An hour later, Revan sat in the pilot's chair, and the ship's former owners lay bound in the cargo hold. Although he disliked torture, the former general of the Republic army acknowledged its usefulness. Of course, the same results could have been achieved with a wide range of Dark Side abilities, but the Jedi did not want to abuse the Dark Side. He remembered how easy it was to lose control and plunge into the abyss.
From his conversation with Onaka, Revan learned that they had picked him up from an inconspicuous asteroid on the border of the Anoat system in the Outer Rim. The smugglers didn't know who managed the place. Droids or armored people with closed faces accepted the cargo. They also handled the payments. No questions were asked. All this pair of criminals had to do was deliver the required goods, which was common for various illegal organizations. Nothing more could be extracted. During the interrogation, Revan kept Onaka under control, scanning his mind with the Force, ensuring the truthfulness of the information. The smuggler wasn't lying.
Finally, Revan forced them to reveal the authorization codes for the navigation computer. And now he was unlocking access to all systems. He opened the map of the required sector of the galaxy... and froze.
"The stars... they're not where they should be," he murmured quietly, gradually emerging from his stupor.
As an experienced pilot, he perfectly remembered the configuration of constellations and the positions of star clusters in the main sectors.
Suppressing the beginnings of panic, he quickly accessed the HoloNet and checked the current date. And he cursed in despair with the foulest language he knew.
"Almost four thousand years?" he asked into the void in disbelief.
No, he had assumed some time had passed. After all, last time he had gained his freedom almost three hundred years later. But three hundred was not four thousand! It was simply impossible!
"No emotions – there are... damn this peace! Four thousand Hutt years!" his attempt to refer to the code and calm down failed.
He jumped to his feet and began pacing back and forth in the cockpit, rubbing his wrists and occasionally clutching his head.
"Galactic Republic? What happened to it? The Order? The Empire? Mandalorians?" he repeated, trying to get a grip on himself.
Finally, having calmed down a bit, he slumped back into the pilot's seat and activated the HoloNet, creating request after request, searching for the information he needed.
What he saw and read calmed him a little. The Sith Empire had ceased to exist. The Order was still on Coruscant. But there was no mention of other enclaves on Tython, Telos, or Dantooine. Moreover, some planets seemed to have disappeared from the galactic maps altogether. There were no mentions of Dromund Kaas, Tython, and dozens of other planets that were previously densely populated or strategically important.
"In the past," Revan chuckled.
It was hard to realize that what had happened to him literally yesterday had now dissolved into the endless vortex of time. However, the current situation in the galaxy was reassuring. There were no wars, no serious conflicts either. Rampant crime and Hutt clans on the distant frontier, well, it was the same thousands of years ago. The slow progress of technology was surprising. However, perhaps it only seemed so upon a quick review of galactic news.
He was distracted from studying the HoloNet by a beep from the communications panel. Revan accepted the signal.
"Transport TT-24057, are you going to land?! You've been in orbit for an hour!" someone on the other end gruffly began.
"We're resolving technical difficulties," Revan replied.
There was a second of silence.
"Who are you? Where's Onaka?"
"He's temporarily retired and gifted me the ship."
"What?! And the cargo?! Jabba is waiting for the promised goods!" the interlocutor didn't back down.
"I know nothing about the cargo. Deal with Onaka. He'll be on the planet soon," the Jedi replied imperturbably.
"How do you know nothing!? Have you completely lost your fear there! Jabba will crush everyone to powder!" the unknown man shouted, his voice breaking.
"Jabba?"
"Jabba the Hutt! You damn imbecile!"
The Jedi frowned. He didn't want to deal with Hutts. Especially on a planet controlled by them.
"Don't get worked up, my dear fellow. We'll land in Mos Eisley soon, and we'll sort it out there."
"Hurry up! And no funny business!" the interlocutor barked, cutting off the connection.
Revan leaned back in his chair.
"Well, I'll be, how serious it all is," he said sarcastically.
He had no intention of giving up the ship. Transport was always important. The problem, of course, was its identifier. And on a planet ruled by a certain Jabba the Hutt, no one would agree to re-register the ship without informing that slimy creature. Especially if he was looking for his cargo.
"Speaking of cargo. I'll need to find out what it is. It might come in handy," he thought.
Be that as it may, he decided to deal with problems as they arose. Now he needed a quiet refuge. And he had no desire to approach the current Jedi Order. How had the Order changed over the millennia? Especially after it had been almost destroyed by a triumvirate of Lords before Mitth'raw'nuruvio intervened. He needed to hide and think. And Tatooine was perfect for these purposes. Besides, getting lost in the sands wouldn't be a problem.
With these thoughts, Revan began his descent to the planet. He set a clear course for Mos Eisley to avoid arousing suspicion from the dispatcher, who clearly worked for Jabba. However, before reaching a hundred kilometers, he sharply changed course and went straight down, descending towards the ground. The inertial dampeners signaled maximum load when he abruptly pulled out of the dive and landed the ship on a small plateau. Then he turned off the communications console and, with regret, smashed the navigation computer panel. It was these two systems that transmitted the ship's identifier, communicating with navigation beacons and control posts. For good measure, he short-circuited the circuits with a short Force impulse. Now the ship wouldn't be able to calculate its course, or even orient itself in space in any way. He would have to fly blind, but at least no one could track him. However, installing a new navigation computer was on the list of planned tasks for the near future.
He solved the problem with the prisoners quite quickly and simply. He dragged both of them out, threw them a packet with a day's ration and two canteens of water. Then, looking at the consequences of Onaka's interrogation, he threw them a first-aid kit as well.
"The spaceport is that way," he pointed towards one of the suns as the hatch closed.
"Wait!" the smugglers shouted in unison, but Revan was no longer listening.
He felt no pity for them. Not at all. Judging by the data in the computer, they more than deserved such treatment. Besides, he had given them a chance for salvation. Just a hundred kilometers to civilization, even 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 small height and flew in a wide arc in the opposite direction of the spaceport. He flew low so that even the planetary network, if it was still in use, couldn't detect him.
The only city he knew on Tatooine's surface was Anchorhead. Although, it wasn't even a city, but more of a hunter's settlement. According to the map he had studied beforehand, it still existed, though it was almost no longer used as a port. The former Sith headed there.
"Wow!" Revan exclaimed, opening one of the crates in the cargo hold.
After he landed the smugglers' ship in a small gorge near Anchorhead, where Jabba's sandcrawlers couldn't reach, the Jedi decided to inspect his new property.
In Onaka's cabin, he found a decent set of clean clothes and gladly changed. Thick trousers with armor plates on the hips, high boots, a light gray sweater, a thin chest plate of blackened duraplast on top, and a worn travel cloak reaching his ankles – this was how the "rejuvenated" Sith Lord looked now.
In the crew cabins, there were also several samples of good weaponry. Revan didn't recognize the models, but he could appreciate the design and battery power.
The main surprise awaited him in the cargo hold.
The crates were filled with bars of beskar! Not even ore – bars! Even though the metal was poorly processed, clearly without specialist involvement, it could still be used to create super-strong alloys. Any arms company would drool over a couple of kilograms of what was in these boxes!
"By the Force and the great masters, where did you manage to get such a treasure?" Revan wondered.
From what he knew, beskar, or simply Mandalorian iron, was almost a sacred metal for the Mandalorians. It was mined only on Mandalore, and its export was strictly forbidden. Or had everything changed over the thousands of years? Perhaps they had found another source?
The metal was truly unique. Super-strong, refractory, and almost impervious to the Force. Blades and armor made of such metal could withstand even lightsaber strikes. Beskar armor was worn only by elite Mandalorian warriors. Revan remembered well how difficult it was to fight them.
"This must be the cargo Jabba craves. Most likely, as payment for services," the Jedi thought.
Closing the boxes, he pondered – how much was such a treasure worth? He couldn't access the HoloNet without a connection now and couldn't check prices.
"I'll have to find out, if the opportunity arises," he thought.
You can't learn much sitting on a ship. And Revan decided it was time to venture into the city for reconnaissance.
Strapping on his blaster belt and regretting the absence of a lightsaber, he set off towards Anchorhead. He wasn't worried about the ship. The gorge was quite deep; you couldn't just get there. The Jawas wouldn't reach him, even if they found it. And if they did, it wouldn't be a great loss. He had prudently unloaded and hidden the beskar boxes. So, even if the ship disappeared by the time he returned, he wouldn't be too upset. Revan intended to get another transport anyway. This one was already wanted.
Tatooine seemed impervious to time. Almost four thousand years had passed, but the landscape remained unchanged. Sands all around, endless seas of dunes and dry winds. The two scorching suns heated the surface to the limit, making even the Jedi breathe heavily and seek shade, which was nowhere in sight. The journey to Anchorhead took almost two hours. To protect his head from the sun, Revan put on an old wide-brimmed hat found among Onaka's belongings.
Hiding from the sand that tried to get into his eyes and mouth, the Jedi put on engineering goggles that fit snugly to his face and tied a piece of torn shirt around his face. In this guise, he passed through the settlement gates.
The entrance was unguarded. Over the years, Anchorhead had lost its significance for the local population and was practically deserted.
Slowly walking 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 in the same place, though it had changed its name to "Droids by Uno Lucky."
"Only there are significantly fewer 'bags of meat' around now," Revan recalled with a smile the droid HK-47's favorite address for all sentient organic life forms.
It seemed strange to him, 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, after all, HK was his creation, assembled with his own hands. And now his help would be very useful.
In general, he missed not only the killer droid. He missed the entire old team. Both the feisty Twi'lek Mission and the shaggy Wookiee Zaalbar. And the stern Mandalorian Canderous with his war stories, even if some of those stories were about the war against Revan and the Republic. He missed the wise and slightly crazy hermit Jedi Jolee Bindo, whose advice had greatly helped the amnesiac knight not to fall into darkness again. He missed the nimble T3-M4, the astromech droid who had single-handedly repaired the downed Ebon Hawk on Nathema and brought Mitth'raw'nuruvio to the captured Revan. He even missed the insecure Juhani, whose fear of the Dark Side was precisely what pushed the poor Cathar towards falling. Damn, he would even welcome the tedious Carth Onasi now, 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 from the ruined consciousness of a barely alive Revan... things would have been different.
Wandering through the wide streets of Anchorhead, the former Jedi reflected on how often he had been subjected to others' influence. How often he had allowed someone to decide for him. He had allowed the Jedi to instill in him the ideals of the Order, which he didn't really believe in. And the Jedi themselves no longer followed these ideals. After all, even to go to the aid of the Republic's civilians and protect them from the Mandalorians, Revan had to disobey the Council.
"Violence is not the answer... Humph!" he recalled the words of one of the Masters. "Idiots."
His mind continued to swarm with thoughts. The Jedi claimed to be defenders of peace. But when that peace was disturbed, 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, brought to the level of primal terror of an animal before a forest fire. And let the fear be justified. Yes, almost all the knights who followed Revan succumbed to the Dark Side after the war. It was impossible to remain calm when looking at dozens of devastated planets and billions of dead. So all of them, who went to defend the Republic, "got their hands dirty." But they didn't become insane monsters, greedy for power and authority, as the Jedi describe the fallen. They just became... different? And the ideals of the Order seemed false, and the rules mere foolish restrictions.
Or was it not because of the Dark Side? After all, Jolee also left the Order when he became disillusioned with it. Perhaps there was something wrong with the Order itself?
And after the war, Revan succumbed to the Emperor's power and fell to the Dark Side completely. More accurately, his mind was washed, and he was forced to serve by the Force. But the former Jedi's will proved stronger. He managed to break free from control... but not to reject the Dark Side.
Then the idea of his own Empire, which could resist Vitiate, was born. By then, 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 build up a fleet. The knights and soldiers who followed them into battle against the Mandalorians gladly joined the new order. The Empire grew rapidly, enjoying the support of those worlds that had recently been liberated by Revan's forces.
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 fleet officers. His state grew. Capturing systems, the former Sith did it carefully, preserving infrastructure and supply lines. Conquered planets returned to normal life within weeks, avoiding a long period of destruction and recovery.
And then came Malak's betrayal. He tried to kill Revan. Although, it wasn't his first attempt. They first fought on the day they took the names Darth Revan and Darth Malak. It was being decided who would be the master and who would be the servant. Malak lost his lower jaw in that battle, which convinced him that he shouldn't try to surpass Revan in close combat. So his new attempt involved destroying the entire ship on which his master was flying.
And on the same day, he met Bastila...
Revan turned into an alley and headed towards an old cantina where hunters used to hang out.
"Yeah... maybe they did thousands of years ago," the Jedi murmured, examining the time-worn building.
But the plan was quite simple. Come to the bar and gather information about the current situation in the surrounding lands and the galaxy as a whole. Connect to the HoloNet through a public terminal and sit there until they kicked him out. And maybe the local hunters would tell him something interesting. It would be good to get some money and supplies again. He had enough supplies on the ship for another week, but that was not enough. In such bars, hunters often looked for partners for hunts. And that was a profitable business.
"Yeah... it was," the former Jedi said dejectedly again.
Sinking back into his thoughts, Revan walked further, to the other end of the city, where the spaceport used to be.
He remembered again the day he first met Bastila. Or rather, the first face-to-face meeting. Before that, he had only felt the effect of her Battle Meditation – that special skill that made the young Padawan the primary target of Imperial forces.
And she was still so young and inexperienced. Impulsive and proud, not at all an example of the Order's ideal. Her task was to help the knights break through to Revan's flagship so they could try to capture or kill the Sith Lord. It was only later, after everything, that the Council presented it as if Bastila led the capture group.
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 rich. Just passing through?" Four aliens blocked the thoughtful knight's path: a Rodian, two Gamorreans, and a Trandoshan.
"Here we go," Revan thought.
"Why are you silent?" the Trandoshan persisted.
Two more emerged from an alley behind the Jedi. Seems like Duros. More precisely, the one trapped couldn't say, as he didn't turn his head to get a better look at them. However, their presence was clearly felt in the Force.
"Greetings, esteemed sirs. I am indeed just passing through. Could you tell me where the bar is?" Revan inquired in the most friendly and simple-minded voice.
At the same time, the knight was already concentrating the Force around him, preparing for aggressive negotiations.
"It's not far from here. Just around the corner," the Gamorrean replied, immediately silenced by the Rodian.
"It's like this. We have a tax for visitors passing through the city," the Trandoshan informed him.
"Really? And how much do I need to pay?" the Jedi asked, shifting slightly to the side, positioning himself so that the Duros were directly behind him.
"Everything you have," the robber replied calmly, drawing his blaster.
Revan drew his own and immediately shot the Rodian, simultaneously dodging the Trandoshan's shot. His calculation paid off. The reptilian alien's shot hit the Duros standing behind Revan. But the Jedi didn't miss; the charge burned a new hole in the alien's head. Pushing aside their leader, the Gamorreans rushed into battle. These dim-witted creatures with faces resembling the snouts of boars from the forests of Yavin 4 always preferred axes as weapons.
Revan had just shot the second Duros, who was in a light stupor from the unexpected loss of his companion. The Gamorrean tried to cleave the Jedi with one blow, but his opponent was too agile. The man dodged, letting the axe pass into the ground. Then, pushing off the weapon stuck in the stone, he slammed his knee into the snout of the pig-like alien, not forgetting to enhance the blow with the Force. The opponent's vertebrae cracked under the strain.
He immediately had to roll away from the second Gamorrean. Swinging an axe in a narrow alley was problematic, so the horizontal strike was slow and weak. Using the inertia of the heavy iron and the extreme clumsiness of the Gamorreans turned out to be easy. A light push was enough to send the alien crashing snout-first into the building's wall with such force that cracks appeared. The crunch of skull bones merged with the crackle of the facade.
The Force warned him of danger from behind. Already turning, Revan saw the Trandoshan who had gotten back on his feet, aiming a blaster at him. The shot was aimed precisely at his chest, which was protected only by light duraplast. Deciding not to risk it, the Jedi caught the blaster bolt with his open palm, deflecting it away. His hand burned, but not badly. Immediately, he sent a wave of Force in return, which swept the opponent away, breaking his bones.
It was all over.
Revan examined his left hand. The burn was not dangerous.
"Looks like the new body still can't handle tutaminis well. Need to train more," he thought, wrapping his wrist in a scrap of fabric he had prudently taken from the ship.
No one came running to the noise of the struggle and the shots.
"At least some things don't change. Crime in dark alleys and the indifference of others," the Jedi sighed.
A quick inspection of the bodies of the defeated opponents yielded several credit chips, totaling 450 units. Even by past standards, this was pocket change, enough for a week at most, and only for food and water. And water on Tatooine... is expensive.
Quickly weighing his options, Revan decided to check the information about the bar that the Gamorrean had so clumsily revealed... peace be upon him.
The cantina was indeed around the corner, and it was against its wall that the unfortunate informant had smashed his head. Would the former Sith feel sorry for those criminals? No. A Jedi might be suffering from pangs of conscience right now. But Revan no longer considered himself one. Yes, he still intended to serve the Light, but he wasn't going to follow the Order's code. And his personal principles were perfectly compatible with what had happened in the alley.
The bar was small, with only five tables. Apparently, a large number of visitors were not expected here. The appearance of a new visitor attracted the attention of the few who had decided to spend their time visiting this establishment. Trying not to stare around, Revan slowly walked to the bar counter and sat down one stool away from a hunter. There was no doubt that he was a hunter. His clothes had a heat-reflective coating, a helmet with a visor and twenty-times magnification. On his belt, a pouch of bait, reddened by leaked blood. Nearby, leaning against the bar counter, was a hunting rifle with a telescopic sight.
"What do you want?" the Twi'lek bartender asked rudely.
"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 said, pushing the glass towards the Jedi.
Having paid, the man tasted the liquid. It turned out to be not so bad. The sharp and spicy taste indicated that this drink was most likely locally produced. At the same time, it quenched his thirst well and even invigorated him to some extent.
"And how much game is there in the vicinity these days?" he asked, addressing the hunter.
The Force suggested that his interlocutor was not averse to talking. This meant it would be easy to get some details from him.
"What game!" the hunter spat, also a human, by the way. "You have to chase the scrawniest lizard for two days in the desert. Dewbacks and worrts have gone deep into the dune sea. Only womp rats around. And you get nothing from them but meat."
The hunter clearly wanted to complain about his life for a long time. And, judging by the bartender's contemptuous expression, such whining didn't move the regulars much.
"What about Krayt dragons?" Revan asked, taking another sip.
"Pfft! There are almost none left. They killed almost all of them a hundred years ago. There are supposed to be a couple living in the canyons to the north, but no one has ever found them. So the rumors are probably just that," the man ruffled his sun-bleached, straw-colored hair. "I'm Mel."
Glancing quickly at the outstretched hand, Revan decided it was not worth introducing himself by his real name. Who knew where his name might surface. What if someone still remembered him? The Jedi Order certainly remembered. They liked to scare their students with legends of fallen knights. And he had no desire to get involved with the Order now.
On the other hand, the galaxy was vast. How many Revans could there be? But it was better to be safe.
"Vaner," he shook the outstretched hand, using a false name.
However, the name wasn't entirely false. Bastila had named their son that. It was an anagram of his own name, a tribute to his father, who had disappeared in unknown lands, saving the Republic from an unknown threat.
"Are you a hunter, Vaner?"
"I used to be."
His interlocutor looked him over with a discerning and surprised gaze.
"Used to be? You look no older than fifteen."
Revan mentally slapped himself. He shouldn't forget his new appearance.
"My father taught me. And then he left and never returned. So now I don't know if I'm a hunter," the Jedi bluffed.
"I'm sorry, kid. But you won't surprise anyone with such a story here. Almost all hunters were taught by relatives, who were then eaten by beasts during a hunt. Or shot by Tusken Raiders," the interlocutor patted him on the shoulder.
"Tusken Raiders?" Revan repeated.
"Ah, so you're not from around here?" Mel shook his head. "Raiders are sand people. They plundered Fort Tusken a hundred years ago, that's why they were called that."
"I see."
"And where are you from yourself?"
"Deralia," Revan blurted out, recalling the details of his fabricated biography after the Council's brainwashing.
"Where's that?" the hunter asked.
"Under the tail of a hutt. In short, very far away, beyond the far frontier."
"Wow. And what wind brought you here?"
"A favorable one. My ship's navicom broke down, and I don't have money for a new one. So I'm looking for something to earn some money so I don't starve."
They drank in silence. Mel looked no older than thirty. Brown eyes, tanned skin, a hooked nose. However, there was no threat from him. He was an honest man.
"It's tough, brother. You won't scrape together much money here. And you won't find spare parts either."
"What about the spaceport?" Revan asked, surprised.
"There isn't one in Anchorhead. There used to be, but it was abandoned hundreds of years ago, even before re-colonization. Now they grow sand pumpkins there. The hangars and landing pads were perfect for it."
"Well, that's a problem," the Jedi mused.
The news was unexpected. It complicated things greatly. No, the ship was operational, but it was tied to the planet. There was definitely a spaceport in Mos Eisley, but he didn't want to run into Jabba's face.
"Is it possible to get supplies or a speeder here?" Revan inquired.
Mel thought for a moment.
"You can try, but it's tight here too. We have enough water and food – a regular caravan comes from Bestine. But with technology, it's a disaster. Many have personal speeders, but they only have one and they won't sell it for anything. I heard Una Lucky had one in her shop, but it was in terrible condition and for a strange price."
"What do you mean, strange?"
"Well, it felt like he added a couple of extra zeros to the price tag and forgot about it. But he haggles like he's selling a Coruscant nugget," the tipsy hunter chuckled.
The news was not good. Still, information was always useful.
Ordering another drink, Mel and Vaner started a heart-to-heart conversation. The hunter told about his life, how he ended up in Anchorhead with his father and brother. His relatives were eventually eaten by sand lizards in the middle of the night. It turned out that the protective perimeter around their camp had failed, and his brother had fallen asleep on duty. Mel got stuck in this part of the desert, left alone, without money or a speeder. He had been living like this for eight years.
Revan, on the other hand, told a fabricated story about a teenager from Deralia who went on a galactic hunting tour with his father. But the tour was cut short on the very first planet. However, the brave son decided to finish what he started in his father's memory. And so he found himself on Tatooine with no money and a broken ship.
They talked like that until late at night. Mel, quite drunk, feeling emotional, offered Vaner to spend the night at his place so he wouldn't have to walk back to the ship through the night sands. Because with the local predators, it would be certain death.
The rays of Tatoo 1 and Tatoo 2, like a walker's searchlight, hit his eyes. Revan winced, rolled onto his other side, and fell to the floor. Startled, he sat up sharply and looked around. He had woken up in someone's house on Tatooine. His memory quickly returned, after all, he had barely drunk anything yesterday. The house belonged to his acquaintance from yesterday – Mel.
The hunter lived quite modestly. Just one room, which served as an entryway, bedroom, living room, and kitchen. A table, a couple of chairs, some kitchen appliances, a narrow bed, and an armchair, from which the Jedi had safely fallen.
The owner of the house was sleeping, sprawled on the bed fully clothed. Judging by the smell of stale alcohol, he was in for a hangover.
Deciding to let the owner sleep, Revan connected to the HoloNet terminal. Access was free, as long as he didn't go to restricted sites or use paid search engines. Yes, in the free version, the HoloNet processed requests slowly, and the information was incomplete, but the details were not needed by the knight, who was millennia behind.
He searched for information about himself. Only one mention with a link to the Jedi Temple archives. Nothing about the Sith Empire and his connection to it. He tried a couple more queries. The same result. Everything he knew was now a distant and ancient history.
Deciding to leave the past alone, Revan began to study the present. Equipment, technology, weapons. By noon, he had reached the raw materials market. Beskar interested him the most. As expected, Mandalore was practically a monopolist here. And the metal was used only for the planet's internal needs. The main consumers were MandalMotors and M-Arms. Two or three other planets supplied pathetic crumbs of this material, barely enough for infantry armor, or a light fighter, at best. All this caused an astronomical demand for beskar. And consequently, a price increase.
Revan had almost three tons of metal ingots on his ship. In simpler terms, ready for processing. By approximate calculations, this is worth almost fifteen billion credits! No wonder Jabba was upset!
"And he won't let this go easily... You don't joke with such money," Revan thought, tensing internally.
The commander's mind quickly began to calculate options. The planet was under Hutt control. Crime flourished. Individual gangs were probably either directly subordinate to Jabba or paid tribute. It was difficult to track the flight path to Anchorhead, but still possible, especially if a landing transport noticed him. He left traces in the alley yesterday. The gang's losses would be noticed immediately, and there was a bar nearby. It wouldn't take much to question the bartender and break him. It wouldn't take much intelligence to put all the facts together: a newcomer in town, no money, a broken ship. How many hours after the brawl did Jabba find out about his arrival in the city? 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 cursed.
Three speeders were approaching the house, packed to the brim with elite, well-armed thugs. Fifteen fighters, no less. And on the roof of one of the speeders, there was also a gun mount with a heavy blaster.
There was no time to escape. The exit from the house faced directly towards the speeders. The house was on the outskirts, behind a twenty-meter-high city wall with an electrified protective perimeter against predators. Even the Force wouldn't help him jump over it in one go.
"Damn it!" Revan growled, examining his meager equipment.
The odds were not in his favor. One against fifteen. Light hand blaster with 50 shots. He had managed to learn that from the HoloNet. He had to brush up on his knowledge of modern weapons.
Mel was not included in his calculations. It was unlikely he would defend an almost unknown youngster. And even if he did, his help now...
Only one thing comforted him – Jabba needed the beskar, and therefore a living Revan. He just hoped he wouldn't forget to warn his thugs about this.
"What's that noise?" the hunter mumbled sleepily, awakened by the hum of the speeders.
Revan was still looking out the window, contemplating a plan.
"Well, a welcoming committee is heading my way."
Mel staggered to the window. For a minute, he peered at the vehicles, from which passengers had already begun to disembark. Then his gaze instantly cleared.
"May I be fodder for a sarlacc!" the hunter exclaimed with dislike and a touch of fear. "Those are Jabba's mercenaries!"
"Yeah. Apparently, he was offended that I didn't stop in Mos Eisley," Revan said calmly.
"The ship isn't yours?" Mel quickly figured out.
The Jedi nodded.
"And the cargo either."
Revan perfectly understood that with these two phrases, he had drawn a clear line for his new acquaintance. There would be a conflict here, and only two sides. He couldn't hide in a shelter.
"Well, what the hell, Vaner?! Only half a day in your company, and the stinking ass of a банты is rapidly closing in around us!" Mel lamented, adjusting his pants and tightening his belt.
The Jedi just shrugged.
"He needs me alive. And you, hide for now. Or... is there another way out of the house?" Revan asked.
"A womp rat always has several ways into its nest, and so do I," the hunter said, grabbing his rifle on the go and walking towards the kitchen stove.
Grunting slightly from the effort, he moved the stove aside and turned around.
"It leads into an alley, but it's not much use. You won't be able to get out unnoticed."
"I'll distract them. You go."
"And yourself?"
"I'll get out, it's not the first time," Revan cut off.
"But..."
"Go!" the Jedi roared.
Mel wanted to say something, but suppressed the desire and slipped into the passage.
"Well, at least he didn't shoot me in the back," Revan thought, running through the possible scenarios.
Surrendering was impossible, absolutely not. If Onaka and his friend told Jabba the story of how a slave beat them, then he wouldn't get away with just a slave collar this time. They would tie him up so tightly he couldn't even twitch a finger.
But a fight with fifteen opponents wouldn't be easy either. The chances were there, but very unreliable. A Jedi without a lightsaber loses almost 40% of his combat effectiveness. Revan was better than the average knight in this regard. Thanks to his training as a simple soldier, which he had to live as for over a year after changing his identity, he was proficient in firearms and hand-to-hand combat. Plus the Force. But Revan couldn't rely on it yet for one simple reason - the body was alien, and the resurrected Jedi had not yet discovered 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 feel, this shell had the potential to be even stronger than his own body, but it hadn't been trained. Therefore, light techniques were difficult. Dark ones were easier – emotions were faster and simpler to use. But that was also close to madness.
"Hey there! In the house! Come out! We have a couple of questions about the property of the most respected Jabba!" someone shouted from the street.
Revan cautiously peeked out the window.
The opponents were not taking cover, they had simply surrounded the house. Apparently, they weren't expecting serious resistance. Which was strange. Either they hadn't been informed about the killed men in the alley, or they hadn't connected them to Revan.
This played into his hands. The mercenaries stood close to each other, and a couple of them had thermal detonators hanging from their belts. The Jedi recognized them from pictures on the HoloNet. This was a kind of evolution of the ancient plasma grenade, but with a thermite shell and a baradium charge. A kind of pocket nuclear bomb.
The plan began to take shape. The rest... would come in the process.
Revan opened the door and went outside with his hands raised. A dozen and a half blasters were aimed at him.
"So, you're the one who stole Onaka's ship?" a mercenary in a muffled helmet asked.
The Jedi shrugged, putting on the mask of a frightened youngster. As if to say – I don't know, understand it as you wish. I'm just a runaway slave.
The mercenaries laughed.
"Alright, pack him up. Jabba will sort it out on the spot."
Four moved towards Revan. The rest relaxed noticeably, finally believing in their advantage.
It began.
The mercenaries hadn't taken five steps when three of their colleagues, from those left behind, had their detonator activation signals beeping. The thugs panicked, trying to detach the deadly balls from their belts. Those who were smarter ran away from their mined comrades. Revan hastily wrapped himself in a protective Force cocoon.
A synchronized triple explosion occurred just three seconds later. The shockwave threw the four mercenaries directly at the Jedi. Shards of burning thermite scattered in all directions, burning through armor like butter. Then the fiery wave engulfed everyone.
Even under the Force's protection, Revan felt the heat of the burning mercenaries who had landed on him unsuccessfully. Shaking them off, he quickly rolled aside and got to one knee, drawing his blaster.
The explosion took only seven lives, including two of those who were approaching the Jedi. The remaining two writhed from burns and the still-burning thermite under their armor. Another six mercenaries managed to take cover from the explosion behind the speeders and nearby buildings.
As it turned out, the survivors were the most experienced of the entire group. As soon as the dust settled, blaster sounds erupted from all sides. They had completely ignored the order to take him alive, fueled by rage and fear. Revan could barely dodge the line of fire and shoot back. There were no shelters nearby, and the path back into the house was cut off by a collapsed stone visor that couldn't withstand the shockwave.
He couldn't concentrate. The enemy gave him no second. With return fire, he managed to take down two. Another four took cover behind the speeders. One of them reached the heavy blaster and began to pour streams of superheated plasma at the lone figure of the Jedi.
Revan had no choice but to move. His speed was barely enough. The Force fueled him, preventing him from getting exhausted, but the situation was gradually worsening.
Suddenly, the head of the mercenary behind the heavy blaster exploded. An instant later, another blaster bolt struck another mercenary. The fire came from the roof of Mel's house. The mercenaries instantly changed their attack priority.
Taking advantage of their confusion, Revan lunged directly at the enemy. With the help of the Force, he jumped over the speeders and, flipping in the air, shot down the remaining mercenaries.
Leaning against the side of a speeder and breathing heavily, Revan saluted the shooter on the roof. It turned out to be Mel.
A minute later, the hunter was walking from his house towards the Jedi, having shot down the still groaning, burnt wounded on the way.
"Thank you. But why?" Revan asked, having recovered his breath.
"I didn't tell you yesterday what happened to my mother, did I?" Mel asked, frowning.
The Jedi quickly understood where his new acquaintance was leading.
"Jabba?"
"One of his marauder groups. They decided to profit from a trade caravan from a hunting settlement..." he paused for a moment, swallowing a lump in his throat. "My mother was going to trade."
Revan placed his hand on his shoulder.
"My condolences."
"Leave it. It was a long time ago. So I have my own scores to settle with them," the hunter sniffled and began to examine the bodies.
Once again, Revan marveled at how interestingly the Force worked. After all, it wasn't by chance that he sat down next to Mel, who eventually helped him in a difficult situation. There are no coincidences at all. There is only the Great Force with its strange sense of humor.
Revan had become convinced of this a long time ago. What were the chances of one soldier surviving a crash of a combat ship with a couple of hundred crew members? And what were his chances of being one of the meager dozen survivors? And to leave a few moments before the destruction of an entire planet? But Revan managed it. Against all odds, he survived the destruction of Endar Spire, ended up on Taris, rescued Bastila from captivity, and escaped the planet's surface under orbital bombardment by the Imperial fleet.
The Force was definitely on his side, as evidenced by the incredible luck that accompanied him in everything.
And again, after the brawl, no one dared to check what caused the noise. Either the surrounding buildings were empty, or the local residents followed the rule – the less you know, the longer you live.
The "catch" from the mercenaries amounted to almost 250,000 credits. Apparently, they were paid in advance. A couple of very valuable firearms and a couple of speeders also survived. The third was damaged by the explosion, but still repairable. All the loot was divided equally. The Jedi was not used to being greedy. And his needs were small for now.
"You can't stay in Anchorhead now. Jabba will take revenge," Revan perfectly understood that the Hutts do not forgive such insults.
"Yes. I know. Now they'll shake this town through a fine sieve. And they'll be looking for both of us," the hunter confirmed.
Mel didn't look worried. Rather, he was pleased with the situation.
"What are you going to do?"
Revan wasn't going to team up with anyone at this stage. He still had to figure out what to do next.
"Don't worry, I won't disappear. I have a sweetheart who's been suggesting for a long time that I move in with her in Bestine. And I keep putting it off. She's going to marry me, you know," the hunter laughed.
Revan smiled politely. He himself had only good memories associated with marriage.
"Apparently, it's time to settle down and stop running around the planet. And they won't find me in Bestine. To be sure, I'll take her last name!" Mel roared with laughter again.
This time, Revan couldn't help but laugh too.
"And what will they call you?"
"Well, if it works out, Mel Oren. Come visit in about a year!"
"Certainly, if I'm in good health."
The hunter looked around.
"What are we going to do with the third speeder?"
"Are there any options?" Revan asked.
The hunter thought.
"We can sell it at Lucky's shop. It'll be a second copy..."
"For a strange price," the Jedi picked up.
After laughing, they agreed. The speeder was good, and armed too. According to Mel's assurances, it was worth at least 15,000, but he would hardly get 5,000 in hand. The lack of documents and damage significantly reduced the price.
While Mel was getting rid of the third speeder, Revan went to the local market and bought a month's supply of provisions, a couple of fuel cells for the speeder, a box of blaster charges, some electronics, and tools.
After finishing their shopping, the two men met at the city exit.
"Good luck, Mel," Revan said, extending his hand.
"And to you, Vaner," the hunter shook it.