An hour later, Revan was sitting in the pilot's seat, and the ship's former owners lay tied up in the cargo hold. Though he disliked torture, the former Republic Army General acknowledged its utility. Of course, the same results could have been achieved using a wide array of Dark Side skills, but the Jedi didn't want to abuse the Darkness. He remembered how easy it was to lose control and plummet into the abyss.
From his conversation with Onaka, Revan learned that he had been taken from an unremarkable asteroid on the border of the Anoat system in the Outer Rim. The smugglers didn't know who ran the place. Shipments were received by droids or people in closed-faced armor. Payment was transferred by them, too. No one asked questions. These two criminals were only required to deliver the requested goods, which was a common task for various illegal organizations.
He couldn't extract anything more. During the interrogation, Revan continuously monitored Onaka, scanning his mind with the Force, confirming the veracity of the information. The smuggler wasn't lying.
Finally, Revan compelled him to give up the authorization codes for the navigational computer. He was now just finishing unlocking access to all systems. He brought up the map of the sector he was in... and froze.
"The stars... they're not where they should be," he said quietly, slowly emerging from his stupor.
As an experienced pilot, he perfectly remembered the configurations of the constellations and the positions of the star clusters in the main sectors.
Suppressing the beginnings of panic, he quickly accessed the HoloNet and checked the current date.
And cursed helplessly using the foulest language he knew.
"Almost four thousand years?" he asked the empty air in disbelief.
No, he had assumed some time had passed. After all, the last time he broke free, it was nearly three hundred years later. But three hundred isn't four thousand! It was simply impossible!
"No emotion, there is... ah, to hell with peace! Four-thousand Hutt-damned years!" his attempt to resort to the Code and calm himself failed.
He sprang to his feet and began to pace the cabin, rubbing his wrists and occasionally clutching his head.
"The Galactic Republic? What happened to it? The Order? The Empire? The Mandalorians?" he repeated, trying to get a grip.
Finally, a little calmer, he slumped back into the pilot's seat and activated the HoloNet, creating query after query, searching for the information he needed.
What he saw and read reassured him somewhat. The Sith Empire had ceased to exist. The Order was still on Coruscant. However, there was no mention of the other enclaves on Tython, Telos, or Dantooine. Moreover, some planets seemed to have completely vanished from the galactic maps. There was no mention of Dromund Kaas, Tython, and dozens of other planets that were densely populated or strategically valuable in the past.
The past, Revan scoffed.
It was difficult to grasp that what had happened to him literally yesterday was now dissolved in the endless whirlpool of time. However, the current situation in the galaxy was reassuring. No wars, no serious conflicts. A rampant crime wave and Hutt clans on the Outer Rim—well, it was the same thousands of years ago. The weak progress in technology was surprising. However, this might have been just an impression from a quick glance at the galactic news.
The beeping of the comm panel interrupted his HoloNet study. Revan accepted the signal.
"Transport TT-24057, are you going to land?! You've been hanging in orbit for an hour!" a voice on the other end began gruffly.
"We're resolving technical difficulties," Revan replied.
A moment of silence hung in the air.
"Who are you? Where's Onaka?"
"He's temporarily stepped down and gifted me the ship."
"What?! And the cargo?! Jabba is waiting for what he was promised!" the caller persisted.
"I know nothing about the cargo. Take it up with Onaka. He'll be on the planet soon," the Jedi answered unflappably.
"Nothing about the cargo?! Have you lost your minds down there! Jabba will grind everyone into powder!" the unknown person screamed, losing his voice.
"Jabba?"
"Jabba the Hutt! You damned idiot!"
The Jedi frowned. He didn't want to deal with the Hutts. Especially on a planet under their control.
"Don't fret, friend. We'll land in Mos Eisley soon; we'll sort it out there."
"Make it snappy! And no foolishness!" the caller roared, disconnecting the communication.
Revan leaned back in the seat.
"Well, look at that, how serious everything is," he drawled with sarcasm.
He had no intention of handing the ship over to anyone. Transport was always vital. The problem, of course, was its identifier. And on a planet run by a certain Jabba the Hutt, it was unlikely anyone would agree to re-register the ship without informing that slimy creature. Especially if he was looking for his cargo.
"Speaking of cargo. I should find out what it is. It might come in handy," Revan thought.
Be that as it may, he decided to deal with problems as they arose. Right now, he needed a quiet sanctuary. And he had no desire to involve the current Jedi Order. How had the Order changed over millennia? Especially after it was nearly wiped out by the Triumvirate of Lords before Meetra intervened. He needed to hide and think. And Tatooine was perfectly suited for these purposes. Getting lost in the sands wouldn't be a problem.
With these thoughts, Revan began his descent to the planet. He headed directly for Mos Eisley to avoid arousing suspicion from the controller, who clearly worked for Jabba. However, less than a hundred kilometers out, he sharply changed course and dropped straight down, descending to the ground level. The inertial dampers signaled maximum load as he sharply pulled out of the dive and landed the ship on a small plateau.
He then disabled the comm console and regretfully smashed the navigation computer panel. These two systems transmitted the ship's identifier by communicating with navigation beacons and control posts. To be sure, he short-circuited the schematics with a short Force pulse. Now the ship wouldn't be able to calculate a course or even orient itself in space at all. He would have to fly blind, but no one would be able to track him. However, installing a new navigation computer was on his to-do list for the near future.
He solved the prisoner problem fairly quickly and simply. He dragged both outside, threw them a package with a day's rations and two water canteens. Then, seeing the consequences of Onaka's interrogation, he tossed them a medkit as well.
"The spaceport is that way," he pointed toward one of the suns as the ramp door closed.
"Wait!" the smugglers yelled in unison, but Revan was no longer listening.
He didn't feel sorry for them. Not one bit. Judging by the data in the computer, they more than deserved such treatment. Besides, he gave them a chance to escape. Only a hundred kilometers to civilization, albeit under the scorching sun. And Jabba had probably already sent his men to the last coordinates of the transport he was interested in.
Returning to the cockpit, Revan lifted the ship to a low altitude and flew in a wide arc in the opposite direction from the spaceport. He flew low so that even the planetary network, if such were still in use, wouldn't be able to detect him.
The only city he knew on the surface of Tatooine was Anchorhead. Though, it wasn't even a city, just a hunter's settlement. According to the map he had checked earlier, it still existed, though it was hardly used as a port anymore. The former Sith headed there.
"Oh!" Revan exclaimed, opening one of the crates in the cargo hold.
After landing the smugglers' ship in a small gorge near Anchorhead, where Jawa sandcrawlers couldn't reach, the Jedi decided to inspect his new assets.
In Onaka's cabin, he found a decent set of clean clothes and gladly changed into them. Thick trousers with armor plating on the thighs, high boots, a light gray jacket, a thin breastplate of blackened duraplast over it, and a worn-out ankle-length traveler's cloak—that was the new appearance of the "rejuvenated" Sith Lord.
The crew cabins also held a few good weapons. Revan didn't recognize the models, but he could assess the construction and battery power.
The main surprise awaited him in the cargo bay.
The crates were filled with Beskar ingots! Not even ore—ingots! Although the metal was poorly processed, clearly without the involvement of specialists, it could still be used to create super-strong alloys. Any weapons company would kill for a couple of kilograms of what lay in these boxes!
"The Force and the great Masters, where did they manage to get such a treasure?" Revan wondered.
As far as he knew, Beskar, or simply Mandalorian Iron, was an almost sacred metal to the Mandalorians. It was mined only on Mandalore, and its export was strictly forbidden. Or had everything changed over thousands of years? Maybe another source was found?
The metal was truly unique. Super-strong, refractory, and almost immune to the effects of the Force. Blades and armor made of this metal could withstand even lightsaber strikes. Only the elite Mandalorian warriors wore Beskar armor. Revan clearly remembered how difficult it was to fight them.
"Apparently, this is the cargo Jabba is craving. Most likely, as payment for services," the Jedi thought.
Closing the crates, he pondered: How much is this stuff worth? Without a connection, he couldn't access the HoloNet now and check the prices.
"I'll have to find out when the opportunity arises," he thought.
He wouldn't learn much sitting on the ship. And Revan decided it was time to venture into the city for a reconnaissance.
Strapping on a belt with a blaster and regretting the lack of a lightsaber, he set out toward Anchorhead. He wasn't worried about the ship. The gorge was quite deep; it wouldn't be easy to get to. The Jawas wouldn't get it, even if they found it. And if they did, it wouldn't be a great loss. He had prudently unloaded and hidden the Beskar crates. So, even if the ship evaporated by the time he returned, he wouldn't be overly upset. Revan intended to acquire other transport anyway. This one was already wanted.
Tatooine seemed untouched by time. Nearly four thousand years had passed, and the landscape remained unchanged. Sand everywhere, endless seas of dunes and dry winds. The two scorching suns heated the surface to the extreme, making even a Jedi breathe heavily and look for shade, which was nowhere in sight.
The walk to Anchorhead took almost two hours. To protect his head from the sun, Revan put on an old wide-brimmed hat, found among the belongings of that same Onaka.
To shield himself from the sand that kept trying to get into his eyes and mouth, the Jedi put on a pair of tightly fitting engineering goggles and tied a piece of torn shirt around his face. In this guise, he walked through the settlement gates.
The entrance was unguarded. Over the years, Anchorhead had lost its importance to the local population and was practically deserted.
Walking leisurely through the familiar town, Revan indulged in nostalgia. Everything was so recognizable. The same houses made of light limestone and blocks of compressed quartz sand. The same streets with protruding moisture vaporators. And even the droid shop was in the same place, though its name had changed to "Droids by Uno Laka."
"Only the 'Meatbags' are significantly fewer around here," Revan recalled with a smile his assassin droid HK-47's favorite address for all sentient organic life forms.
He found it strange, but he missed the droid. Even though he was an unbalanced maniac with an all-consuming desire to kill, the former Sith always liked his sense of humor. And in the end, HK was his creation, built with his own hands. And his help would be very useful now.
In fact, he missed more than just the assassin droid. He missed the whole old crew. The feisty Twi'lek Mission Vao, and the shaggy Wookiee Zaalbar. And the grim Mandalorian Canderous Ordo with his stories of military exploits, even if some of those stories involved fighting against Revan and the Republic.
He missed the wise and slightly crazy Jedi hermit Jolee Bindo, whose advice greatly helped the memory-lost Knight not to fall into the Darkness again. He missed the nimble T3-M4, the astromech who single-handedly managed to repair the shot-down Ebon Hawk on Rakata Prime and bring Meetra to the imprisoned Revan.
He even missed the insecure Juhani, whose fear of the Dark Side was exactly what was pushing the poor Cathar toward a fall. Hell, he'd even be glad to see the bore Carth Onasi, with his eternal trust issues.
But most of all, he missed Bastila, his beloved wife. It was a pity they had spent so little time together.
Anger and resentment towards the Jedi Council began to rise in his soul again. If they hadn't been so zealous in creating an obedient puppet on the ruins of the barely living Revan's consciousness... everything would have been different.
Wandering the wide streets of Anchorhead, the former Jedi pondered how often he had been subjected to outside influence. How often he allowed someone else to decide for him. He let the Jedi instill in him the ideals of the Order, which he didn't wholeheartedly believe in. And the Jedi themselves no longer followed those ideals. After all, even to go help the peaceful inhabitants of the Republic and protect them from the Mandalorians, Revan had been forced to disobey the Council.
"Violence is not the answer... Hmph!" he recalled the words of one of the Masters. Idiots.
Thoughts continued to swarm in his head. The Jedi claimed to be the protectors of peace. But when that peace was broken and war raged in the galaxy, they hid in their enclaves and diligently ignored it. Fear prevented them from fighting back! Their irrational fear of the Dark Side, driven to the level of an animal's primal terror of a forest fire.
And while the fear was justified—yes, almost all the Knights who followed Revan succumbed to the Darkness after the war. It's impossible to remain calm watching dozens of ravaged planets and billions killed. So, all of them who went to defend the Republic "were tainted." But they didn't become mad monsters, greedy for power and authority, as the Jedi describe the fallen. They just became... different? And the ideals of the Order began to seem false, and the rules merely foolish restrictions.
Or was it not because of the Darkness? Jolee also left the Order when he became disillusioned with it. Maybe something was wrong with the Order itself?
And after the war, Revan succumbed to the Emperor's power and fell completely to the Dark Side. More accurately, he was brainwashed and forced to serve through the Force. But the former Jedi's will proved stronger. He managed to break free from the control... but not to reject the Darkness.
That was when the idea of his own Empire was born, one that could fight back against Vitiate. By that time, he and his best friend, Alek, who had already changed his name to Malak, had found the Star Forge. Its power allowed them to quickly rebuild their fleet. The Knights and soldiers who followed them into battle against the Mandalorians gladly joined the new order. The Empire grew rapidly, supported by the worlds that Revan's forces had recently liberated.
And there was war... now against the Republic and the Jedi. The Empire achieved victory after victory. Revan's experience was the decisive factor in battles against inexperienced Jedi Generals, who often only hindered the Republic Navy officers. His state grew. When conquering systems, the former Sith did it carefully, preserving infrastructure and supply lines. The conquered planets returned to normal life within weeks, avoiding a long period of recovery from destruction.
And then came Malak's betrayal. He tried to kill Revan. Although, this wasn't his first attempt. They first fought the day they took the names Darth Revan and Darth Malak. It was to decide who would be the master and who the servant. Malak lost his lower jaw in that fight, which convinced him not to try to surpass Revan in melee combat. So, his new attempt involved destroying the entire ship his master was on.
And that was the very day he met Bastila...
Revan turned into an alley and headed towards the old cantina where hunters used to gather.
"Well... thousands of years ago, maybe they did," the Jedi muttered, looking at the time-battered building.
The plan was simple enough. Go to a bar and gather information about the current situation in the surrounding lands and the galaxy in general. Connect to the HoloNet via a public terminal and stay until he was kicked out. Plus, perhaps the local hunters could tell him something interesting. It would also be good to get some money and supplies. He had a week's supply on the ship, but that was too little. In such bars, hunters often looked for partners for hunting. And that was a profitable business.
"Right... it was," the former Jedi repeated disappointedly.
Plunging into his thoughts again, Revan walked on, toward the other end of the town where the spaceport used to be.
He remembered the day of his first meeting with Bastila again. Or rather, his first face-to-face meeting. Before that, he had only felt the effect of her Battle Meditation—that special ability that made the young Padawan the primary target of the Imperial forces.
And she was so young and inexperienced. Impulsive and proud, not at all a model of the Order's ideal. Her task was to help the Knights break through to Revan's flagship so they could attempt to capture or kill the Sith Lord. It was only later, after everything, that the Council presented it as if Bastila had led the capture team.
It was she, the foolish girl, who saved the wounded Revan and kept him in this world, feeding him with the Force... and forming a strong bond.
"Hey, you! You look wealthy. Just passing through?" Four aliens blocked the thoughtful Knight's path: a Rodian, two Gamorreans, and a Trandoshan.
'Well, here we go,' Revan thought.
"Why so silent?" the Trandoshan pressed.
Two more figures emerged from the alley behind the Jedi. Duros, it seemed. He couldn't be more precise as he didn't turn his head to get a better look. However, their presence was clearly felt in the Force.
"Greetings, esteemed sirs. I am indeed just passing through. Could you point me toward the bar?" Revan asked in his most welcoming and simple-minded voice.
At the same time, the Knight was concentrating the Force around him, preparing for aggressive negotiations.
"It's not far. Just around the corner, literally," replied a Gamorrean, who was immediately silenced by the Rodian.
"See, here's the thing. Visitors are required to pay a toll for passing through town," the Trandoshan announced.
"Oh, really? And how much do I need to pay?" the Jedi asked, subtly shifting to the side, positioning himself so the Duros were exactly behind him.
"Everything you have," the mugger calmly replied, pulling out a blaster.
Revan drew his own and immediately fired at the Rodian, while simultaneously dodging the Trandoshan's shot. The calculation paid off. The lizard-like alien's shot hit the Duros standing directly behind Revan. The Jedi didn't miss, either; the charge burned a new hole in the alien's head.
Shoving their leader aside, the Gamorreans rushed into the fight. These dull-witted creatures, with faces resembling the snouts of the pigs from the forests of Yavin 4, always preferred axes as weapons.
Revan had just shot the second Duros, who was in a slight stupor from the unexpected loss of his friend. The Gamorrean tried to cleave the Jedi with a single axe swing, but his opponent was too nimble. The man sidestepped, letting the axe sink into the ground. Then, pushing off the weapon stuck in the stone, he slammed his knee into the pig-like alien's snout, remembering to augment the strike with the Force. The opponent's vertebrae cracked under the pressure.
He immediately had to roll away from the second Gamorrean. Swinging an axe in a narrow alley was problematic, so the horizontal strike came out slow and weak. Using the inertia of the heavy junk and the extreme clumsiness of the immigrants from Gamorr proved to be simple. A light Force push was enough to send the alien smashing his snout into the building wall with such force that cracks ran through it. The crunch of skull bones merged with the cracking plaster.
The Force warned him of danger from behind. Turning, Revan saw the Trandoshan, who had gotten back on his feet and was aiming his blaster at him. The shot was directed squarely at his chest, which was protected only by light duraplast. Deciding not to risk it, the Jedi caught the blaster bolt on his open palm, deflecting it away. His hand was seared, but not severely. Immediately, he sent a wave of the Force in return, which swept the opponent away, breaking his bones.
It was over.
Revan examined his left hand. The burn wasn't dangerous.
"Looks like the new body is still struggling with Tutaminis. I need to train more," he thought, wrapping his hand in a piece of fabric he had prudently taken from the ship.
No one came running at the sound of the struggle and the shots.
"At least something never changes. Crime in the dark alleys and the indifference of the bystanders," the Jedi sighed.
A quick search of the defeated opponents' bodies yielded several credit chips, totaling 450 units. Even by the standards of the past, this was a pittance, enough for a week at most, and only for food and water. And water on Tatooine... was expensive. Quickly weighing his options, Revan decided to check the information about the bar that the Gamorrean had so clumsily provided... rest his soul.
The cantina was indeed around the corner, and it was against that very wall that the unlucky informant had smashed his head. Did the former Sith feel sorry for those criminals? No. A Jedi might be struggling with remorse now. But Revan no longer considered himself one. Yes, he still intended to serve the Light, but he was not going to follow the Order's Code. And the incident in the alley perfectly aligned with his personal principles.
The bar was small, with only five tables. Apparently, a large number of patrons wasn't expected here. The arrival of a new customer drew the attention of the few who had chosen to spend their time visiting the establishment.
Trying not to stare, Revan walked slowly to the bar counter and sat down one seat away from one of the hunters. There was no doubt he was a hunter. Clothes coated to reflect thermal radiation, a helmet with a visor and twenty-power optics. On his belt, a pouch of lures was stained crimson with leaked blood. Next to him, leaning against the bar counter, was a long-barreled hunting rifle with an optical sight.
"What do you want?" the Twi'lek bartender asked gruffly.
"Something to wet my throat," Revan replied. The Twi'lek silently took out a bottle with a yellowish drink and poured a full glass.
"20 credits," he announced, pushing the glass toward the Jedi.
Paying, the man tasted the liquid. It wasn't bad, actually. The sharp and spicy taste suggested that this drink was likely locally produced. At the same time, it quenched his thirst well and even invigorated him to some extent.
"And how much game is around these days?" he asked, turning to the hunter. The Force suggested that the conversationalist was eager to talk. Which meant it would be easy to find out some details from him.
"What game!" the hunter, also a Human, spat. "You have to chase the scrawniest lizard for two days across the desert. Dewbacks and Worrts have gone deep into the Dune Sea. Only Womp Rats are left around. And you can't get anything from them but meat."
The hunter clearly had been wanting to complain about life for a long time. And, judging by the bartender's scornful expression, such whining didn't bother the regulars much.
"What about Krayt Dragons?" Revan inquired, taking another sip.
"Pah! There are barely any left. Almost all of them were killed off a hundred years ago. A couple supposedly live in the canyons to the north, but no one has found them. So, they're probably just rumors," the man ran a hand through his straw-colored, sun-bleached hair. "I'm Mel."
Glancing briefly at the extended hand, Revan decided not to introduce himself by his own name. His name might pop up somewhere. What if someone still remembered him? The Jedi Order certainly would. They liked to frighten their students with legends about fallen Knights. And he had no desire to deal with the Order right now.
On the other hand, the galaxy was vast. How many Revan's could there be? But it was better to be safe.
"Vaner," he shook the offered hand, giving a borrowed name. However, the name wasn't foreign. Bastila had named their son that. It was an anagram of his own name, as a tribute to the father who had vanished in unknown lands, saving the Republic from an unknown threat.
"Are you a hunter, Vaner?"
"I used to be."
His conversationalist scrutinized him with an astonished and critical look.
"Used to be? You don't look a day over fifteen."
Revan mentally slapped himself. He shouldn't forget his new appearance.
"My father taught me. And then he left and never came back. So, I don't know if I'm a hunter anymore," the Jedi wove an excuse.
"Sorry about that, kid. But that's a story that won't surprise anyone here. Almost all hunters were taught by relatives who were later eaten on a hunt. Or shot by Tusken Raiders," his companion patted him on the shoulder.
"Tusken Raiders?" Revan repeated.
"Oh, so you're not from around here?" Mel shook his head. "The Raiders are the Sand People; they looted Fort Tusken about a hundred years ago, so that's what they're called."
"I see."
"And where are you from yourself?"
"Deralia," Revan replied, recalling the details of his fabricated biography after the Council's brainwashing.
"Where's that?" the hunter asked again.
"Under a Hutt's tail. In short, very far away, beyond the Outer Rim."
"Wow. And what wind blew you here?"
"A following one. My ship's navicomputer broke, and I don't have money for a new one. So I'm looking for a way to earn some credits so I don't starve to death."
They drank in silence. Mel looked no older than thirty. Brown eyes, dark skin, a hooked nose. However, he felt no threat from him. He was an honest man.
"Tough luck, brother. You definitely won't scrape together that kind of money here. And you won't find parts either."
"What about the spaceport?" Revan wondered.
"There isn't one in Anchorhead. There used to be, but it was abandoned hundreds of years ago, even before the second colonization. Now they grow sand gourds there. The hangars and landing pads were perfectly suited for it."
"Well, that complicates things," the Jedi murmured.
The news was unexpected. This made things much more difficult. No, the ship was functional, but it was grounded. There was definitely a spaceport in Mos Eisley, but he didn't want to venture under Jabba's nose.
"Is it possible to get supplies or a speeder here?" Revan inquired.
Mel thought for a moment.
"You can try, but it's tough here too. We have enough water and food; a regular caravan comes from Bestine. But with tech, we're in trouble. Many have their own speeders, but only one each, and they won't sell it for anything. I heard there was one at Uno Laka's shop, but it's in terrible condition and going for strange money."
"Strange in what sense?"
"It feels like he added a couple of extra zeroes to the price tag and forgot about it. But he haggles like he's selling a Coruscant gold nugget," the slightly tipsy hunter chuckled.
The news wasn't great. Still, information was always useful. Ordering another drink each, Mel and Vaner settled into a heart-to-heart conversation. The hunter talked about his life, how he ended up in Anchorhead with his father and brother. His relatives were eventually eaten by desert lizards in the middle of the night. It turned out the defensive perimeter around their camp had failed, and his brother had also fallen asleep on watch. And Mel was stuck in this part of the desert, left alone, penniless and without a speeder. He had been living like that for eight years.
Revan, meanwhile, told a made-up story about a teenager from Deralia who went on a hunting tour across the galaxy with his father. But the tour was cut short on the very first planet. Yet, the brave son decided to finish what they started in memory of his father. And that's how he ended up on Tatooine without money and with a damaged ship.
They talked until late into the night. An inebriated Mel, becoming sentimental, offered Vaner to spend the night at his place so he wouldn't have to trudge back to the ship across the sands at night. Because with the local predators, that would be certain death.
The rays of Tatoo I and Tatoo II, like the searchlight of a walker, hit his eyes. Revan winced, rolled over, and tumbled onto the floor. Startled, he sat up abruptly and looked around. He had woken up in someone's house on Tatooine. Memory quickly came to his aid; he had barely drunk anything yesterday. The house belonged to his acquaintance from yesterday—Mel.
The hunter lived quite modestly. Only one room, which served as a hallway, bedroom, living room, and kitchen. A table, a couple of chairs, some kitchen appliances, a narrow bed, and the armchair from which the Jedi had successfully fallen. The host was sleeping, sprawled out on the bed fully clothed. A hangover, judging by the smell of alcohol fumes, was guaranteed.
Deciding to let his host sleep, Revan connected to the HoloNet terminal. Access was free, provided he didn't delve into restricted sites or use paid search engines. Yes, in the free version, the HoloNet processed requests slowly and the information was incomplete, but the millennia-behind Knight didn't need extensive details right now.
He searched for information about himself. Only one mention, referencing the Jedi Temple archives. Nothing at all about the Sith Empire or his connection to it. He tried a couple more queries. The same result. Everything he knew was now distant and ancient history.
Deciding to leave the past alone, Revan focused on studying the present. Technology, weapons. By noon, he got to the raw materials market. Beskar interested him most of all.
As expected, Mandalore was practically a monopolist. The metal was only used for the planet's internal needs. The main consumers were MandalMotors and M-Arms. Two or three other planets supplied paltry scraps of the material, barely enough to cover infantry armor, or a light starfighter at best. All of this led to a sky-high demand for Beskar. And consequently, rising prices. Revan had almost three tons of the metal in ingots—ready for processing—on his ship. By rough estimates, it was worth almost fifteen billion credits! No wonder Jabba must have been upset.
"He won't let this go easily... You don't mess around with that kind of money," Revan thought, his inner tension mounting.
The general's mind quickly began calculating the possibilities. The planet was controlled by the Hutts. Crime was rampant. Individual gangs were likely either directly subordinate to Jabba or paid tribute. The flight path to Anchorhead was difficult to track, but possible, especially if the landing transport was noticed. He'd left a trail in the alley yesterday. The gang's losses would be immediately apparent, and there was a bar nearby. Questioning the bartender and breaking him wouldn't be hard.
Putting all the facts together didn't take much intelligence: a newcomer in town, broke, on a broken ship. How many hours after the scuffle did Jabba learn of his presence in town? And how many hours of flight from Mos Eisley to Anchorhead?
The noise of approaching speeders outside the window threatened to provide a quick answer. Revan looked out the window and swore.
Three speeders, fully loaded with choice, well-armed thugs, were approaching the house. Fifteen fighters, at least. And a gun emplacement with a heavy blaster was mounted on the roof of one of the speeders.
There was no time to flee. The house entrance faced the speeders directly. The house was on the outskirts, behind it was a city wall twenty meters high with an electrified perimeter for protection against predators. Not even the Force could help him leap over it in one go.
"Kriffing hell!" Revan snarled, examining his meager gear.
The odds weren't in his favor. One against fifteen. His weapon was a light hand blaster with a 50-shot capacity. He had managed to learn that from the HoloNet. He really needed to update his knowledge of modern weapons.
Mel wasn't factored into his calculations. It was unlikely he'd defend a near-stranger. And even if he did, he'd be of little help right now...
One thing was reassuring: Jabba needed the Beskar, which meant he needed Revan alive. Hopefully, he hadn't forgotten to warn his thugs about that.
"What's all the noise?" the hunter mumbled sleepily, roused by the roar of the speeders.
Revan was still looking out the window, formulating a plan.
"Just a welcoming committee coming for me."
Mel staggered over to the window. For a minute, he stared intently at the transports, whose passengers were already beginning to disembark. Then his gaze cleared instantly.
"May I be Sarlacc bait! These are Jabba's mercenaries!" the hunter shouted with dislike and a hint of fear.
"Yep. Looks like he was offended that I didn't land in Mos Eisley," Revan spoke calmly.
"The ship isn't yours?" Mel quickly caught on.
The Jedi nodded. "Nor is the cargo."
Revan fully understood that with those two sentences, he had drawn a clear line for his new acquaintance. There was going to be a conflict here, and only two sides. He wouldn't be able to hide.
"Well, what the kriff, Vaner?! Barely half a day in your company, and a stinking bantha ass is rapidly closing in!" Mel lamented, pulling up his pants and tightening his belt.
The Jedi just shrugged.
"They need me alive. You hide for now. Or... is there another way out of the house?" Revan asked.
"A wompa always has several exits to its nest, and so do I," the hunter replied, grabbing his rifle and heading for the kitchen stove.
With a slight grunt of effort, he pushed the stove aside and turned around.
"It leads to the alley, but there's not much point. We won't get out unnoticed."
"I'll draw their attention. You leave."
"And you?"
"I'll get out. Not the first time," Revan cut him off.
"But..."
"Go!" the Jedi snapped.
Mel wanted to say something but suppressed the urge and darted into the passageway.
"Well, at least he didn't shoot me in the back," Revan thought, running through the options for how the situation might unfold.
Surrender was not an option, under any circumstances. If Onaka and his friend told Jabba the story of how a slave had bested them, he wouldn't get off with just a slave collar a second time. They'd tie him up so he couldn't move a finger.
But a fight against fifteen opponents wouldn't be easy either. The chances were there, but very unreliable. A Jedi without a lightsaber loses almost 40% of their combat effectiveness. Revan was better off than the average Knight in this regard. Thanks to his training as a simple soldier—a role he had to live for over a year after his personality change—he was proficient with firearms and hand-to-hand combat skills. Plus the Force. But Revan couldn't rely on it yet for one simple reason: the body was someone else's, and the reborn Jedi hadn't yet fully explored its capabilities.
There was no time for meditation. The connection was there, but it was strange. Like a voice heard through cotton wool, not a clear answer. By his own reckoning, this shell had the potential to be even stronger than his own body, but it hadn't been trained. That was why Light Side techniques were so difficult. Dark Side techniques were simpler—emotions were faster and easier to use. But madness wasn't far behind.
"Hey, in the house! Come out! We have a couple of questions about Jabba the Hutt's valuable property!" someone yelled from the street.
Revan cautiously peered out the window.
The opponents weren't taking cover; they were simply surrounding the house. Apparently, they weren't expecting serious resistance. Which was strange. Either they hadn't been informed about the men killed in the alley yet, or they hadn't linked them to Revan.
This worked in his favor. The mercenaries were standing close to one another, and a couple of them had thermal detonators hanging from their belts. The Jedi recognized them from the HoloNet pictures. They were a kind of evolution of the ancient plasma grenade, but with a thermite casing and a baradium charge. A pocket-sized nuclear bomb, so to speak.
The plan took shape. The rest... would happen during execution.
Revan opened the door and walked out with his hands raised. A dozen and a half blasters were pointed at him.
"So, you're the one who stole Onaka's ship?" asked a mercenary in a sealed helmet.
The Jedi shrugged, putting on the mask of a frightened youngster. I don't know, interpret it as you like. I'm just a runaway slave.
The mercenaries laughed.
"Alright, bag him. Jabba will deal with him personally."
Four men moved toward Revan. The rest noticeably relaxed, having fully believed in their advantage.
It began.
The mercenaries hadn't taken five steps when the activation signals of the detonators began to squeal on the belts of three of their colleagues still standing behind them. The thugs scattered, desperately trying to detach the lethal spheres from their belts. The smarter ones immediately ran from their booby-trapped comrades. Revan hastily shrouded himself in a defensive Force bubble.
A synchronized triple explosion erupted just three seconds later. The shockwave hurled four mercenaries directly toward the Jedi. Shrapnel of burning thermite flew in all directions, slicing through armor like butter. A wave of fire then engulfed everyone. Even under the protection of the Force, Revan felt the heat of the flaming mercenaries who had landed on top of him. Shaking them off, he quickly rolled to the side and dropped to one knee, drawing his blaster.
The blast took out only seven men, including two of the four who had been approaching the Jedi. The remaining two were writhing from burns and the thermite still burning beneath their armor. Six more mercenaries managed to take cover behind the speeders and nearby buildings. As it turned out, the survivors were the most experienced of the group.
Before the dust settled, blaster fire erupted from all sides. The order to take him alive was completely ignored, fueled by rage and fear. Revan barely managed to evade the line of fire and shoot back. There was no cover nearby, and the way back into the house was cut off by a collapsed stone awning that hadn't withstood the shockwave. He couldn't concentrate.
The enemy didn't give him a second. He managed to take down two with return fire. Four more were hidden behind the speeders. One of them reached the heavy blaster and began pouring streams of scorching plasma onto the lone figure of the Jedi.
Revan had no choice but to keep moving. His speed was barely enough. The Force sustained him, preventing him from tiring, but the situation was gradually worsening. Suddenly, the head of the mercenary behind the heavy blaster exploded. An instant later, another blaster bolt struck down another mercenary. The fire came from the roof of Mel's house. The mercenaries immediately changed their attack priority. Taking advantage of their confusion, Revan darted directly at the enemy. Aided by the Force, he leaped over the speeders and, flipping in the air, shot the remaining mercenaries.
Leaning against the side of a speeder and breathing heavily, Revan saluted the shooter on the roof.
It was Mel.
A minute later, the hunter was walking from his house toward the Jedi, casually finishing off the still-groaning, burnt wounded.
"Thank you. But why?" Revan asked, his breath recovered.
"I never told you what happened to my mother yesterday, did I?" Mel asked, frowning.
The Jedi quickly understood what his new acquaintance was getting at.
"Jabba?"
"One of his raiding parties. They decided to get rich off a trade caravan from the hunting settlement..." he paused for a moment, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Mom was going to trade."
Revan placed a hand on his shoulder. "My condolences."
"Leave it. That was a long time ago. So I have my own score to settle with them," the hunter sniffed, and began examining the bodies.
Once again, Revan was amazed at how curiously the Force operated. It was no accident that he had sat down next to Mel, who ultimately helped him in a difficult situation. Coincidences simply didn't exist. There was only the Great Force with its strange sense of humor.
Revan had been convinced of this a long time ago. What were the chances of a single soldier surviving the crash of a warship with a crew of a couple of hundred people? And what were his chances of being one of the pathetic handful of survivors? And of leaving a whole planet moments before its destruction? Revan had managed it. Against all odds, he was rescued when the Endar Spire was destroyed, ended up on Taris, saved Bastila from captivity, and escaped the planet's surface under the fire of the Imperial fleet's orbital bombardment. The Force was definitely on his side, evidenced by the untold luck that accompanied him in everything.
And once again, after the scuffle, no one risked checking what caused the noise. Either the nearby buildings were empty, or the locals followed the rule: the less you know, the longer you live.
The "haul" from the mercenaries amounted to almost 250,000 credits. Apparently, they had been paid in advance. A couple of valuable samples of firearms and two speeders also survived. The third was damaged by the explosion but was still repairable. They divided all the loot equally. The Jedi was not accustomed to being greedy. And his needs were small for now.
"You can't stay in Anchorhead now. Jabba will want revenge," Revan knew perfectly well that the Hutts did not forgive such insults.
"Yeah. The town will be shaken down with a fine-tooth comb. And they'll be looking for both of us," the hunter confirmed. Mel did not look worried. Rather, he seemed pleased with the situation.
"What are you going to do?"
Revan had no intention of teaming up with anyone at this stage. He still needed to figure out his next move.
"Don't worry, I won't disappear. I have a sweetheart who's been asking me to move to Bestine with her for a long time. I keep putting it off. She'll marry me, you know," the hunter laughed.
Revan smiled politely. He himself had a positive attitude toward marriage. After all, he only had good memories associated with it.
"Looks like it's time to settle down and stop running around the planet. And they won't find me in Bestine. I'll even take her last name to be sure!" Mel roared with laughter again.
This time, Revan couldn't help himself. "And what will they call you?"
"Well, if it works out, Mel Oren. Look me up in about a year!"
"Definitely, if I'm in good health."
The hunter looked around. "What should we do with the third speeder?"
"Are there options?" Revan asked.
The hunter thought. "We could sell it to Laka's shop. It would be a second unit..."
"For strange money," the Jedi finished.
Laughing it off, they agreed on that. The speeder was decent and even armed. By Mel's assurances, it was worth at least 15,000, but they'd barely get 5,000 in hand. The lack of documentation and the damage severely reduced the price.
While Mel disposed of the third speeder, Revan went to the local market and bought a month's worth of supplies, a couple of fuel cells for the speeder, a box of blaster charges, some electronics, and tools.
Having finished their purchases, the two men met at the edge of town.
"Good luck, Mel," Revan said, extending his hand.
"You too, Vaner," the hunter shook it.
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