Surprises are a double-edged sword.
That is because they come in two types: the traditionally bad ones and the good ones.
I considered it a good surprise that with the inclusion of the Jedi into the command structure of the Grand Army of the Republic, the state did not neglect its generals. In addition to a command cylinder and rank insignia—those colorful plaques to be worn on the left side of a uniform tunic—they provided a salary, just like any other officer.
And a very substantial one at that.
Despite these innovations having occurred quite some time ago, I had only now found the time to sort through this mountain of information.
The balance of my salary account genuinely pleased me. Although the sum accumulated there was not small for the rest of the galaxy—a mere fifty million—compared to the riches I possessed in the Empire, it was pocket change. Money to be spent on current expenses. I only had to figure out what those were. After all, while in the service of the Republic, senior officers—a group that included the Jedi—were provided for entirely by the state. Food, clothing, medical care—all free. Housing was the same; one only had to submit the relevant documents to the accounting office.
However, considering that during this entire time I had slept either wherever I happened to be, aboard warships, or in the Temple—and lately, in the Citadel specially built for me on Christophsis—I was clearly the last person in the Order to learn about this. It was no wonder the credits had piled up.
It was enough to buy a Venator, for example. Of course, they wouldn't sell one to a private individual. But to a Grand Moff? Guaranteed. The only question was—what the hell would I need it for? I was outfitting the fleet of the systems army using its own budget. Armaments and everything necessary came from the same source. So, the question remained—where should I put this money? Quite a conundrum.
No, of course, I could practically bathe in money and spend it left and right. But I'd bet my life that after the corruption nest of the Moffs was uncovered, Intelligence must be keeping a close eye on the financial flows of the revamped GAR command. This meant that if I suddenly decided to buy a Star Destroyer and hide it somewhere, the information would land on the desk of whoever needed to see it. And then—they'd drag me by the nostrils to the Senate to answer for my deeds. But hoarding Republican dataries wasn't the answer either. Money should work. I just had to figure out how. So I wouldn't be caught by the tail.
One must not get sloppy with the little things when the stakes are this high.
As I immersed myself in directives, protocols, circulars, dispatches, and other bureaucratic sludge, I felt a long headache coming on. Digesting such a volume of information in one sitting was a special kind of masochism. But there is a word: "must."
After a year of war, the GAR had slowly but surely processed the experience gained. It had implemented it in the form of a massive tome several thousand pages long, detailing tactical recommendations for all types of units within the army. To get acquainted with such a colossus required a wagon-load of time and a healthy head. And mine was occupied with trying to keep the Force from tearing me into pieces. So, I set the work of the GAR staff aside for last—copies were held by all lower-ranking commanders, and there was no need to worry that the new trends in warfare wouldn't reach the soldiers.
However, I did familiarize myself with the manual, even if only cursorily.
And, I must admit, I was pleasantly surprised.
First and foremost, the army had abandoned tight formations in favor of lines, small groups, loose formations, and so on. Anything to reduce casualties. A separate section described all known combat droids and Separatist vehicles, indicating the strengths and weaknesses of each, as well as advice on the effective extermination of the enemy. Useful stuff.
I closed the section containing detailed explanations of corporate ethics, rules of decorum, etiquette, and other attributes of "white-guardism" as soon as I realized what I was looking at. As if I had nothing better to do than bow and scrape before someone. For me, considering my position, the only truly useful parts were the areas concerning relationships with subordinates—barely three pages, boiling down to the fact that you shouldn't hit a soldier in the face—that is, maim him; he might be a clone, but he's an expensive item. Better to send the defective one back to Kamino, where they'd wipe his memory and raise a racially pure "Aryan." Good grief...
Reading this rubbish took a giant amount of time. Consequently, I only approached the "fresh" documents a few hours before our arrival at Belsavis. Fortunately, no one was distracting me.
And, I confess, that was where the most interesting part lay.
Getting rid of undesirable Jedi from a subordinate army was no simple task. Yoda resisted as much as he could. And if it hadn't been for my luck in the negotiations with Syndulla, he never would have agreed to the deportation of the first batch of lightsaber-wielding degenerates he had sent earlier.
However, given the military actions raging across most of their route to Coruscant, he had to agree to send these "comrades" on an army starship. I had to try very hard to find the oldest and shabbiest tub in three supersectors—honestly, was I going to haul their stupid asses around on a Venator?
The Order would send a Destroyer to meet them—the deeper into the Mid Rim, the hotter the galaxy's erogenous zones became. It was no wonder the Grand Master was ready to risk an entire Venator for a handful of incompetent Jedi and various pieces of the most incompetent ones—all that remained of the professional fans of commander-style tantrums on Exsarg. It was a good thing not all of them had expired—only three Jedi in the form of a complex puzzle, frozen in carbonite, and two severely wounded. They were joined by the group of fools whom the boys of the 212th would never forget for the rest of their lives.
To be honest, of the three who died in the battles for Exsarg, I only felt sorry for Kento Marek. And not at all because he was an outstanding Jedi. The regret was more about his potential. Remembering what a machine his son, Galen—known in narrow circles as Darth Vader's secret apprentice, Starkiller—had been, one could only lament that the opportunity to acquire such a henchman was lost. And even then, the disappointment was superficial. I hadn't been happy about the appearance of such a "character" anyway. Now I could breathe a sigh of relief—I wouldn't have to worry that Knight Marek's poor reflexes would lead to him siring an offspring capable of dragging Star Destroyers out of orbit during a siesta.
Let me explain why.
There were no guarantees that Kento and his beloved would have defected to my side when the cards were revealed. Furthermore, reflecting on Marek's personality, one could even say with some certainty that this individual would have been more against Zakuul's actions than for them. And if so, Starkiller could have become a serious problem. I recalled that he didn't just scatter several strong Jedi across the galaxy, including Shaak Ti, but he also gave Vader a full box of bruises. And he fought more than decently against Palpy.
Starkiller was at the origins of the Alliance—if the plot of the odious game in two parts was to be believed. His absence—as a powerful Force adept—might not even lead to the creation of a resistance. Of course, Disney presented a different story of the struggle against the Empire in its "canon," but the updated history of the Alliance was no guarantee that a team consisting of a street magician, an old prostitute—the daughter of the odious Syndulla, a young artist who created weapons of mass destruction in her spare time, a lampshade-headed xeno resembling a fattened gremlin, and a juvenile brat would manage to organize the Alliance in place of Marek's son and Kota.
How... complicated this all was. The idea that the clones slaughtered the Jedi only because the Chancellor gave the order was logical in its essence. Clones were soldiers who carried out orders.
But the opening of their skulls also showed that the boys had biochips in their brains, which Disney explained as the "true" reason for the unquestioning execution of Order 66. So, I would need to take precautions regarding Kanan Jarrus's team as well. I didn't need potential troublemakers. And I had no doubt that there would certainly be those dissatisfied with the appearance of the Eternal Empire. This was the Galaxy Far, Far Away, after all. There was always a gang of life-dissatisfied, textbook coprophiles here, advocating for the return of ubiquitous bureaucracy, political impotence, pompous speeches, and the total indifference popularly known as the "Republic."
Reading the report prepared by the Padawan of the now-deceased Master Fort, I couldn't help but admit that the Togruta, upon whose shoulders the entire weight of command had fallen, had not lost her nerve and had acted quite skillfully. Sabotage, air raids, more sabotage. The file attached to the report—a report from the commander of the "Ion Group" commandos—was impressive in its list of destroyed equipment and high-value CIS centers. And every single one had become a target following the young girl's decision.
Whom I also had to fight for.
The desire to concentrate not only talented sentients but also gifted ones under my wing had not left me for an iota. Therefore, I had long and stubbornly argued to Yoda that the girl should remain with the army. She would amount to something if handled correctly. Reluctantly, the Grand Master agreed. And my "Padawan squad" grew by one.
Anyway, back to our sheep—that is, the Jedi shuffled out of the army.
While I had managed to get rid of several undesirables, in their place... ta-da... new ones were flying in.
Bohl Chatak. Saras Loorn. Melic Galera. J'uupi Shé. Olana Chion. Tsui Choi. K'Kruhk. Osar Oset. Ma'kis'shaalas. Stass Allie. T'Bolton. Durnar.
Curiouser and curiouser.
So many questions, so few answers.
And it wasn't even about the fact that Yoda had finally given in and sent me real warriors, whose achievements were listed in the files attached to the order, rather than some generic stock.
It was that now, under my wing, practically all those who had besieged Saleucami—one of the CIS's strategically important planets—at the end of the war were gathered. Only Oppo Rancisis was missing to complete the set.
Interesting. A coincidence? Or were there simply no others left?
The second order that interested me announced, thank the gods, reinforcements.
From the depths of the sectoral armies, who had been sitting idle and bored by the war, "surplus" clones were being sent to the active fronts. Generally, this was standard procedure.
But pull my pubic hairs.
They were sending me nearly legendary elites.
The 91st Reconnaissance Corps of Marshal Commander Neyo. The very corps that had gunned down its general on a speeder bike. And the general herself was also among the reinforcements. How sweet—the victim and her executioner, all under my hand.
The 38th Armored Division. Lovers of Juggernauts, SPHAs, walkers, and shooting Jedi on Kashyyyk. Yoda wouldn't lie—I just had to wait a couple of years.
The 313th Legion. For the life of me, I couldn't remember what these guys were famous for.
The 416th Star Corps. They were even written about in the reports—the boys had gotten caught in a massive meat grinder at the very beginning of the war and were essentially formed from veterans of hundreds of other units that had suffered losses exceeding reasonable limits. The classic example of when it's easier to create one unit out of a hundred partial ones than to rebuild all hundred.
The 442nd Siege Battalion. Now this was getting interesting. Because this unit was from the Third Systems Army, and they were unlikely to want to share. They were short on clones as it was.
Something was rotten in the state of Denmark. With the exception of the 313th Legion, the others were battle-hardened soldiers who could bend rebar with a look and burn through durasteel with their piss. Looking at the entries in the units' personnel files, I could only grunt. Almost every one had come via transfer from active armies. And from the front lines, no less. I could believe that one commander might be stupid enough to agree to the transfer of one unit. Но five at once... And yet, these units were now preparing for transport to Christophsis. At most, they would be on-site in two days, ready for service. Well, wonderful.
After sending a reminder to the management of the Christophsis Medical Center to put all the newcomers through operations to remove their old inhibitor chips, I moved on to the next document, still regarding this transfer with suspicion.
However, the next file—a message from the logistics service—put everything in its place.
There was nothing mysterious here. The personnel officers had simply begun executing my order. The first batches of Arkanian clones had begun arriving in the GAR. We were supposed to receive about twenty full corps. However, Dialo had done his best—and instead of them, we had acquired Fett-clone units, albeit battered ones.
I chuckled. Naturally, the former commanders of these units had agreed—acquiring full and completely outfitted corps in exchange for the Kaminoan ones, worn down by life and the enemy. Who would refuse such a deal?
And, by all appearances, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Obi-Wan, Plo Koon, and other members of the Council hadn't refused either.
Because over the next two weeks, even if only in a thin stream, no less epic units would join "Gent."
From the very first lines, I almost started laughing out loud.
Oh, Dialo. You're going to be a general.
Because to snatch from the members of the Jedi High Council ALL the known GAR units I knew that had distinguished themselves in the events of the Clone Wars... That took some doing.
So, the second wave of reinforcements included the 7th Air Corps from Kenobi's Third Systems Army. That meant Commander Cody and his cutthroats, who had seen the sands of Geonosis, the crags of Ryloth, the mud of Jabiim. They had even managed to make their mark on Christophsis before my arrival. One word—veterans.
Ha. And the "corps" was just a name. Two life-battered legions and a wagon-load of wounded... Kenobi certainly knew how to fight.
How precious. The "legendary" Vader's Fist—the 501st Legion—was absent from the corps lists. You stingy bastard, Skywalker.
The "greediest" for units at the moment was High General Plo Koon's Sixth Systems Army, from which my logisticians had managed to tear only the 104th Battalion, commanded by a clone named Wolffe. The one-eyed one.
The Galactic Marines, officially designated as the 21st Nova Corps under the command of the clone Bacara from Mundi's Fourth Systems Army. These could be remembered for distinguishing themselves at the end of the war on Mygeeto—in the scene from Episode III where they gunned down the Cerean on the bridge connecting the districts of the planet's capital.
Hm, even Windu turned out not to be tied to his "personal" unit. The 187th Legion, which under his command had managed to fight on Dantooine, Haruun Kal, and God knows where else, was also being prepared for shipment.
Toward the end of the list were much smaller units, torn "from the forest and the pine" from other armies.
Ghost Company, Tango Company, 127th Squadron... Hutt, Dialo had outdone himself.
Yes, perhaps these units were not fully staffed, and now—a little over a year in—they only possessed a portion of the merits for which they would become famous... But holy hell! It was anyone's dream—to gather all the most illustrious units under one's command!
For a full "hand," I was only missing a couple of hundred more-or-less famous units—and then it would be a truly "illustrious" army.
It seemed the new clones were quite good if they were being discarded so easily. If they started getting rid of the Coruscant Guard in favor of the new soldiers, then things were definitely smelling of kerosene. The latter were truly fierce. Even back when they were Republican soldiers, they had earned the nickname "stormtroopers" for their brutal suppression of uprisings on Coruscant. It was only after the establishment of the Empire that the term found wide use; right now... it was something of an insult.
Well, I won't speculate on the future. There were forces that needed to be "worked with." All that remained was "only" to win their favor... A trifle.
I needed to check with Adi and Luminara to see how the build-up of forces in their armies was going. The picture there should be identical. Even if the command had spoiled my cards with the clone replacement and the idea—to spread clones not controlled by Sidious across the galaxy—had gone down the drain (it was time to admit this fact and think about adjusting the plan), it was within my power to ensure that at least in three systems armies—mine, Unduli's, and Gallia's—there remained Fett clones whose loyalty could be guaranteed with a high degree of certainty. I simply had neither the energy nor the desire to mess around with the GAR's new "toys"—the Arkanian-produced clones. Better a bird in the hand...
Wait, what the hell is this...
I have to ask—what is a sentient thinking when they suggest this?!
In the Order, younglings who had not reached the age of Padawanship were grouped into clans. Like a class in school. And this entire little flock of preschoolers, every single one, studied under the supervision of one of the Jedi instructors, mastering the basics of Force usage, science... To the Hutts with remembering what they cluttered our heads with in early youth.
What mattered was something else.
The little ones were periodically sent outside the Temple to see the world and show themselves off. Like the "gathering" in the cartoon, when a group of younglings was dumped on Ahsoka and sent to Ilum. Even Olee, while I was lying in the Halls of Healing, had been pressed into service for such things.
Now, it seemed, it was my turn.
The Council was sending the Hawkbat Clan to Christophsis—eighteen "fledglings," their instructor Du Mahn, and her Padawan Chase Piru. Why a goat needs an accordion—I had no idea. Officially, it was for an introduction to other cultures, broadening views on the sentients living in the galaxy, and... visiting one of the Jedi enclaves. The one on Almas (Seriously!? That planet is in my area of responsibility?! Why the Hutt do I have such luck!?). I was instructed to see to their safety and conduct several lessons with them—to set an example.
In short, the younglings were simply being "walked." A necessary task—so they wouldn't think everything was as perfect as it was in the Temple. Но why the Hutt would they send children, and in such numbers, into a combat zone? Yes, everything was peaceful here—knock on wood—but they had to fly through half the galaxy, part of which was engulfed in flames!
I needed to talk to Yoda immediately and cancel this "courtesy visit." Fortunately, for now, it wasn't an order—the little ones weren't even on Coruscant yet; they were returning from another "courtesy visit." No way, no how; I'd talk to the green long-ears—I didn't need children in my army on top of everything else. There were enough problems as it was.
I had to disassociate myself from them by any means—especially since, as I recalled, the Almas Academy faced an unenviable future with mass executions, bacchanalia, and destruction. True, as I remembered—it was toward the end of the war. But something told me the future had accelerated its pace. Not least of all thanks to my interference.
Alright, enough reflection. I needed to get down to business.
Ten hours left until the destination. Enough to finish the mail. Only a little bit left... I might even manage to get some sleep.
"Master!" a young, impatient voice reached me, literally oozing irritation.
"What is the matter?" I inquired, without looking up from the data on the datapad.
"Why must I practice with her instead of with you?" Olee hissed.
Without even looking at those sparring in the Defender's lounge, I knew exactly whom she was talking about.
"Because Kira is one of the best duelists I know. And she can teach you a few lessons."
"It would be better," the sound of a deactivating lightsaber reached my ears, "if you personally took charge of your Padawan's upbringing. Instead of entrusting it to some..."
Oh, it seemed a mutiny was brewing on the ship.
"You are aware that Kira could hand you your ass without even breaking a sweat, aren't you?" I clarified, purely for form's sake.
"Pfft," the apprentice snorted. "You overestimate her merits. And besides, I thought you were no longer into non-human girls..."
"I think," yes, it was already pointless to try to carve out time to study the army documents. Olee had, as they say, taken the bit between her teeth. "You are overstepping your bounds."
"But..." the girl frowned, clearly set for a long "debriefing," authoritatively considering herself the final arbiter. Yes, it seemed I had let her off the leash quite thoroughly. To the Hutts with the jokes in private, but in the presence of other sentients... I am certainly not a conceited snob, but this was already too much.
"You forget yourself, apprentice," I said calmly, sending a mental warning toward the girl.
Olee, catching my thought, ducked sharply, letting one of Kira's short blades pass over her head. It seemed the Hand also didn't particularly like that the little one was getting ahead of herself. Hm... I'd have to talk to Carsen as well—had I not warned Starstone, the brunette would have taken her head off. It wasn't for nothing that Kira, patiently waiting to continue the training duel with my protégé, had enveloped herself in Force Cloak before the strike.
"How dare you!?" The girl, returning to her original position, nearly threw herself at her offender with her fists. However, Kira, extinguishing her weapon, met my icy gaze. It wasn't good to do that. The girl, shrugging her shoulders, gave me a half-bow and headed out of the compartment. Apparently, she considered the situation settled. "I'm talking to you! Hey!"
"Keep your sword up," Kira tossed back without looking, after which one of the training sabers, caught by the Force, flew off its mount and gave her a light swat on the back of the head.
An irritable muttering came from the apprentice's side.
Chuckling, I leaned back against the sofa and returned to reading the latest operational situation in the subordinate sectors.
"Master," the little brat plopped down opposite me. "Why the Hutt do we even need her?"
"Kira is an experienced Force-sensitive, a superb lightsaber combatant, a reliable comrade, and simply a beautiful girl," I added the last part to intentionally annoy the girl. And, judging by the irritation that flared in the Force—quite successfully. "And besides, she spent time on Belsavis in the past. Including the Rakata prison complex."
"And what, Lady Grel wouldn't be suitable for this mission?"
"Nadia has her own mission in full swing right now," I reminded her, deciding to annoy the apprentice once again. "And besides, I like Kira better."
"You've already taken two Twi'leks with you," she grumbled. "Did you decide to switch to human women?"
Sighing—what a brat—I put the datapad down again and looked reproachfully at the apprentice.
"Do you know how this looks from the outside?"
"What?"
"Your jokes and jabs about... well, you know."
"What's wrong with it?" Olee's eyes widened. "They're just jokes..."
"To you—perhaps," I agreed. "I understand them. Но in anyone else's company, it is better not to do it."
"Why?" The girl blinked her eyelashes. Innocently, oh-so-innocently. "Oh, you're a sly little ass with a handle," I sighed mentally. "You understand everything."
"Because to everyone else, you and I are Jedi," I said patiently. "Master and Apprentice. Do I need to remind you that such relationships between members of the Order shouldn't exist?"
"Um... well, I was only joking," she feigned embarrassment.
Yeah, tell me another one. I remember your thoughts.
"Let me remind you that the Troll practically chokes on his own spit every time he thinks there's something between us."
"So what?" The apprentice shrugged a shoulder. "He's not getting any, so he's mad."
"Olee..."
"Master!" she protested. "Put yourself in my place. I'm young, beautiful. You, well, aren't exactly ugly either..."
"Thanks for the kind word."
"Don't mention it," she didn't even flinch. Oh, I have a feeling I shouldn't have started this conversation. Her armor is three packs of margarine thick. "Why can't there be something... more between us?"
You know the expression—not a penny to my name, then suddenly a gold coin? Now I truly felt the proverb.
On Earth, things with the opposite sex were... well, they weren't great. But here—they're hanging on in droves. Not to say it's unpleasant. After all, I am from another universe. A "self-insert," after all. And I've read plenty of literature in this genre. I recall that in those works, everything turns out quite beautifully and logically for the inserts. For me, though...
In general, there is a mandatory minimum program for a self-insert into the Star Wars universe—thanks to the authors. Every insert is obliged to remake and sing Volodya Vysotsky's songs, "create" and arm clones/stormtroopers/mercenaries/a private army—underline as needed—with racially pure, Orthodox "Kalashnikovs," bang a Twi'lek or any other female xeno (I decided the gender part for myself; after all, I'm an old-believer, hetero). And, of course, play Sabacc. Or Pazaak, at the very least.
Out of this entire minimum plan, only the third point suited me. And not because it was easy—any xeno prostitute on Coruscant costs fifty credits an hour. Pennies, considering my financial resources.
My fascination with xeno girls stems from a purely aesthetic direction. Are there beings in this universe more beautiful than the girls from Ryloth? According to Anakin Skywalker's ten-year-old assessment—some beings from Iego. I don't know, I haven't tried.
But Twi'leks... Well, they're just beautiful.
Their girls are like earthly fitness-model nymphomaniacs. Always in shape and always up for anything. The ideal option for... well, for everything.
So, how to explain all this to a girl?
"Olee," and yet, I had to do some explanatory work. "For this galaxy, exotics are a self-evident fact. But for my past life... they were a nonsense."
"What do you mean?"
"My homeland never encountered representatives of alien races," I said, sighing. "And certainly not their women. So for me, this kind of... relationship... is something new. Unknown. A completely untasted dish on the menu, so to speak."
"Hm," Olee furrowed her brow. "And is this kind of... relationship... with a minor human female self-evident for your homeland?"
"Actually, no," I grimaced.
"Well, you see," the apprentice brightened. "There's nothing shameful about it. You're a man, I'm a woman of the same species as you. Moreover—a minor. Your apprentice. A Jedi, finally. That," Olee smiled slyly, "is also a kind of exotic."
"You're a bit young to be discussing such topics," I reminded her, finally accepting the fact that the girl wouldn't let it go. Probably for the first time in my life—here, in the Far, Far Away—I was being "hit on" so aggressively. Hell, even Atroxa wasn't this... straightforward. But there was still a chance to thoroughly burden her with moral principles, forcing her to cool her ardor.
"Actually," she snorted, "in the Republic, sexual relations are permitted for humans from the age of fourteen. And I'm almost sixteen!"
I wish she would apply such ardor to her training, however rare but thorough it might be.
Now everything was clear as day.
The girl wasn't just joking, weaving intimate themes into our communication. She had genuinely fallen in love. A typical teenage crush, which Olee perceived as something more. Hence all her nitpicking about the Hands, and women in my bedroom in general.
Just look at the expression on her face when, upon departing for Belsavis, our first stop was Tatooine. Landing in the middle of the desert at an inconspicuous standard settlement—one of the strongholds I had "inherited" from the Hero of Tython—we took on board the "shady trio," as the apprentice dubbed them—the Gella sisters, gifted to me by Jabba, and Kira. Only after that did we set a course for the desired planet.
After Vos entered service, becoming a triple agent in the ranks of the Republic and the CIS, I gave him the use of the residence on Nar Shaddaa. I recalled that on that planet, in the events I knew, he had hidden his beloved, who was pregnant with his son. Well, the Wrath of the Emperor shouldn't have to huddle in some shacks. And the dwelling was empty anyway—after the Twi'lek sisters had cleared out everything that wasn't nailed down, the "stronghold" remained unclaimed. Much like its counterpart on Tatooine, which became the next target for studying the fragments of the past. However, here, as in Hutt Space, there was little of use in the sand-covered, spacious building. But even that little was carefully transferred aboard the Defender. I'd sort through it all later.
And new "tenants" had already been found for the empty residence on Tatooine. Soon, they would arrive at their new operational base to rest before heading out on a new mission.
Returning to today's realities, it's worth noting that in Kenny's absence, the corvette, left in the care of the former slaves—the Twi'lek sisters Ann and Tann Gella—was in excellent condition. Based on Telos as my personal transport, it had been idle for a long time—when you have the ships of an entire systems army at your side, you don't need to bother your own starship.
However, now, when I needed to disappear from the "radars" for a while, the Defender was the best option. During their time on Nar Shaddaa, both girls had carried out my will, undergoing simple training to operate this ship. So, now—there were two pretty, qualified pilots on board, who doubled as mechanics. Brother—my personal astromech—was languishing on the lower deck. Taking him with me on this flight was a mandatory action. After all, he was my personal bucket of bolts. And his memory held too much sensitive information. I was, of course, confident in the crew of my flagship, but... the experience of the last "chat" with my master had clearly shown—it was too early to relax and enjoy myself.
"Olee," returning to the current conversation, I said as tactfully as possible. "On my home planet, the act of entering into sexual relations with persons who have not reached the age of majority—eighteen years—is very strongly discouraged. Although I am no longer bound by the norms of my homeland, ethical principles... In short, I cannot do it."
"That long?" The girl drawled, clearly offended. Oh, come on! Go find yourself a boy your own age and have a good time with him. "Life must have been boring where you came from."
"If it had been fun," Vitiate's words regarding my personal assessment surfaced in my memory, "I wouldn't be here."
It was a good thing the apprentice didn't know the sad statistics of underage sexual relations in my country. Otherwise, I'd definitely have had to order a chastity belt made of beskar. It would certainly be like her to do something out of the ordinary.
The way she acted and thought didn't quite mesh with what I remembered from the Expanded Universe. There, she was a calm, sensible, occasionally sarcastic girl. Here—she was some kind of Lolita with a "Deflower me quickly" complex. No, I understand that celibacy for the Jedi is a dogma (which every second one, not counting the first, breaks) and occasionally everyone goes off the rails—Kenobi himself is quite the ladies' man by the Order's standards. He'll charm a Jedi girlfriend one moment, fall for a duchess the next. And, wherever you look—if you look closely—every Jedi has rubbed or is rubbing navels with someone somewhere. The Force is all well and good, but how do you fight against instincts? "We really lack the 'sexy-time'," I think if Yoda had solved this problem eight hundred years ago, various problems with defections to the Dark Side due to the euphoria of love and trysts would have vanished. And I wouldn't be pursued by a sex-crazed apprentice.
Eh, those were the good old days—onboard the cruiser Salvation, where we first met, she wasn't like this. Yes, a bit prim, mischievous, sharp-tongued—but not vulgar. Eh, I only had to die once...
Wait, stop!
Exactly!
My defeat at the hands of Tann. I was with one foot in the grave, and the girl, to save my life, had established a clumsy Force bond between us. A bond through which we could communicate without words, exchange emotions, and images.
And I deserve a good kick for my thickheadedness.
With the establishment of the Bond, Olee was able to "mirror" my thoughts and find herself privy to the secret of my identity and my plans. Furthermore, her desire to protect everyone—younglings, Jedi, sentients in general—had prompted me to take a series of actions I hadn't originally planned.
The only thing was—the bond was two-way. She had been able to pass on and instill something in me. But something from my mind had also flowed into her own skull.
In particular—unrestrained lust, which I had only learned to control after a great deal of practice in the breaststroke with Twi'leks. And the girl, apparently, had slightly less experience in this regard than modern senators had conscience. That is—none from birth.
That was why she periodically exploded on intimate topics.
Eh... it took me a long time to realize this. Unforgivably long.
I needed to do something about it. To say openly, "Olee, you need to find yourself a man and the ants in your pants will go away on their own"—was crude, and she might take offense. And an offended woman is a terrifying thing. On Earth, doing such a thing was dangerous to one's health. Imagine what Fraulein Blue-Balls, possessing an extraordinary connection to the Force and knowing the secrets of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul's existence, could do?
Ugh... I had to solve this problem.
"By the way," Olee brightened, "why is the 'age of consent' threshold so high on your planet?"
I blinked, trying to figure out exactly what she meant. I confess, I didn't understand what she was talking about. And then I did...
"Because until that age," actually, the law says it a bit differently—but she didn't need to know. And she'd be sixteen soon (by the way—how soon?)—and in fact, even in Mother Russia, after that age you can already steam your genitals with someone else's help and the law can't touch you—the main thing is that it's all voluntary. But that is already a sacred truth, "boys and girls are still considered children. And children aren't supposed to be banging."
"Fie, how old-fashioned," the girl grimaced. After a moment's silence, she continued. "And what happens in your world if an adult man, like you, were to become... well, close, say, with a girl my age?"
"There are laws for that," I shrugged.
"Any law can be bypassed," the Padawan waved it off. When did she become so cynical? "You don't necessarily have to tell everyone you slept with a minor..."
"And for those who aren't caught red-handed but corrupt the youth," I sighed heavily, "the mean Uncle Cleaver comes..."
***
Ahsoka, swearing quietly, flowed smoothly around the corner of the building, slipping out of her tireless opponent's line of sight. And just in time—into the spot where her head had been moments before, an intricate construction resembling a sharpened metal disk bit with a terrible howl.
"Hutt-spawn," she said without much malice. Why were they so annoying? And so... strong.
Sensing a new threat, the girl listened to her feelings. Yes, that was it—one of the locals was standing around the corner. Obviously waiting for her to poke her head out so he could catch her with another of his telekinetic tricks.
"I didn't sign up for this," the Togruta sighed. Yet this battle was the result of their negotiations with the locals. And much depended on the outcome of the confrontation. Too much for her to allow herself to retreat.
The locals had given them a "splendid" welcome. For half an hour, both women had been parrying lightning-fast attacks from different sides, without ever engaging any of their opponents in close-quarters combat.
Only after Lady Grel had managed to trick and capture one of the Sha, threatening to gut him like a bantha unless everything stopped, did the intensity of the passions subside.
And on the landing pad, as if out of thin air, a tall, stately man appeared. Modest clothes, typical of the backwoods, a neat appearance. And that Huttish saw, the mere sight of which caused a surge of nausea in the Togruta.
"Release my son," the man demanded quietly. "And we will allow you to fly away."
"We did not come here for that," Grel shook her head, still holding the boy—he looked about fifteen—by the throat. "I am Lady Nadia Grel, personal envoy of the Immortal Emperor of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul, here to conduct a dialogue with the leader of the Zeison Sha."
"You are already speaking with me," the man continued. "And you dare to hold my child. Is this how you conduct negotiations?"
"Simple precaution," the Sarkhai assured him. "Recall your people, and no one will be hurt."
Following her words, the squad of "Sky-troopers" emerged from the depths of the Fury, bristling with dozens of blasters. Taking aim at the entire surrounding space, they finally tangled the situation. Even a dull-witted person would understand—the situation was explosive. And any careless movement could lead to bloodshed.
"Release my son," the man repeated. "I will conduct the conversation with you. As long as I am alive—no one will touch you."
"Excellent," the mentor sent the boy away with a light push.
"My name is Red Roberts," he introduced himself. "I am the leader of the Zeison Sha."
"You already know my name," Nadia replied in unison, returning her weapon to her belt. "My master offers your people the chance to join him."
"Just like that?" Red didn't even blink. "You won't even explain who you are and why we should agree to your proposals?"
"It's very simple," Ahsoka said. "Our warship is hanging in orbit. The fact that it hasn't wiped your settlement off the face of the earth is already proof of our peaceful intentions."
The man allowed himself to smile for the first time.
"We are not mercenaries you can buy," he informed them. "And, moreover—we need much more compelling reasons to trade Janibar."
"There are reasons," the girl assured him. "But we won't speak in the middle of your town, will we?"
And then followed long negotiations. Nadia detailed Dougan's proposal. Red remained silent for a long time, analyzing the information.
"The Jedi have offered us to join them before," he said. "We gave a clear refusal. What can your leader offer us that would interest the Zeison Sha?"
Lady Grel gestured to the surrounding space.
"A new world. Not as lifeless as this one."
"Janibar is our home," Roberts answered firmly. "It is what made us strong. Taught us to survive. Life here is the motivation to become better. We have no need to leave it."
"Truly?" the Sarkhai was surprised. "Existence on a lifeless piece of rock—is that your choice? Or have you simply resigned yourselves to the inevitable?"
"This rhetoric is meaningless," Red shrugged. "We are on our own. And we have no desire to join anyone. You Jedi can never seem to understand that..."
"We are not Jedi," Ahsoka threw out defiantly. "How easily I said that."
"Truly?" the man smiled. "You use their weapons and act just like they do..."
"The Imperial Knights of Zakuul are far stronger than any Jedi," Nadia said. "We do not limit ourselves by denying emotions; we do not adhere to the dogmas of the Jedi Order."
"Is that so," Roberts grunted. "But it didn't help you much. The students you encountered here could have killed you if you hadn't captured my impulsive son."
"Then we still act better than the Jedi," Nadia countered. "It's unlikely any of them could have gained even your attention."
"That is true," the leader of the Zeison Sha agreed. "But trickery has given you no advantage. My son is free, and you are still surrounded by my people."
"But you are here," Ahsoka noted sarcastically.
"That is a sacrifice I made voluntarily for my child," the man shrugged. "Any sentient would do the same."
"Any sentient," Nadia echoed him, "would do anything to achieve more for their offspring. Including joining those who extend a hand of friendship and are ready to offer him a new home, wealth, and prosperity, instead of dwelling on a lifeless planet."
"And what will be the price of this alliance?" Red chuckled. "The rejection of our traditions? Of our heritage?"
Ahsoka exchanged a glance with Nadia.
"No one has said or required that," Lady Grel explained. "On the contrary, our Emperor is interested in the Zeison Sha joining the Eternal Empire. Sharing your knowledge, gaining access to what has hitherto been beyond your experience."
"More Jedi propaganda," Roberts waved it off. "We've heard it all before. I will repeat to you what my father told your predecessors—we will not abandon our own path. We are not droids to deny emotions."
"As are we," Grel countered. "That is why the Emperor offers an alliance. The Imperial Knights, like the Zeison Sha, do not renounce their nature. Feelings and emotions, the right to marriage—all these are an integral part of any sentient. And to limit oneself in this is to purposefully and independently castrate a part of oneself. I don't think among the sane Force adepts in the galaxy there are those who would decide on voluntary emasculation for the sake of ghostly promises of eternal harmony in the Force."
Ahsoka caught the interest emanating from Red. It seemed he had truly doubted for the first time that the parleyers were not Jedi.
"You speak of emotions," he said with distrust. "At the same time, you exude only the Light Side. How is this possible?"
"The Imperial Knights recognize the diversity of the Force," Nadia explained. "And believe that denying its other aspects, besides the Light or Dark Side, is foolish. In the Jedi Code, there is the phrase 'There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.' But this statement originates in the depths of the centuries, when the ancestors of the modern Order understood the indivisibility of the Force into sides, currents, and views. They openly followed their path, learning new things and teaching them to their children and descendants. We are those who continue their path. 'There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no fear, there is power. I am the heart of the Force. I am the guiding light of fire. I am the mystery of Darkness. In balance with chaos and harmony, immortal in the Force.'"
"It sounds very similar to what we heard from the Jedi," Red squinted.
"The postulates I quoted are the origins of the Jedi Order, which have been perverted over time," Nadia explained. "We, the Imperial Knights, like our Emperor, prefer to use the full potential of the Force. To seek the new and to develop. Not to retreat before difficulties, but to find in them the strength to live on. To acquire the power of the Dark Side in battle, and to control it with the Light. To show mercy to those around us and to be merciless to the enemy. To bring enlightenment to sentients and protect them from the horrors of wars, diseases, epidemics, and other hardships. We are those very scales that balance on the edge, thanks to our will. Having drawn from the Darkness, we balance it with Light. And by adhering to the principle of Balance, we will always be stronger than the Light and Darkness taken separately. The Force is One. And to limit oneself to only one of its aspects is mindless and fanatical. And history proves that the cause of fanatics does not live long," Nadia said, smiling. "Take my word for it. For four thousand years I have served this and seen with my own eyes the collapse of such beliefs."
"It's too hard to believe that you have lived so long," Red doubted. "No species can..."
"'In balance with chaos and harmony, immortal in the Force,'" the Sarkhai quoted. "When you do not limit yourself and are open to the new, prolonging your existence does not become a problem."
"Suppose that is so," Red said thoughtfully, looking around. Ahsoka, following his gaze, only smirked. She sensed that Force-sensitives had been gathering around them for the last half hour. Despite their leader's distrust, many of them showed a great deal of interest in the guests' words. The Togruta listened to her feelings. The overwhelming majority of those gathered were young people who were only at the beginning of their path of understanding the Force. And, undoubtedly, they were attracted by the talk that this very power could be multiplied. When you don't limit yourself in emotions, the natural desires of sentients push them forward. Especially in the matter of personal growth and learning new things.
She had tested this herself by joining Master Dougan. Even the little Nadia had told her about the Je'daii Order was enough to make the girl want to know more. And this was despite the fact that she never particularly liked sciences or stories of old times. Now, having barely touched something forbidden, she strove with every fiber of her soul to know it. To become stronger.
After all, having joined Dougan, with Lady Grel's help she had learned more even about Light Side techniques than in all the years spent in the Temple. And what could be achieved if one went to the Academy on Tython and partook of ancient knowledge under Lady Zavros?
For the first time in her life, the Togruta hungered to learn. But she firmly decided for herself that first she must master everything her current mentor could teach her. And then—move on. To grasp the new and the long-forgotten old. To become stronger. To grow her own power, previously limited by the dogmas of the Order.
To eventually become the best, all-around developed version of herself.
"But you still haven't proved to me and my people that your path is better than what the Jedi offered us."
"It seems," Nadia smiled. "You already have a proposal in mind. Do you wish to test us? Well, I am ready."
"Exactly," the man nodded. "I will arrange a trial to see with my own eyes whether your path can be stronger and better than ours. And only after that will we continue the conversation."
"I repeat," Nadia smiled even wider. "I am ready."
"I don't doubt it," Red chuckled. "But it would be foolish to test one who has lived four thousand years. Your apprentice will undergo the trial..."
Refusal was impossible. Ahsoka, and Grel as well, felt perfectly that several hundred sentients had gathered around them. And every single one needed proof of the power of the path the envoys followed. Victory would attract the Zeison Sha to the Empire's side. Defeat would repel them. And then, according to the Emperor's order, the ships from Zakuul would simply wipe this and other settlements off the face of the earth.
The testing ground to which they were escorted was a long-abandoned settlement located in the depths of a mountain gorge, swept by a fierce wind. Here, it was not just difficult to fight—it was incredibly difficult even to move.
"Remember what we talked about," the Sarkhai instructed her. "In the light, there is darkness. And vice versa. Maintain the balance of these forces within yourself. Feel like a simple sentient to whom neither anger nor compassion is foreign."
"Easier said than done," Tano grumbled. "If I had the same knowledge as you, I would..."
"'There is no ignorance, there is knowledge,'" the Sarkhai said with a smile. "Believe in your strength—and you will win."
Looking at the three Zeison Sha warriors, staring at her with mocking smiles and ready to begin the trial—which was essentially a battle within the confines of an abandoned settlement where every corner of a building, carved by wind and time, presented a sharpened surface like a razor—the Togruta only sighed resignedly. And stepped into the boundaries of the dead settlement. The trial had begun.
Darting around a corner, the girl ducked, letting the lunge of a warrior wielding a traditional Zeison Sha weapon pass over her. Conducting a lightning-fast sweep, the Togruta laid the opponent on his back. Seeing that he was ready to continue the duel, while two of his kin were only just moving toward the site of the battle, Ahsoka, imbuing her body with the Force, pinned the opponent to the ground, knocking him unconscious with a precise strike of her seemingly fragile fist. Although they were strong in telekinesis and some other Force abilities, they did not shine in hand-to-hand combat.
The Togruta leaned to the side, avoiding a burst of Force thrown by the warrior to her right. Taking aim, she sent her blade in an arc toward the new opponent, forcing him to defend. But he, without thinking twice, raised a massive boulder with the Force, holding it in front of him as a shield. Well, well.
The girl, concentrating, changed the trajectory, sending the blade behind the opponent's back. A moment later, the snow-white blade slashed across his legs, severing the tendons. A guttural cry reached her, and the stone, like the second warrior, crashed to the ground.
Excellent, one left. The leader's son himself, who had replaced one of the fighters at the last moment. But where had he gone?
As if in response to her thoughts, the teenager jumped out from the shadow of a nearby building, throwing his weapon at her. Instinctively, Ahsoka parried with her blade. The disk, colliding with the snow-white bar of energy, interrupted the weapon's operation. But it also changed its flight trajectory.
The former Padawan threw the man rushing at her with a Push, but he brushed it off like a gust of wind. A fraction of a second, and his disk weapon was back in its owner's hands. However, Ahsoka also regained her second blade.
The Zeison Sha saws could withstand her lightsabers. And their telekinesis skills were an order of magnitude superior to anything she could surprise her enemies with. She had to be more cunning if she intended to win. And she needed triumph like air.
The apprentice, soaring into the air, landed on the roof of one of the houses. Without slowing down, she continued her run, intending to bypass the opponent. Or at least hide from his sight. Judging by the continuous strikes of the saw against the walls, he continued his attempts to end the confrontation with a single lunge. Casting an interested glance behind her, the girl noted that like the two other fighters, the boy could only send his weapon in a straight line. With great speed, but only in a single direction. This was worth taking advantage of.
A curious thought formed in her mind.
She rounded a large number of buildings before approaching the center of the town. The last opponent followed her through the streets but was hopelessly lagging. Excellent.
Reaching the central part of the town, she stopped intentionally, allowing the opponent to decide that the girl was afraid to jump from the height of the three-story house.
It worked. Through the Force, she felt that the deadly weapon had been thrown toward her. Performing a dizzying somersault, she began to descend to the street surface, a hundred meters from her opponent. In the fall, she sent a powerful Push toward the saw. The disk, caught by the Force energy, tumbled in the air and disappeared among the urban structures.
"Magnificent!" the girl congratulated herself.
And at the very moment her feet touched the surface, the Force called out, warning her of danger.
She didn't have time to get out of the way of the second saw. All she could do was lean to the side, so that the sharp edges of the disk did not pierce her chest, but instead, cutting through the cloth armor on her shoulder, damaged the muscles of her left arm.
"Hutt!" she cried out, immediately feeling that this part of her body was no longer under her control. The opponent, seeing that she was hurt, returned his weapon to his hand with a powerful Pull, further aggravating her wound.
You little bastard! He had brought a second saw! Why hadn't she noticed this earlier?
The girl felt the wound filling her with its pain. Obviously, an artery had been punctured, as bright red blood began to literally gush from the damaged area of skin.
The opponent noticed this too. Now he did not run to her headlong but approached slowly. The girl saw the satisfied smirk on his face, felt his self-satisfaction and joy at her suffering. He enjoyed the fact that he had caused her pain. And he was in no hurry to help. And yet he was the only one who could save her life now—the nearest edge of the town was several kilometers away. Before she, weakened by the battle, reached it, she would bleed out.
Ahsoka looked at the teenager with hatred. His emotions were splashing on the surface—she didn't even need to strain to read them.
He wanted her death. Ahsoka's death would be confirmation for him and his father of the rightness of their worldview. And the collapse of all her hopes.
"Don't resist," the boy said in a mocking tone, approaching her. Now there was only a small distance between them—about ten meters. "You have a punctured brachial artery. A couple of minutes—and you'll bleed out."
"And you're not going to help?" she asked with dislike.
"Why would I?" The boy was frankly surprised. "A trial is a fight to the death. I won't become a warrior unless I kill you."
"And if I had killed you?" Ahsoka asked, stunned.
"It happens," the young man shrugged. "The Zeison Sha understand the necessity of a deadly battle. Only in this way can one achieve more. Dedicate your life to the teaching that will save your life. Everyone dies here to make way for those who are stronger."
"Something... familiar." Ahsoka felt that she was weakening. It seemed she didn't have long to live. And that was becoming terrifying. For the first time, having cast aside the dogmas of the Order, she understood how much ordinary sentients fear dying.
"I've won," he concluded. "Don't resist—I will cut off your head and hang it in my house. Proof that you were weak."
But she was not going to die. Not now. Not like this.
Something cold stirred in the depths of her consciousness. As if an icy block had broken off a comet and begun to enter the incredibly dense upper layers of the planet's atmosphere. The ice evaporated right before her eyes, releasing... something new.
An animal fear that pierced her like lightning. And this fear gave her strength.
"I will not become anyone's trophy," she said clearly and loudly, feeling an unprecedented Force flowing through her veins.
The boy didn't have time to defend himself.
Streams of white-blue branched lightning, breaking from the Togruta's fingers, poured toward him. He tried to fight back with telekinesis, but the power of the Dark Side crushed his pathetic attempts. Dozens of sparking Force projectiles bit into his body, producing an unhuman cry of pain that tore from his chest. Echoing off the walls of the empty settlement and the arches of the canyon, the cry spread around, turning into an infernal howl.
"Neither anger is foreign..."
The flow of lightning faded as soon as she remembered her mentor's words.
"... nor compassion."
The scorched but quite alive boy lay before her feet. Pathetic, broken, humiliated.
He... was afraid of her. Now, he was not dangerous. Now there were no obstacles for her.
Somehow, by themselves, the instructions she had received as a youngling in the Halls of Healing surfaced in her memory.
Concentrating, the girl took a deep breath, directing the Force flows boiling within her toward the regeneration of damaged tissues. Silly girl, how could she have forgotten about this?
Slowly but surely, the tissues of the torn artery grew back. The flow of blood became quieter with each passing second. Fear and anger receded as soon as she used the Light Side. The feeling of discomfort and dizziness returned. It seemed she had lost too much blood.
Her concentration was slipping, and with it, the regenerative effect disappeared. The artery had been restored, but the soft tissues still throbbed with an aching and cutting pain.
"I... I will kill you," through the sobbing she heard the threat coming from the defeated enemy. "I... will be healed. And, I swear, I won't rest until you rot, you filthy bitch..."
"I am the mystery of Darkness."
Another line of the ancient code flashed in her head.
"You will suffer, you alien scum," it seemed the boy was beginning to come to his senses. "I will definitely kill you, but first—I'll have some proper fun. Me and my friends..."
He was a threat. The simple thought that appeared in the girl's head made her grip the lightsaber more tightly in her healthy hand.
To leave him alive was mercy.
To kill him was ruthlessness.
To spare one who swore to pursue her to kill her, and before that—to realize his most base desires.
"I will kill you," she said, activating the snow-white blade.
In the boy's emotions, she felt fear. The very fear she had experienced a moment before.
Fear of death.
Of nonexistence.
Of the end of his existence.
"No," he babbled, straining to crawl away from her. His legs obeyed him poorly, sliding over the stony surface of the street. But he compensated for the lack of traction with energy. "Don't... I was joking..."
Ahsoka felt that he was lying. In the most blatant way.
Trying to appease her so he could survive. Regain his strength. And do what he had promised her from the very beginning.
Pathetic.
A despicable slug.
The Togruta felt dirty. All these low thoughts she had caught, all these threats she had heard. It was as if she had dipped into a pit of filth, from which she was trying to climb out, while the waste soaked into her skin and the smell irritated her nostrils.
"Funny," she said. "But I didn't appreciate it."
Intercepting the hilt of the blade with her favorite reverse grip, she pulled her arm back.
"N-O-O-O-O-O!!!!" Like a gut-shot Gamorrean, Red's son shrieked, holding out his hands in a defensive and simultaneously pleading gesture. "Jedi don't do this. Spare me."
"I am no longer a Jedi," she declared confidently, finally making the decision. Those who ask for mercy only because they cannot kill you now do not deserve it.
A quick flourish of snow-white energy bit into his forearms and collarbone without any resistance, burning its way forward with every fraction of a second. Ahsoka watched this as if in slow motion.
There, the blade overcame his left arm, which, like a fallen leaf, slowly began to fall to the ground. The tip of the saber plowed a path from the collarbone to the lungs, burning a cavern in his vitals that instantly released the trapped air.
The Togruta felt how the energy burned the alveoli and tissues, taking the last moments of life from her opponent. A boy, essentially not guilty of anything except being scum. The embryo of a monster that should not survive.
When the blade touched his heart, crossing it diagonally, the boy's eyes began to roll back. Even though all this happened in fractions of a second, the nerves of the human body transmitted to his brain all the pain from the mortal wound.
Freezing in the center of the heart, the blade, obeying her light push, burned a hole in his chest, evaporating the spinal bones and soft tissues.
A muffled sigh escaped the boy's lips. Now his body had ceased to be even a partially functioning organism.
Ahsoka, listening to her feelings, made sure that a lifeless body lay at her feet. Only then did she turn off her weapon.
The Force around her was filled with suffering. The pain from the death of a sentient hit her nerves, further disorienting her weakened body.
The girl collapsed to her knees, trying intuitively to close herself off from the cacophony of emotions raging around. The death of a Force-sensitive always hits harder than the death of even a hundred ordinary sentients. And, what a pity that all this suffering could not heal her...
And once again, a belated thought filled her consciousness. Dougan's story of how Darth Bane, the creator of the Rule of Two, survived after being struck by a deadly poison.
To hold out until help could be rendered, the Sith had absorbed the suffering of others, sustaining his life in his poisoned body.
Stirring within herself the sparks of the fear of her own death that had not yet faded, Ahsoka, not without difficulty, stirred the Dark Side within herself.
Since you helped me win, you will help me survive.
Fanning the fire of anger and rage, the girl felt that she could touch the faded but not yet dissipated emotions of the suffering of the boy she had killed.
Closing her eyes and concentrating, she began to absorb the horror and pain experienced by the teenager before death, thereby strengthening her own body.
The halo of suffering still surrounded the corpse; his moans and pleas seemed to still hang in the air. Ahsoka, for the first time experiencing no disgust for the Dark Side, forced herself again and again to remember everything the dead boy had said to her, feeling the Dark Side within her grow stronger with every memory.
Like a parched sponge, she absorbed the echoes of his agony, feasting on them like a gourmet in an expensive restaurant. Her dizziness and weakness receded.
Instead, the Force flowed through the girl's veins, bringing the energy and strength to move on.
Unfortunately, it was not enough. Catastrophically little to rectify her situation. If she had remembered this earlier, she could have taken advantage of the emotions of the boy while he was still alive. The Togruta had no doubt that this would have given her far more strength to return to her mentor.
Although she was able to get additional energy, it would still not be enough... She needed more. Otherwise, she was dead.
Ahsoka, absorbing the last drops of the other's suffering, only smiled.
Who would have thought that a diligent Jedi apprentice would so easily use the Dark Side to preserve her life. Rather than humbly accepting her death, as a diligent Jedi should.
Staggering, the girl took a few steps in the direction where her Force-sharpened senses indicated there were those who would give her more strength to survive.
Continuing to sustain the Dark Side within her, the future Lady Tano headed with a firm step toward her two future victims.
The Zeison Sha had said it themselves—this was a trial to the death.
And she was not going to die because of her own weakness and Jedi nonsense. Not here. Not now.
Never.