Scenes from Telos, 2. Mical

"I been in worse scrapes than this," the Czerka mercenary was telling him. "Far worse, believe you me. I woulda thought nothing of it, but it's hurting all the time now, I can't shake it."

"It certainly looks like a nuisance," Mical agreed in a slow and measured tone, his head bent as he treated the wound. "You're a busy man, you don't have time for such distractions."

"Exactly." The mercenary seized on this angle. "I don't need no distraction."

"It's important you knew that if you had waited for very much longer, our meeting would have gone much differently. I don't like to make people's acquaintances while I hang over them with a vibrosaw."

Once he worked out the implication, the man grimaced. "No kidding?"

"I won't have to amputate," Mical assured him. "These red streaks here are not a good sign, but we'll fix all of this up. No cyborg leg for you."

"Me with a robot leg, hah." The mercenary scratched his face, making a raspy sound. He looked like he hadn't shaved since the Hundred Years Darkness. It was quite the soup strainer. "I'm too old to go stumping around on a piece of junk."

As he threaded the needle for stitches, Mical ventured, "Did you say you were in the wars.. ?"

In general, Mical held a poor opinion of the Czerka mercenaries. It was as though the corporation looked underneath every slimy rock in the galaxy and hired whatever they found there. They were almost always a rude and belligerent lot, mired in petty squabbles amongst themselves. Mical secretly hated to patch them up after they'd hurt themselves with their foolishness, but he always quashed those feelings. He had to be a professional. At least today's patient hadn't hurt his leg while bullying some poor spacer or fighting his colleagues. What had happened to him was rather plain. One of the blast doors had failed to sense motion, as they sometimes malfunctioned on the station, and it had closed on the man's leg. The wound itself was only minor, but the lack of treatment let it fester. Pride prevented him from asking for help until the fear and the pain became too great to ignore. Fortunately, now all was well; Mical had him anesthetized, treated with kolto (freshly gifted from the station philanthropist), and now the old soldier was telling how he blasted the mandos to their afterlife.

Mical enjoyed these tales, ordinarily, but his mind wandered. He was thinking of the woman. What if the healing was only superficial, and she suffered some sort of internal damage? That was a considerable blow to the head that she took. The gift of new helmets could not have come at a better time. Mical hoped that she had someone to check on her; he oughtn't have run off like that. What was he thinking?

And now the business with the admiral. Mical had come off his lunch break early just to get away from that. Skies above, that's all they were talking about in the breakroom. His colleagues had split into two factions, those who loved "Fleet" Onasi, and those who feared "Darth Carth", but they both found common ground in wondering what in the hell would bring the admiral down to medbay 082 in search of Mical Matale.

No, he couldn't say what the admiral wanted. No, he hadn't known Carth Onasi back when he was in the Republic Navy. No, Mical didn't notice any dark leprous patches or a particular yellowness to the eye. No, he did not radiate with dark energies. No, Darth Revan didn't give him the space pox, why in the hell would you ask that, force, the rest of us are trying to have lunch here.
Shortly before Mical dumped his tea in the sink and went early from his break, they were debating the notion of whether or not the sithlord had secretly killed good Carth Onasi and replaced him with a malevolent robot double.

"... but after all that, I just couldn't lay down arms," the mercenary was saying now. "I left the Republic army and thought I'd go back to my planetary militia.. but wasn't much left of my world. So what the hell, no use getting all worked up over something which can't be fixed. So I've been rambling around, bringing my guns where they're needed. Czerka's nothing but schuttas with datapads, but what can I say, they always get your credits to you."

"Perhaps you might consider TSF," Mical put in, while he made the last even stitches. "You can still shoot people, of course, and for a noble cause.. "

"Nah, I'd get bored out here, this one place all the time," said the mercenary. "Czerka's everywhere, I can just transfer if they need guns some other place. I used to be on that wook planet, hoo, that was a blast. Then the hairballs got a new king and it all went to scrag.. "

"Well, let me just cut this, and give you a few things to take up when you check out, and you'll be all set." As an afterthought, he added, "Remember to come back so that I can remove your stitches. There's no extra charge, the fee is all included, so you may as well. It will only be a few minutes of your time. Don't try to do it yourself, please."

As Mical washed his hands, one of his colleagues came over, and he knew by that huge grin that something was up. "A call came for you while you were patching up Captain Beard there," he was told. "They want you down at the garrison."

Mical sighed. "Did they say why?"

"Nope. Man, I wanna know what's going on, Matale. I know the whole doctor-patient confidentiality thing, but force, if he's melting from the dark side you gotta tell somebody, right?"

"What makes you think it's that?"

"Well, duh."

"In any case I can tell by your grin that you are horribly concerned.. "

"I can't decide if it's scary or cool."

"Let me know when you reach a verdict." Mical felt a smirk coming on. "Can you cover my shift?"

The garrison on Citadel Station was more a token appearance than anything; since the majority of the credits that paid for the Restoration Project came from a bill passed by the Galactic Senate, the Republic needed a force to look after its interests. Unfortunately, that force was small to begin with, and more recently depleted as soldiers were needed elsewhere. Mical had the sneaking suspicion that he was going to re-enlist one of these days, and that putting on that silly uniform again was inevitable.

On arrival he was searched for weapons, cleared, and led in to wait outside the admiral's office. His secretary was an Iridonian of middle age, a pleasant and motherly woman who called him dear and sweetheart, and who looked like she could lift him bodily into the air and break him in half if she were so inclined. Mical hoped she was not so inclined, and kept his talk polite and answered the questions he was asked.

The admiral was standing by the window when Mical was admitted into the office. Onasi turned to greet him, and, after Mical came into range, he offered his hand for a shake.

"Please, sit," he said. "How's civilian life treating you?"

"Tolerably well," Mical replied, seating himself only after the admiral had done so. The desk was wide between them, cluttered with paperwork, ledgers, and datapads; there was also a tacky caffa mug on it, shaped like the head of a rodian celebrity whose name he forgot. There was also another object there, set off to the side. A robotic arm of a neutral gray color, left-handed, with particular markings upon it. "I wish to apologize for my behavior this morning," Mical said. "I only realized your identity after you had left."

The admiral had a slow, small smile. "No need. I'm not going to point and yell gotcha. I don't like to stand on ceremony.. people from Telos never have." He folded his hands on the desk. "The point of this, ultimately, is going to be me asking you to come back to the Republic Navy."

"I sense there is more to it than that," Mical said.

"Maybe. I wanted to ask why you left the school on Dantooine."

"With respect, it is a personal matter."

"I don't want any juicy details." The admiral waved his hand. "Just the basic idea."

He wants to know if I was kicked out, or if I ran away to Korriban. "The particular reasons are my own, but very well. I believe I can see your concerns." Mical took a moment to compose his answer, searching for words that would best convey an honest criticism. As he drew his thoughts together, he felt his eyes return to the metal arm on the admiral's desk. XT series? "I left of my own volition," he came to explain. "As with any institution that has existed for a long period of time, the Order had its flaws, and I felt I could no longer submit to teachings I could not agree with or a code I could no longer abide by."

The admiral was nodding slowly, though Mical could not tell if it the gesture was automatic or approving.

"I don't wish to sound dramatic, but that is, essentially, why." That melt pattern looks like a graze with a lightsaber. "I did not run away to the sith, as other students did. I parted amicably with the jedi from the Dantooine enclave. Indeed, they helped me to get started in my education." It is unlikely a real service droid would be able to dodge a blow from a jedi. This arm would have been sliced like butter.

"Your answer is fair," the admiral told him. "You seem like a pretty smart kid. Maybe you had some doubts. So that was the first time in a long time that you were able to use the force?"

"Correct. I attempted to levitate some books last night, but I couldn't lift them." Mical moved right in, saying, "If you are hoping for a jedi soldier, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed."

The admiral grinned and leaned back in his chair. He probably wants to stand up and walk around, it would be more comfortable. "I bet you could hold your own in a fight anyway," he said. "But that's not what I had in mind." XT series 9, or 4, which was it?

"Somehow I didn't think so." Mical studied him for a moment, closely. He had a kindly expression, if somewhat weary, as though he were worrying about something but wanted to put a brave face on. He didn't seem evil, and, from all accounts he had heard up until the sith lord business, "Fleet" Onasi demonstrated unimpeachable character. On this basis, and taking into account the frankness of their discussion, Mical felt he could be honest. "Before anything else, there's something I must ask about. There's no way around it. I want to know about Revan."

The admiral leaned back in his chair. "I will answer your questions as best as I am able. You have to know there are things I can't tell you. I'll try. I don't like people to get the wrong idea about me."

"I'm only trying to make sense out of the situation. Sometimes I feel that I am the only one who has a grasp of sanity, or who remembers history. I mean no offense... sir. It's just this. I served on the Steadfast during.. " what is the media calling it now? ".. the Jedi Civil War. One day, out of the blue, we're all kicked out of our bunks to prepare for hyperspace. We dropped out in unknown regions, and Admiral Forn Dodonna came over the comm to tell us about the Star Forge. Completely out of nowhere, we'd found the source of Malak's power... "

Onasi said nothing. He only nodded, and his hand moved slowly on his desk. His eyes watched Mical and bade him silently to continue. Never once in this entire conversation had he glanced at the metal arm, whose origins Mical had, distractedly, begun to conjecture. It was as if it wasn't even there, plain as day on the desktop.

"They weren't telling us anything, but through the battle, you were hearing snatches of talk over the comm. Rumors going around. We heard that Bastila Shan and Darth Revan were the ones who led the team onto the Star Forge to battle Malak. Darth Revan, back from the dead. At the time it sounded patently absurd, but in the next 48 hours, while we orbited the planet there, it was confirmed. To be completely honest, and with all due respect.. " The question he had been asking himself for five years. "What in the blinking hell? Only a year prior, Bastila Shan killed Darth Revan in single combat aboard his flagship, or so it was said on the holofeed.. "

"Bastila didn't kill Revan," the admiral told him. "When she reached the bridge with her team, Malak thought he saw his chance, and no doubt Saul Karath egged him on. Malak commanded his gunners to fire on the ship, but Bastila pulled Revan from the wreckage just before the Indomitable broke apart."

"Malak betrayed his master, then. As all sith do. Ludo Kressh, Naga Sadow, Darth Traya. So Revan survived, and sided with the republic in a marriage of convenience. I suppose he thought he would use the Republic for his own gain, and that the Republic was desperate enough to enter into such a pact." That would start to make sense.

"Something like that." There was something evasive about his answers that Mical didn't like. Something he wants to tell me but he can't.

"From what I can tell of his personality, he hated to be out of control," Mical mused. "Without his ships, his men, or the Star Forge, he had nothing. I can see why he would offer up his knowledge to the Republic."

The admiral only smiled a peculiar little smile. "Did you answer your own question?"

"Only in part. I have more questions.. but I do not know how to ask them. I only feel there is something strange about all of this. Decades ago, when Ulic Qel Droma answered for his crimes, he was brought before a grand council and the entire senate. One of the first Inquisitions in ages was convened to judge him. Jedi came from far and wide to sit in council and to see him. I have watched records of that trial, and I have studied holofeed archives from that time. It was all anyone could talk about, the fate of the Qel Droma brothers and Nomi Sunrider. Yet now with Darth Revan... there was only silence. Where was his trial, his inquisition? I hear nothing that makes very much sense, all you hear is the noise from those who hate him, from those who love him, and all the wild rumors and accounts in between.."

"I can only tell you that the situation was complicated, and it was desperate. I had no part in making those decisions at the time. I didn't even know it was Revan, not until the end. I'd saved his life as many times as he saved mine, I don't know if I'd be here today without him, and I know there are a lot of people who would say the same. It's complicated."

"Perhaps you could help me to understand." What does he want to confess?

"It's complicated. Apart from leaving the Order, have you ever had to make a decision when every outcome hurt someone? Have you ever had to choose what you thought was the lesser evil?" Carth Onasi met his gaze; there was regret on his face, etched into the lines about his eyes. "...and live with it?"

Mical lowered his eyes. "No," he said. "I hope I never have to make such a decision. I don't judge you, Carth Onasi. You are the hero of two wars. I don't suspect anything ill of you, and that's not what I mean to say here."

"I don't know what I'd have done, if I'd known from the beginning who it was. I really don't know... " Mical thought he knew very well what Carth Onasi would have done. "But there's no changing the past. I know what people whisper about me. I can't say it doesn't hurt me, when it comes from my own people.. but time will tell. I will prove to them I have always loved Telos, that I will always serve the Republic. I'm not the next Saul Karath." He was quiet for a moment, and Mical felt the slow burn of shame. "I'm kind of glad we talked about this upfront," he said, then. "I wished I had half the chance to try and set things straight with everyone else. It kills me sometimes.. ah." The admiral looked away, glancing out that huge window. When his eyes returned, they were slightly warmer. "If you've said your bit, I wanted to talk about something else."

"Would it, by chance, have anything to do with Cay Qel Droma?" Mical had not received quite the answer that he had wanted, but he suspected he might never have it. Perhaps later. History always sorted these things out.

"Interesting." The admiral took on the sudden look of interest of a man, who, while fishing on a lazy afternoon, has just felt a tug at the line. "Why do you say that?"

"Well. I think that you've got his metal arm on your desk there."

"Really.. "

"I've been staring at it this entire time."

"I was wondering if you'd say something."

"Well I thought it might not be any of my business."

"Why do you think it's Qel Droma's?"

"Whoever owned that arm was able to dodge a lightsaber. It's an XT series arm, if I'm not mistaken, and those were commonly used to replace lost limbs in the time of the Beast Wars. Cay Qel Droma was known for his peculiar interest in droids, and the story goes that when he lost his left arm in the Battle of Iziz, he replaced it then and there with a limb from an XT droid." Oh force, this would be incredible.. "Some of the jedi felt it was distasteful, or that mechanical parts would damage one's connection to the Force, but in any event, Cay's arm was an iconic feature. He didn't even try to hide it or cover it up, he was really quite proud of it. Is this truly it?"

A slow smile began to cross the admiral's face. "I think it just might be," he said. "It just came in; this is the only the second time I've had it out of its case."

"It should be in a museum.. "

"And one day it will. This and the other artifacts that we have recovered, or the ones we have hidden to protect. I'm one of several who have taken it upon themselves to collect these artifacts, these holocrons, these weapons and armor. Who keep them out of the wrong hands. I've got some things that would blow your mind.. "

"You want me to help you identify them." Mical tried to keep his expression neutral. Tried.

"Precisely. There aren't a lot of people who know what these things are, anymore. That knowledge has died with the jedi in the wars, in the purges, in the tragedy at Katarr. We'll be needing all the help we can get, so that we can preserve these things for future generations. I want you to be a part of this. You're an intelligent young man, and you know your stuff. But I need to be able to trust you, and to be fair, I probably won't trust you so much to start with."

"Why would that be? I would never steal them. I would never think to sell them."

"No. I don't think you'd sell them. I don't think you even care much for credits. It's just that I need to be sure you won't run off with these treasures, or that you won't try to hide or destroy something that you think would be embarrassing to the Order if outsiders found out about it."

"I understand. I find that one of the greatest problems is that the Order disregarded history, that it sought to conceal its own flaws without addressing them. I would never do such a thing."

"I almost don't think you would." The admiral leaned back. "But I can't take that chance. You'd be working under my supervision, when I need you. You'd be expected, of course, to put in some time for other duties if needed, but I won't make you run around in the uniform or stay in the barracks. You can still work your shift in the clinic if you like; I won't need you all the time. You would be something like an advisor, we'll just say you're involved with medical business here in the garrison. So you like the idea?"

"I do. I would be honored." Mical stood when the admiral stood.

"Well, I'll let you sleep on it. I know you've had a rough two days. Come back tomorrow morning, and you can riddle out this holocron I have." The admiral scratched his light beard. "Not to tempt you or anything, but the person who brought it in says that the voice on it speaks in a dialect from six hundred years ago." A slight pause. "There's also evidence someone tried to destroy it, too. I wonder what it could mean.. "

Seeing the glimmer in his eye, Mical smirked, and said, "Not that you were trying to make me curious, sir?"

"Oh not at all. Just thinking out loud. " The admiral put out his hand to send him off with a shake. "Go home, son."