Rimon looked at the ghost in surprise.
"I didn't see any locks, nor any notes saying whose it was. And if an item lies there, with no clear signs that someone needs it, then the one who picked it up found it."
"Son, have you ever been cursed with a sex change?" Aunt Shianu asked with interest. "Because you're really drawn to stones, and your morals are exactly the same..."
"I'm drawn not so much to stones as to the opportunities that these stones provide," Rimon replied, unperturbed.
"Exactly," came the grumbling. "Opportunities. Opportunities everywhere. They sacrifice their whole lives for opportunities, then they realize – life has passed, and it's as if they never lived. This stone wasn't for opportunities. It was for beauty. And what did you do?"
"This crystal is alive," Rimon said, not with malice, but a little more roughly, "if it had stayed in the painting, it would have died. And I saved it. Even if I stole it, even if not intentionally, I saved it. And I intend to take care of it. Not to use it as a trinket for decoration."
The decision to care for his unexpected companion had been made long ago. But the realization that he simply couldn't sell it, give it away, or trade it, only came now. He truly didn't want to part with this living miracle of nature, a miracle of the Force. After all, taking care of someone is also an opportunity.
"And can't you take care of it without spoiling the painting?" the ghost's bewilderment was completely sincere. "Hang it where it's bright, moisten it daily with a solution... And now the painting is ruined, and no one will ever see it... You might have saved the stone. But you killed the beauty."
"Keeping paintings by a missing artist in a well-lit place might be incompatible with good health," the joke was awkward. Rock continued, "Perhaps you will still answer my questions? We've strayed from the topic."
Aunt Shianu looked at him with almost pity.
"And deaf too," she stated. "I just told you what to do with it. Mineral solution and sunlight. And it will continue to grow. Or did you "find" something else and now you don't know what to do with it?"
The ghost said nothing new, which was a pity, but he couldn't tell her about it. About how he came to get more... specialized data, perhaps. Well, the absence of new information could itself be new information.
"My apologies," Rimon said briefly, either apologizing or simply informing the spirit, and moved on to the second part, "I was given a riddle related to the Force, and I decided to consult you, as a more... experienced adept of the Force. How can a person simultaneously never have been in a certain place, and yet his presence is felt everywhere in that place?"
"And how often do you solve Force riddles with someone else's mind?" the ghost inquired. "The Force gives to each according to their mind. Go, think with your own head."
The smuggler had expected something like this. He had no hope of getting an answer, but he had to try. Although the common saying "trying is not torture" could take on a rather interesting turn here. There were still a number of questions.
"You said you had already expelled someone from here. If it's not a secret, who exactly?" he asked, also without much hope, hoping to get at least a crumb of information.
"Do you want to see? Take a walk through the other corridors," the ghost chuckled. "And don't forget to watch your step."
With these words, Aunt Shianu disappeared.
He didn't want to look at all. Not at all. Rimon tried to move his legs.
The feeling that his legs were not obeying him passed. For all her cantankerousness, the ghost did not condemn the persistent guest to a hungry death in the cave.
"Thank you," Rimon said, addressing the emptiness, and walked towards the ship.
Stopping at a fork, he cast a grim glance at the left passage. Did he want to know what the cave hid? No. Did he need it? Most likely, yes. Most likely... He knew too little about what he had gotten himself into, and any crumb of information could help him. Immersing himself in the Force was a little easier than usual. Already accustomed to kneeling on one knee, the contrabandist placed his palm on the cold floor and, recreating in his mind the image of the crowd that had gone down the passage, asked a question. Where had they turned?
The vision was vague, but it was possible to discern that those he had already seen in the cave had conferred – quite heatedly, judging by their gestures – and had gone into the grotto with the crystals.
Frowning, Rock asked himself the question again. Did he want to know what happened to those who were here before him? And again, curiosity overcame common sense. He asked another question. What did they do when they returned? After all, they definitely returned from the crystal grotto. There was no doubt about that.
They did indeed return – backing away as if someone had started the recording in reverse. Upon reaching the crossroads, they turned and rushed off in different directions, with expressions of indescribable horror on their faces.
They didn't look where they were running. Some dashed into the left passage, some into the central one.
In the passage leading to the crystal grotto, a shimmer appeared. Aunt Shianu appeared there for a moment, followed the fugitives with her gaze – and vanished.
Gathering his thoughts, Rock looked at the left passage. He sighed and turned on his flashlight. He needed to definitively find out what to expect from the cave. Immersing himself in the Force and carefully examining his path, he moved into the left corridor with hesitant steps, pondering before each step taken.
The first few meters held nothing but a growing reluctance to continue.
Stopping, Rimon thoughtfully reached further through the Force, not daring to step. He had to try to look at what was happening there, at what his subconscious was literally screaming to turn back.
A little further than where he stopped, the corridor floor began to rise in a small incline – only to immediately break off into a chasm. The flashlight couldn't help – the rise cast a shadow in which the crevice was lost.
And its bottom, judging by what Rimon could see, was not close.
Turning around, the contrabandist slowly walked away. May the void of space take them all, the spirit, the loaders, Kailas, and the artist. They fell on the head of a poor smuggler, and now he had to solve puzzles. One thing was, perhaps, clear. Varoo's presence was here because everything that happened here: the loading of containers, the departure of the loaders into the depths of the caves – it was all by his will. And Rimon didn't know how someone's will influenced the Force.
Remotely initiating pre-flight preparations, Rock decided to leave this planet before he went completely and irrevocably insane, because his chances of doing so were high.
The last thing the smuggler did before leaving was to feed that chick. A naive, somewhat boyish gesture. He himself was taken in quite by chance. Caught stealing, on Corellia. Fortunately, the one who caught him decided not to punish the boy, but took him in. He remained that frightened, untrusting child who had lost everything.
Since then, he had no friends, no real friends. In fact, he had never had friends. Only that neighbor girl who had some childish affection for the incomprehensible boy, who seemed to have a bipolar personality disorder, sometimes quiet and withdrawn, sometimes brazen and assertive. Since then, Annette had gone far, taking up a post guarding the peace of an entire system, and he... like in that joke. "And what about me... Want me to sing a song?!" The story itself had long been forgotten, but the final phrase... remained firmly in his head.
What was he? A man without education, without family, without friends, and without any moral values. Although, no. He had everything. The Lov couple became his new family, and Annette had tried in vain to persuade him to stay, albeit unsuccessfully, meaning at least someone had pleasant memories of him, personal ones, not work-related. And he did have moral values... Look, he fed the chick. However, he most likely robbed the person who saved him. But there was a suspicion that Varoo himself had signed him up for it...
When the ship's ramp closed, and Rock's body was enveloped by the familiar semi-darkness, in which he had become even better at seeing during his flights than in standard lighting, he smiled and placed the stone in its place under the lighting unit, added more solution, and went to the elevator.
The control panel blinked obligingly, signaling that everything was normal. Carefully lifting the ship into the sky with its repulsors, Rimon moved upwards into space, towards the stars, towards the abyss of which he was a part.
Hutt's stomper...
Now it was dangerous to fly to the workshop. He had nothing connecting him to Garrion; he had taken great care in that regard. Except for Seran... However, the former courier could be eliminated, but what was the point? And he felt sorry for him, humanly sorry. After all, he knew him personally... And he detested the logic of "if it interferes, eliminate it." No, he always tried to take out those who interfered with him, but he did it carefully, gently, without irreversible consequences. And death, as is known, cuts off all possibilities.
But with the stomper, he wouldn't be so lenient... Without regret. For interfering with his business and threatening his life. Even worse. He threatened the lives of the few people he cared about. And life would be much calmer, knowing that no one was waiting behind his back to strike.
After drafting a message to Maliha saying he was leaving and that if any contracts came up, he knew where to send them, Rimon apologized again for postponing their meeting. He omitted his excursion to the caves. Setting a calculated course, the contrabandist made his first jump to an empty system, from which he could jump to one of the trade routes. And then directly to Corellia.
Calculating his route from Dantooine would be a task not for the average mind. He would have about three hours before leaving hyperspace. This meant he could think, relax, calm down, and stop digging into himself.
When the ship flies in hyperspace, there's little to do. Automation handles maintaining the course, eliminating the notorious "human factor." After brewing himself some coffee, the smuggler felt like a smuggler again. The pilot of the "Black Eye," because he never considered himself a captain and never called himself one. The owner of a small, but fast and maneuverable ship that would fulfill any cargo delivery contracts. The requests could indeed be anything, but he didn't take every order. On the terminal, which used the ship's additional power, a drawing field appeared. Taking the first sip, Rimon placed the first dot. Himself. Then several more appeared. Clockwise: Kailas, Maliha, the stomper… Falling Star, also known as Tamir Mathieu.
What was known about them?
The stomper was hunting him because Rimon had crossed him somewhere... He needed to be eliminated, and the sooner the better. Having made the first group, the contrabandist united everyone under the label "personalities." Of all of them, there were two main, primary points. Kailas and the artist. Maliha could throw a wrench in the works by changing plans, and the customs officer, Gar's friend, was also a small point there.
For a moment, an interesting idea came to mind. Kailas thought of him as a tool that needed to be tuned! Didn't he expect him to find the cache and start looking for a buyer?! And thus divert suspicion from him?! His fingers drummed on the metal stand. Paintings were unique, one-of-a-kind goods. So, they should be held back. But the blasters could be sold.
So, that's what he would do...
Now that the general strategy had been developed, it was time to start implementing it. First, it was dangerous to fly to Corellia and land in Garrion's hangar. He needed to find a quiet, preferably inexpensive hangar, away from busy areas. Settle there for now. He had plenty of technicians for equipping the fortress. Then, he would contact Annette. Invite her on a date to a restaurant and chat there, and also invite her to an exhibition, buy two tickets. Warn her about the danger; she was a security officer, after all, she would protect his adoptive, but no less dear, family.
Sending Annette a message was simple. From an unknown address to her, posing as a mysterious admirer, choosing not the most expensive, but a rather prestigious restaurant on Corellia. Fortunately, he had the money.
Returning to the pilot's seat, Rimon emerged from hyperspace almost at the orbit of a gas giant, steered the ship into an asteroid field, and after passing through it, almost immediately went back into hyperspace. Now the exit would be on the edge of a busy system, a few jumps along more active routes, and then back into hyperspace, this time a direct course to Corellia. It would take about ten hours to fly. When he arrived, it would be very early morning, around five o'clock, on the planet. The meeting was at seven in the evening, so there would still be time to get some sleep. And to think about how to behave on the date.
He couldn't practice empathy; there was no one to practice on. Rimon had the idea to develop it into persuasion through the Force, and also to try to learn to turn off a person's consciousness, he couldn't express it otherwise. After all, all thoughts are a set of impulses, and the brain is an electricity generator, and stopping it is not difficult. But doing it so that it would start up again later – that's somewhat more difficult. Even not somewhat, much more difficult. He needed more data, and that's exactly what the young adept of the Force lacked. But he had what he had already learned. And that needed to be developed. For example, telekinesis...
Although, no. Telekinesis is banal. Much more interesting was what his own body could provide. Immersing himself in the Force, Rock separated from his body, once again feeling that strange sensation when you are present in two places at once. However, to avoid going completely insane, he always closed his eyes. Normal vision was not needed. "Looking" at himself, Rock pondered. Controlling his body's processes with his consciousness is risky. Don't agree? Try to control your breathing on the go; it's quite an unpleasant sensation, isn't it? To begin with, to understand how to change something, you need to understand how that something works. He started with the heart. With the main engine, because any ship he also starts by examining its engine. Then comes the electrical system, the ship's power supply, and in the body – the circulatory system. Then the ship control system – there is also this in the body, the nervous system. It was the nervous system that reflected most pleasantly in the Force; the background emanating from it was akin to the aura that surrounds a person, only more individual, more dynamic, and more colorful. And then came the brain, the control center. The place where thoughts and actions are born, the place that controls every part of the body. He didn't touch anything until he was ready.
After half an hour of contemplating the overall picture, he began to study individual systems. The respiratory system, the circulatory system, then the digestive tract. It turned out that an experienced gifted person could heal without problems, heal so effectively that all modern medicine would be nervously smoking in the corner. And you could also prevent toxins from entering the body, not be afraid to consume poisoned food, and much more. But... To learn to do this, he needed either a mentor or someone's work on this topic. And for now... For now, he could only more effectively distribute oxygen supply, thereby reducing the need to breathe to... But the amount needed to be checked practically.
After another two hours, through trial and error, one of which cost him consciousness, it was established – he could survive without oxygen intake for about fifteen minutes. Then the reserve would begin to be depleted, and after another minute, there would be death, or loss of consciousness, if there was something to breathe with. The use of this undocumented feature of the body was pleasant...
When the contemplation and training were finished, at least for a while, Rimon began a more thorough inspection of the ship. While it was in hyperspace, it was the perfect time to check if everything was in order and if there were any surprises left by the previous owners.