Star Wars: The Old Republic: Revan

by Drew Karpyshyn

  It hadn’t been easy, of course. Revan had regarded him as an enemy at first: Scourge was the being who tortured him for information. But over time that had slowly changed. Revan was held in almost total seclusion. The guards were forbidden to speak with him, and once Nyriss all but forgot about him, the weekly visits from Scourge were his only source of conversation or contact.

  Scourge understood that long periods of solitary confinement could be even harder to endure than the brutal physical suffering of the interrogations. Loneliness and isolation would eat away at the mind and the spirit; it was inevitable that Revan would forge a relationship with the only person he ever had any contact with.

  It was a slow and subtle process, and even now they still regarded each other with suspicion and mistrust. But eventually the instinctive need for interaction had caused Revan to open up. He would give carefully guarded answers to Scourge’s questions about his beliefs and philosophies, or let slip bits and pieces of his knowledge of the Force.

  No matter how long they spoke, Revan was careful to say very little, but over the years the tiny drops of wisdom had accumulated into a great reservoir for Scourge to draw on. Nyriss may have had no further use for Revan, but Scourge was going to exploit this invaluable resource for all it was worth.

  Scourge unlocked the door to Revan’s cell. The Jedi was still wearing the same brown robes he had been captured in; the clothes—like the prisoner himself—had not been properly cleaned in three years. Scourge winced at the stale, pungent scent wafting off the human, but it was a small price to pay, considering how much he had already gained from their regular visits.

  “Revan,” he said, noting that the prisoner’s eyes were still closed. “I wish to speak with you.”

  REVAN OPENED HIS EYES as if responding to the Sith’s voice, though in truth he had sensed his approach from the moment he began to descend the staircase. It was difficult to draw upon the Force through the veil of mind-altering chemicals in his system, but over the years he had learned a handful of tricks.

  Though they had spoken hundreds of times, the Sith had never told Revan his name. Not that it mattered. To Revan he was nothing more than a tool—his one hope of ever getting out of the cell alive.

  In the first few months he had hoped that someone would come for him: Canderous, or T3-M4, or maybe even Bastila, drawn to him by the Force. But as time passed, his drug-addled brain finally realized he was truly alone.

  He had tried reaching out to Bastila with the Force, but the drugs and the vast distance of an entire galaxy must have stopped her from sensing his need. He had almost given up once he realized there would be no rescue; his situation seemed hopeless. And then his muddled mind seized on the Sith interrogator.

  It was clear the red-skinned being was subservient to the withered hag who had been present during the early interrogations. It was also obvious that he was more than just a thug hired to torture information out of prisoners. Revan had sensed the Force in him; he had incredible potential. Fortunately for Revan, he was also arrogant, overconfident, and ambitious.

  Over the course of many months, Revan fed that ambition with tiny crumbs meant to draw the Sith Lord in. He spoke of his past, knowing his triumphs over Malak and other powerful individuals would feed the young Sith’s desire to rise above his current station.

  Revan also made a point of bringing up the Force regularly. He had once served the dark side, and he understood its insatiable lust for power. The chance to learn something—anything—new about the Force was a temptation the Sith could not resist.

  He was willing to give the Sith glimpses of his wisdom because with each conversation he learned a little bit more about his captors. The interrogator was careful; he tried to reveal as little of himself and the world outside the cell as possible. But over many months and hundreds of conversations it was inevitable some things would slip.

  To facilitate the process, Revan had carefully forged a relationship with the anonymous Sith, establishing a familiar rapport that made it easier for the Sith to unknowingly open up about himself even as he thought he was using Revan.

  His efforts had been well rewarded. Over the past three years he had learned much about the Sith society the Republic believed to be extinct. He knew they were ruled by an Emperor; he knew they controlled hundreds of worlds.

  About a year earlier, he had learned the name of the female who had overseen the first few interrogations. Her name was Nyriss, and she was one of the Emperor’s handpicked advisers.

  At one point his captor had let slip that the Emperor was secretly planning an invasion against the Republic. More important, he had revealed that he and Nyriss—along with many other Sith—were determined to stop him.

  Revan had seized on that shared goal, and for the past few months he had been playing on it at every opportunity.

  It all might be futile. All his efforts might amount to nothing more than a game he was playing merely to help pass the endless hours of his incarceration. But if there was a chance, however small, that he could somehow use this knowledge to break free of his prison, he intended to take it.

  THE JEDI HAD OPENED his eyes, but he still seemed to be lost in thought. Scourge wondered if they had altered his medication recently. Every few months they had to switch him to a new formula as his body became more resistant to the daily dose of drugs meant to keep him docile and helpless. For the first few days after each switch, Revan seemed even more out of it than usual.

  “Revan,” he repeated, speaking more loudly. He clapped his hands sharply, the sound echoing off the walls of the cell.

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” Revan said in response, slurring his words slightly. “I’m having trouble … focusing. It’s good to see you again,” he added with a faint smile. “I always enjoy your visits.”

  Scourge would never admit it to anyone, of course, but he also enjoyed them. He had developed a great respect and even admiration for Revan; ironic, given how much his opinion of Nyriss had gone down in the last few months.

  “You seem troubled, my lord.”

  “Nyriss still refuses to take any real action against the Emperor,” he grumbled.

  It felt good to say the words out loud. That was an unexpected benefit of being the only person who ever spoke to the prisoner. Anything he said in the cell would never leave these walls; here he could vent his frustrations aloud without fear of reprisal.

  “She tells me we must be patient, but her energies and resources are focused on besting her rivals on the Dark Council.”

  “Nyriss is driven by fear,” Revan explained, speaking in the slow, monotonous cadence Scourge had never really gotten used to. “Openly striking against the Emperor puts her life at risk. Her own immediate survival is more important to her than the fate of your Empire.”

  “There are powerful allies who could be persuaded to help her,” Scourge replied. “All they need is someone to step up and take charge. All they need is a leader to spur them to action.”

  “I was betrayed by Malak,” Revan reminded him. “Nyriss is afraid the same thing could happen to her. If she steps forward as leader, she can no longer hide in the shadows with the others. She will be exposed, and it would only take one ambitious rival to betray her to the Emperor and bring everything crashing down.”

  Scourge nodded, remembering how Nyriss had done the same thing to eliminate Darth Xedrix. At the time he had believed her when she said it was for the good of the cause, but now he suspected it had just been an excuse to remove a rival from the Dark Council.

  “If all the conspirators are too afraid to step forward, the Emperor will never be stopped,” Scourge muttered. “Eventually he will lead us into a war we cannot win, and the Jedi will wipe us out in retaliation. Ultimately doing nothing is the most dangerous choice of all.”

  “Nyriss blinds herself to that truth. That is the way of the dark side,” Revan said. “Those who follow it are driven by fear and ambition. They are too selfish to see that great victories often requi
re sacrifice.”

  Scourge grimaced. Sometimes he grew tired of Revan’s preaching against the dark side. In this case, however, the Jedi was at least partially correct. Nyriss wouldn’t think twice about sacrificing an ally or a follower, but she would never consider sacrificing herself.

  Revan, on the other hand, had journeyed across the galaxy in the face of unknown dangers because he thought there might be something that threatened his beloved Republic. He had put himself in harm’s way for something he believed in.

  A year earlier Scourge would have laughed at his foolishness; after all, what had Revan accomplished besides becoming a prisoner? Now, however, he understood that though the Jedi had failed, at least he had made the effort. At least he’d had a chance to succeed. Nyriss, it seemed, wasn’t even going to make the attempt. She had failed to stop the Emperor before she had even begun.

  “You need to find another ally to your cause,” Revan said. “Someone powerful, but who is not caught up in the politics of the Dark Council.”

  Scourge laughed out loud at what Revan was clearly implying.

  “You must be growing desperate if you think you can talk me into helping you escape.”

  MENTALLY, REVAN WINCED. He had pushed too far too fast. Instead of subtle manipulation, he had stumbled into revealing a clumsy and obvious ploy. He never would have made such a foolish mistake if his mind was clear.

  But he thought it might still be possible to salvage the situation. He had to give the Sith something else to focus on, something he cared about above everything else.

  “We share a common goal,” Revan admitted. “We both want to stop the Emperor from invading the Republic. But I am not proposing an alliance.” He paused. “I do not need your help to escape. The Force has shown me that my freedom is drawing near.”

  “The Force has shown you? What do you mean? Have you had a vision?”

  As Revan suspected, his jailer had never experienced a vision through the Force. It wasn’t unusual: the phenomenon was much rarer in those who followed the dark side. Their focus was internal—they used the Force as a tool, rather than seeing themselves as instruments of the Force’s will. They were not accustomed to opening themselves up to the Force for guidance and direction.

  “The Force has shown me that my future lies beyond these walls,” Revan lied.

  “I don’t put much faith in visions and prophecy,” the Sith said.

  “Have you ever felt a premonition of danger through the Force?” Revan asked, trying to help him understand. “Sensed a threat before it was revealed?”

  “Of course.”

  “The visions are merely an extrapolation of this. The Force flows across both space and time; it links the past, present, and future.”

  “It is said that Naga Sadow had visions of the Sith crushing the Republic during the Great Hyperspace War,” Scourge countered. “We both know that never came to pass.”

  “The future is always in motion. The Force grants us visions that show us only one of many possible outcomes.”

  “Then what use are they?”

  “They can guide our actions, give us direction. They can show us a path we wish to follow, or one we can try to avoid.”

  “Like the vision that brought you here,” Scourge asked. “The dream of Dromund Kaas and its storm-covered sky?”

  “That was a memory, not a vision,” Revan reminded him. “But the Force does sometimes speak to us through our dreams.”

  “And what does your vision show you? How do you make your great escape from this dungeon?”

  Revan chose his next words carefully, his dulled wits sensing an opportunity. He knew his best chance—perhaps his only chance—of escape was with the Sith’s help. But he could not be the one to suggest the alliance; the Sith Lord had to think it was his idea.

  That was why he had fabricated the lie about the vision: to draw attention away from his clumsy efforts to convince the Sith to help him. Now, however, he had an opportunity to plant a seed.

  “You will understand in time,” he said cryptically, knowing the other would dwell on the hidden meaning behind his words.

  The Sith was already obsessed with him. He hungered to tap into Revan’s understanding of the Force, and the Jedi knew he dominated the red-skinned being’s conscious and unconscious thoughts. It would only be natural for Revan to sometimes be the subject of the Sith Lord’s dreams.

  Hopefully, the Sith would come to believe that his ordinary dreams were actually visions granted by the Force. If all went well, he would come to believe there was a greater power trying to draw them together. He might decide of his own accord that Revan was the key to defeating the Emperor, spurring him to help the Jedi escape.

  It was a long shot, but Revan had nothing else to hope for.

  “I have no wish to play your games,” the Sith snapped, annoyed by the enigmatic response. He turned on the heel of his boot without saying a word and marched out of the cell, sealing the door behind him. Revan knew from experience it would be at least a week before he returned. The abrupt ending to their conversation and the impending prolonged absence were intended as punishment; his interrogator had long ago replaced physical torture with the supposed mental anguish of isolation.

  For most prisoners this would have been an effective tool, but Revan was able to endure the long periods alone by meditating on the Force. At times like these he would try to reach out to Bastila, hoping at least to let her know he was still alive.

  He opened himself up to the Force. As it flowed through him, images of the woman he loved danced through his head. And then suddenly they were gone, replaced by the amorphous face of another.

  “Meetra,” Revan gasped as the features shifted sharply into focus. They held for an instant, and then vanished.

  Revan knew this was more than some mere recollection of a lost friend. It had been too intense and powerful to be a memory. It was almost as if in describing the nature of Force visions to the Sith, he had triggered one of his own.

  Though it had lasted only a second, the meaning was abundantly clear. Meetra was coming to rescue him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  MEETRA FOUGHT TO KEEP the Ebon Hawk steady on its descent through the fierce storms raging in the skies above Kaas City spaceport.

  She knew the storm-ravaged world had to be the world Canderous had spoken of; the one Revan had seen in his dreams. The dark side was powerful here. It was strong enough to send a shiver down her spine, but the sensation was infinitely better than the awful nothingness of Nathema.

  As she brought the ship in to land, she knew with a sudden and unshakable certainty that Revan was somewhere on this world.

  “He’s here, Tee-Three,” she informed her companion, trying to contain her excitement. “I can feel it.”

  The droid beeped eagerly.

  “It won’t be that easy,” she replied. “I’ll need to scout around a bit, get a feel for this world.”

  The droid whistled apprehensively.

  “Just stay close and follow my lead,” she told him. “We’ll be fine.”

  A few minutes later she had successfully settled the Hawk on one of the spaceport’s many landing pads.

  “Nobody here knows I’m a Jedi,” she reminded her astromech companion just before they descended the boarding ramp. “Let’s try to keep it that way.”

  Her lightsaber was tucked safely out of sight, and she had changed from her brown robes into black pants and a sleeveless red top. It was unlikely anyone here would recognize the traditional outfit of the Jedi Order, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

  A customs official was waiting for them outside the ship—a middle-aged human female. The fact that humans could hold official government positions was a good sign: they were obviously common enough on Dromund Kaas that she wouldn’t automatically draw attention here because of her species.

  “Your vessel is unregistered,” the woman told her in Basic, her voice simultaneously accusing and bored. “You’ll have to come
with me.”

  Meetra wasn’t surprised to be greeted in the familiar language. The Sith had once been an Empire controlling multiple worlds, cultures, and societies; naturally they would fall back on a common language, and Basic was by far the simplest and most widespread choice.

  “I like to keep my comings and goings off the record,” she replied.

  “That can be arranged,” the woman said with a quick glance to make sure there was nobody within earshot. “Naturally we charge a fee for that kind of premium service.”

  Meetra had no idea what kind of currency was used on Dromund Kaas, but she highly doubted they’d take Republic credits. “I converted my funds into something a little easier to carry,” she explained, holding up a small but perfectly cut diamond.

  The customs official’s eyes lit up as she stared at the valuable gemstone.

  “If you keep my arrival off the record I’ll make sure you’re rewarded once I turn these into something a little easier to spend,” Meetra promised.

  The woman’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I have a strict payment-up-front policy,” she said.

  “Maybe you could make an exception this one time, seeing as how we’re both human,” Meetra suggested, reaching out with the Force to give the woman’s psyche a gentle nudge.

  “I guess I could make an exception this one time,” the woman said with an affable shrug. “Seeing as how we’re both human.”

  “I knew we could work something out,” Meetra replied with a smile. “Now, I don’t suppose you’d know the name of someone in the city who’d give me a fair price for my stones?”

  “Larvit’s your best bet,” the other woman told her. “He drives a hard bargain, but he won’t try to cheat you. Let me give you the directions.”

  Meetra decided to walk to Larvit’s store, rather than hire a speeder. Wandering the streets of Kaas City on foot would give her a better feel for the planet and its people, making it easier to fit in.