Knights of the Old Republic: Dark Forces, Chapter Five

KNIGHTS OF THE OLD REPUBLIC

DARK FORCES

CHAPTER FIVE

The return journey to Telos took longer than usual, owing to the damage the Ebon Hawk had sustained when it had crashed onto the surface of Malachor V. The hyperdrive had been leaking, the rear thrusters were beyond repair and Bao-dur's rough patch job on the ship's hull was only just holding. All in all, the Exile thought to himself, it was a miracle the ship hadn't fallen to pieces- it was a miracle none of them had fallen to pieces. The Exile shook his head slightly; he could not allow himself such thoughts. He could not become lost in despair, succumb to his darker urges. He could not let himself become suicidal. Brianna had been correct on that score; he had wanted to die. Ever since the Mandalorian Wars, he had wanted the death that should have taken him on Malachor. Deep within his heart the Exile knew that he had only returned to the Jedi council in the hopes they would execute him. Yet they had not. He had always hated them a little for that.

He had sought death in the Outer-Rim. He had pitted himself against anything that would stand against him yet he had always emerged the victor. Death he may have wanted, but an honourable death was what he sought; he would never die meaninglessly. And Kreia had tried to use that, the Exile mused. She had tried to use their bond to force him into her bidding. She had threatened to kill herself to end his life. But it did not matter, for Kreia had handed him the very thing that would make her threats meaningless. The master manipulator had outsmarted herself, had sent to Telos the truth about the Exile. Perhaps she did not know everything. Or perhaps it had always been her intention to make him face Nillihus... and the truth.

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The shadow like figure of Darth Nillihus collapsed at the Exile's feet, as silent in death as he had been in life. The Exile, coughing slightly, collapsed onto the ground, his heavy breathing the only sound in the darkness. Through the ravaged command deck, the Exile vaguely watched the stars as they wield over head and saw the occasional flash of metal as the space battle began to break apart. It seemed as if the Republic had been victorious. Wearily, he pulled himself up, and glanced around the haunted ship. The corpse of Nillihus lay before him, a crumpled pile of rags, his mask gleaming from beneath the cloth. The mask frightened and excited him; repulsed him and drew him closer. The power emanating from it felt almost familiar, like a fleeting childhood memory. He feared that mask; he feared what it would show him. Yet he had to know.

"Visas" he barked harshly at the woman who lay, bowed, on the ground. Had it not been for the subtle rise and fall of her chest, she could have been mistaken for dead. She had not moved since the Exile had threatened to kill her. It had been a necessary threat- she was perhaps the last thing the creature Nillihus had ever done that was human. She was a weakness he had threatened to exploit. The Exile ignored the small voice in his mind that questioned what he would have done should the ploy not have worked. Would you have sacrificed her? the voice asked.

"My Lord" she whispered to him, the terror clear in her voice. Strangely the Exile did not care.

"Bring me the mask."

She rose up and glided to her fallen master. She stared, as if transfixed, at the fallen Sith Lord.

"What did you see?" The Exile demanded

Visas was silent for a moment, before bending down and picking up the mask.

"A man." She said clearly, handing the mask to the Exile. "Nothing more."

Without knowing what he was doing, without knowing why, he took the mask. And in a flash of memory, the truth came pouring in.

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"12 minutes until the Mandalorian Fleet moves into optimal firing range, general." A republic soldier called out from his position at one of the computer terminal. General Albinus stepped up to the screen, his eyes flicking intently over the mass of red triangles that were moving, slowly, toward the planet of Malachor V.

He pulled away from the screen and paced the command deck of the Empty Child, his hands trembling slightly. He clenched them hard. He couldn't let any emotion show in front of the crew.

"Is the cloaking shield still holding?" He asked, keeping his voice calm and unemotional.

"I designed it myself, General." An Iridonian technician, Bao-dur, said in response to his question 'It'll hold."

"Nine minutes." The soldier called out again. From his position at the viewing platform Albinus could see the planet of Malachor glittering before them, like a green jewel hovering in the darkness. On the surface of that planet, he knew, was amassed a force of Republic soldiers and ships, preparing to face the Mandalorians. The rest of the Republic fleet was out of sight, ready to ambush the Mandalorians when the time came. Albinus would have been with them had the choice been his own. Yet Revan had ordered him to stay aboard the capital ship, to keep hidden, to be the one to... should all else fail, to be the one to launch the final program. But it would not come to that, the Exile thought to himself. Revan had assured him that it would only be used at the very end.

"Five minutes remaining. The fleet has begun its dec-"

The soldier was cut of as a massive explosion shook the ship.

"What happ-" Albinus began, before a second explosion jerked the ship, sending him flying. Explosion after explosion ripped the ship's hull; the general heard the unmistakable sound of tearing metal.

"Divert all power to the shields!" Albinus bellowed, before another flurry of blaster fire slammed into the starboard side of the ship. He felt, rather than saw, the bridge crumple under the attack, heard the scream of protesting metal. He slammed onto the floor and felt his head crack against something hard. There was a flash of light, heard Bao-dur scream in pain and then all was darkness...

Finally the general's eye's fluttered open, the sudden pounding in his head almost unbearable. He tried to sit up but felt the pain shoot through his body, and almost let out a scream. He desperately called on the force to heal his wounds, letting its power flow through him, mending his broken body. Finally, with a great effort, he sat up. The bridge was total chaos. The entire front of the ship had collapsed under the assault from the Mandalorian vessel, the emergency energy fields gleaming in amongst the gaps of metal. The door behind him had been destroyed, the deck strewn with twisted metal and scored corpses. He glanced around and saw Bao-dur lying on the ground, half hidden beneath a pile of metal beams.

"General Albinus... respond" A crackling voice issued from his comlink. He reached around beneath him, and pulled the small device out of his pocket.

"This is General Albinus" he muttered slowly, his mouth dry

"Where have you been?" The unmistakable voice of Revan demanded across the intercom. "I've been trying to contact you for over an hour."

"We were attacked by a Mandalorian Scout ship." He replied, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head. He must have been unconscious for hours.

"I haven't got time to talk, Albinus" He said quickly "The Mandalorians are slaughtering our forces on the ground and in the air. We can't get the rest of the fleet into a position to help them, their defence is too strong."

"What?" Albinus replied in shock. "How is that possible?"

"Believe me, it's possible" Revan said smoothly. "We're going to have to activate the Mass Shadow Generator. Is the device still functional?"

General Albinus glanced across the wrecked command deck, hoping that the trigger for the Mass Shadow Generator had been destroyed in the attack. His hopes were dashed as he spotted the simply looking console, still standing against the wall. He glanced around nervously before responding. "Isn't there another way?"

"There is no other way!" Revan yelled angrily. "This is the only option. We can't get through their blockade! If they break through our lines, then there will be no stopping them. You must do this- for the sake of the Republic."

Albinus launched the comlink across the command deck and into the rubble. He couldn't do such a thing. Revan was asking him to commit mass murder- of not only their enemies but their allies. He couldn't do it. He was never supposed to. Revan had assured him that it would never be used; only in the last. Surely more could be done?

He pulled himself up and stumbled to the activation console, determined to destroy it. This thing should never have been designed. He activated his saber and lifted it above his head, the hum of the blade the only sound in the deathly quiet bridge. Yet as he prepared for the stroke, an image came unbidden to his mind. An image of the Mandalorian fleets rolling through space, destroying planet after planet destroying all those who stood before them. He saw Courasant in ruin, its cities laid strewn across the ground. He saw Dantooine burn in the fires of orbital lasers. He felt his grip slacken on his lightsaber before it tumbled to the ground.

The small green light at the top of the console flashed.

He could not let the Mandalorians continue their bloody crusade.

The light flashed.

Albinus stretched forward his hand toward the activation keypad.

The light flashed.

He slowly typed in the number code.

The light flashed.

The single query appeared on the screen. "Proceed?"

The light flashed.

Albinus swallowed nervously, his heart hammering against his chest. He reached out with a trembling hand to the input key.

The light flashed.

He closed his eyes and pressed the button.

Within seconds the Exile felt a great scream in his mind, a thousand voices screaming in terror. The tearing inside was painful beyond belief; he could see nothing but blinding light, felt nothing but searing heat. His soul withered under the torment, twisting and writhing like a snake. He pulled his mind free of the pain, and felt something tear deep within his mind. He collapsed in exhaustion, his head spinning and his mind broken. Vaguely, before he succumbed to the darkness, he registered how empty he felt...

Twisted ships floated eerily above the pitted surface of Malachor V. The entire planet was deathly silent, for all remained was the hulking forms of great vessels and huddled forms of fallen men. The stormbeasts that would come to stalk the land had not yet come of being. Only death and silence lay there now. But deep within the cracks of Malachor, a shadow moved. In truth it was less than a shadow, less than the meanest ghost; but a broken soul, a severed chunk of spirit. Yet it was alive and it hungered; it hungered to be whole once more. It stopped its relentless pacing before the body of a Jedi; his eye's turned blankly to the starry sky. Still within there was a spark of the force. The wraith lunged forward and disappeared into the corpse. Seconds, minutes, hours later the Jedi moved again, neither a Jedi nor a human now. It had ceased to be a man; but had instead become a vessel- a vessel for a severed soul. It had become a hunger. It had become the Lord of Hunger.

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The Exile blinked and shook himself from the vision. It was a truth he would bare; for he had no choice but to do so. The creature Nillihus was dead; that severed part of him was gone forever. The council had been wrong in assuming that he had severed himself completely from the force; he only cut off the part of him that had killed so many people in Malachor, the darkness that had swayed his hand. And that was what had finally thwarted Kreia. With his severed twin destroyed, the emptiness that had filled him, that had reached out like a hunger to leech life from all it could was ended. His bond with her had been broken. The Exile suspect the bonds he had shared with his companions would now fade- but not break entirely. His bond with Kreia had been part of his unconscious hunger; the bond he shared with his friends was something different entirely. It was a bond of friendship. Atton, Visas, Mira and Brianna had forgiven him without question for his actions; a forgiveness that he knew he didn't deserve. He closed his eyes again and remember the Handmaiden's words:

"Forgiveness isn't given because someone deserves it; it's given because they need it."

But there was still one person he had not seen. Bao-dur had not been present with the others when the Exile had finally emerged from seclusion. The Exile wanted to make sure that there were no problems between them. He did not blame Bao-dur for wanting to avoid him, but he had questions that needed answering.

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Bao-dur worked quietly in the mechanic's bay, the slight hiss of the arc welder the only sound to break the silence. He meticulously scanned Hk-47's rusted plating, looking for any cracks or breaks in the metal. The droid's head sat but a few spaces from him, the normally blood red photoreceptors now empty and dark. Bao-dur found himself liking the droid more in its present state.

"What have you done to my droid, Bao-dur?" The Exile asked softly. Bao-dur jumped at the general's sudden appearance, the arc welder falling from his hand. It landed with a clang onto the floor of the Ebon Hawk.

"General" Bao-dur muttered, hastily picking up the sparking implement and placing it on the workbench. "How are you feeling?"

"Better" The Exile said wearily, pulling up a nearby crate and sitting down slowly. "I've... been forced to face some fairly unpleasant truths. I wasn't prepared for it."

"I think that my way of dealing with things was more successful." Bao-dur observed. "I faced it a little at a time. Never the all of it... but small parts I accepted and learned to live with."

"You are a far wiser man than I, Bao-dur." The Exile said with a small, tired smile. "I foresee that you will become a great Jedi Knight- provided that the Order is rebuilt."

"That may be more difficult than you think General." Bao-dur said finally, remembering the message from Revan. "I found something when I was repairing HK-47..."

The Exile said nothing as the image of Revan died into darkness. Bao-dur watched him carefully, trying to pick up any signs that might give away what he was thinking. The Exile appeared to be lost in thought. It was evident that his mind was far away.

Finally he spoke: "Troubling" was all he said.

Bao-dur thought that to be a bit of an understatement. Apparently the Exile thought so to.

"Terrifying would be closer to the truth." He revised, running his fingers through his short brown hair. "Who are these True Sith? Why have they not attacked the Republic before now? And how did Revan find out about them?"

"Revan's intentions seem clear enough." The Exile went on, staring at the wall of the Mechanic's Bay. "He sacrificed himself in order to give the Republic and the Jedi the time to rebuild after the Jedi Civil War. He hadn't counted on Kreia throwing a hydro spanner into the works."

"Then what do we do?"

The Exile hesitated for a moment. "I think we need help. At the very least we need to repair the ship and resupply. And there's someone I need to talk to."

"Who is that general?"

"Carth Onasi."

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Well there we go. Yet another chapter down. My apologies for the delay, but schools got a bit more intense recently. I've got mid-year exams in a couple of days; my first ever so I'll be of the scene for a while. Rest assured the next chapter is on the way.

As always, comments are appreciated.