Rise of the Leviathan
-*breathe*-*breathe*-*breathe*-
-battlefield-two forces-*breathe*-warships in phalanx plane array-Republic side-continuous, no breaks-*breathe*-Sith-staggered planes-fissure runs down center-*breathe*-weakness-
-*breath*-
-alter Republic battle plane-wedge formation-half angle, 15 degrees-Relay.
-advance Republic battle plane, all ahead full-charge laser cannon-deploy fighter squadrons-hold bombers back-Sith have released fighters to meet
-*breathe*-
-Republic line closing-distance, in range-launch forward battery salvo-
-successful hits-two Sith frigates show heavy damages-reload batteries-fire at will-
-*breathe*-
-Republic line closing to contact-ready broadside batteries-
-*gasp*-
-Sith plane change-staggered planes shifting-separating-increasing distances-Republic broadside batteries well out of range-
-*breathe*-
-tactical reformation-broadside maneuver failure-cylindrical formation, show broadsides to the enemy at oblique angles-
-scramble bombers-assign fighter squadrons to escort bomber wings-assign bombing targets-
-*breathe*-*breathe*-
-cancel assigned bombing targets-Sith fighter reformation-concentrate bombing targets, sector 9-
-Sith plane change-8 capital ships, left side, on fast dive in wedge formation-target: light Republic cruisers making up the cylinder wall
-*damn*-personal oversight-judgement error-
-*breathe*-*breathe*-*breathe*-
-opportunity-Sith leave hole in their battle plane-reassign bombers and support squadrons-
-*breathe*-
-move cylinder axis toward Sith weakness-all ahead full-unleash forward battery salvo-
-*cries*-behind the Republic line-light cruisers overrun by Sith assault squad-*pain*-*loss of life*-*blame lies with you*-*men and women burning in zero-g fires*-*suffering*-
-bomber attack run successful-two more Sith vessels out of fight-
-Sith reordering to fill gap-
-objective sighted-The flagship!-
-*breathe*-*breathe*-
-reform Republic forces-protect center fast cruiser-assign fighter squadrons, protection protocols-
-all ships ahead full-
-*breathe*-
-ready Jedi strike team boarding craft-
-Sith far right plane swinging around in pincer movement-little time-
-*end battle meditation*-
eeeeahhhhhh
Bastila Shan sucked in cold air as her head flew up and lungs expanded. Exiting battle meditation had always been an unpleasant experience. The inside of her dark tan tunic was damp with perspiration along with her forehead; dark strands of her hair stuck to the dampness. She took a second to slowly unfold her legs from her mediation pose, being careful not to strain her tense muscles before she had to. After a few more breaths of the cold ship air she looked to find her bearings.
She found herself in a small dormitory, completely devoid of anyone else. Splayed out in front of her was the mat she sat on; it was twisted and ripped into shreds and thrown in every direction from where she sat. Undoubtedly her meditation had caused the harsh waves in the force that had torn up the mat.
There was precious little time to waist examining her room. She dashed to the door switch to the right, attracting her double-bladed lightsaber into her hand from the table beside her. She pressed two of her delicate yet dexterous fingers to the switch, and the door opened. Before her, a corridor extended down away from her dormitory.
Two Jedi knights stood up to her left, waiting for her to exit battle meditation. “Our boarding vessels are ready” the tall thin Muun said, “a squad of Republic soldiers has been sent out ahead of us to clear the way.”
“Right” Bastila replied. It was almost a shock to hear her voice again after so long listening to the echoes in the force caused by the raging battle outside. Speaking in battle meditation was done through your inner voice; speaking through the Force was very different than through a voice box. “We should hurry, there isn’t much time” Bastila said. “The Sith battle plane is enclosing our formation. We’ll have to act fast if we want to get out of here alive, and with our captor.”
The three ran down the long corridor toward the hanger. Within thirty seconds, they had reached the large expansive room. Entering through a heavy door that opened horizontally, Bastila looked through the wide hanger with equally wide eyes. She stared over the pair of boarding vessels which hummed with the noise of ion drives and shields to the force field that veiled the hanger from the outside. The blackness of space usually made the white walls stand out brilliantly like marble pillars, but the battle still raged outside, causing brilliant white, red, and orange flashes to filled the black scape. She could see three Republic warships outside, nearly 4 kilometers away, rotating around her fast cruiser, providing protection and cover fire. Large discharges of energy tore from their batteries and streaked in green light out of sight. The amount of energy these ships flung at each other was so great that its mere presence in the void of space caused strong ripples through the Force. Bastila could feel the rend on each ship’s structure as it let loose a salvo of laser fire; her battle meditation hadn’t completely worn off yet, it often took time after such intense concentration for the connections to her surroundings to cease.
The remainder of the Jedi strike team was in the a staging area in front of the humming boarding vessels. Nine Jedi huddled around a holographic image of the flagship. They were going over, one last time, the strike plan, confirming objectives, and bolstering each other’s confidence. The Jedi warriors were a brilliant glow in the Force. Bastila almost felt ashamed to be around such Jedi that had so much more control over themselves than her. She often complained how her gift of battle meditation unfairly associated her with Jedi who had stubbornly trained their entire lives for such honor. It didn’t seem fair, not to them, and not to her. How could Bastila ever become a great Jedi Master if she wasn’t given the same treatment as others?
A sharp featured, square shouldered Jedi with grizzled short hair looked up at Bastila. Jedi Master Aerex’s strong low voice said, “looks like we’re ready to go.” His eyes, pointing at Bastila’s presence, caused the other Jedi surrounding him to look up at her. That feeling of inadequacy pinged her heart. Why am I honored so by these greater Jedi? Can’t they see that I am nothing in their presence?
“Alright, you know what to do” Aerex told the group, looking at each with quick snaps of his thick neck. “In and out. No detours. No heroes. No casualties. Go straight for the bridge and cover the exits. We’ll emerge with the Dark Lord in our grasp or with one less headache. May the Force be with you.” A few hurried goodbyes were thrown amongst the departing Jedi as they passed each other heading for separate boarding vessels.
-*breathe*-
Bastila tried to control her pounding heart, for she was about to meet Revan, the Dark Lord of the Sith.
* * *
-*gasp*-*gasp*-*gasp*-
-enemy right collapsing into testudo-compensate, relay new trajectories to bombers-
-*gasp*-*gasp*-*gasp*-
-cancel-cancel-cancel movement-north and south enemy plane collapsing-*trap*-withdraw fighters-relay wedge formation to center friendly plane-
-*gasp*-*gasp*-*gasp*-
-enemy right shifting…….-*-…shifting…-*-…decide!…-*-form wedge, all ahead full, meet shifting enemy right-exploit staggered plane with full broadsides-scramble all available fighters, protect capital ships from enemy bombers-
-*gasp*-*gasp*-*gasp*-
-enemy north and south collapse increasing-large fighter and bomber squadrons converging on wedge!-from where?-*gasp*-carriers, hidden behind collapsing north and south plane-
-action needed-
-*gasp*-*gasp*-
-*pause*-
-*decide*-
-rear wedge anchor ships under heavy attack-depressurization-bodies falling out of ship’s veins-suffering-death-pain-
EHHAAAA
“Breathe, my child. Breathe.” Master Zhar knelt beside Bastila. He placed his palm on her shoulder blade and continued his calming words. She could feel his attempts to sooth her racing heart with the Force.
After a moment she was able to grasp her surroundings. She had recognized the room: Master Zhar’s training room, an off-shoot of the Council’s rotunda. It was familliar; she had spent the last few local weeks here in intense training with Zhar.
Her breathing slowing down to a more reasonable level, Bastila apologized for failing to recognize the trap she had foolishly walked into during the simulation. She pulled the neural stimulator halo off her head. The halo had been developed by Republic neuroscientists at the request of the Jedi Council. Battle meditation was traditionally taught through real world battles; Jedi possessing the skill would command a small contingent of ships and hover around hostile sectors trying to provoke a skirmish during which battle meditation could be used. Nowadays, with the Sith tearing across the galaxy, nor the Republic or Jedi had the resources to spare. The halo system did its best to give Bastila a realistic battle her mind would believe. By broadcasting signals into her head, the halo simulated a space battle which Bastila would manipulate with her battle meditation. The simulation was not perfect; it often failed because the battle meditation trance didn’t always accept the halo’s wireless signals as actual beings it could influence. However, when it did work, Bastila was taken by the simulation entirely, as she just had.
“There is no shame in failure, Bastila” Zhar told her, standing up. “Battle mediation is a heavy burden to carry, and you are doing a fine job.” Bastila smiled at him as she too stood up, her knees snapping after such a long training session. “One must be able to influence the confidence of each soldier, without being drawn too deeply into their psyche and tapping into their emotion. Balance is the key.”
“Yes master.”
“You felt the suffering of those dieing soldiers.” Zhar continued. “You must learn to release your mind from directly experiencing those emotions, and instead manipulate them just as you manipulate the tactical formations.” He paused, put a hand on her shoulder, and quoted: “There is no passion, there is peace.”
Bastila said, “I know Master Zhar, I must steel myself against such emotion. Suffering leads to hate, and hate leads to the Dark Side.” Her ability to quote her previous masters sometimes scared her.
“Very good” Zhar responded. “Now, come and walk with me into the courtyard, I would like to discuss something else.”
The two walked down the blue lit hallway towards the circular courtyard. Zhar continued to speak as they walked, “you have made considerable progress since we started training a mere fifteen days ago. You have taken an innate, untamed affinity for battle meditation and crafted it into a tool which you can effectively utilize.”
Bastila cut in, not wanting her master to pamper her, “but I did not win the last battle master. I fear my military skills are not good enough.”
Zhar continued to talk, as they entered the courtyard, seemingly oblivious to Bastila’s retort. “I must tell you the reason why the council thought it necessary to bring you back to Dantooine and develop your battle meditation.” He indicated with an outstretched hand to a bench, “please, have a seat.”
Bastila nervously sat on the bench facing away from the raised platform of native foliage that made up the center of the courtyard. She felt a feeling of lost innocence sitting down as she remembered her youth and the long talks she and her teachers would have, often sitting on the same bench. “Revan and Malak’s forces are tearing through the Republic” Zhar started off, stetting an ominous tone for the conversation. “Even worse, as you well know, more and more Jedi are falling to their growing power. Leaders of the Republic and the Jedi High Council both agree that we must take action to halt the advance of the Sith and bring down its leaders.”
“You want to start using my battle meditation in larger battles?” Bastila said, recognizing where Zhar was headed. “But are you sure I am ready?”
Zhar gently put up a hand to stop her. “We have devised a plan to lure Revan and Malak into a battle against a much smaller Republic force. Using your battle meditation, a small Jedi strike team will board Revan’s flagship and either take him hostage or destroy him.”
Bastila was taken aback. The Jedi council had orchestrated a plan to end the war…and it was dependent around her? But she was just a Padawan with an uncontrolled gift. How was she supposed to deliver a strike team to the heart of a Sith battle plane? “But master, how do you know that I’m ready?”
Zhar touched his apprentice’s shoulder again with his gentle hands, “my child, there has been considerable investment into this strategy for quite sometime now. I was hoping that we would have more time to prepare you for the trial you must face, but recent developments have forced our hand. We cannot wait any longer or there might not be a Republic left to save. We have no more time. I’m sorry.”
Bastila’s palms began to sweat. She placed them on the cold stone bench and gazed away from Zhar in an attempt to capture some time to think. She thought about all the Sith forces that she would be up against, and the thousands of Republic soldiers that would depend on her to deliver them to victory. Plainly, she knew, she was not ready.
“Please, my child.” Zhar again tried to give her comfort, “you are a great Jedi and I know you will do well.”
“If you say so,” Bastila said, feigning hope in herself. She knew the correct response, the response a true Jedi Knight would give, “I will do what the Jedi Coucil asks of me.”
Zhar smiled and took his hand off her shoulder. “Then it is time we discuss the Dark Lord.” Zhar’s smile disappeared, and he too stared toward the wall. “You have never encountered a Sith Lord, Padawan, especially one as powerful as Revan. I need prepare you for a confrontation with such a beast.”
Bastila’s head snapped back toward Zhar, realizing something grave, “but…I’m to be on the strike team?”
* * *
The boarding vessel was cramped, cold, noisy, rough and terrifying. The tiny ship did not have inertia-cancelers so every course correction felt like an earthquake to the six Jedi inside. Along the hull of the thin vessel Bastila sat with the pride of the Jedi: Krannurak Reetat, Y’sanne Landsford, Deimos Kelbier, Singate Adras, and Master Aerex. Each was preparing themselves for a fierce fight.
Krannurak was Barabel of over six feet. Covered in muscles that could rip a Sith officer in two, the Barabel inspected two lightsaber hilts that looked like toothpicks in his great hands. He was by far the most conspicuous Jedi Bastila had ever seen. Not only was it rare to see Barabel, but for one to be a Jedi was even more rare; and imposing. Krannurak caught Bastila looking him over and gave a warm, sharp toothed smile. For such a terrifying looking sentient, Krannurak was surprisingly gentle.
Y’sanne and Deimos sat opposite the Barabel, each talking to each other in low voices. The two Jedi had trained and fought together their entire lives. Being found both to be strong in the force, the best friends, and would-be lovers had the Jedi code not disallowed it, had left the outer rim planet of Halbara. Y’sanne was a dark skinned and rail-thin woman ten years Bastila’s senior; she wore a simple tan tunic from which dangled a single lightsaber hilt. Deimos, oddly, seemed to resemble his life-long friend very well. He was tall and thin, but from beneath his blue tunic Bastila could make out his harshly defined body.
At the other end of the narrow corridor Aerex and Singate stood talking to the boarding vessel’s pilot. They were going back and forth between the ever growing flagship and the blueprints displayed holographically next to the pilot. Finding the ideal docking point was paramount to the success of the mission and the driving reason for having two strike teams. The intelligence said that there were several spots that would lead to the bridge, the problem was docking at one of these without being blasted out of the sky by Sith fighters.
Bastila looked up out of the starboard window across from her. There were two squadrons of Republic fighters escorting them to the flagship. They started to peal away, challenging the Sith forces trying to destroy the vessel.
“There, that’s our point of entry.” Aerex’s voice came from the other end of the ship, commanding the pilot to aim for a nondescript part of the ship. Revan’s flagship was getting larger by the second. In a few more breaths they would be docking with the colossus. Bastila’s heart began to race and she cleared her mind of emotion to control it.
“Prepare for boarding” Aerex shouted at the crew. “Thirty seconds.” The strike team, Krannurak first among them, popped up out of their seats and climbed down the latter to the docking airlock. Bastila’s hand went to her hip when she reached the airlock, looking for her lightsaber.
The long and cold saber was locked into its holster, coolly dispassionate in the way a true Jedi would be. Bastila envied the tool for its simplicity. Picking it off its holster, Bastila inspected it once more, ensuring that both focusing crystals were clean and secure. She twisted the saber and it came apart in the center, breaking off into two separate lightsabers. With the saber in working order she reattached the sections and turned around to see Singate and Aerex climb down the latter and into the airlock with them.
It was time.
Aerex’s voice came from the rear, “remember, we’re in-and-out, straight to the bridge and back.” A row of heads nodded in acknowledgment from the other Jedi.
A sudden earthquake shook the boarding vessel, this one more violent that the others. Bastila fell into Deimos who caught her by the hand and helped her back up. She caught a glimps of his face as she stood back up, he didn’t show any sign of the coming battle. His face was serene, almost happy. While his calming look soothed her, it almost hurt Bastila to be among such impeccable Jedi. She could barely stay in one place she was so nervous, why was she picked with such shining examples of self-control?
A light went on in front of Krannurak’s large face. He looked back and gave a nod to Aerex. “There is no chaos,” Aerex said. Four voices responded, “there is harmony.” Krannurak slammed a green fist into a large console to his right and the airlock door opened to the inside of the flagship.
There was only chaos.
As it became clear in the moments following, the strike team had boarded the flagship on the wrong level. Instead of inline with the bridge, Bastila and her team were on top of it. By how many levels was anyone’s guess. To make matters worse, the corridor they filed into was high traffic. At least twenty Sith soldiers stood dumbstruck as eight different colored lightsaber blades emerged from the wall in a cloud of dust and smoke. It didn’t take long for the slaughter to begin.
Krannurak, the first out, wasted no time in dispatching the first poor Sith he saw; undoubtedly, the Sith had no time to understand what was happening before he was killed. Using a lightsaber in each hand he slashed at the next closest Sith. An unarmored officer went down like a rock, his ribcage split from shoulder to hip.
Y’sanne and Deimos, who always fought in tandem, jumped left out of the swirling dust cloud. From inside the cloud Bastila could only see two blue sabers flailing wildly; their accompaniment: ferocious screams of death from the Sith.
Bastila followed close behind Krannurak. Using him as a wall from which to strike from, she eyed a Sith soldier in full armor brandishing a large vibrosword and stepped out to challenge him. The Sith attempted to hack apart Bastila with a power chop originating behind his head but his sword met with the right saber blade of Bastila’s doubleblade. Using the Sith’s momentum against him, Bastila strafed left allowing the Sith’s swing to carry him toward the floor. When his sword became horizontal, Bastila swung her doubleblade around and brought the opposite side down on the back of his unprotected neck.
With one Sith soldier down she glanced down the corridor, now fully aware they were in the wrong spot. Singate stood next to her, tearing into a group of Sith with long and elegant strokes of his green saber.
Deflecting a blaster shot directed at Krannurak, who was busy with a red armored Sith commando, Bastila readied a shockwave. It began in her elbow as a pooling of blood, it grew warm in an instant and began clawing at her veins to be released. Lifting her hand up and pushing her arm forward down the length of the hall she felt the energy ripple down her forearm like a torrent along her bones. When the power reached her palm it was ejected as a tempest of wind. The energy propagated in an instant down the entire length of the corridor, knocking down the remaining Sith. From there it was quick work for Krannurak and Bastila to end those struggling to their feet.
Krannurak threw one of his sabers like a javelin into the back of a retreating officer who was firing his pistol back toward them. As he pulled the saber from the Sith’s back using the Force from ten yards, Bastila looked behind her to see the progress the others had made.
She was struck with a grisly scene. Almost directly behind her laid the body of Singate, a piece missing from his skull. Horribly dark blood gathered around the gaping hole. Bastila had seen this death before -blaster rifle. Next to Singate were the bodies of five Sith soldiers each with humming vibroblades resting nearby.
Singate had been protecting my back Bastila thought. She looked up to find Aerex’s reaction to her horrified look.
“It was a stray blaster shot. It wasn’t your fault.” His look was apologetic, and disrespectfully uncaring.
“This isn’t the right level” Y’sanne said as she calmly walked back from the litter of corpses she and Deimos had left.
“I know” Aerex fired back quickly. He pulled out a portable holographic map, switched it on, and started paging through blueprints. “There, we’re four levels above the bridge. It should be…that way” he pointed left.
The strike team took off without a second of hesitation. Only Krannurak had recognized Singate’s death by dropping to a knee to grab his lightsaber, in case it was needed later. To avoid being left behind the team, Bastila painfully drew herself away from the body, and followed the group.
“What are we looking for?” Deimos, who was at the head of the group, shouted back. “A lift? Stairway?”
The corridor ended in a T. Aerex was scanning through the blueprints again, trying to decipher which way to go. “LEFT!” He shouted.
As she turned the corner, Bastila saw Y’sanne and Deimos already dispatching a small group of Sith trying to set up an ambush. Their pace was fanatic as they swung from Sith to Sith, delivering the killing blow to the last just as the first hit the floor. Bastila had never seen such fighters. Y’sanne and Deimos danced around their foes delivering perfectly accurate and lethal blows with a quick flick of the wrist. Fighting together, Bastila had little doubt any individual stood a chance against these two. She thought to herself about the decision the Jedi Council made to include these two. Y’sanne and Deimos were the unstoppable force that needed to be unleashed against the Sith. They were the legendary, unbeatable fighters that she’d read of in the Jedi archives; no object could stop them once they were let loose, not even Revan. And it had been Bastila’s job to deliver them to the heart of the Sith threat so that they could do their cruel work. The thought gave her some calm.
The strike team continued to sprint down the hallway. Bastila, who had dropped to the rear of the pack, actively scanned the different doors that whizzed by looking for an opening or clue to aid in getting to the bridge. Y’sanne and Deimos passed a nondescript door on the right as soon as it shot open.
A dark Jedi stepped out with a grin on his face. He was bald, and wore the shining metallic armor characteristic of his rank as a Master. A single lightsaber by his hip flipped on.
The Sith master had his eyes set on Bastila.
Just in time to save her life, Bastila flicked her saber up to block a quickly delivered blow by the Sith. He recovered in no time and thrust his blade at her stomach. Bastila spun her saber around and deflected the stab to the right. Attempting the same slash she preformed on the Sith soldier earlier, she spun around and tried to deliver the opposite blade to the rear of the neck. But he was already gone.
She looked back to find him upright facing all five Jedi with the same mocking grin on his face. He spoke through a dirty black mouth, “Bastila Shan, Lord Revan will be most pleased when he learns that that I have destroyed you and your pesky battle meditation.”
Bastila could feel Aerex and Krannurak had step next to her, their minds empty and Force powers bristling.
“Oh, what’s this?” The Sith master joked, “no chance of a fair fight with you Jedi, hmmm?”
“We don’t need a lecture on fairness from you, Sith” Y’sanne said from the back.
Just then Bastila felt her intestines lunge like they were being rolled around inside her. The tiny hairs on her skin lifted up and where pulled toward the Sith. The gathering of power about the man literally made her skin crawl.
With a wild look on his face the Sith lifted up his hands, stuck out his fingers and before anyone could react, delivered a torrent of pain. Lightning streaks sprayed in every direction out from Bastila’s body. Each point where the lightning struck felt like it was boiling. A scream burst up from deep inside her, she could do nothing to stop its release. The pain arched through her rib cage and up into her head, squeezing her brain till it felt like it would burst.
She collapsed.
The pain was over in a moment, but it lingered worse than her battle meditation. Every joint felt like the cartilage had burned off, even thinking hurt. Coming to a knee, she looked around her. Aerex was in just the same condition, Krannurak was standing but visibly smoking. The Sith master was gone.
“He’s…gone” She struggled out, lungs on fire.
“Ye-ah…to get reinforcements” Aerex said grimly. “We got to keep moving.”
“Hopefully the other team’s having more luck, huh?” Said Deimos, trying to lighten the mood.
Not only was the Sith gone, but he had left scorch marks up and down the hallway. They were the physical signs of the potency of his Dark powers.
Staggering to their feet, they continued to run down the hallway as fast as their aching legs would take them.
Oddly, the next few corridors they came upon were deserted. Progress was easy, and it allowed them time to recuperate.
The strike team passed through a large door, coming into what looked like a maintenance shop. One wall was not covered and showed the myriad of pipes that made up the veins of the ship. Aerex was about to turn the team around when they heard a voice.
“Wait!”
A figure spotted in armor plates and exo-muscle fibers popped up from behind a row of decommissioned maintenance droids. His helmet was cracked down the left rendering it almost completely useless.
“You must be the ones we cleared the way for?” He said with a smile.
It was a Republic commando. “What are you doing here?” Asked Aerex, “we boarded at the wrong level, you were supposed to clear out the bridge level.”
The commando snickered, clearly his years of experience in war gave him a lighthearted mindset to such a position. “No, you’re in the right spot…well…kinda.” He stepped out from the droids and walked up to Aerex and Bastila. “The intel we picked up was good, but for the wrong ship. Ya’ see, Revan made some changes to his own vessel.”
“So we don’t have any idea where the actual bridge is?” Deimos said as he stepped away from the entrance of the room.
“My team didn’t have any clue, but with a lot of wandering around we managed to find it.”
“Your team? Where are the rest of them?” Bastila asked.
He put his arms up and looked from side to side, “dead, obviously.”
Bastila thought again how dispassionate some people could be about the loss of life.
“I’m sorry for your team,” said Aerex “but we need to get to the bridge, tell us where it is.”
“Haha, sure I’ll tell you but you gotta take me with you. I’m not chalking this mission up to a loss just yet. See this wall?” He gestured to the open wall displaying the pipes. He pointed down the inside of the wall with his blaster rifle, “The bridge entrance is down there. Two floors.”
“Is there enough room to climb down?” Aerex asked.
“For us, yeah. For the brute here,” he indicated Krannurak, “well it’ll be cozy” he laughed.
Y’sanne began, “where does-” and stopped cold. Bastila felt the pull in the Force.
The Sith master. Nearby, and with reinforcements.
“We don’t have long, everyone down.” Commanded Aerex. The commando jumped down first, grabbing hold of two round, ribbed pipes and shimmying down out of sight. Next was Y’sanne and Deimos.
Aerex locked the door to the maintenance room then spun around and indicated for Bastila and Krannurak to start climbing. Bastila, her frame smaller than the commando and other Jedi, elected to take a different path down the pipes, wrapping her hands around a large cold metal pipe. She began descending and was nearly past the floor when the door blew open. There stood the Sith master surrounded by four other dark Jedi, all brandishing blood-red sabers.
Bastila began to climb back out to help Aerex and Krannurak fight off the onslaught, but as soon as she made a movement upward, Aerex was on top of her.
“GET DOWN!” He yelled and jumped into the pipes.
Krannurak made no motion toward the pipes but instead stood his ground against the Sith. He was going to buy time by sacrificing himself.
Climbing down the pipe, the mighty Barabel disapeared behind the rise of the floor. Amazed at the suddenness of his sacrifice, Bastila felt each saber clash in her heart as she descended. The buzz of the distortion caused by the meeting of lightsabers echoed down the pipes and chilled her to the bone.
It was just as the team was reaching the bridge level when the last clash was heard from above. Krannurak had bought them enough time, just enough, against the most powerful Dark Jedi Bastila had ever seen.
The commando kicked out a grate to his rear and indicated to the team that they had reached the bridge level. Climbing out of the interior structure, Bastila emerged into a corridor twice as expansive as before. Built to fit the hordes of messengers, engineers and commanders that would constantly stream in and out of the bridge, the corridor was paradoxically empty. There were clear signs of a fight between Sith and Republic fighters, but no lightsaber marks.
“This is where the last of my squad fell.” The commando said pointing over to a corner where a Republic body lay face down, unmoving. “Some came down to see where the pipes would lead.”
“So the bridge is this way then?” Aerex gestured down the expansive corridor.
“Should be.”
Without hesitation the group bolted down the hall, their footsteps echoing hard against the scared walls.
The door to the bridge was thirty yards ahead. A mass of steel and electronics, it was double the height of Krannurak.
As they approached the door, Bastila had a strange feeling. It began softly, gently pulling her toward the bridge door like a breeze at her back, then expanded. By the time they were at the door, Bastila felt like the entire ship was pitched thirty degrees forward.
Master Zhar had explained this to her, and she wondered if the others with her felt the same thing.
What she felt was the torrent of Force that surrounded Darth Revan. He was on the other side of the door, waiting for them.
* * *
Zhar had chosen the plains immediately outside the enclave as the setting for his last lecture with Bastila. It was a pristine afternoon. The low sun bathed the vast planes in an amber glow. Wheat fields in every direction swayed lazily in the long gentile breezes sweeping down from the foothills hundreds of miles away. Somewhere far away Bastila could hear a kath hound howl, a speeder bike zoom and a combine roll. Dantooine was home to Bastila, and it was days like this she wished she’d never leave.
Unfortunately, this day would not be filled with warm feelings and happy contemplation. Bastila was being called on, or rather, thrust into a war that should have already been over.
Bastila was staring longingly out over a small hill, out toward an expansive tan grass plain. Zhar approached from behind her, she could feel his each step crush grass. “I often have difficultly in understanding how such a promising young Jedi as Revan could fall to the Dark Side on such a peaceful world.” He said as he joined Bastila in staring out over the plains. “I remember seeing him walk out here alone, his neck bent in contemplation, pacing up and down the long hills of the nearby pastures.” He sighed. “It is such a sad tale.”
“Master,” Bastila said as she turned to look at Zhar, “what was he like, Revan? Before he fell?”
Another sigh. “I often thought he would squander his skill will a lightsaber in favor of a scholarly role here at the enclave. I was certain that he would become a Jedi master.” Zhar let out a small chuckle, recalling fond memories of Revan, “he never knew may of the Jedi who lived here in the enclave; he stuck to himself. When he first came here from Coruscant, I thought he was the Jedi Knight Hallarus, a respected Jedi diplomat, who was to join our order to aid in political affairs with the Dantooine government. When he stepped off the ship, I immediately began speaking of the issues we were encountering with some of the settlements around the world. Without hesitation, he began to offer his suggestions; which I immediately employed to great affect. It was only later, when Hallarus actually arrived, that I realized my mistake.”
“Like I said, he preferred to be alone in contemplation rather than spend time with his fellow Jedi. As much as that went against our teaching policy here, he was the first to obtain the rank of Jedi Knight. He was the epitome of the perfect Jedi: a scholar and a defender of those in need.”
Bastila was sympathetic to the old Jedi Master; he had put so much of his faith in Revan, only to see it crumble away. “How did he fall?” She asked.
The pain in Zhar’s face would have been visible to a child, “I don’t know for sure. I doubt anyone does. Except him. I remember when he began training with Alek. They were such graceful fighters. I often took my aspiring Guardians to watch them duel in the practice ring.”
“Alek had originally been the better of the two in combat, as he had more experience fighting on Biss, but each time they fought it would get closer. Until one day Revan won. Alek, being the overly brash and exacting Jedi he was, doubled his efforts to best his friend in the ring. But Revan picked up his patterns too easily.”
“It wasn’t long after that, when news had arrived that the Mandalorian threat was even greater than expected, that the trouble began. As always the Council decided alone what course the Order would take; Revan’s opinions, which would have been considerable, were not heard.”
A swift and long lasting wind came up from behind the two and blew hair into Bastila’s face. Through the rough concussions of wind against her ears Bastila barely made out Zhar’s last words, “Revan donned a hood and cape that day. And was gone the next.”
The tempest died down leaving an awkward quiet between Bastila and Zhar. After a few moments Bastila attempted to give her Master piece of mind, “I will not follow in his path, Master Zhar. You can count on me.” It sounded cheap, and Bastila nearly kicked herself for sounding so juvenile, but it seemed to work. Zhar turned toward her and smiled. It was a gentile, knowing and fatherly smile that imbued confidence in her.
“I know you wont child.” Before Bastila could acknowledge his expression with a smile of her own, Zhar’s face turned back to the cool stillness of a Jedi Master. “We must now speak of what you will face. Of what my former student has become. And how to steel yourself against him.”
“I have fought Sith before Master” Bastila said, trying not to seem so weak and inexperience as Zhar’s words had made her feel.
“Yes, and done well you have. But even a Sith Master is no comparison to the Dark Lord. He hoards the Force, sucks it dry from everything around him. Standing next to him you will feel the pull of a black hole; that is the pull created by the Dark Side, it is hard to resist, and even harder to fight. He will try and turn you to his cause by promising you power, or glory, or immortality; or he will try and break your will so that you will cower and beg for mercy. No matter what I tell you of his powers, you will not be prepared for it in actuality. Nothing can prepare you.”
“Then how can I survive?” Bastila was genuinely frightened at the thought of such a horrible force.
“You stick to your training. Clear you mind of his presence in the Force, and ignore his harsh words. You know in your heart that the way of the light is righteous; do not let him change that knowledge, regardless of his arguments. Unfortunately there is not much I can tell you in terms of specific actions to take, as the Dark Lord is variable in his deceit and corruption.”
Bastila could hear herself swallow hard.
“Bastila, my child, you are a gifted young Jedi, both with your mind and your lightsaber. Do not let the Dark Lord’s arguments past your blade.” He placed a soft hand on the side of her head, covering her left temple. “Do not let him into this.”
* * *
The large bridge doors opened in a flash. The hard metal pulled itself apart and disappeared behind the walls. Through the maw that was left, Bastila could see the entirety of the flagship’s bridge.
The bridge was the size of a small hanger, it spread out evenly from the door on both sides, then slowly tapered in. A central walkway fifteen feet wide lay down the center like a spine. Small, narrow staircases led down to a level five feet below the walkway. Covered in computer monitors, desks and chairs, the level was a beehive of activity. There were approximately four officers, eight technicians, and five engineers in the lower deck and one officer and three soldiers above; all their faces were plastered with the same look of surprise.
The hard lines of the tapered bridge and the walkway led Bastila’s eye to the center window of the bridge. Like a black obelisk, Darth Revan stared down the five members of the ravaged strike team.
It took little more than a second for the officers, technicians, engineers and soldiers to whip out their pistols and blaster rifles and point them at the Jedi.
These odds aren’t good thought Bastila. But she knew she really didn’t have a choice.
The Sith officer on the walkway spoke. “You are hopelessly out numbered Jedi. You cannot win. Accept defeat and perhaps the Dark Lord will pity you.” His voice boiled with confidence. Bastila could see his bony fingers fight for grip on his small pistol’s grip.
No one said anything, and silence crept in for a second. In that time, Bastila looked toward the far end of the room. Revan had not moved. He stared at them, crimson and black mask level, arms folded, like a pitch statue.
Slowly the Jedi walked in, moving slowly, just waiting for the bloodshed to start. Y’sanne and Deimos were likely planning out an attack pattern that would lead them to Revan the quickest. The commando inched toward a small plasteel cylinder looking for cover when the lasers started flying.
Aerex ended the silence, “surrender and we will spare you Revan.” He didn’t expect a response, but it was his duty to believe that no one was beyond redemption.
There was no response from Revan, not even a shake of the head.
Bastila didn’t know what started it, but a millisecond later the battle had begun. Bringing up her lightsaber to block a swarm of lasers beaming toward her, she did her best to deflect them back. A few grenades arched their way, but the Jedi were already beginning their lethal advance forward; swinging sabers buzzed through the air and burned through cloth and flesh. Bastila severed the arm of a soldier and threw him into a wall of computers. Luckily, the force at which he hit sent shrapnel into the flanks of two engineers nearby.
Y’sanne and Deimos had jumped down on the lower level and began hacking at the armor-less technicians. A few lost their courage and ran from the Jedi, dropping their pistols and abandoning their fellows. Y’sanne cut them down from behind, removing a head and torso with two quick swings.
A fire spread on the opposite side of the bridge down on the lower level. The commando had thrown a plasma grenade into a narrow cluster of computers. Two husks stuck out of the flames and slouched over a pair of monitors while a third tried feverishly to put out a growing flame on his thigh. The bridge stunk of flesh in no time.
During the further action, during which Bastila added two more to the Sith’s casualties, she glimpsed Revan out of the corner of her eye. As she worked her way toward him, Bastila could feel the floor tilt forward. She knew that the feeling was not physical reality, but the slope of the Force falling into Revan. He still stood, unmoving, even while his men died around him.
Stealing a look at Revan cost her. A soldier’s vibrosword came down on her fast, nearly missing her right hand. The sword struck and burrowed through her lightsaber hilt, sending sparks flying. She jumped back in time to spare any further damage. The sword had struck the hilt a quarter of the way from the top. The deep gash had ruined the power generator and had caused the yellow light to vanish. Bastila did not flinch, the other end was still working, so she twisted the hilt in opposite directions, pulled apart the sections, and discarded the broken half. Fighting with only a single blade was not her preferred way, but it would have to do.
One move later, she pulled her saber from the smoking chest of the soldier. Glancing up, she saw Y’sanne and Deimos jump up from the lower level right in front of Revan.
Brandishing their sabers, Deimos circled while Y’sanne closed in. Revan had yet to show his lightsaber; but he turned his head toward Y’sanne painfully slow. The fight began quickly, Y’sanne jumped toward Revan, raising her saber over her head and bringing it down with awesome force. Deimos, at the same time lunged toward Revan, his saber pointing straight at the Dark Lord’s ribcage. Faster than she would have thought possible, Revan flung his arms open. A red saber grew from his hand, leaving trails in Bastila’s eyes as it arched toward Y’sanne. Their sabers met with a loud electric crack. Revan stopped Y’sanne’s vertical slash without giving an inch, then snapped back toward Deimos. With his blade pointing down, Revan jerked his arm around his body and deflected the lunging Deimos. Off balance and wide, Deimos rolled behind Revan and toward Y’sanne as Revan spun back toward Y’sanne to parry her next attack.
Y’sanne stepped back and waited half a second for Deimos to pop up next to her. To the left of the Dark Lord, the two attacked in perfect synchronicity. However, as fast as they swung, and as accurate as they aimed, Revan’s red saber was always there.
Bastila was moving toward the middle of the walkway, and saw the commando run up beside her. Without looking at each other the two waited patiently as sabers clashed and hummed. Bastila wanted to help out, but she simply wasn’t fast or experienced enough to do anything but get in the way. She thought Aerex had slid up on the other side of her, but when she looked she saw a slender Jedi of her own age.
The other strike team!
Somehow, they had made it. And in the nick of time. Behind her, Bastila counted four more Jedi run up to her. Their fighting must have been gory because she could see red streaks caused by the spraying blood across their faces and tunics.
Looking back to the fight, she saw that Y’sanne and Deimos had begun to drive Revan back toward the forward looking window. Revan’s lightsaber was flashing up and down and left and right keeping up with the two. Bastila felt a rise of hope lift her diaphragm.
Y’sanne locked Revan’s saber with hers as she pushed down with all her might to bring the saber tip across his face. It was a vain attempt, but it offered Deimos the opening he needed to drive his saber into Revan’s armpit. As he lunged, in a movement as fluid and natural as water rushing around a rock, Revan spun around Y’sanne and away from Deimos’ thrust. Revan slid his saber along Y’sanne’s faster than she could react. When his saber was free he flicked his wrist which sent the end of the blade clean through Y’sanne’s neck.
Not hesitating a moment, he jumped to Deimos, whose hunched position made him extremely vulnerable.
With his free left hand, Revan grabbed Deimos’s saber-hand and pulled it upward, yanking his body so that he crashed to the floor hard. Revan finished off Deimos with a brutal and inelegant hack that went right through his forearm and chest.
Standing up slowly, Revan let Deimos die, choking on his ruined lungs. He continued to turn toward Bastila and the other Jedi, now horrified by the scene. Revan still held Deimos’ severed forearm in his off-hand; Deimos’ saber was still on.
For the rest of her life, Bastila would remember that image. Behind him the fresh corpses of insanely skilled fighters, Revan returned to his stoic pose. He was silhouetted by the bright lights of rising starships and venting wrecks outside the window. His mask disappeared behind the shadows cast by his hood. A large ring at his waist, holding his armor in place, glowed orange from the now roaring fire nearby.
Following the role of the Jedi around her, Bastila gathered her power and cleared her mind. Revan must have felt it; he protested the Jedi’s foolishness; he chucked Deimos’ lightsaber, Deimos’ hand still gripped tightly to it, at amazing speed just to the right of Bastila. The saber impaled itself in the high stomach of the commando; Deimos’ hand dangled from the hilt. The commando fell forward onto his knees, then again onto his chest, driving the lightsaber in further.
Bastila refused to look, she knew what happed. She followed Master Zhar’s advice and did not give into madness, but ignored it. Revan’s arguments where the most potent kind. Action. The slaying of Y’sanne, Deimos and the Commando were his prose. His thesis was death and his own invincibility.
Ignoring his arguments, Bastila, grim faced and focused, challenged the Dark Lord, “you cannot win, Revan!”
His response was as bold as it was sobering: swinging his saber through the air, he locked his body into a resolute stance. It was his last argument, to attack me is death.
In the preceding seconds, the course of history was altered, as it usually is, from a clear dichotomy, into chaos. The rising ship that Bastila had spotted earlier had not been part of a blocking maneuver by the Sith to prevent further penetration of their line, as she had hoped, but instead was the massive Leviathan.
Bright flashes of red sparked from the hull of the Leviathan. The first laser blasts slammed with stubborn force into the hull of the flagship, fissuring the hull and venting the precious atmosphere inside. Successive hits followed instantaneously, zeroing in on the bridge.
Bastila spotted the laser blast fated to collide with the bridge. Its relentless speed offered no time for reaction.
Striking below the forward window, the laser vanished from sight a moment before it collided with the hull. It took no time for the blast to travel up toward the bridge. Everything on the lower level towards the far end of the bridge exploded as shockwaves from the impact blew out the floor. Jedi, corpses, computer monitors, and even pieces of the wall flew in every direction. A sonic boom indicated that the forward window had blown out. The opening sucked anything that was thrown up in the air out into the vacuum of space. The bodies of Y’sanne and Deimos, as well as half a dozen Sith flew out before the emergency blast shield rolled across the empty space, sealing off the bridge.
It was several seconds before anyone could move. The quick depressurization and low oxygen content made every move laborious. The whine of life-support systems was the first thing Bastila could hear; miraculously unharmed during the explosion, they had begun re-pressurizing the room as soon as the blast shield sealed off the exposed viewport.
With her head spinning, Bastila looked around the decimated bridge. The entire lower level forward of her was gone, having been blown up and out the exposed window. Now only a few I-beams and pipes that made up the support structure beneath remained. On the bright side, the depressurization had quenched all the fires.
Bastila looked slowly toward the front of the bridge, her eyes struggling to focus. She was shocked by what she saw: Revan was still there. Somehow, although she never figured out how, Revan had not been sucked out when the window shattered. Bastila crawled toward Revan’s body, now a limp clump of black and crimson cloth.
The pull she had felt earlier had all but vanished as she got closer to his body. Climbing over uplifted tiles on the walkway, Bastila could feel a slight pulsating wave of Force energy coming from the form.
He’s still alive!
Hurrying her crawl, Bastila pawed her hands over the his body, fishing for an arm. When she found one, she pulled him over, onto his back. The shock of being so close to the Sith Lord drew her back automatically. His crimson and black mask stared up at her with death-like stillness. His chest jerked up in small painful jolts, then descended. Bastila wrapped the force around the dieing man and inspected his injuries.
His internal organs where ruined. Pieces of shrapnel stuck out of his robe all down his right side, a lung had collapsed, and many small bones where shattered. The internal bleeding would quickly kill him.
“Bastila!” Bastila twisted her torso around to see who had called her, “is he alive?” It was Aerex; badly wounded and clutching his bleeding flank, the stalwart Jedi hobbled over to her.
“Yes” she said, “but he wont last long.”
“Long enough to get him out of here?”
“But Master,” she argued, “he’s…”
Aerex didn’t give her time to finish. “-We do not kill our prisoners, Bastila. No one is beyond redeption. If we don’t evacuate him, all our sacrifice will have been in vain.”
Although she formulated some counter argument it never made it out of her mouth. Aerex turned around and began shouting orders at the other Jedi still recovering from the blast. “Kallos! Search for a gurney. Labara! Call the fleet, we need an extraction before this bridge falls apart.” Jedi scrambled across the bridge, each with a clear objective. Some helped each other up and took care of wounds as best they could; others scavenged the dead Sith for credentials that might be used to pass through the ship more easily.
The Twi’lek Kallos returned quickly with a gurney that glided over the ground invisibly. Kallos, Aerex and Bastila together lifted Revan’s limp body up onto the gurney. Revan’s cape spilled over the edge. His lightsaber dropped from his hand and rolled down the now sloping walkway and fell down the abyss that had engulfed the lower level.
The Jedi had gathered themselves quickly, and were ready to evacuate. Labara’s sleek frame ran up to Aerex and said, “We have a way out but its not close. We’re gonna have to run for it. A ship should be waiting for us when we get there.” Aerex’s reply was gruff and low. Bastila began to push the floating gurney out the bridge door, when Aerex’s hand came up to her shoulder to stop her.
In bewilderment, Bastila looked at Aerex. “Get on the gurney kid, you wont be able to keep up.” With a shocked expression on her face Bastila looked down at herself. The inside pant leg of her right thigh was black. Up a little higher sat a long fissure of flesh marked by a triangular piece of metal. Obviously suffered during the blast, Bastila hadn’t even realized it was there. It took her a few seconds after seeing the wound to realize the pain. It was great, but years of practice had made her capable of removing it from her mind. Regardless, Aerex was right, even if she didn’t feel the pain the muscle would not be able to sustain a hard run.
Staring at the gurney, with Revan’s body on top, she hopped on, finding the only acceptable position was to straddle Revan’s torso.
Without waiting, what was left of the Jedi strike team pushed out of the bridge. Pushing the gurney at an uncomfortable speed, Kallos instructed Bastila to lay down so that the gurney’s center of mass was lower and easier for him to control. She obliged by resting her chest against Revan’s and placing her head in the nook between his neck and shoulder.
Being so close to the Dark Lord brought an erie calm. The world around her quieted down as if she muted a holo-image and walked away. Beneath her she could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her stomach; even on death’s stoop, Revan had an aura of halcyon power.
A pulse of the Force jumped out of him like a heartbeat. Bastila recognized it immediately: death-throws.
Without thinking she took all the Force power she could muster and embraced him. With her limited healing abilities, Bastila stopped the hemorrhages she could and cleansed the infected pieces of shrapnel she found. Reaching the limit of her skill as a healer, she listened carefully for a sign from his weakening pulse.
His mind was waining. He had already lost significant parts of his brain and memories. The Jedi need Revan’s mind, not a burned out husk; Bastila decided she had to do something.
Nestling up tighter against Revan, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and trying to limit the separation between them, Bastila relaxed her mind, further leaving the action outside, and let her mind’s eye flow down the small pull of Force that still existed in Revan. Leaving reality behind, Bastila attempted to save Revan’s mind by entering it herself.
Memories without context or scale flashed by, leaving his mind forever. Battles fought against the Republic, conferences with his generals, disciplining Malak, the unknown regions, a destroyed temple, a dead empire; more experience and insight into war, combat and the Force than Bastila could ever hope to understand, vanished in an instant.
The pace of collapse was quickening, causing his mind to loose its once great power. Bastila reached out and tried to stem the flow; like lifting a bucket to a waterfall, Bastila could not save everything. She focused memories that had important emphasis in Revan’s mind and ignored ones that she did not understand.
The process of securing a memory involved using another mind to temporarily store the memory until a new brain pattern could be located to hold it. By doing this the invading mind relived the memory, experienced the passion, thoughts, and pain as its own.
At the pace his mind was deteriorating, Bastila did not have time to relive entire memories. Instead she took bits and pieces, never being able to save context or understanding. If he survived, his memory would be a minefield; any external stimulus, no matter how mundane, could set off a string of vivid memories that could destroy his sanity.
One resplendent memory drifted by her; it was cluttered with other experiences hanging off it. The detail and prominence it had over the others signified it as a key factor in what made up the Revan that she so tightly clung to. She attempted to save it.
Long fallow wheat stalks scratch at the back of my hand. Uniformity stretches in all directions, broken only by the differing tides of wind. Beyond the lazy hills, Dina sets in brilliant burnt orange.
-*inhale…*-
A soft hand beyond my comprehension cradles my mind, which is now resting in peaceful quiescence. This strange being seems to give me new ears for the universe, ears that allow me to hear past the wind and dust, and into the minds of each creature living here on Dantooine. Shining brightly miles away like a second sun glows the Jedi enclave. Bursting with complexity beyond any sentient’s comprehension, the ramifications of its existence are felt by those who have not heard of them.
My own body breathes, but not through pink lungs. Every cell continues its monotonous existence, ignorant of its purpose or meaning.
-*exhale…*-
The universe comes together in front of me. Atomic particles vibrate in and out of existence, their presences and probability creates the quanta of matter. When enough quanta gather a brilliant and complex molecule emerges. Tasked with the regulation of hormones in a human body, the molecule has purpose, and a reason to exist, even though it does not know it. As with the quanta, a gathering of molecules reaches the threshold and creates tissues. These in turn create the complex systems of an cell. From this cell, when linked with its brethren billions of times, emerges a consciousness.
The consciousness, me, is unknown and unknowable by the cells that make it up. The maddeningly simple existence and functional range of the cell creates a system beyond its own imagination. Something so massive, that its plane of existence is completely unknown to that which creates it.
This trend is true for every step in complexity leading up to consciousness.
The trend does not stop.
-*inhale…*-
The trend does not stop.
There exists an existence beyond that of man and sentient, on a plane unknowable by him. This creature, not a god whose benevolence gave life existence, but a creature that is created by consciousness and its existence. A Leviathan.
Through their connections, sentients build the mind of the Leviathan in a higher plane. The Leviathan’s thoughts are not made up words, but instead of vast migrations, horrible wars, and new births all mixing together to form an idea beyond the comprehension of its creators.
But these creators, the sentients, must flourish in variety to give the Leviathan thought. Stagnation and torpidity choke the very essence of thought.
The Mandalorian. Orthodox in every aspect of being, the Mandalorians are an invading virus set on eradicating the variety of the galaxy. But who is a Jedi to claim another uniformly unvaried? The Jedi are a manufactured creature of banality. They claim to bring justice to the world, yet only succeed in stifling originality for the sake of their doctrine. The Jedi and the Mandalorian different only in method; the Mandalorian seeks to spread his culture through conflict, while the Jedi expands his influence through his patron’s dependence.
They must both be stopped. The universe cannot be destroyed though these cancers.
The Leviathan lives.
Bastila slowly opened her eyes and gazed in and unfocused blur at Revan’s mask. She still clung to him. She had secured the memory deep within Revan’s mind, a place where she would be sure it would not fall -the beautiful memory.
Oh, Revan
Bastila weeped into his cloak. Overcome with the power of his thoughts she didn’t notice the flash of lightsabers and the gore of death that consumed the Jedi around her.
By the time she awoke from her position on top of the ravaged Sith Lord, she was in a the small airlock of a cruiser. Around her stood only Labara and two other Jedi Guardians, all lathered with blood and sweat. Next to Labara sat the crumpled body of Aerex. Driven through the back with a vibrosword, the mighty Jedi laid almost comically on the floor where one of the survivors had pulled his sagging corpse.
Bastila did not speak during the next few hours. The rush of commotion around her as the airlock repressurized confused her recovering mind. To the others she must have looked like a zombie as she clumsily stepped off the gurney, bracing herself against Revan’s bicep. She was helped by the other Jedi, who obviously understood the shock she felt after diving through the Sith Lord’s memories, to the medical bay where the shrapnel was removed from her leg and the wound tended to. Once back in her room and by herself, she tore off and thew away her blood-stained robes, and began the slow process of cleaning her pale skin of blood.
News of Revan’s survival came the next day. Bastila, who had not left her room, was the first to know as she had spent the entire night experiencing the horrendous upheaval in Revan’s mind through a strong bond that had formed between the two. The night had been so terrifying that she had at several times promised, during the worst of the visions, that she would cut herself off from the force so as never to experience it again.
Eventually reemerging from her room, Bastila felt as though everyone could see a taint left by the Dark Lord on her. She knew something inside her had changed, albeit what, she did not know.
The trip back to Dantooine was long, but not long enough. Even if she had a thousand years Bastila didn’t think she could ever come to terms with what she had experienced in Revan. Instead, she chose to hide her growing draw to the Dark Lord, hoping instead that she would be assigned to a sector far away from him and the shear distance would break the bond they held.
Bastila no longer cared about not measuring up to those Jedi around her; in her mind she knew that she had faced something that no one before her had, and that knowledge gave her great pride and courage in herself. It was pride and courage she would rely on greatly in the next year.
THE END
