Getting out of Mos Ila proved far easier than escaping the arena. As it turned out, Grada had scouted the city's known exits in advance and discovered an inconspicuous trail—one the mercenaries hadn't blocked off, likely because they simply hadn't found it—and it was along this path that we emerged onto the boundless expanses of Tatooine.
Night had already fully asserted its dominion over the planet, so I gave thanks to the Force, to the God-Emperor, and to anything else I could think of, for the fact that the local landscape consisted of only two types of obstacles: climbing up a dune, and sliding down the other side. I couldn't say whether nature had crafted it this way, or sentient beings, or if my memory of the game was simply failing me, but there were no memorable rock formations to be seen anywhere around. After five minutes, nothing but an unbroken sea of dunes was visible in any direction, while somewhere in the distant sky, a fiery streak flashed past, heading back toward the city.
Apparently, the mercenaries had decided to play it safe and had more than one ship at their disposal—but to hell with them. I didn't think they would bother searching for me out in the desert; they were far more likely to simply cordon off every nearby settlement. And as for me? If everything went according to plan, I wouldn't need to provoke them any further. At this moment, my goal was to find a Jawa caravan; Grada, having settled himself behind the controls, was currently speeding toward the approximate location of their mobile crawler-fortress—though for the life of me, I couldn't recall what that monstrosity was actually called.
And since I suddenly found myself with a spare moment for reflection, an interesting question arose: namely, what exactly was I supposed to do with this kid now? He was, technically speaking, a runaway slave with no business being on Tatooine; yet abandoning him in the desert—as any other Sith would have done without a second thought—was something I simply could not bring myself to do. And that, right there, was the sticking point. As I've said before, personal power is important, but I favor the strength of the rational—specifically as a collective—since that will ultimately yield far greater results. Consequently, I have no intention of subscribing to the cannibalistic ideology of the Sith. I'm not entirely sure what the Jedi's stance is on the matter—something along the lines of "non-interference in the affairs of ordinary mortals," I suppose. Well, if that's the case, then our paths do not align either.
Suddenly, a sharp "prick" registered in my consciousness, and Kem gave a low, satisfied growl:
"I sense a Force-sensitive nearby. Care to stretch your legs a bit?" —
*Yeah, well... speak of the devil.*
*Sigh.* Just moments ago, I was grappling with the question of "what to do with a stray slave child from Tatooine," and now, quite suddenly, that problem has solved itself. It vanished right alongside the flickering light of a distress beacon lying next to a battered escape pod—one that, unlike mine, looked utterly wrecked. To be precise, the beacon was clutched in the hand of the unconscious figure lying beside it: an old acquaintance of mine—a Jedi who had foolishly gotten himself embroiled in a skirmish with Ventress. He was alive, certainly, but appeared to be teetering on the brink.
That accursed witch had actually managed to turn it into her advantage, even with an unexpected variable thrown into her plans. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if she had let him go on purpose; after all, if Jabba were to find him—and discover that the Jedi had swiped a portion of his collection, or even merely *suspect* as much—he would be quite likely to reconsider the terms of his "cooperation" with the Republic. She's a cunning bitch!
Ideally, of course, she should have killed him just to ensure he wouldn't blab any inconvenient details; but apparently, he had managed to reach the escape pods before she did. And those pods, naturally, were set to autopilot for the vicinity of Mos Ila. And that, in a nutshell, is how we ended up in our current predicament. Alas, there was absolutely nothing in the way of provisions to be salvaged here—the entire structure had burned down to its bare frame, and I had absolutely no idea how the guy had managed to survive such a "soft" landing.
I had to haul him aboard—a struggle that made the speeder groan under the strain, its engine whining loud enough to be heard across the entire district. Well, naturally; it was designed to carry a maximum of three people—and that was some two thousand years ago, back when a sidecar (now long removed) was still attached. Yet here we were, crammed in with nearly four adults. Even though Gran was light, Kem weighed enough for two, resulting in a rather unpleasant overload. The seating arrangements were incredibly uncomfortable, too, but you'll do just about anything to save your own skin.
As for the Jedi... well, I simply couldn't bring myself to leave him stranded in the middle of the desert to die. I get it—the Jedi and the Sith have a long, bloody history—but personally? Right now, I couldn't care less! Even back in my previous life, I made a habit of acting in a way that wouldn't leave me tormented by a guilty conscience later on, and I certainly don't intend to abandon that tradition here. And if I could actually strike up a conversation with him? That would be a dream come true; after all, I've always had a knack for talking people around.
It would be a different story if he were conscious—and, to top it off, decided to attack me—but for the moment, his unconscious body wasn't showing any signs of aggression whatsoever. Besides, he had risked his life for my sake once already; he'd tried to "save" me from Ventress back then—even if he didn't know my true identity—and that counts for a great deal.
Just then, a disgruntled growl rumbled from Kem behind me, and I felt something... strange. And instantly, I realized exactly what it was. Right—the game had mentioned this, too: some sort of bond existed between us, a "master-servant" dynamic of sorts. I hadn't paid it much mind back then, but now... now I could actually feel it. Well, in any case, it was clearly still in its "nascent" stages; otherwise, he wouldn't have attacked me back at the arena. I had to explain everything to him in a way he could understand and accept:
"I owe this Jedi; he sort of protected me right after I was thawed out. I'm sure he didn't know who I really was, but that doesn't actually matter—so just try not to accidentally eat him."
At that last warning, the big guy gave a short chuckle, apparently taking it as a joke, and shot back a quip of his own:
"Has the little Sith started following a Code of Honor? The world really has turned upside down."
I was just about to retort in kind when Grana intervened:
"What are you two talking about? I don't understand a single word—what language is that?"
So we had to cut the chatter so as not to distract the kid. He was, after all, the one in the driver's seat. Not that I trusted him all that much, but he was the only one of us capable of seeing in the infrared spectrum; so, there was hope he wouldn't slam into some rock that had suddenly materialized in the middle of the desert—or tumble into a random canyon—amidst the prevailing darkness. Besides, he was the one somehow using the speeder's onboard system to determine which direction we needed to head. From the looks of it, he was aided in this task by a network of special "antennae" scattered across the planet, designed to help travelers avoid getting lost in the sands. Well, at least that's how I understood it.
Alas, the nearest Jawa sandcrawler turned out to be located in a completely different direction from Mos Ila, so we ended up spending the entire night on the road without ever reaching our destination. In the morning, as we were passing a weathered rock formation, we decided to make a brief stop at a conveniently situated small cave—which, as it turned out, served as a waypoint for some smugglers. And although there had never been anything worth pilfering here in the first place, the floor and walls—clad in iron mesh and furnished with dilapidated furniture—created the illusion of being amidst some semblance of civilization, rather than stranded in a sea of sand at the back of beyond. I even began to regret having blown up that shuttle, but I quickly checked myself. That is far too ancient a truth; I even recalled a quote from somewhere: "Complex problems always have simple, easy-to-understand—and wrong—solutions." That describes my situation perfectly. When dealing with a Sith—especially if you happen to be a Sith yourself—you must always suspect there are a couple of extra false bottoms in that barrel of sh... of honey that your adversary has "gifted" you.
Speaking of Sith, by the way... I suddenly found myself wondering: what became of my esteemed ancestor, who keeps making such ill-timed appearances in the game as a Force Ghost? Could he have truly departed to merge with the Force itself? Nah—nonsense. I'm no expert, of course—and I haven't progressed past Tatooine in the storyline yet—but I am one hundred percent certain that this ancient mass of energy's ultimate goal is to seize control of my body. Seriously, why else would a long-dead Sith—and no ordinary Sith, at that—bother helping his distant descendant? Besides, that story is as old as the galaxy itself—and just as played out.
Lost in such heavy thoughts, I completely missed the moment when our dear "guest" finally regained consciousness. We had just settled into some ancient armchairs—which, for some unknown reason, the Sand People hadn't yet hauled away—when the Jedi, who was sprawled across an entire small sofa, suddenly jerked upright. He instinctively reached for the sword at his side, but to his dismay, found nothing there; all his weapons had long since been "confiscated" by Kem, who was now observing the newly revived man with keen interest.
The Jedi looked around in a daze for a few seconds until his gaze landed on me; at last, a flicker of recognition crossed his eyes. However—judging by the sudden tension in his facial muscles—he immediately grew wary and asked:
"Was it you I saw on the *Witch's* ship back then?"
I gave a simple nod in reply, prompting him to start grilling me:
"Where am I? How did you end up here, and who exactly are you?"
Well, for starters, we really ought to introduce ourselves properly:
"My name is Taales; this is Grana, and that's Kem. Don't be alarmed—he... uh... doesn't bite. When he's fed."
I tried to lighten the mood with a joke:
"Now, it would be nice if you introduced yourself, too."
But the Jedi—who, upon closer inspection, turned out to be little more than a youth, perhaps sixteen years old—loudly swallowed the lump in his throat while staring wide-eyed at Kem. In response, Kem bared his teeth in a snarl, causing the kid to hastily avert his gaze as he asked:
"And... is he fed *right now*?"
At this, the giant and I exchanged a glance; even he let out something resembling a chuckle, while I was already grinning broadly. I stepped closer—without any ill intent, which he surely sensed—and extended my hand for a handshake. After he somewhat hesitantly returned the gesture, I listened to his next, tentative words:
"My name is Kaleri... but wait... I sense something from the two of you... Are you a Sith!?"
He cast a pointed look at Kem, but the latter left the negotiations entirely up to me—while Grana, for his part, seemed to have fallen asleep altogether—so I had to take matters into my own hands:
"Yes... I was, once."
At these words, he immediately sprang to his feet; yet, seeing that we made no aggressive moves—though he remained poised in a combat-ready stance—he pressed further:
"Was? What do you mean?" He eyed me suspiciously, while I—with that same half-smile that hadn't left my face for the last ten minutes—added:
"It seems a great many years have passed since I was frozen in stasis, but once upon a time, I was a Sith in the service of the Sith Empire. Don't be so jumpy; surely it's obvious that if I wanted to kill you, I would have done so long ago. You may leave whenever you wish—I'm not holding you here—but now, do me the courtesy of listening to my tragic tale!"
Naturally, I had a plan for this conversation; I hadn't "revealed myself" without good reason. Not only is he still far too young to hold the rank of Jedi Knight —a promotion he surely received only because his Master perished in the war—but he also clearly possesses the capacity for logical reasoning. He is no religious zealot who would blindly lash out at anything bearing the "Dark Side"—a fact his reaction just moments ago amply confirmed. This means he is quite susceptible to having the wool pulled over his eyes, provided one skillfully blends truth with falsehood. It is not that I wish to sway him toward the "Dark Side"—or anything of the sort; quite the contrary, in fact, as that would be detrimental to my plans—but I absolutely needed to earn his trust.
Alas, were I to strike out alone right now, an unenviable fate would surely await me: that of mere prey, hunted by anyone and everyone with nothing better to do. And that is a scenario I simply cannot accept. I have read enough stories of this ilk to know the drill: while a hero certainly grows stronger through adversity, such strength can be attained through far less... *radical* means.
Undoubtedly, had I arrived a couple of decades earlier, I would have had ample time to build an organization of considerable size. But now, that opportunity has been irretrievably lost, and I am forced to improvise. Yes, during the flight, I managed to pump Grana for information regarding key events and pinpoint the current timeframe.
Right now—damn it all—the Clone Wars are in full swing!
Therefore, my immediate objective is to gather more intelligence on the very things the Jedi fear most—the things they shun like the plague. Force artifacts, or perhaps even Sith holocrons. Pursuing this through a Jedi is a sound strategy—given the sheer scope of their archives—and certainly a far better option than going cap in hand to Palpatine. *Any* option is preferable to approaching that ancient arch-lich. I still remember all too clearly how he "sold out" Dooku. Besides, he wouldn't let anyone near the juiciest secrets—and really, what else would you expect? A Sith is a Sith, even on Coruscant.
So, cutting short my musings, I returned to the conversation. It was time to spin a bit of a yarn for someone's curious ears—carefully "seasoning" it with just the right amount of truth:
"Look at me! Do I really look like the kind of Sith you've seen before? The Empire has fallen; everyone I ever knew is long dead. Besides, I was just a common slave, trained at that accursed academy on Korriban. You think I enjoyed that? Constant competition, duels to the death against idiot classmates, and a nine-out-of-ten chance of ending up dead myself. Let me tell you something: it was no damn vacation. And they forged far deadlier machines of war out of people far less formidable than me. And yet—even then—I always tried to change the Empire for the better. Sure, it was crawling with unhinged war criminals, but I put every single one I crossed paths with in their place. And now, you know what? I see the exact same thing happening in the Republic. It's sick. And this war is the proof—it's being led by someone who isn't even truly a Sith, but rather a fallen Jedi. The corruption and greed of the sentient beings inhabiting this Republic are plain to see, even to a man like me—someone who only just woke up from a thousand-year slumber..."
It didn't look like Kaleri was about to swallow my words whole as the absolute, unvarnished truth, but at least he listened and didn't interrupt. That meant he already understood the situation well enough—though I wasn't finished yet:
"Listen, I'm not planning on running away from you. In fact—if you want—I'll hand your lightsaber back to you right here, right now." "Just promise me you won't try to kill me; after all, I haven't done anything to harm you"—
at which he nodded nervously, accepting his weapon back from Kem, who parted with the "trophy" with obvious reluctance, while I continued:
"You see, I'm a Sith. Scary and terrible—right? Hey, that look of doubt on your face was completely unnecessary just now. Alright, jokes aside. Honestly, I've got absolutely nowhere to go. The local CIS forces are just a bunch of idiots who are going to lose sooner or later anyway, which means I need to join the winning side. Especially since I'm excellent at curing the symptoms the Republic is currently suffering from..."
I began, taking the long way around, but Kaleri cut me off, rolling his eyes:
"In short, you want..."
—but this time, I finished the thought for him:
"Exactly. You can't just let a 'scary and terrible' guy like me run loose, and I don't want to lose my connection to the Force. So why not 'keep me close at hand,' so to speak? So that I'm always right under your nose. And in return, I'll do my best to help you however I can. The only condition is: don't tell the Council about me, because that would only lead to a senseless bloodbath. Believe me, I have the power to escape even the most inescapable trap," I said, finally getting to the point.
"..." Kaleri fell silent for a long moment in response, watching me through narrowed dark eyes as I pulled the remainder of my rations out of my pack and distributed them among the members of our "team." Of course, my original plan was to dump Grana on the Jedi and make a quick exit; but in light of the new circumstances, trying to convince him to take *me* on seemed like the most logical course of action. I was so certain he wouldn't attack me that I would have been willing to stake my lightsaber on it. He is mine—body and soul. And even if it seems right now that I haven't really achieved much, the foundation has been laid. Sooner or later, he will reveal to me everything the Jedi know and everything contained within their library—likely without even realizing it himself.
To that end, he must rise through the ranks; after all, an ordinary Jedi Knight has access to far fewer secrets within the Order than a Master does. Caleri, meanwhile, finally reached a decision, asking me with a look of suspicion:
"You're going to try to lure me to the Dark Side by staying close and constantly peppering me with those snide remarks of yours about how 'wrong' my 'path' is—is that it? That was a rhetorical question; you don't have to answer. However, you're mistaken if you think I'm going to fall for it... Though, there is a grain of truth in what you say. Strictly speaking, I ought to turn you in to the Council, but I sense no malice in your heart—none of that malice that practically radiates from your... friend. I'll give you a chance—at least until we reach Coruscant; then I'll make my final decision,"
he declared stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest. In response, I simply offered him a genuine smile and clarified my position:
"The Sith find power in negative emotions. Until now, you have encountered only those who draw it from anger, sadism, and base vices—yet that represents only one facet. Those like me draw power from a different spectrum of emotions. I spoke with absolute sincerity; and although, for the moment, I have been able to 'access' the Force only through anger, that does not mean I haven't been exploring other avenues. After all, it wasn't for nothing that a renowned preacher from my home world spoke so incessantly about love—and not merely love between two individuals, but in a far broader sense. Though, that is something I have yet to fully comprehend. And besides..."
I continued, giving him no chance to interject:
"I understand: love leads to fear—the fear of loss—and that is the path to the Dark Side, and all the rest of it. But is it truly as terrifying as all that? Does the 'Dark Side' really make your decisions for you? Does it compel your muscles to move, overriding the impulses from your brain? Or does it fundamentally alter the way your mind functions?"
I paused for a moment, then, smiling once more and shaking my head, I went on:
"No. All those who commit atrocities after turning to the Dark Side carried that capacity within themselves from the very start; they have merely given free rein to impulses they previously kept in check. They came to associate the *control* of their animalistic instincts with the Light Side; consequently, upon renouncing the Light during their 'fall,' they began to act in ways they associated with the *absence* of control. I believe they are simply victims of their own psychology. Dangerous victims, to be sure—dangerous to everyone around them. But I will not become one of them."
Having delivered my final words, I, too, crossed my arms over my chest; and Caleri found himself with no retort. He clearly wanted to cite some passage from the Code, but as he mulled over my words, he couldn't find a single logical inconsistency to latch onto; and so, scowling, he simply sat there contemplating, having slipped into a state akin to meditation. Well, naturally—in *his* worldview, things operate a bit differently. So now he had to figure out how to reconcile everything I'd said with that worldview—or simply reject it outright, dismissing it as just "another Sith trick." Yet, from what I could gather, this kid possessed an inquisitive mind; he wouldn't simply let the matter rest without thoroughly analyzing everything I'd told him. If only I'd run into a Light Side fanatic instead... Though, come to think of it, a fanatic probably would have either perished himself—or taken Ventress down with him—back during that earlier skirmish.
Well, sitting back to meditate actually wasn't such a bad idea after all. So I leaned back against the creaking seat, and within just a couple of minutes, I was out cold—completely dead to the world—utterly exhausted by that recent speeder ride across the desert under the cover of night.