Revan sat at a table in Onaki's former cabin, staring at the T-shaped visor of his old mask. No helmet liner was found among the smuggler's belongings, so the former Sith lord's "second face" lay on the table, awaiting its time.
"Everything flows and everything changes, but Tatooine remains as stable as its sands," Revan mused thoughtfully.
HK-47 was slowly scraping off the grayish-green residue from his chest plate with a deactivated vibroblade. He wasn't thrilled with the ship, having christened it "Trash Heap" from the threshold. The Jedi didn't object, as this... trash heap had no other name.
The cargo of beskar was decided to be moved to the Star Map cave and the main entrance re-sealed. In any case, it wouldn't be possible to transport it in the near future. And first, they needed to figure out what to do with such "happiness." However, credits were never superfluous.
"HK," Revan called, "Calculate my chances of running into Hutts in each of Tatooine's three main cities. Considering they recently lost valuable cargo and messed up trying to get it back."
"Confidently: Above 95%, Master," the droid replied. "Hutts are very persistent in matters concerning credits and their property. They are also very patient. The hunt can continue for years, provided the wanted person's description is known."
Revan nodded in agreement. He had come to roughly the same conclusion himself.
On the other hand, there was no one to pass on his description to. No witnesses remained. He had only communicated with the dispatcher via voice. But Mel... He had shown himself.
A thought flashed through his mind to check how Mel was doing.
However, his sudden new ally assured him that he could disappear in Bestine. So going to check on him would be putting himself at risk unnecessarily.
And his soul felt at peace. There was no sense of unease. And that was a good sign from the Force.
"What do we have in the end?" Revan mused aloud. "We have a ship, we have valuable cargo. But neither can be taken off Tatooine."
The droid tilted its head slightly to the side with interest.
- We also have a catastrophic lack of information about the current situation in the galaxy.
HK nodded in agreement.
- But that's for ongoing tasks. Our main problem now is repairs and supplies.
- Hopefully: Just don't suggest Yuk Lakki's droid shop as a workshop.
Revan grinned, remembering HK's hatred for the Ithorian.
- Relax, my iron friend, that bag of meat is long dead.
- Joyfully: Good riddance.
- But the workshop question remains open – the Jedi scratched his chin – We're banned from Mos Espa and Anchorhead. Those cities must be crawling with Jabba's fighters right now. Besides, our "Junkpile" won't be able to get anywhere near the official spaceport, because our enemies definitely have its description.
- Reasonably: There are other settlements on Tatooine, Master – the droid reminded him.
- Markets with starship and droid parts, as well as equipment and weapon stores, are only in large settlements. And there aren't many of them – the former Sith activated the holoterminal and displayed a map of the planet – Bestine and Mos Espa remain.
The man touched the terminal several times.
- I don't want to go into Bestine either, even though it's closer. So only Mos Espa is left.
- Eagerly: I will gladly exterminate the population of any chosen city, Master.
- Hold on, red-eyed maniac! No one needs to be killed... yet.
- Disappointed: As you command, Master.
- Here – Revan threw the droid a blaster carbine found among the previous owners' belongings – Study the tool for now. You'll figure out faster how much the weapons in this... millennium... differ from what we're used to.
HK-47 picked up the carbine and examined the construction meticulously, nodded at the markings, and then quickly disassembled it into its components.
- Surprised: Master, this weapon is structurally no different from the models of our time. The power is about 30% higher, and the balance and rate of fire have also been improved. Otherwise, it's similar to the Mandalorian M-302 "Macalus."
- Hmm, I suspected something like that – the Jedi nodded.
When he first accessed the extranet for information, it seemed to him that progress over 4000 years hadn't gone far. The hyperdrive had become slightly faster, the weapons slightly more powerful. But nothing fundamentally new had appeared. Even in combat vehicles, it was still a war of repulsor vehicles against walkers. Although Revan personally preferred maximally simplified tracked platforms. They were more reliable and more resistant to propulsion damage.
Walkers always had weak legs, no matter how many there were. And repulsors didn't work in all climatic and weather conditions. Tracks, however, confidently churned through mud, sand, and rocks anywhere and anytime. The main thing was to reliably cover the tracks themselves. And repairs were simpler and cheaper.
It's just that there were very few models of such equipment. Even in the Old Republic era. The heavy transport HAV/T-N7 Crushroller, and the light reconnaissance tank LRR-T4.
Memories of the bloody war with the Mandalorians tried to fill the former commander's mind, but he managed to push them away with an effort of will. It was not the time to indulge in memories.
After spending several hours at the terminal, Revan, with HK-47's assistance, compiled a preliminary list of what they needed to acquire in the near future. And the first item was information. Which meant a full and completely unlocked access to the HoloNet.
The second item was spare parts for HK and equipment for the Jedi.
After that, they planned to legalize the ship. Specifically, to buy and install new navigation equipment and change the identifier.
And there were promised to be problems with this. Finding someone who would agree to replace the identifier without notifying Jabba's people would be a very non-trivial task. After all, the Hutt had the planet under complete control.
And another problem – credits. The "cash" on the chips inherited from Onaki and the thugs in Anchorhead was about 150,000, which was not a small sum by Tatooine standards. However, equipment and spare parts, along with not entirely legal services, are very expensive.
For lack of a large choice of cities, it was decided to go on a reconnaissance mission to Mos Espa. Judging by the map, there was a spaceport, which meant they could easily get lost in the crowd of new faces. And Revan hadn't forgotten how to disguise himself with the Force yet.
The "Junkpile" was left in a small gorge almost a hundred kilometers from the city, and they transferred to a speeder.
HK took on the role of a protocol droid as usual, which meant he had to give up the heavy carbine in favor of compact hand blasters that he could hide in the built-in concealed compartments.
They managed to get into the city without problems. The checkpoint here was just for show. Most likely, just to keep the sand people away. However, this did not prevent Revan from extracting some information from one of the guards. For example, about which hotel was better to stay in so that they would wake up in the morning with all their belongings, and not tied up at gunpoint... or not wake up at all.
A light pressure on the mind was enough to get honest and reliable answers.
So, first of all, the Jedi and his droid companion checked into a small apartment far from the spaceport. Local merchants usually stayed here, who valued their safety, and therefore the room cost was three times higher than Revan had expected.
- HK, dig into the HoloNet. Gather information about modern weapons, equipment, and technical means of combat – making sure there were no surveillance devices in the room, the former Sith ordered – And update your language database. After all, you'll have to play the protocol droid convincingly, and new races have appeared in the galaxy.
- Offended: I always act as effectively as possible – the droid exclaimed, adding the hateful word – Master.
- I don't doubt it – Revan shrugged – But it's an order.
- Obediently: Yes, Master.
The Jedi himself, meanwhile, was studying the city map, marking interesting places on it, such as a cantina, a market, a droid shop, and several equipment stores. However, all this could be found simply by showing up in the port area closer to night. And it would be cheaper.
However, for security reasons, he decided to try his luck during the day first.
The droid completed his task quickly, confirming that he was now once again well-informed on how to most effectively cleanse this world of bags of meat and was ready to proceed with this sacred act for him at the first command.
Giving the iron maniac instructions to behave more modestly, Revan headed to the nearest store he had marked in advance.
It turned out to be an armor and hunting equipment shop... and not only.
The seller was a human. Although... rather not just a human. His movements and bearing betrayed him as an experienced soldier, which gave the former Sith hope that he wasn't just selling pretty rags with decorative inserts of shiny metal plates that would only save from a spit.
- Good day, respected merchant – Revan greeted him.
The man turned around and examined the potential buyer from head to toe with a critical gaze. He lingered on the blaster holster and curled his lips slightly in contempt, clearly not appreciating the cheap blaster and the overall not-so-great equipment.
- And to you as well, kid – the shop owner replied not too politely.
The Jedi was a little surprised to be considered so young. After all, he looked older than the real age of this body now. However, perhaps this strange seller addressed everyone like that?
- I'm looking for good equipment, weapons, and light but durable armor – Revan continued politely.
The man raised an eyebrow skeptically and grunted.
- And will you have enough credits?
- Enough – the Jedi nodded with a smile.
The seller shrugged and pointed to a stand with full life support suits, which gleamed with mirror-polished plates and made one squint, not from the glare of Tatooine's twin suns, but from their price. The amount, which had six digits, was clearly inflated, especially for such a backwater planet. Besides, these suits were more of a toy for the rich than truly useful equipment. Which HK confirmed.
- Outraged: Master, they are trying to deceive you! This junk is not worth even a third of its price. The filtration system is not designed for long journeys, and the internal climate control fails at temperatures above 45 degrees, which on Tatooine is daily. I won't even talk about protection. Such thin duraplast plates can be pierced even with a finger – the droid said, which made the seller grin approvingly.
- Then, perhaps, these will interest you? – he pointed to the full combat sets often used by the judicial corps.
This time, Revan himself replied.
- Three millimeters of durasteel is good, but it's a bit heavy. It's better to be a mobile target than well-armored and dead.
The shop owner grunted approvingly.
- Then… – he was about to demonstrate another rack of armor when he was interrupted by the confident voice of the former commander.
- Enough trying to scare us off with these useless toys? – he asked in Mandalorian – Where is the armor for real warriors?
Judging by the raised eyebrows, Revan was not mistaken in identifying the shop owner as a Mandalorian, and he mentally thanked his past self for not being too lazy to learn the enemy's language.
- You speak Mando'a? – the seller asked in his native language, barely managing to return his face to an indifferent expression.
Revan nodded.
- But you are not one of us, – the Mandalorian narrowed his eyes, – Neither born nor clan.
- That's right. No one accepted me into the clan, – the Jedi nodded, – But I... often interacted with your people and was once declared a friend of one of the clans.
- A friend? – the merchant repeated, – And which clan?
The topic was sensitive. Not only did the word "friend" have several meanings in Mando'a, indicating different degrees of closeness to the clan. In this case, Revan was almost a "brother in arms," as Canderous liked to say. However, he was never accepted into the clan because the rank-and-file warriors would simply not accept it, even if it were an order from Mandalore himself. After all, accepting a Jedi into the family, and moreover, one who had effectively destroyed the Mandalorians, depriving them of their most important relic... that was too much.
Besides, Revan didn't know if Clan Ordo still existed, or if it had perished over the ages. But he decided to take the risk.
- Clan Ordo, – he finally answered.
For a moment, surprise was reflected on the interlocutor's face again.
- Ordo? Hmm... a very old and respected name, – the Mandalorian nodded respectfully, – Though there are few of them left.
Revan exhaled. Contact was established.
- So, do you have "real" armor after all? – the Jedi asked.
The seller grinned.
- Does a Mandalorian have armor? – he smirked, – And does a Wookiee have fur? Come on.
The merchant walked to the far wall and beckoned Revan closer. Behind a corner rack, there was a hidden passage to the basement.
- My name is Ramsar. I am from Clan Volo, – the seller finally introduced himself when they went down.
- Vaner Shan, – Revan gave his new name, – And this is HK, my secretary.
- Eagerly: I am an excellent secretary! I specialize in accounting. I'm best at subtracting and dividing, – the droid flashed his sensors.
And he didn't lie. What difference did it make that he subtracted the number of enemies, and divided only enemies into components?
- Protocol droid? – the warrior chuckled, – Well, well. Only too mobile.
- I don't like being left behind, – Revan returned the smirk.
- There used to be legends among the Mandalorians about the HK series of droids. They were excellent... accountants.
- The best, – the former Sith nodded.
- Correction: Unique, – reminded the droid, who didn't like being associated with "fakes" from Gotto, HK-50, and so on.
- Perhaps, – the seller agreed, – But let's get back to the armor. Are you interested in anything specific?
- Light and durable armor that doesn't restrict movement – Revan began to describe – Reinforced plates on the chest and back, but not too thick, so it can be hidden under a cloak or cape. Pads on the most vulnerable parts, good thermal protection, and additional insulation in case of electrical attack. An exoskeleton or servo-motors for strengthening muscles and joints are not needed. Lightness and compactness are important.
- Hmm... That's a non-standard set – the Mandalorian mused – Do you need a jetpack or other special equipment?
- No. Just a standard belt and three pouches.
- Okay. Then it will be a standard undersuit made of reinforced woven fiber, a chest plate from the M-321-L, bracers and gloves from the MT-333-R assault model. And don't argue, they are lighter and better protected. Besides, a built-in winch with a hook won't hurt. We'll take the belt from there too. Greaves... hmm... the ones from the light reconnaissance MLR-301 would fit here, but I don't have them. And it's unlikely you'll find them anywhere now. But they can be replaced by assembling segments from MR-305-S and MR-307-S separately.
The Jedi nodded benevolently, although he had a vague idea of what the shop owner's sets looked like. And the worn appearance of the armor indicated that these were all used sets.
- "Selling his own?" – Revan thought – "No, there are too many here for one person."
- Are the difficulties in selection due to irregular supplies to Tatooine? – the former commander of the Old Republic guessed aloud.
- Huh? – Ramsar didn't understand the question, but following the client's gaze, he explained – No, it's just that normal Mandalorian equipment is hard to get now. The pacifist movement is strengthening on Mandalore. And every year, they have more supporters. Plus, the Republic suddenly stopped buying equipment from us, preferring cheaper alternatives. As a result, armorers are losing orders and closing their shops. There is less and less high-quality Mandalorian-made armor. The new models that came out after the M-340 are complete garbage! I heard they sold them to the Senate guard as their last order.
Revan was stunned when he heard about Mandalorian pacifists and barely managed to stop himself from slapping his forehead, succumbing to a sudden fit of denial of this "new era."
The seller, meanwhile, continued.
- They rarely visit Tatooine now. All the orders are intercepted by these bunglers who hang around Jabba's palace. They're cheaper. But they do the job accordingly – the warrior spat – But sometimes a couple of our kin do appear here. They visit me. So I sell my goods to them.
Continuing to talk about his life on the sandy planet, the Mandalorian began to assemble the previously mentioned parts into one set. Fortunately, the fasteners were universal.
In the process of preparing his future armor, Revan learned that Clan Volo had always been armorers, but was forced to leave Mandalore when the Republic began to cut back on the supply of materials needed for the production of quality armor. Ramsar came to Tatooine to negotiate with the Hutts for alternative sources of raw materials. However, they couldn't agree on anything due to disagreements among these gastropods. The clan left, and Ram was left as a liaison, in case the Hutts finally came to an agreement. He's been waiting for three years now, slowly building his own business.
The armor turned out to be worthy and fully met Revan's requirements. And the differences in the coloring of the elements taken from different armors didn't matter. They could always be repainted. Although the current chaotic black and red coloring was quite acceptable to the dark lord.
Without accepting any objections, the shop owner forced the Jedi to put on the freshly assembled set.
- It fits perfectly – Volo nodded – The sleeves will change length automatically, so don't worry.
- Quite light – Revan was surprised, tapping the chest plate for good measure.
- Mandalorian tempering – Ramsar explained – Not beskar, of course, but stronger than any duraplast. It can withstand four shots from a hand blaster at close range. It's better not to risk it with a carbine. It will still protect at a glancing blow, but a direct hit, especially at close range, won't hold up. The undersuit fiber will withstand even a vibroblade strike. But repeatedly, you understand, it's better not to expose yourself.
- Excellent – the Sith performed several hand-to-hand combat moves and made sure the armor didn't restrict his movements.
- Do you need a helmet, by the way? – the seller asked with a satisfied smile.
- Not the helmet itself, but I would take a sub-helmet mount for the mask and visor.
- Hmm... I would advise taking it as a set, but it's up to you – the Mandalorian shrugged – The MR-305-S would suit you, it has a good multifunctional visor.
- I already have a visor. I just don't know if I can find a sub-helmet for it.
- What model? – Volo asked with interest.
- Very old. Ancient, you could say.
- Do you have the number? The marking?
- MLR-15 – Revan recalled.
Upon hearing the name, Ramsar almost dropped the helmet he had already taken from the shelf of one of the armor sets.
- 15? Are you sure?
- No.
- But... that's impossible...
- Why? – the Jedi became wary.
The seller's reaction was incomprehensible. Although, no, it was quite understandable. And how to explain the presence of an almost museum exhibit?
- The current marking and indexing were introduced about 4000 years ago, just before the Great War with the Republic. It was also called the Mandalorian War – the shop owner began to explain – So the 15th model should be from those times... and it is indeed very old. Where did you get it?
- It's... something like a family heirloom – Revan answered evasively – So is it possible to find a sub-helmet for it?
The Mandalorian seemed to sink into his thoughts and only nodded.
- M... mmm, yes – he pulled himself together again – Here, any sub-helmet from a reconnaissance set will fit. As a tribute to tradition, the 15th series has hardly changed structurally. The 305 set should fit.
While Ramsar was looking for the item, Revan rummaged in the bag he had brought from the ship and took out a mask wrapped in cloth. Even holding it in his hands felt pleasant. It evoked a sense of peace and confidence within him, although the Dark Side felt in it just as much as the light.
The Mandalorian watched with fascination as Revan put on the coal-black sub-helmet and secured the mask to his face. The fasteners worked without a hitch, as if they were designed specifically for this model. The visor blinked a few times, connecting to the armor's miniature power source, and displayed a fairly clear image, considering the artifact's age.
The former Sith reflexively ran his hands over the collar of the chest plate, looking for a hood, but, not finding one, lowered his hands and straightened up, studying his reflection in the nearest mirror.
He felt like that Revan again! The one he used to be. Along with this, he felt an incredible lightness in his whole body, as if the Force was feeding him twice as strongly, even without meditation and constant control.
- There is a legend among the Mandalorians – Ramsar almost whispered, not taking his eyes off the former Sith – About a great warrior who managed not only to win the war against our ancestors. He managed to break them... Deprive them of their heritage...
Revan cautiously turned his head towards Volo. Behind him, HK creaked his servos slightly, clearly ready to defend his master if necessary.
- Our ancestors had lost their way then. They forgot what it meant to be warriors and became mere thugs dancing to someone else's tune – the shop owner continued – And then, that warrior cast them into the abyss of despair. He turned the Mandalorians into rootless hunters who even fought among themselves.
The Jedi turned completely to the Mandalorian, who was staring at his mask without looking away.
- And when we had almost lost all our honor and pride, he reappeared and saved us, giving us Mandalore the Preserver.
The former Sith lord lowered his head slightly as memories of Canderous stirred in his consciousness. He remembered how they flew to that cursed ice planet. How they found Mandalore's mask, which Revan had hidden during the war... And he remembered how Canderous was forced to kill his wife, blinded by hatred.
- Revan – Ramsar said, making the unflappable buyer flinch – That was his name. And he wore the exact same mask.
The Jedi pulled himself together. The seller had only told an ancient legend of his people. Besides, he showed no signs of hostility.
- An interesting story – Revan grunted – Do you think this mask is the one?
- I don't know – Ramsar replied, gradually regaining his lost composure – But no one has seen this model, let alone in this color scheme, for about three hundred years.
- The galaxy is large, and there are many coincidences in it – the buyer shrugged.
The shop owner peered intently into the mask's visor, as if trying to see the face beneath it.
- Yes. You're probably right – he relaxed slightly and nodded.
- Shall we discuss payment? – the Jedi suggested – I'm satisfied with the set.
The credits quickly restored the warrior-merchant's apparently lost ability to think quickly.
- So, the order is non-standard, we'll compensate for the disassembled sets, plus individual fitting – Volo rambled – The total comes to 74,000 credits, but I'm willing to give you a discount for 60,000.
At the stated amount, Revan seemed to forget how to breathe. He even had to tap his chest a couple of times and cough to be able to ask again if he had misheard.
- Surprised: A very generous offer, Master – HK's voice chimed in – Such armor is very expensive on the open HoloNet markets.
- Well, I'm not greedy – Volo grinned, misinterpreting the buyer's behavior.
The former Sith, meanwhile, was calculating whether he was willing to part with such a sum, which almost halved his budget. The armor was needed. Safety was paramount now, as his body had not yet reached its full form and his former power was still limited.
And that meant... not just ready, but simply obligated to buy this set!
- I'll take it – he finally exhaled.
- Excellent.
- Do you have any capes? Preferably with a hood – Revan asked – I don't want to shine with my armor in the sun.
The seller smiled understandingly and pulled out a worn-looking rag of dark gray color from somewhere.
- Here. A cape made of thread-like gabardine of traditional Mandalorian weave. Comfortable and durable.
The Jedi examined the fabric with interest. As it turned out, the cloak's shabbiness was merely an illusion caused by the play of light. He confirmed this by throwing it over his shoulders. Not a single tear, no signs of wear. The cloth settled on the armor plates, making his silhouette poorly discernible, as if it were intended for this very purpose.
"How much?" the buyer asked, no longer thinking about money.
"It's a gift."
"Thank you," Revan thanked him sincerely.
Going upstairs to "seal the deal" with a couple of glasses of homemade Mandalorian liquor, Ramsar and Revan encountered another figure clad in armor.
The stranger waved a greeting to the shop owner and then noticed the Jedi. For a few seconds, he peered into the T-shaped visor and examined the armor, apparently searching for clan markings.
"Greetings, warrior of Mando'a," Revan greeted politely in Mandalorian, recalling the etiquette of the "Children of Mandalore," "I am Vaner Shan."
The stranger nodded silently and turned to the seller.
"Is everything ready?" he asked... in a woman's voice.
Under the armor and cloak, it was impossible to discern her figure and build, so it was only now that Revan realized he was facing a woman.
Ramsar, meanwhile, took a small rectangular container from under the counter and handed it to the stranger. With another nod, she turned towards the exit.
"Aren't you even going to introduce yourself?" the Jedi asked, surprised.
In his memory, Mandalorians at least reacted somehow to a greeting.
The warrior stopped and turned her head towards the Jedi.
"Tira. Nomad," she informed him after a moment's thought, and left the shop.
The seller shook his head disapprovingly.
And the assassin droid's optics flashed malevolently.
"Irritated: Insolent bag of meat."
"Forgive me for the greeting, Vaner. She's like that with everyone. And she speaks poor Mando'a," Volo explained.
"So she's not a born Mandalorian?" the Jedi clarified.
"No. The Nomad clan picked her up when they were wandering the Outer Rim," Ramsar scratched his chin. "About eight, or maybe even ten years ago. She doesn't say much, but she works well."
"A bounty hunter?" Revan guessed.
HK-47 made a sound resembling a snort.
"One of the best in this sector. Only young Fett might be able to compete with her."
"Interesting," the Jedi thought and tried to remember her image in the Force to identify her if they met again.
She wasn't Force-sensitive, but she exuded a palpable danger. Such contacts could always come in handy. After all, during the Civil War, a considerable number of Force adepts died at the hands of non-Force-sensitive mercenaries.
However, he could think about that later. For now, he needed to return to pressing matters.
"Ramsar, can you recommend someone nearby where I can get a navigation computer? Preferably from a decommissioned ship, but with a working transponder."
The former Sith understood perfectly well that such questions on Tatooine, like on any other planet with thriving crime, were quite commonplace.
The seller pondered.
"The easiest way is to approach one of Jabba's kingpins in the port district."
"That won't work. I have... complicated relations with the Hutts."
"Hmm... then there are the private dealers, but there aren't that many of them."
"Someone must be there."
"Well, there's one Toydarian. But it's easier to take a blaster from a Mandalorian than to buy anything from him. He charges prices that would shame even me!"
Revan shrugged.
"I'll manage somehow. Give me the coordinates."
It wasn't far to walk. Near a low building with a sign that read "Watto's Junk Shop. Goods for all occasions!" there were several stalls with worn but still quite usable parts, cables, and mechanisms.
With every step, Revan realized this was exactly what he needed. This was where he would find everything necessary for both HK and the ship. The main thing was to agree on a price. He didn't want to resort to Sith methods of persuasion.
As soon as the Jedi, clad in new armor, and HK crossed the threshold of the shop, a funny alien, whom Revan had never encountered before, flew towards them. However, he remembered something similar from the brief course of study he had given himself using the HoloNet. The small winged creature was unmistakably a Toydarian.
"Ah! Greetings to my long-awaited customers!" he circled the entering pair of human and droid. "How can old Watto help you?"
"I hope, in many ways," Revan said in a level voice.
His face couldn't be seen under the mask, which the former Sith used to his advantage to gain a better position in the upcoming negotiations.
"I need a navigation computer, model NTK-32/A. And also some spare parts for my protocol droid."
"I have many things. It's just that I don't recognize your droid's model."
"Oh, it's quite old," the Jedi waved it off. "Original parts are long gone, so I patch it up with whatever I can find."
"Boredly: Yes, I am like that. So old that I no longer remember who my master is... Master," the droid drawled.
"Then I suggest you go and choose," the Toydarian smiled, baring his crooked teeth. "I'll call my slave to help you find everything in the warehouse."
"Wonderful," the Jedi forced out.
He did not accept slavery in any form. The very concept was abhorrent to him. However, he understood that rushing to free everyone was not the best idea. These people and other sentient beings were accustomed to such a life. And to help them, it was not enough to simply break a collar or remove a tracking chip. It required a long period of adaptation and the work of a highly qualified psychologist. Otherwise, freedom would be worse than death for them.
"Ani!" the winged alien yelled somewhere towards the back room. "Ani! Anakin!"
"Coming!" a voice responded from an opening at the far end of the room. And much quieter, "I'll be there in a minute."
"And what about the navigation computer?" Revan returned to the topic, pushing away thoughts of slavery.
"Yes, the navigator, right," Watto clapped his hands. "A rare item, but I have one lying around somewhere."
"Oh, don't worry, I'm not interested in a new one at all," the former Sith hinted.
The merchant quickly caught on to where the client was leading and grinned in anticipation.
"You should have started with that!" he stretched out. "That's a completely different... circumstance."
Behind the "circumstance," Revan clearly heard "credits."
"But is it possible?"
"Of course!" the Toydarian beamed. "For old Watto, nothing is impossible!"
"And?" the Jedi tilted his head slightly. "How much are such possibilities now?"
"Three hundred thousand," the winged creature announced the price.
Revan was glad that his face was hidden by a mask at that moment. He had never encountered such audacity before.
According to the HoloNet, even a new model with all the enhancements cost an order of magnitude less! For that kind of money, one could build a new ship from scratch to order!
"Esteemed Watto," he began insinuatingly, "I'm not buying a whole corvette from you, just a couple of spare parts."
"On the contrary, you are not just buying a ship, but the opportunity to move freely through Hutt territory," the alien narrowed his eyes. "Moreover, I heard that Jabba is currently checking all ships whose transponders have not passed inspection or were issued very recently."
Revan tensed, perfectly understanding the hint. The seller turned out to be not so simple and quickly guessed the purpose of the decommissioned computer. Most likely, this overgrown fly expected to receive part of the stolen cargo in exchange for his silence. That's why he set such a price.
At that moment, a thin boy with sun-bleached, sandy-colored hair appeared from the opening at the far end of the room.
"Watto, I'm here," he called to the shop owner. "What needs to be done?"
Something was wrong with this child. Revan felt the air grow heavy in his presence, as if something was affecting the surroundings through the Force. Or perhaps someone...
"Ah, Ani!" the Toydarian shifted his gaze to him. "Show our guest the droid parts in the warehouse while he considers my offer."
Watto's gaze was more eloquent than his words, and the Jedi understood what he was being told: "Think faster. If you refuse and leave, I'll hand everything over to Jabba."
"What a greedy idiot," the former Sith Lord thought. "He's not even considering the option where 'Sith Diplomacy' would be involved. Naive."
The slave boy ran up to Revan and took his hand, leading him towards the warehouses.
But the moment his palm touched the Jedi's armor, the consciousness of a warlord who had died four thousand years ago was overcome by a vision: a terrifying black armor with a cloak billowing behind him like the wings of death itself. The ragged rasp of the life support system's breathing apparatus. And the chilling aura of a Sith Lord.