Revan Saga
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{{#if:Jigsaw green.png|}} | Xanadu story universe |
{{#ifeq: |User| Revan Saga | Revan Saga}}[[Title::{{#ifeq: |User| Revan Saga | Revan Saga}}| ]]
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Authors: {{#ifeq: |User| Joysweeper | Joysweeper}} |
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It's an ongoing project! Sometimes I think it will never end. I'll see about organizing it a bit, though... this is just too messy.
Part the First: Revan In Xanadu
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.