The wail of sirens from passing speeders.
They were hurrying.
The clatter of wheels.
The edge of a platform and fog below.
A white-and-blue train car and the green of skyscrapers.
Morning?!
The spaceport terminal.
A computer voice reporting readiness for departure.
I couldn’t deal with it.
My teacher’s presence in the Force.
Sleeping?
Meditating?
No, definitely sleeping.
“Mirr-dono, this is a bad idea.”
“M?”
“Alcohol or drugs aren’t likely to solve the problem.”
I was surprised to find myself with a bottle and a glass in my hand.
“You’re right, Pif,” I managed, barely stopping myself from crushing the glass.
I dumped everything into the recycler and just sat down on the chair.
How long did I sit there, mindlessly flipping through images?
I don’t know and don’t want to know.
A drone controlled by Pif snapped me out of my stupor.
The mild surprise at the clatter of the arriving machine turned into curiosity.
No wonder — it was trying to punch something into the food dispenser’s panel.
“You should eat, Mirr-dono,” came from the ceiling, and the drone set a tray laden with dishes on the table.
And that’s when I finally cracked up laughing.
The blizzard of the Force that, it turned out, had still been wrapped around me, dissipated.
The icy shell of my armor crumbled and melted away.
Vanished like steam.
And I…
I roared out loud, choked on tears that welled up, and tried to purr.
“What happened, Master?” Pif asked when I finally, exhausted from the fit, attacked the food and halved the number of dishes the drone had brought.
“Collision with reality, Pif.
And a couple of murders.” I twitched my ears and speared a piece of juicy, fatty meat with my claw.
“I assume both beings you killed deserved it.”
“You know, I think it’s all about the girl.
The maniac is clear enough, but her…
I don’t know.”
“What was wrong with her?”
“Hm.
Pretty much everything, actually.
Essentially, she was that freak’s accomplice.
Supplied him with victims, even brought her own little brother to the slaughter.
Don’t know if he ran off to check on his sister, or if life in the local orphanage just got unbearable.
Can’t ask now, but that monster sold him for a couple hundred credits.
She was a complete junkie.
Been consciously prostituting herself since she was about fifteen.
Anyway…
I don’t even know.
If she hadn’t started lying to me, I wouldn’t have gone into her head, but the images that came pouring out…
there are no words.” I flicked my tail and bit into another piece of meat.
“And what’s the problem, Mirr-dono?
Objectively, she got what she deserved.”
“That’s just it.
When I went down to the lower levels to look around, I ran into a pack of girls about her age on the train.
All painted up and dressed like they were working the streets, but they were on their way to a technical college.
And the look —” I waved my tail and growled in annoyance, ” just mimicry of local realities, nothing more.”
“Maybe she had no choice.
Circumstance…”
“Exactly!
Circumstances.
Yes.
The problem is, even if you’ve been eaten alive, there are at least a couple of ways out.
Why this one?
Sure, the corporations don’t give people from the bottom a chance at a proper education and profession, but workers here aren’t slaves.
Low-paying, sure, but still — getting a trade in demand isn’t a problem, mind you.
Housing, even if it’s practically a kennel, is provided.
You don’t have to starve.
Granted, no gourmet meals, and it’s all synthetic, but still.”
“Are you saying there’s a foundation?”
“Uh-huh.
A flimsy, lousy one, but it’s up to the individual whether to smash it to rubble and die under a fence, choking on their own vomit, or to strengthen it and build something decent.
Come on, figure out what a local fifteen- or sixteen-year-old with network access could do.”
“Same as anywhere,” Pif sniffed.
“There are plenty of courses and advanced training programs.
“See!
And that’s even though they train you for free for some laborer or operator job.”
“Not free — you have to work it off.”
“Details, that’s all nonsense.
You study for five years, without much strain, then work for ten.
And during that payback time, you could get another couple of professions!”
“You could, but where do you find the strength?
Low-paid labor is usually physically hard.”
“But it barely uses your brain.
It doesn’t take much energy to put a virtual helmet on your head or swipe a finger across a datapad.
Definitely no more than lifting a glass in a cantina.”
“I hadn’t considered it from that angle.”
“I’d bet that ninety-nine out of a hundred locals haven’t either.
Complaining and drinking is much easier and more pleasant.”
“I completely agree with you, Mirr-dono.
I don’t understand organics.
There’s so much interesting in the world.”
“They often don’t understand themselves.
They feel something’s wrong, but they’d rather get drunk and black out.
Anyway, that’s all pointless.
I’d better go to sleep.”
“Maybe we should fly?
We have cargo on board, and a buyer is waiting in the sector capital.”
“Uh-huh.
How’s the mentor?”
In response, Pif played a recording of Nemak, chuckling under his breath, trying to march down the corridor with a stern face, humming a jaunty, bawdy little tune.
The sensei had collected a lot of information — I was almost envious.
“What do you think, Mirr-dono — is a Jedi Knight’s ability to sing a gift, or is he just planning to get back at someone?”
“Hm, my crystalline friend, did you seriously just ask that?”
“No.
I was trying to make a joke.”
“Work on your delivery, but generally — glad to see your progress.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Clearances received.”
“Then let’s get going.
Time to get off this Sith-forsaken planet.”
My attempt to sleep was doomed.
Predictable, really — I’ve been sleeping once every five days for the last eight years.
So once we jumped to lightspeed, I went to my cabin and focused on self-education.
Especially since I had new notebooks for notes.
Pif had taken care of that.
An old habit from my past life.
Very useful, I should note.
Sure, it’s not for everyone, but personally, handwritten notes helped me remember material thoroughly and for a long time.
And if I needed to refresh something in my memory, it was always enough to flip through my notes.
The Force is all well and good, but there’s no point in abandoning time-tested classics.
After studying for the standard six hours and writing down everything important from the material, I started sliding back into something like depression.
“No, this won’t do,” I decided, getting out of the shower.
What, am I supposed to mourn every person I kill now?
If I start thinking that this specific bastard might not have been entirely a bastard, I’m afraid one of them will send me into the Force ahead of schedule.
But if I stop thinking about it altogether, I might not notice myself sinking to their level.
So I have to find a middle ground.
“Need to meditate,” I decided, shaking my head and calming my tail.
Especially since flying through the galaxy’s sparsely populated regions was very conducive to it.
Of course, I didn’t put it off and immediately headed to the training hall.
It was high time I sorted out my own mind.
Those hormonal changes were really affecting me.
I wasn’t a grown man, but some kind of spring-struck teenage kitten with a concussion between his ears.
Let’s fix that.
“How was your walk, Padawan?” Nemak asked cheerfully, appearing in the hall right behind me.
“Impressive, Master,” I twitched an ear, for some reason deciding not to share the details with my teacher.
“That’s good.
New impressions, acquaintances, socializing.
That’s what we were sent for,” the mentor smiled.
“I thought we were gathering information for the Order.”
“That too,” the teacher didn’t argue.
“Sparring?” Nemak suggested, pulling a training saber toward him.
“No, Master.
I’d rather meditate,” I shook my head and sat down on the mat by the viewport.
“Is that so?” Nemak grunted, somewhat puzzled, but soon sat down beside me.
“What’s troubling you?”
“This planet, Master.
I don’t understand.
Even a millennium ago, when it was first being settled, couldn’t they have installed proper filters without any trouble and not let the world become what it is now?”
“The last wave of colonization was largely spontaneous. The source of this chapter is novelping.com.
The Senate realized it too late and wasn’t too keen on funding it,” the teacher recalled from the history course.
“But later, when rich deposits were found on the planet, couldn’t some of the funds have been spent on ecology?
Even now — it would be enough to reduce emissions and put up a few atmospheric cleaning stations to give the inhabitants a chance to live without domes within a hundred years.
Sure, restoring the ecology would take centuries, but if you don’t try to do it all at once, if you don’t arrange five-year plans in a week, the costs wouldn’t just be acceptable — they’d be minimal!”
“And who needs that, Padawan?
The Republic is fine with it.
It’s easier to control the inhabitants in domes.
Taxes are paid steadily, resources flow in, and the population votes for whoever they’re told to.”
“Well, okay, the Senate and the bureaucrats.
There are no healthy minds there.
Money and power, especially that much, they corrupt.
They fundamentally change your worldview and spoil you.
But what about the Order, Master?
Even if we don’t want to take on all this burden.
Afraid we won’t handle the temptations.
Give in to the allure.
But what’s stopping us from solving problems on planets like this privately?
It doesn’t even take that much money, and besides, you could negotiate compensation and…”
“Mirr, I’ll be honest with you, I don’t really understand why the Order doesn’t interfere either.
I think it’s simply because there are too few of us, and we always have more important things to do.”
“Master, what’s the point of getting involved in every revolution, settling commercial disputes, escorting senators, working not even as diplomats but mostly as negotiators with terrorists and bodyguards for all kinds of moral monsters?
Why are we doing all this trivial stuff that just makes people hate us more?
Because a bomb is ticking in the world we left behind.
The atmosphere there is suffocating.
Yes, it’ll be calm for another two or three generations, but then it’ll explode.”
“I didn’t feel it.
Not as clearly and distinctly,” the teacher corrected himself.
“I only just realized it myself.
In less than a hundred years, there will be rivers, even seas of blood there.
And what now?
The Force clearly says it’s pointless to report to the Order.”
“But we’ll do it anyway.”
“We will, Master, because it’s truly important and useful information.
But I feel our message won’t change a thing.
We really helped Padishaal.
On our own.
But here…” I just flicked my tail and, by force of habit, smoothed the fur on my neck.
“Then we’ll help where and when we can, Padawan.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Now we’ll do a joint meditation, and then I’ll knock the dust out of you,” the master chuckled, giving me a condescending look and sending a wave of emotion through the Force.
“I’m not a Wookiee, sensei.
You don’t just knock me out that easily.”
“We’ll see about that, student.”
“Nyoo-nyoo, teacher,” I narrowed my eyes and even purred from the care and concern the master transmitted through the Force.
Pleasant.
Even if he understood even less than I did, he was trying to support and explain.
He was starting to find answers himself.
Evolving.
Growing.
Good.
* * *
Spitting viscous bile into the sink, Zola wiped her lips with her hand and raised her eyes to the mirror.
“Disgusting,” she stated, grimacing at the sight of her own reflection.
A pale, disheveled thing with slightly olive-tinged pupils stared back contemptuously.
The girl had to strain to keep her fist at her side.
“A Sith draws power from emotions but does not let them rule her,” she muttered and reached for the shelf where a medical tester had been lying for a week.
“Enough putting it off,” she encouraged herself.
“Fear doesn’t suit a future Dark Lady,” she added, decisively applying the device.
“Bastard!!!” Zola screamed, seeing the confirmation of her own suspicion.
The mirror didn’t get lucky that day — many things in the living block of the cruise liner didn’t survive the emotional outburst of a woman walking the Sith paths.
After venting and calming down slightly, the follower of the dark side of the Force collapsed into a chair.
“Jerk,” she hissed weakly, crushing a wave of nausea with some sort of masochistic pleasure.
Zola was in turmoil and complete bewilderment.
“But I took the pills,” she whimpered and, closing her eyes, began massaging her earlobes.
“Worthless little Jedi,” the pregnant dark sider hissed, but somehow wearily.
To think, he had wanted so badly to make her his, to give her pleasure, to delight her, desired it so strongly that he subconsciously managed to use the Force.
Though the explanation of why it happened bothered Zola little right now.
She simply didn’t know what to do.
Get an abortion and keep quiet?
Forget?
Or contact the Lord?
“Give birth and run?” A new, utterly wild but strangely tempting thought pierced her.
With a groan, clutching her head in her hands, Zola began to rock, balancing on the edge of the chair.
“Why?” she mumbled, in a semi-trance state, stubbornly closing herself off from the Force, which she had never felt so vividly before.