Star Wars: The Old Republic: Revan (37 page)

“And what if we don’t stop him?” Scourge said, treading perilously close to the heart of what he really wanted to say. “What if he’s too strong?”

“That is a possibility,” Revan admitted. “But even if we fail to defeat the Emperor, there is still hope. My return will give him pause. He will wonder how I threw off the chains of his will. He will wonder why I have returned, and how much the Republic now knows of his plan. He will even wonder about Malak. For all the Emperor knows, Malak is still out there, plotting to take the Emperor down if I fail.”

“You’re just trying to buy time,” Scourge gasped. “You don’t care if the Emperor kills us all—you just want to delay him!”

“No,” Revan said. “I want to live. Even more, I want to purge the galaxy of his evil once and for all. But I understand that there can be victory even in defeat. Even if we fall, we will buy time. Maybe a few years. More likely a few decades.”

“Time for your son to become a man,” Scourge noted bitterly. “Are you hoping he will finish what you might not?”

“Him or someone else,” Revan admitted. “The Force always strives for balance. The Emperor is an agent of darkness and destruction. It is inevitable that a champion of the light will one day rise to oppose him. I may be that champion.” He spoke with no hint of hubris. “I’ve played the role before. At the very least, I will make the Emperor step back and reconsider his plan. If that is my fate—if my role is to sacrifice myself for the one who will come next—then I embrace it.”

Scourge shook his head. “I’m beginning to think you are as mad as the Emperor. I have no intention of dying tomorrow.”

“Neither do I. But if death comes, I will face it without fear. You will find our task easier if you can convince yourself to do the same,” he said, before turning his attention back to the holoprojection.

“Start over from the beginning,” Revan told T3, and the astromech obediently restarted the recording.

Scourge got to his feet and walked back to the section of the cave he had been sitting in earlier. He briefly considered talking to Meetra, then realized that would be a waste of time. She would only echo what Revan had said.

The Sith sat down and crossed his legs again, closing his eyes. But he wasn’t able to clear his mind this time. Instead, he kept running over Revan’s words, playing them against the enduring images of his vision, trying to understand what it all meant.

AS PLANNED
,
Revan, Meetra, Scourge, and T3-M4 left the cave at dawn, though
dawn
on Dromund Kaas was a term with little meaning. The black storm clouds completely blocked out the sun, and the sky was only marginally lighter than it had been during the night.

A steady drizzle fell on them as they climbed into the speeder. They rode in silence, all of them preparing in their own way for what they knew lay ahead. Meetra had gone into what Revan called her warrior’s trance; she sat still and straight, her eyes focused on nothing as she stared straight ahead.

He had seen it many times during the war against the Mandalorians. Before each major battle she would try to center her emotions, cleansing herself of all fear and hatred lest the imminent violence draw her toward the dark side. She believed she could transform herself into a perfect conduit for the Force, an incorruptible weapon of light.

Revan was no longer sure such a thing was possible, but he didn’t say anything to Meetra for fear of disrupting her routine.

With his memories restored, Revan recalled that he, too, had once clung to a set of rituals before each battle. He would stare at his reflection in the mirror, his face covered by his mask as he recited the Jedi
Code over and over until the words seemed to blend together, their meaning lost in the rhythmic repetition of a mantra.

In those days, he had believed this would protect him from the dark side, but he no longer had any such illusions. He was older and wiser. He understood that the two sides of the Force were more closely intertwined with each other than either the Jedi or the Sith would ever admit. He had learned to balance on the knife-edge between them, drawing on both the light and dark sides for strength.

As much as things had changed, however, he still felt the old stirrings of glory as they set off—a faint echo from the impetuousness of youth that had caused him to defy the Council and lead his fellow Jedi into war so many years before.

Even T3 was strangely subdued, the gravity of their situation weighing as heavily on the astromech as it did on his organic companions.

Revan knew he didn’t have to worry about Meetra or the faithful droid. Scourge was another matter, however. The conversation they’d had during the night left little doubt that the Sith was troubled.

Unlike the Jedi, he had not spent a lifetime preparing for this. The concept of self-sacrifice came easily to those who walked the path of the light. Even though he occasionally strayed into the dark side, Revan still embraced the nobility of the idea.

For the Sith, however, there was no such thing as a noble death. Scourge understood the concept of sacrifice, but only when it came to sacrificing others. He had been taught to value survival above all else. Even his willingness to join with Revan and Meetra was driven by his desire for self-preservation; ultimately he wanted victory only for his sake, and not for the sake of others.

Perhaps there was no greater illustration of the difference between the light side and the dark, and Revan knew it would make their mission more difficult for Scourge. He had tried to make him understand during their brief conversation, but it was hard to undo years of teaching in a single night.

Still, the Sith seemed to be holding himself together well enough this morning.

“I can’t bring the speeder in too close,” Scourge said now, taking them in for a landing on the farthest outskirts of Kaas City. “They
might have set up ion cannons to shoot down any unauthorized vehicles.”

They continued on foot, making their way through the empty streets heading toward the citadel. They didn’t encounter a single living soul on their journey; apart from the Emperor’s Guard, nobody dared to violate the curfew. And three Force-sensitive individuals and an astromech equipped with top-of-the-line optical and audio sensors had no trouble avoiding the handful of patrols still wandering the streets.

As they drew closer to the city’s center, the signs of the previous night’s mayhem became more frequent and more striking. Most of the windows were shattered, and many of the buildings were blackened by smoke or completely gutted by fire. The street was pockmarked with craters and covered with the burned-out husks of speeders lying on their sides. Most of the dead had been carted away, either by friends or Imperial cleaning crews, but there was still the odd body slumped in a doorway or half hidden under a refuse pile down a side alley.

When they finally reached the citadel, there were no sentries standing by the entrance at the top of the stairs.

“If we run into anyone, let me do the talking,” Scourge whispered as they mounted the steps.

They were only a few meters away from the entrance when the door flew open and half a dozen of the red-uniformed soldiers spilled out, armed with blasters and electrostaffs.

“You are in violation of the Imperial curfew,” one of the soldiers informed them. “Surrender your weapons and you will be escorted to a nearby prison facility.”

“You fool!” Lord Scourge spat at the Guard, his voice rising with arrogant indignation. “Do you know who I am?”

“Only those explicitly authorized by the Emperor are permitted on the streets,” the soldier replied, his voice wavering only slightly.

“I need no authorization! My name is Lord Scourge, and I demand a meeting with the Emperor.”

From the reaction of the soldiers it was clear they recognized the name. No doubt every member of the Emperor’s Guard was aware by
now that Scourge had been the catalyst for the Emperor’s sudden purging of the entire Dark Council.

“We will escort you to him,” the leader replied, lowering his weapon. “But the others must wait here.”

“No,” Scourge said. “They will come with me to speak with the Emperor in person.”

The soldier seemed on the verge of denying the request, and Revan mentally prepared himself to unleash his fury, but at the last minute the man relented … at least partially.

“Follow me,” he said. “I’ll ask the captain to meet us outside the throne room. She will decide whether to allow this.”

Revan was impressed by Scourge’s performance, not to mention relieved. On his last visit to Dromund Kaas, he and Malak had learned everything they could about the Imperial Guard. Though not attuned to the Force in the classical sense, the elite soldiers had a connection with the Emperor, allowing them to draw strength from the dark side. They were formidable opponents, even for a Jedi.

He’d feared they’d have to fight through dozens of the Guard before reaching the throne room, giving the Emperor ample time to prepare his counterattack. Now, however, they had a chance to take their adversary by surprise.

They were led down a twisting maze of corridors, a long and winding journey that Revan remembered from his last visit to the citadel. He and Malak had followed the same route, led by a Guard they had bribed for access, completely unaware that they were being led into a trap.

It was possible the same thing was being done to them this time, as well, but Revan didn’t think that was the case. The guard who had betrayed him and Malak had met with them numerous times before leading them into the citadel, no doubt reporting back to the Emperor after each visit. This time, however, events had moved too quickly and too spontaneously for the Emperor’s patient hand to be behind them.

As they drew closer to the throne room, Revan’s thoughts drifted back to his last confrontation with the Emperor. In all his battles, he had never faced an enemy with that kind of power. The dark side had radiated from him in palpable waves, his physical shell barely able to contain the crackling energy.

In their last meeting he had overwhelmed Revan completely; it wasn’t even fair to call it a battle. Revan had grown since then. He was far more powerful now, but was he a match for the Emperor?

Alone, probably not. With the combined strength of Meetra, Scourge, and even T3, however, he believed they stood a real chance of victory.

Despite this, he still felt a chill in his gut when he saw again the enormous durasteel doors of the throne room. They were shut, of course, but he knew all too well what lay beyond.

“Where is your captain?” Scourge demanded, and Revan realized there was nobody there to meet them.

“She is coming,” the Guard assured him.

“I will not be kept waiting,” Scourge snarled, continuing to play his part. “I demand you open these doors immediately!”

The soldier hesitated, then motioned for two of his men to do as Scourge had commanded.

Revan braced himself for what was to come. They had discussed this part of their plan before leaving the cave. The instant the doors were pushed opened, all four would charge inside. While Revan rushed the Emperor, Meetra and Scourge would hang back and hold off the guards long enough for T3 to close and seal the doors.

Their timing had to be almost perfect; Revan knew he couldn’t go toe-to-toe with the Emperor by himself for very long. He sensed Meetra tensing beside him, and his own hand drifted to the hilt of his lightsaber beneath his belt in anticipation.

“What is going on here?” a female voice called out from behind him.

The two soldiers who had been about to push open the heavy durasteel doors froze in place.

“Captain Yarri,” said the man who escorted them in, snapping off a sharp salute. “Lord Scourge demands another meeting with the Emperor.”

Revan was standing with his back to the captain, but he didn’t need to see her face to recognize the name: Yarri—the Guard who had led him and Malak into the Emperor’s trap.

“This is not acceptable, Lord Scourge,” she said, the heels of her boots clacking as she approached. “If you wish to speak with the Emperor, you must do so alone.”

“I do not take orders from you, Captain,” Scourge said.

“In the citadel you do,” she answered. “You other two and the droid, step away from there.”

Revan had been carefully facing away from the speakers during the entire conversation, his eyes fixed on the massive doors. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder as one of the soldiers tried to pull him clear of the entrance.

He slapped the hand away and turned to face them. Yarri was standing beside Scourge, a few meters away from the rest of the group. She had come alone to meet them, bringing their escort up to a total of seven.

The captain’s eyes went wide with shock as she saw his unmistakable red-and-gray mask.

She gasped, then shouted out, “Assassins! Kill them all!”

Revan lashed out with his foot, delivering a side kick to the chest of the guard who had grabbed his shoulder, sending the man stumbling back. T3-M4, his electrical circuits instantly processing the situation, reacted by firing off his built-in blaster; the beam struck the soldier square in the chest. At the same time, Meetra threw herself at the two guards standing in front of the doors to the throne room, her lightsaber materializing in her hand.

Ordinary soldiers would have been chopped down before they could even draw their weapons, but the Imperial Guard were not so easily felled. The first soldier met her charge and parried the first strike with his electrostaff, the resilient metal of his weapon deflecting the energy blade of the Jedi off to the side so that it carved a deep scar in the wall.

The second soldier leapt into the fray, forcing Meetra to fall back a step to absorb their coordinated attack. Slightly farther away, Scourge and Captain Yarri were also already engaged in close-quarters combat, his lightsaber clashing against her electrostaff as they battled in the narrow confines of the entrance hall.

An alarm began to ring out in the hall, triggered by one of the other three soldiers. Before they could join in the fight, Revan thrust his hand, palm up, in the direction of the sealed durasteel doors, blasting them wide open with the power of the Force.