Chapter Twenty-Three

The plan was set in motion. In the event that it failed, the Republic military was preparing the best defense that it could. Ships were called in from all over the federation to Coruscant, where Revan had assured them the Sith would attack. Reserve troops were called in, and seemingly everyone who could hold a gun was brought in to situate themselves around the temple. Other reinforcements were called in from around the galaxy. The public had panicked, as expected, and the leaders opted to simply tell the truth. An invasion was expected and everyone was either required to stay home or to relocate to the thousands of bunkers that had been erected during the height of the Civil War. Even Chancellor Sertorius was moved to the safety of the Jedi Temple. But they did not tell the public this yet…they would wait and see how the nuclear assassination would turn out.

As for the sneak attack, the plan was relatively simple. The small destroyer, the Aeolos, would carry the bomb to the Senadis Station, under a white flag, and offer Revan to the Sith. Then Flavius would play it by ear, gauge how close he thought they could get to the heart of the Sith fleet, and then launch the bomb in the escape pod. It had a timer for twenty minutes that would begin counting down at launch. That would give them just enough time to escape. A smaller reconnaissance ship, Calyce, would hang back and keep contact with the Jedi and the Republic brass. Information was of the utmost importance. They had briefly entertained the idea of using computers or droids to execute the mission, but they were unsure whether the machines could be trusted to make the right judgment calls. In a situation in which anything could go wrong, they needed the dynamic kind of sentient adaptability that droids just did not have.

Flavius Glendower stood solemnly on the ship's bridge, watching the viewport as they fell out of hyperspace. They were piloted by several volunteers, some young, some old, most of them relatively inexperienced. They were the only ones who dared step forward for this kind of suicide mission. Outside, they were able to bear witness to the size and might of the Sith armada. It was truly enormous. Thousands of gray slits hung in the black expanse of space, floating maliciously around the completely helpless station. In the midst of the throng was a ridiculously large vessel—what could only be the capital ship. It seemed to be at least twice as large as even the second biggest vessel in the armada. That would be where they would angle the nuclear weapon. It would likely knock out the station, too, so they had all the bases covered.

"See how close you can get in before they make contact," said Flavius.

The young woman piloting the ship obeyed, slowly bringing them in towards the station. They only made it so far before a transmission exploded onto their hologram projector. There appeared to be a human talking in it, but somehow it was unnatural. As though the Sith were talking through him like some kind of living marionette. It said, "Halt your movement…speak your intent or die…"

"We come with peace. We have Revan—we offer him to you freely," said Flavius.

"Do not come closer…we shall meet you…" came the response.

"We will dock with the station," suggested Flavius.

There was some hesitation at the other end, but then the words eventually came through: "Do so."

The Aeolos crept closer, inching towards the occupied station.

"Give us the word to launch the nuke," said a technician after turning off the comm.

"Right," replied Flavius, "let's get a little closer."

They proceeded onwards, getting closer and closer to the best possible angle. They were almost in perfect position to hurl the deadly weapon, but then they were compromised.

"We're stuck!" shouted the pilot.

"Excuse me?" queried Flavius.

"We…we can't move!"

Flavius quickly turned to the scanning equipment and radar to his right—the wall adorned with the things. A nervous, twitching tech pointed spastically at something on the screen that just popped into existence. He jammed his finger against it and said, "There's…a sh-ship! Right on top of us! It must have had a cloaking device!"

The Jedi did not say anything—this would not bode well.

There was the unmistakable sound of their ship being apprehended. Several loud clicks and metal fusions indicated that they were about to be docked.

"Launch the weapon," said Flavius. "You know the coordinates. I'll go see what is happening."

There was hesitation, but then resigned compliance: "Aye, aye, sir."

From a safe distance away, on board the Calyce; the crew was notified to the launching of the weapon.

Her crew stood by in tense anxiety. "Come on," someone said, "twenty minutes."

Flavius stood in front of the main airlock that now connected to the stealth Sith ship. There was noise from behind it, clearly the enemy trying to get in. Behind him were two Republic soldiers, both dressed in gray body armor.

The Jedi then opened the door, deciding it was better to meet their foes face to face. The white doors slid open sideways, skidding along the ground, to reveal a bizarre and confusing scene. They were presented with a sickened and pale man, his arms bound behind his back. He seemed to be somehow possessed by one of the Sith behind him, his head was twitching as they manipulated him. Behind him were three Sith, two hooded soldiers, and one conspicuous one. He was a little taller, but he wore no hood, allowing his festering purplish/white skin to be seen by all. He had black body armor that was wrapped in all kinds of dark clothes, and a large sheathed sword. A dark gray cape, frayed at the edges as though they had been shredded, flowed behind him. On his head was a slanted, triangular hat of some kind, but the sheer ugliness of his face was too distracting for Flavius to care what it was.

The possessed human lunged forward and stuttered, "Rev…an…" before passing out on the ground and writhing in pain.

Flavius said calmly, "Kill them."

The two Republic soldiers opened fire and Flavius instantly had his viridian lightsaber activated. He launched forward, slicing one of the Sith guards in half before it had a chance to react. The Republic soldiers gunned down the second one, leaving only the unique Sith left. What they did not know, however, was that this was Inamurah, one of the two remaining Sith Lords.

The soldiers opened fire on him as well, their blaster bolts tearing into his armor, but they seemed to have no effect. The Sith cried out some kind of devilish curse and then flew towards Flavius. He parried and rotated sideways like a matador. Inamurah brushed past him, but elegantly spun around and ran his sword through the torso of one of the Republic volunteers.

The remaining soldier emptied the clip of his automatic blaster rifle, but he was erratic, spraying the shots everywhere and mostly missing. Flavius tried to strike a blow, but the Sith Lord merely blocked it without looking and the Jedi had to duck down and roll to the side to avoid a counter hit.

The Republic man dropped his weapon and went for his holstered pistol. He brought it up to eye level in a hurry and aimed at Inamurah's head. Walking backwards as he fired, he unloaded everything he had. Inamurah continued stalking towards him, despite the fact that the bolts continually struck him—two even hitting his face. His head and shoulder jerked backwards with each impact, but he did not slow his advance.

The ship shuddered violently as she tried to break away from the Sith ship, but to no avail. The spasm threw Flavius to the ground. He scrambled to try to get up and intercede, but the entire episode unfolded in a matter of seconds.

The soldier's gun clicked, emptied, and Inamurah made his last stride. He thrust out his hand and palmed the man's face, crushing his skull with his hand. He then wrenched his arm backwards and vaulted the hapless soldier through the air. The man collided with a wall with tremendous force and died immediately.

Flavius swung at the Sith's head, but his blow was blocked. He took a step backwards and blocked a counter strike in return.

Another seizure gripped the ship, causing him to lose his balance for a moment. Inamurah was nearly on top of him then, but his saber, almost through luck, prevented his leg from being severed from his body. He hopped backwards to put some distance between himself and the Sith. Something violent slithered out of its throat, and Flavius was entirely certain that it said, "You cannot kill me."

He took another step backwards and deactivated his lightsaber. He said, "I killed you twenty minutes ago."

Outside a tiny viewport, no longer than a foot and a half wide, they were presented with the spectacle. A great fireball erupted in the middle of space, blasting outwards from nothing, consuming everything near it. White light exploded outward, washing everything in the incandescent brightness.

Inamurah, in shock, dropped his sword.

They were both dead before it hit the ground.

"Commander Pryce…reporting from Senadis Station," cackled the static comm, "Bomb has been detonated. No word from the Aeolos."

Nantaris, Dodonna, and Ostyl were gathered in small room on the northwest side of the Jedi Temple, listening to the broadcast from the Calyce. The military triumvirate anxiously awaited word of their trap's success.

"Can you confirm target's destruction?" asked Dodonna.

There was hesitation on the other end, no reply just yet.

"The capital ship," stated Ostyl, "that is what we are most concerned with."

A screen next to the three blinked green lines, then gray static, and back to the disjointed green illusion. The camera on the Calyce was being distorted and confused in the aftermath of the bomb's explosion.

"We've lost visual," came the distressed voice at the other end.

The screen blinked into focus briefly and showed the expanse of space with seemingly nothing where the bomb had gone off—everything having been blasted into oblivion.

"It looks like there is nothing to see," said Nantaris, who had his hands on the corners of a wooden table, overlooking a frenzied pile of papers and documents.

They looked longer, still getting nothing on the screen.

"We need visual confirmation," stated Ostyl, "has the target been destroyed?"

Again the screen flickered, static, then came into focus again. They looked and thought they could see.

"Negative," came Pryce's voice, low and despairing over the comm, "target…is still there. I repeat…target is still there."

The screen finally came into pure focus—and they saw it too…the capital ship was still there, hovering innocently in the same area it had been. Senadis Station, though, had been atomized.

"How…is that possible?" Dodonna lamented.

There was no answer.

"The bloody nuke blew up right underneath it! How the hell is it still there?" asked Nantaris.

Ostyl's jaw seemed locked and he put his hand on his chin.

Nantaris flung his hand across the table in a temper, scattering the papers and launching them all across the room.

Revan could feel it. Ardashir had survived the attack. Inamurah had been killed, as well as a few dozen smaller Sith ships—the video confirmed this—but the rest of the fleet was intact. Ardashir was not on the Senadis Station, and he was not on the Republic ship. He had weathered the attack, and now he would strike back with his inimitable rage. The battle to end all battles was nigh.

The trap had failed, this they now knew. Slowly they had learned more. Several Sith ships were, in fact, destroyed. The station had been obliterated. But the Sith capital ship had, somehow, absorbed the attack and muscled through it. They had no idea how—there were no shields that could possibly have resisted such an attack. The logic had no bearing on the situation anymore, though, they had provoked the enemy, and soon they would strike back with everything that they had. They had struck the hornet's nest with a stick.

Revan had assured them that the counterattack would come straight to them. Coruscant was the grand prize, the Sith were not concerned with any other planet. It symbolized the heart of the Republic—without it, the conglomeration would almost cease to exist. They knew the battleground—it was just a matter of waiting.

They would not sit on their hands, however; everyone scrambled to prepare, to do everything that could possibly be done in order to counter the eventual attack. The population was informed of the situation, as calmly as possible, and told it was mandatory to stay inside or to make their ways to local bunkers. Their movement would be enforced by the planet's massive police force. The senators and politicians were evacuated and sent to secure locations, even the Chancellor himself going into hiding. Almost the entire Republic fleet—what had remained of it—came into orbit over the planet, positioned strategically in between the orbital defense stations for maximum protection. Reinforcements were called in from every corner of the Republic—some even days before the trap had been sprung. They were trickling in, and the military hoped they would be enough…at least they would raise their chances.

With word of the assassination mission's failure spreading throughout the ranks, Caius was hard pressed to find any optimism at all within the army or the Order. A degree of fatalistic depression had set in, and morale was low. As with any defending force, having to wait for an attack was nerve-wracking. They did not know when the moment of attack would come—so they had to be ready at all moments. It wore them down.

The day wore on, but there was no word on Sith movement or mobilization. They were certain the attack would come within a day or two.

Light faded and soon darkness fell on the Jedi Temple. No one could sleep, and Caius resorted to wandering the halls aimlessly, inspecting defenses and generally trying to figure out what he should do to help. As he strolled past the few docks that the Jedi Temple accommodated, he witnessed an unusual sighting. He could only make out darkened silhouettes in the night, but he was certain that there was a creature of at least eight feet in height moving through the hall, conversing with several other people. There were three Jedi, now, he could see. They turned to leave as he arrived. As he got closer, he realized what the large shadow was.

A…Wookiee? he thought to himself.

He made his way closer and his vision got better. He did not know the names of the Jedi, but he saw that Carth was present as well.

"Evening, Caius," said the Admiral. This was really the first time they had met since they had come back from the Unknown Regions. He gestured to the Wookiee, said, "Allow me to introduce you to an old friend. Caius—this is Zaalbar."

"Nice…to meet you," Caius said, somewhat uncertain.

Zaalbar growled something, but the Exile could not understand it. Suddenly, a little blue Twi'lek flew out from behind his back and began, "He says it's nice to…" she then halted. "It's you! I remember you! From Taris!"

Caius cocked his head, somewhat uncomprehending. He could not recall.

Carth saved him, asked, "You've met Mission already?"

Then it all came back to him, he stuttered, "Right—yes, she gave us fuel on Taris when we came out of hyperspace from Malachor." He added, "Thanks, again, for that."

"I can see it went to good use," she replied, "you did find Revan."

Caius then asked, though he struggled at first to say the name, "What is…Zaalbar…doing here?"

The wookiee responded with a quiet—by their standards—growl that seemed to signify willful allegiance. Carth said, "He is chieftain of his village on Kashyyyk—they owe a debt to Revan, so they are here to lend their support. He is here with three hundred of his finest warriors to help defend the Temple."

"Three hundred wookiees?" Caius asked.

Zaalbar howled loudly in approval.

Caius coughed, "That's just…so many."

"You'll never meet a cuddlier army, you know?" stated Mission.

Zaalbar grunted.

"Geez, I was kidding," she replied indignantly, "you never could take sarcasm well, could you?"

"Well," said Carth, "It is good to see both of you again…it reminds me of better days. Hard to believe, huh?"

Mission sighed, said, "Yeah—they were."

The Admiral nodded to them and said, "If you'll excuse me, I must get going. We can guess that the counter attack will come soon."

The Republic army scrambled to cover all of their bases, but did so with surprising efficiency. There were ten separate shield generators for the Orbital Defense Stations, spread all over Coruscant. Each one needed defending—if a generator was bombed or disabled then the ODS would be completely helpless. With no shield to protect it, a direct hit from a decent sized enemy gun could rip straight through it. The defense would live and die with the protection of the stations. Many troops were devoted to each generator with the hopes of keeping them online.

Despite this, however, the greatest number and the best-trained soldiers were committed to the Jedi temple. The Temple itself harbored the monstrous power generator for the individual shield generators, so destroying it would disable all of the ODS shields. It was likely that the Temple would receive the brunt of the attack. To account for this, the Republic military delegated the best it could find for the job of defending it.

They had hoped to garner some outside support, but they had not much success. Carth had tried to contact the Mandalorians, but he had not been able to reach them. They were too busy retaining their separate identity.

The wookiees were undoubtedly an asset, but even they could not defend the whole temple alone. Along with a great mass of typical Republic foot soldiers, the military also appointed two divisions of their best soldiers. They were the Fourth and Twenty-Third divisions of the army, and were two of the most decorated in the whole military. These two divisions underwent special training and used the most technologically advanced weapons and armor the Republic had yet created. They were noted for their fearsome appearances, as they were clad head to toe in charcoal black armor—no insignias on any of it save for the left shoulder, the two divisions there bearing separate markings. The armor, however, was not incredibly bulky. It was resilient, yet flexible, which allowed for quick movement. Since they were not weighed down much by it, most of the soldiers in the two divisions carried heavy repeating blasters or automatic blaster rifles. The most distinctive feature was their helmets. They covered the entire head of the soldier, but allowed them to see through striking light blue visors. The visors operated as miniature computers inside their helmets, detailing orders, geography, and armor damage on the little personal HUD displays. Aside from the Jedi, these two divisions were the most formidable fighting force the Republic had available.

The Twenty-Third was assigned to the right flank of the temple, while the Fourth was stationed in the front—guarding the most direct passageway underneath the Temple, where the generator was stored.

The entire next day was spent preparing the defenses, digging trenches and setting up stationary guns as well as barbed wire and force fields and mines. The Republic was sparing expense in erecting anything that could impede an attackers progress. Anti-Air guns were hauled in quickly and stationed about haphazardly.

Nantaris oversaw the situating of the defenses as he spoke to Major General Keilen Eherr, a grizzled, bearded man who had seen innumerable battles.

"I hope your men are as capable as they say," stated Nantaris.

"More than capable," replied Eherr. "They'll never break, no matter what these Sith throw at them."

Nantaris breathed out slowly, "I hope you are right."

The hours dragged on, and day became night and still there was no sign of any impending attack. There was a general feeling, however, that it was soon. There was no way that it would take the Sith longer than two days to mount their assault. It would come within the next day—this much was certain.

No one could sleep. Caius once again found himself in conversation with Atton as they whittled away the hours of the night.

"Somehow," said Atton, "I knew I would end up like this. The cataclysmic battle was always coming—I just didn't think it would take this long."

"I'm glad you're here, Atton," Caius replied. He then asked, "Where's Mira?"

"I don't know—I think she's helping with the wookiees right now. Can't imagine why—I'd think she'd be terrified of wookiees after that whackjob that kept stalking her."

"She doesn't get scared," stated Caius.

"No kidding."

They spoke for a little while longer before Atton asked, "Hey, have you seen Bastila?"

"Not lately, why?"

"Nothing really—but she sure is different now. I didn't think, when you left, that she'd come back like this."

"Like what?" Caius asked.

"Like…what? Have you seen her at all? She looks terrible. If my gut is right, and it normally is, then there's something seriously wrong with her. How could you not have noticed?"

"I…I don't know," Caius said. He wasn't sure what to say. He could guess that it had to do with Revan, but he didn't want to tell Atton that.

Atton blew out his nose, said, "Well, if she wasn't such a tight ass I'd say someone should try to talk to her, but knowing her she probably would just tell them to crawl in a hole and die."

Caius frowned, said, "Knock it off, she's my friend—and you don't know her at all."

"Fine," said Atton, retreating, "but if you're really her friend, maybe you should talk to her."

"What…what would I say?"

"I don't know—play counselor," Atton shrugged, "after all, you're so good at it."

Caius sighed, "Always with the sarcasm."

"You know it!"

"All right," said Caius, "I'll see if I can talk to her. And your concern for her is noted."

"Pssh, yeah—that'll be the day."

They spoke for a few more minutes before Caius left. Atton said he was going to bed, so the Exile wandered the halls until he found Bastila's room. He could sense that she was not sleeping. He approached her door quietly and knocked three times. At length he heard her voice, thin and exhausted from the inside. It said, "You can come in, Caius."

The Exile slowly pushed the door open and strolled into the room. It was pretty dark, which was strange considering she wasn't sleeping. As he walked in he flipped on one of the lights—albeit dimly—in order to see. When he did, he set his eyes on the figure sitting on the corner of the bed. It was Bastila all right, but she looked entirely different. She was sitting with her feet on the ground and her hands clasped in between her knees. She was hunched over, her back bent, as she regarded him.

His eyes must have betrayed a kind of surprise at her appearance, because she explained solemnly, "I haven't slept in three days."

"Good L—," he began and coughed, "Bastila…this isn't healthy."

She didn't respond. He looked her over again to see how bad a shape she was in. She was wearing the simpler Jedi robes, no bulky fabric or cape or anything. Her eyes were sunken and there were very dark circles around them, blackening their normally piercing gray color. Her brown hair was askew, as she had not braided it in the complicated way that it normally was. The result was that it was frayed upwards on top as it was used to being bound, and the rest of it fell around her ears and onto her shoulders, completely unkempt.

"Sorry," she said, "I took the braids out."

"No—nothing to apologize for," he said. After speaking, however, he noticed her right arm again. It was exposed, the sleeve rolled up, and scratched into her skin was that same hideous scar. She had apparently been administering some kind of lotion or balm to it, which explained why the sleeve was up.

Sensing his curiosity, she rubbed her hand over the scar and then pulled her sleeve down. She was a bit self-conscious, and she felt awkward with Caius just standing there and doing nothing. However, she asked, "What is it?"

"I just…" he paused, "some of the other Jedi…are worried about you. I wanted to see if you're okay."

She sighed, asked, "Am I so transparent?"

"You're as opaque as they get, Bastila," he said but then immediately regretted it as it seemed to sound like a joke; he continued, "you don't have to be transparent. It's obvious you're not well."

"I'm okay," she replied.

"You haven't slept in three days," Caius echoed. He then pulled out a box of some kind, perhaps a chest, and sat down on it, opposite of her.

"Aside from that—I'm okay. I'll be fine."

Caius put his hand on the side of his face and rubbed it. He then asked, "It's Revan—isn't it?"

She put her head down, then said, "I suppose you already know. There's no point in lying."

"I thought you'd be glad to find him," said Caius.

"We didn't find him," she answered, "we found someone else."

Caius thought about this. It was probably true—this Revan seemed radically different than the one she had told him about. He then said, "I remember…you told me on Nar Shaddaa…that this is what you expected."

"I know," she said, "but that doesn't make it any easier to come to grips with. It was my greatest fear, and now that it's confirmed…I just don't know what to do."

"I don't—" Caius began before she interrupted him.

"I underestimated how hard it would be to deal with this situation. I thought I could just acknowledge that the Revan I loved is gone…but it isn't that simple. I can't just accept that. Not when I see him. Not when I look into his eyes and see the old Revan—see Naithan. I feel like…he's in there. If I knew that he would never come back then I could just let go…but every time I see him I feel like there's still a chance. Like there's still some of that old Revan inside of him. And that maybe…if I say the right thing…or remind him of the right time…that he'll come back."

Caius gulped said, "I don't…know if he will."

Bastila sighed, put her hand on her cheek and said; "I know that with my mind, but not my heart."

"I am sorry," Caius said, "but I don't know what to say. I have no advice to give or pseudo-counsel to offer. I can just say that there's more to your life than Revan."

She tilted her head, as though she found this statement odd. She said, "I…it's just that I've always been associated with him. And these past five years I've wanted to find him again. I can't just easily let go. It's…too difficult."

Caius thought how ironic it was that she seemed to be going through the reverse process that he had undergone. She was going from star-crossed and devoted lover to jaded and hardened cynic. Just as he had transformed from a crusty and reclusive bachelor to a vulnerable but willing person who conceded to give love a shot. He said, "You're a stronger person than anyone I know, Bastila. You can overcome this—I know you can."

She seemed undaunted by his flattery, said, "Heartbreak…is too difficult."

Suddenly Caius remembered the last conversation he had had with Xristos. The words of the old man came back to him; he could remember all of them from that dingy cell on Malacandra. He began, "A wiser man than I told me once…" he gulped, "that to love at all is to be vulnerable. If we love, our heart will be wrung and probably be broken. But that trying to avoid the heartbreak by never loving would be to commit a kind of spiritual suicide—like living in a perpetual hell. The only way to break it is by being willing."

There was a long silence at the other end of the conversation. Bastila sat thinking, eventually said, "Xristos told you that, didn't he?"

"Yes," said Caius, "it was the last thing he said to me."

"He told me too," she replied.

"And what did you think?"

"I think…I think I agree with it," she answered, "but that doesn't make it any less painful. That just means that I should not have expected otherwise." She sighed, said, "I miss that old man."

"Me too," said Caius. "But if you agree with it…you know what it takes—you are far above all of the Jedi like Vrook who never learned anything."

"I suppose," she said, "the philosophy makes sense. But when it hurts this much…head knowledge is not that helpful…"

Caius thought, said, "What is it that you want, then?"

She gave an abbreviated sigh, then said, "I just want to move on. I want to stop looking for the old Revan. I loved him—he's gone. I want to move forward."

"I think you will," said Caius, "you will get there."

"I…can hope," she said.

"I hope I'm not irritating you by trying to help…"

"No, don't worry. It means a lot that you're even trying," she assured him.

"We just don't want anything to happen to you. You mean too much to the Republic, and you mean too much to all of us personally. I consider myself your friend, and I don't want you to be miserable like this. I…well…I want you to be happy."

Bastila muttered something, Caius thought he could pick out, "Universal."

"What is it?" he asked.

"Xristos's fourth love," she said, "You've done it."

"I…have?"

"Yes—you said you wanted me to be happy because I'm your friend. You want what's best for me just because. You're treating me as you would want yourself to be treated. That's it—that's the fourth one. The transcendent one. You're a true Jedi."

"I…what? A Jedi? I'm not even part of the order!"

"You're still a true Jedi. And now…" she trailed off before recovering, "You've reminded me. There are other loves. There are other parts of life. We are supposed to love everyone. I don't love Revan, but I still love him. Just as I love you, and Allie, and Carth, and Dustil, and Xristos, and everyone." She shifted from the corner of the bed and stood up. She said, "Thank you, Caius. You are helping, even if you do not know it."

"I…well…you're…welcome?"

"Yes," she said. She ran her hand through her hair and said, "I need to sleep."

They were standing uncomfortably close, and Caius sought to try to dispel the awkwardness. He just nodded and said, "Me too."

There was a lingering moment of uncertainty before Bastila eventually said, "Really—I'm tired."

"Goodnight," Caius added hastily, "and I hope it all works out."

He turned and headed for the door. Outside, he felt as though a weight were lifted off of his shoulders. He hoped that he had helped her more than hurt her, as he really just wanted to make sure she was all right. He instantly felt a bit embarrassed by the whole conversation and thought to himself, Damn you, Atton. Now, though, he needed sleep as well. If only for a few hours. For a brief moment, the impending Sith invasion escaped his mind. He was concerned with other things. And he merely wanted rest.

When he left, Bastila finally got a few hours of sleep, but she did not get as much rest as she had hoped. The Force seemed fond of playing havoc with her emotions, and it presented her with a particularly trying scene of her past, playing it over again for her as she tried to sleep.

She remembered a searing pain, and she found herself lying on the cold metal surface of the space station. Her right arm was throbbing with pain, her black sleeve having been shorn by a lightsaber and her skin burned and scarred. She couldn't move anymore, and her own double bladed weapon had been cast far away, out of reach. She could not call on the Force; she had exhausted herself from the Battle Meditation and from the duel. There was nothing she could do but await the final blow.

But it wasn't coming.

She did not bother to look around, only stared at the far away ceiling. She continued to lay motionless on the ground; her limbs sprawled out in every direction, feeling only the burning agony of her arm. "Please…" she whimpered, "please kill me."

"Never," answered an unmistakably gruff but undeniably loving voice.

She felt him kneel down next to her. She grimaced as he put his hands on her arm and tried to funnel the Force into her wounded body—repair the damage he had done. "Just leave me," she pleaded, "I don't deserve anything more."

He did not respond to her pitiful pleas, just tried to soothe her. "Shhhh," he said, "It's okay, Bastila."

She whimpered again and tried to look away. She grunted as he tried to heal her arm, the pain knifing through it.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I tried not to hurt you…"

"You shouldn't," she exhaled weakly, "be helping me. I could attack you again."

"You could," he answered, "but you won't." He was confident, and he was peaceful.

"Please…" she began again.

"It's okay, Bastila," he repeated, seeming to appreciate merely pronouncing her name, "I'm here. It's over now." He picked her up off of the ground and cradled her in his arms, trying to rejuvenate the broken spirit within her. Time seemed to stop, the battle raging around the Star Forge fading from their minds. At this moment, there was nothing going on in the universe except this conversation. "It's all over."

"Malak…" she began, "he will kill us."

"No he won't," he answered.

She opened her eyes and chanced a look at his face. There he was, just as she had expected. Haggard, unshaven, simply worn down from all that had happened. But in spite of all of this, he was…smiling. It was subtle, but it was there. He was smiling—at her.

"Why won't you leave me?" she asked, "why try to bring me back?"

"I love you, Bastila," he answered quickly and firmly, "and I'll never leave you. No matter what."

"…never," she said quietly.

"No," he repeated, "never."

She saw, manifested in his brown eyes as they gazed at her, something pure—something completely untouched by evil, or suffering, or pain. It was simple devotion, complete fixation on her. It was unconditional, and undefeatable. She could see it, it wasn't something she felt or knew from hearing it. She could see it.

"I love you, too," she admitted. It was the first time she had ever spoken the words. The first time such a blasphemous statement had ever come out of her mouth. "Please forgive me—if you can…forgive me."

"I forgive you, love," he replied.

Elliott had spent the last several days keeping a low profile. He would rather not have to take part in all the festivities. If he could have, he would have sneaked out the Jedi Temple and gone to a bar; however, not only would that be suicide, but there were none open. He smoked a lot of cigarettes and generally had the lower levels of the Temple staked out.

Very few people were coming by the droid repair area, as there were other things of priority, so he frequented the place to be alone.

This time, however, he came across HK and T3, biding time in the droid shop. HK had apparently been trying to modify his weapons, and T3 had been annoying him. They were arguing when Elliott found them.

"Statement:" began HK, though he addressed Elliott, "I tire of arguing with this little trash compactor. He is definitely a lower-tier piece of machinery."

"Uh huh," said Elliott.

"Query: Are you not also anticipating the glorious battle that is to commence so soon? My behavior core is practically quivering with excitement."

T3 beeped. Elliott sensed that this is what the droids were talking about.

"I have to say," Elliott answered as he took a drag from his cigarette, "I agree with T3."

"Lamentation: I will never understand you pacifist types."

"I'm not a pacifist," Elliott answered, "I just would rather not be here."

"Statement: I will never understand you pacifist types."

"I'll never understand you raging psychopath types." He inhaled his cigarette again.

"Query: Why is it that you are ingesting such a lethal thing? My scanners inform me that each inhalation increases your odds of early fatality by fifty percent."

Elliott blew smoke at the droid, said, "Because it calms me down."

"Query: So, you are shivering with anticipation?"

"No—I'd rather not be here. I didn't sign up to fight a war."

"Statement: It does not matter what you signed up for, meatbag. You are here." HK paused and looked at T3, who was hanging his head sideways. He continued, "Statement: I look forward to commencing hostilities."

Morning came, and still there was no indication of the Sith attack. Their spy ship had fled in fear of discovery, and since then it was likely that the Sith had remained where they were, content to plot and plan. With hyperspace capabilities, they would be able to jump to Coruscant rather quickly. Predicting the time was a matter of guessing.

Caius awoke; having gained about five hours of much needed rest. It will be today, he thought to himself. It has to be.

He cleaned himself up a bit, shaved and washed his face, and then left his empty room behind. After the in depth conversation with Bastila, he felt the need to track down Allie and talk to her again. He was not entirely sure he would have another opportunity. She was not in her room, so he had to look the old fashioned way—by simply asking people if they had seen her. He eventually tracked her down, on her way to the underbelly of the Temple.

"Allie!" he called after her.

She halted her movement and instantly looked up. She smirked and raised an eyebrow as she saw him coming. As he approached, she crossed her arms and asked, "Yes?"

"Where are you going?" he asked.

She uncrossed her arms and said, "Anyone good with machines is requested to go the basement and keep track of the generator and other equipment. I figured I could be of the most help there. In case something happens."

"Okay," he said.

"Are you going to fight?" she asked.

"I have to."

She nodded, said, "Yeah, I know."

He scratched the top of his head and tried to think of something to say, but suddenly he had no idea.

"What is it you called me for?" she asked.

"Just…" he tried to think, but then said simply, "be safe."

She put her hand to her chin and said, "I will try." She looked up, as though she were expecting the Sith to attack at that moment. She asked, "Do you think we'll win?"

"I don't…I don't know," he said, likewise looking through the large glass windows on the ceiling. Somehow, the image of the blue sky was soothing at that moment. As though the everything were normal, even though the situation was dire. It was as if the universe was the same, ignorant of the great battle that was coming.

"I think we will," she assured him, "besides…you still owe me dinner. And I don't want to pass up a free meal."

He looked down to her, somewhat surprised at her comment, and noticed that she was smiling—definitely a strange gesture for such a serious moment. But then at the same time he realized that this was what was so endearing about her. She seemed to be relentlessly optimistic—not necessarily in a naïve way, but she simply refused to look at anything from a grim and depressing angle. It was a welcome change from his usual company.

When she realized that he was simply going to stare at her and say nothing, she extended her hand towards him. She seemed to think his demeanor was funny, and he was surprised that she suddenly seemed to knock his head about the way an amused parent does when a child does something funny.

"What was that for?" he asked, trying to determine what the hell had just happened.

"Nothing," she replied, "I just think you need to lighten up a bit."

"Thanks for hitting me," he said somewhat tersely.

She was unfazed, said, "You're welcome." She snickered quietly and then said, "Okay, I have to get to the basement now. I'll see you after this is all over." She turned and walked a few feet away towards an elevator. She hit one of the buttons, turned around as she waited and said, "Goodbye. And…good luck."

Caius just waved. The elevator opened and she went inside. As the door was closing on her, he saw her wave back. Then it was shut and she was gone.

"Be safe…" he said quietly.

Carth was heading to a shuttle. He was going back to the Reckoner, as the battle was sure to commence soon. He had done all he could on the ground. Dustil was behind him, fated to join him in space. His son was still too weak to actually fight, and Carth did not want to leave him behind. Dustil insisted on being involved, however, so they reached this compromise. Dustil would provide whatever support he could from the deck of his ship.

The two men strode quickly towards the private dockyards, towards a small shuttle that had hurriedly been prepared for them. As they walked, Carth spotted Bastila in the distance. She was talking to someone he didn't recognize.

Carth said, "Dustil—I'll be right there. Meet me in the shuttle in five minutes."

His son nodded and they parted ways.

Carth made his way towards Bastila. She had just ended her conversation, but was lingering in the same spot. He came up to her from the side and said, "Bastila—there you are."

She turned to him and smiled warmly, said, "Carth, it's good to see you."

He began, "I just wanted to thank you for getting Dustil back to me. I feel like the world has been lifted off of my shoulders. I just…thank you for keeping your promise."

Bastila nodded very slightly, said, "I'm sorry that he got hurt…we did everything we could to keep him safe."

"He told me what happened," Carth replied, "you don't have to justify it. You saved his life. Consider me eternally grateful. And that's just the top of a long list of things you've done for me. I just wanted to say thanks in case….in case…"

"In case we don't make it?" she asked.

He nodded, but decided that such macabre discussion was not to his liking. He said, "You look much better now—have you been getting more sleep?"

"A little more, yes," she replied, "it's…getting better."

"That is good to hear—is there anything I can do?"

She thought on the question, then answered, "No, no I don't think so. This is something that I must come to terms with on my own." She turned her head away a little and looked past him.

Carth simultaneously wanted and loathed to ask the next question, but he did so anyway. He asked, "It's Revan. Isn't it?"

She instantly was looking into his eyes again, asked with a shocked expression, "You…know…?"

"I've always known, Bastila," he answered, "since the beginning."

"And you…"

"I never told a soul," he said, "and I never will."

"Thank you, Carth—I know I could trust you with anything."

He smiled, said, "You'll tough it out. I know you can."

These words were strangely calming to her, and she felt a bit of relief at his confidence. She said, "Carth—you are the best man I know. Truthfully. I don't know what I would do without you."

"Just doing my duty, ma'am," he replied. His mental clock informed him that it had been five minutes, so he said, "I need to get to my ship. So this is goodbye. Take care of yourself, Bastila."

"You too, Carth," she said, "and thank you again."

"Goodbye," he said.

"Goodbye, my friend."

They then parted ways. Carth hurried back to his shuttle, hoping that he and everyone he cared for would make it out of this mess alive. "Let's go, Dustil," he said to his son as they stepped into the shuttle.

The day dragged on towards dusk. Revan stood outside of the main entrance to the Temple, defended by the bulk of the Republic forces present. He was looking up to the darkening sky, watching for signs of anything. He could faintly discern the massive fleet of Republic ships in orbit over the planet. They were represented by very thin and almost indistinguishable slits of whiteness in the sky.

He pulled his hood over his head, preferring to brood in anonymity. He crossed his arms and oversaw the work the soldiers were doing. He watched for several minutes until suddenly a warning through the Force came to him, tugging at his soul. There feelings of death, doubt, explosions, and conflict. He looked up and saw that there was a new conglomeration of streaks in the air, coupled with explosions of color and fire.

It has begun, he thought to himself.

He let his lightsaber fall into his hands. Now there was nothing to do but wait.