The Dawn Eagle had been circling Coruscant's orbit for two days, amidst a stream of transport ships awaiting clearance to land at one of the Republic's capital spaceports. During this time, no signs of surveillance were detected, and no one attempted to attack the small freighter with its rather motley crew. However, anyone who tried to storm the Eagle would have quickly regretted it. It's not often that you can find on one ship: a former Jedi Master, who had managed to become a Dark Lord of the Sith and founded his own Empire, two of his apprentices, one of whom is a trained Sith assassin, a Mandalorian mercenary who had worked for the Hutt Cartel for a long time, and, of course, the best assassin droid in the galaxy. It would be easier to destroy such a ship immediately, and preferably from the maximum possible distance. But with an experienced pilot-Force-sensitive in the cockpit - it wouldn't be easy either.
However, at the moment, the ship was piloted by the droid HK-47 in tandem with the astromech R2-D2. Striving to occupy his processing power with something and suppress his murder protocols, HK was devising an attack plan on every merchant ship he encountered. The freighter's meager armament severely limited his freedom of action, but the metallic killer was quite creative.
In the midst of another simulation of a bloody massacre of "useless bags of meat," the Mandalorian entered the pilot's cabin. Her face was once again hidden by her helmet, and therefore only Revan knew about her identity on board the Eagle. The day before, the girl and the former Sith had not been able to talk properly, as the mercenary had preferred to leave immediately after Revan had unerringly identified her race. Tyra was surprised that the one she had asked for help knew about the Chiss race. And, apparently, not from hearsay.
The Chiss Dominion had repeatedly clashed with the Republic, and the contact was not always peaceful. However, after the war between the Old Republic and the Sith Empire, whose official allies were the Chiss about four thousand years ago, contacts between the "blue-skinned schemers" and the "breeding ground of bureaucracy," as the two galactic states liked to call each other, were minimized. The Chiss were well aware of the Republic, while the Republic, apparently, had decided to forget about the existence of the Chiss. Information about this race, of course, was preserved in the archives of Coruscant and the Jedi Temple, but who reads them? There are no diplomatic relations between the Senate and the Dominion government, except for a few minor trade contracts with Outer Rim worlds. And this situation suits both sides. The galaxy is large.
"Where is Vaner?" the Mandalorian asked from the doorway, having decided to continue yesterday's conversation so that there would be no misunderstandings.
"Condescendingly: The Master is busy," HK replied without turning his head.
"I didn't ask about his daily schedule. Where is he?" Tyra asked irritably.
The astromech answered the question, chirping something unintelligibly.
"I don't speak binary!"
R2 let out a disappointed, drawn-out squeak and displayed the translation on one of the monitors.
"The ship's captain is in the second cargo hold," the text read.
The Mandalorian left the room without saying goodbye.
"A sarcastic instruction: I don't advise you to open the door abruptly and enter," the assassin droid informed the ceiling somewhere, not particularly trying to warn the mercenary.
Meanwhile, in the cargo hold, young Skywalker, huddled in a corner and covered by a deflector shield, was mesmerized by the duel of two Force adepts.
Maul and Revan moved at enormous speed, so fast that the eye could not follow their figures. Silhouettes blurred in space, accompanied by streaks of lightsabers and flashes from their collisions. The Zabrak tried to use his youth and strength to the maximum, increasing the tempo and constantly attacking his opponent. His scarlet lightsaber staff spun non-stop, trying to catch his opponent. The more experienced Revan used only one of his swords, moving economically and skillfully avoiding direct attacks, while delivering very precise counter-attacks. The silver blade only grazed the opponent's red blade, but the effect was impressive. Maul, who had hoped to impress his new mentor, could not establish a rhythm of combat, stumbling into Revan's lunges. It was as if he knew every combination the young Zabrak had learned and predicted his next move. Very soon, Maul realized that this was indeed the case. His mentor deflected the staff, then with a sharp kick interrupted the nascent knee attack and finished it with a sharp blow of the saber's hilt across the face. The young dark adept lost his balance and missed the moment when Revan knocked him off his feet with a single movement. The silver blade, with a menacing hum, froze an inch from the Zabrak's throat.
"Good," the former Jedi praised, deactivating his blade and offering Maul his hand.
The Zabrak accepted the help and, standing up, bowed respectfully to his mentor.
"Thank you, Master. However, I have let you down."
"Not at all," Revan objected. "Your swordsmanship is at a decent level. As is your physical conditioning. But you lack flexibility."
"Flexibility?" Maul asked.
"Yes," his mentor nodded. "Not in terms of mobility, but in terms of flexibility of thought and adaptation to combat conditions. You trained with droids, didn't you?"
"Yes, Master."
"I thought so. It's noticeable in how you move. Although, in that little skirmish on Coruscant, it came in handy," the former Sith chuckled.
For a moment, Maul allowed his face to show surprise at hearing an assessment of that difficult battle with dozens of droids in an abandoned cantina, but he quickly regained his composure.
"Forgive me, Master, but what is wrong with my movements?" the Zabrak asked with a slight hint of irritation in his voice.
The brief flash of emotion, like suppressed anger, did not escape Revan's attention. The horned warrior had good potential for a Sith. Especially pleasing was his ability to control his rage and emotions in general.
"Watch carefully," Revan activated his blade and took the basic stance of the first form. "Let's take the simplest overhead strike."
The silver blade cut through the air and stopped before reaching the floor.
"This move is practiced by all novice swordsmen. Hundreds of thousands of times, developing muscle memory and perfecting the technique to automatism. But even a master of the first form cannot perform this move identically even ten times. Unlike a droid. It will strike perfectly, strictly vertically, checking with its gyroscope and targeting systems. It will follow the programmed algorithm and always strike the same way. Even if it has a sequence of strikes in its memory. Again and again, it will be perfectly accurate."
"What are you getting at, Master?" Maul frowned.
"A living opponent gets tired, scared, angry, experiences the full spectrum of emotions and feelings and cannot strike the same way. Your movements are very dry, precise, rigid. They are designed to parry a specific strike at a specific point, and then counter-attack. And this is generally true. The only difference is that you are not prepared for the strike to be executed with an error. If the blade deviates slightly, the block becomes uncertain, the entire sequence breaks down."
"So that's why it was so hard for me to parry your attacks?"
"Correct," Revan nodded. "I deliberately made mistakes, struck a little harder, weaker, or along a broken trajectory. You managed to react, but your body's reflexes tried to respond to the strike in the usual way. As a result, there is a delay. And in combat, even milliseconds can be enough to lose your life."
Maul was silent, pondering his mentor's words. Part of him was indignant, rejecting the criticism outright. He had already killed Jedi! And they were all pathetic weaklings who had trapped themselves in self-imposed limitations. Morality, duty, service! Cowardly dogs. Weak! None of his opponents survived... Except the Master... and those two.
However, another part of the Zabrak greedily absorbed the mentor's wisdom. Maul understood that he was facing a much more experienced opponent, despite his youthful appearance. And not just anyone, but Darth Revan himself! A Sith legend who had returned from oblivion and regained his body!
"How many living opponents have you had? Not counting me and Qui-Gon with his apprentice," Revan interrupted the Zabrak's thoughts.
"Enough," the Dark Side adept replied evasively.
"No, not enough," the former Sith said in a stern, instructive tone. "Believe me. Experience is not gained in a day, or even in a year. Training never ends. Only the mentors change. In the end, sooner or later, you become your own mentor."
"It seems... I understand, Master," Maul said uncertainly.
"If it seems so, then you don't understand," Revan shook his head. "But that's not a problem. From now on, I will be your mentor until your answer satisfies me."
"And what about..." the Zabrak glanced at Skywalker.
Revan followed his gaze and chuckled.
"I see. That's the second reason for your inattentiveness."
Maul momentarily displayed a terrifying grin, which his mentor perceived as childishness. For someone who had seen the maw of a terentatek at arm's length, even the most horrific grimace would seem like a sweet smile.
"You were trying to impress me, but instead, you were constantly distracted by Anakin."
"The Rule of Two..."
"Complete nonsense," Revan interrupted his student.
"But it's based on your holocron..."
The ancient almost groaned with indignation and, exhaling loudly, removed the Mandalorian mask from his face. How tired he was of how time distorts certain events and actions. Not to mention words, especially when taken out of context.
"This only means that some fool who found the holocron failed to understand the meaning of my message. And all this misunderstanding led to the fact that now there are only a handful of Sith in the galaxy!"
The ancient Sith's eyes changed color to gold. The anger that suddenly engulfed him subsided a moment later. However, Maul managed to feel his mentor's flash, but only for a fraction of a second. And he was amazed by the degree of control.
"Remember," Revan's voice still had a growling undertone, although even his eyes had returned to normal color, "it doesn't matter how many students I have. I will train each one."
"Yes, Master," the Zabrak bowed before his mentor.
The former Jedi exhaled slowly, dispelling the last remnants of anger, and put the mask back in place, anticipating the quick end of the conversation.
"Your third mistake is that you don't use the Dark Side the way the Sith did."
"What?" Maul was surprised.
"You only have two states. Either you suppress your anger, distracting yourself with control. Or you fall into a rage that clouds your mind."
"I don't..."
"Don't even try to deny it," Revan didn't let his student finish. "You may think you control yourself, but you don't."
"I'm trained in control!" Maul roared.
"Then prove it!" the former Jedi barked.
The Zabrak lunged forward, activating the blades of his staff. His eyes blazed gold, and his face contorted into a bestial grin. The strike was powerful. Maul put all his anger and hatred into it. But it was all in vain. Revan was no longer at the point of attack. The ancient Force adept slipped past the attacker, poking him in the ribs with the hilt of a deactivated saber on the go. If it had been a real fight, it would have been over.
But Maul refused to give up. He turned and attacked again. Lunge - miss. Swing - block and sweep. Roll, strike - another miss and a powerful blow to the chest from the agile mentor. Get up, gather yourself, attack! Turn anger into strength! Kill! The scarlet staff turned into a pair of blurred, broken lines, between which a black shadow in a Mandalorian mask glided.
It took Revan less than a minute to pacify his student. The staff, after another unsuccessful lunge, was transferred to the mentor's hands, leaving the Zabrak disarmed. And now the latter, breathing heavily, knelt, with his neck caught between the scarlet and silver blades.
"In this minute, you could have died fourteen times," Revan commented calmly. "Do you need more proof?"
"But my rage has always been my ally," Maul said quietly, disappointed in his own abilities.
"This only shows that the skill level of your opponents was even lower."
The Zabrak was silent, his head bowed.
The blades deactivated with a hiss.
"You have potential. And I will help you unlock it."
"Master?" Maul asked hopefully, unaccustomed to such treatment from his mentor.
"Yes, I will help," the former Jedi repeated.
The staff was returned to its owner. Revan, meanwhile, considered the results of the short test of his new student. Maul was talented in swordsmanship. He knew the seventh form of the saber well, adapted for using a staff. His skills in concealing his presence were also impressive. But everything else... The Zabrak had clearly not been taught Force techniques, limited to basic telekinesis and enhancing his own body with the Dark Side. And this was bad. Maul is clearly a close-range fighter. Focused on swordsmanship. Force attacks from a distance are secondary for him. The main problem could be that Maul is already too old, and his mind is not flexible enough to retrain him in the use of the Force. Yes, and the brutal training methods characteristic of the Sith inevitably deform the psyche. However, something could be done. Teaching him light techniques is useless; he is too accustomed to feeding himself with anger and hatred. Combat foresight will also be difficult, as with such weak control over his emotions, the Zabrak will simply be unable to see the future. It's no wonder they say that anger blinds. However, in the long run, everything can be fixed. For starters, Maul will have to learn an ancient complex of meditations and exercises to strengthen his mind. His ability to feed himself through rage is impressive, but it lacks control. Meditation will help with this. He won't become a Dark Side Master, of course, but he can reach the level of a good "Inquisitor."
"Let's summarize briefly," Revan said, interrupting the prolonged silence. "You need to learn to control your anger much better. I will teach you the necessary techniques."
"Thank you, Master."
"In addition, we will work on your swordsmanship style," the mentor added, and seeing the bewilderment on his student's face, he explained, "The richness of the seventh form's techniques is determined by knowledge gained from the remaining six forms. Believe me, when Juyo relies on its 'younger sisters,' it's a completely different level of swordsmanship."
"I've already noticed..." Maul grumbled, bowing his head in reverence.
"Then, the first lesson immediately. Your stance."
"And what's wrong with it?"
"Don't get me wrong, a frontal stance with the staff extended forward looks... intimidating. However, it is less effective than other options. For example, the basic side stance."
"But doesn't a side stance limit maneuverability?"
"That's a misconception," Revan shook his head. "Yes, the attack sector shifts slightly, opening the flank for attack, but the reaction speed from this position is significantly higher."
"How?"
"Very simple. In a frontal stance, when the sword is extended in one hand, no matter how strong your muscles are, you won't be able to block a powerful blow. And, admit it, it's not easy to handle the resistance from the gyroscopic effect of two blades with one hand. And if you have someone like a defensive Jedi against you, who can approach attack distance in an instant, you'll have problems. For a successful block, you'll need to hold the staff with both hands. And that's almost a second of time," Revan demonstrated first the frontal stance, then the side stance, gripping his blades into a staff. "In the second case, you hold the hilt with both hands and can direct the blades of the lightsaber staff in any direction with a rotational movement. Or make an unexpected lunge from behind, just by slightly turning your body. You instinctively switch to this stance anyway."
The Zabrak nodded thoughtfully.
"The speed will be much higher, and a firm grip will provide the necessary strength for your blocks. Don't forget that a staff is not a sword. The strikes will be wide, arcing. Yes, it has two blades, but they are fixed on one line, and direct attacks are possible only if you stand sideways. No other way."
"It seems... No, I understand," Maul corrected himself in time, noticing how the mentor tilted his head slightly at the first word. "I hardly think about defense, and therefore I haven't noticed the shortcomings of my basic stance before."
"You can't win a fight with one attack. Every swing opens up an opportunity for the opponent to kill you. Move, don't lose your head, be focused. The staff can become your impenetrable shield, giving you time to think about an attack."
"I understand, Master."
"Good. Then the rest of the day you will practice Makashi. In the future, you will have to try to adapt it to your fighting style. And starting tomorrow, in the mornings, you will train with Anakin on his physical conditioning. But remember, you are responsible for the boy with your life."
"I... understand, Master."
"Then you are dismissed. The third cargo hold is at your disposal."
"Yes, Master," Maul bowed respectfully and headed for the exit.
At the door, he collided with the Mandalorian, almost running into her. Both reacted simultaneously, dodging each other. Revan noted out of the corner of his eye the grace with which Tyra avoided the collision. In full Mandalorian armor, she managed to move surprisingly smoothly. The former Jedi had always respected Mandalorians. They were his first serious opponents, and, among other things, he drew knowledge from them that helped him become one of the most successful Jedi generals in the Order's history.
"Vaner, we need to talk," Tyra literally demanded, approaching him.
At the same time, Skywalker, deactivating the deflector shield that had protected him from accidental injury, ran up from the other side.
"Sorry, but you'll have to wait," Revan replied to the mercenary, removing the Mandalorian mask from his face. "We have our first lesson with Anakin planned now."
"It's important," the girl insisted.
"As is the lesson."
"As if you haven't already given this lesson?" the girl crossed her arms over her chest. "You didn't just stage a sparring match with the horned one in front of the boy for no reason, did you? Did you want to show what to strive for?"
"The lesson was for Maul," Revan replied dryly.
From the former Jedi's gaze, it was clear that arguing now was pointless. So Nomad had to retreat.
"Okay, I'll wait here."
"I don't mind."
"I'm ready," Skywalker immediately announced, trembling with impatience.
Revan smiled. He was familiar with this anticipation of knowledge.
"So, Anakin, starting today, we'll begin your training..."
"Hooray!"
"Don't get too excited," Revan admonished his student.
The mentor's gaze grew sterner, emphasizing the seriousness of his words.
"Usually, the student's age is much less. Because a huge amount of knowledge and skills must be acquired to become a full-fledged Force user. But there are special cases. Yours is one of them."
Tia snorted, involuntarily recalling her own mentor's speech when she first joined the Nomad clan. Revan paid no attention to it. Or pretended not to.
"You will have to learn meditation and Force techniques, skills in handling various types of weapons, and not just a lightsaber. Believe me, you sometimes have to use a blaster too."
"And why do I need to know about weapons? There's no war now..." Anakin wondered.
Revan shook his head... which was surprisingly synchronized with the Mandalorian, who mirrored the gesture.
"Anakin, the galaxy is vast, and conflicts are happening every day. I think the Naboo incident should have been a great example for you, right?"
"I... probably," the boy scratched the back of his head, still not fully grasping the meaning of the words.
"There will always be someone who craves conflict. It doesn't matter what their ultimate goal is, if they choose fighting as the means, it's better to be prepared for it."
"A blaster can lie in a holster for a hundred years, but if it saves someone's life even once, you carried it for a reason," Tia suddenly added.
Revan nodded approvingly, though he looked surprised.
"My mentor, Sevras Nomad, loved to repeat this phrase when I started... to get indignant," the mercenary explained.
"And he is absolutely right," the former Sith continued, "Take the Jedi, for example. They always called themselves defenders of the Republic and keepers of peace, but at the same time were considered some of the most dangerous fighters. Why, do you think?"
The boy thought.
"Probably because, in order to defend the Republic, they had to fight often?" he suggested.
"That too," Revan agreed, "But the main reason is that one who walks the path of conflict does not immediately accept words and diplomacy. First, most such subjects prefer forceful methods of resolution. And, for such... personalities to listen, they must first be prepared."
"A kind word and a blaster can achieve much more than just a kind word," the Mandalorian added with a smirk.
"Well observed," Revan smiled.
Even through the opaque visor of his helmet, the Force adept felt the girl's surprised gaze on him.
"You're some kind of wrong Jedi," the girl noted.
"Because I'm not a Jedi."
Skywalker stood, not understanding what she was talking about.
"Sorry, Anakin, we got distracted," the former Sith turned to the boy again, "As you can see, you need to be prepared for anything. And that means you'll have to study hard."
"I understand," the child was filled with enthusiasm again.
Revan chuckled, remembering how a certain blue-skinned Twi'lek had jumped impatiently in the same way on board the *Ebony Hawk*.
Chasing away the sudden wave of nostalgia, the former Jedi called his loyal droid via intercom. Anakin didn't know why, but he perceived what was happening with a considerable amount of apprehension. During their last conversation, HK had threatened the "small, annoying bag of meat" with an excursion into the Sarlacc's stomach.
"Vaner... why..." the boy began, but Revan anticipated the question.
"You won't find a better weapons expert."
"Ahem!" the mercenary drew attention to herself.
"Bless you," the former Sith said good-naturedly, ignoring the obvious attempt to protest.
"Joyful greeting: Do you have a mission for me, Master?" the droid inquired in a cheerful voice as it entered the cargo hold, "Anticipatory: To kill someone? To scare? To drive to madness? To carve a message on the hide of another bag of meat? Or to make them beg for a quick death, gradually grinding their fragile bones to dust?"
Hearing this, even the Mandalorian stepped back from the droid by half a step.
"Well, you've been idle for a while, pal," Revan, accustomed to such behavior from his droid, was not at all embarrassed.
"Tired and dramatic: Oh, yes, Master. My circuits thirst for action, which I have been deprived of for a millennium of confinement in a dirty and dark cave."
"Less theatrics," the former Sith admonished the droid.
"Willingly: Of course, Master," HK immediately changed his intonation, "Request for order: What is required of me, Master? HK-47 is ready for service, Master!"
For a few moments, Revan hesitated whether to entrust this task to the droid... However, deciding that such an experience would only benefit Anakin, he spoke, addressing the best assassin in the galaxy.
"HK, your task will be to teach Anakin the basics of handling the most common types of weapons in the galaxy."
The droid froze motionless. It seemed as if even its power core had stopped emitting any sound. Then, with a quiet rustle of servos, it slowly tilted its head to its shoulder.
"Request for confirmation: Confirm the order, Master?" HK asked in an almost pleading tone.
"You will teach Anakin how to handle weapons," Revan repeated.
The droid's head twitched, its eyes flashed red several times, and a few sparks flew out from under its chest plate with a crackle.
"Did he short-circuit or something?" Tia took another step back.
"No," Revan shook his head.
He knew perfectly well what was happening to his droid. HK was fighting. The emotion and personality matrix had entered into conflict with the logical block. The voltage in the circuits and conduits "jumped" uncontrollably, causing short circuits and twitching of the actuators.
Yes, when he gave this order, Revan had a rough idea of the assassin's reaction, but he expected him to be able to handle it.
And so it happened.
A few minutes later, HK, slightly smoking in some places, began to show signs of adequate behavior again.
"Irritated request: Clarify the scope of my authority," the droid said grimly, not even trying to hide its attitude towards the order.
Revan pondered the wording for a minute, to give the forty-seventh some freedom of action without killing his student.
"The boy must be alive and able to continue training," he finally stated.
The droid's eyes flashed, and it seemed to straighten up. If its faceplate could convey emotions, Revan would have bet that a devilish grin would have spread across it.
Anakin, apparently, felt something too, as his knees trembled traitorously. He had participated in speeder races with ruthless opponents without fear. He had entered into battle in a Naboo fighter without hesitation. But the thought of training with HK... was frightening... He was alone with the droid... an armed droid-assassin... an armed droid-assassin who disliked him.
"\"Mommy,\"" a pathetic groan of self-preservation echoed in the boy's mind, "\"And why did I go to be a hero then, disobeying HK...\""
HK-47 himself experienced something he would describe as joyful anticipation of the imminent demise of the annoying little bag of meat. His personality matrix and logical block had finally reached an agreement. The Master hadn't forbidden using this "little bag" as a target, had he? No. And how else could the effect of a stun blaster be more clearly explained? After all, it's not just about explaining, but also demonstrating its effect on a living target. Otherwise, what kind of training is it?
"\"The object must be alive and able to continue training,\"" the logical block reminded him.
"\"Oh, he'll be alive! Badly, painfully, in continuous suffering... but he will be,\"" the personality matrix waved away.
"HK," Revan called, noticing that the droid was sinking deeper into its thoughts.
"Willingly: Yes, Master?"
"No maiming."
"Disappointed: Not even slightly? For educational purposes, Master?"
"Only for educational purposes," Revan agreed.
Skywalker seemed to hear the droid's terrifying villainous laughter in his head. Goosebumps ran down his spine... or a herd of ice rancors.
"Anakin," the man addressed the boy, "Study diligently and diligently."
"I... I-I, u-understand," the young man replied, stuttering.
"Now HK will conduct an introductory lesson for you," these words caused Skywalker a look of horror, but Revan continued, paying no attention to it, "In the evening, we will engage in meditation. Well, and tomorrow, as you remember, you have a morning session with Maul for physical training."
"Can I go back to the Temple?" the boy asked hopefully.
Revan put on a predatory smile and looked at Anakin with eyes burning gold.
"The choice has already been made," the voice of the ancient Force adept seemed to echo somewhere in his chest, "Now you are my student! This is your path from now on!"
Skywalker barely suppressed a frightened squeak and managed to pull himself together.
"Yes, teacher!" the boy replied, much more firmly than he thought.
"HK, your student," Revan clapped the droid on its metallic shoulder as he passed by, "Tia, you wanted to talk."
"Yes," the mercenary nodded and left the hall after the man.
The conversation, this time, took place in the cabin that had been allocated for the Nomad clan representative.
Making sure the door was locked, the girl removed her helmet. There was no point in hiding her face from Revan anymore.
"So, what did you want to talk about?" the former Jedi asked, already guessing the topic.
They hadn't been able to discuss anything last time. The girl had left Revan's cabin too quickly.
"About my origins," the gaze of her scarlet eyes was directed at the ancient Force adept, "You agreed to help my clan. Nomads have always valued honesty between allies. And I was taught that there should be no secrets in matters of great importance. Revealed secrets at the wrong moment can destroy an alliance and lead all its participants to ruin. And what could be more important than the matter of saving the clan?"
The girl clearly tried to convince herself of the need to reveal her story to a stranger rather than explaining to Revan the motives that led to this conversation. The former Jedi did not rush her. He perfectly understood how difficult it could be to reveal something from one's past that should be kept secret. Just as he understood that secrets can indeed kill if they are revealed against your will.
When the *Hawk*'s crew learned that their friend, commander, and comrade had been a Dark Lord of the Sith all this time, the terrible Darth Revan - their team almost came to an end. It was only by a miracle that everyone was held together. And Cart's deserved trust was never fully restored.
"So," the girl took a deep breath, suppressing the tremor in her voice.
It was clear that it was difficult for her to speak.
"Let's start with what you've already figured out. I am a Chiss."
Revan nodded.
"I was born on the planet Copero... Although, I'm probably not starting from the right place," Tia rubbed her temples slightly, "Are you familiar with the political structure of the Chiss Dominion?"
"In general terms," the man shrugged, "You seem to have everything tied to ruling families? Aristocracy?"
"Aristocracy," the girl corrected, "Not entirely accurate, but yes. We have a ruling elite, but there are also the Senate and Parliament. However, I won't go into detail."
Revan encouraged the girl with a nod.
"The point is, I was born into the Mitt family - one of the Ruling Families. However, I did not receive a name at birth."
"Why?" Revan was surprised.
"My mother was exiled from the clan immediately after my birth," the girl replied, grimacing as if in pain.
The former Jedi didn't have time to ask his next question.
"I am not a pure-blooded Chiss," Tia continued, "My father was a mercenary from Republic space, who by chance ended up in Dominion territory. I don't know much about his identity. My mother never even named his race. I myself have tried to find out many times, but all genetic tests turned out to be almost useless. My father was of a race close to humans, and there are quite a few of them. Based on indirect signs, such as altered hair pigment and iris color, I concluded that he was from the Echani people."
Revan's eyebrows shot up. He was well acquainted with this people. At one time, he even had to fight their leader. The battle ended disastrously for the opponent, but the former Sith derived sincere pleasure from it. There are not many fighters in the galaxy with such close combat training as the Echani.
There was reason in Tia's words. The Echani were characterized by fair skin and hair, as well as silver irises. The mixing of their genes with the Chiss genome could have led to Tia possessing scarlet hair, and her eyes acquiring a golden hue.
"My appearance immediately stood out. Such an origin was unacceptable for a representative of the Mitt family," the girl continued, "However, they couldn't just expel a representative, even from a collateral branch, which my mother was. It would have cast a shadow on the family. As a result, a fictitious marriage was concluded with the youngest son of the Anudé family, who was not even five years old. Mother joined another family, and I received the name Tir'Anudé."
Revan shook his head. He never liked caste systems in society. Origin should not determine destiny - only actions.
"We didn't live a sweet life. Everyone understood my mother's situation. An exile, albeit not officially. She had no chance of a seat in parliament. The path to the Senate was also closed. However, she was a good analyst. And she found her place in the tactical planning corps of the Dominion's Expansionist Forces."
"Talent always finds a way," Revan nodded.
"Perhaps," Nomad shrugged, "But it's more complicated in the Dominion. In any case, we moved to Naporar, where the fleet headquarters was located. My appearance was no longer so noticeable after I started dyeing my hair, and they stopped bothering me. Mother achieved certain successes and did everything to ensure my future in the Dominion. At six years old, I entered the military academy, and the teachers repeatedly noted my abilities. Outstanding analytical skills, excellent physical fitness, and leadership qualities. I was predicted commander's chevrons already in the senior years, although I only studied for two years. Mother even managed to arrange for such a 'talented' me to be accepted into the Aru family, which was related to one of the ruling families - the Nuruodo. Yes, the connection was distant, through the fifth generation. However, this could have served as a good springboard for my future career. But... it didn't work out."
"What happened?" Revan asked with interest.
"Mandatory medical examination before starting training in open space at the beginning of the third year of study. It included a genetic test for predisposition to nervous system diseases and other factors that could affect adaptation to zero gravity conditions. Do you guess what they discovered?"
"That you're not a Chiss?"
"Exactly," the girl gave a sad, wry smile, "My whole life was instantly washed down the drain. I was quickly disqualified and presented for expulsion. My mother suddenly became of interest to counterintelligence. A scandal almost broke out, but the family intervened. The same one, one of the ruling ones. We were simply thrown out of the Dominion..."
"Just like that?"
"Of course not! Formally, my mother was transferred to an reconnaissance expedition heading into unexplored regions. Well, in fact, she was given a small shuttle with a third of a cargo hold and a month's army ration. And then... a day to get out of Dominion space, before the ship's identifier would be transferred to a patrol fleet with an order to destroy."
"And how did you end up on Dxun?"
"I still don't understand that..."
"In what sense?" Revan was surprised.
"In the literal sense," the girl shrugged, "We were flying in the opposite direction from the Republic, because we couldn't cross the distance to the Dominion border, which was closer to the Republic, in a day. But our hyperdrive suddenly malfunctioned and caused a jump to random coordinates. According to all laws of hyperspace navigation, we had one chance in a million for the transition to be successful. We were lucky. We survived. Only the drive was simply torn apart, which led to our emergency landing on the nearest planetoid. This turned out to be Dxun. How we covered the distance in a day with a Class 2 hyperdrive, which even Class 0.5 couldn't cover, remains a mystery."
"\"The Force,\"" Revan thought, "\"Its influence is everywhere.\""
The former Jedi clearly caught a wave of sadness emanating from the girl. And quickly guessed the reason.
"Your mother died?" he asked directly.
"Not immediately," Tia replied quietly.
"My condolences."
"Thank you."
The girl's eyes glistened with moisture, and she quickly turned away, wiping away tears.
"Damn, I thought I had dealt with it all long ago," she whispered angrily, quickly regaining her composure, "Sorry, this is the first time this has happened to me."
Revan smiled sympathetically. However, a suspicion suddenly pricked him that all this was an act. A very high-quality acting performance. The sadness was real... But the tears...
"Mother died a week later... Predators..." Tia reported in a voice that had almost regained its former firmness, "And a week later, the Nomads found me. They almost shot me... But I caught the eye of the squad leader. They took me with them, and so I began to live with a squad of mercenaries from the Nomad clan, who were incidentally searching for artifacts of ancient Mandalore. And a year later, I was offered to become one of them. That's the story."
Silence fell, which neither of the interlocutors sought to break. Revan spoke first.
"Thank you for telling me your story. I appreciate it," he indicated a polite bow with a nod of his head.
"Openness for openness," Tia replied, "You're some kind of wrong Jedi. And you say you're not a Jedi at all. I don't understand much about all your magical and religious stuff, but there's definitely something wrong with you."
The former Sith chuckled.
"You have no idea how much."
"Tell me!" the girl demanded.
"Well, let's start with the fact that my name isn't Vaner."
"I figured that out already. Few mercenaries use their real names."
"My real name is Revan."
The girl frowned, as if recalling something, and then her eyes widened, reflecting shock on her blue-skinned face.
"And I'm a little over four thousand years old..."
The mercenary's jaw slowly began to drop.
"Although, formally, I was dead and returned to life, I remain what was once called Darth Revan," the man continued, "I am the one who fought the Mandalorian Neo-Crusaders on the side of the Republic. The one they called the Butcher. The one who defeated Mandalore the Ultimate and took his mask. And the one who later gave it to Canderous Ordo - Mandalore the Preserver. Savior of the Republic and its conqueror. And my story will take more than a day."
The girl whispered something obscene in Mandalorian, not taking her eyes off the ancient Force adept.
"And I was worried about my secret..."
Microchapter 19.5: Study, study, heal, study...
Microchapter 19.5: Study, study, heal, study...
The Assassin Droid HK-47 was never known for "good neighborly relations," patience, kindness, or courtesy. He didn't need it. He was created for only one purpose - to eliminate the Master's enemies.
Hunting and killing - that is his true purpose. That's how he was programmed... Or perhaps the droid, having gained its own independent personality over years of service, simply believed in it. He saw the meaning of his existence in serving his Master, as well as in cleansing the galaxy of foolish and imperfect bags of meat.
Of course, to fulfill the task, HK could successfully disguise himself as an ordinary protocol droid. His design, unlike most robotic assassins, allowed for this.
Apparently, this fact was the reason why the Master... allowed such a thing...
On the way to the left auxiliary cargo bay, located in one of the rear "wings" of the Eagle, the droid once again processed the received order through its logic circuits. "Teach Anakin weapon handling."
Teach...
Not kill... but teach...
HK endlessly overloaded his processor, considering his creator's order from different points of view, which created the impression of his personality splitting into several opposing sides.
"\"Assumption: Perhaps the order was spoken unclearly?\"" insisted the logic module associated with assassin protocols.
"\"Negative: The order was confirmed several times,\"" the analytical module objected.
"\"Query: Why!? Why involve an assassin droid in training?... Request canceled: question deemed rhetorical.\""
"\"Proposal: Conduct a visual demonstration of the destructive power of blaster weapons of various nomenclature and power,\"" the hunter-assassin module stated.
"\"Objection: The training subject must not be harmed.\""
"\"Correction of objection: The subject must not receive permanent damage, and must retain the ability to learn,\"" the analytical module corrected.
"\"Proposal: Minimum charge power?\""
...
...
"\"Approved.\""
The boy following the droid suddenly felt a sense of danger emanating from HK. And when the mechanical killer turned its head towards him, its motionless faceplate seemed to Anakin like an anticipatory evil grin.
The growing sense of anxiety had almost reached the "panic" mark when HK-47 carefully "flung" his new student into the cargo bay and locked the door, cutting off all escape routes.
The left auxiliary hold had been diligently converted by the assassin droid into a workshop combined with an arsenal. HK had little time, and not everything was ready yet, but there were a couple of workbenches and several crates of weapons.
Anakin, looking at the droid warily, backed away to the far wall.
HK, at that moment, thought that the target had conveniently placed itself in the firing line. After all, this bulkhead had been reinforced with a durasteel armor plate during a brief repair at the Coruscant docks.
A tense silence ensued. The assassin droid and the human child froze, facing each other. What was happening least resembled training, but only a complete idiot would argue with the droid now. Anakin didn't consider himself one.
HK was very responsible in carrying out his Master's orders. Therefore, he decided to first conduct a brief briefing.
"Query: How much do you know about projectile weapons, meatbag?" the droid asked emotionlessly.
"Uh," Skywalker stammered, "Well, I had a small ion blaster at home..."
"Conclusion: As expected - NOTHING," HK interrupted the student.
"Hey!" the boy protested indignantly, "I know that a blaster shoots a laser..."
"Mockingly: Incorrect answer," the droid didn't let him finish again, "Didactically: Listen carefully and remember, you stupid meatbag. Blasters operate on more efficient principles than archaic lasers. Instead of a coherent beam, a blaster fires a highly compressed energy bolt, lethal to most animals. The energy used to form the blaster charge depends on the type of blaster. The charge is created by pumping energy into particles of a specific substance. One such substance is tibanna gas. When an atom of the substance absorbs energy and becomes excited, its electrons move to a new energy level. Upon stabilization, the electrons return to their previous level, emitting energy bolts capable of causing damage."
The droid approached one of the weapon crates and retrieved a Westar-30 blaster pistol, acquired through the Hutt cartel.
"Addendum: Plasma blasters are less common. Plasma is capable of destroying any target, but is most effective against droids due to the nature of plasma, which is superheated ionized gas. Droids are vulnerable to ion energy, and a plasma blaster is the obvious choice for fighting them," HK continued his lecture.
However, noticing the expression of absolute incomprehension on Skywalker's face, the assassin droid was forced to rephrase the information.
"Sympathetically: Shooting is pain. Blaster is killing," stretching the words, as if explaining something to a complete idiot, which, in HK's opinion, was happening, the droid explained the essence of his story, "With pleasure: Killing is good."
The boy pouted resentfully. He didn't like being treated like a moron.
HK-47, meanwhile, was about to start a new "lecture" on safety precautions when handling weapons, but changed his mind, deciding to simplify everything again.
The mechanical maniac pulled a blaster carbine from the crate and demonstrated it to Anakin.
"Explanation: barrel, fore-end, grip, stock," he quickly recited, pointing to the corresponding parts of the weapon, "You won't need to know more."
"But..."
"Addendum: The battery is located inside the stock, the gas canister in a protected block to the left along the barrel. Strict warning: Do not even try to disassemble the weapon until you have thoroughly studied its design, you meatbag," the droid reminded him.
"I..."
"Briefing: Safety precautions when handling weapons," the droid recited, ignoring the boy, "Always point the barrel at the enemy and only when ready to fire. At other times, the barrel should point at the floor or the sky, without exception."
"I GOT IT!" Skywalker shouted.
The droid tilted its head slightly.
"Sarcastic clarification: Really?" in the most mocking-gentle voice his vocabulizer was capable of, HK said.
In the next few seconds, the assassin droid loaded the weapon and disengaged the safety. The subsequent burst of twenty shots passed precisely over Anakin's head, causing him to instinctively duck.
"Instruction: Catch!" HK commanded loudly, throwing the blaster with spent ammunition into the boy's hands.
Skywalker reflexively caught the object flying at him and immediately yelped in pain when the overheated barrel burned his left palm.
"Demonstration: During rapid fire, the barrel overheats. Safety recommendation: Avoid contact of exposed skin with overheated parts of the weapon or use gloves with a heat-insulating layer."
While the whimpering boy clutched his injured hand to his chest and slowly crawled towards the exit of the compartment, HK retrieved a spare power pack for the hand blaster from the ammunition crate and hit it against his thigh several times.
"Instruction: Catch!" the droid shouted again, throwing a sparking power source for the blaster at the boy.
"No!" Skywalker screamed in panic, trying to bat away the power pack flying at him.
At the moment of contact, a discharge of electricity shot up the boy's arm, causing Anakin to arch his back from convulsions.
"Demonstration: Damage to the insulation of power packs can lead to electric shock. Warning: Ensure the integrity of power sources and use gloves with an insulating layer," HK said instructively, while Skywalker writhed and twitched on the floor.
"Warning: Master has forbidden inflicting permanent injuries on the training subject," the logical block in the droid's core personality reminded him.
"Noted."
HK's sensors continuously monitored the vital signs of the young meatbag to ensure the latter did not cease his vital functions during training.
To the assassin droid's surprise, the boy recovered quite quickly and, choking back sobs, crawled towards the door. However, the memory archives would quickly remind the former "gifted hunter" of cases where his targets invoked the Force and demonstrated phenomenal endurance. The boy, apparently, was subconsciously doing the same. Therefore, HK decided there was no point in taking a break in the middle of the lesson.
"Additional information: Most plasma blasters are capable of firing stun ion charges. A hit from such a charge on a droid will cause an overload in its electrical circuits, and as a consequence, a temporary shutdown of all systems until automatic restart. Clarification: If the outdated models are equipped with such a function," the droid said the last phrase with a hint of pride, as if implying that he himself possessed such an option.
Skywalker tensed as soon as HK started speaking. He was no longer sure that the droid wasn't going to kill him. Quite the opposite. But the escape route was only a couple of steps away.
"Addendum: Organic opponents are also extremely vulnerable to stun charges, as the latter cause an overload of the nervous system and, as a consequence, pain shock and loss of consciousness," the droid continued to drone, pulling out a new blaster.
A short beep, signaling the weapon's transition to stun mode, spurred Skywalker on more than any stimulant.
A smile reflected on his face at the realization of his approaching freedom and salvation from this mechanical sadist.
Only the door turned out to be locked...
Horror... Anakin experienced this feeling for the first time, although until then he had sincerely believed that he had been in dangerous situations many times. How wrong he was. Even that flight in a Naboo fighter in the thick of battle didn't seem as dangerous to the boy as the droid standing behind him. The very embodiment of death was now five steps away... with a blaster in hand.
"Don't..." Skywaker managed to whisper through a sob.
The next moment, a plasma blaster bolt hit the young man, rendering him unconscious.
"Belated warning: Now follows a demonstration of the stunning capability of a DH-17 model blaster. Recommendation: Grit your teeth," HK said mockingly, approaching the unconscious body of the boy, "Didactically: And never neglect the safety instructions, you disobedient little meatbag."
When the droid turned Skywalker over and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt to drag him back to the improvised firing line, a call signal from Revan came from the commlink.
"Politely: Yes, Master?" HK answered the call, unceremoniously releasing Anakin's limp body, causing the latter to hit the back of his head on the metal floor.
"What's going on over there?" Revan asked sternly.
"Answer: Training."
"Really?"
It became clear from whom HK had copied his mockingly gentle tone.
"Is it during training that Anakin suddenly started emitting waves of fear throughout the entire ship? A little more and his cry for help would be heard even on Coruscant."
"Clarification: No irreparable harm, Master. Only disciplinary measures to instill in the training subject a sense of discipline," the droid added, sensing his creator's mood.
A long sigh was heard.
"Tone it down," Revan said, more calmly now.
"Confirmation: Understood, Master," HK immediately replied.
The connection was broken.
The assassin droid stood over Skywalker for a few more minutes, tapping the blaster's trigger with its finger, checking its travel and simultaneously running the Master's order through its logic circuits.
As regrettable as it was to admit, killing the little brat was absolutely forbidden. And the "training program" would have to be... softened.
Clicking its manipulators irritably, HK put away the blaster and picked up a small container of bacta instead.
Quickly treating the burns on his hand and where the discharge had hit, the assassin droid leaned the boy back against one of the weapon crates.
HK himself knelt beside the unconscious body of his student and waited for him to wake up.
And he was in no hurry to regain consciousness.
In the end, the droid got tired of wasting time.
"Anakin. Anakin, wake up, dear," Shmi Skywalker's gentle voice echoed through the compartment.
The boy stirred.
"Get up quickly, Ani. It's long past dawn. You'll be late for Watto."
"Mmm..." Skywalker stretched, "Just a minute, Mom... five minutes."
"No 'five minutes'!" Shmi's voice became stricter.
"Okay, okay, I'm getting up..." Anakin grumbled reluctantly.
With a prolonged groan, the boy parted his eyelids and blinked a few times. His eyes widened as he realized where Skywalker was now and who was in front of him.
"Awake?" HK-47 asked in Anakin's mother's voice.
The ability to imitate voices was extremely useful for the assassin droid's craft. It came in handy now too.
The boy took a deep breath, preparing to scream, but his mouth was quickly covered by a metallic hand.
"Warning: If you scream and panic, I'll stun you," the droid said in its synthesized voice with a metallic echo.
Skywalker tried to squirm, but the barrel of a blaster was pressed against his forehead. The boy froze.
"Question: Are you calm now?"
Anakin nodded vigorously.
"Question: Will you neglect safety precautions or the advice of a more experienced mentor again?"
The young man shook his head vigorously.
"Joyfully: Excellent. Then we can begin the lesson."
HK released the boy and yanked him to his feet.
"Wasn't this already a lesson?" Anakin asked cautiously.
"Explanation: Of course not. This was an orientation."
"Then what will the lesson be like?" the boy grumbled discontentedly and immediately bit his tongue, remembering that he was facing an assassin droid equipped with sensitive audio sensors.
"Query: Can you dance, meatbag?" HK asked menacingly.
"What? What does that have to do with anything?" the boy didn't understand.
"Joyful explanation: Oh, there used to be a wonderful game on Nar Shaddaa known as the 'Suicide Dance,'" the droid aimed the blaster at Skywalker's feet, "Question: Shall I teach you?"
"No need!" Anakin jumped in place.
"Instruction: Then, shut your mouth, pick up the blaster, and aim at that square on the armor panel."
The young man, realizing his situation, quickly began to follow instructions.
The droid stood behind him and corrected Skywalker, eliminating the novice's mistakes.
"Correction: Hand higher, wrist firmer! Irritatedly: No, not like that. Use two hands if one is too heavy... Bewilderedly: The target is stationary, why do you need to lead? Mockingly: Where did you aim that barrel, you brainless meatbag?! This isn't artillery, the charge will fly on a flat trajectory! Threateningly: I'll shoot your elbows off if you spread them this wide. Didactically: There's no recoil here, you're flinching from the sound of the shot. Don't pull the trigger, or the barrel will sway to the side. Even a millimeter deviation at this distance will lead to a miss. Maliciously: Oh, it seems someone decided to use the Force? We'll see, we'll see."
"And this is just the first lesson," Anakin thought with horror, "I want to go back to Tatooine..."