain anything to her, they had only had a brief discourse about the nature of his love for her. And then he had locked her up…how foolish he was being. Of course she would never allow him near her again…if she lived past tomorrow.
His head was buried in his hands, and Hsintah found the image unsettling. He repeatedly tried to urge his master back into action, but the man had been completely disarmed. Disarmed, not through weapons or strategy, but because of his feelings for a woman.
"I can't do this, Hsintah," he said, "I can't let her die like this."
"You would let the others die," answered the Hasan.
"I don't care about them!" he retorted. "They are nothing."
"You gave your justification, my lord. Your Republic must be saved, you cannot allow yourself to be compromised. Once the attack is underway, you can stab Ardashir in the back and then the Republic will counterattack and destroy the invasion force."
"I know what my plan is!" Revan responded angrily, slamming his fist on the table in front of him. "But…this cost!"
"There is no other way, my lord."
Revan looked up at the grim figure before him. For the first time since he had met the alien on Scythia he doubted his motives. Of course he wanted Revan to continue with his plan. He cared nothing for Bastila. But he did not understand, he did not know what Revan was going through.
But even then it may be too late. He had already imprisoned Bastila…she would likely never forgive him. Even if he tried to rectify the error.
And if he did try to save her, he would compromise himself and he would have to flee. And then not only would Bastila probably spurn him, he would also lose to Ardashir. Logically, he would have to continue with his current scheme.
Logic—that's what it had always come down to. Logic triumphed over emotion, always. That was how he had won the Mandalorian Wars. But never had it been so…personal. He had never experienced this kind of moral dilemma before.
For the first time, Revan was willing to admit that he did not know what to do.
"You know," Xristos said, refusing to be quiet and let Caius sulk, "I talked to Allie about you earlier today."
"Oh hell, that's almost the last thing I want to think about now," answered the Exile from the darkness of his cell.
"Almost the last thing?"
"Aside from our impending deaths," Caius said flatly.
"Which is why I brought it up," the old man informed him. "Anything else is welcome in my book."
Caius sighed and scooted across his cell. Or at least, he scooted as far as his chains would allow—which was not very. He said, "I'd prefer to talk sports or something. It doesn't matter if you bring up Allie because we're dead anyway."
"But that doesn't mean you should go to your grave acting this way."
The Exile was not exactly thrilled with the conversation, he said, "Do you have to philosophize about everything? I'll bet the last thing you think of before your death is the nature of morality."
"Not necessarily," said Xristos, "I might think about the nature of love. Bastila and I had a good discussion about it on that dead planet—it's too bad you weren't there, you might have learned something."
"I've learned enough about love," Caius informed him. He would have crossed his arms if he could. He looked out of the dim cage to see the lone Sith guard sitting at the other end of the room. He was quite far away, but he did not seem to be perturbed at their speaking. Perhaps he knew there was no way they could break out—he would have no need to be concerned even if they were shouting death threats at him.
"I doubt that," Xristos challenged him.
"Look," said the Exile, growing more and more irritable, which was amazing given the circumstances, "I'll tell you the same thing I told Allie: I do not want to love anyone. I don't want to get involved with any woman that way—not one, no matter how she feels. I don't want to deal with it or the stupid hardships it brings with it."
"So it's about security," stated Xristos. It was not a question at all.
"If it makes you feel better, yes—it's security. I don't want to deal with any of it."
"You know," began the old man, and Caius knew that he was going into philosophy mode, "a wiser man than I once had something to say on that. He said to love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and probably be broken."
Caius supposed this was true, he said, "And that is why I don't want to deal with it. Why put myself through that?"
"Well, if you want to make sure of keeping it intact, which you are doing quite well, you must give your heart to no one. Wrap it carefully with any hobby or small luxury or jade it with cynicism and sarcasm; avoid all entanglements, lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. Is that what you want? Because it's what you are doing."
The old man's disembodied voice seemed to be assaulting Caius from every direction. He did not want to think about it. He stuttered, "I…I don't want—" but he couldn't finish.
"You seem to think your heart will be safe there, and you're right. In that casket," continued the old man, "safe, dark, motionless, airless—it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. Do you understand what I'm saying? That's the kind of tortured individual you can and will become by taking that view on love."
Caius didn't say anything, and the disembodied voice that was completely assaulting him was not finished.
It said, "The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside of complete unity from the Force—heaven—where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is a Pallian kind of place of eternal torment—hell, if you will."
The words were giving Caius a hard time. Within the dark prison he could hardly see, but he could somehow feel the musings of the old man swimming around him, as though the words were living creatures seeking to devour him from the inside. It was working. He lamented, "Why are you telling me this? We're going to die soon, why should I even care at this point?"
Xristos gave off a little laugh. It was odd, certainly not a happy laugh, but a sort of admonishing chuckle, like Caius was just too thick to understand what he was saying. He stated, "Because, dear Exile, I would not want you to spend the last hours of your life in hell. That would too tragic to be considered even ironic."
"But even if you're right, even if you are absolutely, one hundred percent correct, it is still too late. We're dead, Bastila is probably captured too, and the rest of our crew is probably a million light years away from here by now. It's hopeless."
"It may be hopeless, but it's never too late."
"It is."
Xristos's voice got louder. Caius was rattled by his words, as they were almost a shout. He rebuked him harshly. "Do you not understand even now?" he asked rhetorically. "What of Allie? Maybe she would have been good for you, maybe not, but the point is—you can't just shut yourself off from your feelings and emotions in that way. That is what the Jedi do, and that is why you'll always be one of them. Do you fancy being a statuesque clone of theirs for all eternity? Living in a world isolated from all joy, hope, and passion—yes, passion! It is not such an enemy to be feared as they would have you believe. Passionless life gets you this: wasting away in a dungeon and hating everyone because of it."
"What do you want me to say?" Caius pleaded, "that I fucked up? Fine, I said it! You're right—I'm wrong. But this doesn't mean anything now. What does it get me?"
"It's fine for you to say it, but it's only important that you mean it. Words without thoughts never to heaven go."
"Maybe I do love Allie, but this philosophical arguing is pointless."
"It isn't pointless at all, in fact, there's nothing more important that we should be doing right now. You're going to die within a day, do you want to get to that point with such deluded self-induced illusions about life? Don't lie to yourself to be happy, in the end you'll be far more miserable. Embrace whatever truth you know, and appreciate it now while you have a chance. So if you do love Allie, then what do you get now?"
Caius sighed. He was getting nowhere, but maybe the old man was right. What was the saying? Better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. "I suppose…the experience."
"Now we're getting somewhere," Xristos said. "You saw a glimmer, a flicker of something that every being in this galaxy is searching for. You came closer than most. You and Allie were able to faintly gaze upon something that makes all of us human. And now you can go to your death without regrets, because you didn't try to cage it up and ignore it."
"But I did…up until now," answered the Exile.
"And that's why I brought it up."
"Old man, you never do stop thinking about love, do you?"
"No—not since the Jedi told me it was of the dark side. I've spent the last forty years trying to prove them wrong."
"You have," Caius informed him. "I see…they are wrong."
There was a long pause at the other end. Caius could not see the old man, but he could almost feel him thinking. The Exile expected some kind of long-winded dissertation on why the Jedi were wrong, but instead he got a simple, heartfelt response.
"Thank you," said Xristos, "you don't know how glad it makes me to hear that."
Caius couldn't suppress a smile. Despite the grim circumstances, he was somehow…content. "Well then," he said, "here's to having loved and lost. Let's ask the guard for a drink to toast to."
"Sounds good to me."
As the two imprisoned Jedi were discussing her, Allie, never the worse for wear, was leading the rescue "team" to find them, a team that consisted of her and only her. Although the psychotic assassin droid claimed to be helping. Sure, Caius had aggravated her, but that did not mean she was willing to sacrifice him, Xritsos, and Bastila to whatever sinister entity had captured them. She did not want to think of her feelings for him, though. For some reason she was attracted to him, though she couldn't, or perhaps wouldn't, call it love at all. Perhaps…infatuation. Some kind of attraction. But she shoved it from her mind. She would try her best to find them, and Elliott would help her. She followed HK, but despite his lead, she seemed to be in charge of the mission.
The droid was able to track the three Jedi quite easily with his various instruments, escorting them quickly through the disturbingly derelict Sith city. It was so empty it was disconcerting. Although Allie found the notion extremely distressing, but she was glad the place was so empty for it allowed them to sneak through it rather easily.
She tried her best to blend, though very few—if any—Sith actually laid eyes on them. There were other droids around, but they were such a strangely mixed group of machines that HK did not stick out at all. In fact, there were several droids ambling about that seemed to be very similar to him. It was shocking in that they saw almost more droids than Sith in the city.
When they were sufficiently isolated, Allie dared to ask, "Why is no one here?"
"Answer: It is statistically the most likely that the Sith are preparing for a massive invasion, one that requires the services of the majority of the population. Given the apparent martial law maintained in this environment, those not part of the war force are, presumably, bound by law to stay inside or out of the way."
Allie thought about how unfortunate it would be to live in such a society.
"Suggestion: We should stay quiet."
They continued through the vacant stone streets and through the towering black structures. The buildings were impressive in their odd architecture, very different from that of Republic worlds. Allie thought it looked similar to the large watchpost that was constructed inside the main city on Scythia. They also seemed to bear a definite resemblance to the ruins on Samarkand. What was the most unsettling were the large pictures hung on most of the empty walls—Allie had no idea what they were, but she most certainly did not like them.
They proceeded through the empty city until HK bid her to stop. There was a rather large, looming structure in front of them. It was very black and very tall. It looked like some kind of fortress, sacrificing style for function. It seemed impenetrable.
"We're supposed to break in there to get them out?" Allie gulped
"Order: I said 'quiet', I will devise a plan."
"Don't order me," Allie retorted, "how about you do what I tell you?"
The droid ignored her and said, "Statement: I have a plan." He readied his weapon.
Revan could not handle it any longer. He was still wallowing in his state of emotionally disturbed hyper-confusion, and he was about to burst. His mind was running over all of his options, what could he do?
Hsintah maintained that he was doing the right thing, but then why didn't it feel like it? He thought some more, realized that his time was running short and decided that he had to do something. He was not in the right.
He slammed his fist on the table in a fit of rage, punctuating his decision. His tired, red eyes dilated and he looked at Hsintah, who was standing a few feet away and watching his master go through torment. Revan said, "I can't do this. I'm getting her out of here."
"You cannot do that, my lord. You will compromise yourself and the Sith invasion. If you leave, they may stay the attack as a result of dissent within the ranks. Not to mention all of your work will be undone when they undoubtedly attack this complex."
"I no longer care!" Revan shouted, standing up. He rose with such force that he slammed his thigh into the table and his chair launched backwards. "I can't do this, I can't do this! Not to her!"
"You are going against everything you ever believed and taught me," the calm, emotionless alien stated with startling serenity. "For five years you told me of your past battles and your beliefs and plans, and now you are going to jeopardize all of it for a woman. Your love for her will make you weak."
Revan lunged forward and stood face to face with the alien, barely two inches separating them. He said, "Don't you ever call me weak! I know what I am doing! I set all of this up, and I can destroy it if I so desire!"
"Very well, my lord, let the Republic—and Scythia—burn. I do hope you enjoy her company in these the worlds' last nights."
Revan was consumed in anger now—his apprentice, his most trusted agent, was standing against him. Surely this couldn't be. This was the way of the Sith, wasn't it? Could he be a Sith? I'm not a Sith again, I'm not! he thought, panicked.
Still angry, he struck at Hsintah. He intended to backhand the alien for daring to stand in his way, but his hand was caught in mid-air. Hsintah gripped his wrist and held it in front of his face. Revan was shocked, his apprentice had just humiliated him. Would he now attack him, too? Would he follow in the way of the Sith and try to kill him?
He would not.
"Very well," said Hsintah again, "I vowed to stay with you and see this through—I will not rescind on my vows." The alien let go of Revan's bent wrist and stepped aside, resigning to let his master do whatever he willed.
Revan pulled his wrist close to his chest and rubbed it—the alien had almost crushed it with his grip. He said, "Thank you…Hsintah." He shook himself out of his stupor and then gave his orders. "Quickly, stage an attack at the southeast corner of the building. See if you can send as many of the Sith as possible away. Tell them we have had a breach by Republic spies—that'll distract them long enough for us to escape."
"I will do this," Hsintah complied.
"Thank you," Revan said as he turned to leave the communications room for the last time. He stalled and said over his shoulder, "Good luck, Hsintah."