Three meters tall and covered in thick armor plating, the security droid walked on a pair of hinged-metal legs, each as thick around as Scourge’s waist. Its armless body was thick and wide, two meters on every side, topped by a pair of heavy blaster cannons instead of a head.
The droid broke into a run toward him, moving fast despite its bulk. At the same time, it opened fire with both cannons. Scourge leapt for cover behind the nearest conveyor belt, unwilling to trust his armor against such overwhelming firepower.
The security droid didn’t let up; the bolts ripped into the conveyor belt and the hapless assembly droids lined up along it.
Crouched low, Scourge ran back toward a nearby stairwell leading up to the narrow catwalks that ran above the manufacturing floor. A shower of twisted, scorched metal rained down on his back—bits and pieces of those assembly droids unfortunate enough to get in the way of the cannon fire.
From the corner of his eye he saw the patrol drones swooping in to join the fray. Because of the engines and sirens, he couldn’t hear the assault droid coming after him, but he could feel its heavy footsteps vibrating the floor.
Reaching the stairwell, he took the steps three at a time. The assault droid continued to fire, but it wasn’t designed to take out aerial targets. Its bulky armor plating limited its vertical range of motion, and from the floor it couldn’t get the proper angle for a clear shot toward the ceiling. Its bolts ricocheted off the reinforced metal of the catwalk’s safety rails and floor, but none even came close to its intended target.
Scourge’s elevated position on the catwalk didn’t help against the patrol drones, however. Their repulsors allowed them to rise up to the level of the catwalks with ease.
With the five hovering patrol drones closing in on him, Scourge raced toward the vats of molten metal in the center of the room. The catwalk he was on passed right beside the nearest vat. As he drew closer, the heat became almost unbearable. He felt his skin blistering, but he ignored the pain and continued onward.
The drones were rapidly closing in. Two of them swooped in from the side, trying to cut him off. Their path took them directly over the vat, and Scourge seized the opportunity. Drawing on his rapidly dwindling reserves, he used the Force to knock one of the drones off-course, sending it careening sideways into its partner. The midair collision wasn’t hard enough to inflict any direct damage, but it caused both to spin out of control. Unable to right themselves in time, they tumbled down into the vat, where the bubbling molten metal closed over them.
The three remaining patrol drones altered their course to steer clear of the vats, confirming Scourge’s fear that the trick would only work once. They opened fire, but their target suddenly reversed his direction to race back along the catwalk toward the assault droid on the floor below. One of the bolts struck Scourge squarely between the shoulder blades, but luckily it didn’t penetrate his armor.
The assault droid continued to fire ineffectually at Scourge from below as he charged at it. He closed the gap until he was directly above it, then grabbed the catwalk’s safety rail and vaulted over the side. He landed directly on the square, flat top of the assault droid and chopped down with his lightsaber.
The blade bit deep into the droid’s armor plating but failed to reach any of the internal circuitry. The droid shook angrily from side to side, and Scourge was thrown off. Rolling to absorb the landing, he scrambled to his feet and circled behind the droid. He knew his only chance was to stay on its blind side, so it wouldn’t be able to bring its blaster cannons to bear.
He slashed at the armor-plated body twice more. The first blow left a scorched furrow. The second—delivered in precisely the same location—went all the way through. The assault droid reacted with a shudder, momentarily listing to one side. But before Scourge could follow up with another attack, it kicked out with one of its massive legs, catching him in the chest and sending him crashing to the ground.
A sharp pain shot up from his side, and he knew at least one of his ribs had been cracked. The assault droid was slowly, jerkily, turning to face him. The three remaining patrol drones were once again bearing down on him, close enough to open fire.
Scourge scrambled forward on his hands and knees. The assault droid was tall enough for him to crawl under its legs and take shelter beneath its body. The blaster bolts from the patrol drones ricocheted ineffectually off the larger droid’s armor plating. The assault droid returned fire, its programming instinctively identifying anyone firing at it as a hostile threat. Its blaster cannons tore through the patrol drones, reducing all three to scrap.
At the same time, Scourge drove his lightsaber up into the assault droid from below. To save costs and improve mobility, the underside of the droid wasn’t equipped with the heavy armor plating that protected the rest of its exterior, and the blade went deep. Scourge stabbed the vulnerable underbelly twice more before rolling clear and springing back to his feet.
Staggering, the droid tried to turn to face him. It was leaking thick, black lubricant from where Scourge had sliced it open, the liquid forming a rapidly spreading pool beneath its feet. A muffled explosion came from somewhere inside the droid, and a wisp of smoke curled out. Its legs sagged, and it slowly toppled forward, then lay still.
Scourge didn’t have time to savor his victory. A swarm of patrol drones poured into the room, emerging alone or in pairs from passages on both the north and south walls. At the same time two more assault droids marched into view, and the Sith Lord’s spirits sank.
There was no shame in fleeing a battle that couldn’t be won; only a fool continued to fight against impossible odds. Yet even if he were willing to risk Nyriss’s wrath by abandoning Sechel, Scourge doubted escape would be possible. There were too many droids, and he was nearing the point of total exhaustion.
With a grim smile he raised his lightsaber, prepared to inflict as much damage as possible before he died. And then suddenly everything went dark.
Scourge fumbled for his night goggles, knowing the illumination from his lightsaber wouldn’t be enough to fight by. He yanked them from his belt and slid them into place, then stood stock-still, stunned by what he was seeing. None of the droids had taken the opportunity to advance on him. The assault droids hadn’t moved; the patrol drones had all fallen to the ground.
Only then did he register the fact that it wasn’t just dark—it was silent. The deafening engines had ground to a halt. The conveyor belts were quiet, and even the assembly droids seemed to be frozen in place.
He punched the comlink on his wrist. “Sechel? Are you there?”
“You’re still alive?” Sechel asked. He sounded surprised, but before Scourge could ponder that, he swiftly added, “Good. I was afraid you wouldn’t make it.”
“What just happened?”
“I copied the files I needed from the records office. Then I sliced into the power grid and used the emergency override to shut everything down. Figured you could use the help.”
“I could have handled it if it wasn’t for the assault droids,” Scourge said, making no effort to hide the accusation.
“Assault droids? Really? Must be a new prototype UDM is working on.”
“Where are you now?” Scourge asked.
“Still near the records office.”
“Stay there—I’ll come get you.”
“I don’t think we have time for that,” Sechel said.
“What are you talking about?”
“You know those big vats? They use trivium generators to melt the metal. Shutting down the power grid destabilized the reactor cores.”
“How long before they blow?”
“Not long enough to keep discussing it.”
Scourge took the hint. Forcing his weary legs into a run, he raced across the pitch-black manufacturing floor. His broken ribs made it almost impossible to catch his breath, and his thighs and calves were on fire. He caught up to Sechel halfway down the maintenance corridor they had used to enter the building.
He didn’t say anything as he ran, conserving what little breath he had for a final push to get clear of the blast radius. He burst through the maintenance door and into the cool night air, Sechel only a few steps behind him.
Jumping the security fence wasn’t an option in his current state, so he headed for the gate he’d unlocked for Sechel at the start of the mission. He was slowing down, the weight of his armor sapping the last of his strength; he drew on the Force to give himself a last burst of speed. Sechel caught up with him a few steps before the gate. The blast wave caught them an instant later.
Fortunately, most of the explosion was contained within the plant, preventing them from being pulverized by the concussive force. As it was, they were swept off their feet and sent tumbling through the security gate by a wall of air, sound, and shards of glass. Scourge hit the ground, rolled onto his stomach, and instinctively covered the back of his head as debris rained down around them. He lay there for about thirty seconds, dazed, ears still ringing.
He forced himself to his feet, triggering a coughing fit. The broken ribs made it feel like his chest was being stabbed as he hacked up blood-flecked phlegm. The back of his head and neck were also bleeding: flying glass had cut him in at least a dozen places, though his armor had shielded most of his body.
Confident that none of his injuries was life threatening, he turned his attention to his companion. Sechel lay facedown on the ground beside him, not moving. He hadn’t been wearing any armor, and his back was a bloody mess. Though the glass shards had shredded his clothes and the flesh beneath, all of the wounds looked superficial.
Scourge prodded him with his foot until he finally responded with a groan.
“Get up,” Scourge wheezed. “I’m too weak to carry you.”
Sechel did as ordered, and the pair of them limped back through the forest toward their waiting shuttle. Behind them, the UDM plant burned.
CHAPTER FIVE
REVAN RARELY VISITED the Jedi Temple on Coruscant anymore. Though technically still a member of the Order, he couldn’t help but feel like an intruder as he mounted the steps and passed between the twin rows of statues that stood guard at the entrance.
Many Jedi, particularly the Padawans and younger Jedi Knights, considered him a hero, a living legend. But the more conservative Masters held a very different view. Some resented him for leading thousands of Jedi to their deaths in the war against the Mandalorians. Others could not forgive him for the millions of Republic soldiers and citizens killed when he and Malak returned from the Unknown Regions as conquerors. Officially, he had been redeemed and returned to the light, but there were those who still felt he bore the indelible corruption of the dark side.
To be fair, Revan had done little to try to convince them otherwise.
At the top of the stairs he passed through the Temple entrance, crossing the long, marble floor as he made his way to the interior courtyard.
The Council had offered to find a suitable Master to retrain him in the proper ways of the Jedi—an offer he had flatly refused. Revan had learned too much about the Force, both the light side and the dark, to take instruction like some common Padawan. His contrariness might have been overlooked had Bastila not chosen a similar path. At one time she had been the Order’s bright young star. But Malak had temporarily turned her to the dark side, and the Council believed that she also needed to be retrained. When she refused, some of them saw a familiar pattern: Revan leading a promising young Jedi away from the accepted teachings of the Order.
Their marriage further exacerbated the situation. The Jedi Order opposed emotional attachments, believing they were a stepping-stone to destruction. They taught that love begat jealousy, which led to the dark side. But Revan had seen its redemptive powers firsthand. It was his love that had brought Bastila back to the light; their emotional bond had wrought salvation for both of them.
Denying or attempting to utterly control emotion, Revan felt, was a fool’s game. Jealousy was actually the result of ill-prepared Jedi being overwhelmed by feelings they had never learned to face. Revan believed Jedi could be taught to use positive emotions like love and happiness to strengthen their connection to the Force in the same way that hatred and anger gave power to those who followed the dark side.
Emerging from the entrance hall, Revan was struck as always by the magnificent view. The Jedi Temple had been built atop a massive mountain, its rooftop converted into a huge open-air courtyard that overlooked Coruscant’s endless cityscape a full kilometer below. A towering spire had been built on each of the courtyard’s corners, and a fifth spire, larger than the others, rose up from the center.
Small clusters of robed figures, a mixture of Jedi Padawans, Knights, and Masters, filled the area. Some made their way quickly through the garden paths on business. Others lounged on benches or by fountains, taking a break from chores or training exercises.
Revan kept the brown hood of his traditional Jedi cloak up to avoid being recognized. He wanted to conduct his business and be on his way as quickly as possible. The sooner he left the Temple, the better.
He hadn’t always felt this way. In the first few weeks after Malak’s defeat, when he was still being honored and feted as the savior of the galaxy, he had approached the Council with an offer to share his new understanding of the Force with the other members of the Order. He had expected some resistance, of course. The Council was stuck in the old ways. They didn’t understand that the Force was alive. They couldn’t accept that it had evolved beyond their staid teachings. Yet he had been unprepared for the sheer hostility of the Council’s reaction.
Not only did they reject his offer, but a handful of Councilors had wanted to banish him from the Order. Fortunately, cooler heads had prevailed. Revan was a hero. The tale of his redemption and return to the light had spread throughout the galaxy … though the sordid details of how the Jedi had stripped away his identity had been carefully excised. The wiser members of the Council understood that the legend of Revan was far too valuable to throw away simply because they no longer had any use for the man himself.
In the end a compromise was reached. The Jedi would not speak out against his marriage to Bastila. Officially, both would still be recognized as Jedi in good standing, with all corresponding rights and privileges. In exchange, Revan promised not to spread his heresy to other members of the Order.
At first, Bastila wanted to reject their terms. But Revan convinced her that an ideological war with the Jedi Council served no purpose. They had done their part; it was time for them to fade from history and live out the rest of their days in peace.
And so they had … until Revan started having those blasted dreams.
That was why he was there now. Canderous was out among his own people, seeing if he could find some connection between the war and a planet shrouded in the darkness of eternal storms. He’d been gone several weeks, and Revan had yet to hear back. But rather than sit around and do nothing, he’d decided to do a little investigation of his own.
Moving with long, quick strides he made his way to the spire on the northwest corner of the courtyard. This tower was home to the Council of First Knowledge, a collection of five Jedi Masters and their underlings who specialized in the history and lore of the entire Order. It was also home to the Temple Archives—by far the galaxy’s largest assembled collection of documents, data disks, and holocrons. It was often said that if an item did not appear in the Archive records, then it did not exist.
Despite the bold claim, Revan doubted he’d find anything to explain his dreams lurking in the stacks. He’d actually come here in search of something else. Someone else. A name from his past.
Massive chunks of his memory were still missing. To fill in the gaps, he’d need to speak to someone who had been with him during that time. Someone who had served beside him in the war.
Malak had been his right hand during the campaign against the Mandalorians. But Malak was dead; Revan would get no answers there. Yet there had been another—a pow
erful Jedi named Meetra Surik. Meetra had been among the first to join Revan’s cause, and she quickly proved herself to be a brilliant tactician and military leader.
Recognizing her potential, Revan had made her a general, giving her control over nearly half of the Republic and Jedi troops under his command. Meetra had been instrumental in defeating the Mandalorians, dealing them a devastating blow during the Battle of Malachor V … though at a cost nearly impossible to fathom.
He hesitated only briefly at the door leading into the spire, steeling himself for what he might find. Then he entered the building and mounted the long, spiral staircase leading up to the first floor of the Archives.
Revan had defeated Mandalore shortly after Meetra’s victory at Malachor V, effectively ending the war. Then he and Malak had set off into the Unknown Regions, while Meetra had returned to face the judgment of the Jedi Council. She hadn’t spoken to Revan since; he didn’t even know where she was.
He knew some of the details of what had happened. On her return, the Jedi Council had declared her a traitor for following Revan. They had stripped her of her rank and banished her, branding her as the Exile. According to the rumors, she had left Republic space and simply disappeared. Yet Revan felt there was more to the story.
Meetra hadn’t tried to contact him following Malak’s defeat. Even if she had left Republic space, she surely would have heard of Revan’s redemption by now. The fact that there had been no word from her was disturbing.
Once he had tried to reach out to her with the Force. Serving in battle with someone formed a special bond; even across the breadth of the galaxy he should have been able to get some vague sense of her presence. Yet he had felt nothing. The simplest explanation was that she had become one with the Force, but Revan couldn’t allow himself to believe she was dead. After surviving the horrors of Malachor V, an anonymous death in the Outer Rim simply didn’t seem fair.