Star Wars: The Old Republic: Revan (28 page)

“You need to find another ally to your cause,” Revan said. “Someone powerful, but who is not caught up in the politics of the Dark Council.”

Scourge laughed out loud at what Revan was clearly implying.

“You must be growing desperate if you think you can talk me into helping you escape.”

MENTALLY, REVAN WINCED
.
He had pushed too far too fast. Instead of subtle manipulation, he had stumbled into revealing a clumsy and obvious ploy. He never would have made such a foolish mistake if his mind was clear.

But he thought it might still be possible to salvage the situation. He had to give the Sith something else to focus on, something he cared about above everything else.

“We share a common goal,” Revan admitted. “We both want to stop the Emperor from invading the Republic. But I am not proposing an alliance.” He paused. “I do not need your help to escape. The Force has shown me that my freedom is drawing near.”

“The Force has shown you? What do you mean? Have you had a vision?”

As Revan suspected, his jailer had never experienced a vision through the Force. It wasn’t unusual: the phenomenon was much rarer in those who followed the dark side. Their focus was internal—they used the Force as a tool, rather than seeing themselves as instruments of the Force’s will. They were not accustomed to opening themselves up to the Force for guidance and direction.

“The Force has shown me that my future lies beyond these walls,” Revan lied.

“I don’t put much faith in visions and prophecy,” the Sith said.

“Have you ever felt a premonition of danger through the Force?” Revan asked, trying to help him understand. “Sensed a threat before it was revealed?”

“Of course.”

“The visions are merely an extrapolation of this. The Force flows across both space and time; it links the past, present, and future.”

“It is said that Naga Sadow had visions of the Sith crushing the Republic
during the Great Hyperspace War,” Scourge countered. “We both know that never came to pass.”

“The future is always in motion. The Force grants us visions that show us only one of many possible outcomes.”

“Then what use are they?”

“They can guide our actions, give us direction. They can show us a path we wish to follow, or one we can try to avoid.”

“Like the vision that brought you here,” Scourge asked. “The dream of Dromund Kaas and its storm-covered sky?”

“That was a memory, not a vision,” Revan reminded him. “But the Force does sometimes speak to us through our dreams.”

“And what does your vision show you? How do you make your great escape from this dungeon?”

Revan chose his next words carefully, his dulled wits sensing an opportunity. He knew his best chance—perhaps his only chance—of escape was with the Sith’s help. But he could not be the one to suggest the alliance; the Sith Lord had to think it was his idea.

That was why he had fabricated the lie about the vision: to draw attention away from his clumsy efforts to convince the Sith to help him. Now, however, he had an opportunity to plant a seed.

“You will understand in time,” he said cryptically, knowing the other would dwell on the hidden meaning behind his words.

The Sith was already obsessed with him. He hungered to tap into Revan’s understanding of the Force, and the Jedi knew he dominated the red-skinned being’s conscious and unconscious thoughts. It would only be natural for Revan to sometimes be the subject of the Sith Lord’s dreams.

Hopefully, the Sith would come to believe that his ordinary dreams were actually visions granted by the Force. If all went well, he would come to believe there was a greater power trying to draw them together. He might decide of his own accord that Revan was the key to defeating the Emperor, spurring him to help the Jedi escape.

It was a long shot, but Revan had nothing else to hope for.

“I have no wish to play your games,” the Sith snapped, annoyed by the enigmatic response. He turned on the heel of his boot without saying a word and marched out of the cell, sealing the door behind him.
Revan knew from experience it would be at least a week before he returned. The abrupt ending to their conversation and the impending prolonged absence were intended as punishment; his interrogator had long ago replaced physical torture with the supposed mental anguish of isolation.

For most prisoners this would have been an effective tool, but Revan was able to endure the long periods alone by meditating on the Force. At times like these he would try to reach out to Bastila, hoping at least to let her know he was still alive.

He opened himself up to the Force. As it flowed through him, images of the woman he loved danced through his head. And then suddenly they were gone, replaced by the amorphous face of another.

“Meetra,” Revan gasped as the features shifted sharply into focus. They held for an instant, and then vanished.

Revan knew this was more than some mere recollection of a lost friend. It had been too intense and powerful to be a memory. It was almost as if in describing the nature of Force visions to the Sith, he had triggered one of his own.

Though it had lasted only a second, the meaning was abundantly clear. Meetra was coming to rescue him.

MEETRA FOUGHT TO KEEP
the
Ebon Hawk
steady on its descent through the fierce storms raging in the skies above Kaas City spaceport.

She knew the storm-ravaged world had to be the world Canderous had spoken of; the one Revan had seen in his dreams. The dark side was powerful here. It was strong enough to send a shiver down her spine, but the sensation was infinitely better than the awful nothingness of Nathema.

As she brought the ship in to land, she knew with a sudden and unshakable certainty that Revan was somewhere on this world.

“He’s here, Tee-Three,” she informed her companion, trying to contain her excitement. “I can feel it.”

The droid beeped eagerly.

“It won’t be that easy,” she replied. “I’ll need to scout around a bit, get a feel for this world.”

The droid whistled apprehensively.

“Just stay close and follow my lead,” she told him. “We’ll be fine.”

A few minutes later she had successfully settled the
Hawk
on one of the spaceport’s many landing pads.

“Nobody here knows I’m a Jedi,” she reminded her astromech
companion just before they descended the boarding ramp. “Let’s try to keep it that way.”

Her lightsaber was tucked safely out of sight, and she had changed from her brown robes into black pants and a sleeveless red top. It was unlikely anyone here would recognize the traditional outfit of the Jedi Order, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

A customs official was waiting for them outside the ship—a middle-aged human female. The fact that humans could hold official government positions was a good sign: they were obviously common enough on Dromund Kaas that she wouldn’t automatically draw attention here because of her species.

“Your vessel is unregistered,” the woman told her in Basic, her voice simultaneously accusing and bored. “You’ll have to come with me.”

Meetra wasn’t surprised to be greeted in the familiar language. The Sith had once been an Empire controlling multiple worlds, cultures, and societies; naturally they would fall back on a common language, and Basic was by far the simplest and most widespread choice.

“I like to keep my comings and goings off the record,” she replied.

“That can be arranged,” the woman said with a quick glance to make sure there was nobody within earshot. “Naturally we charge a fee for that kind of premium service.”

Meetra had no idea what kind of currency was used on Dromund Kaas, but she highly doubted they’d take Republic credits. “I converted my funds into something a little easier to carry,” she explained, holding up a small but perfectly cut diamond.

The customs official’s eyes lit up as she stared at the valuable gemstone.

“If you keep my arrival off the record I’ll make sure you’re rewarded once I turn these into something a little easier to spend,” Meetra promised.

The woman’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I have a strict payment-up-front policy,” she said.

“Maybe you could make an exception this one time, seeing as how we’re both human,” Meetra suggested, reaching out with the Force to give the woman’s psyche a gentle nudge.

“I guess I could make an exception this one time,” the woman said with an affable shrug. “Seeing as how we’re both human.”

“I knew we could work something out,” Meetra replied with a smile. “Now, I don’t suppose you’d know the name of someone in the city who’d give me a fair price for my stones?”

“Larvit’s your best bet,” the other woman told her. “He drives a hard bargain, but he won’t try to cheat you. Let me give you the directions.”

Meetra decided to walk to Larvit’s store, rather than hire a speeder. Wandering the streets of Kaas City on foot would give her a better feel for the planet and its people, making it easier to fit in.

The population seemed to be primarily made up of the red-skinned Sith and humans, all dressed in standardized uniforms or military garb. She noticed a handful of Zabrak and Twi’leks; unlike the Sith and humans they did not wear uniforms, and without exception they were all fitted with shock collars. With a start Meetra realized that the unfortunate slaves were likely descended from prisoners who’d been taken by the Sith a thousand years earlier during the Great Hyperspace War.

The directions the customs official had given her were simple, and she found her destination without any trouble. From the outside, Larvit’s shop didn’t look like the kind of place one would chose to conduct illegal business. It was situated in the middle of the street, and its window boasted the same official government seal she had noticed on virtually every building she’d passed along the way.

She stepped into Larvit’s store and made a quick evaluation of her surroundings. It looked like a cross between a pawnshop and a supply post. The tall, gray-haired man behind the counter was wearing a red shirt and black pants, both freshly pressed. On his left shoulder were several bars that probably represented some kind of military rank, and the left breast pocket was emblazoned with the same symbol that adorned his window.

Meetra had expected to find herself in a shady black-market operation, but clearly she was in some kind of official government-controlled business. Still, she had nowhere else to go, so she marched straight up to the gray-haired man and dumped a handful of gems on the counter.

“Please present your Imperial identification card—” he started to say, but the routine greeting died in his mouth when he saw the small fortune scattered across his countertop.

His eyes went wide, first with greed and then with fear. Leaping from behind the counter, he rushed to the front of the shop and quickly closed and locked the door.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded in a low voice, peering through the window to see if anyone had noticed his sudden dash across the store.

Meetra slowly brought her right hand up to the lightsaber hidden at her belt. “I was told you’re the man to see about business I want to keep off the record.”

“I am, I am,” Larvit assured her, regaining some of his composure. “But you can’t just toss your stuff out on the counter for anyone to see. What if an Imperial inspector happened to wander in?”

“Sorry,” Meetra said. “I didn’t realize it was a big deal.”

Larvit snorted derisively. “Great. A Subjugate. Here’s a tip, off-worlder. Next time you visit Dromund Kaas, learn the customs first.”

Meetra nodded and let her hand drop, but she remained vigilant.

“How did you find out about me?” Larvit asked. “Who sent you?”

“Does it matter?” Meetra replied.

Larvit shook his head and made his way back over to inspect the stones still sitting atop the counter.

“Is this the full extent of your collection?” he asked, picking up one of the gems and bringing it up to his aging eye for closer inspection.

“It’s as much as I’m willing to sell right now.”

“I understand,” he said with a smile. “Do you need the credits immediately, or can you wait a few weeks?”

“What’s the difference?”

“I can offer more if you give me time to find the right buyer,” he explained.

Meetra shook her head. “I don’t have that kind of time.”

“That is unfortunate,” he said sympathetically. “That will have to be reflected in the price, of course.”

“Of course.”

“I’m willing to offer seven thousand Imperial credits for the lot,” he
said, leaning back and crossing his arms to signify the price was non-negotiable.

Meetra wasn’t about to fall for such an obvious ploy. Even though she had no concept of what an Imperial credit was actually worth, she had done enough haggling in her day to know that his opening offer was merely a baseline.

“Twenty thousand,” she countered, knowing it was a ridiculously high number.

“Even if you could wait to find a buyer I could never go higher than eighteen,” he answered. “I’ll give you ten.”

“Make it fifteen and I promise I’ll come to you first the next time I’m looking to deal.”

“I’ll give you twelve,” he said, wagging a finger in her face. “You won’t find anybody else who’ll go higher than eleven!”

“I’ll sell them for thirteen and some information,” she answered.

“What kind of information?”

“I’m looking for someone. A friend. I need the name of a contact who knows how to find people.”

“People that don’t want to be found?”

“I’d rather not say.”

The storekeeper crossed his arms again and stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Make it twelve-five and we have a deal. I’ll even set up the meeting.”

Ten minutes later Meetra walked out of his establishment with twelve thousand, five hundred Imperial credits and an appointment to meet someone called Sechel in two days.

MEETRA WAS SURPRISED
by the high-class atmosphere of the Nexus Room.