They Have Brought Truth, Chapter 50 Changes

AN. OK this is the last chapter for a while. This story is NOT over, I'm just going to be gone for a while. Because I'm constantly bombarded by requests for Jokob to appear your wishes are granted even if he's only a memory. While I'm in the hospital I will attempt to write more, and follow the discussions on the boards. But if you don't see me I'm either really busy or dead. But the odds of death are minimal. For all of you who read this story I hope you feel like it's a good use of time. You have my heartfelt thanks for all of the comments, thumbs up, or just browsing. Please continue to leave any criticsim, or adivce. I need it. Thanks again, and May the Force be with you all.

Silver

Dustil was very nervous. He was in the Temple archives researching the Hyperspace Wars for a report he had to make for Master Vrook's history class. It wasn't the report or even his teacher that unnerved him. He actually found the old, grumpy Jedi Master extremely funny, and enjoyed drawing his many expressions. No, his nerves just shattered when he had to be in the same room as Mistress Atris. He worked very hard to control the fear that assaulted him when she was near, to no avail.

'Dustil, get a hold of yourself! It's not like you've never been around someone who doesn't like you. You grew up with kids who wanted to kill you. This is nothing,' he mentally reprimanded hi mself. Like usual, he couldn't get it together. His feelings made no sense at all. Atris didn't like him mostly because he was an Onasi, and his father was involved in a 'forbidden' relationship with Revan. It had nothing to do with him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stop the headache that was coming on.

Atris watched the young man trying desperately to be inconspicuous. He was so young, and utterly contemptible. His fear radiated off of him, tainting the serenity of the atmosphere. Yet as she watched him move with the awkwardness of youth, her mind drifted back to a time when light and innocence were still sheltered within the walls around her, a time before Revan had brought the darkness of the galaxy inside the ancient halls and corrupted a bright and hopeful generation. A bitter smile appeared on Atris' face. Over a decade had passed from those happy days.

Had she really been so young? A girl of eighteen, happy and carefree, going on exciting missions, and spending time with her powerful cousin, Arren Kae, along with their friends. Had it truly been real? Caught up in her thoughts, her mind's eye transformed Dustil into another awkward, young man...On a dark, stormy winter's day, a vibrant Atris was beaming with joy. She was sparring with her Jokob. Lonna Vash was demonstrating the Makashi saber form and because her own Padawan was ill, Atris was assisting her. It was times like these that the galaxy could fall to pieces and nothing could change her happiness. She watched in awe as the younger man executed the complex Makashi form perfectly. After the sabers were deactivated, she looked up at him and noticed a slight scowl on his face.

Atris didn't know what to say to him. She wasn't sorry for what she had said, but she didn't wish to offend Jokob any further. She began walking to the dining hall, hoping that he would follow. At first, she couldn't turn her head, thinking that he would be gone, but when she did he was following her. Joy surged through her and she made up her mind to tolerate Revan. Jokob's friendship was worth it.

'Until the day he chose her.' Atris was startled from her musings by a crash from the back of the archives. Two small boys raced around the corner and stood before her, bowing as low as they could. They were twins. Normally, one would have been sent away to another enclave. During the war with Revan and Malak, the Council decided the safest place for all of the children was at the Temple.

'What happened?' she barked.

'Mistress, one of the archive droids had a short-circuit and crashed into the west wall,' they said in unison.

'Go to your clans,' she ordered, hiding a smirk as they hurried away.

Dustil watched the two little boys run out. He was reminded of the first time Uthar had dismissed him. A chill ran through him and he struggled to focus. He was finished for the day and he would be leaving Coruscant for Onderon in the morning. But first, he had to log out the information he needed for his report. Since he was only an Apprentice, Atris had to approve his selections. Taking a deep breath, he steadied his nerves and approached the intimidating Mistress of the archives.

'Mistress Atris, I need your approval to withdraw some information I need for Master Vrook's history class,' he said calmly. 'I am so glad I know how not to show my fear. But why am I afraid of her?' he thought to himself.

Atris glared at him. She despised him as a product of the Sith. To allow him to even set foot in the archives was a disgrace. One day she would have the chance to root out every last seed of corruption in the Order. All of those within the Order tainted by the dark side would be destroyed. Then it would be as it once was, pure and strong, the beacon for all that was good in the galaxy. The Sith would be nothing more than an entry in the very archives she stood in.

Dustil looked the Echani Jedi in the eyes, and felt his headache begin to pound even harder. Why didn't she just approve his request and let him go? Was she trying to put him in his place? Dustil's jaw clenched at the idea. 'Sorry, Mistress. I don't cower for anyone, not even the Jedi Order. I'm here and I'm staying put, so get used to my face,' he said in his heart.

Atris saw the willpower burning in his eyes, and again was reminded of Jokob, who had faced the Council with the same burning determination. Sickened, Atris approved his request. 'Leave now!' she whispered with a voice as cold as death.

Dustil stood straight. With all of the dignity of a king, he bowed respectfully and said, 'Thank you. May the Force be with you, Mistress Atris.' Without waiting for a response, he left the archives.

Once outside, he let out the breath he'd been holding. The last time he'd been that emotional was when he'd seen his father on Korriban. He hadn't been able to keep his self-control then. He realized he was changing for the better. He caught sight of Bastila walking ahead of him and caught up to her... 'Hello, Bastila,' he said.

'Hello, Dustil. I thought you'd be with your father by now. What's wrong? You look as if you were having a disagreement with someone,' she asked, concerned for him.

'I don't know what it was, but I think I won for now,' he answered with a grin.

'If I remember correctly, you're leaving for Onderon tomorrow. Are you nervous?' she asked, ignoring the slight apprehension she felt by his statement.

'Yes, but more so for my Dad. He's got to keep a senator and a Jedi master happy, while on a shake-down with a new crew. It won't be easy for him. I'm excited too. On Korriban, if I got an assignment it usually meant someone was going to die. It will be interesting to see how I've changed over the last year. I hope I live up to everyone's expectations,' Dustil said. His hands clenched, denoting the depth of his true feelings.

Bastila understood the burden of high expectations and she knew that Dustil had two sets of almost impossible standards to meet. The first came from the Order. They would be watching his every action for any trace of the dark side. Then there came the burden of his family name. His father was a legendary hero of two wars. The Republic would expect Dustil to follow in that tradition. She privately worried that the pressure he would be under would be too much for him.

'You must always remember to trust in the Force. It will always guide you in the right direction. Try to think of people's expectations for you as guidelines. When I was an apprentice, I thought of expectations as goals I had to achieve. Otherwise, I would not be living up to my potential. I was wrong. I would be unhappy to see you make the same mistake,' she counselled.

Dustil thought over Bastila's words for a moment. She had been something of a legend on Korriban. Whenever the Republic forces had a rare victory against the Star Forge armada, her name was so vilified that most students hoped she would be captured so they could have a hand in breaking her. If the Sith had hated her with such a passion, then he could only imagine how the Jedi viewed her as the only hope of the Order. Now that was pressure. 'My circumstances seem easy compared to that,' he thought.

He suddenly saw her in a new light. Not only was she a trusted friend of his father, she was a wise and compassionate woman who had much to teach others about the Jedi way. 'I'll remember that, Master Shan,' he said with a respectful bow.

Bastila's first reaction was to scold him for teasing her when she was being serious. Then she realized that he was very serious. It felt surreal to be addressed as 'master,' even though it was not uncommon for an apprentice or Padawan to use the title when talking to a Knight. Dustil was the first person to honor her with that respect. Suddenly the shame she had been battling for over a year lessened its hold on her. For the first time since she had been redeemed, she felt worthy of the title of Jedi. She smiled in thanks. The two walked until they reached the Temple entrance where Dustil left her for home.

Back at the apartment, Mission was in a frenzy trying to sort out the last minute packing she had to finish. She had completed preparing her own things, but Carth, like a typical man, had put off his own preparations and now he had no time to do it himself. 'What did he do while he was alone all of those years?' she asked herself as she carefully folded his uniforms into his travel pack. When all of his clothing and personal items were safely tucked away, she went to the weapons closet.

She took out his armor, which had originally belonged to Darth Bandon, and the upgrades for his blasters. She knew that he would want to tinker with them when he got bored. She smiled as she packed away many little treasures acquired from Suvam Tam's workshop. He hadn't been exaggerating when he said that the Baragwin weapons and armor he made were the best in the galaxy.

Carth's pair of blades was the finest anywhere. Many dark Jedi had seen their end by those edges. Those swords could cut though just about anything, except a lightsaber. Even cortosis bore scars from encounters with Carth's blades. 'I better wait for either Dustil or Carth to get home, instead of packing them myself.' She didn't want to drop one and end up with a missing foot. She grabbed the stealth belts, her own Baragwin stealth armor, and modified vibro-blades. She might be going on a peaceful mission with an entourage of Jedi, but that in-and-of itself was a target sign for trouble.

The holo-net was swarming with senators legislating for the Republic to disband the Order. 'Who knows what will be waiting for us?' Mission thought that the senate must be high on some new spice. The Jedi were the only defense the Republic had against the Sith. How could they even dream of disbanding them? It made no sense to her, but when she had asked Carth about it, all he would tell her was, 'she was too young during the Mandalorian Wars to understand.' She was offended by the comment, but knew that he was right.

'His jacket! I can't forget his jacket,' she muttered. Going to the coat closet, she pulled out the hideous orange garment. She could not understand his pathological attachment to such an ugly piece of clothing. It was stained with Gods knew what and was older than she was. Still, Carth refused to part with it, and Revan backed him up. As she was packing it away, she noticed that it was torn across the back. 'If he's going to wear this *thing* he should at least take care of it!' she thought.

Fortunately, Revan found some orange leather to match it and Mish could mend it for him. Taking the offensive garment, she gathered her sewing tools and the leather scraps. 'He better thank me for this. An Admiral of the Republic fleet can't go around in rags,' she muttered to herself.

Dustil walked into the apartment with dinner he'd gotten at a local restaurant. It was his turn for 'kitchen duty' and he was much too tired to cook for three people. He saw Mission sitting on the couch yelling at the holo-net. Putting the food in the kitchen, he walked into the living room. 'Hey, you do know that the holo-net can't hear you. Right?' he said, laughing at her indignation.

Mission just glared at him. 'I know that whoever is running the senate is on a bad spice high,' she snapped. 'First, some idiot from Kalist VI forms a subcommittee to look into disbanding the Order. Now, Onderon is thinking about leaving the Republic! Is the government even working?! How is this happening? Ever since we beat Malak, the Republic has gone to h-...'

'Mission!' Carth barked sharply, walking in on her ranting.

'I know, 'a lady doesn't swear.' Am I really hearing this? Tell me it's all a really bad joke,' she huffed in disbelief.

'Master Vrook says the senate looks for a way to disband the Jedi every twenty years. It's probably all smoke and mirrors,' Dustil said, dismissing the news.

Mission rolled her eyes. 'Yeah, like I'm about to take that old windbag's word for it! He still believes you and Revan are Sith, Dustil. I'm surprised he knows which end his saber lights up from,' she said with distain, her lekku twitching rapidly.

'Mission, that's enough! Yes, the Republic is in bad shape, but remember that there have been three terrible wars in only fifty years. That's not as long as you think it is. Now, let's get cleaned up for supper. I'm starving,' Carth said, bringing the subject to an end.

Dustil noticed the dark circles under his father's eyes, and the weariness that radiated from his body. He set the table and served up supper. He was determined to make his father take a sedative. He knew that if Carth didn't start taking better care of himself, it would only be a matter of time before he burned out. If half of what the holo-net was reporting was true, the Republic couldn't afford to lose him.