The Old Republic Series

by Sean Williams

  “Or maybe he just knew I’d need his help,” Meetra added quickly, perhaps aware she had in some way offended her host.

  “The little guy does have a knack for joining up with galactic saviors,” Bastila remarked, trying to keep her voice neutral.

  The droid beeped in agitation.

  “I’m sorry,” Bastila said again. “You’re right. You’ve been very patient so far. I’m just not sure I’m ready to hear what you have to tell me.”

  She’d often wondered if Revan was still alive. She’d always imagined their love would let her sense him through the Force, even across the breadth of an entire galaxy. Once he left, she learned that wasn’t true. Some nights she would dream of him, but she was never sure if these were true visions or merely manifestations of the loneliness she’d felt since he’d gone.

  Still, she believed she would have sensed a disturbance in the Force if he had died. Clinging to that gave her hope. Now, however, her belief might be exposed as a mere illusion if T3 told her that Revan was dead. She wanted to hear the truth, of course, but she was determined to hang on to the fantasy for just a few seconds longer.

  “Take your time,” Meetra said. “I know this is difficult. Tee-Three’s waited three years for this; he can wait a little while longer.”

  Her words were meant as comfort, but they had the opposite effect. “Maybe this would be easier if Tee-Three and I spoke in private,” Bastila said.

  It was clear the request had caught Meetra off guard, but she quickly regained her composure. “I understand you want to be cautious,” she said sympathetically, “but Canderous told me all about Revan and his search for the storm-covered world.”

  Bastila grimaced. She’d heard rumors that a Mandalorian had aided the Exile in her battle against Darth Traya.

  “Is it true?” Bastila asked. “Is Canderous the new Mandalore?”

  Meetra nodded. “Revan helped him find Mandalore’s Mask before continuing on alone.”

  “What else do you know that I don’t?” Bastila asked, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

  “I would never intentionally keep any knowledge of Revan from you,” Meetra assured her earnestly. “You are his wife; you have more right to the truth than anyone.”

  Bastila swallowed hard, suddenly ashamed. “You have the same right,” she said. “You stood by Revan’s side at the beginning; he had no truer friend. Whatever Tee-Three has to say, we should hear it together.”

  Meetra nodded her appreciation, but didn’t speak.

  Taking a deep breath, Bastila sat down on the living room chair, facing her guests. She folded her hands in her lap, mentally bracing herself for what was to come.

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  In a series of beeps, chimes, and holorecordings T3 relayed his story. He began with Revan returning to the Ebon Hawk on Rekkiad. He told them how he and Revan had left Canderous behind and journeyed to Nathema alone. He described the unexpected attack on the Ebon Hawk and the near-fatal crash landing on Nathema’s surface.

  He explained how he had checked on the unconscious Revan to make sure he was still alive, then been forced to hide when someone else boarded the ship.

  When he played the holorecording he’d made of the red-skinned man who’d taken Revan off the ship, Bastila gasped.

  “I guess the Sith aren’t as extinct as the Jedi thought,” Meetra said.

  “The Order is wrong again,” Bastila muttered. “Big surprise.”

  T3 let out a low whistle, apologizing for his cowardice, but Bastila shook her head.

  “That wasn’t cowardice,” she told the little droid. “If you hadn’t hid, they’d have captured you, too. Or turned you into scrap.”

  “The only way you could help Revan was by making it back in one piece,” Meetra added.

  Mollified, T3 continued his story. He told them how Revan was taken onto a waiting shuttle and whisked away. With his master gone, returning to Bastila became the astromech’s primary purpose, as per her last-minute instructions before they’d left Coruscant.

  The first step involved getting the Ebon Hawk airborne again. The droid described in detail his arduous efforts to repair the damage done by the crash. For months he scoured the streets of the deserted city, gathering scrap, salvage, and other necessary parts.

  “And you never saw anyone during that time?” Meetra asked. “No refugees? No looters?”

  T3 chirped out a confirmation.

  Bastila blinked in surprise. “No animals? No insects? Not even any plants? How could the entire population of an entire world just be wiped out?”

  Meetra shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and Bastila knew she was thinking back to her role in the massacre of Malachor V. She felt a sudden burst of empathy for the other woman. Bastila didn’t condone what she had done, but she understood what it was like to be ashamed of acts in your past. She herself had let Malak turn her to the dark side; only the power of Revan’s love had redeemed her.

  Bastila sensed that despite all Meetra had done to stop Darth Traya, she was haunted by guilt and remorse. She was still looking for redemption.

  Unaware of the awkward tension in the room, the droid continued his tale. After nearly a year he was finally able to get the Ebon Hawk airborne again, though its hyperdrive core was only operating at minimal efficiency. The Hawk limped back to Republic space; by the time it arrived, Traya and her followers had all but wiped out the Jedi. Bastila was gone; T3 didn’t know where to search for her, or whether she was even alive.

  It was during this time that the little astromech droid stumbled across the disassembled pieces of HK-47, abandoned on a remote and nameless world. Recognizing his old companion, the little droid gathered up the pieces and stored them on the Ebon Hawk.

  The chance encounter was the kind of coincidence that Bastila would have chalked up to the influence of the Force had T3 been an organic being.

  “Do you have any idea how he got there?” she asked. “I always wondered what happened to him after he disappeared.”

  Meetra shook her head, answering on behalf of the droid. “His memory core was damaged. Even after I repaired him, he was unable to recall anything. Actually,” she admitted, “I had hoped you might be able to tell me what had happened to him.”

  Bastila shrugged. “When he found out Revan had left, HK decided to go after him. But I refused to tell him where my husband had gone.”

  “A wise move,” Meetra said. “The last thing Revan needed while helping Canderous and the Mandalorians was a homicidal droid following him around.”

  “HK stormed off, swearing he would track Revan down on his own,” Bastila continued. “That was the last I heard of him until he showed up again with you.”

  “There must be some part of his programming that compels him to seek Revan out,” Meetra muttered. “If I had known that, I would have been more careful.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I left HK under the supervision of the new Jedi Council. I didn’t think it was safe to have him roaming the galaxy, and I assumed he would be content to stay with the Jedi, awaiting further orders. But he disappeared soon after I left. Now I realize he’s probably gone in search of Revan again.”

  Suddenly worried, Bastila asked, “Is there any chance he’ll find him?” She directed her question to T3. “Did you tell him anything about what happened to Revan?”

  T3 responded with a negative buzz that sounded almost offended. Clearly the astromech felt the same reservations about involving the hunter-killer droid as his human counterparts.

  Relieved, Bastila muttered, “Someone should try to track him down. Find and disable him before he hurts anyone else.”

  There was little conviction behind her words; as dangerous as HK was, he was only one droid. She had more important things on her mind. Her husband was still missing, and for the first time in years, she was on the verge of being able to do something about it.

  “The Jedi are already searching for HK,” Meetra assur
ed her. “Don’t worry about him.”

  Bastila nodded. “Tee-Three,” she said. “Tell us the rest of your story. What happened next?”

  The astromech continued his tale.

  After finding the disassembled bits of HK-47, he fell in with Meetra, joining her as he had joined Revan many years before. By the time he learned Bastila was alive, he was once again caught up in a battle for the Republic’s survival. Despite his instructions, he knew he couldn’t abandon Meetra until the safety of the Republic was secured.

  His confession caused Bastila to feel another surge of bitterness. T3 had chosen to help Meetra instead of following Bastila’s instructions. He’d put the Exile’s mission above his loyalty to Revan.

  The emotion passed quickly, replaced by guilt and shame. Bastila’s love for Revan had once again momentarily blinded her to logic and reason. Her husband was one man; it was foolish to value his life against the fate of millions. If Revan had been standing in the room, he would have congratulated the droid for putting the greater good above personal wants and desires.

  “Revan would be proud of you,” she told the little droid. “I’m proud of you, too.”

  “I think our path is clear,” Meetra declared. “I will go to Nathema and see if I can learn Revan’s fate.”

  “You?” Bastila said, her voice showing more anger and surprise than she intended. “What about me? You expect me to just sit here and wait, not even knowing if he’s alive or dead?”

  “What has changed since Revan left?” Meetra asked softly. “You stayed behind to care for your son. Are you prepared to leave him behind now?”

  “Of course not!” Bastila spat. She almost added, I’ll bring him with me, but at the last second she realized how reckless and ridiculous that would be.

  Revan had left because he believed there was something in the Unknown Regions that was a far greater threat than any the Republic had ever faced. Guided by his visions of a storm-covered world, he thought his journey was the only way to protect the future of his family. Following in his footsteps might expose their son to the very threat Revan was trying to stop; it would be a betrayal of the very principles that had sent him on his journey in the first place, and it would endanger their child.

  “I’m sorry,” Bastila whispered. “I didn’t mean to … I just … I miss him. I feel so helpless. So useless. All I do is wait. You don’t understand how hard it’s been.”

  “I can only imagine how you’ve suffered,” Meetra replied gently. “I wish I could say it will get easier. But I fear that may not be the case. We all have burdens to bear, and this is yours.”

  Her words offered little comfort, but Bastila appreciated her honesty.

  “I will do everything in my power to find Revan,” Meetra promised. “If he is still alive, I will do whatever it takes to bring him back to you.”

  T3 beeped twice.

  “I would be honored if you came,” Meetra told him, “as long as Bastila doesn’t object.”

  Bastila wanted T3 to stay with her; his holorecordings and data banks were all she had left of her husband. But she was thinking rationally now.

  “You’re going to need his help,” she said. “He spent months exploring Nathema while searching for parts to repair the Hawk.”

  “Then we must leave as soon as possible,” Meetra declared, rising to her feet.

  “Please, wait just a moment longer,” Bastila said.

  Leaving Meetra and T3 to in the living room, she rushed into the bedchamber and opened the wooden chest tucked away in the back of her closet. She grabbed two items, then returned to her waiting guests.

  “Give these to Revan,” she said, placing the items in Meetra’s hands.

  The first was a holorecording she had made of their son’s last birthday celebration. The second was a heavy object wrapped in a swath of black cloth.

  Meetra glanced at her, silently asking permission to unwrap it. Bastila answered with a subtle nod. Meetra unwound the cloth carefully, revealing a worn and scarred metal helmet with a red-and-gray faceplate.

  “Revan’s mask!” Meetra gasped. “I thought it was lost when he was captured by the Jedi strike team.”

  “I led that strike team,” Bastila reminded her. “I don’t know why, but I took it when Revan fell. Perhaps even then I sensed our fates were intertwined. I never told anyone. Not the Council. Not even him.”

  “Why not?”

  Bastila hesitated, then decided Meetra deserved to know the truth. “Revan wore the mask during the Mandalorian Wars, and during his time as Darth Revan. To me, it symbolizes his dark past—a relic from a time before he became the man I loved. I was afraid that if I showed it to him, it might trigger something inside his mind. It might awaken some dormant evil, rekindle the spark of the dark side.”

  “Then why give it to me now?”

  “I tried to keep Revan’s past at bay, but now I understand that was wrong. I was being selfish. His past is a part of him, whether I like it or not.” She looked away from the mask. “When you find him, give him the mask. It might mean nothing to him now, but there’s a chance it will bring back some of what he has lost. Seeing it might restore crucial memories that will help you return safely.”

  “What if your fears are right?” Meetra asked, her voice grim. “The mask could bring back his memories. But what if it does more? What if it unleashes the power of the dark side in him?”

  “I don’t care,” Bastila said defiantly. “Not if that power helps bring him back to me.”

  As a Jedi, her words were blasphemy. She half expected Meetra to throw the mask to the ground in disgust. Instead the other woman rewrapped it in the cloth and tucked it safely away beneath her robes without saying a word.

  CHAPTER 18

  MEETRA DIDN’T KNOW what to expect as the Ebon Hawk dropped out of hyperspace and began the approach toward Nathema. T3-M4 had told her that the planet was deserted, but the little droid had found no apparent cause of the mass extinction. While exploring the surface on his last visit, he’d run tests that confirmed the environment was free of toxins and radiation; beyond that everything else was speculation.

  As the ship drew closer to the dingy brown world she felt a growing sense of unease and discomfort. In some ways it reminded her of Malachor V—the massive and instantaneous loss of life on that doomed world had created a wound in the Force. The activation of the mass-shadow generator had obliterated two armies, shredding apart the bonds of the Force that linked all living things.

  Meetra had been close enough to feel the shock wave; to survive it she had cut herself off from the Force, shielding her psyche against the horrors of what she had unleashed. Many years had passed before she regained her connection to the Force, but in the end, surviving the trauma of Malachor V had given her the strength to defeat Darth Traya and her followers.

  At first she assumed some similar tragedy had occurred on Nathema; a superweapon capable of snuffing out an entire planet would leave a blanketing echo of death and darkness. As the Ebon Hawk descended through the atmosphere, however, she realized this sensation was markedly different.

  It took her a few seconds to put her finger on it, her mind analyzing the problem even as her hands automatically made the necessary adjustments to bring the ship in for a landing near the coordinates T3 had given her.

  The events of Malachor had left a mark on the Force; a wound that would not heal. Here, however, the Force was simply … gone. It was as if someone had ripped it away, leaving only an empty void behind.

  Her discomfort grew as the ship drew closer to the surface. This world was unnatural, and her body’s instinctive reaction was one of illness and revulsion. She glanced over at T3 hovering anxiously near her in the cockpit, but the droid seemed unaffected. His lack of reaction merely reinforced the nature of her own suffering; as a droid, T3 could not sense the Force, and he wouldn’t notice if it was suddenly missing.

  Through the cockpit window Meetra saw a path of destruction winding its way throu
gh the city below: the remnants of Revan’s crash landing. A massive chunk of permacrete had been smashed loose from a skyscraper passing by on the ship’s starboard side. The pavement of the street and sidewalk below had been torn up when the vessel had skipped and skidded down the thoroughfare. The mangled remnants of hovercars and speeders traced an irregular line down the street, the smaller vehicles crushed by the passage of the far more massive starship.

  Meetra selected her landing spot and set the ship down carefully. The oppressiveness of the Void was bearing down on her, but she did her best to ignore it.

  “Come on, Tee-Three,” she said, unbuckling herself from the pilot’s chair. “Let’s take a look around and see what we can find.”

  As she stepped off the shuttle she felt like she had been punched in the gut; she doubled over, and T3 beeped in concern.

  “I’m okay,” she gasped, slowly straightening up.

  She had visited Malachor V years after the cataclysm of the mass-shadow generator. Traversing its surface had been agony. Mentally, she had still sensed the anguish of all who had lost their lives there. Physically, the intense gravity of the world had held her in its crushing grip, leaving her gasping for breath. It had been the most awful and horrific experience of her life … until now.

  On Malachor she’d felt the echoes of unimaginable pain and suffering—but at least she’d felt something. Here on Nathema, there was only a cold emptiness. It was unnatural; abhorrent. On Malachor she had felt the echo of great destruction; here there was only the unbearable void of annihilation.

  Her body reacted with a revulsion so strong she felt physically ill. Her mind briefly tried to imagine what had happened to cause such an abomination, then recoiled from the answers. Her mind went blank and her body numb.

  She stood motionless for several minutes, or maybe it was several hours; time had no meaning here. But the incessant squawking of T3 eventually roused her from her stupor.

  Drawing on the mental focusing techniques she had learned as a Padawan, she forced herself to concentrate on something—anything—besides the inescapable nonpresence of the Force.