Knights of the Old Republic: Dark Force, Chapter Three

Author's Note: Sorry for the seven to eight month gap between chapters. I'm pretty lazy when it comes to my writing, but I shall try my utmost to keep this tale updated. But don't get your hopes up :) I fully understand if anyone is annoyed, although I don't think I'd gone far enough with the story for anyone to really mind too much. Regardless, hope you enjoy!

KNIGHTS OF THE OLD REPUBLIC

DARK FORCES

CHAPTER THREE

Bao-dur was now worried, so worried that he felt sick to his stomach. The distorted message that had been left for the General was burned into his brain, each incomplete sentence sending a tremor of fear through him. He could only guess at the importance of the message and what exactly it involved for the Republic. How long had this message lain inside of HK-47? Had it been intended for the Exile immediately, or was now the time that the recorder had chosen to reveal it? Bao-dur has a cold suspicion as to who the recorder was. He had never met Revan during the Mandalorian Wars, being only a lowly engineer, but it seemed logical that the Jedi in the hologram was indeed the redeemed knight, possibly days before he vanished into the Unknown Regions. Clearly, Revan knew something that the Exile did not, and no matter how the Exile might react, Bao-dur had to bring it to his attention. He got up from his seat, and marched towards the starboard quarters leaving T3 behind him, beeping curiously.

**************************************************

The Exile sat alone in the darkness, his back to the wall of the starboard crew quarters, hunched and looking ahead with a dead look in his eyes. Directly ahead of him, laid out carefully, was the body of Kreia, her eyes closed and her hands folded over her wound, made it look almost as if she were sleeping. Her face was peacefully and content, as if none of it had ever happened. But the Exile knew better. He knew what had happened, had see it and inflicted it and his mentor, the one person in the world who was as lonely as he, was the one who had payed the price.

"Why did you make me do it?" The Exile said quietly, brokenly. "I would have saved you, forgiven you if only you had not forced my hand."

The silence in the small cockpit was terrible to the Exile. He bowed his head in grief, for now he was truly alone.

"We are always alone, Exile" A voice spoke quietly from behind him. Out of the shadows a figure emerged. An old woman, dressed as a Jedi but clearly not one. Her hood was pulled down over upper portion of her face, but her totally white eyes gleamed just under the brim. He made no start at her presence, but continued to stare at her body. He had seen it all before. The visions of his past had been haunting him for hours.

"I am no vision, Exile" Kreia said, having seemingly read his thoughts. "I am as real as you are."

"You're dead" The Exile said weakly. "I killed you myself, I saw you die."

"Oh yes, I am quite dead." Kreia said, staring with unseeing eyes at her body. "You took care of that Exile, I do not deny it. However there are forces in the galaxy that allow us to live on in one form or another; I am one such form."

"Why do you haunt me?" The Exile demanded. He got to his feet shakily, glaring at the apparition as he shook uncontrollably. "What do you want?"

"What do I want, Exile?" Kreia repeated. "You more than anyone in the galaxy should know what I want. I want to spare the galaxy from the will of the force, to protect it from the endless battles between Sith and Jedi alike which reek so much pain. But then you know all about pain, don't you Exile? In some ways you are more adapt at spreading pain than even Lord Sion. Oh surely you have know this Exile." Kreia hissed at him. He shook his head in defiance. "How can you deny it, when you see the pain you've brought to the galaxy."

Kreia looked at him silently, and then her form melted away, and suddenly changed. Changed into a man the Exile knew well. His long black hair swept across his face, his blue eyes staring piercingly at the Exile. His Jedi robes were burnt and battle stained, a lightsaber clipped at his belt.

"It was why I turned you to my course." Revan said quietly, walking toward the Exile lightly. "I could sense the power emanating from you, even if the Jedi Council could not. I knew that you would turn into a killer."

"I killed because I had to" The Exile chocked, turning his back on the image of Revan. "I killed to keep the galaxy safe."

A hand snaked around the Exile's waist. He closed his eyes, for he knew the owner of the hand... the one person he had wished not to see.

"We both know that's not true, Exile." A rich, female voice said from behind him. He turned around to face her. She was a young Twi'lek woman, her skin a pale blue with tattoos entwined along her face and lekku. Her eyes were a sparkling green, which pierced into the Exile's soul. "I hardly think what you did to me would have kept the galaxy safe..."

**************************************************

"I think the General is suffering from some sort of post-traumatic stress" Bao-dur reported to the crew of the Ebon Hawk, who were assembled in the medical bay. Mandalore was still unconscious and HK-47 still in pieces, but Atton had refused to miss out on what was happening. Being unable to move to the meeting, the meeting had come to him. However he wasn't in a very agreeable mood.

"I hardly think he'd have a problem myself" Atton voiced sceptically "The man fought on the front lines during the Jedi Civil War. He got through that fine. I don't see why the death of that Sith witch would unhinge him."

"You do not understand the complexities of the mind, Atton" The Handmaiden said quietly from the entrance of the medical bay. "He has had much to deal with in the last year. It is possible that Kreia's death has forced him to face things he was not prepared for."

She turned and faced Bao-dur. "What did you hear him say?"

"He seemed to be talking to someone, yet there was nobody there" Bao-dur said quietly. "It was as if things were haunting him, things he knew, people..."

"People he'd killed?" Mira said suddenly.

"I would hazard a guess as to yes." Bao-dur said, nodding in agreement. "He seemed to be apologising to... whatever he saw. I don't believe he was hearing what he wanted, however. He was becoming irrational with remorse, breaking down and gibbering at these... spectres."

"How the hell would you be able to guess that so quickly?" Atton asked Mira surprisingly

"How do you think Atton?" Mira shot back angrily. "The same thing happened to me, when the Exile showed me the force. To suddenly realize that the path you have chosen is steeped in terror and death can hit very hard. To walk through the galaxy and be free of guilt and remorse is a simple way to live. To have all that suddenly end, and to care for life is terrible, if faced immediately. Who knows how worse it is if put aside for months, years even. And to have it all suddenly come rushing in."

"I know." Atton said finally, not looking at Mira but staring straight ahead. "I remember what it was like. I didn't know you went thought the same thing. You never showed it."

"That's because I didn't have too" Mira said gently, touching his shoulder lightly. "The Exile showed me a new way of looking at things. He showed me to look at the galaxy as a Jedi. To stop hunting life, and to live it."

"I have felt it too, until recently." Bao-dur added. "Always did the battle of Malachor haunt my dreams. But the general gave me peace."

"As he gave me." Visas agreed. "It would seem that he has given much to all of us."

"Therefore it is our turn to save him" Brianna said sharply, looking around at the assembled group. "He has saved us all, not only from death but from the absence of life. He has taught us how to live. We must help him."

"But how do we help him, Sister of the Echani?" Visas asked, turning her head to Brianna, seemingly looking at her through her veiled eyes. "The mind is a delicate thing. If we do something wrong, we could cause far more harm than good."

"And if we do nothing he could go insane." Bao-dur replied strongly. "You have not seen him the way he is. If left too long his mind could be lost. I fear that he will be influenced to do something. To himself or to us."

"I'd say the safest bet is to get him to a hospital." Atton said.

"Rarely can medical staff do anything when it comes to disorders of the mind." Mira disagreed. "It is simply something that cannot be fixed and the longer it is left untreated, the harder it is to cure. And besides in a hospital, incapable of taking care of himself, he would be an ideal target for assassins and any remaining Sith. No, this has to be dealt with now."

"Then what can we do?" Atton said grimly.

"I would suggest that one of us attempt to talk with him." Visas suggested calmly. "Perhaps someone with influence can bring him back."

"Well" Mira said dryly. "Considering that misery loves company, I'd say Atton is ideal."

"Burned." Bao-dur commented dryly. Atton shot the pair of them a filthy look.

"I think it would be best if I go." Brianna said strongly, smoothing out her white dress and facing the group. "I have an idea..."

**************************************************

Bao-dur was once again on his own, sitting in the darkness of the mechanics bay. Very soon Brianna would put her plan into motion. It was risky, and if it didn't work right there was a fair chance she could be killed. However it was the only plan they had and something needed to be done quickly. It was the waiting that Bao-dur hated, not knowing what would happen. He tried to take his mind of the waiting, to think of other things.

**************************************************

"I want everyone to come with me." The Exile yelled over the confusion. Citizens of Citadel were running through the Hangar Bay in a confused panic, desperately trying to reach any type of transportation shuttle. Most remembered what happened to Telos during the Jedi Civil War, when the planet had been bombed into submission by the Sith under Saul Karath. A similar fleet in their skies had instilled the civilian population with fear, although leaving the planet was probably a bad idea. The Sith would be ready for them, anxiously waiting to shoot down any fleeing ships.

"You men!" The Exile yelled to a group of twenty TSF troops. "I want you all to form up behind me! Battle combination Red Alpha, with melee troops at the front, shooters at the rear! One of my companions will support each line!"

The soldiers looked momentarily stunned, but quickly assembled formation. The Exile's group activated their lightsabers, Bao-dur also unclipped his saber and activated it, the blue blade glowing brightly. He quickly headed down the ramp, but the Exile cut him off.

"I need you stay here, Bao-dur." He said quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I would fight by your side General." Bao-dur protested. He wanted to be with the Exile, to fight with him once more but he deactivated his lightsaber all the same.

"I know you would fight with me, Bao-dur." The Exile said soberly. Suddenly the sound of battle filled the station, blaster fire and screaming floated into the Hanger Bay. Bao-dur glanced nervously at the exit, but the Exile went on.

"Out of everyone, you are the one I trust the most." The Exile continued, ignoring the oncoming battle. "You have served with me in the Mandalorian Wars, and obeyed me without question. I know I can depend on you to do what must be done. You must stay here and protect the ship. And if I die here..."

"That will not happen General."

"If I die, you will be the only hope for the Jedi. And it will be up to you to find Revan. You and HK have to stay here. If we perish, you will have to find him. Find what he was looking for."

There was silence between the two, as the battle continued. The Exile's soldiers motioned to him, their voices muted over the din.

"Swear that you will do this, Bao-dur" The Exile urged, ignoring his soldiers. "Promise me you will do this."

"I swear it, General."

"Good man." The exile said, clapping him once on the shoulder. Then he was gone, his soldiers with him, leaving Bao-dur behind. HK-47 approached him from behind, the assassin droid scanning the area, blaster in hand.

"Statement: I share you restlessness Iridonian." He commented, staring at Bao-dur with his glowing photoreceptors. "To be unable to join in unadulterated violence is a terrible fate, one which I am often forced to endure. Still, it is possible that hostiles will attack this ship. We can only hope."

Seemingly cheered by the thought, the droid left Bao-dur alone, patrolling the Hangar Bay.

Hours later and Bao-dur was still alone in the Hangar Bay. The sounds of battle on Citadel Station had lessened, but the space battle overhead had only become more pronounced. Bao-dur's use of the force was only in its infancy, yet he could still sense that the General, at least, was still alive. Streams of wounded had past through the bay, being loaded onto medical ships to assist the overrun facilities on Citadel Station. The few conscious soldiers had told Bao-dur that the General had gone up to Darth Nillihus's flagship, the Ravenger, to take the fight to the Sith Lord himself. Bao-dur could not see how the General could survive such an assault on a creature of such dark power.

"Request: Iridonian, I require you assistance." Bao-dur jumped and looked around behind him, to see HK-47 marching out of the Ebon Hawk. The droid had disappeared hours ago and Bao-dur had not seen HK return to the hanger, let alone board the ship. He got to his feet cautiously, staring at the droid. Something was not right.

"What do you want, HK?" Bao-dur said apprehensively

"Statement: I require your assistance in a matter of some delicacy." The crimson assassin droid said. "My prisoner is being quite difficult, and I do not wish to cause it any long-term damage. At least not until I have received the answers I seek."

"What prisoner?" Bao-dur shouted out, as Hk-47 returned into the ship. Muttering a curse Bao-dur chased after him.

The lighting in the Ebon Hawk's mechanic bay was turned off, with only a portable light stick illuminating the large room. Bao-dur had followed Hk-47 into the bay, to see who exactly the droid had captured. However the prisoner currently confined to the Ebon Hawk's force cage in the cargo hold was not a who, but an it. Trapped inside the cage, the gleaming durasteal casing now severely damaged, was one of the many HK-50 assassin droids. It was obviously damaged, parts of the droid black with electric scoring, its arm ripped from the socket, hanging on by a few wires. Motor oil was pouring from its main motor dripping onto the cage floor. Obviously HK-47 had managed to capture the droid, and had proceeded to torture it, judging by the carbon scoring. But the droid couldn't do that, Bao-dur thought to himself. It was impossible for HK-47 to override its self-preservation programmes. Bao-dur had to put it out of his mind however, as HK-47 faced its much hated counterpart.

"Command: You will talk!" HK-47 ordered the captured assassin droid.

"Defiant Statement: There is nothing you can do to be! Do your worst!"

"Observation: It would appear that some torture is needed to loosen your behaviour circuits. Iridonian" The droid said, turning around to face Bao-dur. "Would it be advisable to electrify this pitiful excuse for an assassin droid with, say... 15 physawats of electric current?"

"Th-that would probably cause it to short circuit its behaviour core." Bao-dur said nervously, a little taken aback by what the droid was doing. Most people wouldn't have been too concerned, but Bao-dur was still a little thrown off that the droid could even do what it was suggesting. A program fault in a droid like HK-47 could result in...a fairly messy situation.

"Hmmm, what a pity" Hk-47 remarked, his photoreceptors dimming slightly in disappointment. "I was looking forward to causing this 'copy' intense discomfort. I suppose I shall have to adjust my programming regarding the torture of any other frauds."

Hk-47 adjusted the current flow on the force cage, and quickly turned it on. Immediately the droid was electrocuted, raw electric power flowing into its already sensitive circuits. With a sudden popping sound, the droids photoreceptors exploded, showering its feet with glass. Hk-47 turned off the power, leaving the HK-50 droid hunched over and screaming.

"Pained Scream: Ahhh! My photoreceptors! My photoreceptors!"

"I will up the charge in your circuits next time!" Hk-47 said unmercifully, glaring at the droid. "Now tell me where I can find your factory and base of operations!"

"I will never talk!"

"Then I will have to settle for your screams." Hk-47 said complacently, turning up the charge and activating the force cage. Bao-dur quickly left the room.

"My prisoner has revealed something of great interest." Hk-47 reported to Bao-dur, about two hours after the Iridonian had left the room. Bao-dur looked up from the pilots chair of the Ebon Hawk, a spot usually reserved for Atton.

"Oh really?" Bao-dur said dryly. "It hasn't simply revealed the recipe for Gizka soup has it?"

The droid glared at him, its photoreceptors briefly flashing before it went on, ignoring Bao-dur's comment. "The factory that is producing these crude, unsophisticated versions of me, is located here on Telos. I suggest we go there and turn it into a smouldering crater."

"Um- no, how about we don't" Bao-dur disagreed, giving the assassin droid a sharp look.

"Threat: Do not stand in my way, Iridonian, or you shall find your internal organs blasted across the room."

"The General told us to stay here and guard the Ebon Hawk." Bao-dur said calmly, standing up and facing the towering assassin droid. "Neither of us are going to disobey his order."

"Explanation: I'm afraid you misunderstand my intentions, Iridonian." Hk-47 remarked meekly. "If you think that I am going to the Telos military base merely to wreak slaughter, destruction and death upon these pitiful impersonations then you would be wrong."

"Really?" Bao-dur asked sceptically. "Then what is the reason?"

"The additional information that I acquired from my prisoner indicates that these mindless drones will be attacking Citadel Station within the space of two standard hours, with an army consisting of two hundred units." Hk-47 said calmly. "I believe their intention is to stop the Exile from reaching the planet of Malachor V. Whatever his reasons, the fat one does not wish the Exile to reach Malachor."

"Fat One?" Bao-dur repeated, blinking in confusion. "You mean G0T0? But he is only a droid."

"Do you think of me as only a droid?" Hk-47 asked, his voice dropping dangerously. "But that is beside the point. You do not understand, for what you know is far less than what I know. For example I know that G0-T0 is indeed Goto, the crime lord of Nar Shadda. I know that he commands these primitive assassin droids. And I know that he intends to stop the Exile from landing on Malachor, for whatever reason his decayed programming has created."

"Well I agree that we have a serious problem" Bao-dur conceded reluctantly. "But I don't understand how attacking the factory will help matters. We'd never succeed."

"Negatory: I do not believe so Iridonian." The crimson assassin droid disagreed. "My prisoner revealed than an additional force was being sent directly to Malachor, in the event that the force sent to subdue Citadel Station should be destroyed in the overhead battle. I believe that these are amongst the better of my clones and therefore the base should only be lightly defended with second-rate blaster fodder."

"Continuation: If we could destroy the base, or more specifically destroy the command console from which these drones are controlled, they would be stopped immediately."

"And this isn't, say, just an excuse to destroy the place?" Bao-dur said cynically, eyeing the droid as it restlessly passed its blaster rifle between hands.

"Whatever my reasons, you cannot find fault in my logic." Hk-47 said dismissively. "Stay here and die, in does not concern me in the slightest.

"But take heart, Iridonian." The droid went on. "It is likely that we will die assaulting the base. We have a chance of destroy the command console. The statistical probability that we will survive afterwards is very slim."

"How comforting." Bao-dur said sardonically, catching the assassin droids arm as it moved toward the loading ramp. He turned and faced his remote, floating as in its customary position near his shoulder. "Wait a moment, HK. There is something I have to do first..."

**************************************************

The Exile collapsed onto the cold metal floor of the bunkroom, shaking uncontrollably as the ghosts of his past continued to haunt him. One of the many walked around him, as he trembled, the guilt in his stomach so intense that he felt he would vomit. They had brought with them remorse that he felt he had left behind, yet had come back so easily and with such force. As his mind was overwhelmed, the visions continued.

"I remember thinking how strange it was" A Republic Soldier said thoughtfully. The soldier was garbed in loose fitting military uniform, the type worn by soldiers serving in jungle environments. He was just another from the countless numbers who had died on Duxon, yet every single one that came to him was like a knife in the chest. But he hadn't finished yet. "How strange, that you would ask as to charge the ridge when so many Mandalorians were entrenched. It was suicide, I remember thinking." The soldier smiled briefly. "But then I thought that General Albinus couldn't lead us to death. He must have a plan, some secret force or plan that we did not know."

The soldier knelt next to the collapsed Exile. "But you didn't did you? Did you?!"

"I didn't." The Exile said weakly. "I'm sorry."

"Of course you're sorry." Kreia said, having changed instantly from the youthful soldier. "You will always be sorry. That is your weakness. It is what stops you from reaching your full potential. You are a killer, Exile, it is what you are. Accept it. Embrace it. And the universe will be yours for the taking."

"No" The Exile said, shaking his head desperately

"You've never been a fighter, Exile." Kreia said, her form changing again. Her face faded away revealing the Jedi Historian Atris, Kreia's grey hair changing to brilliant white, the lined facing becoming smooth and youthful. "Don't start trying now."

"You're not real" The Exile cried desperately, hiding his face into his arm. "None of this is real."

"This is not a battle of flesh Exile" The voice of Sion rasped, his voice seemingly echoing around the room. "But a battle of truths. And you are losing this battle. You are weak, just as I said."

'No!' the Exile cried out, pushing himself into a corner of the Ebon Hawk. He wept quietly, not opening his eyes, hoping against hope that the phantoms would leave him.

'I don't want to hurt you Exile' A voice whispered, a voice that spoke as one yet the voices of his past could be heard in them all. 'But you bring nothing but pain to the galaxy and the Republic. It doesn't want you, and has never wanted you. Your exile was by the will of the Republic. Go back' It whispered to him, close, yet light years away at the same time 'Go back into the Unknown Regions. Take up the mantle of Exile. Be what you were meant to be- an outcast.'

The Exile looked up, and stared ahead unseeingly. 'All right' he whispered.

'I'm glade you see reason.' The voice said, changing now, changing back into Atris. 'But it's not that easy Exile, not anymore. You've become tethered to the universe; you care about it- or at least you care about your companions.'

'I-I don't understand'

'Sever them' Atris whispered. 'Destroy them. Make sure nothing holds you back. Only once they are dead, will you be free.'

'No.' The Exile muttered.

'You must, Exile. There is no other way...'

The Exile stared ahead, trying to ignore the whisperings. He couldn't do that; he would never do that to his friends and allies. Yet how could he survive like this? How could he go on with the spirits of his past haunting him? Yet in the corner of his mind, dark thoughts were forming. What if it was the only way?