“You’re so good at it!” Zola almost squeals and claps her hands.
“Training,” Nemak answers modestly, almost shuffling his foot.
“Can you run along the wall again?” the girl makes puppy dog eyes.
“Of course,” the mentor replies and, using acceleration, imitates a circus stuntman.
“Cool,” Zola breathes out, looking at Sensei with admiration.
“Pif, turn it off, I can’t watch this.”
“In my opinion, it’s quite ordinary courtship between a female and a male,” the AI declares, removing the hologram.
“That’s just the thing — if she were flirting like that with, well…
at least with me, it would still be tolerable, but the teacher is only a little younger than her.
And this, such blatant flirting.
Darkness!
I can’t even call it flirting.
She’s just throwing herself at him.”
“You forget to take into account the peculiarities of temple upbringing, Mirr-dono.”
“You think she tried to hit on him properly but it didn’t work?”
“That’s quite possible,” the AI agreed.
“Hmm, well, let’s say.
My mentor is quite a blockhead.
But why would she need this?”
“I can immediately offer at least a couple of explanations.”
“Well, surprise me.”
“I doubt I’ll succeed, but I’ll try.
First, she might be interested in money.”
“Trivial.”
“Agreed, but nevertheless.”
“Okay, next.”
“Status, or rather, the opportunity to boast that she was the lover of a real Jedi.”
“Well, I don’t know, that seems a bit far-fetched to me.”
“Nevertheless, such psychotypes are not so rare.”
“Fine, let’s say.
More options?”
“Curiosity and the reproductive instinct.”
“Are you hinting at her blood purity?”
“Precisely.
Who knows who her great-great-grandmother was?
In the Inner and Core Worlds, almost every civilization dabbled in genetics every now and then.”
“Either way, I don’t like her open attempts to drag Sensei into bed.”
“I don’t understand you, Mirr-dono.
In my opinion, it would only benefit a Jedi Knight.”
“It might benefit, but then we’d have to deal with the consequences.”
“I dare to note that your mentor is far from a boy.
He’s over twenty years old, about one and a half times older than you.”
“And yet he doesn’t know anything about basic things.
You know, I’m a hundred percent sure he’s a virgin.
I suspect he’s only heard about protection at best.”
“Perhaps you should talk to him about it?”
“Yeah, like he’ll listen to me.
If you haven’t noticed, I’m technically a padawan.
Okay, let’s hope nothing bad happens.”
“At least your mentor has noticeably improved his lightsaber skills.
I estimate his chances of defeating you at one to fifteen.”
“Thanks for the encouragement, Pif.
You’re right, you have to find something good in everything.
Besides, this Zola will leave us soon.”
“And if she decides to stay?”
“Then either I’ll have to report to the Council, as a proper padawan should, or take some measures myself.
Perhaps even radical ones,” I growled, getting into a stance and pulling my swords with telekinesis.
I’ll train while there’s time, or we’ll arrive soon and the hassle will start again.
But I didn’t manage to train much today.
About an hour before exiting subspace, the teacher called me to the training hall and even told me to bring my swords.
“Has the master really matured to sparring?” I asked myself a rather stupid question, knowing the answer perfectly well.
Yes, he had matured.
Well, it’s about time.
In short, I rushed to the former observation gallery almost at a run.
“Master?”
“Mir, I decided it’s time to test your lightsaber skills.
You’ve meditated a lot, trained — I think it’s time to focus on combat training.”
“Yes, teacher.”
“Let’s begin,” the mentor waved his hand and casually pulled a training saber with a careless motion.
It felt like he had rehearsed it.
Still, he could have practiced, so to speak, for external effect.
Zola was, naturally, right there.
Moreover, she was clearly preparing to record our fight on a datapad.
For some reason, I strongly disliked that.
“Master, wouldn’t it be enough if Pif records it?
He can do it better quality,” I nodded pointedly at the girl.
“But I’m interested!” Zola protested.
“And your ship won’t give me the recordings,” she immediately tattled on the AI.
“And rightly so,” I managed to cut in before the teacher could open his mouth.
“Master, let’s just start,” I turn on my lightsaber to definitively cut off any advances from one overly curious person.
“Attack,” Sensei switches to the upcoming fight and takes a defensive stance.
Attack it is.
Only, my task became more complicated on one hand, and on the other, hmm, simpler.
Nemak is clearly planning to show off in front of Zola, which means I can work more roughly.
There’s less danger of him noticing the game.
At the same time, I don’t want to show off too much.
I really don’t like that girl recording the spar.
I sense something…
vague, in short.
So, what do they expect from a cat, which is how everyone perceives me, even subconsciously?
That’s right — enhanced leaping ability.
That’s what I’ll demonstrate.
The fourth combat form, also known as Ataru, the acrobatic style.
“Here we go,” I command myself, pushing away the thoughts that flashed through my mind.
Jump from a standstill.
A downward chop — ha!
Double grip, mass multiplied by strength and inertia.
The saber hums.
The cut air whistles.
The teacher dodges and strikes at the side.
I change trajectory, twisting my body.
A hum of momentarily clashing blades.
Attack parried.
Landing-roll.
A growl and a shoulder shrug.
Let them think I hurt myself.
Jump.
Strike in the plane.
A shower of sparks.
Blade slides along blade.
Grazes the deck.
Backflip.
Tail to the side.
Somersault.
Fend off.
The teacher attacks.
Classic combo of five strikes with a thrust at the end.
Crude.
Straightforward.
Sometimes it works.
I twist.
Hold back from hitting the face.
A push.
I fly.
Thud — landed.
Roll.
Block.
Roll.
Sweep.
Thrust at the knee.
Rolled left.
Jump up.
Jump.
I literally skim across the floor.
Figure eight.
Hell, Sensei barely avoided the saber.
Jump.
Diagonal downward strike.
The clashing blades buzz.
Kicked him in the chest, blocked the returning saber blow.
The smell of the fight intoxicates.
The teacher reeks of excitement.
Nemak is sweating.
Drenched.
He’ll endure.
I won’t let him win so easily.
A series of three strikes from different directions.
He blocks.
Force push didn’t get through.
The teacher counterattacks.
Good job, Sensei!
Almost took off my ear.
Somersault.
The saber blurs.
From the outside — like a circular saw or a propeller blade.
Nemak is taking risks.
Body enhancement technique.
Acceleration technique.
A hard block transitioning into a swift attack.
A hum and ringing in my ears, blades clashing dozens of times per second.
I retreat.
Back up.
Bend back.
Hell!
Barely managed to soften the blow.
Jump back.
Nemak jumps after.
Phew!
The smell of arousal from Zola.
Makes me nauseous and dizzy.
Barely parried the next lunge.
Jump.
Swatted with the saber.
A couple of flips.
Gained distance.
Turn with a wide strike.
Slowed the teacher down.
Excellent.
He clearly believes he’s taken the initiative.
We’ll run a bit.
I need to “make mistakes” more often.
Nemak triumphs.
He’s cornered the padawan.
Naive.
I toss my saber and jump after it.
The teacher lunges.
He flies at me like some kind of Superman.
Only he has no wall nearby.
“Boom” the bulkhead rumbles.
I change trajectory.
Roll.
Turn.
Jump.
Sleepy Fly!
I could have diced you without any acceleration!
Is Sensei annoyed?
He barely managed to parry the attack.
What?!
Calm down!
I’m not after your female.
Block.
Dodge.
Step back.
Deflect the strike.
Jump back.
The blades hum.
The air whistles.
The mentor’s eyes are blazing.
Eyes?!
Darkness?!
I dive into the attack.
Expose my neck.
Ow!
Why did you have to hit me in the side?
You already won.
Calm down.
“Master?” I get up and rub my ribs — he really nailed me, and I let my guard down, stopped reinforcing my body with the Force.
“Sorry, Mirr, I got carried away,” Nemak breathes heavily, calming the rage seething inside him.
“Wow!” Zola hangs on the teacher and…
gives him a loud kiss on the lips.
“Oh, sorry,” she blushes with embarrassment.
“It’s just, that was so cool!”
“Uh…” the crimson mentor forgets how to breathe.
He seems to have completely lost touch with reality.
“I’ll be going to my quarters,” I mutter, strenuously detaching myself from what’s happening.
The bond with the teacher hums like a string.
I frantically try to strengthen it and protect myself from the storm of feelings and emotions that Sensei is experiencing.
Plus the smell of a female in heat from Zola.
I want to go to the cargo hold!
There’s tedious work and peace!
Unexpectedly, it helped.
A chain of associations connected with the position of supercargo, and now I’m in something between a meditative state and the “Center of Being” technique.
No one stopped my retreat.
The teacher has other things on his mind, and Zola certainly doesn’t need me now.
Look at her, persistently rubbing her curves against Nemak.
Stop, I shouldn’t think about that.
Let her have sex with him right there if she wants.
It will even be beneficial.
My poor excuse of a Sensei managed to get one little toe, ugh, damn it, grrr, one foot on the Dark Side.
He stepped on it, checked it out, so to speak, and quickly pulled his paw back.
But even that slip of his worries me a lot.
If it were about something serious, but damn it, he couldn’t control his anger in a training bout.
I understand everything — he didn’t want to lose to me.
He passionately wanted to win.
And no wonder — he trained, prepared, and I tricked him at the moment when he thought it was over, he had won, and all that was left was to finish off the overly quick padawan.
Maybe Zola influenced him so much?
He’s got a thing for her, even if he doesn’t show it and acts stupid, but I can sense it without any bond, just with my nose.
How good that she’ll leave us today.
“Pif, how much longer?”
“No, we’ll be exiting the jump soon.”
“Good.
I’ll go take a shower and heal my ribs.
What’s the mentor doing?”
“Meditating in his cabin.
The passenger is packing her things,” the AI anticipated the next question.
“Great.
No.
Excellent!”
“That’s for you to judge, Mirr-dono,” the AI didn’t dwell on the topic.
After attempting to analyze and understand questions of gender relations, he prefers not to touch on this subject.
The poor thing almost went crazy trying to comprehend such an ephemeral concept as love.
The signal from the cabin door finally shattered Nemak’s already failing meditation.
Too much had fallen on the young knight in just one hour.
Every attempt to understand what had happened to him during the sparring failed under the barrage of emotions from the kiss and moments of incredible power he had experienced when he gave in to rage.
The latter should have worried him much more — after all, he was a Jedi — but Zola’s soft lips drowned everything out.
It made him angry, irritated him, but wouldn’t let go.
“Open,” Nemak ordered.
“Hi,” the girl fluttered into the captain’s cabin.
“Hi,” Nemak couldn’t help glancing at the guest’s athletic figure.
“I contacted my relatives,” Zola rattled on, sitting on the edge of the table and swinging her leg.
“They’re not too happy with me, but they have to put up with it.
Without my signature, they can’t sell off the property.
Ha, they even transferred the inheritance money to me,” the girl smirked and showed a bank chip.
“So, the farewell dinner is on me,” she tossed her head and shook her hair.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Nemak forced out.
“Don’t be a sourpuss,” the guest waved dismissively.
“You’ve done so much for me, I simply have to repay you with at least such a small thing.
Besides, do you want to offend me?”
“No,” the Jedi gave in, admitting that he wouldn’t mind sitting with her in a cantina.
“Perfect!
Get ready,” Zola commanded.
“I’m ready as is,” Nemak shrugged.
“Then, forward, my knight!” the girl laughed and extended her hand.
“Forward,” the young Jedi exhaled, and as if diving into a whirlpool, took Zola’s arm.