Memory / Chapter 22 / We'll All Have Tea

Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1. HoloNet newsroom footage.

Anchorwoman Iyrass: "While we wait for the Chancellor's broadcast, Xarga Weis has been telling me about Mandalorian weddings. You were just saying, Xarga, that what transpired in front of our holocams a few short hours ago was not unusual?"

Xarga Weis: "The wedding? No, weddings aren't unusual."

Anchorwoman Iyrass: "But Revan Starfire married Canderous Ordo and Carth Onasi. Plural marriages aren't common in the Republic, not among the humanid races, you have to understand."

Xarga Weis: "It's hardly my concern that your Republic is full of barbarians. What I was saying was, Oerin Lin's reaction is odd."

Anchorwoman Iyrass: "Odd? How so?"

Xarga Weis: "As an unblooded warrior, he owes Ordo allegiance, heir to Mandalore or not."

Anchorwoman Iyrass: "Well he doesn't seem to think so."

Xarga Weis: (shrugs) "Perhaps he managed to find stars, somewhere on his travels. My own Clan has left the known reaches of space in search of them. But Weis was always superior."

Anchorwoman Iyrass: "Stars? I don't understand."

(voice from offscreen. "Back on topic. Please.")

"The price has just gone up," Deeka said, watching the blue haze of the holoscreen that flickered between them. The crumpled papers nestled safely between her fingertips. Letters from Carth Onasi to his son. The key to her fortune.

Across from her, the hooded figure nodded. "I assumed as much."

"Say, half a million credits? And a percentage of the royalties from the production? Twenty percent, perhaps. After all, without these, The Return of the Sith is a work of fiction."

The Ambassador to Ziost shrugged. "Royalties are notoriously difficult to calculate on an underground vid. Wouldn't you rather just have a larger payment?"

"I'm assuming your holovid won't stay underground for long," Deeka replied. "And I need to make provisions for my old age, and my son's welfare when I'm gone." Her heart was beating fast. Dancing with a rancor, you are, sweetie. But half a mill and royalties are worth the risk. If only her heart would stop pounding so much. Glitterstim did that, when you took too much. That's all it is, old treat. Getting too old for the sporting life, you are.

She adjusted the brazier on her desk, inhaling more of the sweet-smelling herb that burned within, while she let her other hand, the one that covered the stack of the Onasi letters, move slightly closer to the flame.

"HoloNet would pay me more," she said, showing a little teeth. The Sith respected strength, she knew that much. Really they weren't so much different from anybody else. And the letters were more precious than Correllian spice.

"I saved Revan at the Star Forge," she began, reading out of the corner of her eye from one of the better ones that she'd placed on top to show Arca. "We're on Kashyyyk now, recovering, and I wanted to let you know, son, that as soon as it's safe I'll come for you. The Star Forge . . . when I first saw it I thought it was the most beautiful--and the most terrible thing I had ever seen. But I knew nothing then of how terrible it really was . . ."

Such a stroke of luck it had been, finding such a treasure in her son's discarded coat. It more than made up for the troubles with CoruSec. Not for the first time she wondered if she had the brat to blame for that. Ungrateful wretch, just the sort of thing he'd do, turn his poor Moms in.

"Six hundred thousand," the Falleen said, opening the metal case that rested on her lap. The golden chips stacked within gleamed with cool fire. "That's all I've brought with me. Budgets, you realize. The frelsk counters on Ziost are quite particular about expenses."

"And the royalties," Deeka insisted automatically, her eyes on the chips. Her heart was really beating rather fast. She took a soothing breath of smoke.

Arca sighed and raised a taloned hand. "Apologies," she murmured, her face flushing a darker gold. "No royalties." The case slammed closed.

Deeka Jin grinned. It was only a matter of time. She'd get her price. The trick to dancing with rancors is all in the steps you take. Back and forth. Up and down. In and out. The same old game.

XXX

Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1. HoloNet newsroom footage.

Anchorwoman Iyrass: "Do you think we can trust Oerin Lin?"

Xarga Weis: "I had little contact with the Lin family. After Malachor, it was commonly thought they were all dead. Oerin Lin would have been the outlander wife's son. It's impressive that he's survived. I can't see that he would have any love for Revan. She ordered the death of his family."

Anchorwoman Iyrass: "You mean during the war . . ."

Xarga Weis: "That too." (smiles) "But after Malachor V, many things changed for our people. Our patterns of battle. The ideology --"

Anchorwoman Iyrass: "Malachor V? What happened at -- " (Pauses.) "Excuse me, I'm getting a message here, the Chancellor is almost ready for us. We'll be cutting to the Senate floor now, where a group of Senators has gathered to support the Chancellor's decision, whatever that may be."

Xarga Weis: (laughs) "Your Republic doesn't like to talk about Mala --(Static.)

It had been a clear night, but dawn would bring rain, she could feel it in her bones. The others were already waiting for her in the small meditation chamber off the training rooms. Once, years ago, this place had been filled with the chatter of a thousand Padawans, the rush and whirl of hundreds of Force-presences, all divergent, but united toa single cause. Now, these halls underneath the Jedi Temple were mostly empty. There were fewer Padawans each year. The paths a Jedi walked had always meant sacrifice, but in the old days, Jopheena thought wryly, at least we were allowed to be sentients too. There was much she had forgotten, but she remembered that.

The three robed figures looked up from their meditations at her entrance.

"You're late," hissed the old Cathar. Her gnarled hand groomed her graying locks nervously.

"We've seen the news, Jopheena," the Twi'lek said.

Between them, the Vultan sat with his arms folded. With age, the golden tint to his skin had faded to a dull yellow, but his eyes were bright under the scarred web of his brow.

"I was delayed," Jopheena said. "The Council -- "

" -- has no idea what to do?" the Vultan asked. His voice was faintly amused.

"You can hardly blame them, they have only my word and Vrook's report to go for reassurance that she isn't Darth Revan reborn . . ." She sat down on the mat beside her old friends, feeling the familiar creak of her fragile joints.

"I'm sure it displeased them," said the Vultan, "to have to take the word of one 'redeemed' Jedi regarding another."

"What did Zhar say?" the Twi'lek asked. His voice was rusty from disuse and he spoke slowly, his words slightly slurred. Nyrmon didn't speak often and he rarely left his own rooms. He'd been that way as long as Jopheena could remember. The past cannot erase itself, not entirely. The past leaves its own scars.

"As usual he was quite logical. Much as he cares for his former pupil, if the truth becomes publicly known it will destroy the Order. He recommended that the Council override the Mandalorian's custody claim. Immediately, before she does any more damage." A sad smile pulled at Jopheena's mouth.

"They don't have the authority," the Cathar snapped.

"Ah, I mentioned that . . ." Jopheena sighed. "But as you can guess, there were several who found taking my advice a bit difficult. And when they asked me how Carth Onasi happened to be there in the first place . . . I had to tell them the truth. They know of my Fleet affiliations. And I could hardly lie." She made a face. "Master Klee and his allies want to turn matters over to D'Reev again, of course. They say, if the truth does come out, he can at least leash it with some kind of palatable excuse."

"Not unexpected," mused the Vultan. "Does D'Reev know everything?"

"I'm not the one to ask about what that man knows and what he does not," Jopheena said. "I've always found it safer to assume he knows. I've been rarely wrong."

"It's a simple story," muttered the Cathar. "She only wants her cub and her mate." Her claws raked the ground uselessly. "Why would they deny her this?"

"Such things are never simple, Sylvar," the Vultan sighed.

The Cathar's ears flattened at the sound of the old name. "I am Hoshani now," she murmured. The correction was automatic.

The Twi'lek grimaced. "See that you don't forget it, Master Hoshani."

"How could I, Nyrmon?" The woman's pointed teeth bared in a feral smile.

"Are you going to try and see her, Jopheena?" the Vultan asked, ignoring the others. "Reason with her? Try and explain about the child?"

"I told you already. At the spaceport, I tried to convince her to just kidnap the babe and run away." Jopheena sighed. "Perhaps I spoke too delicately. As she once was, Revan was never subtle. The woman she is now seems little different in that regard."

"Why should you try and convince her of anything?" hissed the Cathar. "Why shouldn't she get her cub and her mate back?"

"Because the child isn't hers," Nyrmon said. His hands pulled at his scarred lekku. "Malachor's mother died in the Mandalorian wars. What is left . . ."

Jopheena sighed. It was easier for us, long ago. We had precious little left to lose. For a moment, she felt the clasp of his hand in hers, although his face--and his name--had long since gone.

Peace is my compensation for losing you, my love. I've been at peace now for thirty-odd years. Was it worth it?

"The pilot, at least, is hers," Jopheena said slowly. "Polla Organa and Carth Onasi fell in love during the quest for the Star Forge. I would have given her the boy too -- if I could have done it quietly. She's as much his mother as anyone is. But now . . ."

"Jedi do not love," the Vultan said. His voice was expressionless and his eyes were blank below the terrible scar on his forehead. "Not anymore." Not for the first time, Jopheena wondered who Koobla Han had loved and lost. There are some stories that aren't told in books, some things not written in histories. And such things are best forgotten, she reminded herself. It had been years since she'd needed the reminder. Years since she'd wondered or had any regrets.

"Polla Organa was a Padawan in name only," Hoshani argued. "It was different for us."

"So we've been told," Jopheena replied. She kept her voice mild. Alone of the four she had never asked questions about her old history. I've been Jopheena Sundancer for thirty-odd years. And that is enough.

It has to be.

XXX

Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1, Senate floor footage.

Reporter Jekk Jekk Umani: "I'm here now with another Fleet representative, High Admiral Rensha's aide on Coruscant, Rear Admiral Cein. The Chancellor is due to give a formal announcement in a few moments, but while we wait, Admiral Cein is going to tell me what he remembers about Revan Starfire."

Rear Admiral Cein: "The Jedi had no formal position in the Fleet, but they came to our aid in the Mandalorian Wars. And Revan Starfire led them."

Reporter Umani: "Yes, but what was she like as a person?"

Rear Admiral Cein: "I don't think I understand. There was a war. We needed the Jedi to counter the Mandalorian's cloaking technology. They were all very young, but they were Jedi. There wasn't much personal interaction -- "

Reporter Umani: "So what you're saying is, she didn't have much personality. She was . . . cold? Removed? A lack of affect is a sign of instability in most sentient races. Perhaps even back then, the signs were already there. Signs that the Fleet ignored, at their own peril."

Rear Admiral Cein: "That's not what I'm saying at all! She was -- professional. Dedicated. They all were."

Reporter Umani: "Ah. Of course. And what of Malak?"

Rear Admiral Cein: "They served together on the Leviathan for a time. I'm not sure what you're asking . . ."

Reporter Umani: "Of course you're not. It must have been a great embarrassment to the Fleet when they betrayed you."

Rear Admiral Cein: (Chokes.) "E-embarrassment? Tragedy. It was a tragedy. You have no idea, it was no simple embarrassment!"

Reporter Umani: "And yet, news of their betrayal didn't reach the HoloNets until Telos was in flames. Why was that, Admiral? There were rumors, stories, whispers . . . but the Fleet was silent. Why?"

Rear Admiral Cein: "This line of questioning serves no purpose."

Tactically, another tie to a Mandalorian clan made perfect sense, although Mission wasn't sure that Revan was thinking logically. After that however, the plan was a complete mess. But it was really cool to see her back together with Carth. If the nets weren't completely going to hell, Mission would have been happy for them.

In front of Mekel, the Mon Calmari attache to the Galactic Chancellor and the Ambassador to Alderaan's human secretary were discussing the Mandalorian vote and the most recent turn of events while they stood in the long line of sentients who were all desperately trying to leave the building. Mekel started to move away towards the kitchens.

No, bantha-breath, stay put and listen to them. This is interesting.--

"I don't speak Alderaanian," Mekel muttered under his breath.

Yeah well, nerf herder, I do. Just stand here and listen okay? I want to hear this.

"We have a responsibility, I believe, to rebuild the sectors the war destroyed."

"It's not a moral issue," the attache rolled his eyes and grunted. "If we don't assist them, the Mandalorians could find help elsewhere . . . Ziost, or one of the Hutt-controlled quadrants. Believe you me, the Chancellor fully supports colony recognition for the Malachor system . . . but some of the Coruscanti senators -- still have their doubts."

The human chuckled. Like all Alderaanians his features were masked under a heavy layer of white make-up, gilded with gold and silver. He stuck a hand in his belt and snagged a boiled maffa-egg from a passing waiter. The waiters were serving again, but they all looked scared out of their skins. Mission would have giggled. Big bad Darth Revan. Yeah, right. They should see her in the morning before she'd had her kaffa trying to tie her own shoes.

"I notice there is no D'Reev lackey in attendance."

The attache snorted. It might have been a laugh. He lowered his voice, and gestured with his head tentacles. "Oh, he'll vote in favor. He has more to gain than he lets on . . ."

The Alderaanian frowned. "Even now? It's true, then?"

"Especially now, I'd think. Recognizing Mandalorian sovereignity gives the old man . . . interesting leverage." The Mon lowered his voice. "If the Fett Lin were to meet with an unexpected accident . . ."

The secretary scoffed. "You can't expect me to believe that the Mandalorians would accept something like that! And -- what about . . ."

"Her? D'Reev will take care of her, one way or another. Have some faith."

"You know," the Alderaanian said thoughtfully. "I'd really like to meet her."

"You want to meet Revan Starfire?" the Mon's gurgle was incredulous. "Stars and water, why?"

The secretary shrugged. "She reminds me of someone."

If the Mon was right about D'Reev that was good news. Mission would have cackled evilly and rubbed her hands, instead she just beeped. Back downstairs in the Madalorian quarters, Zaalbar groaned from the bed and she rolled over to check on him again. The slash in his arm was really nasty, and their walk through the sewers hadn't helped.

She stuck out an appendage to change the bandage again and he batted her away. "I'm fine, Mission-ghost. Tell me what's happening upstairs."

"Well it's a little complicated at the moment, Big Z -- " Mission started to explain. The Wookiee's eyes glazed over. Poor guy, he was hurt worse than he liked to let on.

"I am happy," he groaned, halfway through, "for Carth Onasi and Polla-Revan." His eyes fluttered. "I hope they have many strong cubs." The Wookiee closed his eyes and sighed. "This seems like a good plan. Polla-Revan is always very cunning. The infidels will have no idea what to expect."

Big Z was giving Polla-Revan way too much credit. Mission would be surprised if Polla-Revan could count past five at this point. That was the disadvantage of an organic mind, she thought. All of the emotional baggage. Deliberately, she did not reflect for even a millisecond on that stupid Sithboy and his idiocy.

XXX

Rear Admiral Cein: "Back to this again. What was the Jedi Knight Revan like as a person? Well, she was charismatic. She had a keen tactical mind."

Reporter Umani: "Yes, but did you like her?"

Rear Admiral Cein: "The issue never came up. The Jedi kept themselves apart. Revan led them. She and Malak -- "

Reporter Umani: "I've heard an odd rumor about the two of them . . ."

Rear Admiral Cein: "I can't comment on that."

Reporter Umani: "Have you seen the Coruscanti Underground Version?"

Rear Admiral Cein: "Of course not! That's . . . pornography. And it's illegal."

Reporter Umani: "Well yes but -- there's that odd wedding sequence. Didn't they use swords or something? Wasn't that how Malak lost his jaw?"

Rear Admiral Cein: "I hardly think this line of questioning dignifies a response." (Sighs.) "But no. That wasn't what happened." (Glances at commlink on his wrist.) "Apologies, my superiors want me at Fleet HQ. I'm sure you understand."

Reporter Umani: "Naturally, I do. You'll all need to get your stories straight about the Mandalorian Wars . . ."

The second the old man walked out the door, Dustil was at his desk, trying to open a commlink to the outside world. Whatever the hell this is, I have to speak to Father. Whatever's going on, he'll -- he'll -- his thoughts stammered as he remembered his father's reaction to most things lately. He's just as lost as anyone. He has no fracking clue what D'Reev did to him -- what --

"It's voice-coded," a small voice said behind him. Dustil whirled around. The kid was still standing there with his hands in his pockets, their pet assault droid behind him. "You can't access anything. I've tried. Lots of times, I've tried."

Dustil ignored the kid. His original reasons for coming seemed ridiculous now. He walked out of the room and down the endless halls to the front door. It was locked. The hallways were eerily empty. Usually there'd be servants around. Angrily he kicked the door with his foot. It didn't budge.

"He locked you in," the kid said, pointing out the obvious. The kid was following him like a pathetic fracking kath pup. "Come to the kitchen with me, Dustil?" The kid cocked his head to one side and looked up at him. "Please?"

"I'm not hungry," Dustil snapped.

"That's okay. Please come?" Korrie's lip trembled a little. He held out his hand like he expected Dustil to take it. Somewhat to his own surprise Dustil did, let the kid lead him around the halls to the back of the apartments where the kitchen was.

The cook and one of the servants -- Isuop, he thought, or maybe Kleg -- they all looked alike in their uniforms -- were watching a small portable holoscreen and sitting around the large table in the middle of the room. They both jumped up, looking slightly guilty when Dustil and the kid came in.

"Get out," the kid said, almost carelessly. "I need to talk to Dustil alone."

The HK clanked behind them.

"Your grandfather --" the cook began.

"Grandfather isn't here. Get out." The kid shot them all a look and they paled. "I won't tell him about the portaplayer if you leave now," Korrie added.

The servant muttered something under his breath. The cook made some kind of sign that looked religious. Dustil just blinked at them. They were both from one of the outlying Corellian worlds, he'd learned before, when he and Father had stayed here. A small village there. D'Reev liked his servants unsophisticated and well-trained. They cleared out.

Korrie sat down at the table in one of the chairs. His legs didn't quite reach the floor. He gestured to another and Dustil slid into it, cautious. He still wasn't sure why he was here, going along with all of this. Something -- something about the air was strange. Like a buzzing, faint in his head. He shook it trying to clear it. It took a few seconds to realize what it was.

The Force. Faint, like screaming through layers of gauze, but it was here.

"You feel it, don't you?" Korrie asked him. He glanced at the HK that was still standing there, silently watching them. Watching Dustil with a disrupter rifle in its appendages. Don't make any sudden moves.

The kid grinned at the droid, crooked tooth and all. "Deactivate yourself, you stupid metal gearhead."

The red eyes whirred and dimmed. Then went out.

"Yeah," Dustil answered, willing his voice not to crack. The hair on the back of his neck was standing up. "I feel it."

"I didn't know how to do that before," Korrie said. "But Father's been showing me things. To help." He looked at the table. "I was sort of happier before when I didn't know Grandfather did so many bad things. But now . . ."

"Do what, exactly?"

"Turn off Ache Kay, make the servants listen to me. Make the Force come back . . ." the kid's voice trailed off. "Does the Force feel like music, kind of? Singing in your head sometimes? Like someone singing you a song to make you sleep?"

"Not exactly." Dustil swallowed. The Force presence shimmered faint around the kid now. He couldn't tell if it was Malak's ghost or the kid himself. His original reason for coming here came back in a rush.

"I came here to talk to your father -- to Malak," he told the kid. He felt his face flush. It sounded so stupid said out loud. I came to ask him what it feels like to fall. And how you know when you have.

"Oh," Korrie said. His eyes opened wide. "I thought you came because of our parents." He bit his lip. "'Cause they got married so now it's sort of like I'm your broth -- "

"No." The denial came out harsh. Dustil watched Korrie flinch. "We're not family, kid. I don't care what you saw on the vids. We're not. They're not married, not really married."

Not like my parents were.

"But that's how my parents got married," the kid answered him. Eerie, almost echoing his thoughts. "It was on Mandalore. Father said it was a very happy day. Right before I was born. But my mother married Canderous Ordo too. Why would she do that?"

"I have no fracking idea," Dustil snapped. There was a long silence.

"Why would she do that?" Korrie repeated. His eyes were unfocused. With a chill Dustil realized that Korrie wasn't talking to him at all.

"Throw them off of what?" the kid finally said. "Why don't you tell her it won't work then?" His lip trembled. "Can't you make her listen?"

Dustil's mouth was dry. The Force shimmered, almost tangible. "Is Malak here?"

Korrie turned back to him. "Of course he's here. He's almost always with me, as long as there's Force. The ysalamiri block him though." He looked sad. "But he showed me how to fix it. But I liked them. They're sort of like pets when they're little, before they grow roots. They're dying in here now. Father showed me how to make them die." He took a deep breath. "But only in little places, where grandfather won't notice. Father says if Mother doesn't come rescue me soon then we'll have to do it ourselves. Grandfather's gonna send me away."

"Away?" Dustil echoed, trying to take it all in.

"Away," the kid nodded. "Off-world. Away from Mother. We can't let that happen, Father says." He looked fierce. "No matter what."

Father showed me how to make them die. No matter what.

"You're killing the ysalamiri with the Force?"

The kid wrinkled his nose. "No, stupid. With poison. I don't have the Force. Father does."

I'm not so sure about that. Not anymore. It was hard to tell, the Force was faint here, barely reachable, but the kid felt . . . different somehow.

"Poison," Dustil repeated. If he just kept saying words, maybe he'd come up with a coherent sentence, eventually.

"Arria's house has bugs so she has poison for them. Granslugs. Have you ever seen one? They're kind of cool . . . I traded for some slug killing stuff . . ." The kid chewed on a fingernail. His nails were bitten down to the quick and a little bit bloody. "I liked the ysalamiri. They were like pets. Grandfather never let me have any pets. Did you have pets, when you were little?"

"I had a kerra kitten on Telos." It died when everything else did.

"Are they fun?"

"I need to speak to Malak. Your father." I need to take control of this conversation again. I need to get out of here. Fracking hell.

There was a lump in his throat. Angrily, Dustil willed it to go away.

The kid blinked. "Talk then. He can hear you when I'm here."

"Is there -- is there any way I can talk to him . . ." alone. Without you. This isn't kid stuff, Korrie. It's serious. It's bad. I don't know what it is. I don't know why I came.

Arca's assassins should have killed me with that blaster bolt. I should be dead. Why am I not dead? What did I do?

My father and Revan -- I'm not going to think about that now. I'm not going to think about Mission either. I'm not going to think.

"Do you remember him?" The kid was frowning at him now. That serious expression on that young face. Creepy. He looked like her.

"Huh? Your father? Of course I remember him." He's Darth Malak, the entire galaxy remembers . . .

"Not the galaxy! You!" Dustil shivered. He heard me. How did he hear me? The kid's aura was faint, but it was there. It was definitely there. "You're shouting," Korrie continued, as if all of this was normal. "Stop it. The servants may be scared, but they aren't deaf." He paused, scrunching up his features in thought. "He says if you remember him enough, maybe you can see him. So think about him. Remember him. He says he remembers you."

He says remembers you . . . Stop it, don't listen. Dustil closed his eyes, trying to banish the fear. Think of Malak. Just think of Malak.

"Onasi, Dustil. From Telos." The clipped metallic voice read his name off the roster and Dustil stepped forward, heart pounding.

"Master." He knelt formally on the cold stone floor. Behind him the other apprentices stood in a line. No one dared breathe for fear of the consequences. Uthar and Yuthura stood, arms crossed, surveying their charges for the slightest infraction. Reprisal for any weakness would be swift and final. No one had to tell them that.

The Dark Lord of the Sith loomed above him, black eyes boring through the top of Dustil's skull as if he could see everything in it.

Think of Malak, just think of Malak. The Force presence swirled around the man, drowning out everything else.

"Tell me, young Onasi, what did you think of your homeworld's destruction?"

You destroyed it. Telos was weak. A planet that cannot defend itself doesn't deserve--doesn't deserve to--weak die. The weak die, that is the way of the Sith and you destroyed Telos. Why did you destroy Telos? You killed my mother. You destroyed everything I had --

No. Just think of him. Think of Malak. Just Malak. The Dark Lord of the Sith loomed above him, black eyes boring through the top of Dustil's skull as if he could see everything in it.

"The big star is the Serrano system, and that's Wayland and Bandomeer, twin worlds in its orbit. Twin worlds line the gate to the Hydian Way. When we get to Junction Station we'll stop for supplies. You'll have to go . . . get--more kolto--I cannot be seen here. Not yet. Not far away is Dathomir..."

The big man was crying again. Mekel hated it when he cried. Mekel stumbled against the wall. Mekel fell down and dimly Dustil heard voices saying something, felt armored arms, lifting the other boy to his feet again.

"It's nothing, Kex. I -- no, I'm fine, Blue. I'm fine."

Mekk?

I don't remember Malak, but Mekel does. Mekel does. Why didn't I see it before? He hid it from me, like he hid Revan. But he can't hide from me. Not anymore.

Hardly knowing what he was doing, Dustil reached farther into Mekel's mind, drew on the Force that was there. The Force and the memories.

"We'll build a new world, Coruscanti son."

"Dustil?"

He wasn't exactly Dustil, not anymore.

The ship was small and sleek and expensive. He'd never seen the stars. He --

"What do you want with us, Dustil Onasi?" the voice was flat and metallic and cold. It sounded real.

"I-I want to know what to do," Dustil whispered out loud. His eyes were still tightly closed. He could see the ship, see the shape of the big man in the pilot's chair. Something wrong, something horribly wrong with his mouth. His jaw was . . . rotting away. The air smelled bad and stale and sickly. It made his gorge rise.

Lord Malak? He'd gone inside Mekel's head and somehow now Mekel was inside of his too.

"Malachor -- don't listen," the voice said gently. The hiss of the respirator faded.

"Why not?" the kid asked. Dustil opened his eyes.

Two faces looked back at him. Behind the kid was a tall man in dark gray robes, not much older than Dustil himself. The man had hair, curly brown hair cropped close to his scalp. He had a jaw, a normal one. And he looked like a Jedi.

"I can see you," Dustil whispered. His mouth was so dry. There was a shimmer of Force around the figure, but other than that it looked substantial. Almost alive. His skin prickled.

"There's a children's story," Malak said. "About a young prince who wanted so much to believe in the gods that he willed them into existence. Like all children's stories, it's a lie. But perhaps there is truth there as well. Believe in something enough, and you will see it." A faint smile crossed his wide mouth. "Although those around you might think you're mad."

He glanced down at his son. Korrie got up from the table, walking through his father and went to the cabinets. He pulled out a large metal pot and filled it with steaming water from the washer, slopping it a little as he put it on the floor. The kid sat down next to the pot, pulling something out of his pocket, unwrapping it carefully. A little tin with brown powder inside that looked almost like tea. He sprinkled it on the water and then brushed his hands on his robe. Malak frowned at him.

"I'll wash it off!" the kid protested, and went to do so.

Poison. Poison for the ysalamiri.

"Yes," Malak nodded. "I tried to -- keep him -- safe, ignorant, even as long as I could. But if I don't teach him, my father will. What do you want with us, Dustil?"

Dustil? Lord Malak? Mekel's voice was so hopeful, excited. Almost happy. Dustil slammed the barriers shut. Get out of my head, Mekk, I don't need you now.

"Mekel Jin." Malak's voice was thoughtful. He paced back and forth, but his footsteps made no sound on the duracrete floor. "I -- I had forgotten. Funny, how such a small act can mean so much to someone else. He was promising, Mekel was. Jorak was too blind to see it, the old fool. Uthar always had more sense." The gray eyes were hard, almost cruel. "Why do you shut him out?"

"I don't want him in my head." Dustil shot back. "I want to talk to you. Alone. This isn't about Mekel, it's about me."

"You." The big man crossed his arms. He looked like a Jedi now, but his expression was pure Sith. Anger in it, boiling anger, just underneath the surface. "Aren't you concerned for your father's welfare?"

"Of course I am!" Dustil snapped back.

"And his . . . marriage. Does it bother you?"

"Does it bother you?" Dustil responded. It doesn't bother me because I'm not thinking about it. He gritted his teeth. I'm not thinking about it.

The big man flinched. "If it makes her happy, no." He sighed. "I'm not sure how Red is going to get out of this mess, to be honest. I can guess her intentions -- now. She'll pit herself against the Senate, the Council and the Fleet. And my father . . . even if she was the woman she was once -- I don't know how -- " His mouth twisted.

"That's not why I'm here."

"Then why? I asked for your help once. I tried to warn you to stay away from my father. You're like clay in the hands of a man like that. You're a pawn. You're a hostage now. You do realize that?"

Korrie was pulling open one of the wall panels now, humming something under his breath. He dipped a glass into the pot of water and poured the brown liquid inside the wall. He clucked softly with his tongue and something small and brown slipped out. It was furry. He petted it cautiously with a finger, looking guilty.

"A -- a Sith Lord came and found us. Me and Mekel --and some others. Arca something. A Falleen. She sent assassins after us. It was a test. We -- I -- I passed it. I lived." Dustil took a deep breath. "I don't know why I'm still alive."

"Arca's a Sith Lord? They must be desperate on Ziost." Malak's voice was hard.

"I -- sucked the life out of them. The assassins. It felt . . . it felt . . ."

"I know what it feels like." Malak turned away from him. "Isn't there someone . . . alive you could talk about this with?"

"Only Mekel."

"Then talk to Mekel. Poor Mekel. He trusted me. And then you. Blind loyalty can be an asset in the Sith, until the end, when it finally kills you. Every time." His voice was bitter.

Dustil closed his eyes. This was hard. "I don't want to be like this," he whispered.

"You're lying," Malak said flatly. "If you don't want to kill, then don't. It's that simple for you. You don't know how lucky you are."

Dustil shook his head. "No. Arca said, the Sith were waiting. For Revan's orders. I think . . . I think they're going to kill the Jedi."

"I doubt they'll kill all of them," the big man said. He frowned. "Does my -- does Revan know about this?"

"I don't know. I don't know anything about her." Except she just married my father. Except my father hates her and loves her at the same time. Except she killed Mission.

Except she saved my life.

"You don't want to do this, Dustil." The fake Sith's voice was gentle, and her green eyes were sad. "Put the 'saber down. I won't fight you, but I won't let you hurt your father either."

Except she didn't kill me when she had the chance.

"The Revan I knew would have killed you," Malak said softly. "If it served her purpose. Why didn't you bring these questions to her?" He chuckled. "Ah, that's right, you wanted her dead. Did you ever pay attention in your history classes, Dustil Onasi? Your marks were quite high, but now I wonder . . ."

"You -- followed my progress?" Dustil's mouth was dry.

"I did. I met your father once. Did he ever tell you?"

Numbly, Dustil shook his head.

"He would have done anything for you. He fought in the wars for you. His love for you was like a sun, like a star. I envied him the warmth of it, we had nothing like that by that time. Not anymore." Malak looked at his son, carefully pouring the poison in the crawlspace he'd opened up in the walls. The kid was humming something to himself, a tuneless humming that grated on Dustil's nerves like a vibroblade.

"What happened to you?" Dustil whispered.

"Do you care? Or are you just frightened of the dark?" Malak's face changed, paled, his eyes burned yellow and there was a slash on his lower jaw, black and gaping.

"Both, I guess." Don't show fear, don't back down. "W-was it power or the wars or some kind of ancient Sith -- "

"My wife thought she could shield us from the worst effects. Jedi . . . have never done well in wartime. My wife had a gift. And she was strong. We both were. We were fighting for a cause." He looked at his hands, slowly curled them into fists. "But things fell apart. And at the end, Revan made a decision." His voice dropped. "We made a decision, all of us. The hypocrisy of the Republic, of men like my father was . . . no longer something we could champion. I --" his eyes were gray again and haunted. "I don't think I was in my right mind by that point, I'm not sure any of us were, even Revan. What I felt, she felt -- and when she -- when -- we -- decided, realized, we could never go back -- we --."

You all went fracking insane. I'm not you, Malak. I'd never --

The big man smiled sadly.

You have no idea, boy. No idea what it feels like to feel half your fleet burn, feel a world end under your bombs, to cut people down with your saber, drain their life, to hate so much that it becomes the only sweet thing left to you.

"I felt Telos die," Dustil whispered.

"Not like I did." The gray eyes were like ice. You could freeze in them.

"Why Telos." The words came out empty, but it was still a question. Part of him was screaming and beating his fists against the wall, but the part in control was just asking the question. "Why my world? Why my planet?"

"Red was from there. Sort of. She spent some time there as a child."

Revan. Red.

"I thought -- maybe I could stop things before they went too far. We could never go back, I knew that -- I just . . . We were all mad by then. Even her." Malak's voice was uncertain suddenly. He sounded almost young.

"She was light years away with the rest of our ships. Our new Rakatan fleet, I was leading what remained of the Republic capital command. We were to strike Kuat and then Byss. Take out the shipyards, carve a path to deep core. I --disobeyed. She was asleep when the bombing started. Unprepared. Five sectors away but she still felt what I did. I made her feel every death. Every single one. How many people died on Telos, Dustil?"

"Two hundred million," Dustil muttered. The population of Telos is three hundred twenty-two million, eighty six thousand five hundred and twenty-eight. Lessons from Telosian Civics, third year. Third year was the last year because then there were two hundred million less. Boom. His hands clenched in his lap, useless. All dead, all gone, don't think about it.

"Byss was a world with nine billion sentient lives. Kuat seventeen. Do you think those twenty-six billion thank me in their prayers every night, before they sleep?" Malak's laughter was hoarse.

"That's not an excuse!"

"I'm not making an excuse." Malak shrugged. "It's done."

"It's done," Korrie echoed. Dustil jumped. He'd almost forgotten the kid was still here.

"You've done well, little Mal." The big man looked at his son and smiled.

"When we're with Mother again, promise I won't have to do things like this?" The kid was crying. He had something brown and fluffy and still and dead in his hand.

"I promise," Malak said softly. "Put that in the disposal, Mal."

Korrie wiped his nose with the back of his other hand and went to the kitchen's disposal unit. He pulled open the door and dropped the small dead thing in it. "Grandfather will be home soon," he said, looking at Dustil.

"Can you tell, Mal?" The question was deceptively casual.

The kid doesn't know. He doesn't know he has the Force.

It's safer that way. The big man's head nodded slightly. Yes, he doesn't know. It's just starting, with him. I want things to be different for him than they were for us.

The kid's eyes went blank for a moment. "Yeah." He nodded. "He's leaving the Senate building now."

"Not much time now," the big man murmured.

Not much time for what?

Malak turned back to Dustil. "Your father would do anything to save you. You -- you do understand, don't you, the love a father has for his son?" His mouth twisted, and Dustil knew somehow that he was thinking of his own father, and that love didn't factor in at all.

"Of course," Dustil answered. The words came out more arrogantly than he meant them to. "I'm sorry -- I -- " Frack. I feel sorry for the Dark Lord of the Sith now? Because he's dead? Because his father's an asshole?

"Do you?" Malak mused. The gray eyes scanned his face. "There's a strange empathy in you, young Onasi, even the years in Dreshdae didn't crush it entirely." He sighed. "That will make this easier, I suppose. I am sorry. I regret the necessity. I hope you remember that. Afterwards."

"After what?" Dustil started to get up from the table. Malak hadn't moved, his expression hadn't changed, but suddenly the walls seemed closer together, the air thicker. It was hard to breathe.

"When you -- opened your mind enough to see me you made a link between us. Faint, but it's enough for my purposes. I am sorry. But I need to protect my son. And to do so, I need . . . your help."

"My help?" I just want to get out of here, but how can I get out of here? D'Reev has guards, and defenses, and Malak must know about them and if I help him and the kid, maybe they'll help me and I don't want to be bad, helping the kid would be good.A good thing. His grandfather -- nothing's worse than that old man and he did something to my father. I have to find out what he did to my father and it's better than some crappy Jedi cell, it's better than running to the Sith and I -- I'm scared and I want my father, I want Father -- I --

"I'll help you, Malak," Dustil said out loud. The big man's eyes were oddly luminous and the Force crackled around him like a living thing. It was scary, it was terrifying. And yet -- it was power too. Oddly intoxicating, like it had been back in the bad old days. Back on Korriban. Back in the underground. Back at Mom's with Mekel. "What do you need me to do?"

The big man looked away. "I'm sorry," he repeated. Behind him, the kid glanced up suddenly, eyes wide as saucers. "I need -- "

Something slammed into Dustil so hard that the world went black.

"-- a body . . ." his own lips finished the sentence. His own mouth opened, his own eyes looked down at his hands but Dustil wasn't in control of them anymore. Dustil wasn't himself anymore. It was like watching a bad holovid shot from a drone cam. He could see and hear, but he wasn't there.

Sorry? You're fracking sorry? Get out of my body! Get out of my head! It was like drowning. It was like smothering. It was like dying.

Dustil?

Mekel's voice was so faint, too faint. The thread of consciousness between them narrowed and snapped.

"What did you do?" Korrie's eyes were very wide and scared.

Dustil's mouth opened. "What I had to do, to keep you safe, Mal."

No!

"One of the first lessons we had your instructors teach in Dreshdae. Don't ask dead Lords of the Sith for anything. Don't bargain with them. Don't seek their advice." His voice was harsh. Not quite his voice. Not anymore. "I'm sorry, Dustil. Sometimes the histories are true."

XXX

Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1, Senate floor footage.

Reporter Umani: "Before you go, one last question. Can you tell us, Rear Admiral Cein, what the Fleet has decided to do regarding Captain Carth Onasi?"

Rear Admiral Cein: "He's involved with a known traitor to the state, citizen. We're very concerned."

Reporter Umani: "Do you have any other comment to make at this time?"

Rear Admiral Cein: "No."

"Another call coming through on the comm." Seiran looked exhausted. They'd already heard from half the town. They'd heard everything, from condolences to congratulations. And the questions. Polla thought she'd go insane.

"What do you think she's doing? Do you think she's really a prisoner of the Mandalorians?"

As if I have a clue what the Dark Lord of the Sith thinks about. Frack. Frell. Bloody hell.

At least Junior was sleeping through the chaos. They'd dragged his crib out into the main living room. They didn't talk about it, but they'd set up the house with a siege mentality in mind. Sei had cancelled his work plans for the week, and Polla had programmed their utility droid to cook everything in the fridger. They'd have enough food for an army soon.

"I'm going to set up the perimeter mines," her husband said darkly, dimming the volume on the ever-present parade of commentary and more commentary streaming from the holovid.

"No, don't leave me!" That came out way too helpless and ineffectual. But Polla couldn't help herself. She was scared shitless.

The comm chimed again. They both looked at it and looked away.

"My head hurts," her husband muttered.

"I'll get it." Polla got up and fiddled with the dials to cut out the visual. The Deralian local news had already called once. It was a good thing Da had some friends at the station or they'd be on the doorstep now. They seemed willing to believe her when she'd denied everything. That was how Deralia was.

Even when we all know the iyika-kabat is in the living room, we don't talk about the iyika-kabat in the living room. Not to the media.

It was Ma on the comm.

"About time you called," Polla said crossly. "I've heard from everyone else named Organa on the damn continent." Which was to say, half the continent.

Molla Organa looked injured. Polla switched on the two-way visuals so she could glare back.

"Your father and Mita and I were deciding what to do, dear. And I did try and call earlier. The circuits have been jammed."

"I was thinking maybe we should all move," Polla suggested. "I hear Freina's a lovely place. No tech to speak of, and ships only dock once a year but . . ."

"Oh, Pollie, really. Don't be so dramatic." Her mother rolled her eyes. "What I need to know is, are you getting her something or should we sign your names on our card?"

"Getting . . . who . . . what -- something?" That sinking sensation again. If her stomach fell any lower it would be around her ankles. Polla wasn't sure what other reaction she'd expected. Ma was predictable. And Ma loved a good wedding.

"Revan and her husbands of course!" Her mother looked taken aback at the question. Yeah, right.

"She's . . . I don't know, a prisoner or something? She's on Coruscant? She has no idea who you are?" Polla was pissed. She wondered if she pulled the commlink out of its chassis now, if Seiran could manage to fix it later. We'll need it. For emergencies. For the baby.

"Pollie, dear! Of course she knows who we are! She's you, after all! The poor child, getting married like that all alone, with no family around her . . . I don't know how Mandalorians, or Coruscantis marry but Revan's Deralian. She must be feeling so lost right now, and so alone." A calculating gleam was in Ma's eye now. Polla groaned. She knew that gleam. "I've ordered three eridu robes, you know the ones -- but I got them in black. I really wasn't sure . . . the red we sent you and Seiran . . . her coloring . . .it just wouldn't work. And black is good. It goes with everything."

"Black. You ordered robes in black. Three of them." Matricide really wasn't a crime, if you could prove just cause. Polla wondered if this counted. "Black's great, Ma. Perfect. Just the sort of thing for a Lord of the Sith."

"Oh honey, she's not really . . ."

"You are not signing our names to any damn card. Do you hear me? And don't mention us. Don't you dare!"

Her mother ignored her, as she ignored most things that she didn't find interesting. "You'll have to get her something yourself then, dear. Oh, and your Uncle Boon called. You remember Uncle Boon. Did you know he was transferred to Coruscant? He's done quite well in politics."

"I found out yeah, when I called Aunt Jhone about the present for Seiran," Polla said. Great. Uncle Boon's on Coruscant. That's nice. I wonder if he'll send her Revan a book of Aldaraanian love poetry too. After all, we must like the same things. She shivered.

"He was actually at the party and he saw the whole thing," her mother continued, oblivious. "He's working for the Aldaraanian senator now. You know, the one who gambles."

"Did he mention me?"

"Of course not dear, this isn't about you. This is Revan's day. Shouldn't you be happy for her?"

This is Revan's day. Shouldn't you be happy for her? There were so many things wrong with that--Polla couldn't manage to say anything at all.

Mercifully, Seiran stepped in. "We'll send her something nice, Ma. But you have to excuse us now. Polla's exhausted, and we finally got Junior to sleep."

"I want my grandson to have a real name," Ma began, suddenly veering off on her other new favorite tangent.

"We're working on that." Her husband's voice was so quiet and assured, Polla could have kissed him. Oh hell. She did kiss him.

"You know, the name Revan works for a boy or a gir--" Polla cut the commlink with a slap of her hand on the dash.

"We're not getting her anything," she muttered.

"Of course not." Seiran took her in his arms, and she curled against him, trying to unwind.

"She's not me," Polla whispered, against his chest. His hands played with her topknot.

"She's not you," he agreed, sliding a hand down to her chin and lifting it, so that they eyes met. "You're much cuter." His mouth curved in a smile.

Despite herself, Polla giggled. She joined in, singing the nonsense words softly. In his crib, Junior sighed a little. A sweet baby sigh.

"I'm not her," Polla repeated. "I'm cuter. And younger."

"And younger, and more talented."

"And luckier," Polla added, hoping that it was true.

"And luckier," Seiran agreed, kissing her forehead softly.

XXX

Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1, Senate floor footage.

Reporter: "Do you think she's brainwashed him?"

Psychdroid PS120: "Carth Onasi is a very confused man. It's been no secret in the Fleet that he hasn't been the same since the Star Forge. Whatever evil he faced there left its scars."

Reporter: "There was a rumor that he was looking at a promotion to Admiral soon. Do you think this changes things?"

Psychdroid PS120: "Of course it changes things. Even ignoring the galactic implications, one has to wonder at the loyalty of a man who would switch sides so easily."

He sat down on the chair, heavily. The Wookiee groaned softly at them from the bed.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Revan," Canderous said.

She laughed sharply. "What else could I have done?"

Republic had a bad expression on his face, like clouds gathering over the plains. He'd been very quiet when they explained everything -- well, almost everything -- to him. Too quiet.

"I think General Jiya Sand at least suspects you have some tie to Lin. If he goes to the Fleet with that information . . . or if D'Reev does . . . nine hells, even letting them know of your existence among us before the Senate vote . . ."

"Marrying me off to Ordo may throw them off the scent, we don't need long."

"Ordo is still a Mandalorian clan," Canderous pointed out. "Why would the Senate recognize any Mandalorian clan knowing you're part of the package?"

Revan frowned. "We considered the possibility of exposure before," she reminded him. "It won't matter. I'm in the open now and they'll have to deal with me. And the Senate will recognize Mandalorian sovereignty because D'Reev will want them to. It's in his best interest."

"And the others? So you think they'll recognize Lin as the Mandalore?"

"In the hopes of seeing me ruined? I'm counting on it."

This kind of battle was like no war he had ever fought. Canderous really wasn't sure what advice to give. "We should evacuate the embassy," he suggested finally. "All non-essential personnel. The children. Some of the women." My children. My wives, if I can get them to leave.

Revan bit her lip and nodded. "I'm sorry, Cand," she whispered.

"I am happy for you all," Zaalbar growled from the bed. He spoke slowly, so even a grizzled old warrior could understand his words.

"Happy . . ." Carth echoed. His hand picked at the scab on his cheek.

Canderous sighed again, and looked at the pilot. "It's only a legal fiction," he said, trying to make his voice gentle. Hard to know what barbarians thought about these things, but the pilot was his friend. "However this plays out, it's you she -- "

"Canderous." Carth's voice was hard, and the muscles in his jaw twitched. There were lines in his face that hadn't been there a few weeks ago. Faint gray at his temples too. He looks as bad as I feel. "Zaalbar. Excuse us. I need to talk to Revan. Alone."

Canderous got to his feet heavily. "Of course." He searched for something to say, and couldn't find anything appropriate. Carth didn't look like he would respond well to a warrior's handclasp at the moment. "You -- you should go to her quarters," he muttered. "If Gwen or Aemelie try and rope you into any ceremonies, tell them you're invoking your right as Headwoman of Lin to spend some time with your husband. Alone. They'll respect it, if you put it to them correctly."

"That's probably more prudent than a Force-push across the room and out a window," Revan said. She looked at him, and then looked away. "Thanks, Cand."

"I'll go see if I can start the evacuations," he replied, snapping his helm back into place.

XXX

Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1, Senate floor footage.

Galactic Chancellor C'tek Nal'Gahar: "Sentients of the Republic, six years ago a company of Jedi Knights led by Revan Starfire joined our fight against the Mandalorian threat. Two years later, those same Knights began a war that nearly ripped our civilization apart. Today, we must look to the Mandalorians that started this all for justice."

"Seven months ago, we mourned the loss of the heroes of the Star Forge. The Sith threat was beaten back, but at a great cost. Seven months ago we mourned Revan Starfire and the crew of the Ebon Hawk as the lost heroes of our age. But they are no longer lost."

"I would ask you, therefore, to think of the Revan's life as a scale. Does the good she did outweigh the bad? Is it possible to measure the worlds she saved against the ones that she destroyed?"

She led him to the small suite of rooms the Mandalorians had given her and closed the door. They were alone. She let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding before. Carth was standing there looking at her. There were a million thoughts in his eyes and she couldn't read any of them.

"Carth?" Revan said. She reached for his hand but he pulled it away.

"This -- this wasn't what I expected."

Revan took a deep breath. "It's a legality, Mandalorian law -- to give you some protection -- to -- to stop them from trying to take you away from me again."

"We're married? Really married?" He took a step back from her and Revan's heart sunk. Carth shook his head, rubbing the cut on his cheek. He doesn't understand that yet. "No, that isn't what I meant. You -- you're not what I expected."

"What did they do to you?" She reached for his mind but she couldn't read it. Some Force-users could read the Force-blind -- Malak always could -- but it had never been one of her talents. All Revan could sense was the dark swirl of his emotions, confused and black. Hate was still there too, hate for her. It felt like she was prying and she pulled back, ashamed.

Carth shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "I feel like . . . people have been trying to tell me something for so long . . . and I-I couldn't hear them. Dustil. Rew. Yuthura . . . even your own son. They kept trying to tell me something was wrong -- but all I could see was you." His voice hesitated. "Stopping you, Revan. And now you say D'Reev did this? To me?"

She nodded hesitantly. "Dustil -- he got back okay, the other night?"

It was the wrong thing to say, the glare in his eyes burned. "I had to bail him out of jail, he wouldn't talk to me about what happened . . . did you see him, Revan? Dustil's . . . changed. Did you see him?" The rest lay unspoken. Did you do something to him?

"No -- I went and saw you. Outside your building, the girl in pink. Y-you -- one of the others asked you for an autoprint. I followed you . . ."

"I saw your son, he told me I loved you." His expression was empty. "Rew told me that too."

You've seen my son. You talk to my son. You know my son. Revan bit her lip. "Dustil . . ." her voice trailed off and she wasn't sure how to say it. "Mekel and Dustil. They're -- linked somehow. "

"A Force bond," Carth said.

Revan nodded.

"Like you and Bastila?"

"I don't know. I --"

"Who fell, Revan, you or Bastila? When you went into the Temple that day, you were yourself, you were Polla, you were the woman I loved and then when you came out -- you changed."

"Both of us fell," she said. She looked at the ground, wishing the horrible guilt and regret would vanish into it.

"But you shared her dreams, Malak tortured her and you had to feel it. It wasn't your fault really -- somehow. That link made you that way, changed you." He spoke with the urgency of a man desperate to believe.

"No." It would be too easy to just believe that. But what I felt in Bastila's mind wasn't that simple. Her feelings. Mine. Malak . . . Revan took a deep breath. "Carth, when I thought I was Polla Organa, I thought I knew how to pilot a ship, man a gunner turrent, race a swoop bike, and drink an entire bottle of Tatooine wine. But when I tried to do those things . . ."

"You were terrible at them." Carth tried to laugh, but it came out choked. He raised a hand to her cheek, pulled her closer. She felt his heartbeat through the horrible sequined dress uniform. His lips pressed against her forehead. Almost a kiss. His cheeks were smooth and that seemed wrong somehow. He'd shaved, and he smelled like something expensive and citrus, not as she remembered.

"The things that Revan Starfire D'Reev knew how to do came easily to me." She made her voice dead again, felt him flinch at the inclusion of D'Reev in her name. "So easily, I stopped wondering why I knew how to use a lightsaber, why I could do things with the Force no master ever taught me, why I knew languages . . . And then when I learned I -- I didn't want to be her, but I was her. I am her. I-I don't remember half of what she was, but I think like her, I fight like her, I --"

His head was buried in her hair and his arms tightened around her. Now is the part where you're supposed to say you love me, love me as I am, Carth.

But he said nothing. The enormity of what she'd done, what she'd risked hit her like a blow. The Fleet will know, everyone will know. They could refuse Oerin's claim, they could dissolve this diplomatic immunity in a heartbeat and clap me in chains. I could never see my son, D'Reev could have me killed tomorrow, I might never see Malachor, I just married Carth and he doesn't even understand it . . .

"Carth -- " she began, hesitating.

"Don't," he said. He pulled her closer and his lips were on hers. There was a galaxy of desperation in his kiss, and she answered it. The rest of the world dimmed to a faint whisper. Carth pulled her closer, and Revan pressed against him. The both fell awkwardly against the narrow bed. The mattress was filled with sand and it was lumpy and cool under their weight. His hands tugged at her blouse, and she pulled him closer, scrabbling at the buttons of his jacket. Her breath was as fast as his.

"Seeing you again," he murmured, pressing her closer. His lips nuzzled her neck, tracing a line across her collarbone while his hands moved lower. Underneath the strange cologne he smelled like himself and she ran her fingers through his brutally-cropped hair, marveling again at its softness. Her hand traced a line down his neck and he shuddered. "This," he said huskily. "Is --what -- matters."

Rationality fled, as they rolled over. The mattress was narrow and lumpy and cold but it didn't really matter. Nothing did.

XXX

Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1, Senate floor footage.

Galactic Chancellor C'tek Nal'Gahar: "I assure you with every confidence that all arms of the government, and every voice that holds a fact in this case will be considered before any decision is made. I plead for your patience while we make a full investigation."

"Why Revan has returned, I do not know. That and many questions must be answered before we make the final decisions. Decisions that may yet affect us all. Please let your elected officials weigh this situation very carefully . . . and above all -- don't panic."

Afterwards, she slept and he watched her. There was a pile of weapons and clothing discarded carelessly in one corner of the room. Half-hidden underneath a scrap of pink jumpsuit he found familiar blasters fastened on an unfamiliar belt. Carth slipped one out of the holster and sat on the floor staring at it, listening to the soft sounds she made in her sleep.

Almost nightmares, as familiar as the scent of her skin and the arch of her brows.

Promise me.

"You told me once that you'd let me decide if you deserved to live, Revan," he said out loud.

She murmured in her sleep at the sound of his voice, but did not wake. Carth closed his eyes.

"I don't want to make that kind of decision."

We're married. We'll go away somewhere with Dustil and Korrie. We'll live happily ever after.

He tried to believe in that. He had to believe in that. It was the best of all possible alternatives. He held the blaster in his hands, weighing the worst one last time. Almost an hour passed before he noticed the blaster wasn't even charged.

Carth glanced at the bed. Her green eyes were half-open, watching him.

"How long have you been awake, beautiful?" he asked her softly.

"I don't know," she murmured. Her eyes didn't leave his face.

"In the morning, we have to find Dustil," Carth said. Find Dustil. Rescue Korrie. Run away somewhere. If he thought of it as a plan perhaps it would become one. His hand went to his cheek nervously and picked at the scab there. "We're really married?"

"By Mandalorian law," Revan said. "I-I had a dream that I married you on Deralia."

"I wanted to marry you on Telos before --" Carth stopped talking. The rest of the sentence hung between them anyways. Before I knew what you were.

She rolled over, turned away from him, faced the wall. "Come back to bed, Carth. Please."

"Polla, I --"

"Revan." Her bare shoulders were stiff. He could see the lines of tension etched in the curve of her back. Her skin was beautiful, the color of milk, dappled with gold freckles here and there, like constellations of stars. "Don't call me Polla, anymore, Carth. Please. Ever."

You love the woman, I think you'd at least remember her name.

He went to her, brushed his lips gently at the place where her cropped hair met the base of her neck. She shivered. He wrapped his arms around her. "Can't you be both?" he asked. I think of you as both. I love you as both. Even when I can't forgive the part of you that's Revan. Even then, I still love you.

"No. I wish I could. But I can't." Her voice was hard. "Revan has a son. Revan has Malachor. Polla . . . is nothing. She doesn't even exist."

"But she does --,' It was the wrong thing to say. She pulled away from him. He let her go.

"Maybe," Revan said quietly. "But she's not me."

XXX