Author's Notes: Okey dokey, a couple more chapters to ramp up the tension, sort out the character's relationships, and set the stage—and then we'll have the final battle. We're getting close! Thanks to all of you who have soldiered through this beast. Your support means a lot.

Chapter Twenty-Two

They assembled in the High Council room, near the very top of the Temple. The sweeping windows displayed a positively epic panorama of the endless city, but the Jedi, several of the Republic's highest ranking military leaders, and the crew of the Ebon Hawk were not concerned with the view. Instead, debriefing was the goal. The inquisition came from a semi-circle of dozens of seated officials that had formed around the crew, each of them asking questions. Bastila answered for the crew most of the time, as she was the only legitimate Jedi there. Dustil had been rushed off to a medical facility, but Carth could not join him there and it galled him. Even Revan, though his presence astounded everyone, was relegated to secondary status. And of course Xristos had not survived, a tale that Bastila had related with much sadness.

"We will honor his sacrifice," said Nantaris, "when we can. But we cannot now."

Caius tried to keep his mind off of the bitterness and the depression by identifying all of the people in the room. He immediately noticed that Vrook was present, still alive even after his debilitating stroke. Despite his presence, however, it was obvious that he was not in good health. He sat wearily in one of the councilor's chairs, a polished wooden cane gripped weakly in his left hand. His face was haggard and his hair was bleached white, even his voice, normally commanding, was less imposing that it had been.

"So an invasion is imminent, then," said Admiral Dodonna. Caius had recognized her, though vaguely.

He noticed that there must have been twenty Jedi in the room, perhaps a bit more. This meant that every single Jedi in the galaxy was present. They had all banded together for this. He tried to identify them, but recognized few. Some were of an alien race he could not recall, and some were simply new faces to him. There were two Twi'leks that he thought looked familiar, and one man who he was certain he recognized. He was a tall, brown haired man with grayish blue eyes and a hooked nose; his voice was low and powerful. He spoke, "If they are truly going to strike at Coruscant, as you claim, then we will have to base our ground defenses around the temple. We have to ensure the safety of the orbital defenses."

Dodonna nodded, said, "Knight Glendower is correct—troops must be called in immediately."

Then Caius remembered the name. Flavius Glendower had been one of the most highly regarded Jedi strategists before the Mandalorian Wars and he served in the Civil War. Glendower had never achieved masterhood, as he was not entirely interested in counseling others.

Vrook grunted with characteristic cynicism, still not lost after the stroke. He grumbled, "So hastily we all jump to conclusions. Have we any evidence to support this? Do we even know what it is we're getting into? What do we know of this enemy other than rumors and hear-say?"

Revan surprised everyone by taking the stage and countering. He barked, "Nothing, of course! And unless you believe us you will still know nothing—until it creeps up and slits your throat in the night."

Naturally this explosive comment set off the rest of the gathering. Everyone regarded Revan warily. The Jedi, save for maybe Nantaris, were extremely distrusting of his motives, and the military, though they believed him a savior, regarded him as something of a loose cannon.

"Evidence!" proclaimed Vrook, "I need evidence!"

"I agree!" seconded a Republic General. There were thirds and fourths, and the meeting threatened to erupt into a fracas before Revan raised his voice over the din, hearkening back to his days as an orator.

He stated loudly, "I have seen the evidence! Stared into its dark and hateful eyes, seen things that none of you can fathom. I have seen the hatred and anger! I have seen the mobilization and the armies! I have seen the documents and the plans and the maps! If you will not believe, then you are lost!"

The crowd again responded angrily. Nantaris tried to calm them, said, "Please, do dispense with the abstract rhetoric. It's unnecessary and not to mention annoying as hell."

His plea was unfortunately ignored as Vrook, still commanding most of the attention in the room, began questioning Revan more intensely. He asked, "And what, pray tell, O Prodigal Knight, where you doing in the unknown regions? Masquerading as a Sith Lord? As if one could fake it! Why should we believe you now? Can you prove that you are truthful? Can you prove that you are sane? Or should we should simply lock you up now and spare us the heartache and pain that comes from your manipulative schemes?"

"Your foolish doubts are nothing to me, old man," said Revan venomously, "let the Republic writhe and squirm in death's embrace while you do nothing! Just the same man I remembered!"

This time the explosion was more extreme. Vrook looked like he wanted nothing more than to take to his feet and throttle Revan, but he could not do it. Several other men and women began yelling at each other, some were stamping their feet. All of it was too much.

As the noise reached a crescendo, Nantaris stood up swiftly. He blasted his accented voice above everyone else's, much louder than anyone had known he could. He shouted, "I will have order in this council room!" Everyone else fell silent immediately. He wiped his hand over his chin, said, "May I remind all of you that you are guests here—this is my Order now, and I will not hesitate to throw you out on your ass. I don't give a damn what your rank is!"

Revan threw up his hands and turned around. Nantaris looked slowly at all of the surprised faces and then sat down, taking in the electric silence. Bastila took a step forward and said meekly, "You must believe what we're saying. An invasion is happening. We can't just sit around and debate it."

Werner Ostyl, Republic Army Chief of Staff then spoke up, said, "I believe her. Even if the invasion is not necessarily guaranteed, we must not secure defeat by being ill prepared."

Several people assented, but then another voice shouted, "And what do we tell the public with troops mobilizing? With no foe? There will be mass panic!"

Revan spoke again, suggested, "Use your propagandist hounds. A terrorist attack has blown up three different nuclear refineries on Coruscant—everyone is ordered to stay inside for their own protection."

Some were shocked at this, a more idealistic man shouted, "We cannot lie to the public!"

"If we win, they will forgive us," said Revan, "and if we lose, we will have larger issues."

Another cacophony of noise—agreement, disagreement, yelling, cussing, it was all too much to keep following. Caius just sighed to himself and looked up and down his crew. Everyone seemed out of place there, save for Bastila and Revan. They belonged here, but Allie and Elliott just looked overwhelmed by the situation. He wished he could just leave too; he had had enough of this when he had been a general. And that was under different circumstances; he couldn't imagine the bureaucratic idiocy that came with these ranks.

It took almost ten minutes before Nantaris was able to shut up the screaming banshees that had overtaken the meeting, and once he had, he knew he had to prevent another uproar by removing Revan from the meeting. He said, "We thank the crew of the Ebon Hawk for their information and warnings, but now we have to move on. You are dismissed—the military will handle this."

Caius tried as hard as he could to not be visibly satisfied with this order, but he did not think he was successful. As he turned to leave, he noticed that Revan was not complying. Nantaris saw this as well.

He said, "And that includes you, Revan."

"I am not leaving until this is resolved."

Nantaris looked to see if anyone was really listening to him, said, "Come back tomorrow. I guarantee that it won't be."

Caius wanted to rest. He had not had any real relaxation since…not since they were last at the Jedi Temple, ironically. But first he had to make sure HK's repairs were going well. He had gone down to the mechanic's wing of the Temple—or at least what functioned as one. He had commissioned HK and T3 for substantial repairs, hoping to keep T3 sane and perhaps right what had gone wrong with HK. At the complex, a dirt-faced young mechanic who had on blue overalls and a ridiculous smile greeted him.

The Exile determined to ask about that, said, "What's with the smile?"

"Your droid is very amusing," he said simply.

Caius smirked, asked, "I trust that means you fixed him?"

"That I did—his 'master' issue is no longer a problem. Something about the real master disappearing, and how he does not really exist. He's back to being your very own paranoid android."

Caius turned to HK, who was standing at attention at the mechanic's side, and asked, "Is that right?"

HK's head continued on his familiar three point turn before he paused to say, "Statement: Phew, for a minute there I lost myself."

"Glad to have you back, HK."

"Query: May I kill something for you, master?"

The meeting had gone well into the night, and nothing had been determined. Vrook insisted that Revan was nothing but a malicious liar and that the Sith threat was minimal. Most of the others took a more pragmatic view, but still were unable to arrive at a conclusion. They resigned to retiring near one in the morning, deciding to try again the next morning—traditional bureaucratic stalemate.

Although most of the Republic officials and military personnel were eager to get sleep, Carth had no intent to rest. He immediately went to the medical wing of the Temple to see his son. It had been…he did not even know how long since he had last seen him, but naturally the boy's current state worried him.

He arrived at the complex, and of course there was but one person there at this hour. Only a poor doctor who had been stuck with the graveyard shift in order to keep an eye on the patients—or in this case, patient, as Dustil was the only one.

Carth walked up to him and asked very quietly, "How is he doing?"

"He will be all right," said the man.

Carth sighed a long sigh of relief, then asked, "What was wrong?"

"The doctors…were not really sure," answered the man, "some kind of foreign toxin was in his system, but we could not figure out what it was. The thing itself had been dead for a while, the Jedi must have done it, so only it's shadow was left, but it looked to be very deadly—apparently some kind of neurotoxin, which explains the paralysis. He will survive now, though; just rest."

"I need to see him," said Carth.

The man hesitated, said, "Well, I am not supposed to let you…but, what the hell, what my boss doesn't know won't hurt him, right?"

"Right," answered Carth, "thank you."

The Admiral strode past the man, through a few halls, and then into the designated room. He brushed aside the curtain and saw a very frail version of his son sleeping in the bed. He was not wearing his robes, he did not know where they were, and instead had the traditional hospital gown on. There was an IV injected into his left arm and tubes going into his nose. It pained Carth to see his son in such a helpless state, but the grief was counteracted with the joy of knowing he would live.

He sat down in a chair in the corner and was content to just sit there. He was only there for a few minutes before nearly falling asleep, but he did not as Dustil had awoken and said something. "Hey dad…" he said quietly, "how long have you been here?"

Carth's eyes shot open, reddened but alert. He cleared his throat and sat upright, said, "Not long." He coughed again, "No, just got here."

"Oh, okay," said Dustil.

"The doctors say you're going to be fine," Carth informed him.

"I know," answered Dustil, "they told me."

"Sorry," said the Admiral, "I'm just…I'm so glad you're back safe. I…I shouldn't have let you go."

Dustil did his best to sit up, scooted a bit backwards against his pillow, said, "I had to go, dad. I had to do this. I needed to be a part of something—and you should be proud, I am helping the Republic."

Carth was a bit perplexed, said, "Well…of course I am proud—just worried. I love the Republic, but not as much as I love you, Dustil. Everything else comes second."

"Really?"

Carth sighed, said, "Yes—I realized…I didn't do a good job letting you know that. I am sorry, especially about what happened on Telos…but…I've learned."

"I know, dad, thanks."

Carth felt better. He leaned backwards and took a deep breath, savoring the moment. After a few seconds of silence he asked, "So, was your adventure all you were hoping for?"

Dustil did answer immediately. He looked to be thinking for a while before eventually saying, "I don't know."

Carth made a knowing "hmm" noise.

"I learned…" continued his son, "and I saw things that I had no idea existed. But…I'm torn. So much…sadness. They killed the old man, dad, they killed Xristos."

"I…know," said Carth simply, he had nothing else to say.

"How is it that something like this can happen? Xristos was my friend, and he never hurt anyone—why is it that he had to die?"

"He died so that you and the others would live—he's a damn hero in my books."

Dustil just sighed, said, "Life…isn't fair. Losing mom, losing you, losing Selena and Xristos and everyone…it's not fair."

"No—no it isn't," said Carth.

"You just accept that?" Dustil asked.

"I suspect," Carth answered somewhat profoundly, "that life would be worse if it were fair."

Dustil looked at him oddly, one eyebrow raised just slightly.

The Admiral continued before his son had the time to ask a question, he said, "Can you think of a more dreadful place than a galaxy where we all get what we deserve?"

"I suppose…not," said Dustil. He smirked every so slightly and said, "You know—you sound just like that old man. I bet he'd say the same thing."

Carth smiled, said, "I've been known to philosophize when I need to." In truth he had learned this once he had exacted bloody revenge on Saul Karath—then he saw the true face of fairness: grim, uncaring, and deadly.

Dustil laughed, said, "Good—we need to carry on his tradition. I owe him that much."

"We do," answered Carth.

There was silence for a few moments, and Carth almost nodded off in his chair. Again Dustil interrupted him, who said, "I think you should get some rest, dad."

Carth shook awake again, said, "Y-you're right." He stood up, said, "You're going to be all right?"

"The doctors say I should be fully back to normal in a while, and that I can even leave the hospital late tomorrow or early the next morning."

"Don't try too hard, Dustil."

"I won't, dad."

"Thanks."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Similar conversations were transpiring all over the Jedi Temple that night. Even though the Hawk had made it back from the uncharted fringe of civilization, the crew was as disheveled and confused as it had ever been. There was much that needed to be sorted out.

Caius and Atton stood outside of their rooms, loitering in the hallway and marinating in the moonlight. Once they had said goodbye on Nar Shaddaa, neither of them had expected to see the other again, so this present situation was indeed a surprise. They had much to fill each other in on.

The Exile said, "You always said you would never become a Jedi—but here you are…" he blew out his nose, asked, "What happened?"

Atton was leaning against the nearby wall, only about three feet away from Caius, his leg bent up and his foot planted against it. He shrugged and said, "Well…Mira convinced me."

Caius smirked, said, "How did she do that?"

"She's very persuasive."

"Really?"

Atton shrugged and rolled his eyes around impatiently, said, "Look, man, it was basically your dying wish that I go take care of her, so I did. She wanted to come here and try to join the Order—I had to follow her or I'd break that promise, which I'd not do lightly. Nantaris welcomed us and he really talked up the Jedi to me. I didn't want to join…but…"

"You did it for Mira, didn't you?" asked Caius.

"Hell no!" said Atton defiantly, "well, I mean, not really! There were other reasons."

"I can't imagine you doing it for another reason."

"Like you're one to talk," Atton challenged, "Mr. Allie Marlowe."

Caius sighed, said, "Thanks."

"Come on—I'm just harassing you. Don't tell me you got all soft on that excursion. You can't take sarcasm anymore?"

"No, it's just…"

"Touchy subject?"

"I guess so," Caius answered.

Atton ran his hand through his hair and shifted his weight. He asked, "How did that happen, anyway? I never predicted that you would get involved with any woman. I mean, those two on our last mission practically threw themselves at your feet—hell, that Echani girl was usually naked when she did it—and you wouldn't even give them the time of day. How did that change?"

"I honestly don't know," replied the Exile, "I really don't. It seemed out of my control. I mean, once I realized how attractive she was I couldn't avoid the notion, and then it snowballed out of control. There's just…something inherently likable about her. She's just…pleasant. Does that even make sense?"

"Yes it does, Mr. Sensitive."

Caius rolled his eyes.

"Come on, man, really—I'm happy for you."

"Doesn't it strike you as an odd pairing? Me…and a woman mechanic?"

Atton's mouth went crooked as he thought, said, "No, not really—any couple is odd when you think about it. I'd love to have a woman around who knew how to fix things—then I wouldn't have to do it."

"You asshole."

"I'm back, baby!"

Caius sighed, said, "Honestly, who knows if anything will happen. We agreed to start over when all this is ended—the world coming to an end, I mean."

"Smart."

"I don't need any more of your sarcasm," shot Caius.

"What?" asked Atton sincerely, "no—really, that wasn't sarcastic. That's smart. I always knew you had a good brain in there…somewhere."

"Thanks."

"That one was sarcastic," said Atton with a grin.

"I noticed."

The most surprising conversation took place between Allie and Elliott. Somehow, the two of them had bumped into each other in the halls on the way back from the meeting and had actually struck up conversation. What was even more surprising was that it was a legitimate conversation. Elliott had something he needed to say.

"I'm sorry," he explained, "that I didn't help you on the Sith planet. I just…"

"It's okay," Allie said.

"Xristos might have survived had I not stayed behind," he continued.

"Do you really think that?" she asked. "If you had come with me…none of us would probably have made it out. I had no idea what I was doing, you just happened to show up in time to save us. But you came later—that's what's important."

"I—I don't know if I could've lived with myself had it not worked," he admitted. It was a bizarre statement, as Elliott seemed to make a career out of living with just such events.

"You don't?"

"No," he said, "everyone has their breaking point. Even me. Too many tragic things happen and your mind snaps—alcohol and women can stem the tide…but only for so long."

Allie tilted her head somewhat nervously and with confusion, said, "Oh…I see…"

"I just," Elliott tried to say with dignity, "wanted to thank you for pulling my ass out of the fire. You saved them. And you helped me, too."

"I…well, you're…welcome?" Allie said, tongue-tied.

"I may be a soulless drunkard most of the time, but I can recognize when I owe someone, so I just wanted you to know. I do have that honor."

"Then…you're welcome."

"You said that already," Elliott stated.

"I know, I mean…"

Allie was clearly not sure what to say, so Elliott just changed the topic slightly, said, "Don't take this the wrong way, but I can't believe you saved Caius like that. We have all these powerful Jedi, but then they get thrown in prison you break them out. You must feel pretty good about yourself."

Allie had not actually thought of it this way. In reality, she had led a rescue mission by herself into the heart of Sith territory and gotten a Jedi out of harm's way. It seemed impossible to her that she could have done such a thing. Only weeks before she had told Caius that she was afraid of getting hurt, now she had rescued him. It was definitely a role reversal. She determined to stay humble, though, and said, "Well, you're the one who got the ship there."

"Yeah," he said, then suggested, "Score one for the normal people."

Bastila and Revan sat opposite of each other in a dark bedroom, unsure of what to do. They simply sat there. Revan wanted to work though everything, explain his situation, and apologize profusely. Bastila did not know what she wanted. Both of them were unable to get anywhere. The room was dark, and they could only make out their silhouettes as they spoke to each other. The tension was palpable and uncomfortable, but it was something that needed to be done.

"I'm just so sorry, Bastila," Revan said, his voice thick with emotion. "I cannot adequately explain it to you…but I am. I know you will not forgive me…but I must tell you. I did not…mean for this to happen."

Bastila was sitting the edge of her bed, looking down, away from Revan. She took a deep breath, said, "That does not mean that it didn't happen."

"I…am aware…" he said.

"This is a lot to forgive. You…imprisoned me. You imprisoned my friends. Xristos died because of you. I just…I know I am supposed to forgive you. I know Xristos would want me to forgive you…but I just don't know."

"Nothing I can say can change it, but I can apologize."

"Of course you can apologize," said Bastila, "but anyone can do that. You have so many things to answer for…apology can only do so much."

"Tragically…this is true."

There was an awkward pause. Bastila, who had previously been staring down at her feet, looked up at Revan and tried to squint through the darkness to see him. She began her speech, said, "The truth…" she took a very deep breath, continued, "is that I had wanted to find you since the beginning. Five years and I had wondered where you had gone. I didn't know where. I was angry that you didn't tell me, but the sadness was even stronger. I just didn't know what to think of myself. Caius comes along with a mission and I jump at the opportunity…just so I can try to find you. I still loved you, Revan. I went along with them…I learned a lot about love. And I learned that my deepest fear came true—that the man I loved didn't actually exist. That you were not really you—that you were a programmed identity that is now gone. I was in love with a shadow…and now you are here."

Revan gulped, but said nothing.

"I don't want to love you anymore," Bastila said with force, "I just…I don't. I want to break away from this." She looked at him for a long time before adding on, "I'm sorry. I know this is hard. It was hard for me too, but you broke my heart on Malacandra and now I just have to go along with it. I'm sorry." The coldness in her words surprised him. She had become very tender around him in their last days together, but now the old Bastila—the stodgy and distant one—was supplanting her. He had no one, of course, but himself to blame for this.

He began, "You are right. It is hard. But can you then imagine my anguish? Can you imagine anything more terrible than not having your most treasured memories be gone…but to realize that they never existed? That the things you held most dear never really were? That is my predicament. The love I have for you now was never truly reciprocated, this I know. You gave it to a man who does not exist. But that leaves me here, still, trying to tell you how I feel. All while the man you love is dead. This is truly hell."

"I am sorry," Bastila said simply.

"I still love you," he said.

"I know."

"And that is it?"

"I think…I can't think about this anymore. I don't know…I just don't want to think about it. Fate conspired to keep us apart. I think…I think we're simply not meant to be. And what you said is true…the man I loved is gone."

"Very well," said Revan. "I do not deserve anything more."

"I truly am sorry."

"I believe you are, my love, but not as sorry as I am."

With that, he turned and left. Bastila was again abandoned, sitting in solitude in her miserable bedroom. This was the very last thing she had wanted to happen, and yet it had. How could it? How could everything end up so awfully antithetical to what she had tried and desired to achieve? It just wasn't fair. She scooted backwards onto her bed and tried to will herself to sleep. She laid her head down. After a few moments, she felt that her pillow was beginning to get moist, wetted by tears, and she did not care enough to even think about it. She simply resigned to apathetic sleep, hoping to forget everything that had happened.

Revan, though he had left her alone, had not actually gone away. He stood outside her door, standing aside and peering through the vertical crack, as it was just barely open. He did not move, did not do anything. He just stood there and watched. He had no idea how long—hours, maybe. Throughout everything that he had done he had known that this would happen—but he still could not prepare himself for the pain. He knew he would lose her—but the notion was easier to bear before it had actually transpired.

He saw her in there sleeping, though it was far from peaceful. She seemed to twitch and cringe during her slumber, as though a terrible dream were raging within her mind. Her head had slid off of her pillow and half of her face was buried in her sheet. He wanted nothing more than to just be with her then. He wanted to put his hand on her smooth alabaster skin and assure her that everything was all right. He wanted to simply sit in the same room with her. Not do anything. He had no base intentions—sex did not concern him. He wanted her as a person and a friend, someone to simply help him bear his burden. He wanted to just sit there, but for her to know that he was there—for her to want him to be there. But she didn't want him to. She wanted him gone. As with everything that had happened in his life, his decisions in the past came back to torment him in the present. He could never escape the eternal hounding of his old life, never outlive the shadow of his past; he could only try to defeat it and thereby…finish. Finish everything.

A shroud of darkness slowly and graceful descended upon Senadis Station, covering the entire complex under a cloak of some kind of ethereal night. There was the rumble of vessels—hundreds, thousands of them—exploding out of hyperspace, circling the pitiful station like vultures over a dying animal. They had no choice but surrender…hope to see another day.

Caius had eventually told Atton to get lost so he could sleep; at least for a few hours before morning, but he did not really anticipate how tired he would be when his sleep would be rudely interrupted the next day.

There was a loud pounding on his door that shook him awake, his head spinning and his back stiff. He said groggily, "What…who's there?"

"Nantaris. Quick, get up and get to the council room ASAP."

"What's happened?"

"The Sith have solved our problem for us."

Caius wanted to ask what this meant, but he had no chance.

"Just get there, quickly."

Caius called after him, but there was no answer. He resigned to obeying the orders and he hastily tried to make himself look a little bit presentable. It was early morning, the sun having just barely risen. He threw on his gray robes and jogged away from his room and towards the High Council room. As he got there, he saw all of the people from the day before situated in the room, perhaps more. Bastila was there, her visage worn and tired. Revan was there too, his eyes sunken and with black rings around them. The rest of the Jedi seemed to be in better shape, but were still haggard.

As they all filed in, Nantaris strode to the center of the room near a pedestal used for hologram projections. He waited until everyone quieted and began, "An hour ago we received this transmission from Senadis Station out on the Rim. I'll let it speak for itself."

He backed away and they were presented with a static, shimmering blue motion picture. It blinked several times before coming into focus—the scene was disturbing. In the foreground was a kneeling figure, hands bound behind his back and his head covered. There seemed to be a good deal of commotion taking place—there was noise and a lot of activity. Two hooded and dark phantoms were standing at his side; they seemed to be prodding him. At length, the kneeling man spoke, his voice broken and raspy.

"…Colonel Farain…" he said through the static, "…Senadis…" The message blinked several times, exploded into static, and then warped back into being, this time it stayed solid. "Our numbers will darken the sky—blot out even the stars…you have no chance to survive…thousands of our warships ready to destroy your worlds…give us what we want…no one need die."

Caius stole a glance around the room. Everyone seemed positively horrified; it was as if they were watching a horror film.

"Give us what we want…Severus…the Betrayer…you know him…Revan. Surrender him…save your…worlds…your precious…lives. We know all…maps…coordinates…numbers. You have seventy-two hours…send him…surrender and live…refuse…and…di—"

Farain had not even the opportunity to finish his sentence—there was a loud crack and his body went limp, falling forward and crashing to the ground. An imposing figure seemed to then block their vision, a masked and cloaked behemoth that certainly was a creature of importance. They saw his back and then the transmission blinked again and then went static—dying.

Its end was greeted with silence—pure, terrified, and uncertain silence.

Long after the hologram had withered and dispersed, no one dared to respond. They were simply too shocked to even know what to think. The old debate was gone—the Sith were there and they were threatening immediate invasion. They were now presented with a more concrete, yet equally ambiguous dilemma: what of Revan?

He strode forward and let them all see him, as though he believed himself to be a criminal awaiting sentencing. Perhaps he was.

"Well?" he asked—or rather, demanded.

"This is not a decision to be made lightly," said Nantaris from his center seat.

Ostyl then broke the solemn quiet and asked bluntly, but somehow impersonally, "What do you mean it is not to be made lightly? It is trading one man's life for millions." He thumped his foot on the marble floor, said, "We should probably do it."

No one wanted to condemn a man to death while he was in their presence, but a consensus had to be reached. Slowly, and quietly, some support came for his plan. Two of the Jedi, a man and woman, both agreed with him, rationalizing that one death for millions was not such a bad trade.

As the awkward dullness continued, Revan surprised everyone by saying, "It does make the most logical sense to give me up. Provided that the message is truthful, of course."

"We cannot deny it now," said Vrook, "the Sith have made their intent quite obvious."

"Oh, I do not contest that," replied Revan, "I mean only to highlight the probability of the Sith attacking regardless of my fate. Surrender—or no—they will still come."

"You presume to know this?" asked Vrook.

"Yes."

Nantaris interjected, "He has a point. Given the nature of these Sith—they did just execute a man on camera—I would say that the odds of their compliance is unlikely."

Vrook disagreed, but said, "I think compliance is possible—but we cannot blindly sacrifice anyone, even if it is Revan."

No one commented. The mood of the gathering was radically different than the previous day; instead of chaotic noise and argument, this one was dominated by quiet uncertainty and desperation.

Glendower then spoke, said, "Logically we should give him up. If they still invade, they still invade. At the very least we will have attempted to buy time. And what have we to lose?"

"Him," said Nantaris bluntly, indicating the Prodigal Knight.

"He is but one man," said Ostyl.

"Right, but he is our only insight into the Sith," countered Nantaris. His green eyes afforded another look at Revan before he continued, "and suppose that, after we give him up, the Sith do forestall hostilities. What then? Will they simply leave us alone? Forever?"

"Don't confuse the issue, Nantaris—the alternatives are simple: Give him up and save millions or foolishly provoke their wrath," retorted a man who Caius did not recognize.

"This is a false dilemma," replied the Grandmaster, "and I will not dignify it with a response."

"I say we vote," challenged Vrook, "we are no monarchy."

"Should not the Chancellor be alerted to this matter?" asked a woman naval officer.

"He has been," responded Carth. "No comment from his cabinet as of yet."

Nantaris looked about the room and his eyes settled on Caius. He then proposed, "What has the crew of the Ebon Hawk to say? General Lucullus?" Clearly he made use of his rank and history as a war veteran to appeal to the other officers—they would be predisposed to listen to him over someone like Vrook.

Caius did not know. He looked about and his eyes met Revan's, both of them staring at each other. Revan's countenance beckoned a simple answer, and for some reason Caius felt as though he could offer either alternative. He opened his mouth and hoped that a logical answer would come out, and it did.

"We should try to appease them. If it doesn't work…then it doesn't work."

The Exile then stole a glance at Bastila, wondering what she would suggest. One look proved to him, however, that she was in no position to suggest anything. She looked completely horrified, as though the dilemma was literally ripping her apart from inside. He remembered all that she had told him, all that she had said about Revan—he knew that this must be truly the most hellish decision that she could be forced to make.

Nantaris seemed to be expecting her to answer, but it was clear that she couldn't so he tried to cover for her. He said, "Thank you, Caius."

Revan just looked at him, still staring him in the eyes. Shockingly, there seemed to be no animosity or hate in Revan's glare—he was just stoic; like a man going to the gallows.

Nantaris, however, was not pleased with the way this meeting was progressing. He knew, deep down, that the Sith would not just back off with a promise—he simply felt it. There was no way bartering would save them. He had to prevent Revan from being sent away—the man was the only one with experience with the Sith, the only one who knew anything about them. To give him up because of such a false hope would be fruitless.

"Once again, I disagree with the Exile," said Vrook. "But I believe we must vote, now, and then decide where to go from there." He looked around, gauging the faces of those present, and then began, "All in favor…"

But he was cut off.

"Wait," said Bastila meekly, but with a certain degree of confidence. "Could we spring a trap?"

"A trap?" asked several people at once.

"If they are going to attack regardless of what we do, should we not try to strike first?" she asked. "We could stage a surrender and then detonate a bomb in their fleet."

Vrook scoffed, "This is not practical."

"It could be done," Dodonna mused aloud.

Vrook muttered something, but Bastila was relieved to know that he had no inkling of any ulterior motives on her part. Try as she might to stop loving Revan, she never would want him dead. She could not live with such a thing. But that was only part of the reason she suggested this plan—in actuality she thought it made the most sense as well.

Flavius then asked, "How would we get a bomb into the midst of their fleet? And how much destruction could we cause?"

Werner Ostyl said, "The W-28 thermonuclear bombs are the equivalent of five hundred megatons of TNT joules—I'd say it would do a lot of damage."

"But would it destroy a whole fleet?" asked Nantaris.

"No," replied Ostyl, "not of that size. They are too far apart."

"We don't have to destroy the whole fleet," said Bastila, "we just have to kill the Sith Lord."

Revan spoke up, said, "She is right. Ardashir is the messianic prophet of the Sith. He is believed to be invincible—his death would break them."

"So we need to assassinate him, then?" asked Flavius. "That could be done indeed."

Vrook exploded, "You're hedging your hopes on the blind chance that a bomb may or may not kill the enemy? What if he survives?"

"They will be significantly weakened," said Nantaris.

Vrook huffed loudly and sat backwards, angered at how the situation had spiraled out of control.

Flavius said, "This is all fine in theory—but how do we get such a massive bomb into their fleet? Surely we cannot sneak it in."

"We can," said Carth, "if we go under the guise of offering them Revan. Get close enough, and then blow it up."

"This is dangerous," began Dodonna warily, "I hesitate to send anyone in under orders. I would rather look for volunteers. Something like this…it's likely that whoever we send will not return."

Only a few moments of silence elapsed before Flavius spoke up, said firmly, "I will go."

Nantaris stopped him, said, "I appreciate your enthusiasm, but there is still much that needs to be worked out. Preliminary steps must be undertaken to determine if this is possible, but I think we can all agree that this is the best course of action, right?"

Nearly everyone in the council agreed, only a few remained dissenters—Vrook one of them. The haggard old Jedi just sat still, running his finger up and down his cane. He had lost almost all of his influence at this point. Once he had been one of the most revered masters in the Order—now he was playing second fiddle to a self-identified revolutionary. He despised it.

"Then we will get to work right away," said Nantaris.

Two days planning and everything was set in motion. Flavius oversaw the assembly of a small strike team of volunteers. They were given a distinct little destroyer to use as their vessel, and the massive bomb was somehow crammed into one of the large escape pods—the reason the ship had been chosen in the first place. The plan was to approach Senadis Station under a white flag and offer to present them Revan. They would determine the best location to fire off the escape pod, and then try their best to rocket out of the vicinity. They knew that it was very likely—almost assured, in fact—that they would not return. But they had to detonate the weapon—the future of the Republic and the Jedi Order depended on it.

Only just hours before they planned to shove off from Coruscant, Vrook's health worsened. He was ill as it was. Coupled with the stress of recent days and his fury at Revan's continued existence, his health declined even further. In the early morning that day, he suffered another stroke. This one was more severe and was almost certain to kill him.

Nantaris stood at the foot of his hospital bed, watching the elderly man slowly deteriorate. Word had spread throughout the Temple, and Caius, though every inclination told him not to do so, went as well. Despite his very strained relationship with Vrook, he still felt it necessary to be there.

He found Nantaris just standing still in the room, still in his dark robes. It looked like he had not slept for two days, had barely eaten, and had not bathed. He was almost ghoulish in his appearance. Caius figured he probably looked the same way.

"Is this it?" Caius asked as he walked into the room.

"Yes," answered Nantaris simply, "it's over for him, lad."

The Exile just nodded and remained where he was. He looked over Vrook again, thought that this was the end of the old era. The last Jedi who had any ties to the Old Order, the one with the familiar hierarchy and the stability and the revered wisdom, was leaving. He would leave behind a fractured and desolate order—broken and almost completely devoid of life. They had barely two dozen Jedi, and a cantankerous knight who had never asked for this mantle led them. The Order was merely patched together. Just as the Republic was patched together. Caius then felt a degree of immense sadness for Vrook. He had seen the Order go from a proud entity, the guardians of peace, to a mere powerless shell. He would likely die thinking that the Order would go with him. It was tragic.

"It's a funny thing," said Nantaris, "isn't it?"

"Huh?" Caius grunted.

"This, lad," he replied, gesturing to the old man, "life, death. All of it."

"Oh."

"The whole process. We are born, without our permission, and then we are alive, wondering why. And no sooner do we get here than do we learn that we are only visiting." He gave a very quick, breathy sigh, continued, "It must have been shocking—finding out that we die. When you're little, you must assume that you just go on forever. But then you find out that you don't…and it must be terrifying. But for some reason I cannot remember it. It would be the worst revelation anyone could ever experience—but the memory of it totally escapes me." He looked at Caius grimly, his darkened green eyes boring into him. He asked, "Do you remember?"

Caius thought for a minute, said, "No. No, I don't."

"The revelation of death is only second to this," he said, then looking at Vrook again.

"But this is death," said Caius.

"This is more. This is death—alone."

Caius looked back down at Vrook, realizing that Nantaris was getting at the same feeling that he had when he first looked upon the withering body of the old man.

Nantaris continued, "All of it for naught, huh, lad? What's the Order going to do for him now?" He smirked somewhat sardonically to himself, said, "Every single living thing dies alone. Just like Vrook is doing now. That is the final revelation."

The Exile pondered this for a moment. Thought to himself almost aloud, saying, "I don't agree. Not everyone dies alone."

"Well, lad, the evidence is right here."

"You do not sound like much of a Jedi," said Caius.

"I do not feel like much of a Jedi," replied Nantaris.

The words were thoroughly confusing to Caius. Looking over the hunched figure of the Grandmaster, he realized that it must just be pure exhaustion that was taking its toll on the man. Considering the stress that he had gone through, the pressure of trying to maintain the order, and the anxious waiting they all had to endure about the Sith threat, it was no small wonder the man was still sane. The Exile said, "Come on, Nantaris, I think you need to sleep."

His sentence was punctuated by the sound of Vrook flatlining. A doctor who was nearby rushed to his side. Two nurses joined him. They began to work feverishly to keep the old man alive, but both Jedi knew their efforts would be futile.

"Come on, let's go," said Caius.

Nantaris nodded and the two men left. In the room, the doctor stopped giving orders and merely hung his head.

Vrook had passed away.

Several hours later, Flavius and his team were ready. They ran through a checklist for the thousandth time, trying to determine if they had overlooked anything, and then readied for lift off. Dodonna stood on the ground at the naval docks, near the ship. She watched gravely as the air traffic controller ran through the countdown and then granted them permission to take off. All sorts of aides and lower-ranked officers flanked her.

Next to her was Carth, Dustil behind him. The young Jedi had been cleared to leave the hospital, though he was commanded to take it easy.

The Fleet Admiral then said, "We need a miracle." She turned to her side and looked up at Carth, asked, "What is it the Jedi always say?"

Carth mused on the question, though he knew the answer immediately. He said, "May the Force be with them."

"Yes, for our sake—may it be."