Update

I have begun work today on a new story.  This one (which also follows Bastila and will probably be combined with the other two into a three part story) is about the time in between Knights of the Old Republic I & II.  It will focus on what happened to Revan and Bastila; why did Revan leave?  Why did Bastila follow him?  But most importantly, why haven't they come back?

The Force is a Burden

“What? Ha-ha-ha! You mean you don’t know? Ha-ha-ha! All this time, and you still haven’t figured it out? Ha-ha-ha!”

The metallic vocoder of Darth Malak echoed like a hammer along the walls of the corridor. His towering presence placed a rock in the center of Bastila’s chest – immovable. For all the fates that were riding on the outcome of this meeting, she could not help but only think of her own.

Malak, the reigning Dark Lord of the Sith, stood while his awful presence seeped into the hearts of Bastila and Carth. But the subject of his mockery stood like a sentinel in defiance of fear. “I wonder how long you would have stayed blind to the truth? Surely some of what you once were must have surfaced by now.”

This can’t be happening, Bastila though to herself, not now! Not after all we’ve been through! The escape from Taris; the intimate retraining on Dantooine; the quest for the Star Forge; all this time Bastila and her force-bonded companion had spent in sweet closeness – and now Malak, the mechanized dealer of destruction and loss, about to tear down the only meaningful relationship Bastila had ever formed in all her life.

“Even the combined power of the Jedi Council couldn’t keep your true identity buried forever, could it?”

As Malak spoke, Bastila looked to her companion and saw in his eyes – the eyes she had come so accustomed to associating with comfort and pleasure – to see the flash of revelation. Memories which had been hidden and obscured by the best of the Jedi Council where mined by his powerful consciousness. Searching his experiences through the past several months he found new meaning in his memories of his teachers and companions. Bastila saw epiphany strike his eyes as new memories exploded out of his subconscious.

“You cannot hide from what you once were, Revan! Recognize that you were once the Dark Lord – and know that I have taken your place!”

Revan looked down at the floor beneath him. Bastila could see his mind turning through the possibilities.

“You do not yet remember, Revan? The Jedi set a trap. They lured us into battle against a small Republic fleet. During the attack a team of Jedi knights boarded you ship. The Jedi strike team captured you and the Council used the Force to reprogram your mind; they wiped away your identity and turned you against your own followers.”

Tears welled up in Bastila’s eyes as emotion strangled her mind. How could Revan ever forgive her for taking advantage of him? Sorrow turned to hate in a flash – how could the Jedi Council have doomed her such! They must have known Bastila had changed forever that day she had survived the strike on Revan’s flagship – they knew that she was helplessly tied to Revan. Zhar, Varoosh, Vandar, Dorak – they didn’t see Bastila as a heroin but instead as a buffer. They knew that if Revan ever did reclaim his identity then the retaliation would be awesome. The Jedi Council was shielding itself with Bastila.

“The Jedi are fools; they do not believe in executing prisoners. Originally I assumed you had died in the battle. Image my surprise when I found out out you were still alive, Revan.”

Malak, the tower of hate, laughed - twirling his saber in his long pale white hands. His enjoyment was Bastila’s torment.

“I helped them, Revan. I always knew that one day the title of Dark Lord would be mine! When the Jedi strike team boarded your vessel I saw my day had come. I ordered by own ships to fire on your bridge. I thought I could destroy all my enemies with a single glorious victory! I never dreamed the Jedi would take you alive from the wreckage.”

A slow sigh came from Revan as Bastila saw his torso rise then fall. She was taking in every detail about the man - knowing it would be the last time she would be able to do so.

Through eyes blurred with moisture, Bastila saw Revan turn toward her. He spoke with a heavy disappointment, “Bastila.” He paused for a moment that felt like death, “is this true?”

She was sure that her pain would broadcast through her voice. She spoke with care. “It’s true. I was part of the team sent to capture Revan...to capture you. When Malak fired on the ship you were badly injured. We thought you were dead. Your mind was destroyed, but I used the Force to preserve the flicker of life in your body. I brought you to the Jedi Council. They were the ones who healed your damaged mind.”

Still Bastila could see Revan’s eyes glaze over as new memories surfaced. It seemed as though anything could perpetuate the deluge of his previous life once the first memories emerged.

Malak interjected with words meant to sting and separate. “The Jedi Council didn’t restore your wounded mind, Revan! They merely programmed it with a new identity – one loyal to the Republic! They tried to make you their slave!”

Ignoring his forgotten apprentice, Revan aimed his piercing eyes at Bastila – she nearly fainted. In long, slow words Revan said “You used me, Bastila.” It was half a question and half a statement. It shocked her that the one thing his mind stayed upon, in the midst of such paralyzing revelation, was her betrayal. The deceit by someone as close to him as Bastila hurt more than his own past.

“...please...” she muttered it so low that no one but her could hear it. “Malak nearly killed you, but the Jedi Council gave you another chance to live! They gave you a chance to redeem yourself by defeating the Sith!” It was a futile hope – one last grab for the edge before the only relationship she had ever enjoyed felling into the precipice.

Malak spoke quickly, ignoring the emotions from Bastila that flooded the room. “A rash and futile hope. The dark side is too strong, my power is to great! Even my old master is no longer a match for me!” The towering man lumbered to one side, beginning a slow pace, and looked up. Had his jaw not been removed years ago, he would have been smiling. “A small part of me has always regretted betraying you from afar” he began. “I always knew there were some who would think I acted out of fear, that I did not want to face you. But now fate has given me a second chance to prove myself. Once I defeat you in combat no one will question my claim to the Sith throne; my triumph will be complete!” He finished with his fists and biceps clenched staring toward the ceiling. The lust for power coursed through his veins.

Revan replied swiftly. “Your victory is not yet finished; I still live.”

“The Jedi Council were foolish to let yo live,” Malak scoffed. He lowered his head, “I won’t make the same mistake.” Bastila felt a tug in her abdomen and knew from experience Malak had begun to gather the Force around him. A bruise in the force marked the giant’s presence. “We shall finish this in the ancient Sith tradition” he said. “Master versus apprentice, as it was meant to be!”

From the pit in the force surrounding Malak burst his immense hand, covered in swirling energy. Before she could think, a blast of ice water sped through her muscles. Over the course of a second a numbing chill originating in the soles of her feet and filled her muscles with immovable iron rods. Movement was impossible, it felt like her muscles had been replaced with metal. Her upper body had a moment to react, but the effect proved too quick as she froze in a useless pose.

Thankfully her ears still worked as she heard the crack of two lightsabers unsheathing. Her head was craned at an odd angle thanks to her futile struggles, causing the battle to take place in her far peripherals.

Flashes of light and the electric thunderclap of contact between lightsabers echoed down the long corridor. Bastila could not get a sense of the direction of the battle nor how Revan was fairing against Malak. Once, Revan and Malak’s blades protruded into her view; locked together, the blades sizzled and cracked as they slid along each other. She could hear grunts and quick breaths in the time between strikes, but could not make out who’s they were.

Her only chance to determine the outcome of the battle was the look on Carth’s face. Her neck was craned in such a way that, while she could only catch glimpses of the battle, Carth, who had a clear view of the battle, stood front and center in her view. The Republic war hero was a mess – sweat poured out from under his hair and canaled along the wrinkles in his brow. Bastila could see his mind struggling to determine who he favored.

Carth had fought along side Revan during the Madalorian Wars only to be betrayed when he came back from the unknown regions as a Sith. However, he did not forget that Malak was the one to condemn his family to death on Telos. Suffice to say, he wished them both dead.

Revan burst into Bastila's line of sight; carried by a whirlwind of Force he spun through the air sideways. He landed in a ready crouch in between Bastila and Carth. A door somewhere outside her vision opened and she heard footsteps run through them. Revan stood up to follow the sound, but before he took off glanced over at Bastila. She found it hard to place his look; he seemed to be expressing a mixture of disappointment, worry, and goodbye. The suddenness at which he took off left Bastila with a pain in her stomach, one that begged the question, what if I never see him again?

She struggled frantically to move but her muscles but could not break their lock. Carth’s eyes snapped back and forth furiously as Bastila watched his futile struggle.

She had to calm her mind; fighting the Force effect with brute force wouldn’t work – Carth had to be at least twice as strong as her, and if he couldn’t force himself out, neither could she.

-*breathe*-

Bastila closed her eyelids as best she could and dropped her mind out of the Leviathan and into the cool muted realm of battle meditation. Leaving her body she examined the effect Malak had set upon her muscles. The effect was as simple as it was paralyzing. Like quicksand, the greater each muscle fiber pulled the more entrenched the effect became. Freedom was achieved through patience – something any half-decent Jedi Master would have realized within seconds.

Bastila stopped squirming and relaxed, resting her muscles. Within moments the effect began to wear off. She felt like she was being drained of water through holes in the soles of her feet. Her scalp recovered its autonomy first, followed by her face, shoulders and arms, and finally her legs.

Shaking her body free of the last remnants of the effect, she hurried over to Carth and explained to him as quickly as possible the method.

She didn’t stay to see him freed. She could feel a raging tempest in the Force as it echoed down the long cold walls of the corridor. She had to give whatever she had to help Revan – to show him her feelings weren't part of the deception – that she wasn’t part of the game the Jedi Council played.

A furious pace carried Bastila through the halls as she searched for a way into the center of the crisscrossing halls. One door finally opened to show Revan stuck in the same field she had just escaped from.

Her time had come, she acted on instinct alone. Pulling her lightsaber from her side, she flung it around her hand and flicked on the switch, catching the fully extended saber in an aggressive stance. It was a trick she had learned from Revan in the outer rim; it put the fear of death into anything from an under-city thug to a hardened bounty hunter.

And it was utterly useless on the Sith Lord.

With a diabolical chuckle to himself Malak’s massive body heaved in pleasure. “Your friends do not give up easily, Revan; you always could inspire loyalty. But even the two of you together cannot stand against my power!”

In the time it took Malak to speak, Revan had nearly freed himself; his torso was free but he could not move to defend himself against Malak.

Malak was meters away from delivering a killing blow to Revan when she decided to lay down her life. The decision came more easily and quickly than she would have imagined – had she had time to contemplate it. Perhaps it was her Jedi training, or her powerful bond with the mind of Revan - or something more. She had never been so confident of a decision in her entire life; this was one she had made herself - for herself.

“For the Jedi!” She yelled as her saber careened through the air at the towering mass of Malak. The throw must have caught him off-guard, for it took a deep crouch and a loud grunt from the Sith to deflect the saber back to its master.

Bastila ran at the lightsaber as it twisted through the air. Grabbing it out of the air, whipping it around her torso, and bringing it to bear on Malak, she said “I’ll hold Malak off. You two get out of here! Find the Star Forge!”

Malak recovered unnaturally fast and was advancing to her before she had really begun to prepare her first strike. The immense stature of Malak hurtling toward her brought a familiar clench to her stomach.

He struck first with a wild hack from over his head that missed by millimeters as Bastila dodged to the right. She caught the first sounds of a voice that sounded like Carth's before the metal door slammed shut, cutting her off.

Bastila knew right away she had been closed off from any aid from her companions, and that this would most likely be her last stand. But the thought of it was not as terrible as she had imagined. Her calmness helped to focus her parries and strikes.

Malak's renown fighting ability had only been outmatched by that of Revan – albeit a Revan who no longer existed – there was no doubt in Bastila's mind that she was locked in combat with the most lethal warrior in the galaxy. Although it would seem that Malak's excessive hight and lumbering frame would impact his speed and flexibility yet every strike Bastila let fly at the Sith Lord was met and countered with frighteningly beautiful elegance. Malak's style would have been described “balanced”; however, this would completely fail to describe it accurately. All aspects of his fighting were perfect, he possessed no weaknesses nor favored any style; he combined the awesome power of a Barabel's hack with the lightning speed of an Echani warrior in every movement.

Bastila's forehead ran slick with sweat as she struggled to keep up with the amazing pace of blows that Malak was capable of raining down. Every once in a while she would find space with which to stab or slash at the Sith Lord's torso, but each time Malak would make an ideal move that put him right back in control.

A flurry of saber strikes raked up the two sides of Bastila's double-bladed lightsaber as she barely made it to block a killing blow. She was slow to recover – due to exhaustion – and Malak took advantage of the opportunity. Infuriatingly Malak did not attempt to kill Bastila, intending instead to toy with her like a lab rat. Winding up a mammoth blow, Malak took a swing with his lightsaber aimed to remove her head. The attack was an insult – Bastila knew Malak would expect her to easily block it – but what surprised her was an infusion of Force power at the last moment that put too much weight behind the blow for Bastila to hold off. An explosion of sparks and a flash of light whited-out Bastila's vision when the sabers met. Absorbing the blow meant Bastila was knocked to the ground in a defenseless position.

Trying to recover, Bastila sent a wave of Force power into the ground to boost her up to her feet. Malak countered with a blast of hurricane power to send her body slamming into the ground again. The impact of her skull on the hard ground nearly knocked her unconscious. Broken pieces of the floor, cracked from the blast, scattered to make a steel nest in the floor which Bastila fell into.

Her bleeding face ached as she opened her eyes to see her lightsaber obliterated into a thousand pieces in front of her eyes by a bolt of lightning. Bastila sucked in the cold air of the corridor only to wince at the pain of several broken ribs threatening to puncture her lungs.

Malak lifted Bastila's limp body off the ground; she hung suspended by her torso like a rag doll. Blood from the gash on her temple spilled onto the floor from six feet in the air.

Bastila was in too much agony to move her eyes, but out of the corner she could see Malak with one hand toward her controlling the Force that kept her at eye-level. Ignoring the throbbing pain of her head and ribs she spat the blood out of her mouth at the white head of Malak. It sprayed across his skull and looked like a crack running down the center of his head. “You will fail, Malak” Bastila said as harshly as she could spare. “You will lose your power just like every Sith Lord before you!”

“Ha-ha-ha!” Malak's vocoder digitized his speech in a terrible way; it put the fear back into Bastila. Without saying anything more, Malak jerked his arm toward her and her torso pulled away from her. She flew through the air into the nearby wall, cracking open a water pipe with her leg – causing her femur to snap.

Horrible pain climbed up her spine like a swarm of insects intent of devouring her brain. She gritted her teeth through blood and broken tissue. She knew death was close, and tried to clear her mind.

“Do you know why I will not fall just like every other Sith Lord before me?” Malak asked, now slowly walking over to her while holding her in place against the wall. “Because with your battle meditation I cannot be stopped. Ha-ha-ha! I have turned hundreds of Jedi to my cause; what makes you think that I will fail with you – a padawan!”

Bastila closed her eyes and tried to block out the world. Pain radiated in her head as if the entire outside was made of it. She just wanted to escape – no matter what that meant.

“I know you better than you know yourself, Bastila. You will fall to the dark side for the same reason Revan and I did.” The last things she heard was the retreating sound Malak's cracking metallic laugh.

Even with the most capable medical and surgical droids in all the galaxy, waking up after ten hours of surgery with a carbon fiber laced femur would never be comfortable.

“Gwaaaa!” Pain from her leg yanked Bastila out of the dream world. Slowly, she lifted her aching body off the hard mattress, being careful not to overtax her wounds. Her eyes focused on the sweat stains her head, neck and shoulders made in the mattress. Odd parts of her body were bandaged; one side of her face remained swollen and painful to the touch; her mid-drift was wrapped in a bandage which held stitches on her flank together; her leg was wrapped tightly in a breathable cast that ran from ankle to groin.

Bastila tried to stay upright as she climbed out of the cot with once leg locked in a cast. Loosing her balance forced her to start hopping to one side to avoid falling over; she stuck a hand out to grab the wall. The cold metal distracted her mind from her aches long enough for her to questions her setting.

A cell – there was no other way to describe it drabness. Painted in a depressing dark gray, the ten foot long cube was just large enough to prevent claustrophobia. Divots in the far wall looked to her to be points where heavy chains where once fastened. Next to her marked the outline of the cell door which laid flush with the walls.

In the entire room, there was nothing of interest. Not a single aspect of the room to garner her attention for longer than a few seconds. Even the air duct was hidden behind a large steel grate – immovable, as she later discovered.

With a disappointed sigh, Bastila sat back down on the smelling mattress and attempted to calm her mind. Malak would undoubtedly be by soon to begin her torture, so she began to prepare herself. The injuries she had would be his obvious targets for inflicting pain so she began to numb them with the Force.

As time pasted, neither Malak, nor his minions, ever came. Over a period of time Bastila could only believe was hours – possibly a day – she waited patiently for the door to swing open, smoke to poor in, and Malak to emerge like a specter of hate.

But it never came.

Bastila was never trained in the techniques of torture – of course no Jedi was – but she assumed Malak intended her to marinate in her own fear before he began his work. Unfortunately, Bastila lamented, it was working. Relaxing in meditation calmed her, but she could not help her mind drift towards Revan – would he come to save her, mount a rescue mission and break her free? She knew her hope was simply a lie she told herself about the future, but it helped in a childish way. She occasionally was ripped out of her meditation when a spear of pain from one of her injuries would explode into her mind. If she remained outside her mind for too long the blandness of the cell would begin to punish her thoughts and she would be forced to save her sanity by plunging back into deep meditation.

She split her time between meditation and sleep – it was a sedentary lifestyle, but the only one she could maintain in the cell.

After waking up – one what she assumed to be the second or third day – she discovered a small plate of food resting by the door. Although she had nearly forgotten about the sustenance her body needed, seeing the food triggered an innate response in her abdomen and she stumbled forward to devour it.

Her injuries began to heal quickly – something she attributed to her long ventures into mediation – and before long she removed the bandages from her face and torso. Although there where no mirrors in the cell, a careful investigation with her fingers indicated that no scars remained on her cheek or temple. A thin line of scar tissue ran from below her right armpit down past her breast. An indication of surgery, Bastila suspected her ribs had needed extensive repair. The leg was the slowest to heal, and it took seven plates of food – what she used to measure time – before she could remove the cast and examine herself. Several lines of scars danced along her high thigh; some were made by incisions, and others by tearing skin. She suspected that much of her femur had been replaced with an artificial metal. While it still hurt to stand on, she knew it would grow to be the stronger of the two.

She began her own physical therapy to accelerate her recovery and pass the time. Her hamstring and quadricep on the right had atrophied under the cast. Bastila began exercises to build them back up to their former size and saturated them with blood during her mediations to promote growth.

Although she kept herself busy the past seven food-cycles, the monotony and sensory deprivation that the bland cell caused began to weigh heavily on her mind. She had not seen another thing outside the four walls and the mattress in what she suspected was several weeks. Visual and auditory hallucinations began to creep out of her meditations and into the cramped space of the cell. They were mostly just vague outlines of indeterminable figures followed by strange pure tones, but the indication that her brain had begun fabricating reality to entertain itself worried her.

There continued to be no sign of Malak or his Sith – not even sounds from adjacent cells. Guessing the range of a cruiser like the Leviathan – which she suspected she was still aboard – she thought that by now they could have been anywhere in the known galaxy.

As time past she meditated less and slept more; she could feel her mind leaving. Starved for some sort of input her sanity was beginning to crumble at the behest of an overactive mind.

Getting up from the mattress one day, Bastila glanced over to the door to begin eating what food had been placed there. But when she focused on the plate she realized that it had been replaced with a short, hand-sized tetrahedron. The tetrahedron was decorated in white alabaster carvings of immense detail. Past the alabaster shell sat a crystal that glowed a bluish-green. Suspended inside the tetrahedron, the crystal seemed to get brighter when she stared at it for longer than a second. Its hue radiated across the barren cell and filled it with colors Bastila had forgotten.

It was a holocron of ancient origin. Etchings in its side marked it to be thousands of years old – perhaps predating the Republic itself.

Picking it up, Bastila cradled the sharp points of the holocron in her delicate hands. The center crystal floating inside the tetrahedron seemed to be displaced, almost as though it didn't belong. As she rotated it in her hands, the crystal would touch the sides of the tetrahedron and dim; this provided further proof, in Bastila's opinion, that the tetrahedron was a recent addition.

The tetrahedron's function puzzled Bastila – why encase a holocron in another holocron? Added protection for the information inside? A breakdown in the recognition protocols of the crystal holocron's gatekeeper? The possibilities where endless – and Bastila's knowledge fleeting.

The desire to active the holocron would have normally been abandoned by Bastila; however, her brain screamed at her to learn as much as she could about – however futile the task. Any input was pleasurable at this point.

For the first three hours – although Bastila had no conception of the time – she did not take her eyes of the beautiful carvings on the tetrahedron. The glow from the crystal lit her eyes with a soft glow that was warmly received by eyes that had not seen any colors save gray for weeks.

Food came unexpectedly. Apparently completely distracted, Bastila had not noticed the door open and a small, loosely built medical droid lay a plate of mush on the floor. Although she was hungry, the lure of the holocron completely governed her mind – it would have taken a five course gourmet meal to distract her in the slightest.

The first clue to the origin of the holocron came while meditating on the familiarity of the tetrahedron's markings. Sunken symbols that looked like a logographic language ran down the sides. Although she could not decipher their meaning, Bastila did remember where she had seen them – Dantooine, Manaan, Tatooine, and Kashyyyk. Theses symbols matched those marked on the star maps. The tetrahedron was the Builders' technology.

Bastila instantly suspected the nature of what the crystal inside held – secrets of the Star Forge and the Builders. Endorphins scrambled her thoughts with awesome passion. She could barely contain her excitement of her discovery.

What Bastila did not question – something that a true Jedi Master would – was the reason she had been given the holocron. Starved for stimulus her mind blocked out the bits of her training that would have maintained the brutal monotony of life in the cell.

She had seen Revan manipulate the Builders' computers in the ruins on Dantooine by indicating the language he spoke and thought it a good hypothesis to test. For the first time in weeks she spoke. At first she was drawn aback by the horrible croak that she made, but after a several minutes of loosening her vocal chords, she was able to find her voice. Not knowing what to say to indicate her language she began with the Jedi Code.

“There is no emotion, there is peace.” She began holding the holocron in the palms of her hands while seated with her back to the mattress in a mediation pose. The scene was eerie – sitting in calm meditation, Bastila's face and shoulders was lit in a warm blue-green by the weak light of the crystal. “There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.” The center crystal began to glow brighter the longer she spoke; in her excitement she sped up her diction. “There is no passion there is serenity there is no chaos there is harmony there is no –”

She cut herself off when from out of the glowing crystal flashed a hologram of a man dressed in qopulent clothing with well groomed hair appeared in the center of the room. Sitting on the ground, Bastila was eclipsed by the tall, transparent blue-green figure. He did not move from his stoic stance but at once he began speaking.

“Thank you for receiving this holocron Grand Master Ramel. We are both busy men, so I will get to my point. Our newly established Jedi Order stands at a crossroads in the history of the galaxy. After victory over those who followed the Bogan in the Force Wars, we have an opportunity to ensure the balance of power throughout the galaxy for the rest of time if we choose to act in a prudent way. The Andothosr Commision has assembled a list of governing principles by which the Order should be founded. These principles will actively prevent the rise of warlords and revolutions throughout the galaxy – firmly maintaining peace and power.”

Bastila instantly placed the record to the founding of the Jedi Order – over 21,000 years ago! The Force Wars happened right after the discovery and distinction between the light side, Ashla, and the dark side, Bogan. Bastila looked on at the dusty hologram with shock and awe at what she imagined to be the first Jedi.

The man did not pause for long and dove right into his message. “The state of galactic peace is, and forever has been, tenuous. Hundreds of worlds, each with its own supposed divine right to sovereignty and expansion, breeds hostility and turmoil. We see now the greatest number of tyrants in the last five thousand years. Several of these worlds have produced armies of sufficient strength to bring interstellar relations and trade to a standstill – destroying trillions of lives across great swaths of space and destabilizing prosperous sectors. A look back to a mere hundred years ago is all it takes to see the last instance of this scenario when the Hutt Banatj Nasirii Zorbra led his enterprising hordes across the greatest shipping lane in the galaxy.”

“This political terrain has become even more unpredictable with the advent of Bogan armies who possess the physical power to overthrow and destabilize even greater sectors of space. The Force Wars taught us that those Bogan followers cannot exist without presenting a threat to our power. Even one system ruled by the Bogan will breed discontent and revolution in nearby sectors, causing strife and recession. The Bogan and Ashla cannot coexist.”

“Thanks to valiant effort by our warriors on Tython, our victory and right to enact our will upon the galaxy was established.”

“And so we stand now, in a sea of uncommon calm. Surrounded by our allies and feared by those few enemies we have not yet annihilated. This peace will last – make no mistake about that – but what concerns me and those of the Andothosr Commision is long term peace – millennial peace. Securing this is a much greater task that requires the careful application of pressure at key points throughout the galaxy.”

“It is the mode for this lasting, secure peace that I will address and offer practices for obtaining.”

The man adjusted his stance while maintaining a staunch neck and head. He began after a quiet deep breath.

“A lasting peace can be obtained one of two ways. The first being the meticulous statistical determination of crises and booms which, if such a strategy was possible, requires the careful setting of initial conditions such that the rest of history will play out into predetermined, and accounted for, paths. This method assumes a high dependence on initial conditions by society; while this may be true in physics and other physical sciences, it is beyond the scope of our abilities today. The second method relies on establishing the balance of power between groups and ensuring it stagnation. This method is superior in the opinion of the Andothosr Commision because it allows for a self-correcting system that can adapt to changes in the political culture that are unknowable today. It is through this stagnation of power that political views become entrenched and the bold actions that start wars discouraged.”

“The establishment of our Order as a monastic society is the ideal agent through which a perpetual balance of power can exist.”

“The greatest threat to the balance of power is the defeated – but surely to rise again – followers of the Bogan. Their ability to use their powers to bring about dangerous political innovation and turmoil unsteadies the very foundation of long term political stagnation. To combat this and ensure the stagnation of powers, is to directly combat those of the Bogan. While many during the Force Wars were not mortal enemies – especially, Grand Master, your dear friend Anaro Heloinn – we must train our Order to despise and destroy its followers because of their destabilizing tendencies.”

“Our Jedi Order will therefore, under our plan, become a monastic order – much like it is today – with the exception of a strong intelligence and regime-stabilization aspect. Our Order shall work closely with planetary governments on missions of 'peacekeeping' to discourage over-investment in technology, commerce, and philosophy. Convincing provincial governments to become large bureaucracies will maintain their power and discourage any ambition as it has been shown that large bureaucracies are more prone to stagnation than other forms of governance.”

“To help our agents practice this peacekeeping role, they shall take up lives of poverty, unquestioning service and intense study on ancient and agreeable scholars. If we are able to train our agents to be walking examples of the benefits of such virtues then influencing populations of our way of life would become easier.”

“Talk of establishing a galactic-wide republic is in high circulation in current politics, and while it will be a while to come, the benefits of such a democratic bureaucracy would further entrench the powers that be. It is therefore the recommendation of the Andothosr Commision to promote – primarily through the agents I previously mentioned – the formation of this galactic-wide republic.”

“Returning to the Bogan, a threat to maintaining the powers that be is the resurgence of the Bogan. These Bogan followers possess the sole method of tipping the balance of power in one direction. To combat this, our established methods for use of the Force must be grounded in disciplined training. We should instruct our agents that the Force is of such power that it must only be used sparingly and that exploration into new techniques in the Force is not virtuous.”

“Our recommendation for carrying these methods out is to devote large amounts of the Order's resources to the search for, and acquisition of, young sentients that show affinity for communication with the Force. Allowing our agents to acquire apprentices along their journeys of peacekeeping will allow us to instill the values and virtues that will maintain the stagnation. This apprenticeship tradition will also help the grand masters to keep tabs on those in the galaxy who posses extraordinary gifts in the force, or who have begun innovating with its power. If we can keep the strongest Force-sensitive sentients in the galaxy under our observation and teach them to limit their amazing gift, then we can ensure that the Force does not evolve into something that tips the status-quo.”

“Of course such apprentices must be taken from those they love and thrown into the Jedi Order completely so as to guarantee their loyalties lie with us.”

“Our galactic society has advanced to a sufficient extent whereas every being in its bosom should live in perpetual peace. Ever since the widespread use of the hyperdrive, this galactic society has experienced disaster after disaster due to the imbalance of power bestowed by the natural universe. Our victory in the Force Wars has bought us to an important time during which we can stop this perpetual cycle of violence and bring peace to the galaxy. By establishing an Order than works feverishly to lock-in those in power, dampen advancement of the force, and maintain control over all substantial force-sensitives we can protect this galaxy from descending into anarchy. These strategies will work because they mire governments in bureaucracy and minor squabbling rather than freeing them to pursue their own greatness. A tight control over force users allows us to prevent any individual from becoming too powerful and threatening the scales of power.”

For the first time, the tetrahedron began to glow an eerie light without challenging the center blue-green crystal for dominance in Bastila's eye.

“And now, something for only your ears, Grand Master.” The man spoke plainly, with a clear relaxed formality. “We both know that the differences in Ashla and Bogan are not as great as they once seemed. Whatever the Force is, Ashla is the clear and understandable part of it while the Bogan is the part that challenges our assumptions and allows us to see past the surface into a maddening ether. Our team of researchers here have been able to discover – through many long days of experimentation and reasoning – that there are aspects of the Bogan that do make sense, and in fact demand acceptance and integration into our philosophy according to our axioms. What I fear here is that continued research in these fields will only serve to unleash these ignoble philosophies into the universe. I already fear that some of our researchers have begun to accept that the Bogan is a pathway to understanding the deep secrets of the universe. That is why I ask of you to bring to an end this venture into Force research and cut those off from the Force that possess this knowledge, particularly Absk Sadow who is near to establishing a battle meditation for coordinating massive armies via the Force. He even believes that it is possible to grant a soldier, captain or even general extra courage and valor – or just as easily take it away. Its ability to unbalance the status-quo is obvious.”

The man bowed his head in respect, “we must do what is best for the galaxy Grand Master. The Force is a weapon and if we can't destroy it then we must be the only ones to wield it.”

And just as unexpectedly as he popped into the room, he left – gone in the blink of an eye into the depths of the holocron.

The room was plane gray again, but it no longer was barren of the brain's sustenance – now it practically dripped off the wall.

The disillusionment of childhood is often looked back upon in a nostalgic way, savoring the purity and simplicity of innocence. Mature disillusionment is met with disgust and vile hatred even though it often possessed the same properties of purity and simplicity. Bastila was filled with mature disillusionment – and it burn in her.

Without more than a minute passing by she had restarted the message, intent on proving to herself that the early Jedi's words were not taken up by the Jedi she served today. But as she reviewed it a third and forth time her frustration with the mysterious man's argument abated to be filled with ambiguity about her beliefs – especially about her battle meditation training.

Food had piled up in the corner of her room; the soft brownish sludge hardened and stuck to the metal plate like a weld. Bastila hadn't eaten in over four days – and she had lost weight and strength because of it. The gentile curves of her stomach had deflated to reveal the harsh structure of her hips and ribs. Her face became gaunt and her skin pale like a ghost. If she had had a mirror she would have seen gray-blue crescents under her eyes from lack of sleep.

Bastila was capable of withstanding a direct assault from nearly a dozen common Sith troopers. But when a mere four entered her room one day she was completely helpless to defend herself. Starvation had had a comparable effect on her Force abilities as it did on her body. She might as well have coughed on them as they seized her, for it had the same force as the putter of energy she waved at them.

What handicapped her the most was not her physical weakness but rather her complete isolation from the outside world. Being deprived of sensory input had placed a great stress on her sanity. To recover from such a stress the mind must be weened back to the pace of its normal processing much like a starving stomach must be slowly given food, less it will tear. When the holocron appeared, Bastila was so starved for something new that she let her thoughts obsess over it. The influx of information so quickly overtaxed her mind by demanding performance which it simply wasn't capable of. She had effectively gorged herself on information and thought to the point where her mind, much like a stomach, threw it up.

Bastila rambled on in her sleep and shook nervously while she was awake. Malak's method of breaking her was complete. She was a blank canvas – and Malak intended to create a masterpiece.

Bastila awoke to the scratch of granite on her cheek. The sensation was oddly a pleasant one, as she had forgotten the feel of certain substances not in her cell. With a warm smile she opened her eyes and allowed her thoughts to escape the haze of her sleep.

She first felt the uncomfortable pressure of the granite against her shoulder blades as the surface pulled against her clothing. It took a moment to orient herself, but she found she was inclined, facing the corner of a small section at the end of a long hallway. She tried to move but her wrists and ankles acted like they weighted a thousand tons. Bastila glanced to her right, rolling her ear onto the granite, and saw her wrists fastened securely to a large slab of rock. Lifting her head up to look at her feet confirmed that they too were chained to the slab.

She took a moment to grasp her surroundings. The section she was in, as well as what she could see of the hallway, where made of the same granite rock she was chained to. Large ornate columns stood on all the corners and one midway along the right wall. The circular columns expanded widely about twelve feet off the ground in increasing concentric circles. The largest one was etched with thin rectangles than ran along the circumference of the circle. She assumed the place to be ancient, for there were no light fixtures mounted on the walls or ceiling; instead the section was lit with portable light stands. The place felt ancient in a way Bastila had never known, like this entire building was not known to any historian or archaeologist in all the Republic.

She was alone, partially. A pair of droids stood around the corner staring away from her down the hallway on plastic honeycombed sheets that secured the loose ground to support their heavy weight. She could feel no one else down the length of the hallway, but she didn't trust her sense. The Force felt strange to her, like this place had split apart the different faces of the Force to show her those which she had never known. The feeling was worrisome for it felt like she was being stared down by a hundred unfamiliar giants – it made her feel like a kid again.

The giants – titans, really – seemed to all turn away in an instant to stare down the hallway. They scattered a moment later, dissipating.

From around the corner walked Darth Malak. Covered in a haze of complex clouds of energy, Malak approached here quickly, oozing confidence.

His hate-filled voice echoed down the ancient hallway, “you are not well Bastila; you have lost much weight over the past two months.” On top of her, he pinched her left bicep like it was a toothpick. “And I see that your strength has fallen to quite dismal levels. I apologize for the poor care; but you see, it is necessary to free one such as yourself.”

Bastila kept her mouth closed. She did not even look at Malak, less that give him the satisfaction he desired.

Malak turned away from her and paced in a long arch. “Tell me, what did you think of the holocron's message?”

Keep quite, Bastila! She told herself. Don't respond, it will give him what he wants.

He turned toward her, “do you know what happened to Absk Sadow, the Jedi who first developed battle mediation?” Malak waited for her reply. Expecting it not to come, he continued, “He was cut off from the force and exiled to an unknown world never to be heard from again.”

“The holocron is fake!” Bastila broke her silence – it was foolish, but she would not let Malak convince her do deny the Jedi. “Jedi Masters Odan-Urr, Jeth, and Sunrider were the first to use it during the Unification Wars.” A pinch of pride snapped into her face as she smirked at the Sith Lord. “No evidence of a 'Grand Master Ramel' exists in any records.”

“Ha-ha-ha!” Malak's vocoder cracked. Bastila felt the hair on her skin rise as Malak lifted up his arm. From the tips of his fingers grew a bright light that looked like a burning star. Her nerves caught fire as lightning arched between her body and the growing star on Malak's fingers.

The scream was involuntary and didn't portray the power of the feeling. When it ceased, Bastila gasped for air frantically. Her muscles ached immediately – both from the attack and from the fact that they were so weak.

“My former master,” Malak said, “taught me that we must always expose those who believe in belief simply because they think it to be virtuous.”

Still panting from the exertion, Bastila panted out, “what...are you talking...about?”

“Do not take me for the padawan you are. I can read the doubts that circle in your mind about what the Jedi have taught you; you know the holocron is genuine, and therefore you must accept that your beliefs are build off political convenience and not something noble.” He didn't leave time for her to respond. “Absk Sadow wrote extensively about his experiments into the Force, even battle meditation; it was these reports that Odan-Urr uncovered as a Jedi librarian and used during the Wars.”

“Why, dear Bastila” Malak said, leaning closer, “wouldn't the Jedi choose to teach battle meditation to subsequent Jedi Masters – it undoubtedly would have been a great benefit in fighting the Sith?”

“Because the role of Jedi is to become one with the Force, not to pervert it to our selfish use!” Bastila said.

“Yes! That's right!” Malak laughed. “But why do you believe that?”

Bastila's thoughts came to a crash and struggled for purchase. “..bee-because through altruism we can make the galaxy a better place.” The answer stank of childhood, and Bastila hated it.

“A better place indeed, but for who?” Malak responded. “These believes were created by the first of the Jedi to maintain their power over the galaxy, to ensure their continued involvement in every aspect of galactic politics – and prevent the challenges of threats to their power.” Malak began to pace. “What would be a better method for achieving this goal than an army of Jedi demigods involved in every political interaction, subtlety steering the outcomes to ones that ensured the status-quo – all under a veil of poverty and altruism.”

Bastila wouldn't accept it. “What the Jedi do prevents wars and spreads peace throughout the galaxy!”

“Peace” Malak said with a disgusted look and a scoff. “At what cost? Revolutions do not come to systems that drown in corruption and injustice. Bureaucracies thrive off the stagnation and expansion of their own bureaucracy. The Republic promotes inaction and stagnation!”

Malak's words were said with such humanity as Bastila though impossible given the limits of his vocoder.

He continued. “All Jedi today, from the loneliest padawan to the grand master has been trained under a set of principles that were designed to perpetuate its existence. They Jedi steal children from their families and discourage any connection so that the only loyalty they feel is to the Order. They have excuses for such practices, but they are not the reason why they exist. I used this same trick on you; denying your brain its traditional stimulus, it grew needy. When I gave you the holocron, your brain was all to happy to accept its information as the only in the universe.”

Bastila didn't realize it but she began muttering to herself. A series of No's grew audible till they caught Malak's attention.

The hate and anger flashed back into Malak's eyes, pushing what little humanity had crept into his face away. “Open your mind Bastila! See the truth of what your life has been!” His massive chest heaved with anger. “Don't you find it unusual that the Jedi would ignore and even downplay your natural gift until their very existence depended on it! I am the reason why you were trained to use your battle meditation; because I am the harbinger of the Jedi Order's destruction!”

Bastila still shook her head, “battle mediation is a dangerous power, it can easily corrupt any who use it and turn them to the dark side. My training began when it did because the Council believed I was ready to accept the responsibility.”

Rage emanated out of the energy surrounding Malak in hard vibrations. He reached up above his head and ripped up down chunks of the ceiling, hurling them down to either side of Bastila. “I have had enough of your Jedi dogma, Bastila. You force me to become more persuasive.”

Electricity jumped from the tips of his fingers again and drilled their way into Bastila's body. She let out an agonizing cry – Malak laughed in the background.

Malak leaned in to Bastila's wriggling body. “You are strong, child. But I will break you.”

Bastila trashed her head to the side avoiding the heart-chilling stare of Malak's white skull. “I'll never fall to the dark side!”

Malak, facing away from her, clearly furious at her obstinance responded by pummeling her body with lightning again.

No matter the number of times she experienced the jolt of electricity she would never build up a tolerance.

“You think torture will turn me, Malak?” Bastila gathered her will. “You're a fool.”

“Torture?” Malak's head shot around to face her. His body followed slowly and he came close to her face till she could smell the sweat of whatever existed beneath his steel jaw. “No, dear Bastila. You misunderstand. This is but a taste of the dark side.” His pale hand approached her face, and for a moment Bastila though he would disfigure her face, or make her blind; but his cold and dry skin slid across her cheek as he stroked her like a lover. “...to wet your appetite.”

Seemingly disgusted with himself, Malak quickly turned away and talked to the wall, “when you finally swear loyalty to me, it will be willingly.” He turned to face her with every muscle in his face flexed.

“Never!” Bastila spat back.

A quick laugh followed from Malak. “Such resolve in your words, but I see the truth in your heart. The dark side calls to you, Bastila. You hunger to taste it.” He didn't speak like a Sith Lord intent on the conquest of the galaxy, but more like Bastila's teachers when they struggled to teach her a lesson.

“Become my apprentice and all its power can be yours!” Malak lit the stone walls with the bright power of electricity arching from his fingers into Bastila, feeding off her screams.

The sustained surge of electricity through her body seemed to send her brain into overdrive. Memories and thoughts exploded like firecrackers behind her eyes. She saw the memory of Revan where he had chosen to leave the Jedi – the memory she had saved. Its beautiful revelation filled her with longing; she wished to be secure in her believes, just as Revan had.

The memory vanished as her imagination replaced it with the ancient Jedi Master Ramel; sitting in the first council room, Ramel contemplated the course his new order would take. The role the Order would play in the grand scheme of the galaxy consumed him; mired theories as to the true nature of the newly discovered Force, he would make the conservative choice. If the Bogan ultimately proved to be the stronger of the two sides, would his Order survive? But whatever the case may be, it was undeniable that the Force was the most powerful thing in the galaxy. There were too many questions and mysteries concerning the Force, too much power to be tapped. He would rationally choose to keep the power for himself and his Order; if they alone controlled access to the Force and all those who could feel it, then the galaxy could be protected against it. The Jedi did treat the Force as a burden – not the romantic force that she had been taught, but a sinister weapon whose very knowledge threatened their power.

She let go of her unfounded beliefs. The walls around her mind that prevented the inrush of pain crumbled and a beautiful sensation as new pathways of thought opened – to be filled with pain. Her screams intensified as Malak poured more into her.

The Force that arched through her and tore at her muscles seemed different, as though she had been looking at it through polarized lenses all her life. Now it glistened like the movement of an elegant sea creature, shining through many dimensions.

It hurt, so she screamed to reflect the pain outward. Like a trained animal the Force coursing through her spun around and flew from her veins. Through all her life, Bastila had though of herself as a poorly principled Jedi with an amazing, unearned gift. Battle meditation, and inborn ability, had been the only reason why she had ascended to the prominence she had – the only reason the Jedi Council knew her name. But what she had not been able to recognize in the harsh restrictions of the Jedi Order is her ability to intuitively discover new avenues for the Force. Bastila was a great Jedi. Her scream resonated outward. It would later become known as a Force scream; sending out waves of pain, loss and suffering through the Force, it destroyed morale and confidence in those around her.

Malak felt, heard and saw the transformation. One moment Bastila was writhing in pain and agony, fighting to prevent the flow of pain into her brain; next, she had broken down her walls and used her own brain to redirect the energy out through her and back at Malak. Her composure, still chained to the slab, was entirely different. Instead of struggling and squirming, she laid on the slab slowly breathing, staring up at Malak with confidence in herself.

Malak smiled, “well done. You now are free of your chains.” He waved his hand across her stomach and the chains that held her wrists and ankles fell off her.

The sense of freedom was incomparable. She rose from the sad, scared girl into a powerful, and feared woman. Sliding off the slab and standing up on her own legs, which now felt sturdy like a tree's roots, she bent the Force around her and swirled it to her will. It was the moment of her life.

Her revelation was brought about thanks to Malak, and for that she owed him her life. Without his wisdom and the facts of the holocron she would have remained a measly shell of a human incapable of her own decisions. Swearing allegiance to Malak was the first time in her life she had done something of her will alone; without orders, or the influence of others – actually in spite of it – she made the decision.

But Malak had not told her of the impression she had bestowed upon him. He had received the full blow of the Force scream, and while he was strong enough to withstand its effects he noticed immediately his error. Bastila was too strong. Her skill at contorting the Force in new and different ways made her an obligation – and a threat to his dominance. He had wanted to use her battle mediation to aid his forces as they continued their destruction of the Republic, but if Bastila's strength and confidence continued to grow, much as they just had, she would quickly strive to take his place.

So to remove this threat he left her in the temple on Rakata Prime to face her lover, Revan. Her new found will and independence was unbreakable, and Malak was confident that Revan would not be able to turn her in less time than he had. She would die at the hands of a powerful Revan; hopefully buying time for Malak to build up the Star Forge's defenses for an inevitable attack by the Republic.

Bastila spent most her time alone on the roof of the temple in mediation. She had already shed the weak techniques she had used as a Jedi, and was well on her way to developing a full repertoire of new abilities that would make her a thousand times more powerful.

And when Revan came, she was ready. He too was changed. He breathed the Force through his pores and pooled it around himself like a bruise. He no longer followed the ways of the Jedi – his own revelation must have released memories of what he once was, and he saw that independence and rationality to be superior.

Three figures emerged out of the stark shadows onto the sunlit patio of the roof. Bindo and the Cathar flanked Revan – Bastila could feel their minds peddling when they saw her. Revan's smiled.

Update June 8, 2010

I have begun work on a new story much like that of Rise of the Leviathan that fills in the gaps in the KOTOR story as seen from Bastila's point of view.  This project will be composed of several parts, each of the scope of Rise of the Leviathan.

Your comments are always welcome

Rise of the Leviathan

A short story based on Star Wars Knights of the Old Republic created by Bioware

-*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