CHAPTER 29

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Bastila Shan paced in her quarters, T3-M4 emitting a concerned chirp from his corner. She had been shut out. Locked away. Supposedly, it was all for her protection. Given that she hadn't been allowed in any staff meetings, or near Bao-Dur's workshop, she suspected it was for everyone else's protection.

She was practically a prisoner. Just outside her door, HK-47 stood guard-her warden. She could tell what Revan and Surik were thinking. The spy only followed Bastila. Lock her up. Keep her safe. And keep their plans safe.

The plans were fairly obvious at this point. Summon the fleet. Detonate weapon. Renegotiate treaty on the Republic's terms. Go home.

Everything else was just the details. Details to which she wasn't privy. How would the Republic fleet trap the Mandalorian fleet close enough to the planet without inflicting massive casualties on itself? Decoy ships to lure the fleet was her first solution. Surik had shot it down, saying that Fett would never fall for another decoy trick, and then suggested she get some sleep. HK had helpfully restated said suggestion: "Translation: Stay out of the way."

Right. That would never happen. She had too many questions. Revan had shut her out, using security as a convenient excuse. Even now, he was holed up in Bao-Dur's workshop, drafting task orders behind locked duristeel doors. He didn't want her to know what he was really doing.

After all, who cared what the Mass Shadow Generator's exact blast radius was when the plan was so obvious? Protecting the weapon from sabotage was the convenient answer, of course. What if the spy got too close to the workshop? And what if the spy used Bastila to do so?

The answers were too easy and too convenient to accept at face value. But she had no proof that anything was amiss, nothing to show to the admirals. And she suspected that Revan was prepared to explain to the admiralty that some Republic ships would have to be caught in the blast to ensure enough Mandalorian ships were destroyed. As long as the numbers were low enough, they would accept them. Even Surik. Especially Surik. The Jedi were sycophants, one and all-too blind by their devotion to the Revanchist to see that he had become unhinged.

She needed to get into that workshop, if only for her own peace of mind. If only so she could sleep without having night terrors.

Bastila hovered over her desk, setting up a cantina tune from some popular new band to play. Twisted Rancors. Whatever. As long as HK couldn't hear. She scribbled on a scratch sheet of flimsiplast, and then walked two paces to T3-M4, kneeling.

"T3," she whispered. She could barely hear herself over the music. T3 could hear her better.

The droid beeped.

"I need you to deliver this to someone." She whispered the name, her voice even lower as she added further instructions. Folding the scrap piece of paper, she tucked it into T3's waiting mechanical claw. "That's a good droid. Do whatever she tells you, all right? Come back when you're finished."

She rose, turning the music off and opening the door.

HK stood outside, blinking lazily as he turned to face her. She knew, of course, that the droid did nothing lazily. Indeed, behind those eyes were buzzing sensors and cold calculations meant to measure her heart rate. She kept her breathing normal, calm.

"Hello, HK. I could use some tea." Bastila stood there, waiting expectantly.

"Statement: My programming is to guard your meatbag life form, not to hydrate it."

"You can multitask," Bastila said, hands going to her hips.

"Clarification: My programming also involves not having any serendipitous incidents involving my blaster rifle aimed at your slushy head while serving you dead leaves steeped in hot water."

"So, you can't multitask?"

"Objection: I am multitasking even as we speak. My circuitry is presently assessing the probability of your choking on your own tea. Sadly, the odds are only three thousand to one."

"Insane tin can," Bastila muttered under her breath. T3 beeped in agreement.

"Statement: I am perfectly sane, caffa pourer. You won't see me volunteering for tasks beneath my programming."

She leaned against the door frame, folding her arms. "Is that why you're stuck guarding me?"

"Objection: I hardly volunteered for my current assignment. Indeed, the best either of us can hope for is for Bao-Dur to make a grave miscalculation and smash us all into the planet."

She swore the droid's red eyes glowed gleefully at the prospect of what was to come. Force! She hated this droid. Bao-Dur had said something about Revan using a Basilisk war droid's neural link to program HK. That disturbed her in so many ways. It was as though the droid reflected all of Revan's cold mathematical thinking combined with his morbid humor, and yet lacked the warmth she knew he was capable of-the perfect battle droid, and perfect psychopath. It was an understatement to say that its programming needed an adjustment. It simply needed a full wipe and a fresh start. Alas, she was stuck with the thing, praying it didn't have a fatal bug that would cause it to put a blaster shot into her head.

"Well, then," Bastila said, "since I'm not allowed to leave, and neither are you, then perhaps T3 could fetch my tea."

HK's eyes glowed an even deeper red. "Statement: I doubt the little tin can even reach the shelf."

"I'm sure he can find someone to help him. Tea. Now."

The droid hesitated, performing more calculations, sensors taking more measurements of the sweat on her skin, her core temperature. Just remain calm. Think tea.

At last, it stepped to the side. "Acquiescence: The tin can may fetch your dead-leaf-flavored water."

Bastila nodded to T3, who had rolled up beside her. "Go on."

She watched T3 obediently roll out into the corridor outside, before HK slid back into place, blocking her way and her view like a slammed door. She sniffed, pressing the button to her door to slam it for real, though it only slid shut gently.

T3-M4 glided through corridor after corridor, narrowly avoiding rolling over an officer's foot or bumping into another astromech droid. More often, personnel nearly tripped on him, his short height easily missed. The ship's computer had told him where to find her, but it was a long way from Bastila's quarters.

At last, the droid arrived at the hangar bay, phase one of his mission nearly complete. His sensors scanned the myriad of life forms, until they seized upon one Echani Jedi loading crates onto a shuttle.

T3 rolled up to her, dodging more personnel. He beeped and chirped his apologies, though no one apologized in return when they tripped over him.

He paused at her feet, his lens looking up to read her face.

"Beep dwoo!"

The Echani woman looked down, a white eyebrow arching. "Pardon me?"

T3 extended his mechanical arm, claw gripping the note.

"For me?" The woman held out her hand, allowing T3 to release the paper. She unfolded it and read it silently.

Finally, she shook her head. T3 couldn't be sure with organic lifeforms, but he was certain her facial expression registered sadness.

"I am truly sorry," she said. "This is something I cannot do. Please pass on my apology to General Shan."

T3 swiveled his head back and forth, beeping a stern negative. He thrust his claw toward her white robe sleeve, grabbing hold and tugging.

"You don't understand. He won't see me, either. I'm sure something is wrong, but he won't let me help him. I would probably do more harm than good."

T3 tugged more fiercely, his wheels squealing against the deck as he rolled in reverse.

The woman stumbled a few paces to save her robe from tearing. "I suppose I could try. I know she wouldn't have written this if there wasn't trouble. All you need is a distraction? For how long?"

T3 released her sleeve, beeping in joy.

"Just a few minutes? Very well."

T3 turned and rolled away, leading her out of the hangar bay, leaving a trail of happy beeps behind him.

"And you need me to get you some tea?"

Revan studied the holoprojection of the star system, every now and then pinching his fingers in the air to zoom in or swiping his hand to make it rotate. He frowned beneath his mask as the computer showed the mock fleets floating as blue dots into their assigned positions, this time with the Mass Shadow Generator now facing toward the system's lone sun, Malachor V having turned in its lazy rotation. A circle encompassed the planet, designating the expected event horizon that the Mass Shadow Generator would create when the planet imploded.

"Rerun simulation," he said.

Red dots representing the Mandalorian fleet exited the hyperspace lane and slowly intermingled with the blue dots. The holoprojection lit brightly for a moment as Malachor V's orb imploded. Red and blue dots alike disappeared, leaving only about half intact. This was the worse case scenario, with Republic ships tightly hugging the planet to lure the Mandalorian fleet as close as possible to their own destruction. More red dots had disappeared than blue dots, as he had programmed a large number of blue dots to maneuver safely away from the event horizon to enclose the red dots in a deadly trap-one from which there would be no escape. He studied the number output on the computer console.

A third of the blue dots had perished.

The admiralty will never go for this, Revan thought. Then again, neither would most of the Jedi. And he needed them for this, needed them to board the Mandalorian ships that escaped the trap, and commandeer them. Needed them to follow him when it was over. On the other hand, he needed the remaining Jedi to feel as though they would not be welcomed back to Coruscant, even if they wanted to return home. He needed them to have no other place to go but with him.

Which was why nobody had to know the value of the event horizon radius that Bao-Dur had calculated. Only he knew thus far, and he would keep it that way. Bao-Dur and his team of engineers were safely sequestered in another wing of the workshop, away from the computer that Revan was borrowing. It was easy to convince everyone, even Surik, that the guards posted at the workshop doors were a necessity. They had a spy on board, after all.

Revan swiped his hand, shrinking the circle that represented the event horizon.

"Restart simulation," he said.

Ninety-two percent of the blue dots survived this time, but only ten percent of the red dots were destroyed. The admiralty would like these numbers, even if Revan didn't. And these were the only numbers they had to know. They thought the whole point was to send the Mandalorians a message: "Surrender, or we'll do far worse to you with our super-weapon." But Revan knew that sending a message wasn't good enough. They needed to end this now, for good. Another war was coming.

The hard part was choosing who would live and who would die. He could put the most abrasive of the admiralty within the true event horizon. That would avoid the inevitable questions in the aftermath. Yun was obvious. Karath he would keep safe. Dodonna...he leaned toward safe, though she was more loyal to her career. Still, she had proven herself flexible when reasoned with. Yes, the admiralty was easy. The Revanchists, not so much. Some would perish. They needed enough chaos past the event horizon to keep the Mandalorian fleet pinned there, and sending in even more ships for reinforcements. He needed some of his best to board their ships. But who could he spare?

A tap on the door on the other side of the workshop forced him to shut down the simulation. "This had better be good," he growled.

He turned to see the intruder, and found his eyes frozen on hers. Her eyes had always had a way of pinning him, from the time he had been a boy. Two long, white braids graced her shoulders. Even though middle-aged, she looked as young as the day he had fatefully picked her pocket and lifted her lightsaber.

"Master," Revan said.

Arren Kai gave him a quick nod as the door slid shut behind her, T3-M4 rolling up alongside.

"Please, don't take it out on your soldiers," she said. "I can be very convincing." Master Kai waved her hand in the sort of motion a Jedi might use to perform a mind trick on a subject.

"Well, thank you for pointing out the vital flaw in our security. What brings you here?"

"To the point. Can't a teacher visit her former student?"

Revan scowled underneath his mask. "Now isn't a good time."

"It never is. I found your droid loitering out in the corridor. Apparently the soldiers won't allow even your own droid in to see you."

"It isn't my droid."

"Oh?" Her eyes pried him open like a can of preserved fruit. He hated how she could do that.

"I reprogrammed it, yes. But I gave it away as a gift."

"To someone special, I presume?"

Revan turned away, pretending to fiddle with settings on the computer. "I presume you have a reason to be here other than to pry into my personal life."

"So the rumors are true. There is someone special. And I would presume she feels the same, given she sent her droid to check up on you."

"Yes, well, you're not exactly in a position to lecture me on attachments." Revan winced even as he said it, and slowly looked over his shoulder to see the effect his words had had.

His Master's eyes were closed as she drew in a deep breath, collecting herself. "I didn't come here to lecture you. I came for your advice."

Revan hung his head as he hunched over the console. T3 rolled up to him, signaling his concern with a bweep-do, and Revan gave the little droid a pat on his upper chassis.

Even T3 is less of a droid than I am right now, Revan thought. What was he becoming? What you have to be, was the obvious answer.

"Go on," he said at last.

"You once asked me how you could leave the Jedi forever."

"I was being rash at the time," Revan said. "But your advice was to the point. Do something so outrageous that even Jedi cannot forgive it."

"And my advice was also rash. I was bitter in my exile."

Revan turned to face her. "And what is your question now?"

"How do I return to the Jedi, after all I've done?"

"You don't," Revan said. "You go home."

"And yet neither of us have homes."

"You have a daughter. That's more of a home than most of us here."

Revan watched as Arren Kai took in a deep breath, bracing herself.

"I...can think of another home," she said. "One I foolishly abandoned. Is there no return to that one?"

"Is that why you followed me to war?" Revan sniffed.

Arren Kai drew near him anyway. Slowly, she raised her hands to his mask, lifting it from his face. She spared one hand to brush back his his hair. It was a tenderness she had not shown to him since he had been a child.

The young Jedi swallowed a lump in his throat. He was vaguely aware of T3 swiveling his upper chassis and scooting to the side, but he paid the droid little heed. There was only master and student here, mother and son.

"I know I made a terrible mistake," Master Kai breathed. "And I know that asking for your forgiveness would be too much. At least, allow me to make amends."

"Are you actually sorry?" Revan said, snatching her hand and dragging it away from his face. "Or is Yusanis not still following you like a lost Kath hound pup?"

Master Kai winced. "I cannot help that he follows me." She returned his gaze. "I only came to follow you."

"Not sorry, then." Revan brushed her aside, turning his back to her once more. "If you'll excuse me," he said, loading one of his more innocent simulation files from the terminal.

"I have resisted his advances. Truly."

"For how long? A whole week?"

"Will you hold this grudge against me forever? I am here to offer my help. You don't need to bar yourself in here alone."

Her hand came to rest on his shoulder. Never before had she been so intrusive. Always she had kept a respectful distance in her long penance. He had to resist the urge to shake off her hand.

"Please," he said through clenched teeth, "go home to your daughter. She needs her mother."

"So do you."

"I'm not your son. I never was. It's not like you didn't warn me about attachments."

"I gave you an impossible rule. It was always impossible for me."

Revan squeezed his eyes shut. Please, go home. I don't want you to be there to choose. Please.

"Just tell me where you need me to be. I'll go."

Slowly, Revan nodded. She knew what volunteering could cost her. There were so few Jedi Masters with them, and so many had perished already. Now, more than ever, Revan needed the most experienced Jedi to take point in what he hoped would be the final battle of this war-even if he lost them in the process.

It was a necessary sacrifice. He had offered her an out. She would have taken that out if she had truly wanted to.

"Very well," Revan said, glancing behind him. "I'll send you your orders."

Master Kai bowed her head, a motion that seemed so backwards to Revan-as though she were the student, and he were the Master. He warily watched her as she gathered her robes and receded towards the door. As the door slid shut behind her, Revan heard T3's arm retract, and his chassis swivel.

"T3, please help Bao-Dur," Revan said, his head nodding toward the door to the inner workshop. "I think he needs help with some calibrations."

T3 beeped in protest. Something about tea.

"I'll make sure she gets some tea."

The droid gave another beep-bloop.

"And I'll let her know that I'm all right," he said, his hands raised placatingly. "This is for her protection."

The droid gave a sorry dwoop as he rolled into the next room over.

"Protection from me," Revan whispered. He know what he had to become. It was best she stayed away from him.

He gazed at the door for a time, lost in thought. At last, he turned back to the computer terminal. He found his mask, donning it along with his hood, and reloaded the simulation. Arren Kai could take her company to the center, boarding whatever Mandalorian flagships she could. It was important to keep enough Jedi and Republic soldiers entangled in the center of the fighting, so that the Mandalorians would not suspect that Revan was willing to sacrifice so many. Yusanis could support the outer edges of their trap.

But where to put Bastila? The thought came unbidden to his mind. He tried to clear his head with a shake, but it was no use. Locking her in her quarters was a temporary measure. Her Battle Meditation was simply not needed. No, he would need that for later. Much later. But would she give it to him, after he committed this atrocity? She would see right through his excuses. One look into his eyes, mask or no, and she would know what his intentions truly were. She would never give her gift to him again. And he knew he couldn't fight their true enemy without her. While she might fight their enemy, it would never be alongside him. She would fight him as well.

There he stood, paralyzed, unable to do what needed to be done, and unable to turn back.

"Curse you, Bastila," he muttered aloud. He made his decision, turning off the simulation with a smack of his fist into the terminal.

Revan's eye caught a small emblem flashing on the screen below the holographic projector. He squinted to read the text beside it.

Data transfer complete.

Only, he hadn't transferred anything. How...?

He snatched up his commlink.

"HK, please set your firearm to stun, and disable General Shan."

Bastila paced, waiting anxiously for the transmission from Bao-Dur's workshop. Had T3 failed to get inside? Had he been caught? She didn't dare contact him on the commlink. And yet, if he didn't hurry back, the demonic droid outside her quarters would surely be suspicious.

A curt beep sounded from her computer terminal. Bastila leaned over her small desk, her fingers eagerly opening the new message that had arrived in her inbox. Her eyes squinted as she took in the data. For a brief moment, she felt relieved. These were honest task orders, which included estimated casualties. But then she saw the simulation report.

Her mouth went dry, her body cold. Then she snapped to action. She could no longer hope for the best. She found Admiral Dodonna's comm channel, and forwarded the data to her.

Transmission timed out.

Bastila stared at the terminal screen. No. She tried her commlink. Any channel would do. It merely crackled back at her, dead.

A disturbance in the Force brought her to her senses. By reflex, she turned toward the door, her hand snapping up, just as HK-47 stormed in, his rifle aimed at her.

A blast from the Force sent the droid flying backward, but not before he hurled a flash grenade into Bastila's quarters.

The Jedi winced as light flashed, burning hot on her retinas. But she didn't need her eyes to feel the droid already rising, stomping toward her, mechanical finger squeezing the trigger.

She flung herself toward him, her lightsaber already in her hand and igniting one of its blades with an infuriated hiss. With a Force-empowered kick, she sent the droid staggering back once more, and thrust her lightsaber towards the droid's core. He caught her hilt as the blade went through its body. Bastila could smell the burning metal, hear the sizzle.

"Ouch! Medic!" The droid pressed all its weight into her, pressing her back into her quarters. "Promise of revenge: You'll pay for that, Jedi."

Bastila gritted her teeth, blinking away her blurry vision as she gathered her strength for one final push. "You'll have to take a rain check," she said, and hurled the droid back into the wall opposite her quarters in the corridor outside. It collapsed in a heap of sparks. For good measure, the Jedi sent another wave of the Force into it, compressing it further into the corridor hull.

She blinked once more, and could just make out the droid's eyes going dark. An alarm blared, emergency lights flashing on and off in a steady rhythm. An automated voice echoed throughout the corridor: "This is not a drill. All personnel on deck twenty-three please use emergency ladder exits. Repeat. This is not a drill."

Revan knew. The meager smoke from the droid's chassis was not enough to trigger an evacuation of the deck. He was clearing the deck of all personnel. There would be no one to run to for help. As if to confirm her thoughts, an emergency blast door slammed down from the ceiling down the corridor off to her right. She would soon be like a caged beast if she did not hurry.

She extinguished her lightsaber and fled toward the nearest turbolift. Her legs burned as she pushed herself to run faster, past confused astromech droids who couldn't possibly climb a ladder. The deck was already devoid of soldiers, of any personnel. She rounded a corner, the turbolift just thirty paces ahead.

A light on its control panel blinked on, and the lift's door slid open.

Revan stood inside, arms crossed, his mask and hood shrouding his face in darkness.

Bastila staggered to a halt. The two Jedi eyed each other warily, Bastila using the time to catch her breath.

Her first instinct was to flee in the opposite direction, but that would be giving into fear. She took a deep breath to lower her heart rate. Calmly, she raised her lightsaber, igniting both blades. The yellow light reflected off the cream-white corridor walls like early morning sunlight.

"I'm not here to fight you, Bastila," Revan said, casually stepping out of the turbolift as though he were simply having a chat with a friend.

"Then I suggest you move aside. I'm leaving."

"Last I checked, you were doing more than just leaving. Weren't you just attempting to transmit a message?"

"They deserve to know," Bastila said.

"No, they deserve to win," Revan countered.

"Then you can win without me."

"I'm afraid I can't-"

But Bastila cut him short, leaving him little time to react. She flung a wave of the Force toward him.

He was too fast. He deflected it, and countered with his own wave of energy, knocking her off her feet. Her head hit the deck hard. She scrambled from the floor, only for Revan to blast another wave of the Force at her. This time, she was ready. She raised her hand, deflecting it as she charged toward him with her lightsaber.

A blast from a rifle coursed through her body, paralyzing her as she toppled to the cold deck.

The last thing she saw was HK-47 standing over her, eyes glowing an angry red. Sparks and smoke still wafted out of its chassis where her lightsaber had burned a hole.

"Statement: It's called a backup generator, silly Jedi meatbag."

And then her mind shut down as a flow of energy soothed her to sleep.