Star Wars: The Old Republic: Revan (27 page)

If Vitiate had been as cunning as Meetra imagined him to be, he
wouldn’t have led his followers directly to Dromund Kaas. Instead, he would have taken them on a long and trying exodus—during which the Sith would have been forced to turn to him time and again for support and guidance, their dependence on him growing until he went from leader to hero to savior. By the time they finally reached Dromund Kaas, they would likely have worshiped Vitiate as a god—all-powerful and all-knowing.

Fascinating history, to be sure, but Meetra didn’t know how it could help her find Revan. Vitiate’s grand plan had taken place over a thousand years earlier. Surely Vitiate himself was long dead, and even if he had led the Sith to Dromund Kaas, there was no guarantee they were still there.

There were other possibilities to consider, as well. The Sith were an aggressive and war-like species; it was possible that Dromund Kaas was just one of many worlds in the Unknown Regions that had fallen under their control over the last thousand years. It was possible—and even likely—that the red-skinned being who had captured Revan had taken him to an entirely different planet, one she had never even heard of. But at least she had a lead. And no matter how slim the odds of finding her mentor, Meetra wasn’t about to give up. She trusted in the Force; eventually it would lead her to him.

From the census records, it was clear that humans were—or had been—part of the Sith Empire. If Vitiate’s followers had settled on Dromund Kaas, she should be able to pass among them by posing as a mercenary, a role she knew well from the years she had spent living as the Exile in the Outer Rim.

As she punched the hyperspace coordinates from the research team leader’s logbook into the nav computer, T3 came over and chirped inquisitively.

“We’re going to a world called Dromund Kaas,” Meetra said as the
Ebon Hawk
made the jump to lightspeed. “If Revan’s there, we’ll find him.”

SCOURGE TYPED IN
the access code to unlock the door leading to the underground holding cells built beneath Nyriss’s stronghold. He didn’t acknowledge the guards standing watch as he stepped through, and they made no move to stop him. He had passed the checkpoint hundreds of times, and they had stopped bothering with Murtog’s official security protocols long ago.

He descended the stairs to the dimly lit, dead-end hall at the bottom. There were four doors, two on either side. Beside each door was a monitor, showing a holovid of what was happening inside each cell. Three of the cells were empty; the fourth had been occupied by the same prisoner for the past three years.

The image showed Revan seated in a familiar position, his legs crossed and his hands resting palms-up on his thighs. His eyes were closed, his face calm … though Scourge knew that had as much to do with the medication as the meditation.

The prisoner had not left his cell for even a single moment since his capture. There was a refresher in the corner, a small sink and a bed against one wall. In the beginning they had brought in a chair to strap him to for his interrogation sessions, but after the first few months Scourge convinced Nyriss that torturing Revan was an unproductive waste of both time and resources.

By that time Revan had already told them everything—as much as he could remember, at least. He had revealed that the Jedi had wiped away most of his early memories, including all traces of what had happened to him in the Emperor’s dungeons. He had confessed that he had come to Nathema in the hopes of reclaiming his lost past, following the same trail he had embarked on years before.

He couldn’t tell Nyriss anything about what she really asked. And though she still suspected he had been dominated by and then broken free of the Emperor’s will, the scientists she had brought in to study him had been unable to find anything useful with all their testing and research.

After six months Nyriss had lost interest in her Jedi prisoner. Her attention moved on to other plots and intrigues, though she kept him alive just in case. But while Nyriss ignored Revan, Scourge had become obsessed with him.

The Jedi’s command of and connection to the Force was unlike anything Scourge had sensed in anyone else. Even though Revan was constantly drugged, it was impossible not to sense his strength. After years of studying him, Scourge had come to understand why the Jedi had such a fearsome reputation among the Sith. With men and women like Revan in their ranks, it was easy to see how they had beaten back the Sith invasion a thousand years earlier. And it confirmed what he already suspected: the Emperor’s plan to launch another invasion against the Republic at this point in time was tantamount to suicide.

However, it was more than the Jedi’s raw power that interested Scourge. Unlike all the instructors at the Academy, or even Nyriss herself, Revan had experienced both the light and dark sides of the Force. He had a unique perspective on its strengths and weaknesses, and Scourge was eager to learn from his experience.

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 require 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.