In the Skywalker home, the silence typical of pre-dawn hours reigned. The occupants, both hosts and guests, were sleeping. Or so it seemed. Young Anakin and his mother tossed and turned nervously in their beds, worried about the upcoming race. Padmé, the Nabooan, sat in the kitchen with a cup of cold caf in her hands, grimly gazing out the window at Qui-Gon, who was situated on a small terrace in a meditation pose. Perhaps only the small R2-series astromech was truly calm and motionless. But he was a droid, and for him, that was normal.
Revan sensed all of this upon waking up on the floor in Anakin's room, where Shmi had designated him for the night, and to which he had successfully returned unnoticed late yesterday.
The former Sith Lord was relieved that he didn't have to strongly mask his presence near Anakin. The boy "broadcast" his presence in the Force enough to cover the entire Jedi Council. This once again made Revan wonder how the Seekers could have missed him.
"Morning, Ani," he said, stretching and noticing the boy was no longer even trying to pretend to be asleep.
"Morning," Skywalker grumbled in reply.
"Worried?" the former Sith Lord said, stating a fact rather than asking a question.
"Uh-huh."
"That's normal. Adrenaline helps in these situations, as long as it doesn't cloud your mind."
"Huh?" the boy asked back.
Revan quickly reminded himself that he was speaking to a child who, due to the distance from the developed Core Worlds of the galaxy and his slave status, had received no formal education.
"Don't let fear cloud your judgment," the former Jedi rephrased. "Remember, fear kills the mind. But when it's under control, it can be a powerful ally."
Immediately, Revan smirked at his own words, realizing he had just articulated one of the fundamental tenets of Sith teaching.
'Right, use fear and turn it into strength,' he thought, recalling the whisper of the Emperor who had briefly broken his will long ago.
Revan had not received traditional training in the Sith ways, as was custom in Vitiate's Empire and subsequently his own. All his knowledge of the Dark Side's doctrines and philosophy was gleaned during his wanderings from holocrons, encounters with Force ghosts, and... directly from the Emperor, who had imposed his will on him and Alek (Malak). A chilling voice, sounding directly in his head, as if engraving the Sith Code right onto the bones of his skull with a lightsaber blade. His consciousness was confused, his motives changed, and the Order's teachings receded. In its place appeared a vision of the Emperor's own Dark Side path. And he had explored it very... very deeply.
Vitiate wanted to create obedient puppets who fully shared his ideas. He wanted Revan and Malak to go and sow chaos in the Republic and prepare it for the Sith's arrival. Instead, he received a terrible enemy, whom he himself had armed with some of his secrets. After all, how was he to know that Revan would be able to break his leash and begin creating his own Empire?
"Vaner?" Anakin called him.
The former Sith Lord shook his head, chasing away the unpleasant memories.
"Sorry, I was lost in thought. Did you say something?" he shifted his gaze to Skywalker.
"No, nothing," the boy shook his head. "Mom's calling us for breakfast."
"Perfect!" Revan rose to his feet and stretched his shoulders. "I've worked up an appetite."
Anakin grinned in response to his friend's smile.
"Thanks, Vaner, for the advice. My hands stopped shaking, at least," he demonstrated his two open palms.
"Don't mention it. The main thing is to remember: it's pointless to fear what might only happen. And even more so to worry about things you can't influence. Focus on piloting the pod, and everything will work out. You have no equal at this; I'm certain," the ancient one encouraged the boy.
"Thank you."
Revan merely waved off the repeated gratitude and headed for the small room mistakenly called a bathroom in this house. Water was severely scarce on the planet, making even a simple wash a problem.
Wetting a small cloth with a couple of drops of the life-giving liquid from the dispenser, Revan wiped his face, hands, and neck, grateful for even this slight freshness. The face that no longer felt alien was reflected in the worn mirror on the wall. The ancient one felt his forehead and cheeks, showing his teeth to his reflection.
"Well, I tried to look a little older, but the 'minor' stamp is practically branded on your forehead," the former Sith Lord smirked to himself.
Thanks to intensive training and meditation, Revan had managed to bring this body to the maximum possible for its current age. However, there was still room for improvement. He planned to fully return to his former form in five or six years, once his current vessel grew up. For now, he was still far from ideal. The lingering ache in his muscles after yesterday's sparring session with the Zabrak was proof of that.
"Still, if all the Force-sensitives in this era are like that Sith, I could storm the Temple on Coruscant right now," Revan thought, then laughed at the foolish notion.
At the kitchen entrance, the ancient one bumped into Qui-Gon, who was in a deeply pensive state. Inwardly smirking at the likely reasons for the old Jedi's contemplation, the "harmless boy Vaner Shan" slipped into the kitchen and received his portion of the Skywalkers' meager breakfast, as they were unaccustomed to such a number of guests.
"How long until the race?" he asked, washing down a crunchy biscuit, which was clearly teetering on the edge of edible, with some hot sludge.
"Three hours," Anakin replied. "But we need to be at the starting line in an hour and a half."
"Understood," the former Sith Lord nodded. "Should we hurry, then? We still have to haul the pod across town."
The boy nodded and poured Padmé, who hadn't slept a minute the previous night, another serving of something vaguely resembling caf.
At that moment, the communicator on Revan's belt silently vibrated. Politely thanking them for breakfast, the ancient one stepped outside to "check on the pod."
"HK, what do you have?" he asked quietly, bringing the communicator to his mouth.
"Polite Greeting: Good morning to you, Master!" the droid replied with feigned joy.
"Get to the point, please."
"Disappointed: As you wish, Master," the assassin droid immediately changed his tone. "Report: Numerous fighters of the Blood Claws clan, as well as personal army thugs belonging to Jabba the Hutt, have been observed near the hotel where you were recently residing, Master."
"Oh, kriff."
"Analysis: It is likely the Hutts have noticed the change in the clan's leadership and decided to intervene," the droid continued. "Concerned: This could reduce the loyalty of the Claws, as well as the Toydarian Watto, towards you, Master."
The situation was turning unpleasant. It was clear the Hutts had learned the Blood Claws were taking orders from someone else. It was possible Watto himself had overcome his fear and gone to complain to Jabba about how he was being "robbed" by unruly thieves and mercenaries.
In any case, Mos Espa would now be turned upside down and sifted through a fine mesh in search of the impudent fool who had decided not to ask the local "authorities" for permission when he decided to make some credits. And if Jabba connected this with the disappearance of his precious cargo...
"Well, I... there isn't even a word invented in Basic to describe all this."
"Pensive: Perhaps the word 'fuck' would be suitable?" HK offered.
"I don't know that one..."
"Explanation: It is from the dialect of a planet on the Outer Rim, one quite unpopular with the Republic. The meaning of this word is an extremely unfavorable confluence of circumstances, not subject to censored or uncensored description with conventional expressions. It is often used to mean 'the end,' in specific cases—a lethal one. For example, one of the leaders of this planet used this very word to describe the Ruusan Treaty. It also has an inverse meaning, as something indescribably good... It all depends on the intonation and context, Master."
"What a useful word... And, judging by your example, quite appropriate," Revan agreed, meanwhile contemplating a plan of action.
Everything suggested they would be looking for him. Which meant his current entourage would be put at risk. And he did not want to involve the Skywalkers in this matter at all. Moreover, Qui-Gon's presence literally tied his hands. He couldn't let the Jedi connect Vaner or Revan with the "man in the mask" who had squeezed the local crime element.
Therefore, he needed to reach those looking for him first. And that meant he would have to grovel to the Hutts... or stage a bloodbath in the city streets, physically eliminating the pursuers.
"Alright, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Revan nodded to his thoughts. "HK, bring the speeder to reserve point number 3."
"Delighted: A firefight is anticipated?"
"Quite possible."
"Enthusiastic: I will be there in three minutes, Master."
"Now, to get rid of the 'tail'," the ancient one mumbled, trying to concoct a good reason to separate from the group and leave the Skywalker home earlier than everyone else.
Half an hour later, standing in an alley near the hotel, which was still being searched by Hutt forces, Revan was still surprised at how easily he had been able to "go to the bookie." Apparently, yesterday's conversation had thrown Qui-Gon too much off balance for the vigilant Jedi to lecture the reckless teenager. Padmé had tried to, but Anakin, whom the ancient one had warned about his need to leave for an urgent matter, quickly took her attention.
"Report: Master, my sensors register 43 hostiles of various racial origins. All are armed with blaster weapons, as well as various grades of grenades," HK-47 announced.
Revan sensed much the same thing through the Force. And there was no reason to doubt the words of the best assassin droid in the galaxy.
"Excellent, HK," the ancient one nodded, checking the mask's fastenings. "Your objective is to capture at least one alive. Or to obtain information about who is hunting us and where to find them. Any details are welcome."
"Anticipatory: Am I permitted to use the executioner protocols?"
"Yes," Revan replied, shivering as goosebumps ran down his spine. "Time limit: two hours. Begin."
The droid armed himself with two blaster pistols and disappeared into the shadows of the alley, blinking his crimson optical sensors in farewell.
The former Sith Lord was confident that HK would complete the assignment. He had never failed his creator before.
The target of the hunt, meanwhile, planned to pay a visit to Watto's junk shop before the Toydarian left for the races, to ask him a few questions. However, the Toydarian wasn't there. But an ambush was. Five sentients, three Weequays and two Duros, were waiting inside the shop. Another Trandoshan was positioned on the roof of a neighboring building.
"Not even a serious attempt," Revan judged the trap.
In two jumps, the ancient Jedi was behind the sniper, holding a blaster barrel between his shoulder blades.
"Quiet, if you want to live longer," he commanded. "And don't even think about calling for help. Slowly remove your communicator and toss it aside."
The lizard hissed maliciously but complied.
"Excellent. Now lie still and don't twitch while I ask questions."
A hiss was the only reply again.
"So, who sent you? Jabba?"
The prisoner didn't answer.
"Speak," he tried to press on the mind with the Force.
Silence.
'Well, I guess the Jedi won't interfere with me today. Qui-Gon wouldn't risk leaving Anakin unattended. That means I can speed up the interrogation process,' the former Jedi thought.
Revan pulled a vibroblade from his belt and drew it across the Trandoshan's thigh, slicing through the fabric of his flight suit and lightly scratching the scaled skin. The prisoner cried out, but immediately fell silent, receiving a strike to the back of the head with the blaster hilt.
"Should I repeat the question?" the voice distorted by the mask sounded more than intimidating.
"Go kriff yourself!" the lizard snapped.
The ancient Sith Lord pinned him to the roof with his knee, clamped a gloved hand over his mouth, and plunged the vibroblade up to the hilt into his thigh. He then began to slowly draw it upward, slicing through the flesh but seemingly only by a miracle avoiding major arteries. The prisoner howled in pain and bit down on the gauntlet with his teeth.
"Ready to talk?" Revan checked.
The Trandoshan closed his eyes and shook his head, preparing for a new dose of pain.
"Do you think this pain is all I'm capable of? Do you think you can endure it?" the former Sith Lord spoke softly. "You're wrong."
Purple sparks ran across the hand gripping the vibroblade's hilt, still plunged into the prisoner's thigh. A jolt of Force Lightning passed through the metal directly into the severed muscles, causing them to contract and inducing agonizing pain. A convulsion seized the lizard's entire body, forcing it to arch, which required Revan to pin him to the roof with the Force.
"Don't think it will be that easy," the ancient one whispered as the Trandoshan was on the verge of passing out from shock, and he directed streams of the Force to hold the prisoner's consciousness back from oblivion. "You have to earn unconsciousness and relief."
A new burst of lightning struck the wound.
"Ready to talk?" Revan checked when his prisoner stopped twitching. The Trandoshan violently nodded in response. "So?" the former Sith Lord asked, slowly removing the gauntlet that covered the lizard's mouth.
"Jabba," the Trandoshan replied hoarsely, spitting out blood and fragments of teeth broken against the armored gauntlet.
"Who informed him?"
"Watto, the Toydarian... C-came to c-complain."
"Are the Claws cooperating?" the executioner continued the interrogation.
"Y-yes. Voluntarily."
Revan was about to ask another question when his sense of danger simply howled. The next moment, a blaster bolt pierced the Trandoshan's head. Only quick reaction saved the ancient Sith Lord from a second shot, aimed at his back.
"The shooter is good," he thought. "I barely missed him."
Revan dodged another series of shots, which came from somewhere above, with a roll, but one of the charges still grazed his shoulder plate.
With the hiss of a jetpack, a figure in Mandalorian armor descended behind the Jedi and opened fire again.
As much as Revan wanted to avoid it, he had to activate his lightsaber. A silver flash deflected three greenish bolts and sent a fourth back at the shooter. The shooter easily dodged and sprang back, breaking distance with the dangerous opponent.
"Damn Jabba," a female voice hissed, coming from the Mandalorian mercenary... or rather, merc. "No one said anything about a Jedi."
"Perhaps we can talk?" Revan offered.
In response, the mercenary swore in Mando'a and threw a thermal detonator at his feet, which he thankfully pushed aside with the Force toward the bounty hunters rushing out of Watto's junk shop. The Force suggested only two survived, and they were no longer a threat.
The next moment, the Mandalorian darted sharply to the side, and a bright flash from a flash-bang grenade erupted with a pop where she had been, blinding the Jedi. If not for Force Precognition, he would never have dodged the stream of flame from the compact flamethrower built into the mercenary's gauntlet, which she used, intending to catch her blinded opponent.
Revan sliced the net thrown right after it with his lightsaber, but he exposed himself to a thin cable with a grappling hook that wrapped around his right wrist. A powerful tug ripped the lightsaber from his grasp and left the Jedi unarmed, forcing him to take the next blaster shot directly to his chest plate.
Mentally, Revan was swearing in every language he knew. He remembered perfectly well how difficult it was to fight well-trained and well-armed Mandalorians.
'You've gotten soft, you idiot!' the ancient one thought, trying to regain concentration and use the Force.
A tug on the bound arm. The Jedi realized they wanted to take him alive, or they would have finished him with a blaster. This was good news, although he was already prepared to act according to the worst-case scenario. But then his opponent would certainly have died. And questions remained, and a prisoner interrogation would be helpful.
Finally regaining his concentration, Revan did not allow himself to be pulled in, sending a jolt of electricity through the cable. The winch in the Mandalorian's gauntlet sparked and shut down. However, this did not harm the mercenary herself, as the armor's insulators handled it. But her suit could do nothing against a Force wave. The woman was knocked off her feet, and Revan took advantage of this to pull his weapon back to him and sever the cable, which was still restricting his movement.
The Mandalorian quickly assessed the situation and activated her jetpack, attempting to escape. Revan, however, did not allow it, stopping her with a Force grip and slamming her hard against the stone roof. The jetpack was damaged and threatened to explode, but the woman managed to use this to her advantage. She ripped the damaged device from her back and hurled it toward her opponent. The Jedi, seeing that he wouldn't have time to throw the improvised bomb aside, shielded himself with the Force. However, the mercenary was waiting for this.
Pressing herself tightly to the roof, she minimized the damage from the shockwave and heat of her jetpack's explosion, and then, before the smoke cleared, she lunged forward, attacking.
Revan, who was still planning to capture his opponent for interrogation, was forced into close combat and extinguished his blade, so as not to kill the woman in the heat of the fight. It took a great deal of effort to suppress the alluring call of the Dark Side that had awakened within him during the Trandoshan's torture. But he succeeded. Now, calling upon the Light Side for aid, he focused on enhancing and accelerating his own body.
Canderous's lessons in hand-to-hand combat came in handy. The mercenary was good, but she had been slammed against the stone roof several times. And even Mandalorian armor wouldn't completely protect against an explosion at that range. She was gradually losing speed, but surrendering was not in her people's traditions. And Revan knew this. He needed to finish things quickly.
A Force push combined with a physical strike sent the woman flying toward a small structure with a moisture vaporator. The Force wave that followed knocked all the air from her lungs.
"Enough!" Revan roared, leaping toward the mercenary and holding his activated lightsaber to her throat.
"As you say," the Mandalorian replied, breathing heavily.
Only now, discerning the clan markings on the scratched and scorched armor, did the former Jedi recognize the woman.
"You... Tira Nomad, right?" he recalled the name of the Mandalorian he had met in Volo's armorer shop.
"Good memory, Jedi," she replied, slowly regaining her breath.
Knowing perfectly well that the mercenary was just stalling for time and looking for an opportunity to escape, the ancient one decided not to delay the questions.
"Where is Jabba now? At the races? Who is currently running the Claws? And—"
"Sorry... Vaner, is it? Nothing personal," the Mandalorian smirked, interrupting the barrage of questions.
At that very moment, Revan heard the familiar beep of a trip mine activating behind him. A tiny charge of explosives with a remote detonator had been attached to his cloak near his right shoulder blade.
He missed the opportunity to tear off the robe by only a fraction of a second. The explosion, though relatively weak, felt like a powerful blow from a Kath Hound of Dantooine. Though it didn't inflict significant damage on Revan, he was knocked off his feet and disoriented for several precious seconds. The mercenary managed to escape.
"Hutt!" the Jedi cursed, barely hearing his own voice over the ringing in his ears. "I set myself up like a foolish Padawan!"
He knew perfectly well that he had made a series of mistakes, underestimated his opponent, and neglected the experience of his former life.
"Well, Revan, be smarter in the future. You don't mess around with Mandalorians, even if they aren't Force-sensitive," the former Jedi scolded himself mentally. "And you definitely shouldn't let your concentration slip or get distracted in combat. So, train and train again. My mind is fine, but my body is still rebelling."
Looking down at the entrance to Watto's shop, the ancient Sith Lord merely shook his head. The mercenaries who had survived the thermal detonator explosion each had a concentrated burst of plasma delivered to their heads. There were no subjects left for interrogation.
"Clean work," Revan scoffed. "I hope HK had better luck."
Returning to the hotel, the former Jedi noted that the area was unusually empty and quiet. The residents of Mos Espa were suddenly avoiding the entire block. The reason for this, apparently, was the smoke billowing from the second-floor windows of the now former hotel.
Revan scanned the building with the Force. As he suspected, the mercenaries were no longer inside. At least, not the living ones. But the traces of battle and the echoes of several dozen deaths were very distinct. Only on the top level, in the far corner, was there still a faint trace of life. And the ancient one was willing to bet that the dark, cold, and definitively non-living blotch nearby was 47.
"HK, I hope you at least gathered information before staging a 'Mandalorians attack Cathar' production here," the assassin droid's creator said, heading toward the hotel entrance.
The building's exterior was sprinkled with scorch marks from blaster bolt impacts. Apparently, HK had decided to immediately breach and lure the mercenaries after him. The lobby was literally littered with dead bodies. Revan counted seventeen bodies, felled by very precise shots to vital organs. Another two were clearly civilians. Apparently, local guests caught by a stray bolt.
"I sincerely hope that HK didn't decide to use 'meatbags' for cover, and this was truly a fatal coincidence," Revan murmured, closing the eyes of an unnamed woman in a severe suit bearing the logo of a sector trading company.
The hotel administrator was also unlucky. The former Jedi found his body, throat slit, right behind the counter. That was definitely not his droid's doing. HK-47 didn't like using knives because "the dirty grease of meatbags gets on the servomotors."
Moving cautiously down the corridor with walls melted from the blast of several grenades, the former Sith Lord kept his lightsaber and blaster ready. He was not going to lower his guard a second time today.
A fire raged on the second floor, so Revan went straight to the top level. Judging by the traces of battle, the mercenaries had tried to fortify themselves here and resist the "death machine" advancing on them. And they failed.
A dozen bodies, separated into fragments, indicated a grenade explosion in close proximity. The Jedi shook his head, recalling how the droid had boasted about finding a new way to liquidate the foolish meatbags who, in this millennium, decided to carry clusters of thermal detonators right on their belts, without armored pouches.
"Right, one shot and the whole group is finished," Revan drawled thoughtfully. "In my time, explosives were handled with much more care."
In the far corner of the room, the Jedi noticed the easily recognizable figure of the droid, who aimed a blaster at him but lowered it an instant later, turning back to the kneeling Rodian before him.
"Insidious: Is that all you know?" the former Sith Lord heard the droid's voice as he approached a couple of steps.
The victim nodded energetically.
"Gracious: Thank you. Here is your reward, as promised." With those words, HK shot the prisoner in the head.
Revan frowned under his mask but decided he would lecture his creation about the dangers of excessive cruelty later. For now, it was important to bring the Claws to heel, and also to visit Jabba and settle all disagreements. Preferably without bloodshed... but these were Hutts.
"What did you learn?" he went straight to the point as soon as the droid turned to him.
"Proud: Master, the mission is complete. 43 hostiles eliminated, information obtained regarding the movements and location of Jabba Desilijic Tiure the Hutt. It has also been established that the Blood Claws clan is currently led by Jabba's appointed operative, a certain Danal Noganti, a human who is a former operative of the Judicial Department—the Republic's law enforcement body that replaced the Republic Armed Forces," the assassin droid began his report. "Evaluation: During the mission's execution, the hotel building sustained significant damage. And 5 civilians were affected. Four ceased their life activities, caught in the enemy's indiscriminate fire."
"Good," Revan nodded in response. "Did you manage to find out who the target was?"
"Affirmative: Of course, Master. The target of the attack was you."
"Who exactly? Vaner Shan, who stole beskar from Jabba, or the man in the mask who took over the Claws and robbed Watto?"
"Confident: The Man in the Mask, also known as the Lord. The name Vaner did not surface during interrogation. There is a possibility the mercenaries were not informed of the target's name. However, there were no hints of the Hutts' personal interest in the matter. According to the information I managed to extract from the mercenaries, the operation was aimed precisely at whoever decided to act without Jabba's approval on his territory, as well as to intimidate others wanting to disrupt the established order."
This information somewhat reassured Revan. The fact that he was not being searched for by name meant that incomplete information had reached the Hutt from Anchorhead, and that his bounty hunter friend had successfully disappeared. Plus, it was difficult to link the man in the mask to Anakin or the Jedi.
"Hutt!" Revan slapped his forehead.
It used to be difficult to link... After Watto complained about the Claws, he surely mentioned being forced to stake slaves. And that Mandalorian will certainly report that the target is actually a Jedi and armed with a lightsaber.
He had to act fast.
"Where are Jabba and this Danal now?"
"Eager: The Hutt is currently moving toward the site of the local races for the ceremonial start. Danal should be at the Claws' hideout."
"Excellent. We'll visit the one who dared to displace me from my position first, and then we'll go negotiate with the 'Big Boss'," Revan started, but then immediately caught himself, realizing the enemy had a time advantage. "Stop, HK, you're going to the stadium. Your job is to protect Anakin and his mother. The Jedi can take care of themselves."
"Understood, Master!" the droid immediately replied.
"I, myself, am paying a visit to the Claws."
"Question: Master... what if you... cease functioning?" HK cautiously asked.
"I authorize you to stage a bloody massacre among the criminals on this planet," Revan said, looking up at the ceiling. "I've had enough of this world and its criminal heart. So, you'll give them a 'cleansing'."
"Hopeful: And then?" the droid asked, confident he could handle the extermination of all local criminal elements.
Revan, fully aware of the scale of the problem, merely smiled at his creation's naivety.
"And then you can expand the plan to the entire galaxy."
"Understood!"
"Now, make sure I've ceased functioning first," the creator reminded the droid. "The only thing I'm missing for complete happiness is an assassin droid 'bringing light and justice to the galaxy.' That was sarcasm."
"Disappointed: Noted, Master. Proceeding with the initial plan—protection of Anakin Skywalker and his mother."
"Execute."
The droid turned and ran down the stairs.
"I suppose I should go too."
The appearance of the man in the robe and the black-and-red Mandalorian mask in the "Red Sand" cantina caused a wave of whispers and quick movements away from the entrance. Rumors of a certain "Lord," hunted by Jabba himself, were already spreading. The bartender, though he didn't recognize the guest, distinctly felt the urge to crawl under the counter and stay there.
Revan, ignoring the whispers and rustling among the cantina patrons, confidently walked toward the entrance to the Claws' hideout. He sensed no threat to himself here. But further down, in the tunnels, an ambush could very well be waiting.
Last time, he had been forced to move stealthily so as not to leave traces of his interference. Now, he went straight ahead, through traps and guard posts, because he had come to demonstrate strength, as this rabble, calling itself a criminal clan, only understood the language of force.
The first pair of guards the ancient Jedi encountered were slammed into the wall by a powerful push. The automated turrets secured to the ceiling didn't have time to turn before the blurred figure in the robe was out of their firing arc and severed the cables with one motion using the black lightsaber that appeared in his hands.
A new patrol that rounded the corner was struck by Force Lightning. The charge wasn't lethal, but it was sufficient to take the fighters out of action for a long time. The detonators on the trip mines in the next corridor were remotely deactivated by the Force, and the gunner behind the heavy, rapid-fire blaster cannon was felled by his own shot, deflected by the ancient one's blade.
Revan advanced, sensing the mercenaries' fear and feeding on it. The Dark Side clouded his mind, but the Jedi's will was stronger. He was sure of what he was doing. He was guided by a sense of justice, not blind rage.
Apparently, having been impressed by HK-47's abilities, the mercenaries had acquired a dozen different combat droids, which, however, proved utterly incapable of resisting a trained Force adept. The black blade in the hands of the blurred shadow turned them into a pile of melted scrap.
The former Sith Lord moved fast and acted with maximum efficiency. He involuntarily recalled the years of war when he led his soldiers into battle, first as a young Republic General and then as the commander of his future Empire. He didn't always observe the course of battles from his cruiser's bridge. Often, he had to personally conduct sabotage operations, since no one but a Force-sensitive could have managed them.
The door to the Claws leader's quarters was locked. Revan ripped it from the frame and hurled it down the corridor. A barrage of fire from six blasters immediately opened up from the room, but it wasn't enough to fell the Jedi. The shots were easily deflected, and the shooters fell by their own weapons. Then everything suddenly went quiet. However, the sounds of a struggle and curses in several languages erupted within the leader's quarters the next moment.
The ancient one observed the events through the Force and smirked behind his mask. When he, deactivating his saber, entered the room with deliberately slow and relaxed movements, an interesting scene greeted his eyes. Four Claws fighters were pinning the man who had evidently been leading them only minutes ago to the floor. The man struggled and cursed his former subordinates with his rich vocabulary, receiving audible blows to the ribs in return.
"My Lord!" the mercenaries who had restrained Danal Noganti pleaded. "Mercy! They forced us! It was all Jabba!"
After listening to the panicked wails and pleas of the terrified mercenaries, who, judging by the active surveillance monitors, had wet themselves more than once watching the advance of the "Demon Lord," Revan used the Force to silence them.
"Where is Ticho Dorma?" he asked, adding a metallic edge to his voice.
"He's with Jabba!" one of the mercenaries replied.
"Awaiting judgment," added a second, "along with most of the clan's thugs."
"Judgment?" the ancient one was surprised.
"Jabba likes to hold show trials to intimidate his opponents," the first mercenary explained.
"Who is this?" Revan asked, already having guessed the prisoner's identity.
"That scoundrel Danal Noganti! Jabba sent him! It's his men who took over our hideout and displaced Dorma!"
The former Sith Lord now understood the situation. The Claws, in Jabba's view, had shown weakness by allowing some newcomer to command them. The Hutt wasn't satisfied with the current leadership, so he decided to replace it. And, at the same time, thin out the clan's thugs so they would complain less. Considering there were only about a hundred Claws to begin with, this was quite simple.
Jabba just hadn't accounted for the "newcomer" being a Force-sensitive, paired with an assassin droid, no less. This could be leveraged.
"Tidy up the hideout," Revan ordered. "Tend to the wounded. I will settle matters with Jabba."
"And what about him?" the most talkative mercenary gestured to the prisoner.
"He's coming with me. Tie him up."
The order was carried out in the shortest time. The former Jedi refused to use Judicial Department handcuffs and restraints, as he suspected the former operative knew how to escape them. So, they tied him with ordinary rope, but in such a way that no chance of escape remained.
Half an hour later, a convoy of four Claws, Revan, and the captive Danal was at the stadium, confidently approaching the security of the VIP box where the unofficial ruler of Tatooine, Jabba Desilijic Tiure, was ensconced.
"Halt!" roared the Trandoshan commanding the squad of guards. "Who are you?"
"Jabba wants to speak with me," Revan stepped forward.
"That's the one Jabba ordered the Claws to capture!" the guard captain instantly recognized him.
The security detail raised their blasters.
The Jedi smirked, reading the Trandoshan's mind with the Force, and, tilting his head slightly, he said insidiously:
"I am not the one Jabba is looking for. I am his most trusted mercenary."
The lizard shook his head and stared intently at the ancient one.
"Ah, no, folks, my mistake. This isn't the one Jabba is looking for. This is his best mercenary. Let him pass!"
Revan nodded courteously, walking past the guards accompanied by his entourage. In case the mind trick failed, he had already contacted HK, who immediately reported the destruction of another group of thugs watching the Skywalkers. The droid also mentioned that he narrowly evaded the Jedi who decided to check the site of the firefight, but everything was clear now.
The elevator ride up to the box didn't take long.
"Oh, look who it is," the Mandalorian woman said, aiming both a blaster and a flamethrower at Revan.
"Hello to you too, Tira Nomad," the former Jedi acknowledged with a slight bow.
The round platform, with the slug-like mass of the Hutt sprawled on it, slowly turned toward the newcomers. The flabby figure of another Hutt was visible behind him, and Revan found it difficult to tell which one he needed.
"Hoh, so you are the scoundrel who caused a ruckus on my dear planet?" Jabba spoke in his native tongue.
'That settles it,' the ancient one thought.
"Most honored Jabba, I have come to you of my own free will to settle this, undoubtedly, misunderstanding that has arisen between us," Revan began in the same language as his interlocutor.
"Have you now?" the crime lord stretched out, a slight chuckle in his voice.
"Absolutely."
"And how do you intend to resolve this... misunderstanding?" the Hutt asked, yawning. "Your interference has caused me losses, both financial and moral. I won't even mention the attempt to undermine my authority on the planet."
The Jedi sensed that several hidden turrets were aimed at him, and a combat squad was waiting for a signal in the next room. He had to act cautiously, but at the same time, confidently. Hutts don't tolerate weakness in negotiations.
"I believe I have something to offer you to atone for my wrongdoing."
"Hoh?" Jabba asked inquisitively.
"Firstly, that is the loyalty of the Blood Claws, among whom no one doubts your authority, great Jabba," Revan said flatteringly, and the mercenaries behind him nodded vigorously. "And I return your subordinate, Noganti, to you."
"Not interesting yet," the Hutt said with a smirk on his toad-like face.
"That's only the beginning," the former Jedi slightly inclined his head. "I also recently stumbled upon the wreckage of a transport ship in the desert, carrying a cargo of an interesting metal."
At these words, the Hutt straightened up and began to scrutinize his interlocutor.
"Well, you've piqued my interest," he conceded.
"I believe we can come to an agreement?"
"You plan to haggle with me using my own merchandise?" Jabba burst into laughter. "What insolence!"
"Formally, the goods are currently with me. Which means they are mine at the moment," Revan said in the same polite tone.
The Hutt narrowed his eyes and made a smacking sound.
"And what prevents me from seizing you and extracting the cargo coordinates?"
"I imagine, interest?"
Jabba once again erupted in booming laughter.
"Did you hear that, Gardulla?" he addressed the second Hutt. "Interest!"
"Why are you even talking to him! It's long past time to silence this insolent one," the aforementioned Gardulla chimed in.
"Mind your own business," Jabba sternly rebuked his relative. "There are too few sentients on this planet who can arouse my interest. So, I will hear him out, and you had better watch the race. Our bet is still on."
Gardulla said something the former Jedi couldn't translate. However, the tone made it clear it was something obscene.
"But my dear colleague in the Cartel is right about one thing. I can choose to ignore my interest."
"I saved a present for just such a case." Revan tugged on Noganti's sleeve and unzipped his jacket.
"Hoh?" the Hutt stretched out, impressed by the sight of several kilograms of powerful explosives strapped to the prisoner's chest harness.
"That's enough for all of us," the Mandalorian woman interjected, estimating the approximate power of the blast.
"In case the negotiations fail, I won't be leaving here alive anyway," Revan said, spreading his hands.
"But that's a manual detonator," the woman concluded. "Which means you can simply be shot before you activate it."
"I'd like to see you try," the former Sith Lord smirked.
"Me too," Jabba said with a laugh. "Didn't you, my dear Nomad, say this fellow is a Jedi? And we all know how effective a blaster is against them."
The mercenary snorted in displeasure.
"There's always a chance," she retorted.
"And for that chance, I have a very effective sniper droid."
The Mandalorian glanced quickly toward the grandstands. Although the open box was covered by a barely discernible shield film, the mercenary knew that for a professional, there was no impenetrable defense. And there was no doubt the droid was a professional. The report of fifty of Jabba's men lost in the past couple of hours made that perfectly clear.
"Excellent!" the Hutt roared with laughter. "Simply excellent. I definitely like you, you impudent human."
"I'm glad I made a good impression."
"So, what do you want?"
"To live in peace, of course," Revan replied with a chuckle.
The Hutt was also amused by the answer.
"And that's all?"
"Of course not," the former Jedi continued. "I would like Ticho Dorma to once again take the place as the Claws' leader."
"And you would regain control over them?" Jabba figured out. "Though, you quickly restored it anyway," the slug-like crime boss gestured toward the quartet of mercenaries behind Revan.
"The Claws are one of the strongest clans in Mos Espa and maintain a relative order here. Which, of course, is also to your advantage, most honored Jabba."
"Hmm... anything else?"
"I became interested in a pair of slaves belonging to the Toydarian Watto," the ancient one risked.
Though this revealed his interest and exposed a potential vulnerability to the Hutt, it was better than having to negotiate again when the winged merchant ran off to complain.
"I do not dispose of his slaves. He won them fairly from Gardulla," Jabba dismissed the point.
"I only ask that you not interfere if he should suddenly... lose them," Revan chose his words carefully.
"Hoh? Interesting thoughts for a Jedi... a former one, I presume?"
"And again, I am struck by your perceptiveness, great Jabba."
"The Order, by rumor, is not fond of rebels. And all renegades are drawn to the Outer Rim," the Hutt drawled thoughtfully, hinting at the end: "The Cartel often utilizes their services."
"I'll always be happy to help," the former Sith Lord bowed slightly. "As long as it doesn't conflict with my own interests."
Jabba let out a benevolent chuckle.
"Well, let's discuss your terms," he said, narrowing his eyes.
The moment Anakin Skywalker crossed the finish line, winning the Boonta Eve Classic race, Revan was already descending from Jabba's VIP box, now the official leader of the Blood Claws clan. Ticho Dorma was to be freed and take the position of his deputy soon. The same quartet of escorts that had accompanied the former Jedi to the stadium had already been sent to fetch him.
Additionally, the ancient one gained the right to unrestricted passage through Hutt space, as well as a reduced percentage on trade in the worlds controlled by the slugs. This came at the cost of almost all his stashed beskar and left him in Jabba's debt.
However, the benefit of an alliance with the Hutts in this region outweighed the potential credits from selling the metal. Provided, of course, that the metal could even be sold to anyone other than the Hutts themselves. After all, Revan had neither documents for the cargo nor confirmation of its origin and quality. Which meant those who could afford to buy such an expensive commodity legally wouldn't deal with him. The only remaining option was the black market, and that was always under the control of the slugs or their hangers-on.
"You're strange for a Jedi," the Mandalorian, Tira, who was escorting him out, commented.
"Why is that?"
"You've got too good a sense for profit. Like some politician... or a general."
Revan suddenly wanted to see what face lay beneath the Mandalorian helmet. There was something familiar in this Mandalorian's manner of speaking. A barely perceptible accent, even when she switched to Mando'a.
"You're not a born Mando'ade, are you?" the Jedi recalled.
"Origin doesn't matter. Only the way of life is important," the woman shrugged.
"Where are you from?"
"Buy me a drink first, and then we can start the heartfelt conversations," she smirked in reply.
"So maybe..."
"Sorry, another time," she slapped his shoulder. "Don't forget to deliver the cargo before tomorrow evening. Otherwise, the hunt will be declared again. And not just for you." With those words, the Mandalorian pushed Revan out of the lift car and closed the doors.
Revan shrugged and turned toward the racetrack.
On the field, a crowd of cheering fans was going wild around the winner. Anakin was being tossed in the air, celebrated for his triumph. The former Jedi knew that feeling, and he involuntarily smiled, indulging in memories for a moment.
Suddenly, he distinctly felt a gaze directed at him and immediately located its source in the crowd. Amidst the excited sea of sentients, Qui-Gon Jinn stood motionless, like a statue.
Revan raised his index finger to his mask near his mouth, gesturing for the Jedi to be silent, and, turning around, disappeared into the alley where HK and the speeder were waiting for him.
———————
Want to read ahead of schedule? Head over to my patreon ——— patreon(.)com/JuanFiction [remove the parentheses ( )]