The hospitality of Mandalorians, at least those Revan knew personally, had always been peculiar, savage, and disconcerting for most inhabitants of the Core Worlds, yet unfailingly appealing to the former Jedi himself. Perhaps it was because not every visitor to a Mandalorian dwelling was considered a "guest." Similarly, not every "guest" was one a Mandalorian would share shelter and provisions with. Everything depended on who the "guest" was. It depended on how they were regarded on Mandalore, how celebrated a warrior or hunter the "guest" was, whether their honor was untainted, and if they had proven their strength. And Revan had once been a guest of Clan Ordo. More than that, he had been a brother-in-arms to Canderous, Mandalore the Preserver.
Lately, the former Republic Army General often recalled conversations with his old friend aboard the Ebon Hawk. Revan remembered how initially surprised he was by the Mandalorian's attitude toward someone he had fought against in war just a few years prior. When Canderous learned that the one who had helped him escape from Taris was, in fact, the very Butcher who had cast the Mandalore's army to the absolute depths, into a whirlpool of chaos and civil war, Revan had feared that his battle-forged Mandalorian comrade might turn against him. However, Ordo showed no animosity; on the contrary, he expressed his respect for his old adversary. In his words, he was almost grateful to Revan for the lesson he had imparted to the Mandalorians—an honest and just victor who had defeated a mad Mandalore the Ultimate in single combat, and who had stripped the Mandalorians of their honor and unity to show how low they had fallen, becoming puppets for those accustomed to hiding in the shadows.
Sevras Nomad reminded Revan of Canderous in many ways. It was gratifying to see that at least within Clan Nomad, the ideals and convictions of Mandalore the Preserver continued to live and evolve. After what he had read on the HoloNet regarding the Mandalorian Civil War and the artistry of Death Watch, the former Jedi had justly feared that the new generation of Mandalorians might follow a misguided path, choosing the deceptively easy route to glory selected before them by the Ultimate's Neo-Crusaders. However, Clan Nomad, as it turned out, was faithful to Canderous's covenants, which was why they decided to support Jaster with his idea of the Supercommando Codex.
Revan already knew about Tira's birth clan's convictions from the mercenary herself, but seeing it with his own eyes was worthwhile. And the former General liked what he saw.
Sevras preferred to continue their conversation not in the Basilisk's Nest, but in a more friendly setting. Revan was accorded the honor of being invited to Sevras's family home, a man who also served as the Deputy Governor for Foreign Trade in the Keldabe administrative region.
The former Jedi did not decline the invitation and was able to see firsthand how members of the Mandalorian Parliament lived. Clan Nomad had earned a reputation as nomads and, to some extent, seekers of ancient artifacts belonging to previous generations of Mandalorians. Yet despite the fact that most clan elders preferred to remain on their ancestral planet of Ordo, Sevras had been sent to Mandalore as Clan Nomad's representative... officially. In reality, as was not hard to guess, Tira's mentor was tasked with observing the new government and gathering intelligence for the clan's needs.
Formally, Clan Nomad was allowed to keep their beskar'gam, but they were only permitted to wear it within a few regions in Mandalorian space and during long-distance flights. Thus, before returning to his home in Keldabe, Sevras covered his armor with a cloak and removed his helmet, revealing his face to Revan. Gray hair and wrinkles betrayed the Mandalorian's respectable age, yet his gaze remained sharp, and his movements precise and confident, as if the years held no sway over him. The man kept his emotions tightly controlled, not a single muscle in his face betraying his mood, which reminded Revan of Canderous. Only when he looked at Tira did a warmth and something that could be called pride appear in his eyes.
The Force, however, allowed the former Jedi to look beneath this mask of indifference and perceive the speaker's true emotions. Sevras was agitated and tense. Revan evoked mistrust and confusion in him, but also hope. Despite this tumult of thoughts and feelings, Nomad continued to maintain an indifferent expression, earning Revan's respect. Few, even among the Jedi, could "hold their face" with such mastery.
The walk to Sevras's home took only twenty minutes, during which everyone remained silent, assessing one another. Or rather, the "assessment" was conducted by Revan and the elderly representative of Clan Nomad. Tira, meanwhile, was trying to understand how she should conduct herself. After all, it was she who had invited Revan to Mandalore and vouched for him initially. Furthermore, an elder of the clan had spoken out in her support at the gathering. Thus, the young woman had involved the entire clan in her gamble. No matter how events developed now, Tira would be held accountable for everything, but the consequences would affect all Nomads.
"My house is your house," Sevras said, letting Revan enter first, showing respect to his guest.
"May his ancestors and Mandalore protect him," the former Jedi replied, just as Canderous had once taught him.
Tira let out a surprised grunt at this. The elder nodded approvingly.
Sevras's house turned out to be quite spacious but furnished in a traditionally austere manner. Steel and duraplast in a monochrome palette, with no bright colors. A table, chairs, a seemingly rigid sofa—that was perhaps all the furniture Revan saw in the room where Sevras had led him and Tira before excusing himself to change. The only things that "enlivened" the interior were the trophies. And there were many. All the walls were lined with racks, shelves, and small display cases filled with weapons, armor fragments, battle-marked helmets, and the skulls of animals and humanoids. Suspended from the ceiling, acting as a light source, was a krayt dragon skull with a spherical lamp clamped in its jaws.
Revan was impressed. Defeating these creatures was difficult even for a group of experienced hunters.
The former Jedi's gaze drifted over another rack and snagged on a gleaming cylinder, whose silhouette was unmistakably the hilt of a lightsaber. Giving in to curiosity, Revan approached and examined the trophy more closely. However, he could find nothing distinctive. The hilt was simple and unpretentious, without any engravings or symbols. A common blade that could easily have belonged to a Padawan or a Knight from Coruscant.
Yes, Revan immediately knew the saber belonged to a Jedi. A Sith would not wield such a weapon. The darkness demanded an outpouring of emotion, a display of individuality, and a designation of status, which was why the weapons of the dark side's adepts were always characterized by an abundance of details and sometimes a terrifying appearance.
Revan thoughtfully ran his finger over the grip of his own blade. The engraving he had so painstakingly carved onto the surface of Bastila's gift, which he now used himself, was distinctly felt even through the armorweave covering his palms. Was his desire to decorate the hilt merely an attempt to please his beloved? Or was he, at that moment, thinking more like a Sith?
Smiling to himself and shaking his head, Revan decided to take the Mandalorian's trophy into his hands. And the moment his fingers touched the cool metal of the hilt, the Force opened up to its adept, revealing a part of the former owner's history.
Snow, pain, horror, and blood… Many deaths… Resentment… a sense of duty… Betrayal… Injustice…
Revan saw a green lightsaber blade cut in half a figure clad in Mandalorian armor. The imprint of the memory was so vivid that Revan could smell burned flesh and even… the triumph that had gripped the Jedi who struck down his opponent. And in the next instant, the Force conveyed the killer's wrath… the fury of someone who had lost a friend and a brother-in-arms. All his bitterness and hatred. This person was enraged. Revan managed to catch fragments of thoughts and feelings, among which "deception and betrayal" stood out.
The vision continued. The saber's owner turned toward the source of the threat. It was a Mandalorian in gray-blue armor, who rushed toward him with a war-cry. Five Jedi stood between the blade's master and the Mandalorian... And what happened next made Revan once again view the Mandalorians as dangerous and worthy adversaries. It was the first time since his arrival on Mandalore.
The Mandalorian in the vision rapidly closed the distance with the former owner of the trophy lightsaber, dispatching the Jedi who stood in his path with astonishing ease. What astonished Revan most was that the Mandalorian was unarmed. His blaster lay ten meters away in the snow, but the avenger was not deterred. He was literally running toward death… which, as it turned out, was not his own, but that of his enemies.
The very first Jedi who blocked his path and attempted to bisect the Mandalorian with a downward strike received a handful of snow to the face. Such a move would not have even slowed a trained Force-sensitive, but here the Mandalorian was lucky. Apparently, his opponent was a Padawan with concentration issues in combat. Otherwise, Revan could not explain why such an obvious move blinded and disoriented the Order member for a whole second and a half, just enough time for the Mandalorian to dislocate his shoulder, break his wrist, and block the lightsaber of another Force-sensitive with the blade still gripped in the first Jedi's hand. Knocking his new opponent off balance, the warrior in armor delivered a powerful blow to his jaw, forcing the Jedi to recoil and nearly fall.
The Mandalorian quickly took advantage of his opponent's hesitation to shove his first foe, who was screaming in pain from his damaged arms, directly onto the blade of the third Jedi's lightsaber. The blue blade emerged from the Padawan's chest, ending his life.
Stunned that an ally and fellow member of the Order had died by his hands, the Jedi didn't even notice the Mandalorian appear behind him and take a hold of his neck. But before dying from a fractured cervical spine, the poor man managed to see his own lightsaber take the life of yet another comrade. The Jedi who had previously received the jaw-blow, having rushed in at the wrong moment, was impaled on the outstretched lightsaber still clutched in the hands of his captured Order-brother… only his wrist was now guided by a hand encased in Mandalorian armor.
The former owner of the trophy blade was distracted from the avenger's figure, turning to defend against another Mandalorian's attack, and thus did not see the first warrior dispatch two more Jedi. When he finally turned back to the knot of hatred that shone like a black sun in the Force, the Mandalorian was a step away, and in the next moment, he clamped his hands around the Jedi's throat.
The torrent of rage, pain, and the sensation of his comrades' deaths disoriented the blade's master, and although he desperately tried to fight, the armored warrior inexorably squeezed the life out of him. In just a few dozen seconds, it was all over. The Mandalorian crushed the Jedi's larynx and trachea, cut off blood flow to the brain by compressing both carotid arteries, and finally, with a swift movement, displaced his victim's cervical vertebrae, severing the spinal cord.
Only now did Revan spot the markings of Clan Fett on the Mandalorian's armor.
The former Jedi snatched his hand back and recoiled.
"Fett again," Revan thought.
He felt the urge to wash his hand, as if he had touched something vile.
Although Revan understood where the blade's owner had been killed, and the former Jedi understood the Mandalorian's actions given the dark history surrounding Galidraan, it was difficult to overcome his dislike for the descendants of Cassus Fett.
"This blade," Sevras's voice echoed from behind, "is the only thing in this room that was not acquired by me personally."
"I know," Revan replied. "It's a blade from Galidraan, and the only surviving Mandalorian there was Jango Fett."
"True," Nomad confirmed, surprised by the former Jedi's knowledge. "Mandalore gifted me this saber as a token of the oath he swore."
"Which was?"
"To find and punish those responsible for the deaths of the True Mandalorians."
Revan turned to Sevras.
"Why did he give it specifically to you?"
"This saber belonged to the killer of my adopted son," Nomad replied, a flicker of hatred briefly crossing his eyes as he looked at the cylindrical hilt. "His name was Myles."
"He died on Galidraan?" Revan asked, though the answer was obvious.
"Yes."
"I am sorry…"
"Do not pity the dead," Sevras shook his head. "They have found peace. Pity the living instead. They have yet to feel the vengeance for my son and brother."
Revan did not argue. The views on the afterlife for Force adepts differed from what the Mandalorians believed. Peace after merging with the Force was a reward not every Force-sensitive received. One needed only recall the ghosts and restless spirits encountered in places strong with the Force. Not every one of them considered such an existence a blessing, dreaming of leaving the world of the living and finding their desired rest.
"Where did Jango get this saber?" Revan decided to change the subject. "I heard he was arrested on Galidraan. They certainly wouldn't have let him take a trophy with him."
"After his escape, Jango Fett returned to Galidraan for the beskar'gam that was taken from him. While there, he visited the battlefield where his brethren died," Sevras answered. "The saber was the only find he recovered. In his words, the hilt, two-thirds buried in the loose soil, immediately caught his eye…"
"As if the saber wanted to be found," Revan finished for the Mandalorian.
"Yes," Nomad nodded in agreement.
'Perhaps it did,' Revan thought. 'The Force wished for this trophy to go to the victor. That is why no one else found it. The joy at the opponent's death was a disturbing sign, suggesting that the Padawan was close to losing control and giving himself over to the Dark Side, becoming a Fallen… an uncontrollable monster driven only by desires…'
Revan smirked at his own thoughts when he considered that the saber had betrayed its owner and abandoned him as an act of atonement. Ridiculous. As if a weapon possessed its own mind. Of course not.
It was simply the will of the Force. After all, every Jedi knows that there are no accidents, just as there is no luck. There is only the Force and its manifestations.
And on that day, the Force was on Jango Fett's side, since it allowed him to dispatch six of its adepts with his bare hands. Perhaps even HK and Canderous together couldn't have pulled off such a trick. Or perhaps Revan was simply judging based on knowledge of the skills and training of the members of that Order, the one that ceased to exist four thousand years ago.
"I must admit, I still cannot believe you are who you claim to be," Nomad's voice drew Revan from his reverie.
"I am who I am," the former Sith Lord shrugged. "Even if I look different now."
"How is that possible?" Sevras found it hard to believe.
"The Force," Revan replied. "Its possibilities are limitless, and we have not yet studied even a negligible part of its mysteries."
The Mandalorian snorted.
"The Force. You, jetii, always justify everything with your mysticism," Nomad grumbled.
"That's true," Revan agreed with a smile. "And don't ask me to prove anything. We learn much directly from the Force through feelings and vague visions, trying to interpret them to the best of our abilities and understanding. But all of it is extremely nebulous. So, all that remains for us is… to believe."
"Most religions are founded on self-deception and a craving for control or profit," the Mandalorian noted.
"But not in this case," Revan shook his head. "It cannot be explained. You have to feel it. And to feel it, you have to be Force-sensitive."
"It's all too vague."
"I won't argue."
"Philosophical disputes are certainly useful for self-development," Tira cut into the conversation, "but we have real problems that require attention."
"Tira," Sevras shook his head reproachfully. "Your impatience has always been a vice I tried to rid you of."
"Forgive me, Mentor, but the matter truly brooks no delay," the mercenary insisted. "You understand everything yourself. I brought a stranger to us. Not just a stranger, but Revan. And the whole clan vouched for him, even without knowing his true identity! Now, if anything…"
"That should have been thought of before you came to Mandalore," Sevras cut the young woman off. "Now, meaningless fuss and panic will not help anything. Remember, a warrior must be swift, but patient. Haste has ruined more than one generation of our brethren."
"I… yes, Mentor."
It was clear Tira disagreed with Sevras, but she dared not contradict him.
Revan was on the side of the elder Nomad. They could not rush here. The coup needed to be carefully prepared. And for that, intelligence needed to be gathered.
"Just one more question, and I would also not be opposed to returning to the discussion of Mandalore's future," Revan smiled at Tira, then turned back to Sevras. "You mentioned some kind of legend or prophecy? Something about the 'Butcher,' correct?"
"Yes," the Mandalorian agreed. "Those were words from the diaries of Mandalore the Preserver. Before his death, he recorded several messages for his descendants. Mostly, they were instructions on what the future of our people should be. A warning about the threat posed by Dark Siders and corrupt politicians. Mandalore had to remain independent… We failed him there."
"What about the message concerning the 'Butcher'?"
"According to the Preserver, one day the Butcher, who brought our people to their knees and then gave them a chance to restore their honor, will return in the darkest hour, when the Mandalorians are once again on the brink of the abyss, to lend a helping hand and save us… or to finally destroy us."
Revan pondered his old friend's words. The warning was clearly about him, about Revan. After all, the Mandalorians had nicknamed him the Butcher. But why would Canderous issue this… essentially a prophecy? He was not Force-sensitive and did not possess the gift of foresight? Could he have simply calculated everything so accurately? No, definitely not. The timeframe was too vast, everything was too inconstant. Even the Force cannot give an exact prediction regarding an ever-changing future.
His fingers automatically sought out the mask, concealed beneath his cloak and hanging from his belt. A thought instantly illuminated his mind.
"Bastila," Revan whispered almost inaudibly.
She had given him the mask and the saber, believing he would return even from oblivion. Whether she had a vision, or if she simply hoped for such an outcome… it was not so important. The mask and saber had found their intended recipient after four thousand years, but they found him nonetheless.
Bastila, according to HK's stories, maintained contact with all members of the old Ebon Hawk crew. Including Mandalore the Preserver. How often they communicated, Revan did not know, but he could assume that it was thanks to Shan's influence that Canderous left such messages. Perhaps he was inspired by the holocron Bastila was creating? Who knew…
Or was there a chance to check?
"Sevras, do the records of Mandalore the Preserver mention someone named Bastila Shan?"
"Yes," Nomad nodded confidently. "I think that fact specifically caused such a reaction from the council of clans when your… ahem, name was mentioned."
Everything was becoming slightly clearer. The Mandalorians were mistaking him for a descendant of the Shan line, and this, given the connection between the holders of that surname and Clan Ordo, provided certain advantages. At the very least, he could hope for a small measure of trust.
Meanwhile, Nomad prepared three servings of aromatic caf, waiting for his guest to be ready to continue the conversation.
Revan, for his part, was reflecting on the possibility of visiting the planet Ordo and reviewing Canderous's records. Noticing Nomad's actions, the man decided to set aside those thoughts and return to more urgent matters. After all, he had promised.
"Still, we really should discuss some things," the former Jedi reminded them when Sevras invited them all to sit down.
"Well, I also see no point in postponing this conversation," Nomad nodded. "In the end, it doesn't really matter who you truly are. We need help… Intrigue, unfortunately, is not our forte. We are warriors. But in the current situation, we must act subtly and skillfully. The ruling party surpasses us by a head in this regard."
"I can help with that, but I will need trained people who are well-versed in the politics of both the planet and the sector, and the Republic Senate."
"Such people will be difficult to find, but possible. But questions of their loyalty will inevitably arise," Nomad mused.
"What about Kryze and her entourage? It would be good to find supporters among her retinue. Ideally, to recruit the Duchess herself," Revan suggested.
Sevras shook his head.
"The latter can certainly be ruled out," Nomad categorically stated. "Duchess Satine fully and completely supports the pacifists' views. So blindly, in fact, that she fails to notice the harm her policies cause. The rejection of an army has provoked a rise in corruption and crime in the sector, the emergence of a black market, and a whole swarm of smugglers. However, the Duchess prefers to see only gardens, fancy receptions, and articles on the HoloNet about the 'positive' changes on Mandalore."
"An idealist?" Revan suggested, involuntarily recalling the Queen of Naboo, who was nearly a victim of galactic politics.
"A convinced one," Sevras agreed.
"Based on the information available on the HoloNet, she entered the political arena at a young age, even by Mandalorian standards. Someone is backing her, am I right?"
"Officially, the Pacifist Party supports her. They also prepared her for nomination to the post of official representative of Mandalore, and later as the Duchess. However, with the growth of her own influence, their power over her became less obvious. It is now unclear whose interests Satine is acting in."
"The people of Mandalore?" Revan scoffed, not believing for a second that a politician could show concern for anyone but herself and her own power.
Nomad did not support his guest's unconcealed sarcasm.
"It will sound ridiculous, but in my opinion, she genuinely believes she is taking care of our people. However, for some reason, she cannot decide on the course of her own policy. One moment she advocates for Mandalore's independence from the Senate's decisions, and the next, she supports the Republic's reforms and even considers replacing our law enforcement forces with the Judicial Corps."
Revan had met such sector rulers before. Most often, they were torn by internal contradictions due to the impossibility of successfully developing while preserving traditions. Conservatism and progress rarely coexist well. However, this case was slightly different. Apparently, the Duchess sincerely wished to adhere to the policy of pacifism, creating the image of a peaceful Mandalore… But at the same time, she must have understood that she was thereby making her homeworld a tempting target for those who might want to exploit the defenselessness of a world that, while not wealthy, was economically stable. Especially since there was such a vivid example recently—Naboo. The Judicial Corps was meant to be a compromise. No army of their own, but a Republic one… or its remnant… but still.
"It might be worth speaking with the Duchess in person," Revan concluded aloud. "I want to understand what kind of person she is and what exactly she is trying to achieve."
"I think that can be arranged," Nomad nodded thoughtfully. "I have a meeting scheduled with the Duchess in a few days. I could bring you to the palace as a fellow clan member."
"It would be better to introduce him as a member of the Jedi Order," Tira suggested, having silently sipped her caf until now.
"Are you officially part of the Order?" Nomad asked in surprise.
"Yes."
"Then that simplifies matters," Sevras smiled, having clearly made a decision. "The Duchess trusts the Jedi even more than her own people."
"Even so?" the former Sith drawled with doubt.
If the young woman cared so much about her people… why then did she not trust them?
"Several years ago, there was a series of assassination attempts against her. Death Watch was behind it, but there was no proof. And the Senate sent two Jedi to guard the Duchess and investigate the incidents," Sevras explained.
"Who were they, if it's not a secret?" Revan inquired.
"Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his Padawan."
"Kenobi?" the former Jedi asked, surprised.
"Yes. Do you know them?"
"Quite well," Revan smiled slyly. "That could come in handy."
Of course, it was far from certain that Jinn would agree to help Revan, and Kenobi was not even worth mentioning. But there was still a chance for cooperation, at least from Qui-Gon. That would provide many opportunities.
"In case you decide to introduce me as a member of the Order, among the Jedi I am known as Knight Avner Van."
"Another fake identity?" Sevras inquired.
"Yes."
"And is it not difficult to juggle so many names?" the Mandalorian chuckled.
"Not at all," Revan dismissed. "The fewer connections there are between Knight Avner Van, Vaner Shan of the Hutt Cartel, and Revan, the resurrected, the better."
The former Sith Lord himself thought that his new vessel also had a birth name: Mizar Marr.
"In the Outer Rim, that's only a plus," Tira added in a low voice, while the elder was distracted by a comm-call. "It makes it harder for mercenaries to find their target."
"I don't doubt I'm being sought already," Revan smiled, giving the young woman a grateful nod for her support.
"A five hundred thousand credit bounty from Black Sun," the mercenary showed a small communicator, on the holodisplay of which the amount was shown. "And another million from a contractor who wished to remain unknown. The contracts are under different names."
"I'm popular," Revan frowned. "You'll give me more information later."
The young woman nodded.
Meanwhile, Sevras ended his conversation and switched off the communicator.
"I apologize, but my presence is required at an emergency parliamentary session. It concerns the explosion on Concordia," Nomad explained. "I will inform Tira when we can meet again and plan the visit to the Duchess in more detail. I will also try to convince the other clans to provide you with all possible assistance."
"Thank you," Revan nodded. "That is quite sufficient."
"In that case, I must excuse myself. I need to change," With these words, Sevras Nomad left his guests alone.
"Should we leave?" the former Jedi suggested, turning to the mercenary.
"Yes, we shouldn't trouble the old man," Tira smirked.
"I heard that, little firebrand!" the elder clan member's voice rang out from the next room. "You can call me an old man when you defeat me in the Battle Circle!"
"Apologies, Mentor!" the young woman called back, and then whispered to Revan, "Now we definitely need to leave."
Neither of them wished to wait for a new round of mentoring from the old Mandalorian.
Sitting in the speeder and maneuvering through the traffic on the aerial highway, Tira decided to continue the conversation.
"So, what do you think?" she asked her companion, who was in a state of semi-drowsiness.
Revan, all this time, had been in a meditative semi-trance, contemplating the information received at the clan gathering. The position of the True Mandalorians was dire. They had opportunities to act, but the warriors, accustomed to force-based methods, did not know how to utilize them. A different matter entirely for a former Sith Lord…
"What about?" Revan surfaced from his thoughts.
"The meeting."
"Honestly… I am disappointed," the former Jedi shrugged.
"Yes… I understand," Nomad nodded.
"I don't think so," Revan countered. "Be assured, your view of the situation and mine are different."
"How can you be so certain?"
"I just know it," Revan smiled faintly.
The former Republic Army General and Emperor of his own galactic state, albeit one that lasted only a short time, had vast experience studying people and their behavior. And to analyze Tira's character and way of thinking was simple: an exiled woman who lost her home in a caste-based society, the residual effects of which could still be felt in her emotional responses. This traumatized child, once considered an outcast among her own, fell into the hands of the Mandalorians, who gave her a home, family, and a foundation. More than that, they gave her a purpose! She was more like the Mandalorians Revan had known long ago than the current representatives of the ancient clans. That is why Revan understood her disappointment. But his indignation stemmed from a slightly different cause.
"You believe the Mandalorians have lost themselves, their heritage, and become mere pale shadows of the past, right?" the former Jedi preempted her objection.
"And do you think otherwise?" the mercenary asked, surprised.
"No, in that we agree."
"Then what else?"
"What disappoints me is your people's single-minded approach to the question of regime change. Focused on brute-force methods, they overlook politics, which is why they ended up in such a dire situation."
"We are warriors," Tira stated passionately.
Revan shook his head, noting that Chiss pride and Mandalorian upbringing were a volatile mix.
"A warrior must not only use his muscles. A flexible mind is essential."
"What are you suggesting?"
"That you should have solidified your position in the parliament long ago. Action would then be significantly easier."
The young woman offered no reply to this, and for several minutes the silence was broken only by the hum of the speeder's engines and the rush of wind outside the viewport.
"Will you help us?" Nomad suddenly asked.
"I have already promised."
"But can you?" the young woman asked, her new question much quieter and less certain.
Revan recalled his own experience dealing with bureaucracy and politics; first of the Order, then the Senate. His brief rule over the Empire flashed in his mind… But most vivid were the memories of three centuries of merging with the mind of a monster. The one who managed to lure the strongest Sith of his generation to Nathema and outwit them. The one who, born the unwanted offspring of a minor lord, became the immortal Emperor whose name some still fear to speak aloud.
Oh yes… He was skilled in intrigue and saw through his followers. Were it not for the exhaustion from so many years of the struggle for power and Revan's influence, Vitiate would still rule the Empire. And the Republic would have ceased to exist four thousand years ago.
And it was precisely these memories that now had to help Revan pull Mandalore out of the bantha fodder mess it had sunk into. However unpleasant it was for the former prisoner of the Emperor, the ancient enemy's experience had to work for the benefit of the future.
"I can," Revan replied confidently, ending the discussion.
The first person the former Jedi met aboard the Dawn's Eagle was, strangely enough, HK-47. The droid was practically radiating smugness, his whole demeanor showing pride in a job well done. This was in sharp contrast to his master's mood.
"Joyful Greeting: Welcome aboard, Master. Your order was executed without complications," the droid crisply stated.
R2 rolled out from behind the assassin's legs and whistled an equally cheerful greeting.
Revan's eye twitched at the sight. It was difficult to suppress the surging emotions that arose at the sight of the satisfied pair. Several arcs of electricity even sparked between the former Sith's fingers.
"And what am I to make of this?" Revan inquired, exhaling sharply.
"Uncomprehending Clarification: Master?"
"HK, what was your order?" the former Jedi began with deceptive calm.
"Answer: To find information about Death Watch on Concordia, Master."
"Did I set any additional conditions?"
"Answer: To leave no traces."
Revan nodded.
"It's very good that your audio sensors are intact and your memory is reliable," the droid's master ground out. "R2, show the sector news roundup for the last hour."
The astromech peeped quizzically, as if seeking confirmation of the order.
"You heard me," Revan growled.
Rolling back slightly, R2 sadly chirped something and projected a holoprojection of one of the news channels.
Footage of a blazing mine shaft was interspersed with emotional broadcasts from the anchor and clips from the Governor of Concordia's statement, offering condolences to the families of the few workers who happened to be inspecting the closed mine.
"And you call that "no traces"?" Revan gestured at the holoprojection.
"Observation: No witnesses or evidence pointing to our presence on the planet remain, Master. We took care of that…"
"You blew up a mine!" Revan raised his voice. "You thereby attracted the attention of the Governor of Concordia, the media, and the Parliament! Could you not, just once, have done without chaos and destruction?"
"Justification: Master, the situation developed in such a way that this was the most acceptable outcome," HK declared.
"To detonate a mine?"
"Clarification: To detonate a Death Watch base…"
Smack!
Revan's hand slapped his own face.
"So, you also stirred up our presumed enemy?" the former Jedi sighed tiredly.
"Confident Explanation: The cleanup was necessary, Master."
"Start talking already…"
HK spent over an hour explaining his version of events, occasionally resorting to the astromech's help, who enthusiastically confirmed the assassin droid's words. Revan listened, frowning thoughtfully and pacing the cargo hold where the conversation was taking place. Only towards the end of the story did the former Jedi allow himself to once again press his palm to his face, after which he turned to the compartment wall and leaned his forehead against it, muttering something incoherent.
"So, to summarize all your artistry," Revan drawled toward the metallic plating of the hold, "you revealed yourselves everywhere you possibly could, which forced you to liquidate a huge number of people along with a fortified secret base and all the evidence that could have later been used for political pressure or to prove to the Senate or any other interested parties the existence of a terrorist organization near Mandalore. Along the way, you captured someone, which, incidentally, could have compromised all of us if your cargo had been inspected at the port upon return. And yes, why wasn't it inspected?"
"Explanation: Diplomatic status."
"You hacked the spaceport database?"
"Affirmative."
"Did you at least cover your tracks?"
"Offended: Affirmative, Master. I do not make such mistakes."
"Don't even start," his creator cut the droid off. "You've just gotten very good at fixing them."
The assassin droid fell silent.
Revan tiredly rubbed his temples, soothing a suddenly erupting migraine. Suppressing his anger was proving to be quite a challenge.
"Did you at least think to check if there were any civilians or prisoners in the mine?"
At that moment, the former Jedi was inwardly glad that Tira had not stayed to talk with the droids but had gone to meet with one of her informants. Otherwise, the next question would have been asked by her. And much more emotionally.
"And did either of you remember the hostages kidnapped by Death Watch?" Revan pressed. "The very ones we were asked to rescue in the first place? The ones this whole thing was started for?"
Judging by HK's appearance and the convulsive twitches of his manipulators, he was on the verge of a short circuit. Obviously, a significant conflict was raging in his personality matrix. On the one hand, he was only ordered to gather intelligence. On the other, his actions could harm his Master and his plans. The protocols rebelled and turned against each other, overloading his processing core.
But the astromech came to the killer's aid, brightly chattering in binary about connecting to the mine's internal surveillance network and the absence of any prisoners on the territory of the destroyed Death Watch base.
"Are you certain?" Revan clarified.
The droid happily beeped confirmation and even provided a holorecording with a schematic of the underground refuge, now lying in ruins on Concordia.
"Well, that's something good at least," Revan concluded grimly.
"Timid Remark: We also acquired a valuable source of information, besides the Death Watch database, Master," HK added."
"You mean a prisoner?
"Clarification: A female prisoner. Bo-Katan Kryze…"
"Wait, who?!" Revan turned sharply to the droids.
"Re-clarification: Bo-Katan Kryze, sister of Duchess Satine and one of the Death Watch lieutenants," HK reported with much greater confidence, having calculated that the Master would be pleased with this information.
"HK… I take back what I said," the former Sith smirked. "You did a superb job. Where is the prisoner?"
"Joyful Answer: Second cargo hold. In a cargo container."
"Excellent."
The situation had shifted from utterly dismal to merely difficult. And depending on how the conversation with the younger Kryze went, it could even become the beginning of a successful campaign to overthrow the current government.
It remained to be seen how one Kryze differed from the other. It would make finding an approach to the Duchess easier.
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