The appearance of a rather contentedly purring Cathar, and a Jedi at that, caused quite a stir at the local customs.
Or rather, just the checkpoint.
I had to apply some light mental influence.
Also got some practice in something like a gaze avoidance technique.
Bad timing on my arrival.
A flying analog of a bus had just arrived from a recently landed liner, disgorging a crowd of passengers.
So I dampened the excessive interest in my humble person.
Waited in line.
Luckily, it moved quickly.
Hello, world I’m seeing with my own eyes, not through the prism of someone else’s perception in memories.
I desperately wanted to just wander around and gawk, but I had to curb my desires and get down to business.
The teacher had already shown me immense trust by letting me go alone.
I understand that it’s not just common sense driving him — perhaps not even that as much as guilt and remorse — but still, it’s better not to make the sensei worry.
It’s bad for him.
I need to finish my business before the master stops meditatively poking his finger at his datapad.
In short, I have about three hours for everything, so I grab a taxi and head to the shopping center.
No problem with transportation.
Yellow flitters were parked near the spaceport terminal exit.
The color made me snort and growl.
At least there were no checkered patterns.
The taxi was automated — actually, it had a droid sitting in a recess in the pilot’s seat.
Not an astromech, but similar, even in appearance.
I gave the address, paid, the transparent canopy closed, and we took off.
Alas, I didn’t get to enjoy the views much.
Five minutes later, the flitter landed on the roof of a skyscraper.
The enormous building looked squat due to its width.
A sort of pillbox a couple hundred meters high.
Actually, I didn’t have to fly here at all — the planet is quite developed; I could order anything online.
It’s just that this way is faster, and besides, it’s interesting!
Overall, aside from its size and assortment, the shopping center wasn’t much different from its analogs in my past life, which I’d half-forgotten.
The same departments and stores, a huge entertainment zone, and eateries interspersed throughout.
For visitor convenience, information terminals were at every step, and the elevators could not only move between floors but also horizontally.
They were more like transport capsules than elevators.
If I needed to get somewhere nearby and was too lazy to walk, there were moving walkways.
Not too fast, but more convenient than pushing through a crowd.
With that last part, I was out of luck.
The locals had a day off coinciding with some significant holiday.
In honor of which, the merchants were holding something like a “Black Friday.” Savings — great.
Crowds and chaos — terrible.
I’d gotten unused to this.
There aren’t many people in the Temple, and the grounds are much larger.
On the ship, there isn’t much crowding either.
In short, I had to hastily detach and slip into something like a trance.
I was seriously shocked.
Experienced genuine shock.
Didn’t expect that from myself.
Honestly — I was lost in the first few minutes, frozen like a gopher at its burrow.
As a result, the natives, rushing to empty their wallets, mercilessly pushed me against a wall, and then into some corner.
Realizing there was nothing to be gained here, but unwilling to give up, I fought my way to the nearest terminal, quickly mapped out a route, and rushed off to shop.
I’d pre-ordered a cargo platform via my datapad, which was just reporting its assigned spot in the mall parking lot just as I reached the department selling droids.
“Hello!” a robot consultant greeted me with a cheerful, artificially dim-witted tone.
“How can we help you?
We have…”
“Here,” I cut off the droid, who was clearly about to launch into a standard spiel, and handed it my datapad with the list open.
“Excellent, sir!
All of this and even…”
“Is it in stock?” I cut the robot off again.
“Yes, sir,” the droid surrendered, ceasing its attempts to deliver the advertising speech.
“Then let’s go finalize.”
“Of course, sir.
Follow me.”
I paid for the droids and drones, declining extra warranties and other nonsense, but buying a set of repair kits.
I specified the parking spot of the rented platform as the delivery point.
Coordinated the time and hurried off for tools.
First, I bought a universal workbench.
This distant great-great-grandson of 3D printers would let me manufacture missing parts on the spot.
Expensive, the bastard, but worth every credit.
Obviously, such a specific machine wasn’t part of the standard Pif workshop configuration, but one could allow oneself certain liberties.
An engineering station, a relatively universal testing rig, a tool set with interchangeable manipulator attachments, and a solid supply of parts and consumables were, to varying degrees, supposed to be on a ship like ours.
I bought in bulk and from the heart.
Somehow crammed everything onto the cargo platform.
Things I’d bought for future use I had to throw into the cabin.
Though there weren’t many of those.
Purring contentedly and anticipating the upcoming tinkering with workshop setup, I headed back to the ship.
“Padawan!
What is this?!” Nemak stared at the cargo platform.
“Robots and tools, teacher.
All according to the list and standards,” I shuffled my foot and, modestly tucking my hands into my sleeves, lowered my eyes to the floor.
“I even took into account the recommendations from year thirty-two after the Ruusan Reformation,” I lifted my eyes and made a face like a diligent kitten angling for praise.
“H-how much?” the sensei sighed.
“Teacher, all expenses are justified by the goal of completing our assignment.
Here,” I handed the mentor my datapad.
“Uh?
Uh?!”
“And we vitally need that machine!”
“Uh-huh,” the sensei uttered, defeated but still locked up.
“Just forward the report to the Order, Master.
You’ll see, they’ll approve,” I encouraged my mentor.
“Give me the chip back.
Padawan,” Nemak finally came to his senses.
“Here, Master.”
“Sith take you.
Unload,” the mentor waved his hand and stomped back onto the ship.
“Pif!
We’re in business!”
“I never doubted you, Mirr-dono.
Hurry, activate the droids, I’ll help you.”
“Right away.”
* * *
Mr.
Zhinda, who had been working in the Jedi Order’s treasury for two decades, habitually opened the report, inwardly pleased that he’d gotten such a lucky pair — a fool of a knight and a juvenile Padawan.
This Nemak had clearly done something to displease Master Windu himself, or else he wouldn’t have approved such a long and convoluted route amounting to pure commerce.
Though, who was he to complain?
He worked on commission.
Very, very substantial commission.
Inwardly, Zhinda laughed at the Jedi, considering them naive idealists, but was ready to strangle anyone for them — or rather, for his position with them.
That was his particular quirk, his peculiar form of loyalty.
What’s more, he didn’t even cheat or steal.
First, he wouldn’t get away with it anyway, and second, there was no point.
He could always explain why he was owed such-and-such.
Though, it never occurred to the esteemed treasurer that it wasn’t his eloquence or knowledge, but simply that he himself believed his own words.
Today, Mr.
Zhinda wanted to see the result of the route he had so meticulously and lovingly crafted.
He was already anticipating how many full credits would land in his account.
He was in such good spirits that the treasurer even started whistling a jaunty tune and cracked the knuckles of his pudgy hands.
His colleagues, who had long since learned each other’s habits, just sighed enviously.
If Zhinda himself was cracking his knuckles and whistling, it meant a new flitter — at minimum — would soon appear.
Only today, something went wrong.
The tune broke off without transitioning into his usual drawn-out note of admiration.
Instead of a triumphant grunt, there was a wheezing sob that turned into a strangled gasp.
The clerks watched with interest as their colleague’s face went white, then rapidly filled with blood and turned crimson.
Finally, a purplish-blue Zhinda jumped up, grabbed his datapad, and rushed for the doors.
“Master Windu!” the clerk burst into the meditation hall.
“Has something happened?” the Jedi opened his eyes.
“Yes!
Here!” the treasurer shoved the datapad under the Korun’s nose.
“And what’s the problem?” the Master pulled the device away, having familiarized himself with the brief report almost instantly.
“What do you mean ‘what’s the problem’?!
All the profit…”
“Not all, just a portion,” Windu shrugged.
“The lion’s share!”
“What difference does it make?
The mission entrusted, with my permission, to the young Jedi has brought profit to the Order, required no expenses, and that’s sufficient,” the Master nodded, parodying the Grand Master.
It was one of his little weaknesses that he sometimes indulged.
“Transfer the remaining pittance, after deducting your commission, to our charity fund,” Windu finished off the treasurer with the order.
“Y-yes, sir,” was all Zhinda could exhale after finally taking a breath and overcoming a bout of dizziness.
“And stop by the healers — I sense you have health issues,” the Master showed genuine concern for the employee.
“Of course, sir,” the treasurer nodded, rubbing his chest near his heart.
“Blood pressure has been acting up,” he complained.
“It’s all from nerves.
Your work is demanding, and you haven’t had a vacation in five years.
Arranging such a magnificent route, coordinating everything…” Windu shook his head.
“Few are capable of that.
I’ll authorize a bonus of ten thousand credits for you.”
“Thank you, Master,” Zhinda sighed mournfully, having expected to receive a hundred times more.
“You’re welcome.
We Jedi don’t need credits, but we understand their necessity. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
Anything else?”
“No, Master.
Sorry for disturbing you.”
“It’s quite alright,” Windu indicated a hint of a smile.
“Have a good day, Master.”
“And you as well, Treasurer Zhinda.
Don’t forget to visit the healing wards.”
“Certainly, sir.
Thank you, and again, sorry for the distraction.”
Mace Windu didn’t bother with further pleasantries — he just nodded and closed his eyes, sinking into the Force.
“At least the treatment is free,” the treasurer encouraged himself.
Well, the Force willed it — Zhinda decided and went to carry out his duties.
A fleeting smile touched the Master’s lips.
He was more than satisfied that he’d managed to keep a good specialist, setting him on the right path.
Jedi don’t need credits — true.
But that doesn’t mean they can’t count them.
They just don’t like to.
Far too much evil is done over them.
With the help of unpacked and activated drones controlled by Pif, we moved everything we’d bought in less than an hour.
The teacher, after sending my report to the Order, crashed to sleep, while I set about setting up the workshop.
I unpacked the boxes, dancing and purring.
Using telekinesis, I arranged the purchases in their places.
The drones handled assembly.
They routed power.
They commissioned the droids, which immediately joined the work.
All in all, things were going smoothly, and by the time the teacher looked into the workshop, almost everything was ready.
“Well, what do you think, Master?” I couldn’t help asking after giving him a tour.
“Impressive,” Nemak ruffled my head.
“Now we’re a real flying workshop.”
“Well, not quite, but close.
We’ll be able to repair various equipment.
That’s a highly sought-after service in the Outer Rim worlds.”
“I doubt we’ll have time for that.”
“Why not?
While you gather information from one source, I’ll work with others.”
“Hmm, I suppose so,” the mentor nodded.
“Master, have you decided where we’re going next?”
“No.
Any suggestions?” Nemak squinted.
“I think we should start by buying some spare parts here and flying to some agrarian world.”
“Trading doesn’t quite align with the Jedi way, Padawan,” the teacher objected, but without much conviction.
“But it aligns perfectly with our mission.
You told me that out there,” I twitch an ear, “Republic credits aren’t accepted everywhere, and we’re not exactly welcome.”
“And?” the mentor encouraged me.
“Weeeell, that means we should pose as simple free traders.
Think about it.
First, we help a planet — bring them what they need at a fair price, not exorbitant.
Does that align with the Jedi way?
We’d be doing a good and useful deed.”
“It does, if we do it without profit,” Nemak nodded, scratching his chin.
“We can’t do it without profit — that would be too suspicious.
But we can send anything extra to the Order afterward.”
“Alright, let’s say that works.
Continue.”
“Second, we buy some food concentrates, nutrient bricks, rations, or something similar, and then fly with those to a capital world in the subsector or even sector.
That’ll be easy to sell.
Again, we won’t overcharge.
Plus, we’ll have a verifiable cover story, and no one will ask questions.
And we can compare what they’re saying out in the sticks versus in the center.”
“Fine,” Nemak agreed easily, after a few seconds of thought.
“One more thing, Master.”
“M?”
“We need to change into ordinary jumpsuits, so as not to invite any more questions at all.”
“You might as well say leave the lightsabers and strap on blasters.”
“Well, we shouldn’t refuse a sword, but some weaponry wouldn’t hurt.”
“No, padawan.
That’s too much,” the master cut in, though notably, not immediately.
“Then we should be more careful, master.”
“You’re right about that, finish up in the workshop, and I’ll be waiting for you in the hall.”
“I can do it anytime, Pif will handle the rest.
Right?”
“Affirmative, all work will be finished in two hours,” the android reported briskly.
“That’s good,” Nemak summarized.
“Let’s go.”