Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic

Vibroblades and Mirrors

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Atton Rand spits blood onto the floor, his eyes still closed. Without thinking, he rolls his tongue around his mouth and the across back of his teeth, then swallows. He has done that plenty of times, usually on his back in the most tactically-efficient spot of a cantina. Usually there's a little Juma juice mixed into the taste.

Lately, though, he hasn't been getting smacked around like this. It's all blaster-burns now. Vibro-cuts if the Sith goons are in town, but no lightsaber amputations so far, luckily. Sometimes electric shocks and weird Force stuff that feels more like a sickness than a hit. Jedi weapons. War wounds.

For the moment, Atton doesn't even know where he is. There's something soothing and quiet at the back of his mind, trying to guide him to awareness and heal him, but he doesn't trust it. Wiping dust from his eyes, he presses a hand to the ground and looks right at a vision of hell.

Oh yeah. Malachor Five. The crash. The viewscreen.

Great.

The Ebon Hawk is nowhere to be seen now. He lies on a lump of dark-grey rock that has ended up shaped more or less like a bridge.

Where is she?

Atton has been a dropout, a scoundrel, a Republic soldier, a Sith hero and a real nasty murderer. After that the roles kind of blended together, and now there's a lightsaber on his belt, pressing uncomfortably into his thin thigh. He's using the damn Force to get himself together and silence a headache, and he's croaking the name of a Jedi knight he loves. And this time, it is that kind of love.

Just for once, it would be nice to have some stability. He should be playing pazaak right now, but he's kind of given up the habit. Now it feels like playing one-man-fesyk: there's no opponent, so what's the point?

He yells her name, but doesn't know why. She's not here. By now she's either at the heart of Darth Sion's academy or she's dead on the ship. For a moment it occurs to Atton that this is the first time he's ever addressed her by her first name. Maybe he didn't want to get too close.

At that thought, he has to laugh. He's on all fours, now, head curled between his shoulders and facing the floor. He didn't want to get too close.

It's true, he really didn't. Normally with women, he moves pretty fast… how long has he known her now? Nothing more than a knowing look or a cute little hint. Taking it slow. But he's happy to fly her ship, fight on the frontline by her side, tell her all his secrets and give himself over to the way of the Jedi. Solemn pledges, lightsaber training. Yeah, that's all fine, but no kissing. He's biding his damn time.

He spent most of his off-time observing her, until he got caught out. He remembers the schoolboy embarrassment as he recognised Mira sneaking up behind him, ruining the hand he was mentally playing. You know, Atton? Sometimes it's no wonder you can't figure yourself out? The way you lie to yourself all the time.

Real pain in the exhaust, that Mira. Stupid questioning intonation, stupid headband thing. Dresses funny, too. Trying to make herself stand-out, looking for guidance. So Atton figures, anyway. It's a wonder she survived on Nar Shadaa. Maybe she gets the bright-coloured-clothing thing from the Mandos.

Heh. That green shirt will actually work as camouflage here.

And stop watching her. She's got enough problems.

Right about that, though. The boss has definitely got enough to deal with without some guy checking her out from behind the wall. And there really is no question: she could do better than him. Obviously she could do a lot worse, like say, a creepy, blond Core Worlds kid in a vest. Obviously. But there have to be better men out there than Atton Rand. Some kind of big protector guy. Tall, no past. Everyone on the Ebon Hawk has a past.

Something the two of them do have in common is a whole lot of self pity. Not justified in her case. All she did was flip a switch and end a war. He didn't blame her at the time, sure doesn't blame her now. She's really something.

Simultaneously training four people to fight like Jedi, that was really something too. Finding the right people. Visas, the Zabrak and Mira, maybe even Blondie, they were going to make decent Jedi. The 'influence' she's been whining about has nothing to do with the Force. It's her, it always has been. She's a beacon.

When Atton first met her, he didn't have any Force flowing through him and neither did she. She was just a strong, compassionate and kinda angry gal with a fusion cutter. In a wet jumpsuit. From that moment he was hers, Jedi or no.

And you scratch your… equipment, when you think no-one's looking.

Yeah. With any luck he'll bump into the others eventually and they can move forward together. Right now he could sure use their help. And Mira knows how to track a target. A familiar queasiness comes back to Atton as he thinks about that. No-one had gotten close to figuring him out in years. Not Kreia, not himself. This one knows how to track a target.

And next time he's getting a Jedi lesson and feeling all sentimental, he's going to give more away. Get all serious again. And eventually, the woman whose name he never uses will know what he's all about. She can forgive a lot, but this will be something else entirely. This is his personality.

He's damn romantic, when he wants to be. Maybe she'll like that. When he called her an Angel, he wasn't kidding. Only threw the punchline on there once he'd heard it out loud. But that's the only thing he's proud of. Someday she's going to have to see all the real bad stuff inside him.

It's one thing to hear about the time he murdered Jedi, another to understand just how much he liked it. And it's not even like he's particularly sorry about it. See how she feels when she gets that. See if she wants any more than a meaningful glance then.

Wiping more dust from his sleeve, Atton stands up.

He's heading out to walk right into a dark Jedi hive. All alone, too. There's lightning every few seconds, pieces of rock and old ships jutting out of the landscape at sharp angles. Malachor. This is where it all started, of course.

Time to get lost.