Restoration, Chapter 11

The cavernous halls of the Jedi Temple swallowed small sounds like boots hitting a tile floor. Even the numerous Jedi chatting and conversing in pairs and clusters made barely any noise. It reminded Carth of zero-grav training, strapped into an environment suit with only the sound of his own breathing in the ventilators to fill the silence.

The brown-robed Padawan who’d been sent to meet him at the main entrance walked quickly, her hands folded in her robes and her eyes glued to the floor. He’d tried to make polite small talk, but the girl had looked at him with wide eyes and stammered back squeaked responses. He’d let her lapse into silence after a time, a state with which she was obviously much more comfortable. He wondered how she’d do as a Jedi. She certainly wasn’t like any of the Jedi he knew. He found himself grinning slightly. He supposed Bastila and Jolee and Revan didn’t exactly fall into the mold of typical Jedi.

The girl stopped in front of a simple door and pressed the panel. The door slid back, revealing a space that was no more remarkable that a typical office at Fleet headquarters—a desk with a console, shelves with datapads and other assorted holocrons, nothing out of the ordinary that he could see. Carth wasn’t sure why he was surprised.

The only remarkable thing in the room was the diminutive form that floated on a hoverchair behind the desk. Master Vandar nodded his thanks to the Padawan girl, who bowed deeply in response and then scurried out, leaving Carth alone with the Jedi Master.

“Admiral,” he intoned in his distinctive voice, “thank you for coming.”

“How can I help you, Master Vandar?” Carth replied. “Your message didn’t indicate what you wanted.”

The Jedi gazed back at him for a moment, and the tips of his long, pointed ears seemed to droop slightly. “I felt it appropriate to inform you in person of the change in the Jedi involvement on the restoration project.”

A spike of icy apprehension stabbed Carth in the gut. “I… I’m not sure I understand.”

Master Vandar’s expression was serene, but Carth thought he saw something regretful in his eyes. “Bastila Shan will not be returning with you to Telos. A new Jedi will be assigned to continue her work on the project.”

The spike of ice turned to a solid block. “I… but you can’t…” Ice melted under the heat of sudden anger, and his finger stabbed toward the desk. “The Council can’t just take her off the project! She’s worked too hard! She doesn’t deserve that!”

Carth shook his head. “If this is about her and me, then that’s… that’s… it’s not right,” he persisted stubbornly. “The Council can’t just mess around in people’s lives like that. What’s between Bastila and me is between us. The Council can keep their noses out of it. All they should care about is the work she’s been doing.” He met Master Vandar’s gaze. “She’s become essential to the project. And I say that objectively as the Fleet administrator.”

Master Vandar’s sad expression had not changed. “Admiral, I believe you misunderstand me.” He sighed quietly. “The Council has not removed Knight Shan from the project. She herself has asked to be reassigned.”

The floor dropped out from beneath Carth. Hot anger was doused by a sudden empty feeling, like everything inside his body had been replaced by a cold wind in a hollow shell. “I… I don’t…” He shook his head. “Why?”

“She suggested that personal feelings were interfering with her work there,” Master Vandar said gently. “Not just her work on the project but also her own attempts to refocus and rededicate herself to the Order.”

Carth knew that the words the Master was speaking were plain Basic, but they didn’t seem to make sense regardless. “But she… before we left Telos, she didn’t…” He shook his head stubbornly. “That doesn’t make any sense. We were… she was doing fine. Better, even. She said so,” he added emphatically, as if to remind himself of the truth of his own words.

Master Vandar looked at him with sympathy. “There are those of us on the Council who agree that Knight Shan was in fact improving in achieving a sense of balance in the Force.” He sighed again, wearily. “But I’m afraid there were others who were all too willing to accede to her request.”

“Because of me,” Carth muttered.

The Master nodded. “Though young Bastila did not speak of what transpired between you, it was clear to all of the Council that her feelings changed when she spoke of you. She is not so experienced as to hide the effects that such feelings have upon her.” Master Vandar smiled slightly, ruefully. “Not all of us believe that such effects are to the detriment of a young Jedi’s development. In fact, several of us agree that they may be beneficial.” He shook his head sadly. “Especially to one of Knight Shan’s… background and talents. There are those of us who recognize the role that our restrictions on her played in her fall.”

“Then…” Carth flailed, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists like he could pull the right words from the air. “Then… how can you let her just…?”

“Though some of us feel that continuing with her assignment would be best, others on the Council adhere more strictly to the traditional tenets of our Order, and thus discourage the formation of emotional attachments.” The Master spread his small hands in a gesture of explanation. “And when the Knight herself is so adamant…”

“Where is she?” Carth asked.

Master Vandar shook his head sadly again. “I can’t say, Admiral.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Carth took a breath to dull the sharp edge that had crept into his voice. “Master Vandar, I’m not going to… well, I am going to confront her, but I won’t… I won’t upset her or… or force her to do anything she doesn’t want to do. I just…” He sighed. “If this is her decision, I want to hear it from her.”

Master Vandar met his gaze for a long moment. “When young Knights are troubled, they often seek places of solitude,” he said finally. “Some walk in the Meditation Gardens or seek refuge in the Room of a Thousand Fountains.” He turned his gaze to the bright light streaming in through the window. “Others,” he continued, his eyes still turned to the sunshine, “find quieter, more private places. There is a small garden beyond the northwest corner of the main Temple that is just such a place.”

Carth nodded, though the Jedi was still turned to the window. “Thank you, Master Vandar.”

The small Jedi Master turned back to him then, his expression grave. “May the Force be with you, Admiral.”

 

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The garden was small only by the standards of the Jedi Temple. It was easily the size of the beach on Telos. Carth tried not to extend the comparison beyond that.

Several figures strolled along the gravel paths. They turned to watch him approach at the sound of quick, angry bootsteps crunching the stones. Or since they were Jedi, maybe they could feel how pissed off he was. Maybe he was ruining the quiet, meditative atmosphere. For the short amount of time he planned to be there, they could deal.

She was kneeling beside a small fountain, her back toward him. He didn’t need Jedi senses to know it was her, even with her hood drawn up. As he moved closer, he kept expecting her to turn at any moment, but then he found himself standing behind her, looking down on her bowed head and the hands folded in her lap. He cleared his throat, and one robed shoulder twitched. It was the only hint of surprise. After a momentary pause, she rose gracefully and turned to face him, though her eyes remained fixed on the lush green grass beneath their feet.

“I thought you couldn’t sneak up on a good Jedi,” he said. He tried to keep his voice light, but a little twist of bitter anger bled into his words anyway.

Bastila looked away. “Perhaps I am not as good a Jedi as I had believed.”

“And staying here will make you a good Jedi. Is that it?” Carth’s hands clenched into fists. He hadn’t meant for it to come out all at once like that. But maybe it was just as well. Maybe it was time they stopped dancing around it. Whatever it was.

She seemed to have decided the same thing because she finally met his gaze. “It will make me a better Jedi. That is all that matters.”

Splintery pain jabbed his gut. “All that matters, huh? So I guess what I want… what you want… doesn’t mean a damn thing. If you ever wanted it at all.”

There were so many things floating up behind her eyes. Just once he wanted their roles to be reversed—for him to be the one with the Force. Just once he wanted to feel what she was feeling, to know things the way she knew them, to read her the way she read him. It wasn’t fair.

“My commitment is to the Order,” was all she said. “My duty is here.”

Amazing how one little word could turn a hard knot to a block of ice. “No,” he said flatly, pointing a finger at her. “No way. You don’t get to lecture me about duty. I lost everything while I did my duty.”

Her eyes slid to the grass again. “You wanted to save the Republic,” she said quietly. She looked back at him. “Do you find it so difficult to believe that I wish the same thing?”

“Save the Republic?” he exploded. “From what?”

Her lips tightened, and he had the feeling that if there were having any other conversation, she would have rolled her eyes. “Do you truly believe that Revan defeating Malak has made the Republic safe? That there is no further threat to be countered?” She shook her head. “Revan herself did not believe that. And now she is gone and there is no one else who can…” She trailed off with a vague little gesture and both hands dropped to her sides.

“No one else who can save the Republic,” Carth finished. He just stared at her for a moment, his head shaking slightly. “They’ve got you again, haven’t they?” he said finally. “One hundred percent.” His jaw clenched. “I should have known.”

She frowned at him. “Known what?” she asked, a little snap creeping into her voice.

“I should have known that bringing you here was a mistake. That the second they got you back in that Council room, you’d fall for the party line again, hook, line, and sinker.”

She stiffened. “This was not the Council’s decision, Carth. It was mine.”

He snorted. “Right. I’m sure they didn’t try to talk you out of coming back with me. Or hell, ever talking to me again.”

A pale pink flush rose on her cheeks, and he felt a petty satisfaction at hitting the mark. Then he saw her jaw clench and wondered if maybe he’d gone too far. But what did it matter? He’d probably never see her again. That thought just made him feel sick.

“I see,” Bastila said coldly. “So any woman who does not automatically fall at the feet of the dashing Carth Onasi must be brainwashed or otherwise incapable of logical thought.”

That did it. The finger was pointing at her again. “Listen, sister, this isn’t about my ego. It’s about yours. It’s about you buying all the garbage they’ve been shoveling on you your whole life about being the last hope of the Republic.”

“You would prefer I became a dutiful admiral’s wife?” she snapped. “That I abandon my gifts and breed a new generation of Telosian schoolchildren?”

“I never asked you to abandon anything!” he yelled. A few of the other Jedi in the garden turned toward them then. His jaw clenched again, and he lowered his voice. “And I sure as hell never said anything about marriage.”

She blushed again, but her shoulders straightened and her chin rose like a Jedi facing off against an enemy. Which he guessed she was. “If we are agreed that there would be no future for any kind of relationship between us, then I fail to see why you should care whether I return to Telos or not.”

Carth cursed under his breath. She was gone. She was still standing in front of him, but she might as well have vanished as soon as he’d said the words. Shot in the foot with his own blaster.

He tried anyway, knowing it would be useless. “Bastila, come on. You… you know I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant…”

“No, Carth,” she said. “You’re quite right.” He didn’t know if the little note of sadness was in her tone or just in his imagination. “Nothing was… settled. Or done. There is no need for regret on either side.”

“Oh, yeah?” he said quietly. “’Cause right now I’m feeling a hell of a lot of regret.”

Her expression softened, and she met his eyes again. “A parting was inevitable, Carth. Perhaps you find my reasoning unsound or… or arrogant, but I do have a duty to the Order.”

“I know that. Of course you…” He shook his head in defeat. It was over, and they both knew it.

“I never would have asked you to turn away from the Order,” he said sadly as the full force of his regrets hit him. He’d let his past hold him back. Hold them both back. And now it was too late.

She sighed. “Wouldn’t you? There are those among the Council who believe you already have.”

“Well, Vandar and Jolee say different.” Even to him it sounded petulant.

She smiled slightly and arched an eyebrow. “So you would have me listen to the Council? But only to those who agree with your point of view?”

“That… that’s not what I…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. He was pretty sure that wasn’t what he’d meant, but damned if he could figure out how to explain the difference.

“I know.” She sighed again, a weightless, empty sound. “And I know you would never have asked me to choose between you and the Order. But a choice would have come nevertheless.”

He told himself that it wasn’t that she didn’t choose him that stung so much. “Why?” he asked, but there wasn’t much force behind the question.

She frowned. “Because… because the Order needs me, Carth. Revan is gone; we are depleted by war and desertion… Surely you do not believe there are no other enemies in the galaxy for the Jedi to face.”

“No,” he sighed. “No, of course not. And I know how important your Battle Meditation is. I just meant… why do you have to make a choice?”

Her frown deepened. “I… I would be… distracted,” she said. “How could I commit fully to my duty?”

And somewhere in the hesitant pauses between the words he found a little burst of hope. “Why wouldn’t you be able to? Having a relationship with me wouldn’t make you any less of a Jedi, Bastila. You didn’t come to Telos for me, did you?”

“No, of course not,” she said, still frowning.

“Right.” He nodded. “And if not for…” He gestured vaguely between them. “You would have come back with me, right?”

“Well, yes.”

He nodded again. “Was spending time with me interfering with your work there?”

She smiled a little sadly. “If anything, I would say my work interfered with my spending time with you.”

“Exactly,” he said, feeling the burst of hope build little by little. “Bastila, you’re not going to shirk your duty for me. Ever.” He half-smiled. “It’s… it’s one of the things I like about you.” Her cheeks flushed again, and her eyes dropped to his chest. “And I’ll never ask you to,” he said softly.

“Carth, you… you don’t understand. A Jedi… must hold the deepest commitment…”

“And one commitment cancels out the possibility of any others?” He shook his head stubbornly. “I don’t believe that, Bastila. Obviously,” he added, a little ruefully.

She looked up at him then, her eyes again unreadable. “And would you do it again?” she asked quietly. “Would you still hold as tightly to your duty knowing what it would cost you?”

He just stared at her for a long moment, searching for an answer to the question he’d asked himself over and over again for five years. If he could go back, if he could change what he’d done, if the memory wasn’t just a memory, would he do it all again? Would he fight for the Republic, fight for the ideals that he had cherished, that he still cherished? Or would he give up the battles he’d helped win, the lives he’d helped save, for the one life he’d loved above anything else?

“I… I don’t know,” he said finally.

She gazed at him seriously. “Neither do I,” she said. “I have been afraid to ask myself that question.” She shook her head. “And fear is dangerous in a Jedi. Especially to one as powerful as I.”

“So that’s it?” Carth asked. “You’re afraid of… of yourself? Still?” He could feel her slipping away from him again, and his hope was slipping right along with her. Almost in desperation, he stepped toward her, his hands going to her shoulders. He bent his head, and his lips nearly grazed her forehead. “How do I convince you that you have nothing to be afraid of?” he murmured.

“I…” she breathed. Then she sighed, soft and low. “I don’t think you can.” Her face lifted so she could meet his eyes again. “If anyone could have…”

She trailed off, but the silence only lasted a moment before she shook her head slightly.

“I am sorry, Carth.”

And then she had pulled out of his arms and stepped out of reach.

“Please express my regrets to Chodo and the other Ithorians as well,” she said in a voice that could only be described as polite. She opened her mouth, paused. “May the Force be with you,” she said finally.

She waited a moment for a response. He tried to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat, but then she turned and walked away. He didn’t know what he would have said anyway. The Force hadn’t been with him in five years.