A/N: Hey everyone, I just wanted to thank all the followers of the story again, including the newcomers since last time. Blusnowman, Gachmara, JumpingToaster, Mireczek, USSExplorer, Wolfshark, Themytick, thanks. I'd love to hear what you guys like about the story. To the reviewers: thank you, especially reviewer Kane for leaving suggestions and questions that challenge me to think outside the box for where I'm going; it's helped a lot. If anyone has any questions at all about where the story is going, or is confused at all about what's happening, feel free to ask and I'll try to get back to you when I post my next chapter, as long as it doesn't reveal any spoilers. As always, reviews are super appreciated.

May the Force be with you.

Revan delicately placed the red saber crystal into its plasteel case across from Nihilus' mask and next to the datachip containing the information on the alien Starfighter; the three locked cases stood atop stands connected to a floating circular, floating platform in the depths of Coruscant's Senate building. The case hissed as it shut; the air was being vacuumed out and replaced with microbot bombs that would activate should anyone attempt to steal the artifacts. Only the genetic codes of two of the three Triumvirate members, minimum, would be able to deactivate the explosives and allow for a safe removal of the mask or the crystal. Should that criteria not be met, any attempt to open the cases would result in an explosion capable of incinerating the entire room.

Revan listened to the hissing and watched the condensed vapor being ejected from the base of the stand. "You still hear the voice?" Horn asked from the other end of the circular platform.

Revan sighed. "Yes. I still hear the voice," he said. He turned from where the crystal sat and looked the Grandmaster in the eye.

The woman was wearing emerald and gold robes that flowed over her body; the woman may have taken a vow of celibacy, but she understood how to manipulate the senate body. The robe accentuated the woman's toned body, and the cloak she wore over it could easily be closed for her dealings with other, less easily manipulated senators who did not appreciate such crude – yet powerful, and necessary – forms of dealing. "I was hoping that the Force healing your mind was given would help you. It did seem to lessen your paranoia, at the very least. But for the 'Voice of Revan,' it does not appear to have done as much. Fortunately, however, the illness does not seem to be progressing." The Jedi crossed her arms and continued speaking, "There is a very well established professional for... things like this. Mental disorders and PTSD, among other things. She treats many of our soldiers, so I'm sure that the Doctor will be able to find some way to help lessen this delusion's grasp on your mind. Perhaps even eradicate it."

Okay, Theron... Theron... Don't. I'm real, you know that.

"I think that's a great idea," Revan told the Jedi Master. "It, um... It bothers me."

The Jedi nodded sympathetically. "Then I will have a meeting place sent to your ship; she is off-world, and will most likely not be available until tomorrow. Hopefully she can help you more than I."

Revan nodded slightly. "Thank you, Master Horn," he said with a deep bow. "I look forward to finally ending this."

"Tomorrow night, after your appointment, please come to the Chancellor's gala. We want you – all four of you – to attend. I'm sure that the Senators and VIP guests would adore any tales of triumph and bravery you could regale them with. Perhaps you can draw some of the older Senators out of their shells to tell some stories of battles. I know that the Wookiee senator, Sirrakuk, has many stories to tell of her brother, the famed Jedi Lowbacca. Perhaps she would tell them to you," Horn said. She bowed slightly back to Revan. "Until then, a word of warning as well. This medical professional is... well, she's a Zeltron. Be cautious of whatever it is your mind thinks it is thinking around her – many a tempered soul has fallen to the natural telepathy of Zeltrons."

Revan smiled. "Of course," he responded. "I won't go alone." He turned on his heel and left the room calmly, but quickly. The air of the room, an aura of cascading Dark Side energy, was beginning to take its toll on him.

SWSWSWSWSW

Beep-beep. Lady Kralle looked over at the datapad next to her bed. She agilely reached over numerous naked bodies to grab the handheld computer and opened the message. Doctor Klou – One of our more covert agents is in need of your assistance. Come to Coruscant and meet him at the Old Republic Senate building museum. Tell the guard at the front door you are there for the 'Jedi Tour' and he will lead you to your meeting place. You will be paid for your discretion, on top of your usual fee. You are also welcome to the Senate Gala that night. – Grandmaster Horn.

Darth Kralle sighed exasperatedly to herself. Playing the part of Doctor Neriah Klou was her least favorite assignment. Yes, she had the medical license and training for treating various psychoses, and, yes, the job did allow her to create many sleeper agents for the Sith amongst the Triumvirate military... but it required her to be so very not herself. Prudish, self controlled, and so incredibly boring. The only upside was watching almost every soldier fall over themselves as she used her species' natural and passive telepathy to affect their thoughts and actions in the most hilarious ways. She even got the last one to propose marriage to her in front of a holo-cam, an offer she flatly refused. The video was on the galactic net less than an hour later.

Kralle grumbled to herself once more, then extracted her form from the tangled forms of the other bodies to retrieve her clothes and report to Darth Nihl on the development. "What a hassle," she groaned. The naked forms behind her groaned in annoyance as well, her natural psychic field eliciting similar responses from those around her. That made her smile a bit more. She loved manipulating others.

SWSWSWSWSW

Revan clenched his fist and his knuckles popped. "I heard that," Ana remarked. She placed her hand on Revan's shoulder. "Calm down."

He laughed softly in response. "Yeah, it's not like I'm hearing the voice of a long dead Sith Lord and going to be given hardcore medication to stop said voice," he remarked semi-sarcastically, then shook his head. "I'm trying, but I'm starting to think calm was out of the question a while ago."

Ana chuckled at his reply. "What's the saying? 'Do or do not..?'" she joked back. Her face grew serious. "Look, I'm here with you. You'll be okay." Her hand drifted down to his and squeezed it tightly. He smiled at her, and the two continued sitting quietly in the meeting room, a former medical center in the Old Republic's senate building, a palatial work of architectural art that seemed like a district of the planetary city in of itself.

"Yes, thank you, that will be all," a feminine voice commanded from outside the door. There was the sound of a loud slap following an indignant gasp. The door slid open and the doctor walked in, and Revan had to fight to stop his jaw from dropping. The woman was gorgeous. It was unbelievable, the woman looked like a model and somehow made her physician's coat look like an accessory worth 10K credits. Beneath the coat was a bantha leather jacket zipped to her neck in an attempt to divert attention from her chest. Her reddish pink face was pleasantly accentuated by both her circle-rimmed glasses and her blue hair that popped against her skin tone. She grumpily turned her attention to Revan. "Oh, Kriff. Just what I needed... Sexual Tension that will be magnified a thousand times over by my just being in this room."

"I think we can contain ourselves," Revan replied dryly. He was distracted by a cough next to him. He turned to see Ana pulling her jacket off before gripping his arm tightly. "Or..."

"Oh, I've seen this before," the Doctor grumbled. She grabbed Ana by the back of her shirt and dragged her to the door. "Just wait outside until you're calm." She shoved Ana out of the room and the door snapped shut.

The Doctor looked around and seemed to sniff the air. "Well... that's better," she growled to herself. She turned her attention to Revan. "Ground rules – Don't touch me. Ever. That's pretty much the only rule. Got it?"

"Like I said," Revan replied, even drier than before, "I think I can contain myself."

"Good. I'm Doctor Neriah Klou, you can call me Doctor or Doctor Klou. Now... what's your name and why are you here?" Klou growled. She crossed her arms and waited for Revan to reply.

"Oh... uhm... I'm Revan and –"

Don't worry, Theron. I'm holding her telepathy off: I know what it's like to be under the influence of a Zeltron – you won't have to deal with that, the voice explained.

"Shut up! I'm Revan, and I hear a voice," Revan said over the noise of the voice. He clamped his eyes shut and grit his teeth. "It won't go away."

"I can tell," the woman responded wearily. She pulled a machine from a cabinet and began to scan Revan's head. It beeped occasionally and she frowned as it did. "Violent outbursts? Paranoia?"

"I... previously. Those are gone," Revan replied, shame tinging his voice.

"Neh, not gone," Neriah explained. "Quiet. Waiting. They'll come back, if left untreated."

Revan scoffed to himself, defeat rolling over him. "Yeah, I thought you'd say that," he said sadly. He gripped his hands within each other tightly. "Do you know what I can do to get rid of it?"

Neriah sighed sympathetically. "Permanently? Well, if Sylven's Force Healing didn't work I doubt anything would repair what's wrong with you. However, we could likely stave off the symptoms for the rest of your life using a dedicated regimen of medication." Neriah pursed her lips and looked sadly down at the ground. "Of course, there would be side effects. Medication this strong has never been tested on Jedi."

"Give it to me straight, Doc," Revan said with a light laugh. "I mean, it can't be that bad, right?"

Neriah didn't smile. "The medication will likely prevent you from fully using your natural physical abilities. You'll think slower, too. Run slower. You might find yourself gazing into space, unable to concentrate. On the Force side? Kark, who knows? You might experience visions more often, accidentally turn your powers back on yourself. Or they could fizzle out at any moment."

"Is this one of those 'Side effects are worse than what they fix' kind of drugs?" Revan asked, half joking.

"Are you ever serious?" Neriah growled. She smiled softly, then. "Look, I feel bad for you. Really, I do. With Sylven's backing, I should be able to get a large supply rushed to wherever it is you live by tomorrow morning." The woman turned to the door and walked out. "Take care. See you at the party, I guess."

SWSWSWSWSW

"All I'm saying is, a party is not the best place for a prudish Zeltron," Van said. He grinned and straightened his tie. "Not that I'm complaining. Most Zeltrons at a party can't contain themselves around me."

"Hold your dewbacks, Vannie," Rhen supplied as he smoothed a crease out of his dress robes. "I've got dibs."

"She's a woman. You can't call dibs on her," Ana growled. She slammed her open hand into the heads of the two and snarled.

"Oh, she's just angry that she couldn't keep her head around the Zeltron. You almost threw yourself on..." Rhen growled and looked over at Revan. "Him."

Revan rolled his eyes. He was becoming annoyed with Rhen's treatment of him to the point that he almost didn't care. "Ana's right. Besides, I bet both of you will strike out – she's pretty severe." He leaned against the wall of the elevator; his saber dangled from the brown and black belt that was tied around the midsection of his tan and white robes reminiscent of those the first Revan wore. He pulled the hood up around his head and slid the copy of Revan's mask over his face. The entire outfit was a request – or, rather, thinly veiled command – of Master Horn. She wanted to use the natural power of his appearance to both intimidate and comfort the VIPs and dignitaries. The real mask was hidden beneath Rhen's cloak, on his belt, should the need arise.

Ana chuckled to herself and took on a caricature of Rhen's voice. "But the Blue Panty Bandit will never strike out!"

The elevator filled with pealing laughter. "I kriffing hate you guys," Rhen snarled. He roped his lekku around his neck and braided them down his chest.

"Love you too, Nerfherder," Revan retorted. He crossed his arms and cracked his knuckles before settling in to the rocketing elevator ride upwards.

A few minutes later, the elevator slowed to a stop, the penthouse suite. Top three floors dedicated to one of the wildest parties of the year, though almost every party laid some sort of claim to that. The doors to the elevator flew open, and the group knew that this party had an actual seat at that table. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of guests, bodies writhing in dance or people laughing, talking with each other. Scantily dressed male and female attendants of multiple races – most of them Twi'lek or Zeltron – jumped between disparate groups of talking, drunk, or dancing masses. "Well... only word that comes to mind is impressive," Van said. He watched a half-naked Chiss woman rush by and raised his eyebrows interestedly, his gaze following her. "Very impressive."

"Yeah," Revan agreed. He felt Ana elbow his ribs. "Hey – I was just talking about the party." She smiled and turned away. Revan leaned in towards Van. "Mostly just the party."

"So.. we're off to trade War Stories with a bunch of old people?" Revan asked.

"Ugh," Ana groaned. "I have it worst: I heard all the stories growing up. You guys at least'll hear new things."

"I know! We can ask your dad about his stories!" Rhen supplied. Ana's fist flew through the air and stopped centimeters from his face. The blue-skinned Twi'lek stared at the fist fearfully. "Or, uh, or not. Not works too."

Revan snickered behind his copy mask and watched Ana laugh at Rhen with Van. This must be what family feels like, he thought to himself. He smiled wistfully and looked up at the night sky; the stars were drowned out, as always, by the endless lights of a city-wide planet. It made Revan wish for the vast emptiness one experienced in a spacewalk, where the sheer enormity of the Universe had a way of bearing down on one's soul and enlightening one of their place in the will of the Force.

"You okay?" Van asked. Revan shook his head to clear his thoughts and turned to Van. "You just zoned out there for a moment."

"I'm... fine. We should begin our rounds," Revan said. "I apparently have a Wookiee senator who would love to speak with me."

"You understand Shyriiwook?" Ana asked, impressed.

"Mostly. I get a little confused about the sounds for banana and blaster, but... context usually helps out with that one. Unless all the wookiees I've ever met have used fruit for weaponry." Revan smiled behind his mask. "But I don't think that's likely." He waved to the others and walked off to find Senator Sirrakuk.

He found the middle-aged Wook after a few minutes of searching. The Senator, one of the less decadent members of the governing body, standing off to the side in a more quiet area with a small group of two or three other guests. "Greetings, Senator," the young man said with a bow. He pulled the fake mask from his face as he did so, and tucked it within the folds of his robe.

"So," the woman growled in her people's language, "Horn sends another political lackey to try and sweet talk me into submission on some bill or another. Which one, this time?"

"I'm Revan... and, uh, what bill? Honestly she just said your brother was the Lowbacca. I've heard a lot of stories, but... well, he was your brother," Revan replied reverently.

Sirrakuk looked over her shoulder at the other guests. "Go ahead. I'll catch up with you," she yipped. She returned her attention to Revan and studied him, just as he studied her. She was of average height for a female Wook her age, 100 kilos and about one-point-nine meters tall. She had distinctive patterns of fur shaved off from her pelt and only wore a simply purple sash over her left shoulder that crossed over her chest. As was usual for Wookiees, clothes were against her traditions and culture; clothes only got in the way of climbing the wroshyr trees. "My brother was a great Jedi, from long before the Third Great Purge. You already know the stories, if you had any education at all."

"I know legends. Your brother was a hero, true, but he was also your brother. I'm guessing... overprotective, but I'd put countless creds on him being your best friend growing up. I want to know about that guy, not the Jedi who fought groups of Nightsisters singlehandedly," Revan explained. "That's not who he was, it's just what he had to do. What someone has to do doesn't tell you anything, what someone wants to do can tell you the world."

"That was... well said," the senator replied. She nodded. "There is one story; it's something that not many people know."

"I would love to hear it," Revan said. He pulled his hood down and sat on the ledge nearby. Sirrakuk nodded and sat as well."

"My brother – there was a woman he nearly chose as his mate, shortly before he left for the academy. Raaba, one of our childhood friends. We thought she was dead for years," Sirrakuk explained. "We grieved for many months. Our uncle Chewbacca helped us through that difficult time. Years later, however, she returned. Both of us were... overjoyed. Lowie, he... even more so."

"He loved her," Revan said.

The Wookiee senator nodded. "She told us she worked for an alien advocacy group, Diversity Alliance. She convinced us to join; we were glad to, glad to join, glad to just be with her. For a while, a very, very short while, everything was as it had been in our childhood. It turned out, however, that this group was an anti-human terror organization, dedicated to exterminating all life within point-five percent of humanity. Humans, Chiss, Kiffar. My brother was disgusted. We ran. But he still... We both still loved her.

"Lowbacca, he didn't have to participate in the battle that followed, not truly. Still, though, he did. He defeated her and ended up saving the Republic – for the short while that lasted."

"I can't... I can't imagine what having to fight your closest friend – family, really – because they were that far gone would be like," Revan remarked. "You are both very brave."

The Wookiee laughed a howling, Wookiee laugh. "It's kind of you to say so, but my brother was the brave one. He was willing to stand up to the Sith Empire in broad daylight. He led a group of rebels during Krayt's time as Emperor. I was – I was afraid."

"But you acted behind the scenes. You funneled rebels money, food, weapons. You freed prisoners. You helped so much, just in a different way. If they found you, they would have killed you – that's very brave," Revan assured.

"Perhaps there is bravery in facing the core of who one is and what one can do," Sirrakuk supplied. "Knowing one's self."

Revan looked at the ground and clenched his fists on his thighs. "Perhaps there is, Senator," he muttered. Then he smiled and looked up at the Senator. "Thank you so much for your time, Senator Sirrakuk."

"Please, my friends call me Sirra," the senator remarked.

Revan smiled. "Sirra, then. Thank you; I suppose I should let you find your way back to your associates." Revan bowed reverently once again. "Until we meet again."

"Until we meet again, Revan," Sirra replied. The Wookiee bowed slightly to the young man, and walked away to find her friends.

"That went well," Neriah Klou said as she walked from the shadows. She was wearing a deep black dress and jacket that hugged her pleasingly on her... well, everywhere. The cut in the dress was not the lowest Revan had seen, especially not on a Zeltron woman, but it was low enough to show off a fair amount of cleavage.

"What happened to the... well, for lack of a better word, 'prudish' getup?" Revan asked. He pulled his hood up with both hands and stared the Zeltron woman in the eye.

"Yes, well there is a dress code for these kinds of events. Sylven's like a sister to me, bless her, so she always makes sure I have the latest fashions for if we are having a girls night out. I don't have the heart to tell her she's getting the wrong clothes," Neriah sighed. She leaned forward, her bent form hiding her shape. "Ugh, sometimes I wish I hadn't been born a Zeltron. Like when the your Twi'lek and pilot friends decided to race each other to my bed. So far it's a tie. We'll see by the end of the night, though. If I drink enough, one of them might start looking good enough."

"Ha!" Revan laughed.

"I noticed you haven't hit on me – not even once," Neriah told Revan. "Trust me, that doesn't happen too much. The pheremones I release and the passive telepathy make it so even people playing for the other team think I'm pure Pazaak."

"Lucky you," Revan replied. He wasn't sure why, but he did not entirely trust the doctor. The Neriah he had met hours earlier was uncomfortable even being stared at, so wearing a dress like that would be a near impossibility. It was too out of character. But before he could act or even think on the implications of it, the woman stood up and left him alone to his thoughts. The rest of the night was uneventful, filled with the same empty nothings any politician could tell.

Neither Rhen nor Van went home with Doctor Neriah Klou.