A/N: I'm back!

Yes, after a long period of writing other things, I'm back in the fanfiction world, venting all the ideas that can't be put to official use. This will be my first Star Wars fanfic, so please be gentle: I'm probably going to be not entirely canon compliant, in part because I'm not exactly a big fan of the Revan novel and I still have mixed feelings above how he was utilized in The Old Republic. Frankly, I think I liked Revan back when their character was up to the player to decide, hence why this time around, I'm going for Female Revan.

One minor note: this won't be a Revan/Carth story. After dealing with both "canon" relationships in both playthroughs I tried, I felt it was time I tried something different - something I wish had a bit more focus in the game. But we'll get to that later.

Anyway, this story is going to chart Revan's dealings with the GenoHaradan - expanded in detail, length, and backstabbery. See, as much as I liked those sidequests, I always wished there was more to them than just that, and the fact that their KOTOR II appearance ended up on the cutting room floor always rankled me. So, here we are - my story of Revan and the Genoharadan.

Without further ado, the first chapter! Read, review, and above all, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not mine, blah blah.


"A moment of your time, human…?"

Tarrah paused mid-step, absently wondering if she was about to be attacked in the street again. She couldn't sense any incoming aggression or any hint of the Dark Side nearby, but that didn't mean that an assassination attempt wasn't in store.

It had been a very long day on Tatooine, the latest in a grand total of five spent roaming the desolate hellhole of a planet. In the last few days, she'd been pestered for docking fees, had to play peacemaker between Mission and Bastila, served as emotional support for both Mission and Bastila in their respective family troubles, been forced to haggle with Yuka Laka, been ambushed in the street by Sith hunters, roamed the Dune Sea, defused a set of self-destructing battle droids, been ambushed in the desert by Gamorreans, undergone several tense negotiations with the Tusken Raiders, helped Komad bring down a Krayt Dragon, uncovered the planet's long-lost Star Map fragment, and been ambushed again by yet another Sith hunting party with Calo Nord in the lead… and all of it while sweltering under the torturous heat of the twin suns.

Frankly, after all the fuss and commotion she'd suffered since they'd landed on this mineral-starved sandpit of a planet, a third attack might just be inevitable. Gods only knew Tarrah had been a magnet for misfortune ever since she'd been knocked out of her bunk that fateful morning all those weeks ago.

But when she finally turned around, the expected death squad of Sith battle droids was nowhere to be seen. Instead, standing in the shadow of the Anchorhead cantina was a rather unassuming Twi'lek – green skin, tired eyes, sand-encrusted jumpsuit, and most importantly, no sign of any weapons on his belt.

"You dropped your datapad," he said, pointing at Tarrah's feet.

On instinct, Tarrah glanced down, instantly cursing herself for doing so. The guy might as well have said "your shoelaces are untied"! It was the oldest trick in the book, and she'd fallen for it. All she could do was trust that Bastila and 47 would be ready when the next gang of ambushers opened fire.

But to her surprise, there really was a datapad lying at her feet, looking for all the world like she'd just dropped it.

Of course, Tarrah had never seen this particular datapad in her life: it wasn't the usual dull bronze model favoured by the Jedi, and it certainly wasn't the battered old piece of junk that Tarrah kept stashed on her belt. Doubly suspicious was the fact that she hadn't even seen or heard the stranger dropping it, so either a stealth field or an impressive gift for sleight of hand was at work here. Either way, this wasn't just a case of mistaken lost property.

But was this a distraction? Was it a bomb? Or was it something else? She still couldn't sense any hostility in the surrounding area, and none of the others had detected anything amiss. Plus, as far as she knew, the datapad was a little too compact to conceal explosives… but it wasn't impossible. And if this wasn't an assassination attempt, then why the subterfuge?

She weighed the odds as carefully as possible, before gently scooping up the fallen datapad with a mutter of "thanks."

"My pleasure, human," said the Twi'lek. "You should check it, just to make sure it's not broken."

And with that, he was gone, vanishing into the growing crowd of Czerka employees bound for the cantina.

Meanwhile, a quick look at the datapad revealed that was already active, and a single message had been typed on the screen:

THE GENOHARADAN HAVE SEEN YOUR POTENTIAL. MEET HULAS THE RODIAN IN FRONT OF THE REPUBLIC EMBASSY ON MANAAN. COME ALONE OR NOT AT ALL. TELL NO-ONE.

Neither of the two names in the message meant anything to her, but Manaan was among the planets they needed to visit, so Tarrah wouldn't have to go too far off the beaten track to attend this meeting – if it was worth the time.

At first, Tarrah wondered if this was a trap set by the Sith, but soon dismissed the idea as the logical contradictions began trickling into place: from everything she'd seen of him so far, Malak was not a subtle operator and didn't like setting traps. His tactic of choice for dealing with elusive targets was to spend entire battalions of troops, droids, bounty hunters, and Dark Jedi on one hunt after the next, and if that didn't work, park a fleet in orbit and obliterate anything in the same neighbourhood as the target. Besides, even if some lucky Sith operative really had found them, they'd have just strapped a grenade to the datapad and rigged it to explode the moment Tarrah had picked it up, so for once it seemed that her paranoia was unjustified.

If this Hulas was going to meet her in broad daylight in front of an embassy, then it was possible that this meeting was legit, if only because it was too secure for an assassination attempt, or at the very least too public.

Then again, it's not as if people haven't tried to kill me in broad daylight before, Tarrah reflected absently. Still, I should at least investigate the meeting, just to see what's on offer: if they've seen my potential, these GenoHaradan people might just be potential allies… and right now, we need all the help we can get.

There was a polite cough from behind her. Bastila was looking expectantly at her, clearly waiting for an explanation.

Almost on instinct, Tarrah switched off the datapad before Bastila could get a good look at the message, stashing it in the pockets of her utility belt with all her other gear. She was dimly aware that this wasn't strictly necessary – after all, Bastila could be a bit of a snob at times and more than a little bit too confident for her own good, but they were still allies, maybe even friends. And yet, something about the message made the old smuggling instincts spark to life all over again.

"What was on the datapad?" Bastila asked.

"Oh, just spy jargon," lied Tarrah. "Apparently, someone wanted to send me a message, but half of it's been encoded, and the other half is in riddles. I'll see if our resident droids can make sense of it once we get back to the Hawk."

"Supplication: can't we at least try to kill something before we go back to translating, master?"

"Oh, pipe down, 47. You'll get your chance for another fight just as soon as we reach the next planet in line, I promise."

"Caution: I will hold you to that, master."

"If you must…"

Meanwhile, Bastila was giving Tarrah a look of almost matriarchal scepticism. Once again, Tarrah was at a loss as to how a woman who hadn't yet turned twenty-five was somehow capable of acting like a disapproving middle-aged schoolmarm.

"And that's all that's on it?" she asked. "There's nothing else?"

Tarrah hesitated.

Would she disapprove of getting involved in something so potentially shady, claim it was beneath them? Would she tell her to avoid the meeting and not take the risk of getting targeted? Or would she just counsel her to remain true to the Jedi code?

In a word, yes.

Bastila had many fine traits, but a flexible mind was not among them. If any of the team wanted to succeed in finding the Star Forge and stopping Malak, they needed to think outside the box… and that meant taking risks and finding allies in unexpected places. After all, a Mandalorian veteran had helped them escape from Taris. An assassin droid had helped negotiate their way to a peaceful resolution with the Tusken Raiders. Perhaps this "GenoHaradan" could help them in the same way? And if it didn't work out, then at least Tarrah would be able to satisfy her curiosity, for that alone had been enough to put the hook in her.

Unfortunately, it looked like she didn't have a choice in the matter anyway: as long as the GenoHaradan or Hulas or whoever was behind this mess was still insisting on secrecy, Tarrah would have to keep their dealings a secret.

"Yeah, that's it," she said at last. "Why do you ask?"

Bastila gave her the "dubious headmistress" look again, but said nothing, clearly wondering what the ex-smuggler was hiding this time around.

"Come on," sighed Tarrah. "It's time we got back to the Hawk. We've wasted enough time out here anyway, and it's not getting any colder. I think we've earned a vacation on Manaan."

In spite of herself, Bastila chuckled. "A chance for a swim would do us good, I admit."

"I'd be happy with a glass of water that didn't cost 250 credits a sip." There was a pause, and then Tarrah added, "You never struck me as the swimming type, Bastila."

"Just goes to show how wrong you can be, my friend. After all, Dantooine isn't just famous for the Jedi enclave and the surrounding farms, after all: there are some beautiful lakes out there that are perfect for swimming."

"Ah. Must have blinked and missed them what with all the days we spent traipsing through underground ruins and getting chewed on by kath hounds."

"Such is our duty as Jedi, Tarrah. We can't simply do as we please."

"You do know I used to be a smuggler before I was recruited, right?"

Bastila just sighed and gave her another one of her patented "disappointed teacher" looks.

"Query: does this mean we're going from the threat of sand-clogged mechanisms to the threat of rust? I am not exactly waterproof, master."

In spite of herself, Tarrah laughed. Crazy as the assassin droid was, you could always trust him to say something amusingly inappropriate in times of stress. "Shut up, 47," she chuckled.

"Statement: shutting up, master."


Unfortunately, the journey to Manaan wasn't as simple as it first appeared.

Once they'd gotten back to the Ebon Hawk, cleared out the latest snowdrift of Gizka corpses, and cleared the ship for takeoff, Carth staggered in from the cockpit, looking for all the world like he'd fallen asleep in the pilot's chair.

"Bad news," he said wearily. "We just got a warning bulletin from Republic system security: looks like there's major Sith activity on the route to Manaan. If we're lucky, it's just a freighter convoy picking up shipments of kolto with armed escorts flanking them."

"And if we're unlucky?"

"Then it's an entire battlefleet. Either way, we risk getting captured or blasted out of the sky if we go to Manaan now."

Tarrah groaned and very gently banged her head on the bulkhead behind her, instantly earning another disapproving look from Bastila and look of feline bemusement from Juhani.

"Fine," she said wearily. "The beaches will have to wait, I guess. Anyway, we've got a choice between going to Kashyyyk and going to Korriban while we wait for the route to clear. All those in favour of going on an unplanned journey to a desolated Sith-infested hole in the ground, please raise a hand."

There was a pause, and then 47 cheerily hoisted an arm skywards. Nobody joined him.

"Yep, that's what I thought. Now, all those in favour of going to Kashyyyk, please raise a hand."

As one, roughly three quarters of the crew held up their hands in support, with Zaalbar raising a shaggy arm only after a long pause and T3-M4 merely beeping in the affirmative.

"Kashyyyk it is, then. Carth, please get us airborne. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the hold: hopefully, Davik left something alcoholic in storage…"


Kashyyyk was predictably busy.

Between Czerka's trademarked bastardry, assassination attempts by Sith hitsquads, colonial exploitation, cutthroat politics among the Wookiees, ferocious local wildlife, yet another gang of Mandalorian raiders, and the Star Map's tiresome final exam, Tarrah was genuinely astonished to get through the whole mess with a full complement of limbs.

Indeed, after the third day of scurrying around the lightless bowels of the Shadowlands, she was almost starting to miss Tatooine (key word being almost). She'd never thought in her wildest dreams that she'd ever find herself somewhere gloomier and more dangerous than the Tarisian Undercity, but once again, it seemed like the Force was determined to prove her wrong.

"Why is it that we never get to go anywhere nice?" she'd grumbled one evening, as their newest friend busied himself with lighting yet another sputtering campfire. "I swear, ever since I joined up, I'm always being drawn to the nastiest places in the galaxy?"

Jolee Bindo had looked up from his tinderbox with a wry grin. "You don't like Kashyyyk, I take it? Well, it's an acquired taste, but don't let the Wookiees hear you saying that; they take insults to their forest very personally."

"You know what I mean, dammit! I like Kashyyyk just fine… or I would if Czerka hadn't gotten involved, but we're currently stuck dealing with the worst place on it – and that's the way it's always been! Even when we go somewhere with scenic beauty and creature comforts on standby, I get stuck picking through the seedy monster-infested underbelly, even on Dantooine of all kriffing places. I mean, I haven't seen daylight in almost seventy-two hours. How did you survive down here all these years without going completely mad from the darkness?"

"With gusto and panache," said Jolee.

"Oh, not this again..."

"When you get to be as old as me, kiddo, you've earned the right to be a little elusive. Besides, it's still too early for you to uncover all my secrets at once: you need to be patient, spread them out over multiple stories to preserve suspense, otherwise we'll have nothing to talk about!"

"As long as we can do most of the talking on the Ebon Hawk, I can live with that. The sooner I get off this planet, the better."

"My, my, someone's in a hurry," Jolee chuckled. "I hope we're not keeping you from any vital appointments."

And with that, he'd ended the conversation with a wink, leaving Tarrah's head silently spinning in bemusement for the rest of the evening.

But it was all worth it: on the morning of the fourth day, she, Zaalbar, Juhani, and Jolee had finally shambled out of the pre-dawn gloom, up the Great Walkway, and onto the now-silent Czerka docking platform, where the Ebon Hawk sat in readiness, the rest of the crew all aboard and waiting to finally take them as far from the Shadowlands as humanly possible.

By then, Czerka's colonial forces were either dead or running for their lives, and the victorious Wookiees were busy disposing of the bodies of those who'd made the mistake of standing their ground, so Tarrah opted to leave them to it.

Without so much as a backward glance, the four of them clambered aboard the ship, fired up the engines, and took off, leaving behind first the glimpse of the Shadowlands far below, then the Czerka platform, then even the gargantuan canopy of Wroshyr trees as the Ebon Hawk slipped out of Kashyyyk's atmosphere and back into the reassuring depths of space.

"Where to now?" Carth asked.

"Only one sane place left to go," Tarrah replied wearily, barely suppressing a yawn.

She'd been awake too long and sleeping rough on the root-studded ground of the Shadowlands had left her with only a few disrupted hours of rest anyway. She needed to catch up on at least five hours of sleep, preferably on a proper mattress, preferably her own humming, machinery-shrouded cabin – the only place she could rest comfortably anyway.

In all her travels, Tarrah slept in many places, from her shared cabin on the Endar Spire to a derelict apartment on Taris, from a luxurious guestroom at Davik Kang's mansion to an ascetic's cell on Dantooine. She'd even spent a chilly night on the Dune Sea with HK-47 standing guard. But in all that time, the only place she'd been guaranteed a blissful night's slumber was her bunk on the Ebon Hawk, lulled to sleep by the rumble of the engines and the buzz of monitor screens, a vision of the next piece of the Star Map waiting for her in her dreams.

"To Manaan," she continued, now openly yawning, as she stumbled away towards her waiting bed. "To Manaan…"

And the GenoHaradan. To Manaan and the GenoHaradan…


A/N: Up next - the first meeting with Hulas!