The Darkest Lord
Chapter XXI: Flight
All in the exact same moment, Darth Revan, Darth Traya, Bastila Shan, Princess Leia, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and the barely conscious Master Yoda were suddenly startled by a disturbance in the Force. Appearing like a jolt of static electricity sparking upon the mind, the sensation was a horrible one. It felt as if someone with a very shrill voice had suddenly screamed into the Force at the top of his or her lungs, temporarily deafening those sensitive to it to everything except the sharp ringing sound that accompanied such a noise. The pain that it felt could only be described as excruciating. It echoed through the energy field that bound existence together and reverberated in the minds of those who could hear it.
Master Yoda jolted awake in response to the disturbance and studied his surroundings for a moment. The sagely Jedi Master's normally glassy eyes looked glazed over and distant, barely perceiving what they took in. He moaned slightly when he attempted to lift his head a little higher but found that this couldn't be done. Obi-Wan, sighing, pulled his cloak, which currently served as a blanket, back over his former master's shoulders from where it had fallen. This gesture seemed to soothe the old Jedi and he promptly rested his head back on the seat that he that he had chosen to use as a bed. Whether or not he fell back to sleep was impossible to determine, though his pupil could only hope that he had. Pain wracked his body, regardless of consciousness or a lack thereof. At least it would be more distant when Yoda slept. This, at least, became the story Obi-Wan concocted in his mind to assuage his guilt.
Why did the old Jedi Guardian feel guilt when he looked upon the dying alien? Not even he knew. Yoda, now almost a millennia old, had lived what could only be considered a full life. He trained dozens of Jedi over the centuries, including some of the finest and most revered people to ever sit on the Jedi High Council. He had found true peace within the Force, despite the evils and perversions that went on in the galaxy around him. More to the point, there had been no event or action in Obi-Wan's life that had led his master to this pitiful state. The disease had not infected him as a result of the human Jedi's doings. Guilt didn't belong to Obi-Wan. Nonetheless, he felt powerless to stop the oncoming death that would soon take his old friend. Ah Powerlessness. He knew Powerlessness well, like a poor man knows hunger or a crippled man knows pain. For all the power that the Force granted to him, he still remained powerless. He had not had the power to stop Anakin Skywalker from falling to the dark side and dying, allowing Darth Vader to be born. He did not have the power to stop his former apprentice from wiping Alderaan from existence. Now, he felt the exact same way as he meditated on the future, fearful of his master's death, despite the Jedi teachings to embrace the end as merely a new beginning. He could not do this. It was too difficult for a broken old man such as he. Sighing, he looked away from Yoda, intent on turning his mind to other things.
Princess Leia looked sympathetically at the dying Jedi Master, keenly aware of how much it looked like Obi-Wan were caring for a sick pet. She had read a novel once in which a man, a farmer by trade, bought a young kath hound pup to work on the farm. The farmer trained him and developed a connection with his hound, which became an unbreakable friendship. Some years later, the rain didn't come and the crops dried out. Unable to pay his dues, the farmer lost his farm and everything he owned. All that he had left in the galaxy was his kath hound. The two slummed around for close to two years, just trying to get by, until one day, the kath hound broke its leg. The former farmer had no way of paying for medical attention for his friend and so, he had no alternative but to shoot the kath hound, putting it out of its misery. At the moment, the look on Obi-Wan's face reminded Leia so much of what she had pictured the old farmer to look like when he realized that he had too put down his friend. It wrenched at her heart to see the old man her father had once served with seem so distraught.
Bail Organa had told her very little of General Kenobi, except that the two had known each other during the Clone Wars and that the Jedi Master had tried to stop the formation of the Empire in its first few hours. His description of Kenobi as a powerful warrior and a master swordsman had always made her think of him as a hero of sorts; the kind a child sees in holos. It was funny, in a way, to see how different the legend and the man truly were from one another. Pushing that cruel thought aside, the Rebel senator looked down at the meager meat ration that was sitting on a tray in her lap. Setting it aside, Leia stood up and walked out of the room, leaving the two Jedi Masters alone with R2.
Inside of the cargo hold, Revan continued to contemplate the disturbance that still rippled in the air about him. Twice before he had felt such agony flow through the Force. The first time had been during the fledgling stage of his Sith Empire, back in his own time. Having given Malak the order to subdue Telos, the Lord of Malice wiped out the entire planet, killing more than eighty percent of its population. The second time had been just upon his arrival in this time, when he had first appeared in the Alderaan system that had no Alderaan. "I know this feeling," he stated as he turned to his master, who had been watching him meditate for the last several minutes. "But it's different this time...colder."
Traya raised an eyebrow, exposing only more of her fully black eyeball as if she actually saw the boy she had raised sitting before her. "Is it?" the Dark Lady inquired with genuine interest as a frown formed on her features. "You have walked the barren surface of Cathar, Revan, and the ruined paths of Malachor V. You should know well the feeling that screams now into the Force."
"Death," he whispered hoarsely, as if the concept was foreign to him. "The death of billions."
"Indeed," she answered him with a grim nod, wondering why this bothered him when it felt no different to her than it usually did when a planet died. Her lip curled into an amused smirk as she looked down at the fallen Jedi Knight she had once trained. "It is rare to see it affect you like this. Perhaps you are changing."
"No," he answered sharply as he stood up and moved to face her directly. He looked into those two black abyss-like orbs that she had once seen through. The ocean of darkness inside was not comforting, though he, in a way that only a son could, found refuge in it. Though in no way debilitated by the loss of her sight, Traya's eyes were worthless to her. That, strangely enough, was why Revan could look directly into them and hide from her as a scared child hides from its angry mother. He did this often when he feared that she may be getting too close to a subject he himself could not come up with a certain position or take on. At the moment, he could come up with no plausible explanation for why he had been caught off guard. Thus, he wanted her out of his mind. Thus, he hid. "I wasn't expecting it. That is all."
"Nor was I, but you can see that I do not feel the same discomfort that you do..."
"I-," he began before suddenly stopping. He didn't know what to say. His master had the distinct honor of being the one person he could not fool with lies or excuses. She knew him inside and out, mind, body, and soul. Ever since the day that she had found him on Derallia, she had known him better than his pitiful alcoholic mother or his boorish abusive father. Were it not for her, he would never had learned to listen to the currents of the Force; Never would he have risen within the ranks of both the Jedi and the Sith if she had not come along on that faithful day. The bond that the two shared as a result of this, while not forged by the Force itself, was stronger than that of the average master and student. The two had deep familial feelings for one another, making it impossible for Revan to hide his true thoughts from her for very long. As a result, he knew that it was pointless to lie to her. Therefore, he said nothing at all.
"The souls of millions are etched on your blade, Revan de Turk," she stated darkly. "Death has been your constant companion since the day that I met you. Now that Malak has stolen your throne, you should have been prepared to meet Death with same unwavering strength that you faced the Mandalorians with."
Revan hadn't heard her analogy. He hadn't heard her chastising remark. He had gone almost completely deaf after she had used his true name. "de Turk." He loathed that name; his father's name. Simply hearing it was enough to make him shiver and to make his blood run cold in his veins. "Don't use that name," he snarled at her angrily. "It is the name of a coward; a corrupt drug dealer who had no concept of anything in this galaxy except himself" he practically shouted as the anger poured from him. Turning his back on her, the deposed Sith Lord took a seat on the ground again and crossed his legs. Closing his eyes, he attempted to resume the meditation which the Force itself had interrupted. "Now leave me," he ordered calmly. "Your presence is distracting."
"Very well," the Sith Lady answered with a shrug before she turned on her heel and slipped out of the cargo hold. Bowing his head deeply, Revan opened his amber colored eyes again, letting the ruse of meditation die. He knew that it would be impossible for him to resume any level of deep, relaxed thought. Sighing, he leaned back onto his hands and began to simmer down. His anger accomplished nothing. Aside from being personally distracting and weakening, it had probably sent quite a shock to Bastila through their Force bond. What agitated him, though, was the fact that Traya wasn't wrong.
Once the brief spike of pointless anger had passed, he analyzed the words she had said after his name. The deposed Sith Lord could only conclude that his master was right. He should have been prepared to feel the effects of Malak's rule as Dark Lord. The disturbance that had roared into the currents of life were a mourning cry for the death of Naboo. Of that, he had no doubt. As he had ruthlessly razed Telos, Malak had now turned the guns of the Sith fleet onto the sovereign world and killed almost everyone on the surface. It went beyond that though. Killing the people had never been enough for Malak. The bald Sith Lord needed to do more to cripple the people who would try to rebuild. The bombs that had been dropped were sure to have contained some sort of biological agent that would render the planet uninhabitable for ages unless some sort of counter-acting teraforming process could reverse their effects. Therefore, when the millions that had died screamed into the Force, reaching those aboard the Millennium Falcon, their cry was accompanied by the anguish of the tortured planet.
"It was a coward's move, Malak," Revan seethed.
His apprentice had always preferred to fight from afar. Despite his unmatched sword skills and natural affinity for the Force, the Lord of Malice always elected to fight from a distance if possible. He relied on the crude, yet effective methods available when using blasters or guns. It was despicable. There was no honor in such a fight. And why wipe out Naboo anyways? The planet would have served the Sith better alive than dead. There was so much potential in worlds as civilized as the one that had just been demolished. Citizens made factory workers and developers. The planet's militia would have been converted into a Sith employed security force, taking orders only from official Sith officers. Food harvested from the fields could be rationed out to the armada. Why waste it all? There was no reason to do it!
"My Empire is being run by a genocidal maniac," he murmured as he stood up again and began to pace back and forth, as he tended to do when he felt conflicted. All that he had worked to build would be ruined if that deranged madman continued to rule in the fashion he currently did. Bombing resources was a big mistake and the day would come when it would cost Malak dearly. According to the Rebels, the Mandalorians, with whom Revan had initially negotiated, were now striking out on their own, conquering the worlds abandoned by the Empire whilst the armada defended Coruscant. That meant that the Sith and Mandalorian agreements had been severed upon Revan's exile. The Sith had only the men and women that they had brought forward in time with them and the few thousand that had been recruited from Alzac and any other worlds that had been conquered before the Spirit of Revenge had been destroyed. How could they hope to win when sheer numbers could overwhelm them if it ever came down to a direct conflict with the Rebels, the Empire, or the Mandalorians.
Revan needed to be smart if he ever hoped to emerge from this war victorious from any side. For all his power, he was only one man and one man with the entire galaxy against him was still just one man. Joining the Rebel Alliance was a start but the Dark Lord needed something else. Loyalty had always been something that he inspired in others, which probably had been one of the reasons it had been so easy to turn a third of the Republic's Navy against their military oaths in his name. The men that had followed him into battle during the wars would have laid down their lives for him and that was exactly the sort of loyalty he needed now. There were probably still those within the Sith Empire that would come to his aid should he call but it would be too dangerous to contact any of them right now. The Revanchist loyalists would need to remain anonymous for the time being, which meant that their leader would have to make do without them.
If the old followers could not be reached, then he would need new ones to train and convert. Hopefully he would be able to steal a transport when the Millennium Falcon reached its current destination, wherever that may have been. From there, a trip to Nar Shaddaa and other refuge worlds would provide him with at least a small militia with which he could work. He needed more than that though. Rallying scum bags, criminals, and the down trodden was one thing but he would also need those who were sensitive to the Force if he wanted to make an effort at contacting his own men within the folds of the Sith Empire.
Bastila was young. She was naïve. She was close minded. She was also a very gifted young woman. Her potential went far beyond that of most Jedi and the deposed Lord of the Sith wouldn't mind having someone who knew how to properly work the art of Battle Meditation on his side. If he could train her to be a warrior, rather than a soldier, and break her view of the Order she so firmly believe in, she would become a valuable student. Perhaps, given enough effort, the young Talravin woman could even become his new apprentice; Malak's replacement.
The thought was not without some appeal. After all, the two were mentally linked to one another. Taking her as his second in command would ensure that he would never face betrayal again. It wouldn't do her good to attack him when it would only serve to damage her own mind as well. She would be trapped in her loyalty to him, never able to break free or move through the ranks. From the day she swore fealty to him until the day she died, Bastila would be his puppet, to manipulate and use as he saw fit. A smirk curled on his lips. Revan always had been brilliant but this time he had even managed to impress himself. Adaptation had always been his strong point but never in one million years would he have believed that it was possible to manipulate a situation so perfectly that someone would be forced to abstain from betrayal, no matter how appealing the rewards may seem. The cost of one's mind was one that few would willingly pay.
"Let's get started then," he murmured to himself as he stood up again and strolled lazily out of the cargo hold.
He found that Bastila had taken to the privacy of Millennium Falcon's hyperdrive room, where she sat quietly meditating. He walked in without announcing his presence and waited for her to acknowledge him. "What is it?" she asked at last, pushing her thoughts aside as she rose to greet him.
"Your performance on Naboo was sloppy," he said callously, folding both arms over his chest and maintaining an even disposition. "You could have got yourself and, more importantly, me, killed back in that cave if the others hadn't arrived."
"Excuse me?" she said indignantly at his accusation.
"You need to get better. You're out of shape. Your skills reek of pacifism. Worst of all, you don't have the slightest notion of how to think on the battle field. It's really quite astounding that you've lived as long as you have."
"Thank you for your opinion, Revan, now if you will excuse me, I'd appreciate some privacy," she snorted, turning her back on him so that she could return to her meditation.
Revan closed the gap between them with a single stride. Snaking his arm around her, he bound her left arm to her side, while he used his second one to press her fighting hand to her breast. In order to remove the possibility of a counter-strike from the legs, the Dark Lord kicked in the back of her leg, throwing out all of her balance. If he hadn't been holding her aloft, the young Jedi would have collapsed to the ground.
"First rule," he hissed directly into her ear. "Don't turn your back on an opponent."
Bastila was too distracted by her current predicament to notice that Revan inhaled deeply, almost in a sadistic manner, though this was just a façade. His nostrils flared as he picked up the Jedi's thick, feminine scent. For the first time, he noted just how sweet the young woman smelled. She had gotten out of the fresher only an hour ago, so her skin still had a newly cleaned scent to it. It vaguely resembled a fruit that could only be found on Felucia, probably due to whatever she had used to cleanse herself. Beneath the artificial perfume, Bastila had a thick aroma that made him feel just a tad intoxicated. Revan's eyes rolled back in his head slightly. Still, she didn't notice. Her initial reaction was to get free of his hold. Squirming and jerking madly, it didn't seem possible to force her opponent to relinquish his grasp, despite his slight moment of vulnerability.
Dropping her onto the floor, Revan took two steps back, giving him room to move in case she decided to retaliate. Scowling, Bastila looked up at him, her eyes tearing into him angrily. "Stay away from me," she ordered, extending a hand to hold him back.
"I've just challenged you," he informed her casually. "Are you going to cower, here, in this room? Or, will you accept the challenge?"
Almost three hours later, Bastila, drenched in a thick glistening coat of her own sweat, crumpled to her knees, her breath coming in deep, ragged gasps that she could barely contain. Revan stood over her, a smug look on his face. She had managed to hold her own against him, which admittedly could only be considered a pleasant surprise. He touched a bruise on his shoulder using the opposite hand, considering the mild ache that it caused him. Several more dotted the surface of his body, all of which stung slightly. When angered, Bastila possessed a ferocity that rivaled his own. Whether or not that had anything to do with their mental link, Revan could not say. Regardless, it pleased him to see her potential.
On the other hand, Bastila did not believe that this sort of weariness had ever overcome her so entirely in the past. While she had simply managed to bruise him a couple of times, her entire body was covered with large welts, contusions, and other unpleasant marks. Nonetheless, a certain sort of exhilaration flowed through her, urging her to stand again. Her legs were battered. Using them felt unstable. They shook visibly as she forced herself to remain standing. Her conviction made Revan admire her in a way. This sort of intensity and desire to remain in the fray when she had surpassed her limit completely exemplified what the Sith Lord wanted in a new apprentice.
"How do you feel?" he asked her casually.
"I'm fine," she insisted, dropping back into a fighting stance.
A simple push through the Force sent her sprawling backwards, causing her to hit the ground roughly. Revan couldn't help but openly laugh at this as she tried to get back up again. "Take a break," he told her as he walked over to the wall and slid down its metal surface, landing in a seated position across from her. "You've... earned it."
Still taking long gulps of air as she repositioned herself into a seated position, Bastila looked across the room at her sparing partner. Whilst they fought, she couldn't help but notice just how elegant his form looked. It was truly beautiful. Even while he beat her, she felt inspired by the grace of his movements. Revan truly move with a swift and terrible beauty, almost in a dance that could be described in no other way than a deadly dance of death. It both awed and humbled her to know just what she faced when competing with her enemy. It also, truth be told, agitated her quite a bit that she could not gain the upper hand on him.
Before they had begun their sparing match, Revan insisted that they face each other without weapons, claiming that her saber skills, while shoddy at best, were not her weakest attribute. Physically, she needed to become stronger. The Jedi hounded her to become mentally strong and some of her training required her to be in better shape than the average civilian but Revan was right when he told her that the Sith, being bred for military purposes, were held to a much higher standard than the Jedi. Even the lowest ranking grunts in his army were put through rigorous training before taking an oath of fealty. Odds being what they were, she needed more practice. This match had showed her that much.
"Why are you helping me?" she asked him breathlessly.
The Dark Lord shrugged his shoulders as he ran a hand through his soggy brown hair. "I've got nothing better to do, have I?" he pointed out. "Besides, you're worth it."
Bastila cocked her head at the strange comment. "Worth it?" she repeated with a narrow glance. "What does that mean?"
To be quite honest, Revan didn't quite know what it meant. It had seemed like the thing to say at the moment, though it implied more to her that it should have done. Quick with improvisation, however, he quickly conjured up a suitable explanation for what it meant. "It means that you're a part of my team now, for whatever it's worth. The weaker you are, the more vulnerable I am."
"Then why don't you train with Leia?" she inquired. "She is far behind me in her learning."
"Princess Leia is just learning to feel the Force. True, because of your bond, she has become stronger already than she should be, but I don't feel that one who barely knows how to handle her powers is worth my time."
"But she leaves you vulnerable," Bastila pointed out. "She is bound to me and I to you. Therefore, what endangers me endangers you."
"True," he agreed, having already considered this before. "Though she is welled trained in a different respect. The good princess seems to know a great deal about self preservation, regardless of her minimal Jedi knowledge. I would wager that she, having a degree of common sense that you lack, already has all the training that she needs to protect me from any severe mental damage. Besides," he threw in as an after thought. "What I teach you, you will in turn pass onto her."
"And what if Obi-Wan and Master Yoda disapprove of my taking lessons from you?" she inquired.
"Ha!" he blurted out before he could contain himself. "Are you so much their pawn that you would cease all contact with me, despite the fact that you know it will do you more harm than good?"
"No," she answered.
"Good. Always maintain your sense of individualism, even when you are part of a unit. In battle, a group of soldiers is only as strong as the individuals of which it is comprised. To cancel out your individuality and your own unique abilities is the death of those you fight alongside." Bastila contemplated this for a moment before he chimed in one last detail. "Master Yoda won't live long anyways if he doesn't receive the proper medical treatment."
"Do you know what afflicts him?"
The Dark Lord of the Sith shook his head. "I can imagine, though, that it is some sort of disease that he shouldn't normally be susceptible to. Yoda may be old but his species is expected to live much longer than a mere one thousand years. Either he was the mutt of his litter or he has contracted something that he shouldn't have."
"Is there anything that can be done to help him?"
Revan shrugged. "How should I know? I'm not a healer. I don't know what he may have contracted. My best guess wouldn't be nearly as educated as a proper physician's comatose diagnosis." He was about to continue, however another abrupt warning shot out in the Force. The Dark Lord quickly became alert and came to his feet. "Brace yourself!" he shouted out to his companion.
Bastila sensed it too. Without any external warning, the Millennium Falcon shook violently. "What was that?" she cried out as she ran out of the cargo hold. Inside the main room, Obi-Wan cradled Yoda to his chest in order to protect the old Jedi Master, whilst Traya found support by holding onto the firmly balanced HK-47.
"The damned fool of a pilot is going to get us killed," the Dark Lady snarled in answer to Bastila's query.
Revan and Bastila glanced at each other before the latter of the two bolted for the cockpit to see what had happened, the former hot on her heels. What she saw inside of the cockpit, aside from her other companions, was breath taking. Just outside of the Millennium Falcon's viewport, an endless sea of fiery colored clouds danced through the skies they soared through.
Inside, Chewbacca and Han sat in the two pilot's chairs, working furiously at the controls. Leia and Carth had already made their way into the room. Carth's appearance seemed similar to one of controlled rage, whilst Leia didn't bother to contain herself.
"You said you were going to take us somewhere safe!" she berated Han furiously as two flashy one man star fighters came into view outside of the glass viewport.
"We are safe!" he growled back at the princess before he pressed his finger down on an intercom. "Listen to me, I'm not expected so I don't have a landing permit. Just patch me through to Lando Calrissan."
The ship rocked violently a second time as two more patrol vehicles came up from behind the Falcon, raining blaster fire down on its hull. "This ship has guns, right?" Revan inquired.
"Wouldn't do us any good. The clouds are filled with Tiabanna gas. Blasters the size of this ship's would only ignite the gas and blow us all to Hell," he answered before reopening communications with their assailants, who clearly weren't inhibited by the same problem. "Tell Lando that the Millennium Falcon wants permission to dock. We'll wait."
Sitting back in his chair, Han silently assured himself that everything would be alright. Leia, on the other hand, was not so assuaged. "You're going to get us all killed!" she snapped at him as she smacked his shoulder fiercely.
"Would you relax?" he said in a tone that attempted to imply that no harm could come to them. "Lando and I go way back. As soon as he realizes that it's me, we'll be fine!"
"Millennium Falcon, you will maintain your present course and land on docking bay three-two-nine," a security officer's voice spoke over the comm. channel.
"Thank you," Han replied triumphantly. "See?" he said to Leia as he spun around in his chair. "Absolutely nothing to worry about."
"Drop below the cloud level into the main portion of the atmosphere," Revan instructed. "At least from there we'll be safe to use our own weapons if they attack again."
"They won't," Han assured him. "Lando and I have a history."
Chewbacca made a frustrated grunt towards Han, which caused him to stiffen slightly. "Well that was a long time ago," the scruffy captain muttered as he caressed his ship's dashboard. "I'm sure he's over that by now."
"Ugh," Revan grunted as he strolled out of the room. "We're all going to die."
The ship continued through the clouds until it finally breached through the end and came into sight of a large, hovering city, which hung unsupported in the skies. Hovering defense cannons all turned towards the smuggling freighter, though none of them opened fire, for which the crew was grateful. Steadily, Han eased their vessel closer to the unsupported city, towards the designated docking bay. Once the ship had safely landed, he smiled and turned back to the people around him. "Told you," he muttered. "Nothing to worry about."
"Let's hope you're right," Carth stated as he peered out the viewport, towards the dock they had landed on. Years of experience told him that they should prepare themselves for an ambush.
"I am," the other pilot insisted darkly. "Now let's not keep our hosts waiting." Standing up, Han led the entourage out of his cockpit, which had become just a bit too crowded for his liking, into the main hold, where Traya, HK-47, and Obi-Wan, who carried the sickly Master Yoda, joined them. Chewbacca quickly lowered the boarding ramp.
Outside, the door at the far end of the dock slid silently open as an elegantly dressed dark skinned business man and two security guards, each armed with a slightly modified version of the standard issue Imperial E11 Blaster Rifle, came outside. Gazing at the beautiful ship before him, Lando Calrissen sighed deeply. "Follow my lead," he told the two men. "Don't open fire unless I give the signal." The trio started to walk forward.
A man in his early thirties, Lando had come quite a ways in life. Born on Socorro, his parents had fled to the criminal world after a negative run in with the law on Corellia. Having been raised in such a lawless environment, he quickly learned to disregard higher authority and do what life required in order to get ahead of everyone else in the cesspit of a universe. Thus, in order to pay his bills in his youth, the dark skinned man turned to smuggling operations and conning. Both worked out exceptionally well for him, as did gambling. These three normally frowned upon trades provided him with the foundation for a financial empire that wouldn't be considered commonplace on the outer rim. Only a few years back, he had managed to win the Tiabanna gas mines of Cloud City in a Sabaac tournament.
As Lando and his men approached, the space freighter began to expel exhaust into the air as its hydraulics activated, lowering the now depressurized boarding ramp. One by one, seven people, one carrying a tiny alien, and three droids made their way out of the small ship. Lando frowned.
"How the devil did he fit all those people on my ship?" he murmured to himself as the unforgettable form of Han Solo approached him. Lando kept his face neutral, though his old associate obviously wanted a warmer reception. "Why are you back here, Han?" he demanded in an angry tone. "I thought I told you that I'd kill you if I ever saw your ugly face again." Han took on an offended look and stepped away from the wealthy business man.
"Statement: Master, if these meatbags become a threat, it is likely that Captain Solo will be killed before I have time to stop them from shooting. Request: Oh Master, please let me eviscerate them before this 'unfortunate' happenstance can occur!"
"HK-47, stand down," Revan ordered tersely, seeing the less than enthused look that the two city guards were giving his creation.
Lando, on the other hand, began to chuckle. "I like your droid," he told the Dark Lord as he walked up to HK-47, inspecting the rusty colored machine's design.
"Statement: Of course you do, Meatbag. Only a mentally damaged organic meatbag would fail to see to eloquent attributes of my flawless craftsmanship."
Smirking deeply, the Socorron man nodded in agreement. "Whoever built you did an excellent job," he told the droid fondly, already conjuring up various ways that he could make it his own.
As the owner of a highly successful mining colony, Lando had the opportunity to work with a great number of droids and computer virtual intelligence systems. This orange, narcissistic machine could add a great deal of humor to the typically dull days. Regardless, he made a mental note to at least add some personality programming to the non-essential work droids that he interacted with on a frequent basis. Turning away from HK-47, the Cloud City executive turned back to his old friend. Looking him up and down, he slowly judged the scruffy old smuggler, checking for injuries. There were none, which led him to check the rest of Han's crew.
None of the others seemed to be injured in any severe way, though that didn't cancel out the possibility that someone still aboard the ship needed treatment. Also, though not technically injured, the small green alien that the old man carried in his arms did not appear to be in ideal health conditions. Paranoia also led him to check the frame of the Millennium Falcon for signs of damage. There were no major indications that it had received external harm. Signs of previous damage and shoddy patch up jobs were clearly visible. This aggravated the ship's previous owner greatly. Rolling his eyes, he looked back to Han.
"What the hell have you done to my ship?" he demanded in an almost angry voice.
"Your ship?" Han repeated skeptically. "And what do you mean what have I done to her? She's just fine!"
"Look at her," the slightly older of the two snapped. "It's a miracle she's still space worthy!"
Shoving by Han affectionately, Lando walked over to the ship that had once been his and put a hand on the old, worn down hull. "Don't worry, Baby. I'll make sure you get fixed up before he takes you away again."
Turning back to Han's crew, Lando smiled warmly and extended both his arms in greeting. "Welcome to my fair city," he stated pleasantly. "In case this half-wit hasn't bothered to tell you, I am Lando Calrissen."
Chewbacca, who had remained silent despite his long acquaintance with the dark skinned man, finally spoke up. Moaning in a typical Wookiee fashion, the furry alien launched forward and pulled his old friend into a deep bear hug. Lando began to laugh mirthfully as he returned the gesture.
"Ah Chewbacca, why you still hanging around this old pirate?" he asked as he began to scratch his friend's neck playfully.
Chewie merely barked an answer, which both Han and Lando chuckled at. The political leader of the Cloud City finally turned his attention to business. "What do you need?" he asked Han seriously. "If it's shelter from the Empire, I can hide you for as long as you need."
"Thank you," his friend answered. "We've had a hell of a time the last few months."
"You're not part of that Rebellion, are you?" he inquired as one eyebrow rose slowly. The look of irony on Han's face told him all that he needed to know. "How the devil did you end up a freedom fighter?"
"Like I said, last few months have been strange."
"I want to hear everything," Lando told him. "But let's move on inside. I'm sure it's more comfortable that looking down from this ledge."
With a wisp of his elegant cape, Lando turned on his heels and gestured for his guests to follow. The cluttered group began to move towards the door, though everyone tried to stay as far away from the ledge as possible. Glancing downward, Chewbacca moaned and moved to keep close to Han. Revan, fearful of Traya's failed eyesight, kept close to her lest she plummet through the endless skies of this world to her doom. Sensing this, the old woman became agitated.
"I am more than capable of watching after myself," she rebuked him.
Walking at a faster pace, Traya moved away from her pupil, leaving him behind with Princess Leia and Bastila. "Mommy issues?" Leia asked him with a slight smile.
"Stay out of it," he snapped warningly at her.
"Revan, I never thought I'd be able to say this about you, but you are a mama's boy," the princess jeered as she too increased her pace, leaving him to walk with Bastila.
"Women," the Dark Lord muttered in agitation as the group of Rebels entered the compound of Cloud City.