Almost skipping, Olee descended the ramp of the Jedi corvette. The younglings, numbering a dozen—the Botto Clan—had already left the ship. Secura, following behind her, looked exhausted. A week-long headache—the flight there and back, plus a mission in the crystal caves. Gotcha, a Wookiee youngling, had nearly plummeted into a chasm during one of the crossings. If not for the senior Jedi's reflexes, the Botto Clan would surely have lost one of its most mischievous members.
But what warmed her heart most was the new lightsaber hilt hanging from her belt. Silver and black, with an elegant activation stud, it closely resembled the hilt of the legendary Master Qui-Gon Jinn, whom the girl had admired since she was a youngling. It had taken her a long time to find a green crystal that resonated with her Force signature. She spent the entire return journey constructing the saber and was immensely proud of herself.
Her surprise knew no bounds when she spotted a tall figure in familiar black plate and a cloak waiting for her on the landing platform.
"Maaaaaster!" interrupting her conversation with Secura, she bolted toward the man, taking truly giant strides.
The Jedi, noticing the projectile hurtling toward him, caught her with the Force, avoiding the casual fate of being knocked off his feet.
"You're alive! I'm so happy, Master!"
"Well, naturally," a voice chuckled from behind the mask. "So happy you almost did me in. And right in front of the younglings. No shame?"
"What? Shame? No!" The girl realized with embarrassment that her master had no intention of letting her go. "Could you put me on the ground, please?"
"It seems you should teach your Padawan a lesson in patience, my friend," Secura said, grinning from ear to ear as she approached the Jedi. A short distance away, the junior Jedi stood whispering among themselves. "I am glad to see you in good health, Knight Dougan."
"As am I to see you, Aayla," the man theatrically snapped his fingers, and his apprentice tumbled from a height of half a meter onto the surface of the landing pad. Fortunately, the girl's reflexes were top-notch—she landed on her feet. "How was your journey?"
"Mmm, enlightening," the female Jedi replied diplomatically.
"Did Olee bother you much?"
"Me? Never! I was…"
"She," Secura paused thoughtfully. Olee thought with trepidation about the incident when she had slipped and slid halfway through the crystal cave on her backside, knocking down nearly all the younglings along the way—and Secura herself at the end. "Let's just say there was nothing I wasn't prepared for."
"Still, I thank you for looking after my Padawan while I was occupied at the Temple."
"Don't mention it, Rick," the Twi'lek placed a hand on the Jedi's shoulder. "What's the news from the Temple?"
"Little has changed," the Jedi admitted. The three of them began walking across the landing pad toward one of the enclosed hangars. Corvettes were usually parked there, which led Olee to believe that she and her master had a new assignment ahead. "However, Jabba the Hutt's son has been kidnapped on Tatooine. I and my army have been tasked with conducting the search—Command believes the child is being held near Hutt Space."
"Your army?" Aayla repeated the word with surprise. "Does that mean…?"
"Oh, forgive me," the man caught himself. "You were out of contact, so you wouldn't know. The Grand Master has appointed me to command the 13th Sectoral."
"Wow!" Olee exclaimed. "Does that mean I get a promotion too?"
"You will," her master assured her. "When you grow up."
"I'm not small," the girl realized with surprise that a silent mutual understanding was forming between her and the man. For instance, she felt perfectly well that her master was only joking. But judging by the expression on Aayla's face, such a thing was new to her. It was new to Starstone herself, too. Truth be told, she joined her master's game without further argument. "He wants to tease me—he'll get it back double!" the girl decided. "It's all genetics. Not all of us eat growth hormones," she playfully poked a finger at her master.
"Hahaha," Secura laughed heartily at the Padawan's joke. Then, waving her hands as she tried to stifle her giggles, she added, "Forgive me, Rick, but that really is funny. I just imagined you actually eating growth hormones…"
"Why eat them?" the man wondered. "They're meant to be drunk with juice for children under ten, which I steal from Olee's room."
A second of silence was resolved by the collective laughter of the Jedi trio, under the puzzled yet admiring gazes of the Botto Clan.
***
"Beautiful ship," Aayla admitted, studying the lines of the Defender. "And armed… quite seriously."
"True enough," the Jedi agreed. "Two heavy turbolasers, four medium. A launcher with four proton torpedoes, and a cluster for a hundred concussion missiles. Plus, new armor no worse than what's on light cruisers. And I won't even mention the speed."
"An expensive ship," the Jedi noted. "An acquisition of the Order?"
"Not exactly," I admitted. "I took the liberty of expropriating it when we were clearing out the hangars. And my friends from Christophsis kindly modernized it."
"It's useful to have such friends," the Twi'lek smiled. "The Order could use such ships for the Jedi."
"Once," I remarked, "that was the case."
Seeing the Knight's surprise and the Padawan's stunned silence, I explained.
"The first Defenders were developed for the Jedi Order during the period of the First Galactic War. They were used for raid operations and vital missions by members of the Order."
"Wow," Olee breathed. "Why don't we have ships like that now?"
"We have others," Aayla assured her. "More modern ones."
"That's true," I confirmed. "I only took the ship out of nostalgia. It seemed symbolic for such a starship to once again serve as Jedi transport."
"A beautiful ship," Secura said once more. "Waves of the Force literally radiate from it. It likely belonged to a powerful Jedi of antiquity."
"Likely," I lied. I certainly knew who it had belonged to. "So, Knight Secura, if you ever wish—I am always ready to accept your assignment into my army."
"Oh, Rick," the girl smiled. "I'm afraid I am where I am meant to be by the will of the Force."
"As are we all," I gave her a smile that she wouldn't see beneath my mask anyway.
"Well then," after a few minutes, I nodded to Starstone to head inside the ship. "We should be going. The army does not wait."
"May the Force be with you, Master Dougan," Secura bowed to me, offering a lovely view of her more than revealing décolletage. For heaven's sake! What is this torture of my spirit and flesh?
"And with you, Aayla," I replied with a bow. "Your company is a pleasure. It is a pity we won't meet again soon."
Turning around, I walked toward the ship's ramp, starting the engines via my wrist computer on the move. A useful upgrade—a pleasant bonus from the shipbuilders.
***
Watching the corvette lift off from the landing pad and, with a flash of its engines, disappear into the upper layers of the atmosphere, Aayla suddenly experienced a sense of danger, loss, and deep sadness.
She had felt similar emotions when Quinlan left the Order. Left her. But here, everything seemed deeper… as if Dougan was twice as dear to her as her previous lover. Aayla realized that in truth, after Vos's departure from the Order and his fall to the Dark Side, a vast, all-consuming void had formed in her soul that needed to be filled.
Dougan could not be called an ordinary Jedi. Much like her former master, Quinlan Vos, he possessed an irrepressible charisma that clouded the mind. A dangerous moment for her as a Jedi.
She was perfectly aware of her beauty and the lust men felt for her. She was, after all, a beautiful representative of her race, valued in the galaxy for their overt sexuality. Quinlan had told her more than once that she could make any man happy.
And Fisto… the irrepressible Master, after the battle at Mon Calamari, had demonstrated his attention to her in every way. Not just as a Jedi, but as a woman. Recalling how the Nautolan had saved her by breathing air into her lungs, the girl could bet that his subsequent assurances—that he had only accidentally crossed the line between artificial respiration and a kiss—were nothing more than excuses. And not very plausible ones at that.
Oh, Force!
Logically, she understood she was merely trying to stifle her grief over Vos's departure. Dougan, brave, charismatic… his company was like a healing balm to her. A protection for her psyche against the loss of Vos.
Fisto sought to fill her spiritual void. He was succeeding, but… under different circumstances, she would have given herself to Kit without a second thought. However, her emotions, her very nature, demanded something else.
She had volunteered to fly with the younglings to Ilum herself. There, in the Force-saturated cave, she had tried to meditate, but Rick's Padawan, that restless Starstone, gave her no peace, tirelessly recounting how her master had almost defeated Dooku's servant. How brave he was, how strong.
She had once looked at Vos with the same admiration, falling in love with him more each day. She wondered—had the relationship between Rick and Olee crossed the boundary of mentorship?
Across the galaxy, the age of consent was vaguely defined. For instance, on her native Ryloth, girls were introduced very early to the sexually charged culture of their people. Early relationships were not condemned.
Among humans, however, things were different. Aayla frowned. It seemed a human child had to reach the age of sixteen—and then a love affair was not an obstacle. Of course, many children did it earlier, keeping their preferences secret. It was not uncommon for adults to seduce the young as well…
Could it be that all this irrepressible energy from the apprentice was not just attention to her teacher, but clumsy female flirtations designed to make Rick notice her as a full partner?
Aayla gritted her teeth. Such thoughts were unworthy of a Jedi. She needed to meditate more. Emotions must be kept under control. Only then could she concentrate on her duty as a Jedi to the Republic.
"Master Secura," a high-pitched child's voice pulled her from her thoughts. Right, the younglings!
"Let's go to the Temple," she smiled. "We should tell your instructor what a great job you've done."
She had to try to clear her head of unnecessary thoughts. She barely knew Dougan. Why would she be jealous of his own apprentice? It was nonsense.
***
"You won't get it!" Skorr's crimson blade flashed dangerously close to Quinlan's face. "This holocron is mine. I will deliver it to the Count! I am stronger than you, Quinlan Vos!"
"Then try and take it," the Kiffar smirked.
He was playing with his enemy, feeding on his impotent rage. Absorbing it the way the Count had taught him, Vos gave himself entirely to the Dark Side. And he liked it. Basking in emotions, he was amused by how much the Jedi hid from themselves. Emotional control was what the Jedi dedicated their lives to. Service to the Force…
Why serve it if you can command it?
Tol proved to be a decent swordsman. Trained, focused. Но ему не хватало мощи Темной стороны, чтобы победить. Quinlan could have finished the obtuse servant three times already, but would that have brought him satisfaction?
He understood that the Count had sent them both to Korriban merely to put an end to the rivalry between his acolytes.
With a smirk, the Count had sent them to Korriban—the cradle of the Sith—demanding they bring him Darth Andeddu's holocron. Originally, only Vos was meant to go. He had been granted the honor of accessing the ancient Sith's tomb. Under the Count's close supervision, of course.
However, at the last moment, Dooku changed the plan. His presence was required elsewhere, so he sent Tol with Quinlan, hinting to both that he would not be disappointed if only one of them returned. For the way of the Sith is rivalry. Only the strongest must survive.
Vos approved of this approach. It struck a chord in his heart, making his emotions surge over the edge, tearing the blinkers from the fallen Jedi's eyes.
Meanwhile, the duel brought chaos to the ancient Sith Lord's burial chamber. Ornaments and stone carvings flew into dust as the two fallen Jedi used Force techniques against each other. Lightsabers left deep, scorched furrows in the interior, turning the ancient art of Sith slaves to scrap.
At one point, Quinlan managed a complex fencing move to knock Tol's blade from his hands. Grabbing the hilt with his free hand, Quinlan spun both sabers in a gesture characteristic of Jar'Kai.
"I will finish you, Tol," Vos smiled. "You are nothing before me."
A light shower of rubble from the steps leading into the ancient burial chamber betrayed a new visitor.
Standing over two meters tall with a heroic build, the stranger, wearing a cloak with a deep hood over his shoulders, was laughing. His bubbling laughter, distorted by the respirator worn over his face, grated on Vos's ears and pride.
"Who are you?" Tol gasped, still glancing at the blade of his own saber, which Vos held at his rival's throat.
"How dare you laugh at a Sith?" Vos growled. "I will finish you!"
"Oh," the synthesized voice of the newcomer might have marked him as a droid, but in the next minute, the stranger pushed back his hood. Pale skin on a bald skull covered in a network of veins. A respirator covering the lower part of his face. "I don't think so, Jedi."
The newcomer's eyes burned with amber fire. Like molten precious metal, they rimmed the bottomless black of his pupils.
"You… you're a Sith!" Tol cried out hysterically. That was the final straw. With a flick of his wrist, Quinlan separated his opponent's head from his body.
"Join me," the fallen Jedi proposed. "Together, we will unlock the secrets of this holocron," he nodded toward the triangular black-and-gold pyramid standing in the center of Darth Andeddu's burial sarcophagus. "And the whole galaxy will belong to us two! We will crush the Jedi and revive the teachings of the Dark Side."
The stranger, meanwhile, snatched a lightsaber with a wide, cone-shaped hilt from his belt.
"Oh, little Jedi," he said mockingly. "I will gladly disembowel the temple-dwellers—as I did once before, desecrating and putting your Temple to the torch." In Vos's memory flashed chronicles of an ancient war. An attack on the Jedi Temple by a Sith strike force… and it was led by… Oh, holy Force! How is this possible!? "Did you and your pathetic masters think there was no power capable of opposing you?" It seemed the ancient Sith bared his teeth like a predator before a pounce. "But now, finally," a yellow blade ignited in his right hand. "We have returned!"
***
The Jedi lunged forward, lowering his blades for a sliding low strike. The giant easily blocked the thrust with his saber, pinning the blades to the burial chamber floor. Spinning on his axis, the Sith delivered a monstrous blow with an armored boot to the Kiffar's face, forcing the latter to fly back several meters.
Tossing aside Tol's saber, which was only in his way, Vos barely managed to scramble to his feet. The enemy was already before him, delivering sliding hacking blows with immense power. Left, right, a slashing strike across the torso. Vos narrowly avoided being split in two by throwing himself back.
He delivered kicks to the Sith's face, but the man marched toward the Kiffar like a soulless machine, driving him back with wide sweeps designed to take out the man's legs.
Finally, Vos felt only a wall behind him. He leaned back, trying to avoid a sweeping blow with which the Sith planned to decapitate him.
It proved to be a fatal mistake.
The Sith turned easily on his axis, slamming Quinlan's body into the wall with an armored boot.
Air instantly left the Kiffar's lungs, forcing him to his knees. The Jedi's blade struck the floor and deactivated.
He was suffocating. Neither Jedi nor Sith techniques helped.
The opponent had broken several of his ribs, and the fallen man felt blood filling his lungs.
"You are pathetic," the Sith's words sounded like a slap. "Neither you nor he is worthy even to be called Sith. In my time, you would have perished in the Academy."
He approached the burial sarcophagus. Taking the Sith holocron from it, he tossed it in his hand, then walked toward a pair of snow-white droids standing in the burial chamber's doorway.
"Korriban holds thousands of secrets and mysteries," he said. "You chose the holocron of this failure, Andeddu. Weaklings."
In the same second, the Sith deftly ducked beneath Vos's spinning blade. The saber sliced through both droids, bit into the corridor wall, and fell onto the steps.
Landing on his feet, Malgus thrust out his left hand toward the losing-consciousness Kiffar, from which blinding white-blue streams of Lightning erupted. As soon as they reached Vos sitting on the floor, his body arched in a bow, experiencing monstrous overstrain. Like a giant heater, the lightning instantly superheated the Kiffar's body and the metal elements of his clothing. The fluids in his body boiled, and steam from evaporating sweat surged up from his form.
Like a soulless doll, the fallen Jedi collapsed onto the floor like a rag as soon as Malgus cut off the stream of lightning.
With quick steps, he crossed the burial chamber. Looking into the Jedi's face, he grabbed him by his long hair and dragged him upward like a feather.
The path was not short—he had to pass hundreds of steps and corridors. But the Dark Side of the Force fueled the ancient warrior's body.
Finally emerging outside, he shielded his eyes from the scorching sun with his free hand and saw the nearest paratrooper droid commander. With a snarl, the Sith threw the captive's far-from-light body at the droid's feet.
"Deliver him to the Victory. Place him in bacta and maintain him in a coma."
"Understood, Commander," replied the sky-droid commander, gripping the unconscious Jedi's hair just like the Sith had, dragging him across the scorched sand to the nearest shuttle.
Watching him go, Malgus thought with disgust that the droids were more pleasant when they were silent. The HK hutts had annoyed him here too.
Malgus looked at the hundreds of droids treading on the sands of Korriban, sacred to every Sith. The energy of the Dark Side sustained him, as it had many times when he visited the planet.
But now everything was different. With rage, the Sith felt particles of Light inside himself. Service to his new master had desecrated his Sith soul, allowing Jedi filth to grow within his worldview. A hundred years ago, he would have finished this Jedi without a second thought.
And now he was forced to preserve his life. And report the incident to the future Emperor.
Exhaling, the Sith began to focus, conjuring the image of the irritating Jedi.
***
As soon as the transport tore through ordinary space, a planet covered in massive green forests appeared before the Prelate. In a single-star system, it occupied the third position, surrounded by three relatively small moons.
"We have arrived," Nadia explained.
Zakuul. Capital of the Eternal Empire. The place from which Valkorion conquered the galaxy a second time. The place where the Hero of Tython almost lost himself. The place where he crushed, as it seemed to everyone, forever, the most powerful Sith.
The girl remembered with a slight touch of irony how the Barsen'thor had referred to the Knight with contempt as a simpleton, too limited to realize all the horrors he had unleashed upon the galaxy. She believed him. The father of her child.
The bitterness of loss no longer tormented her. Too much time had passed. Perhaps when the Hero of Tython madly rushed to defend the galaxy, seeking allies, the Barsen'thor should have listened to her advice and joined him. Но он оказался слишком горд.
They had lived in seclusion on Tython before Valkorion's son invaded the home of the Jedi. He exterminated everyone. Those who were weak and those who were strong. He spared no one. Only a few dozen escaped—it was they who later led the exodus of the Jedi to ancient Ossus.
But Nadia was no longer with them. In the catacombs of Nathema, the Emperor, fueled by her son's energy, watched as his fanatics turned her into a perfect weapon. Serving only the ghost of Valkorion.
And now, like a toy, he had given her to Dougan. Treating him as another creation of Valkorion's perverted mind, the girl, like Kira, had initially met him with hostility. But contact with his mind told her more than all his actions, words, and projections.
She touched his thoughts. And saw what Valkorion was developing this game of holochess for.
Genocide. Aliens from another galaxy, exterminators of machines and all they deemed unworthy. Approximately fifty years remained until their arrival. And the Jedi was pouring himself entirely into not allowing the galaxy to fall into the invaders' hands like overripe fruit.
That decided everything. The Jedi philosophy she had absorbed during her decades of service to the Order called out to her. To protect all living things.
The Emperor's apprentice had clear goals for everything. For the galaxy, the Sith, the Jedi, a new Order. And she liked that. With a smirk, Nadia realized that while protecting her mind from the Force suggestion Dougan almost unconsciously applied to the people around him, she had allowed his thoughts to capture her mind. And now her hormones and feelings demanded more.
However, her performance in the refresher only emphasized that he himself was not against getting to know his Hand better.
Nadia sighed secretly. From a beloved, faithful wife of the Barsen'thor, she had turned into a servant and concubine of a Sith apprentice, the future Emperor. Tangible career growth over four thousand years.
"Deploy the recon droids," she commanded the Prelate. "We need a landing pad. There should be plenty of those on this planet."
It was time to build an Empire.
***
Opening my eyes after communicating with Malgus, I massaged my stiff neck.
We had been "chatting" for almost an hour. Imagine that. Quinlan Vos on Korriban. Interesting. Malgus wanted to finish him with every fiber of his being but didn't dare do so without my order.
And I simply didn't know what to do with him now. He couldn't be released to either the Sith or the Jedi—he would undoubtedly tell who had beaten him so badly. Finishing him also felt… wasteful. Turn him? Now there's an idea. I should put him through the same procedure the Emperor performed with my Hands before they declared their loyalty to him. Or something similar.
Rising from my new and therefore unjustifiably hard bed, I looked at the darkened display of the new terminal installed in my cabin.
The Rendilians and Corellians hadn't overthought things; they replaced everything old with everything new. They fixed the broken and refreshed the outdated. The new central and navigation computers integrated perfectly into the ship's systems.
Generous tips are the key to excellent execution. Thus, I wasn't even surprised to find that after the inventory lockers and cabinets were replaced, everything was exactly in its place. Specialists had copied the data from the ancient memory banks of the central and navigation computers, handing the originals to me. The ancient cubic hard drives were now securely stored in my safe.
I found no signs of information copying, so I didn't have to fear the spread of my old navigation computer's database. The service equipment excluded such a possibility, as stated in the promotional brochure kindly left for me by the delivery team.
In other words—my corvette was as if it had just left the slipways.
Malgus had distracted me from a rather important matter.
I was studying fragmented information in the central computer about the notorious fortress of the Hero of Tython.
Vette had enlightened me: during the clearing of the terrain near the Great Temple, on one of the mountain peaks, patrols had noticed a temple. Medium-sized—several typically Yavin-style structures, two or three landing pads. And an extremely nasty defense system—heavy droids patrolling the perimeter, medium turbolasers, and rapid-fire anti-aircraft artillery. Plus, all of this was covered by a protective screen of sorts.
The Twi'lek recalled that besides Odessen, the Alliance leader had several dens throughout the galaxy where he periodically disappeared. Usually after serious missions ending with the capture of rich trophies—artifacts, holocrons, and other items that, in her opinion, were worthless. The girl confidently asserted the temple belonged to the legendary Jedi. According to her, he had come here with her more than once. No need to continue—it's clear why.
Gritting my teeth, I remembered that in the well-known MMORPG, a player could acquire a good dozen fortresses. Tatooine, Coruscant, Umbara, Nar Shaddaa, Rishi, Manaan, Nathema, Yavin… I can't even remember them all. Had they really survived? No. The correct question is—are they actually real? Regardless, judging by Vette's report—they were.
Damn. I want it. This is like a literal treasure trove of goodies. His ship, his "strongholds"…
But first, I had to learn more about these fortresses to understand how to infiltrate them. I really didn't want to break in with heavy equipment. But I desperately wanted to know what might be inside.
Yes, the classic—I want it, but I'm afraid.
Unfortunately, after a superficial glance at the information, I found nothing striking. Just coordinates for Coruscant, Nar Shaddaa, Tatooine, Yavin… I'd bet anything that's where I'll find the remaining fortresses.
Lord, so much to study. And here, unfortunately, you can't delegate to the Hands. No telling what's there. Trust your servants, but not with everything. Otherwise, through negligence, I might one day hand them the weapon against myself.
Hmm… Why is it so quiet? Where is my restless one?
Opening the door, I was surprised to find Olee was not on the main deck. Sensing through the Force, I felt the girl was on the lower deck, near the storage area. What on earth was she doing there?
The comlink didn't answer, so I decided to take a walk. Hiding myself in the Force to catch the girl off guard, I walked casually down the steps leading to the hold…
And frankly, I didn't like what I heard.
"Is that true? Just like that, one shot straight through?" Olee asked enthusiastically.
"This is objective information," a metallic voice echoed her. "I am a droid; I cannot lie."
The voice was coming from the right hold. Gripping my lightsaber, I slowly approached the doorway. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the previously blocked bulkhead was a gaping dark opening, and inside a small cubicle, multi-colored indicators were flashing like a holiday garland.
"And how long were you deactivated?"
My appearance in the doorway prevented the answer from being voiced.
Sitting on two transport containers, my Padawan and… what on earth was this thing… were having a casual conversation.
"Greetings," the droid stood up. Two meters tall, with a sandy-bronze chassis. A head resembling those of the drones from the second solo film about the billionaire in the iron suit. And a snow-white optical sensor vertically crossing the droid's "head." A black short-barreled cannon on the right shoulder, an assault rifle behind the left. For sure—a military model. But how did he get here?
"Padawan Starstone," the droid turned its head so the optical sensor looked at the girl. "I am grateful for the conversation. An exchange of information with the Jedi is now advisable."
"Whatever you say," the girl jumped down from the crate and approached me. "You have a strange droid."
"Go to the bridge," I said quietly.
"But I wanted to…"
"Go!"
"Yes, Master," hanging her head, the girl slowly trotted toward the opposite part of the ship.
The droid, visually tracking the girl's movement, returned its "gaze" to me.
"Right decision, Jedi."
"Shut your mouth and answer: what are you and how did you end up on my ship?"
"I am K1-Z3N, an assault drone, manufactured on the planet Iokath four thousand eight hundred years ago," the droid said phlegmatically. "After the invasion of the planet by the Eternal Alliance, I was assigned by the collective AI to the service of the Outlander. Deactivated after combat damage three thousand six hundred and three years ago."
"You served the Hero of Tython," I realized.
"He is known to me as the Outlander," the droid corrected. "But yes. That is him."
"How did you end up on the ship?"
"Unknown. I was damaged during the third battle for Iokath."
"And who was fighting whom?"
"The Alliance opposed the Republic occupation forces. They outnumbered us. The Outlander sent me and Lana Beniko to the Defender so we could warn the Empire of the Republic invasion."
"And what went wrong?"
"Unknown," the droid admitted. "I sustained damage and deactivated."
"And what about the Outlander?"
"He was to destroy the central power core," the droid related. "So that Iokath would not fall to the Republic."
***
"What is Iokath?"
"A planet. My creators fled from another galaxy when they lost the war to organics. A civil war broke out on Iokath, and the organics killed each other. Then, ARIES—one of the central processors—seized control over us. The Outlander destroyed him and freed us. In gratitude, we assisted him, maintaining the Eternal Alliance fleet's operation. I was assigned by Iokath's collective AI to guard the Outlander."
"Seems you're a lousy bodyguard," I joked.
"I agree with the negative assessment. Task not accomplished," the droid conceded.
"So what are you thinking next?" I asked the machine. "Go back to Iokath. I can drop you off if it's on the way."
"Impossible," the droid turned its head toward a massive workstation terminal in the engine compartment behind the bulkhead to the right. "The collective AI does not respond to my queries. Communication systems are non-functional. The most obvious conclusion—the planet is destroyed."
"I'm sorry," I admitted frankly. "It's shitty when an entire planet is destroyed. Especially when it's your home."
"I am a machine; I do not experience emotions," the droid reminded me. "It would be logical to offer my bodyguard services to you."
"Why?" I wondered. "I already have a crazy assassin droid. Besides, I'm a Jedi."
"You are not a Jedi," the machine countered. "You are lying to the Jedi Council, amassing forces for a military coup, and collaborating with the Sith."
Seeing my lack of understanding, the drone pointed to the notorious terminal.
"You should better encrypt information about your negotiations. Furthermore, storing information about the stages of a military coup in the ship's central computer is unwise."
"You hacked me," I stated the fact. "Just right to slice you to pieces and throw you into space."
I activated my lightsaber, pointing it toward the drone. Without even flinching, he continued.
"You are acting unwisely. I am a valuable asset. My memory banks contain valuable weapon designs from Iokath's collective AI. Furthermore, the droids controlling your dreadnoughts are not functioning optimally. They contain traces of the GEMINI virus. I can perform their reconfiguration."
"Look at this valuable drone," I smirked. Could a combat platform really fit information about weapons? Or was it all fairy tales to keep me from slicing him into metal shavings? "Where is the guarantee you won't deceive me?"
"A plasma anti-personnel cannon is aimed at your head," the dangerous black thing on the droid's shoulder shifted slightly. "If I believed you were not necessary for my continued existence—you and your apprentice would be dead. Besides, it will be interesting to watch the destruction of the Republic."
"You're a robot," I reminded him. "What use is the fall of a state to you?"
"The Republic destroyed Iokath, where I was created. The Republic destroyed the Eternal Alliance, which I served," the drone listed. "It is logical if I contribute to the destruction of the Republic."
"Well," I extinguished the blade. "A second crazy assassin droid in the assets."
"I can't wait to meet the first," the droid said. "Together we will work more productively."
With a quiet groan, I facepalmed with my gauntlet.
***
Strangely enough, the droid—or drone, as he insisted on being called—blended into our company. He uncomplainingly took on all the routine duties, like preparing food and checking the ship's systems. All in all, a respectable mechanical servant. I don't know what his creators put in his head, but he could even replace an astromech—fortunately, he carried a universal interface.
We were on course for the Teth system—reconnaissance led by Nyx had discovered CIS forces on the planet and a monastery they had seized on a mountain peak. Considering there was not a trace of Seps for thirty parsecs around—the conclusion was clear.
The child is here. Exhaling, I ordered the planet to be kept under surveillance, without revealing ships in the system for now.
The journey was to take another two days. I decided to devote this time to training my apprentice. Had to start sometime.
Assigning the drone to the bridge so he wouldn't be in the way, the girl and I headed to a spacious compartment with a massive holoprojector in the center. Once, as I recall, Kira and Scourge had trained here. Why shouldn't we do the same?
But first, talking.
"Master," the girl sat on the sofa. "The Je'daii Code. Why did you tell it to me?"
"The Code is an example of how often foundations and worldviews change over time," I explained. "Once, the ancestors of the Jedi studied the Force as a whole—both the Dark and Light Sides. Later, they moved away from studying the Dark Side."
"Because it corrupts?" the girl suggested.
"It's not about that. The ancestors of the Jedi maintained a balance in the Force—when necessary, they used one side or the other. But they always returned to a state of balance afterward. Those who couldn't were sent for retraining. But during one period of their history, the Je'daii were forced to wage war against the Rakata race—cosmic conquerors obsessed with the Dark Side. To counter the Rakata, many Jedi used the Dark Side of the Force, and after the victory over the enemy—they couldn't return to their internal balance. Then war broke out among the Je'daii themselves, in which the followers of the Dark Side lost. After that, the Jedi left their home world—Tython—because they rejected the concept of balance, giving themselves to the service of the Light Side."
"Why leave the planet?" the girl didn't understand.
"Tython… it's a place where the Force is in balance. Any shift in that balance in either direction caused cataclysms. As you can imagine—serving only the Light, the Je'daii could no longer remain there. They went to Ossus."
"I've heard of Ossus!" the girl boasted. "Excavations are being conducted there now. It's a sacred place for every Jedi. It's a pity, of course, that we won't get to visit Tython—I'd love to see that planet."
"As would all Jedi," I spread my hands. "Perhaps one day, Padawan. Enough philosophy. We need to find you some suitable armor…"
"Master, why?" the apprentice was surprised. "I am a Jedi. The Force will protect me. Armor will only restrict me."
"Hmm… I know dozens of guys for whom that mindset didn't help on Geonosis."
"Master, that's a low blow!"
"But an effective one. I propose a bet. We'll go now and practice fencing. Defeat me in three duels out of five—and I won't force you to wear armor. But I won't go easy on you. And afterward, when you're stinging from training saber strikes—we'll find you something that will save you from an unpleasant time on the operating table and a swim in bacta. Agreed?"
"Oh! You know this from your own experience. Won't you tell me?"
"Sometimes I doubt you're on my side, Padawan."
***
Two fighters—the master and his apprentice—circled each other. The Corellian shipbuilders had given a kingly gift to their client. The master had shared his joy with her.
The holoterminal that once stood in the center of the room could now be hidden in a special niche in the floor, which the master utilized, transforming the space into a training room before the duel began.
"Now we can train right aboard the corvette," the girl appreciated, shifting her freshly assembled saber to her hand.
Tossing a training saber toward her ("And why not combat ones? We're at war; we could train in real conditions!"), the master threw off his cloak, remaining in only his armor.
"Begin," he commanded.
Taking a deep breath, Olee concentrated, taking a combat stance in accordance with the style she had mastered.
"Ataru?" the man wondered.
"Does something bother you, Master?"
"Mmm, no, not really," the man shrugged. "It's everyone's choice which style to use. But I suppose now I'll have to study Ataru a bit to properly guide you."
"Why?" the girl wondered. "Master Drallig teaches fencing."
"Then what is the point of being a Padawan, Olee?" the Jedi inquired. "If not to adopt the experience of the one who is your teacher?"
"Oh, I don't know… Hey, that's not fair!"
While distracting her with talk, the Jedi closed the distance between them with a short burst and swept the air before her with a wide strike. If the Force were not with her today, she would have faced a solid strike to the legs.
"This technique is called Dun Möch," the man explained, delivering a simple overhead hacking strike. Olee blocked it. "Both Jedi and Sith use concentration during combat. Deprive the opponent of concentration, weaken his vigilance—and half the work is done."
The Jedi pushed her forcefully, making the girl retreat a few steps.
"Some kind of wrong technique," the girl grumbled. "Sneaky… you shouldn't strike from the shadows like that!"
"What is more important—to fight with honor, by the rules, and die, or to use every opportunity and win, preserving your life?"
"I don't even… You again!?"
Dougan attacked her again with a simple top strike, but Olee reacted with a quick parry, deflecting her teacher's blade to the side. The girl noted that the quiet crackle of training saber strikes was nothing compared to the hiss and hum of energy from a real spar. Ah, five years ago she couldn't even dream of a training… What on earth is this!?
Holding the girl's blade with his own, the master performed a trip, laying his sparring partner on her back. Following this, he slowly walked to the opposite end of the room.
"You're losing control of the situation again. In combat, that could cost you your life, Olee!"
"In combat, I won't have opponents like you!" the girl noted resentfully.
"Of course not," the master shook his head, returning to a waiting stance. "In my time, I also believed that by knowing Niman better than any other Jedi, I could easily withstand the Sith and their minions. The result—destroyed armor, a mangled body and face. And I was one step away from merging with the Force myself. We need experience so as not to repeat our mistakes."
"Well, that wasn't my mistake," the girl smirked.
"Agreed. Except a smart man learns from others' mistakes. A fool—from his own."
"He-he-he," the apprentice's lips curled into a smile. "So, you're a fool?"
"For heaven's sake!" the man raised his hands to the ceiling lighting panels. "Why of all the apprentices did I get this particular thorn in the as… Oh, not bad!"
Unfortunately, she wasn't fast enough. Taking advantage of the Jedi's lapse into reasoning, she thought he had relaxed his control enough. All that remained was to perform a quick thrust to the man's stomach. But unfortunately, the teacher was faster.
Dodging her strike, he slammed an armored elbow into her back while simultaneously performing a trip. With a loud crash, Olee sprawled full length on the floor.
A tangible poke in the back with the training saber let her know she had lost the first fight.
"Good attempt," with the help of the Force, the man sent both training sabers to their wall mounts. The apprentice, meanwhile, got to her feet. Breathing fiercely through her nose, the girl looked at the man from under her brow. "We'll train more often—and you'll turn out a better fencer than me."
"Really?" the girl brightened.
"Ehm… no. Does the Temple not teach sarcasm at all!?"
"Master! You can't do that! You're being snide!"
"Consider it Dun Möch practice."
"Ohhh!!! Then I have a massive supply of jokes for you, Master."
"Yeah. You're still wet behind the ears for joking about me."
"What? Wet ears?" The apprentice touched the lower part of her face in amazement. Realizing that her teacher had teased her once again, the girl made a face and stuck out her tongue after the master as he walked away.
"Ow!" The levitating lightsaber struck her in the place she usually sat on. "That's not fair, Master!"
"If I said wet, I meant wet!" a voice full of amusement reached her.
***
Dougan dedicated the subsequent five days of flight to the rendezvous point to joint training.
After the first spar, the Jedi introduced a training schedule.
From early morning, he taught her about some Force technique. While explaining it, the master helped the girl master the technique and handed her a chip with a description of the move for independent study. Mostly the information concerned control techniques—control of the body, emotions, and breath. Olee had learned most of them as a youngling.
But in her teacher's interpretation, understanding the essence came faster. His texts were simpler, clearer, and most importantly—practically required little strength to master.
Olee could only marvel at how simply and excitingly one could explain what the instructors and masters at the Temple presented as tedious and completely uninteresting. Many of the junior Jedi were openly bored in classes—some even fell asleep. Few Jedi teachers could boast an interesting presentation of their subject. As far as Olee remembered her training, her desire to learn was fueled only by childhood interest and the realization that without passing exams and tests, she wouldn't progress further, get the right to create her own lightsaber, or become a full Jedi.
The master spoke little of his life outside the Temple. He only waved her off once, explaining that everything he knew, he had learned somewhere other than Coruscant.
And he knew a lot. Incredibly much. Olee, despite the master keeping himself mentally closed to everyone like a cold monolith, still felt the Force emanating from him. Incredibly powerful—far stronger than many Jedi—he illuminated the entire space in the Force like a dazzling bonfire.
Daytime training and meditation flew by so fast she barely noticed them.
Only as she went to sleep, turning inward, did she realize that while she didn't learn something new every day, she was fundamentally reinforcing long-forgotten basics. Rick, without being dishonest, explained to her that to study the new, one must reinforce the foundations, since more complex Force techniques often combine several basic ones. And if she worked on using basic techniques until they were automatic, then she would do much better with complex techniques than knowing the "base" half-heartedly.
However, while she went to bed, the master began his real training. Sometimes the drone helped him, but mostly—the master self-improved alone.
Olee secretly watched the man as he fiercely fenced, practicing the same kata, thrusts, and sequences over and over, which she had never seen in his arsenal before. Some she recognized, others remained a mystery to her. Meanwhile, the drone, occasionally acting as a sparring partner, quite often received training saber hits to its chassis. In the areas where ordinary sentients had vital organs.
Sometimes, he would spend a long time reading one file or another, which he took from an information panel very, very similar to the stands in the Archives.
The master told her that only some knowledge from the Temple was gathered there, copied for self-development. However, the girl did not doubt that in the master's personal library, much more was collected than just copies of files from the Jedi archives.
Watching the master's evening training, Olee couldn't help but note that their spars were nothing compared to what the master did in private. Looking at the pressure with which he attacked an invisible enemy, the girl imagined with doubt and hidden joy how small the pieces would be into which the master would chop his opponent at their next meeting.
***
"Forgive me, Master!" Dooku watched with interest as Tann knelt before him. "I have failed you."
The woman had spent several days evading the Republican pursuit, pulling Gunray's wretched hide out of the search loop being tightened around them by Jedi and clone search parties. Finally, she arrived at Serenno, delivering the terrified but living Viceroy.
Dooku didn't ask where the bribed Senate Guard had disappeared. No need—the man had served his purpose. No one was likely to weep for him. Avenge his death—even less so.
"An unexpected failure, Sev'rance," the former Jedi said coldly. "Lord Sidious is displeased. The Jedi survived."
"I tried…" the girl's confident voice faltered.
"Trying is not enough!" Dooku barked, rising from the desk. "Your failure has greatly hindered us. Not only did the Jedi survive—he now controls one of the sectoral armies. His successful tactical operations could grow into a threatening strategy for us."
"Let me fix everything, Master!" Tann pleaded. "I underestimated him, but now that I know more about him…"
"More?" Dooku smirked. "I don't doubt your commanding talents, Tann, but your strength is insufficient to oppose him. The participation of a more experienced Jedi killer is necessary here…"
"Ventress," the Chiss hissed the name of Dooku's most successful acolyte with hatred. The Count knew of the envy most dark servants felt for the Dathomirian. She had the greatest number of successful missions, and her count of killed Jedi had long exceeded the assets of all other servants. Well, perhaps Durge and Grievous held their own. But. They were not Force-sensitive…
"Exactly," the Count agreed. "This will be a lesson to you. Asajj will solve this problem. Because of your failure, she has been tasked with leading the operation to rescue the Hutt. And the Force whispers to me that my plan is under threat. This is unacceptable!"
"My Lord!" Tann's eyes blazed with fire. Dooku enjoyed it, feeling the rage surging within her. "Allow me to join! I will destroy him! I will bring you his head!"
Manipulation and intrigue… the Sith's favorite art. Dooku smiled inwardly. Ambition and the desire to serve the Count—that was the leash with which he held such a vast number of servants. And Tann, despite her talents, was only one of many. And like all others—she fell for such a primitive trick.
"Fine, Sev'rance," the Count exhaled. "You go to Teth. You will help Ventress kill the Jedi—and perhaps then I will return my favor to you."
Dooku absorbed the pain and humiliation with which the subordinate literally dripped. To place her, a talented military commander, under the command of an assassin. Weightier than a simple slap. This shame would become the source of her rage, so strong that none of this cursed Jedi's tricks would help him avoid a meeting with Destiny.
***
Looking at the young girl drowning in Jedi armor, I couldn't hold back my smile.
"It's not funny, Master!" The girl pouted. "I can't move in this!"
"No one asked you to pull on the first armor you found," I noted reasonably.
"But you said—'Choose!'" the child sulked. So amusing—she decided to try on a Jedi Knight's armor. There's about twenty kilograms of durasteel there. But even that didn't stop her. She put it all on.
"Don't clown around," I said sententiously. "I said, 'Choose wisely!'"
"One word, and so many problems," the girl wrinkled her nose. "But you're right—I can't wear this armor. It's hard for me even to move in it."
"Naturally!" I grunted. "But I think a suitable option for you is in this collection after all."
"Really?"
"Of course," I approached the cabinet and took out a plastic container with armor. At a glance—about five to seven kilograms. I looked at the tag. Yes, this will definitely fit her.
"What's the difference?" The apprentice looked at me suspiciously. "They're the same. Well, except this one has yellow plates."
"They're only identical at first glance, Padawan," I demonstrated the explanatory label. "'Light armor for Jedi Consulars.' It weighs three times less; plates are bronze with a cortosis-weave. Not bad protection from small arms. True, there's no shield generator—but I think we can come up with something."
"Hmm…" the girl looked appreciatively at the new set. "And won't the glossy yellow color of the plates give me away?"
"Look at you, how smart!" I whistled. The girl, crossing her arms over her chest, pouted.
"Get dressed," I smirked. "We'll repaint the armor and find you a new cloak."
Leaving the girl alone, I exited the storage, sitting on a nearby sofa. But soon a high voice came from the compartment.
"Can I have it like yours?"
"What? The armor? No, friend, I barely wrested it for myself from the Council. Master Windu sees you in it—we'll definitely be written down as Sith, arrested, and exiled to prison."
"I actually meant the colors of the armor and cloak," the girl quipped. "And is there a prison that can hold two Jedi?"
"I think in the thousands of years of the Order's existence, some have been found. In the galaxy, there have always been and will be individuals who disagree with the viewpoint of Force adepts. Our abilities scare some. Anger others. Others still would with a pure heart get rid of us, the Sith, and everyone sensitive to the Force."
"But why, Master? Aren't the Jedi keepers of the peace? We care for the welfare of all the galaxy's inhabitants!"
"Do we? It seems to me millions of sentients in slavery in Hutt Space, on Tatooine, or in dozens of other worlds, don't feel the Jedi caring for their welfare."
"But… we were told there is no slavery in the Republic!" the girl exclaimed. "We were told that in some places in the galaxy, 'contracted worker' laws still apply and…"
"Olee, if a sentient cannot stand up and leave in the middle of a work process, slamming the door—that is slavery."
"In that case, droids are also in slavery," noted the drone, coming up the steps.
"Droids do not possess free will," I dismissed. "They were created as mechanical servants—nothing more."
"But we think, we create," K1 argued.
"As soon as droids learn sexual reproduction—we'll return to this conversation," I promised. "And anyway, you were sent to the bridge. Why are you eavesdropping?"
"To eavesdrop on you, it is not necessary to come here," the droid noted. "But that's not why I'm here. The corvette is approaching the intended target. Ten minutes—and we will be there."
"Excellent," I clapped my hands, rising from the sofa. "Finally. We'll deliver the Huttlet to Tatooine quickly and get on with more important matters."
"What could be more important than a child's life?" the Padawan asked me in surprise, exiting the storage room.
In the corvette's artificial lighting, the girl's glossy armored elements shone like a polished samovar. A tailored flight suit of fabric armor, the bronze protective plates, and a pretty face… like an anime valkyrie. Somewhere on the edge of my consciousness, a thought stirred that one day she would be a beautiful woman.
"Excellent armor," K1-Z3N praised. "It shines so much I wouldn't miss from the other side of the galaxy. A decidedly devious way to get rid of a troublesome Padawan on your part, Master Jedi."
His answer was pouted lips, a young girl's ready-to-kill look, and my barely suppressed laughter.
"You were extremely nice to me at the beginning of our acquaintance," the girl reminded the drone.
"I didn't know then that you decide nothing on the ship," the drone replied imperturbably.
"If I had a saber right now," the girl hissed, "I'd show you what I decide…"
"Yes, speaking of that," I struck my head. It had completely slipped my mind. Going into the storage, I began rummaging in one of the wall lockers. "Your concentration and control are lacking. I think there's a way to help you with that."
"Really?" the girl brightened. "How?"
"By choosing the right crystals for your lightsaber," I returned to the Padawan, holding a transparent box with crystals. "Meet a Kasha crystal and its 'colleague' straight from the mines of Ruusan. And now they will live in your lightsaber."
***
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