Bastila, Chapter Four...Conclusion...
Everywhere...
The Jedi Council was in an uproar on Coruscant. How could this happen again, their greatest Jedi falling to the Dark Side? What was happening to the Force and their guidance? How could they have misjudged so?
On Tatooine, the Jedi had been in hot pursuit of a rogue Sith band that was fleeing into the desert. They were nearly on them when it hit. The waves of anguish, the calling for help, the desperate need for assistance...the pain. As one, the six Jedi turned and looked toward the heavens, their quarry escaping even as they were distracted. Looking among themselves, they knew that none of them had ever experienced anything like this.
Korriban shook and so did the dregs of the Sith left there. Whatever was happening, the Dark Side was at work and had been brought into direct conflict with the Light. Whatever happened didn't matter. They knew that it did not bode well and they trembled in fear.
Master Vandar looked onto the cityscape of Coruscant, but the beauty he usually saw did not reach him now. Bowing his head, he could only trust in the Force and...hope.
Aaron knew that a zenith had been reached. He didn't know what, but he did know who.
And now...
Bastila's jaw worked, but no sound came out of her mouth. Instead, she could only stare as the silhouette of a man materialized out of the shadows and walked towards her, a walk that had never ceased to make her catch her breath. She knew that he would be beautiful when she was able to see him clearly in the light, but this time...this time, it would not end well for either of them.
As the light struck across his face, Bastila could see that he was torn between anguish for her, for Adria, and anger at what Bastila had done, leaving Adria to a fate that could only mean torment and eventually death. It wasn't lost on him that she had turned to the Dark Side again, either. That seemed to tear at him the most. As he stopped just a few, brief steps away, Aaron LightBlade...Revan...only had one, simple word, just a small question that carried the weight of the galaxies on it. Quietly, he asked, 'Why?'
At first, Bastila's jaw quivered with her own anguish, the anguish of a lover who had disappointed, of a child whose heart was breaking, of a companion who had betrayed their closest friend, but even as she started to step forward, she felt the Dark Force rise up within her, felt the power suffuse her, and with it, the hate. Hardening herself, she straightened as she looked Aaron in the eyes, her jaw clenched with the emotions she had held in check for so long. Although Adria had evoked her ire and interfered with her rightful place within the Jedi, it had been this man, both Aaron and Revan, that had caused her true downfall, and it was he who must pay, above all others.
With a grimace of hate, Bastila spat, 'Why? WHY? You, above all others, should know why...Revan!' She said the last with venom infused disgust. 'You who held the galaxy in your hand and let it slip to a few weak Jedi, who allowed yourself to be betrayed, and who is now toadying about for the Council like a meek little lamb. You were the most feared man in the Galaxy...for a time...and now...look at you! You disgust me! You talk of the Jedi Code with one breath, betray it the next with talk of love, emotion.' Spitting at his feet, she looked him in the eyes and said, 'Using the bond for your own gains, you raped me and drove me to the Dark Side, not by Malak's hand, but by your own. You have no idea of the power you could wield if you would only grasp it. Aaron is pathetic. Revan?' She laughed. 'A caged puppy with no will of his own. I listened to your talk of love and how we could be together and, when the time came, you didn't fight or resist, you just bowed to the will of the Council and went on your way with no thought of me. Go away, Aaron. I have no use for you now.' Turning her back, she looked to where Adria was suffering, the pleasure of her punishment now lost to Bastila.
At the touch on her shoulder, she spun, Dark Force infusing her as she shoved. Aaron flew back through the air to crash into a heap of overturned garbage cans. Igniting one side of her lightstaff, she walked towards him purposefully as he stood up and shook off the refuse. He raised his head and met her eyes, his compassion replaced by anger.
With a chuckle, Bastila said, 'So, Revan isn't as far away as one would think.'
Aaron clenched his jaw as he said, 'You're wrong, Bastila. Anger does not lead to the Dark Side. Not when it is controlled, in check, but you wouldn't know that. You've let your anger turn to hate, your jealousy of Adria, of myself, rule you. Your passions have been your guide and they have made you hate. My anger is my resolve. I am angry that the Dark Side has victimized you, not angry with you. I still love you, Bastila, and I will save you. Please, let me help you!'
Bastila laughed, her voice echoing off the walls of the alley, drowning out the whimpers from behind her. 'Pleading, Aaron! Pleading? The great Jedi, Revan, Aaron, whatever, whoever you claim to be now, can do little more than beg! How spineless and ashamed you must feel. Be gone from here, Jedi! We are done now. If you come back, I will take your life, you soul, and I will send you to the Force.'
As she turned away, Aaron stumbled out of the refuse heap and towards her, his hand outstretched to her. Bastila felt herself twist in slow motion. Aaron's hand grasped his side where a trickle of blood flowed...or was he reaching for his lightsaber...his face a mask of anguish...or was it hatred...he reaching for her...or was he attacking...the Dark Side welling within her even as his emotions thrummed along the bond...or did he gather his own Force...Instantly, time flew into high speed. Aaron moved toward her, one hand outstretched, his other hidden in his robes. Bastila snapped around and thrust out her lightsaber towards him, the blade traveling point first towards his chest. With slight resistance, she felt it hit and then Aaron's body was pressed against the hilt held in her hands, her own blade protruding out of his back, the sick smell of burning flesh filling the air. Aaron's mouth worked just inches from her own face, but he said nothing, the look of disbelief in his eyes telling her that it was too late, her course was set and the irrevocable had been done. Shoving him away, agony filled her. She spun from him to seek help, but her eyes only fell on Adria and the men that had assaulted her. The last man kneeling above her raised a knife in the air, then plunged it down into Adria's chest and Bastila knew that it was too late to stop him, to stop this chain of events that had overwhelmed her, drawn her, overpowered her. Turning back to Aaron, she watched as he knelt in the street, his head bowed and his hands clasped to his chest. As she took a grating step forward, her feet too heavy to lift, Aaron raised his head and looked at her, but it wasn't Aaron's face she saw. It was Revan.
Welling out of the mouth she had once so tenderly kissed, maniacal laughter filled the air, Bastila recoiling as it rolled over her. As she watched, the laughter died away and the body that had been Aaron, Revan, collapsed to the slush-filled street and lay still. Frozen in horror at what she had done, Bastila watched as darkness surrounded the body, almost like smoke, as a shade began to rise from what had been her lover, her friend. With deepening despair, she watched it coalesce, forming into a thing of her own nightmares.
In a raspy voice, the shade spoke, freezing Bastila's heart in her chest. 'Yes. YES!!! I am free! FREE! Stupid Jedi! You didn't think I was gone, did you? You didn't think that your petty attempts to subdue me, to strike me down would succeed? Through your own folly, through the bond you formed, you allowed me to live on, and that...' the shade that was Revan laughed, '...Through that, you have allowed me to live again!'
With a cry of despair, Bastila launched herself forward, her blade slicing through the shade to no avail. Revan raised what passed for an arm, and she felt the power of the Dark Side of the Force strike her and send her crashing to the wet street of the alley. Her head smacked the asphalt and stunned her so that she barely caught the next words. 'Stupid Jedi. When you confronted me on my ship, do you think I didn't know Malak was about to destroy me? In the instant before his attack, I planted the bond you formed with me! I knew the Jedi would seek to save me, use me, to thwart Malak, and I knew that, unless I planned for it, I wouldn't survive. Perfection. Perfection! And like a good little slave of the Council, you did just that. Bravo, Bastila. Bravo. But like all good things, your use to me is through. When you die, I will be free to reclaim my title as Dark Lord of the Sith!'
As the shade of Revan raised his hand to strike down Bastila, a figure materialized out of the shadows and faced him. 'Uh, uh, uh, Revan. Not so fast.' As the shade turned on him, Angel grinned. 'Now that I know how you did it, how you used the Dark Side to survive, planted the bond in Bastila, have influenced her and whittled her down, nearly drove her insane...I'm pretty sure I know how to fix it and break your hold on her forever. How am I doing? Pretty close?'
The shade of Revan laughed again, but Angel could sense the nervousness, the unexpectedness of this. With a snarl, Revan confronted Angel. 'And what, precisely, do you think you can do, puny dog? I am a Master of the Dark Side, the most powerful of my kind. You hold no sway over me! Do you think that you can just banish me like so much garbage?'
Angel's grin grew wider. 'Yeah, I'm pretty sure, smart ass. I am the Kwisatz Haderach of the Bene Tintallin and I'm the most powerful psionicist on this planet, but, just in case, I didn't come alone.' Gesturing to his right, Angel continued to grin as a being of power stepped from the shadows, unveiling his presence to Revan and Angel. Revan recoiled as the robed figure stepped forward and lowered his hood. As the newcomer stepped into the light, his elven features set with resolve, Angel said, 'Revan, meet the High Lord Priest of the god of Magic, Elric the Greater, and my son, Warhawk. Warhawk, meet Revan.'
'I can't say it's an honor.' Warhawk rumbled.
The shade seemed to swell with power as it gathered the Dark Force to itself. With a scream of defiance, Revan wailed, 'Do not seek to stop me! You are a bug beneath my heel!'
'May be, Revan, but right now, you're just a shade and priests are pretty good about stomping shades.'
'Got that right, Dad.'
'Shall we, Warhawk?'
'Let's.'
With a scream of defiance from Revan, Angel and Warhawk moved forward and the battle was joined.
Masters Vandar and Zhar stood alone in the Council Chambers on Coruscant, their heads bowed, as a battle was waged untold universes away. Looking up, Vandar's eyes met Zhar's as he said, 'And so it begins. The second war for the fate of the Republic...and the redemption of Bastila.'
On the bridge of the Reclaimer, one figure dropped to his knees and screamed, aides rushing to his side only to be pushed away by the flailing waves of Force emanating from him. In terrified agony, two beings fought for control even as they realized the futility of it. A long way away, the real battle took place, the outcome in doubt, and a soul that was loved by one and hated by the other the prize.
Bastila lay in a sprawl, her cheek pressed to the wet cobblestones of the street, eyes glazed, as the scene unfolded before her. She couldn't move. Her breath came raggedly, an inventory of herself telling her that she had smashed ribs, her spine was crushed, and her life was dwindling away, yet she watched through fascinated eyes, the pain removed from her. It was only a distant throb. She couldn't help but watch...and hope.
As the shade of Revan swelled with power, Warhawk reached to his wrist and removed the miniature glaive held there on his bracer. As Warhawk spoke the words of power, the glaive lengthened from the miniscule adornment into the full seven-foot weapon of Elric that it really was. Angel began a circle to the left of the shade, gathering his own strength for the struggle to come. Drawing from the earth, wind, and water, he felt his own powers swell, those of the elements, even as he focused his mind to resist whatever Revan had to give, hoping against hope that he and Warhawk were up to the task of taking on a full blown Sith Master that had transcended the bounds of a mortal form to become more powerful than imagination.
As they gathered their strength to fight, Revan fired the first volley. As a Jedi, he had been impressive. As a Sith, devastating. Now, he was nearly a god. Revan screamed in pleasure as the Dark Side filled his disjointed, spiritual form and poured outward into the streets. When a release of pure power seemed imminent, uncontrollable, Revan grasped the power and subdued it, bringing it completely and fully to his will. With a curse, Revan took the battle to the Tintallins with a vengeance.
Revan ignored Warhawk as he closed in on Angel, the unexpected fury causing the man to take a half step back in surprise. Revan focused his ghostly form into a solid weapon, his arm crashing against Angel's upraised forearms. The force of the blow crushed the muscles of Angel's forearms and rang audibly against the metal of his skeleton. Revan felt himself shoved away by an unfamiliar power that filled the air with a silvery flash. His strength surpassed Angel's physical might, but the other man's adamantium skeleton, retaliated with its own protective magic and saved its possessor's life. Angel crumpled to one knee in pain, the flesh of his forearms smashed and bloody. With that sudden impact and stop, Revan saw that the resistance had left Angel in a small, circular crater where the street had given beneath the force of the blow.
Revan turned from him, sensing the approach of another from behind. Joyful pain swelled through him as he released the Dark Powers he now possessed into a solid wall of energy, its power surpassing an ordinary Force Wave by an order of magnitude before which even the Council would tremble. As the power rushed out from him, Revan spun in place, watching everywhere and nowhere as the wave flung the kneeling Angel into the building across the alley, the structure's fire escape crashing down to bury him.
Bastila watched the wave come, unable to respond or defend herself as her broken body slammed like a rag doll's into a pile of garbage, the soft refuse unexpectedly saving her life from a crushing blow. Even so, she felt the trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth, the first sign of her lungs filling with blood. Her life would end soon and she would join the Force...or not. She wondered briefly, would the Force accept her, a traitor, tainted... she would soon know.
Revan poured out more power to crush the pesky mortals. Warhawk planted the end of the glaive in the ground, the point held in front at an angle. Revan felt a brief hint of irritation when he realized the glaive cut through the power and sent the brunt around Warhawk like water around a river rock. Gritting his teeth, Warhawk looked ahead into Revan's ghostly eyes, his own power burning in his blue within blue eyes as he fought the onslaught, sheer will channeling his god-given magic to drive a wedge into the power that Revan threw at him.
Before he had turned to the Dark Side, Revan had been a powerful and compassionate Jedi. That very compassion drove him to fight against the Mandalorians, sent him into deep space in search of...something...and brought him back. Now, years later, he found himself on the cusp of victory only to be challenged again, just like the Council had challenged him before. Poor, pitiful, pathetic being. Don't you understand? Can't you see that I offer hope? And yet you challenge me! ME! For that, you must suffer...and die! Revan could feel his absolute hatred swell within him, this petty mortal in front of him the personification of what he felt for those fools in the Council who had lacked his vision, his knowledge, that even Malak had been unable to see. If the entire universe had to suffer so that he could lead them into a time of enlightenment, so be it! I will start with you, stupid child, and then I will take the Universe itself!
With a scream of defiance, Revan sent a surge that splattered against the point of the glaive, his own sustained surge dying out with that last as Warhawk's boots scraped against the cobblestones, sliding back the barest inch, that the only evidence that Revan's blast had affected him or the barrier of the glaive. As Revan's power faded, the blue flame of the glaive died away, the night becoming still as no sound filled the air save the ragged breathing of Bastila from the refuse pile.
Warhawk straightened and brought the glaive into a defensive position. A small stream of blood appeared and ran freely from one nostril to drip off of his chin. With that first drop of blood, Revan could feel, sense, and taste the victory that was before him.
Warhawk had no power left to mount an offensive. He'd used all his reserves just to sustain his defense. As the sweat ran into his eyes, Warhawk sensed that strange power from before swell again as the Revan-shade grew to tower over him. Black and purple evil eclipsed all the darkness in the Megaverse with its vileness. Reaching for any source of magic that could sustain him, Warhawk drew it back into himself to replenish his power for the coming onslaught. Contrary to all of his teachings at the foot of Elric, Warhawk experienced something he had never felt since becoming the High Lord Priest of Elric. For the first time, he had a moment of doubt...not in Elric, but in himself. Before his might, a Shade of any sort should have been easy work, but this one wasn't. Against all odds and contrary to all of his teachings, this...Revan-shade had defied all of his clerical abilities to turn or banish spectres or ghosts, beings of negative energy that he had taken as rote within his religion. In that moment, he doubted his very ability to serve Elric...and it tasted foul.
Bastila could no longer draw breath, even to scream. She was drowning in her own blood, her own personal crisis having brought her to this lonely death, apart from her friends and, worse, her first and only love. She knew she was going to die, but she never imagined that it would be after she had fallen so far, become less than the garbage she now lay in. Despair sapped her will her and her heart broke. She had only one choice left. Just a simple fact. As her life left her, Bastila ceased her resistance, closed her eyes, and surrendered herself to the full will of the Force.
Angel felt like crap. He focused his strength and pushed himself from beneath the rubble. He had never been hit that hard and he wasn't looking forward to it happening again. That sucked. It took all his strength to push himself up. The crumbled fire escape creaked and groaned menacingly, threatening another collapse. Angel shoved the rusted and torn metal aside, sending pieces flying in every direction. As he staggered to his feet, his forearms began sealing off the blood flow, his pulped muscles reaching and drawing themselves back together as his healing factor kicked in. His hands flexed and jerked as tendons reattached themselves, his strength returning to him as he stumbled out of the wreckage. He looked up at the swelling form of the Revan-shade over Warhawk and knew that it was going to be a long night, far longer than he had possibly imagined. Son of a bitch, but he had underestimated the Force, Light or Dark.
'Hey, punk! First blood to you!'
The shade spun and cackled. 'So, you've come to kneel before your master.'
Stubbornness and his Tintallin arrogance refused to accept defeat, heedless of the pain of his injuries. Grinning in spite of everything, Angel spat. 'No, not really. Actually, I'm back to kick your ass.'
Warhawk asked, 'What kept you?' Warhawk's eyes bored into Revan, his outward appearance far removed from his fear, but Angel saw the moment of doubt anyway. Warhawk was reeling with an internal conflict that would wash over any Empathic Sensitive like a tidal wave and, if they didn't turn the battle soon, he would give in and all would definitely be lost, least of all Bastila. Angel would lose his son, too. Serving Elric had become the core of who Warhawk was. If he were to lose that, his soul itself would be meaningless and Angel wasn't going to let that happen.
Trying to change tack, Angel grinned and said, 'I was thinking about your wife and got distracted.'
'Very funny. Can we get on with this?' It hadn't helped.
Without further quip, Angel grimaced as three eighteen inch blades snapped out of the backs of each hand from the artifact skeleton beneath his skin. Rushing forward, he struck the shade, the magic in the Toishi sufficient to strike even an incorporeal being. At the same time, Warhawk dropped the defensive position, snapping the point of the glaive towards Revan, the blade glowing with power.
'Te si con ni...po se nic ElreK...' With the words of power uttered, a beam of pure white energy shot towards the shade. Revan, threw out what passed for arms, a red shield snapping between him and Warhawk to intercept the pure power. With a flash, the energies collided, Warhawk sustaining the flow even as Revan recoiled, shield intact but faltering, magic meeting the full power of the Dark Side, the unfamiliar power of one disrupting the unknown energies of the other.
Seeing his chance, Angel leapt forward into the specter and attacked with the whistling blades. He stabbed the Toishi into the shade. Revan screamed in pain. The shield dropped and magic tore into the specter and sent it slamming into the building behind it.
Warhawk thought That was interesting.
Before Warhawk could capitalize on the situation, Revan sent the Force slamming into him where it picked him up bodily and flung him towards Angel. As he recovered, Angel saw the inbound behemoth of his son flying towards him just in time to catch the brunt of his bulk and roll across the street in a tangle of arms, legs and weapons. As they untangled themselves, the shade, confused by the solid impact, struggled out of the crumbling rubble of the building, pulsing with power that surged and deserted him in waves. Across from him, Angel and Warhawk managed to get to their knees to prepare for the next assault.
Looking over at Angel, Warhawk panted, 'At exactly...what moment...did we lose control?'
Grimacing back, Angel replied, 'Oh, just about the time you walked out of the shadows.'
'Mmm.'
'Ready?'
'Sure.'
'Get ready, Muther...'
As Angel opened his mouth to scream, a part of the building that the shade had slammed into became a flying projectile, hurling into the two and disintegrating around them. The Tintallins threw up their own shields to absorb the brunt of the attack as brick and mortar rained down around them.
Warhawk said, 'Would it be too much to ask you not to taunt the Sith Master?'
Grinning back, Angel said, 'Yeah, probably. Hey, I am a Tintallin, after all.'
'Forgot about that.'
'Let's go.' They leapt at Revan, battle cries filling the air. Toishi and glaive whistled through the air to slam into Revan even as he fought back with pure Dark Force, both sides taking and dealing their share of damage.
As the guttering flame that was Bastila dimmed, Bastila felt something she had never had before. Peace. As the last of her life faded, Bastila felt the warmth of the Light Side fill her and infuse her. So, I will have redemption and not destruction. A surprise, that. After betraying the Order not once, but twice. Yes. A surprise. As the warmth increased, Bastila felt her body lifted into the air, her limbs and head limp, hanging as her body rose ever higher. The battle that was being waged just a few feet away was lost on her as the overwhelming presence of the Force infused her. To her surprise, she felt her life returning, her crushed spinal column fused back together, her ribs re-knit themselves, the blood drained out of her lungs even as the vessels that contained it sealed. Slowly at first and then faster, she felt her heart begin to pump that life sustaining fluid, the coldness that had inundated her sliding away to be replaced with a warmth that she had only dreamed of. And then, the pain was gone, washed away in the light that had infused her, washing her clean of the internal injuries and cleansing her outwardly so that she no longer reeked of the garbage and filth she had been submersed in, both physically and spiritually. As she felt herself made whole again, she began to descend back to the ground, amazed that this was what it was like to be one with the Force, not at all what she had expected. With sudden realization, she found herself kneeling as if in meditation, she feeling the cold stones beneath her knees, her hands clasped with her index fingers pressed together and erect. Raising her head, she opened her eyes to see the battle before her. Warhawk and Angel battled to defeat Revan, obviously losing. Confused, she looked around, the alley still dark and forbidding, the wet cobbles beneath her soaking through the cloth of her pants, a cold breeze cutting across her cheek. Instead of being one with the Force, she had been healed by it. Revived. Reborn. With suddenness, she realized the danger she was in even as she reveled in the newness of it all. She snapped her head around, looking for her lightstaff, a voice filled her and caressed her, bringing her awareness to her internal eye, no longer focusing outward. It was Vandar.
'Returned to us you have, Daughter of the Force.'
'Yes, Master, but the situation is dire. My friends, saviors, are in great distress.'
'Seek to save them you do.'
'Yes, Master.'
'Your strength with the lightsaber you seek to use. Your gift you ignore.'
'I don't understand, Master.'
'Understand you do, Bastila. For the first time, yes.'
'Master?'
'Your gifts you should use, Bastila. Help them you will. Yours the victory will be.'
'As you say, Master.' As he faded from her awareness, Bastila looked once more to the battle and then bowed her head. Concentrating, she called on her Battle Meditation and poured it into Angel and Warhawk.
It had not gone well for the High Lord Priest of Elric and the Kwisatz Haderach of the Bene Tintallin. For the most part, it couldn't have gone much worse. Having attacked Revan with the glaive and Toishi, they had repelled, but not stopped Revan. Changing tactics, Warhawk sought to turn and then banish the shade, his futile attempts to use his clerical abilities as he was taught being ripped or rebuffed by Revan, he responding with the Dark Side by draining the magic away just as the spells were taking form. Even when distracted, Revan had been more than a match for the two. When their assault had stalled and Revan had beaten them back, Angel turned to his significant Psionic abilities, slicing through all of Revan's mental defenses to shut down his mind, destroy it even as the Council had rebuilt it. Attacking Id and Ego, Angel had had his way with the Sith, cutting out pieces of the Sith Master's memories, putting in memories of warm puppies, doubts, fears, loves lost and gained, and anything else to distract or blunt the power he faced, but to no avail, even his formidable powers and attacks only enraging the creature more, driving his hatred and anger to unparalleled heights. Drawing on the Dark Side with that same anger and hate, Revan had not only healed his own mind, but had repelled it back onto Angel, his own cognitive powers shattered by the counterattack from Revan. Muzzily, he returned to the battle, throwing every trick he had learned from the Bene Gesserit, his own masters, and his own natural abilities only to be quashed, countered, or injured.
Attacking with blade, his own magic, and his mind, Angel sought to throw Revan off balance, changing his attack from a physical one to emotional, driving a Psionic Spike deeply, implanting doubts and fears, and then thoughts of compassion towards those weaker than he. When the backlash came, he blocked some, but not all of it, only to counter with a storm of fiery magic that exploded around the shade, all for naught. Not one to give up, he refused to acknowledge that they might be doomed. Warhawk was again sent crashing into another ruined building, his blood flowing freely, and his left arm useless and hanging at his side. Even as he watched Warhawk wearily push himself to one knee and bow his head, praying, Angel knew it wasn't enough. It was a surprise when he felt the wash of another presence over him, a warm tingle that gave him hope where there had been none only a moment before. When Warhawk raised his head, their eyes met, Angel realizing Warhawk had heard the answer even as he had.
From somewhere out of the ether, Elric's voice caressed them, Angel not a worshipper, but privy to the message anyway. 'Have faith, my sons. Victory is at hand.' It was then that they felt it. From Revan's reaction, so had he.
All at once, Warhawk felt himself joined to Angel, their bodies broken and bloody, their will to fight, to win, assaulted but undefeated. Pushing himself up, he knew what Angel was going to do before he did it and knew what he had to do at the same time. As they closed in, he could see out of the corner of his eye the kneeling form of Bastila, clear blue energy surrounding her and knew she was the source of their newfound determination. Not only that, he felt himself revived, his mage sight now able to lock onto Revan as something more solid, tangible, a definitive target. Damn the fact that he had been nearly ineffective against him alone, Angel more so than he. Now he knew what would hurt Revan, how he could shred the Dark Force much as his own magic had been rendered ineffective. For the first time in this battle, Warhawk experienced clarity of thought and action against the unknown.
Angel's eyes glowed with an inner fire. So, he can be hurt. Good. Time to make the donuts. Focusing his mental will, Angel prepared himself, his needed actions clear in order to compliment that which Warhawk was preparing. With a howl, he leapt, Toishi already arching through the air.
And so the battle was rejoined. As Angel struck with physical blows, Warhawk struck with his own impressive magic. When Angel was repelled, Warhawk moved in with glaive and Toishi of his own, his one arm useless, but the other more than sufficient to the task. As he did, Angel focused his mental powers to disorient and confuse the shade, driving him further and further towards madness and despair. And so it went, physical and magic, physical and Psionic, and with each sortie, each volley of power, the shade that was Revan grew smaller and smaller, his powers ebbing away, the combined might of Angel and Warhawk, fueled by the power of the Light Side and Bastila's own Battle Meditation forming them into a cohesive unit that was near unstoppable.
When the shade had shrunk to near man size, both Angel and Warhawk withdrew, focused, crouching as they sought to strike the final blow that would send Revan to hell.
Crouched, one hand thrust in front of him, a low rumble filled Angel's throat. Letting it flow out of him even as he gathered the power into himself, he let the ancient words from a thousand generations build to bursting as he nearly exploded with the power of it. 'Mwwaaaaaaaaaa...' building, growing, until the walls vibrated with it. With exhalation and focus, the words exploded from him to strike the shade of Revan in a growing wave that was The Voice. 'Muad'Dib!' Like a tidal wave, the rhythmic words of power slammed into Revan, shattering his mind and will even as his physical form shuddered, his incorporeal form became solid for the briefest moment. It was what Warhawk had been waiting for.
As Revan's form solidified, Warhawk raised the glaive, his eyes going to heaven, his mind and spirit focused for the magic to be performed. Uttering the words, 'Tinchu mongan estrus helinus,' Warhawk snapped the point of the glaive down, pointing it at the center of the Revan. Above, the angry purple clouds swirled like the center of a hurricane, glowing red for a brief instant before a column of red and white flame shot down, engulfing Revan and blinding them all. Holding the point steady, the heat washing over him painfully even as he poured out the power, Warhawk felt himself empty and drain, Angel's presence departing from his awareness, his own resources gone. When he felt the magic fade, there was only a ten foot wide charred spot and no shade, no presence indicating that Revan had been there.
Walking over to Angel, he steadied his swaying father with one hand, speaking to him as his eyes traveled to the now collapsed form of Bastila. She had to be exhausted. He knew he was.
Looking where Warhawk looked, Angel said, 'For a bit, she was at peace, but the despair...it will take a little time. She is suffering a backlash right now, but she'll be fine.'
'Good. Are we done? I think I hurt something in this one. I'm going to need time to recover before...if...we have to do this again.'
Angel grinned and then grimaced as a new ache caught him. 'No, that was it...for now. I can handle it from here. If I have to, I'll call in some of your other priests...maybe all of them. At any rate, go on. We...she'll be ok.'
'Fair enough.' As he said it, he began to fade and then was gone.
Turning, Angel limped over to where Bastila still lay in the muck of the alley, her sobs now just shivers along her shoulders, the true battle taking place with her more so than with Angel, Warhawk, and Revan. Kneeling and nearly falling, Angel managed to lower himself beside her and pull her to him, cradling her head as the sobs began anew. For a long time, he cradled her as she spoke of betrayals and crimes, things she had done, things that couldn't be undone, and the damning of her own soul. Stroking her hair, he whispered to her, calming words of comfort, but there seemed to be no solace for her. Holding her tight, the muck and stink of the alley that had become Bastila lost to his senses as he focused solely on the woman who could have been one of the greatest of Jedi, yet had fallen to the Dark so easily because of the mistake of the Jedi Council and her own. As she turned her eyes to his, he looked down at her and smiled, her face washing between crumpled despair and complete confusion.
With soft words, he said, 'It will be ok now, Bastila. Revan's hold is broken.'
That brought on a fresh wash of tears, several minutes before she could look back at him, her whimper barely heard as rain began to fall. 'But...but, I killed Aaron...Adria...is she...you can't know how it feels...what it feels like to have done that...the emptiness...I couldn't fill it...oh, Angel...' He could feel it. How could he not? He was both telepath and empath and her hurt was so deep...despair, longing, utter agony deep in her heart. He knew that she was more vulnerable now than when he had first taken her to the cabin, this time critical to her healing. Stroking her hair, he turned her face to his and began to speak.
'Bastila, you have not done all that you think. This battleground wasn't the environment around you; it was your mind, the most important of all. Adria is fine, Aaron alive, and Revan is gone from your mind and soul. Listen to me and I'll show you the way back. Are you willing to try?'
In broken sobs, she said, 'Yes...yes.'
And so he began. As he spoke in quiet words, he let each be infused with his hopes, his passions, all the things he wanted for her, filling each with his own strength and convictions. And as he did, the rain ceased to fall; the alley became lighter, the muck and the stench falling away. With each word, each stroke of his hand on her face, Bastila soaked in his strength, took his convictions as her own, let his own spirit encompass hers and guide her, fill her with the light she had once held so dear to her. With reassurances that Aaron and Adria were fine, that she could return to them, not as a fallen Jedi, but as one who had earned her place among the greatest Jedi, confident, but not arrogant, in her power, in control of her emotions, her passions, he could feel her spirit lighten, the alley now a street, the shabby walls becoming cleansed, glowing white, and the sky turning from a threatening grey to a clear blue, Angel guided Bastila back towards the Light Side and away from the Dark Side she had so feared. In full knowledge, she made the journey, Angel teaching her one last lesson before helping her to her feet.
'Now, Bastila. Always remember this. It has carried me many times. Repeat it. Fear is the mind-killer.'
Curiously, she repeated, 'Fear is the mind-killer.'
'Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration.'
'Fear is the little death...'
And so he taught her the Bene Gesserit, now Bene Tintallin, Litany of Fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it is gone past me I will turn to see fear's path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.
By the time she was able to recite it from memory, Angel had pulled her to her feet and they faced each other, he smiling down into what was now her own, calm visage. When she finished the Litany without faltering, each word ingrained, he smiled, and not as a teacher, but as one who was proud to stand with a friend.
'Your masters would do well to learn that little bit of wisdom.'
'Yes, they would.'
'Look at yourself, your surroundings.'
'What?'
'Look.'
As she did, Bastila saw that the air had cleared, the darkness was gone, the muck, stink, the walls, it had all changed. Now she stood in a glowing world that was fresh, cleansed of all the influences of evil that had once so infused it. Wonderingly, she took it all in, looking down to see that she no longer wore the black robes of a Sith, but was garbed in white, she, too, cleansed of the filth that had infused her of late.
Turning to Angel, she asked in amazement, 'Is it real?'
He smiled. 'In a way. It is the perception of how you now view yourself, at peace and ready to face whatever comes your way. Are you ready to go back?'
'Back? Back where?'
'Home.' Stepping forward, Angel took Bastila's face gently in his hands and kissed her lightly on the lips. When he raised his head, she opened her eyes to find that she was lying on the couch, her head cradled in his lap, her clothing unchanged, his fingers gently stroking her face. As she watched, his face cleared from the deep concentration that he had been in, he opening his eyes, and looking down at her, smiling.
'Are you ok?'
Bastila couldn't reply. Her voice was choked away, the peace, for the first time in as long as she could remember, unmarred, placid within her. As she looked at him, she could only turn her head into his shirt as the tears fell down her cheeks.
Angel sat back in his chair and watched the cigar smoke curl into the air of his office. Beside the window, Bastila stood with her back to him, staring at the lights of Denver as dusk passed into full night and the city came alive. It had been nine days since she had started her journey to the Light and, even now, she was just feeling the strength return. Through psionics and magic and her own will to return, they had taken a remarkable journey, he using his mentat abilities coupled with his powerful mind to take a great deal of that journey in the mental world requiring less in the physical. Now, she stood before him with a deeper understanding of the Force and a willingness to use that understanding. Although he hadn't been able to eliminate that which Adria had feared and distrusted, those teachings of the Council so ingrained in Bastila, he had put her on the road to understanding that would serve her well in the future. In silence, they waited until the door chimed and their visitor arrived.
Adria walked into the room dressed in her full Jedi regalia, lightsabers strapped to her waist and prepared for...whatever came her way. Turning, she locked eyes with Bastila. As Angel watched, some message passing between them that was beyond his capacity to read. When the sparks ceased to fly, Adria took the opportunity to look Bastila up and down, not understanding what her eyes clearly told her, her senses unwilling to accept. Angel had not told her what he had done or intended to do and she was unaware of anything that could change someone so quickly. She only knew what the Force had told her and that had been...very little.
Bastila wore a jumpsuit cut off the shoulders and that exposed the sides of her tight waist. Around her waist, she wore a solid silver chain with diamond studs and heeled sandals with matching diamonds. All in black, she bore no other adornments other than the belt. With her nails done and lacquered and her hair cut and styled, she would be a knockout in any company and Angel was proud of the job he had done. Even when she had come here, she had been all sinew and muscle, but now she looked competent, dangerous, and like a woman, all rolled into one package. Physically and mentally, he had made her everything he could in the short time permitted.
Looking over at Adria, he saw a slight nod of...if not approval, then one of acceptance. Turning her attention to Angel, she said, 'I see you and Bastila have spent some time together. She looks...good.' Her eyes flashed imperceptibly when she said it, but Angel did not pursue it. He knew she didn't want Bastila to be too attached when the time came to leave. At another slight nod from her, she knew that Angel got the message and was satisfied.
'I'm glad you approve. I think when you return to the Republic, she will have a better understanding of what she is capable of and how to resist those things...best left to those wiser than she.'
Adria cracked a smile at him with his turn of phrase. 'Maybe those wiser than she can see the change as well as I can.'
Turning to them, Bastila said, 'I am in the room. Please do me the courtesy of speaking in the present tense where I am concerned.'
Angel smiled even as Adria braced for a fight. When none came, she looked curiously at Bastila, but said nothing.
Angel, on the other hand, did. 'How could we ignore you when you could stop traffic like that.'
Whatever outburst she had expected, Bastila didn't respond as Adria would have expected. 'I believe, Angel, that you are a pig. Is that the correct word?'
He grinned. 'That's the one.'
'Good. Then I stand by it. And thank you for the compliment.'
Adria looked at Angel and he could tell she could have been knocked over with a feather. 'I...I see it was time well spent.' Turning to Bastila, she said, 'I don't want this to sound condescending, Bastila...' She paused, but Bastila only met her eyes. 'I'm proud...to stand by you and think...you'll make a fine Jedi.' She meant it.
Again, Bastila surprised her. The tension between them was still there, but Bastila only said, 'Thank you, Adria. I appreciate it.' Turning back to the window, she continued her study of the Denver skyline in silence.
Turning back to Angel with a small degree of wonderment, Adria's mood shifted slightly as she said, 'I don't want to rain on the proceedings, but I have sensed a disturbance in the Force and fear our time here grows short. We may have to leave before we originally planned.'
Angel nodded his head. 'I understand. Although I don't have your affinity for the Force, I can sense that all is not well, for you or for us. It would seem that the Force might be speaking to us all.' Bastila nodded, confirming that she too had sensed the disturbance. 'Be that as it may, you won't be leaving tonight and I have a few...'
Angel was interrupted as his private line chirped. Picking it up, he said nothing, but listened as the person on the other end of the line informed him of something that was obviously important. His eyes flicked between Adria and Bastila before he responded in a guarded tone. 'Contain them and move them to the lower bays...quietly. We don't want this getting out. I'll be there as quick as I can.' Looking between the women again, he said, 'Don't kill anyone you don't have to. That would just make things a little messier than they already are.' Hanging up, he sat back and took a deep breath.
'Is there anything I can help with?' Adria looked at him expectantly. During his conversation, that disturbance had become an earthquake. Bastila had turned to face them and looked even more intent, but still said nothing.
'Maybe later, but for now...I believe you have a date?' Adria smiled at him. 'And who is the lucky man?'
'Men. Shadowlake and I are going out and he was bringing along someone called Windancer. We're going dancing.'
'And afterwards?' Her eyes twinkled, but she said nothing. He knew he was being teased. 'Be that as it may...' Turning to Bastila, he said, 'Why don't you go get comfortable and I'll be in shortly. I have something to take care of. Adria, have fun on your date.'
'I'm sure I will.'
Standing up, Angel left the office, Adria preceding him. Behind him, Bastila headed for the dining room where they had planned to enjoy dinner.
Angel walked into Sub-level Three and couldn't believe his eyes. He thought he had been prepared, but the reality even caught him off guard. Although Adria had described it, he had only believed her abstractedly and the reality was much more impressive. As he approached, he heard the cacophony of battle from the other side of the immense bay. As he walked around one of the giant robots housed there, he saw the cause of the disturbance and shook his head. He would have thought they had learned.
With as much resistance as they had been able to coax out of the engines, the Ebon Hawk had been pulled inexorably towards the bay and had been forced to land when the doors closed behind them. Shadowlake had been right when he had insisted on installing the tractor beam he had souped up for Angel, telling him that it may come in handy one day. Obviously, it had. Luckily, for the inhabitants of Denver and, maybe, unluckily for the crew of the Hawk, the Rift had opened literally on the doorstep of the Keep. In a fit of panic, the control room guys had activated the tractor beam and had stopped the ship from parking in Angel's lobby; something they knew would have irritated him immensely. Miraculously, Adria and Bastila had been so involved; they had missed the ship's untimely arrival through the bay windows of his office, it visible for only a brief second before he had been called. If it was any consolation to them, he had missed it too.
Having briefed the security on the possible arrival of others from the Republic, Bastila and Adria's presence common knowledge both of who they were and where they had come from, they had been prepared for the arrival, but not for the method. There would certainly be pay raises involved with this incident.
As he surveyed the damage being done, he took in the new visitors. With the Rangers and Stormtroopers using non-lethal methods to contain the motley crew of the Ebon Hawk, it was proving difficult to subdue them. In front of the loading ramp, he saw the man that must be Canderous Ordo; wielding the long, double-bladed haft of the Yusari Brand that Adria had told him of. He saw the man holding off five Rangers with similar weapons, jabbing one of the guards with the point, the blade shimmering off the personal shield that he luckily wore. It would have been a killing blow. Behind Canderous lay the crumpled and shapely form of what must have been the Twi'lek, Mission Vao. No doubt stunned by the weapons of the guards, she would be out of the fight for some time, that time coming soon if he didn't stop this fiasco. Looking to Canderous' left, he took in Carth Onasi, the man laying down an impressive amount of fire power while using only two blasters, he kept the suppression teams at bay while one of the droids covered his flank. HK-47 was an excellent shot and dropped two guards in two different directions turning without computation to engage additional targets. The other droid, T3-M4, was ensconced beneath the ramp of the Hawk, one arm inserted into what Angel believed was an access port, the others laying covering fire for his compatriots. Of the Wookie, Zaalbar, there was no evidence, but Angel wasn't counting on that to last. Taking in the entire scene one last time, he used an old Bene Gesserit trick of there not there and waded into the melee. With everyone not seeing him, he walked right between Canderous and Carth.
'Hi there.' As he spoke, Carth spun to fire, spraying blaster fire off of Angel's own personal shield, the shield dropping dangerously low under the assault. Dropping into a solid stance, Angel slammed the heel of his hand into Carth's sternum, sending him flying into the landing gear of the Hawk, he crumpling there and laying still, Angel thinking that that was going to sting in the morning. As he blew his cover, HK-47 didn't hesitate as he turned and took a bead on Angel, he posing the greatest threat of them all. He was too late. As HK pulled the triggers, Angel shoved his hand forward, palm open and hit the droid with a telekinetic push. HK-47 flew through the air only to come to a sudden stop against the bay doors. As Angel watched the impact, HK's head went one way, one of his arms the other, and his body dropped to the floor. Sensing the danger, he spun and threw up his hand only to catch the blade of the Yusari Brand in the palm, just inches from his face. As the blade sliced through to Adamantium laced bone, Angel grimaced, but snapped his hand shut and held the weapon immovable as he took stock of the situation. The blood trickling down his arm was of no concern at the time, but the large Mandalorian in front of him was.
Angel growled, 'This is not necessary.'
Canderous cracked a grin. 'Says you. You attacked first.'
'Doubtful, Canderous. I'm willing to bet you came off shooting.' He had obviously caught the man off guard by using his name, but didn't have time to capitalize on it as Zaalbar made himself known. Rushing off the ship, he roared in anger as he rushed Angel, Angel sighing in irritation at the beast. Throwing up his free hand, he sent the Wookie flying back onto the ship where a loud crash acknowledged that Angel had made the desired impression. When he had silence again, he looked back to Canderous. 'I apologize, but I'm going to have to restrain your crew until we work this out.'
'I don't think so. T3!' As he said it, belly guns dropped out of the Ebon Hawk and began laying suppressive fire around the bay. Neither Angel nor Canderous moved as they weren't in any danger, but the Denver Rangers and Keep Stormtroopers scattered before the onslaught.
In annoyance, Angel said, 'I do and, right now, you don't have much choice unless you want to press the issue. Their weapons do have a lethal setting.' He felt Canderous tug at the Yusari Brand and then cease, as Angel didn't even move. With a raised eyebrow, Angel said, 'If you'd like to discuss this in more suitable surroundings, I'd like to offer you a drink and work this out, but your crew goes to the brig, or the infirmary until we do.' He glanced over his shoulder at Carth and then to HK-47 before adding, 'Or the repair bay. If not, you get a free trip to the infirmary and the brig.'
'Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?'
'Yeah, but I'm even more sure of the fifty guys behind you.'
Canderous looked over his shoulder, sure that the main combat was over, for now. Taking in the guards already in the room and the army pouring in from every direction, Angel felt him relax. Grinning at him, he said, 'I get your point.' Angel released his hold on the weapon and Canderous stepped back, offering him the beautiful but deadly instrument. 'I'd like that back.'
Angel grinned at him in return. 'Keep it. I don't want to have to keep up with it.'
'You're not going to disarm me? Us?'
'Them, yes. You, you're the only one conscious and look like you can keep up with your own stuff just fine. Besides, you're not going to try to escape are you?'
'Not right now.'
'Good. It makes things easier. C'mon.' Leading the way, the guards began the cleanup as Canderous left with Angel, the latter wrapping his hand until his healing could seal the wound. He promised to leave the ship as it was until he could be given a tour and could be heard to say as they walked away, 'Have you ever had single malt scotch?'
'Can't say as I have. What is it?'
'Ambrosia from the gods. You're in for a treat.'
Canderous took the proffered drink and looked at Angel. Taking a sip, he took the cigar Angel offered him, but he seemed unsure what to do with it once he had it in his hand. Holding it awkwardly, he sipped the scotch and raised his eyebrows in pleasure. 'Good stuff. I might have to talk you out of a case or two.'
Angel smiled. 'My pleasure. As for why you're here...'
'I didn't say.'
'You didn't have to. Bastila and Adria are safe. Now that that is out of the way, what questions do you have?'
From his reaction, Angel could tell that very little surprised Canderous, but he knew he had just shocked him. Pouring him another drink, he took an awkward drag off his cigar and leaned back in his chair. 'And where are they now?'
Angel grinned. 'Well, Adria is out dancing and Bastila is having dinner while I'm occupied with you.'
'Dinner, huh. Is she a prisoner?'
'No, not by a long shot. She goes wherever, whenever she likes.'
Canderous gave Angel an appraising look and said, 'I'm more willing to bet she's bedding someone or being bedded. That's been more her style of late. Be more evasive next time or just outright lie. It's easier.'
Angel was not used to an adept like Canderous and found it refreshing, even if he were wrong. 'Well, it is the truth. And I was hoping to join her before your unexpected arrival. It's late here and I would like to spend more time with you, but I figure you could use some rest too.' He clapped his hands together. Canderous turned to see the door open and a beautiful oriental woman walk in. At six feet tall with a slim waist and extensive curves, she turned the head of every man that walked by her or within a hundred miles. 'Jackie, would you see Mr. Ordo to a suite and put him up for the night. Oh, and see to his every need.' Canderous looked back at him with a quirked eyebrow. Angel met his gaze passively. 'If you'll accompany Jackie, she'll take care of anything you want.'
He nodded and said, 'I'm pretty demanding.'
'She's up to the challenge.'
'Good. I can wait as long as you see to my crew. You seem trustworthy enough...for now.' Touching the haft of the Yusari Brand meaningfully, Canderous grabbed the bottle of scotch from Angel's desk and followed Jackie out, leaving the door open. With a grin, Angel stood up and headed to the dining room and Bastila. This was going to take a bit of explaining, but not before he had time to work it out for himself.
As Angel walked into the room, Bastila looked up from her meal, Angel taking in just how beautiful she was and how far she had come from the fallen Jedi to the confident one in front of him. More so, she was now a competent woman, in control but not so much so as the slightest push would send her reeling. She had become so much more.
In that crisp, and sexy, Angel thought, accent, Bastila asked, 'Was that something overly important, an emergency perhaps, or is the Force in the habit of sending me false alerts that something is going on. I'm pretty sure I have more emotional control than that.'
Taking his seat, Angel grinned at her. 'No, you are correct. It just didn't seem pertinent to involve you right away. I wanted to warn you first.'
'Warn me? Of what?'
Angel took a breath before saying, 'The Ebon Hawk just arrived.'
Bastila didn't shoot out of the chair like he had thought she would, but slowly lowered her fork and met his eyes, wary. Pausing, she chose her words carefully. 'And where are they now?'
Angel grimaced. 'Well, for the most part...'
Bastila sat forward at his hesitance. 'I could threaten all kinds of misery on you...that is what I would have done before, but, for now, just tell me the truth.'
'Have it your way. Except for Canderous, they're all in the medical or repair bay. They...resisted.'
Bastila snorted at that. 'Came off shooting more like. Who commanded?'
'Canderous.'
'Yes, they came off shooting. He is hot-blooded that way.'
Angel grinned. 'I'm sure that's not a big deal with you. You seem to like them that way. You and Canderous ever...'
Bastila cut him off with a look. 'You are certainly forward...downright aggravating is more like. That is none of your business.' Picking up her fork, she took another bite.
'You can see them in the morning, Bastila. For now, let me get it sorted out.'
'Fine. Just keep your comments to yourself.'
Ignoring her, Angel laughed. 'Well, I'll bet it's an interesting story. I like those kinds of stories.' Picking up his fork, he took a bite of the steak, savoring the spices as he chewed slowly.
Looking at him again, Bastila said, 'You are the most morally corrupt individual I've ever met. You have two wives, several children, and...how many mistresses or whatever do you keep in the wings? You run an intelligence service for that corporation...uh, Horukin Enterprises, and yet you seem to have your own agenda. How in the world did you ever find time or inclination to help me?'
Without missing a beat, Angel said, 'You have a great ass. Nice bod all around, I'd say.'
Bastila tsked at him. 'You sure think highly of yourself. I think your wife called you a pig. Yes, a pig. Very apt.'
Instead of picking up the banter, Angel grew serious. Leaning forward, he caught her eye, she unable to look away as he said, 'Yes, Bastila, I am morally ambiguous. I have mistresses even though I have a wife, two actually. They're not in the dark about that. Hell, they picked one of them. I kill people, cold bloodedly sometimes...I take drugs, although mélange is geriatric in nature, not mind altering or whatever. I fight for the common good of my family first, this city second, and the survival of Rifts Earth last. We are in a war and the enemy is worse than the Sith on their worst day. Maybe my methods are different than you are used to, maybe I am morally corrupt compared to what you're used to, but my honor and the honor of the thousands of generations I carry around in my head as the Kwisatz Haderach guide me so that we as a family and ultimately the people of this planet survive. Everyone has their own little rulebook, but those rules don't apply to me. I am Tintallin, cursed to procreate by my very genetics, the same genetics the Bene Gesserit bred into me, and bound by a code of honor that few could fathom, much less understand. I will take what I want and give all I have to accomplish what I believe to be right. If I am misunderstood, so be it. That's not my problem. I have other things to worry about.' Almost frustrated, he said, 'Now, did you bed the damned Mandalorian or not...and if so, when, where, and how much?'
Taken aback, Bastila countered, 'You are quite the conundrum, Angel Tintallin. Quite a conundrum indeed.'
'Yeah, maybe, but you didn't answer my question. And you do have a great ass. One I wouldn't mind exploring.'
She dimpled at him. Mischievously, she said, 'Finish your dinner. Maybe, after that, I'll tell you all about Canderous and Korriban. Who knows? I might even show you my ass.'
At that, Angel chuckled and began to eat his steak in earnest. Pausing, he said, 'At least Adria has taught you the no strings attached approach. At least I hope she has.'
Grinning, Bastila said, 'We'll see after dinner.' She had no intention of following through.
The next morning, Angel walked into the room where the crew had assembled and nodded to Canderous. He had given Canderous time to explain to his people what was going on and had assured them that Angel would keep his word, backed by Adria when she had learned of their arrival. Looking around, he took them all in, his eyes lingering on Mission as a smile crept across his lips. She was no less subtle as she dimpled back at him, flirting openly even in the face of danger. Walking back to the door, he opened it for Bastila, Adria already in the room, the tension between her and Carth obvious. For Angel, the reunion between the two seemed bitter sweet, but he would have to ask Canderous exactly what went on later. He wasn't entirely sure he would understand. Leaving them to their privacy, Angel left and headed to his office.
Adria sat back and crushed out her cigarette. Exhaling deeply, she said, 'And that's it. That's what has been going on. I'd like to explain more to you of rifts and this planet, but it looks like there will be time for that. You might as well get comfortable. Angel and his people are working on it and as soon as they find us a way back, we'll be on our way. In the meantime, take a day off.'
Canderous leaned onto the table and said, 'And you can trust these people? Are you sure?'
Adria grinned. 'I hope so. My cousin married one of them. Anyway, whether we find a way back or we find some way to communicate our status, I don't see us having much of a choice. Do you?'
Canderous sat back and steepled his fingers in thought. Bastila had been mostly silent, but had put in where Adria hadn't known the whole story. They left out her turning, but it was obvious to the others that something about her had changed, even Mission mentioning how...calm she appeared. Sitting back forward, Canderous said, 'Well, there's no hope for it, then. We dig in and wait.' Looking at Adria, Canderous said, 'The General put me in charge, but that was when he assumed you were down and out. It's up to you. If you trust these people...'
'I do. For now, you're still the man. As for the rest, like I said, take some time off, explore, do whatever. The Keep has plenty of resources and they'll be glad to take you on a tour of Denver or whatever else you want to do. Just make sure you have someone with you until you learn your way around and we find something out.'
'You heard her, people. Let's go see what there is to see...and keep your eyes open.'
As they all stood and left, Bastila paused at the door, Carth and Adria still at the table. Shaking her head in understanding, she closed it quietly behind her and headed to her own destination.
They sat in silence for several minutes until Adria turned to Carth to find him studying her. With a sigh, she said, 'Carth...'
Interrupting, he said, 'So this is where you're from.'
She sighed again. 'Yes.'
'Does this place have a library?'
'Yes.'
'Then I'll be there for a while. Maybe...' He walked to the door and opened it. Turning to her, he said, 'Maybe we'll talk later...beautiful. I'd like to catch up on my reading.' Walking out, he shut the door behind him, leaving her sitting in the room alone.
Leaning forward, Adria put her face in her hands and fought to control the tears she knew would come.