KOTOR 2 - Connections: Wild Space

WEAK WARNING: If you have not played KOTOR II, you may want to read this, as it doesn't give away the main plot. It just lays out in a coherent narrative a bunch of backstory that you otherwise have to pick up from bits and pieces of dialog throughout the game. If you want a pure experience, stop reading now. If you want more elaboration on the events between games, you might prefer my mirror fanfic, KOTOR 2 - Dark Meetra: A Terrible Night, which goes into quite a bit more detail (still without revealing the main KOTOR II plot). In that KOTOR II playthrough, I wanted my Exile to have more complete knowledge about the state of the Jedi Order. But in the playthrough that this fanfic was written for, I wanted my Exile to be less well informed. So I cut out many of the details.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this was written in preparation for a 2022 playthrough of KOTOR I and KOTOR II. For this playthrough, I carried the same head canon story all the way through from before the beginning of KOTOR I to a conclusion after KOTOR II. Here are the associated main character builds for KOTOR 1 and KOTOR 2. I try to stick to the spirit of the builds and playthrough in the fanfics, but I do not necessarily follow them exactly.

DISCLAIMER: the conclusion to this fan fiction, and if I'm being completely honest a whole lot of its content, deviates wildly from canon. These deviations are small in the early chapters, where I mostly just tweak canon events a bit to fit my own purposes. But by the end, I'm way, way off the map. If this sort of speculative writing bothers you, then you might want to stop now and not waste your time. If, on the other hand, you're interested in a just-for-fun story that doesn't fit anywhere into the official Star Wars timeline, then read on!

CONTEXT: This is the fourth chapter in the fan fiction which started in KOTOR 1 - Connections: Revan's Surrender. This chapter is set between KOTOR I and KOTOR II, just before the events of KOTOR II. It is about four or five years after the end of the events of KOTOR I.

It was a good night for Edar Kran, owner and operator of the Blind Alley Cantina. There hadn't been a lot of business, but the patrons that had braved the roaring rainstorm had tipped well and hadn't caused any trouble. Edar had spent years pouring drinks and mopping up blood in the spaceport city of Desprar. He'd worked one dive after another, and then finally, through hard work, a little luck, and a few less-than-legal deals, gotten his own place. Desprar wasn't a huge city, even by Wild Space standards, but it wasn't small either. There were upscale neighborhoods where local security maintained order and the well-to-do could pretend that the rest of the city didn't exist. Edar's establishment, however, was not in one of those areas. The Blind Alley wasn't in the roughest part of Desprar, to be sure. But when trouble arose, as it did more often than he'd have liked, Edar didn't have the luxury of security officers restoring the peace. He'd replaced more furniture than he could remember, and even tossed more than one body out the back door after a particularly rough night. Tonight, however, had been calm and reasonably profitable, and Edar had learned to appreciate such things. But that wasn't really what made tonight special.

She'd arrived hours ago, and Edar had felt an instant connection. He had a standing personal rule not to get involved with customers, but this woman was special. She was physically attractive, athletic and lean with a smooth grace to her movements. But it was more than that. She carried herself with an easy confidence that spoke of a complete comfort with herself, gained through years of challenge. She was a clever conversationalist, effortlessly mixing humor, wisdom, and more than a few compliments. And she had eyes only for Edar. Customers sometimes flirted with the barkeep, but generally just to fill time until their friends or date arrived. The ones who might have gone home with him were almost always better avoided. He'd made that mistake enough times to know. But this woman was different. She had no discernible major flaw, no apparent agenda. She was not just desirable, she was interesting, captivating. She had the cutest habits of glancing slightly to the side or tugging at her earlobe when the conversation became especially intense, and it was all Edar could do to not rush the final patrons out and close up now. Although several sets of customers had come and gone, she seemed to have not even noticed. Her focus had never left Edar.

Only one table remained, three men in the corner who had stopped ordering drinks some time ago and whose conversation appeared to be slowing. It was a bit early, but Edar fully intended to close the bar as soon as they left. Tonight might be a very good night indeed.

Meetra Surik was struggling to stay focused. Her intel was good, but it had taken hours for her target to show. And then the right moment to make her move hadn't yet arisen. So she'd been forced to spend the evening talking to the bartender. At first, she'd occupied herself with studying the various patrons as they arrived and left. After all, who knew when someone with a warrant on them might unexpectedly turn up? She carefully categorized each person. She noted heights, weights, various tendencies, and how they carried themselves. She noticed weapons, especially concealed ones. The left handed man with the knife hidden in his boot and the blaster with the filed-off sight had not only had military training, but plenty of real battle experience. He might have been difficult. But he wasn't wanted for anything she was aware of, so she simply observed until he left. She kept making just enough conversation and eye contact with the barkeep to keep him engaged. She felt badly about leading him on, but it was a good cover and she'd have been foolish to forgo it, deceptive as it was.

Her target had finally come in about an hour ago, with two companions. They'd sat at a table in the corner behind her, which made visually observing them a small challenge. But the mirror behind the bar let her see everything she needed to. And it kept the barkeep engaged by making him think she was looking at him. Fortunately, the hidden miniature earpiece she was wearing allowed her to hear every word of their conversation. They were at the edge of its range, so she had to keep adjusting its balance to filter out the rainstorm while still picking up their discussion. But that was easy enough to do subtly. As it turned out, the eavesdropping was almost worthless. They talked at length about various schemes and heists that they were planning, but all that was irrelevant. None of them were walking out of the bar tonight under their own power, if they left alive at all.

She wondered for a moment if this was really the best use of her time. She'd once had a real purpose, served a real cause under a real leader. As both Jedi and General, she'd commanded armies, defended the Republic against existential threats. But that was before Malachor V, before her exile, before everything changed. Apprehending petty criminals out here beyond the Outer Rim was an enormous step down. But it paid reasonably well, and kept her sharp. And she had to have something to do with her time. Otherwise, she might start considering the advances of someone like this bartender. He seemed a decent enough man, but she knew she'd never be happy in traditional domestic life, and it would be unfair to any partner for her to try.

At last, her targets seemed to be concluding. While discussing their plans, they'd been alert, careful to make sure no one was paying attention to them. As they left the bar, they'd be equally alert, concerned that an enemy, former mark, or even security officer might be coming for them. But there would be a few seconds between the end of their conversation and the beginning of their exit when they'd relax, and be off guard. That was her moment, and it was almost here. Soon, she'd be able to get this over with and get out of here. Maybe find somewhere to take a hot bath.

Meetra took one last moment to finalize her plan, checking all the relevant details. A row of pegs hung on the wall next to the door. Most of the patrons throughout the night had removed and hung their outer garments there, allowing them to drip into a small floor drain. Now, only four cloaks hung on the pegs: hers, and the three belonging to her targets. The path between her and the door was mostly clear, but one chair sat partially in the walkway. Good. She'd significantly increased her alcohol intake as she had sensed the men's conversation nearing its conclusion, and had made certain her empty glasses would be visible to them. Best to check her physical condition. She lifted one of her hands slightly and confirmed it was steady. She focused on the label of a liquor bottle behind the bartender, at the far end of the shelf behind the bar, and confirmed she could read it clearly. She listened carefully to her own voice as she replied to the bartender's latest comment, but detected no trace of a slur. The alcohol inhibitor she'd taken before entering the bar was still in effect.

She reminded herself of observations she'd made about her targets throughout the evening. One of the men wore no defensive gear that she could see. His shirt was partially open, exposing a sliver of his chest and confirming that there was no body armor hidden underneath. The second man wore protective attire of thick leather. It wouldn't stop a blaster bolt, but it might deflect a knife if the thrust was not true. It would certainly be a barrier to the attack Meetra expected to employ. His head and neck, she noted, were exposed. The one in the middle was harder to quantify. He had hung a water-repellent poncho on a peg by the door when he had entered, but had kept on a long sleeved trenchcoat that did an adequate job of hiding anything underneath. His upper body, she noticed, moved somewhat stiffly. That might indicate an issue. Meetra herself had chosen to wear a leather bodysuit. Her background research indicated that her target would find her attractive in it, which would be to her advantage. But it had other purposes as well.

Meetra no longer felt the Force, but she had forgotten none of her Jedi training. Teaching a Force-sensitive child to use the Force was easy, like teaching a fish to swim. It was therefore only a minor part of what the Jedi taught younglings. The bulk of the training centered around mental discipline. Sending a Force-sensitive person with a fully awakened connection to the Force out into the galaxy with no mental discipline would have been like sending someone into battle blindfolded and armed with a repeating heavy blaster. They'd likely do as much damage to their friends as their foes. Most of the Jedi training focused on emotional control, awareness, and control of physical responses that most people found to be fully autonomic. Meetra had come to doubt, or even outright reject, much of the Jedi's spiritual dogma. But certain parts of the training were still of great use to her.

Meetra cleared her thoughts and flipped a switch in her mind. All her emotions drained away. She was going into a battle against a formidable opponent, and she might not survive. But she felt no fear, no anxiety, not the slightest concern. There was no anger, no malice, no hate toward her opponent. But neither was there mercy, regret, compassion, or empathy. She was an empty vessel, filled only with purpose.

"I'm not that kind of girl!" Meetra said loudly, with a distinct slur. She stood suddenly, clumsily knocking the barstool to the floor and spilling her glass as she awkwardly set it down on the bar. Ignoring the confused look on the barkeep's face, she stumbled toward the door, putting one foot in front of the other with apparent difficulty. Halfway across the room, she walked into the askew chair and nearly fell. Using the nearest table to steady herself, she regained some measure of balance and managed to make it to the row of pegs by the door. She pulled her cloak from its peg, dropped it on the floor, cursed, then picked it up and flailed about, unable to find the openings for her arms.

Her timing had been perfect. Her quarry was preparing to stand when she began her performance, but had not yet moved. Because she had moved first, she had aroused no suspicion. The three men had apparently been completely convinced, because they made no effort to mask their footsteps or position themselves strategically as they approached her from behind. The moment of vulnerability she'd anticipated had extended and heightened. The impression she'd presented as a defenseless victim had led them deeper into a false confidence that they were in control. It was almost time to disabuse them of that misconception, but she needed them to come slightly closer. So she fumbled for a few more seconds with the cloak.

As the men approached, Meetra employed some of the physical aspects of her Jedi training. With her emotions suppressed, her mind and body were completely in tune and under her control in ways most people would have found impossible. She willed her adrenal glands to secrete exactly the right amount of adrenaline to increase her heart rate, expand the air passages in her lungs, dilate her pupils just enough to enhance her vision, release glucose for a burst of energy, and redistribute blood to her muscles for action. As she expected to need fine motor control, she stopped just short of the point where her fingers would have trembled and accurate small movements would have become clumsy. She subtly increased her breathing to maximize her oxygenation, bringing herself just short of hyperventilation. Her mind inventoried every joint, every muscle, uniting her physical and mental selves into one undifferentiated whole. There would be no distinction between thought and action. Without the Force, she could no longer proactively sense events ahead of time, robbing her of the illusion of impossibly fast reflexes that Jedi often presented. However, her reactions would approach the limits of human possibility. She was as ready as she could be.

Meetra hadn't been certain whether the three men would merely harass her for a moment, or if they would intend worse. A driving rainstorm wasn't exactly conducive to an assault in the alley, so she'd suspected the former. But it now appeared they intended to relocate her to somewhere of their choosing, which almost certainly meant the worst. If she'd had any remaining reservations about what she was about to do, this would have eliminated them.

"Hey, let's not-" she heard the bartender start to say from across the room. An unexpected feeling of affection threated to break through Meetra's emotional control. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken up for her. While the bartender's intentions may not have been exactly pure, they had at least been consensual, and he had to know he was risking his life by saying something. Fortunately, she'd make certain he didn't pay a price for it.

Meetra turned clockwise to face the man on her right. Her feet tangled as she turned, and she fell against him, grabbing his shirt to prevent herself from falling. "Thank you so much," she mumbled almost incoherently. He was completely unprepared for the small stun baton that Meetra thrust into his ribs. The device's sharp prongs pierced his skin and discharged a powerful energy blast. Jedi training included extensive studies on anatomical details of every species common to the Core. Meetra had encountered numerous species in Wild Space that she had no anatomical knowledge of, which sometimes complicated things. But all three of these men were human, and she knew their vulnerable spots. While fumbling with her cloak, Meetra had adjusted the device's energy output settings to just below the level that would be lethal to the man. His eyes snapped back and he began convulsing, thrashing as he fell to the floor.

Before the other two men could react, Meetra had already smoothly spun counterclockwise, reversing the device in her hand. She plunged it into the neck of the man on her left. He gave an inarticulate yell as he began flailing and falling, wrenching the device from Meetra's grasp.

The spin had exposed Meetra's back to the center man, her true target. He pushed her roughly in the back, hoping to knock her to the floor while he drew his blaster. She'd anticipated this, and used his push to roll away and create distance between them, drawing her concealed blaster as she rolled. Certain that he was already raising his blaster by now, she fired a wild shot as she completed the roll, hoping to throw off his aim. Her strategy worked. The shot he was in the process of firing went wide.

Meetra was back on her feet now, firing again. She put two blaster bolts into the man's chest. It was a risk, as she really wanted to take him alive. She was not surprised when the shots deflected off the body armor he wore under his trenchcoat, ricocheting into the walls of the bar and starting small fires. They did, however, knock him a few steps backward.

Meetra attempted to target the man's knees while he recovered his aim. But instead of retargeting his blaster, he flung something from his belt toward Meetra. Too late, she realized what it was. The magneto-grenade activated barely a foot from the hand holding her blaster. Every metal item in the bar shook under the influence of its powerful magnetic field. But Meetra's blaster was the closest metal item, and the grenade was instantly drawn to it. Meetra dropped the blaster just as the grenade made contact with it and released a powerful ionic charge, deactivating it. Had she been even slightly slower, she would have suffered a disabling shock.

The man was already firing his blaster again. His first shot hit her squarely in the shoulder. The cortosis fibers woven throughout her leather bodysuit absorbed most of the impact and protected her from serious injury, but didn't provide anywhere close to as much protection as the man's body armor. She was knocked backward and thrown off balance. His second shot hit her directly in the chest, knocking the breath from her and throwing her backward again. If she hadn't preoxygenated, it likely would have knocked her unconscious. As it was, it left her gasping and reeling. She was already stumbling backward toward a large window, so she used her momentum to launch herself through it.

Meetra landed in the alley outside the bar, sitting flat in the mud, her back against the opposite building. Rain poured down on her as she fought to catch her breath. Despite all her preparation, this couldn't be going much more poorly. Any moment now, the man would appear in the window, blaster raised, to finish her off. She could try to run, but doing so would expose her back and she couldn't take another hit. She needed a weapon.

A lightsaber fell into Meetra's lap. She looked at it stupidly. Nothing could have been more incongruent. How did a Jedi weapon appear here, now, in the middle of her fight? She looked up, as if to see whether more lightsabers were going to fall. Instead, she saw a catlike face leaning over the edge of the roof above. Was that a Cathar? They were a Core species. What was one doing here?

As the blue blade sprung to life, Meetra was momentarily transfixed. The last lightsaber she'd held was her own, at her exile. A Jedi's lightsaber was an extension of themselves. Not merely a weapon, a lightsaber had its own identity in the Force, its own luminous voice. It was as close to a living thing as an inanimate object could be. She had LOVED her lightsaber. It had been more than part of her, it had been an essential component of her very identity. Meetra had no children, and probably never would. But she wondered if her feelings for her lightsaber had resembled what a mother felt for her child. She supposed that level of attachment had been a violation of the Jedi Code. But even when she still served the Order, that particular transgression had never much bothered her. There was only so much detachment a person could manage. As she felt the hum of the lightsaber in her hand, powerful feelings threatened to break through her emotional control. She felt the edges of bitterness, anger, resentment, and grief.

Meetra forced herself to regain focus. There was a man still trying to kill her. In fact, perhaps anticipating a counterattack, he had avoided the broken window and instead quietly stepped out of the bar door into the alley, and was aiming his killshot. Once, deflecting blaster bolts with a lightsaber had been effortless. Her Jedi precognition had allowed her to place her blade in front of the incoming shot before it was even fired. The lightsaber had moved in tune with her thoughts, seemingly desiring of its own accord to jump into position. But now, with her connection to the Force severed, the lightsaber in her hand was a dead thing, merely a device. She had only her reflexes to rely on, and she knew her chances of success were slim.

As the man fired, she raised the lightsaber. Perhaps her skill was greater than she'd thought, perhaps it was just luck, or perhaps the Force did have a will and wasn't done with her yet. Whatever the case, the shot deflected off the lightsaber. She heard Edar cry out as the bolt deflected through the broken window and shattered something inside the bar.

Meetra wanted to close to melee range, where she could finish the man off quickly with the lightsaber. But there was too much distance between them. He'd be able to fire several shots during her approach, and she knew her good fortune at deflecting blaster bolts without the aid of the Force wouldn't hold, especially while she was running. She had one last chance, and she took it. She slid the lightsaber's control button, locking it into place to keep the blade activated without being pressed. Then she threw the lightsaber. Her aim was true, and it buried itself in the man's chest, stopping only when the hilt struck his body armor. The blue blade protruded several feet behind him. His blaster clattered to the ground as his strength drained from him.

Meetra strode down the alley toward the man, who was standing unsteadily, looking in surprise and disbelief at the lightsaber hilt protruding from his chest. As she reached him, his eyes raised and met hers. He tried to speak, but was unable to make an intelligible sound. She held his gaze until his eyes lost focus, then deactivated the lightsaber. He fell into the mud with a splash.

The battle now over, Meetra allowed her natural feelings to flood back into her. As a Jedi, she could have called on the Force to ease this part, but now she had to process it on her own. Her first sensation was pain. The blaster bolts she'd taken had only been partially absorbed by her cortosis-embued bodysuit. She might have some broken ribs. At a minimum, her entire upper torso was going to be purple. By tomorrow she'd have difficulty even breathing, much less moving. The next thing she felt was panic. All the fear she'd suppressed during the battle briefly overwhelmed her, and she dropped to one knee to gather herself. She'd come far closer to dying than she'd anticipated. Her life hadn't been much to speak of lately, but she wasn't ready to surrender it quite yet. Especially now that she had a mystery to solve. Finally, she felt an odd mix of nostalgia and bitterness. A Cathar? A lightsaber? These were artifacts from her past, and they raised feelings that she'd never completely dealt with. She needed answers. But first, she had to finish the job.

"Yes", said Meetra. She'd get less than a third of what she would have been paid if she'd taken the man alive. "Wire the funds to my account." She ended the call, turned to look for the Cathar, and was startled to see it standing directly behind her. A young adult female, Meetra noted. Even in the rainstorm Meetra should have heard something, but the Cather had moved from the roof to the ground with amazing speed, and in complete silence. A Jedi.

Meetra decided her questions would have to wait. She led the Cathar through the city, cutting through alleys, small passages, and an occasional abandoned building. They traveled for several blocks before Meetra led them into the back door of an unremarkable building, up a flight of poorly lit stairs, and into a small one-room apartment. The only piece of furnishing was an uncomfortable-looking cot. A few bags of supplies and clothing lay about. It was clearly temporary lodging, meant to be abandoned quickly.

"I was not sent by the Council," the Cathar said, undeterred. "I am a friend, and you are injured. Allow me to tend to your wounds." She reached a hand towards Meetra's shoulder, which Meetra was now obviously favoring. Meetra stared defiantly at the Cathar for a moment then, seeing the sincerity on the Cathar's face, her expression softened and she nodded. The Cathar placed her hand on Meetra's shoulder and closed her eyes. The feeling that flooded Meetra's body was beyond warmth. Meetra had almost forgotten what this was like. It washed over her body, and reached into her very soul. Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes filled with tears. The pain in her shoulder was gone, but this feeling was more than relief. Much more.

"Here as well?", the Cathar said, her hand hovering over the burn mark on the chest of Meetra's bodysuit. Meetra again nodded, this time expectantly, almost needfully. The Cathar gently placed her hand on Meetra's chest and again closed her eyes. This time Meetra could not control herself, and tears of joy ran freely down her face. The pain disappeared, but that was the farthest thing from Meetra's mind. This was the Force. It had been so, so long.

"Take your time," the Cathar said. "For now, I will answer your questions. My name is Juhani, and as I am sure you know, I am a Jedi. I was sent to find you. You were quite difficult to locate. I have been searching for several standard years. Much has happened in the Core, and you are needed."

"You said I was needed," Meetra said. "Needed for what? And by whom? If you came here to ask me to help fight Revan, I won't do it, despite what she's become. I'm shocked the Jedi would even ask, after what they did to me. And I wouldn't be much good to them anyway. You are aware of my condition?"

"I understand that you were exiled from the Jedi Order for your participation in the Mandalorian Wars," Juhani said. "I also understand that you were Revan's most trusted General, and that you led the Republic's forces in the final victory at Malachor V."

"Victory?" said Meetra. "Was it, really? We did defeat the imminent threat from the Mandalorians, but our losses were catastrophic. In the end, all it did was clear the table for Revan's attack. I've wondered since if that was Revan's purpose all along. If I didn't know her as well as I'd thought."

"Very well," Meetra said. "After Malachor V, I was physically and emotionally broken. Death on that scale ... it's impossible to describe what that feels like. The one thing I was certain of was that, with the war over, and with Revan gone who-knew-where, I had to go before the Jedi Council on behalf of all the Jedi who chose to defy them and participate in the war. I wanted to explain why it was necessary and, if punishment had to be dispensed, to perhaps take the brunt of it for them. Maybe if things had happened differently, they would have listened. But by the time I met with them, Revan had returned with a Sith fleet and attacked the Republic. I have no idea where the fleet came from-"

"You do? Now you really have my attention. The rest of my story, you probably know already. When I went before the Council, all the could see was Revan's General, a servant of the person who had now become their mortal enemy. So they took my lightsaber and exiled me. I don't know exactly what happened, but I've never felt the Force since. There seemed to be no place in the Core for me, so I left. My life in Wild Space has been ... that's not important. What matters is, when I left, Darth Revan was well on her way to conquering the Republic. Frankly, I've been waiting for years to see when her reach might extend this far. I can't imagine she'll stop with the Core. Is that why you're here? Is she coming?"

"There is much to say, and little time," Juhani said. "For now, allow me to summarize. Revan, as the Dark Lord, was betrayed by Darth Malak and almost killed. She was saved by a Jedi named Bastila Shan, who was part of a strike team sent to capture Revan."

"Revan's life was saved, but her mind was broken. The Jedi Council restored her with a new personality. Now going by the name Victory Relevant, she led a small group of companions, including myself, on a mission to discover the source of Malak's fleet. We discovered the Star Forge, an ancient artifact of the Dark Side created by a long forgotten empire. We boarded the Star Forge, where Revan personally killed Malak. The Republic fleet then destroyed the Star Forge."

"I did not know her before, so I am unsure how to answer that," Juhani said. "Some of her memories are slowly returning, but she has rejected her former identity as the Dark Lord. In my opinion, she embraces her new name and identity to distance herself from the mistakes of her past, and to show that she has become a different person. The things that I have heard about Revan's abilities, though, all still ring true. Her tactical talents are unparalleled. It was through her skills that we were able to find the location of the Star Forge when all others had failed. She defeated Malak in single combat. Her power is ... she would be frightening if I did not completely trust her."

"That sounds like Revan," Meetra said. "I'm confused, though. You said I was needed, but it sounds as if the war is over. What am I needed for? Because unless Revan has also persuaded the Jedi Council to change its opinion, I remain in exile. And honestly, I'm not sure I'd want to return even if the Council has reconsidered."

"I see we hold similar opinions of her," Juhani said. "Regardless, you are not needed for battle. Revan has had a revelation, a new understanding of the Force. She seems to think it may be a way to improve the Jedi. She said to me that you may be the key to this."

Juhani thought for a long moment. "I had not considered this question. Perhaps my answer makes me a poor Jedi, but I trust Revan with my life. Even if she asked something I did not understand, I would do it, because I would trust that Revan's reasons were right and just. I believe in Revan with all my heart, and I would do anything she asked."

"Whatever name she may go by now," Meetra said, "she's clearly still Revan. Yes, damn it. Yes, Juhani. Yes, against my better judgment, if Revan needs me, I will return. Because even after all this time, after everything that's happened, I would too."

The pair slept for a few short hours. Meetra offered the cot, but Juhani refused. After years of sleeping in her ship, the cot would feel too foreign. She instead slept sitting against the wall by the door, where she could react quickly to any intruders. After a cold breakfast from Meetra's cache of supplies, they prepared to depart.

"There are bounty hunters from the Core here, in Wild Space," Juhani said. "I believe they are hunting Jedi. I do not know who employed them, but they are skilled. Twice I was surprised by them and almost captured."

"That's concerning," Meetra said. "I've spent years out here and have encountered no Jedi. I can't imagine what kind of bounty would motivate hunters from the Core to come this far, with so little hope of success. Or who would be willing to place that kind of bounty."

"Agreed on traveling separately," Meetra said. "No offense, but I'm used to working alone. And while your logic is sound here in Wild Space, there are those in the Core who may remember me unkindly. I'm concerned that as we got closer to Republic space, I might attract more unwanted attention than you. Where should I go when I get back?"

"Before we leave, I have a question for you," Juhani said. "Revan said something to me just before I left, something I did not comprehend. She said 'If you're ever going to have a non-bugged messenger quest, I guess you'll have to be the messenger'. Does that mean anything to you?"

She'd thought long about this moment. There was no other way. This was too important to take any risks. It had to be done. She wouldn't make the same mistake she had with Revan. As much as she was sure Revan was the key, she hadn't been strong enough and she had let Revan slip away. Her conviction hadn't wavered, but her commitment had. Some deep part of her had felt that, even as unique as Revan was, if Revan slipped through her fingers there would be other chances. She had forged the connection, but hadn't grown it sufficiently. She'd lost focus, convinced that Revan was under control. She'd let Revan become too strong too quickly, until Revan could resist her, block her. Once she no longer had access to Revan's mind, it was over. Revan had left, following her own path, leaving the old woman behind. She couldn't make that mistake again. And fortunately, even if she'd failed with Revan, in one thing she had been right. She was going to get another chance. A better one.

But was she certain her opportunity was coming? The future was notoriously hard to see. She centered herself, pushing aside her fears and doubts, and reached out in the Force, feeling the echoes, the waves. They were building, rising to a crescendo she hadn't sensed since Malachor V. But where they crashed together, there was nothing, just an empty place. It had to be her. It had to be the Exile. It could be no other. There was no doubt. She was coming.

Forging the connection would be simple. The Exile couldn't help but connect to others. It was her one true gift, her distinctive characteristic. As powerful as Revan had been, even she hadn't possessed the Exile's ability to reach out, form bonds, establish deep connections. It would be easy enough to convince the Exile that the bond could be lethal to them both. Simply projecting sufficient pain into the Exile's mind should suffice. It wouldn't be true, of course, at least not literally. However, the path the galaxy was on, the path the Force was on, would be the deaths of them all. So in a way it was true, from a certain point of view. But the old woman was going to change that, whatever the cost.

No, the real danger was her own commitment wavering again. There were other things at play. Old apprentices that must be dealt with. And old Masters. The remnants of both Orders must be swept away. She must resist the temptation to handle these things herself, at least until the correct moment. If she did the work, the Exile would learn nothing.. So she must make herself completely dependent on the Exile. She must close all other options, including herself. She would see now only through the Force, and through the Exile. When with the Exile, their connection would make her vision almost unimpaired. But when away from her, her vision through the Force would be limited. She was no Miraluka, and would be little better than old Hortath, stumbling over things and bumping into walls. But everything worthwhile comes with a cost, and this was the price of her own commitment.

She would, of course, claim to be able to heal herself, because the Exile must not suspect the truth. But it would be a lie. There would be no going back for her, just as there was already no going back for the Exile. She would claim she was helping the Exile reconnect to the Force, because she needed the Exile to hope. If the Exile discovered that her separation from the Force was truly permanent, she would not have the confidence to do what must be done. The old woman would use their bond to feed the Force to the Exile, slowly at first, and then in greater measure as they approached greater goals. And in the end, it wouldn't matter. The Exile would be dead, and the galaxy would finally be freed from the oppressive domination of the Force. She, and she alone, had seen the true battle, the real enemy that all free life in the galaxy faced. And she alone would win it, with whatever tools she had at her disposal. She would have no mercy for anything in her way. Even herself.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: the events described above are followed by the KOTOR II game. The fan fiction continues in KOTOR 2 - Connections: Purpose, which is set just after KOTOR II.

Also, there is no evidence, in-game or otherwise, that Kreia blinded herself. I just thought it fit the playthrough that I wrote this fanfic for.