Feeling almost no pain from his bloodied knuckles, Nemak paced around the cabin.
His attempts at meditation had failed.
The moment he tried to detach, memories flooded back.
Guilt began to torment him.
Desires and aspirations clashed with the dogmas drilled into him since childhood.
He couldn’t even sleep properly, let alone find peace.
The only thing that helped at all was alcohol.
The young knight simply and artlessly got drunk and passed out.
“Sith’s apprentice,” Nemak growled, feeling a wild surge of irritation.
Throughout all this, Mirr was the epitome of calm.
The ideal Jedi and student.
Polite and detached.
As if not of this world.
Told to meditate — he meditated.
Sent to deliver and receive cargo — he bowed and went.
Ordered to conduct a completely unnecessary inventory — he completed it and submitted a report.
All of this infuriated him.
Made him seethe with rage.
Nemak understood that his behavior was wrong.
Inadequate.
He realized he wasn’t just teetering on the edge, but occasionally stepping over it.
This frightened him and…
stirred him.
You’d think, what more could there be?
Yet the feeling of power, of incredible strength and freedom — it beckoned.
No mossy masters, no dogmas, no stupid code, and no foisted apprentice.
Lately, Nemak had been finding solace more and more not only in drinking but also in blaming his overly perfect apprentice for all his troubles.
After all, it’s so simple and easy — to shift blame onto others.
A new wave of memories of Zol washed over the young knight, and he resolutely headed for the cabin door.
Almost running to the galley-mess, he selected the drinks section on the food dispenser’s panel, quickly scrolled through it, and with sadistic pleasure pressed the sensor for his choice.
“And the little apprentice is in the cargo hold right now,” Nemak gloated, laughing loudly as he knocked back the first glass of the strongest brew.
* * *
“Can I expect special treatment for my cargo?” the Kowakian looked into my eyes with a shy half-smile on his lips.
“Absolutely,” I purred in response, expressively rubbing my fingers together.
Naturally, he understood me perfectly.
A bearer bank chip changed hands.
The client, lightly influenced by the Force, now confident his goods would be properly looked after, went about his business.
He was quite pleased and even somewhat happy.
After all, the semi-mystical Jedi turned out to be perfectly understandable and simple folks.
Plus, he could now boast about having a personal connection with an exotic Force-user.
Of course, my contact list grew as well.
In short, as they say, the parties parted fully satisfied with each other.
I used no violent influence or, Force forbid, coercion.
Just steered the conversation in the right direction.
Actually, it’s strange I hadn’t tried stimulating curiosity before.
After all, it’s a natural reaction for sentients, especially toward me.
Not only am I an exotic that some have only vaguely heard of but never seen — but doubly so.
A Jedi, of sorts anyway.
Though for those I deal with, there’s no difference between a Padawan and a knight.
Ordinary denizens of our vast galaxy don’t understand such nuances.
And that’s fine, that’s just fine — I’m not going to explain it to everyone.
They wouldn’t understand anyway.
Besides, “in much knowledge is much grief,” and it’s all just frustration anyway.
That’s how it is.
Moving from a pleasant conversation about my beloved self and listening to clients’ stories — who would give anything to tell you how they achieved their current position and what difficulties they face earning their bread — to nodding understandingly, and then discussing special treatment for cargo — it’s elementary.
I usually pulled this off by asking for advice.
And boy, did they give me plenty.
What’s nice — none of it was useless.
All I had to do was share general plans about how I intended to earn credits in the Outer Rim worlds, and the horn of plenty would just burst open.
A proper businessman in a galaxy far, far away always carries half a dozen anonymized chips totaling a couple dozen thousand credits.
An analog of cash, so to speak.
So for my trouble and general cuteness — mixed with kawaiiness — they’d hand me one of them.
Not so much for me staying awake for days and dusting off their cargo, but for the contact number and the chance to get reliable information.
Any entrepreneur knows that information is never superfluous and is always willing to pay for it, anytime, anywhere.
So it wasn’t hard for me to inform them about prices, demand, and supply in the worlds I visited.
The thing is, the HoloNet in the Outer Rim wasn’t exactly absent, but let’s say it wasn’t present everywhere. Enjoying the story? Read on at novelping.com.
Even where it was stable enough, there were certain complications.
Having a network is one thing; having information on it is another.
As it turned out, filling it with content often posed problems.
Many worlds simply lacked serious planetary business portals.
In principle, that’s understandable — many planets had quite narrow specializations that everyone already knew about, and those who didn’t could easily find out.
Things were more interesting with worlds that had no unique goods or specialization.
Usually, such worlds couldn’t interest even medium-sized businesses.
Their volumes just weren’t enough.
But I was dealing with small entrepreneurs who wouldn’t mind expanding and tapping into the “colonies” for profit.
One problem: equipping a ship and flying off almost at random was an unacceptable risk.
A risk that one cute cat, for a modest reward, made acceptable.
I had absolutely no desire to deal with a teacher teetering on the brink of falling and desperately trying to drink himself to death.
First of all, right now he simply wasn’t ready to accept help from anyone.
He needed to blow off steam, plain and simple.
Secondly, the mentor, albeit accidentally, turned out to be right.
As soon as I started looking for differences among clients, the deals started coming in.
Bias and prejudice are truly evil.
I won’t say everyone I deal with in the cargo hold is so different from one another, but they’ve ceased to be a dreary, uniform mass for me.
Of course, they’re driven by the same motives — but that’s normal.
After all, they’re essentially doing the same thing.
Different fields, sure, but the principles of business are always and everywhere the same, and the problems and solutions are similar.
Maybe it’s even good that I was left without droids and drones.
Though I’ll still have to get some equipment and a couple of universal platforms.
I recently did an inventory of our mini-hangar and workshop and drew up a rough plan for acquiring missing equipment and refitting what we have.
This was spurred on by my dear mentor, who was in a bad mood and looking for ways to load me with work.
He, you see, came to train, sat down to meditate, and there was fur on the mat.
Well, it’s spring back home, and I’m going through active growth and body changes.
Made worse by medical techniques.
Oh, what do I expect from him?
The poor guy only recently, barely and with great difficulty, started meditating again.
So I conducted a full inventory and audit of everything, while simultaneously coming up with a simple idea — to set up a flying workshop.
That’s a sure way to earn some credits for a Padawan’s small needs!
Notably, I discussed my plan not with my mentor but with a couple of clients.
Nemak and I haven’t really been communicating much lately.
He gives orders, I carry them out.
That’s the extent of our interaction these days.
So, the sentients dealing with various high-tech goods fully approved of my idea and gave me a ton of advice.
And it was actually quite funny how it happened.
We delivered a shipment of crystals for one, and the other was the first guy’s competitor, and we picked up finished blocks from him.
It turned out this pair wasn’t just acquainted — they were constantly competing with each other in everything.
No surprise, since they were half-brothers.
Though I only found that out by poking around in their heads.
So, the consignee got carried away and wasn’t in a hurry to free my ears from his pouring advice.
He got so into it that he didn’t notice the consignor.
The latter, quickly grasping the topic, immediately joined the discussion and first thing tore his brother’s arguments to shreds.
In short — I got an express course on setting up a mobile workshop that was a sight to behold.
I even used a memory enhancement technique.
It would have been a sin to miss such an opportunity to learn something new.
It’s a pleasure dealing with practitioners.
As a token of gratitude, I slightly dampened the pair’s desire to one-up each other.
Of course, my intervention won’t last long, but if the brothers find common ground over drinks — and they will, that’s obvious even without the Force — then everything will be fine between them.
I’m sure of it.
* * *
“Mirr, we need to talk,” Nemak intercepted me as I was coming back from training.
“As you say, teacher.”
“Come on, let’s have lunch,” he waved his hand.
“Yes, Master.”
I can’t say I was terribly surprised.
The sensei had more or less calmed down thanks to meditation and had recently become more reasonable.
He’d even started going to cantinas again instead of just getting drunk alone on the ship.
“I’ve been somewhat out of sorts lately,” Nemak sighed, starting the conversation.
“You had to choose between the Order and personal happiness.”
“Yes, something like that,” the teacher looked away.
“And what did you choose, Master?” I wasn’t exactly holding my breath, but I tensed up a bit.
“The Order,” Nemak exhaled.
“It continues, Padawan.
And perhaps I was wrong to make you supercargo and refuse to buy droids.”
Not an apology, of course, but it’s progress.
Maybe with time, a real knight will come out of this teacher.
In any case, as long as he feels guilty and managed to overcome himself, I need to seize the moment.
“I won’t argue about the position.
You were right, Nemak-dono.
I was biased and didn’t even try to work as I should.
But we really do need to acquire robots and some equipment.
Elementary common sense dictates it.
Our ship was designed for a small crew, and there’s only three of us.”
“Three?
Ah, you mean the AI,” the teacher nodded.
“That’s right, Master.”
“Well, we have one last unloading point.
I’ll take over for you in the cargo hold, and you’ll go planet-side and buy what’s needed.
Can you handle it?” Nemak squinted.
“Of course, Master.
I even have a list of what’s needed ready.”
“Good.
Now, let’s go spar with sabers.”
“But…”
“Don’t worry, I can handle it.”
“Yes, teacher.”
Well, he did handle it.
Of course, I didn’t push too hard, but I wasn’t obviously slacking either.
We had five sparring sessions.
Two ended in draws, I won one, and lost two.
We worked rather roughly — basically just speed drills.
One practices strikes, the other blocks; the only interest is catching the opponent off guard and switching roles.
It was fine — for our level, it was actually great training.
After swinging lightsabers, we sat down to meditate.
For the first time in a long while, I consciously loosened the block on my connection with the teacher.
Well, words fail me — just emotions.
His energy was all twisted.
Instead of a bright star, some dim dwarf.
A disgusting crimson thing with scarred patches and veins of darkness.
Brr, just awful.
Ulcers, scabs, abscesses, pustules — no healthy spot left.
That’s roughly how I could describe what I saw and felt.
An irrelevant joke about a frog came to mind.
The one where it’s asked why it’s so green and bumpy, and it answers that it’s sick — actually, it’s white and fluffy.
In short, my mentor’s affairs were in a sorry state.
But that’s what a Padawan is for — to help.
Carefully, imperceptibly, little by little, I began to feed energy to Nemak.
It would have been better to intervene fully, but I’m not a healer, and I fear my mentor’s reaction.
If he snaps now, it would be easier to send him into the Force early than to pull him back to the light.
Perhaps not easier, but more merciful.
If there were thirty or forty years of peaceful times ahead, it might be different.
But there aren’t.
Even if I could pull him out of the darkness like this, he’d get himself killed in the first battle.
Simply because he would remember and suffer.
And he’d take someone with him.
No, it’s either-or here.
The choice is limited.
What miracle kept Nemak on the edge, how did he manage to step back from the darkness?
I don’t understand.
He must be stronger than he seems.
The teacher stayed in the hangar, while I, grabbing a handful of bank chips and the funds Nemak had given me, dashed across the spaceport field toward the city.
Hailing a car would have been faster, but since the teacher preferred to walk — it would be foolish for a Padawan to do otherwise.
Actually, it was foolish of the sensei to do that, but that’s beside the point.
It was hard to resist using Force speed — very hard — but I managed.
I made it on my own.
With some pretty solid leaps.