KOTOR 2 - Dark Meetra: A Terrible Night

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're not a Star Wars nerd, you might want to read it just so KOTOR II is less confusing for you. I think the KOTOR II writers may have forgotten that not everyone was as immersed in the Star Wars universe as they were.

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 suggestive comments. 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 intimate, 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.

Meetra Surik was bored beyond belief. 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 prattling on with this inane bartender. At first, she'd occupied herself with studying the various patrons as they arrived and left. After all, who knew when a target 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 tonight's target, or on any list 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. It was almost a waste of her skills, but it was a good cover and she'd have been foolish to forgo it, tedious 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 this idiot 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 why she still bothered doing this. She'd once had a real purpose, served a real cause under a real leader. Scraping up the dregs out here beyond the Outer Rim was a big 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 get low enough to consider the advances of someone like this bartender, and then she'd be obligated to eat the business end of her own blaster.

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.

Jarad Jann stopped outside the cantina. He noted its name with an ironic smile: The Blind Alley. He'd certainly been flying blind for the past year. He wasn't even sure why his search had led him here, but here he was. He closed his eyes and reached out with his perceptions, his feelings. The torrential rain became a dull roar. The night's chill faded. Instead, he sensed life, all around him. He focused on the cantina in front of him. He could feel life inside, four humans. Three were dark, disturbed. Their thoughts were on deception and danger. The fourth radiated the pleasant, natural feelings that, in Jarad's experience, were common to infatuated people: warmth, compassion, desire. None of those inside the cantina evidenced the careful mental discipline of a Jedi. This was not surprising. The chances of encountering a Jedi this far from the Core worlds were almost too small to calculate. But there were other disciplines in the galaxy, other orders. While he'd been indoctrinated into the Jedi teachings, in the past year he'd come to understand that the Jedi had no monopoly on the Force. In any case, none of the beings inside had the glow of a Force-sensitive individual. This was simply a cantina, like many others he'd encountered on countless other worlds.

There was something missing. A spot where someone should have been, but nothing was there. This wasn't the normal emptiness that accompanied a simple lack of life. After many months of space travel by himself, he was far too accustomed to that sort of lonely emptiness. This was different. He could sense the edges of someone, but the person was not there. He could feel the echoes of their presence, the glow of their power - yes, great power - but where there should have been a living being, there was simply a hole, a place where the Force did not exist. Finally. Jarad allowed himself the luxury of a real smile. His search was over.

The robed man stepped into the Blind Alley Cantina. He closed the door behind him, shutting out the storm. He stood still for a long moment, head down, giving time for most of the water still on him to drip onto the floor by the entrance. Then he raised his head and slowly surveyed the room, pausing when he saw the woman sitting at the bar. A row of pegs hung on the wall next to the door. Most of the other patrons had removed and hung their outer garments there, allowing them to drip into a small floor drain. The man removed his robe, revealing a plain shirt and trousers underneath. The only thing notable about his appearance was the lightsaber attached to his belt. He hung the robe on a peg then walked to the woman, who was surveying him cooly.

Meetra glanced at the corner. The men were eyeing the newcomer suspiciously. The moment she'd been waiting for was not coming. Perhaps there would be another. In any case, this took precedence. Without a word, she moved to the indicated table and sat down. Jarad followed and sat directly across from her.

"I'll be direct," he said. "Over a year ago, I received a curious message. It said only 'Seek the Wound in the Force in Wild Space, beyond the Outer Rim'. Its encoding indicated it was from the Jedi Council. It has taken me all this time to find you. It wasn't easy. Frankly, I wasn't sure what I was even looking for."

"From the Sith," said Jarad. "The Republic is teetering on collapse. It is in far worse shape than most people know. A Sith victory is near. The Jedi Council cannot convene. The last time they gathered, the Sith perceived it and attacked. It was disastrous. Few Jedi are left now. Perhaps none."

"Wait, what?" It was Meetra's turn to be surprised. "Darth Revan was the leader of the Sith invading the Republic. That's one of the reasons the Jedi Council exiled me. Revan was attacking, and Jedi was turning against Jedi. Despite all their talk of rationality and emotional control, they feared me. To them, I represented all those that defied the Council in the Mandalorian Wars, all those that were now joining Revan against them. You're telling me that the Republic is under attack by the Sith, and Revan is NOT leading them? You're telling me that Revan fought against the very Sith he was leading?"

"They sent you after me, but didn't tell you who you were looking for? This isn't right. Are you sure the message was from the Council?" Meetra paused for a moment. She didn't have enough context to make sense of this. But if there was a conspiracy afoot, this fool was at most a pawn. She needed answers, but it might help if she first provided some.

"Okay, let's start over," Meetra said. "Yes, I was General Meetra Surik. When the Mandalorians invaded the Republic, I, like many other Jedi, defied the Council and followed Revan to war. I led his forces in the final battle at Malachor V. I chose to activate the superweapon, the Mass Shadow Generator. It was on my orders that the Mandalorian Fleet, along with much of the Republic Fleet, was destroyed. I am responsible for the deaths of thousands of my allies, Jedi and Republic alike. I am responsible for the destruction of a planet. It is because of my decision that Malachor V no longer exists as anything but a heap of rubble. But I am also responsible for winning the war. Make no mistake, Revan was the leader, and the master strategist. We never could have won without him. We would never have even fought without him. He was a commander like no other. But he was delayed in reaching the final battle, and I chose to act, and through my actions we were victorious. You can feel however you like about me, but do so with full knowledge of the facts.

"After the battle, I returned to face the Jedi Council, alone. But in that time, something happened. Revan, for reasons unknown to me, disappeared, then returned as Darth Revan with a Sith Armada and an army of Dark Jedi. Where the fleet came from, I have no idea. We were short on ships at the end of the war, and I can't imagine that Revan had a fleet stockpiled. Then again, he was Revan, so anything is possible. He was always at least one step ahead of everyone else. Regardless of the reasons, he was invading the Republic, and having great success. I was the General who had already won one war for him. In hindsight, I should have realized the Council would see me as too much of a threat. No explanation I made could have been sufficient. So they cut me off from the Force..."

"I suppose so, but given that I'm cut off from the Force I wouldn't really know, would I?" Meetra glared at Jarad for a moment, then quickly completed her narrative: "As I was saying, they cut me off from the Force, took my lightsaber, and exiled me. I've wandered in Wild Space ever since, with no knowledge of events in the Republic. Frankly, I assumed that Revan had conquered it soon after I left. But you say otherwise. So tell me, what happened?"

"First, a bit about myself," Jarad began. "Before the collapse of the Jedi Order, I was a historian and archivist. As such, I was privy to certain information that the general public was not. But because I was of low rank, it is very possible that there are additional perspectives that I myself was not aware of."

Prostitute? Now that was a surprise. Meetra supposed her bodysuit was rather form fitting, and the sleek black leather could be construed as suggestive. But she'd picked it because it was amenable to action and stealth, not for its aesthetics. And it wasn't that tight. She'd still managed to conceal a dagger and a holdout blaster. Nevertheless, this was a welcome development. She might be able to use this.

"Malak picked up where Revan left off. While he had none of Revan's tactical brilliance, he was very aggressive at employing brute force, destroying both Taris and Dantooine. The Republic seemed doomed to collapse under the sheer numbers of Malak's forces. It seemed the Sith were about to win the Jedi Civil War..."

"Right, sorry," said Jarad. "To you and I, that was a war between the Sith and the Jedi. We consider the Sith to be a very different and distinct group, the antithesis of the Jedi. To most of the galaxy, however, it appeared to be a war between two Jedi factions. Most people in the galaxy seemed to think the Jedi were fighting each other, and everyone else was simply caught up in the conflict. As you yourself said a moment ago, Jedi was turning against Jedi. That conflict is therefore often called the Jedi Civil War. I should mention that, in the general public's viewpoint, much of the blame for all the death and destruction lays at the feet of the Jedi."

"Got it," Meetra said. Apparently she wasn't the only person in the galaxy with a grudge against the Jedi. But she still needed to know the rest of what had happened in the last few years, so she prompted Jarad to continue. "You were saying that Revan was apparently killed by Malak, who took over and was leading the Sith to victory..."

"Yes," said Jarad. "But here's where it gets interesting. Everyone thought that Revan had died. But somehow - and I confess that how is very unclear to me - Revan survived and resurfaced as an ally of the Jedi. Malak was using some sort of ancient Sith space station as both a base, and as a factory for his fleet. Apparently Revan boarded this space station with a small group of companions, defeated Malak, and ended the Sith threat. That Sith threat, anyway. But regardless of what happened afterward, the Republic owes its existence to Revan."

"So, let me get this straight," said Meetra. "Revan left the Jedi to lead the Mandalorian Wars and became the most powerful person in the galaxy. Then, he disappeared, reappeared with a Sith fleet, and was once again the most powerful person in the galaxy. Then he died, but even that didn't stop him. He showed back up and was, for a third time, the most powerful person in the galaxy? Please tell me that everyone finally recognized who they were dealing with and put him in charge."

"...because as a Sith Lord he had been responsible for the deaths of so many. And frankly, someone who flips sides that easily is hard to trust. So they pinned a medal to Revan's chest and hoped he'd go lead a nice quiet life, maybe showing up for a photo op now and then. Instead, he disappeared again."

"After Malak's defeat," Jarad said, "there was a squabble amongst various remaining Sith factions. Three Sith joined forces and consolidated power over the rest. This was shortly before the destruction of the Order, and my information about this is even less reliable than it is about Revan's return. But from what I can tell, they consisted of the leader, Darth Traya, and two apprentices, Darth Sion and Darth Nihilus. It seems that Darth Sion led a group of Sith assassins, who killed many Jedi, while Darth Nihilus had a terrifying ability to consume entire planets using some sort of Dark Side sorcery. Darth Traya masterminded the whole thing. Jedi began fleeing the order, going into hiding. Apparently, and this is the part I'm the least clear on, the Jedi Council gathered in secret on the planet Katarr. Somehow, Darth Nihilus became aware of this, attacked, and pulled the life from the entire planet. I do not know if the Council members or other Jedi in attendance survived. I do know that afterward, Jedi were fearful to gather and, without any leadership, simply dispersed."

"Many Jedi began questioning the teachings themselves," Jarad replied. "If they were accurate, then why did so many Jedi keep falling to the Dark Side. Many became disillusioned and lost faith. I confess that I was among them. Then the message arrived, and I decided I'd attempt one last mission. And if I'm being completely honest, the fact that the mission took me away from the conflict into Wild Space was attractive."

Meetra thought for a few moments, absorbing all that she'd learned. Revan had been the greatest leader, the greatest Jedi, that she'd ever known. She'd been disappointed when he apparently fell to the Dark Side. She'd known that he sometimes walked on the edge. But to completely fall, to attack the Republic that he'd defended, was out of character. Could something else have been going on? But then he'd rejected the Dark Side after falling, which in itself was something many Jedi claimed impossible. And he'd also defeated death itself, then almost single-handedly destroyed the Sith?

She considered a moment more, and found herself growing angrier and angrier. After all that Revan did, the useless Jedi had thrown it all away? The Jedi had renounced their Code and essentially surrendered the galaxy to the Sith? The Jedi Council had abandoned the Order, abandoned their posts, and hid while the galaxy fell?

Maybe this was how Revan had felt after the Mandalorian Wars. He'd saved the galaxy, and all it could do was squabble. The Jedi, with their infighting and obsession over dogma, had proven they could not protect the galaxy. And the Republic, no matter how many times it was saved, existed forever on the brink of collapse. Meanwhile, innocents lived and died in chaos, fear, and suffering.

She could stay here, in Wild Space, wasting her time and talents until someone finally got the better of her and she ended up dead in some back alley. Or she could try to do something about the conflict in the Core. Without the Force, it would be a challenge. Maybe impossible. But the galaxy needed a strong hand. It needed real leadership. The current system certainly wasn't working.

Maybe this is what Revan had seen, why he could never be content. If she returned and tried to be the leader that Revan should have been, there would be conflict. Taking power was never easy or clean, and some innocents would suffer. But if the galaxy stayed on its current path, everyone would suffer under the domination of the Sith.

The surprise on his face showed that he did not. He closed his eyes for a moment and his face grew calm. Though Meetra no longer had a connection to the Force, she recognized the body language. Jarad was reaching out in the Force, sensing the thoughts and feelings of the men at the table. The calm expression was replaced by a look of concern.

"The two on the right and left should be simple. You take care of those, and I'll handle the one in the middle. He'd be a challenge even for an experienced Jedi." Meetra shifted in her chair, preparing to move, but the fear on Jarad's face stopped her. It wasn't like a Jedi to panic, but he seemed on the verge of it.

"Is the lightsaber on your belt just for show?" Meetra asked. "You realize that's what they want to kill you for, don't you? If you aren't prepared to use it, maybe next time you shouldn't flaunt it." Jarad looked chastised but had no answer. Meetra was more certain than ever that the message he received was part of some larger plot, and not from the Jedi Council. The man in front of her seemed sincere, may even have been gifted in the Force in his own way. But he was ill-suited for any mission more dangerous than delivering a library book.

Fine, she'd do this on her own. But a direct attack wouldn't work. She'd done extensive background work on her quarry and was convinced he wouldn't be taken easily. And she wouldn't have the advantage of the unguarded moment that she'd originally been hoping for. So she'd have to make her own distraction. She almost filled Jarad in on her plan so that he could play along with the deception, then reconsidered. It was unlikely that he could be convincing. It should be easy enough to get him to respond the way she needed him to.

"Okay, I'll go back with you," she said. She paused just long enough for Jarad's relief to fully sink in. She needed to give him emotional whiplash. "But there's one complication. I owe a considerable amount of money to the local authorities, and I won't be allowed to leave the planet without paying it. I have no money, so you'll have to do it."

Meetra stood and looked around the room. Edar still stood behind the bar, shocked at the new development that the woman he'd been pursuing was apparently a prostitute, but looking ready to mortgage his bar with the Hutts if that's what it took to meet her price himself. The three men in the corner were also leering at her with equal interest. She wondered for a moment if she'd made a mistake never pursuing prostitution as a career. It wouldn't have been any more immoral than what she'd been doing, and it might have been less trouble. Then she pushed idle distractions from her mind.

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.

Ironically, emptying herself of emotions allowed her to project them as she chose. She was no one, so she could be anyone. She drew herself to her full height, shoulders back, chest forward, head raised to emphasize the smoothness of her neck. She walked across the bar's seating area, placing each step along an imaginary centerline, accentuating the sway of her hips. Her smile was beckoning, her eyes inviting. She felt nothing, her mind completely cleared of irrelevancies. But no harlot in the sector could have presented themselves more effectively than she did.

Now that Meetra could look directly at the men without arousing suspicion, she gave them a final tactical assessment. The one on the right 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 one on the left 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. His head and neck, she noted, were exposed. The one in the middle was harder to quantify. He had hung a water-repellent pancho 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.

Jedi training included extensive studies on anatomical details of every species common to the Core, and Meetra drew upon that knowledge to help plan her attack. She'd encountered numerous species in Wild Space that she had no anatomical knowledge of, which sometimes complicated things. But fortunately, all three of these men were human, and she knew their vulnerable spots.

As she approached the men, she 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.

"That one's a little poor for my taste," she said to the men, gesturing to Jarad. "How about the three of you? I'm worth it, and I give group discounts." She gave them her best smile and stepped even closer to the man on the right. "How about a little taste for free?" He was a bit taller than her, and she raised herself slightly on the balls of her feet, knees slightly bent. Her lips slowly approached his. His focus was completely on her, and the position of her body put her right hand out of view of the other two men. None of them noticed when she slipped her dagger from its concealed location.

Just before their lips met, she thrust forward with the dagger. She deftly guided it between his ribs into his heart, simultaneously pressing a small button on the insulated hilt that released an electric charge through the blade. He was dead before he knew he'd been stabbed. She smoothly spun clockwise, reversing the dagger in her hand. Before either of the remaining men could react, she'd plunged the dagger into the neck of the man on the left, severing his carotid artery just below where it divided, at the point where it would cause maximum blood loss. Blood instantly spurted in a fountain, covering her hand and spraying onto the floor of the bar. She continued the thrust, sliding the dagger between vertebrae and severing the man's spine. The electric shock she's used against the first man was no longer available, the knife's small power supply containing enough charge for only one shock. But the physical damage was sufficiently catastrophic. The second man crumpled to the floor, blood still spraying as he fell.

The spin had exposed her 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. The dagger, slick with blood, slipped from her hand, but she drew her concealed blaster as she rolled. Certain that he was already raising his own 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 stumbled into the Jedi behind her. She couldn't take much more of this. She needed a weapon. Then she realized that she had one.

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 Jarad's lightsaber in her hand, powerful feelings threatened to break through her emotional control. She felt the edges of bitterness, anger, resentment, and grief.

She forced herself to regain focus. There was a man in front of her still trying to kill her. In fact, he had taken the momentary pause as an opportunity to aim 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 shattered something behind 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 floor as his strength drained from him.

Meetra strode across the room 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 she deactivated the lightsaber. He fell soundlessly to the floor.

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. She'd have to find some kolto to counteract those effects. She couldn't be out of commission right now. There was too much to do. 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 purpose again. Finally, she felt regret. Not for the men she'd killed, or for the choices she'd made over the last five years. No, this was regret for what she was about to do. Still resting on one knee, she allowed herself to mourn what her life could have been, and would now never be. The path she was about to walk was necessary, but it would not be easy, and by the end she would likely become a person her current self wouldn't even recognize. Then she forced such thoughts from her mind. The decision was made.

"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. She'd have to convert the funds to a currency suitable for the Outer Rim when she neared the edge of Wild Space, then again to Republic Credits at the edge of the Core. After paying ridiculous broker fees and accepting terribly poor exchange rates, she'd have very little left. But that's what it cost to keep transactions off the public record. It would have to be enough.

Meetra stood and looked at Jarad Jann, who was watching her speechlessly with a mix of horror and awe. She reversed his lightsaber in her hand and stretched out her arm as if to hand it back to him. As he reached for it, she swung the lightsaber and delivered a solid blow to his temple. He collapsed to the floor.

"So much for Jedi precognition," she muttered. "Trust me, you're better off here than with me. And thanks for the ship." She dropped the lightsaber beside him. It'd be easy enough to locate his vessel. There would only be so many Inner Core ships at the spaceport. She'd have to ditch it somewhere in the Outer Rim for alternate transport. There was no telling how bright a path the Jedi had blazed on his way out, and she didn't want to immediately alert the wrong people to her presence by tripping sensor nets. Someone was certain to be watching for his return, and it'd be unfortunate to walk straight into a trap. Maybe she'd find a way to hop onto a Republic ship. It'd be a good place to learn more about what was actually happening. Now, how to arrange that? Wasn't there some needy guy that followed Saul around all the time? Naive and not all that bright, but idealistic and ambitious. If he survived, he'd probably have gotten himself promoted by now, and he'd be easy to manipulate. Carth something-or-other, wasn't it?

Edar Kran surveyed the remains of his bar. Three dead men lay on the floor, a new record. One lay in a growing puddle of blood that now covered a quarter of the seating area. Another lay in the center of a congealing spray of blood that covered two walls and part of the ceiling. The third lay on his side, where Edar could see all the way through the hole in his chest. One wall was smoldering from blaster fire, giving the entire bar a smoky odor. Another wall had a hole in it large enough that water from the storm had started leaking in, draining down the wall. The floor behind the bar was covered with glass where the deflected blaster bolt had shattered the only good bottles in his otherwise unimpressive liquor inventory. And an unconscious off-worlder lay in the middle of it all.