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People forget. It’s in our nature. We can’t remember everything. Forgetting things is inevitable. But history forgets nothing. We cannot escape our history, no matter how hard we try. What we do in the past is recorded by time, never to be forgotten. Sometimes, our actions can be so great or so terrible that our names are recorded by others in tribute - or in warning - of your actions.
You cannot run from your past, even if you are not aware of it. You can evade it for a while. You might even be able to hide from it until after you die. But eventually, your secrets will be discovered, and you or those you love will suffer - either from the horrible thought of what you have done, or under the tyrannus hand of guilt in having had a hand in your evil.
This is my third story meant to fill in a small gap in the Knights of the Old Republic story. However, I do realise that had this conversation been in the game, it would have revealed a major plot point far too soon - or at the very least, drawn suspicion and speculation, which would have found the truth eventually. Learn from the history of the individual in question. You cannot run from your past. You shouldn’t even try. You must accept your past actions, even if you do not feel they were justified. This will go a lon way to building your character, and may even save an entire galaxy...
“Forgive me, Lord Malak...” muttered Saul Karath on the bridge of the Leviathan
. “But there is more. May we speak in private - away from the ears of the common soldiers?”
Malak narrowed his eyes. “I trust you are not wasting my time, Admiral Karath?”
Saul smiled darkly. “I assure you that you will be most interested in what Calo has to say about Bastila’s other companions, my Lord Malak.”
“Very well,” said Malak, walking past Saul and the short little man he had brought with him - Calo Nord.
“You have the bridge, Commander,” said Saul as he passed his first officer, Commander Harn.
“Understood, Admiral,” he said, saluting.
They entered Saul’s office, Malak taking a position at the window - Saul had noticed that he enjoyed simply standing there, staring out into the endless vacuum of space. It would have been a fairly intriguing quality, had he not been so menacing with his height and composure.
Saul nodded to Calo, who cleared his throat to get Malak’s attention - clearly, he was nowhere near as afraid of the Sith Lord as Saul was.
“Before they took off,” he began, cracking his knuckles - he had been doing it since he was a teenager, and it had become almost a need for him. To relieve the tension that was constantly building up inside him. He needed a vacation...
“I was able to see four individuals,” he continued. “One of them was of course Bastila. I would recognise a lightsaber anywhere.” His words drew his view to Malak’s own lightsaber, it’s extended hilt gleaming on the Dark Lord’s belt. “Onasi was with them, as well - I’ve seen his face so many times since the Mandalorian Wars it’s disgusting, to be honest.”
Saul bristled somewhat at the attack on his old friend, but remained silent. Luckily, Malak either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
“There was also a man with them known as Canderous Ordo. He’s a Mandalorian Merc Davik hired a few-”
“I am not interested in the bounty hunter scum Davik recruits,” spat Malak menacingly. “If this is what you drew me away from the bridge for...”
“No,” said Calo, smiling. Blunt and to the point. He liked Malak. He walked to the console on the desk, and pulled up the crew roster from the Endar
Spire, a Republic ship that had been destroyed in orbit around the planet they now circled. Bastila’s ship. The information had been corrupted - most likely an imbedded virus designed to destroy the roster in the event of it falling into the hands of the enemy. There were very few names given, and even fewer of the entries were intact. Calo pulled up an unnamed soldier - a low ranking grunt, by the looks of it. The picture was still there, though it was distorted along one edge. Malak glanced at the picture, then returned his gaze to the window.
His head snapped back to the photo. He slowly took in the hair. The eyes. The toned physique he had seen in combat so many times that the images were burned into his memory.
“How... is this possible?”
“I don’t know,” said Calo. “But it’s unmistakeably him.”
Malak grabbed the side of the monitor and growled. “This cannot be... he’s dead! I killed him myself!”
“Respectfully, Mi’Lord: obviously not.”
He turned back to the window, his mind racing. He was alive? How was that possible? He had destroyed that ship himself. He had watched it burn. Watched the debris cascade across the shields of the ships surrounding it. They had scanned the debris. There had been no survivors! He had seen the readings himself!
But all that was irrelevant now. He had obviously been mistaken, somehow. He could not deny the information in front of him. His eyebrows were knitted in concentration. What was he going to do?
“Find him,” he hissed at Calo. “Find him, and bring him to me with Bastila. I want him alive.”
“Alive, Mi’Lord?” asked Saul, stunned. “Are you... are you sure that is wise?”
“I must know how he survived,” spat Malak. “Then I must kill him with my own hands, to ensure that he stays dead
“Understood, Lord Malak. I promise not to return until I have both him and Bastila in my custody.”
“Good. Now go! You are wasting my time!”
Both Saul and Calo bowed, leaving Malak to his thoughts.
“Calo... be sure that you do everything you can to bring him back alive. Should you kill him yourself, Malak will be furious. There’s no telling what he might do if he is unable to kill Revan himself.”
“I get it,” snapped Calo. “You found me, so it’s your head if I fail.”
Saul gritted his teeth. “Indeed.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t plan on failing. I have a personal score to settle. I won’t let them get away.”
Malak had buried himself in Saul’s console, doing all he could to learn more about how Revan had survived. He had managed to find the name he had used while aboard the Spire, and used it to dig through the database they had downloaded.
He played a personal log that had been recorded about a month ago.
“I’ve settled into [static] here on the Spire. The Jedi are working us like dogs. They keep mentioning a ‘Bastila’ when they give us our orders. I’ve never met this Bastila, but he must be a [static] with. I’m not sure if-”
The rest of the log was irretrievable. Malak frowned. That was definitely Revan’s voice, but... how could he mistake Bastila to be a man? He had known her at the academy. They hadn’t exactly been friends, but they had at the very least known each other well enough to know how to push each other’s buttons.
He played another log, recorded a few days later.
“[static] Jedi. Ira, the Jedi in charge of my shift, said that [static] skills. I don’t think she was being completely honest, but... I’m certainly no Jedi, so I couldn’t tell you. I still haven’t met my bunkmate yet. I think he’s avoiding me. Probably worried about being bunked with a raw recruit. He’s already a full ensign, so I imagine he’s-”
Again, the end of the log was lost to the Republic virus. Malak’s frown deepened. “I’m certainly no Jedi?” What in the name of the Force was he talking about? He was a Sith!
No, he thought. Not anymore. He was working for the Republic now. He had rejected the power of the Dark Side. He may not be a Jedi, technically - it was hard to believe that the Order would accept him back - but he was still a powerful Force Sensitive. How could he not know whether someone was lying to him or not?
“[static] against the Sith. I haven’t had any combat experience whatsoever, and the Jedi assign me to the mission? Seems odd that they’d place a raw recruit like me on such a vital [static]”
Malak wasn’t surprised that this entry was destroyed. It mentioned an important Republic offensive, by the sounds of it. The virus was sure to have targeted it first of Revan’s logs.
But no combat experience? Why would he need to lie in his personal logs? Only he had access to them...
It clicked. The answer was so obvious, he was shocked he hadn’t realised it after the first log. He didn’t know. He didn’t remember the Mandalorian Wars. His training at the Academy. His rule as Sith Lord. The Jedi had done something to him. Torn down his true identity and buried it beneath that of a raw Republic recruit, fresh from training.
He would have smiled, had he still had a mouth with which to do so. Revan was not really a threat. Not unless his memories began to resurface - which they undoubtedly would, given time, but it gave him some breathing room for the time being.
He stood, and returned his gaze to the window. He activated the comm with a wave of his hand.
“Admiral, take us out of orbit. Lay in a course for the Star Forge.”
Taris slowly moved out of his view. He gazed out at the stars for a moment, before they became nothing more than lines streaked past them, and then morphed into the deep blue hyperspace tunnel.