The hospitality of the Mandalorians, at least those with whom Revan was personally acquainted, was always peculiar, wild, and disconcerting for most inhabitants of the Core Worlds, but invariably attractive to the former Jedi himself. Perhaps it was because not every visitor to a Mandalorian dwelling was considered a "guest." Just as not every "guest" would share hearth and food with a Mandalorian. It all depended on who the "guest" was. How they were regarded on Mandalore, how renowned a warrior or hunter the "guest" was, whether they had tarnished their honor and proven their strength. And Revan had once been a guest of the Ordo clan. Even more so, he was a brother-in-arms to Canderous, Mandalore the Keeper.
The former general of the Republic Army often recalled conversations with his old friend on board the Ebon Hawk. Revan remembered how initially surprised he was by the Mandalorian's attitude towards someone he had fought against in the war just a few years earlier. When Canderous learned that the one who helped him escape from Taris was actually the "Butcher" who had driven Mandalore's army to the brink, into the abyss of chaos and infighting, Revan feared that the Mandalorian, who had become his comrade-in-arms, might turn against him. However, Ordo showed no hostility; rather, he expressed his respect for his old opponent. In his words, he was almost grateful to Revan for the lesson he taught the Mandalorians. A fair and just victor who defeated the maddened Mandalore the Ultimate in combat... and took away the Mandalorians' honor and unity to show how low they had fallen, becoming puppets of those who preferred to lurk in the shadows.
Sevras Nomad, in many ways, reminded Revan of Canderous. It was gratifying to see that at least within the Nomad clan, the ideas and beliefs of Mandalore the Keeper continued to live and develop. After what he had read in the HoloNet regarding the civil war on Mandalore and the "antics" of the Death Watch, the former Jedi rightly feared that the new generation of Mandalorians might have gone down the wrong path, choosing the deceptively easy path to glory, chosen by the Neo-Crusaders of the Ultimate before them. However, the Nomad clan, as it turned out, remained true to Canderous's precepts, which is why they decided to support Jaster with his idea of the Supercommando Codex.
Revan already knew about the beliefs of Tyra's own clan from the mercenary herself, but seeing it with his own eyes was not superfluous. And what the former general saw, he liked.
Sevras preferred to continue the conversation not in the Basilisk Nest, but in a more friendly setting. Revan was honored to be invited to Sevras's family home, who turned out to be the deputy governor of the administrative region of Keldabe for foreign trade.
The former Jedi did not refuse the invitation and was able to see firsthand how the members of the Mandalorian parliament lived. The Nomad clan had earned a reputation as nomads and, to some extent, seekers of ancient artifacts belonging to previous generations of Mandalorians. However, despite the fact that most of the clan elders preferred to remain on their homeworld of Ordo, Sevras was sent to Mandalore as a representative of the Nomad clan... officially. In reality, as was not difficult to guess, the task of Tyra's mentor was to observe the new government and gather information for the clan's needs.
Formally, the Nomad clan was allowed to keep their beskar'gam, but wearing it was permitted only within several regions in Mandalorian space and during long-distance flights. Therefore, 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 indicated the Mandalorian's venerable age, but his gaze remained sharp, and his movements precise and confident, as if years had no power over him. He kept his emotions under control, not betraying his mood with a single muscle on his face, which reminded Revan of Canderous. Only when looking at Tyra did warmth and something that could be called pride appear in the Mandalorian's eyes. His Force abilities allowed the former Jedi to look beneath this mask of indifference and discern the interlocutor's true emotions. Sevras was agitated and tense. Revan evoked distrust and confusion in him, but also hope. Amidst this riot of thoughts and emotions, Nomad continued to maintain an indifferent expression, which commanded respect. Few, even among the Jedi, could "keep a poker face" with such mastery.
The journey to Sevras's dwelling took only twenty minutes, during which they all remained silent, evaluating each other. Or rather, Revan and the elderly representative of the Nomad clan were engaged in "evaluation." Tyra, on the other hand, was trying to figure out how she should behave. After all, it was she who had invited Revan to Mandalore and vouched for him initially. At the meeting, the clan elder had spoken in her support. Thus, the girl had drawn the entire clan into her adventure. No matter how events unfolded now, Tyra would be to blame for everything, but the consequences would affect all Nomads.
"My home is your home," Sevras let Revan in first, showing respect to the guest.
"May the ancestors and Mandalore protect it," the former Jedi replied as Canderous had taught him.
Tyra let out a surprised snort at this. The elder nodded approvingly.
Sevras's house turned out to be quite spacious, but traditionally austerely furnished. Steel and plastic in monochrome shades, no bright colors. A table, chairs, a stiff-looking sofa – that was perhaps all the furniture Revan saw in the room where Sevras had taken him and Tyra, having gone to change. The only thing that "animated" the interior were the trophies. And there were many of them. All the walls were filled with shelves, ledges, and small display cases, on which one could see weapons, fragments of armor, helmets with battle scars, skulls of animals and humanoids. Under the ceiling, serving as a light source, was the skull of a krayt dragon with a spherical lamp clutched in its jaws.
Revan was impressed. Defeating these creatures was not easy, even in a group with experienced hunters.
The former Jedi's gaze slid over another shelf and caught on a shiny cylinder, in the outline of which the hilt of a lightsaber could be discerned. Yielding to curiosity, Revan approached and examined the trophy more closely. However, nothing distinctive could be found. The hilt was simple and unpretentious, without any engravings or symbols. An ordinary blade that could well have belonged to a Padawan or Knight from Coruscant.
Yes, Revan understood immediately that the sword belonged to a Jedi. A Sith would not wield such a weapon. Darkness demanded an outlet for emotions, a display of individuality, a statement of status, which was why the weapons of dark side adepts always differed in their abundance of details and, at times, a rather terrifying appearance.
Revan thoughtfully ran a finger along the hilt of his own blade. The engraving, which he had so painstakingly carved onto the surface of Bastila's gift, now used by himself, was clearly felt even through the threadbare armor covering his palms. Was it merely a desire to adorn the hilt to please his beloved? Or was he thinking more like a Sith at that moment?
Smiling 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 revealed to its adept a part of the former owner's history.
Snow, pain, horror, and blood... Many deaths... Resentment... a sense of duty... Betrayal... Injustice...
Revan saw how a green lightsaber blade split in half a figure clad in Mandalorian armor. The imprint of the memory was so vivid that Revan smelled the scorched flesh and even... the triumph that engulfed the Jedi who had struck down his opponent. And the next moment, the Force conveyed to the killer his anger... the rage of one who had lost a friend and brother-in-arms. All his resentment and hatred. This someone was furious. Revan managed to catch fragments of thoughts and feelings, among which "deception and betrayal" stood out.
The vision continued. The owner of the sword turned towards the source of the threat. It turned out to be a Mandalorian in gray-blue armor, who, with a war cry, rushed towards him. Standing between the wielder of the blade and the Mandalorian were five Jedi... And what happened next made Revan look at the Mandalorians once again as dangerous and worthy opponents. For the first time since his arrival on Mandalore.
The Mandalorian in the vision closed the distance with the former owner of the trophy lightsaber with incredible speed, dispatching the Jedi who stood in his path with astonishing ease. And what surprised Revan the most was that the Mandalorian was unarmed. His blaster lay ten meters away in the snow, but this did not bother the avenger in the least. He was literally running towards death... which, as it turned out, was not his own, but that of his enemies.
The first Jedi who blocked his path and tried to cut down the Mandalorian with a blow from above received a handful of snow in the face. Such a move would not have even slowed down a trained Force-sensitive, but here the Mandalorian was lucky. Apparently, the opponent was a Padawan with concentration problems in combat. Otherwise, Revan could not explain why such an obvious move blinded and disoriented a member of the Order for a full second and a half, which was enough for the Mandalorian to break his shoulder, fracture his wrist, and block the lightsaber of another Force-sensitive, still held in his hand. Knocking the new opponent off balance, the warrior in armor delivered a powerful blow to his jaw, causing the Jedi to recoil and almost fall.
The Mandalorian hastened to take advantage of his opponent's hesitation to push away his first opponent, who was screaming in pain from his damaged hands, directly onto the lightsaber blade of the third Jedi. The blue blade emerged from the Padawan's chest, ending his life.
Stunned that an ally and brother-in-arms had died by his hand, the Jedi did not even notice when the Mandalorian got behind him and grabbed his neck. But before dying from a broken neck, the poor fellow managed to see his sword take the life of another comrade. A Jedi who had previously been hit in the jaw, and who had run up at the wrong time, impaled himself on the outstretched sword, still held in the hands of his captured comrade... only his wrist was guided by a hand clad in Mandalorian armor.
The former owner of the trophy sword was distracted from the avenger's figure to defend himself from another Mandalorian's attack and did not see how he dispatched two more Jedi. When he turned back to that ball of hatred, which shone like a black sun in the Force, the Mandalorian was a step away from him and the next moment grabbed his throat with his hands.
The torrent of rage, pain, and the sensations of his comrades' deaths disoriented the wielder of the blade, and despite his desperate struggle, the warrior in armor relentlessly 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 pinching both carotid arteries, and finally, with a sharp movement, dislocated his victim's cervical vertebrae, tearing the spinal column.
Only now did Revan notice the markings of Clan Fett on the Mandalorian's armor.
The former Jedi pulled his hand back and recoiled.
"Fett again," flashed through Revan's mind.
He wanted to wash his hand as if it had touched something vile.
Although Revan understood where the wielder of this blade had been killed, and the former Jedi understood the Mandalorian's actions, considering the dark history surrounding Galidraan, it was not easy to overcome his dislike for Cassus Fett's descendants.
"This blade," Sevras's voice sounded from behind, "is the only thing in this room that I did not personally acquire."
"I know," Revan replied, "It's a blade from Galidraan, and the only surviving Mandalorian there was Jango Fett."
"Correct," Nomad confirmed, surprised by the former Jedi's knowledge, "Mandalore gifted me this sword as a sign of the oath he swore."
"What oath?"
"To find and punish those responsible for the death of the True Mandalorians."
Revan turned to Sevras.
"Why did he give it to you specifically?"
"This sword belonged to the killer of my adopted son," Nomad replied, a flash of hatred momentarily igniting in his eyes as he looked at the cylinder of the hilt, "His name was Miles."
"He died on Galidraan?" Revan asked, the answer to which was already obvious.
"Yes."
"I'm sorry..."
"Don't pity the dead," Sevras shook his head, "They have found peace. Pity the living better. They still have to feel the vengeance for a son and brother."
Revan did not argue. The Force adepts' views on the afterlife differed from what the Mandalorians believed. Peace after merging with the Force was a reward not every Force-sensitive was worthy of. It was enough to recall the ghosts and restless spirits that could be encountered in places of Force concentration. Not all of them found such an existence a blessing, dreaming of leaving the world of the living and finding the desired peace.
"Where did Jango get this sword?" Revan decided to change the subject, "I heard he was arrested on Galidraan. They wouldn't have let him take a trophy with him."
"After his escape, Jango Fett returned to Galidraan for his stolen beskar'gam. There, he visited the battlefield where his brethren had died," Sevras replied, "The sword was the only find he made. According to him, the hilt, two-thirds buried in the loose soil, immediately caught his eye..."
"As if the sword wanted to be found," Revan finished for the Mandalorian.
"Yes," Nomad nodded in agreement.
"Perhaps it did," Revan thought, "The Force willed for this trophy to go to the victor. That's why no one else found it. The joy from the enemy's death was an alarming sign, indicating that the Padawan was close to losing control and succumbing to the Dark Side, becoming a Fallen One... an uncontrollable monster driven only by desires..."
Revan chuckled at his thoughts, considering that the sword had betrayed its owner and left him for atonement. Ridiculous. As if a weapon had its own mind. Of course not.
It was simply the will of the Force. After all, every Jedi knows that there are no coincidences, nor luck. There is only the Force and its manifestations.
And on that day, the Force was on Jango Fett's side, allowing him to dispatch six of its adepts with his bare hands. Perhaps even HK and Canderous couldn't have pulled off such a trick. Or perhaps Revan was simply judging based on his knowledge of the skills and training of the members of "that" Order. Those who have been gone for four thousand years.
"I admit, I still can't believe you are who you say you are," Nomad's voice pulled Revan out of his thoughts.
"I am who I am," the former Sith Lord shrugged, "Though I may look different now."
"How is that possible?" Sevras couldn't believe what was happening.
"The Force," Revan replied, "Its possibilities are limitless, and we have not yet explored even a minuscule part of its mysteries."
The Mandalorian snorted.
"The Force. You jetii always justify everything with your mysticism," Nomad grumbled.
"That's how it is," Revan agreed with a smile, "And don't ask me to prove anything. We learn much directly from the Force through sensations and vague visions, trying to interpret them to the best of our abilities and understanding. But it's all very vague. So all we can do is... believe."
"Most religions are based on self-deception and a thirst for control or profit," the Mandalorian noted.
"But not in this case," Revan shook his head, "This 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 debates are certainly useful for self-development," Tyra interjected into the conversation, "But we have real problems that require attention."
"Tyra," 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 cannot wait," the mercenary insisted, "You understand yourself. I brought a stranger to us. Not just a stranger, but Revan. And the entire clan vouched for him, even though they didn't know his true identity! Now, if something..."
"You should have thought about that before arriving on Mandalore," Sevras interrupted the girl, "Now, pointless fuss and panic won't help anything. Remember, a warrior must be fast, but patient. Haste has doomed more than one generation of our brethren."
"I... yes, Mentor."
It was clear that Tyra disagreed with Sevras, but she did not dare to argue with him.
Revan, however, sided with the elder Nomad. There was no need to rush here. The coup needed to be carefully prepared. And for that, information had to be gathered.
"Just one more question, and I too would be happy to return to discussing Mandalore's future," Revan smiled at Tyra, then turned to Sevras, "You mentioned some legend or prophecy? Something about a 'butcher,' right?"
"Yes," the Mandalorian agreed, "These were words from the diaries of Mandalore the Keeper. 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 from dar'jetii and corrupt politicians. Mandalore was to remain independent... We have failed him here."
"What about the message about the 'butcher'?"
"According to the Keeper, 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 extend a helping hand and save us... or to destroy us completely."
Revan pondered his old friend's words. The warning was clearly about him, about Revan. After all, it was he whom the Mandalorians had nicknamed the Butcher. But why would Canderous have issued this... effectively a prophecy? He wasn't Force-sensitive and didn't possess the gift of foresight? Could he have simply calculated everything so accurately? No, definitely not. Too long a period, too much is constantly changing. Even the Force cannot give an exact forecast regarding an ever-changing future.
His fingers instinctively found the mask hanging on his belt, hidden beneath his cloak. A guess flashed through his mind.
"Bastila," Revan whispered almost inaudibly.
She had given him the mask and the sword because she believed he would return even from oblivion. Whether she had a vision or simply hoped for such an outcome... it didn't matter much. The mask and the sword found their recipient after four thousand years, but they did find him.
According to HK's stories, Bastila maintained contact with all members of the old Ebony Hawk crew. Including Mandalore the Keeper. How often they communicated, Revan didn't know, but he could assume that it was precisely 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 Mandalore the Keeper's records mention anyone named Bastila Shan?"
"Yes," Nomad nodded confidently, "I think it was this fact that caused such a reaction from the clan council when your... hmm, name was mentioned."
Everything was becoming a little clearer. The Mandalorians mistook him for a descendant of the Shan line, and this, considering the connection between the bearers of the mentioned surname and Clan Ordo, gave certain advantages. At least, one could hope for a small credit of trust.
Meanwhile, Nomad prepared three portions of fragrant kaffa, waiting for his interlocutor to be ready to continue the conversation.
Revan, on the other hand, was contemplating the possibility of visiting Ordo's planet and examining Canderous's records. Noticing Nomad's actions, he decided to put these thoughts aside and return to more urgent matters. After all, he had promised.
"And still, we really should discuss something," the former Jedi reminded him when Sevras offered everyone to sit down.
"Well, I see no point in postponing this conversation either," Nomad nodded, "After all, it's not that important who you really are. We need help... Unfortunately, intrigue is not our forte. We are warriors. But in the current situation, we need to act subtly and skillfully. The ruling party surpasses us in this regard."
"I can help with that, but it will require trained people who are well-versed in the politics of both the planet and sector, as well as the Senate of the Republic."
"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 definitely be ruled out," Nomad stated categorically, "Duchess Satine entirely supports the views of the pacifists. So blindly, in fact, that she doesn't even notice the harm her policies are causing. The abandonment of the army has led to an increase in corruption and crime in the sector, the emergence of a black market and a whole pack of smugglers. However, the Duchess prefers to see only gardens, formal receptions, and articles in the HoloNet about 'positive' changes on Mandalore."
"An idealist?" Revan guessed, involuntarily recalling the Queen of Naboo, who had almost fallen victim to galactic politics.
"A convinced one," Sevras nodded in agreement.
"Based on the information available in the HoloNet, she entered the political arena at a very young age, even by Mandalore's standards. Someone is behind her, am I right?"
"Officially, she is supported by the pacifist party. They also prepared her for nomination as the official representative of Mandalore, and later as Duchess. However, with the growth of her own influence, their power over her became less obvious. Now it's unclear whose interests Satine is acting in."
"The people of Mandalore?" Revan smirked, not believing for a moment that a politician could care about anyone other than themselves and their own power.
Nomad did not support his interlocutor's unconcealed sarcasm.
"It will sound funny, but in my opinion, she genuinely thinks she cares about our people. However, for some reason, she can't decide on her political course. Sometimes she advocates for Mandalore's independence from the Senate's decisions, and then, conversely, supports the Republic's reforms and even considers replacing our law enforcement forces with the Judicial Corps."
Revan had encountered similar sector rulers before. Most often, they were torn apart by internal contradictions due to the impossibility of successful development and preservation of traditions. Conservatism and progress do not coexist well. However, this case was a bit different. Apparently, the Duchess sincerely wished to follow a policy of pacifism, creating an image of a peaceful Mandalore... But at the same time, she had to understand that by doing so, she was making her homeworld a tasty morsel for those who would wish to take advantage of the defenselessness of an economically stable, albeit not wealthy, world. Especially since a vivid example had recently appeared before their eyes – Naboo. The Judicial Corps should be a compromise. No own army, but there is the Republic's... or its remnant... but still.
"It's worth talking to the Duchess personally," Revan concluded aloud, "I want to understand what kind of person she is and what exactly she is aiming for."
"I think that can be arranged," Nomad nodded thoughtfully, "I have a meeting scheduled with the Duchess in a few days. I could escort you to the palace as a clanmate."
"It would be better to present him as a member of the Jedi Order," Tyra suggested, who had been silently sipping her kaffa until then.
"Are you officially part of the Order?" Nomad asked, surprised.
"Yes."
"Then that simplifies things," Sevras smiled, clearly having decided something for himself, "The Duchess trusts the Jedi even more than her own people."
"Even so?" the former Sith asked doubtfully.
If the girl cared so much about her people... why didn't she trust him?
"A few years ago, there were a series of assassination attempts against her. The Death Watch was behind it, but there was no evidence. And the Senate sent two Jedi to protect 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 apprentice."
"Kenobi?" the former Jedi was surprised.
"Yes. Do you know them?"
"Quite well," Revan smiled slyly, "This might come in handy."
Of course, there was no guarantee that Jinn would agree to help Revan, let alone Kenobi. But there was still a chance of assistance from at least Qui-Gon. This would open up many possibilities.
"In case you decide to introduce me as a member of the Order, I am known among the Jedi as Knight Avner Van."
"Another fake identity?" Sevras inquired.
"Yes."
"And it's not difficult to juggle so many names?" the Mandalorian chuckled.
"Not at all," Revan waved his hand, "The fewer connections there are between Knight Avner Van, member of the Hutt Cartel Vaner Shan, and the resurrected Revan, the better."
The former Sith Lord himself thought that his new vessel also had a birth name. Mizar Marr.
"On the Outer Rim, that's just a plus," Tyra added in a whisper when the elder was distracted by a communicator call, "It will be harder for bounty hunters to find their target."
"I have no doubt that I am already being sought," Revan smiled, nodding gratefully at the girl for her support.
"A reward of five hundred thousand from Black Sun," the mercenary showed a small communicator, on which a sum was displayed on the holographic display, "And another million from the employer, who wished to remain anonymous. Contracts under different names."
"And I'm popular," Revan frowned, "You'll give me more information later."
The girl nodded.
Meanwhile, Sevras finished the call and turned off the communicator.
"Excuse me, but my presence is required at an emergency parliamentary session. It concerns the explosion on Concordia," Nomad explained, "I will inform Tyra when we can meet again and plan the visit to the Duchess in more detail. I will also try to persuade the other clans to offer you their assistance."
"Thank you," Revan nodded, "That's quite enough."
"In that case, please excuse me. I need to change," with these words, Sevras Nomad left his guests alone.
"Shall we go?" the former Jedi suggested, addressing the mercenary.
"Yes, we shouldn't trouble the old man," Tyra chuckled.
"I heard that, you fidget! - the clan elder's voice came from the next room, - You can call me old man when you defeat me in the Circle of Battle!"
"Sorry, Mentor!" the girl shouted back and then whispered to Revan, "Now we're definitely leaving."
No one wanted to wait for a new portion of instructions from the old Mandalorian.
Already sitting in a hovercar and navigating through the traffic on the aero-highway, Tyra decided to continue the conversation.
"So, what do you think?" she asked her half-asleep companion.
Revan had been in a meditative semi-trance the whole time, contemplating the information received at the clan gathering. The True Mandalorians' situation was dire. They had the means to act, but the warriors, accustomed to brute force methods, didn't know how to use them. It was different for the former Sith...
"About what?" Revan emerged from his thoughts.
"About the gathering."
"Honestly... I'm disappointed," the former Jedi shrugged.
"Yes... I understand," Nomad nodded.
"I don't think so," Revan objected, "Our views on the situation differ, be sure of that."
"What makes you say that?"
"I just know it," Revan smirked.
The former general of the Republic Army and Emperor of his own galactic state, albeit for a brief period, had extensive experience studying people and their behavior. And studying Tyra's character and way of thinking was even easier. A displaced exile from a caste society, the traces of which were still felt in her emotional reactions. And this traumatized child, considered an outcast among her own, fell into the hands of the Mandalorians, who gave her a home, a family, and support. Moreover, they gave her a purpose! She was like the Mandalorians Revan had known long ago, even more so than the current representatives of the ancient clans. Therefore, Revan understood her disappointment. But he himself was indignant for a slightly different reason.
"You think the Mandalorians have lost themselves, their heritage, and become mere pale shadows of the past, right?" the former Jedi didn't let the girl object.
"And do you think otherwise?" the mercenary was surprised.
"No, on that, we agree."
"Then what else?"
"I am disappointed by your people's one-sided approach to issues of power change. By focusing on brute force methods, they overlook politics, which is why they have ended up in such a dire situation."
"We are warriors," Tyra declared heatedly.
Revan shook his head, noting that Chiss pride and Mandalorian upbringing were a potent mix.
"A warrior must not only work with muscles. A flexible mind is important."
"What are you hinting at?"
"That you should have strengthened your positions in parliament long ago. Then it would have been much easier to act."
The girl did not answer, and for several minutes the silence was broken only by the hum of the aerocar's engines and the sound of the wind outside the glass.
"Will you help us?" Nomad suddenly asked.
"I already promised."
"And will you succeed?" the girl asked again, much quieter and more uncertainly.
Revan recalled his own experience with bureaucracy and politics at the beginning of the Order, then the Senate. The brief reign of the Empire flashed in his memory... But the clearest were the memories of three hundred years of unity with the mind... of a monster. One who managed to lure them to Nathema and outsmart the strongest Sith of his generation. One who, born an unwanted offspring of a local lord, became an immortal Emperor, whose name some still fear to utter aloud.
Oh, yes... He knew how to weave intrigues and saw his followers through and through. If not for the fatigue from so many years of power struggles and Revan's influence, Vitiate would still be ruling the Empire. And the Republic would have ceased to exist four thousand years ago.
And it was these memories that were supposed to help Revan pull Mandalore out of the pile of bantha poodoo it had sunk into. As unpleasant as it might be for the former prisoner of the Emperor. The ancient enemy's experience was to work for the good of the future.
"I will succeed," Revan answered confidently, ending the conversation.
The first person the former Jedi met on board the Dawn Eagle was, strangely enough, HK-47. The droid literally radiated smugness, showing with its whole demeanor pride in the work done. This sharply contrasted with the mood of its master.
"Joyful greeting: Welcome aboard, Master. Your order was carried out without complications," the droid cheerfully recited.
R2 rolled out from behind the assassin's legs and also whistled a greeting cheerfully.
Revan's eye twitched at the sight. It turned out to be quite difficult to control the emotions bursting out at the sight of the happy couple. Several arc discharges even flashed between the former Sith's fingers.
"And how is this to be understood?" Revan asked, exhaling.
"Uncomprehending clarification: Master?"
"HK, what was your order?" the former Jedi began deceptively calmly.
"Answer: Search for information about the Death Watch on Concordia, Master."
"Did I set any additional conditions?"
"Answer: Leave no traces."
Revan nodded.
"It's very good that your audio sensors are working and your memory doesn't fail," the droid's master said, grinding his teeth, "R2, show me the sector news compilation for the last hour."
The astromech chirped in confusion, as if clarifying the order.
"You understood me," Revan growled.
Rolling back a little, R2 chirped sadly and displayed a holoprojection of one of the news channels.
Shots of a blazing mine were replaced by emotional speeches from the announcer and inserts from statements by the governor of Concordia, who offered condolences to the families of the few workers who happened to be on an inspection of the closed mine.
"This, in your opinion, is no traces?" Revan pointed to the holoprojection.
"Remark: There were no witnesses or any evidence indicating our presence on the planet, Master. We took care of that..."
"You blew up the mine to the Hutts!" Revan raised his voice, "Thereby attracting the attention of the governor of Concordia, the media, and Parliament! Couldn't you have managed without chaos and destruction for once?"
"Justification: Master, the situation developed in such a way that this was the most acceptable way out," HK stated.
"To blow up the mine?"
"Clarification: To blow up the Death Watch base..."
*Smack!*
Revan's hand pressed into his face.
"So you also startled our supposed enemy?" the former Jedi said tiredly.
"Confident explanation: A cleanup was necessary, Master."
"Tell me already..."
HK presented his version of events for over an hour, occasionally resorting to the help of the astromech, who enthusiastically confirmed the assassin droid's words. Revan listened, frowning thoughtfully and pacing the cargo hold where the conversation was taking place. Only at the end of the story did the former Jedi allow himself to slap his face with his palm again, after which he turned to the compartment wall and leaned his forehead against it, muttering something inarticulate.
"So, to summarize all your artistic endeavors," Revan said, somewhere into the metal lining of the hold, "You showed yourselves everywhere you possibly could, which forced you to eliminate a lot of people, along with a fortified secret base and all the evidence that could later be used for political pressure or to prove to the Senate or anyone interested the existence of a terrorist organization near Mandalore. Along the way, you took someone prisoner, which, by the way, could have put us all in a difficult position if your cargo had been inspected at the port upon your return. And yes, why wasn't it inspected?"
"Explanation: Diplomatic status."
"Did you hack the spaceport base?"
"Affirmative."
"Did you at least cover your tracks?"
"Offended: Affirmative, Master. I do not make such mistakes."
"Better not start," the droid's creator interrupted him, "You've learned to fix these mistakes rather well."
The Assassin Droid remained silent.
Revan wearily rubbed his temples, calming a sudden migraine. Suppressing his anger was 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 Tyra had not stayed to talk to the droids, but had gone to meet with one of her informants. Otherwise, she would have asked the next question. And much more emotionally.
"And did any of you remember the hostages kidnapped by the Watch?" Revan pressed, "The very ones we were asked to save in the first place? For whom was all this undertaken?"
HK, judging by his appearance and the convulsive twitching of his manipulators, almost had a short circuit. Obviously, there was a significant conflict in his personality matrix. On one hand, he was ordered only to gather information. On the other hand, his actions could harm the Master and his plans. The protocols rebelled and turned against each other, overloading the computational core.
But the astromech came to the assassin's aid, cheerfully chattering in binary about connecting to the internal surveillance network in the mine and the absence of any prisoners on the territory of the destroyed Death Watch base.
"Are you sure?" Revan clarified.
The droid chirped confirmation joyfully and even provided a holorecord with a diagram of the underground shelter, now lying in ruins on Concordia.
"Well, at least something good," Revan concluded grimly.
"Timid remark: We also obtained a valuable source of information, in addition to the Death Watch database, Master," HK added.
"You mean the prisoner?"
"Clarification: A female prisoner. Bo-Katan Kryze..."
"Stop, who?!" Revan sharply turned to the droids.
"Repeated clarification: Bo-Katan Kryze, Duchess Satine's sister and one of the Death Watch's deputies," HK stated more confidently, having calculated that the Master would be pleased with such information.
"HK... I take back my words," the former Sith grinned, "You did a great job. Where is the prisoner?"
"Joyful answer: Cargo hold two. In a cargo container."
"Excellent."
The situation, from being frankly terrible, changed to merely difficult. And depending on how the conversation with Kryze the younger went, it could even become the beginning of a successful campaign to overthrow the current government.
It remained to find out how one Kryze differed from the other. It would be easier to approach the Duchess.