Star Wars: The Old Republic: Revan by Drew Karpyshyn

staunch traditionalist, she had shared the unfavorable opinion of Revan common to the older, more conservative Masters. Of all the people who could have interrupted his search, he could think of few he wanted to encounter less.
    “Still trying to recapture your lost memories?” she asked a little too smugly, and Revan understood that her arrival was no accident.
    Atris must have tagged the report he’d been reading so it would alert her whenever it was referenced. There were no rules or regulations against this kind of security feature, but it was rarely done. As a rule, those who served the Council of First Knowledge respected the right to personal privacy of Jedi visiting the Temple Archives.
    Yet even though Revan had sought to keep his investigations private, he had done nothing wrong. And he still needed answers.
    “This report seems to skim over some of the relevant details,” he said. “Shoddy work,” he added on a sudden hunch.
    He saw Atris bristle and he knew he’d guessed right: not only had she tagged the report, she’d also prepared it.
    “Maybe you just can’t see the obvious truth in front of you,” she snapped.
    Revan smiled. Despite all the Jedi teachings about peace and serenity, he’d always had a knack for riling up overly sanctimonious members of the Order like Atris.
    “Guess I just need your great wisdom to help me understand what I’m missing.”
    “What makes you think I would do anything to help you?”
    “I’m still a Jedi, and Meetra’s sentence is a matter of record,” he reminded her, suddenly serious. “I have a right to know the truth of what happened. All of it.”
    “What more is there to tell? She made the mistake of following you. You led her down the path to the dark side. She committed an unforgivable act, and for this the Council banished her.”
    “It was a desperate act during a desperate time,” Revan said. “And the mass-shadow generator was an experimental prototype. How could the Council be sure Meetra even knew what would happen? What if it was all a mistake? A terrible accident?”
    “The mass-shadow generator was a weapon of war,” Atris repliedwith a cool, rational calm. “Its sole purpose was death and destruction, and she gave the order to activate it. How is that an accident?”
    “But she obviously regretted her actions, and she surrendered voluntarily to the Council. Why wouldn’t they show her mercy?”
    “They needed to make an example of her.” Atris made no effort to hide the bitterness in her voice. “She became a symbol for all those who had defied the will of the Council. Mercy was not an option.”
    “It can’t be that simple,” Revan pressed. “My crimes were far worse, yet the Council gave me a second chance.”
    “You could still be of use to us.”
    Revan sensed there was something she wasn’t saying. “What does that mean? Meetra was a powerful Jedi. Why didn’t the Council try to redeem her?”
    The archivist shook her head in disbelief. “You really have no idea what you did to her, do you?”
    “No, I don’t,” Revan snapped, allowing his frustration to bubble over. “My memory has more holes in it than a Kaminoan sponge. So why don’t you just tell me?”
    Atris bit her lower lip and glared at him. Then, perhaps realizing that answering his questions was the quickest way to get him to leave, she began to speak.
    “Meetra was much closer to the mass-shadow generator than you were. She felt the shock wave; it nearly killed her. Left her vulnerable. At the same time, she felt the deaths of the Mandalorians and her fellow soldiers through the Force. It was all too much to bear in her weakened state. It would have killed her.” She paused for emphasis, before continuing. “Instinctively, she protected herself the only way she knew how. She cut herself off from the Force … permanently.”
    “I’m sorry,” Revan said sincerely. “I had no idea.”
    “Really?” Atris replied angrily. “Then why did you