The shuttle's engines snarled like a turian drill sergeant chewing out a raw recruit, the hull rattling as we clawed our way out of Yavin 4's crumbling orbit. That red jungle haze smeared into the void's black jaws, a fading smear of chaos I'd rather forget. My hands clamped the controls—levers and flashing junk as alien as a Keeper's console, no rhyme or reason to the layout. I'd patched worse on Normandy with Joker's whining ringing in my ears, so this wasn't a death knell yet—just a damn close call. The viewport cleared, stars stabbing through the dust like cold, glinting blades, and I let out a breath I hadn't clocked I'd been holding. "Well," I muttered, slumping into the pilot's seat, the frame creaking from that last-second swerve around moon scraps. "Still alive. Call it a draw."
Revan loomed behind me, a shadow cut from the cockpit's faint, flickering glow, his violet saber clipped to his belt now that the shitstorm had dialed back to a dull roar. His scarred face was all sharp edges and quiet steel—like he'd faced down hell itself and walked off with a nod—but his eyes carried this flicker, a raw wonder that didn't mesh with the warrior vibe. Back on Yavin, he'd pointed into the dark and said, "They flee to a world of fire, bearing my mask." No name, no grid—just some mystic gut punch he'd pulled out of nowhere. How he sniffed that out after waking up in that jungle mess was beyond me. One second we're gutting synthetic freaks, the next he's got their escape route pinned like he's reading their damn mail. I wasn't sold, not fully, but with Yavin 4 a glowing wreck and that giant nightmare tearing through the system, I'd tag along with the glowstick guy 'til a better play showed its face.
I jabbed the console, squinting at the tangle of switches and a screen spitting static like a fried relay feed. "Alright, let's see what this rust bucket's got," I said, flipping a toggle that made the engines growl deeper, a throaty rasp that vibrated up my spine. Revan didn't twitch, just watched me like I might torch us both to ash. Decent odds, honestly. "You don't steer these things with that mind trick of yours, do you?" I tossed him a smirk, probing the edges of his stoic shell.
"The Force shapes will to need," he said, voice low and steady as a slab of granite, his gaze snagging on my omni-tool's orange flare with that same curious spark. Of course it did—guy probably flew starships with his mind in whatever ancient war he crawled out of, but that look?—he was eyeballing my tech like it was a relic from a dig site, intrigue cracking through his stone wall.
"Great, I'll stick to swearing at it 'til it moves." I slid my hands over the panel, muscle memory kicking in—years of jury-rigging Normandy's guts with EDI's snark and Tali's fixes paid off. A nav screen blinked up, coughing out a star map I couldn't parse for shit, all jagged lines and symbols that might as well be scribbles. My omni-tool hummed, syncing with a glow that broke it down, orange tendrils threading through the mess. "Engines are weak as a salarian's handshake," I said, scowling at the readout as it spat diagnostics in a language my tool half-guessed. "This thing's damn slow. Barely got us out of orbit, and that's pushing it." I scrolled the map, fingers twitching over the controls. "Those cloaked bastards must've hitched a ride off-world already—probably had a bigger ship waiting. Closest pit stop's Kaelis Outpost, two systems over. If we limp there, maybe grab something that doesn't choke on its own exhaust."
Revan nodded, his silence thick, like he was weighing my soul instead of my half-baked plan. "Mustafar lies far beyond this system," he said, his tone measured but firm. "We need a vessel to cross the stars swiftly; their trail won't linger." His eyes flicked again, a mix of respect and wonder. "Kaelis Outpost is our path."
"Yeah, about that," I said, punching coordinates into the panel with a little extra oomph. "You're damn locked on this fire world deal. What's the play—mind-reading, crystal ball?" Inside, I chewed it over: How's he so sure? One minute he's slicing synthetics, the next he's got their itinerary—mask, Mustafar—like he's tapped their comms. Either he's got instincts sharper than a vorcha's claws, or he's holding cards I can't see. Still, he's my only lead out of this mess, so I'll roll the dice 'til I've got a better hand.
"The Force reveals intent," he said, stepping closer, voice solid as bedrock. Their greed burns bright—a hunger for what was mine, a power they cannot wield." His tone carried a faint marvel, like my tech's edge was nudging at his mystic playbook.
"Uh-huh. Real poetic." I kept it light, but his certainty gnawed at me, a splinter under my skin. "Hope it's worth the trip, 'cause I'm not big on sightseeing in hellscapes." The shuttle jolted as I locked the course, engines groaning like they resented the effort. "Hang tight—this heap's not built for speed."
The next few hours were a slow bleed, the shuttle limping through the void like a wounded pyjak staggering home. Every creak and groan screamed how close we'd cut it—those engines sounded like they were choking on their own guts, and the hull shuddered with every stray bit of Yavin 8 debris pinging off it. I leaned over the console, coaxing the thrusters for any scrap of push, my omni-tool glowing as it ran scans. "Come on, don't choke on me now," I muttered, tweaking a dial as a red light blinked—fuel low, or maybe something worse. The map showed us inching along, sublight only, no relay snap or FTL hum to punch us forward. Whatever those cloaked pricks had jumped in, it wasn't this rust bucket—they'd left us in the dust.
I glanced out the viewport, Yavin 8's wreckage fading to a speck in the black, a ghost of that giant nightmare we'd outrun. Revan stayed quiet, staring into the void, his presence a steady weight—half sage, half fossil, all focus. Guy didn't fidget, didn't pace—just stood there like a statue, letting the silence pile up. Made me miss Garrus cracking wise over a busted scope or Wrex rumbling about gutting something. I tapped the panel again, and it spat a warning—something about thrust alignment, or maybe it was just pissed I was still asking. "Don't crap out now," I said, smacking it with a grunt. It steadied, grudgingly, and I shot Revan a look. "Will your Force patch busted thrusters?"
"Patience aids where haste fails," he said, face still as rock, though his eyes lingered on my omni-tool again, that quiet marvel flaring up like he couldn't get enough of it. Guy was a fortress—unshakable, unbending—made me wonder what kind of wars carved him that hard.
"Tell that to the hull when it splits," I said, smirking as I leaned back, the shuttle holding its shaky line for now. "Guess you've seen worse than this pile falling apart."
Guy didn't crack—pure steel. Still, he'd pulled his weight back there, and that glowstick wasn't just for show. I'd take the stoic over a chatty liability any day. I rummaged through the cockpit, boots scuffing the grimy floor, looking for anything useful. A locker in the corner caught my eye—dented, half-open, probably left by those cloaked bastards in their rush. I pried it wide, omni-tool flaring to light the dark, and found a stash: a handful of metal chits, stamped with some spiky script I couldn't read. "Hmm," I muttered, pocketing them. "Credits, maybe? Looks like our friends left us a tip." Revan glanced over, head tilting slightly, but he didn't ask—just watched. If these passed as cash at Kaelis, we'd eat; if not, I'd improvise.
The void stretched on, cold and endless, and I kept at the controls, nursing the shuttle through every stutter. A chunk of debris loomed sudden—a jagged shard of Yavin 8, spinning lazy in our path. "Shit," I hissed, yanking a lever. The shuttle lurched hard, engines screaming as we swerved, the hull scraping something with a screech that set my teeth on edge. The shard spun past, missing us by a hair, and I let out a low whistle. "Too close. This thing's got no reflexes." Revan didn't flinch—didn't even blink—just stood there, steady as ever. "You're a cool one," I said, half-grinning. "Guess that Force keeps you chill when the world's falling apart."
"It reveals what haste obscures," he said, voice low, that wonder still flickering as he watched my hands dance over the controls. Guy was ice—pure, uncracked ice—and I'd take that over panic any day.
Kaelis Outpost loomed after hours of babysitting the wreck—a grimy metal ring orbiting a gas giant, rust and neon flickering in the black like a back-alley beacon gone sour. The docking bay was a mess of jutting pylons and flickering lights, spacers shouting over clanging metal. I wrestled the shuttle in, aiming for a slot, but the damn thing fought me—controls sluggish, engines sputtering like a dying beast. "Come on, you stubborn—" I growled, yanking hard as we veered, scraping the hull on a pylon with a screech that'd wake a husk swarm. The shuttle jolted, clamps thudding into place, and I powered down, exhaling sharp. "Smooth as a varren's hide," I muttered, shaking my head. Revan trailed me out, silent as we hit the deck, air thick with the sour tang of fuel and sweat, the buzz of traders haggling in guttural tongues I couldn't pin swirling around us like a swarm of pissed-off batarians.
The joint was a dive—greasy cantinas leaking stale synth-beer fumes, holos flickering with ads for junk nobody'd buy, spacers eyeballing us like fresh creds on legs. My boots clanged on the grated floor, omni-tool humming as I swept the crowd, its orange glow cutting through the haze. "We need a ship—something with enough kick to haul us where we're going," I said, voice low, slicing through the din. Revan's eyes raked the docks, sharp and unblinking, like he could feel something threading through the black.
"An echo stirs here," he said, voice quiet, brow creasing like he'd caught a whiff of something rotten. "Something dark, faint—I can't name it."
I raised a brow, flicking my tool on reflex, its glow carving shadows across the grimy walls. "Let's see if this picks up what your spooky sense misses." I swept it—static, garbage signals, too much clutter to pin down. A dock thug lumbered over—big, scaly, with a face like a smashed crate—growling something I didn't catch, one claw jabbing at my chest. "Back off, ugly," I said, stepping in, omni-tool flaring a warning pulse. He snarled, but a glare from Revan—cold, unblinking—sent him slinking back into the crowd. "Nice backup," I muttered, smirking his way. He didn't nod, just kept scanning, like the station's pulse was talking to him.
We pushed through the chaos, the deck a snarl of crates and flickering signs, until a faint ping hummed from my tool—a cantina ahead, green neon blinking over a door reeking of desperation and stale brew. "Worth a look," I said, nodding that way. "Could use a drink that's not sludge—and maybe a tip on a ride."
Revan didn't argue, just followed, robes brushing the filthy floor as we stepped in. The cantina was rough—tables gouged with scorch marks from some kind of weapon, air heavy with smoke and a sour tang that stung my nose, alien growls dueling a jukebox's static whine. A few heads turned—grubby spacers with greasy hair, a bug-eyed creep twitching in the corner, a lizard-faced thug glaring like we'd pissed in his drink—but most stayed hunched over their cups, drowning something dark. I slid into a corner booth, its cushions torn and leaking foam, and waved at a droid waiter creaking by on rusty treads. "Two of whatever won't kill us," I said, tossing a smirk as it beeped and rolled off, gears grinding like it resented the order.
Revan sat across, a steady anchor in the chaos, eyes peeling the room like he could see through its grimy layers. "That blade of yours," I said, nodding at his saber, "how's it cut like that? Saw it slice those hybrids clean—never seen anything burn so sharp." Figured I'd poke at it—guy's been swinging it like a pro, and after that jungle mess, I've got questions itching.
He glanced at it, voice low and measured, like he was weighing every word. "Kyber binds it—living crystal, tuned to will. It channels the Force, sharpens intent into form." His eyes flicked to my omni-tool, that awe sparking again, bright and unguarded. "Your tool—it bends steel with light?"
"Something like that," I said, leaning back as the droid dropped two mugs of brown swill, sloshing a little over the edge. "Hard-light edge, eezo core—cuts, hacks, fixes damn near anything. Saved my ass more times than I can count." I sipped—bitter as a salarian's grudge, with a kick like a yahg's roar that burned all the way down. "This could strip a hull bare," I said, grinning through the sting. "Your wars got brews this nasty?"
His lips twitched—barely, but I'd take it. "Cantinas, yes," he said, voices softening, like he was dusting off a memory. "On Dxun, after battles—soldiers, Jedi, those who followed me. Mud and ash thickened the air, not this... draught. Warriors gathered, faithful or broken, nursing what remained. Yet the weight lingered—choices that broke us, lives lost." His eyes darkened, staring into the untouched mug, like it held shadows I couldn't see.
I nodded, smirk fading. "Yeah, I know that weight. Reaper War—every day a call like that. Lose a squad to save a city, trade a planet for a fleet. Watched good people fall 'cause I picked the bigger fight." I took another swig, the burn steadying me. "Synthesis was supposed to fix it—merge us with machines, end the cycle. Guess I screwed that up too."
Revan's gaze met mine, sharp and knowing, not just curious. "The Mandalorian Wars," he said, voice steady but heavy. "I led thousands to die, to stop a worse ruin. Jedi called it betrayal; I called it need. The cost lingers—a galaxy spared, a soul split." He paused, then added, quieter, "Your Synthesis... a choice I might've made."
"Damn," I said, a low whistle escaping, the weight sinking in. "Guess we're both fools for the tough calls." I raised my mug, a half-grin tugging my lips. "To screwing up for the right reasons."
He didn't lift his, but that twitch returned—a ghost of a smile. "To purpose," he said, voice low, and I'd bet it was the closest he'd get to a toast. The air eased, a thread forming—two soldiers who'd bled for their worlds, broken them to save them. "You've got a hell of a grip on that blade. Takes more than a crystal to move like that."
"Years honed it," he said, voice steady but distant, "through wars that sundered worlds. The Force flows where skill directs." He paused, eyes tracing my arm. "Your power—does it rise from within, or from that... device?"
"Biotics," I said, flexing a hand, a faint blue shimmer flickering under my skin. "Born with it, juiced up by an implant in my skull. Lets me push, pull, smash—whatever gets the job done." I grinned, tapping the omni-tool. "This little beauty's a different beast—hacks, cuts, keeps me sharp. You ever throw stuff around with that Force trick?"
"Often," he said, a faint edge creeping in—memory, maybe pride. "Armies shifted, steel bent. It answers will, not flesh alone." His gaze held mine, sharp and searching, like he was piecing me into his world.
"Quite the image," I said, a low whistle slipping out. "We'd have cleaned house together back home." The air eased, a thread stitching up—two fighters swapping scars, not secrets.
A rough voice broke through the hum—a spacer at the bar, half-drunk, yelling over the din like he owned the place. "Those First Order bastards ran this sector like a damn prison camp back in the day—all stormtroopers stompin' around, shiny TIEs overhead, choking us with their rules. Thought they'd own the stars 'til they crashed seven years back. Left a scout ship in Bay 17—sittin' there, rustin', if you're dumb enough to dodge the guards." He laughed, a wet, hacking sound, spilling his drink as the crowd muttered—some nodding, some sneering.
I lowered my mug, glancing at Revan. "First Order, huh? That ping your shadow vibes?" His eyes narrowed, a faint crease forming, like he was sifting through the air again.
"A whisper in the noise," he said, voice low, "but it pulls us forward." I smirked—vague as hell, but enough to chase. I fished out a few of those metal chits from the shuttle stash, figuring they'd pass here, and tossed them on the table. The droid beeped, scooping them up, and we slipped out, the cantina's buzz fading as we hit the station's guts.
The third tier was a maze of rusted hangars and dim lights, corridors coiling tight, the air sour with sulfur and grit. Revan took the lead, steps sure and deliberate, like he was tracking something I couldn't feel through the station's pulse. "It's stronger here," he muttered, hand brushing a wall like it breathed under his touch, rust flaking off in his wake. I kept my omni-tool up, its glow slicing the dark, but it stayed quiet—too much junk clogging the signal, static drowning any clear read.
We pushed through the maze, checking bay after bay—locked shells with dented doors, empty husks stripped to bones, nothing worth spit. A wiry spacer with a scarred face blocked one, growling something about "dock fees" in a guttural snarl, his hand twitching toward a weapon at his hip. "Move," I said, voice flat, enough to make him rethink. He spat, stepping aside, but his eyes tracked us like a predator sizing prey. Revan's jaw tightened, that dark hum chewing at him, and I was about to call it quits when my tool flared—twelve bays down, a sharp blip cutting through the noise like a knife. "Got something," I said, voice low, picking up pace as my pulse kicked up a notch.
Bay 17's door loomed ahead—rusted, bolted tight, a slab of metal that looked like it hadn't budged in years. My tool buzzed, orange tendrils clawing at the lock, but it fought back—circuits older than dirt, spitting resistance like a pissed-off geth. "Come on, you stubborn bastard," I muttered, sweat beading on my brow as I tweaked the signal, the tool humming louder as it wrestled the system. It clicked after a tense beat, the door hissing open slow, spilling dim light on a rusted military ship—black hull patched with decay, angular wings dulled but screaming old battles, like something out of a war long dead.
"Well, damn," I muttered, circling it, boots crunching on grit and scattered bolts. "Looks like it's been sitting since those First Order clowns bailed—beat to hell but still mean." My tool hummed, snagging a faint power trace—still kicking, barely, like a heart on its last thump. Revan stepped up, hand hovering over the hull, eyes narrowing as he leaned in close.
"Darkness clings to this steel," he said, voice low and heavy, "an old will, faint but real." I raised a brow, but the chill in his tone stuck—like he was feeling ghosts I couldn't see. This wasn't just scrap—it had a story, and it wasn't a happy one.
"Let's pry this relic open," I said, syncing my tool to the hatch. Orange light dug in, but it stuttered—controls bucking hard, nothing like the Prothean tech I'd cracked before. "Son of a—" I hissed, grinding my teeth as the signal flickered, the system's alien guts fighting every move. I adjusted, forcing the tool to adapt, its hum rising to a whine as it clawed through layer after layer of junk code. "Come on, give it up," I growled, sweat trickling as it finally clicked—the ramp dropped with a heavy thud, kicking up a cloud of dust and stale, metallic air that hit me like a punch. Inside was cramped—black panels scratched and faded, a cockpit flickering like it was half-dead on a slab. My tool flared, jacking in, but the systems bucked again—a snarl of wires and code that didn't want to play nice. I cursed under my breath, hands flying as I forced it to mesh—slow, messy, until it started to hum, grudgingly bending to me. "Not smooth, but it'll move," I said, wiping my brow, chest heaving from the effort.
I dropped into the pilot's seat, hands on controls—levers and switches like a damn museum piece, no labels, just guesswork and grit. "Alright, clunker—any chance you'll cooperate without a motivational speech?" I muttered, a bitter nod to EDI's absence but no silky voice here, just dead air and a dash that screamed junkyard reject. Revan stood beside me, watching, his shadow steady in the flickering light.
"Does your vessel require flattery to function?" he said, voice dry as a turian's attempt at humor, a rare poke that caught me off guard.
"Only if I beg," I shot back, smirking as I flipped switches—vents hissed, a light blinked green, and a shrill whine screeched from somewhere deep. "Where's the damn lift-off? I've seen rachni wrecks with more life!" The cockpit shuddered, a groan rolling through as I fumbled a lever, and I cursed, "What the hell—built by a blind batarian?"
Revan watched, that ghost of a grin holding, but I kept at it, refusing to let it win. My omni-tool flared—I tapped it, threading the navi computer slow, orange light turning gibberish into something I could read, bit by stubborn bit. "Alright, let's make sense of this heap," I muttered, locking coordinates as the panel chirped, finally bending to my will. "There." I said, smirking as the systems settled, a faint hum signaling life.
We undocked, the bay doors grinding open with a screech of rusted metal, and I nursed the ship out, scraping the hull on a strut as we cleared the slot. "Smooth exit," I muttered, powering up as the station shrank behind us, its neon glow fading into the black. The dash flickered, a new term popping up—hyperdrive. I scowled, tapping my tool as it pulled data. "What's this 'hyperdrive' crap? No relays, no FTL." Revan leaned in, pointing to a red lever on the dash, calm as ever, like he'd done this a thousand times. "Set it free," he said.
"Set it free? Real helpful," I quipped, brow up, but I yanked the lever hard, fingers tight. The engines roared to life, a jolt slamming me back into the seat as stars smeared into streaks outside. My gut lurched, the viewport blurring with a speed I couldn't peg—no relay snap, no smooth FTL hum, just raw, bone-rattling punch. "Holy shit, that's a ride!" I laughed, the rush hitting like ryncol, adrenaline spiking as my teeth clacked. "Alright, I'll give it—rough as hell, but it's got guts!"
Revan stood steady, voice cutting through the rumble like a blade. "Effective, if crude." A hint of amusement lingered, and I grinned as the black swallowed us.
The black stretched out ahead, stars streaking past like tracer rounds as we burned toward that fiery world—two strangers in a scavenged rig, chasing a thread through the dark on nothing but grit and a hunch. My omni-tool pinged, snagging a faint log buried in the systems—garbled static, words cutting through like "power failing" and "fiery shadow." I glanced at Revan, his scarred face steady in the cockpit's weak glow, unreadable as ever. "Catch that?" I said, voice low, leaning forward. "Sounds like this thing's got a story—and it's not a happy one." Whatever waited for us out there, we were diving in half-blind, strapped to a relic that might just hold together long enough to get us to Mustafar.