Star Wars: The Old Republic: Annihilation

by Drew Karpyshyn

  Well, most games. Despite being invited, he was still breaking into her apartment. Part of it was the challenge—he just wanted to prove he could do it. But he also didn’t want others to figure out that he and Satele were related. Shan was a common surname, but it was unusual for an SIS field agent to meet in person with the Grand Master of the Jedi Order. It wasn’t like he was being followed, but on the slim chance someone saw him at her door he didn’t want anyone to start making connections. Theron was convinced his life would get a lot more complicated if their relationship went public.

  Probably bad for her, too, Theron assured himself. Doing her a favor by breaking in.

  The Jedi still officially condemned the emotional attachments of marriage and children. If people found out Satele had a son, they’d think she was a hypocrite.

  If they knew she spent her whole life acting as if I didn’t even exist, Theron wondered, would that make things better or worse?

  Disabling the building’s perimeter sensors and scaling the wall took only a few minutes, and it gave Theron a chance to work out his injured shoulder. He’d been favoring it for the past five days; it was time to see how it was healing.

  By the time he swung his legs over the railing of her third-floor balcony, he was satisfied that he’d make a full recovery. His shoulder was a little tired, but otherwise felt good. Another week and it would be back to 100 percent.

  The sliding glass doors leading from the balcony and into the apartment were wide open, despite the chill of the night air. Clearly, Satele was expecting him.

  As he stepped into the apartment, she rose from the chair she had been sitting in.

  She was wearing the simple brown robes of a Jedi, her hood thrown back. Her shoulder-length hair was brown with some faint silver-gray highlights that gave her a regal air. Theron didn’t see much family resemblance in their features, but he wasn’t looking that hard. Her skin was surprisingly smooth and clear; though she was close to sixty, she looked at least two decades younger.

  Is that because the Force flows through her, or is it just good genes?

  “Thank you for coming,” she said. “Please come in and close the door.”

  Theron complied, sliding the patio doors shut as his eyes took in his surroundings. The apartment was fully furnished and decorated—nothing overly lavish or opulent, but it was obvious more than a few credits had been spent.

  “I thought the Jedi didn’t believe in material goods.”

  “The apartment was furnished when I moved in,” Satele said. “And it’s important to make visitors feel comfortable. Do you really think less of me because I’m not living in an empty hut with nothing to my name but the clothes on my back and a meditation mat?”

  “That’s how Master Zho lived most of his life,” Theron said.

  “He was never Grand Master. He enjoyed a simpler existence. I have certain expectations and obligations that I must meet, even if they go against what I would choose for myself.”

  “You wanted to see me,” Theron said, changing the subject. After a brief pause he added a sarcastic, “Mother.”

  “You have every right to be angry with me,” Satele replied, her voice calm but also tinged with sorrow. “I don’t expect you to fully understand why I had to give you up, but you should know it was the most difficult thing I have ever done.”

  “Is that why you wanted to see me?” Theron asked. “To tell me you made a mistake?”

  “I didn’t say that,” she replied. “As hard as it was, giving you up was the right choice. I would do it again.”

  Theron sighed. “I understand better than you think,” he said, his voice softening. “I’m not angry at you. I respect what you did. You made a sacrifice for the sake of the Republic.”

  “And for you, Theron,” Satele said, coming toward him and placing a hand on his arm. “I knew Ngani Zho would raise you well. You were better off with him than me.”

  Theron didn’t shrug her hand away, though he stiffened uncomfortably at her touch. Sensing this, she pulled back, though her serene expression never changed.

  “When I see what you’ve become,” she continued, “I know I made the right decision. Ngani Zho would be proud of you, Theron. I’m proud of you.”

  “I don’t need your approval,” Theron said, though he was careful to keep any venom from coloring his words.

  “Of course not,” she said, turning away and walking back to the center of the room before turning to face him again. “But you have it anyway.”

  “Was there anything else you wanted to say?” Theron asked. “Master Gnost-Dural and I are leaving tomorrow morning.”

  “I know you’ve been working with Jace Malcom.”

  “You mean my father?”

  “I suppose it was inevitable that he would find out,” she said. “Perhaps I should have told him sooner.”

  “That’s between you and him,” Theron insisted. “I’m happy with my life. I’m comfortable with who I am. None of this matters to me.”

  “But it matters to Jace,” she said. “You may not hold any bitterness in your heart toward me, but I fear he does.”

  “I can see how that might be a problem,” Theron said. “For the Republic, I mean.”

  He didn’t need a report from analytics to understand that anything that might negatively affect the relationship between the leader of the Jedi and the Supreme Commander of all Republic forces was a potential cause for concern.

  “Jace is a good soldier,” Satele assured him. “He will not put his personal feelings ahead of his duty and responsibilities. We have that in common.”

  “Really? I thought that might be the reason you never told me about him. You didn’t think he’d be able to handle the emotional burden of a child.”

  “It wasn’t that,” she said, speaking slowly. “I’ve known Jace for many years. We fought side by side, and we truly cared for each other. But as the war continued, I felt something change in him. I feared he would fall to the dark side.”

  Theron actually laughed out loud. “You were afraid Jace Malcom, the Supreme Commander, would betray the Republic?”

  “Of course not,” she replied, a hint of frustration poking through her calm exterior. “Jace will always be loyal to the Republic. But you do not have to follow the Sith to be an agent of the dark side. Jace is a good man, but the war has left its mark on him. There is so much anger and bitterness inside him. So much hate.”

  “Hate leads to the dark side,” Theron said, getting the words out before she could. “Ngani Zho taught me all the Jedi platitudes,” he added.

  “You mock, but there is truth in our teachings,” she chided him.

  “Wow—you sound just like my mother,” Theron joked.

  “Jace fights this war out of revenge,” she continued, trying to make him see the urgency of her warning. “It clouds his judgment. It can make him do terrible things if he believes they are necessary to save the Republic.”

  “That doesn’t sound so wrong to me,” Theron answered. “Sometimes the ends justify the means.”

  “The dark side is insidious,” she warned. “Hate will transform you into the very evil that you are fighting so hard against.

  “I know Master Zho taught you this lesson,” she added softly.

  “He taught me a lot of things,” Theron shot back, his blood suddenly boiling. “Back when he thought I was going to be a Jedi. But I’m not a Jedi, and neither is my father.”

  It was clear to him now what was going on. Satele was afraid Jace was going to somehow corrupt him, and she was determined to save her son by sharing her glorious wisdom. Her condescending arrogance encapsulated everything that was wrong with the Jedi.

  “Light side, dark side—these are just empty words,” he continued, his voice rising to a shout. “There are only two sides I care about: us and them. Republic or Empire!”

  “It was not my intention to upset you,” she said.

  “Of course not,” Theron replied. “That would mean I was sho
wing some emotion. And we all know there is no emotion, only peace.

  Right?”

  He waited for Satele to offer another prepackaged Jedi mantra in response, but the Grand Master caught him off guard.

  “Theron, I know you don’t want me as part of your life,” she said, seemingly abandoning their argument midstream and changing topics. “I respect your choice. But you know where to find me if you ever need my help. Reach out to me and I will be there. I promise.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” Theron said. “Are we done here?”

  “I have said my piece,” she told him.

  Theron turned his back on her and marched over to the balcony doors. He yanked them open and climbed over the railing, relieved to leave Satele and her insipid Jedi philosophy behind.

  Satele watched Theron go, hoping she hadn’t done more harm than good.

  The meeting had been a constant battle between the logical part of her mind and the powerful feelings she had felt welling up inside her. She hadn’t expected to be so profoundly affected merely from speaking with Theron; even though he was her biological son, she barely knew him. He wasn’t part of her life anymore, not in any real sense. And yet it had taken all her training to deny the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

  The Jedi restriction against family attachments made more sense to her now than ever. She couldn’t even fathom how much harder it would have been to remain calm and focused if she had raised Theron herself. All of her feelings would have been magnified a thousandfold, making it impossible not to respond to his anger with her own.

  Even now, several minutes after he was gone, she could still feel the effects of their confrontation. Her heart was beating far too rapidly in response to the adrenaline that had flooded her system.

  “There is no emotion, there is peace,” she whispered, seeking solace in the same words Theron had thrown in her face.

  She had hoped that being raised by Ngani Zho, her old Master, would have prepared Theron to better understand and appreciate her fears about Jace. And it was possible he might still heed her warning. Satele suspected her son’s anger was more a product of the emotional stress of confronting his mother than a response to her actual arguments. Once he calmed down, there was still a chance he would see her point.

  Or maybe he just has too much of his father in him.

  Maybe meeting Theron was a mistake. Maybe she had made things worse. Maybe she was wrong to speak with Theron behind his father’s back.

  Because of their history, she tried to keep her relationship with Jace strictly professional. By focusing exclusively on their duties to the Republic, they avoided dredging up painful memories and feelings. But maybe denying their past wasn’t always the answer.

  Maybe it was time to talk to Jace, not as Grand Master to Supreme Commander, but as a man and woman who had once shared a deep and powerful love.

  Satele shook her head. She was restless and unsettled, unable to find a proper sense of calm and balance. She sensed long-denied memories creeping around the edges of her consciousness, awakened by Theron’s presence. Instead of pushing them away as she had so often done in the past, she closed her eyes and sat down cross-legged on the floor, opening herself to them. Painful as they were, she needed to accept and acknowledge their existence if she hoped to focus and still her racing thoughts.

  Jace’s command tent was a buzz of activity, with soldiers rushing in and out, delivering status reports to the newly promoted general and relaying his orders to his troops. He was standing over a small table, looking over a map of the battlefield covered with red and blue markers indicating the respective position of enemy and allied troops,

  “General Malcom,” Satele said as she entered the tent and approached the table, “I need to speak with you. Alone.”

  She could have waited until evening fell; most nights Jace still managed to slip away and see her in private. But what she had to say couldn’t wait.

  So far they had managed to keep their love—and their six-month affair—secret. Approaching him in the open lacked discretion, but it wasn’t unheard of for a Republic general and a Jedi Master to discuss strategy in private, so her request wasn’t likely to raise any suspicions.

  “You heard Master Shan,” Jace barked. “Clear out.”

  The soldiers in the tent, along with the half dozen officers who served as his advisers in the field, moved with typical military precision and efficiency, emptying the tent in a matter of seconds.

  “What is it, Satele?” Jace asked, dropping the formal address he’d used in front of the others.

  She heard the worry and concern in his tone. She hadn’t told him she was pregnant yet. She’d only sensed the days-old life growing inside her because of her powerful connection with the Force; it would be months before her body began to show any physical signs of her condition.

  Jace must have read something in her expression—after six months of sharing their most intimate moments, it was difficult to hide anything from each other. But Satele hadn’t come to tell him about the pregnancy. Not yet. There was something else she had to deal with first.

  “I’ve heard you’re sending troops up into the mountains to search for the Imperials who fled the battle.”

  Jace nodded. “Some of them surrendered when we broke their ranks, but most of them are trying to make their way over to the spaceports near Gell Mattar so they can escape offworld.”

  “Let them go,” Satele said. “You don’t need to hunt them down like animals.”

  “If they surrender to the patrols, we won’t do them any harm.”

  “They don’t know that,” Satele reminded him. “They will fight out of fear for their lives, and your people will have no choice but to fight back. Call off the patrols and many lives will be spared.”

  “I’m not going to let enemy soldiers get away and go back to the Empire just so we can face them in another battle on some other world!” he protested.

  “How many of them will actually return to the Empire?” Satele countered. “Most of them will slink off to other worlds and disappear into civilian life.”

  “I disagree,” he said. “And it’s my decision, not yours.”

  “This decision is guided by anger and hate,” Satele warned him.

  “Of course it is!” Jace shouted. “You’ve seen what they’re capable of. You’ve seen the death and horror they’ve unleashed on innocent worlds. We’re supposed to hate them! They’re the enemy!”

  There was a sudden silence, the fury of his words momentarily shocking them both into silence. Then Jace came around from behind his table and placed his hands on Satele’s shoulders.

  “I’m sorry, Satele. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. But I can’t do what you do. I can’t just brush away all the pain the Empire has caused.”

  “Revenge won’t ease that pain, Jace.”

  “When the war first started, I used to keep a list of every friend I’d seen die in battle,” Jace told her. “I’d recite their names each night before I went to sleep, trying to remember their faces. Clinging to their memories.

  “As the war dragged on, the list grew longer. After a few years it was too long for me to recite each night. Then it became too long for me to even remember them all. Hundreds and hundreds of good men and women, their lives taken by the Empire.

  “And every Imperial soldier that isn’t captured or killed is someone who might add another name to that list,” Jace continued. “That’s why I have to send out my patrols. That’s why we have to hunt the enemy down like animals. I owe it to the names on that list.”

  Satele remained silent as he spoke, but his words filled her with horror and dread. She knew Jace was loyal, but she’d never imagined his loyalty to his fallen friends would be the catalyst for so much anger.

  “Killing Imperials can’t bring back the people on the list,” she told him.

  “Killing Imperials is how we win this war,” he told her. “And winning the war is the only way to stop
adding names to my list.”

  “This is a dangerous path, Jace. You’re taking the love for your friends and turning it into something dark and twisted. Something that will drive you to evil.”

  “We don’t see things the same way,” Jace explained. “I’m not a Jedi.”

  “What if something happens to me?” Satele wondered. “What happens if one day you add my name to your list?” Silently she added: Or your child’s?

  Jace’s expression was grim. “I’d rain destruction down on the Empire,” he said quietly. “I’d destroy their cities and burn their worlds.”

  “That’s not what I would want.”

  “I know,” Jace answered. “But I can’t help who I am.” After a few seconds he added, “And I don’t think we’re really that different. If something happened to me, I don’t believe you could pretend it didn’t matter. I think in your grief and anger you’d lash out at the Empire, too.”

  “That’s not the Jedi way,” she said, but even as she spoke the words she wondered if Jace was right.

  How could she not hate the Empire if they took away the man she loved? How could she not hate them if they had the blood of her unborn child on their hands?

  “I’m … I’m not a soldier,” she said, her voice uncertain as she took a step back from him. “I’m a Jedi.”

  “It’s okay, Satele,” Jace said, stepping toward her and extending his hand.

  She turned and rushed from the tent, ignoring him as he called out for her to wait. She fled beyond the perimeter of the camp and into the cover of the night’s darkness, where she finally stopped and collapsed on the ground. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps that quickly turned into hitching sobs as she was drowned in a flood of powerful emotions. The tears came next, and she didn’t try to stop them.