Chapter 24 - Chapter 25

There wasn't, strictly speaking, any preparation for the upcoming meeting. While Hadiya rushed around the fortress handling her business and intrigues, I wandered around like a scarecrow and checked the staff for loyalty. And praise the Force that I actually went to do it!

"Are you out of your kriffing minds?!" My roar was probably heard out in the street.

"Gh-h-hosth… f-forgth-ive…" wheezed one of the technicians hanging in a Force grip, while his two friends were already on the floor with their necks snapped.

"You actually thought of running cables into the bathroom! You're laying wires, fixing lights, you animals," I snarled at the would-be killers. No, really—what nerve! Poisoning Hadiya doesn't work, shooting her doesn't work either; the overfed security goons she personally spoiled find explosives faster than they can even plant them. So what do the bastards do? They get creative—run cables into the bathroom… All right, Hadiya has a small pool, but that's beside the point. Then they add plain table salt into the city(!) water supply. And that's it. Nobody's going to feel bad from slightly salty water for a day—especially with a desalination unit right there that feeds the water. The equipment "breaks"—so what? One idiot dies—well, whose fault is it that electricians are incompetent? Sometimes human ingenuity is just mind-blowing. And the worst part is I didn't even suspect anything right away! The fortress still has work going in some areas, so I didn't pay attention at first. Good thing I'm so paranoid I yank almost everyone and ask a couple questions. Must've been Hadiya's influence… No, she actually did nibble me a little—and scratched me too—but that's different. Yes.

"Who gave the order?!" I pulled him closer and eased the pressure on his throat.

"D-don't know, khe-khe… we were just told…"

"BY WHO?"

"Shift supervisor. We were offered a choice—money or—kh-h-h…" "Mercy, my lord, don't kill me…"

With a flick of my hand I slammed the man to the floor and turned to the grim security troopers.

"Interrogate that one. Clean up the trash. Sweep the fortress—and the personnel. Who, where, when, and what they were doing, especially over the last few days."

"Yes, my lord."

"Move!"

Watching law and order start sprinting, I took a deep breath. Calm—just calm. The Force is with me, I am one with the Force… Chicago is messing with me. I've gotten jumpy, and a little bloodthirsty, too.

Leaving the bathroom, I kept going. Who knows what else I might find. No, I'd been turning a blind eye to minor violations and small screwups—though people feared me no less than Hadiya. On the other hand, I'd earned a bit of respect. There was a moment when Hadiya was chewing out one of her advisers for a mistake; the guy understood everything from her face alone, and he was more or less normal… by local standards, at least, and she was still pressing him. So I distracted Hadiya, signaling the poor bastard toward the door to get out.

And afterward I didn't go savage either. Just sometimes I'd spook them so they wouldn't расслабляться—even the ones I wanted to kill. But it's not my swamp. I'm just a tourist here… at least I used to be.

Other than the electricians, nothing like that happened, though I did catch a couple more moles. Those were just watching, so I mercifully handed them over to a higher authority instead of tearing them apart on the spot.

But I did get into a conflict with Hadiya. There I was, sitting in a chair, crunching "Sweet Joy," and melancholically watching Hadiya dart from one corner to another.

I noted to myself that for a queen, Hadiya looked very strange. Even for a future one. Instead of a dress—pants like local special forces wear, and a jacket with sewn-on metal plates, pauldrons, and bracers. Instead of pretty little shoes—boots with a small heel, and her hands were covered by glovelets that disappeared under the armor.

"Hadiya, why are you pacing like that?"

"Do I look good?" She turned and struck a pose, making the most threatening face she could.

"Totally. The most terrifying combat hamster I've ever seen."

"Shade! Call your Cathar hamsters. I'm a Queen! Future. And I must look the part," she spun and looked into the mirror.

"Seems we have different ideas of queens…" Resting my cheek on my fist, I watched this miracle with a touch of fondness. Worlds change, races and peoples change—women stay women.

"Really?"

"Dresses, heels, a crown…" I started, and Hadiya just waved it off.

"Oh, what nonsense?! Where have you seen that? Fairy tales? Pff! A true queen should be terrifying and irresistible!"

"You can be terrifying in a dress too. It's all about charisma."

"So you think I don't have enough charisma?" She snapped around, hands on hips, making an even more threatening grimace than before.

"No. I just want to see you in a dress. Black. Elegant. Mmm…" I drifted into fantasies.

"Dress, dress," she mocked me, fastening her kama, and a pistol above it. "They're uncomfortable. Hm… seems like that's it. So. How do I look? Seriously." She posed for me again.

"You look great," I sighed. "You just need a spear to complete the image and it'll be perfect. You'll be a valkyrie."

"Hm… I'll think about it," she said, thoughtfully biting the nail on her thumb. "No, really… in principle… it just has to match."

"Hadiya, I don't get it. The meeting is four days away. Why are you stressing about it? Besides, you're not a queen yet."

"Not now. But I will be! And in four days comes the first step. And I must look appropriate. And you too!" She poked me with a finger—neat, short manicure.

"And me?" I even woke up fully, the spotlight suddenly on me.

"We need to pick you a more decent outfit."

"Hey!" genuine indignation flared in my chest.

"Shade, being dangerous is good. But if you also look dangerous—that's even better!"

"Don't touch my style."

"Shorts and a sleeveless shirt on bare skin, no shoes—that's style?" She tilted her head.

"Exactly!"

"Want me to tell you who you look like?"

"Don't. And anyway, what does it matter what people think of me?"

"Exactly. What do other people's opinions matter. But I'm not 'other people'! Does my opinion not matter to you?" Hadiya even brandished her knife, reflexively pulling it from its sheath.

"It matters. Sometimes."

"Sha-a-ade," she loomed over me like a fury and carefully—just a little—pressed the knife tip to my nose.

"You should polish it or something," I sighed.

"Shade, please—how will it look, with someone like… that standing beside me?!" She pointed at me with both hands.

"So just say I embarrass you."

"No! Well… I mean, yes. But not that badly. But… I want it to be effective. Kriff…" She finally got shy. "Is it really that hard for you to dress up a bit?" That indignant-pleading-embarrassed expression. I looked and melted… "Hey—look at him, he's smiling!"

"What a delight. And you even stomped your foot."

"Mm-hm."

"So what do I have to do for you to agree?"

"Nothing. I'm just being stubborn."

"Oh, you—" the miracle went red and poked me with the little blade again. Then again. And again. "How does your tongue even turn to mock a poor, weak, fragile, sweet girl?!"

"You—'poor' and 'weak'?" I pushed the blade aside with the Force, looking at Hadiya's face skeptically.

"Yes!"

"Mmm," I glanced at the knife in her hand. "Okay."

"What-what?"

"I said I agree. Though since we've started dancing, I thought of something."

"Hm?"

"How about Shade Aero has a fight with you and storms off home, and you're left with some unclear, shady bodyguard in a closed mask—doesn't talk to anyone, always watching. Like you got rid of Shade and replaced him. Hmm?"

"Why?"

"Makes my job easier. The enemy won't expect you to be guarded by the son of a professional killer. Besides, I can hide myself in the Force and act like a grunt. A seasoned, hardened, but ordinary mortal soldier."

"Hm. Interesting idea," Hadiya tapped the flat of her blade against her lips. "Very interesting. But I pick the style!"

"Uh—no. Together!"

"No. I pick the style. Remember you mentioned you wanted to make yourself armor in Wur Tepe?"

"So?"

"I looked at your drawings and already made the base. Needs fitting, painting, stitching… In short, a day or two and it'll be done."

"Uh…"

"I wanted to make you a gift for finishing your pilgrimage…"

"Thank you. Really, thank you. Didn't expect it."

"But I didn't touch your swords. You make weapons… kind of specially."

"And not just swords, either. Je'daii don't make their own weapons and armor for nothing. While doing it, they invest a lot of Force into the item, improving its performance. And if you add processed kyber crystal dust into the alloy, the armor becomes an amplifier too."

"I didn't know…" Hadiya drooped, apparently realizing her handiwork still wouldn't be as cool as a Tythonian's kit.

"It's fine. Still make it—just keep the forms. Once I'm in Wur Tepe, I'll remake it."

"What if now?"

"Now I don't know the tech! I haven't even been to the forge-temple yet."

"Ahh. All right. Then I'm off."

"Wait. Where are the workshops?"

"Here too. And yes. From this moment on—you don't leave the room without a suit. I'll take care of everything."

Yeah… Hadiya took care of it. The very next day the whole fortress was buzzing like an anthill with fresh news: the mistress had fought with her husband, he flipped out and left right in such responsible days. What a bad man, tsk-tsk… Though when someone blurted, "Good thing he left," Hadiya shut up the too-talkative mouths fast. Yeah.

And then the next day they brought into my room… well… let's call it an outfit.

"Hadiya… what is with the black colors?! What am I, a goth? They'll throw me out of the temple for looking like this!" I protested, looking at myself in the mirror.

The set wasn't finished yet—something hung loose, some clasps were missing, some mounts too—but the overall cut of a kind of samurai-warrior remained, which I honestly liked. But the colors!!! And the mask… or is it a half-mask? Kriff… I don't even know what to call it, but it goes fully over the head, yet in front there's a proper faceplate with a T-shaped viewport and predatory patterns on the cheeks and brow, and behind the ears it turns into a normal helmet back like some marine's. Not pure metal—metalloplastic, also used in the armor itself to reduce weight. Very, very expensive stuff.

"What's wrong with it? You look solid!" the brat protested, inspecting me from all sides.

"Add at least some color. Green, kriff it!"

"Hm…" She looked in the mirror. "Mmm. Fine. Take it off."

"Something about that look makes me uneasy…"

She only smiled and shrugged. Expecting a new trick, I waited for the next day. And I was right to.

"Hadiya…" I sighed when I saw the now-finished set.

"And what's wrong this time? I added color!"

"Yes. Red," I glanced at her, noticing that some red symbols repeated the pigments on her lekku. "All right, now I get why you were staring into the mirror."

"Try it on!"

"Trying it on, trying it on."

On my feet were modified boots, very similar to the ones my mother had gifted me. My pants were tucked into them. On my chest—thin, long-sleeved undershirt of synthetic cut-resistant fiber. Over it—a sleeveless mantle from neck to calves, with plates sewn in at chest level. The fabric itself wasn't simple either; I don't know what they embedded into it, but it felt as heavy as all the plates combined. But with a wide slit from the waist down, it didn't restrict movement, while still covering the legs. The final touch was another cloak—an original one with a hood—attached to the collar of the first and acting like an add-on.

My hands were protected by long gloves with straps for extra securing. And the mask itself. Red mirrored glass. Putting on everything except the mask, I walked around the room, loosened one thing, tightened another. When it felt comfortable to move, I put the mask on. Hm… the field of view is slightly cut, but still wide enough. Besides, I need to search for targets with the Force more than with my eyes, so it'll do.

Strapping the pistol to my thigh, I hung my swords on my belt and looked at myself in the mirror.

Yeah. Sith version 1.0.

"Hadiya, don't you think this is too much?" I turned to the Twi'lek. "Hadiya?"

She stood there, staring—no reaction.

"Hadiya!"

"Ah! Yes-yes?"

"No one will even listen to me in this. They'll ship me straight to Bogan."

"Oh come on! It's awesome. And your voice is distorted under the mask. You just need to transfer your facial pigments onto the mask and it'll be perfect. And anyway, why would they ship you off? You're free to wear whatever you want. What does it matter what color your suit is?"

"Our descendants won't agree with you," I smirked to myself.

"Shade, do you really not like it?"

"What? No, I like it. I really do look solid. But!" I turned and somehow froze. A new thought drowned out the old and made the gears in my head spin again.

Turning back to the mirror, I looked at the reflection. Then at my hands. Then at the reflection again.

"But what?" Hadiya pressed me.

"Why not try it?" I smirked, and a little demon inside me cackled with glee.

"I don't understand…"

"Don't mind me. I'm talking to myself."

"Uh…"

Pulling the mask off, I walked up to Hadiya.

"Thanks, Sunshine. Really. I never would've thought of such audacity in my life!"

"Uh… you're welcome?"

Kissing Hadiya, I put the mask back on and started a set of physical exercises.

"What are you doing?"

"Testing how the suit behaves under load."

"It's fine. I warned the craftsman first thing. The base layer is special synthetic fiber. Moisture goes one way, but ventilation works. Yes, the quality isn't the same as on Tython, but we built in a lot of technical solutions, including for comfort. Also, because of the multiple layers, the fabric holds a constant temperature well—whether it's cold or hot outside. The visor isn't just reflective; it's double, so it won't fog up. I also thought about adding an air filter, because practice shows you're relatively easy to poison. It's difficult, but the craftsman promised to think about it."

"First: poisoning a real Je'daii—if he's not an idiot—isn't that simple. Creating an air barrier is easy even for an apprentice; it's just that not everyone remembers it in panic."

"And second?"

"And second, come here. I'm going to cuddle you to death!" Pulling the girl to me with the Force, I hugged her.

"Told you," she squinted, wriggling. "Who was right?"

"You."

"Say it again?"

"You were right."

"And where's my reward?" she flirted, peering into the visor.

"Mmm…" I pulled a chocolate bar over to us with the Force. "Here?"

Thunk! A woman's fist met the mask.

"Ha-ha-ha—don't pout, Sunshine, I was just joking…"

"One thing makes me happy—I can punch you in the face now," she hissed indignantly, thumping the mask again while trying to wriggle out of the hold.

"Ha-ha-ha…"

That day Shade Aero really "left," and in his place appeared an old friend of the clan who'd answered a request to help with protection. For form's sake and to throw dust in everyone's eyes, they quietly pulled me out of the fortress at night, and in the morning brought me back with the same group, right in front of everyone. The only thing I regretted was that now I had to shadow Hadiya everywhere, acting the role. Thankfully, I only had to suffer this nonsense for one day—on the next, the moment X was scheduled.

We boarded a shuttle and flew to the meeting. Two more shuttles with fighters followed, plus a small flight group on our wing. Two more flights went along the route with the task of finding surprises, if there were any.

I wasn't wasting time either. The moment I sat beside Hadiya and buckled in, I leaned back, closed my eyes, and entered meditation, unfolding Force sight. The guards seated nearby kept glancing at me—some with smirks, some with curiosity. The ones flying with us knew about the farce.

In flight, I didn't even understand who reacted first—me or the systems—but we detected two missiles launched at the same time. The pilots triggered the siren, Hadiya reflexively grabbed my hand, and I… simply caught both warheads with the Force and redirected them away. The ship shuddered from the explosions, the fighters immediately banked toward the launch point, and the transports sharply veered aside.

"Shade?"

"It's fine, Sunshine. Only two missiles—I diverted them. Everything's fine."

Not only Hadiya exhaled at my words—everyone in the shuttle did. Closing my eyes again, I waited for the next trick, but there wasn't one. The fighters struck the launch sites, leveling everything there, and returned to formation. Funny detail: when the missiles launched, one craft managed to react and went to intercept, but since the warhead got diverted, the craft survived.

"Hadi."

"Yes, Shade?"

"Fifth fighter—pilot Enil Fol'Dark. Make a note of him, and when we get back—reward him."

Hadiya nodded, and her aide immediately typed a note into a tablet. The rest of the flight passed calmly, and we landed without problems on Clan Ryo territory. Unlike Hadiya's palace, which she'd built atop the clan fortress, these went another way. Clan Ryo created a whole small town on their territory and, instead of one huge structure, had many smaller ones: a barracks here, a medical clan center there, the clan head's home there, servants' housing elsewhere.

"Mistress, we're being met," the adviser reported anxiously, handing Hadiya the shuttle-cam tablet. Interested, I opened my eyes and looked too.

"I see the clan head, his adviser, bodyguards, and welcoming soldiers," Hadiya commented for me, tapping the people on the image with her nail. "Looks fine. Those bodyguards are the ones I know; no new faces," the shuttle jolted slightly, marking touchdown.

"Got it. Go do your thing, Sunshine. Don't be afraid—I'll be nearby," I unbuckled, flicked her nose, and stepped to the opening ramp first.

All right, what do we have? Twenty soldiers. One "prince." His adviser. Four bodyguards. And not a single Force-user. Calmer already. Stepping down, I moved aside; Hadiya stepped up beside me.

"Greetings, Lady Hadiya Kran. I, Volnos Ryo, welcome you on Clan Ryo territory," the current clan head bowed. And he's actually younger than Hadiya by about a year—if not more.

"Hello, Volnos. Accept my condolences that our meeting is taking place under such circumstances, but only this way can we resolve our disagreements peacefully."

"Yes… you are right, Hadiya," Volnos nodded, though he clenched his hands. "And your companion, he…" the young heir looked at me, supposedly showing friendly interest. If he hadn't been leaking emotions, it would've been perfect.

"Dalakhan Zen. An old friend of my father. Since my husband has departed on urgent matters, Dalakhan has taken his place."

"What a shame. I was hoping to speak with him," Volnos put on a mournful expression. Mmm… no, kid. You're not an actor.

"Volnos, will you invite us already?" Hadiya changed the subject. I just tried to keep my composure. Politics… I hate politics. They smile, poison each other, sharpen knives behind backs. Nowhere in the system have I become as bloodthirsty as here. I'd rather take a walk on Nox without a suit—there would be more pleasant sensations than from diplomatic meetings on Chicago.

"Of course. This way," Volnos nodded, throwing me an interested glance.

What made Hadiya different from all these animals was her kindness. Seriously. On the first day we met, she didn't try to use me. She was afraid of me, yes, and pretended to be weak—but then she asked for help. Without a hidden hook. And afterward she always acted the same way. First she approaches and politely, humanely, and most importantly openly asks or offers something, and only then—when she's refused—does she pull out a knife and repeat a slightly modified offer. That's Chicago: mercy and kindness are seen as weakness, and even if you're offered a clean contract without traps, you still won't believe it. But Hadiya will offer it. Once. The first time. She gives everyone a chance—and you'd better not spit into that outstretched hand. That's what bought her loyalty from some of her enforcers who chose to believe in their mistress—and from pilots too. Enil, the one who threw himself at the missile, is one of those.

Following Volnos and Hadiya closely in a mixed security ring, I watched them and compared. Interesting… what if I'd followed the order? If I hadn't dug deeper, and had just escorted Hadiya back and handed her over? What would've happened then? No idea. With her charisma and talent, she might've wriggled out even then. Poison the "husband," arrange an "accident" for the head, take first place—and then maybe options. Or maybe not, and it would all go the way Clan Shi planned. And then it would keep boiling in its own juice until the next coming.

Lost in thought, I stayed like that until we reached the clan house: a two-story, relatively small villa with an entrance extension. Inside—an antechamber with guards, and beyond it a hall with two crescent staircases leading to the second floor. A large chandelier above; to the left one big room—a hall; to the right, apparently, a kitchen.

Turning left, we entered a spacious hall with semicircle sofas and a real-wood tea table in the center. Hm… unusual. I'd forgotten wooden furniture exists; usually it's cheap polymers. Paintings hung on the walls, whole flowering shrubs stood in the corners, and there were several cabinets—again, surprisingly, wooden.

"Would you like anything to drink?"

"No, thank you."

"As you wish. The Je'daii will be a bit delayed, so I suggest you occupy your hands to pass the waiting."

Je'daii? Though… given the meeting, they could send representatives to confirm legitimacy. If so, my mask would be very much on theme.

Pacing the room, I posted up by the wall. In the opposite corner, one of the security officers took position. Volnos's own security stood similarly in the corners. The rest waited outside.

Watching the conversation with mild detachment, I scanned the surroundings with Force sight—just because. Volnos noticed Hadiya occasionally glancing at me, so he concluded I wasn't a simple soldier and at least had her trust. Because of that, he tried to talk to me a couple times, but each time Hadiya cut in, explaining that I don't speak. And she was right—if I open my mouth, I'll say so much, whew.

But when a wave of tremendous disgust came from Volnos at one of Hadiya's answers, I returned from my thoughts and looked at him with mild surprise. Turns out he was giving my sunshine compliments, but emotionally… ugh. Don't be like that. Ugh-ugh-ugh.

Hadiya must've sensed my indignation by instinct, because she raised an eyebrow and looked into my visor.

"He's really necessary?" my body said.

"Yes."

"And does he have to stay in one piece?" I repeated with hopeful emphasis.

"Absolutely," Hadiya answered without hesitation, shattering my hopes against her knee. Ugh… That brief exchange didn't escape Volnos's notice, nor my dislike. Apparently deciding I was simply jealous, he quickly dropped the subject.

And about ten minutes later, the Je'daii finally showed up. I'd noticed them even as they approached; you'd have to try hard not to sense the only Force-users in the area. Unless they hide themselves, like I can.

The door opened and Volnos's adviser came in.

"Lord Volnos. The Je'daii have arrived to witness the contract."

"Finally! Where have they been… Bring them in immediately—we've waited long enough!"

"At once."

Only the closer the outsiders got, the less I liked them. The Force flowing through them carried dark tones, meaning both Je'daii had been out of balance for a long time. Frowning, I prepared for a fight just in case, placing a hand on one of my sword hilts, while in the other I began preparing a Force Blast. Just in case.

Hadiya must've sensed my tension too, because she turned, evaluated my posture, and started preparing for trouble herself.

And then the said Je'daii entered. Teacher and apprentice by the looks of them. Swords at their belts, a pistol on each thigh, both in cloaks over proper Tythonian armor.

"Apologies for the delay," the Sith—also the senior of their pair—began warmly.

"Right. Since everyone's here, I'll arrange drinks," Volnos stood and headed for the door.

"You are Hadiya, correct?" the pair approached us.

"Yes, and you—"

Hadiya didn't even finish when the teacher started drawing his sword and his apprentice began calling lightning. Neither of them even had time to register what was happening when both were blown out the window, and I was already standing with my arm outstretched, a Force Blast having snapped from my palm.

"Tiberius, see to the mistress. I'll handle the exiles for now," I said, drawing my swords as I walked past Hadiya. Volnos's guards who had been standing here were already on the floor with snapped necks, as were the ones outside the door.

Climbing out through the window, I took in the scene: both our people and theirs were staring at the stunned Je'daii, who clearly hadn't expected such a twist.

"Who the hell are you?!" the Sith shouted.

Instead of answering, I released two doppelgangers and, taking both swords, rushed the Sith—clearly the most dangerous opponent. He tried to shove me back, but Force Enhancement and a Force Barrier canceled the push. His apprentice acted smarter, immediately using Force lightning. The doppels scattered at once; I, throwing my left sword at the target, opened my palm and braced with tutaminis. The lightning struck the defense and dispersed, while the apprentice toppled onto his back with a lightsaber in his heart.

Using Force sight, I noticed movement behind me and dangerous shooting close to Hadiya. Catching a blaster bolt with the flat of the sword in my right hand and deflecting a burst of bullets with the Force, I snapped the shooters' necks and sent a doppelganger toward Hadiya to draw enemy attention.

At the same time, on instincts and reflexes, I took another lightning strike from the Sith on tutaminis and answered with a Force Blast—again checking Hadiya. The doppelganger did its job perfectly: they feared it more than a soldier, and our guys held the line, breaking out of the house and pulling Hadiya with them.

Locking my blade into a hard block, I caught the Sith's saber and, sweeping his weapon aside, kicked the bastard in the chest. Even though tracking the battlefield was manageable—thanks to years of practice—decision and execution still took time. And that time was enough for the Sith to evaluate me and smash an ampoule of alchemical enhancer somewhere inside himself.

The Force itself rippled, his yellow eyes bloodshot, and colossal Force pressure dropped straight onto my shoulders. The ground trembled, cracked; it felt like I was under a press—I couldn't even move…

Strangely, what saved me was a mind trick. The moment the enemy got distracted for a second by a vision only he could see, I broke free. My left sword returned and both blades slammed into his guard. Continuing the technique, running Force Lightning along my weapons, I carried it onto the exile's blade and, as a result, into him. Kids—learn physics. Insulate your sabers.

Over his scream, I tried to take his head, but even then the exile barely dodged, taking it on the shoulder. Twisting away, the Sith managed to gather a Force Blast and, almost point-blank, slam it into me.

Catching both swords in a reverse grip and crossing my arms, I focused a Force Barrier. Unfortunately, in raw power I couldn't match him. The barrier took part of the hit, but I still got thrown back. Kriff! Hadiya. Several Clan Ryo fighters were moving in on her flank. Catching a few grenades on their belts with the Force, I pulled the pins and, before they could fire, dropped both Hadiya and her guards to the ground.

At the same time, I regained my weapons and rushed forward again. Pressure rolled onto my shoulders once more, sinking my boots into the ground and not letting me move. A series of explosions boomed somewhere to the right, but there was no time.

Accelerating the Force inside me, I used a localized Force Storm. A thundercloud, like a sponge soaking up water, absorbed the spilled Force, letting me move again—but at the same time it began expanding and striking lightning more and more often.

Closing with the stunned exile, I yanked him toward me, throwing off his balance, and hurled a sword into him. The bastard kept balance, knocked the sword away—but when a fireball snapped from my right hand point-blank, that was a surprise.

And to make sure, I raised my right hand to the sky and, jerking it down, drove a bolt through the Force Storm, charring the Sith's skin black.

That's it. Now he's done for sure.

Slowly collapsing backward, the Sith hit the ground. Glancing at Hadiya, I confirmed she was okay and walked to the Sith's head. To my surprise, the enemy was still breathing. The Force kept him alive; a body oversaturated with dark energy refused to die.

A split second of delay was critical. Instead of a heavy strike, the bastard hit precisely, trying to crush my chest.

"Khh—kha…" The pressure was so strong I physically couldn't inhale, and the taste of blood filled my mouth. Dropping down, I drove one sword into the Sith's chest and brought the second down onto his head. Only then did the pressure release, and I could finally take the breath I'd been craving.

"Finally."

I tried to breathe, but it wasn't over. Lifting the mask, I coughed up blood. Focusing, I checked my condition… Yeah. Two broken ribs and lung damage. Cutting off sensation, I set the bones back and held them in place with the Force. Then I used a healing technique, accelerating recovery. It won't be quick, but at least it won't hurt. Good thing Je'daii are so tough…

Rising, I sheathed my swords and calmly dispelled the mess I'd created. It looked like I simply swept a hand, and a huge, unnaturally low, sparking storm cloud that had been striking everything with lightning began slo-o-owly dispersing, climbing higher into the sky.

With our fight's end, the gunfire stopped too. Both our people and theirs stared at me, holding their breath—some in awe, others in terror. In that silence, the click of women's heels on stone sounded very loud.

"I will say this once!" Hadiya's fierce voice rang out over the square as her commanding, elegant figure stepped up beside me. "Weapons down!"

No volunteers wanted to test fate. Not even trying to hide their fear of me, they began laying down their weapons.

"Volnos Ryo! Find him and bring him to me!" she barked at Tiberius and his men.

"Yes, Mistress. Move!" The men rushed into the house, taking several more fighters.

"You—collect the weapons."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Gather these into one group. Handle them carefully until the first objection."

"Yes, Mistress."

I didn't interfere. I just stood and watched, enduring some very unpleasant sensations. Hadiya issued orders, kicked her subordinates into motion, and ran the whole process.

"How are you?" the Twi'lek asked quietly when the orders had been given.

"Fine. But I'll need to lie low for a couple days."

"Are you sure?" I turned to the worried Hadiya. "Your chest plates are bent."

"I'm sure, Hadi. Don't worry. Do what you have to do, and let's get out of here."

She nodded and went back to being the ruler. When they dragged a Twi'lek by the scruff—Volnos Ryo, the Clan Ryo head—changes started again.

Standing over Volnos on his knees, Hadiya was burning. The very fact enraged her: three times she'd offered his clan genuinely good terms—good even by my standards, one-to-one for each head—and each time they'd spat in her face. And then this attack… and my battered condition didn't help her mood either.

"This is an open attack on the clan, Hadiya," the prisoner said, trying to stay calm, his voice trembling. "They won't forgive you."

"This is negotiation, Volnos. And the one who attacked here was you!"

"But it was your people who killed two Je'daii, and your people who smashed my house. Note that you have far more people here than is allowed 'for negotiations,'" Volnos remarked acidly, smiling.

"First—those weren't Je'daii," I smirked and, lowering my hood, removed the mask. Hadiya twitched slightly as I wiped blood from my lips with my sleeve. "Je'daii, represented by me, fully support Hadiya," Volnos grew paler with every move. "Second, there have already been attempts on Hadiya's life, so these security measures are more than justified. And third, you got involved with hired killers wanted by the Order. That alone stains you. And the fact you set them on Hadiya, openly, that's ooooh."

"You can't prove that!"

"I don't need to prove anything," Hadiya growled. "Soon everything will change, and the clans will either swear loyalty to me or fall. Kneel, Volnos!"

"Never…"

A shot rang out, and the body with a hole through its head fell to the ground.

"Then we'll do it differently," she said, holstering the pistol and pulling out a comm. She contacted someone. "Begin the operation."

"Yes, Mistress."

Making a mental note, I kept watching.

"Mistress, what do we do with the prisoners?"

Looking at the clustered fighters and Clan Ryo personnel, Hadiya stepped out in front of them.

"Clan Ryo has fallen! But worthy fighters are always needed. You have a choice—leave, or kneel before me!"

People hesitated, murmuring quietly, glancing at their clan head. Someone split off and cautiously headed for the exit, but no one touched them. A few more xenos left. The rest began bowing. In the end, most of them knelt, accepting Hadiya as their Mistress.

After giving additional orders about looting and placing her adviser in control, the two of us returned to the shuttle, and Hadiya sat down with relief.

"Plan B?" I asked immediately as I sat beside her. "Is it what I think it is?" and I demonstratively snapped my fingers, recalling our talk.

"Yes. Tomorrow the news will roar about Volnos Ryo's vicious violation of the unwritten rules, for which he paid with his life. And I will tear his clan apart."

"How?"

"Persuasion, blackmail, bribery, hostile takeovers… Sometimes terror. Every tool will be used. Already tomorrow, Clan Ryo will cease to exist."

"Not afraid the others will turn on you for that?"

"And who said I'll take everything for myself? About half I'll redistribute among the clans as a 'friendship' gesture," she smirked. "I already showed them it's better to be my friend. After this, they'll think three times before opposing me. Especially since they have a clear example of those who voluntarily came under me and started living even better."

"Who's that?"

"Several enterprises on the brink of bankruptcy left their old protection and asked to come under mine. I accepted, sponsored them, shielded them from competitors. Now I have quite decent income from them. Everyone's happy."

"Everyone except the competitors," I smirked.

"Then they shouldn't stand in my way."

I didn't answer. I turned the mask in my hands and looked at its faceplate, studying my reflection in the visor.

"It still suits you," Hadiya smiled. "If only you put paint on the helmet like your pigments, it'd be perfect."

"Later. Maybe. When I rebuild it."

Once the fighters finished searching the clan house and boarded, we flew home. And the next day, just as Hadiya promised, the news tore itself apart, screaming about the latest events. At an urgent, unscheduled Clan Council session, she politely, with evidence, presented the real version of events and made several 'friendship' offers they couldn't refuse.

Measuring the council members with my eyes, I smirked to myself. Of nine, only six remained in play, including Hadiya. Clan Shi was out. Clan Ryo was out. One more clan had essentially been carved up by the others and no longer carried its former weight. Six remained—one of whom was closely cooperating with Hadiya. You could say they'd divided the market between themselves so their interests wouldn't clash. Two council members were confused; two more would've gladly seen news not of Volnos's death, but of Hadiya's murder.

Unfortunately, negotiations dragged on for several days, during which I recovered. When the bustle settled and the wealth at the top had been divided, I could finally behold a Twi'lek happy beyond measure.

"There! Fed one, tangled up two, tied up two more. Everything's going to plan."

"Hadiya…"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"You're a genius monster."

"Who are you calling a monster?!" the Twi'lek frowned, hands on hips.

"Fine. A genius little monster. Better?"

Thunk! A fist met the mask.

"I'll get offended. And you know what I'm like when I'm offended!"

"I do. Cute and funny," my hands closed around her waist. And then sheer horror appeared on her face.

"No!"

"Yes."

"No!!!"

"Yes-yes."

"No-no-no, noooo!!!"

Heh. Tickling the despot and tyrant of the whole planet… what could be better?

Chapter 26

Having dealt with Hadiya's problems and stayed on the planet for another half-takeda until everything passed the dangerous point, the two of us finally exhaled in relief and switched to solving my problems. Getting in touch with Dalien and Mother—who at that moment was halfway to Kalimar—we listened to what one brilliant mind had come up with.

And what he'd come up with was problems for his own ass. Dalien didn't want to give up the idea of sneaking as many people onto Tython as possible, thus compensating for each sect member's weakness with numbers. What can you do—they're not a military organization. Mother stayed quiet; her job was what happens on the planet, not how we get there. Though her general look and a gesture I knew well—massaging the bridge of her nose—spoke for themselves. Hadiya, on the other hand, didn't keep quiet and, in her usual manner, voiced everything she thought about one particular guy's mental abilities, his sex, and his unconventional physique.

And then she proposed an alternative: we go in as a small group, under the cover of cargo, without landing on the planet, and perform a drop straight into the Old City. The Star-Seekers have a layout; Mother had already marked where and what stands there. Now it was necessary to decide who would be in the group. We have twenty seats. Of those twenty, three were allocated to me, Mother, and Dalien. Another six—to his scientists. The remaining eleven went to Hadiya's cutthroats, whom she would contract for the job. We didn't touch the Star-Seekers' fighters; unlike the locals, they didn't take part in constant skirmishes. Plus, the soldier roster included sappers, because Dalien warned we'd need to blow things up.

When the details on gear, equipment, and everyday little things were settled, a meeting date was set and, consequently, the start of the operation. I have five takedas to finish the pilgrimage and receive hunter status.

"Since we've sorted that out, Shade, tell me—what are you wearing?" Mother changed the subject.

"Oh, this? Hadiya gave it to me. She was preparing it for when I finished training, but it was needed now."

"Oh!"

"What?"

"No, it's just… I just wanted to уточнить the designer."

"Um… I'm the designer, but I can point you to the мастер who made the set," Hadiya cut in.

"I would be very grateful."

"Mo… maybe you shouldn't?"

"Why?" she blinked in surprise. "You look very solid—an absolute pleasure to look at."

"There! That's exactly what I told him!" Hadiya immediately picked up, feeling supported. "And he—nooo—kept resisting."

"Ahem… Ladies, if that's all, I'm disconnecting," Dalien cut in.

"Of course," Mother nodded, while Hadiya just waved it off.

"And I had to talk him into it too…"

"Enough," I interrupted Hadiya, realizing where she was going. "Let's finish the business, and I'll go pack. Mom, what's the situation with the alchemists?"

"Nothing yet. I tasked the Council. Tsikuna, of course, wasn't happy—especially when she learned I won't be involved. They're going to assign an investigation group. What worried them far more was the fact that someone turned up who dared to present themselves in the Order's name. Hadiya, are you sure those were the same assassins?"

"Yes. Three Force-gifted. I calculated their scheme and I admit that if not for Shade, my clan would've had huge problems, not to mention me. If everything had worked out, I would've been the scapegoat, Clan Ryo—as the injured party—would've demanded compensation, the fake Je'daii would've recorded it, and then the carving-up would've started, like I did with Clan Shi. The method works," she shrugged.

"Understood…"

"Mom, why do you need Kalimar?"

"I'm 'looking' for the Star-Seekers, did you forget?" She even sounded surprised.

"Oh… right."

"I also saw Dalien's sister, by the way."

"Oh! How is she?"

"Ready to do anything to stop the sect."

"As in—completely?" I tilted my head.

"Yes."

"Mmm, great. Like we needed a split inside the Order…"

I glanced at Hadiya

"…or an interplanetary war."

"Don't look at me like that. I already placed an order with our allies for the construction of warships."

"Hadiya…"

"No, better to have them. They can always be mothballed, sold, in the worst case dismantled for parts, or refitted."

"No objections. Build away."

Smack—someone kissed my cheek.

"All right, ladies. I'm going to pack. Hadi, are you coming with me, or staying here?"

"Sorry, Shade…" She bit her lip. "I can't leave right now."

"It's fine. Then when everything is over, I'll fly in myself… And I'll bring Ves too, because how is she there alone without me…"

"Oh, you can 'forget' her somewhere," Hadiya wrinkled her nose.

"You dislike Vessira that much?" Mother asked, surprised.

"I don't not like her. I just don't want to share Shade."

"You'll have to," I spread my hands, getting up. "I warned you честно: I'm greedy—I won't give what's mine away, and I won't let it go," and, flicking Hadiya's nose, I headed for the door. "Talk to you later, Mom!"

***

…When I told Hadiya I was going to pack, I meant a small backpack—to walk with it the usual way to the spaceport and then find a ride. And back then I couldn't even imagine that my appearance before her in that state would cause such a violent reaction.

In her usual manner, waving a blade and speaking loudly, the girl was genuinely indignant, outraged, cursing the Order, getting indignant again—only now about my financial situation…

"Hadi… I don't get it, why are you boiling over?" I stopped the blazing girl.

"You're my husband!!!"

"Reputation again?" I sighed.

"No! I've already come to terms with your apathy and your отношение to reputation. What infuriates me is the very fact that My Husband doesn't have his own ship and has to scrape by on rides! And I won't even start on the fact that mice are crying on your balance!"

"Hadiya…"

"Silence!!!" the lady stomped. "You. Must. Have. Money!" she enunciated each word, poking me with the knife. "And a ship! Otherwise I'll just stop respecting myself."

"Yes, but if you do that, my self-esteem will suffer," I guided the tip aside with a finger and, stepping close, put an arm around her waist.

"?" She raised an eyebrow.

"In my understanding, it's the man who should take care of the woman and the family's financial состояние, not the other way around."

"Oh, don't even start?" She twisted out of the embrace and, facing me again, jabbed a finger into my chest, the little knife still clenched in her fist. "You are my husband. Period. True, a 'named' one—for now. You'll finish training in the Order, get whatever status it is you get, and then I'll hand you some companies—whichever you like."

"Hey-hey, Hadi, what are you doing? My job is to swing metal and make a суровое face. I can't do management!"

"I'll teach you. And I'll show you how to pick competent кадры you can offload some worries onto. You'll handle their loyalty better than I will."

"Hadiya, that's a bad idea. A very bad idea," I actually stepped back. Nobody had ever threatened me like that in my life.

"And how else were you planning to earn money?" she tilted her head.

"Honestly, I was thinking of following in Mother's footsteps. She's a одиночка who does not the safest work, and that kind of life suits me just fine."

"Breaking is easier than building, huh?"

"Who knows—there's building involved too, and sometimes спасать. And most importantly, they pay her more than well. Besides, sometimes she goes into backwaters for ancient artifacts or other finds, which is also highly paid for—if only by the collectors on Kalimar. Yeah, compared to you it's a drop in the ocean, but I'm not striving for wealth or power. I have other interests, and the money I earn for them will be more than enough—with plenty left over. As for you… yeah, next to you such an income looks funny. But taking money and sitting on your neck…" I shook my head. "Hadiya, you already help more than you can imagine. Thanks to you, even my conscience twitched—though that's never happened before."

"Mmm… all right. Let's do it like this. While you're studying, all your expenses are mine."

"But…"

"All. Expenses. Mine." She pressed me with her gaze, drilling a little hole in my chest with the blade. "You're busy right now—what earning can there be? So please shove your ego deeper and just accept my help. Or I'll get so offended you'll regret it," the tip moved from my chest to my chin. "Tarhan?! 'Got it?!'"

"You could've just said, 'Take it and don't get uppity,'" I snorted, looking at that dead-serious little face. And listening to her emotions, I realized she wouldn't back down under any circumstances. None at all—even if I tied her up and locked her in a шкаф. Because right now this wasn't about her or her ego, which she could rein in—it was about me. And for me this little thing would absolutely nuke Tython with atomic loaves, no joke. "By the way, when did you get interested in Togruti?"

"Since I met you. You don't notice, but sometimes you переключаешься onto your native language mid-conversation."

"Do I?" I raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"You do. Now come on—I'll show you your new toy," she hooked my arm and pulled me along.

"Heh."

The ship Hadiya intended to provide me was a little… peculiar. The "Curator" turned out to be a small, sausage-stretched craft for a six-person crew, with a pair of medium laser cannons on the sides and four small kinetic guns mounted in pairs above and below. In the nose there were forward-facing bomb and torpedo bays loaded with quite powerful incendiary and proton warheads. гуманность? No, never heard of it.

The ship was piloted by two pilots from a raised bridge bubble on top in the center—right in front of the kinetic turrets. The crew also had two gunners for port and starboard, one mechanic, and one coordinator responsible for target priorities. Honestly, I'd call him a captain, but the ship is controlled by the primary pilot specifically, while this one coordinates actions alongside other ships and commands the weapons and overall—basically "backup."

Beyond that, the Curator can carry a small десант group of twenty beings, but for a drop you have to personally descend to the planet, which under some conditions is problematic. As for landing shuttles… in our regions there isn't a single spacecraft with internal hangars except for two very specific models. The first is a Sleeper Ship, the second is essentially a tanker that physically can't land on a planet. And even then, ships don't so much go into hangars as dock to the side. All other ships—even cruisers or frigates—are relatively small, at least compared to my memories… and I somehow don't trust those memories anymore; too much time has passed. The Empire's triangle might be considered "unreachable fantasy" here, simply because such a behemoth is physically impossible to build.

Comparing the Curator to other ships, I turned up my nose a little. Of course you don't look a gift horse in the mouth, but I still want the same kind of ship Mother has. That BFG alone is worth it. And hers is faster. And more maneuverable. And prettier. And only a Force-gifted can fly it—Tythonian production, after all, and that's special micro-control, where you literally feel the ship as part of yourself. I wonder: what if you build your own ship? From start to finish… every part. Even just hypothetically—what would you get? Kriff… I'd love to test that.

But anyway. The Curator lost on many points not only to Tythonian ships, but to others too—an old model, after all. But sturdy, reliable, time-tested. And comfortable to fly, which Hadiya put as her first point when handing it over to me.

They saw me off in the best traditions of Chicago: with the honors due to the Mistress's husband, a couple "bodyguards," and an honor guard. No, Hadiya definitely has a kink for all this showmanship, but in her sphere you can't do without it. PR is what it is.

While we flew, I meditated on the Force Barrier. A useful thing—it neutralizes a directed поток of the Force within a certain range. Pushes, Force Blasts, Force Choke—in short, any грубое direct influence. It doesn't hold anything more complex, but it doesn't have to, because many don't bother and just slam you with raw Force. It's cheap, simple, effective—and doesn't require any special skill. Relatively speaking.

Given that one living bomb in the form of that red-faced Sith managed to stop me with that same brute force, I realized the imperfection of my technique and that it needed polishing. Is there a technique that allows you to avoid Force influence altogether? Like a protective coating that the Force slides off, like water off lacquer? Hm…

Leaving that question for the end of the list, I returned to meditations with the Force Barrier. A small semi-transparent воздушная sphere with flowing white streams hovered between my hands. How do you improve it? Making it stronger isn't an option—I'll build myself a prison, though if you make the barrier directional, maybe something will come of it. What else can be done? Mmm… try multiple layers? No, bad idea—they'd скорее interfere with each other. Maybe combine it with tutaminis? Also not it; then we'd rather expand tutaminis wider into a barrier… if I don't drop dead in the process.

I never figured out how to improve it, but I came up with another trick. If you densify the walls and surround a чужак with the barrier, it cuts him off from the outside world—an actual prison. Правда, the raw power to maintain it is like three and a half me's, and if the target fights, then you square that number. But overall, it's still a promising development for when you need to neutralize a Force-user without harming them, with full safety for everyone around.

When my brain started leaking out of my ears from trying to find ways to use all this, I decided to switch. I've got unstudied material on the hypergates lying around that I haven't even opened yet. So, brewing myself a cup of vorka—not as tasty as Hadiya makes, but still—and grabbing sweet bars to go with it, I unfolded the computer and, plugging in a flash drive, loaded the materials.

All right, what do we have? These are files on the battery, these are some blueprints, these are reports… Oh, pictures! Let's start with them.

Click!

"Pff-f-f-f!" As soon as the pictures loaded, my eyes nearly popped out of my head.

Good thing my reflexes beat my brain, and I managed to catch the spray halfway to the screen. Setting the cup farther away and putting the vorka back in the mug, I leaned over the monitor.

"Ashrnakhrakhar…" I whispered, flipping through the photos. Because I'd seen this before. There, at the bottom of the Gorge. The same inscriptions, the same instruments, the same architecture. The only difference was that in the Gorge there had been a huge hall you could drive belazy through, while here it was a relatively small space… But the placement of the equipment was very similar.

Does that mean there's another gate under Enil Kesh? But bigger… much bigger. Looks like it. I wonder if Dalien knows about it. No… unlikely. The whole planet would be screaming about it—such a find can't be hidden, especially right under the Je'daii's noses. And if you consider that Je'daii themselves can't go down to the bottom, then…

Then what? For millennia this place has remained closed; hundreds of experienced Je'daii went mad trying to descend all the way down, and I didn't even notice how I ended up there, survived, and even managed to return. How did I do it at all?! I can't понять. Hm… What if I didn't descend? What if the visions simply didn't let me go, and that hall is… say, a hypergate I'll find somewhere in the future? Then another question arises: what's at the bottom?

Replaying the memories of the visions made my head ache viciously. Closing my eyes and rubbing my temples, I tried to connect what I'd seen with what I knew. But… it didn't work. At least, not all of it. I realized that without Dalien this whole hypergate venture would fold quickly—and that cannot be allowed. If only because nobody besides him and his people knows anything about these hypergates. But beyond that… How will these monsters come? From where? Maybe they're the gate-builders? No, I saw photos of the Kwa statues, and those creatures have nothing in common with them.

And then there's the Republic… how it connects here with Palpy and clones, I didn't even begin to guess. The wildest theory I could come up with was that the gates would somehow tear the space-time continuum and переносить us into the future. Or, conversely, pull something to us from the future. Or nobody would be pulled anywhere, and a sort of bridge would form between different time periods. Uh… stop. What bridge, kriffing hell?

All right—enough! First I need to finish training, sort things out with Dalien, and then, if everything goes well, it's worth going back to the Gorge and making sure I'm not hallucinating. For now, it's time to meditate. Yes.

Inhale-exhale. The Force is with me, it's inside me, it's part of me… Where was that holocron?

***

…Wur Tepe. The largest forge-temple on Tython, famous across the system for its products. Built directly on a volcanic mountain, the forge used the energy flowing within it for its purposes. Weapons and armor come out from under the local masters' hands; vehicles roll out, ships fly out. More than eighty percent of all production capacity on the planet is concentrated in this place. Essentially, Wur Tepe is one giant forge.

The moment the ship landed on one of the pads and the ramp opened, I heard the distant roar of working shops. Right by the ramp I was met by one of the local masters: a tall, muscular Cathar in pants, bare-chested, with a heavy mane of hair and a mechanical right arm running from the collarbone down.

Meeting his gaze, I walked down the ramp.

"May the Force be with you, Master," I said, removing my mask and bowing politely according to tradition.

"And with you, wanderer. Hm…" He looked me over, then the ship behind me. "You're not lacking in modesty."

"Heh. I can even share it."

The Master appreciated the joke and, snorting, gestured for me to follow.

"Welcome to Wur Tepe, wanderer. I am Master Rakhnar."

"Shade Aero."

"I know who you are. Your group trained under me."

"Trained?" I caught on the word, turning to the Cathar.

"They left about fifteen days ago."

"I see…"

A pity. Though, on the other hand, it makes sense. Almost five takedas have passed since I flew out of here, four of which were spent on travel. I wonder if they'll invent a hyperdrive soon? Because this is kriffed—I spend longer flying through space than running around planets.

"Allow me to уточнить: for what purpose have you come to the temple?"

"Hm?"

"A formality, or personal interest? Not everyone enjoys the heat of the furnace, the clang of hammers, and the delicate treatment of metal with the Force. So if you came here by tradition, I'll show you the basic material right away and won't waste either my time or yours."

"Master, you insult me," I said, genuinely indignant, not hiding it in my emotions, which earned a flash of interest from the Cathar. "I'm very interested in getting to know your craft more closely. Moreover, I have ideas I'd like to try to realize here."

"And what is it that interests you?"

"I'm greedy for knowledge by nature; I'm interested in everything. How you work with metals, how you concentrate the Force, how you use Force Forging, how you соединяете electrical mechanisms with mechanisms that work on the Force," I nodded at his arm, "how you process kyber crystals and strengthen armor with their coating. I have a lot of questions but very little time, so I sincerely ask you to help me with this."

"Commendable… and unexpected," Rakhnar murmured, a little lost, glancing at my animated face. "But I don't understand your time limitation. Finish your journey and return to the temple."

"I'm afraid that after I finish the journey, I'll have somewhat bigger concerns," I answered evasively, figuring that if everything goes to hell, it might be dangerous for me to appear on Tython at all.

"All right… But what you're asking… you won't absorb it. It's too much material."

"I'm not going to hone skills now. I want to understand the principles of the processes, make new armor with your help, test a theory about new weapons, and move on. I only need the theory; for practice, if anything, I'll return after finishing the journey."

"As you wish. But it's a doomed дело," he shook his head.

"I'm too stubborn to give up what's mine."

"Then we start right now," the Master drew the line. "And we'll also see what you're worth."

We began with the expected tour. Rakhnar showed where which shops were, what was made in them, and gave brief explanations. The shops were… different. Completely different. One had a ceiling height of twenty meters and held massive industrial foundry furnaces; another looked like an ordinary school classroom where they made small, practically jewelry-grade parts. And somewhere there were even small rooms designed for one specific master—personal workshops, so to speak.

All materials the forge produced from were delivered in huge volumes already prepared for further processing. When, during the tour, the Master showed me a warehouse filled to the top with steel ingots—and another just as full of textiles—I had to pick my jaw up off the floor.

The training began with the Master explaining types of steel, properties, features, strengths and weaknesses. Since the material was plentiful, I followed the good old tradition and took notes on everything.

As he explained the theory, the Master, one by one, let me "feel in the Force" a чистый piece of alloy. At first I couldn't tell the difference, but with the help of a shared meditation with Rakhnar, I did. It's hard to put into words, but each "grade" of metal had its own scent, taste, and—strange as it sounds—sound. And when a master works on a new masterpiece through Force Forging, he's like a cook or a musician: he listens to his sensations, evaluates the "sound" of the alloys, adds something or removes something… So without a bit of creative spark, you simply can't do it.

After copying a simple table of elements indicating who "likes" whom or doesn't, we moved to the next step: making a blank for the нужды at hand. Since I was going to remake my armor, we combined pleasant with useful. The Master pulled twice as much material from the stores; on the first he demonstrated how and what to do, and on the second I tried to repeat. It came out… ужасно.

"How's your imagination?" Rakhnar asked casually, spinning with the Force what should've been an armor plate, but instead was a multicolored, wavy, crooked chunk of scrap—like a child mashed different colors of пластилин together and flattened it into a patty.

"Relatively shitty," I scratched the back of my head, staring at that crap.

"How so?" he raised an eyebrow, shifting his attention to me.

"At the Bodhi temple I failed absolutely every test."

"…"

"But in battle I can surprise with an unconventional move, and in general I do use imagination when solving a tactical task!" I immediately tried to оправдаться.

"Yeah…"

"Master, please don't look at that thing like that. I'm ashamed enough…"

"All right, let's repeat it a couple more times," he drew the line and shoved the plate into the furnace. When the scrap was red-hot, he separated the different metals with a Force technique and we повторили the test.

On the fifth attempt, when the plate crumbled like ash from paper, Rakhnar started giving me a very strange side-eye. On the ninth attempt, when I somehow changed the molecular structure of the alloy and it started looking like jelly, the Master stopped side-eyeing me and instead scratched his mane thoughtfully. They made me a blueprint I tried to follow. Now I began getting a plate. Though it was as fragile as glass…

On the twenty-second attempt, Rakhnar was breaking off кусочки from my work like cookies. And on the thirtieth, he finally couldn't take it and asked, "How are you doing this?" when the alloy turned into another mess.

"Shade, I don't understand," he shook his head, throwing out my next blank, because that trash wasn't even fit for recycling.

"Master, maybe we go to extreme measures?"

"Which ones?"

"Shared meditation."

"Mmm… I'm not great at it, but let's try."

Said and done. I was ruining yet another ingot; Rakhnar watched closely. It's a strange feeling, having an outsider inside you—seeing through your eyes, feeling your emotions, touching the world with your hands.

"Stop!" he suddenly said, breaking out of meditation.

"Hm?"

"Shade, I don't get it. Have you been trying all this time to воздействовать on the metal with both the dark and the light side of the Force at once?"

"Well, yeah."

"Oh…" He palmed his face.

"What's wrong?!"

"I told you, in Force Forging the light side is used."

"Mmm…"

"And the dark side destroys the metal's structure from within, and together with the light it results in… well, you saw what it results in."

"You didn't say that."

"I'm saying it now. Shift the balance inside yourself and repeat the process."

"I don't think I'll manage…"

"Why?"

"I don't use a specific side; I prefer the Unifying Force."

"Uh…"

"In short, I can't independently sink into an aspect."

"Suppose… what if jointly, through meditation?"

"They tortured me with that in Akar Kesh and it didn't really work."

"Hm… What if I myself reach for the dark side through you?"

"We can try," I tapped my chin thoughtfully.

We sank back into meditation, and I felt чужая energy trying to pass through me. But when I tried to deliberately shift into a specific side of the Force, nothing worked. I physically couldn't create an imbalance inside myself. My essence—the Force within—actively resisted it. Two energies I'd been carefully weaving together my whole life had indeed intertwined, and now they didn't want to separate. Moreover, twice I'd gone through a kind of "tempering," after which the connection only grew stronger.

So now not only could I not switch, but the dark side that flowed from the Master to me passed through a kind of filter and came out as the Unifying Force. Yeah… That's something. Now I not only hold the Unifying Force inside myself—I also filter outside Force.

"Uh… Master, I have a problem."

"What is it?"

"I still can't call on the dark side."

"That's fine. Not everyone finds it easy. I know at least two Force-gifted who find it difficult…"

"No, you don't understand. I can't shift the balance inside myself at all," I muttered, embarrassed, eyes down. "And also everything you're trying to pass through me becomes the Unifying Force," I added, lifting a test sample between two fingers up to eye level.

"O_o?"

"I spent my whole life trying to combine both energies. At the same time. I succeeded, and now I can't separate them. I even filter yours now…"

"Oh, Force…"

"Something like that."

He stared at me, sighed, stared again, muttered something, and—burning with either anger or indignation—laid a stack of small ten-gram cylinders in front of me and, with the order "Practice," removed himself. Yeah… Now I understand why masters in Ciguun Kesh were grabbing their heads because of me.

But I'm not me if I just give up! So, gathering myself, chewing a bar, I got back to work with renewed enthusiasm. Again and again, crap came out in my hands. Again and again the Force gave the metal the wrong properties I set. It got ridiculous—I sat there so long I started sleeping in the workshop.

Rakhnar returned only a few days later. He looked at my results, thought something over, and left again. But this time he was gone only an hour; then he brought a small blue kyber crystal.

"Master?" Rubbing my tired eyes, I looked at the Cathar.

"Here's the thing. We're changing the task. You know that to strengthen gear, crystal dust is added to the alloy," he showed the crystal. I nodded. "After that, the reinforced armor gains other traits. If before, the dark side, to one degree or another, destroyed the material, now it gets absorbed into the armor like water into paper. That property comes specifically from the dust."

"I should melt the crystal into the bar?"

"Listen," he shook his head, twitching an ear. "The process is slow, painstaking, and heavy. An apprentice won't do such work, because the light side must maintain structural integrity while the dark saturates it. Moreover, they teach this only after you learn to smelt blades, because fusing a crystal into a structure is very, very hard. To make it easier for you, I'll briefly outline the blade creation procedure: first you take a blank of high-carbon metal—say, durasteel—and forge it into the blade's shape."

"But I haven't forged yet."

"Yes. You can't even make a basic alloy to forge," he glared down at me, and continued. "After giving it the desired shape, Force is directed into the blade, changing the metal's structure and strengthening its molecular lattice. During this process, the blade is tempered, the cutting edge is sharpened, and the blade is prepared for the next stage. And here listen carefully, Shade: after the blade is forged, the master—or ideally its future owner—places an energy crystal into the hilt. Not necessarily kyber; any other will do, as long as it's Force-sensitive. Then the master merges the crystal lattices of the crystal and the blade into one through deep immersion in the Force and meditates until the blade, the crystal, and the Force become a single whole. This procedure is what allows us to channel the Force into the blade, causing it to glow. It's a difficult process, morally and physically, but it's exactly what you must do now."

"So first make the metal capable of passing and storing the Force, and only then shape it?"

"Yes."

"Think it'll work?"

"No idea, but it's worth trying. You have enough stubbornness—and enough strength… I think. The main thing is: don't reinforce the metal; you only need to weave the stone into its structure," he handed me the crystal. "Otherwise you'll make a chunk of iron you can't even send to recycling."

"And how am I supposed to strengthen the metal after that?"

"Make a durasteel alloy first! At least."

"Understood. And what about alchemy?" He raised an eyebrow. "I mean, there's practice where an alchemical compound is used during processing for certain purposes."

"No. I definitely won't let you in there yet," the Master cut me off—apparently imagining what kind of disaster I might cause.

Sitting more comfortably, I took a new cylinder in one hand and the crystal in the other and gradually sank into meditation. Rakhnar stood nearby and didn't interfere. The materials in my hands rose and began circling clockwise at an even distance from each other.

To my surprise, the stone responded eagerly and absorbed the Force readily, beginning to glow. That's when the process started. The stone smoked and gradually melted away like a piece of ice, and the "smoke" was purposefully absorbed by the cylinder.

How long I sat like that—no idea. I just set a clear task for myself and went to do it. But when it was done, a piece of ordinary iron saturated with the Force lay in my palm.

"It worked…" I exhaled with relief. And immediately realized how badly I wanted to sleep and eat. Thanks to Rakhnar—he'd anticipated something, so there was a covered tray of cooled food waiting for me right on the worktable.

After eating, I lay down right there; I honestly couldn't be bothered to go anywhere. I woke with a start to shuffling.

"Good morning," Rakhnar's voice came from the side.

"Yeah…" rubbing my eyes, I looked at the thoughtful cat. "I… did it."

"I can see."

"What now?"

"Now smelting. Same as before, but now try to stick everything specifically to this bar. Understand?"

"I'll try…"

"Go on," he patted my shoulder.

Before starting the new work, I went to shower, changed, ate my fill again, grabbed a pile of bars, and only then returned to work. This time the alloy creation process went much better and faster. The metal filled with my Force willingly obeyed any command and accepted any material. Now I had a plate that was actually a plate and behaved like normal metal. So that's what happiness looks like!

"Rakhnar…" I called to the master as he inspected my work.

"Hm?"

"Is this… how you process everything?"

"What? Of course not! Ideally every apprentice must be able to make their own weapon and armor, but that's the ideal; in practice it's what it is. We do something like this when it's a specific one-off job. Or a jewelry one. Or something else where it's проще to do it by hand than to make a mold, cast, and so on. Otherwise we have ready-made alloys. And if the job is big—for example, a mass-produced starship—we cast segments (we have the molds), and then stitch them together with Force Forging into a monolithic structure. That's why Tythonian ships have no rivets, no bolts, no welding. Also, ships don't need to be infused with the Force the way, say, a blade does, so everything is much simpler."

"Understood…"

"All right, now we have a blank," he rotated the plate. "All that's left is to temper it and somehow reinforce it with the Force."

"What do you mean 'somehow'?!"

"Literally. We went at it backwards, and what comes out in the end—I have no idea. Scientifically speaking—we went through the ass."

"That's scientific?"

"And understandable."

"Kriff… but we did get something!"

"And that's the most amazing part!" He raised a finger.

So we kept messing with the plate, trying to reinforce it, but it wasn't that simple. Metal with a crystal already woven into its structure wouldn't temper properly and, when heated, displayed the wrong properties. Trying to strengthen the molecular structure using the Force itself failed completely. I couldn't affect the result at all! Yes, I could change the shape, I could play with the stuff like plastiline, but make it stronger—neither I nor Rakhnar could.

But every cloud has a silver lining. When the plate took damage, it was easy to вернуть it to its original form. Deformation? A hole from a blaster? A cut? Not страшно—light Force influence and it closes or straightens right before your eyes! Given that it was still metal with natural strength, the result could be considered satisfactory.

Still, neither I nor Rakhnar could figure out how to use this crap in practice, so we decided to postpone it, stop frying our brains, and use a ready-made alloy.

So, with a new batch of durasteel on hand, and with Rakhnar's help, I finally got armor plates tempered and reinforced on the molecular level with the Force. And those, I reinforced with crystals. At first Rakhnar objected that it was TOO wasteful to spend a stone on every segment, but after paying for the expensive consumables (thanks, Hadiya), I calmly finished the work and got a full set. The next step was to attach it to fabric. And fabric, by the way, also undergoes Force reinforcement.

Already guessing what awaited us, we ran the experiment anyway. I didn't disappoint! I mean, the fabric they gave me honestly changed its properties, becoming stiff as a board.

"You know, Shade, for some reason it seems to me crafting isn't your thing," Rakhnar said with a weary look, exhaling, tapping a piece of fabric on the table like a stick.

"I'm going to keep trying!"

"I know."

"Master, what if… we try Alchemy?"

"Without me. Do what you want, but without me, because personally I won't even let you near reagents."

"Why so категорично? What if something interesting comes out?" He measured me with a look. "Well, what?"

"No."

We stood there, stared at the results of my labor, and thought. Then my eyes caught the "failed" sample plate.

"Master… I've got a brilliant idea," I finished the sentence in a cheerful tone, already rubbing my hands mentally.

"Well, impress me…"

I nodded at the plate.

"Um… Shade, fabric isn't metal," he looked at me like I was an idiot.

"So what? What does the Force care whether it's metal or fabric? If you fix the structure in the Force, then if it tears, it'll self-repair."

"Hm…"

"Yes, its strength will be lower than if it had been reinforced, but under the circumstances that doesn't matter! It boosts the wearer—one. Self-repair—two. The fabric will be extremely pliable—three, meaning it can be fitted perfectly so it sits like a second skin. On the other hand, it's a natural Force Barrier. To affect an object wearing such clothing, you'll need to put in more effort. In my view, the плюсы outweigh one significant минус."

"You convinced me. Let's try," Rakhnar nodded.

We didn't build any grand contraption—we took the ready outfit Hadiya had given me. We pulled out the original plates, stitched in the new ones, and then began the process of reinforcing with crystal dust.

When it was done and I tried it on, two things happened at once. First: I truly felt stronger—and moreover, I didn't want to take it off. And when I reached for the Force, it responded a bit faster than before.

Second: despite the clothing, I felt touches as if it wasn't there. It was strange, but very interesting. When Rakhnar, for the sake of experiment, made a cut in the fabric, I could feel it as if a hole had been made in me.

"All clear."

"What's 'clear'?" I turned to the Master. "I personally don't understand anything yet."

"Because you saturated the fabric with the Force all the way through… and with your own Force at that, it sort of merged with your own aura. By the same principle I control my arm and receive tactile sensation from it," he raised his mechanical limb.

"Uh…"

"I expected something like this, but I wasn't sure."

"Why? Had nobody done this before?"

"Strangely enough—yes. Before, nobody would even think of doing this kind of nonsense," the Cathar smirked.

"But it came out great!"

"I'm not arguing."

After running a few more tests on the обновка, we left it alone and moved on to the next stage. Since we'd started talking about Force-mechanics, we continued developing that. Honestly, I understood little, because it required a technical base I didn't have. But Rakhnar assembled it for me and provided it on a holocron, along with Force Forging techniques and the properties of metals.

Still, looking at Rakhnar, something wouldn't let me rest…

"Master."

"Yes, Shade?"

"I'm looking at your arm and thinking: is it possible to build a droid at the intersection of the Force and technology?"

"Um… more no than yes."

"Explain?"

"Say you assembled the base. The shell. First problem—making it move. Without electricity you'd need constant feeding with the Force, and that requires a living being. But suppose you managed to power the construction. I don't know how, but you did. I can't even imagine what programs you'd need to lay down for all this to work properly!"

"But ships fly."

"You pilot the ship! A droid is a droid: you give it a command, it executes it. I can imagine you making a shell and trying to remotely control it. That's already фантастично, but it sounds more real than what you're saying. And even more real if you yourself move from an organic body into a mechanical body. That is something you could do. Hypothetically."

"Mmm, understood."

"And why are you asking?"

"Oh, just уточнил."

"You definitely have something wrong with your imagination," he shook his head.

"Mm-hm. Master, one more question."

"Go ahead."

"Remember I mentioned weapons?"

"Suppose," he eyed me suspiciously as I reached for the table and pulled a stack of papers from a drawer.

"Look."

Approaching, the Cathar took the top sheet with a sketched sword.

"And what is this?"

"An energy sword."

"What?"

"Don't look at me like that, I'm serious."

"Shade, can you come up with something simpler?"

"But it could really exist!"

"Why are you so sure?"

"I know. I can feel it."

"If you know, then explain how it can work."

"Well… a focusing crystal in the center," I pointed at one of the sheets.

"Mmm. Go on."

"And after that I don't know."

"Are you messing with me?!"

"I really have no idea! In Enil Kesh they tapped their finger at their temple and sent me here."

"Oh…"

"Master, I know the Force is energy. Lightning, flame, forging, all of it. What if it can be directed, focused, and contained somehow?"

"No idea. I know how a blaster pistol works, but from what you're saying, a completely different principle is used here… or I'm not understanding something."

"Neither am I. But my intuition keeps whispering that it's real!"

"Given what comes out of your hands—yes."

"That was hurtful."

"People don't get offended at the truth," he waved it off. "No, Shade, I have no idea how to realize that."

"Mmm… pity. Maybe there's someone in the temple who can help?"

"There is one… or rather, one woman. But you won't even finish the idea before she sends you out the door, asking you not to distract her from work with inventions."

"Kriff. Kriff!"

"What is 'kriff'?"

"A dish," I grumbled, putting the papers away again. "So what's next in the plan, Master?"

"Next… in principle, I can count your credit as passed."

"Oh, no-no-no! I'm not leaving here that easily."

"For some reason, I thought so…"

"How is the control of our-built ships carried out?"

"Oh… can you ask something simpler?"

"How is energy focused in kyber crystals?"

"Mmm, come on. To explain how Je'daii interact with a machine, you need an example."

"Heh-heh-heh…"

Yes, I was practically tearing Rakhnar apart, shaking everything he had in his head out of the poor Cathar. What I couldn't understand went into a holocron. What I did understand, I immediately applied in practice. Now, oddly enough, I sat at the controls for the first time as the primary pilot. Seeing this as a way out, Rakhnar demanded I pass a piloting check for a starfighter. Of course, he regretted it later, because he had to sit as the second pilot as backup, but in the first moments… oh, that happy Cathar face. I physically couldn't resist ruining it.

During training I spontaneously remembered the words of some future Jedi about flights being for droids. Whoever that Jedi was, Rakhnar would've agreed with him, because I flew well immediately. Intuitive control, connection to the Force, some baseline Mother gave me, plus the theory I'd gained here—all of it did its job, and in the end I felt the machine as an extension of my body. The technique itself suggested what and how to do; I only had to hone it. Which didn't stop me from cutting loose and pulling various maneuvers.

After that incident Rakhnar thought twice about what to assign me next. But when I realized I'd been stuck in Wur Tepe—sorry—already my fourth takeda, I panicked and rushed to pack. Rakhnar, the bastard, signed my departure paper with his mechanical hand and shed a farewell tear of joy. Bastard. But it's fine, it's fine—I'll definitely be back!

***

Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: patreon.com/Granulan