Almost skipping, Oli descended the ramp of the Jedi corvette. The younglings — a dozen of them, from the Botto Clan — had already left the ship. Secura, following her, looked exhausted. A week of headaches — the flight there and back, plus the mission in the crystal caves. Gotcha, a Wookiee youngling, had nearly fallen into an abyss during one of the crossings. If not for the senior Jedi's reaction, Botto would have definitely lost one of its most mischievous members.
But what warmed her heart most was the new lightsaber hilt hanging at her belt. Silver-black, with an elegant activation button, it greatly resembled the hilt of the legendary Master Qui-Gon Jinn's blade, whom the girl had admired as a youngling. It had taken her a long time to find a green crystal that would respond to her Force. She had spent the entire return trip constructing the saber and was immensely proud of herself.
Her surprise knew no bounds when she saw a tall figure in familiar black armor and cloak waiting for her on the landing platform.
"Mas-ter!" interrupting her conversation with Secura, she shot toward the man like a bullet, taking truly giant strides.
The Jedi, noticing what kind of projectile was hurtling toward him, caught her with the Force, avoiding the casual fate of being knocked off his feet.
"You're alive! I'm so glad, Master!"
"Well, I should think so," a voice chuckled from under the mask. "So glad you almost killed me. And in front of the younglings. Aren't you ashamed?"
"What? Ashamed? No!" The girl realized with embarrassment that her teacher wasn't going to let her go. "Maybe you could put me down?"
"It seems you should teach your Padawan a lesson in patience, my friend," Secura, smiling from ear to ear, approached the Jedi. A little further away stood the younger Jedi, whispering among themselves. "Glad to see you in good health, Knight Dougan."
"And I you, Aayla," the man snapped his fingers theatrically, and his student dropped from a height of half a meter onto the surface of the landing platform. Fortunately, the girl had no shortage of reflexes — she landed on her feet. "How was your journey?"
"Mmm, educational," the Jedi woman said diplomatically.
"Oli didn't bother you too much?"
"Me? Never! I myself..."
"She," Secura thought for a moment. Oli anxiously recalled that incident when she slipped and slid half the way through the crystal cave on her backside, knocking over almost all the younglings along the way, and Secura herself at the end. "Let's just say — there was nothing I wasn't prepared for."
"Still, thank you for occupying my Padawan during the time I spent in the Temple."
"Don't mention it, Rick," the Twi'lek placed a hand on the Jedi's shoulder. "Any news from the Temple?"
"Not much has changed," the Jedi admitted. The three of them began moving across the landing platform toward one of the closed hangars. That's where corvettes were usually parked, which gave Oli the idea that she and her teacher had a new assignment. "However, Jabba the Hutt's son has been kidnapped on Tatooine. I and my army have been tasked with the search — command believes the child is being held not far from Hutt space itself."
"Your army?" Aayla said the word with surprise. "Does that mean...?"
"Oh, forgive me," the man caught himself. "You were out of contact, so you don't know. The Grand Master appointed me to command the 13th Sector Army."
"Wow!" Oli exclaimed. "Does that mean I'll get a promotion too?"
"You will," her teacher assured her. "When you grow up."
"I'm not small," the girl realized with surprise that there was an unspoken mutual understanding between her and the man. For example, she could clearly feel that her teacher was only joking. But judging by the expression on Aayla's face, that was new to her. To Starstone too, actually. However, she accepted the teacher's game without unnecessary argument. "He wants to tease me — he'll get it back double!" the girl decided. "It's all genetics. Not all of us eat growth hormones," she poked her teacher playfully with her finger.
"Ahahaha," Secura laughed heartily at the Padawan's joke. Then, waving her hands, trying to suppress her giggles, she added, "Sorry, Rick, but that's really funny. I just imagined you actually eating growth hormones..."
"Why eat them?" the man wondered. "You drink them with juice for children under 10, which I steal from Oli's room."
A moment of silence was broken by the friendly laughter of the entire Jedi trio, under the bewildered and simultaneously admiring gazes of the Botto Clan.
* * *
"A beautiful ship," Secura admitted, examining the lines of the Defender. "And armed... extremely seriously."
"True enough," the Jedi agreed. "Two heavy turbolasers, four medium ones. A launcher with four proton torpedoes, and a cluster of 100 concussion missiles. Plus, the new armor is no worse than that on light cruisers. And I won't even mention the speed."
"An expensive ship," the Jedi noted. "An acquisition of the Order?"
"Not exactly," I admitted. "I allowed myself to expropriate it when the hangars were being emptied. And my friends from Christophsis kindly upgraded it."
"Useful to have such friends," the Twi'lek smiled. "The Order could use ships like this for Jedi."
"Once," I remarked, "that was the case."
Seeing the knight's surprise and the silently stunned Padawan, I explained.
"The first Defenders were developed for the Jedi Order during the First Galactic War. They were used for raid operations and important missions by Order members."
"Wow," Oli uttered. "Then why don't we have ships like this now?"
"We have others," Aayla assured her. "More modern ones."
"That's true," I confirmed. "I took the ship only out of nostalgia. It seemed symbolic to me that such a starship would once again serve as a Jedi transport."
"A beautiful ship," Secura said again. "Waves of the Force literally emanate from it. It probably belonged to a powerful Jedi of old."
"Probably," I lied. I know very well who it belonged to. "So, Knight Secura, if you ever want to, you're always welcome to accept an appointment to my army."
"Oh, Rick," the girl smiled. "I'm afraid I am where I am meant to be by the will of the Force."
"As are we all," I gave her a smile that she wouldn't see under my mask anyway.
"Well," after a few minutes, I nodded to Starstone to move inside the ship. "We should get going. The army awaits."
"May the Force be with you, Master Dougan," Secura bowed to me, revealing a lovely view of her more than revealing décolletage. What the hell! What is this torture of my spirit and flesh?
"And with you, Aayla," I returned her bow. "Your company is pleasant to me. What a pity we won't meet again anytime soon."
Turning around, I walked toward the ship's ramp, starting the engines from my wrist computer as I went. A useful upgrade — a nice bonus from the shipwrights.
* * *
Watching the corvette lift off from the landing platform and, with a flash of its engines, disappear into the upper atmosphere, Aayla suddenly felt a sensation of danger, loss, and deep sadness.
She had felt such feelings before, when Quinlan had left the Order. Left her. But here, everything seemed deeper... as if Dougan was twice as dear to her as her previous lover. Aayla understood that in reality, after Vos's departure from the Order, after his turn to the Dark Side, a huge, all-consuming hole had formed in her soul that needed to be filled.
Dougan could not be called an ordinary Jedi. Like her former master, Quinlan Vos, he possessed an irrepressible charisma that clouded the mind. A dangerous moment for her, as a Jedi.
She was perfectly aware of her beauty and the desire men felt for her. After all, she was a beautiful representative of her race, which was valued in the galaxy for its overt sexuality. Quinlan had told her more than once that she could make any man happy.
And Fisto... The ever-cheerful Master, after the battle at Mon Calamari, had been showing her his attention in every way. Not just as a Jedi, but as a woman. Remembering how the Nautolan had saved her, breathing air into her lungs, the girl would bet that his subsequent assurances that he had only accidentally crossed the line between artificial respiration and a kiss were nothing more than excuses. And not the most plausible ones.
Oh, the Force!
Intellectually, she understood that she was only trying to drown out her feelings over Vos's departure. Dougan, brave, charismatic... his company was like a healing balm for her. A protection for her psyche from the loss of Vos.
Fisto sought to fill her spiritual emptiness. He was succeeding, but... Under other circumstances, she would have given herself to Kit without hesitation. However, her emotions, her very nature, demanded something else.
She had volunteered to fly with the younglings to Ilum. There, in the Force-saturated cave, she had tried to meditate, but Rick's Padawan, that fidget Starstone, gave her no peace, tirelessly telling her how her teacher had almost defeated Dooku's servant. How brave he was, how strong.
Once, she had looked at Vos with the same admiration, falling in love with him more each day. She wondered if Rick and Oli's relationship had crossed the line of mentorship.
Across the galaxy, the age of consent, when a being was ready for sexual relations, was vaguely defined. For example, on her native Ryloth, girls were introduced very early to the sex-saturated culture of their people. And early relationships were not condemned.
With humans, it was different. Aayla frowned. A human child was supposed to reach the age of sixteen — then a romantic relationship was not an obstacle. Of course, many children did it earlier, keeping their preferences secret. Not infrequently, adults also seduced the young...
Could it be that all this irrepressible energy from the student was not just attention to her teacher, but clumsy feminine flirtation, intended to draw Rick's attention to her as a full partner?
Aayla gritted her teeth. These thoughts were unworthy of a Jedi. She should meditate more. Emotions must be kept under control. Only then could she concentrate on her duty as a Jedi to the Republic.
"Master Secura," a thin child's voice brought her out of her reverie. Right, the younglings!
"Let's go to the Temple," she smiled. "We should tell your instructor how well you did."
She needed to try to clear her head of unnecessary thoughts. She barely knew Dougan. Why would she be jealous of him over his own student? It was nonsense.
* * *
"You won't get it!" Skorr's crimson blade flashed dangerously close to Quinlan's face. "This holocron is mine. I will deliver it to the Count! I am stronger than you, Quinlan Voss!"
"Then try to take it," the Kiffar smirked.
He was playing with his enemy, feeding on his powerless malice. Absorbing it as the Count had taught him, Vos gave himself entirely to the Dark Side. And he liked it. Basking in emotions, he amused himself with the fact of how much the Jedi hid from themselves. Control over emotions — that was what the Jedi had devoted their lives to. Serving the Force...
Why serve it when you could command it?
Tol turned out to be a decent swordsman. Trained, focused. But he lacked the power of the Dark Side to win. Quinlan could have killed the obtuse servant three times already, but would that have brought him satisfaction?
He understood that the Count had sent them both to Korriban only to put an end to the rivalry between servants.
The Count had sent them to Korriban with a smirk — the cradle of the Sith — demanding they bring him the holocron of Darth Andeddu. Initially, only Vos was supposed to go there. He had been granted the honor of accessing the tomb of the ancient Sith. Under the Count's watchful eye, of course.
However, at the last moment, Dooku changed the plan. His presence was required elsewhere, so he sent Tol with Quinlan, hinting to both that he would not be disappointed if only one of them returned. For the Sith way was rivalry. Only the strongest should survive.
Vos approved of this approach. It resonated in his heart, made his emotions seethe over the edge, tearing the blinders from the fallen Jedi's eyes.
Meanwhile, the duel brought chaos into the burial chamber of the ancient Sith Lord. Ornaments and stone carvings flew into chips as soon as the two fallen Jedi used Force techniques against each other. Lightsabers left deep scorched furrows in the interior, turning the ancient art of the Sith's slaves into rubbish.
At some point, Quinlan managed, with an intricate fencing move, to knock Tol's blade from his hands. Grabbing the hilt with his free hand, Quinlan spun both sabers in a characteristic Jar'Kai gesture.
"I will finish you, Tol," Vos smiled. "You are nothing before me."
A light shower of rubble, which had covered the steps leading into the ancient burial chamber, revealed a new visitor.
Over two meters tall, with a herculean build, the stranger, wearing a cloak with a deep hood, was laughing. His gurgling laugh, distorted by the respirator on his face, cut through the ears and pride of Vos.
"Who are you?" Tol choked out, still eyeing the blade of his own saber, which Vos held at his opponent's throat.
"How dare you laugh at a Sith?" Vos snarled. "I'll kill you!"
"Oh," the synthesized voice of the newcomer could have given him away as a droid, but the next moment, the stranger threw back his hood. Pale skin on a bald skull covered with a network of veins. A respirator covering the lower part of his face. "I don't think so, Jedi."
The newcomer's eyes burned with amber fire. Like molten precious metal, they rimmed the bottomless blackness of his pupils.
"You... you're a Sith!" Tol exclaimed hysterically. That was the last straw. With a light movement of his hand, Quinlan separated the opponent's head from his body.
"Join me," the fallen Jedi offered. "Together, we will unlock the secrets of this holocron," he nodded toward the triangular black-and-gold pyramid sitting at the center of Darth Andeddu's burial sarcophagus. "And the entire galaxy will belong to the two of us! We will crush the Jedi and revive the teachings of the Dark Side."
The stranger, meanwhile, unclipped a lightsaber with a wide, cone-shaped hilt from his belt.
"Oh, little Jedi," he said mockingly. "I would gladly spill the guts of your temple guards — just as I did once before, when I desecrated and burned your Temple," flashes of an ancient war flickered through Vos's memory. An attack on the Jedi Temple by a Sith strike squad... and leading them... Oh, holy Force! How is this possible!? "You and your pathetic masters thought there was no power that could stand against you?" The ancient Sith seemed to grin like a predator about to pounce. "But now, at last," a yellow blade ignited in his right hand. "We have returned."
* * *
The Jedi lunged forward, lowering his blades for a sliding low strike. The giant easily blocked the thrust with his own sword, pinning the blades to the floor of the burial chamber. Spinning on his axis, the Sith drove a monstrous armored boot into the Kiffar's face, sending him flying back several meters.
Tossing aside Tola's sword, which was only getting in his way, Vos barely managed to get to his feet. The enemy was already in front of him, delivering sliding, slashing blows with tremendous force. Left, right, a cleaving strike across the torso. Vos barely avoided being split in two, throwing himself backward.
He kicked the Sith in the face, but the man marched forward like a machine devoid of feeling, driving the Kiffar back with wide, sweeping strikes aimed at cutting his legs out from under him.
Finally, Vos felt the wall at his back. He leaned back, trying to avoid the sweeping blow the Sith intended to decapitate him with.
It proved a fatal mistake.
The Sith spun on his axis with ease, slamming Quinlan's body into the wall with an armored boot.
The air rushed from the Kiffar's lungs, forcing him to his knees. The Jedi's blade clattered to the floor and deactivated.
He was suffocating. Neither Jedi nor Sith techniques helped.
The enemy had broken several of his ribs, and the fallen man could feel blood filling his lungs.
"You are pathetic," the Sith's words struck like a slap. "Neither you nor he is worthy of even being called Sith. In my time, you would have died back in the academy."
He walked to the burial chamber. Pulling the Sith holocron from it, he tossed it in his hand, then headed toward the pair of snow-white droids standing in the doorway of the burial chamber.
"Korriban holds thousands of secrets and mysteries," he said. "And you chose the holocron of that loser Andeddu. Weaklings."
In the same instant, the Sith ducked nimbly beneath Vos's spinning blade. The sword cut through both droids, bit into the corridor wall, and clattered down the steps.
Back on his feet, Malgus thrust his left hand toward the Kiffar, who was losing consciousness, and blinding white-blue streams of Lightning erupted from it. The moment they struck Vos, who was sitting on the floor, his body arched backward, wracked by monstrous strain. As if a giant heater, the lightning instantly superheated the Kiffar's body and the metal elements of his clothing. The fluids in his body boiled, and steam from evaporating sweat poured upward from him.
Like a senseless doll, the fallen Jedi crumpled to the floor like a rag the moment Malgus cut off the stream of lightning.
With quick strides, he crossed the burial chamber. Looking into the Jedi's face, he grabbed him by his long hair and, as if he weighed nothing, dragged him upward behind him.
The path was not short — hundreds of steps and corridors lay ahead. But the Dark Side of the Force nourished the ancient warrior's body.
Finally emerging outside, shielding his eyes from the blazing sun with his free hand, he spotted the nearest commander of the assault droids. With a growl, the Sith hurled the prisoner's far-from-light body at the droid's feet.
"Deliver him to the Victory. Put him in bacta and keep him in a coma."
"Acknowledged, Commander," replied the Skywalker-commander, and, like the Sith, grabbed the unconscious Jedi by the hair, dragging him across the scorching sand toward the nearest shuttle.
Watching him go, Malgus thought with disgust that droids were more pleasant when they were silent. That HK Hutt had annoyed him here too.
Malgus looked at the hundreds of droids trampling the sand of Korriban, sacred to every Sith. The energy of the Dark Side fed him, as it had done every time he visited the planet.
But now everything was different. With fury, the Sith felt particles of the Light within himself. Serving a new master had defiled his Sith soul, allowing Jedi filth to take root in his worldview. A hundred years ago, he would have killed this Jedi without a second thought.
And now he was forced to keep him alive. And to report the incident to the future Emperor.
Exhaling, the Sith began to concentrate, visualizing the image of the irritating Jedi.
* * *
The moment the transport tore through normal space, a planet covered in massive green forests appeared before the Prelate's eyes. In a single-star system, it occupied the third position, surrounded by three relatively small moons.
"We've arrived," Nadia explained.
Zakuul. The capital of the Eternal Empire. The place from which Valkorion conquered the galaxy for the second time. The place where the Hero of Tython nearly lost himself. The place where he crushed, seemingly forever, the most powerful Sith.
The girl recalled with slight irony how the Barsen'thor had contemptuously called the knight a narrow-minded fool, too limited to understand all the horrors he had unleashed upon the galaxy. She had believed him. The father of her child.
The bitterness of loss no longer tormented her. Too much time had passed. Perhaps back then, when the Hero of Tython had frantically rushed to defend the galaxy, seeking allies, the Barsen'thor should have listened to her advice. And joined. But he had been too proud.
They had lived in seclusion on Tython before Valkorion's son invaded the Jedi home. He had slaughtered everyone. Both the weak and the strong. He spared no one. Only a few dozen survived — and they later led the exodus of Jedi to ancient Ossus.
But Nadia was no longer with them. In the catacombs of Nathema, the Emperor, fueled by the energy of her son, watched as his fanatics transformed her into a perfect weapon. Serving only the ghost of Valkorion.
And now, like a toy, he had given her to Dougan. Treating him as yet another product of Valkorion's twisted mind, the girl, like Kira, had been hostile to him. But contact with his mind had told her more than all his actions, words, and projections.
She had touched his thoughts. And she had seen what Valkorion was developing this game of holochess for.
Genocide. Invaders from another galaxy, destroyers of machines and all who displeased them. About fifty years remained until their arrival. And the Jedi was pouring everything he had into preventing the galaxy from falling into the hands of the invaders like an overripe fruit.
That decided everything. The Jedi philosophy she had absorbed over decades of service to the Order called to her. Protect all living things.
The Emperor's Apprentice had clear goals for everything. For the galaxy, the Sith, the Jedi, the new Order. And she liked that. With a smirk, Nadia realized that by shielding her mind from the Force suggestion that Dougan almost unconsciously used on the people around him, she had allowed his thoughts to capture her mind. And now her hormones and feelings demanded more.
Her performance in the refresher, however, only underscored that he himself wouldn't mind getting to know his Hand more closely.
Nadia sighed furtively. From the beloved, faithful wife of the Barsen'thor, she had become the servant and concubine of a Sith apprentice, a future Emperor. Quite a career advancement in four thousand years.
"Send out reconnaissance droids," she ordered the Prelate. "We need a landing pad. There should be plenty of that on the planet."
It was time to build an Empire.
* * *
Opening my eyes after the conversation with Malgus, I cracked my stiff neck.
Almost an hour of "chatting." Wow. Quinlan Vos on Korriban. Interesting. Malgus wanted to kill him with every fiber of his being, but without my order, he didn't dare.
And I simply didn't know what to do with him now. I couldn't let him go back to either the Sith or the Jedi — he'd definitely tell who had beaten him so badly. Killing him felt... wasteful. Poach him? Now there's an idea. I needed to put him through the same procedure the Emperor had used on my Hands before they declared their loyalty to him. Or something similar.
Pulling myself away from the new, and therefore unreasonably hard, bed, I looked at the dark display of the new terminal installed in my quarters.
The Rendilians and Corellians hadn't overthought it and had replaced everything old with everything new. Fixed what was broken, refreshed what was outdated. The new central and navigation computers fit perfectly into the ship's systems.
Generous tips are the key to excellent service. So I wasn't even surprised to find that after replacing the storage lockers and cabinets, everything was exactly in its place. The specialists had copied the data from the ancient memory banks of the central and navigation computers and given me the originals. The ancient cubic hard drives were now safely stored in my safe.
I found no signs of information copying, so I didn't have to worry about the database from my old navigation computer spreading. The service equipment excluded that possibility, according to the advertising brochure the delivery team had kindly left me.
In other words, my corvette was as good as new.
Malgus had distracted me from a rather important matter.
I was studying scattered information in the central computer about the infamous fortress of the Hero of Tython.
Vette had enlightened me: during a sweep of the area, not far from the Great Temple, on one of the mountain peaks, patrols had spotted a temple. Medium-sized — a few typical Yavin structures, two or three landing pads. And an extremely nasty defensive system — heavy droids patrolling the perimeter, medium turbolasers, and rapid-fire anti-air artillery. Plus, all of it was covered by at least some kind of shield generator.
The Twi'lek recalled that besides Odessen, the Alliance leader had several dens across the galaxy where he periodically disappeared. Usually after serious missions that ended with the capture of rich trophies — artifacts, holocrons, and other items that, in her opinion, were worthless. The girl confidently claimed the temple belonged to the legendary Jedi. According to her, he had come here with her more than once. I didn't need her to finish — I knew why.
Grinding my teeth, I remembered that in that well-known MMORPG, a player could acquire a good dozen strongholds. Tatooine, Coruscant, Umbara, Nar Shaddaa, Rishi, Manaan, Nathema, Yavin... I couldn't even remember them all. Had they really survived? No, that's not the right question. The right question is: were they real? Well, judging by Vette's report, they were.
Damn. I want them. It's like a treasure trove of goodies. His ship, his strongholds...
But first, I needed to learn more about these fortresses to figure out how to get inside. I didn't feel like breaking in with heavy equipment. And finding out what might be there — I desperately wanted to.
Yeah, the classic "I want it, but I'm scared."
Unfortunately, after a quick skim of the information, I found nothing that jumped out at me. Just coordinates for Coruscant, Nar Shaddaa, Tatooine, Yavin... I'd bet I'd find the remaining fortresses there.
God, so much to study. And I couldn't send Ruk here, unfortunately. Who knows what's there. Trust your servants, but not completely. Otherwise, one day, through negligence, I'd end up handing them a weapon to use against me.
Hmm... Why was it so quiet? Where was my little fidget?
Opening the door, I was surprised not to find Oli on the main deck. Listening to the Force, I sensed the girl was on the lower deck, near the storage areas. What the hell was she doing there?
The comlink didn't answer, so I decided to take a walk. Shrouding myself in the Force to catch the girl off guard, I casually walked down the stairs leading to the hold...
And, I had to admit, I didn't like what I heard.
"Really? Just like that, one shot straight through?" Oli asked excitedly.
"That is objective information," a metallic voice echoed hers. "I am a droid. I cannot lie."
The voice came from the right hold. Taking my lightsaber in hand, I slowly approached the doorway. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the previously sealed bulkhead now gaped with a dark opening, and inside a small compartment, multi-colored indicators blinked like a Christmas garland.
"And how long were you deactivated?"
My appearance in the doorway prevented the answer from being spoken.
Sitting on two transport containers, my Padawan and... what the hell was that?
"Greetings," the droid rose to its feet. Two meters tall, a sand-bronze body color. A head resembling the heads of the drones from the second solo movie about the billionaire in the iron suit. And a snow-white optical sensor that vertically crossed the droid's "head." A black short-barreled cannon on its right shoulder, an assault rifle on its left. Definitely a military model. But how did it get here?
"Padawan Starstone," the droid turned its head so the optical sensor faced the girl. "I am grateful for the conversation. It is now appropriate to exchange information with the Jedi."
"Whatever you say," the girl jumped off the crate and came over to me. "You have a strange droid."
"Go to the bridge," I said quietly.
"But I wanted to—"
"Go!"
"Yes, Master," hanging her head, the girl slowly shuffled toward the opposite end of the ship.
The droid visually followed the girl's movement, then returned its "gaze" to me.
"A correct decision, Jedi."
"Shut your mouth and answer: what are you, and how did you get on my ship?"
"I am K1-Z3N, an assault drone, manufactured on the planet Iokath four thousand eight hundred years ago," the droid said phlegmatically. "After the invasion of the Eternal Alliance's planet, I was assigned by the collective AI to serve the Outlander. Deactivated after sustaining damage in battle three thousand six hundred and three years ago."
"You served the Hero of Tython," I realized.
"I know him as the Outlander," the droid corrected. "But yes. That is correct."
"How did you get on the ship?"
"Unknown. I was damaged during the Third Battle of Iokath."
"So who was fighting who?"
"The Alliance was opposing the Republic's occupation forces. They outnumbered us. The Outlander sent me and Lana Beniko to the Defender to warn the Empire about the Republic's invasion."
"And what went wrong?"
"I do not know," the droid admitted. "I sustained damage and was deactivated."
"And what about the Outlander?"
"He was supposed to destroy the central energy core," the droid explained. "So that Iokath would not fall to the Republic."
"What is Iokath?"
"A planet. My creators fled from another galaxy when they lost a war against organics. A civil war broke out on Iokath, and the organics killed each other. Then ARIES — one of the central processors — took control over us. The Outlander destroyed it and freed us. In gratitude, we helped him, maintaining the functionality of the Eternal Alliance fleet. I was assigned by the Iokath collective AI to guard the Outlander."
"Looks like you're a pretty lousy bodyguard," I joked.
"I agree with the negative assessment. The task was not completed," the droid acknowledged its defeat.
"So what are you thinking now?" I asked the machine. "Go back to Iokath. I can give you a lift if it's on the way."
"Impossible," the droid turned its head toward the massive workstation in the engine compartment behind the bulkhead to the right. "The collective AI is not responding to my queries. Communication systems are non-functional. The most obvious conclusion is that the planet has been destroyed."
"I'm sorry," I admitted honestly. "It sucks when an entire planet gets destroyed. Especially when it's your home."
"I am a machine. I do not experience emotions," the droid reminded me. "It would be logical to offer my services as a bodyguard to you."
"And why would I want that?" I was surprised. "I already have a crazy assassin droid. Besides, I'm a Jedi."
"You are not a Jedi," the machine countered. "You are lying to the Order's Council, amassing forces for a military coup, and cooperating with the Sith."
Seeing my confusion, the drone pointed at the aforementioned terminal.
"You should encrypt your communication data better. Furthermore, storing information about the stages of a military coup in the ship's central computer is unwise."
"You hacked me," I stated the fact. "I should cut you into pieces and throw you into space."
I ignited my lightsaber, pointing it at the drone. It didn't even flinch and continued.
"You are acting unwisely. I am a valuable asset. My memory banks contain valuable weapon developments from the Iokath collective AI. Additionally, the droids controlling your dreadnoughts are not functioning optimally. They contain traces of the GEMINI virus. I can recalibrate them."
"Well, look at this valuable drone," I chuckled. Could information about weapons really be stored in an assault platform? Or was it all a story to keep me from turning him into metal shavings? "What guarantee do I have that you're not lying to me?"
"A plasma anti-personnel cannon is aimed at your head," the black, dangerous-looking thing on the droid's shoulder shifted slightly. "If I considered you unnecessary for my continued existence, you and your apprentice would be dead. Furthermore, I would find it interesting to observe the destruction of the Republic."
"You're a robot," I reminded him. "What benefit is the destruction of a state to you?"
"The Republic destroyed Iokath, where I was created. The Republic destroyed the Eternal Alliance, which I served," the drone listed. "It would be logical for me to contribute to the Republic's destruction."
"Well, well," I deactivated the blade. "A second crazy assassin droid in the roster."
"I look forward to meeting the first," the droid said. "Together, we will work more productively."
With a quiet groan, I slammed my gauntlet into my face.
* * *
Strangely enough, the droid — or rather, the drone, as he insisted on being called — integrated into our company. He silently took on all the routine duties — like cooking, checking the ship's systems. In short, a proper mechanical servant. I don't know what his creators had programmed into his head, but he could even replace an astromech — he had a universal connector on him.
We were heading for the Teth system — scouts led by Nyx had discovered CIS forces on the planet and a monastery they had captured on a mountain peak. Considering there wasn't a trace of Separatists for the next thirty parsecs around, the conclusion was clear.
The kid was here. Exhaling, I ordered the planet to be kept under surveillance, without showing any ships in the system for now.
The flight would take another two days. I decided to spend this time training my apprentice. I had to start sometime.
Sending the drone to the bridge — to keep him out of the way — the girl and I headed to a spacious compartment with a massive holoprojector in the center. Once, as I remembered, Kira and Scourge had trained here. Why shouldn't we do the same?
But first, a talk.
"Master," the girl sat down on the couch. "The Je'daii Code. Why did you tell it to me?"
"The Code is an example of how often principles and worldviews change over time," I explained. "Once, the ancestors of the Jedi studied the Force as a whole — both the Dark and Light sides. Then they moved away from studying the Dark Side."
"Because it corrupts?" the girl suggested.
"That's not it. The ancestors of the Jedi adhered to balance in the Force — when necessary, they used one side of the Force, then the other. But they always returned to a state of balance afterward. Those who couldn't were sent for retraining. But in one period of their history, the Je'daii were forced to wage war against the Rakata race — cosmic conquerors obsessed with the Dark Side. To counter the Rakata, many Jedi used the Dark Side of the Force, and after the victory over the enemy, they couldn't regain their inner balance. A war then broke out among the Je'daii themselves, in which the adherents of the Dark Side lost. And after that, the Jedi left their homeworld — Tython — because they had rejected the concept of balance, devoting themselves to serving the Light Side."
"But why did they have to leave the planet?" the girl didn't understand.
"Tython... is a place where the Force is in balance. Any shift in that balance toward either side caused cataclysms. As you can imagine, serving only the Light, the Je'daii could no longer stay there. They went to Ossus."
"I've heard of Ossus!" the girl boasted. "Excavations are going on there now. It's a sacred place for every Jedi. It's a shame we can't visit Tython — I'd like to see that planet."
"Like all Jedi," I spread my hands. "Perhaps someday, Padawan. Enough philosophizing. We need to find you some suitable armor..."
"Master, why?" the apprentice was surprised. "I'm a Jedi. The Force will protect me. Armor will only restrict me."
"Hmm... I know more than a dozen guys on Geonosis who that attitude didn't save."
"Master, that's a low blow!"
"But effective. I propose a wager. We'll go practice fencing now. Beat me in three out of five duels, and I won't make you wear armor. But I won't hold back. And then, when you're aching from the training saber strikes, we'll find you something that will save you from an unpleasant time on the operating table and floating in bacta. Agreed?"
"Oh! You know that from personal experience, don't you? Won't you tell me?"
"Sometimes I wonder if you're on my side, Padawan."
* * *
Two fighters — a teacher and his apprentice — circled each other. The Corellian shipwrights had given a royal gift to their client. The teacher had shared his joy with her.
The holoterminal, which had once stood in the center of the room, could now be hidden in a special niche in the floor, which the teacher had done, turning the room into a training area before the duel.
"Now we can train right on board the corvette," the girl assessed, shifting a freshly assembled training saber into her hand.
Throwing a training saber toward her ("Why not real ones? We're at war, we could train in real conditions!"), the teacher shed his cloak, remaining in just his armor.
"Begin," he commanded.
Taking a deep breath, Oli concentrated, assuming a combat stance according to the style she had learned.
"Ataru?" the man was surprised.
"Is something bothering you, Master?"
"Mmm, not really," the man shrugged. "It's everyone's choice, of course, which style to use. But I think I'll have to learn Ataru now to properly instruct you."
"Why?" the girl was surprised. "Master Drallig teaches fencing."
"Then what's the point of being a Padawan, Oli?" the Jedi asked. "If you're not learning from the experience of the one who is your teacher?"
"Oh, I don't know... Hey, that's not fair!"
Talking her ear off, the Jedi closed the distance between them with a short lunge and swept his blade through the air in front of her with a wide swing. If the Force hadn't been with her today, she would have been in for a nasty hit to the legs.
"This technique is called Dun Moch," the man explained, delivering a simple overhead slash. Oli blocked it. "Both Jedi and Sith use concentration during a fight. Deprive your opponent of concentration, weaken their vigilance — and half the job is done."
The Jedi pushed her away with force, forcing the girl to step back a couple of paces.
"That's some kind of wrong technique," the girl complained. "Dishonest... You can't strike from ambush like that!"
"What's more important — to fight with honor, by the rules, and die, or to use every opportunity and win, preserving your life?"
"I don't even... You did it again!?"
Dougan attacked her again with a simple overhead strike, but Oli reacted with a quick parry, deflecting the teacher's blade to the side. The girl noted that the quiet crunch of the training sabers was nothing compared to the hissing and hum of energy from a real sparring match. Ah, and just five years ago, she couldn't even dream of a training saber... What the hell?!
Holding the girl's blade with his own, the teacher swept her legs out from under her, putting the sparring partner on her back. Then, he slowly walked to the opposite end of the room.
"You're losing control of the situation again. In a real fight, that could cost you your life, Oli!"
"In a real fight, I won't have opponents like you!" the girl noted resentfully.
"Of course not," the teacher shook his head, returning to a waiting stance. "In my time, I also thought that by mastering Niman better than any other Jedi, I could easily stand against the Sith and their minions. The result — destroyed armor, a mangled body and face. And I myself was one step away from becoming one with the Force. We need experience to avoid repeating our mistakes."
"Well, that wasn't my mistake," the girl snorted.
"Agreed. But a smart person learns from others' mistakes. A fool learns from his own."
"Hee-hee-hee," the apprentice's lips curled into a smile. "So that means you're the fool?"
"What the hell!" the man raised his hands to the ceiling, addressing the overhead lighting panels. "Why, out of all the apprentices, did I have to get this particular pain in the— Oh, not bad!"
Unfortunately, she wasn't fast enough. Taking advantage of the Jedi's lapse into philosophical musings, she judged his control had weakened sufficiently. All that remained was to deliver a quick piercing strike to the man's stomach. But, unfortunately, the teacher was faster.
Dodging her strike, he slammed his armored elbow into her back while simultaneously sweeping her legs. With a loud thud, Oli was stretched out full-length on the floor.
A palpable poke in the back with the training sword made her understand she had lost the first bout.
"Good attempt," the man said, using the Force to send both training swords back to their wall mounts. The apprentice, meanwhile, got to her feet. Breathing fiercely through her nose, the girl glared at the man from under her brow. "We'll train more often—and you'll become a better swordsman than me."
"Really?" The girl beamed.
"Ahem... no. They don't teach sarcasm at the Temple at all, do they?!"
"Teacher! You can't do that! You're making jabs at me!"
"Consider it practice in Dun Moch."
"O-o-o!!! Then I have a grand supply of jokes for you, Teacher."
"Yeah. The milk hasn't even dried on your lips for you to be cracking jokes about me."
"What? What milk?" The apprentice ran her hand over the lower part of her face in amazement. Convinced the teacher had pranked her yet again, the girl, after making sure he had left, made a face and stuck her tongue out at his retreating back.
"Ow!" A levitating lightsaber smacked her on the spot where she usually sat. "That's not fair, teacher!"
"I said it hasn't dried, so it hasn't dried!" His voice, full of mirth, reached her.
* * *
The subsequent five days of travel to the rendezvous point, Dougan dedicated to joint training sessions.
After the first sparring match, the Jedi introduced a training schedule.
From early morning, he taught her about some Force technique. Explaining it, the teacher helped the girl master the technique and gave her a chip with a description of the move for independent study. Mostly, the information concerned control techniques—body control, emotion control, breath control. Oli had learned most of them while still a youngling.
But, in the teacher's interpretation, understanding the essence came faster. His texts were simpler, clearer, and most importantly—they practically didn't require great effort to master.
Oli could only marvel at how simply and engagingly one could explain what instructors and masters at the Temple presented in a tedious and utterly uninteresting way. Many of the younger Jedi were openly bored in lessons—some even fell asleep. Few Jedi instructors could boast an interesting presentation of their subject. As far as Oli remembered her own training, her desire to learn was fueled only by childish curiosity and the awareness that without passing exams and tests, she wouldn't advance, wouldn't earn the right to create her own lightsaber, and wouldn't become a full-fledged Jedi.
The teacher spoke little about his life outside the Temple. He only brushed her off once, explaining that everything he knew, he had learned not on Coruscant.
And he knew a lot. An incredible amount. Oli, despite the teacher keeping himself mentally closed off from everyone, like a cold monolith, still felt the Force emanating from him. Incredibly mighty—much stronger than many Jedi, he was like a blazing bonfire illuminating all space within the Force.
The daytime training sessions and meditations flew by so quickly she barely noticed them.
Only when going to sleep, turning inward, did she realize that even if she didn't learn something new every day, she was fundamentally reinforcing long-forgotten basics. Rick, without a guilty conscience, explained to her that to learn something new, one must solidify the foundations, since more complex Force techniques sometimes combine several basic ones. And if she practiced using basic techniques to the point of automatism, then even with more complex techniques, she would fare much better than knowing the "basics" in a "slapdash" manner.
However, if she went to sleep, the teacher began his real training sessions. Sometimes the droid helped him with this, but mostly—the teacher practiced alone.
Oli furtively watched the man who fenced furiously, practicing the same katas, lunges, and combinations over and over, which she had never before seen in his arsenal. Some she recognized, others remained a mystery to her. At the same time, the droid, occasionally acting as a sparring partner, during fencing, quite often received blows from the training sword to its chassis. In areas where vital organs were located in ordinary sentients.
Sometimes, he could read a particular file for a long time, which he extracted from an information panel, very, very similar to the stands in the Archives.
The teacher told her that only some knowledge from the Temple, copied for self-development, was gathered there. However, the girl had no doubt that in the master's personal library, far more was collected than just copies of files from the Jedi archive.
Watching the master's evening training sessions, Oli couldn't help but note that their sparring matches were nothing compared to what the teacher did alone. Watching the ferocity with which he attacked an invisible opponent, the girl, with doubt and hidden joy, imagined how finely the master would chop his opponent into pieces at their next meeting.
* * *
"Forgive me, master!" Dooku watched with interest as Tann knelt before him. "I have failed you."
The woman had spent several days evading pursuit by the Republicans, pulling Ganjrey's vile hide out of the search loop that the Jedi and clone search parties were tightening around them. Finally, she arrived on Serenno, delivering the vice-king, scared to death but alive.
Where the bribed Senate guard had disappeared, Dooku didn't ask. It was pointless—the man had served his purpose. Hardly anyone would weep for him. Avenging his death—even less so.
"An unexpected failure, Sev'rance," the former Jedi said coldly. "Lord Sidious is displeased. The Jedi survived."
"I tried..." the girl's confident voice faltered.
"Trying is not enough!" Dooku roared, rising from the table. "Your failure has greatly hindered us. Not only did the Jedi survive—now he controls one of the sectoral armies. His successful tactical operations could grow into a threatening strategy for us."
"Let me fix everything, teacher!" Tann pleaded. "I underestimated him, but now, when I know more about him..."
"More?" Dooku smirked. "I do not doubt your command talents, Tann, but to oppose him—your strength is insufficient. Here, the participation of a more experienced Jedi killer is necessary..."
"Ventress," the Chiss hissed the name of Dooku's most successful acolyte with hatred. The Count knew of the envy most dark servants felt toward the Dathomirian. She had the highest number of successful missions, and her tally of slain Jedi had long surpassed the activity of all other servants. Well, except perhaps Durge and Grievous kept up the mark. But. They were not Force-sensitive...
"Precisely," the Count agreed. "This will be a lesson for you. Asajj will resolve this problem. Because of your failure, he was tasked with leading the operation to rescue the Hutt. And the Force whispers to me that my plan is in jeopardy. This is unacceptable!"
"My lord!" Tann's eyes blazed with fire. Dooku reveled, feeling the fury raging within her. "Allow me to join! I will destroy him! I will bring you his head!"
Manipulation and intrigue... the favorite art of the Sith. Dooku smiled inwardly. Ambition and the desire to serve the Count—that was the leash with which he kept such a vast number of servants by his side. And Tann, despite her talents, was merely one of many. And like all others—she fell for such a primitive trick.
"Very well, Sev'rance," the Count exhaled. "You are going to Teth. You will help Ventress kill the Jedi—and perhaps after that, I will restore my favor to you."
Dooku drank in the pain and humiliation that literally oozed from his subordinate. To place her, a talented commander, under the command of an assassin. Weightier than a simple slap. This shame would become the source of her rage, so strong that no tricks of that cursed Jedi would help him avoid meeting his Destiny.
* * *
Watching the little girl drowning in Jedi armor, I couldn't help but suppress my smile.
"This isn't funny, teacher!" The girl pouted. "I can't move in this!"
"And no one asked you to put on the first armor you found," I remarked reasonably.
"But you said, 'Choose!'" the child scowled. So amusing—she decided to try on Jedi Knight armor. There was about twenty kilograms of durasteel alone. But even that didn't stop her. She put it all on.
"Don't clown around," I said instructively. "It was said, 'Choose wisely!'"
"One word, so many problems," the girl wrinkled her nose. "But you're right—I can't wear this armor. It's even hard for me to move in it."
"Well, of course!" I snorted. "But I think there is a suitable option for you in this collection."
"Really?"
"Certainly," I approached the cabinet, then took out a plastic container with armor from it. At a glance—five to seven kilograms. I looked at the tag. Yeah, it would definitely suit her.
"What's the difference?" The apprentice looked at me suspiciously. "They're the same. Well, this one just has yellow plates."
"That's only at first glance—they're the same, Padawan," I demonstrated the explanatory sticker. "'Light armor for Jedi Consulars.' Weighs three times less, plates made of Bronze with cortosis coating. Good protection against projectile weapons. True, there's no force field generator here—but I think we can come up with something."
"Hmm..." the girl gave the new set an appraising look. "But won't the glossy yellow color of the plates give me away?"
"Look at you, so clever!" I whistled. The girl, folding her arms across her chest, pouted her lips.
"Get dressed," I grunted. "We'll repaint the armor and find you a new cloak."
Leaving the girl alone, I exited the storage room, sitting down on the nearest sofa. But soon a ringing voice came from the compartment.
"Can I have one like yours?"
"What? The armor? No, my friend, I barely wrested it from the Council for myself. Master Windu sees you in it—they'll definitely label us as Sith, arrest us, and exile us to prison."
"Actually, I meant the colors of the armor and cloak," the girl quipped. "And is there really a prison that could hold two Jedi?"
"I think, over the thousands of years of the Order's existence, such prisons have been found. In the galaxy, there have always been and will be individuals who disagree with the viewpoint of the Force's adepts. Our abilities frighten some. Anger others. Still others, with pure hearts, would get rid of us, and the Sith, and generally all those sensitive to the Force."
"But why, master? Aren't the Jedi guardians of peace? We care for the welfare of all inhabitants of the galaxy!"
"Are we? It seems to me millions of sentients, enslaved in Hutt Space, on Tatooine, or in dozens of other worlds, don't feel how the Jedi care for their welfare."
"But... they told us slavery doesn't exist in the Republic!" the girl exclaimed. "They told us that in some places across the galaxy, laws about 'contracted workers' still operate and..."
"Oli, if a sentient cannot get up in the middle of a work process and leave, slamming the door—that's slavery."
"In that case, droids are also enslaved," remarked the droid, ascending the steps.
"Droids do not possess free will," I rejected. "They were created as mechanical servants—nothing more."
"But we think, create," K1 presented arguments.
"As soon as droids learn sexual reproduction—we'll return to this conversation," I promised. "And anyway, I sent you to the bridge. Why are you eavesdropping?"
"To eavesdrop on you, one doesn't need to come here," the droid noted. "But that's not why I'm here. The corvette is approaching the designated target. Ten minutes—and we'll be on site."
"Splendid," I clapped my hands, rising from the sofa. "Finally. We'll quickly deliver the little Hutt to Tatooine and attend to more important matters."
"What could be more important than a child's life?" the Padawan asked me in surprise, exiting the storage room.
In the corvette's artificial lighting, the glossy armored elements of the girl's armor shone like a polished samovar. The bodysuit of fabric armor fitted to her figure, bonzium protective plates, and a pretty little face... A straight-up anime valkyrie. Somewhere on the edge of my consciousness, a thought stirred that one day she would become a beautiful woman.
"Magnificent armor," praised K1-Z3N. "They shine so brightly I wouldn't miss from the other end of the galaxy. A decidedly cunning way to get rid of a bothersome Padawan on your part, Master Jedi."
The response was pursed lips, a look ready to kill from the young girl, and my laughter, barely restrained.
"You were extremely kind to me at the beginning of our acquaintance," the girl reminded the droid.
"I didn't know then that you decide nothing on the ship," the droid replied impassively.
"If I had a sword now," the girl hissed. "I'd show you what I decide..."
"Oh, right, about that," I smacked myself on the forehead. It completely slipped my mind. Going to the storage room, I began rummaging in one of the wall crates. "Your concentration and control are lacking. I think there's a way to help you with that."
"Really?" The girl brightened. "How?"
"By properly selecting crystals for your lightsaber," I returned to the Padawan, holding a transparent box with crystals in my hands. "Meet—the Kasha crystal and its 'colleague' straight from the mines of Ruusan. And now they will live in your lightsaber."