Chapter Twenty-One
Carth Onasi sat idly behind his mammoth wooden desk, casually turning a small paperweight over in his palm. The little blue pyramid was a very attractive utensil, a lighter blue orb suspended inside of it, and he often fiddled around with it when he was trying to burn time—or procrastinating. This present moment fell under the latter category. In front of him was a seeming mountain of paperwork, almost all of which was pertaining to some sort of scandal involving one of his captains, who had apparently been caught by the Republic tabloid press in the company of a Twi'lek prostitute. Naturally, the man's military career was now behind him. Carth, however, was more disgusted at the paperwork than at the man's inability to resist his lustful temptations. Nothing was worse than paperwork—or so Carth thought.
A surprisingly loud slam reverberated throughout his office, causing him to drop his paperweight. His front door had opened and closed within a span of a single second. There were a few hasty footsteps, and then his private door was flung open, revealing his out-of-breath orderly—a lieutenant by the name of Galvin.
Galvin shuffled forward quickly, much to Carth's chagrin.
"You're supposed to knock, Lieutenant," he said tersely. Galvin was a good man, and quite a helpful secretary, but he had a tendency to overreact to things—Carth suspected this was one example.
"Yes, sir, sorry, sir," Galvin offered, hoping to avoid any kind of lecture. When he saw that Carth was not going to say anything, he launched into his message, said, "Admiral, sir, transmission from Fleet HQ, high priority. I tried to reroute to it to your desk, but I couldn't, so you will have to open it yourself."
"I see," said Carth, "thank you, you may leave."
"Thank you, sir," said Galvin who briskly turned and exited the room, shutting the door behind him.
Carth sighed. The one thing that was worse than paperwork was a confidential message from brass. He knew he was not in line for a promotion, having just been elevated to Rear Admiral only a few months before, so there was no way this message was good news. He focused on his translucent, paper-thin monitor and entered in about six different passwords and authorization codes before anything showed up. When he finally accessed the document, however, his veins ran cold. It read:
Admiral Onasi,
At 13:34 this afternoon, a destroyer in orbit around Kuat discovered a repeating distress transmission beamed from an unknown location. It was encoded so as only a military vessel would be able to decipher it, which suggests something of its author. It cycled the same message:
"Invasion Coruscant immanent large scale 5224-622-6378"
I suspect you are familiar with these numbers. Please report to me upon receiving this.
Signed,
Forn Dodonna
Carth's hands were trembling. Those numbers belonged to the Ebon Hawk. Although the ship had had its ID signature altered several times, this was the string she bore when he had commissioned all the repairs before Caius left with her. This did not bode well. Not at all.
Dodonna was in the neighborhood at the time of her transmission to Carth. She was aboard the capital ship of the Republic Fleet, an immense supercarrier by the name of Vanguard. The ship happened to be in orbit around Coruscant along with several CSGs, Carth's included along with his ship, Reckoner. He had graduated to a better vessel than the Sojourn in the past several weeks. Given the planet's importance and the recent turmoil that had engulfed the Republic, this was not unusual. It was, however, unfortunate for Carth.
Deciding against his better judgment, he sent a message to Nantaris to inform him of what he knew. He had a hunch that suggested he do it sooner rather than later.
It took him about two hours, but Carth was finally able to reply to Dodonna, inform her that he was on his way, send a message to Nantaris, and secure a private shuttle from the planet to Vanguard. The procedure annoyed him. And he had the added fear of the unknown that was overtaking him now—he was unsure what it was exactly that Dodonna wanted to say, but he feared the worst.
The shuttle ride had been oppressively silent, as he had spent the whole time pondering his predicament.
Upon disembarking, he curtly saluted an officer standing nearby, not even taking enough notice to learn his rank, and was told that Admiral Dodonna was in some isolated office on port side. He stalked through the various corridors of the ship until he finally—after what seemed like an hour—made it the meeting point. He briefly greeted an ADC, a Commander, and announced that he was to meet Dodonna. The woman assented and told him to go straight in to Dodonna's private office. He took a deep breath, smoothed out his gray uniform, put his hat under his arm, and strode as confidently as possible inside the room.
Inside, he found a dimly lit room with a rather large viewport overlooking Coruscant. He squinted and discerned that, near the very right end of the viewport, Dodonna was standing silently, waiting for him. She was of average height and slim build; her reddish-brown hair was usually concealed under a cap, but not today.
He strode up quickly towards her, and when she regarded him, he saluted crisply, to which she returned one.
Just as soon as she let her arm down, however, she sighed deeply, began, "Admiral Onasi, you have been one of the Republic's best men in the past decade. I trust your judgment…in most cases." She paused and took a deep breath before staring him in the eyes, "Explain to me what this is about."
Carth gulped before beginning, said, "Ma'am, the Ebon Hawk was sent on a search and rescue mission into the Unknown Regions." This was fudging the truth a little bit, but it was unlikely that she knew exactly why the Hawk was out there anyway.
"And now we're under threat of invasion—ostensibly. Forgive me if I refuse to believe you are telling the whole truth, but I know that there is more to this. The records indicate that you commissioned substantial repairs and overhauls for the ship about a week before its departure, unlikely for a simple searching mission. Now," she exhaled, "please tell me exactly what you were doing, and then give me a good reason not to court martial you."
A court martial? Carth thought, what would the charges be? His mind was now very frazzled, and with good reason. His entire career would now be on the line, depending on how well he would be able to convince the Admiral that this was not his fault. Insubordination, his mind informed him.
He tried to gather himself before responding, but he was interrupted before he could defend himself. It was not Dodonna's voice, though. "Hey, you can't go in there!" shouted a woman from behind the closed door.
The door then flew open and an imposing man stormed in. "You began without me," he accused in a distinctly accented voice.
Carth and Dodonna both turned to face their newcomer. In front of the door stood the robed figure of Nantaris. His hand was in the air, gesturing towards the ADC who was standing in the doorway behind him. She said, "I'm sorry, ma'am, but he wouldn't leave!"
"Damn right I wouldn't leave," said Nantaris gruffly, letting his hand fall, "now, may I have an audience? Or must we go through this charade?"
"Should I call the MPs?" asked the ADC.
Dodonna slowly shook her head, said, "That will not be necessary."
Nantaris glared at the woman behind him and then swung the door closed when she went out. Following that, he strode up to Carth and Dodonna.
"You should not be here," said Dodonna.
"Funny, because I am," said the Jedi. Clearly, he was not in the best of moods.
"Valiens," said Carth, "this is between me and the Admiral, you don't need to get involved."
Nantaris scoffed, "The hell I don't. This is my responsibility, after all. I orchestrated this whole thing. Now that the Ebon Hawk is missing and its crew presumed dead, and we have that mysterious message, I need to discuss our best course of action."
Dodonna was slack jawed, she stuttered for a moment before asking simply, "How…do you know all of that?"
"I'm a Jedi," Nantaris said flatly, "we know everything." He then turned to Carth, but addressed Dodonna, "Carth is not behind this." He looked back at the Fleet Admiral, "you want someone to blame, it's me. This was a Jedi mission. We had four members of our Order on that ship, two droids, and two mercenaries. The only reason Carth was involved is because his son went—this was not his idea."
Carth was stunned, and his heart jumped into his throat when he heard Dustil mentioned, but Dodonna simply accepted what he had to say. She responded unhappily, "What is it you want, then?"
Nantaris immediately answered, "We stop this and immediately prepare for an invasion. I'll prepare all the Jedi I can, we mustn't allow the Temple to fall if anything happens."
He was moving quickly, they did not even know if an invasion was coming, but he figured that debating that now would be rather pointless. They had to prepare a defense—even if the Sith invasion never came.
Whatever Dodonna's qualms, she knew he was right about defending the Jedi Temple. During the war with Malak and the following time of uncertainty, several orbital defense stations were erected around Coruscant. Shields produced by strategically placed generators on the planet's surface protected them, and those generators were all powered by a single monstrous source via a complicated underground network. Much fuss was raised about where to put the power source, but eventually the Republic military decided to put it underneath the Jedi Temple—after all, could they find a safer place?
After the purges, however, the Jedi were thinned, but the military did not bother to move the power generator, thinking that since they were not at war it was not of utmost importance.
Dodonna wasn't thinking this quickly, though. She said, "You knew a substantial amount, more than our intelligence has been able to gather as of yet. Who is invading us? I have not even heard a theory—it is quite aggravating."
Nantaris did not even bat an eye: "The Sith, of course."
The jump away from Malacandra had nearly killed them. Except maybe Revan, no one had realized how close they were to perishing. The confusion that had overtaken Revan's fortress was the only thing that saved them. The Sith had turned on each other in bewilderment, as it appeared that one of their leaders was defecting, and the carnage prevented word initially from getting out. By the time Lord Ardashir had time to react, the crew had long since escaped. A squadron of fighters pursued them, but the Hawk was much faster, and jumped to lightspeed as soon as it could.
In the moments immediately after their escape, Ardashir ordered the fortress gutted so that any information Revan had been hiding would be found, although there was nothing that he did not already know at that point.
Their harrowing escape was lost on the crew, though, as they were more concerned with the future, which was, admittedly, not too bright.
Caius, though he refrained from letting his rage get the best of him since the "fight", had not cooled down. Still his emotions were overwhelmed with hatred for Revan. He did not speak to anyone during the escape—no one did—resorting merely to biding his time in the dormitories of the ship. As much as he wanted to find Allie and try to talk to her, try to explain everything he had done, he was more preoccupied with Revan. How he despised him.
Amidst the awful tension, the Ebon Hawk eventually fell out of hyperspace near a decrepit old military station by the name of Senadis that had been built in the Outer Rim, orbiting a mining world, during the height of the Civil War. An entire regiment was stationed there to guard what was considered a vital supply line. It was useful then, but now it was worthless—an out of the way post where troublesome or ambitious military personnel were sent to get them out of the picture. It had not seen anything out of the ordinary in years, so the arrival of the Hawk was met with a bit of attention.
Bastila staggered tiredly down the loading ramp towards a group of soldiers and one colonel that had scrambled to meet them. The soldiers were visibly confused, as this shredded freighter had dropped in from nowhere on an uncharted hyperspace route. On top of that, a mysterious yet beautiful woman, clearly in pain and worn down from lack of sleep, was stumbling towards them out of the worn vessel. The whole spectacle was something they had never expected to find on such a forgotten station. Only their commanding officer remained neutral.
"Are you…in charge here?" Bastila asked sloppily.
The Colonel responded, "I am. My name is Colonel Henrik Farain." He looked her up and down, then question, "A…Jedi? What are you doing here? And where did you come from?"
"We came from the Unknown Worlds…the Republic is under attack…do you have any communications equipment?"
The Colonel scratched the side of his head, not comprehending her hasty, apocalyptic message, and then sighed, "Our systems have been down for days. The computers somehow contracted a virus and we have no one capable of fixing it. HQ was supposed to send a tech, but no one has shown up. Par for the course."
"We have…" Bastila swayed and almost fainted, causing several of the soldiers to jump forward in case she fell. She steadied, however, and put her hand on her forehead. "Then…" she said, "we need fuel. Can we rest here?"
Colonel Farain was somewhat taken aback, but replied in the affirmative, saying, "Well…I, of course. We have some fuel and several unused rooms near the mess." He was as confused as the rest of his men, but he figured that if a Jedi wanted a little fuel, it was probably for a good reason.
"Thank you…" Bastila responded, closing her eyes, "just a few hours to rest. And then we'll leave in peace." She shook her head and then turned to trudge back up the Hawk. She had initially thought that Allie could fix the computer and they would be able to contact Carth, but that would likely take longer than simply staying for a half of a day and then jetting off to Coruscant.
The fractured crew of the Ebon Hawk had filed out individually to separate rooms on the derelict station. Only Caius and the droids remained behind, the Exile because he was too busy stewing over everything that had happened to want to even move around. The Hawk was, unfortunately, in no condition to fly. On top of refueling, the crew of Senadis Station had to get her in flying shape again before she could ever leave. As a result, the Hawk's crew had to wait.
Inside the dark ship the hours crept by, but Caius could not find rest. He forlornly wandered through the halls of the vessel, reminiscing as the repairmen worked outside. He thought a lot about what Xristos had told him. He knew that he was violating the old man's wishes by holding on to this hatred, but he could not help it. He vainly hoped this truth would somehow absolve him of his anger, but he knew deep down that it wouldn't. In the throes of this mental anguish, he meandered through the small swoop hangar of the Hawk and ran across HK. The droid was standing solemnly in a dark corner, almost unmoving. Caius had almost collided with him, as he had not expected him to be there. He said, "Sorry, HK—I didn't see you."
"Reply: It is time we settled this."
The Exile halted. Did the droid just threaten him? "Settle…what?"
"Statement: I believe you already know, meatbag. You and the master are at odds."
Caius was unnerved by this. Seemingly gone was the droid's cantankerous manner of speech that always thinly veiled his violent desires. Something was amiss. "I…" Caius began, "am…your master."
HK's head turned towards him, but seemed to get stuck halfway through its pivot. It clicked three times and twitched before finally looking straight at him. The droid said abstractly, "Correction: You were. But now this sensation—cancellation—I have returned to my former master."
"Wha—" Caius started.
"Explanation:" the droid began calmly, "you were once the master, just as Revan was once the master. But neither of you ceased being the master. As you were brought together, an incredible thing happened." The droid paused, savoring his elaboration, then said, "Reversion: I am now a fully loyal droid to my real master—Revan."
Caius was scared senseless. There was no way HK could ever be allowed to switch sides. He would be too dangerous. He said, "I see…"
"Statement: So do I. Now that I am free from your decisions…I am now returned fully to my original functionality. I look back and I see…I have done questionable things."
The Exile had no idea what to say. Should he try to say something to the droid? If he got angry who knows what sort of destruction he would unleash. He said uncertainly, "Also…extraordinary things."
HK almost seemed to take a breath before responding slyly, "Addendum: But nothing the god of biomechanics would not let you in heaven for."
This wasn't good.
"Statement: You and the master are at odds," continued the droid, "I believe you wish to eliminate him. My programming forbids me from allowing this to happen."
Caius wasn't sure what this meant, but he did not need to find out. There was no way he could allow this droid the opportunity to function this way. HK seemed to be going for a gun that was on a nearby workbench, one they had stolen from the Sith. Before he could get it, Caius lunged and grasped onto it. HK, much stronger than he was, could easily have wrenched it away, but Caius reached out with the Force in a last gasp effort and flipped a certain necessary switch that was inside the droid's chassis. There was a distinct click and then HK's eyes dimmed and his head slumped down onto his chest. Caius had effectively turned him off. He was certainly not going to turn him back on until he figured out a way to fix him. He never imagined he would feel this way, but he needed the old HK back—he was safer.
The Exile looked down at the loaded pistol in his hands. He balanced it on both palms, analyzing its weight. HK wanted to protect Revan? From me? Suddenly Caius was presented with an image—something of the Force, a prediction, perhaps. It was too real to be a delusion. He saw Revan, a bullet hole in his temple, lying motionless on the ground, his marred face pale white and a pool of blood forming around him.
He was then catapulted back into reality. He thought on the image for a moment and then looked down at the pistol. He wavered uncertainly, but then tossed the gun into the air, caught it, and then put it inside his robe. He was going to do it. He had HK to thank for inspiration.
The Exile sneaked silently out of the Hawk. Though it appeared to always be dark on this station, most of the lights were turned off, so it was even blacker. He pulled his long coat over his shoulders and proceeded to walk briskly towards the general area of the lodgings his crew had taken up.
He swiftly navigated two corridors and then rounded a sharp corner. There he found the rooms. A Republic soldier was standing guard haplessly, no doubt someone on watch. Caius stormed past him quickly, and when the man looked as though he were to speak, Caius waved his hand at him and said, "I was not here."
The man was convinced and went quiet. He looked the other direction and completely forgot the encounter.
Caius scanned the area through the Force, reaching out through the bonds he made with everything. He easily found Revan's room—the man was a confused black mass of Force power, emanating like a beacon. He crept slowly to the door, unlocked it with the Force, and swiftly, silently, ventured inside.
Revan was slumped over in a chair, his back to the door. His head was propped up by an upright arm and fist, holding himself in the precarious position. He looked to be sleeping. The room was sparse, nothing in it but a small cot, a table, and the chair that Revan occupied. Caius slowly pulled the pistol out of his robe and gripped it solidly in his right hand. He stepped closer, as gently as possible, using the Force to lighten his steps and reduce noise. He was within three feet, and then held his arm up, aiming at the back of Revan's head. He put his quivering finger over the trigger and then steeled himself to do it.
But then he noticed the safety was on. He knew it would make a noise, but he tried to time it as best he could. He flipped it off, the gun clicked, and Revan stirred.
Quickly, Caius planted the barrel of the gun on the back of the Jedi's head and he instantly froze. There was a pause that seemed to last for a minute where neither of them would move. At length Revan spoke.
"You are going to kill me?" he asked.
Caius felt his shaking hand begin to tense, said, "Nothing would give me greater satisfaction than to put a bullet in your head."
"For what?" Revan asked softly, "to bring back the old man?"
"Two wrongs may not make a right," Caius assented, "but they do balance. This is for justice."
Revan then slowly turned his chair around to face Caius. Somehow he knew that the Exile would not squeeze the trigger.
He was right; though he desperately wanted to, Caius did not do it.
As Revan turned around, Caius was horrified by his appearance. Suddenly he seemed very frail and mortal—a far cry from the famous warrior he had been. His eyes were sunken, dark circles around them, and they were bloodshot. On the left side of his face, where Caius had struck him earlier, was a horrendous scar.
"You already gave me this," said Revan as he put his hand on it. The peach streak of marred skin was revolting; such a disfiguring scar would likely be there forever. Apparently he had not been able to heal it cosmetically.
Caius moved to Revan's left side and put the gun on his temple, said, "It does not matter. You tried to kill me, and you did kill Xristos. You don't deserve to live."
Revan sighed slowly, answered, "No, I don't. Death has loomed over me since the Mandalorian Wars. It is waiting, I can feel it. I will not last long—my time will be up soon, but I do not think you will be the one to finally rid the galaxy of me."
"What are you talking about?" Caius asked, but before Revan could answer he supplanted his own question with another: "Why did you do it?"
Revan shifted his neck and looked up at Caius, the barrel of the gun now pointed between his eyes. He did not look at the lethal shaft, though, only looked at Caius. Two pairs of brown eyes bore into each other. "Have you ever tried to undo everything you did wrong? To fix the past?" the Prodigal Knight asked whimsically.
"Every day," answered Caius.
"Then you should be sympathetic."
"I am not," retorted the Exile, "because you killed my friend."
"How many friends do you think you killed during Malachor?"
Caius knew Revan was simply trying to divert the conversation in order to make him feel guilty, but he did not buckle, said, "That was not the same—and you ordered me to do it."
"You were still the one who undertook the action."
This was not the type of moral quandary Caius had wanted to get himself into. He said pitifully, "That was war—things happen."
"That they do," answered Revan. He then smirked somewhat devilishly and asked, "But what of Marcus Celer? Was he not your friend?"
This comment would hurt Caius tremendously. Revan knew about their friendship, and he knew that Caius felt responsible for the man's death at Malachor, even though he never verbally acknowledged it.
"His death was not my fault," Caius defended himself, "his ship was downed because of his pilot, the Shadow Generator would not have killed him—I didn't do it."
"You're right," Revan informed him, surprising the Exile, "because he survived the battle. Though you would never recognize him. Some might say he became a bit…twisted."
Caius pushed the pistol into Revan's forehead and demanded, "What the hell are you talking about?"
"You don't know?" Revan asked, "Who do you think you killed on Telos?"
Caius was confused.
"Bastila told me," informed the Prodigal Knight, "that you slew Darth Nihilus. Did you never stop to consider who Nihilus was before he became a Sith?"
Caius lowered his gun, said quietly, "No…that wasn't him."
There was vision, a quick blink of his past through the Force. He was standing on the deck of the Ravager again, standing in front of the dead body of Nihilus. The husk was unmoving, maintaining its spectral pose despite life leaving it. Caius reached up to touch Nihilus's mask—just as he had begun to do in reality. But the vision continued, he felt the bottom of the deathly mask, it projecting a terrible image of a skull. It was warm with dark energy. Caius ran his finger across it and then cautiously pulled it upwards. There was a snap and the mask fell off of Nihilus's face. There, in all his glory, was the face of Marcus Celer. Just as Caius had remembered it all those years prior. And yet…it was disturbed, different, sickly. His eyes were almost black, no visible irises in them. His skin was flaky and discolored, his mouth twisted into a horrific grimace. If death had ever been personified…it was in this image. Caius tried to close his eyes and get the vision away—anything to make it leave.
"But it was," answered Revan. "Of course no one could hold that against you—he was evil. But he was your friend once. Just as I was, remember?" He paused, then continued, "So go on, Caius, pull the trigger and murder another one of your friends." He closed his eyes, said, "I am sure the others will understand."
The Exile was now in no position to shoot anyone. He merely stumbled backwards, hitting his back against the wall. He opened the gun and dropped all of the bullets onto the ground, then tossed the weapon across the room and into a corner. He then slid down and sat on the ground, trying to think things through. His stomach was turning in knots. He could not come to the realization that Nihilus and Marcus were the same. That he hadn't killed Marcus at Malachor…that he had turned him into something worse. And then he killed him.
"I am not trying to torment you," Revan said strangely, "but life is a bitch, is it not?"
Caius just sighed. His hands were trembling.
"The absurdity of it all," Revan lamented. "It looks like my evil deeds will go unpunished—yet again."
"Not forever," Caius charged him, his voice weak but still angry, "you will answer for this one day." He didn't know what to talk about…he didn't know what he could say. This revelation about Marcus had pierced him and he simply did not know what to think. He only wanted Revan to know he would not evade judgment.
"That is my only hope," Revan replied. "One day I will be absolved, but I know no one will see it, for it will be after death that everything is made clear. The only thing that keeps me going is that assurance—without it…we, you, me, everyone in the galaxy, would be without hope and meaning. How shall we, the murderers of all murderers, comfort ourselves?"
"So now you seek absolution? You are misguided."
"I have no choice," Revan shot at him. "Wrongs must be righted, and the galaxy must be saved. I will suffer for it, my name will be slandered in history, but I will be doing the right thing. I am the only one who can. Or, at least, I was…"
Caius was not in a position to understand this rhetoric. Was Revan insane? He seemed it, but his calm and collected demeanor suggested otherwise; although, mad men could be notoriously eloquent. He then charged him bluntly, said, "Damn this cryptic nonsense. Say what you mean and cut out the crap."
"I am," replied the Prodigal Knight. "Is it not so obvious to you? I fell to the dark side after the Mandalorian Wars. I was captured and had to save the Republic from myself. Can you imagine the guilt that comes with something like that? I single-handedly caused this much destruction, and the Republic was not even safe then. So I left, I went to the Unknown Regions to confront the Sith of whom I had learned. I had no choice—I must atone for what I've done. I didn't want anyone to stop me…but I failed. And now the Republic is doomed, once again because of me."
"How can you atone with an attitude like that? How can you sacrifice so many and still expect to be in the right?"
"Because, Caius, it is the greater good. My salvation would come in the form of morality. I am doing what is right for all of the galaxy—I must reconcile myself with the Force."
"But what if you are not right?"
"Then everything is meaningless. Vanity of vanities."
Caius was going to ask what the hell this meant before Revan elaborated.
He said, "Can you see? It is obvious! The Sith must be stopped—either I am right or no one is, and if no one is…then we are damned regardless."
"Is this about saving the galaxy?" Caius asked wisely, "or yourself?"
Revan had anticipated this question, and turned it around. He suggested, "Perhaps you should ask yourself this same thing."
Caius immediately knew what he meant. Deep down, he knew that the main reason he had initially gone to look for Revan was to find out how to heal his soul—heal what he had lost at Malachor. Saving the Republic from Sith came secondary. He tried to defend himself, said, "But my goals are in line with saving the Republic."
"And so were mine," Revan replied. "Welcome to my tortured existence."
Caius was certain that the man was insane. He then resolved to try to hit him in the one place he would not be able to defend himself with sophistry. He asked, "What about Bastila?"
It almost looked as if this question physically wounded him. His head sagged low and he took a deep breath, and said, "I am doing this for her, too. I have to make the galaxy safe for her…even if it means losing her in the process."
This proved it. Revan really thought he was doing the right thing. If he were pursuing purely selfish interests, he would go after Bastila in heartbeat. But he wouldn't. He believed he was sacrificing her love for him so that he could protect her. It may have been noble…but was he correct in doing so? Caius asked, "What do you mean?"
"I love her," Revan admitted. "More than anything. Like no one I could have ever imagined loving. But I can't have her. I have accepted this." He choked down a very stilted and strange sigh, then asked, "Can you imagine the kind of anguish that entails? To really want someone that much and not be able to have her because fate got in the way?"
Caius shook his head when he realized that he could not.
"It is hell," said Revan. "I live in hell. But I must brave the storm now so that I can undo all the wrongs I have done. It is a cruel twist of fate that I fell in love with Bastila when I did. The great cogs in the machine of life were already turning to keep me from being with her. The choices I had made in my past life were to keep me from loving her in my new one. It is a natural continuation, I suppose. But to stop the Sith that I had discovered…I had to abandon her. It about killed me…but I had no choice."
"She said she loved you, too," Caius stated for reasons he did not fully understand.
"I am sure she did…but not any more. Not after she's seen what I have become." His voice faded and he whispered, "Bastila…my sweetest friend." His tortured eyes looked into Caius's again and he asked sincerely, "Do you think I am a monster?"
"I…" he stuttered and then fell into silence, unable to answer.
"You do," Revan said for him. "I do not blame you, this is the path I have accepted." He drew a long breath, said, "Bastila thinks I am a monster, too." He looked upon Caius gravely, then said, "You know…I captured her on Malacandra. I had to in order to save the Republic. If I blew my cover, the operation would have been exposed and Ardashir would crush the Republic…which he will now do. But I couldn't let that happen to her…I broke down. I was trying to save the Republic…but she…I had to make a choice. I had to choose her—and the Republic will suffer for it. But I could not do otherwise, I could not let her die like that. And because of that, because you brought her there, the Republic will perish. My plans were destroyed." He buried his head in his hands, said, "I hope everyone will understand."
Caius was so perplexed by this discussion, he could not figure Revan out. He seemed sincere, but his mind was so warped. He seemed to be banking on the Jedi faith for salvation from life, trying to do the right thing, but he was taking a Sith-like approach to it, refusing to accept defeat no matter what the cost. Truly, this was the same Revan at the core that he had always been: the stubborn strategist. But he was so confused and pitiful at the same time. Caius had previously felt an agonizingly painful hatred for this man, but now a tragic form of gut-wrenching pity replaced it. Surely he was gazing upon the most lonely and forlorn man in existence.
"I am afraid," Revan stated with shocking meekness. "What if I am…wrong? With this failure I shall soon be dead…and then everything will be illuminated."
Caius was unsure how to respond. His mind swam with Jedi doctrine and philosophical musings, but he could not articulate them well and he knew it. He opened his mouth and only four words came out, but they were the best four he could have said. He remembered that Xristos had said them to him shortly before his death. "It's never too late."
Revan smirked, said, "Spoken like a true Jedi. I may be damned…but you are not."
Silence engulfed them for a minute. Caius thought on the conversation. He felt some kind of unfamiliar sorrow for Revan, even if he was—possibly—mentally unhinged. The stress that he had would no doubt destroy the mind of anyone in his position. His hatred waned as he had come to the realization that death had been Xristos's choice—he had willingly embraced it, doing so to save lives just as Revan believed he was doing. Perhaps they were not so different.
"You came for healing, right?" Revan asked suddenly.
"Huh?" Caius grunted.
"That is why you came to the Unknown Regions?"
Caius thought for a second and then said, "Yes." He decided for honesty. "I thought you could help me with my wound in the Force."
"That is not something I can just heal," Revan admitted, "but I can offer some advice. I think…I owe it to you for what I have done." The ex-Jedi shifted in his chair and leaned forward as he was about to impart counsel. He said, "First—I am sorry for what I said about Marcus…that was not your fault, it was unfair."
Caius felt a pang of guilt again. He would have to adapt to this painful truth—that Marcus died a Sith Lord…he did not want to think about it. He wished he could never have learned it. "How could that have happened?" Caius asked, interrupting Revan. "How could Marcus have become Darth Nihilus? He would…never…"
Revan answered before he finished his sentence, said, "I do not know precisely the reasons Marcus ended up the way he did. But it had nothing to do with you. The darkness was always there, within him, when Malachor stripped him away—that is what was left. But surely you know that no one falls simply—it is a complex process, and Marcus was leaning towards the Sith long before Malachor."
Caius was still not satisfied. He simply did not want this to be true.
Revan continued, "But you must learn from his example. Born from Malachor, he had the same affliction that plagues you…but it was the opposite. He embraced the dark side and death and enslaved others to his will. He became a monster in the Force, and he used it to feed on others. But you…you can do the antithesis of this."
"How?" Caius asked simply.
"Instead of taking and enslaving," Revan answered, "give. Give to everyone, instead of siphoning life from them through the Force, invigorate them through it. Connect to them and strengthen them—you must love them. Everyone. I learned from Jolee, and from others, and I found out myself, that love is the enemy of the dark side. The one thing that can defeat it. You must use it. Use it and don't waste it like so many others do. Love your friends. Love your country. Find a woman and love her. Don't do what I did and make it impossible for yourself."
Caius thought of Allie, he could not help it at this point.
"You must, Caius, you have been given a gift. You could be the most powerful unifying force in the history of civilization. Furnished from the pain of Malachor you have been granted a tremendous capability. You can be the opposite of Nihilus…and you can heal the Force."
This was a very familiar conversation. Caius had had it before, though not exactly in the same way, with Xristos. In fact…it was the last real conversation they had before he had died. Everywhere he went, people were begging him to recognize the importance of love. He now realized…they were right.
Caius stood up slowly, Revan watching him. He said, "Xristos would agree with what you just said."
Revan closed his eyes and said, "I am sorry."
Caius merely nodded solemnly. After a moment of quiet, he turned and left the room with a completely different perspective than the one had going in. Perhaps he had always known he could not murder Revan, but now he felt too much pity to do it. The confrontation saddened him. Still, the man was very much an enigma. Sometimes he was violent and menacing and he would say acidic things—other times he broke down and was a complete wreck. It was difficult to know who was the real Revan.
As Caius left the room, Revan looked down at his feet solemnly and said aloud: "I am who I am—someone has to be."
Bastila quickly prepared everyone to leave as soon as she had woken up. They had not slept long, maybe four or five hours, but she decided that they had wasted enough time. Quickly she gathered them all together, thanked the Colonel for giving them fuel, and as soon as the Hawk was ready they blasted off towards Coruscant. Now all they had to do was wait out the transit.
Elliott stayed in the cockpit the whole time, having gained a newfound confidence in himself. Years of evading his past and dealing with his cowardice were absolved when he pulled his crew off the top of that Sith structure. Even Allie seemed to have forgiven him for letting her down, as he had shown up just in time to rescue all of them.
Bastila and Dustil meditated separately the whole time. Dustil was still broken up about Xristos's death, and he spent all of his time either trying to come to grips with it or trying to force himself to get well. Neither really happened. Bastila just tried not to think of Revan. Though he had reneged on his imprisonment of her, she could not understand what had happened to him. He was a fractured human being; something was broken inside of him. This had confirmed the fear she had expressed to Caius a seeming eternity ago on Nar Shaddaa—that the Revan she fell in love with was a programmed personality and didn't really exist. Now she believed this was true, the Revan that was with them now was half that man and half some kind of warped Sith deviant. He was a synthetic person. She would simply have to get past him—but it felt impossible.
Revan himself stayed in the port dormitories the duration of the flight, not meditating, but thinking. He rarely meditated anymore, even though the Jedi had counseled it as integral to their lives. He adopted an almost obsessively rationalistic approach to the Order and found himself thinking things through himself rather than trying to maintain a trance. It often complicated things further.
The droids were powered down; T3 as well as HK. Caius made sure that everyone knew not to turn HK back on again until they had sufficient droid technicians present to repair him.
That left the Exile to himself to occupy the time, and he knew that he would have to go speak to Allie again. He had to try to convince her to forget what he had said on Samarkand, even though it was unlikely. Still, he owed it to Xristos to try. It was, in essence, the old man's dying wish.
He knew that Allie was resting in the starboard dormitories, and he intended on intruding. He was not entirely sure how she would react to him—they had not really spoken since their argument. The only words he had said to her since then had been, ironically, his confession of love in the Malacandra prison. He was not sure she had taken that seriously, though, and he resolved to try to mend things now, before it was too late.
Allie was reclined on a bunk, but she was awake and was half sitting upright. She gave Caius a very ambivalent look when he stormed in. She did not speak, so he had to first.
He said, "We need to talk."
"That didn't work out so well last time," she said with a little bit of a sigh.
"I want…" he began, "to apologize." He looked away from her as he said it, but then took a deep breath and stared back at her. "Will you accept it?"
She shifted from where she was laying and sat on the very right side of the bed. Caius waited for a second and then sat down at the very opposite side, parallel to her.
"I did some thinking," Caius kept on, "and I talked to Xristos about it. I realized that I am an ass. I should not have spoken to you the way I did and I am…really sorry about it. I wish that I hadn't done it, but I did, so now this is all I can do to try to make up for it."
"Hmm," she mused, "you just want to apologize?"
He nodded, "There isn't really anything else for me to do. If I were you, I would not even be talking to me right now."
She looked down, said, "I thought about that. But I can't give someone the silent treatment—it's too hard. And everyone does stupid things, so I can't always hold that against them." The emphasis on the word "stupid" clearly indicated how she felt about his antics.
"I know," he said, "I do very stupid things. But I would like to make up for it. I would like to start over…but you already know too much." He stood up and then turned to look down at her. He was surprised to see that her face had contorted into a bemused smirk that looked as though it was barely able to suppress laughter.
"What? What did I say?"
"Nothing," she said, but started to giggle, "but you can't really start over after you've already confessed your love to someone."
He put his hand on the back of his head, said, "Uh…well, I mean, I thought I was going to die and then suddenly you showed up."
She laughed again, said, "Well, you're obviously a very emotional guy, but you're timing is way off. You'll have to work on that."
Is she making fun of me? He thought to himself. Really? She was—how dare she approach this so insincerely. He was almost angry before he realized that this was going better than he had any right to hope it would. She seemed to be the same light-hearted person she usually was—even though he did not deserve another chance. He smirked and chuckled to himself as well, then said, "Okay, fine. Then can we try to start over anyway?"
"I will think about it," she said honestly.
"All right," he responded. He then held his hand out to her vertically, said, "Hi, my name is Caius. I'm unemployed and I live out of my ship."
There was another laugh, but then she took it and shook it firmly, said, "Hello, Caius, I'm Allesandra—but everyone calls me Allie."
"That's a pretty name," he said lamely, "say—if the galaxy isn't destroyed tomorrow, do you think you'd want to go out for dinner sometime?"
Another smile. "I'd like that."
Though Caius had Allie had seemingly worked out their issues, the rest of the crew remained in their uneasy state of limbo throughout the rest of the trip. Fortunately, it did not take too long to get to Coruscant.
Caius was in the cockpit when they fell out of hyperspace, and for a brief moment, when he gazed upon the capital planet in all its glory—the Republic ships orbiting it—he felt as though everything would be okay. The feeling was short-lived, however, and he lost it as Elliott drove them through the atmosphere. He elected to bypass the docks completely and head straight for the Jedi Temple—it had a few hangars, and they would need to get there as soon as possible.
As they neared it, a shrill voice called out to them saying, "This is a private hangar—you are not authorized to land."
"This is the Ebon Hawk," Elliott responded, "and we're landing."
The voice was noticeably annoyed, but it seemed to understand that this freighter ought to be given clearance. It said, "You may proceed."
The ship sailed through the wide-open area that surrounded the Temple, a sort of monument to itself, and entered the hangar. Since their presence had been announced, there was a substantial crowd awaiting them. The Hawk lowered down gently, its hull creaking and sighing as though it were relieved to finally have a decent place to land.
The crew assembled and filed out of the ship into the throng somewhat disjointedly. Elliott stayed inside, as did the inactive droids. Dustil did not want to exert himself, so he also stayed inside. Revan eventually went out, but he tried to hide himself as best be could. Bastila left first, saying that she would go get anyone with medical training to help Dustil.
Caius left before Allie and ambled very sluggishly down the ramp and into the crowd. There were some Jedi, but he was surprised at the number of people. Almost all of them, however, appeared to be military. There were a lot of soldiers. He hoped that maybe this was a result of Xristos's transmission—perhaps his sacrifice had worked.
He did not walk ten feet before he heard a voice call his name. It was a woman's voice, though rather deep. He recognized it; he knew he did. He had heard this voice before, but he could not match the face with the voice.
"There you are!" it called.
Just as he spun around to identify his greeter, he was tackled—or almost. Before he could even realize who it was, the woman had thrown her arms around him and nearly knocked the wind out of him. He had not seen her face, and would have had no way of knowing who she was if it weren't for the short, auburn hair. He only knew one girl who had hair like that.
"Mira?" he asked disbelievingly as he was able to pry himself free from her grip, "you're okay!"
"Yeah, I am. You expecting otherwise?" she demanded with a familiar attitude.
He did not have the time to answer as he was interrupted by a slap to the top of his head, just barely brushing over him. A deep, masculine voice from behind him then said, "I didn't know you had blond hair."
He wheeled around and beheld his old friend. "Atton!" he exclaimed.
"In the flesh," answered the scoundrel suavely.
Caius grabbed him by the shoulders, noticing his robes and questioned, "You're a…Jedi?"
"Yeah, yeah, don't rub it in," he responded, brushing Caius's arms off of him.
"He just doesn't like it because I made him do it," input Mira.
"That's not it," he protested, "I just don't appreciate people who gloat."
Mira looked at Caius and said, "He hates it when I'm right."
"You should grow your hair out," Atton remarked to Caius, trying to change the conversation, "it could be a good look for you."
"They don't have barbers out there," Caius answered, explaining why his traditionally shaven head now had a slight crown of hair growing out of it.
Allie had left the ship a moment before that, and was walking by them when Atton noticed her. He said, "Hey, I remember you—it was Allie, right?"
She seemed a bit shocked at his greeting, and showed some clear confusion before recognizing his face. She then said, "Oh, you're Atton! I remember!"
"Did she go with you?" Mira asked, not bothering to introduce herself.
Allie took a step closer, said, "Yes…why?"
Mira then looked at Caius and asked, "Did you finally get yourself a girlfriend, you loser?"
Caius thought he might have reddened at this question, and he put his fingers on his forehead, not believing that Mira had really asked that question. Atton merely started laughing. To Caius's surprise, Allie exploded with laughter too. It was as though they were all mocking him. But what could he do? He would not do anything; just go along with it.
Before their exchange could continue, a familiarly foreign voice stopped them. It said, "Break it up, kids, we have a lot to do—there's no time to stand around giggling all day!"
They all turned to see Nantaris striding towards them, Bastila at his side.
He held his hand out to Caius, who shook it, and said, "Good to see you in one piece, lad. There isn't much time, so we'll have to spare the pleasantries and get right to business. You'll have to be debriefed immediately—you must tell us what you know."
"Very well, Nantaris—and it is good to see you again, too."
The Jedi nodded.
"Dustil is on the ship," Bastila said to the Grandmaster, "will the doctors go in?"
"Yes, they will be here shortly—Admiral Onasi as well, we will make sure he is taken care of, but now we must construct our plans. There is much to be done."
Author's Notes: All right, craziness. We're getting closer! There were about a billion homages in this chapter. If anyone can pick them all out, then you are officially amazing. Some hints, they include Blade Runner, Frederick Nietzsche, and Radiohead.
Also, if any of you are curious, I tend to use music a lot as a muse for writing characters. For Revan, specifically, the entire idea to have him be this tortured and confused man who imprisons the person he loved came to me while listening to "Hurt" by Johnny Cash. I've come to associate the song with Revan by now. I even put some of the lyrics in the chapter. I recommend you check it out, even if you are normally averse to Cash. You'll never find a sadder song, though.
Anyway, thanks for reading!