Revan Returns (Ch 28) (Patreon)

Bastila and Mission look around the restaurant. It’s a nice restaurant in an upscale part of the upper levels. How did they get the credits to pay for eating someplace so nice? Well, they went to an antique collector and showed them some of the credits from their time period.

Suffice to say that they didn’t have to worry about money after that.

Anyways, they found themselves in this restaurant a week after they got news that Revan had liberated Naboo. They were celebrating the fact that they would be seeing him again by eating at a nice restaurant. Normally, this would be an insignificant detail to them, considering they’ve eaten at the same nice restaurant everyday for dinner since they arrived. But there’s something unusual about it tonight.

As Bastila takes a delicate bite out of her salad, she muses on what’s different tonight. Could it be a change in the lighting? Perhaps a new waitress? The fact that the last three times they came, all the other guests finished their food quickly and left? Maybe it’s that the food isn’t as good as it’s been the previous times she’s come. But no. It’s none of those. Instead…

“You didn’t really think you could act as you have been without consequences, did you?” The fat weequay standing next to their table asks. Behind him a dozen people of various species point their guns at the two sitting women.

Bastila dabs at her lips with a napkin while Mission lifts another thinly sliced piece of steak to her lips and devours it in a single bite, making satisfied chewing noises.

Bastila eyes the weequay and his thugs with obvious disdain. “I’m afraid that you’ll have to be a bit more specific. What exactly have we done that has warranted you ruining our dinner with your presence?” She takes another bite of salad.

The weequay chuckles. “Do you really have to ask? Just last night you disrupted my employer’s business down on level 1317. You cost them quite a bit of credits.”

Bastila pauses, another forkful of salad held in front of her mouth. “1317? I don’t recall going down to that level.”

The weequay grinds his teeth at her disrespect, but then Mission speaks up. “We started on 1318, but then they blew up the building, remember? It destabilized the area and dropped a good mile of the surrounding area. Guess it landed on these guys’ illegal stuff.” She shrugs and takes another bite.

He scowls at the women's nonchalant attitudes. “Do you not know how much you have cost my employer? Well over one hundred-thousand credits!”

Mission snorts. “Must not be a wealthy guy then. We’ve spent more than that since we’ve been here.”

The weequay sneers. “Then I’m sure you would be able to pay my employer for the damages. If not, I’m sure they would allow you to come to…other arrangements.” His eyes roam across the girls’ bodies.

Bastila sighs while Mission rolls her eyes. They continue eating, Bastila at a steady pace that quickly empties her bowl, and Mission in a rush, like she’s remembered that she needs to be somewhere.

Having finished, Bastila dabs her lips then speaks, ignoring Mission’s burp of satisfaction. “I suppose it would be prudent to inform you of what exactly we’ve been spending so many credits on.”

He snorts. “I don’t care what a couple of female bounty hunters have been spending their money on. Are we-” His threats are interrupted by the sound of the restaurant’s front door slamming open. He whirls around in a rage.

“Who the hell-'' He chokes back his rage upon seeing the insignias on the coats of the dozen devaronians holding vibroswords. “The Drark clan? What are you doing here!?”

Gihr Drark, the leader of the recently much reduced Drark clan, points his sword at the two women, who have stood up.

“Back off Hark. Those women are ours to slay! They slaughtered my people, destroyed our lab, then dropped the entire complex down to the next level!”

Hark looks between the clan and the two women. Mission grins. “The reason we’ve been spending so many credits is because we feel bad about not paying for the property damage. We like eating here after all. Catch!”

She tosses a small round object at him, and he instinctively catches it. Looking at it, he sees a brown sphere. And it’s blinking. “Shit.”

Bastila uses the Force to push him back into his thugs while Mission flips the table. They both hide behind it as the frag grenade explodes, filling the room with smoke.

The Drark clan cough, waving their hands around them to try and clear the air while a few of them stumble back towards the door. But they all pause when they hear a certain sound.

As successful criminals of the underworld, they have acute knowledge of who’s out of their league. The hutts are out of their league. They also can’t oppose the Black Suns. But every criminal in the underworld lives in fear of the day that they see people from a certain organization. One well known for their signature weapon, which has its signature sound.

Gihr Drark only has time to say one thing before he sees a flash of yellow light. “Shit.”

After decapitating the leader of the second gang, Bastila quickly moves among the other devaronians. She rotates, spinning her dual-sided lightsaber around herself as she does, slicing four of them in half in an instant.

Two more manage to catch sight of her among them and swing their swords, hoping to take her down. Bastila doesn’t even glance at them as she thrusts into the chest of another. They grin, thinking they have her, before they hear the sound of a blaster firing. Two shots, and two bodies hit the floor.

The last four, hearing their allies die around them, try to make a break for the door. But in their panic they’ve lost track of it. Instead, they run towards Mission. She draws her trusty vibroblade and cuts them down as they approach, unable to see the dark blade before they fall to it.

With a burst of the Force, Bastila throws the front doors open and pushes the smoke out. With the room clear, the devastation is obvious. Devaronians litter the area around the doors, sporting scorch marks where they were killed by a lightsaber. Their boss’ head lies next to his body, an expression of profound regret forever etched into his face.

A few feet away from their table, four bodies stain the marble flooring with their blood, Mission cleaning her blade on their clothes.

Nearby,  a scorch mark mars the floor, blood and body parts scattered around it. Mission looks around, and noticing a thug across the room, approaches. She’s quickly followed by Bastila.

They look down at the rodian, most of his bones broken from the shockwave of the grenade and the impact from hitting the wall. The only reason he was still alive is because the bodies of his allies cushioned the explosion. But he’ll die from his injuries soon enough.

Before he does though, Bastila crouches over him. She waves her hand, influencing his mind with the Force. “Who do you serve?”

His mind already clouded with pain, he’s unable to resist the technique. “M-mas. Am..ed…da.” He falls limp, his body finally shutting down.

The two women exchange glances as they listen to sirens approach the building. “Think we should go after him? Make sure he won’t try this again?”

Bastila thinks for a moment. “No. I don’t believe we should. Revan will be here soon, so we will inform him of it. If he wishes, we can take care of him. But I doubt that he will want to waste time on a single crime lord when we must work on establishing a new Academy.”

Mission shrugs before looking at the damaged restaurant. “Whatever. Hey, do you think they’ll have this place fixed up by tomorrow? We haven’t all had dinner together since before you got kidnapped by Malak.”

“They likely will, given how much we pay them to cover the costs of our altercations. I do believe that they prefer it when we are attacked here, given the waitress looked hopeful when she asked if we were expecting company.”