In the Skywalker homestead, as always before dawn, there was silence. The residents: both hosts and guests - were asleep. Or rather, it seemed so. Young Anakin and his mother tossed and turned nervously in their beds, worried about the upcoming race. The Nabooan Padmé sat in the kitchen with a cup of cooled caf in her hands and gloomily looked out the window at Qui-Gon, who was positioned on a small terrace in a meditative pose.
Perhaps only the small R2-series astromech was truly calm and still. But he was a droid, and for him, that was normal.
Revan felt all of this when he woke up on the floor in Anakin's room, where Shmi had assigned him for the night yesterday. And where he had safely returned last night without attracting attention.
The former Sith was glad that he didn't have to mask his presence as much near Anakin. The boy "radiated" in the Force so much that he could cover the entire Jedi Council. This once again made Revan wonder how the Seekers could have missed him!
"Good morning, Ani," he said, stretching, noticing that the boy wasn't even trying to pretend to be asleep anymore.
"Morning," Skywalker grumbled in response.
"Worried?" the former Sith said, stating a fact rather than asking.
"Uh-huh."
"That's normal. Adrenaline helps in such matters, as long as it doesn't weigh on your mind."
"Huh?" the boy asked again.
Revan quickly reminded himself that he was talking to a child who, due to his remoteness from the developed core worlds of the galaxy, as well as his slave status, had not received an education.
"Don't let fear cloud your mind," the former Jedi paraphrased. "Remember, fear kills the mind. But when it's under control, it can become a powerful ally."
Immediately, Revan himself chuckled at his words, realizing that he had just voiced one of the main principles of Sith teaching.
"Mmm, use fear and turn it into strength," he thought, recalling the Emperor's whisper, which had once, for a short time, broken his will.
Revan did not receive traditional training in the ways of the Sith, as was customary in the Empire of Vitiate, and then in his own. All his knowledge of the teachings and philosophy of the Dark Side adepts he gained from his wanderings through holocrons, encounters with Force ghosts, and... directly from the Emperor, who imposed his will on him and Alec. A soul-chilling voice, sounding directly in his head, as if with the edge of a lightsaber directly on the bones of his skull, wrote out the Sith code. His consciousness became confused, his motives changed, the Order's teachings receded somewhere. In their place appeared the Emperor's vision of the Dark Side's path. And he had known it very... very deeply.
Vitiate wanted to create obedient puppets who fully shared his ideas. He wanted Revan and Malak to sow Chaos in the Republic and prepare it for the arrival of the Sith. But, instead, he got a terrible opponent, whom he himself had armed with some of his secrets. After all, how could he have known that Revan would be able to throw off the leash and start creating his own Empire?
"Vader?" Anakin called him.
The former Sith shook his head, chasing away unpleasant memories.
"Sorry, I was lost in thought. Did you say something?" he shifted his gaze to Skywalker.
"No, nothing," the latter shook his head in response. "Mom is calling us for breakfast."
"Great!" Revan stood up and stretched his shoulders. "I'm just starving."
Anakin chuckled in response to his friend's smile.
"Thank you, Vader, for the advice. At least my hands have stopped shaking," he demonstrated two open palms.
"You're welcome. The main thing is, remember, it's pointless to fear what might happen. And even more so to worry about what you can't influence. Focus on controlling the podracer, and everything will work out. You're second to none in this, I'm sure," the ancient one encouraged the boy.
"Thank you."
Revan merely waved away another expression of gratitude and went into the small room, mistakenly called a bathroom in this house. Water was in strict deficit on the planet, so even washing one's face was a problem.
Dampening a small rag with a couple of drops of life-giving moisture from the dispenser, Revan wiped his face, hands, and neck, rejoicing in at least some freshness.
In the worn mirror on the wall, his face, no longer seeming alien, was reflected. The ancient felt his forehead and cheeks, bared his teeth at his reflection.
"Mda, even though I tried to look a bit older, the stamp 'minor' is literally branded on your forehead," the former Sith grinned at himself.
Thanks to intensified training and meditation, Revan managed to bring this body to its maximum potential for his current age. However, there was still room for improvement. He planned to fully regain his former form in five to six years, when his current vessel grew up. After all, he was still far from ideal. The aching pain in his muscles after yesterday's sparring with a Zabrak was proof of that.
"However, if all the Force-sensitives in this era are like that Sith, I could storm the Jedi Temple on Coruscant right now," Revan thought and laughed at the foolish idea.
At the entrance to the kitchen, the ancient collided with Qui-Gon, who was in a state of deep thought. Mentally amused by the possible reasons for the old Jedi's contemplation, "harmless young man Vaner Shan" slipped into the kitchen and received his portion of the meager breakfast of the Skywalkers, who were not accustomed to so many guests.
"How long until the race?" he asked, washing down a crunchy galette, which was clearly on the verge between edible and inedible, with some hot gruel.
"Three more hours," Anakin replied. "But we need to be at the starting line in an hour and a half."
"Understood," the former Sith nodded. "Then we should hurry? We still have to drag the cart across the entire city."
The young man nodded and poured more of something that vaguely resembled coffee for a tired Padmé, who apparently hadn't slept a wink all night.
At that moment, the communicator on Revan's belt vibrated silently.
Politely thanking them for breakfast, the ancient went outside to "check the cart."
"HK, what do you have?" he said quietly, bringing the communicator to his mouth.
"Polite greeting: Good morning, Master!" the droid responded with feigned joy.
"To the point, please."
"Disappointed: As you wish, Master," the assassin hunter immediately changed his tone. "Report: Near the hotel where you resided until recently, numerous fighters of the Blood Claws clan, as well as militants from Jabba the Hutt's personal army, have been spotted, Master."
"Oh, shit."
"Analysis: Apparently, the Hutts noticed a change of power in the clan and decided to intervene," the droid continued. "Concerned: This may reduce the loyalty of the Claws, as well as that Toydarian Watto, towards you, Master."
The situation was becoming unpleasant. It was obvious that the Hutts had found out that the Blood Claws were now obeying someone else. Perhaps Watto himself, overcoming his fear, had gone to complain to Jabba about how his "property" was being robbed by unruly thieves and mercenaries. In any case, Mos Espa was about to be turned upside down and sifted through a fine sieve in search of the impudent individual who decided not to ask permission from the local "authorities" when he decided to earn some money. And if Jabba connected this to the disappearance of his precious cargo...
"Damn... there isn't even a word in the main galactic language to describe all this."
"Thoughtfully: Perhaps the word 'sh*t' would suffice?" HK suggested.
"I don't know such a word..."
"Explanation: It's from the dialect of a planet on the far frontier, quite unpopular with the Republic. The meaning of this word is an extremely unfavorable turn of events, which cannot be described by censored or uncensored expressions. It is often used to mean the end, and in private cases, a fatal end. For example, it was with this word that one of the leaders of this planet described the Ruusan Treaty. It also has the opposite meaning, as something indescribably good... It all depends on intonation and context, Master."
"What a convenient word... And, judging by your example, quite fitting," Revan agreed, meanwhile contemplating a plan of action.
It seemed he would be searched for. This meant his current companions would be endangered. And he absolutely did not want to involve the Skywalkers in this. Moreover, Qui-Gon's presence literally tied his hands. He couldn't let him connect Vaner or Revan to the "man in the mask" who had dealt with the local criminal elements.
Therefore, he needed to get to those who were looking for him first. And, consequently, he would have to grovel to the Hutts... Or, alternatively, stage a bloody massacre in the city streets, physically eliminating his pursuers.
"Alright, we'll live and see," Revan nodded to his thoughts. "HK, bring a speeder to reserve point number 3."
"Happily: Is a shootout expected?"
"Quite possibly."
"Enthusiastically: I'll be there in three minutes, Master."
"Now I just need to get rid of the 'tail'," the ancient muttered, contemplating a good reason to separate from the group and leave the Skywalker residence earlier than everyone else.
Half an hour later, standing in an alley not far from the hotel, which was still being searched by Hutt forces, Revan was still surprised at how easily he had managed to "send himself to the bookie." Apparently, yesterday's conversation had thrown Qui-Gon off balance too much, as the vigilant Jedi hadn't lectured the unreasonable teenager. However, Padmé tried to do so, but Anakin quickly took over, whom the ancient had warned about the need to leave for an important matter.
"Report: Master, my sensors detect 43 opponents of various racial affiliations. All are armed with blaster weapons, as well as grenades of various nomenclature," HK-47's voice sounded.
Revan felt approximately the same through the Force. And there was no reason to doubt the words of the galaxy's best assassin droid.
"Excellent, HK," the ancient nodded, checking the mask's fastenings. "Your task is to capture at least one alive. Or to obtain information about who is hunting us, and where to find them. Any details are welcome."
"With anticipation: Am I permitted to use executioner protocols?"
"Yes," Revan replied, shrugging his shoulders at the shivers running down his spine. "Time limit, two hours. Proceed."
The droid armed himself with two blaster pistols and disappeared into the shadows of the alley, blinking his crimson optical sensors goodbye.
The former Sith was confident that HK would complete the task. He had never failed his creator.
Meanwhile, the object of the hunt himself planned to visit Watto's shop before he left for the races, to ask the insolent Toydarian a couple of questions.
However, he wasn't there. But an ambush was present.
Five sentient beings, three Weequay and two Duro, were waiting inside the shop. Another Trandoshan had taken up a position on the roof of a neighboring building.
"Even unserious, somehow," Revan assessed the trap.
In two leaps, he was behind the sniper, and the ancient Jedi pressed the muzzle of his blaster between the man's shoulder blades.
"Quiet, if you want to live longer," he ordered. "And don't even think about calling for help. Slowly remove your communicator and toss it aside."
The reptilian hissed angrily but complied.
"Excellent. Now lie down and don't move while I ask questions."
Again, a hiss answered him.
"So, who sent you? Jabba?"
The prisoner did not answer.
"Speak," he tried to use the Force to influence his mind.
Silence.
"Well, I don't think the Jedi will bother me today. After all, Qui-Gon won't risk leaving Anakin unsupervised. So, I can speed up the interrogation process," the former Jedi thought.
Revan pulled a vibroknife from his belt and ran it along the Trandoshan's thigh, cutting through the fabric of his jumpsuit and lightly scratching the scaly skin.
The prisoner cried out, but immediately fell silent, receiving a blow to the back of the head with the blaster's handle.
"Shall I repeat the question?" the distorted voice behind the mask sounded more than menacing.
"Go to hell!" the reptilian snapped back.
The ancient Sith pressed him to the roof with his knee, covered his mouth with his armored glove, and plunged the vibroknife into his thigh up to the hilt. Then he slowly began to draw it upwards, tearing the flesh, but seemingly miraculously avoiding major arteries.
The prisoner screamed in pain and bit into the glove.
"Ready to talk?" Revan clarified.
The Trandoshan closed his eyes and shook his head, preparing for a new dose of pain.
"Do you think this pain is all I can do? Do you think you can endure it?" the former Sith said quietly. "You're mistaken."
Purple sparks ran along the arm holding the vibroknife, still plunged into the prisoner's thigh. A Force lightning discharge passed through the metal directly into the cut muscles, causing them to contract and inflicting hellish pain. A cramp seized the reptilian's entire body, causing him to arch his back, forcing Revan to press him to the roof with the Force.
"Don't think it will be so simple," the ancient whispered when the Trandoshan was about to pass out from shock, and directed the Force to keep the prisoner's consciousness from fading. "You need to earn oblivion and relief."
Another dose of lightning struck the wound.
"Ready to talk?" Revan clarified when his prisoner stopped twitching.
He nodded furiously in response.
"So?" the former Sith asked, slowly removing the glove that had covered the reptilian's mouth.
"Jabba," the Trandoshan replied hoarsely, spitting out blood and fragments of teeth broken against the armored glove.
"Who tipped him off?"
"Watto, the Toydarian... He came with a complaint."
"Are the Claws cooperating?" the executioner continued his interrogation.
"Y-yes. Voluntarily."
Revan was about to ask another question when his sense of danger simply howled. And the next moment, a blaster bolt pierced the Trandoshan's head. Only quick reaction saved the ancient Sith from a second shot, already aimed at his back.
"The shooter is good," he thought. "I almost missed him."
Revan dodged another series of shots that came from somewhere above with a roll, but one of the bolts still grazed his shoulder plate.
With the hiss of a jetpack, a figure in Mandalorian armor landed behind the Jedi and opened fire again.
As much as Revan wanted to avoid it, he had to activate his lightsaber.
A silver flash reflected three greenish bolts and sent a fourth back at the shooter. The latter easily dodged and jumped back, increasing the distance from the dangerous opponent.
"Damn Jabba," a female voice hissed from the Mandalorian mercenary... or rather, mercenary. "No one mentioned a Jedi."
"Perhaps we can talk?" Revan offered.
In response, the mercenary swore in Mando'a and threw a thermal detonator at his feet, which he successfully deflected with the Force towards the bounty hunters rushing out of the shop. The Force indicated that only two had survived, and they were no longer a threat.
The next moment, the Mandalorian darted sharply to the side, and in her former place, a bright flash appeared with a pop from a flashbang grenade, blinding the Jedi. If not for Force foresight, he would never have dodged the stream of flame from a compact flamethrower built into the mercenary's gauntlet, which she used to try and get at the blinded opponent.
Revan cut through the net thrown next with his lightsaber, but exposed himself to a thin cable with a grappling hook, which wrapped around his right wrist. A powerful tug knocked the lightsaber out of his grip and left the Jedi disarmed, forcing him to take the next blaster shot directly to his chest plate.
Mentally, Revan cursed in all known languages. He perfectly remembered how difficult it was to fight prepared and well-armed Mandalorians.
"Relaxed, idiot!" the ancient thought, trying to regain concentration and use the Force.
A tug on the cable-entangled arm. The Jedi realized they wanted to take him alive, otherwise they would have finished him off with a blaster. This was good news, although he had already prepared to act according to the worst-case scenario. But then his opponent would certainly have died. And there were still questions, and interrogating the prisoner would be useful.
Finally regaining concentration, Revan did not allow himself to be pulled, sending a discharge of electricity through the cable. The winch in the Mandalorian's gauntlet sparked and shut down. However, it did not harm the mercenary herself, as the armor's insulators coped. But her suit could do nothing against the Force wave.
The girl was knocked off her feet, and Revan used this to pull his weapon towards him and cut the cable that still bound his movements.
The Mandalorian quickly assessed the situation and activated her jetpack, attempting to escape. However, Revan did not allow this, stopping her with a Force grip and slamming her hard against the stone roof. The jetpack turned out to be damaged and threatened to explode. But the girl managed to use it to her advantage. She tore the damaged equipment from her back and threw it towards her opponent. The Jedi, seeing that he didn't have time to deflect the improvised bomb, shielded himself with the Force. However, the mercenary was waiting for this.
Pressing herself tightly to the roof, she minimized the damage from the shockwave and heat from her jetpack's explosion, and then, before the smoke cleared, she lunged forward, attacking.
Revan, still planning to capture his opponent for interrogation, was forced into close combat and extinguished his saber, so as not to kill the girl in the heat of battle. He had to expend considerable effort to suppress the alluring call of the Dark Side within him, awakened during the Trandoshan's torture. However, he succeeded. Now, calling upon the Light, he concentrated on strengthening and accelerating his own body.
The hand-to-hand combat lessons from Canderous came in handy. The mercenary was good, but she had still been hit hard against the stone roof several times. And even Mandalorian armor wouldn't fully protect against an explosion at this distance. Gradually, she was losing in speed, but giving up was not in her people's tradition. And Revan knew this. He had to finish it quickly.
A Force push combined with a hand strike sent the girl flying towards a small superstructure with a moisture vaporator. And the subsequent Force wave knocked all the air out of her lungs.
"Enough!" Revan roared, jumping to the mercenary and holding his activated lightsaber to her throat.
"As you say," the Mandalorian replied, breathing heavily.
Only now, examining the clan markings on her scratched and burned armor, did the former Jedi recognize the girl.
"You... Tira Nomad, right?" he recalled the name of the Mandalorian he had met in Vholl's armory shop.
"Good memory, Jedi," she replied, gradually regaining her breath.
Perfectly understanding that the mercenary was just stalling for time and looking for an opportunity to escape, the ancient decided not to delay the questions.
"Where is Jabba now? At the races? Who is currently in charge of the Claws? And..."
"Sorry... Vaner, I believe? Nothing personal," the Mandalorian grinned, interrupting the string of questions.
At that moment, behind him, Revan heard the familiar chirp of a booby trap being activated. A tiny explosive charge with a remote detonator had been attached to his cloak near his right shoulder blade.
He lacked only a fraction of a second to throw off his cloak. The explosion, although relatively weak, felt like a powerful blow from a Kath hound from Dantooine.
Although it didn't cause significant damage to Revan, he was knocked off his feet and disoriented for a few precious seconds. The mercenary managed to escape.
"Hutt!" the Jedi cursed, barely hearing his voice over the ringing in his ears. "I fell for it like an ignorant Padawan!"
He perfectly understood that he had made a lot of mistakes, underestimated his opponent, and neglected the experience of his past life.
"Well, Revan, you'll be smarter from now on. Jokes with Mandalorians are bad, even if they are not Force-sensitives," the former Jedi mentally scolded himself. "And weakening concentration in battle or getting distracted by anything is even less advisable. So – train and, once again, train. The mind is fine, but the body is still rebelling."
Looking down at the entrance to Watto's shop, the ancient Sith just shook his head. The mercenaries who survived the thermal detonator explosion received plasma bolts to the head. There were no objects for interrogation.
"Clean work," Revan chuckled. "I hope HK was luckier."
Returning to the hotel, the former Jedi noted that it was unusually empty and quiet around. The inhabitants of Mos Espa had suddenly begun to avoid this block. And the reason for this was apparently the smoke billowing from the windows of the second floor of the hotel... now former.
Revan probed the building with the Force. As he had suspected, the mercenaries were no longer there. Or rather, no living mercenaries. But the traces of battle and the echoes of several dozen deaths were felt very clearly. Only on the upper level, in the far corner, was there still a trace of life. And the ancient was willing to bet that the dark, cold, and definitely lifeless spot nearby was the forty-seventh.
"HK, I hope you at least got the information before you staged this 'Mandalorians attack Kothar' show here," said the creator of the assassin droid, heading towards the hotel entrance.
The building's exterior walls were adorned with a scattering of scorched marks from blaster bolt hits. Apparently, HK decided to break in immediately, luring the mercenaries after him.
The lobby was literally littered with dead bodies. Revan counted seventeen bodies, killed by very precise shots to vital organs. Two more were clearly civilians. Apparently, local guests who got caught in a stray bolt.
"I sincerely hope this wasn't HK using 'meat bags' as shields, but a truly fatal coincidence," Revan said quietly, closing the eyes of a nameless woman in a strict suit with a badge bearing the logo of one of the sector's trading companies.
The hotel administrator also didn't fare well. His body, with a slit throat, was found by the former Jedi right behind the counter. This was definitely not the work of his droid. HK-47 disliked using knives, so that "dirty lubricant from the meat bags wouldn't get on the servos."
Moving cautiously down the corridor with walls melted by the explosion of several grenades, the former Sith kept his saber and blaster at the ready. He wasn't going to let his guard down a second time in one day.
The second floor was engulfed in flames, so Revan went directly to the upper level. Judging by the traces of battle, the mercenaries tried to fortify themselves here and resist the advancing "death machine." And they failed.
A dozen bodies, fragmented, indicated a grenade explosion at close range. The Jedi shook his head, remembering how the droid had boasted about finding a new way to eliminate stupid meat bags who, in this millennium, decided to carry bundles of thermal detonators on their belts without armored pouches.
"Mda, one shot and the whole group is finished," Revan mused. "In my time, explosives were handled much more carefully."
In the far corner of the room, the Jedi noticed the easily recognizable figure of the droid, who aimed his blaster at him, but after a moment, lowered it, turning back to the Rodian kneeling before him.
"Ingratiatingly: Is that all you know?" the former Sith heard the droid's voice as he approached a couple of steps.
The victim nodded vigorously.
"Graciously: Thank you. Here is your reward, as promised," with these words, HK shot the prisoner in the head.
Revan frowned under his mask but decided he would give his creation a lecture on the dangers of excessive cruelty later. For now, it was important to subdue the Claws, as well as visit Jabba and settle all disagreements with him. Preferably without bloodshed... but these were Hutts.
"What did you learn?" he got straight to the point as soon as the droid turned to him.
"With pride: Master, the mission is complete. 43 opponents eliminated, information obtained about the movements and location of the Hutt, Jabba Desilijic Tiure. It was also established that the Red Claws clan is currently led by Jabba's protégé, a certain Danaal Noghanti, a human, a former operative of the Judicial Forces – a Republican law enforcement agency that replaced the Republican armed forces," the assassin hunter began his report. "During the mission, the hotel building sustained significant damage. Also, 5 civilians were affected. Four ceased to function, caught in the indiscriminate fire of the enemy."
"Good," Revan nodded in response. "Did you find out who the target was?"
"Affirmatively: Of course, Master. The target of the attack was you."
"Who exactly? Vaner Shan, who stole Beskar from Jabba, or the man in the mask who captured the Claws and robbed Watto?"
"Confidently: The Man in the Mask, also known as the Lord. The name Vaner did not come up during interrogation. There is a possibility that the mercenaries were not informed of the target's name. However, there were no hints of personal interest from the Hutts in this matter. According to the mercenaries' information, which I managed to extract, the operation was directed precisely at whoever decided to act without Jabba's approval on his territory, as well as to intimidate others who wished to change the established order."
This information somewhat calmed Revan. The fact that he wasn't being searched for by name meant that incomplete information had reached the Hutt from Anchorhead, and that his hunter friend had escaped safely. Plus, it was hard to connect the man in the mask to Anakin or the Jedi.
"Hutt!" Revan slapped his forehead.
It wasn't connectable before... After Watto complained about the Claws, he probably mentioned that he was forced to put slaves on the line. And that Mandalorian woman would surely report that the target was actually a Jedi and armed with a lightsaber.
He needed to act quickly.
"Where are Jabba and this Danaal now?"
"Readily: The Hutt is currently heading to the site of the local races for the ceremonial start. Danaal should be at the Claws' hideout."
"Excellent. We'll visit the one who dared to replace me first, and then we'll go for negotiations with the 'Big Boss'," Revan began, but immediately caught himself, realizing that the opponent had the advantage of time. "So, HK, you're going to the stadium. You're in charge of guarding Anakin and his mother. The Jedi will take care of themselves."
"Yes, Master!" the droid immediately responded.
"I'm going to visit the Claws."
"Question: Master... what if you... cease to function?" HK asked cautiously.
"I permit you to stage a bloody massacre among the criminals on the planet," Revan said, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "I've had enough of this world and its criminal core. So, you'll give them a 'cleansing'."
"Hopefully: And then?" the droid asked, confident that he could exterminate all representatives of the local criminal structures.
Revan, fully aware of the scale of the problem, merely smiled at the naivety of his creation.
"And then, you can expand the plan to the entire galaxy."
"Yes, Master!"
"Right, but first make sure I've stopped functioning," the creator reminded the droid. "The only thing missing for my complete happiness is a droid assassin 'bringing light and justice to the galaxy.' That was sarcasm."
"Disappointed: Understood, Master. I will follow the original plan – protecting Anakin Skywalker and his mother."
"Execute."
The droid turned and ran down the stairs.
"And I suppose I'll go too."
The appearance of a robed figure in a black and red Mandalorian mask in the "Red Sand" cantina caused a wave of whispers and hurried movements away from the entrance. Rumors about a certain "Lord" whom Jabba himself had declared a hunt for were already spreading.
The bartender, though he didn't recognize the guest, clearly felt the urge to crawl under the counter and stay there.
Revan, ignoring the whispers and rustling among the cantina patrons, confidently walked towards the entrance of the Blood Claws' hideout. He felt no threat to himself here. But further in, in the tunnels, an ambush could well await him.
Last time, he had to move stealthily to avoid leaving traces of his intervention. Now, he went straight through traps and guard posts, for he had come to demonstrate his strength, as this rabble, calling itself a criminal clan, understood only the language of power.
The first pair of guards the ancient Jedi encountered were plastered to the wall by a powerful push. The turrets mounted on the ceiling didn't have time to turn before the blurred figure in the robe was out of the firing sector and, with one movement, severed the cables with a black lightsaber that appeared in his hands.
A new patrol that rushed out from around the corner was hit by a Force lightning strike. The discharge was not fatal, but it was enough to incapacitate the fighters for a long time.
The detonators of the trap mines in the next corridor were remotely disabled by the Force, and the shooter behind a heavy rapid-fire mounted blaster was struck down by his own shot, reflected from the ancient one's blade.
Revan moved forward, feeling the fear of the mercenaries and feeding himself with it. The Dark Side clouded his mind, but the Jedi's will was stronger. He was confident in what he was doing. He was guided by a sense of justice, not blind rage.
Apparently, inspired by HK-47's abilities, the mercenaries had acquired a dozen assorted battle droids, which, however, proved utterly incapable of resisting a trained Force adept. The black blade in the hands of the blurred shadow turned them into a pile of melted parts.
The former Sith moved quickly and acted with maximum efficiency. He involuntarily recalled the years of war when he led his soldiers into battle, first as a young Republic general, and then as a commander of his future Empire. He didn't always observe the course of battles from the bridge of his cruiser. Often, he had to personally conduct sabotage operations, as no one but the gifted could have handled them.
The door to the Claw leader's chambers was locked. Revan ripped it from its frame and flung it down the corridor. Six blasters immediately opened fire from the room. However, this was not enough to defeat the Jedi. The shots were easily deflected, and the shooters fell by their own weapons. And then everything went silent. However, in the next moment, sounds of struggle and curses in several languages echoed from the leader's chambers.
The ancient one watched the events through the Force and smirked under his mask.
When he entered the room, deactivating his saber, deliberately slowly and relaxed, an interesting picture presented itself to his eyes. Four Claw fighters were pinning to the floor the one who, apparently, had been leading them just a few minutes ago. The man was struggling and cursing his former subordinates with his rich vocabulary. For which he received sharp blows to the ribs.
"Lord!" pleaded the mercenaries who had subdued Danaal Noganti. "Spare us! We were forced! It's all Jabba!"
After listening to the panicked laments and pleas of the frightened mercenaries, who, judging by the active surveillance system monitors, had managed to wet themselves more than once while watching the "Demon Lord's" advance, Revan silenced them with the Force.
"Where is Tihr Dorma?" he asked, adding more steel to his voice.
"He's with Jabba!" replied one of the mercenaries.
"Waiting for trial," added the second, "along with most of the clan's fighters."
"Trial?" the ancient one was surprised.
"Jabba likes to hold public trials to intimidate his opponents," the first mercenary explained.
"Who is this?" Revan asked, already guessing the prisoner's identity.
"The scoundrel Danaal Noganti! Jabba sent him! His men occupied our hideout and replaced Dorma!"
The former Sith already understood the situation. The Claws, in Jabba's opinion, had shown weakness by allowing some outsider to command them. The current leader of the Hutt didn't suit him, so they decided to replace him. And at the same time, thin out the clan's fighters so there would be less grumbling. Considering there were only about a hundred Claws to begin with, this was quite easy to do.
Only Jabba hadn't accounted for the "outsider" being gifted, and moreover, paired with an assassin droid.
This could be played upon.
"Tidy up the hideout," Revan ordered. "Help the wounded. I'll sort things out with Jabba."
"And what about him?" the most talkative of the mercenaries pointed at the prisoner.
"He's coming with me. Tie him up."
The order was carried out in the shortest possible time. The former Jedi refused the handcuffs and shackles of the Judicial Forces, suspecting that the former operative knew how to free himself from them. Therefore, they tied him with ordinary rope, but in such a way that there was no chance of escape.
Half an hour later, the convoy of four Claws, Revan, and the captive Danaal was already at the stadium, confidently approaching the guards of the VIP box where the unofficial ruler of Tatooine, Jabba Desilijic Tiure, had settled.
"Halt!" barked the Trandoshan commanding the platoon of guards. "Who are you?"
"Jabba wants to talk to me," Revan stepped forward.
"This is the one Jabba ordered the Claws to capture!" the head of the guard instantly recognized him.
The guards raised their blasters.
The Jedi smirked, probing the Trandoshan's mind with the Force, and, tilting his head slightly to the side, insinuated: "I am not the one Jabba is looking for. I am his most trusted mercenary."
The reptilian shook his head and looked intently at the ancient one.
"Ah, no, guys, I mistook him. This isn't the one Jabba is looking for. This is his best mercenary. Let him pass!"
Revan nodded politely, passing the guards accompanied by his retinue.
In case the mind-trick failed, he had already contacted HK, who immediately reported the destruction of another group of fighters watching the Skywalkers. The droid also mentioned that he barely escaped a Jedi who decided to check the shootout location, but now everything was clear.
The elevator ride to the box didn't take long.
"Oh, look who it is," said the Mandalorian, aiming both a blaster and a flamethrower at Revan.
"And hello to you too, Tira Nomad," the former Jedi bowed.
The round platform with the collapsed, slug-like body of the Hutt on it slowly turned towards the newcomers. Behind him, the flabby figure of another Hutt was visible, and Revan couldn't tell which of them he needed.
"Ho, so you're the scoundrel who caused a commotion on my precious planet?" Jabba said in his native language.
"So, it's decided," the ancient one thought.
"Most esteemed Jabba, I have come to you of my own free will to resolve this undoubtedly misunderstanding that has arisen between us," Revan began in the same language as his interlocutor.
"Really?" the criminal lord drawled with a slight chuckle.
"Absolutely."
"And how do you intend to resolve this... misunderstanding?" the Hutt asked, yawning. "Your interference has caused me losses, both financial and moral. I don't even want to mention the attempt to undermine my authority on the planet."
The Jedi felt that several hidden turrets were trained on him, and a combat squad was waiting for a signal in the next room. He had to act cautiously, but at the same time confidently. Hutts do not tolerate weakness in negotiations.
"I think I have something to offer you to atone for my guilt."
"Ho?" Jabba drawled questioningly.
"Firstly, it's the loyalty of the Blood Claws, among whom no one doubts your authority, great Jabba," Revan said flatteringly, and the mercenaries behind him nodded vigorously. "And I'm returning your subordinate, Noganti."
"Not interesting yet," the Hutt said with a grin on his toad-like face.
"This is just the beginning," the former Jedi tilted his head slightly. "Also, I recently stumbled upon the wreckage of a transport ship in the desert with a cargo of an interesting metal."
At these words, the Hutt perked up and began to examine his interlocutor closely.
"Well, you've piqued my interest," he said.
"I suppose we can reach an agreement?"
"Are you going to bargain with me with my own goods?" Jabba burst out laughing. "What a brazen fellow!"
"Formally, the goods are with me now. Which means they are mine, at the moment," Revan said in the same polite tone.
The Hutt narrowed his eyes and smacked his lips.
"And what's stopping me from grabbing you and shaking the coordinates of the cargo out of you?"
"I suppose, interest?"
Jabba once again erupted in thunderous laughter.
"Did you hear that, Gardulla?" he addressed the second Hutt. "Interest!"
"Why are you talking to him! It's time to shut this impudent fellow up," Gardulla, mentioned above, retorted.
"Don't interfere in what doesn't concern you," Jabba sternly rebuked his kinsman. "There are too few intelligent beings on this planet who can arouse my interest. So, I'll listen to him, and you'd better watch the race. Our bet is still on."
Gardulla said something that the former Jedi couldn't translate. However, from the tone, it was clear that it was something obscene.
"But my dear colleague from the Cartel is partly right. I could, after all, disregard interest."
"For such an occasion, I have a gift," Revan pulled at Noganti's sleeve and unfastened his jacket.
"Ho?" the Hutt drawled, impressed by the sight of several kilograms of powerful explosives secured on a harness on the prisoner's chest.
"There's enough here for all of us," the Mandalorian said, estimating the approximate power of the explosion.
"In case of failed negotiations, I won't leave here alive anyway," Revan spread his hands.
"But the detonation is manual," the girl concluded. "So, they can just shoot you before you activate the detonator."
"I'd like to see that," the former Sith smirked.
"Me too," Jabba said with a laugh. "Didn't you, dear Nomad, say that this guy is a Jedi? And we all know how effective a blaster is against them."
The mercenary snorted indignantly.
"There's always a chance," she threw back.
"And for that, I have a very effective sniper droid."
The Mandalorian glanced quickly towards the stands. The open box, although covered by a barely visible shield film, was understood by the mercenary that for a professional, there was no impenetrable defense. And there was no doubt that the droid was a professional. And the report of Jabba losing fifty fighters in the last couple of hours clearly indicated this.
"Excellent!" the Hutt burst out laughing. "Simply excellent. I definitely like you, you impudent human."
"I'm glad I made a good impression."
"So, what do you want?"
"To live peacefully, of course," Revan replied with a chuckle.
The Hutt was also amused by the answer.
"And that's all?"
"Of course not," the former Jedi continued. "I would like Tihr Dorma to once again take the position of head of the Claws."
"And you would regain power over them?" Jabba shrewdly guessed. "Although, you've already quickly restored it."
The slug-like criminal boss pointed at the four mercenaries behind Revan.
"The Claws are one of the strongest clans in Mos Espa and maintain relative order here. Which, of course, is also in your favor, most esteemed Jabba."
"Hmm... anything else?"
"I'm interested in a pair of slaves belonging to the Toydarian Uto," the ancient one risked.
Although this revealed his interest and opened a potential vulnerability to the Hutt, it was better than negotiating again when the winged merchant would run to complain.
"I don't control slaves. He honestly won them from Gardulla," Jabba waved it off.
"I only ask that you don't interfere if he suddenly... loses them," Revan carefully chose his words.
"Ho? Interesting thoughts for a Jedi... although, a former one, I presume?"
"And again, I am amazed by your perceptiveness, great Jabba."
"The Order, according to rumors, doesn't favor rebels much. And all apostates are drawn to the far frontiers," the Hutt mused, hinting at the end. "The Cartel often uses their services."
"I will always be happy to help," the former Sith bowed slightly. "If it doesn't go against my own interests."
Jabba let out a benevolent chuckle.
"Well, let's discuss your terms," he said, squinting.
At the moment Anakin Skywalker crossed the finish line, becoming the winner of the Boonta Eve Classic race, Revan was already descending from Jabba's VIP box, being the official head of the Blood Claws clan. Tihr Dorma was to be freed and take his place as deputy in the near future. The same four escorts who came to the stadium with the former Jedi had already been sent for him. Also, the ancient one received the right of unimpeded passage through Hutt space, as well as a reduced percentage on trade in worlds controlled by the slugs. Having lost, however, almost all of his hidden beskar, and finding himself in debt to Jabba. However, the benefit of the alliance with the Hutts in this region was more significant than the potential credits earned from selling the metal. Provided that this metal could be sold to anyone other than the Hutts themselves. After all, Revan had no documents for the cargo, nor confirmation of its origin and quality. This meant that those who could afford to buy such an expensive product legally would not deal with him. Only the black market remained, and it was always under the control of the slugs or their lackeys.
"You're strange, for a Jedi," said the Mandalorian Tira, accompanying him out.
"Why so?"
"You sense profit too well. Like a politician... or a commander."
Revan suddenly wanted to see what kind of face was hidden under the Mandalorian helmet. Something about this Mandalorian's manner of speaking was familiar. A barely perceptible accent, even when she switched to Mando'a.
"You're not a born Mando'ade, are you?" the Jedi guessed.
"Origin doesn't matter. Only the way of life matters," the girl shrugged.
"Where are you from?"
"First, offer me a drink, and then we can start intimate conversations," she grinned in response.
"So, maybe..."
"Sorry, another time," she patted him on the shoulder. "Don't forget to deliver the cargo by tomorrow evening. Otherwise, the hunt will be declared again. And not just for you."
With these words, the Mandalorian pushed Revan out of the elevator cabin and closed the doors.
Revan shrugged and turned towards the race track.
And on the field, near the winner, a crowd of fans was going wild. Anakin was being tossed into the air, celebrating his triumph. The former Jedi was familiar with this feeling and involuntarily smiled, indulging for a moment in memories.
Suddenly, he clearly felt a gaze directed at him and immediately found its source in the crowd. Amidst the excited sea of sentient beings, Qui-Gon stood frozen like an immobile statue.
Revan brought his index finger to his mask near his lips, gesturing for the Jedi to remain silent, and turning, disappeared into an alley where HK was already waiting for him with a speeder.