Chapter 2

Two years flew by not instantly, but somehow too quickly. It seems that I managed to do a lot of things, but when I look at it - how much is still to come, so my ears droop by themselves. Twelve years is a significant age for youngling. Today begins the tournament in which I will have to participate. In fact, you can evade, say that you are not ready. Force does not command and all that. Be it as it may, but I learned to lie and close well. In any case, from those who do not practice mental techniques, there are only one or two and that's it. It just doesn't make sense. If I find a teacher - good. If I can't find it, no worries. The younger ones are generally taken as Padawans on major holidays and as an exception. Usually, fourteen-year-olds are taken apart, occasionally fifteen-year-olds, sometimes thirteen-year-olds are lucky, though not often. That's why I wrote earlier that three attempts, the first at twelve - a trial run. It doesn't count.

The first fights are divided into age groups - four fights each in the first round, three in the second round and further to the elimination. As such, there is no winner. Come on, the place doesn't matter. The whole incentive to hold out longer lies in the extra chance that you become familiar and draw attention to yourself. Eight fights is a guaranteed minimum. Competition for one Padawan seat, about three or four younglings. Tolerable. Especially given the tradition to select mostly older ones. Although, there is an unpredictable factor - Force. As if it hadn't been whispered to the masters and knights who have flocked to the tournament, even if you defeat everyone there, you still can end up with nothing. "Hmm, actually, why wouldn't I contact her?" - visited the head sensible thought.

There is time, I sat down on the sidelines so that the tail would not be trampled, inhale-exhale, relax, open up towards the illusory ocean. Perception sharpens right away. Hearing, smell, touch, vibrisses bristle, the world around is bright and contrasting, colours are saturated, real objects are shrouded in haze. A grid of currents, probabilities, a bizarre tree-ball in the center of which is a small grain of sand - me. A bewitching rumble, as if the echo of a huge crowd in a crystal cave rushes about. The smell of ozone and frosty freshness, as if a thunderstorm had just passed after a blizzard. The Great Force and its perception by the gifted is a thing in itself. Here not only this is possible.

Directing the question-desire-interest, The force of a strange, some impossible wave-cobweb diverges from me and the currents-branches begin to tear one after another. Here is a thick branch that does not lend itself. My flow-question breaks up, several whirlpools break and scatter the wave-web. But suddenly one of the thread-drops touches the vein-algae on the surface of the ball, and it, with a slight start, responds with a rumble. It's strange, incomprehensible, I'm trying to figure out this hodgepodge of vague shadows-sounds, blotches-images and feeling-smells. I try to combine it somehow with reality, albeit vaguely, but interpreted. Suddenly, the ancient instincts of a predator make themselves known, the body clearly signals - prey! The beast is wounded, he is scared, he is in a panic, he is weak. The lips themselves rise, exposing fangs, a growl is born in the chest, practically inaccessible to the human ear. I have long learned to restrain such impulses. There is not need to scare the children. Infrasound is generally harmful to the psyche. It floats through the waters. The tree of probabilities dissolves in the currents of the ocean of the Force. A ball of threads-destinies, like a cocoon enveloping me, disintegrates and disperses like cigarette smoke in the wind. I have peace and tranquillity in my soul, I have never dived so deeply before. This is strange - it seems like a human with a mind in the body of a Cathar, and at the same time such associations when working with a gift.

Well, let's sum this up. Somewhere in the temple, there is a sentient who can become my teacher. In any case, the feeling of close prey, I cannot interpret it any other way. I shouldn't consider my future opponents as such. No, no, I am far from neglecting it - just an objective assessment. The body I inherited in itself gives huge advantages over the bulk of rivals. After all, the percentage of intelligent races descended from predators, all the more standing in their world at the top of the food pyramid, is pitifully minor. As a rule, they simply do not need to awaken their minds. Enough natural instincts.

The only thing I can do is to fight with full dedication. Actually, what else is left for me to do? Nothing.

The first opponent is a boy, human. Fair-haired, blue-eyed, with a green practice sword, half a head smaller. Fight! A direct blow from top to bottom, he is like a fly in freezing weather, I move a step diagonally to him, a circular movement with a wrist. He burned his hands, be it a real sword, the boy would have lost his hands. A swing from the hip to the shoulder and the opponent's chest is crossed out by the sabre, I intercept the hands with the sword, a chopping blow to the neck. Finish. Three touches is a clear victory. The second opponent, a human again. Boy. Curly brown hair. Stocky and undersized, obviously from a heavy planet. Fight! Diagonal blow I meet with a hard block, the boy is used to relying on his natural strength. For nought. However, surprise. Cathars are about four times stronger than an ordinary human, and our endurance is pumped up. A hard rebound and a bewildered enemy receives a sword stab in the throat. Unpleasant. Light burn. Not many know how to distance themselves from pain in battle. Although this is a basic technique, and it is mastered by everyone, but only - who will train it voluntarily? There are no masochists. Except for me, and even then - I'm not particularly zealous. The boy recoiled and immediately received a sword on his hands. Consider, you lost your fingers - you lost the fight. I continue to move and cling to the kneecap. Nonsense, even in a real fight - a trifle, but the touch is counted. Finished.

Seventh fight. I haven't been tagged yet. I didn't even seriously clash with anyone for real, so am just messing around. The new enemy is a Miraluka girl. Really. They are blind in the ordinary sense and look at the world through the Force. Two swords. Miniature and flexible. Mobile, all the time as if dancing. Hmm, that will be interesting. Fight! Jump and scissors strike. Really? I jump up. I use telekinesis. Just pushed the girl face down to the floor of the arena. Squish! Disappointed. Be it fighting for real, then she might have met her end. Crushing your head or breaking your neck by landing from the top is elementary. I swung at the disoriented Miraluka's back three times. Victory.

A new enemy, something insectoid. I don't remember those. Four paws. Male or female? Who knows. But he parodies Grievous notably. Although, he is not even in the projects yet. Okay, let's start. Fight! Have you ever seen helicopter blades? Here a not so grasshopper rushed at me, and even with four blue propellers instead of paws. Hard block. Use kick-bounce to stop another propeller. Barely managed to remove my head and save my ears. I'm flexible. I slash in response.

All strength and Strength invested in the blow. Didn't get him. Nimble. Nothing, the path to victory is clear. After the counterattack, the insect was thrown back. He is light and weak. We were dancing for five minutes, he can't get me, but I don't have enough skill either. The opponent has an excellent mastery of force techniques. We wait. Sixteen minutes. For a long time. But victory is mine. I took it by tiring him. As soon as the "grasshopper" lost a little pace, I managed not only to once again stop the frantic whirl of blades, but also to hit his paw with my fist. It doesn't seem to be broken. Worthy opponent. As soon as the insectoid dropped the sabre and was distracted, I immediately took possession of it. As a result, two blades against three. It was impossible to hit with one hand as hard as with two, but it turned out fine anyway. The chitinous fighter by that moment had noticeably winded down. In general, it seems that he held on to willpower alone. Reasonable among insectoids, as a rule, they are representatives of the highest caste, and they never differed in the endurance of workers or the power of fighting individuals.

Eleventh round and my opponent is Wookiee. Also armed with a lightstaff - the same Darth Maul used, only the colours of the blades are different. By the way, he's fifteen. The game is going to be on elimination, the age groups are over. The Wookiee is one of the few humanoid species with superior physical strength to the Cathars. Speed ​​and agility are on my side, power, size and longer weapon are on his. Also, it's unusual for me. Fight! We exchanged a series of blows, rebounded. To no avail. At the same time, we chose the tactics of actions from the defence. A couple of cautious attack-jumps at each other and an annoyed growl. Synchronous. Looks like Mother Nature will decide. My chances are small, but they are there. However, first, let's try to pass in one feint. The seventeenth kata, a series of techniques from the fortieth to the sixtieth. Crouch, hand forward, sword back, dash. The staff with a rumble rushes for impact, the Wookiee is higher, it just pierces. I fall to my knees and at the same time repulse the attack with a wide swing. I try to anyway. If this was a real battle, my shoulder would have been cut. Not fatal, but annoying. But the enemy would have been left without legs and would have been cut twice from the groin to the armpits. The sword is more convenient. Just because of the size.

I passed the twelfth fight. My opponent was a togruta, a green fifteen-year-old girl with a yellow sword and a green shoto, which she held backwards. Is it in their species or what? She started the battle in an original way, threw up her sword and sent me flying with a force push. It's pretty naive to try to drop a cat. Not only am I in some kind of battle meditation, but also decently had mastered the Force for my age. I can easily feel and foresee such attacks, plus natural instincts, developed and reinforced by hard training. However, in nine cases out of ten, the enemy would certainly be distracted by a tossed sword. I landed on my paws, and also took possession of someone else's weapon with the help of telekinesis. I snorted-snarled and threw the "lost" to the girl. Then there was a beautiful and swift fight between two predators. The count of three against two is in her favour. Once she even honestly got me. Mortally. She slashed my chest in half with her shoto. I'm not sure if it was for real, I dying would have been able to hit her after such a strike. There was a chance. Nevertheless, it turned out to be nose to nose, but when they opened you up to half and immediately carbonized the wound ... Whether you are at least three times gifted and a god of self-control with masochistic manners, it's not a fact that you will find the strength in yourself for one single wave of your hand.

"It's rare that a youngling entering a tournament for the first time is able to advance this far," a man in his twenties with shoulder-length dark curly hair and a sort of childish face addressed me. Bulging gray eyes looked out at the world with, um... naivety? "I am Jedi Knight Nemak."

"Yongling Mirr-ra-Mrr, twelve years old, Cathar, Mouse Claw clan. Nice to meet you, Nemak-dono," I bow in Japanese fashion.

In general, after a close acquaintance with the history and culture of my new race, something like this began to manifest itself in me. Kathars, although not particularly well-known in the galaxy, I would even say - practically unknown at all, but there is something from the samurai in them. As far as I imagine them. At one time I was fond of martial arts, so I read something on the topic. There was also a fair amount of medieval chivalry in our culture, with additions from the local Mandalorians. Their invasion and genocide of our race did not pass without a trace, oh, it did not pass. An explosive mixture at the exit turned out. Controversial and rebellious. It doesn't interfere with our lives, and that's okay. We do not impose our vision of the world and philosophy on anyone.

"Mirr-ra-Mrr," Nemak drawled thoughtfully, looking through me.

"Better just Mirr or Mrr.

"Good, Mirr," the teacher shook his head, pulling away from the Force. "How about becoming my Padawan?"

Stupid question, but where without it. A formality that has become a tradition. It happens. In the entire history of the order, there has never been a case of refusal. In any case, I don't know anything of the sort.

"Post for honor, Nemak-dono," we bow, a respectful attitude and a stone is pleasant.

Think not? And you ask him and remember, silence is a sign of consent.

"Dono?" The knight raised his eyebrows.

"Respectful address," I involuntarily waved my tail and immediately duplicated it in a familiar to all gesture, that is, I simply shrugged his shoulders.

In general, this passion for the motherland, which caused, if not the genetic memory of ancestors, we don't seem to have such a thing, but something similar to it, quite noticeably affected some aspects. However, I do not see anything wrong with this and in general, everything suits me.

"Alright, dono thus dono. Shall we go get your things?" The teacher smiled, showing white teeth.

"Yeah," we smile with our lips, we don't show our teeth. Firstly, this is a sign of aggression, and secondly, the majority is simply scared.

Pick up things - sounds loud. In reality, there is a tablet, a dozen memory chips, something like a flash drive, only the volumes are not comparable, and several sets of official clothes. More training weapons, a couple of swords, two shotos, and a dozen practice ball droids with a helmet. Almost a standard set, only the packing of nuts looks original. I begged at the time from the technicians, the right thing in telekinesis to train. There were also weights, the quartermaster shared, but they are advanced and I always wear them, but at the tournament, I simply turned them off without taking them off. I said goodbye to my acquaintances, thanked the caretakers for everything, briefly hugged Ahsoka, habitually pulling my tail away from those grabby hands. The restless Togruta, with a never-ending passion for swordsmanship and bringing others around, twisted around and rushed into her little room. As the best swordsman of the children who was in her reach, I was appointed as a rival - and she did not even ask my opinion. And I did a little workout with her at first. Just succumbed to some vague mental impulse. Infernal, I mean, a sweet child, of course. I already sympathize with Skyguy- with his talents, but with the wise instructions of Obi-Wan nurtured and developed ... "Not my problem," mentally growled, pressing my ears back for a moment and raising my fur.

"Ready?"

"Yes, teacher."

After five minutes of formalities in the secretariat of the order and, after a short walk around the temple, I moved into the new apartments. What can I say - twelve squares, a bed in one corner, a closet in another, a table and a chair, one copy each, a combined bathroom is attached. There is a rug-mat carpet on the floor, there are blinds on the window. Yes, there is a shelf above the bed and a bedside table with three drawers under the table. Cool. Not so long ago I took things from exactly the same room. The only difference is in the colour scheme, shades of light grey, sandy and white are slightly different. Asceticism is our everything. The barracks-temple is our home. Whistling a bravura melody, rather than humming, I laid out my little things and went to the teacher. The teacher lived next door. The room is the same as mine. Funny and sad. Yes, I completely forgot about the most important thing! After Nemak informed the Order bureaucrats about taking me as a Padawan, I received a communicator. Hooray, now people can call me, or I can dial the number myself. It remains only to acquire contacts, otherwise, the list is, hmm, thin. Sensei and a dozen order corps-services. Not much. A separate line is the number of emergency communication with masters. It was strictly forbidden to call them, unless you meet an adept of the dark side or someone starts an invasion of Coruscant, and the order will not notice. Then I have every right to. I only suspect that in both cases I will be a little not up to it.

How does a youngling become a padawan? De jure, by notifying the secretariat by the teacher. In fact, several records are entered into the order's database and that's it, you can braid a pigtail. By the way - for what all of this dragging... . My coat is hard and dense, almost needles, from cutting blows with a claw or a cold weapon, without high-tech upgrades, decently protects. So you have this perversion, weaving a pigtail from ribbons and fastening it behind your ear. This is done immediately after a joint meditation with the teacher, during which a bond is formed in the Force. In fact, we open ourselves to each other and weave the threads of fate. All these ceremonies with an oath to obey and protect the mentor, they are so, for the entourage and psychological pumping. It was not in vain that I devoted so much time to mental techniques, somehow I didn't want to share the truth about my transmigration. It's good that few people can seriously rummage around in the heads of others today. Surely only our Grand Master Yoda and, perhaps, someone else from the council or masters of special specialization. In any case, not a newly minted knight like my sensei. Of course, there was some danger of disrupting the attunement and not forming a teacher-student bond, but not a significant one. Or rather, I just found it acceptable. Besides, no, no, yes, such precedents happened. We will live in case of something and without the possibility of exchanging short thoughts with each other. Emotions, available via communication, in general, if you believe the code, is an extra element.

Solemnly swore to each other in the majestic hall of one of the towers. True, the queue of mentors with Padawans somewhat spoiled the moment. To me personally. The Yonglings, who had found a coveted teacher, did not notice anything around. They generally hovered somewhere in the clouds. I give my tail, they indulged in dreams of travel and exploits. Children who have not seen the real world. I feel sorry for them in advance. I even talked with simple reasonable people working in the temple. Sometimes obviously, sometimes just climbed into their heads. Again, in the hangars, more than once or twice, I chatted with robots and ship AIs, so I have some idea of the real state of affairs. At the very least, I can imagine what the Jedi face on missions. I don't even know who is worse, whether diplomats who are forced to always communicate with corrupt politicians, obese officials and various crazy idealist revolutionaries, or those who oppose slave traders, pirates, drug cartels and other similar public.

Here is the meditation room. We sit opposite each other. I habitually slip into meditation and, opening up in the Force, I find the bright light of the gifted one nearby. I collect everything superfluous and, mentally squeezing it into a tight lump, I hide it inside my "I". The secret is hidden by a dense shell of thoughts and memories of childhood. It is hard. We need to start and finish as soon as possible. In my perception, we were a pair of stars that stretched hundreds of prominences towards each other in a futile attempt to become one. In fact, we simply nourished each other with the Force passing through us. In a sense, tuning in to the same frequency, as if two radios were catching the same wave. In parallel, there was an exchange of images, memories, thoughts and emotions, such a useful, albeit completely side effect, which I naturally could not make use of.

I got a teacher, to put it mildly, not very much. A glorious successor to the dynasty of codephiles who do not know life. Nemak-Sensei's mentor was from the corps of seers, he devoted his whole life to meditation, if he got out of the temple, it was to hang in whichever sector of the galaxy and do what he loved. In other words, hang in space and meditate. How he got a student with such an attitude is another question. Most likely Force whispered. Alas. He managed to raise a worthy successor. The same fan of meditation and comprehension of the incomprehensible. Only one vicious green Cheburator, with a meaningful chuckle, sent him to study archaeology. He also imposed a student. No, nothing forceful, just competently drew the attention of the newly minted knight to the right young man. Really talented. At that point in time.

Here Nemak, happy and proud, flies with his mentor to distant lands and dreams of greatness. Funny, naive, forgivable. But the ruins of a civilization that died out from some kind of disease, a bunch of robots and a couple of dozen intellectuals. Longing, boredom and desolation. The only thing the order was interested in on that planet was vague information about the ability of the natives to awaken to the Force. So far, nothing has been confirmed or denied. The robots are digging, the learned brethren are scratching their foreheads, the Jedi who is in charge of the process is meditating. And so from year to year. Everyone is quite satisfied. Only Padawan suffers. The teacher, in rare moments of returning to the real world, only sighs.

Nemak dreams of exploits and generally the wrong boy, eager to do good, to eradicate evil. Fussing and distracting. He does not want to ask eternal questions and think about the higher meanings all day and night. "Tired. Enough, "apparently the teacher of my mentor decided so and sent his Padawan to the temple. So that, Force forbid, he doesn't fly back, he sends the cedula to the leadership. Ready, he said, the guy for knighthood. I give you a tooth! It was with such experience and knowledge that Nemak became a Jedi Knight. Dream come true. Three days before the tournament, he was initiated. They didn't even test him, so they counted him, automatically. A common practice in recent centuries. The teacher said, "Suitable." Well, he knows better. Congratulations, get ready for the ceremony and all. A naive Jedi knows nothing but meditation and, in fact, that's it.

In general, the head of the brethren is somehow misplaced. Purely my opinion of course, but just look at a couple of facts. Let's start with the little things. So Qui-Gon flew to Tatooine, found the necessary parts and ran into two problems. The first is the rarest case, a seller from a race not subject to the mental techniques of the Force. Okay, what kind of coincidences there could not be. The second is that republican credits are not in favour on the planet. Not such a rare case in the outer rim. Especially in worlds located next to other star states, corporate fiefdoms and simply quite developed star systems that issue their own currency. So go to a nearby shop and brainwash the owner, he will gladly exchange money for you, give or lend. Morality? Judging by the way they initially tried to influence Watto by the Force, they didn't lie around. What in general prevented a little intimidation of the nasty slave owner? How would that be any different from a scam that involved selecting a chosen slave and getting a hyperdrive T, fucking, fourteen? The fact that in the end the merchant would receive his money, even if not in the currency that pleases his soul? Wouldn't the little guy have to risk his life? Or will you order me to believe that there is no exchange office or moneylender on the whole planet? Do not make me laugh.

The example is more general. What prevents to put a couple of Jedi in the Presidium of the Senate, who will simply voice the real reason for the nomination, by one senator or another, of the next bill? And to assign such personnel to officials? It seems to me that this is a much more rational way of using fifteen thousand gifted ones. Anything is better than wandering around the galaxy in a doomed attempt to maintain peace and rule of law. You should not chop off the hydra heads, but tear out the heart and crumble the backbone into dust. This does not contradict the Code - and it has changed several times over the tens of thousands of years of the existence of the order. Although, in fact, it will be to take power into your own hands. No way! Ugh! Darkness-ah! Yoda will lay the route in an instant. He is our master at this. However, if you wish, you can organize the path to the dark side from anywhere. Don't believe it? Ok, here we go. Uncontrollable laughter leads to hiccups, which leads to irritation, and it gives rise to anger, well, then the standard path. It is possible to lay it through tears from laughter, through envy, for example. In general, we keep a brick face. Everything is strictly according to the code and charter. Do not even dare move the edge of your lips. Darkness does not sleep! Constant vigilance! Nonsense, honestly.

The connection was formed quickly and surprisingly well. Well, one less problem. Fine. I did not have time to rejoice, as I received a new one. The mentor, beating with a hoof, flew off to knock out a task for us and still achieved his goal. Free search? Not serious? Shocked. We are assigned a ship and a zone of responsibility in the outer rim. Uh-huh, by principle, everything on the right is yours. The essence of the task is the collection of information. If there is something interesting there, it is recommended to inform the order. Did the confederation begin to form there, or something, and the rumours got to the council? Who would answer and tell us why we were made so happy? You know, I always considered learning to swim by throwing it into the water as a joke. I was wrong. Jedi are tough. If it had been a hundred years, or better two hundred, ago, it would still be okay, but the outer rim and the greenhouse knight with the bratty Padawan? No, are you serious? After several incidents where the paladins of the light side performed in all their glory, we are slightly hated by now. And before, they didn't really like us, after all, one of the pillars of the Republic, the very one that sucks the last juices. Now there is a completely non-illusory chance to catch a charge from a blaster with your back. And out of the blue. Just for a characteristic outfit. Fun. Where to run to. Only the same outer rim remains. Yes, wherever you throw - everywhere is a wedge. The only positive news is that our ship will be prepared for a few more days. Some kind of antiquity in warehouses from two hundred years, if not more gathering dust. The warranty for a starship is not so long. At present, built millennia ago, they still cut across the galaxy. Structural materials greatly contribute to the longevity of ships. It looks like antiquity, but the filling can be ow-how-how.

So far, the point is, I visited the warehouse of the order and received a Padawan training kit. Mind you, the teacher should have gone after it, but why would he have taken it, if at one time his sensei had not bothered with such a useful set. For five whole seconds, I thought about whether I should be distracting Nemak from the datapad. Decided not to bother. Let him better delve into the miracle of engineering that we have inherited. In fact, the ship allocated to us was impressive. Transport and passenger ship model L-3353. The shape of the hull is an angular pear with thickenings on the sides, which is why the silhouette of the ship becomes a kind of square sausage in the centre. To the Force is with aesthetics. For the famous Millennium Falcon, the control cabin was generally attached to the side and nothing, it didn't stop it from flying and being legendary. So a conditional parallelepiped(box) thirty by forty and thirty-five is quite an option. A Class 4 hyperdrive is a little saddening, but for a ship like this, it's almost standard. As many as five cargo decks do not cause any special emotions. The upper and lower are "clean", the rest are cabins, a dining room, a control room, a server room, a food warehouse, rescue capsules and a lot of other things. There is even a tiny hangar with a workshop.

To make it easier for you to imagine the dimensions, imagine three nine-story buildings, with a pair of entrances in each, then, mentally put them close to each other and slightly push the middle one, this is the "pepelats" we were given. This is not a forty-meter pancake for you, everything is much more serious. L-3353 was developed for a private trader with a small team, while a conceptually different approach was used than that of the same Falcon. Ships of the YT series, in which case, for the most part ran away, firing back from fighters and lightships that could keep up with them, as small forces were. Hence the dynamics, manoeuvrability, speed, shields and everything else. Our miracle, according to the idea of ​​the creators, was to fight back furiously. In other words, it is more expensive to capture us. Judging by the zero commercial success of the manufacturer, the idea of ​​a transport armed to the teeth did not justify itself.

These geniuses thought of installing three welded together turbo lasers. Not just any, but actually a cruiser calibre. Let it be classified as auxiliary artillery. Two ion forward-facing cannons capable of leaving a corvette without shields with a couple of hits. And he will be three or four times bigger will be! Four torpedo tubes, the volley of which can only be survived by the frigate. They are found among pirates, but not often, still a hefty colossus, and even expensive. At the price of another cruiser, it is only one and a half to two times different. Wealthy pirates prefer to fly on light cruisers - modernized engines give speed no less than that of a frigate, and if you tighten up, then you can come close to corvettes in this indicator. Of course, the acceleration dynamics are not the same, but shields, armour, weapons, holds, small aircraft and much more. Eight turrets with impulse guns became a kind of peppercorn in a dish of militarism hiding under the skin of a modest transport. Solid ASD system, nothing to say. In fact, these are the same turbolasers, only power, well, or calibre, here it's for whom how, less tiban-gas is needed for firing, it is enough with focusing crystal.

In general, Pif-Paf, as I mentally called our ship, was not in its niche. There are a lot of muzzles for private transportation, the crew is overpriced, and speed and manoeuvre are not enough. It also did not pull on the role of a guard or escort ship. Lousy sensor block, not enough armour, again weak shield. To stick in a couple of additional reactors and more guns - you get a more or less decent army transport. If instead of a couple of decks we make a full-fledged hangar, equip boxes for equipment below, strengthen the life support system and add cabins, it would turn out to be quite a decent ship for a small detachment of mercenaries. But here ... A mixture of a bulldog with a rhinoceros. Expensive ersatz, do not misunderstand it. Only the Jedi could find something similar in the household. Probably got it by accident. And what bad person thought of slipping it on us? We also get a pilot and gunner of one of the three groups of weapons to choose from. I am silent about other places in the staff list. Neither I nor sensei have the relevant knowledge. Okay, the Force will provide, we don't have to master them in an emergency mode. Still, the reliability of equipment in the FFW is at a high level, and the droids will help with the rest. If, of course, we manage to get hold of them.

We learned about who organized such a present for us just before the flight. We came, you understand, to settle, and found our ship in the loading stage. But now it is clear how the order managed to pay for the creation of an army of clones. Rather, one specific master. And, apparently, he spent a very small amount, against the general background. Otherwise, the council would have run like a turpentine with the whole composition. How do you like the flight map, consisting of seventy-two points of loading and unloading? It impressed me and made me think. Well done treasurers, clearly laid out the route. We will get to the outer rim with full holds. Let's recoup the costs of the mission even before it starts. Including everything - from the cost of the ship and ending with the cost of food since entering the temple. Teachers. According to very rough estimates, the order will earn something around ten million. Based on the average cost of delivering goods on a short haul of ten credits per unit of standard volume. It is cheaper in the core, more expensive in the middle ring, there is a real chance to test the guns in action. However, in the inner worlds, surprises and unpleasant encounters also happen.

The teacher doesn't care. For the good of the order, do you have to work as a space trucker? Happy to work. Allow to speed it? Even enviable. No doubts or questions. Okay, everything is not so bad: there is an opportunity to look at different worlds, communicate with reasonable people and shake hands a little. I put my things on the shelves, put my pride on the table - three holocrons. In each renowned master-mentor dwells. Rather, casts of their personalities. I thought I would have to beg to do such entertaining things, but I received two smiles and one pat on the shoulder. Going in a couple of days, I received what I asked for and the instruction to do it without being lazy. It's nice, damn it! Basically, what is a Holocron? Just a crystal, similar to the one used in the sword. It is saturated with the Force passed through itself and ... and that's all, in fact. If the creator is skilled in mental techniques, he can only place certain parts of himself or another individual in the crystal, if not, there will be a complete copy. The core is placed in a tetrahedral pyramid, equipped with some equipment designed to simplify the interaction, but this is so - for convenience. At least with fencing, everything should be on the level, at the same time I will tighten up the teacher, otherwise, he doesn't really know anything except the first form.

Thoughts returned to Nemak and his, well, let it be features. He was eager for adventure, he was eager, but as he seized it, he went out. Not quite of course, but due to the forced downtime and the lack of a normal padawan experience, he didn't think of doing anything smarter than meditation. He also sat down for them himself. Habit is second nature. Someone very rightly pointed out. He didn't even check my fencing skills! Apparently, what I showed at the tournament was enough for him. Hmm, maybe that's why he chose me because he doubted his ability to teach? He was afraid to spoil it, but here all such a wonderful youngling that even wins over the elders. Maybe so, of course. Through our connection, he drives such cocktails of emotions that I preferred to close. Let him deal with his cockroaches himself. Not a boy anymore. Jedi Knight. From whom to learn to swing a sword - check. Descriptions of Force techniques - two holodisks are available. In matters of self-education, a datapad and a virtual reality helmet will help. "That's good," I murmured, throwing my paws over my head and stretching out on the bed. My cabin is even bigger than the room in the temple.

"Sith! I didn't say goodbye to the small one!" came an untimely thought that spoiled the mood. After wrestling with myself a little, I decided not to be a child. It's Ahsoka who can sulk and take offence at me, she can be forgiven for such age, but I'm an adult. Alas, but the annoying small thing seemed to have sunk into the water. No one saw her after class and did not know where this pipsqueak togruta had gone. Everyone advised to look in the halls for fencing. Like I never started with them. The temple couldn't help either. After checking out the places where you can hide from the AI of the temple, the mood finally moved to the side of the road. I feel after all that she is here, nearby, just hiding. After wandering around the temple and whipping my tail, I decided to return. Alright, she did not say goodbye and fine with it. You are the one to blame. Alright, forget. Forget, I said! Rrr, I'm going to meditate. Should stop scaring kids.

* * *

The Grand Master shivered and watched one of the swarms of ships scurrying through the atmosphere. "My mistake," Yoda sighed, closing his eyes and clenching his stick. The black master standing at the window was silent. Mace had expressed his opinion earlier and now saw no reason to repeat himself. He recognized that it is useful for a young knight to look at the world and get rid of naivety, but he would prefer to use a different path. Especially after he got a Padawan. They looked after the unusual youngling, but did not interfere, even helped a little. The Cathars have always made excellent Jedi, although they have rarely awakened their gifts. Nature has already generously rewarded them. They were strong without any Force, and primarily in spirit. Steel will. Mace even considered taking Mirr as an apprentice. If anyone does not fall into darkness after studying Vaapad, it would be him. But the youngling's behaviour did not fit into any framework.

"There is no snow in my homeland," the grand master's voice distracted the Haruun. Yoda chuckled. - "In the spring we had a lot of fluff, we rolled lumps out of it and threw them. My mother always cursed that I was returning home covered with it."

"It's hot on my planet, too," the Magister answered somewhat incoherently. It wasn't often that an elder Jedi would share such memories with someone.

Quite like an old man, Yoda got down from his seat and, hunched over, really leaning on a stick, shuffling towards the doors. Windu wondered once again how they all managed to forget his age. After seeing the teacher of teachers with his eyes, he turned back to the window. The huge orbital mirror that casts light from the star onto the city planet has shifted. The spiers and windows of the mega-skyscrapers reflected the light, painting it in burgundy tones. The master's thoughts turned to recent events. The Sith and the Chosen One. However, the memory of a boy-slave with the Force forgotten by Tatooine, again forced him to switch to Cathar. Mace suddenly found himself vaguely aware of what was to come. Danger, that's what he sensed when Anakin stood before the council. Except… he felt something similar when he passed Mirr. "It's strange that I only now realized this," Windu noted.

"And then the gentle and playful breeze became a hurricane, turned into tornadoes. So that's how I became an orphan."

Mace didn't know how to answer. If he somehow got used to Yoda's habit of talking in public in a confused way and immediate present, then to his normal speech, and even flavoured with such revelations ... It unsettled him. The door of the Order's High Council Chamber closed. A slight clicking sound snapped Windu out of his stupor. Mace looked out the window again. However, now he did not see a thousand scurrying cars and hundreds of spiers.

The words about the wind, spoken by the Grand Master, found an unexpected reflection. One of his childhood memories was a blizzard. Although the homeworld of the master was covered with jungle, but there was snow at the poles. Bad weather often raged there, winds raged and blizzards howled. It seems that then they came to visit relatives. However, Windu did not remember what was there and how it was, unlike the snowstorm. Cold and prickly pieces of ice digging into the face. The master rubbed his cheek and looked at his hand with interest. Somehow he did it automatically. "In some way they are similar", Mace thought as he turned away from the window and pulled the datapad with the Force. Both can cause a lot of problems or become great ... "Revan and Alek," a lightning thought flashed through the head of the Haruun, but he tried to drive it away as soon as possible. Crush with work, reading and analyzing received boring reports.