“Hello,” the fat lizard-man grinned, leaping from the cargo platform.
“Glad to see you on this blessed land.” Notably, he actually was glad — you can’t fool the Force.
“Likewise,” the teacher greeted the Trandoshan and his partner rather dryly.
“I suggest we get down to business.”
“Of course, we understand — you probably have your own mission and just stopped by us on the way.”
“Yes.”
All I had to do was keep my face impassive — no one understands Cathar expressions anyway — and stand slightly aside, wondering, “Why did the sensei suddenly decide to act stern?” Maybe he just doesn’t like lizards?
Or is it the Trandoshans’ reputation affecting him?
Well, when I got a good look at this pair, I tensed up a bit too, but the Force clearly says there’s no trouble to expect from them.
Just ordinary farmers — give them human faces, a plaid shirt, something like jeans and knee-high leather boots, and you’d have a classic image, very popular on the HoloVision.
In reality, though, farmers, like most of the population, prefer climate-controlled jumpsuits if their means allow, or get by with equivalent-looking gear without such additions.
Simply because it’s genuinely comfortable.
Especially at work.
While I was lost in thought, the lizards got to work.
The bunch of droids they brought began hauling cargo.
One of the guests stayed to supervise near the vehicles, which was hardly pointless.
“Where on earth did they manage to get such primitive robots and platforms?” I wondered, having found network descriptions of the equipment I’d quietly photographed.
The second Trandoshan settled in the hangar and, using a datapad, read the markings off the containers.
The teacher stood looking important — though after a couple of hours his expression turned sour — poking his finger at a tablet, making marks on the cargo manifest.
Or rather, confirming automatically incoming requests.
Pretty stupid and useless work, but that’s how it’s done.
What if the AI, capable of calculating a hyperspace jump, messes something up?
It hasn’t happened even once, after all.
So — watch and verify!
I stood next to the mentor, as a perfect padawan should.
Opened a study file and started reading.
Standing there, staring at my datapad with an intelligent expression.
And why not?
No point wasting time.
There’s no such thing as useless knowledge — only knowledge you haven’t had use for yet.
The mentor glanced over a couple of times, sighed — enviously, it seemed to me — and continued his fascinating activity of poking the ‘Ok’ button.
Naturally, the screen showed something else, it sounded different, but the essence remained the same.
Five “thrilling” hours — that’s exactly how long our unloading took — finally ended.
Even the oversized lizards stopped smiling toward the end.
Maybe they were just hungry?
I certainly wouldn’t have said no to a snack.
Alas, I didn’t get the chance.
“Clients,” the teacher sighed resignedly, looking at the rapidly approaching repulsor platforms.
“Loaded ones,” I stated the obvious.
“Uh-huh,” Nemak forced out, shifting the datapad to his other hand.
“Hello!” a man jumped off the lead transport, hitting us with a wave of enthusiasm and the smell of sweat.
“Good afternoon,” the mentor nodded.
I limited myself to an inclination of my head.
“Can you believe it, on the way here a winding blew out on us, so half the cargo from two platforms…” the client began sharing the news.
At least it became clear why he smelled so rank.
Honestly, it would’ve been better if he hadn’t helped the droids load the spilled contents.
Oh, my poor sense of smell.
A good nose is a double-edged sword.
And right now, I’m getting acquainted with the second edge.
The teacher listened to the fellow, nodded along, but when the man started talking about who he had to call and how so as not to let down the customer, he decisively cut him off.
Apparently, Nemak was also put off that they hadn’t even thought of us.
Or rather, they had, but not in a way that flattered our self-esteem.
I don’t know if the mentor picked up on the man’s thoughts — I read them quite clearly myself.
In short, it sounded like: “Suckers can wait.”
“I suggest we get down to business,” the sensei said when the client paused for breath.
“Yes, yes, of course!” the fellow fussed, turned to the droids, and waved his hand.
“Mirr, take care of checking the cargo,” Nemak ordered, making my tail twitch.
“Yes, Master,” I subdued my first impulses and didn’t ask the obvious questions.
What could be stupider than checking sealed containers that the cargo bay’s equipment is already scanning?
Only doing it manually.
With a weak instrument, whose readings the datapad analyzes.
In short, four hours of completely unengaging and useless activity.
One consolation — the teacher wasn’t having tea either; he was still diligently poking the same button. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
The notifications and requests coming to him had doubled.
Well, serves him right.
About forty minutes in, Nemak realized he was wrong.
A feeling of regret began to spread in the Force, followed by irritation.
The source of negativity was, naturally, the sensei.
But alas, he couldn’t cancel his order.
He lacked the nerve.
Or rather, he spent about two hours convincing himself that canceling was inadvisable.
You know — it’s not pedagogical and all that.
While the mentor was eating himself up and jabbing at the datapad with increasing fury, the loading finished.
“I hope my sublimatics arrive on time?” the potential suicide victim asked the teacher.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be top-notch,” he ground out, subconsciously caressing the man with the Force.
“Thank you,” the client muttered, suddenly filled with deep faith that we would sacrifice our lives but deliver the cargo, and, almost wiping away a tear, hurried to the exit.
“I won’t keep you!” he shouted from the ramp, jumped onto a transport platform, and was gone.
“An excellent training session, Nemak-dono.
Thank you,” I bowed to the teacher, who was trying to mimic a carp suddenly finding itself on a hot skillet.
“Huh?” the still-not-fully-recovered teacher responded.
“Patience, humility, and understanding — the three Jedi virtues,” I gave the mentor a hint, but he didn’t rush to use it.
“So wrote a treatise from a thousand years ago,” I decided to almost openly hint that he should look up that information from his youngling days.
“Yes, yes,” Nemak smiled.
“I’m glad you studied well,” he added with relief.
“I suggest we grab something to eat.”
“Excellent idea, Padawan!” the teacher finally overcame the fruits of his self-torment.
“Come on, let’s have a little feast.”
“With lots and lots of meat?”
“Of course,” the sensei nodded and resolutely stomped deeper into the ship.
I, naturally, followed.
I’d say we had a good time, but that wouldn’t be true.
We just stuffed ourselves until we were full after jumping into hyperspace.
By mutual silent agreement, neither of us wanted to linger on that planet.
The thought that we’d have to repeat these loading-unloading operations many more times was resolutely pushed aside for later.
In principle, there was a way out of this routine, but the chance that Nemak would agree to it approached zero.
Certainly not immediately.
So I decided not to rush things and to be patient.
Once the mentor ripens, then I’ll make my proposal.
For now, we’ll train our endurance and willpower.
Also beneficial, no matter how you look at it.
The teacher went to hit the sack, while I went to train.
The flight this time was going to be quite long, but at least we wouldn’t have to change hyperlanes — that was good.
The ghost teachers were glad to see me; they were bored, and I hadn’t turned off the holocrons.
I just didn’t expect we’d be stuck so long.
I somehow thought it would be quick and then we’d be off.
Well, experience is what they sent us for.
Though I seriously doubt the Order had this kind of experience in mind.
But then again, overhead costs and mishaps have always been a thing.
Greetings — politeness is always useful.
Apologize in Huttese, in high style — useful training and language practice.
We are heading to the Outer Rim, after all.
Even if in a zigzag.
Pull the sabers with telekinesis, assume a stance.
Give the AI the command.
And away we go.
“Mrrrrgh,” the teacher managed, bravely stepping onto the cargo deck where I had been swinging my sword for hours.
“Pif, standard gravity!” I command the AI, instantly breaking off the training.
“Ghhh,” the sensei sucks in air.
“Master, are you alright?”
“Alivgh,” Nemak answers, moving his palm slightly.
“Sorry, I forgot to warn you I was training with increased gravity.
I had to leave my weights at home, and besides, this distributes the load better.”
“I see,” the sensei replies almost normally, transitioning from a blob on the floor to a lump by the wall.
“Did you want to have a training spar?!” I express joy and genuine enthusiasm, pulling with telekinesis the sabers that fell from the master’s hands when the mentor flew into the high-gravity field.
“No!” Nemak waves me off, overly emotional.
“Too bad.
“Just…
I forgot to take the padawan kit, so I decided to bring you a couple of my old training saber.
I thought you’d start growing soon, and your old ones might not fit.”
“But their blade length is adjustable?” I couldn’t resist poking a hole in such a weak excuse.
“But the grip stays the same,” the teacher parried quickly.
“Oh, right,” I spun my training saber, designed for a two-handed grip.
“Thanks, Master.”
“It’s my duty as a mentor, Padawan.”
“Do you need help getting up, Master?”
“No, I just like sitting on the floor, Padawan.”
“Maybe we should go have breakfast?”
“Not really hungry.
I’d rather watch your Force technique training.”
“Alright.
Pif, activate…”
“Stop.”
“Hm?”
“I’m hungry.”
“So suddenly?”
“Yeah, it just came over me.
Come on, let’s grab a bite.
And by the way, when did our ship start answering to Pif?”
“Well, it’s got so many guns that I thought about it and named him Pif-Paf.
He didn’t object.”
“He?
Objected?”
“Yep.
We have a very smart AI, Master.
It’s interesting to talk to him — he knows so much.
I gave him access to my datapad so he could browse the HoloNet freely.”
“I see,” the sensei rubbed his forehead.
“And what else did you come up with while I was asleep?”
“Nothing, honest younglin…
I mean padawan’s honor.
Fencing, then meditation, then infusing nuts with the Force and levitating them, then training with the saber again.
You saw it yourself.
Pif can confirm!”
“Confirmed, but you forgot to mention the wall repair.”
“What, what happened to the wall now?”
“Nothing serious.
I was just throwing nuts at it with telekinesis — they’d bounce off, and I’d dodge using precognition and speed.
The bulkhead turned out to be flimsy, so I had to repair and reinforce it with Force Forging later.
But I checked the schematics first — there’s nothing behind it.
That’s why it was made so thin.”
“Let’s go eat,” the teacher got up once he’d processed what was said.
“A growing organism needs it.”
“Mrrrrr.”
“Hm?”
“I mean, eating would be beneficial.
I got a bit carried away with training, and I’m actually due to sleep tomorrow.”
“So I have to unload and load the ship alone?”
“Sorry, Master.
Nature,” I pressed my ears back, lowered my tail, cast my eyes down.
“Fine,” Nemak sighed, apparently already anticipating the joy of ten hours of poking at a datapad.
“Let’s go.”
“Aha-rrr.”
In principle, I could have kept the master company, but I just didn’t feel like wasting time meaninglessly.
Let him get tired of the monotonous work faster — maybe he’ll take my suggestion without hostility and at least consider it.
Though I really do need to sleep.
I somehow got overly eager about training.
In truth, it’s understandable.
At the temple, one way or another, part of the time went to various unrelated activities, but here, in the enclosed space of a ship hurtling through subspace, those suddenly freed hours just have nowhere to go.
Reading and studying in virtual space would break the program — it tracks not only information but also, let’s say, the degree of its assimilation and comprehension.
So what’s left is either meditating and practicing Force techniques, or swinging a saber.