Smoke and Mirrors

Author's note: This was co-authored with Prisoner24601. It can be read as a stand-alone or as the sequel to "Playing with Matches," which can be read on Pris's page here.

Bastila supposed that Korriban was a victory. They had retrieved the Star Map and no one had been injured beyond the skills of the Jedi to heal. They had even recovered Carth’s lost son and all but destroyed a Sith training facility. By all accounts, the mission continued to be a success.  

And perhaps anyone who could not feel the tumult of Min’s emotions and did not know Min’s true identity could count it so. But Bastila was not so fortunate. Once she was certain that all of the crew would recover, she left the med bay and went in search of Min. Her bondmate had not sought healing, though Bastila could feel her pain, both physical and mental.  

By the time Bastila reached the women’s quarters, Min was hobbling out of the refresher. The bloodied and torn Sith robes she’d worn at the Academy dangled from the thumb and forefinger of one hand, and an expression of obvious distaste adorned her face.  

“Are you all right?” Bastila asked. It was a rather silly question; their bond made it clear that Min was anything but all right. But given what Min had been through on Korriban, it seemed important for her to articulate what she was feeling. It seemed equally important that Bastila hear it.  

“I will be.” Min looked up at the ceiling and scowled. “Once I can figure out a way to burn these damn things without setting off the fire suppression system.” Bastila watched the shudder race down her bondmate’s spine. “I don’t want anything from that fracking planet on our ship.”  

“Perhaps the airlock,” Bastila suggested, trying to conceal her relief from the bond. She had been half-afraid that Min’s disquiet was the result of leaving Korriban and its influence.  

“Not as satisfying but far more practical. Airlock it is.” Min dropped the clothes into a pile on the floor before easing herself onto her bunk. She hissed in pain before asking, “How are the others? I’m assuming they’re okay if you’re in here.”  

“Mission’s injuries were superficial. I assisted Jolee in healing himself, and he is as capable as I of healing the others. Certainly more so in Zaalbar’s case.” Bastila crossed the small room and sat beside Min on the bunk. “I came to see if you need assistance.”  

Min turned and let the towel wrapped around her torso slide down, revealing a mass of newly formed bruises that covered her back, already turning purple and yellow underneath her brown skin. “Just that and my sprained ankle. Gifts from Uthar.” Brief images flickered through the bond of red and yellow lightsabers locking together and then a wave of foul energy slamming Min back against a cold stone wall. “I should have poisoned that bald son of a schutta when I had the chance.”  

Bastila laid a hand on her bondmate’s back and let a wave of Force healing flow through her fingers. “Why didn’t you heal yourself?”  

“The Dark Side taint in those tombs was too strong.” Min closed her eyes and rubbed the dark circles under her eyes with the palm of her hand. Bastila could feel Min’s exhaustion seep through their bond. “I couldn’t focus on something like healing there, not after two duels and everything else I went through today.”  

Bastila sat back, folding her hands in her lap and focusing on maintaining a neutral expression and tone despite the anxiety of Min’s exposure to the Dark Side. For it was Min and not Revan, as she constantly struggled to remind herself. Or perhaps convince herself. “I assume Uthar and his apprentice did not survive?”  

“Uthar didn’t, but Yuthura yielded.” Min turned to face her. “I shouldn’t have let her go. She could cause a hell of a lot of trouble for us if she wants to.”  

Relief mingled with Bastila’s worry once more. Perhaps it was a strategic error to allow a powerful Sith to escape, but that made the act of mercy all the more important. Revan would never have allowed compassion to cloud a tactical decision. “I’m surprised to hear she yielded. From what you told me of her, she seemed quite determined to assume power for herself.”  

Min stood, gingerly testing her newly healed ankle. “I’d like to think that it was because she finally realized the Sith were using her and that the Dark Side was consuming her, but it probably had more to do with my lightsaber next to her throat.” She met Bastila’s eyes; fear, tight and cold, scurried from one woman’s mind to the other. “I liked her, you know. Hell, under a different set of circumstances, I could have been her.”  

Min’s emotions and admission undammed Bastila’s own checked fears. “How do you mean?”  

“Almost everyone at that school was a power-hungry bastard. But she wanted to help people—people she thought the Jedi had turned their backs on. I get her frustration and anger with them because I’ve felt it myself. I’d like to think that if I’d been in her shoes, I would have made better choices, but I’m pretty sure I would have lost my way, just like her.” Min’s lips thinned as she dropped her gaze to the metal plating of the deck. “I almost did, and I was there for less than three weeks.”  

Every word Min spoke was more true than she knew, and Bastila struggled to find words of guidance or comfort. “Perhaps she can serve as a warning for the future. Even with the best of intentions, we must be vigilant to match our actions to our goals.” The words sounded like a student reciting a lecture she was not entirely sure she had understood, even to Bastila. Not for the first time on this mission, she wondered if the Masters had made a horrible mistake, both in allowing Min to roam freely and in expecting Bastila to direct her path.  

“They offered me control of the Academy.” Min finally looked up, dark eyes glinting in the dim light. “I wanted to take it. Even though I saw what it had done to her, even though I knew it was wrong, there was a part of me that thought I could handle it. I was so angry with the Jedi—for the way that they’ve let all of us down. Me, Yuthura, Juhani, and especially you.”  

“You think the Jedi have let me down?” To be included in a list of three Jedi who had given in to the Dark Side—even if Min didn’t know it in her own case—stung. Bastila tried so hard to quell her own misgivings, to trust in the Council who had placed such trust in her. Min obviously did not share their trust.  

“Yeah, I do.” Bastila could feel resentment, anger, and bitter betrayal twisting deep inside of Min, somewhere the Council, with all their power, hadn’t been able to touch. “That’s what the Council always does. They sit on their hands and spout their idealistic banthashit that no one can fracking live up to, as they toss their best and brightest to the firaxan sharks.” Min strode over to her storage compartment and jerked it open, her hands clenching the latch tightly. “They dropped the fate of the galaxy in your lap and shoved you out the door with just this crew as your help.” Her hands started to shake as she continued, old bitterness shattering into a more recent pain. “And they left you bonded to a woman that you’re afraid of.”  

Bastila had been surprised at how deeply Min felt things; she had expected Revan to be cold, calculating. But now she could feel Min’s hurt, and she searched for a truth to alleviate her friend’s pain.  

“It has been many years since I felt power like yours,” she offered. “I have felt secure in the knowledge that my ability outweighed all those around me. Even among Masters, though many are more talented or more disciplined, few can match me.” It sounded arrogant, she knew, but it was the truth. “But you are far beyond me. And I find myself both concerned and... envious, I suppose.”  

“Envious? Of me?” Min stared at Bastila for a few seconds. “Bastila, you faced down Darth Revan and came out in one piece. I faced a few pimply teenagers and some Sith middle management and nearly fell.”  

“Korriban’s influence is deeply corrupt. I also felt it.” Though she had been pleased to discover that she was not tempted by that influence. Despite Min’s trials, careful meditation was all she had needed to remain focused.  

Min shivered again and pulled out a pair of warm ship knits, putting them on as she spoke. “Even after all the lectures and even after that temple on Dantooine, I wasn’t prepared for how… “ She groped around for the right word. “… familiar it was. Putting on those robes, pretending to be one of them… it was so easy. Compared to me those kids were amateurs. And the nights… frack, between all those damn visions of Revan and Malak and the way that the walls would just close in and whisper to you… I don’t think I would have made it off that rock if it weren’t for Canderous and the others.”  

Shock splintered Bastila’s control. “You had visions of Revan on the surface?”  

“You didn’t?” Min frowned. “I had them almost every night. I even had a few during the day when I was awake.”  

Only a lifetime of mental discipline kept Bastila’s panic in check. “Perhaps the planet’s energy amplified your visions while at the same time interfering with our bond.” She silently prayed that the word “visions” was not a lie. “What did you see?” she asked, keeping her voice and the bond carefully calm.  

“Some of them were about the Star Map. Some of them weren’t. That place wasn’t just an academy. They used to take Jedi there, to break them.” Min slammed the compartment shut. “I’m glad you didn’t see them. I wish I hadn’t too.”  

They were clearly memories. As Bastila had gotten to know Min and even become friends with her, she had felt some qualms regarding lying about her identity, but the Masters believed that maintaining the illusion was necessary. Bastila was entrusted with preventing Revan’s return by any means. Even if it meant hurting her friend.  

“It may not have been only Korriban’s influence,” she finally said. “Your relationship with Canderous leaves you vulnerable. It’s dangerous to continue, Min.”  

The word cracked across the room. “What?”  

Bastila jumped slightly, startled by the vehemence of Min’s response, but she was determined to make her point. “Emotional attachments are a danger to any Jedi. Especially an attachment to a man such as Canderous Ordo.”  

Long seconds passed as Min began to pace, her agitation making her movements sharp. Bastila didn’t need the bond to tell her that Min was trying to get her temper under control, but under the anger she could feel fear and doubt bloom. Finally, she stopped and spoke. “I can’t just flip a switch and stop caring about him. People don’t work that way!”  

“You’re right,” Bastila said quietly. “People do not work that way. But we are not just people. We are Jedi. And so we must train ourselves to ‘flip that switch,’ as you say, or risk harming not just ourselves, but the people we care for.” It was a lesson that Bastila had learned long ago, starting as a frightened six-year-old weeping for her father silently in the night. It was a lesson that she knew she must adhere to regardless of the affection she might feel for Min or the other members of the crew.  

Min crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow. “Canderous is entirely capable of taking care of himself. After Korriban, he’s seen me at my worst and if he’s willing to take the risk, then so am I.”  

Given the seriousness of the situation, Bastila refrained from rolling her eyes. “That is precisely the problem. He sees you at your worst and is unconcerned. Even if you fell, I doubt it would matter. Even if you were to threaten Mission or Carth or myself, he would not stop you.”  

Bastila’s words had the same physical effect as if she’d slapped her bondmate across the face. “You think that I would try to hurt you and the others? You have that little faith in me?”  

“It’s not a matter of faith.” Bastila felt the absurd urge to laugh. It was simply too ridiculous to be explaining the Dark Side to Revan. “If you were to fall to the Dark Side, you would hurt anyone who stood in your way. You would turn your back on the Order and the Republic itself. You would care for nothing but your own power.”  

“So instead you want me to turn my back on someone that I care about and focus only on duty? Frack me, Bastila, that just as dangerous as what the Sith do!”  

“It is necessary,” Bastila snapped. She forced herself to take a deep breath; the emotions reflecting between them were too strong. “Caring for one individual so deeply interferes with your ability to separate your emotions from your judgment. What would you do if he were injured? Or killed?”  

Min’s voice rose to a near shout. “Probably the same thing I’d do if you were killed! You’re the closest thing I have to family, dammit! Am I supposed to cut you out of my life too?”  

Feeling simultaneously touched and frightened, Bastila was at a loss for a moment. Because of their bond and the mission, she had believed that her closeness to Min was unavoidable. Now she began to see the danger of that thinking. If they both survived this mission, perhaps it would be best to attempt to break the bond. She was surprised to find that instead of relief, the idea brought her a sense of loss.  “If caring for me endangers you or others, then that is something we should guard against,” she said quietly. “By whatever means are necessary.”  

“No!” Hurt and frustration slammed through the bond, crashing against Bastila’s mental defenses. “Caring about you and Canderous and the others didn’t put me in danger back there; it’s what got me out. It gave me the strength to turn that power down and walk away. And if you can’t understand that, then the Jedi really have let you down in more ways than I realized.”  

Bastila wanted to believe her; Min felt she needed these connections. But Bastila had to weigh the wisdom of centuries of Jedi Masters ahead of the desires of a woman who had already fallen. And, Bastila reminded herself, when Revan fell, she took many Jedi with her, probably using arguments very similar to these.  

“You admit yourself that Korriban was difficult for you, while I did not struggle so much. I was captured on Taris and humiliated by the Black Vulkar gang and maintained control. Can you truly not appreciate that the Jedi have done more for me than you will admit?”  

“Like what? Take you away from your father? Steal your childhood? Cloister you from any kind of normal human interaction for most of your life so that you don’t know how to connect with other people? Dump a bunch of responsibility on you and hold you out as the last great hope of the Republic despite the personal cost?” She sighed. “Bastila, I’ve watched you struggle to stay aloof from everyone for months, but it doesn’t have to be that way.”  

This time Bastila did roll her eyes. “Socializing is not the point of this journey, Min.” 

Min’s brows shot up. “That’s pretty rich coming from the woman who spends most of her free time in the cockpit making eyes at our pilot.”  

Surprise at the sudden reversal and a jolt of embarrassment left Bastila momentarily speechless. “I beg your pardon?” she finally managed.

“You heard me.” Min pointed at her bondmate. “You have a crush on Onasi.” 

“That’s absurd.” Bastila turned away from Min to straighten the blanket on the bunk. “I am a grown woman and a Jedi. I do not have a crush on anyone.”  

“Right. I forgot. Jedi don’t get to have feelings about other people—especially handsome Republic officers. That must have been somebody else I was sensing over our bond.”  

Realizing she couldn’t smooth the blanket indefinitely, Bastila sighed and turned back to Min. “Is there a reason you feel the need to make something significant out of an idle, passing thought?”  

“Maybe because it’s not idle or passing. You’ve felt this way since at least Dantooine.”  

If Bastila were honest with herself, she had been struck by Carth Onasi’s looks and easy charm since she had met him on the Endar Spire. Of course, she and Min had not been bonded then, or at least had not been aware of their bond. “I’m confident it will pass once our mission is finished.”  

“So that’s it? You’re just going to pretend that you don’t care about him until it’s too late to act on it?” Min threw her hands up. Her frustration was so strong through the bond, Bastila could almost taste it. “What am I saying? Of course that’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to hide behind your duty and the Jedi Code and let something that could be wonderful for both of you slip right through your fingers.”  

Bastila bristled at the intrusion and the implication. “You mean as Jolee’s marriage was wonderful?” she shot back. “It is rumored that Revan and Malak were lovers. You would have us end as wonderfully as they?”  

“You don’t know that’s why they fell. There could have been a thousand other reasons, like oh, I don’t know, maybe the Council sitting on their ass and letting two inexperienced young Knights go off to war by themselves.” Min gestured toward the hatch. “And as for Jolee, go ask him about his wife. Ask him if he regrets marrying her. Ask him if she fell because he loved her or because she wanted power.”  

“I imagine he regrets allowing his affection to blind him to what she was becoming. I imagine he regrets the Jedi she killed. And the Council did not let Revan and Malak go off to war. They did everything in their power to stop them.” Min’s temper stung the back of Bastila’s mind, and she forced herself to take a deep breath. “I cannot allow my judgment to be so impaired. Not when so much is at stake.”  

“Your judgment is already affected by how you feel about him! You agreed to let me risk this whole mission to help his son. A Jedi who followed the Code would have left that kid on Korriban and not gotten involved because that’s the rational, logical, emotionally detached decision to make.”  

It was frightening the extent to which Revan’s disdain for the Jedi lived on in Min. “You truly believe the Jedi to be so cold? You truly believe Master Zhar or Master Vandar or even Master Vrook would have left that young man to the Sith, whatever his familial connections?” Deep down even Bastila had to admit it was not all compassion. Dustil Onasi was surprisingly powerful. And the Council had already shown themselves willing to take great risks to turn a Sith to the light.  

“These are people who stood by and watched planets burn because they thought it was for the greater good. Look at what happened to Juhani—they didn’t even try to get one of their own back!” Min’s hands clenched into tight fists. “One word from Dustil and we would have all been dead or captured. There is no way they would have risked this entire mission or losing you and your Battle Meditation to rescue one lost kid who in the grand scheme of things is pretty fracking insignificant.”  

Bastila didn’t need to feel the spikes of Min’s anger to know this was a dangerous conversation. “You must understand,” she said, trying to move the conversation back to the here and now, “that there is a difference between saving someone because you are attached to them and saving someone because it is the morally correct thing to do. And that there are times when saving someone is not the correct thing to do.” She met Min’s gaze firmly. “I know you care for all of us, but you must understand that not all of us may survive. For the sake of the mission, sacrifices may be necessary.”  

“I know that, okay? There are times when I can’t believe that we’re all still alive.” She paused and Bastila could sense Min’s stubbornness setting in. “I’ll do what I have to do to get the job done. But I’m not cutting myself off from Canderous or you or anyone else because they might get killed, and you shouldn’t either.”  

“I am not talking about someone potentially getting killed in the course of our mission.” Even without the bond, looking into Min’s eyes would have been enough to speak to the depth of her affection for their comrades. Bastila reminded herself that it should serve as a warning against the power of the Dark Side—that this compassionate woman became a ruthless killer who cared only for power.  

“Whatever the Council may have intended by sending me with you,” she continued, “we both know that it is you to whom this crew looks.” They had barely left Dantooine when Bastila had been forced to accept that truth, one that had brought her an equal measure of relief, hurt, and envy. “When the moment arrives that the mission can be saved only through sacrifice, you are the one who will have to make that choice.”  

“This isn’t fair! I didn’t ask for this responsibility. Dammit, six months ago I was an archaeologist who’d never even picked up a blaster before. And now–” She broke off abruptly as she stood. “I have done everything that you and your damned Council have asked of me. Fought the battles, made the plans, done the Jedi training, risked my life for this mission. You can’t ask this of me. It’s too much.”  

“I’m not asking you.” All of Bastila’s anger and fear dissolved as she looked up at Min. She felt nothing but sympathy for someone asked to shoulder too heavy a burden. “You are destined to lead. That is why this path has been laid before you.”  

Min just looked at her in silence for awhile, her emotions such a tangled mess that even her bondmate could not decipher them. “I know. I don’t understand why it is, but I feel it too. I know that I’m supposed to be here, and there’s a big part of me that enjoys the battles and challenge of this mission. Before Korriban, I thought I could handle it. But after tasting what the Dark Side really is, leading this crew, doing this mission just seems so fracking big. I can’t do it alone, Bastila. I need the people that I care about or I’m not going to make it through this. And if I have to sacrifice one of them... “ She sighed. “I guess all I can say is that if the time comes, I’ll try to do the right thing, whatever that is.”  

Bastila rose to stand beside her bondmate. “Have faith in yourself, Min. The crew does. It is why they follow you so willingly.”  

Brown eyes met blue and she could feel Min’s silent gratitude as her bondmate considered her words. She could see the tension slide off Min when her lips twitched and she shook her head. “They follow me because I’m a pain in the ass and bitch at them until they do what I want.”  

Bastila fought a smile as well. “It’s effective nonetheless.”  

Min shot Bastila a wry look. “I don’t know about that. You and Onasi seem to be doing a pretty good job of ignoring me. He’d be good for you, you know. And he needs someone like you.”  

Bastila sighed. “I believe Carth Onasi is perfectly capable of deciding for himself what he does or does not need.” And despite her training, Bastila had occasionally found herself searching for some sign from him that Min was correct. She had yet to discover any, which was surely just as well and certainly no cause for disappointment.  

Min threw her hands up in mock surrender. “All right, all right. If the two of you want to spend hours in the cockpit together pretending like you don’t want to tear each other’s clothes off, that’s up to you. Just like what I do with Canderous is up to me.”  

Months in Min’s company had taught Bastila that this argument would not be won in a single conversation. Min’s stubbornness was a stone wall blocking the bond, and Bastila could only hope that time would wear it down.  

So she addressed her other, perhaps more pressing concern with Min’s activities, despite the flush that spread across her face. “Then I suggest that we devote more time to making the bond more... private.”  

Min’s shameless laughter was interrupted by a yawn. “Sure thing. But first I want food and a nap. I haven’t had a decent meal or sleep in weeks.” 

“Of course,” Bastila said. “I plan to meditate for a time in the cargo hold. You can join me there after you’ve rested.”

Min waved her agreement through another yawn as she walked out into the corridor. Bastila followed. When they reached the main hold, Min headed toward the galley, but Bastila paused for a moment. The corridor to her right would lead her to the cargo hold, but she found herself contemplating the corridor to her left. She trusted Carth with the navigation of course, but with the mission at such a crucial juncture—only the Star Map on Manaan remained—surely it would be wise to check their position and offer her assistance with any calculations. Min would undoubtedly find the detour amusing, but that was because she did not understand the complexities of interstellar travel. And to avoid the pilot would suggest that Bastila did not trust her own self-control, which would serve as a poor example to Min. A Jedi should follow the proper course of action regardless of others’ opinions or misconceptions.  

Having successfully quashed her own flutter of doubt, Bastila turned to the left corridor and strode confidently to the cockpit.