A gloom hung over the Dawn's Eagle's captain's cabin. The main lighting was off, and a single dim candle offered just enough light to slightly push back the darkness, highlighting the silhouette of a man at the table, his chin resting wearily on his interlocked fingers.
This was Revan, and he was staring intently at the T-shaped visor of the mask he had placed before him, propped against Bastila's holocron. The mask helped him focus, as it had in the old days, calming the tempest of thoughts currently swirling in the former Jedi's mind.
Too much had happened in the last few days. Too much strangeness. Starting with his visit to the Temple on Coruscant, events had accelerated like an express shuttle on a stable hyperspace route. No sooner had he recovered from meeting the current Grand Master than the Force pulled him toward Naboo. All these visions and the invisible yet distinctly felt pressure compelled him to act too hastily, recklessly, and dangerously.
Revan sighed heavily, recalling how many mistakes he had made by succumbing to the Force's impulses. And much of it could no longer be undone.
Obi-Wan could have heard Avner Van's true name, and the gesture of taking Maul as an apprentice certainly didn't look good in the eyes of the Jedi. Qui-Gon already knew of Revan's return, but Kenobi... What if he told the Council everything? And he would tell them... And they definitely wouldn't give Anakin to him.
A conflict with the Order was brewing. And the ancient Jedi was not yet ready for it. He lacked the sufficient resources and connections to oppose the Order, though weakened, still allied with the Senate and the Republic... For now.
"Kreia was right," the ancient Force-sensitive mused. "The Force plays with our destinies, utterly unconcerned with how the consequences of this game affect the participants."
He began to understand why his first teacher had become obsessed with the idea of destroying the Force or severing all Force-sensitives from it. Revan didn't know all the details of Master Kreia's final years, but Meetra had told him a few things before their failed attempt to kill the Emperor. And right now, the former Jedi was starting to grasp his late mentor's perspective.
Since his "resurrection" in this... future, Revan had felt the Force's intrusion into his life more and more strongly. Visions, sudden impulses, and premonitions—these had happened to him before, but not so frequently or on such a massive scale. Here... Something was pushing him onto a specific path, cutting off any attempt to stray.
Fate is the Force. For a Jedi, these concepts are equivalent. But the realization that everything was unfolding as it should did not make things any easier. Problems were multiplying, and they needed to be solved.
Revan tiredly lowered his head into his hands, burying his face.
"What troubles your thoughts, my love?" a familiar voice suddenly asked.
The startled Jedi looked around, trying to find the source. On the table, next to the mask, a hologram of Bastila appeared, projected by the holocron, which had reacted to an unconsciously released burst of the Force.
"Bastila," Revan said with a smile, gazing at the face he loved so much.
He hadn't activated the holocron once since leaving that cave on Tatooine, fearing that the image of his wife, who had left this world long ago, would cause nothing but pain.
He was wrong. To see Bastila again, even in this form... it was profoundly comforting.
"What is troubling you?" the holocron's keeper asked with a smile.
No, this was not Bastila Shan, but the gestures, expressions, and reactions were strikingly similar. The mental imprint, created with the aid of the Force, copied the original quite faithfully, even if it couldn't communicate as freely.
"Many things," the former Jedi replied, his mood darkening slightly. "I feel... I don't even know how to explain it."
"Try," the hologram suggested. "Perhaps I have something that can help?"
Revan doubted that among the knowledge Bastila had entrusted to the holocron, there would be anything to help him understand what was happening or even himself. Yet, even a simple conversation can sometimes lead to the right thoughts.
"You see, I feel more and more that I am losing control over my own life... However strange that might sound in my current state," Revan chuckled finally.
"What exactly do you feel?" Bastila clarified.
The Jedi pondered for almost a minute, listening to his feelings and recalling his own past.
"Do you remember how we first met... after the Endar Spire?"
The hologram nodded.
"Back then, I didn't even consider the odds of finding one single girl in a city of millions, controlled by the Sith. And who knew if her escape pod landed in the nearby districts or even on the other side of the planet. Without money, without connections, under threat of death or capture."
"And yet you found me."
"I found you," Revan confirmed, sinking back into his thoughts.
"The Force Bonds?" the holocron's keeper suggested, noticing the look on his face.
"Most likely," the Jedi agreed. "The Force bound us aboard my Interdictor and then brought us together time and again. I found you on Taris, we shared visions..."
"And we were able to help each other, keeping one another from... extremes," the hologram added.
The Jedi nodded.
"The Force guided us. Not just to each other, but to the Star Forge."
"Do you feel something similar now?"
"Yes. But many times stronger," Revan frowned. "I can already sense the nascent Bonds leading to the young Skywalker... I know where to find him and when he needs help. But these bonds, they are only one of many. I feel as if I'm trapped in an invisible web. Something intangible pulls me forward, urges me to enter into conflict with the Council, to take on apprentices... And the Hutt knows what else!" The Jedi jumped to his feet and began to pace the cabin. "And I cannot resist it! And the funniest part is—I don't want to! I feel like I'm doing the right thing, even realizing that I'm creating a huge number of problems for myself and sometimes acting downright foolish!"
Revan turned back to the table and leaned toward the hologram's face.
"I wasn't like this," he said, his voice filled with a hopeful plea directed at Bastila's image.
The keeper smiled and traced a holographic hand along the man's cheek.
"You are the one who, against the Council's decision, led the Jedi into war against the Mandalorians. And then went alone to search for the one responsible for everything. You returned as a conqueror and created a Sith Empire that nearly destroyed the Republic. But you also destroyed your own state, securing the help of just a few sentients on an old freighter." As she spoke, Bastila's smile widened. "And in the end, you ventured into the Unknown Regions to seek out an ancient evil, in the company of an old mercenary you casually made Mandalore."
At this, Revan couldn't help but crack a smile.
"The Force has always guided you, my love. You were its Chosen One even then. The fact that it brought you back to life only confirms it."
"But why me? And for what purpose?"
"Who knows?" the hologram shrugged. "Throughout the long history of the Order, others like you have appeared, and more than once. And each one achieved something incredible. The Masters on Dantooine loved those legends."
Revan sat down in his chair and leaned back. He had heard of the Force's Chosen before, those who became great masters and performed incredible feats, like the founders of the Order or Memitt Nadill. And Arca Jeth? Or the Hero of Tython, who even managed to strike down Vitiate? Even if only briefly.
However, among the famous and extraordinary figures, there were also many... dark ones who simply overturned the foundations of the Jedi, forcing them to move forward, such as Rajivari, Xendor, or Exar Kun.
"Indeed, Qui-Gon would have appreciated such legends. They align very well with his... view of the Force."
"You yourself are the hero of many legends—Knight of Redemption, Revan the Traitor, Revan the Hero, Defender of the Republic, Dark Lord of the Sith who walked into Darkness and returned to the Light," Bastila reminded him.
The Jedi shook his head ruefully. It was all true. He had long been entangled in the webs of the Great Force. But only now was he beginning to notice it.
He looked at the hologram. Even if this was only an echo of the personality of the Bastila he had loved with all his heart, talking to her had helped him to understand himself.
"Thank you, my dear... I truly feel better."
Sending a final air kiss, the hologram vanished.
The former Jedi, who had once been a Sith himself, fell deep into thought.
*********
Same Time. Coruscant. The Republic Senate Building.
The new Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, elected just a few days prior, was in a foul mood. Too many plans had been changed recently, too much was not going as desired. Someone had interfered with the clearly orchestrated performance and ruined the meticulously prepared intrigue.
Not only had the operation on Naboo failed almost entirely. That was fixable. The outcome of the blockade breakthrough could also be used to his advantage. It was even turning out better. The wounded Trade Federation would now easily join the opposition. And with a little prompting, it would serve as the nucleus for the formation of a future army... But everything in its own time.
The man swiveled his chair to the wide window, and after sipping some expensive wine from his glass, cast a pensive gaze upon the bustling transport lanes of the capital. His face remained serene, but the glass fracturing in his hand clearly attested to the storm of emotions hidden beneath the mask of calm.
Rage... Dissatisfaction with the failure... Hatred.
But not because of Naboo. Far more aggravating was the fact that his Master... or rather, the Sith Lord... Darth Plagueis... that lanky creature, was still alive.
The glass in his hand exploded into a fan of shards. Fortunately, the Chancellor was alone in his office and could afford not to worry about secrecy.
The Muun, after some failed experiment of his own, had locked himself away in a refuge and would not leave, not even for a meeting with his apprentice. Yet, he continued to send orders via holocomm.
"I hate him," Palpatine hissed, using the Force to spin the glass fragments in his cut palm.
The plan to get rid of his "Master" immediately after the inauguration had failed miserably. Plagueis had not accepted the invitation to the capital and flatly refused to meet his apprentice. Something had spooked the old Sith... Something powerful.
"And now Maul as well?" the Chancellor murmured thoughtfully, recalling his assassin's latest reports.
On Tatooine, the Zabrak had encountered someone very strong and skilled. Moreover—Dark! And this dark individual had some kind of business with the Jedi. He had protected them from Maul. Unusual.
Who was he? A new player? A rival?
His appearance suspiciously coincided with Plagueis's sudden fit of... anxiety. Could the Master secretly be preparing a replacement for Palpatine?
"But the pawn suddenly refused to play by the rules?" the Chancellor chuckled at his own conjecture.
It would be interesting to meet this mysterious person and talk without witnesses. Whether an ally or a competitor, he needed to find out as soon as possible.
Find out and adjust his plans.
The man wearily rubbed his temple, simultaneously healing the cuts on his hand.
A powerful disturbance in the Force was palpable. If only he knew where it originated?
Suddenly, the holocommunicator, whose number was known to very few, chirped. Pulling up a deep hood, Palpatine retrieved the device from a hidden pocket and activated it. A miniature hologram of the Zabrak knelt.
"My Lord, I have important information for you."
*********
Naboo.
While the royal palace, like the entire capital, was buzzing with preparations for the noisy victory celebration and the alliance with the Gungans, a certain ancient Force user, returned to life, was hiding from the general revelry in a hospital room.
Revan felt that a conversation with the wounded Qui-Gon Jinn would be a much more useful use of his time than playing the honored guest at a royal reception. He could leave that to Kenobi. He could also keep an eye on Skywalker.
He had to admire the speed with which the event was organized, though. The battle had ended barely a standard day ago, and the people and the capital were already ready to celebrate.
Revan merely shook his head, clearing away unnecessary thoughts, and entered the Jedi's room.
Jinn looked much better than he had the day before. The court medics, judging by the results, were highly qualified. Qui-Gon was lying on the medical cot, reading a document on a datapad, when the door opened.
"Glad to see you're doing better," Revan said from the doorway.
The Jedi subconsciously rubbed his bandaged chest.
"Thanks to you, I'll still be able to pound some wisdom into Obi-Wan's head," Jinn quipped, then added in a serious tone, "Thank you."
To brush off such thanks with a perfunctory "you're welcome" would have been disrespectful to his conversation partner. So Revan simply nodded silently.
"How is Obi-Wan?" the ancient Jedi decided to clarify.
"Indignant," Qui-Gon answered succinctly.
"And that's all?" he raised an eyebrow questioningly.
The wounded Jedi glanced at the datapad for a moment, then passed it to Revan.
"See for yourself."
Revan took the device and read the open document. It turned out to be a letter... or rather, an order from the Jedi Council. The text stipulated that Master Jedi Qui-Gon Jinn, Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Force-sensitive Anakin Skywalker, and... presumably, Jedi Knight Avner Van, were to report to the Temple on Coruscant to stand before the Council. It also specified that Avner Van must be brought to the Council, even against his will.
"Against his will? I'd like to see that," Revan smirked.
"Me too," Jinn smiled.
The former Sith reread the order.
"So, my name hasn't surfaced anywhere?"
"No," the Jedi replied, understanding which name he meant. "He didn't hear it. And if he did... Well, Obi-Wan isn't a big fan of digging through archived records. Besides, there's about as much information about you in them as a Hutt has mercy. And even less that's truthful."
"That's good," the ancient one nodded to his own thoughts.
"Not entirely," Jinn countered. "You still have to explain everything to the Council."
"I have a prepared story for that."
"And the archival records? I doubt there is an Avner Van on the list of Jedi from this generation."
"There really wasn't an Avner there... until recently."
"What... How?" Qui-Gon asked, stunned, but immediately guessed. "You were in the Archives?"
Revan nodded.
"By the way, open access to the lists and the lack of surveillance on the terminals at the far end of the reading room is a huge security hole. You could probably delete or change half the data in the Archives, and no one would notice."
Qui-Gon shook his head with a sigh.
"Well, thank you for the tip. I'll make sure the surveillance systems are properly upgraded."
"Don't rush that," the former Jedi requested with a smile. "Situations vary."
The Jedi shifted on the cot.
"Hmm... Fine, but how do you plan to explain your training? Your level of preparedness?"
"It's simple. A holocron," Revan shrugged.
"A holocron?" Jinn frowned. "I'm afraid the Council will demand details. And also that you surrender the holocron for study."
Cases where a Force-sensitive found a holocron and trained with its keeper were rare, but not unknown. However, finding such a repository of knowledge is difficult. Moreover, most discovered holocrons belonged to followers of the Dark Side. The Council was unlikely to be pleased by that.
"Naturally. The holocron was an inheritance from my father. It was created by Master Zhar Lestin during the Old Republic era. And, unfortunately, the aforementioned holocron completely vanished after my emergency landing on Tatooine. It's impossible to verify this information. However, my skills fully correspond to the training program of that time. Especially since I personally knew Master Zhar and was indeed his apprentice."
Qui-Gon rubbed the bridge of his nose, clearly unhappy about the impending deception of the Council.
"Alright, but what about the records in the Archives? How do you explain that you're already enrolled in the Order?"
Revan looked up at the wounded Jedi.
"I was hoping for your help with that."
"My help?"
"Yes. If I remember correctly, one can be accepted into the Order at a mature age if they are already trained, have passed the trials, or have demonstrated a high level of preparedness and potential in the use of the Force."
Jinn nodded.
"The regulation is quite ancient but has never been revoked. However, acceptance requires the approval of at least the Minor Council of Masters. Or at least three Masters, even if they are not on the Council, provided they have the Grand Master's support."
"I have a plan for that, too. If those who recently went missing or severed ties with the Order vouch for me, I assume that information also cannot be verified?"
"You found records in the Archives about Jedi who disappeared on missions? There aren't many Masters among them."
"But they exist."
"And the Grand Master?"
"We have, let's say, already come to an agreement with him."
Jinn's eyebrows shot up.
"In what sense?"
"In a direct one. I was asked not to turn away from the Order during tumultuous times. And I humbly complied."
Qui-Gon rubbed his temples and shook his head.
"And how, after all this, can one not believe the legends of the fallen one who, in a matter of months, created an Empire capable of conquering the Republic? How do you manage it?"
"The Will of the Force," the ancient Jedi shrugged. "So, what will it be? Will you help?"
"As if I have a choice?" Qui-Gon chuckled.
"There is always a choice."
"I have no doubt," Jinn drawled skeptically. "Nevertheless, I will help. And I won't be the only one. I have a couple of good comrades among the Masters. They will support me if I want to bring a talented Force-sensitive into the Order."
"Thank you," Revan genuinely expressed his gratitude, but still could not resist a question. "Forgive my directness, but why did you agree so easily?"
Years spent amidst intrigues, wars, power struggles, and political games would turn anyone paranoid. And the former Sith knew too well that nothing happens for no reason.
Qui-Gon's motives remained unknown to the ancient one. He felt a certain affinity in their understanding of the Force and their attitude towards a Jedi's duty and calling. But that wasn't enough.
"Revan, even setting aside the fact that you saved my life, and, I suspect, more than once," Jinn hinted at the episode on Tatooine, "I have spent most of my conscious life in the Order striving to understand the Force. I believe it is not just a tool and an ally, as the teachers said. It is something much greater, perhaps even sentient. And you understand the Force like no one else. Both its sides. And yet you do not resemble a mad monster in human form, as the fallen are described in the Archives." Qui-Gon paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts, and continued. "If I had understood the Force better. If I had taught others better... Perhaps my Padawan..."
"We cannot decide for others. It is not for us to choose their path," Revan interrupted his companion. "Alek was my friend, and later my apprentice. However, I chose to turn back to the Light, even though I had a choice. I could have released the Darkness that struggled to get out at any moment, I could have simply accepted the offer from Bastila when she fell to the Dark Side. But I held back. He, however, preferred to remain Darth Malak. Even when I offered him the same choice."
Qui-Gon closed his eyes and nodded. Revan's words did not bring peace to his troubled soul, but they at least somewhat lessened the unbearable burden of guilt that had weighed on the Jedi's shoulders for many years.
Obi-Wan was his attempt at redemption. Yet, judging by his apprentice's behavior, Jinn had made a mistake this time too. The Padawan was impulsive and overly hostile towards Dark Side adepts. But first and foremost, a Jedi should try to save the lost Force-sensitive and return them to the Light, not attack.
"And yet, how does one convey the difference between Light and Dark to an apprentice? How does one guide them in the right direction without instilling a fear of the alternative?" Qui-Gon voiced his thoughts, hoping for an answer from his companion.
Revan frowned and sat down on the edge of the neighboring cot. His face, no, his entire demeanor, suddenly changed. He seemed to have aged by several decades. His shoulders slumped slightly, a wrinkled crease appeared on his brow, and his eyes held a weariness tinged with sadness. A wise mentor trapped in a teenager's body.
"There is no simple answer to such a question. Everyone must find the answer themselves," he replied after a slight pause. "I haven't found mine yet."
They talked for several hours, and in the process, each was trying to sort out his own thoughts rather than convince the other of anything. The conversation was interrupted when Obi-Wan entered the room. Revan's presence did not please him. To avoid provoking a conflict, the former Sith chose to leave. Especially since he had much to do before the departure. Not to mention that he needed to prepare Anakin for the meeting with the Council.
By arrangement with Qui-Gon, Skywalker would fly with the Jedi. Revan was not thrilled by this but agreed that it would be simpler and give the Council less reason for suspicion.
The boy proved to be very clever and quickly understood what was required of him. Revan mentally noted that the boy would learn quickly, and he would have to find a way to slow his progress to prevent a thirst for power and control from taking root in the child's soul.
He had no desire to participate in the upcoming celebration, so the former Sith chose to spend the remaining time before departure in his cabin. Finally, he had time to deal with his own organism. The rush of hormones needed to be brought under control. That meant meditation, and more meditation.
Yet, he couldn't rest peacefully. A few hours before their departure, the communicator suddenly signaled an incoming call.
"Vaner, my friend!" the underground ruler of Tatooine greeted the ancient one with a false smile on his shapeless face.
The Jedi wasn't even surprised that the Hutt recognized him easily, even without his mask. The cartel's network of agents reliably gathered information. Especially since Revan hadn't particularly hidden from his unexpected... business partner from Tatooine. Otherwise, he would have used a different communicator.
"Respected Jabba! I'm glad to hear and see you," Revan returned the smile to the hologram. "To what do I owe your call?"
The Hutt nodded favorably, appreciating his companion's greeting, and tossed some snack into his maw, demonstrating that their conversation was unofficial... for now.
"How are your endeavors progressing?" Jabba inquired, keeping his eyes on Revan.
"Everything is proceeding as it should," the former Jedi replied.
"And our little agreement?" the Hutt asked in a completely different tone.
The ancient one couldn't suppress a smile. He had expected this question from the first second of the conversation. There was no other reason for a call from the crime lord of a desert planet.
"Everything is ready." Revan pulled a data chip from his pocket. "It remains only to agree on how to transfer this to Tatooine."
"Ho! Wonderful!" the Hutt laughed deeply. "One of my people will meet you on Coruscant as soon as you arrive on the planet. I have already forwarded their communicator data."
"I look forward to the meeting." Revan slightly inclined his head, indicating a bow.
"It is a pleasure to work with you, Vaner," Jabba proclaimed in farewell and ended the contact.
The former Sith wiped the polite smile from his face and sat down on the bed. Communicating with a Hutt was certainly an experience. However, cooperating with the cartel had many advantages. At the very least, a resource and information base, a free market for distribution, and even its own bank were compelling arguments. And help in resolving problems with authorities on many planets also seemed useful.
No matter how you looked at it, befriending the Hutts was necessary... at least now, at this stage.
"Well, the stage of what?" Revan scoffed at his own thoughts.
As if he had planned everything years in advance and was now simply walking toward a goal. Although he knew nothing about the goal itself. And he had no plan.
The former Sith glanced at the Mandalorian mask.
Who was he kidding? He always had a plan!
In just a couple of days, he had located Bastila on occupied Taris, devising an insane plan involving winning the swoop races. And he had far less information, and fewer resources, then than he did now. Even the Force was inaccessible to him at that time!
Now, he had a ship, allies, even an apprentice. Only the goal was missing...
Or was it? Where was the Force leading him?
To train Anakin? Too simple and somewhat... insignificant.
This was something greater. Visions. The Force. Balance.
That's what was required of him! To restore the Balance of the Force. The true balance, not the one imposed by the Order's dogmas. Without tipping in either direction.
"Ambitious," Revan chuckled to himself. "Though conquering the galaxy to save it was also quite a plan."
His spirits suddenly lifted. A goal had appeared in his new life. Strange and very distant, perhaps, but a goal.
And the plan to achieve it, as it turned out, had already begun to form. He needed resources... many resources. Money, allies, connections... power... perhaps even an army. Changing the galaxy is not that simple. He knew that firsthand.
A plan... Any plan begins with gathering information.
"First, we'll deal with Anakin and the Order. And we'll proceed based on the outcome," the former Sith said aloud.
There was still a certain Sith Lord, Maul's former Master. He needed to be met as well. Future actions would depend on the kind of relationship he forged with the Force adepts of this generation.
"It won't be boring," the ancient one thought.
Grinning at his thoughts, he retrieved his communicator and called HK. He needed to prepare for the flight.
*********
Barely a day later, the Eagle was landing on a platform at one of Coruscant's spaceports. The Republic's capital glittered, as always, evoking a sense of nostalgia in Revan. He missed the old acquaintances he wouldn't meet anymore in the Temple, at the numerous markets, or... at home. And he no longer had a home.
HK's voice pulled him from his melancholy reflections.
"Warning: Threat, Master," the droid stated, shifting slightly to shield Revan with its body. A pair of blasters were already chirping their safeties in the assassin-hunter's hands.
The mentioned threat stood leaning against a wall, its entire posture indicating complete indifference to the newcomers. In response to the droid's actions, the figure in full Mandalorian armor merely turned its head toward him and HK.
"A good model. Mandalorian," the woman concealed beneath the armor assessed the blasters.
"Tira Nomad," Revan recognized her. "An unexpected meeting. I didn't think Jabba would send you."
The Mandalorian shrugged.
"Apparently, others had more important things to do," the woman replied, stretching her neck and subtly observing the passing Coruscant Guard patrol. "And I, it turns out, have nothing better to do than wait for you on a polluted ecumenopolis planet, swarming with law enforcement."
"Alas, all roads lead to the capital," Revan said, spreading his hands.
"Or away from it," Tira countered. "Do you have the package for our slimy friend with you?"
"Yes, but perhaps we could discuss everything on the ship," the Jedi gestured behind him, where the Eagle was still visible on the platform.
"My mother forbade me from going aboard suspicious ships. Especially if they are owned by equally suspicious individuals," the girl said in a sarcastic tone. "There's an apartment belonging to the cartel nearby."
"And my father told me not to go into apartments with strange women. Especially if they are trained mercenaries or Mandalorians," the former Sith countered in kind.
"Those are almost synonyms now. Mercenaries and Mandalorians," Nomad clarified.
"A local cantina, then?" the Jedi suggested.
"The classic of spy thrillers?" the mercenary drawled with sarcasm. "Though we won't find better here."
"Then, after you." Revan motioned with his hand toward the portside cantina.
Shaking her head, the Mandalorian repeated the man's gesture, implying she wouldn't turn her back on him or the assassin droid.
Caution never hurt anyone. And so, in a straight line, the three of them headed toward the indicated establishment.
"You should have kept the mask on," Tira said a few minutes later.
"Don't you like it?" Revan smirked.
"You look like a child," the girl returned the smirk, though it couldn't be seen under her helmet.
"Appearances can be deceiving," the former Jedi replied, slightly embarrassed.
Sometimes he forgot that he looked like an adolescent, albeit a rather mature one. Even after his attempts to blend in for the Temple, he couldn't have looked a day over twenty.
"Frankly, I don't care about your age. Mandalorians sometimes throw even younger kids into battle, if they are ready. And you, I'm forced to admit, have some skill."
"Then what's the point of this conversation?"
"They won't sell you a drink," the mercenary drawled mockingly.
"I'll be better off, then," the Jedi parried.
The girl chuckled, a clear note of approval in her voice.
"HK, wait outside," Revan ordered as they approached the bar.
"Acknowledged, Master," the droid replied in a somewhat disappointed voice.
'Forgive me, old friend, but you won't get to disembowel a couple of meatbags today,' the Jedi thought, patting the metallic maniac on the chest plate.
After all, it was too soon to ruin relations with the Hutts. Of course, he could have brought R2 with him, as that droid was calmer than the bloodthirsty HK, but Revan didn't fully trust the astromech yet. Besides, the astromech remained aboard the Eagle.
Inside, the cantina was unremarkable. A typical spaceport dive with dirty tables, a rude Duros bartender, and annoying music. VERY annoying music... It seemed as if the musicians were stuck on a single chord.
The Mandalorian didn't seem bothered by it. She didn't seem bothered by anything, actually. Including the patrons, who shied away from the mercenary in the easily recognizable armor as if she were on fire.
"So?" Tira settled at a corner table, her back to the wall, adopting a deliberately relaxed posture. However, Revan saw that the girl was actually highly focused and ready to attack at any moment. This so strongly reminded him of the behavior of an old acquaintance that the man could barely suppress a smile. Mandalorians remain Mandalorians throughout all eras.
"You won't even have a drink?" the Jedi asked with a slight mock.
"I'll be better off," his companion replied, using his own words.
"Suit yourself."
"Let's get down to business," the mercenary reminded him of the meeting's purpose.
Revan pulled the data chip from his pocket and placed it on the table.
"As agreed, straight from the Jedi Temple Archives." Revan slid the device toward the girl.
She took the chip and inserted it into a portable holoprojector, checking the data. The data, it turned out, was encrypted.
Jabba must trust the mercenary implicitly if he had given her the decryption key, which Revan was supposed to use according to their agreement.
Above the Mandalorian's palm, a map of the sector known as the Kessel Run, a very popular route among smugglers, flickered into existence.
"All this for a map?" the girl asked in surprise.
Judging by the question, which was uncharacteristic of mercenaries, Tira was relatively new to this business. Or perhaps just very young and impulsive. Experienced soldiers of fortune don't ask questions. Unless they are being paid to do so.
"Yes. This is the most detailed sector map the Jedi were able to compile. It is significantly more accurate than all known variants," Revan explained. "With it, an experienced pilot can shorten the route to 15 parsecs. A madman could manage 12. I wouldn't advise getting closer to the anomalies of that zone without a Jedi's abilities.
"Now it's clear why Jabba is so on edge," Tira noted. "His pilots will be able to pass through this section much faster. Faster means more jobs. And consequently, he'll be cutting another decent slice of business away from Gardulla."
The girl's reasoning was spot on. These were precisely the arguments Revan had used to convince Jabba to make the deal.
"Precisely," the ancient Jedi confirmed the mercenary's guess.
The girl stowed the chip and the projector under her armor.
"Well, time to head back," she rose from her seat.
"Wait," Revan stopped the Mandalorian. "I have a proposal."
The idea had come to the former Jedi suddenly, yet it was sound. All that remained was to convince Nomad of it.
At first, he thought Tira believed he was trying to flirt with her and was already preparing a witty retort. However, she remained silent.
"I'm listening," the girl sat back down, having caught something in his tone.
The proposal was strictly business.
"I need help with something," Revan began, speaking vaguely.
"I don't work for free," Nomad reminded him.
"Not even at the request of the cartel?" the man hinted at his good relations with Jabba.
"I'm a mercenary. I get paid, I work. My contract isn't with you, and my duties are quite clearly outlined in it. So, no. Even if the great Desilijic Tiure himself contacted me right now and told me to help you, I could refuse with a clear conscience. And no, I'm not afraid of consequences. I have nothing to lose..." The girl clearly faltered on the last phrase.
"I can pay," the Jedi offered.
"My employer is generous. So credits don't interest me."
"Payment doesn't have to be in credits alone."
The last sentence clearly intrigued the girl. Revan even had a feeling that this was exactly what she had been waiting for since the beginning of the conversation. And her slip about "nothing to lose" had been intentional. His companion needed something. And only a Jedi could help.
"Well, I think we can come to an agreement."
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