While things were sorting themselves out, I visited the Order’s warehouse and got a Padawan training kit.
Strictly speaking, the teacher should have gone for it, but why would he bother when his own mentor hadn’t bothered with such a useful set in his day?
I spent a whole five seconds thinking about whether to distract Nemak from his datapad.
Decided not to bother.
Let him focus on understanding the engineering marvel we’d been given.
The ship we’d been assigned was actually impressive.
A Type L-3353 transport-passenger vessel.
The hull shape was an angular pear with bulges on the sides, making the ship’s silhouette look like a square sausage in the middle.
Well, screw aesthetics.
The famous Millennium Falcon had its cockpit stuck on the side, and that didn’t stop it from flying and being legendary.
So a roughly rectangular block thirty by forty by thirty-five meters was a perfectly valid option.
A Class 4 hyperdrive was a bit disappointing, but for this kind of ship, almost standard.
Five cargo decks didn’t stir any particular emotions.
The top and bottom ones were “clean”; the others housed cabins, a mess hall, the bridge, the server room, a food storage area, escape pods, and all sorts of other stuff.
There was even a tiny hangar with a workshop.
To help you imagine the size, picture three nine-story buildings, each with a couple of entrances, then mentally put them flush together and nudge the middle one forward — that was the “space jalopy” we’d been given.
This wasn’t a forty-meter pancake; it was far more serious.
The L-3353 was designed for a private trader with a small crew, using a conceptually different approach from the Falcon.
YT-series ships, when push came to shove, mostly ran, firing back as best they could at fighters and light craft that could keep up.
Hence the dynamics, maneuverability, speed, shields, and everything else.
Our miracle, according to its creators’ intent, was supposed to fight back fiercely.
Simply put — capturing us would cost more than it was worth.
Judging by the manufacturer’s complete lack of commercial success, the idea of an armed-to-the-teeth transport hadn’t paid off.
These geniuses had installed three twin turbo-laser cannons.
And not just any — practically cruiser-grade.
Even if classified as secondary artillery.
Two forward ion cannons capable of stripping a corvette of its shields with a couple of hits.
And a corvette was three or four times bigger!
Four torpedo tubes, a salvo from which only a frigate would survive.
Pirates had them, but not often — still a massive, expensive piece of hardware.
Only one and a half to two times cheaper than some cruisers.
Rich pirates preferred flying light cruisers — upgraded engines gave them speed no less than a frigate, and with some effort, they could even get close to corvettes on that score.
The acceleration dynamics weren’t the same, but the shields, armor, weapons, holds, small craft, and much more made up for it.
The special spice in this militarism dish disguised as a humble transport was eight turrets with pulse cannons.
A solid point-defense system, no argument.
Essentially the same as turbo-lasers, just with less power — or caliber, whichever you prefer — and no need for tibanna gas; a focusing crystal was enough.
In general, Pif-Paf, as I’d mentally named our ship, didn’t fit its niche.
For private hauling, too many guns, overkill on crew, not enough speed or maneuver.
It didn’t work as a patrol or convoy vessel either.
Crappy sensor array, insufficient armor, shields too weak.
Stick in a couple of extra reactors and add more barrels, and you’d get a halfway decent military transport.
If you replaced a couple of decks with a full hangar, fitted vehicle bays below, upgraded the life support, and added more cabins, you’d have a perfectly respectable ship for a small mercenary squad.
But as it was…
a cross between a bulldog and a rhino.
An expensive ersatz of who-knows-what.
Only the Jedi would have something like this in their inventory.
Probably got it by chance.
And what unpleasant person thought to fob this off on us?
We had exactly one pilot and one gunner for three weapon groups to choose from.
I won’t even mention the other positions on the standard crew roster.
Neither my master nor I had the relevant knowledge.
Oh well, with the Force’s help, we wouldn’t have to master them in emergency mode.
After all, the reliability of technology in the GFFA was high, and droids would help with the rest.
If we could get our hands on them, of course.
We found out who’d arranged this gift for us just before launch.
We came to move in and found our ship in the loading phase.
Now it was clear how the Order had managed to pay for the creation of the clone army.
Well, one particular Master had.
And apparently he’d spent a very insignificant sum compared to the whole.
Otherwise the Council would have been running around like they’d been doused in turpentine.
How did you like a flight plan consisting of seventy-two loading-unloading points?
I was impressed and it made me think. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
Good job, quartermasters — they’d plotted the route perfectly.
We’d reach the Outer Rim with full holds.
We’d recoup the mission’s costs before it even started.
Including everything — from the ship’s price to the cost of food since we’d arrived at the temple.
And my teacher’s costs.
By very rough estimates, the Order would earn about ten million.
Based on the average cost of short-haul cargo delivery at ten credits per standard volume unit.
Cheaper in the Core, more expensive in the Mid Rim — there was a real chance to test the guns in action.
Though unexpected and unpleasant encounters happened in the Inner Worlds too.
My teacher didn’t care.
Working for the good of the Order as a space trucker?
Happy to oblige.
Permission to run?
I was almost envious.
No doubts, no questions.
Well, it wasn’t all bad — there was a chance to see different worlds, talk to various beings, and just rub elbows a bit.
I put my things on the shelves and set my pride and joy on the table — three holocrons.
Each housed a recognized Master Instructor.
Or rather, imprints of their personalities.
I thought I’d have to beg for such interesting items, but I got two smiles and one pat on the shoulder.
I came back a couple of days later and received what I’d asked for, along with the instruction to keep studying without slacking.
Pleasant, damn it!
Basically, what was a holocron?
Just a crystal, similar to the one used in a lightsaber.
You saturate it with Force channeled through yourself…
and that’s it, essentially.
If the creator was skilled in mental techniques, they could place only certain parts of themselves or another individual into the crystal; if not, it would be a full copy.
The core was placed in a tetrahedral pyramid equipped with some apparatus meant to simplify interaction, but that was just for convenience.
At least my swordsmanship should be up to par, and I could train my teacher too — he seemed to know nothing properly except the first form.
My thoughts returned to Nemak and his, well, let’s call them quirks.
He’d yearned for adventure, yearned for it, and when he finally got it — he fizzled out.
Not completely, of course, but because of the forced downtime and lack of normal Padawan experience, the only thing he could think of to occupy me was meditation.
And he’d gotten back into it himself.
Habit is second nature.
Someone put that very well.
He hadn’t even tested my swordsmanship skills!
Apparently, what I’d shown at the tournament was enough for him.
Hmm, maybe that was why he chose me — because he doubted his own ability to teach?
He was afraid of ruining me, and here was such a wonderful youngling, even beating his elders.
Could be, of course.
Through our bond, he was sending such emotional cocktails that I preferred to close myself off.
Let him deal with his own issues himself.
He wasn’t a kid anymore.
A Jedi Knight.
Who to learn sword techniques from — there was someone.
Descriptions of Force techniques — I had two holodiscs.
For self-education — a datapad and a virtual reality helmet would help.
“Good,” I purred, putting my paws behind my head and stretching out on the bed.
My cabin was even bigger than my room in the temple.
“Damn, I didn’t say goodbye to the little one!” came an untimely thought, ruining my mood.
After a brief struggle with myself, I decided not to be childish.
Ahsoka could pout and hold a grudge against me — that was forgivable at her age — but I was an adult.
Alas, the clingy little squirt had vanished like she’d drowned.
No one had seen her after lessons, and no one knew where that rambunctious Togruta had gone.
Everyone suggested looking in the training halls.
As if I hadn’t started there.
The temple couldn’t help either.
After checking all the places where one could hide from the temple AI, my mood finally hit the gutter.
I could feel she was here, nearby, just hiding.
After wandering around the temple and whipping myself with my tail, I decided to go back.
Forget it.
I didn’t say goodbye, so be it.
Done, forgotten.
Forgotten, I said!
Grrr, I’m going to meditate.
Enough scaring children.
* * *
The Grand Master shivered and followed one of the countless ships darting through the atmosphere with his gaze.
“My mistake,” Yoda sighed, closing his eyes and gripping his gimer stick.
The dark-skinned Master standing by the window said nothing.
Mace had already expressed his opinion earlier and saw no point in repeating himself.
He acknowledged that the young Knight would benefit from seeing the world and shedding his naivete, but would have preferred a different method.
Especially after he’d taken on a Padawan.
The unusual youngling had been watched but not interfered with; they’d even helped a little.
Cathar always made excellent Jedi, though they rarely awakened the gift.
Nature had already blessed them richly.
They were strong without any Force — strong in spirit above all.
Iron will.
Mace had even considered taking Mirr as his student.
If anyone could study Vaapad without falling to the darkness, it was him.
But the youngling’s behavior was utterly unpredictable.
“There’s no snow on my homeworld,” the Korunnai was distracted by the Grand Master’s voice.
Yoda chuckled.
“In spring, we had a lot of fluff.
We’d roll it into balls and throw it at each other.
My mother always scolded me for coming home covered in it.”
“It’s hot on my planet too,” the Master replied, somewhat off-topic.
The eldest of the Jedi rarely shared such memories with anyone.
Quite like an old man, Yoda climbed down from his seat and, hunched over, truly leaning on his stick, shuffled toward the doors.
Windu was once again struck by how everyone managed to forget his age.
Watching the Teacher of Teachers leave, he turned back to the window.
A massive orbital mirror directing starlight onto the city-planet had shifted.
The spires and windows of the mega-skyscrapers reflected the light, coloring it burgundy.
The Master’s thoughts drifted to recent events.
The Sith and the Chosen One.
However, the memory of the slave boy from Force-forsaken Tatooine made his mind turn back to the Cathar.
Mace suddenly caught a vague sense of something impending.
Danger — that was what he’d felt when Anakin stood before the Council.
Only…
he’d felt something similar when Mirr had passed by him.
“Strange that I only realized this now,” Windu noted.
“And then the gentle, playful breeze became a hurricane, turning into tornadoes.
That’s how I became an orphan.”
Mace didn’t know what to say.
If he’d gotten used to Yoda’s habit of speaking in riddles in public easily and quickly enough, then hearing him speak normally, especially laced with such revelations…
it threw him off balance.
The door to the Order’s High Council chamber closed.
A soft click snapped Windu out of his stupor.
Mace turned his gaze back to the window.
But now he didn’t see the thousands of speeding vehicles or the hundreds of spires.
The words about the wind spoken by the Grand Master found an unexpected echo.
One childhood memory — a blizzard.
Even though the Master’s homeworld was covered in jungles, there was snow at the poles.
Bad weather often raged there, winds howled, and snowstorms blew.
He thought they’d been visiting relatives back then.
In any case, exactly what happened and how was lost in the distant past, but not the blizzard.
Cold, prickly ice crystals biting into his face.
The Master rubbed his cheek and looked at his hand with interest.
It had happened almost mechanically.
“In some ways, they’re similar,” Mace thought, turning from the window and pulling a datapad toward him with the Force.
Both could cause a lot of trouble or become great…
“Revan and Alek,” a lightning-flash of thought struck the Korunnai’s mind, but he tried to banish it quickly.
To drown it in work, reading tedious reports, and reviewing incoming dispatches.