On the border of the Mandalorian sector, in a nameless system, honored only with a digital identifier on navigational charts, a star cruiser "sailed" unhurriedly through the blackness of space. The appearance of this undoubtedly combat ship spoke of a rich history and the difficult battles it had witnessed. However, it was unlikely that anyone alive today could fully appreciate the value of this ship, not only in terms of combat potential but also from a historical perspective. And a few days ago, the list of its achievements was replenished with another combat operation in Mandalorian space.
The condition of the ship's interior did not differ much from the exterior of the hull, but still for the better. Most of the corridors were unused and sealed due to damage or for the purpose of saving life support system resources. Only a few decks were used to their full extent. It was on one of these decks, in a surviving meeting room for senior officers, that a council was currently taking place. Five people were seated at a long, oval table made of durasteel darkened by time. Besides Revan and Risa Farr, who were vying for the title of cruiser owner, and a young Zabrak named Maul, two representatives of the security service of the "Obsidian" company were also present – Pana Dek and Radek Dune.
"Our ships should return to their assigned routes to avoid raising unnecessary questions from the Republic's Ministry of Transport and the Judicial Forces. The delay and our 'sudden' and 'completely accidental' participation in the scrap over Mandalore will be attributed to a navigational computer failure on one of the ships in the convoy," Pana Dek, who was the senior officer in the "Obsidian" company's trade convoy, said, rubbing her temples in an attempt to relieve her headache.
A native of Coruscant, who until recently specialized more in smuggling than in illegal military operations, was far from delighted with the situation she and her subordinates had been drawn into by the "informal" head of the company, known on the lower levels of the capital world by the nickname "Lord." In the "Obsidian" records, he was listed as Vaner Shan, but Pana did not believe the name was real.
Be that as it may, the man standing before her, who had taken control of the Coruscant branch of the Black Sun syndicate in the blink of an eye a few months ago, was truly dangerous. So Dek preferred not to quarrel with him and to hold back her pride, respectfully addressing the new boss... which, however, was not always successful.
"Are serious problems expected?" Revan, whom Pana knew as Vaner, clarified.
"No, I don't think so. We pay our 'taxes' to the Judicial Forces treasury, and we've greased the palms of several transport ministry officials well, not to mention that several enterprising senators are already accustomed to using our services. They'll scold us, impose a fine, and demand the logs from the onboard recorders," Dek shrugged.
"The logs, I presume, are in order?"
"I served in the Corps for four years, and then I was in smuggling for another ten. Believe me, boss, I know how to deal with the authorities. And there are pre-prepared recorder logs on every 'illegal courier' rust bucket in three or four copies," Dek smirked.
"The main thing is not to get caught by particularly vigilant patrols. Then you'll have to cough up money for the absence of a license for torpedo tubes on civilian vessels," added Alderaanian Radek Dune, ruffling the short black hair on his head.
"You'd be hard-pressed to find those these days. Near your Alderaan, and maybe not far from Kuat, there are still some," Pana chuckled in response.
"It's still better to be safe and avoid the main routes," Radek shrugged.
Dune, like Dek herself, had been a military man in his time, and served for almost seven years on a corvette in the patrol zone near his home planet. How he was persuaded by Pana remained a mystery to most who knew Radek personally. One thing was certain – he was not a member of the Black Sun, but had come to work for the now-legalized "Obsidian" company, even though he knew its underbelly. Revan believed he knew the reason. At least, according to the information Rann Fevro regularly received, there was something more between Pana and Radek than just a working relationship. However, the former Sith was not bothered by it – the main thing was that he was a talented soldier, and Dune was indeed a good fighter, now at his disposal, and the security service tasks were performed without any complaints.
"I suppose 'Obsidian' should also avoid appearing on the main hyperspace routes?" Revan clarified.
"'Obsidian'?" Radek repeated.
"That's what this ship is called. Just like our company," Pana explained.
"Well, rich imagination," Dune grumbled.
Revan himself chuckled at the absurd coincidence, which arose from a momentary fit of nostalgia in the former Jedi when he was choosing a name for the legal side of the Bloody Claws.
"The company will need a new name soon anyway," Revan noted.
"Yeah, we've stepped on a lot of toes. The Trade Federation is probably already filing a complaint with the Chamber of Commerce and the Ministry of Transport. And the Banking Clan with them," Radek agreed.
"Not to mention that the Black Sun will remember such an insult. And for a good price, the Hutt Cartel will sell the Claws out, guts and all. It will become much more difficult for our convoys to fly," Pana Dek frowned, assessing the suddenly opened prospects.
"As will my former master," Maul added, who had been silently listening to the conversation until then.
"We have a fruitful cooperation with the Hutts for now. Jabba won't bite himself. But he will definitely keep compromising material on us. Not to mention our acquaintance with Maul. So yes, 'Obsidian,' as a transport and trading company, should leave the stage as soon as possible," Revan concluded.
"It's a shame, it was a profitable business," the Coruscant native shook her head.
"And it will become even more profitable," the former Jedi smiled.
"But you..." Pana didn't understand.
"'Obsidian' will be absorbed by a larger company or even a merger of several organizations. We will create the appearance of disbanding personnel and changing your owner. However, this plan still needs to be worked out, but that's my concern. Don't worry about it," Revan waved his hand.
"As you say, boss," Dek shrugged.
Revan nodded and returned the conversation to discussing a much more important issue.
What to do with the cruiser?
"Your bird needs repairs, and quite substantial ones. And that requires a dock and professional equipment from a shipyard... if I'm not mistaken, it was built by the Sienar Republican systems?" Pana said, looking at the ceiling with its fallen trim panels for some reason.
"Yes. You have an excellent knowledge of history," Revan confirmed.
"I love ships. Good ships," the Coruscant native shrugged. "And nothing worthwhile has appeared in the galaxy in terms of large ships since Ruusan. So I got carried away... with antiquities. I think I even had a 1:1000 scale model somewhere."
"Five models," Dune whispered casually, suppressing a smile.
"Well, maybe five, it doesn't matter. In any case, only Sienar can properly patch up this baby, with feeling, and according to the original blueprints," Dek dismissed the jab.
"The blueprints are not only with Sienar," Revan objected.
Even in his time, to speed up the deployment of the first batch of cruisers, Rendili shipyards were involved in their construction. Blueprints were also held by several contractors who subsequently handled the repair and maintenance of the Republic fleet, and later the schematics fell into the hands of Revan's Imperial forces. It was hard to believe that only Sienar had kept the blueprints over time.
Moreover, "Obsidian" differed from the prototype, as it was modernized in the Star Forge docks. So its schematics should be sought only in the memory of the onboard computer... and, possibly, from HK, because the mechanical maniac, in order to increase his efficiency, tried to gather information about the ships of potential targets. What if the Master ordered him to kill someone on board, and the droid would waste extra minutes searching for a route from one deck to another?!
Revan chuckled at his thoughts about HK's "insane" efficiency.
"Maybe there are, I don't know for sure," Pana agreed. "But in any case, a large dock suitable for ships over six hundred meters long will be needed. There are actually quite a few of them, even without considering the shipyards of major shipbuilders, but they are all privately owned. For example, the dock of the Cassican Mining Consortium would suit you, but someone's ore haulers are always there for repairs. The Far Rim Trade Association sometimes rents out its docks, but there's no question of secrecy here."
Revan nodded in agreement. It would be simply impossible to discreetly bring the cruiser into a populated system. The appearance of such a large ship would naturally raise questions, not to mention that the navigational computer identifier still transmitted Imperial Fleet authorization codes in response to queries. The ship had no Republic registration. And this issue also had to be resolved. This meant it was worth returning to Coruscant, or sending someone from the team there. Official registration takes quite a long time, especially for a large ship, with the verification of an entire archive of applications and the sanctions of fifty officials, most of whom will also demand a bribe. Without registration, the cruiser could not enter any civilized system. No, it could enter, but only under the threat of the entire defense system and with the urgent dispatch of self-defense forces or Judicial Forces ships. So, "Obsidian" needed to be legalized, but in a way that didn't raise any questions. For example, not as a combat ship, but as a heavy transport of similar dimensions. Change the identifier to one corresponding to a "truck"... The only problem would be with the holographic surveillance systems of patrol ships and space stations. Constantly active electronic warfare jamming complexes would nullify all secrecy, which meant that camouflage measures should be taken, or the hull should simply be rebuilt to resemble the "Interdictor" less. But this would require enormous funds, which Revan did not have at the moment.
Even with the money earned from selling beskar to Jabba, the Claws' savings, and trophies from the Black Sun, plus the profit from "Obsidian's" activities – the total came to about fifteen million credits. For comparison, a Lucrehulk-class in its basic configuration cost twice as much.
The financial problem had to be solved, and as soon as possible. And preferably in a way that wouldn't lead to even bigger troubles than already existed. He could take a loan from the Banking Clan, but it was unlikely that after Mandalore, he could count on good terms.
Lost in his thoughts, Revan didn't even notice that a dispute had broken out between Pana Dek and Radek Dune.
He was only brought back to reality by Pana's exclamation:
"It's too expensive!"
"What are you talking about? I was distracted," Revan tried to catch the essence of the dispute.
"I said that a temporary repair dock can simply be built around the ship. This is often done in poorer systems when several large transports need to be repaired, but there is no money to rent docks or build and maintain their own. A temporary solution, not long-lasting, but relatively cheap," Dune said.
"Cheap for Alderaan! But for smaller planets, paying fifteen million credits for something that will last a couple of years is too costly!" Dek retorted, raising her voice with each word.
"Hmm, building a dock..." Revan said thoughtfully, ignoring the escalating argument again.
This option was worth considering. Yes, building a full-fledged dock would clearly cost more than fifteen million credits, but it would definitively solve the problem. Especially if the dock was located somewhere in an uninhabited system, near a planet rich in mineral resources, and a license for mining development was obtained. With such an adventure, investors could be attracted, after first completing the formation of a certain trade coalition, which would include the Claws in their legal guise.
Such a plan would simultaneously provide the funds needed for ship repairs, strengthen "Obsidian's" position in the galactic trade arena, and serve as good cover for any actions related to buying and rebuilding ships for their own needs. Trading companies always need ships, right?
Among the allies, the first was the Mandal Motors company, which could easily absorb "Obsidian," reforming it into a larger organization that would perform not only the role of a transport company and a small trader. The Naboo Plasma Mining Company, which was currently facing major difficulties exporting mined plasma due to the ongoing Senate proceedings at the request of Queen Amidala, could also be involved. The Trade Federation had ensured that no major carrier would venture into the Chommell sector. The authority of one of the largest trading organizations, which was also on good terms with the Techno Union, the Banking Clan, and the Commerce Guild, was more than enough for this. No major carrier wanted to spoil relations with the informal trade alliance. And private transports could not provide a sufficient volume of transportation. A petty trick by the Neimoidians threatened to escalate into a big problem. Without the ability to export plasma from the planet, the NPMC would soon begin to break agreements with clients and, consequently, lose contracts and profits. The plasma would inevitably begin to cheapen, and nearby, as an additional irritant, the Lucrehulk would hang with empty holds, offering to buy the goods for a pittance. And the company would eventually have no choice but to accept the Neimoidians' offer. Longer in duration than the siege of Naboo, but with the same result. Revan was ready to applaud the Federation and whoever came up with such a move, which fit so perfectly into his plans. Persuading Queen Amidala, who had come to hate the Federation and had gained respect for those who helped save her homeworld, would not be difficult for Revan. The girl, though an idealist, was easily impressionable. She just needed to be guided in the right direction.
"Well, the alliance of the Claws, NPMC, and Mandal Motors, with an ever-expanding network of informants and smugglers – that's a good start," Revan thought.
But a start to what? And for what? The events on Mandalore showed that the Sith had already entangled the entire galaxy in their webs and would not shy away from even starting a war. And this was not a war on the scale of one planet or even a sector. This was a galactic war. This was known before, but now it was clearly felt. And one had to prepare for such a conflict. The galaxy would shake so much that the disturbances in the Force felt during the Mandalorian Wars would seem like a light breeze against the typhoon that would erupt this time.
And whatever the outcome of this conflict, it would hit the adepts of the Force the hardest. And their weakening could not be allowed. Not now, when a mysterious enemy from outside was approaching the galaxy. Not only Scorch, but also Sidious and his Master were clearly aware of the threat. It wasn't for nothing that, at that meeting on Coruscant, the Sith directed him precisely to Dromund Kaas. Did he know about Scorch?
Be that as it may, conflict was inevitable. And the Force led him to this. Well, he knew how to fight, if only there was someone to fight.
The discussion of options for solving the problem of repairing "Obsidian" took another hour, without leading to any specific decision. Revan eventually decided to consult with Dorma and Fevro regarding the possibility of implementing the idea of having their own docks. After all, it was not enough to build them, it was necessary to purchase equipment and armaments for a cruiser-class ship. And not civilian low-power versions, but military samples that would not be inferior to the weapons of the "Interdictor," which were already over four thousand years old. Despite their age, the turbolaser batteries performed well in combat with modern ships. It was a bit depressing, however, that the salvo of a battlecruiser could not immediately penetrate the shields of, essentially, a civilian ship. There was a severe lack of firepower.
It was necessary to find suppliers who would not ask questions or demand licenses and permits for heavy weapons. The task of finding such suppliers was given to Maul, as someone who was already well acquainted with the "Black Market" and the "Dark Side of the Republic."
"The Dark Side... Ironically," Revan chuckled at his thoughts as he walked along the living deck of "Obsidian" towards Tira Nomad's cabin.
Tira. Yes, he had many questions for the Mandalorian mercenary, but there had been no time to ask them. It was necessary to get away from Mandalore as quickly as possible before the Senate commission arrived.
Now, when the trade convoy ships had already departed further along their route, leaving the cruiser drifting in an uninhabited system on the border of the Mandalorian sector, there was time.
And the questions were important. Why did Tira decide to continue accompanying Revan, despite their contract being fulfilled? The mercenary helped to retrieve Anakin from the Order, and even more. Revan, in turn, helped Mandalore resolve the crisis with Death Watch and even gave the warrior world a chance to revive its former glory. However, by the time the Obsidian departed, Tira was already on board. She had left the conversation then, muttering something about duty and retreating to the living deck. Revan, meanwhile, was distracted by meetings and planning.
And this was not the only question for Nomad. Rather, one of many.
Risa Farr, who told Revan about her own history of meeting Tira, added fuel to the former Sith's curiosity.
As it turned out, the Chiss girl was Force-sensitive, and had good potential with proper training, but she rejected her gift, instinctively hiding her abilities and presence in the Force. And the reason for such a reaction to her abilities was precisely Risa Farr and her attempt to impose training on the Mandalorian foundling. Only the approach was excessively aggressive. Risa herself was a whiny acolyte, but sensing the gifted one without a mentor, she decided to play the role of a great and terrible Sith Lord!
And the result was the death of her mentor, Tyra, and her hatred for Farr, combined with the denial of her own nature and the Force.
A denial that, it seemed, had ceased to be so. Upon meeting Revan, Tyra encountered the Force as closely as never before. Short skirmishes with Jedi and other gifted ones didn't count; they didn't have the effect Revan managed. His clear demonstration of the possibilities of that mystical energy, which the mentors spoke of, must have stirred childhood memories.
Tyra had been feeling different lately. At first, Revan couldn't understand what exactly had changed. However, when Tyra said that gifted ones had tried to capture her as a child, everything fell into place. This feeling was the sensation of a weak gifted one being nearby. Revan had become so accustomed to how Anakin felt in the Force, shining like a star ready to explode into a supernova, that Tyra's barely perceptible presence, like a smoldering ember, had almost escaped his perception.
And after the battle for Mandalore, the former Jedi had another question – wasn't Tyra responsible for the Force influence that Revan felt during the battle? The one that so resembled Battle Meditation?
Racking his memory for all the oddities and comparing facts with guesses, Revan reached the cabin door.
Before he could reach out to touch the intercom panel, the door slid aside.
The cabin, which judging by its size was an officer's quarters, was dark. The main lighting was off, and only one lamp on the table dispelled the darkness.
Tyra sat on the bed slightly to the side of the table, in full armor except for her helmet. She clutched the last piece of equipment in her hands and, with a look of longing on her face, peered into the T-shaped visor.
"I knew you'd come," she said hoarsely.
"You don't look well," Revan replied, walking into the cabin and letting the door close behind him.
"It was long overdue to talk, not run away like a cowardly chommel," the girl chuckled and put the helmet aside.
"How are you feeling?" Revan asked, sitting on the edge of the table, but not blocking the light from the lamp.
Tyra rubbed her face with her gloved hands.
"Bad," she grumbled through her fingers.
"Can you tell me more?" Revan asked cautiously.
Nomad was silent for a long time. Revan didn't rush, allowing her to gather her thoughts.
Finally, taking a deep breath, the Mandalorian spoke.
"In my childhood, back in the Dominion, before I entered the Academy... I was different from the other children. And no, not just in appearance. In those years, I was little different from an ordinary Chiss girl. I was different in other ways. I was faster, stronger, and smarter than most. So much so that I was considered a young genius and... gifted."
The girl paused for a moment.
"Gifted, what irony," she chuckled.
Revan didn't interrupt.
"I had a persistent feeling of something nearby, as if the help of an invisible ally... which instilled confidence in my abilities. Everything worked out for me! I thought I could achieve anything!"
"And then... we were exiled..."
Tyra fell silent and stealthily wiped away tears that glistened on her cheeks in the dim light of the desk lamp.
"On the planet where we ended up... I was even stronger than my mother. More resilient... and faster... That's why I was able to escape from those creatures, and she... didn't. My peculiarity helped me again. I survived... but I couldn't save her."
Nomad exhaled loudly, trying to bring her emotions under control. She did so poorly. It was as if the memories she tried to suppress had suddenly surged with renewed force, stirring old wounds and causing pain.
Losing her mother... it wasn't easy to go through. Tyra managed. And Revan admired her for the strength of her spirit. In an effort to help, Revan cautiously touched her consciousness through the Force, reading her emotions and offering a sense of support.
And Tyra immediately recognized the source.
"Thank you," she replied.
The former Jedi wasn't even surprised that she could feel the influence.
Judging by the girl's words, she had unconsciously reached for the Force since early childhood. And the Force had answered her.
"This feeling... Support. Something similar, but not so obvious, I felt then... when I became... better. I was able to prove myself among the Mandalorians only thanks to this 'support.' Something protected me and guarded me, giving me what I needed and helping me become better than I actually was."
Tyra took a deep breath again.
"And then, because of this, I lost my mentor, who became practically a second father to me... And I forgot... I forgot everything. All my tricks and skills, all those feelings that haunted me. I erased them from my memory. I felt so bad... I hated myself and my 'peculiarity'..."
Tyra shifted her gaze to the helmet, which still lay beside her on the bed.
"My mentor gave me this helmet. The one before Sevras. The day he died, I swore not to rely on my 'peculiarity' anymore, to forget about it and never remember it."
Nomad ran her fingers over the visor.
"And I kept my word... all these years. Until I met you!"
Tyra turned her gloomy gaze to Revan. Contrary to Revan's expectations, there was no anger in it, only sadness. She wasn't angry at the former Jedi for the memory returning, no. She was rather saddened that she couldn't keep her word. Despite the fact that she couldn't resist either. Such was her nature. The Force could be suppressed, but it would always be ready to respond to the call of the gifted. The girl understood that her peculiarity helped her, but she didn't want to admit it to herself.
"It was the Force," Revan said, as if confirming Tyra's own guesses.
"I know. I figured it out back when that creature, Farr, took my mentor away," Nomad replied calmly and even indifferently.
Silence fell again. The mercenary was doing her best to delay the moment when the next question would be asked.
"You helped us all in the battle, didn't you?" Revan said.
Tyra squeezed her eyes shut and nodded.
"I don't understand how it happened myself. What did I do? How did I do it? All I know is that I felt like I could reach out to everyone around me, I felt their thoughts, I understood that I could help, and I tried to do it..."
Tyra cast a brief, hunted glance at Revan.
"I felt you... And this feeling of someone else's presence just won't go away... I knew you would come here even before you left the briefing room... And I'm scared," she whispered the last phrase.
And that was unexpected. Revan also felt Tyra's presence, but he was used to sensing intelligent beings around him and hadn't noticed that the connection had strengthened! It couldn't yet be called a bond, but from Tyra's side, something seemed to be striving towards him, trying to break through any obstacles.
"Are you afraid of me? Or this feeling?" Revan asked insinuatingly.
Tyra shook her head.
"I'm afraid that I... like it. I like this feeling..." Nomad said, shrinking in on herself.
Revan was silent, trying to process what he had heard.
"And I also clearly realized that... I feel... affection for you. I want to be near. The very thought of letting you go causes me almost tangible pain. This is Hutt madness!"
Tyra hit the bed with her fist, causing the helmet to roll on the blanket and almost fall to the floor. But at the last moment, the girl reached for it, and the helmet stopped at the very edge, swayed, and then rolled back towards the girl's hand.
"And this also appeared..." she looked at her hand with surprise.
"You..." Revan stopped mid-sentence.
He wanted to explain to Tyra that she had begun to call upon the Force for help. Perhaps unconsciously, but still. However, the words stuck in his throat. The other information was much more important... Tyra had practically confessed her... "affection" to Revan? And she liked it? But hadn't this feeling arisen from the beginning of the formation of a bond that the girl herself had unconsciously tried to create in an extreme situation? Self-deception or the consequences of euphoria from touching the Force... But it shouldn't be discussed now. In such a state, she simply wouldn't listen.
Revan was saved from the awkward pause by a commlink signal.
"Sorry," the former Jedi took out his communicator and activated it.
"Master, a Corellian corvette with the Jedi Temple's identification code has entered the system. We are receiving an incoming message. It's Qui-Gon Jinn," came Risa Farr's voice, causing Tyra to wince and snort irritably.
"Let them enter hangar 3, it's not too badly damaged. I'll be there soon."
After disconnecting the commlink, Revan apologized to Tyra and left her cabin. The girl didn't object, lost in her thoughts. The former Jedi felt that she wanted to be alone and sort herself out.
On the way to the hangar, Revan pondered the situation. A conversation with Nomad was unavoidable, but before that, he needed to better understand what had happened. It became a little clearer why Tyra's influence was so familiar. Not only did she use something like Battle Meditation, but the shade of emotions directed at Revan was also... familiar. Bastila experienced the same emotions. Affection... no - love.
And Revan didn't yet understand how to deal with such a situation.