//------------------------------// // No More // Story: The Dragon and the Force // by FenrisianBrony //------------------------------// Spike could still hear the screaming in his head as he looked out across the moon he was now standing on, even though it had long since faded into a painful, recent memory. Spike had been knocked unconscious a few moment after the Mass Shadow Generator had been activated, as had Meetra, and had only be revived a few hours later, after the Mandalorians had broadcasted their unconditional surrender. Spike shuddered as he thought of the proud warrior culture that was so in ground to their very being actually caving in the face of such a terrible and destructive weapon. The numbers were still coming in, and there was no definitive figure yet, but the numbers of deaths on both sides easily reached into the thousands, and worse, the Jedi proportion was almost five hundred confirmed dead, and another two hundred presumed dead. It had been the single most devastating loss for the order Spike could think of, and he had seen Exar Kun sway hundreds to his side in the Great Sith War. Very few of the Jedi that had been close to the planet had survived, Spike and Meetra being the closest to the centre when the Mass Shadow Generator was activated, the Ravager sitting just outside its sphere of influence. That had been almost a week ago, the last diehard vestiges of Mandalorian resistance being stamped out by the remains of the Republic fleet that survived Malachor, which admittedly wasn’t a large amount. Spike himself hadn’t taken part in the follow up attacks, even though his first port of call had been to return to Harmony, fully intending to kick Revan off of his ship out of an airlock, but the man had been gone by the time he got there. The only contact Spike had had with Revan since before the battle was a request that the Fireshot Fleet help in the final hunts of the Mandalorians. Spike had ordered the ships home soon after that, their captains readily agreeing. “You’re sure about this, aren’t you?” Spike asked, turning back to look at Meetra. If Spike thought he’d taken it badly, he had barely been affected compared to Meetra. When Bao-Dur had activated the device, she had felt it far more acutely than Spike had, something to do with what she called a ‘force-bond’, which she apparently had no difficulty in establishing. She said it was why people usually trusted her a bit easier, but it also had a darker side, and when the lives of so many soldiers and jedi had been cut short in such a horrific way, their death scream that had only hurt Spike had threatened to literally rip her apart. She had taken the only route left to her to survive, cutting herself off from the force almost entirely. “I’ve thought about it for a while, Spike,” Meetra nodded. “I can’t…feel the force anymore. It’s…” “Difficult,” Spike finished for her. “I know, I lost my command over it for a time after Taris.” “Then you know how I feel,” Meetra pointed out. “This war…this butchery from both sides, I helped in that. I was a commander, and worse I committed the atrocity that ended it. Someone has to answer for it.” “Yes, but it shouldn’t be you,” Spike shook his head. “It wasn’t just you that did any of that, and if you go back they will throw the book at you in its entirety, and believe me, it’s a big fucking book. Atris would just love it if she got to be proven right after all this time, the cow.” “Oh come off it, Spike, we were fighting less than a week ago because you of all Jedi didn’t agree with me. Maybe I didn’t think it through enough before I activated the weapon.” “Meetra, I won’t say I agree with it, clearly I didn’t, but that doesn’t mean I want to throw you under a starship to get away from my part on all this,” Spike sighed. “I own my fair share of this war just like you. Eres III, the end of Duxn, bits of Taris…Ranox. You don’t have sole blame.” “No one else will come with me,” Meetra shrugged. “They’re all following Revan. And that isn’t me trying to guilt you into coming, Spike, honestly it’s not.” “I admire what you’re doing. I would come back with you, but I’m…” he mumbled the last word. “One more time, Spike?” “I said, I’m…scared,” Spike admitted. “Alright? There, I said it. I’m scared to go back before the council. I always said I would, but the war changed from what I thought it would be into the mess it was. I don’t know if I have the strength to fly myself back there and stand before them of my own free will.” “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Meetra said quietly. “Isn’t it? I’m not so sure.” “It’s really not, Spike,” Meetra continued. “We’ve all been through a lot, every soldier has come out differently, and we’ll all have ways of dealing with it. Mine just so happens to be returning to the council.” “I hope you find some measure of peace then, Meetra,” Spike extended his hand towards her, “and that we don’t have to cross blades again. If I never have to do that with you, it will be too soon.” “You’re a good man, Spike,” Meetra took his hand. “I wish you luck in whatever your heart decides on.” With that, Meetra turned around and headed towards the small spaceport that had been set up on the moon. Spike didn’t know how she was planning to get back to Coruscant, but he also knew that Meetra wouldn’t be stopped when she set her mind to something, and she had certainly set her mind on returning home. Spike had been sincere when he said he admired Meetra, even after he had fought against her, but he couldn’t say the same to the two men walking up behind him. “Spike?” Revan asked, Spike turning around and glaring at him. “I thought I made it clear that I didn’t want to see you again,” Spike growled. “Where’s Meetra going?” Revan continued, not acknowledging Spike’s annoyance. “Wherever the hell she wants,” Spike snapped. “She is not your puppet, Revan, especially now the war is over. In fact I believe your powers as supreme commander would wither away now.” “As would yours as a general,” Malak pointed out. “Take away general, and I’m still a master,” Spike scowled. “What are you, Malak? A hanger on? A footnote? Whatever it is, you’re not worth my time.” “You sanctimonious bastard,” Malak growled. “Enough, Malak,” Revan muttered softly, before looking at Spike. “You may not like my methods, Spike, but do not argue with my results.” “How many Jedi died because of that weapon?” Spike snapped. “How many Republic soldiers? Are you sure that more Mandalorians died? Because if you killed more of your own side than the opposing side, I would say your results were as big an atrocity as your methods.” “I am pursuing the Mandalorians,” Revan cut in. “What of them? There aren’t any left,” Spike scoffed dismissively. “Lies, some of their fleet escaped beyond the known planets to the north,” Revan shook his head. “I will follow them and hound them until they are utterly eradicated. I want to ensure that you’ll be with me when I do.” “With you?” Spike laughed. “That’s rich, Revan. I wouldn’t follow you if I was starving and you were walking towards a canteen.” “Don’t be a fool, Spike,” Malak snapped. “He’s right,” Revan nodded. “You hate the Mandalorians by your own word, I know that deep down you want to see them dead, come with me and secure safety for the Republic.” “We already have,” Spike snarled. “They are broken, you have the mask of the Mandalore, they will never recover. I am never going to follow you again, I followed someone I thought was a friend at the beginning of the war, three people in fact. Now I think two of them died. You’re just a pretender, Revan. A pale shadow of the man I followed. And you, Alek, because that is your name, you’re not even that.” “Spike, I am going to ask you one last time,” Revan growled darkly, extending a hand. “Come with me.” Spike looked at the outstretched had for a second, before balling his claw into a fist and punching Revan hard in the chest, knocking the man to the floor. Before Malak could react, he brought his hand back around, slapping him aside, before turning and heading towards the spaceport where Harmony awaited him. “There’s your answer, Revan,” he called over his shoulder. “I hope you fucking choke on it.” *** Revan didn’t follow Spike to his ship, nor did he command Malak or anyone else to go after him. Spikes mood was foul as he approached his ship, before it brightened slightly at the sight of a familiar wookie. “Tarhal,” he smiled, approaching his friend. “I am so glad that you survived Malachor.” “I very nearly didn’t, and a lot of Jedi I knew didn’t either,” Tarhal sighed. “But the majority of the Special Forces survived. They’ve returned to Core Worlds, something about their oaths demanding they returned when the war is over to help train more men or something.” “Good, I’m glad they’re not going to be doing something they would later regret,” Spike nodded. “Come on, I assume if you’re here you want off this rock too, and I think I just well and truly outstayed my welcome.” “I saw,” Tarhal chuckled. “He was trying to convince you to stay with the army wasn’t he?” “Something like that, yeah,” Spike nodded again. “But come on, we can talk onbo…” “I’m not coming,” Tarhal shook his head. “No, of course you’re not,” Spike sighed, looking slightly crestfallen. “I didn’t think you would.” “My Padawan died in this war, I feel I owe it to him to go after the remains of their army,” Tarhal shrugged. “I’m not going to try and change your mind on the matter, although I doubt after punching Revan you’d be very popular, but I would appreciate it if you extended me the same courtesy and didn’t try to sway me either.” Tarhal put a hand out towards Spike. “For old times’ sake, eh buddy?” Spike smiled, before moving forward and pulling Tarhal into a tight hug, the wookie quickly returning it in kind. “For old times,” Spike smiled. “When you get back we’ll have drinks sometime.” “You’re paying,” Tarhal laughed as Spike released him. “Get out of here fleabag,” Spike smirked, walking past him and up the ramp of Harmony, turning to face him from the airlock. “See you round.” “You bet,” Tarhal nodded as the airlock slid closed, before he turned and headed back towards Revan and the others. *** Spike and Katara stood silently beside each other on the otherwise empty bridge as Harmony slowly made its way to the system jump point, passing by the scarred battleships of Revan’s pursuit fleet as they went. “So, master, where are we going?” Katara asked finally. “Back to the temple?” “There’s nothing for me there,” Spike shook his head, turning and sitting down in the command throne, idly tapping in hyperspace coordinates. “I am still your master, but if we went back I highly doubt I would be for long.” “So where are we going?” Katara pressed. “Somewhere far away,” Spike sighed. “Somewhere where the wars and the council can’t touch us.” With that, Spike eased the lever on his command throne forward, Harmony shooting forward at his command.