Revan Saga

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     Author: [[User:{{#ifeq:  |User| Joysweeper | Joysweeper}}|{{#ifeq:  |User| Joysweeper | Joysweeper}}]] [[Author::{{#ifeq:  |User| Joysweeper | Joysweeper}}| ]]
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It's an ongoing project! Sometimes I think it will never end.

"So, who are you supposed to be?" The woman handing out badges couldn’t possibly look less interested. Despite the brightly-colored staff badge and the eye-searing blue of the bunny-ear headband lying over her curly black locks, she clearly had other places to be right now. The mall, no doubt. She looked like late teens, early twenties. My age or younger.

"I am Revan Redeemed, former Dark Lord of the Sith." I’d been practicing a neutral voice that could be high male or low female for as long as I’d been working on the costume. The effect was helped along somewhat by my full face helmet and hood. Despite knowing that she must have seen dozens of costumes vastly superior to mine, a part of me wanted her to be impressed.

She wasn’t. "Uh huh. I didn’t see anything like that in the movie." She popped her bubblegum noisily. It stank of artificial grape. What a multitasker, I thought wryly, resigned to the truth. Chewing gum, counting the dues, and speaking. Why is she talking to me? Is it because there’s nobody waiting behind? If I had still been in my normal clothes, I would have felt cowed by her dismissive tone and ignored her comment. But wearing Revan’s robes, insufferably hot though they were, made me bold.

"That’s because Revan lived four thousand years before the rise of the Galactic Empire. Not all Star Wars games are based on the movies. Forty years after the defeat of Exar Kun-" Her face twisted a bit in a sneer as she cut me off.

"Uh huh. Sure. Spare me the details, I’m not a fan. Okay, everything looks like it’s in order. You just barely made it into this ‘koter’ SIG." While it disturbed me that she was so ignorant of the best game in the world, it was only to be expected. Layfolk are, after all, everywhere. I might have been upset, had I not been Revan. Nothing phased my Revan. Not for long, anyway.

After a brief delay for hidden weapons checking and a bit of sighing at the too-bright pass that was slung around my neck, I was through. Xanadu. Maybe not the best choice for me. I had never been to a convention before, and I probably should have started small. Or at least come a day early so that I could take in the sights.

I’d actually planned to wait for my friend Nathaniel. We would have changed in the room I had rented for this purpose and gone in, in costume, together. At the time I’d thought that only his help would let me face this many people. I’m chronically shy in crowds, after all. Classic wallflower. But then I’d donned the robes for the first time since I’d finished fitting them and realized something important. The robes made me feel as if I was her. Looking at me, people would see Revan. And Revan would not hesitate. There was something incredibly liberating about being her. I imagined that my body moved on its own, without my commanding it to do so.

And here I was, trying to find my way across what was probably the largest science fiction-fantasy convention in the country. Consulting the map proved to be confusing, and I didn’t trust the giggling fairy princess who pointed a direction. Slightly uneasy, I turned around a few times. Before long I saw, fixed in the narrow visor of my paper-mache mask, a robed figure that looked familiar.

I took a chance, walking up to it and speaking as if I knew her very well.

"Juhani!" She whirled and performed a classic double-take. Unseen, I smiled.

"Ah, Revan!" While this girl’s costume was not as convincing as my own, mostly because she couldn’t cover her face and her nose was too snubbed, the red Knight Robe, the heavy black eyeliner, and the yellow contacts were recognizable as an imitation of the Cathar Juhani, a feline Jedi from the same game as Revan. Her mock-Russian accent sounded hesitant.

"Are you- I mean, Did you fall to the dark side?" I grinned beneath my mask at her question, and responded boldly with a quote.

"I didn’t ‘fall’, Juhani. I had my eyes opened." Under the dusting of facepaint made to look like the stripes of short fur, "Juhani" smiled. Blinkered by the mask, I turned my head to look through the narrow horizontal slot. At this range I could only see sections of her face- the problem with Revan’s mask was that I, personally, could not compensate for restricted vision with the Force- but it looked like she also had plastic vampire teeth behind her lips.

She broke the fourth wall, speaking without the fake accent. "You’re from the General Discussion boards, right? Lots of Revans there. I saw a bunch of photos on the costume thread. Yours looks familiar – um... huh... Are you Redsaber-5?"

Behind the mask I grinned like a fool, oddly and wholly pleased. I didn’t recognize her, unfortunately, but hopefully she’d let that pass. I made no attempt to conceal the smile in my voice. "Exactly! My real name is Ha-" The "Cathar" shook her head and I stopped speaking.

"Let us leave names out of this," she said lightly, inoffensively. "Real or forum, I am Jedi Knight Juhani, and you are?"

"I am Female Revan, Prodigal Knight. Between the game and its sequel. My memories of life as Darth Revan are only beginning to return in full. Soon I will disappear to combat the True Sith, but not yet. I’ve just returned to my old robe and mask, because I’ve become enamored of them."

We touched gloved hands, mine black pleather(salvaged from a set of battered biker’s gloves) with red plating on the backs, hers a sandy-colored cloth with a marker applied. A bit of plastic at the end of each finger symbolized small claws. Like my own costume, hers was most convincing at a distance. Neither of us would be winning prizes, but we certainly looked better than the people who’d just picked up noses on strings or whatever was selling in the cheap section of the Dealer’s Room and called it a costume. I also thought we looked cooler than some of the fursuiters, the ones wearing baggy pajama-type things anyway, but I may have been biased.

"Come now, I will guide you to the room we will be staying in. I’ve been here for a few days, so I know where things are. Roughly." I accepted her help, placing my hand into the crook of her proffered elbow like a courtier. Half blinded by the mask, what else could I do?

It took a while and some ... navigational hazards. A large, orangy-colored Care Bear flirting with an admiring conventioneer whose costume was along the lines of "furry pajamas" blocked the way for a while before "she" squeaked a farewell and minced off. Somehow we managed to get pinned near a set of vendors dispensing fried edibles out of trays who were trying to sell their wares to some shockingly out-of-shape "superheroes" who should never have been allowed within five hundred feet of a Spandex costume. We barely escaped a confrontation between an armored knight in blue jeans and a seminaked nunchuck-wielding "girl" whose Adam’s apple was just a touch too prominent to be ignored. "Juhani" and I were teased by an Episode Two-style clone trooper who saw our shiny lightsaber hilts and demanded "Generals! What are your orders?" before having a hearty and distinctly un-clone-like laugh. "Robots" with the look of tinfoil creations from some low-budget Japanese live-action show grabbed at us before I, emboldened by the thought of being Revan, told them to run along and play. To my surprise, they obeyed. We had a brief run-in with some random skimpy-clothed fox-girl who, mistaking my companion for someone else, demanded to know why "Juhani" didn’t have "proper cat ears and a tail", but she gave up after catching sight of whomever she’d been looking for.

At couple of those nightmare convention tales I had heard over the Internet turned out to be true. One was that people sold the most bizarre pornographic art conceivable. Another was that about nine-tenths of the crowd had not bathed since the start of the con. Sweat, body odors, flat beer, reeking old cloth, and subtler, harder to define scents all combined into a miasma that in some places was drank in rather than inhaled.

There were a lot of sights I barely caught, what with the narrowness of the visor. Some good, others less so. I couldn’t help craning my neck and staring at an oriental dragon made of four people who seemed to have stolen it from the Chinese New Year, and there were some very impressive horse-type costumes. I saw hints of what looked like talent shows or perhaps simply skits on stages, and elsewhere heard snatches of filk that could be promising or terrible. Cosplayers with all levels of skill photographed each other and hugged and got into exhibitions. Xanadu was a major event for various fandoms, and today, the last day of the convention, the day Eric Winters handed out the prize money, the fans were going all out.

Eventually we got to the KotOR SIG room. It was just a door away from an unofficial gathering of more people in clone trooper armor. Half of them saluted. I supposed it wasn’t surprising that there were so many here... the infamous 501st, serious Star Wars cosplayers who made up the world’s largest Imperial costuming organization, was here openly, after all. I’d seriously considered joining - I was over eighteen, after all – but I wasn’t sure if my villain costume quite counted as "high quality", especially compared to what existing members had created.

Compared to most of the chambers here, ours, the room of the KotOR players, was on the small side. But there was only so much money we could raise in a hurry, and as expected only about twenty or thirty of us could come. It was still the first time I’d seen fellow fans in person, outside of the campus at Midtral anyway. KotOR was only a highly influential game set in the Star Wars universe; there were only so many people who could attend Kublai Con. Xanadu wasn’t the same thing as Celebration, after all. None of this was official.

There were two other Revans in robes, one of them in the white Star Forge Robes that I had stained so often that I’d gone for black instead, one Zaalbar who really looked more like a Chewbacca suit but carried a sign saying "I am Zaalbar; call me Big Z", three blue Twi’leks who might or might not be Mission Vao, someone with a repainted Maul mask as Bao Dur, a number of Bastilas, and a rather chunky battered HK-47 visible in the doorway, as well as various people in less distinctive outfits who could have been anyone from the Exile to Canderous. And there were more people that I couldn’t see due to the damn mask. Some looked hellishly halfhearted, but others...

"Maybe this was a mistake;" I muttered. But it was too late now; "Juhani" was plunging into the chaos and I felt it was my duty to at least visit. I’d paid the dues, after all...

And it was easier with the mask on. Easier to imagine that I was Revan, competent and impressive. Not Hailey, who was decidedly neither.

Even so, after less than a half hour, I was drained. Twenty-odd people in one room managed to create a lot more noise than should be humanly possible, and the long black robes that had been overwarm early on had become sweltering. The holes I’d drilled into my strapped-on mask weren’t working so well either; air didn’t pass through as well as I’d wanted it to. It seemed that all the water I drank passed straight out of my pores, hardly pausing to hit my stomach. The icepacks I’d stuffed into pockets after reading advice on Howstuffworks.com worked pretty well, but they couldn’t quite make it cool. But Revan would not have shown discomfort, and perhaps wouldn’t even have noticed, so I did my paltry best not to be affected.

As it turned out, it wasn’t as bad as I expected. I ended up doing a lot more listening than speaking, but tossed my two cents around more than a little anyway. Since we didn’t have anyone particularly well-known here, there weren’t any panels, just talk. It wasn’t too different from many of the forum discussions I’d had, except that I was here, not at a computer. I didn’t need Nathaniel here to "break the ice", not when I was Revan.

The thing about playing Revan is that he or she can be anything. You pick the face, you decide on male or female, big and strong or delicate. You decide if he or she is Dark or Light. You customize all kinds of statistics- intelligence, charisma, wisdom, strength, dexterity. Everyone who plays the game has a different Revan.

Despite my resolution not to feel the heat, I was working a black-gloved finger into my high vinyl collar, trying to coax air over to my sweat-drenched inner clothes, when a messenger in a frat-style toga with rubbery horns on his head ran in. He shouted what sounded like "Intercom’s down in this wing- the Awards Ceremony starts in five minutes!" and dashed off again, panting.

I moved my head in a wavy motion, looking for faces. The mask looked awesome and made me feel anonymous, but it was a damned nuisance. The Velcro straps that held it on my head were tangling and snagging my hair painfully. The inside was also starting to condense; beads of water from my slightly sour breath were trickling down to my chin and soaking me. Eventually I framed the visor slit around a girl who wasn’t already occupied.

"Revan Redeemed, in Darkside robes for old time’s sake," I told her casually.

"Nice mask. I’m a bit too lazy for anything fancy, so I’m some random Jedi from Dantooine - my character is Rhea Dorin. Took ages to make the gi and I had to borrow the boots, but I think it was worth it." She was a bit younger than me, I suspected. Not yet out of high school.

"Hmm. Do you really want to go to the awards ceremony?" I wouldn’t mind seeing it, but I would definitely need a guide. I might stumble over just about anything, otherwise. It’s hard to look dignified and mysterious if you’re sprawled on your belly. In an hour or two, when our SIG breaks up and we all drift away, I should take the mask off and just wander around, see what people have made. I won’t be the only one.

Yes... that seemed like a good plan. With so many anime fans in attendance, there were sure to be people selling DVDs and manga and assorted action figures. Surely I could find something from a series I favored...

"No, I won’t know anyone there. Besides, no way am *I* going to win "Best Costume" or whatever they’re doing." A disappointing revelation, but I had only been curious, after all. And I wasn’t going to ask, not after seeing her obvious disinterest. Hopefully someone from Midtral was taping it and I could see a highlights reel or something later. Over the Internet, maybe.

I spoke with "Rhea" for a while. There was a minor rule about not discussing "who you really are", but we ignored it. This was actually her second convention ever - she’d been to a minor one back in September- but she still had little more idea of what exactly happened than I did.

Oddly, it grew easier to keep a conversation with each sentence. I suppose it’s true that when you forget yourself it’s easier to relax into a role, although the topic had ranged on to a real fourth-wall-breaker: why so many forum members were juvenile Darkside jerks.

In the process we walked back towards the entrance of the room. The knot of white-armored clone troopers had in fact gotten larger. Maybe they wanted our room. Some looked pretty bad, but others looked truly professional, as if they had just stepped out of the movies. There’d been a rumor on the Internet that Temura Morrison, the actor who’d played Jango Fett, was coming to Xanadu, but I personally didn’t believe it. There would have been signings – and signs advertising the signings - otherwise. In a typically Revan move, I leaned back slightly and crossed my arms to study the troopers for a moment, then swung my head back to find Rhea. She had followed me, and stood closer to my side, but I had no trouble finding her. I knew where to look.

And then the world changed.

I’ve heard a few descriptions about what it felt like. Some people - me included – felt it just before it hit. When it hit, some were dizzied or disoriented, overcome with faintness. A number of psychics, some of them Jedi, blacked out, as did most of those attending the actual Awards Ceremony, although others remained conscious. Some felt ill. Others were wracked with pain or fear or delirious joy. A few people claim that they "saw" it as it overtook them, like a wave or something. I’ve even heard that for some, it happened slowly. And of course there were one or two who, despite the changes, felt nothing of the change itself at all.

My experience was... interesting. I felt it just before it hit; hundreds, thousands of tiny pressures, of thoughts and emotions and muted voices, all around me, all of them hushing for a moment. I was calm. Centered. Not uneasy in the least.

That calmness was overtaken by the strangest sensation. Somehow it was both agony and the most wonderful thing I had ever felt, washing over me, warm and cool and smooth and spiky all at once. Like a jolt of electricity, it ran from fingertips across my heart to my toes, brushing the crown of my head like a blessing, blossoming through my cells.

It passed through and remained inside of me, tingling and pulsing in every cell of my body; my legs buckled, and I fell, first to hands and knees, then to the ground. My vision, what there was of it through my helmet, faded to black.

I know I was only out for a few minutes, but it felt like hours before I came to. Hours of... dreams. Of purpose. Before I opened my eyes I felt it. An awareness. I knew that something had happened. Something big. Bigger even, to me, than the whole Xanadu transformation thing. I had reclaimed something so impossibly big and wonderful that beforehand I could barely conceive of its existence, as a blind man can barely grasp the concept of color. It was as if I had been blind and deaf and dumb and all of a sudden light and sound and speech were mine - at first, it was all meaningless, painful patterns, but then-

I opened my eyes, but I didn’t need the visor to see. Part of me cringed and fought, but for the rest it was as natural and easy as taking a deep, deep breath of clean air after years of shallow, fetid inhalations.

I pushed myself off the ground and swung my head back to look at the room I had been in, an instant and an eternity ago. I saw someone else in long armored robes, black and gray and red, but not like mine; burned, tattered, and damaged. He had collapsed on the floor. A red and black and gray mask was in his gloved hand. And a young woman in a tan bodysuit with a loose tunic-robe knelt at the head, palms on bloody temples, eyes closed.

Forging a bond, I knew, to keep him alive. She was Bastila, and he was Revan.

As I was.

Am.

Is that even possible?

Yes, it is. I am Revan.

No! I’m a teenager, a college student, cosplaying-

And I am also Revan.

I can’t handle this. I can’t handle this at all.

I brought my gloved hand up to my face. Such detail! Black gloves, like leather but not, as thin and supple as a second skin. It was protected by plates of muted reddish armor, the same color as my armbands, parts of my mask, and my breastplate. The black and gray robes obscured the rest of the armor, but it was there, underneath. The kind of thing I could have worked at for months and never gotten quite right.

The kind of thing I had designed with a great deal of careful thought. Mandalorians, too, wore dramatic armor with T-visors. It was wonderfully mysterious and helped to inspire fear, as well as having practical uses. I had wanted that same effect, but I hadn’t wanted to appear too Mandalorian.

No- no! I’m not Revan! I can’t be!

More than the costume had changed. That wonderful big feeling of greatness? It bound everything. I could feel things through it. Like I was connected, linked, bound to them. With- everything. The figures before me on the floor, the floor itself, the walls, the air.... not just in the room. Everywhere. As if I was one cell in the body of the galaxy, one note in a symphony, one word in a tale, I was a part of it, related to every other part and, unlike them, aware of this. If I allowed myself, I could get lost in it.

I paced past comatose Rhea, Bastila and the fallen Dark Lord. Another Bastila, in more conventional robes, was sitting against the wall, knees curled into her chest, staring blankly at nothing at all. She felt... right. I stopped beside her, reaching for the words that she needed to hear. They came, of course. They always do.

"It’s not your fault." Her head jerked up, startled, and she stared up at me with wide, pleading eyes. Part of me melted... I firmed my resolve. There were things which needed doing. And this was not truly the woman I knew. She didn’t know me, but someone like me. And yet entirely different. Male, for one thing.

"I forgive you." I told her. What was I forgiving her for? Oh, the mindwipe. Which was probably being performed even now on the bloody figure behind me, unless the shock of becoming Revan right after the bridge was hit by turbolasers had done that. On the Star Forge, when I- when Revan! had redeemed her, she was forgiven for that, and for falling to the Dark Side.

But this was not my Bastila. I knew that. The Force told me.

I can’t handle this. This isn’t me.

The girl who looked like Bastila stammered, "I... I know. But I cannot forgive myself. I failed you. I... I don’t know what to do." I touched her chin and nudged, slightly. She stood shakily. Her eyes swept across my face, and I realized that she was looking for my eyes. Well, this could be interesting.

I knew that I didn’t look like the Revan she wanted me to be. But I could make her think that I was, if only for a moment. It was easy. Just the lightest touch on her mind, and I could see what she wanted and become it.

I sank both my hands back through the opening of my hood, as far back as my ears, and found the catch, where the front of my helmet met the back piece. Strange. I distantly remembered using Velcro and straps that tied around my head, but this was much better. With a slight tug, the mask came free. I looked into her eyes and met her pleading gaze calmly. It was clear to my senses that what she wanted from me was direction.

I gave it to her. "Use your Battle Meditation. Calm the crowds. I do not expect you to make everyone become still and peaceful, love, but every little bit helps. We don’t want riots." Love?! Admittedly it wasn’t a name I would normally have used, but if it helped... I smiled reassuringly, just a bit, and she nodded and sat in a lotus position, taking a deep, slow breath. It would work. Hopefully. I felt exposed without the mask, and so I latched it back. The visor helped me focus.

I looked-

"This is so wrong." A voice said unhappily. I turned, cloak cape swinging, to see Darth Malak climbing to his feet and looking at himself with dismay. I hesitated, then approached him.

Part of me felt no surprise at his appearance, but... somehow a computer screen fails to show how tall Malak was. Wide-shouldered, bald, with striped tattoos on his pale scalp, he was a head and a half taller than me, even leaning forward with knees slightly bent. He looked somewhat different than in the game, robed properly rather than villainous and without the signature prosthetic jaw. The bold tattooed stripes on his head were unchanged, but his skin was less gray, his eyes blue rather than yellow.

I’d played the game. He had been my- no, Revan’s best friend and lieutenant. Then when we- when they had become Sith, he had turned traitor. In the Sith tradition. But I did not feel threatened. This wasn’t the man I had grown up with. He had less independence in him, for one. He was used to obeying. There was hardly any fire or ambition in him; he felt... young. Pliable. Looked it, too, actually.

I can’t handle this. Not now.

He noticed me watching him with clear unease. "Revan. I don’t want to fight you. Please. I’m not M- I’m not who you think I am. Really."

"Of course you’re not," I said as smoothly as I could. My throat was starting to hurt, making my voice raspier and more unpleasant. Not something I wanted, but it would recover in time. A thought occurred to me. "How old are you?"

"I’m... huh. Eighteen. And... fourteen. That’s not right... Revan... if you are Revan... what’s going on?" Much younger than me. Interesting. He thought I was about to attack him, yet he looks to me? I was intrigued.

"I might as well be," I allowed. I felt a twinging in my awareness. Elsewhere, I knew, people weren’t standing around talking things out. I had better do something about it. "Look, will you follow me? I could use help."

His response was so automatic that I suspected it was reflex, not a decision. "Yes."

Rapidly, I flashed a thought-probe in and out of the young man who looked like Malak. No real ill intent, no deception; confusion, though, a desire to do well, and a strange, deep welling of trust. He wanted guidance? Well, I could give it.

"Then I can trust you."

I can’t handle this. I just can’t.

"I should have stayed home..." he moaned, but as I started to walk he followed as closely as he would had I snagged his hand and pulled.

I paused at a woman who looked like Juhani, apparently the one who had brought me to this room. Black eyelids accentuating scared yellow eyes that didn’t seem to have whites made her look alien, but I ignored this. And the expression of adoration which followed when she recognized me. She wasn’t mine, I wasn’t hers. She blinked as she realized this for herself, and settled.

"Keep the calm, Juhani. There will be trouble if some of us wake up and start fighting. You know how to slow them down, let them think." Willing saliva into my mouth, I swallowed, trying to soothe my irritated throat. It didn’t really work.

"I- yes. I will keep the peace until you return. But- you are not going alone, with him?" She glanced up at the one who looked like Malak, who was rubbing his face and muttering. Beneath my mask I smiled.

"I can trust him, Juhani. May the Force be with you." The thought dawned that I would probably never see her again.

I strode forth and pulled my lone follower out of the room and into more chaos.

Clone troopers were everywhere. Some were semiconscious; others had formed a defensive square, tracking their black blaster rifles to follow every movement. They hadn’t yet fired, thankfully.

One saw me and looked past the dramatic armored robe and mask to notice a lightsaber hanging from my belt, as if it were a magnet and his gaze was a needle. "General..." he breathed. Other clones turned their heads and saw me, emitting a relief that was almost palpable. Part of me was uncomfortable about this, part... wasn’t.

Oh, that’s right... Clone troopers call all Jedi either ‘Commander’ or ‘General’, and obey them to and past the point of self-sacrifice. Up until they get the correct signal and attack these same Jedi...

I just can’t handle this!

"How do you know I’m not a Sith?" I asked, half serious, half amused. I shook my hooded head before someone could come up with an answer. "Never mind. Men..." My confidence faltered for a moment as they all looked at me the way drowners see air, nakedly desperate. My surety returned in the same instant that it had left, along with an inkling of what I had to say and how I had to say it. Loose wording, certain tone.

"Hold your positions until you have judged it prudent to move. You are authorized to use force in defense of yourselves or others, but practice strict restraint. No casualties unless absolutely necessary. Do not take orders from anyone, even another Jedi, if they conflict with mine." My voice was calm, firm, and confident enough to reassure even the most cowardly of recruits. The clones all straightened, their world having realigned itself.

I received a set of salutes and "Yes Sir"s. They were ragged, but they would do. Already the troopers looked more professional, forming up into a more solid position. Even the young man who looked like Malak, standing behind me, felt more assured, and I hadn’t even addressed him.

The Force twinged again. A death. Without another word, I strode ahead, still trailed by my follower.

For the moment, things were calm. Calm enough, at least, to ask a mildly important question as we walked. I turned my masked and hooded head to face my tall, pale companion and asked, mildly, "What do you want me to call you?"

The young man who looked like Malak blinked, uncertain both in the narrow strip of view afforded by my visor and in the Force. "Um. I was... don’t laugh, okay?"

I smiled invisibly. This ought to be good. "I won’t."

"I was... ‘Cheryl.’ I told you not to laugh," he - or she? said rather stiffly. A quick, involuntary exhalation had escaped me- not quite a laugh, no, but not far from it. I waved a gloved, armored hand at him- sorry, continue- and he did. "But I think I prefer Malak. What about you?"

"What about me?"

I can’t handle this. Really, I can’t.

"What do you want me to call you? Do you respond to Revan, or...?"

Ah. I can’t believe I forgot that. "Revan will do nicely." I hesitated as something niggled at me, then added, "I would also respond to... Hailey... but Revan works better." One more thing- "And I stayed female."

"...Okay."

I hesitated again, then shrugged. Might as well. Other than the two of us, this hall is deserted. I don’t think anything is about to happen in the next thirty seconds. Nothing I could prevent, anyway. "This is what I look like." I stopped walking and turned towards my companion. Carefully, I slid both armored hands into the face of my deep, concealing hood, felt for the clasps, and pulled the masklike front half of my helmet down and away from my face.

My vision was restricted by the hood itself, cutting off everything on either side, but it was still astonishing how much more I could see. If not for the Force, maneuvering would have been a great trial wearing that mask. How had I managed before?

Malak peered into my face with a slight frown around his eyes, then nodded, not saying a word. I replaced the mask and we resumed walking in a rather awkward silence. What do you say to someone who looks like a younger version of your best friend since childhood, who later set a trap for you and left you for dead so that he could grab the title of Dark Lord of the Sith?

I can’t handle this.

Ahead was chaos. Perhaps deterred by the knot of clones outside, hysterical people had run away from the room I had found Malak in, but here there was nothing to stop them from doing all the things panicked people do. Running in circles. Trampling one another. Bashing themselves into walls. And screaming, of course. Lots and lots of screaming.

Most of them appeared fairly human in their physiology, though frequently sporting strange furred features like ears or snouts or tails which didn’t really match their bodies. Interestingly enough, it was mostly the ones without the odd ears-or-snouts-or-tails who had peculiar skin coloration, truly outlandish garb, or bizarre hair. Some appeared to be humanized animals. There were also a number of oddities in that crowd, things which really didn’t look humanoid. I didn’t bother looking too closely.

A panicked human with lips that curved out into a brightly-colored beak produced a shrieking cry that was so loud and so highly pitched that it seemed to bite through my eardrums and pass through my head, completely ignoring the sound-dampening features in my mask. Shuddering, I winced and resisted the urge to clap my hands over my ears.

The crowd members who were not running in circles were trying to escape the room. There were several doors leading outside, all fronted with glass and opened by means of shoving at a bar in the approximate center. Naturally, in the way of all panicked humans, these were ignoring most of the doors to press around one and only one. Clearly, Bastila’s calming Battle Meditation had not reached them. Or if it had, they were too excited to feel the effect.

"I don’t think we can do anything here!" I said to my follower, shouting over the noise of the crowd. Even if I opened another door, the small mob would continue trying to surge through the first one. Panicked people were like that. "Let’s just get out!" I winced again as the beaked human produced another painful shriek.

I can’t handle this.

"Yeah! Good idea!" Malak followed as I worked my way along the edge of the room. The crush of people here was not so tight; the wreckage of various small stands and booths disrupted them, and a hysterical mass of humans generally prefers more open spaces. The beaked human shrieked twice more before we were able to find our way into a different corridor.

There was still a great deal of noise, but the corridor was much less crowded and had less of a hysterical feel to it. The handful of people here were grim-faced or wide-eyed with fear, but they hadn’t whipped themselves into a frenzy. What appeared to be a bipedal dog was holding two cloaked figures away from each other and speaking rapidly.

I felt the Force twinge again. I was running out of time. Sweat started to form on my skin; it was instantly absorbed by the lining of my armor, but what I wore could do nothing about the way my stomach was starting to flutter. I can’t run out of time. I won’t. Running or allowing myself to draw upon the Force to move more quickly would use energy that I would need later. I settled for walking very fast, fast enough that people ahead moved to either side of the corridor to let me by.

"Revan, what do you think’s happened?" Longer legs meant that Malak had little trouble keeping up with me.

"I have no idea," I told him shortly. We were passing people that I knew I could help, but to do so I would be forced to use precious time and energy. I need both for what’s ahead. Let me be there in time. "It’s obviously something big. You can touch the Force, right?"

"Yes," he said uncertainly, as if he suspected a trick question.

"And you couldn’t this morning, could you?" I pressed. He shook his head, bewildered. "Now, what have you done between this morning and... sixteen minutes ago? Seventeen minutes ago, how were you different from this morning?"

He still did not understand. I wasn’t quite sure how to phrase it... Sighing inwardly, I sent a thought into his head, a hint. Just a quick thought-pulse, nothing major.

I can’t handle this at all.

"I’m not sure what you- oh. Costumes. You mean... they became real?"

Well, that’s as good a way to say it as any other. I inclined my head and then, realizing that it was hard to see, told him "Yes. It’s the only explanation that makes any sense. Not much, admittedly, but it’s all we have. When straws are all that is left, grasp at them."

I did not turn my head to look at him, but in the Force I could feel a bit of his confusion. "How did you do that?"

Sensing that he didn’t mean my deduction, I let a wry tone creep into my voice. I should have known he would feel my thought-pulse. "I’m the player character in an RPG. I have to be able to communicate without words at least part of the time."

I can’t handle this. It’s just too weird.

"Oh." There were doors set into the corridor. Some were closed, others were not. Malak stopped quite abruptly; something in one of them had caught his eye. "Revan-"

The tone of his voice made me stop, turn. "What is it? What’s wrong?" I didn’t feel any local disturbance in the Force. While there were plenty of unpleasant things happening around us, they could be taken care of by others. All but one. And that was mine. I was running out of time.

"That’s- I think that’s... David?" His explanation became a question, in a voice that sounded almost plaintive.

A boy in the room, teenaged by his rather nasal voice, demanded, "What?! Who are you? How do you know my name? What’s going on?" He sounded rather freaked out.

Join the club. I can’t handle this.

"Who is David?" I asked. My voice displayed a patience that I did not feel.

Malak hesitated. "He’s my... he’s my brother. Cheryl’s brother. I have to-"

In the room off the corridor, David yelped "What?!" again, his voice breaking.

I didn’t have time for this! Couldn’t he feel that urgency in the Force? Something clicked together. He couldn’t feel it because handling it was a task meant for me. Alone. Without any help whatsoever. It might well be that, in the impending incident, any companions of mine would be killed or prove untrustworthy.

Better if there was only one.

Almost I could feel responsibility settling over my shoulders like a new cloak lined with lead. Heavily, I accepted it. Very well. I will go it alone from here.

"I’ll find you later," I told my follower, unsure if I really could. He nodded, preoccupied with the puzzle of trying to explain things to David. I could only hope that he would remember my not-quite-promise later- but then again, perhaps it would be better if he did not. I was running short on time. We all were.

I can’t handle this.

Not looking back, I finally succumbed to the urgency I felt in the Force and broke into a loping run.

Hurry, hurry, hurry... I had lost any notion of conserving my energy and now ran as quickly as I could without damaging something. I used very long, loping strides with what felt like several seconds of air between each step, and I drew upon the Force that linked all things to urge more and more energy into my muscles.

Another twinge of disturbance rippled through the Force. Silently I cursed my armor and my robes; they were slowing me, but I knew that I needed them. The sweat that was emitted by my skin and either evaporated or was wicked away by padding was now not entirely produced out of anxiety; part of it was from exertion. I preferred sprints to marathons, all things taken under advisement.

But I’ve endured worse. I’m about to endure worse. If I can get there before something happens!

Fortunately there was little traffic here; everyone with sense - or without my crushing need to prevent something, anyway – had fled, either outside or simply to safer areas. It had been several long minutes since I had last seen anyone. If all went well, they would probably never hear about it.

If.

I sensed other knots of conflict, other great potentially-apocalyptic forces, around and about me. But they were all either willing to postpone whatever damage they wanted to do or were in the process of being neutralized, either by each other or by forces that opposed them.

Apparently, I was one of those forces. The... being... I was after did have several others resisting it, but they were not doing well. More precisely, they were being killed, one after another. The distraction that they posed this... being... was all that kept it from doing something. I didn’t know what it was, but it promised to be terrible.

And unlike the terrible... being... I was after and several of the other great forces, apocalyptic or not, I was not some demigod descended from on high. I was stronger, faster, in various ways more capable than the average human, and I did have some modest psychic abilities, not to mention extensive training with the lightsaber, but I was only human, and all too easily killed.

The only thing that truly set me apart from other humans was my connection to the Force. Not the telekinesis and such that it gave me, but the warnings, the guidance, the insights it gave me into everything around me. But the Force would only do so much. It wasn’t as if it focused on me and only me, after all. Clumsiness or a lack of awareness could easily be fatal.

I can’t handle this. The half-panicked thought returned, and I suppressed it firmly. I didn’t need more distraction.

It’s getting warmer, isn’t it? It wasn’t my armor. I could see the air starting to ripple.

Something produces heat. A lot of heat. I believe that it is fairly safe to assume that it is my new enemy doing so.

The short, cheap carpet was singed in places. As I ran on, I saw more and more such singes, on the walls and ceiling as well, as if the building was slowly beginning to toast. Trash dropped by frenzied people had also suffered from the heat. I was forced to slow. I’m close. Very close.

The corridor I was moving down ended in a "T" juncture. This was it. I turned a left and found charring and evidence of soot on one of the walls, which radiated heat like that of a working starship engine or the wall of an intensely powerful oven. Here the ripples in the air intensified; in response I tongued a control set into my helmet, causing the cooling systems in my armor to start up with a barely-audible whirr. I needed them.

There was an opaque door set into that wall. It was very warm to the touch, even through my gloves. When I opened it the sensation was very much akin to dropping into a tank of uncomfortably hot water, cooling systems or no. The heat was a physical pressure on my skin, a distinct and indefinable taste in my mouth. I gathered my will and stepped in as if entering a kiln. My already-dark visor polarized to compensate for the sudden increase in light.

Ahh. A lava boss. That would explain the heat.

The ...being... was roughly humanoid, although it lacked a neck, and almost tall enough to brush the high, blackened ceiling, which released a slow rain of ash and charred flakes. This room had once held more of those booths and stalls, but many of them had been burned away. Oddly enough, I saw no visible flames.

The light fixtures overhead were inoperable, but plenty of light came off of the monstrous "lava boss". Painful, hot, ruddy light, yes, but light all the same. The heat also caused the air to ripple madly, and the floor was giving off a thick, oily smoke, but while wearing this mask I depended on the Force for sight anyway, so it made little difference.

The "lava boss" roared in a deep voice, a sound somehow reminiscent of erupting volcanoes and rocky landslides. On its glowing, relatively short legs it staggered to reach for a flying humanoid figure in yellow. The figure, wrapped in a long yellow coat and flying without any evidence of wings, thrust some kind of a nozzle at the "lava boss". White foam flew from the nozzle, hissing furiously. After a moment, I recognized it as a fire extinguisher, and the yellow coat as that of a firefighter who also wore the signature red helmet. The seething lavalike body of the "boss" darkened wherever foam touched it, forming a solid crust.

I could see several similar dark patches, but it looked like the still-hot lava around them was softening and heating them, breaking them up into smaller pieces. When the "lava boss" flexed, the crusts fissured, revealing its yellow-red molten interior.

‘Only YOU can prevent convention fires!’ I thought on a whim, and then felt slightly ashamed of myself for being frivolous.

The "lava boss" roared again as its hand was solidified by hissing foam. It swung wildly at the yellow firefighter, who was knocked aside but recovered, hovering in place again. He cried out something in ringing tones.

It wasn’t much of a surprise to see that the carpet underfoot had been reduced to a fine, powdery ash. Whatever was under it had also been burned, to the point that I had no idea what it was, yet the foundations holding the floor up seemed to be intact.

For the moment, anyway. There was no doubt in my mind that, soon or late, the foundation would break and the soil would start to burn. One way or another, the lava creature would eventually touch bedrock. Exactly what would happen then, I had no idea, but something – no, not something, the Force, and wasn’t that a strange thought – told me that it wouldn’t be pleasant. Not as disastrous as what some of the other great forces would do if allowed to run unchecked, but not good in the least. The world would not end, no. But, at the least, an active volcano would form and start erupting. Not something you expect in the middle of the Sunshine State, marring the City Beautiful.

I can’t handle this.

The flying firefighter paused to cough hackingly. It looked like he was starting to suffer from smoke inhalation.

Whether or not the "lava boss" knew this or not, it took advantage of the coughing fit to swing again. I winced in sympathy; the blow was solid and drove the flyer into one of the blackened walls. After a moment he tumbled out of the crater he had caused and caught himself in midair.

And he’s still flying. Without wings, repulsors, jets, or any other visible means. How is that?

Finally I noticed that there were people besides the "lava boss" and the wingless flyer in the room. Offering support perhaps? One spotted me and waded rapidly through the ankle-deep ash.

"You hafta get outta here, man! It’s dangerous!" I noticed then that the speaker was a girl wearing a filter-mask who seemed to have a nonhuman muzzle and short, singed fur. Past her the "lava boss" rumbled menacingly at the flying firefighter, adding a certain emphasis to the girl’s warning.

"I can see that," I told her, making the extra effort to radiate competence and non-menace. It would have been easier to simply remove my mask and use the appropriate facial expressions, but I didn’t dare. Not in conditions like these. I had no desire to be singed or inhale a lungful of this smoke - tainted air. "I’m here to help if I can. What’s the situation?"

"We’re real lucky dat Fireman showed up when he did. Otherwi-"

"You’re serious?" I asked, unable to help myself. "That’s his name? Fireman? Sorry, go on. Pretend I was silent."

I can’t handle this.

The girl gave me a scornful look but continued. "We already lost three. Dat thing... Ah dunno what it is, but none of us kin stop it. Slow it down, yeah. Fireman don’t burn, but he can’t really hurt it neither. We’re jest here to d’lay it until sommun wi’ oomph comes roun’ an’ stops it."

Behind my mask I frowned. "If.... Fireman... doesn’t burn, what are you lot doing here? Can’t he take care of stalling that thing on his own?"

Even before I had finished speaking, the girl shook her elongated head. "Nah. He gets kilt if we don’ help now ‘n agin." Above the strapped-on filter mask, her muzzle wrinkled, one hand making a flicking gesture that indicated something on her face. "Ah wish Ah coul’ talk proper wi’ this thing!"

Taking "this thing" to mean either the muzzle or the filter mask, I decided to ignore that last part. She would become accustomed to it, and then she would dislike me for bringing up the subject. "What works? I have a number of weapons, but I don’t know what good they’d do."

"What kind’a weapons?" She asked immediately.

Should have known she’d ask that... "Many. I have a number of... melee weapons-"swords, quarterstaffs, stun sticks, a few clubs, a Gammorrean axe... "- butI doubt any of them will do any good here. I have sonic, ion, and normal blasters – pistols, heavy, and repeaters. I also have lightsabers and grenades."

Ah. I looked through my inventory, scanning the images that flickered across my vision. I have too much stuff. Should have sold this a long time ago...

"Well, hackin’ bits offen that thing don’t do much good; dey jest fall’n burn. Ah dunno how ye kin ‘elp, but yer welcome t’ try." I had the impression that the girl doubted that I actually had any of this stuff on me, and I couldn’t blame her. While things could certainly be hidden under my ceremonial robes and armor, I didn’t look as if I was carting an armory about.

Wait. How am I carrying this, then? I *have* it, I know I do... After a moment I set the thought aside as not currently relevant.

I just can’t handle this.

Greeting duties done, the girl performed an about-face to stand in a tense semi-huddle with the others in the room, who also wore filter-masks. While we had been conversing, the flying figure... Fireman... had resumed the tactic of zipping around and using his fire extinguisher to cool the surface of the "lava boss".

This is what I was so worried about? I asked myself, half-amused. Yes, this thing could potentially cause a major catastrophe, but it doesn’t look like my presence or absence will change anything. This awkwardly-named Fireman may not be able to win directly, but he seems to have a certain indefatigability. He can stall that thing indefinitely.

As if to prove that I might in fact be wrong, the "lava boss" swung its arms wildly, sending droplets of runny melted rock flying. The droplets didn’t hit anyone, and didn’t appear to have been flung with a great deal of force, but that seemed to be accident rather than intent.

I guess I don’t have anything better to do, I thought, flicking through my inventory again. What would work best... ah, grenades. What kind of grenade? Not sonic or poison or ion or concussion, I’ll bet... fragmentation might be helpful, but the shrapnel would probably go into things other than my enemy. Adhesive? The package says I shouldn’t use it near open flame, and I don’t know how that would work here. Plasma is a no, and even though a thermal detonator would probably work, I won’t use it. Small and contained or not, nobody likes a thermonuclear explosion. That leaves...

Cryoban grenades. Of course.

One dropped into my open hand, smacking against my glove; automatically I caught it. It weighed maybe half a kilogram or... just over a pound, a solid weight. The grenade was inactive yet, somehow, in the incredible heat of this room it was just slightly cooler than it ought to be. I knew that I was imagining it. If the special pressurized gas in a Cryoban was leaking, I would be dead, not holding it and thinking about the temperature.

Use it now, or wait? I had more than one, but I didn’t want to waste them.

The figure that I now knew as Fireman cried out as the flailing "lava boss" knocked the fire extinguisher out of his hand, sending it spinning.

Now, I guess. Breaking into a light run, I came closer – not in a straight line, but by curving around the two as if spiraling in, kicking up ash with each step. Even so, the heat intensified unpleasantly, pressing through my armor against my skin and eyes and mouth as if it was a physical presence. The filters connecting to my mask kept me from eating the ash; for that, I was grateful.

I thumbed the grenade’s trigger, sensing the optimum place to stop as clearly as I saw the "lava boss". Approaching that point, I cocked my arm back and hurled the grenade with as much power as the Force could give my muscles, sending the solid weight in a straight-line trajectory that ended imbedded high in the "lava boss’s" back.

There was enough force in that impact for a small amount of liquid rock to plash out. I narrowed my eyes in satisfaction. I could have levitated the grenade instead of throwing it, but that would have been slower, more difficult, a less efficient use of my resources. Hopefully the grenade could stand the heat... the things had been designed to combat fires, but...

Just enough time passed for me to suspect that the heat had fried its circuitry before the grenade finally went off in a burst of light and sound. Even through my armor, I felt it as, for a moment, the heat was sucked away.

And then it was over, spent. Better than half of the "lava boss" was encased in a rough, bumpy frozen shell. Almost as soon as it had formed the ice started melting away, but the creature’s movements were sluggish; the rocky cooled crust impeded it, even though it was already warming and cracking. It batted at Fireman, but this time he dodged easily and was able to recover his weapon.

Palmed, primed, thrown; another Cryoban went off, this time at the creature’s feet. The feet and legs were rather slender when compared to the rotund bulk of the body of the "lava boss", and the grenade had more of an effect on them. Somehow the "lava boss" was able to walk on molten legs just fine, but when solidified they cracked under its weight.

I can’t handle this. It’s ridiculous.

The creature fell, sliding heavily to the charred floor. Seeing more glowing lava stretch and flow into new legs without noticeably diminishing the body it came from, I pursed my lips in annoyance. Evidently this was going to take longer than I had hoped.

It did. The colorfully-named Fireman and I ended up with a sort of rhythm. He distracted it by diving and swooping and occasionally blasting what passed for the creature’s face with his extinguisher, which never seemed to expend all of its foam. On the ground, I ran about and lobbed my grenades, which also never seemed to run out. The handful of others in the room didn’t contribute much; mostly, they fetched and carried vast quantities of water from a mysterious source, sometimes sloshing it across the scorched floor, sometimes managing to get it on the "lava boss". In either case it boiled and steamed immediately away.

Despite our best efforts, the creature did not seem particularly effected. Slowed, not stopped. We were tiring; it wasn’t.

I had no way of knowing how long it took before a man in a white coat resolved it all for us. He just wandered in and, in a clear, dazed voice, said, "I know the secret of the Universe."

Somehow that simple phrase, inane though it might be, drew the attention of everyone in the room. I turned towards the speaker, enraptured. I wasn’t the only one compelled to move closer.

For the first time, the "lava boss" spoke, its voice distorted but recognizable. "Hwhaaaaut hizzz iht?" That brought me slightly out of the compulsion. I’d had no idea that the "lava boss" was intelligent enough or at all inclined to speak. Or even capable of doing so at all. Maybe we’d been going about stopping it in the wrong way.

My attention was recaptured as the whitecoat leaned forwards, the ends of his frizzy dark hair starting to shrivel. He opened his mouth-

Huh? What? Why am I lying on the ground?

I was confounded to find that my eyes were closed. A flash of light with a peculiar accompanying high whine flicked through my dark visor to strike my eyelids. I opened them, hearing a slightly bored voice reciting words that, by the sound of them, had been repeated several times before.

"All right gentlemen, ladies. This has all been a huge misunderstanding. You remember putting on your costumes..." The voice continued, but I stopped listening.

I’ve got to get out of here. Quickly, using my other senses, I determined that there were two humanoids in the room who were up and mobile, staying close together. Radiant heat was still washing over me like hot water, but it didn’t seem as strong now. Can I get away? More importantly, can I get away without being seen?

Exactly why I wanted to get away unseen, even I didn’t know. But I had an instinctive feeling that lingering would be a very bad idea. And I hadn’t gotten as far as I had by ignoring instincts and bad feelings. In my line of work, they tended to keep my side alive longer.

Wait. What?! I don’t even have a job. That’s not right.

Ignoring the niggling confusion, I gathered my limbs under me. My cloak was draped over my body like a collapsed tent, which would help. Patience. Shrouded by my cloak, degree by degree, I turned... turned... my knees, armored as they were, touched gritty ground. I eased my arms down, armored palms holding my weight as I brought my legs from kneeling to something more like crouching. My muscles ached and complained in this unnatural position, far too close to the ground. I was far more concerned with being seen.

Don’t notice me. Don’t notice me. Don’t notice me. I’m nothing more than another heap of trash, less interesting by far than all of these oddballs sprawled on the ashy floor. Don’t notice me. Look away. I could feel the attention of the standing figures as it flicked, flicked, flicked here and there, over me and away and over me again.

My position change had apparently attracted no attention... good thing, too... but actually leaving the room on my own initiative couldn’t be disguised.

A plan came to mind, and I grinned under the mask. Why not?

Most of the others supine on the ashy floor were just too out of it. Still tranced, maybe by the universe guy, maybe by the flash of light. It would take too much effort on my part to make them react in a satisfactory way.

But there was the "lava boss", still spacy but starting to come around...

I poked him. Hard. Not with any part of my body – I was neither that close nor suicidal – but rather with a frivolous use of the Force.

The temperature rose by two or three degrees and a garbled moan escaped the creature’s throat, instantly riveting the attention of the standing pair.

Here’s my chance! Rather than stand and run, I scrambled on feet and hands away and to safety.

Now what?

I can’t handle this. '''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"It’s okay. Calm down, alright?" I croaked at the hyperventilating blue-skinned girl wedged into the corner of the closet. She nodded frantically, tears rolling down her cheeks. I would have tried harder to soothe her, but my throat was swollen into a raw mass. Breathing things not meant for human lungs does that. I knew that it would get better. Eventually.

When I had returned to the place where I had left him, the one who looked like Malak had been gone. I understood roughly why - perhaps this David had persuaded him away – but it was still irksome. Being alone lead to pointless, aimless wandering, and a certain waste of time. Like now! Trying to talk to hysterical idiots was not my idea of productive.

I can’t handle all this.

At the moment I could have used a bit of usefulness. My Force-given sense of purpose seemed to have deserted me completely after I left the scene of the lava boss. Other than the occasional faint go this way, I was on my own. I kept thinking that I was being watched. Silly, because not only where there people in all directions who might be staring at me – and even given the oddity of my mask, I wasn’t the most gawkeable creature in any given room, either, given the number of monstrous oddities and extraordinarily buxom women - why would someone just watch and not do something about me by now?

Of course, I might be going crazy. This is certainly the ideal day for it. I’m not running about like a headless fowl, but that doesn’t exactly indicate sanity. After all, I’m trying to talk to a hysteric, and I *know* that won’t work.

The hysteric in question made an incoherent mewling sound, but didn’t seem inclined to violence, and I had the distinct impression that I wasn’t going to have the desired effect, so I rasped "Shhh. It’ll be fine." and turned away. The sense of where to go and what to do seemed to fade in and out annoyingly. It had led me in this direction, but-

Ah. Someone approaches. I felt this as a sort of jolt before my ears picked up the sound of rapid footsteps. Even so, it took a moment to find whomever it was through my visor. This mask is getting annoying. Sometimes I can use it easily, at other times I’m waving my head about trying to see. It was almost enough to make me remove it here and now, but I resisted the impulse. The helmet would stay on until I found somewhere private to remove it. There- the humanoid had stopped before me, rather close for my comfort. I locked my visor on a pair of blue, sharply-angled eyes. There was a moment of disorientation, and then-

Sudden shock, then looking up at someone else who had *not been like that*, the urge to fight, the urge to flee, flight won. Running away. Sense returning, trying to speak to the first calm-looking person, but being *completely unable to*. Mouth opens; voice comes, but only in wordless cries. Ran again, saw dark shape, came to it, not knowing why.

Huh. What’s the right response? I wondered as the sending faded, shaking the confusion from my head. Stalling for time, I examined the... man.

I panned my visor down the green tunic, noted a leather strap, tan leggings and brown leather boots, then panned back up to see a sword hilt, then the triangular face, the pleading large eyes, the elongated pointed ears pierced by blueish rings, and the long green cap. There was something familiar here- ah yes; this was that mute, androgynously pretty protagonist of the Legend of Zelda series. What was his name? Connect? No, that couldn’t be right - Link, that was it.

Hmm. I distinctly remembered holding an adolescent crush on the elf, or Hylian, whatever he was. There was a poster from "Ocarina of Time" still hanging in my dormroom, as a matter of fact. Odd, that despite looking exactly the same this young man had no such effect on me.

No, it wasn’t odd. I enjoyed a pretty face and form as much as anyone else, but training had killed any carnal urges before they could develop. Thank the Living Force for that. The three things that motivate most beings to do the most hideous things are power, religion, and sex, after all. I have enough to worry about already without my mind being befuddled by a comely body.

I can’t handle this.

"Okay... okay, you’re fine," I got out. The words seemed to have no effect. Maybe he didn’t speak Basic. Or English. Or whatever.

I found myself wincing beneath my mask at the sore twinge in my throat. But at least I could speak, unlike him. As far as I could recall, none of Link’s incarnations could talk, though they had always gotten their points across.

So. How can he communicate at all? With that thought, I found myself remembering that I too could send information without words. Can I do that here?

Of course not. That’s ridiculous.

Ridiculous? How so? I may not be skilled in its use, but I have never doubted the existence of telepathy.

The stubborn, nagging thought had no response more advanced than its standard I can’t deal with this.

Well, nothing to do but try.

I focused on those angular blue eyes through the mask’s narrow visor and concentrated on the urge to calm, to stillness. The attempt made me realize that it was very warm under my robes, but I chose to ignore the observation. Why had this been so much easier when I hadn’t been thinking about it?

Ahhhh. Now I remember.

Link’s head snapped back slightly as he felt what I had told him. He blinked repeatedly and stumbled back, consciously taking deeper breaths. Good. What now?

Take him with me? Why would I do that? What would I do with a follower, anyway?

Another little anticipatory jolt shocked my nerve endings, and in the next instant heard a roar that anyone who’s ever seen a monster movie would be familiar with. Godzilla’s cry has always been instantly recognizable, even to people who haven’t seen any of the movies. I might qualify as one of those...

It sounded close. Acting according to instinct, I ran towards it, mentally reviewing a map that I’d seen on a wall. It was the second-largest room in this section, probably possessing a skylight, and filled with little stalls. That map had indicated that there was a concentration of all things Godzilla in it. There were plenty of people in varying degrees of panic clogging the hall, but a dark figure charging forward with purpose made most of them fall back. I had to elbow a man in a trenchcoat aside, but he didn’t seem to notice.

I felt Link running in my wake. Well, he probably wouldn’t be of much use, but at least he wasn’t using that sword or any other weapons on passersby.

I shoved open the double doors rather melodramatically and slowed, belatedly cautious. What could I do about giant monsters with breath rays? After all, I remembered now with an odd, disjointed feeling, as a child I’d seen the movies- humans were *never* able to stop them. Even when equipped with tanks. I was not a tank, let alone another giant monster with a breath ray. I edged sideways around the "Who Would Win: Mothra Or Rodan" posterboard and there, framed in my visor, were Classic Godzilla and the more saurian "Zilla" from the American-made movie, fanged maws half- opened.

Except that Classic Godzilla couldn’t have been more than six feet tall, and while "Zilla" was longer, it wasn’t any taller. And while there were some highly visible scorch marks on the white walls, the ambient Force energy didn’t quite suggest a rampage. Why hadn’t I tried focusing on the room before entering?

Now one of the giant lizards had swung its craggy head in my direction and was staring at me. The thought occurred to me that I certainly dressed the part of a villain, so I stepped hastily back besides Link, who gave me an annoyingly superior look that I could feel through the hood- wow, he had recovered fast- and guided me back out, closing the double doors again.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, suddenly hot and dizzy. Events were catching up to me, and questions were surfacing that should have come up earlier. How could I talk- at all- without opening my mouth? Why was speech so much more difficult? I could remember, vaguely, explaining that to someone, but it was hazy. And what about all the weird people I’d just seen?

And how could I think of any of that except perhaps the weird people as particularly unusual? Why was my thinking starting to go in circles? What had happened?

Surely this isn’t normal. Even at the highly appraised "World’s Largest Convention"- maybe I should have started smaller. First con experiences are always supposed to be overwhelming, but this is a bit much.

The understatement almost made me laugh, except for the notion that if I started, I might never stop.

Consulting my mental map again, I took a right-angle turn in the direction of the room that I had rented for the night. There was a hallway connecting the convention center to the hotel, but I had come in through the main entrance. That room would hopefully serve to let me some privacy. I felt more than heard Link following, probably not having any more idea of what to do than I did, and paused long enough to turn and glare at him through the visor slit before wheeling and moving off. It was irresponsible of me, not getting any kind of help for the boy, but I wasn’t thinking very clearly. After that, events blurred for a while.

I walked for what felt like a long time, detouring frequently to try and shake any watchers, passing beings who were doing anything from being unconscious to playing cards. I passed a lot of people, from those who looked like enemies but weren’t to those who were angry at the world. I was only challenged once, but holding out a lightsaber, unignited, was enough to make the fool back down.

Room one sixteen. That was mine, I realized as I stopped before it. Now, where was my card key... still in the pocket of my pants. Well, something had gone right.

When I had shut the door, I let myself collapse onto the economy mattress with my black cape puddling over like an ink spill. For a while I kept my eyes shut and just breathed, trying to keep some unnameable stew of emotions under control.

During that time, the phone shrilled loudly a total of five times. Although it was sharing space with a lamp on the pathetic snub of a nightstand by the head of the bed, within easy reach, I did not bother to answer. I really wasn’t sure what I would have said.

It took a while, but finally I had calmed enough to sit up. Faintly through the wall I could hear a deep male voice demanding something to do with the word "cortana", but I tuned it out. Lacking any real sense of purpose, I levered myself back to my feet and unsteadily came to the tiny cell of a bathroom.

There I closed my eyes and hesitantly removed my mask, reaching carefully back to ear level, finding the clasps, undoing them, then tugging the curved surface away from my face. Not Velcro. Smoother. No hot-glue overflow, either. One gloved hand set it on the tiny counter; the other pushed the hood back so that it fell to my shoulders. I savored the surplus light for a moment before opening my eyes and facing the mirror.

The face that met my eyes looked, at first blush, rather like the one I remembered, the one on my campus I.D. But after a moment, I saw differences- longer nose, silvery eyes instead of brown, a more triangular aspect, with a sharper chin and protruding cheekbones. It was... harsher. More serious. I’ve never dared call myself beautiful, but I hadn’t hesitated to claim "sometimes pretty" or "sometimes cute." This face was neither. There was a certain elegance to it, but... this was a face that wouldn’t be smiled at easily.

And why would that matter to me? A pretty face doesn’t get taken seriously.

No, of course not. But... it was nice to have...

There were myriad tiny differences that told me that this was not my own face; it was only the same in general configuration and skin tone. Subtle changes, but they had an effect. I could be taken as a relative, easily. In low light no one would notice... maybe.

Turning my head to the side, I noticed how my hair seemed to have grown out. It was gathered back as if in a tail, but the resulting plume was bound against my skull, tight as a homeless man’s foil hat. The shade seemed to have changed too. No longer dark brown with reddish shine, it was black with a tint that was almost... blue. Or was it purple? It hardly shone at all... my hair had always been oily, but now it looked... dry.

I bared my teeth and ran my tongue over them. They were still very straight, and I could feel the three incisors of my lower jaw. But my four upper incisors had shortened slightly, and a flaring of my canines somehow made my mouth feel alien despite looking much as it always has.

Despite a feeling that I wouldn’t like what I was finding, I focused in on my lower lip. There was still a miniscule white scar from my childhood, but there was also a slight, notchlike depression where the skin seemed paler- an old burn? They were barely visible even this close, yet I stared as if they were feathers sprouting out of my skin. I haven’t been burned since that incident with the oven mitts that had holes in them, and that...

It’s an old wound, of course. Healed well, but there’s a bit of scar tissue left. I could have had that removed, but why?

Reaching up to touch it I saw an armored black glove in the mirror. I tried to tear both off, and ended up feeling for catches around my wrists to peel the things away, then shucking Revan’s extended armbands so I could roll up the pleated, thick sleeves.

I never imagined Revan’s outfit to be so complicated. That’s what finally hit the reality home to me.

Well, that and the ugly, long lightsaber score that ran from just above the elbow to just below my wrist. The memory of exactly how I’d gotten it hovered at the very edge of consciousness, but I pushed it and all it entailed, suddenly desperate.

The next thing I knew I was kneeling crumpled on the linoleum with a thousand thoughts racing through my head. My dormmates came here yesterday; what happened to them? My parents will kill me; they might have helped me with the robe but will they accept this? I have cuts from ‘sabers and vibroblades and blasters, they’ll think I’m suicidal! ... Wow, the floor is a lot cleaner than the rate suggested. The cleaning crew here really works hard. I hope they’re paid enough. If I have the robes and the scars, can I use Force Lightning? My nails are still trimmed to the quick, but oh, my hands! What happened to the henna design I put on for Halloween last week? The college is not going to be happy with me. Sandy said that they kicked Patricia out for having a nose job, and that’s minor!

On the heels of that flood of thoughts came one more, a thought I had expressed several times before, but never with such ardor.

I can’t handle this.

And so... I didn’t.

I didn’t notice that one of my hands had reached back up until it snapped Revan’s helmlike mask over my face as the other hand whipped the strap in place and flicked the catches down with practiced, casual familiarity. And then my vision grayed out, then went to black, and next came oblivion.

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I stood again, wound my sleeves back around my forearms and replaced my armbands and gloves with their gleaming metal plates. Drawing my hood back up, I nodded curtly at my reflection and started to pace. Despite the visor’s limits, I stepped lightly over the lintel and back into the tiny room reserved earlier. I could sense other presences through the thin walls- wood, plaster, insulation, paint- but they were not a threat.

I drew a long breath in through my nose and held it for several seconds before exhaling. The situation was complicated, clearly. I was not where I should be, although I could not quite place where *that* was. Not home; that much was clear. Other than a few temples and my ship, I have never really had a home. No, I should be doing- something. But what? I have incapacitated or killed Malak- that memory is not clear- and destroyed the Star Forge. That leaves a power void, true, that will be filled. But Sith are always infighting. There is still time. Admiral Dodonna is competent enough for now, and it will no doubt take a long while before I am trusted enough to lead again.

I had to go somewhere... do something. It was urgent- something only I could do. I did not know where, or what, or when, but it would be good to *do* it. Once and for all. It wasn’t here, it wasn’t now. I wasn’t called to go do something this instant. But it still needed doing.

First things first. Why was I here, and where was here? Earth. Probably not an affiliated world. One of the continents- North America. A province or state on one of the factions... a gathering? Obviously a disorganized one, then. It might be good to have a word with whoever is in charge.

I might have accepted that theory, but as comforting as it was, I knew it wasn’t true.

How did I get here? On one hand- blank. On the other- had I paid for tickets or something? Yes... I remembered coming in...

That memory seemed slow. Just for something to do, I checked my inventory. Four lightsabers that I had built and modified for my own use(One double-bladed green, one single red, two purple), three more looted off of opponents, an assortment of lightsaber crystals and the tools used on them, various vibroblades, an array of blasters, a quarterstaff, two stun batons, a huge number of scrounged grenades, all too many mines, two sonic emitters, a pressure suit made for deep sea and deep space, some powered Mandalorian armor, some light battle armor, Darth Bandon’s fiber armor, a Zabrak combat suit, some Republic Mod. Armor, a set of shiny black-and-silver Sith armor, four sets of Sand People robes, a number of sets of practical Jedi and Sith fighting robes, the Circlet of Saresh, Marko Ragnos’s Mask, various less identifiable headgear, a regenerative implant, Sith Power Gauntlets, about nine belts with varied properties, a number of energy shields, thirty security spikes, twenty-nine computer spikes, thirty-one sets of repair parts, a whole case of adrenal stimulants, medpacks, two tach glands, a datapad of Manaan tourist attractions....

At around the point where I pulled out the body of a whole viper kinrath I realized that I had been carrying hundreds of kilos of equipment and oddments, but hadn’t felt a gram of it. I just reached behind myself instinctively and found it. It was just... there. I looked at the mound of items covering the bed and spilling onto the floor, knew that I was carrying much more with me, and was suddenly bewildered.

All this time I had carried at least a ton and never thought about it?

Something is going on here.