Coruscant.
Level 909
Sector A-21
The nine hundred and ninth level had never been known for its calm atmosphere or clean streets. Being effectively a border territory between the Hutt Cartel and the remnants of the local Black Sun Syndicate cell, the level had become a real battlefield where minor skirmishes between factions occurred almost daily. Several times, the leaders of the opposing sides had waged full-scale war, sending entire hundreds of their own and mercenary fighters in armed speeders into battle.
The civilian population had long since abandoned their homes, fleeing the fate of being caught between a rock and a hard place.
However, quite recently, everything had changed.
Gunshots and explosions no longer echoed in every alley. Broken and burned-out speeders were removed from the streets, barricades were dismantled, and even power supply was restored. And in sector A-21, something previously unthinkable had happened! Construction crews arrived in the area, restoring the surrounding buildings! And some of the former residents had even risked returning.
However, upon closer examination, there was nothing surprising about this. After all, the Black Sun had ceased its activities on Coruscant territory for almost a month now.
They were replaced by the hitherto unknown Blood Claws, who, according to rumors, were subordinate to the Cartel. This seemed to be true, as the gang war immediately ended in a truce as soon as a certain Lord, who called himself the head of the Claws, met with Ziro, the local Hutt representative.
Combat operations ceased. The nine hundred and ninth ceased to be a front line, instead becoming the location of the Claws' central stronghold. Or, at least, that's what the locals thought.
Revan was lost in thought, slowly walking through the corridors of the newly built headquarters of the Blood Claws... correction, through the corridors of his own headquarters. Because, contrary to the Cartel's beliefs, the Claws were loyal to him and only him.
One had to see the face of Ziro the Hutt when Revan, hidden under the guise of a Lord, informed him that he served Jabba personally, but was ready to assist on the orders of his "Boss." This meant that the Claws were also loyal to the Tatooine crime boss, so Ziro could shove his orders deep and comfortably. Ran Fevro, who was present at the meeting and took charge of the remnants of the Black Sun, transforming them into the Blood Claws, almost soiled himself seeing how furiously and hatefully the Hutt looked at them. Ziro spat foam for a good half hour and promised the most terrible punishments that his sick imagination could conjure. However, Revan's impenetrable will, coupled with his composure and confidence, forced the local Cartel representative to retreat. Although, perhaps it was due to the explosives he had brought and the very detonator that Dal Peri had threatened Revan with. The Force had almost no effect on the minds of slugs. The former Jedi remembered this very well.
Jabba, on the other hand, was delighted with the situation. He stuck it to his "dear" uncle, raised his authority in the Hutt Council, and gained access to the heart of the Republic – Coruscant – which had been closed to everyone except Ziro.
As a result, Ziro harbored a grudge against Jabba, who in turn was launching his sticky paws into every "feeding trough" of his uncle, trying to find the line beyond which Ziro would simply lose his temper and spit on the Cartel's rules, declaring war on his nephew. The Claws, under Fevro's leadership, with Revan's silent consent, restored part of their old business, establishing arms trade in the lower levels, and also entered the smuggler market, taking a piece of Ziro's income. The turnover was still small, but for the first month, the result was quite decent. Especially since the business was gaining momentum. Old suppliers and clients were returning, a flow of goods from the Outer Rim began, and activity on Coruscant increased among mercenaries.
A third of the income went to Tatooine, as payment for the Hutt's patronage. A tenth of the remainder went to the Justice Corps, which, having received its credits, became deaf and blind to everything happening on the lower levels, and sometimes even in the markets of the upper city. Ziro gnashed his teeth, assessing the flow of money that went, albeit to the Cartel, but bypassing his pocket, but he couldn't do anything. His influence in the Council after the Black Sun incident had significantly decreased, and he would not risk going against the entire Cartel. His position, in which he had been unable to eliminate competitors for several years, was exacerbated by the ease with which just one squad of Tatooine Blood Claws had resolved the situation. The throne under the regal, tailed ass shook like never before. The Cartel might decide that Jabba would handle Coruscant better than Ziro, who had lost his grip.
Fevro turned out to be a remarkably skilled manager, quickly establishing the business and bringing the remnants of the Black Sun under control. The bandits, in essence, didn't care who they worked for. And the absence of problems with the Cartel, which had become a solid roof, and a stable income confidently tipped the scales in favor of joining the Claws. The leaders of individual groups and small gangs, just in case, received a portion of Revan's persuasion. Those who were categorically against the current situation quickly disappeared from sight... as well as from the world of the living. HK guaranteed it.
Even without a third, the Claws' income on Coruscant remained quite large. Part of it was transferred directly to Tycho Dorme, so that the Tatooine division would also increase its turnover and influence, which, thanks to the flow of contraband to and from the capital, had already grown considerably. The Claws idolized Revan, because everyone in the gang knew who they owed their constantly improving well-being to. Just a couple of months ago, they were surviving in the dusty huts of Tatooine, and now they controlled the markets and spaceport of Mos Espa, established themselves on Coruscant, and became almost Jabba's favorites.
Revan did not intend to stop there. His plans included expanding influence on Tatooine and Coruscant, legalizing the business, and entering open markets. The Republic Trade Chamber license was expensive, but it gave access to almost any planet. It would have been much easier to obtain a Trade Federation license, but after the Naboo situation, the Neimoidians and their partners were not in favor with the Senate. Having obtained permission to trade in Republic space, the Claws would be able to establish arms supplies from the Outer Rim. After all, manufacturer certificates, as well as permits for use in the Republic, were easily bought or forged. Senate commissions practically traded them openly! Revan increasingly saw how rotten the Republic was from within. It needed a cleansing... the purifying flame of conflict. And this was exactly what Sidious promised to do, and Revan mentally wished him luck.
Revan himself intended to continue strengthening his positions in the galactic arena. For now, to most sentient beings, he was nobody, an empty space. But as the bank account filled up, the space ceased to be so "empty." In just a month, the name Lord had at least been heard, and in some places, remembered in the criminal circles of the Core Worlds. Revan planned to do the same outside the Republic's shadow side. The merchant Vaner Shan had already registered a small trading firm "Obsidian," which was to be engaged in cargo transportation and small-scale trade... for now, small-scale. Someone spread rumors that the entrepreneur was "protected" by the Claws, which secured Obsidian from encroachments by criminal structures and dishonest law enforcement officers, and at the same time attracted the attention of clients. The Black Sun freighters, having changed owners, had already made several trips, and the number of trade contacts was constantly increasing. After all, safe ways to deliver cargo to not-so-calm regions were in high demand. There were no volunteers willing to risk intercepting ships that nominally belonged to the Blood Claws, and therefore to the Cartel. Unless the Syndicate, angered by the loss of Coruscant, could do something. But this was an inevitable risk that Revan was prepared to take. Besides, someone had whispered to the right people that Shan was acquainted with and closely communicated with a certain Avner Van, who, in turn, was a knight of the well-known Order. An additional "boogeyman" in the form of possible retribution from the Jedi only raised Obsidian's reputation and made everyone who wanted to profit at the expense of the young company think twice.
Revan's plans included establishing food supplies to the mining platforms and stations of Vergesso and Kessel, taking ore back for the Central metalworking enterprises. A medium-class cargo ship is, of course, not a ore carrier, and it cannot transport a large volume of raw materials. However, this drawback was compensated by its speed, which was three times higher than that of slow heavy haulers. Thus, a Corellian medium transport MT-340, with a carrying capacity of 220 tons, could make three to four trips per month, compared to one for an HLT-22 ore carrier, albeit with five times the cargo volume. Fast trips and additional unscheduled deliveries should have interested the ship steel production plants, where there was always a problem of raw material deficit. Protection would be required on the route, which meant using escort ships or thoroughly arming the freighters. Fevro was to deal with this in the near future.
If the deal worked out, the profits would be very serious. Obsidian and the Claws would grow day by day, further strengthening their master's position.
More than one month would pass, but Revan was confident that his Claws would break free from the Cartel's influence. Of course, the Hutts would not like this, so the growth of the organization should be masked.
But these were all future matters. For now, Revan's thoughts were occupied by something else. He had learned his name... or rather, the name of the body he had occupied. Mizar Marr, half-Miraluka, son of a woman named Afizas Marr. He had to search for his father's name. However, Revan had his own guesses. Mizar's father was likely a Jedi, as indicated by this body's abilities, fragmented information obtained from Kirshaah and from the Black Sun archives, and also how the traces of the child's existence were covered up.
The guess was easy to verify by comparing DNA samples, which Revan did. Fortunately, samples of all Jedi were in the Order's medical database. A match was found...
Mizar's father was Sifo-Dyas, a member of the Council, which explained a lot. This person needed to be cautious with in the future. His son clearly should not have appeared in the central worlds, let alone in the Order. However, Dias apparently did not recognize Revan as his offspring, but it was not worth the risk. The former Sith least of all wanted to become involved in a family drama now, and even less to explain himself to anyone from the Order.
The Master was somehow connected with the Muuns, as they hid the boy born on Muunilinst.
However, there were still a few threads that could lead Revan to the solution of his own appearance four thousand years later. The Damask Holdings corporation was somehow involved. But digging up anything in the homeland of the Muuns would be extremely difficult. Moreover, as the former Jedi had managed to find out, Damask was a very influential Muun, secretive and, in a way, dangerous.
The other thread remained Sifo-Dyas himself. However, Revan postponed the option of a direct approach to the very last resort. He would rather try to dig something up on Damask Holdings. A couple of the most resourceful of the Blood Claws' informants had already begun gathering information from their sources.
It would take a lot of time, but Revan had it. After all, no one threatened him... yet.
Over the past month, Sidious had tried to contact him. Or rather, simply sent a message through Maul. Just two words: "Do not interfere."
This could only mean one thing: the Sith Lord had begun to act. Revan had no intention of interfering with him, deciding to take a wait-and-see approach. But a premonition advised him to prepare for unpleasant surprises. Which meant he needed to gather strength.
The former ruler of his own empire almost lost his step, suddenly realizing that he was once again treading the same path. A few months after his resurrection, and he was already planning the creation of his own... hmm... organization? Something that could influence the state of affairs in the galaxy. Some kind of power!
"An empire?" Revan chuckled at his own thoughts. "And why did I strive for it so much?"
Immersed in thought, the former Sith Lord continued his movement and soon reached the training hall, set up on the third floor of the Blood Claws' base.
Anakin was already waiting for him here, diligently performing a set of warm-up exercises under Maul's supervision.
"Master," the Zabrak was the first to notice the one who entered and bowed in greeting.
Skywalker was not far behind the elder of the students and straightened up.
"Hello, teacher!"
Since the first not very successful lesson, the boy had learned a lot about the learning process, both among the Jedi and the Sith. And etiquette, along with subordination, came first, both there and there.
Anakin recovered from the sensory shock that ended his first meditation only on the third day. However, this did not dampen his ardor. The boy craved knowledge, studying everything his mentor allowed him. There were consequences. The unfortunate experience had sown fear in Skywalker's soul, which inevitably attracted the Dark Side, throwing the student off balance.
Revan had to abandon the original training plan to concentrate on teaching Anakin the balance between raging emotions and serene focus. Fortunately, the boy had not yet reached puberty, otherwise hormonal surges would have rendered all lessons useless. However, Skywalker, as it turned out, even at such an age managed to fall in love. This was revealed during one of their joint meditations, when Revan clearly read familiar emotions in the student's mind.
The situation was both bad and good. On the one hand, infatuation, being a dual feeling, made the student unstable and vulnerable. But it could also become a necessary anchor for the gifted one's consciousness. At one time, Bastila became such a center of balance for Revan... as, for that matter, he was for her.
Working with emotions had always been a difficult task, which only a few could handle, and Anakin was at the very beginning of his path, but Revan believed that the little one would cope, and he, as a mentor, would help him.
In a month, the boy had learned to meditate without losing control of the Force flows, without the teacher's support, which was already a good achievement.
In fencing, they had not yet progressed beyond the basics. Anakin was still practicing basic katas and building up his physical form, preparing to begin studying the First Form. The progress was not as fast as Revan had expected, based on his own successes at the boy's age, but due to the late start and the non-standard training program, the process could not be accelerated.
Maul, on the other hand, had noticeably honed his style, adding Makashi's precision to Juyo. A lack of experience still showed, but the Zabrak no longer lost to his teacher so disgracefully. The fight now took several minutes instead of a dozen seconds, but Maul had not yet managed to make the mentor show his true level.
Overall, the training of both students was going quite successfully.
"Are you worried about something, teacher?" Anakin noticed his mentor's thoughtful look.
Revan shifted his gaze to the student and pondered the answer for a few seconds. After all, Skywalker was still too young to understand the questions that troubled his teacher.
"I'm just thinking about something, which we'll talk about another time. Let's look at your progress. Finished with the warm-up?"
"Yes!" the boy replied joyfully.
"Then show me how you've mastered the basic movements with the training sword."
Anakin grabbed a vibroblade from the rack, chosen specifically for the child's height, and stood in the center of the hall. Maul took the observer's place to Revan's right.
"Begin," the mentor asked.
Skywalker began to enthusiastically swing the blade, gradually adding steps to the movements of his hands, slowly moving around the hall.
The boy was in a hurry to demonstrate his successes, which led to a lot of mistakes. Revan heard Maul snort disapprovingly, also noticing the child's blunders.
"Anakin, slower," the mentor advised, "Don't rush. Your body needs to get used to the weight of the sword. If even a deactivated vibroblade pulls you down, you won't be able to handle a lightsaber at all."
Although training in this direction was already underway, the boy could not yet consciously imbue his body with the Force, which, in Revan's opinion, was even good. Having mastered all the elements without the Force, it would be easier for Anakin in the future.
"Clearer movements," the mentor's voice sounded again, noticing how the blade, instead of a vertical strike, moved in an arc, "Elbow higher, weight on your right leg! Transition, firmer grip, lunge! Better already."
Skywalker slowed down and tried to focus on the precision of his movements instead of speed. It helped. The blade felt a little lighter, and it was easier to control. Memory helpfully suggested what to do and how to move correctly, and the body seemed to follow the thought on its own.
"Master," the voice of the red-skinned Zabrak sounded from Revan's right, "He..."
"Yes," the mentor nodded, "He uses the Force, still unconsciously, but effectively."
After waiting for the exercise complex to finish, Revan ordered him to repeat everything from the beginning, and then again, and again.
On the fifth attempt, Anakin was able to flawlessly perform all the techniques, movements, and strikes, earning praise from his mentor.
"Well done," Revan nodded at him, "Now rest and observe."
"Yes, teacher."
"Maul, your turn," the mentor nodded towards the center of the hall, "Sparring, sword only."
"Yes, Master," the Zabrak bowed and followed the instructions, stepping into the middle of the room and taking a combat stance.
Revan threw off his cloak and took a position opposite Maul.
The blades activated simultaneously. Revan, anticipating an attack, lowered the tip of his blade slightly to the floor, expecting a sweeping blow from the student, but Maul managed to surprise him. Instead of a straightforward rush attack, as the Zabrak liked to start fights, he shifted to the side and made a quick swing with his staff, forcing Revan to step back. However, a successful start did not save the student from a counter-attack that almost grazed his left arm. He had to let go of the staff so as not to lose his arm, but only to pick it up again halfway to the floor the next moment. He had to dodge a wide swing of the silver blade with a roll, and then go on the defensive.
Maul had realized after his first training sessions with Revan that he had big problems with defense. And since then, he had been tirelessly training, trying to correct this flaw. He was trained as a fighter of an aggressive attacking style, and it was quite difficult to change himself. His body constantly wanted to lunge, attack, tear the opponent apart. But Maul could clearly see that the mentor was just waiting for this, ready to parry the blow and counter-attack. And the Zabrak was not sure he could parry the counter-attack.
Revan used only one blade, but he pressed Maul so hard that it seemed to the Zabrak that there were not one, but eight blades in front of him. The student barely managed to parry the attacks, using all his natural agility and fencing knowledge. The staff spun at a furious speed, colliding with its silver counterpart almost every moment.
The mentor smiled. However, Maul had no time to look at his teacher's expression. Revan delivered a quick series of blows, followed by another, even faster. In the blink of an eye, the Zabrak received three burn marks on his chest, and his staff went flying.
"Good," the mentor summarized, moving his sword away from the Zabrak's throat, "I didn't think I'd see Makashi using a staff in your performance so soon. You surprised me."
"Thank you, Master," Maul bowed his head.
"You still spread your arms too wide when you swing and expose yourself on the left. Hmm..." Revan pondered how to correct the technique of the already well-trained Zabrak, "There's an idea. Starting tomorrow, you'll pair up with HK and practice Soresu. Believe me, HK will be able to find all the holes in your defense, so pay attention."
"Yes, Master," Maul replied, stumbling slightly.
The Zabrak had once watched the training of the assassin droid and Skywalker. The machine was ruthless and terrifyingly effective. Goosebumps ran down the student's back as he realized that the mechanical maniac would now deal with him.
Revan telekinetically returned Maul's staff to him.
"Once more."
"Yes, Master."
The opponents clashed again. Maul tried to take the remarks into account, but he couldn't quickly adjust his practiced movements. As a result, he began to lose tempo, which the mentor took advantage of, finishing the fight much faster than before.
"You are not focused," Revan frowned, "My remarks should not throw you off balance. Do not let emotions cloud your mind. Remember that it is the Sith who uses his feelings, not the other way around."
"Forgive me, Master," Maul bowed, feeling the irritation caused by the failure gradually recede.
"You should meditate and clear your thoughts. I feel a hurricane raging in your soul. Fear, anger, resentment... and all directed at yourself," Revan moved closer to the student, "Self-flagellation is useless, as is self-pity. Accept criticism, recognize mistakes, correct them. Only then can you continue to develop."
"I... I'll try, Master."
Seeing that his words were not having the desired effect, Revan decided to try another approach.
"Students, you have worked well. Now we need to thoroughly analyze the past lesson to find our own mistakes," Revan drew the students' attention, "You also need to get used to the feeling of each other's presence in the Force, so that this feeling does not distract you. For this, we will now have a joint meditation session."
"Joint?" Anakin asked, "You mean, all together?"
"Yes."
It was clear from Maul's expression that he was not enthusiastic about this prospect, but he was not going to argue with his mentor.
"And how does that work?"
Both students were not very strong in meditation. Maul had frankly neglected any non-combat aspects of the Force in the past, and Anakin was a complete novice and lacked sufficient experience. But over the past month, Revan had managed to instill in the unruly heads of his charges that meditation and self-development are the foundation of everything.
The three gifted ones sat in a circle, assuming a meditation pose.
"Feel the flow of the Force that passes through you and your ally," the mentor said, following his own instructions, "Feel its presence. Look..."
Revan faltered when he felt something was wrong. The Force suddenly surged at him like a tsunami wave, carrying his consciousness far away. The feeling of dizzying flight subsided as sharply as it had appeared, and Revan himself had difficulty focusing his vision and realized that he was standing on the ruins of some building. And in front of him stretched a huge, once majestic, and now almost completely destroyed city. A very familiar city...
A chill ran down the former Jedi's spine as he began to guess the place that had appeared to him in such a clear vision. Revan slowly raised his eyes to the sky and saw exactly what he feared most. A sky shrouded in storm clouds and countless lightning bolts that illuminated the earth with their flashes. Revan knew this place well. Here he had clashed with the Emperor twice, and both times he had been defeated. Here he had spent years in captivity only to escape captivity and lose again. This world had brought him nothing but pain. And... he would have to visit it again. After all, the figure in the black robe that appeared on the horizon, before disappearing into the ruins of the Citadel, clearly beckoned him to follow.
With an effort of will, Revan interrupted the meditation and dispelled the vision. An attempt to stand up led to the former Jedi having to fall to one knee. Sweat streamed down his temples, and his heart pounded wildly in his chest. The hurricane of the Dark Side raging on the cursed planet was still clearly felt, as if he were back in the Emperor's throne room.
"Revan! Teacher!" Anakin jumped up to his mentor, concerned.
"It's... fine..." Revan replied, breathing heavily.
"What was that? What is that strange and terrible place?" the child did not calm down.
And... wait, what?
"What?" Revan asked, realizing what his student had said, "You saw it too?"
A guess quickly came to the ancient gifted one's mind. They were practicing joint meditation, which meant that what one saw, all saw. But who exactly was the vision intended for?
"Master," Maul's voice sounded.
Revan turned his gaze to him.
"This world... it is saturated with the Dark Side," the Zabrak said, "It beckons and calls to me. Its darkness... it seems to embrace you like a long-lost child and promises safety."
Maul's revelation was not a surprise to Revan. Some part of his soul felt the same. This world had been the heart of the Sith Empire for many years. It called all adepts of the Dark Side to itself... home. It was lonely...
"And what about you, Anakin?" Revan turned to Skywalker, "What did you feel?"
The boy thought, trying to recall his sensations.
"Fear," he replied after almost a minute of thought, "Cold and fear. But... at the same time, some strange feeling... Like in a kart race, when you take a turn at maximum speed, and the body almost scrapes against the rocks. It's frightening and fascinating."
Revan nodded, accepting the answer. Of course, Anakin also had a tendency towards the Dark Side, but he held onto the Light.
"This world," the mentor suddenly said, drawing the attention of the already focused students, "This was Dromund Kaas, the ancient capital of the Sith Empire."
Anakin gasped in surprise.
Maul, on the other hand, froze, looking at Revan with reverence. He understood what kind of world this was. His previous mentor had longed to find a way there. The heart of the Empire! A place of glory for the ancient Lords! The second homeland of the Sith after Korriban!
"And this world calls us," Revan whispered, more to himself than to his students.
"Master?"
"Training is over," the mentor stood up, "Go to your quarters and pack your things. We will be leaving Coruscant soon, and possibly for a long time."
"As you command," Maul immediately replied and turned towards the exit.
"We're flying there, aren't we?" Anakin couldn't hold back.
Even the Zabrak stopped at such a question, not reaching the door. He was also curious to know the answer.
"Yes," Revan nodded briefly.
Perhaps the decision was hasty, but a month of waiting and the futility of investigating his own origins led to the former Sith needing to switch to something else. Tyra insisted on searching for the Mask of Mandalore, but Revan kept postponing it, as he simply didn't know where to start. The Force remained silent in response to his calls to show the way, and all traces had long been erased by time. Hope was placed on informants Revan had met on Coruscant. They had promised to find something within a month. The deadline was approaching, and there was still no news.
Leaving the training hall, Revan headed for the exit of the building, intending to reach the docks rented for the Claws' needs as quickly as possible. There, under the supervision of Tyra and HK, the modernization of the Dawn Eagle was being completed.
"HK," the former Jedi took out his communicator and called the assassin droid.
"Joyful greeting: I'm listening, Master!" a miniature hologram of the droid appeared above the disc held in his palm.
"How is the repair progressing?"
"Proud declaration: Master, the working meat bags have done a great job. All systems are practically debugged..."
Following this statement, a long beep from the astromech droid sounded. R2-D2 let out such a trill that even those unfamiliar with binary language would doubt its censored content. Revan was familiar with it.
"Is something wrong, R2?"
In response, a whole tirade of beeps and wails came, which could be interpreted as the astromech's extreme displeasure that the system he had just debugged had been rehashed and reassembled several times, forcing him to start over. Moreover, the new weapon consumed too much energy, which required the installation of an additional reactor in the right cargo hold.
"Stop, what? What new weapon?" Revan decided to clarify, as he was obviously not informed of all the changes in the Eagle's design.
"Embarrassed reply: You see, Master..."
"HK, what have you done? We were only supposed to install new engines, a shield generator, and replace the standard hull with armored plating."
"Hasty explanation: That's right, Master! But then, due to the increased mass, the engine configuration had to be changed, energy consumption increased, and a new power source was needed. But reactors suitable for small-class ships produce too much, which is an inefficient waste of resources. Then the Mandalorian meat bag suggested using the excess energy to power the weapon systems. I quote: Since this truck is already armored like a tank, why not sharpen its teeth too?" HK perfectly copied Nomad's voice and intonations.
Revan couldn't help but slap himself in the face. He knew he shouldn't have entrusted this task to a couple of maniacs.
"What exactly did you do?"
"Explanation: Nothing special. The standard armament was replaced with twin rapid-fire blaster cannons and two laser turrets in the upper hemisphere, two more in the lower, and one ion cannon directly above the torpedo launcher."
"What launcher?!"
"Explanation: A small proton torpedo launcher of the SPL-77C model, designed for installation on corvettes. It is installed directly under the bridge, which in my opinion is impractical and dangerous, but the YT-1930 hull has no better place."
"How did you manage to cram it under the bridge?!"
"Additional explanations: Two cabins had to be dismantled, a quarter of the mess hall was occupied, and the protein converter was moved, but the weapon fit perfectly."
"Oh, Force, why me..." Revan grumbled, "Is that all, I hope?"
"Affirmative, Master. These are all the combat modifications that have been installed."
"How much," Revan interrupted the droid.
"Clarification: How much what? Master?"
"How many credits did you waste on all this?"
"Hesitant reply: Not much."
"How much, HK?" the former Sith insisted.
"A little over two hundred thousand."
"How much?!"
"Hasty clarification: Two hundred and thirty-four thousand credits, Master."
"Did you clad it in beskar?! Or did you put Coruscant instead of the portholes? That's almost three times more expensive than a new ship! Not a used one! Not from an auction! But straight from the slipway! A new one!"
"Uncomprehending clarification: Master, you yourself approved the budget for repair and modernization. I have a copy, signed by you three weeks ago."
Revan recalled that he had indeed signed a lot of contracts during that period, including a couple of datapad, which HK had slipped him. There was utter chaos at the time, related to the transfer of Black Sun property to new individuals, the founding of Obsidian, and a hundred other urgent matters.
The former Sith groaned, realizing that he was to blame for this situation.
"And how will they let us into the trading ports now? A heavily armed freighter doesn't inspire confidence," Revan asked, catching his breath and slapping his forehead several times.
"Unnecessary explanations: With a trading license, they will be obliged to let us through, Master. Moreover, the new hull prevents the detection of the armament installed on board. And the visible gun turrets do not exceed the means permitted for the defense of a small merchant vessel."
"Did you at least update the sensor matrix? Or will we fly with the new hull like blind Shyraks?"
"Indignant reply: How could you think that, Master! I do not make such miscalculations."
"Then prepare the ship for departure. We must leave Coruscant within twenty-four hours," Revan ordered, already lifting the aerocar into the air.
"Joyful exclamation: Yes, Master! Are we going to kill someone?"
The former Jedi covered his face with his hand again. HK was incorrigible. However, where they were going, such an approach might save their lives.
"Quite possibly," Revan replied and turned off the communicator.
"This will be a long flight," thought the owner of the crazy droid, "But at least the defense will be better."
The aerocar, its engines whirring, slowly floated towards the spaceport.
***
Chapter-not-a-chapter...
Fear your desires...
Walking through the swampy streets of the ruins of Kaas City, which had almost surrendered to the aggressive flora of the former Sith Empire capital, Revan felt the unseen presence of a powerful entity. The Force trembled around in tension, acknowledging the boundless power of the master of these lands. Even in Visheyt's throne room, Revan had not felt such pressure. Breathing was difficult, and every heartbeat was a struggle, as if the world itself wanted to destroy the uninvited guest. Even Nathema was a more pleasant place compared to the deserted Dromund Kaas.
The former Sith knew perfectly well where he needed to go. The ruins of the Dark Council's Citadel still proudly towered over the remains of the once majestic city. Revan felt that the path would not be easy. As he approached his goal, the pressure grew. Only the Force kept its acolyte from losing consciousness when he could no longer breathe.
His chest was squeezed by an invisible iron hoop, his eyes watered from the burning sensation of hot sand on his corneas, as if there was no moisture in the air.
Revan called out to the Darkness that raged around him, asking for help and relief from suffering... but the Force did not respond. The fear that had arisen in his soul from the first second of his arrival on this swampy, abandoned planet threatened to turn into primal terror. This had never happened before! The Force had never ignored its acolyte!
A sudden roar tore Revan from his anxious thoughts, forcing him to stare in shock at the remains of the Citadel.
The seemingly monolithic structure suddenly cracked and in a matter of seconds crumbled into a pile of stones, disappearing in an impenetrable cloud of anthracite dust. It was as if a black shadow rose against the fortress it cast and swallowed the weakened structure, erasing even the memory of it.
Barely managing to cover himself with a shield from the debris and the terrifying cloud of dust, by invoking the few remnants of Light that had not yet left this place, Revan barely maintained his balance.
But what happened next made the Force acolyte forget all the inconveniences and strangeness of this hostile world.
From the settling dust cloud, a tall figure emerged in a black robe with a deeply pulled-down hood. An immeasurable power emanated from it, from which Revan almost lost control of his own body. His legs trembled treacherously, threatening to give out at any moment and bring the former Jedi to his knees.
Taking a few steps, the figure in the robe suddenly stumbled and, waving its arms comically, almost fell to the ground.
"Ouch-ouch-ouch! Me so clumsy!" the clear master of these parts exclaimed in a squeaky but painfully familiar voice, lifting himself into the air with the Force to avoid falling.
"What the..."
Before Revan could finish, the figure in the robe instantly closed the distance and appeared directly opposite him.
In the dark maw of the hood, a pair of eyes burned like scarlet flames... on short stalks... towering over a grinning face... a snout... of Jar Jar... Binks?!
Revan didn't even have time to react to the feeling of threat when his body was suddenly bound by invisible fetters.
"Stupid Revan," squeaked... !!!a Gungan!!! "Your little-little nothing compared to real Sith'ari!"
"By the Force!" Revan exclaimed mentally, "What in the name of Bogan is going on here!?"
The next moment, his own blades, torn from his belt by his opponent, pierced Revan's already almost stopped heart...
"Aaaah!"
Revan jumped out of bed, instantly surrounding himself with a Force shield and summoning his weapon into his hands. The light of the silver blade illuminated the captain's cabin of the Dawn Eagle, allowing him to survey his surroundings.
No one was around.
"A dream?" the former Jedi asked with relief, exhaling, feeling the blood pounding in his temples from the amount of adrenaline coursing through his veins.
"Damn dream!" Revan exclaimed, deactivating his blades.
He sank heavily onto the bed, the former Jedi rubbing his face with his palms, finally shaking off the delusion.
"By the Great One! A dream!" Revan burst into almost insane laughter, releasing the tension.
His body was trembling. The sensations were too real.
"Ashla and Bogan, the primordial ones, what kind of savagery did I dream of?!"
Revan had no doubt that it was a dream.
But what had caused such a bizarre... undoubtedly, nightmare!
Recalling yesterday, the mentor of two young Force adepts, as it seemed to him, found the answer. It was all about Anakin. The boy missed his family and friends. Unfortunately, among those he considered close was the thrice-cursed, long-eared Gungan. During a joint meditation training session, the goal of which was to try to find someone familiar using the Force and sense their direction, Skywalker suddenly thought of this walking disaster. This also affected Revan.
"And last night's evening also contributed," the former Jedi thought, noticing an empty bottle on the table.
Who brought it... Maul... it seemed. Or was it Kira?
"I will never drink Dathomirian Ale again!" Revan hissed through his teeth, "I'd rather have a hangover from Kashyyyk moonshine than such dreams!"
The clock indicated that it was still deep night by ship's time.
However, the sleep was gone as if by magic, and the former Jedi had no intention of returning to bed.
"A Hutt Gungan," Revan muttered.
The master of the cabin began to pace his dwelling, making circle after circle, but his nerves were still not calming down. Not even quoting the Codex, which had calmed him even before the most difficult battles of the Mandalorian Wars, helped!
"HK!" Revan exclaimed into the intercom, unable to bear it any longer.
"Joyful greeting: Good night, Master! How may I serve you?" the assassin droid responded cheerfully.
"A trifle, but you'll like it."
"Interested question: What needs to be done, Master?"
"Next time you see a Gungan named Jar Jar Binks, unload two magazines from a heavy blaster into him... no, better three," Revan commanded, laughing like a madman, "Then take the body to the lifeless planet of Nathema and burn it. I'll give you the coordinates."
At such an order, HK-47 almost burned out his vocoder in an attempt to suppress a joyful cry. Master! He asked! To kill!!! The hated Gungan!!!!!
The droid itself didn't understand how its head spun three hundred and sixty degrees, like some astromech!
"Joyful agreement: Master! There will be no trace left of that disgusting amphibian!" HK responded over the intercom, almost sparking with delight.
"Excellent. Better safe than sorry."
The next morning, when the empty bottle of Dathomirian ale was no longer in the cabin, Revan still didn't understand whether he had given the order to HK or if this episode had also been a dream.
"I need to rest more," the former Jedi stated, sinking into a meditative trance, "To dream of such a thing..."