A/N: We're back... and we're getting even further from the rails than ever before!
Read, review, and above all, enjoy!
Disclaimer: Argh.
Tarrah didn't regain consciousness until they'd finally emerged from hyperspace over Dantooine.
By then, the crew had managed to put out the fires, dispose of the bombs, and prevent the damage from expanding into outright hull breaches, but that didn't change the fact that the Ebon Hawk was a wreck until such time as they could make full repairs… which unfortunately, would require them to land, preferably somewhere well away from the bulk of the occupying Sith.
Meanwhile, Tarrah had been given a very generous dose of kolto to treat her concussion and the hairline fracture of her skull. Under normal circumstances, she'd have been on her feet and supervising the repairs every step of the way, probably even arranging a scouting party to check the ruined enclave for anything they could salvage, but unfortunately, Jolee was having none of it.
"You're not going anywhere until you've had at least a hundred hours of sleep," he'd said, drawing the sheets all the way up to her chin. "I don't care if every last crack in that battered skull of yours has well and truly sealed up; you need to be fully rested until you try anything heroically stupid again."
"I am rested," she'd grumbled from the bed. "What do you think I've been doing for the last few hours?"
Jolee gave her his patented look of elderly disgruntlement. "First of all, that's not rest, that's unconsciousness. Secondly, you've been running from one end of the galaxy to another in this mad quest for the GenoHaradan or whatever they are and putting yourself through crippling levels of stress on top of the stress you're already under while searching for the Star Forge. In case you hadn't noticed, even Jedi are supposed to have a little R&R every now and again: there's a reason why sleep deprivation and Dark Side corruption go hand in hand, you know."
"We still have a mission, Jolee."
"You're right, we do: we have to get this ship working again without attracting Sith attention, and we need to figure out our next move. And guess what? There's absolutely nothing stopping you from doing the latter from this bed. Now lie down and get some rest, dammit."
Tarrah tried to force herself out of bed, but only got as far as sitting up before a wave of dizziness swept over and sent her crashing back to the mattress, eyelids fluttering wildly.
"It's fun to be right," said Jolee, an infuriatingly smug grin etched from ear. "Now, lie still and sleep, would you? It's past your bedtime."
Ignoring him, she tried to rise again, but then she saw Juhani standing in the doorway, transfixing her with a look of feline disapproval… and concern. Tarrah's heart gave an unpleasant backflip behind her ribs, and she obligingly lay back down again.
"Alright, grandpa," she sighed. "Whatever you say."
"Any more lip from you, young lady, and there'll be no dessert tonight."
Even Juhani chuckled a little at this.
And so, Tarrah was left to wait in bed as they began their descent towards Dantooine, watching the view through her datapad, and that was only because Mission had been kind enough to connect it to the forward holocameras.
Then again, it wasn't as if the view was all that inspiring or reassuring: Dantooine looked as much as it had the first time she'd visited it, a blue-green mass of grasslands and oceans, except here and there, the skies were pockmarked by tiny but telltale black clouds that only seemed to grow more ominous as they approached, and Tarrah knew at once that the fires left by the Sith's orbital bombardment were still burning.
This wasn't their safe harbour anymore; it barely qualified as a habited planet anymore. This was a world in ruin. Of all the planets they'd visited since Tarrah had awakened aboard the Endar Spire, only Taris itself had suffered a more grievous wounding, and that was only because Dantooine still had some value to the Sith as a farming world.
According to orbital scans, there was a Sith garrison stationed at a prefab fortress about a hundred and fifty kilometres from the Enclave ruins, probably sending out regular patrols to enforce the new government's rule over Dantooine. Carth had to find a landing site well away from the fort, out in the scorched grasslands where no settlements existed for the Sith to harass, choosing an approach vector that would hopefully be difficult for any of the occupiers to detect. Thankfully, it looked as if Carth didn't need to be told them, for the cameras showed that he was already beginning the sidelong descent that would bring them in to land as stealthily as possible.
As they entered the planet's atmosphere, the damage the Sith had left only became more obvious: any settlement large enough to field a working spaceport had been hammered into rubble and set ablaze from above; any ship attempting to leave the planet had been shot down and left to crash and burn across the open grasslands; any farmstead that had offered the slightest bit of resistance to the Sith occupation had been burned to the ground, its occupants left dangling from gibbets just outside. And towering over all was the gargantuan column of smoke that marked the spot where the Jedi Enclave had once stood, a faint orange glow marking the fires that left the site all but impossible to approach.
It was perhaps the most horrific thing that Tarrah had ever seen in a planetary descent, and she knew with a certainty beyond intuition that these sights and more were only the beginning.
And it was all her fault.
Even if Hulas hadn't spread the word of the Enclave's whereabouts to Malak, there was no escaping the fact that this Sith uprising had been her doing: the ships who'd carried out this bombardment had once belonged to her, the troops had once followed her command, and even Darth Malak himself had followed her into darkness.
She was to blame for all of it.
Thankfully, nobody noticed them touching down in the scarred grasslands, nor did anyone investigate the surrounding area: evidently, the Sith garrison had been charged with maintaining order, not with detecting uninvited guests – which made a certain degree of sense to Tarrah: after all, the Jedi Enclave had been obliterated so thoroughly the blazing wreckage could be seen from orbit, so it wasn't as if any Jedi were liable to head to Dantooine if they were sane.
Within hours of their arrival, the entire crew were at work: Zaalbar, Mission, and T3 immediately busied themselves with repairing the Ebon Hawk, pausing only to modify the swoop bike so it could carry passengers; Juhani, Jolee, and Canderous regularly ventured out aboard the heavily-modded swoop bike in search of salvageable materials that could be used to repair the damage; Carth and HK-47 stood guard around the ship… and Tarrah was forced to remain bedridden until she could get of bed without feeling light-headed.
It was easily the most humiliating day of her life, at least in the moments where she was conscious enough to know what was going on. To know that everyone else on the ship was working except for her, to know that she was completely useless, was almost too much for her dignity to take; the fact that Jolee and Juhani regularly stopped by to make sure she was in bed only made her feel more like a kid skipping school. Once, she was so mortified by the whole ordeal that she all but begged T3 to share some of the repair schematics with her, just so she could make herself useful – only to be met with an apologetic series of beeps as Tarrah drifted off to sleep in midsentence.
"There has to be something I can do," she grumbled, during one of her more conscious hours.
"You are, though," said Mission helpfully. "You're resting up. It's like Jolee says: once you've caught up on all that sleep, you can get back to being the boss. Besides, it's not a good idea to be out in the open right now: you're saving yourself and everyone else a whole heap of trouble by staying here."
"Why's that?"
Mission coughed uncomfortably, suddenly unable to make eye contact.
"No, don't tell me: Malak's briefed every single Sith on the planet with my description and a kill-on-sight order, and now that he's got Bastila, I'm the only Jedi on the team who can't go outside without endangering everyone. Fan-kriffing-tastic."
"Tarrah, it's- it's honestly not that bad: patrols only pass us by every other hour and they're really easy to hide from. All you have to do is wait until it gets dark and-"
"Oh for the love of all the gods and demiurges, I think I'll just stay here for the day, thanks." She turned over in bed and allowed herself to drift backwards into sleep once more.
Within a matter of minutes, Tarrah was already regretting it: after all, she might have been safe from the Sith aboard the Ebon Hawk, but she'd never be safe from her nightmares.
Hours went by.
Eventually, the Ebon Hawk began to rattle with the sounds of repair as the salvaged components and armour plating were brought in. if there was any advantage to the attack on the Enclave, it was the fact that the Sith's initial policy of shooting down any ships attempting to flee the planet had left Dantooine littered with wreckage for them to salvage, so there was no shortage of parts.
By the end of the first twenty-four hours on the planet, Carth was providing regular updates on the state of repairs: the Hawk could be very easily repaired with the scrap metal they'd found, but it would still take a couple of days for them to be ready to fly.
Before then, they needed to find replacement fuel for what had been lost during the torpedo strike; right now, they only had enough for flying within the planet's atmosphere, and they needed to preserve that in case the Sith found them. Normally, Tarrah would have suggested scavenging the wrecks dotting the countryside, but unfortunately, most of the vessels that had been shot down by the Sith had lost their fuel tanks in their fatal plunge to the surface. And though the chance of finding the ships that had brought the Mandalorian raiders to the planet was an enticing possibility, Canderous hadn't been able to find a single one of them.
"We'll have to check the settlements, then," Tarrah grumbled. "If any of them supported a landing pad, they probably had a fuel supply on hand."
Carth, already glum and downcast, looked downright grim at this. "The only settlement I know of that had its own landing pad was the Jedi Enclave, and that's still on fire. The only other place on the entire planet that might have a stash of compatible fuel would be the Sith garrison, and there's no way in hell we're getting anywhere near that. Don't give me that look, Tarrah: they might not have the troops to police the entire planet, but you'd better believe that they've got the troops to protect their own fortress: we'd be dead before we got within twenty metres of that place."
"There's more than just the Enclave and the fortress: I mean, the people who live out here are... were tough, independent farmers. They wouldn't have put all their faith in the Enclave for fuel, especially if they were well-established and wealthy enough: they'd have kept a little fuel on hand, maybe enough to operate an emergency vessel just in case everything went wrong."
"If they had ships on hand, why wouldn't they have just fled the planet altogether?"
"Possibility number one: they saw the Sith shooting down the ships and decided not to bother. Possibility number two: judging by the repair jobs I saw on some of the farms, they dismantled the ships to repair their machinery in lean times. And they would have needed to loan fuel to certain visitors, the kind who wouldn't have been able to dock at the Jedi Enclave."
"Where are you getting all of this, Tarrah?"
Tarrah's mind lit up. "The Matale Estate," she realized. "Ahlan Matale was doing business with Zuulan Sentar. Zuulan couldn't land at the Enclave without getting Jedi attention, so he would have depended on Matale to supply him with fuel when he visited!"
"Who in the living hell is Zuulan Sentar?!"
"I'll explain on the way! We have to go there right now, before someone tries to raid it! We-"
She was halfway through getting to her feet before exhaustion caught up with her again and sent her crashing back down to the mattress.
"We've already been to the Matale Estate," said Carth, icily. "It's been abandoned for several days now, by the looks of things. And that big supply of fuel? It's still there, but it's behind the heaviest door in the building: passkey operated, no slicing possible. The only way we're getting through that is if you can carve your way through four metres of solid durasteel without triggering an alarm."
"So what? I've dealt with worse than a few guard droids and-"
"And an explosive attached to the fuel supply, powerful enough to destroy the whole tank and probably cave in the estate roof."
"Oh."
"And the only man who'd know where to find the passkey is still missing, along with every single member of the Matale family, and every single member of the Sandral family too. We're not complete idiots, Tarrah."
"Sorry. But… maybe we can organize some kind of search, if I could just-"
"You're not going anywhere until you're well enough to walk on your own. And maybe once you've done that, maybe you'll have the decency to actually tell us about all this secret knowledge you've been hoarding – assuming you can trust us as much as we've trusted you."
And with that, he stalked off, every line in his body screaming mistrust, leaving Tarrah to slip backwards into sleep.
But sleep was no comfort to her, no refuge from guilt: every single dream – every single memory – was a vision of the world as seen through the visor of Darth Revan's mask, watching planets burn from orbit, witnessing scores of innocent people being cut down by Sith death squads, carving her way through the ranks of one desperate Jedi hero after another. Worst of all were the moments when Revan was alone in her quarters and felt safe enough to remove her mask, for there Tarrah saw the Sith lord's face again – her own face: even with her skin ashen grey and coursed with inky black veins, even with her eyes tinged a luminous gold by the Dark Side, it was Tarrah's face.
And maybe it was just Tarrah's imagination speaking, but she swore she could see something of herself behind those golden eyes, something almost akin to regret and sorrow. Had Reven known how far she'd fallen? Had she been aware of what she was losing by going down this path? Had there been a rational motive behind what she'd done, or had it all been for the sake of power and bloodshed all along? There was no way of telling, not even in these visions.
But no matter how far her dreams took her, how many tattered scraps of memory they dredged up, they always ended the same way – with the final battle aboard Revan's flagship, with Revan's lightsabre poised in Bastila's direction, ready to strike.
And as the memories gave way to nightmares once more, Bastila's face began to melt and twist and change before her eyes, until the Jedi that stood before her was Juhani, her eyes full of hope as she stretched out a beseeching hand to Revan, begging her to surrender.
Revan drew back her lightsabre and lunged, blade scything through the air towards Juhani's throat…
And then, just as Tarrah was about to scream, the memory snapped back into place, and the bridge vanished into flame and shrapnel…
It was the warmth of Juhani's arms around her that roused Tarrah from her sleep this time.
But she could tell at once that Juhani wasn't seeking to comfort her this time: the Cathar was giving off waves of raw sorrow and misery, every fibre of her being virtually screaming aloud in grief. But even if Tarrah had been deaf to the Force, she would have known at once from the violent tremors that shook Juhani's frame that the Cathar was crying.
Tired as she was, she still found herself reaching out towards her, doing her best to return the hug, or at the very least to hold her hands even as weariness gnawed at her.
"I found her," said Juhani softly, once she had managed to suppress her tears. "I never thought I'd find a single body from the Enclave, but I found Belaya."
A flurry of half-forgotten recollections flooded back into Tarrah's worn-out brain, a collage of who Belaya had been: thin, harsh, honey-blonde, and pretty in a somewhat severe way, she had chided Tarrah for being out of uniform when they'd first met, not realizing that she hadn't been talking to a Jedi just yet. Later, she'd done her best to be just as poised, disciplined, and lecturing as Bastila herself, if not more so… but like Bastila, there'd been a vulnerability hidden away amidst all the armour. Her hostility had been proof of it: she'd been secretly consumed with dread over Juhani's fall to the Dark Side, had cared for her very deeply, needed her as a friend – and more. She'd been so grateful when Juhani had been redeemed and brought back alive, but the true cause of Belaya's anxieties and relief had simply never occurred to Tarrah.
Now, though…
"She must have been caught just outside the Enclave when Malak attacked," Juhani continued. "She would have been fleeing across the courtyard, trying to reach the front gate so she could rescue the throngs of fellow Jedi trying to escape the flames. I can only assume that she was caught in the secondary explosion, because she was badly burned, scorched from head to toe, more scar tissue than flesh. She must have been in-in-in unimaginable pain, but we could tell from the trail that she must have crawled for more than thirty kilometres before her strength finally gave out. I don't know if she was hoping to find help or if she wanted to escape the Sith or if she was just driven by pain and nothing more. All I know is that she got away; she wasn't burned and entombed like the rest of the Enclave, and she wasn't taken by the Sith like some of the survivors. She died free, under the night sky, the way she and I used to-"
Juhani's next sentence was lost in an explosion of choking, gasping sobs. Tarrah tried to turn, to comfort her, but her body was too wearied to even roll over in bed. All she could do was hold her hands and try to comfort her as best as she could until the storm finally passed.
It took several minutes before Juhani was able to speak clearly again, but eventually, her tears subsided just enough for her to continue.
"We never acknowledged what was truly between us," she said at last. "We never admitted we were in love. She wanted to abide by the Jedi Code and be the best of all that the Order stood for, and I wanted to find… well, peace and acceptance, I suppose. I know I have never been what anyone would call an ideal Jedi: I've always had so much anger and grief in my heart, and no matter how desperately the Jedi tried to teach me, I never really found a way to tame it. So you see, Belaya and I loved each other, but we could never admit it out loud, not without risking what we had: my fragile peace, and her loyalty to the Jedi Code. And after I fell to the Dark Side, I couldn't be a good Jedi alongside Belaya; we drifted apart, went our separate ways… but I wish more than anything else that I had found the courage to tell her how I truly felt about her before the end. I think it might have made her… truly happy."
Tarrah took a deep breath, bracing herself for the worst.
This was the point she'd been dreading ever since the day Darth Malak had revealed the truth to her, the one seemingly inevitable moment that she'd been secretly waiting for ever since she'd noticed the subtle change in the way her crew treated her. She hadn't sensed any danger in the Force, nor had she experienced any premonitions of doom or felt any of the rage that could only lead to a violent outcome, but Hulas had proved that a strong enough will could hide emotions even from those strong in the Force. Tarrah had hoped to avoid the moment if she could, or better still to regain the trust of her crew… but if it had to end this way, then there was no way of avoiding what was to happen next.
"If you feel I deserve retribution for what happened to her," she said softly, "I won't stop you."
"…what?"
"If you hate me for what happened here, you'd be more than justified in feeling that way, Juhani: you know as well as I do that this is all my fault. The Sith who ruined this planet were once mine; those ships that destroyed the Enclave and killed Belaya once belonged to me. I was the one who started this war in the first place, and even if I'm no longer in control of it, there's no changing the fact that none of this would have happened if I hadn't turned to the Dark Side. Sooner or later, I'll have to face the consequences of everything I've done, and if I'm lucky enough to avoid becoming Revan again if and when my memories return, I'm probably not going to be walking away from the end of this mission without losing something; my life if the Republic finds out who I am, or worse if the Jedi decide I'm too dangerous to keep imprisoned." Tarrah took a deep breath, preparing herself for her conclusion. "I guess what I'm saying is that, if you think my crimes can't go unpunished any longer… I'd be grateful if you would be the one to seal my fate."
There was a pause from behind her; Juhani's emotions, previously overwhelmed with grief and sadness, now registered confusion, fear, and something else that Tarrah couldn't quite identify.
For a moment, the warm arms around her loosened as Juhani hesitated.
Then, without warning, she hugged her tighter than ever – and all at once, Tarrah knew what that last emotion was: compassion.
"How could I hate you, Tarrah?" she asked. "After everything you've done for me, how could I ever want to hurt you? You saved me from the Dark Side when nobody else would; you gave me a purpose that kept me sane; you saved my life in times beyond numbering… and you gave me someone to love when I was sure I'd never love again."
"And what if I can't be that person?" said Tarrah. "What happens if, the moment I remember everything I used to be, Revan's personality returns with the memories and sweeps away everything you love about me? I mean, even if it doesn't mean turning to the Dark Side all over again, it'll still mean becoming a different person-"
"No, it won't."
"You sound very confident of that."
"Because I know you… and because I know Revan's better qualities better than anyone aboard this ship." And here, Juhani's grip grew so fierce, Tarrah had to wonder if the Cathar feared she might slip through her fingers like mist. "You see, the day you saved me in the Grove was not the first time we'd met, and it was not the first time you saved my life, either."
"…what do you mean?"
In spite of herself, Juhani actually laughed. "You're so eager to punish yourself, Tarrah, you've forgotten what I told you in this very ship, scant weeks ago. Do you remember what I told you about the Jedi who rescued me from Taris when I was young? Do you remember that I said it was Revan who freed me from slavery that day?"
And as tired as she was, Tarrah couldn't stop herself from turning over in bed to face Juhani in that moment of astonishment; at once, she saw that the Cathar's eyes were still gleaming with unshed tears, but the grief was gone from her expression, replaced by something like reverence. Adoration, perhaps? Wonderment? Or was Tarrah actually seeing love in those beautiful eyes?
"Yes, it was Revan who saved me from a life of slavery on Taris," Juhani continued. "But now I see that it was you as well. It's taken me so long to realize what drew me to you when I joined your quest back on Dantooine, but now I finally understand: your bravery, your intelligence, your will, your compassion – they are all what I witnessed when I first met Revan. You share the same virtues, even though you share only a handful of her memories. So you see, even if you become Revan again, I know nothing about you will change: you'll still be just as strong, brave, wise, compassionate, and loving as you were on the day I first met you. You'll still be the woman I fell I love with."
Tarrah bit back a few smartass remarks about teenage infatuation, and, once she'd had a chance to recover from the surprise, considered the point for a moment.
Eventually, she asked, "What if I've already proven just how little those virtues mean to who I am? I've made a disaster of these last few weeks, Juhani: I kept secrets from you and the others, I refused to accept your help when it would have saved lives, I put my trust in someone who was using me all along, I didn't see the betrayal when it should have been obvious, I dipped my toes in the Dark Side so many times it'd be funny if it wasn't so horrific, and I murdered five people in the dim hope that I could win support for this war with no proof that I'd ever be rewarded. I'm not seeing a lot of bravery, wisdom, compassion, love, or strength anywhere in that."
Juhani just rolled her eyes. "For such a powerful Jedi, you can be so very foolish sometimes," she sighed. "Yes, you failed. Yes, you erred in your judgement. Yes, you succumbed to weakness when you could have been better. And yes, you did terrible things. And so did Revan. And so did I. You were there to save me from myself when I did all that and more. Don't you see, Tarrah? You were there for me when I was weak; now, I am here for you when you are weak, and just as you never gave up on me, I will not give up on you."
And with that, Juhani leaned forward and kissed her.
In that moment, Tarrah reached out to return the embrace, ready to act on the growing need to kiss her in turn and so much more… but unfortunately, it seemed that she'd pushed her recovering body a little too far already, and the simple act of lunging across the mattress towards Juhani was enough to leave Tarrah tumbling over her, then sliding facefirst off the bed.
"As I said," Juhani remarked, as she scooped the semi-conscious Jedi back onto the bed and into her embrace, "you can be very foolish sometimes. That won't stop me from loving you in the slightest, Tarrah."
Tarrah let out a weak chuckle and passed out, sinking gratefully into Juhani's arms as she did so.
"Who are the GenoHaradan?"
Tarrah couldn't recall how the conversation had begun. She was dimly aware that her dreams had been of memories again, but none of them had been of destruction or horror: instead, she dimly recalled pouring over holotapes and documents in search of Force only knew what, unable to make sense of the snowdrift of data in front of her. Then, all of a sudden, she'd awoken to find herself sitting up in bed next to Juhani, the question still drifting in the air between them.
"Who are the GenoHaradan?"
Tarrah considered this very carefully before answering. "Are the others listening?" she said at last.
"Yes."
There was a muffled sigh over the commlink, and Mission grumbled, "Damn it, Juhani, have you ever heard of a white lie?"
"I simply thought deceiving her would be unnecessary."
"Statement: I told you that the master would see through the deception easily, even without the Cathar's assistance, Twi'lek."
"Is this little interrogation going to go ahead, or can I go back to testing the gun turrets? I'm bored and I'd very much like to shoot something."
"You know, there are easier ways of letting off steam, Canderous. Under normal circumstances, I'd suggest a trip to Coruscant's Red Sector, but-"
"Shut up, old man."
Tarrah coughed loudly. "You know, I can still hear you guys. If you wanted to ask me something, you could have just asked."
There was an uncomfortable silence.
"Alright, you want to know about the GenoHaradan. Is everyone here and listening?"
There was an answering ripple of voices: Carth, Mission, Zaalbar, Canderous, T3, 47, and Jolee were all listening with bated breath for the answers to the riddle that had been lurking on the periphery of the action for the last few weeks… and for once, Tarrah was not going to disappoint them.
"The GenoHaradan are basically an Assassin's Guild, but instead of just accepting contracts for money, they made sure that their work didn't harm the Republic and benefited it wherever possible. They styled themselves as the secret protectors of the Republic: to hear Hulas tell it, they believed they were better at it than the Jedi Order."
"He may have a point."
"Carth!"
"Sorry, but I really don't like in when the Council play games with us. Now, how long have these GenoHaradan been operating?"
"Thousands of years, by the sounds of things: apparently, they used to be Xim the Despot's secret police. That was how they learned to keep themselves hidden from the rest of the Galaxy, and where they first picked up the leadership structure that they use to this day… or used to use."
"And those are the Overseers Hulas had you assassinate."
"That's right. The Araneid, the Vespid, the Reduvius, and the Phasmid – all very meaningful names: the Areneid sits in its web, taking food and resources from the prey it ensnares; the Vespid leads a swarm and fatally stings anything that threatens it; the Reduvius hunts down other arthropods while camouflaged and drains them of blood; and the Phasmid stays invisible, watching everything. Tellingly, it's the only one of the four that isn't predatory."
There was a pause, as the listeners digested this.
"Of course," Tarrah added, "that's nothing compared to the names they had in Xim's day: War, Conquest, Famine, and Death."
"Excuse me?"
"Classic dictatorial narcissism, you see. The Overseers were originally just lieutenants to the original Guildmaster of the GenoHaradan, and they were modelled upon an obscure and near-forgotten myth from the dawn of galactic history, a tale of four great harbingers called to bring about the end of all things. War, Conquest, Famine, and Death: the security chief, the spymaster, the treasurer, and the master assassin. I believe the idea of having the bringers of doom at the beck and call of a Guildmaster who answered only to him appealed to Xim the Despot, hence why the tradition initially flourished under his stewardship. The arthropodal connotations were added later, as I recall, once the GenoHaradan did away with singular Guildmasters and restructured itself as a mercenary group… but they couldn't quite keep the old traditions from sinking into the collective psyche of the group, hence why those who held the title Reduvius were known for being morbid and intentionally disturbing. Exhibit A, Rulan Prolik. Exhibit B, the Anzat who tutored him."
There was a pause, and then a deeply suspicious Canderous asked, "Did Hulas tell you all of this?"
"No, he…"
Tarrah hesitated, suddenly unable to explain how she'd known that last bit of trivia. More to the point, looking back on what she said, it hadn't even sounded like her: the choice of vocabulary, the slightly smug and lecturing tone, even the subtle shift in accent made her sound more like one of the Jedi Council… except no member of the Council would have taken such delight in grim details.
"Tarrah, are you alright?" Juhani whispered. "You've gone very pale."
And then, just as she was certain that she'd finally lost her mind, the answer struck Tarrah between the eyes like a thunderbolt.
"I knew about them," she whispered.
"What?"
Tarrah tried to explain herself as slowly as possible, but with every word she uttered, she found herself speaking faster and faster until she was practically babbling out words in a staccato stream of consciousness.
"When I was Revan, I knew about the GenoHaradan – at least to some extent. Gods, Revan was planning her attack on the Republic for years on end, so she had to have prepared as much as possible to head off any opponents. That was why the GenoHaradan didn't show themselves at any point during the previous Sith attacks on the Republic: the assassins didn't know how to deal with Dark Jedi and didn't know whether to side with their old allies or go whatever way the wind was blowing! I… I had dreams about all this, about reviewing datafiles by the thousands, but I'm only just starting to assimilate everything! Sithspit, if I'm learning this much without even meaning to, then maybe this could be the start of-"
And then she felt Juhani's hand on her shoulder, her warmth grounding her in the moment once more. "Calm down, Tarrah: you're alright. Don't worry about losing yourself; think about who you are. Now, take a deep breath and focus on what you've learned so far."
Tarrah sighed, almost sagging into Juhani's arms as she did so. "Alright," she said. "Aright. Anyway, Revan studied the galaxy's secrets for a long time before finally betraying the Republic and was able to learn about the GenoHaradan in the process – likely by pillaging what little the Jedi knew about them. After all, there's a lot of secrets locked away in the old holocrons, and not all of them are about the Force. Revan wouldn't have been able to learn everything about the assassins, but she was able to find out just enough to discover their tactics, their history, and their organizational structure. Once she knew enough, she decided she didn't need to worry about the GenoHaradan threatening her plans… which was probably her first big mistake."
"What do you mean?" asked Mission.
Tarrah took a deep breath: this was where things were going to get awkward. "You remember what happened on Kashyyyk? Rulan Prolik, the shapeshifting assassin who acted as if he knew me? Well, he did."
"You mean-"
"Yep: before she declared war on the Republic, Darth Revan needed to take out certain targets to make sure the campaign went smoothly, so she hired an assassin. Who better than a shapeshifter? Now, I don't know how she contacted him – maybe she followed the trail of underworld legends, or maybe she just started throwing money in all directions until she found the assassin she was looking for – but whatever it was, they found each other; she didn't even know she was hiring the GenoHaradan's Reduvius, either, not at first anyway. They worked well together for a while, at least long enough for them to learn more about each other than either of them wanted: Revan was actually able to figure a little of Rulan's personal history, where he got his powers from, even his planet of origin."
Mission goggled in astonishment. "That guy had a homeworld? Seriously? I was thinking he was made in an orbital laboratory from chunks of old nightmare."
"So did Revan, for a while."
"Alright, so where did he come from?"
"Oh, an obscure little planet in the Unknown Regions called Lao-Mon. Well, Rulan's people had a different name for it, but I'll be damned if I can pronounce it. But that's not the point right now," Tarrah continued briskly. "Anway, Revan eventually figured out that Rulan was with the GenoHaradan and therefore a potential threat, so she sent him away before he learned too much about her plans; of course, she couldn't trust any other organic assassin to do her dirty work, so she built you, 47."
HK-47 tutted mechanically. "Statement: and rightly so, master. Meatbag assassins, even shapeshifting ones, are no match for droid efficiency."
"Now, good news is that Rulan didn't share any of his secrets with the rest of the GenoHaradan, otherwise we'd be screwed even deeper than we already are."
"But how did they contact you?" Carth demanded. "What did this Hulas guy actually want, and what did he have you doing apart from assassinating the other leaders? And why was it so important for you to carry out these killings?"
"I can answer that last one right away: it's because I killed Calo Nord. The GenoHaradan had singled him out for recruitment, so anyone tough enough to bump off one of their potential best and brightest ended up getting their attention. Hulas was the GenoHaradan head of intelligence: he'd know what had happened to Calo ahead of all the other Overseers, and as we know by now, he was looking for someone strong enough and ruthless enough to help him carry out his coup without knowing what they were doing. I must have been a dream come true to the bastard. So, he sent me an invitation while we were on our way back from the Dune Sea, telling me to come to Manaan for our first official meeting."
"Was that why you were so grouchy about having to visit Kashyyyk ahead of Manaan?" asked Zaalbar.
"Sadly, yes. I was a little impatient by then."
"And that was why you sent us all off in different directions when we were in Ahto City," said Mission, in a tone of dawning enlightenment.
"Also true. Same goes just about every solo mission I've taken in the last few weeks: I didn't want you seeing what I was doing… and the hell of it is that I'm not sure if it was because I didn't want you to worry about me or because I didn't want you to be angry over the fact that I'd become a contract killer."
"But we could have helped you, Tarrah!"
Tarrah sighed and hung her head in shame. "I'm sorry," she said wearily, "but please be honest: if I told you that we were going to kill five complete strangers for the sake of the Republic – and you had no way of knowing if any of them were really guilty or innocent – would you have accepted the idea? Even if I could have been certain that Hulas wouldn't have heard about it if I'd told you the truth, I didn't want anyone else having to deal with the consequences of the deal; I just wanted to do what had to be done and live with the horror later, when the Sith were defeated."
"And that's exactly what Hulas counted on," Jolee observed. "He wanted you isolated so you wouldn't question your orders or get any outside perspectives on what was happening. He wanted to keep you hooked on the idea of serving the Republic alone, because the more stress you took on and the more you grappled with the Dark Side, the less you thought about the holes in his cover story. Am I right, or am I correct?"
In spite of herself, Tarrah smiled bemusedly. "You've always been the only one on board who could see right through me, old man."
"Oh, I wouldn't know about all that. When it comes to insights into you, I'd say your girlfriend's ahead of me in those stakes."
"Hang on a sec," Carth interjected. "You said 'five complete strangers' – I thought you said there were only four Overseers, and you were only supposed to kill three of them."
"True, but Hulas didn't trust me to jump right into killing the Overseers before he'd gotten some proof of my loyalty and skill. So, he gave me some tests: first was a slaver and smuggler on Dantooine by the name of Zuulan Sentar – I put a bomb on his landspeeder."
Juhani scoffed. "I doubt anyone would think less of you for killing a slaver, Tarrah."
Tarrah rolled her eyes at this – but squeezed Juhani's hand in silent thanks all the same. "Second was an anti-Republic terrorist on Manaan: he was in custody at the Republic base, and I sabotaged his prison cell so that it electrocuted him. And that was it."
"You're telling me that you broke into the Republic base and killed someone without anyone being any the wiser?" said Carth, incredulously.
"Well… yes."
"Commentary: in future, might I recommend leaving future assassination missions to me, master? It would probably result in less mental strain in the long run."
Tarrah almost laughed at this but managed to catch herself at the last minute. "I'll… I'll take that under consideration, 47," she said, hastily covering the incoming giggles with some fairly-convincing coughs.
Canderous cleared his throat with a sound like a wire brush across a durasteel vent. "I think we've got the point by now. My question is, what is Hulas really planning? We know he's allied with the Sith-"
"But why?" demanded Mission. "I thought these GenoHaradan were supposed to be all for the Republic!"
"Well, there's only two possible answers to that one," said Tarrah. "Either he's seen that Sith have the upper hand in this war and wants to get into bed with the winning side… or this coup was all for the sake of his own ambitions, and the Sith are just his ticket to even greater power."
"I'm going with the second option," said Jolee.
"Me too," agreed Carth.
"Likewise," rumbled Zaalbar.
"It's worked for Czerka and the Exchange," said Mission.
"Statement: affirmative."
"Beeee-oooop!"
"Well said, T3."
"But that's exactly my point," grumbled Canderous. "What does Hulas want now? What is the next big step for him going to be, and how can we stop it?"
Tarrah sighed, wearily mulling over the information she had on hand.
"For all three Overseers that I assassinated, I was tasked with bringing back a specific item: a datapad of galaxy-wide blackmail from Ithorak, a custom-made comms unit from Vorn-"
"And the shapeshifter's body," Juhani finished, visibly grimacing.
"Exactly. All three of them have a part to play in his next big plan, but I can't see how just yet: I can see all the pieces in this puzzle, but I can't make sense of them yet. I haven't gotten enough of the pattern yet, but I know that it can't mean anything good for us or the galaxy at large… and I don't know how to put the pieces together."
Jolee harrumphed. "That's usually a sign that there's a piece missing."
"And?"
"Well, if you know anything about solving puzzles, this is something that can only be solved by waiting until all the pieces are in view."
"Thanks, Jolee, that's very helpful. But what the hell am I supposed to do in the meantime?"
As if in answering, there was muffled buzz from the other end of the commlink.
"We're getting a signal!" Carth shouted from the cockpit. "Looks to be from an encrypted comm channel used exclusively by the local farmers: whoever it is, they're doing their best to stay away from Sith frequencies. Give me a second to decrypt it and patch it into the commlink…"
There was a procession of muffled clunks and whirrs as the Ebon Hawk's badly battered communications systems went through the complicated process of trying to decrypt the broadcast. For the next thirty seconds, the crew were left sitting in silence, but Tarrah could tell that they were all pondering the same question: who could be trying to reach them, and why?
Eventually, there was a hiss of static, and the whirring from the comms suddenly resolved itself into a familiar-sounding voice.
"This is Rahasia Sandral broadcasting to any farmers still on the private comms: I'm currently on a nerf farm just south of the Khoonda Plains – coordinates enclosed – and we need help right now! Something's been attacking the farms in the area; Shen and I were trying to evacuate the residents, but our transport's been destroyed and we've no way of escaping on foot without being chased down. We need help from anyone who can hold a blaster; please, this thing doesn't just eat nerfs! This is Rahasia Sandral requesting assistance-"
The broadcast ended in another burst of static.
There was another thoughtful pause, as Tarrah considered the information very deeply.
"Shen," she echoed. "Shen Matale is out there as well. Considering the lengths his father went to just to get him back from the Sandrals, something tells me that Ahlan Matale wouldn't sit by and let Shen risk his life without putting himself at risk as well."
"You're thinking he'll be out there at the farm, too?" asked Carth.
"If he's not already there, he'll be on his way right now, probably with Nurik Sandral along for the ride, grumbling at him every step of the way. After all, it's Nurik's daughter that's out there with Shen as well. But if there's anyone who might have the passkey to that stock of fuel at the Matale Estate, it's Ahlan. Carth, how far away is this Nerf farm?"
"About thirty-five minutes by swoop bike, give or take stealth trajectories."
"Then I think it's time I got out of bed and got to work. Carth, Juhani, 47, Canderous – I'm going to need you ready at the swoop bike on the double. The rest of you, stay here, guard the ship, and brace yourself for the worst: if this goes wrong, the only other source of viable fuel on the planet will be the Sith fort. Either way, be ready to move."
"See what I meant about waiting until all the pieces were in view?"
"Shut up, Jolee."
A/N: Care to guess how all the pieces of Hulas' collection will play into Hulas plan? Any idea what's attacking the nerf farm? Let me know if you have any theories!
