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The Force of Magic [Star Wars SI]

Reader mode
Amazing work, methinks Palpy will run into inconveniences should the 'disposable asset' turn out to be tougher to chew than he expects after a stunt in learning--and converting to Hecate.

And that healer troll is a hoot, no wonder he was such a success--his smile was made from angels! :V
 
Chapter 31 New
We made it to Corellia without incident and in relative comfort, though I still found myself missing the apartments on Coruscant. The Consular, now proudly bearing the name Rung, was a fairly comfortable ship—at least compared with the shuttle and the Hammerhead. It was a relatively old vessel that had seen action in a couple of conflicts, including the Hyperspace War, but we'd bought it secondhand in good condition.

At the shipyards themselves, I ended up having quite an argument with some young engineer. Upgrading the ship's guts with newer, more powerful systems wasn't a problem, but when it came to rearranging the cabins, I eventually had to fall back on the argument of "I want it this way because I want it this way."

It even got as far as a meeting with one of his older superiors. The man listened to us, listened to the engineer, gave him a tired look, and asked, "What, exactly, is fundamentally impossible about altering the passenger compartments of a Consular-class vessel—a modular ship of our own manufacture?"

After a brief exchange in fluent engineer-speak, the supervisor suggested that Shmi, Romri, and I go enjoy "the excellent caf in our customer lounge, where everything is completely free." The look on his face made the unspoken rest of the sentence perfectly clear: while I teach this wet-behind-the-ears idiot a thing or two.

After tasting the caf, I remarked quietly enough for only my own people to hear that Shmi's was much better. The Togruta, already sinking her teeth into a pastry, nodded in agreement, while Skywalker gave me an appreciative smile.

"The caf here is pretty good," the former slave said, shaking her head and giving us a look of gentle reproach as she defended the local fare.

"If it were bad, I wouldn't be drinking it," I snorted.

"But the pastries are amazing. Try one, Boss," Romri said once she'd finished chewing.

I saw no reason to refuse and gave the local cuisine its due. The pastries really were excellent.

We sat there for about fifteen minutes before a polite young woman came over and escorted us to another engineer, one who had already been briefed on what we wanted. This man looked a little older than the first, though not by much. After discussing the "project" with us, he pointed out the weak spots, quickly sketched out his own rough version on the hologram, explained his reasoning in a way that was actually easy to follow, and named the price—which was, I have to say, rather substantial. Romri clutched at her chest and squeaked, "My heart!" Shmi giggled, and I shook on it with the engineer. Well, figuratively speaking. What I actually did was ask where I needed to sign to authorize the professionals to start developing the project.

I practically had to drag Romri out of the engineer's office by one of her lekku—she was already itching to start haggling the price down right then and there.

"My little aurodium Togruta," I said soothingly, stroking the hand I was still holding. "What's got you so worked up? That's only a rough price. They haven't even drawn up the project yet, much less given me a proper estimate. What are you going to haggle over now? Once we have all the paperwork in hand and something concrete to argue about, then we'll think about it. It's not like buying a blaster from a Toydarian! They're practically going to take our bird apart bolt by bolt—replace the reactor, hyperdrive, engines, part of the hull plating, the life-support systems. You said yourself it'd be expensive and difficult."

"You could've bought a brand-new Consular for less," the girl said, looking at me with tears in her eyes.

"Romri, you were the one saying we needed to upgrade the hyperdrive to a Class One," I sighed. "And there are better options than the standard package for pretty much everything else too."

The Togruta only let out a shaky sigh, clearly mourning the credits. Never mind that they were mine—she was suffering sympathy pains.

"But just imagine," I murmured into her ear, slipping an arm lightly around her shoulders. "You'll have a shower... your own personal shower."

"A shower..." the Togruta whispered, eyes lighting up as she clenched a fist and raised it in a determined little gesture. "For a private shower, any girl would kill without a second thought!"

Shmi was laughing softly beside us. Catching the look I gave her, the woman put on the same determined expression as Romri, repeated the gesture with her arm, and asked with a cheerful smile:

"Who do we kill, Boss?"

"What bloodthirsty women we have in this crew," I said with a smile, shaking my head as the female half of the crew laughed. "And while they're busy scratching their heads over the project, I say we all head down to Corellia. I hear the beaches there are absolutely incredible!"

Tano was delighted by the prospect, while Skywalker looked practically radiant with happiness. Hardly surprising—after so many years in the desert, getting to see actual seas and oceans had to feel like a dream.

Corellia greeted us with warm sunshine, fresh air... and customs. I was so sick of them I couldn't think of a single printable word to describe it. As if the regular officers weren't enough—and they were absolute hellhounds—there was a young Jedi there too.

That green little troll of a Jedi got on every last one of my nerves, mind-fucked me senseless, and left me feeling a sudden, burning sympathy for the Sith!

As if that weren't enough, those sadists descended on Arvik. They made him drain his flamethrower, threatened to "temporarily confiscate" every rocket for his launcher, and made him empty the fuel from his jetpack, leaving him with nothing but his blaster. By that point, the Mando's helmet was practically radiating bloodlust. Then, after I took off my amulet—which immediately began radiating power once it left the masking field of my robe—and handed it over to be logged and inspected, since the damn thing was big enough to smuggle spice in, Greenie started in on me. Apparently it was a Force artifact, and just who exactly was I supposed to be, walking around with such a lovely name as Siith?

Ooooh... And after I showed him all my documents again and told him I knew members of the Jedi Council personally—that he could check with Masters Windu, Yoda, Yaddle, or Rancisis if he wanted—the bastard somehow managed to become even more obnoxious.

"We're not going to bother the Council over something this trivial," the asshole told me with the most infuriating smile imaginable. Hand over the amulet and the dagger, he said, and go with the Force—but those two? Absolutely not. Who knew what those things even were...

I thought it over for a moment, then turned to the others.

"All right, people. Screw Corellia, the beaches, and the ocean. Fuck it. Let's head back. We'll stop somewhere else later—preferably somewhere with intelligent life."

The others looked disappointed, but for the most part they backed my decision with a chorus of agreement. I turned back to the "politely smiling" Jedi and bared my teeth at him in a vindictive grin.

"And you, Greenie—and you officers too—pass this up the chain: never, NEVER, will the Jabiim Mages' Guild sell you so much as the shittiest little artifact. Not one Corellian will ever be trained at our Academy! Not for any amount of money or promises!" I fixed the green bastard with a hard stare as confusion began to creep across his face. "Anything we sell to the Order will come with one condition: that it is NOT passed on to your green-robed brotherhood. And even if you decide not to tell your superiors about this, when your shipyards eventually ask me, 'Why Kuat and not us?' I'll give them the exact date, time, customs checkpoint number, and your names. And when the higher-ups realize exactly what opportunities you personally pissed away for the entire system, your asses are in for an unforgettable adventure."

And back we went, noses held high and huffing with offended dignity. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed another Jedi—a somewhat older woman—come over to Greenie and start asking him something, but by then I no longer cared. Corellia could go straight up Dozdrogodul's ass as a string of anal beads, along with all its sister planets. I was pissed at the lot of them. And so what if I hadn't gotten to spend any time on the beaches myself? I felt bad for the girls. Romri, at least, was a free woman, but Shmi and Suti had never even seen the sea. One had spent her life in the desert; the other had lived underground.

I could, of course, have tried contacting Windu, but... something in me rebelled at the idea. It would feel like I was some little kid running to complain to the scary grown-up. Petty revenge like this was childish too, of course, but my soul demanded that I dump one big, steaming, fragrant pile* of lost opportunities right on the Corellians' doorstep—let them choke on the smell. They'd find ways around my "sanctions," obviously, but at least it would inconvenience them and ruin their day. We, meanwhile, were off to Rendili.

"Boss, why not Kuat?" Romri asked over lunch in the common room. At the moment, we were on our way to Rendili, planning to finally get the work done on our Rung that we'd left undone on Corellia.

"Tours," I snorted. "Both places let visitors tour active shipyards. Supervised and with plenty of precautions, obviously, but it can be done. Rendili interests me more—they've got a lot of relatively small orbital facilities, and Alto wants us to put something like that in orbit over Jabiim someday. Nothing major, just enough to repair and service our little fleet. Maybe build a few smaller things too—we've got the ore for it. So I want to see for myself what a real orbital shipyard actually looks like."

"Yeah," the Mando nodded. "Kuat's got the Ring. No way we could pull off something like that."

"Right now, sure. Give it twenty or thirty years and we probably could—but it would take one hell of an effort. Not that Jabiim needs anything like that at the moment. I doubt we'll need it anytime soon, either. The Commander-in-Chief has his eye on building up our metallurgical industry."

"Aren't you worried it'll poison the planet?"

"No, we've accounted for that. I'm actually going to start training mages on Jabiim specifically to design and operate facilities that process ore into metal, and that process is far less toxic than most environmentally friendly methods used for the same job. Orbital facilities are probably cleaner, granted. And the waste can be recycled into something at least relatively useful."

For a couple of minutes, we ate in silence, but then Arvik asked another question. Ever since we'd set out for Corellia, the man had been unusually pensive, and now he was clearly turning something over in his head again.

"Boss, listen, I know this is kind of a personal question, but why are you doing all this? Training those spellcasters of yours and everything. Don't take this the wrong way—it's just that I've noticed you always grimace whenever the subject comes up."

"That's a deep question, and it deserves a fairly long answer," I said with a grin, glancing at the interested faces turned toward me. I wasn't about to explain all my reasons, of course. The goddess's request—and the possible reward for fulfilling it—were definitely staying to myself. "First and most importantly, I suppose, because I believe it's the right thing to do. Sorcery, whatever anyone may think of it, is first and foremost a science. The science of magic. And like any science, it requires both theoretical research and practical experimentation. The more people there are working to push that research forward, the better."

"And before long the galaxy will be crawling with mages shooting plasma from their fingertips," the Mandalorian said with a crooked smile.

"True enough, but believe me, Arvik, pulling off tricks like that takes a lot of study and a hell of a lot of training. Your average combat sorcerer, after a couple of years of lessons and practice, might be able to throw out a shot like that once every twenty or thirty seconds. And let's be honest—while he's standing there straining himself to shape the right construct with an aura that's barely developed, even the clumsiest Dug with grabbing limbs growing out of his ass would fill that 'god of war' with plasma up to the tonsils."

"Boss, that's not fair to Dugs," Romri giggled. "They're really agile, and jokes like that piss them off."

"Truth hurts," I said with a shrug. "Getting back to sorcerers: by the standards of my homeland, I'm an above-average one. I'm good when it comes to knowledge and considerably worse at applied sorcery. I've been through wars in my time, and every now and then I used to go out and wipe out bands of brigands, but the path of a combat sorcerer—with their almost reflexive casting of a limited repertoire of magical constructs—was never for me. There are, of course, certain little secrets, tricks, and toys that can make even a noncombat sorcerer considerably more dangerous, but those are usually the preserve of spellcasters from powerful bloodlines or exceptionally skilled specialists in fields that aren't, strictly speaking, combat disciplines. Necromancy, chimerology, artifact-making, golemcraft, healing, and plenty of other branches can offer enormous advantages once developed far enough. On top of that, all of them have countless points of overlap, reinforcing one another—sometimes quite dramatically. But!"

I gave my listeners a serious look, emphasizing the importance of what I was about to say by raising my fork.

"All of that takes an absurd amount of time and effort, people. Otherwise everyone back home would be a mage, understand? Mental discipline, determination, the willingness to spend years pursuing a goal—that's what it means to be a real spellcaster. The overwhelming majority of my countrymen master such a tiny fraction of the Art that calling them mages would be ridiculous. Light a campfire after five minutes of huffing and puffing while shaping the most primitive construct imaginable? Oh, yes! A Great Sorcerer! Lord of Magic! Child of Hecate! Bah. Skilled craftsmen do a little better—they pick a niche, memorize a handful of weaves, and spend their entire lives perfecting them, selling their services for money: charging mana reservoirs, casting reinforcement or waterproofing enchantments, making magical lamps, things like that. Anything truly complex takes a long time: gathering knowledge, developing the idea, then actually bringing it to life. You understand? Take the Jabiim speeders, for example. Those are my design."

I glanced at Ras, who was listening as closely as everyone else. He nodded to show that he understood what I meant.

"A design I simply handed over to a couple of my students. On their own, it would have taken them... a very long time to come up with something like that and actually build it." I stopped myself before giving a number. The Stratuses had asked me to keep that information quiet, and after giving it some thought, I agreed with them. "Now it'll become their family legacy—something that could keep the families of some of my first students prosperous for generations. Assuming they don't squander it all by resting on their laurels and sliding into stagnation and decline."

"Complicated..." the Togruta drawled.

"Well, what did you expect?" I snorted, giving the girl an amused look. "Wave your hands around, stomp your foot, recite a funny little rhyme, and that's it? Nooo. Academies give you an initial repertoire of spells as part of your tuition, along with the theory behind them. Spellcraft theory, construct modeling, ritual design, mathematics, physics, geometry, biology, anatomy. Magic isn't some kind of miracle. If you're creating a spell of your own, you need to know and understand how it's going to work. Mana is simply energy with an almost limitless potential for transformation and application. What matters is skill—and skill depends on your knowledge, experience, a developed aura—the tool you use to interact with magic—as well as your reserves and your mind. All of that together is what makes a true spellcaster. So," I said, glancing at the Mando, "you don't need to worry about the galaxy being overrun by mighty mages anytime in the next thousand years. Unless, of course, I decide to train someone personally and generously hand over my own developments to the student—like I'm doing with Karray and Karina on Jabiim."

"Jedi have it easier, though, me thinks," the Gungan put in. He had already demolished his portion and was now sprawled blissfully in his chair.

"Oh, don't remind me," I grimaced. "'Feel the Force, guide the Force,' all in the finest traditions of Eastern-style monks—only somehow even more obscure. Sorcerers have it easier: you go through your first initiation with any practicing mage, learn how to control your aura... and then you're off on a journey millions of kilometers long, one that often ends for a very simple reason: laziness."

"No offense, Boss," the Togruta giggled as the others smiled knowingly, "but that doesn't sound any damn easier."

I looked at those muzz— mug— faces, waved it off, and popped another bite of food into my mouth. Even Suti was smiling, though hers was more sympathetic than amused.

"Sorry," Romri said, making her eyes big and pitiful as she spread her hands—nearly poking Koit in the eye with her fork in the process. "And getting back to Arvik's question: why didn't you just recruit a chosen few and concentrate all that power in a small inner circle of your own?"

I gave the girl a skeptical look. She didn't seem to be joking...

"Look at it this way: suppose I settle down on Jabiim, recruit a dozen 'Padawans,' and start training them. Secretly, 'under cover of darkness,' so no one outside our little circle ever learns about my 'mighty order.' What are we supposed to live on? Sell amulets? How long do you think it would take smart people to connect a suspicious little group of sentients with the sudden appearance of magical artifacts? Even if we sold them in the farthest corners of the galaxy, sooner or later someone would start pulling at the thread—and besides, you need contacts to sell anything in the first place. Magic or no magic, there's a reason sentients are called sentient—they have brains. Eventually some very serious men and women would come knocking and suggest that I share. Suppose we killed them all. Then they'd send more people, and we'd kill those too, move somewhere else, and repeat the whole cycle. Sooner or later, enough people would come after me that it would turn into an actual war—and I'm not omnipotent."

I took a sip of caf, squinted in pleasure, and gave Shmi a grateful nod. She smiled back.

"And then there's the problem of my students getting fed up with living like that. They want to eat well, sleep comfortably, and show everyone how 'powerful' they are—not spend their lives hiding in the shadows. Give it enough time and, best case, they run away from me. Worst case, they sell me out for money or kill me once they learn what kind of security measures I've put in place. So in the end, I either go live somewhere in the mountains with the goats, or I deal with society—which, in my case, means Jabiim, represented by the Stratus cousins. And we came up with the whole 'share the knowledge' strategy together, because sooner or later everyone is going to find out anyway. Then we're right back to the first scenario, only on a planetary scale—with a blockade fleet parked overhead, like Naboo."

We spent a full two weeks at one of the Rendili shipyards. It ended up costing less, though, because some of the orbital facilities were sitting idle.

After a bit of negotiation, they even allowed us onto the worksite, though they very firmly asked us not to get in the way. So for most of the work on the Rung, Shmi, Ras, Romri, and I were just observers, occasionally pestering the engineers and foremen with questions whenever they were in a good mood and had some time to spare. Most of the workers were happy enough to answer, though. I think the professionals were a little flattered that the client was actually interested in their work instead of constantly hounding them to go faster. Romri and Shmi were also a pretty good incentive for most of the male technicians to be extra helpful. Ras, meanwhile, somehow managed to strike up a romance with one of the women working on the ship.

So much so that by the time the work was finished, Risha Trant had signed on with us as the ship's engineer and mechanic.

At the same shipyard, we stocked up on maintenance droids, bought ourselves an astromech of the "bucket on wheels" variety, and picked up some "exclusive" hyperspace route charts. Romri explained that there wasn't much truly exclusive about them, but they did include several safe routes that our navcomputer didn't have.

And then we took off for the sea. Our destination was the Togruta homeworld, Shili. The planet lay in grid square L-8, relatively nearby—Rendili was in M-11—and for anyone with a ship boasting a Class One hyperdrive, it was practically next door. Romri promised us an introduction to her family, authentic Togruta cuisine—meat, meat, and more meat—seas, beaches, gorgeous landscapes in red, orange, and white, hunts for the local predators known as akuls**... and absolutely no customs! What a wonderful planet!

1.jpg

Author's Notes:

*"Fragrant pile" — a pile that has already been dumped, but won't make its presence known or start stinking until sometime in the future. Came up with that one myself.

**An akul is a large, dangerous predator with a powerful body covered in reddish fur. It moves on four legs and is known for its powerful jaws. Akuls breed well in captivity, and albino specimens have occasionally been born. (Honestly, I have no idea how this thing is supposed to pluralize. If I got it wrong, please correct me.)


Original Russian story

You can find more chapters on my Patreon.

The translation of new chapters will also be published here—but with a bit of a delay.
 
Methinks that the Corellians will live long enough to regret this, as their competitors get the upper hand on them, mocking them all while at it.

As for Palpy? Once he learns about this, he'll be cackling as he'll be receiving benefits so long as he chooses not to strangle the gold egg-laying goose!
 
Chapter 32 New
"Well, basically, I finally lost my patience, Alto. So if they come sniffing around the JMG later, don't agree to anything. We won't be able to supply the whole market anyway, so we'll have to pick and choose. Better to stick with Kuat and Rendili. Kuat's been buying our ore for a damn long time already, and the Rendili folks struck me as a pretty decent bunch."

"Got it. Won't be a problem," Alto's hologram said with a grin. "So, how's the vacation?"

There was something in the way he asked it—an irrational hint of reproach, along with a trace of envy so faint it was almost imperceptible.

"That's it? Just like that?" I asked, surprised by how easily the Commander-in-Chief had waved away the prospect of selling anything magical to Corellia.

"Yeah, just like that," Alto snorted. "We've already sent the first shipment of metal ingots to Kuat. The shipbuilders liked the quality, so they've promised us favorable contract terms for more of the same. I also arranged to have the ships escorting our transports repaired and serviced there. We'll rotate them through, and as long as we keep trading with the Kuat shipyards, the whole fleet should stay in good shape."

"Well, good. I was worried I'd messed up some plans of yours," I admitted. And I really had been worried—though, admittedly, the thought had only occurred to me after I'd calmed down.

"Bit late to start worrying now," came an annoyed female voice from just beyond the edge of the hologram. I recognized Cordelia immediately. The image pulled back slightly, revealing the two cousins in full.

"Cordelia, good to see you," I said with a smile. Her face became a study in skepticism. "Hey, what's with the face? I really am glad to see you! How's Karray? How's Karina?"

"They're both fine," the stern head of Internal Security said, softening a little. "You could check in with your own Guild more often, you know. The girls miss a certain red-eyed sorcerer who, the entire time he's been away, has spoken to them exactly one damn time—and every other time has only sent letters with training plans and instructions! Siith, do you even have a conscience?"

"The Quartermaster ate it," I said, promptly throwing my pet under the speeder when he chose that exact moment to poke his head out of my pocket.

"Ooooh! That furry little bastard can eat more than just women's underwear and food from the kitchen?!" Cordelia shouted angrily, fixing the hamster with a murderous stare. The little beast merely twitched his nose in response, looking utterly innocent. "Only you could end up with a fetishist for a pet!"

"Did you ever actually catch him red-handed?" I asked, putting on an offended expression to match the little beast's innocent face. "If not, then it's all slander and malicious lies! He only got caught once... uh... slipped up once... mm... And anyway, Luritta forgave him!"

Our conversation was interrupted by Alto's laughter. When his cousin shot him a puzzled look, he just waved a hand and said, "Make sure you watch the recording later."

I chuckled to myself too. Cordelia could get worked up at the drop of a hat, but she never took it past friendly banter.

"All right, so how's the vacation going? At least tell us something," the former Nimbus general said once he'd stopped laughing.

"Mixed. Mostly interesting—I've learned a lot of new things. I'll tell you what happened in the capital in person. And I changed ships like I'd planned. After thinking it over, I decided to keep the Consular."

"Weren't you planning on getting a Diamond?" Cordelia asked in surprise, while her cousin merely raised an eyebrow.

"Well... the Consular was cheaper, and modifying it was faster. The Diamond is considerably bigger, and I've got far too many ideas for one of those. We could've easily been stuck at the shipyard for a month—I'd have wanted to cram in a hangar, a pool, a sauna... and I didn't want to waste that much time. Same crew size too, even with droids—and that gets expensive. Maintenance is a lot more complicated as well. Besides, I've got an idea. I'll tell you about it when I get back. And for that particular plan, the smaller the starship, the better. The shipyard handled all the preparations I needed, but I'll actually put it into practice back home on Jabiim."

At those last words, I saw both cousins' eyes light up with satisfaction. I paused for a second, thinking... Ah. Right. Home—Jabiim. They just liked hearing me call it that.

"We're about to land on Shili. We'll do some hunting, see how the locals live, stuff ourselves with meat, soak our bellies in the oceans, and then move on. I'll send you some holorecordings."

"Th-th-thank you, Siith," Cordelia said with a smile that somehow managed to look almost threatening. Alto's face twisted strangely too, for some reason... Very suspicious, I thought, snickering nastily to myself.

Romri's homeworld turned out to be a lot of fun. I met her family. Togruta were incredibly social people, so the sheer number of sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, and assorted other relatives of our Togruta with the soul of a dwarf who were eager to meet us was simply staggering.

The Togruta turned out to be sociable, cheerful, good-natured people. Their tribes did have a kind of elder-junior hierarchy, but nothing excessive. No one was bowing and scraping, and people spoke to one another casually, though elders—whether by age or social standing—were still treated with respect.

After spending a full day with our little red Togruta's parents and closest relatives—and stuffing ourselves with meat to the point of near-death—we headed for the coast, where there was a settlement inhabited by even more of her relatives, though supposedly not such close ones. Once we arrived and started meeting everyone, I actually began to doubt that. The villagers were wary at first, but the moment they learned that Romri had come to visit with friends... "Yes, yes! Little Romri's back for a visit! That Romri." So, naturally, another feast courtesy of our hospitable hosts awaited us, along with a marathon of stories from us about life out in the galaxy.

Even Arvik, responsibility incarnate, gave up trying to organize my protection with just himself and his two companions. The Mando took off his helmet, happily swapped stories about his life, listened to tales of local customs, and drank weak alcohol with everyone else. I was the only one who didn't drink, and even then, refusing turned out to be a real challenge.

When the conversation turned to the bane of the locals—the akuls—our Mando immediately perked up. In fact, those animals were thought to be one of the reasons Togruta society had become so communal in the first place. These days the predators weren't nearly as dangerous, but back in the old days, before the locals had decent weapons, they'd had no choice but to band together against the toothy threat. Hunters were held in high regard: they protected gatherers and other civilians and organized hunts that supplied most of the settlements' food. Togruta were predominantly carnivorous, and while they could digest plant matter, they held meat in very high regard.

What caught the Mando's interest was one of the traditions practiced by Togruta hunters. Alone, armed with nothing but a spear and a knife, the brave hunter would head out into the night and return with the carcass of a slain akul. Doing so earned prestige, respect, a reputation as a badass hunter, and an exclusive piece of montral jewelry made by the women of the tribe from the beast's teeth.

After hearing that story, the Mandalorian spent a couple of minutes thinking, then asked a string of questions about the predators' habits and where akuls could be found nearby—and started taking off his armor. Once he was down to nothing but his undersuit, Arvik borrowed Koit's spear after removing its power cell, strapped his own knife to his belt, and, with great ceremony, asked the Gungan to keep an eye on his armor.

Koit puffed up with pride. A Mandalorian's armor meant an enormous amount to its owner, and leaving it in the Gungan's care was a powerful gesture of trust and respect. After listening to equally solemn assurances from the long-eared Gungan that the Mando's gear would be perfectly safe, Arvik disappeared into the darkness, promising to return with an akul carcass in a couple of hours.

"Romri, uh..." I was a little baffled. "What was that about?"

"He's a Mandalorian," the Togruta said with a shrug, taking a sip of the local drink. "Arvik loves this kind of thing. Don't worry, Boss, he's a damn good fighter. I'm pretty sure he really will come back dragging a dead akul with him."

Romri giggled and flicked her eyes toward the clusters of young women from the tribe, who were whispering animatedly among themselves.

"And when he drags that carcass back, he's going to be in for quite a surprise," our beauty said with a mysterious look.

"Boss-sa," Koit said, dropping into a seat beside us, already a little tipsy. "Tell me, how do folks on Jabiim treat non-humans?"

"Haven't you already picked out a place for your house?" I asked, surprised by the Gungan's question.

"Ah, not asking for myself. Plenty of Gungans on Naboo don't like how friendly we've gotten with the Naboo humans," Koit said, flicking his ears. "Been thinking about it for a while, though. Jabiim's got plenty of water, plenty of room. Think your big Boss, Stratus-sa, would take in some of my people?"

"Hmm..." I thought about it for a few seconds. "I can't say I've ever noticed anyone treating other races or species badly. We barely have any non-humans at all, but that's mostly because hardly anyone is lining up to move to Jabiim in the first place. Tell you what—I'll just ask Alto about it. I doubt he'd object to a Gungan enclave, as long as they obey Jabiim's laws, of course."

"Thanks, Boss-sa. You're a good human. If you were a Gungan, I'd introduce you to my little sister. Ooh, she's a beauty now, though!"

"Thanks, Koit," I laughed at the cheerful thoughts going through the guy's head. "You're a good Gungan too. I've been pretty lucky with sentients these past few years, come to think of it. Aside from pirate scum and assorted bandits, it's been one pleasant acquaintance after another."

"Except for that Naboo Chancellor," Koit snorted. "Don't trust him, Boss-sa. Them Naboo humans are all sneaky liars and thieves, though."

"Don't worry about it," I said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Politicians are almost never honest, so I know what I'm dealing with."

"And yet you praise him," the Gungan objected, giving me a sidelong look.

"I do. Compared with the Republic's previous leaders, Palpatine stands out—and in a good way. He fights corruption. Not all of it, of course; I'm sure he leaves the useful kind alone, gathering information and stockpiling dirt on the right people. But you can't fix a situation like that by magic. Sheev takes his time, moving step by step and trying to improve things however he can. If he goes off the rails and starts purging everyone in sight, he won't last a year." I scratched my beard thoughtfully. "The fact that he came to see me personally, without guards and with only his aide, tells me he has phenomenal instincts and excellent intelligence, Koit—not that he suddenly found some savage from a mudball fascinating. He wanted something from me, but the way he went about getting it only speaks in his favor. Not a trace of arrogance, not a single demand. I knew that he knew that I knew he wanted something. And I gave it to him. I promised cooperation, guaranteed his people first priority once commercial training begins, and laid out what we can offer and the prospects for mutually beneficial cooperation."

I took a sip of the brew made from a blend of unusual local herbs and gave the Gungan a searching look.

"I was dealing with a clever politician—the head of state. Yes, it's a great honor, it's flattering, and I happen to enjoy flattery. And all of that, Koit, is exactly why I think the Chancellor is the right man for the job. He's intelligent, wise, dangerous, and powerful—but intelligent, wise people don't slaughter the bantha that gives them milk unless they have a damn good reason."

"Sounds like the description of a first-rate bastard," Romri put in, tossing in her two credits as she listened to our conversation.

"That's exactly why I'm saying I like Palpatine. In my opinion, a politician should be a bastard. The important thing is that he be a decent one," I chuckled. "The Supreme Chancellor makes decisions that affect the lives of billions—decisions that make things better for some and worse for others. A soft-hearted, kindly ruler... I don't know. I've never seen much respect for rulers like that. They usually ended up with nicknames like the Weak, the Foolish, the Fat, and so on. Unless they happened to live in an age when everything in their realm was already going well. Then they might not get a nickname at all. They'd just go down in history with a number attached to their name—Branor the Eighth or whatever."

"They're all bastards," the Gungan said sadly, his ears drooping as he took another sip of his drink.

"Not all of us, Koit. I'm wonderful! That's why I try to stay as far away from politics as possible. If I do end up stepping in it, of course—like what happened on Coruscant—I try to do it with style. But as far as I'm concerned, even running the JMG is already way too much!"

The celebration was gathering steam. Ras and his Rendili girlfriend had gotten well into the local drink and were now doing their best imitation of Togruta dances in the firelight alongside the merrymaking locals. Koit wasn't about to be left out either and had borrowed someone's spear to show off something Gungan—one of their war dances, apparently. It looked impressive, actually. The weapon hummed in the skilled spearman's hands, tracing intricate patterns at incredible speed, and Koit moved in a way that swept every thought of him being funny or clumsy-looking clean out of my head. He was a good warrior—the kind of man whose spear was a deadly weapon, not just a stick with a sharp end.

The whole celebration was taking place in the village's large central square. The houses themselves were more or less modern, and landspeeders and airspeeders were parked here and there, but in the middle of the settlement the locals had lit bonfires, dragged out hides, low benches, and short tables, and were making merry "the way our ancestors used to." Somewhere nearby, drums were pounding away, wind instruments were blaring, and strings were jangling, all of it coming together into lively music that somehow reminded me of orcish festivals.

It all looked incredibly colorful and was a stark contrast both to Coruscant and to the time we'd spent at the Rendili shipyards. The Togruta women were an especially pleasant sight. Slender, athletic, graceful predators who weren't exactly burdening themselves with much clothing provided my eyes with no shortage of aesthetic enjoyment. Even Romri, who kept casting sidelong glances at my pleased mug from time to time, eventually ran off somewhere and came back dressed in traditional attire.

"Well? How do I look?" the Togruta asked, twirling on her heels.

"Absolutely stunning, our little aurodium treasure," I clicked my tongue appreciatively, admiring Tano in her traditional dress. "Can't take my eyes off you."

"Come on," the smiling Togruta said, grabbing my hand and tugging me toward the dancers. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Suti pulling off some incredible moves of her own, dancing something fast, bright, and energetic in the middle of a circle of admiring Togruta, who clapped along to the music for her.

There was a genuinely happy smile on the Twi'lek's face, and I felt a small pang of guilt. Suti had lived for dancing, and I, insensitive red-eyed bastard that I was, had never even stopped to think that she might miss it. I made a big mental note to ask her to dance for us every now and then. The girl worked hard enough as it was, throwing herself completely into her studies.

"Romri," I tried to fend off the prospect of having to dance myself. "I'm not much of a dancer!"

"I'll teach you. There's nothing complicated about it," the little red Togruta laughed.

And then came the task of teaching yours truly Togruta dancing. I had to alter my robe first because it kept getting in the way, after which I proceeded to demonstrate my formidable talents. Not that I was actually a bad dancer. An experienced chimerologist rarely has the luxury of being out of shape or poorly coordinated. I simply wasn't much of an enthusiast. Still, I wanted to ruin the girl's celebration even less than I wanted to dance, so I did my best.

We danced for quite a while, with breaks here and there. During those, the winded Togruta kept shooting surprised looks at me, standing there and breathing perfectly normally. And, overall, I actually enjoyed myself. There were no rules, no schedule, no idiots staring. Everyone was just having fun. Some people drank while half-reclining on hides and chatting, others stuffed themselves at the tables and then went off to "work off the meat" on the dance floor, and a few barely left it at all. Young couples were making the most of the darker corners, and every now and then one would disappear off toward the houses... All in all, a good party. I approved.

About an hour and a half after setting off on his hunt, our Mando came back carrying a good-sized akul carcass across his shoulders—orange in daylight, though in the firelight it looked almost blood-red. Arvik caused an absolute sensation among the locals, who erupted into cheers and praise. The carcass was taken off his shoulders and carried away somewhere into the darkness, while Arvik himself was hoisted into the air and carried around in celebration, given time to put his armor back on, and then dragged into the circle of hunters who had accomplished the same feat. There were six of them in the village: five grim, scar-covered men and one woman.

"Well, that's it," Romri giggled. "Now they're going to get him drunk and grill him with questions, and after that they'll torture him with their own stories—the same ones everyone in the village has heard a thousand times already."

"What a terrifying monster," the Twi'lek said, hugging herself around the shoulders. She'd already drunk and danced her fill, so she'd come back to us tired and happy.

"Come on, Arvik may not exactly be handsome, but monster is a bit harsh," the Togruta objected.

"Nooo! I meant the animal!" Suti protested, flailing her hands while I burst out laughing.

Romri stared at her in stunned silence for a couple of seconds, then burst into peals of laughter when Koit added, "So that's what you think of your commander, Romri!" That even made Shmi—who had spent the whole evening sitting quietly and watching the celebration with a smile—laugh out loud.

"Here we go—watch!" Romri said once she'd stopped laughing, pointing toward some commotion among the bonfires. "Whoa, four of them at once!"

And sure enough, four women split into pairs and started sparring in two small clearings the dancers had made room for. They knew what they were doing; even Koit occasionally offered approving comments. But when he remarked, "Very good, though. Especially for women," Romri snorted.

"Our men are bigger and tougher than our women, but that doesn't mean the women are weak. When the men went off to hunt or fight, it was the women who protected the village and the children from akuls. When the men were wounded and couldn't go hunting, we went instead. On Shili, it used to be—and sometimes still is—deadly dangerous not to know how to defend yourself. All Togruta are predators, and all Togruta are strong."

"Then why don't you swing a spear around like that, though?" the Gungan snorted.

"Because I have blasters," the girl replied, flashing her teeth.

Meanwhile, the two winners faced off against each other to see who was stronger. That fight ended fairly quickly, and the champion of the little tournament ran off in the direction where they'd carried the akul's carcass.

"Saiya herself is going to pull the teeth from the akul Arvik killed, then make the ornament from them," Romri explained when she caught my questioning look. "Well, most of the work will already be done, but she'll remove the teeth herself, clean them, treat them, and set them into place. Then she'll present the beast's teeth to the one who killed it. And they fought because only the strongest unmarried woman among those who wanted the honor is supposed to make the ornament and give it to the hunter."

"And the fact that Arvik doesn't have montrals isn't a problem?" Shmi asked.

"Eh, he can wear it around his neck," the Togruta said with a dismissive wave. "It doesn't really matter. We just like decorating our montrals, and that way everyone can see the trophy right away. Come on, let's go dance some more!"

And so we danced, then rested, then danced some more, and after all that we scattered to the houses set aside for us and promptly passed out. It had been a damn good time—and tomorrow we still had the beach to look forward to! I even found myself, sinful thought though it was, feeling grateful to that green little troll. If he hadn't been such an asshole, we probably never would've ended up on Shili in the first place.

The morning after the celebration, once we got to the beach, we discovered that Arvik had apparently gotten roughed up pretty badly the night before.

With his armor and undersuit off and nothing on but his underwear, the Mando was sporting a back covered in scratches and several bruises across his shoulders and neck.

"The akul was a serious opponent," the Mandalorian said without batting an eye when he saw our puzzled looks.

"Uh-huh. Sure," the Togruta said, nodding as she examined the bruise on his shoulder. "Sneaky bastard, too. That bite mark looks exactly like a Togruta's."

"Saboteur akul, though," the Gungan said cheerfully, nodding along.

"Tough opponent," Arvik agreed with complete seriousness, adjusting the elaborate necklace around his neck. "Want to go diving?"


Original Russian story

You can find more chapters on my Patreon.

The translation of new chapters will also be published here—but with a bit of a delay.
 
Boroda Orka said:
"And yet you praise him," the Gungan objected, giving me a sidelong look.

"I do. Compared with the Republic's previous leaders, Palpatine stands out—and in a good way. He fights corruption.
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Back on Jabim, didn't he compare the "kindly grandfather" Chancellor to a psycho Sorceror type who smiles at you one moment and the next throws you into experiment/torture room or something.
 
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I always think it's super weird that Akul aren't extinct on Shili. For being a predator that endangered their people for all of their evolutionary history (and even today!) humans would have murdered the shit out of them, as soon as they achieved the (technological) upper hand. Guess Togruta just aren't human :V
 
Boroda Orka said:
The akul was a serious opponent," the Mandalorian said without batting an eye when he saw our puzzled looks.

"Uh-huh. Sure," the Togruta said, nodding as she examined the bruise on his shoulder. "Sneaky bastard, too. That bite mark looks exactly like a Togruta's."

"Saboteur akul, though," the Gungan said cheerfully, nodding along.

"Tough opponent," Arvik agreed with complete seriousness, adjusting the elaborate necklace around his neck. "Want to go diving?"
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Those akul are sneaky bastards. Gotta watch out for a quick dip into a pool, lake or wherever, will help out 😉
 
I really love the exploration of the wider galaxy instead of embracing canon's rails as most do.

Siith better listen to his instincts telling him that Sheev is a bastard psycho sorcerer in hiding, 'lest said bastard think him easy pickings! :p
 
Chapter 33 New
We spent two weeks on Shili. The sea was great. We swam so much that by the end of it, none of us even wanted to look at another wave.

Speaking of the sea, I should probably mention Shmi. She was genuinely happy. Every now and then, though, I caught a shadow of sadness on her face; I suspected those were the moments when she wished her son were there with her. But overall, she was absolutely delighted by the sheer amount of water. She didn't even want to learn how to swim, preferring to splash around in the shallows. "The thought of all that deep water beneath me gives me the creeps." More than anything, she simply reveled in the open sea like a little girl, every so often gazing in wonder at the endless waves stretching all the way to the horizon.

I absolutely loved Romri's homeworld. Her people showered us with gifts for the entire two weeks. Little by little, in small batches, but every single day. By the end of it, each of us had stacks of beautiful hides, piles of carved bone ornaments, several sets of traditional clothing—which Suti absolutely adored—and traditional weapons. Koit was especially thrilled by the latter, particularly the spears; our Gungan was a true enthusiast when it came to cold steel. Hell, the villagers even made furniture for us while we were there. We installed some of it in our cabins on special mounts, replacing the ship's standard interior fittings.

And all because I had disguised my large-scale study of the Togruta species as medical checkups and healing. Yes, I'm that shameless a bastard—and proud of my cunning, utter lack of scruples, and sheer genius. The sorcerer studies healthy Togruta to gather statistics, then treats the sick and crippled because now he knows how their bodies are supposed to work. Why, I'm practically the embodiment of a storybook villain. I even indulged in bouts of mad laughter and cries of, "Bring in the next test subject!" And they did, laughing at my "jokes" right along with me. Meanwhile, I amassed a mountain of data on the species, with everyone participating entirely of their own free will. The bravest even agreed to vivisection—painless and nonlethal, mind you.

So by the end of those two weeks, the locals had two completely healthy villages—their own and the neighboring one. We had a mountain of gifts, storerooms crammed with meat and local fruit, vegetables, and roots, and an absolute ocean of information on Togruta. And I had acquired a reputation as something close to a holy ascetic, personally sent to Shili by the Gods, the Force, and their precious little Romri.

Another benefit of our little operation, aside from the mountain of gifts, was the good reputation and free publicity—not just for me, but for the JMG as well. Shili might not be the most technologically advanced planet, but gossip was practically the ultimate information-delivery system. Give it a couple of months, and on the other side of the planet they'd be telling stories about "the great holy healer from Jabiim, a sorcerer from Jabiim's Mages' Guild." Sooner or later, that story would reach the Jedi, who would once again reassure themselves that I was practically dressed in white, despite the black robe.

And then all kinds of sentients would start coming to me for treatment. I'd work something out with Stratus and set up a waiting list for healing, with one condition: "If you come yourself, bring ten healthy members of your species with you—of both sexes." As for payment, we'd do it in the finest tradition of my world: charge according to what the patient could afford, which was essentially what had happened here anyway. An excellent idea, especially considering Karray's progress in chimerology. The little one needed practice, and she certainly wouldn't be the only chimerologist around.

Speaking of the Jedi, the idea worked even before we left. The day before our departure, we received a visit from the Order's local representative, Shaak Ti, along with her Padawan, Fe Sun. The meeting was perfectly calm and cordial. I suspected the older Togruta had contacted her superiors and gotten some information about me, because she greeted me as none other than "Master Siith."

The woman was, like every Jedi I'd met, calm and level-headed, and by the end of our conversation I'd decided she was pleasant company as well. She spoke with me for about half an hour, then went off on her Jedi business—training her apprentice, who was also a Togruta, though not from Shili. As far as I understood it, Shaak Ti was preparing her for something like a Jedi ranger role: someone meant to operate out in the wilderness with minimal contact with other sentients. Otherwise, I had no idea why you'd train an apprentice in the wildest parts of her homeworld, as Shaak Ti herself put it, "far from civilization."

I also kept working on my own projects in the calm, relaxing atmosphere. Every now and then I'd take a datapad, a small table, and a chair out to the beach and work there in peace, sipping juice made from local fruit or caf and herbal brews. Suti often kept me company, working on her own studies. She'd also talked the village women into teaching her Togruta dances, which made her very happy; she took great pleasure in showing us the new dances she'd learned while dressed in local traditional clothing.

When we left, the entire village came out to see us off, and along with all the gifts, we took with us some very warm memories of that wonderful planet. No exaggeration—Shili was the best world I had ever visited, inhabited by some of the finest sentients I'd ever met.

The vacation was coming to an end, but the galaxy didn't seem any less full of interesting things. So the Rung was already headed for our next destination—we intended to see as much as we could with the limited time we had left.


*** Shili. The wilderness. A few days after the Rung departed. ***
​

"Master?" Fe Sun said, drawing her teacher's attention. "I want to talk about that... sorcerer."

"I'm listening," the Jedi Master said with an encouraging smile.

"I know he did a lot of good for the villagers here on Shili, but I think his real purpose was evil!" the girl blurted out, finally voicing what had been troubling her lately.

"And what makes you think that?" the Togruta asked, still smiling gently and looking at her apprentice with approval. Shaak Ti encouraged Fe to reason her way to answers for herself. Later, she would always discuss the girl's conclusions with her, gently correcting her where needed and smoothing out the rough edges.

"He's... suspicious! And creepy! When he looked at me and smiled, I got scared! I can't even imagine what someone must be thinking to smile like that! And he looked at everyone that way! He dresses all in black, he has red eyes... and his name is Siith!"

The Jedi Master allowed herself a quiet chuckle.

"There are countless races and species of sentients in the galaxy, Padawan. Their traditions, habits, and behavior can often seem strange or frightening to us. I agree that there is something unsettling about Master Siith's appearance. But remember this: a Jedi must judge by deeds, not by how a sentient looks. There have been cases in the Order's history when misunderstandings led to terrible consequences precisely because the Jedi... failed to understand the situation properly. The man we're talking about helped Master Tholme and his Padawan, rescued Knight Chatak from pirate captivity, met with Masters of the Order, among them Grand Master Yoda, and was granted an audience with Chancellor Palpatine. And here on Shili, he treated our people while refusing payment and accepting only symbolic gifts."

"He's still..."

"Suspicious," Shaak Ti agreed with a nod. "Though Master Rancisis is absolutely delighted with him—especially his sense of humor. But Padawan, the fact that the Order has not sent Knights or Masters after Master Siith does not mean he will not be watched. The same goes for his Mages' Guild. And remember this as well: not everything is what it seems. When you earn your Knighthood and begin traveling the galaxy on missions for the Council, you will meet countless sentients. Some will look dangerous and prove to be exactly that. Others will hide their vile nature behind pleasant smiles and an eagerness to please..."

The Jedi Master faltered and fell silent. Her apprentice waited patiently while her mentor considered whatever thought had just occurred to her.

"Fe, I need to think," the Togruta told her apprentice seriously. "Study on your own for a while. We may need to make some changes to your training plan."

"Master?" the young Togruta asked, watching Shaak Ti in surprise as she settled into a meditative pose.

"Patience, Padawan," the woman said with a reassuring smile. Then she closed her eyes and let her mind sink into serene stillness.

Jedi never stop learning. Younglings learn from their instructors in the Temple. Padawans learn from their Masters. And those who become full-fledged Jedi do not leave learning behind, devoting themselves to service and self-improvement until the very end. They draw wisdom from everywhere: from other Jedi, from their own experience, from the sentients around them, and, strange as it may sound, from their own Padawans. Today, Fe Sun had given Shaak Ti something to think about.

More specifically, she had made Shaak Ti question her approach to Fe's training. Jedi were diplomats, investigators, and warriors. Was Shaak Ti really doing the right thing by training her in places where encounters with other sentients were few and far between? And Togruta themselves... Her people on Shili were, for the most part, decent sentients. Their dangerous world fostered solidarity, mutual support, and empathy. Scum certainly existed, but encountering them was genuinely rare. Would Fe truly be prepared for what awaited her out in the galaxy after the kind of training Master Ti was giving her?

The vacation was over. I could say I was disappointed, but that wouldn't be entirely true. There was a little regret, sure, but I was practically itching to sit down and get back to real work. Besides, I'd had enough new impressions for a while. Everything in moderation.

After Shili, we flew to Mandalore—Arvik's ancestral homeworld. It was relatively close to the Togruta red-orange predator paradise. I wanted to see the cube-shaped cities rising from a planet whose biosphere had been completely wiped out during one of its conflicts.*

Honestly, Mandalore didn't impress me. The cities were smaller versions of Coruscant, and there was no nature to speak of—just wasteland. It looked a lot like the area around my Mentor's home. The locals themselves called their society "pacifist"...

Well... I could understand them, in a way. The Mandalorian way, as a philosophy, hadn't exactly brought their world much good.

"I'm Mando'ade, but even so, I've never actually been to Mandalore," Arvik said suddenly, sounding a little thoughtful as we left the spaceport and decided to take a walk through the city.

Customs, by the way, was handled fairly professionally. The rules were pretty similar to Corellia's, but the locals were polite, despite the sideways looks they kept giving Arvik in his armor. The Mando knew what to expect, so we'd left the nastier weapons aboard the ship, and the mercenaries carried only stun weapons. Ten minutes of instructions, signatures confirming that we'd read the basic rules for staying on Mandalore, a brief conversation between Arvik and the shift supervisor, and we walked out of the inspection post without any trouble.

"For me, this planet is the ancient homeland of my ancestors. The place where the philosophy I follow was born. That's all. I don't feel any real connection to it."

"Uh-huh." To be honest... I couldn't have cared less. I was just looking around with mild curiosity, feeling a little disappointed by the complete lack of anything interesting. No one had asked Arvik anything. He'd started talking on his own, which was a little unexpected. Maybe it had something to do with those occasional thoughtful spells he'd been having ever since meeting that Fett fellow, another Mandalorian.

"Again..." Romri muttered quietly, with a trace of melancholy in her voice. Apparently, someone had heard something like this before.

"Arvik, no offense, though," the Gungan joined in, "but I'm starting to get the feeling you're trying to convince yourself of that."

"In a way, yeah," the Mando said with a snort, taking off his helmet and resting it in the crook of his arm. "Far too often, when I'm around other Mando'ade, I hear people going on about the lost glory of our ancestors and how Mandalorians have degenerated into a bunch of pacifist bastards."

"And what's your take on it?" I asked, intrigued by the sarcastic edge in our stalwart warrior's voice.

"Simple, Boss. Long ago, the Taung came here from Coruscant after losing a war. They were the first Mandalorians. Thousands of years passed, war followed war, and history repeated itself. The Mando'ade yielded this world to the Mandalorians. That's what I call the local pacifists. But you know what the real problem is, Boss?" Arvik asked, then continued without waiting for an answer, sweeping a hand at our surroundings. "It's that the real Mando—the ones who wear the armor and make war their trade—have somehow gotten themselves hung up on this dead piece of ground. They howl themselves hoarse about how wrong the path these locals have chosen is. Why? What for? As if the clans care where they raise their children! We are warriors! If this planet wants nothing to do with us, then to the demons with it, as you like to say. The armor matters! The language matters! The prosperity of the clan matters! Raising the young matters! The Mand'alor matters—not the planet, but the leader! A real one. A worthy one! This world is nothing more than a place where true Mandalorians happened to live for thousands of years!"

"But that's not nothing, Arvik," I said with a shrug. "Sentients tend to grow attached to the place they call home. Still, I think I get what you mean. I've never been particularly attached to the land myself."

"And Jabiim? You call that home, don't you?" the Togruta asked in surprise.

"Jabiim..." I gave the girl a faint smile, which made one of the passersby stumble. "If I'm being completely honest, Romri, I used to feel absolutely nothing for that world. But Arvik had a point—the place itself doesn't matter. The people do. The Stratuses matter; they've become companions of mine, maybe even friends. Karray, my ward, matters. So does Karina, my apprentice. Very serious Rob—who is actually Ras—matters. My former students matter too, though not so much that I lose my mind worrying over their well-being. Even the people who serve in my manor matter to me, in their own way. And all of them, despite the climate, the endless rain, the ion storms and everything else, love their world. So if I don't particularly care which planet I call home, why not Jabiim? All those good people must have found something in it."

"So basically, Boss-sa, you just don't care," Koit concluded with a cheerful grin.

"Pretty much," I said with a simple nod. "And Arvik doesn't care either."

"That's about right," the Mandalorian snorted. "It just pisses me off that those of us who wear beskar'gam waste so much time and effort on a world that rejected us. There are pitifully few of us left in the galaxy as it is. And instead of forgetting about this place—or just letting it go—and focusing on rebuilding the clans, raising the young, growing stronger... Mando like those idiots from the Watch waste their time on bullshit like terrorism, revolutions, and coups."

The man drew a deep breath and looked with a kind of pity at the pedestrians hurrying back and forth and the speeders gliding along their routes. There was disgust in his eyes, sadness, and... a trace of understanding.

"And for what?" he said sadly, all the earlier fire gone from his voice. "For this patch of lifeless ground? For these people, every last one of them either dar'manda or descended from them? They abandoned their heritage. They left the path. They betrayed the Resol'nare! You can't become dar'manda and then suddenly change your mind and—boom—you're Mando'ade again! That's like... like a whore deciding she's done being a whore and announcing she's a pure maiden now! 'Take back Mandalore!' It's nonsense. Complete nonsense. You might as well say we should take back Coruscant because it was the Taung homeworld!"

"To be fair, their descendants aren't really to blame..." I began, but Arvik cut me off.

"It's not about the descendants or what their ancestors did. The point is, no one's stopping them. Any one of them can leave Mandalore, undergo the trial, and join a clan."

"Hah. Yeah, because passing your trial is sooo easy..." Romri laughed.

"If you want it badly enough, our little aurodium treasure, you'll find a way," the Mando said, baring his teeth. The Togruta only snorted and rolled her eyes. "If there's a will, there are options. But there isn't any will! Just like there's no point in clinging to Mandalore."

We spent less than a week on Mandalore. There was practically nothing to do there: a couple of trips out into the barren desert, mostly out of curiosity. On the last one, I performed an analysis ritual and got a general idea of the damage that had been done to the planet. We visited a couple of cantinas and tried the local food. I lost a thousand credits playing sabacc, which had Romri grumbling at me all evening. Our Mando got into a fight with a group of local pacifists who were taking themselves far too seriously. He ended up behind bars because of it, but getting him out turned out to be fairly simple: both the witnesses and the holocam recordings confirmed that he hadn't been the one to start the trouble.

After leaving Mandalore, we set course for Ossus. I wanted to see one of the monuments left behind by the ancient Sith-Jedi feuds. In the Adega system, we found a half-dead world occupied by a Jedi archaeological expedition. I'd already assumed we'd be politely—or not so politely—told to get lost, but the local Force-users turned out to be a pretty hospitable bunch. In exchange for a hundred kilos of meat and another hundred of fruit and vegetables from Shili, which we "gifted" to the Jedi, who were delighted by the prospect of some variety in their meals, we got two full days of guided tours with a lively, cheerful apprentice and a Knight who clearly loved his work.

The senior of the pair, a Gran named Shalak Zoko, buried us under a mountain of ancient history as he explained the purpose of the halls we wandered through in the excavated ruins of the local academy. The Knight was passionate about his work and an excellent storyteller, so everything he told us was genuinely fascinating. That was how I learned more about Tython, the world the Jedi had come from before settling here. About the balance maintained by the ancestors of the modern Jedi—the Je'daii. About how that balance had been broken, triggering cataclysms on their world and the first war among Force-users, who split into several factions.

His Padawan, a Miraluka named Laa Tanaka, wasn't particularly well versed in history, but she seemed to have ants in her pants and an incredibly easygoing nature. The young woman in the blindfold—barely more than a girl—bombarded Romri, Shmi, and Suti with questions about our travels. She grilled Koit about the Gungan underwater cities, and his stories ended up catching both her Master's interest and mine. She tried to draw our Mando into conversation too, but he simply put on his helmet and pretended he wasn't there. I didn't escape her attention either: "Are you really, really sure you're not a Sith?" "Can Jedi enroll in your Academy?" "How much would it cost?" "Are there any age limits?"...

All in all, it was engaging, interesting, and at times even fun. And the Jedi revealed yet another side of themselves to me. I already knew Force-sensitives did more than diplomacy and waving glowsticks around, but reading about Jedi archaeologists and actually meeting them were two very different things. I found these people much easier to relate to: they were passionate about their work, loved what they did, and practically lived for it. Pleasant sentients.

Next came a visit to Mon Cala, where we toured the underwater cities. Very unusual, though I can't say I have anything particularly specific to tell about the world. Beautiful underwater... landscapes, I suppose? An enormous variety of aquatic flora and fauna. Chilly relations between the planet's two native sentient species... And that's about it.

All in all, I'd had a pretty interesting vacation, I thought as I walked down the Rung's ramp, followed by the sentients who had become my crew and traveling companions. A large transport was waiting for us below, basically Jabiim's answer to a landspeeder. The only thing that made me slightly uneasy was Cordelia's far-too-stern expression as she stood there with her hands planted on her hips. She was giving my companions a suspicious once-over, paying particular attention to the women, and frowning more deeply by the second.

Hmm... Wonder what that's about?

Author's Note:

*The Mandalore canon used here comes from The Clone Wars. I know the hardcore Mando crowd will probably snort in contempt—but I just couldn't pass up the chance to meddle with the Kryze sisters' storyline.


Original Russian story

You can find more chapters on my Patreon.

The translation of new chapters will also be published here—but with a bit of a delay.
 
Man, it must suck being the only sane Mando in a world of dar'manda.

Loved the tidbits of exploration and cultural differences between worlds. :)
 
I was kind of hoping he'd get himself a Mythosaur skull/bone, and try to make mini super dinos as pets or something :V
 
Chapter 34 New
Once we returned to Jabiim, it was time to get back to business. It started with the pleasant part—seeing friends, acquaintances, wards, and students again. Then came handing out the gifts we'd picked up everywhere from Tatooine to Mon Cala. The Jabiimites also got some of the gifts the Togruta on Shili had given us.

Alto, for example, took quite a liking to the spear one of the Togruta hunters had given me. The Commander-in-Chief even posed with it for a holo as a keepsake.

Cordelia, on the other hand, examined the traditional Togruta women's clothing with some surprise, though she accepted it all the same. I could understand her reaction—the designs weren't exactly suited to Jabiim's climate, but as souvenirs they were quite nice. For some reason, the head of Internal Security was angry with me, speaking through clenched teeth, but after a couple of days she thawed out on her own and resumed our occasional caf get-togethers in my library.

Karray had barely left my side since the moment I returned, right up until I shared the data I'd gathered on the sentients I'd examined during the trip. After that, the girl practically skipped off to the laboratories to start digging into the new information. Truly, I'd been lucky enough to stumble across a diamond that, with the right cutting, might one day reveal a brilliant chimerologist to the world.

Karina gave me a concise briefing on how the training was progressing and earned herself a whole heap of praise. Once I finish getting back up to speed after the vacation, we'll all continue working with the students together.

I made a quick trip to our "metal-casting" plant—still a small operation for now, but you have to start somewhere. I carried out a thorough inspection of the artifact complex and took the data from its monitoring modules for analysis. I'd need to go through the "logs" from the entire period of operation, make adjustments if necessary, and then start expanding production. The customer had been pleased with the metal ingots, so from now on we'd be moving much larger shipments.

My mercenaries settled down on Jabiim. Their request that I put in a good word for them with the powers that be didn't come as any surprise—they'd never exactly hidden the fact that they wanted to keep working with us. And, frankly, I liked the lot of them.

Arvik was now officially an instructor at the military academy where the Nimbus forces trained. After talking with him, Alto became enthusiastic about the idea of adding units equipped with jetpacks as well. And in general, while the Nimbus was extremely effective in our climate and across the open terrain of the planet, there was still plenty of room for improvement when it came to storming buildings, boarding ships, or simply operating outside its usual environment. That was what the Mandalorian would be working on, and he also promised to get in touch with some Mando acquaintances who might be willing to take instructor positions.

Koit, just as he'd planned, bought a plot of land on the coast, about twenty minutes' flight from my estate. The enterprising Gungan already had plans for "my dream house, though," and construction was supposed to begin within days. While the place was being built, he intended to fly to Naboo and campaign among his friends and acquaintances in favor of resettling here. He and the Stratuses reached an agreement pretty quickly. Alto gave Koit documents containing his personal guarantees, along with a list of the rights and responsibilities of Jabiim's citizens. I didn't look too closely at the details, but according to the Gungan, there was no difference at all between what applied to him and what applied to Jabiim's human citizens.

Our little aurodium Togruta was now officially the Rung's chief pilot, while also studying remotely at the Muun Higher School of Finance. She was still taking preparatory courses—her prior education had turned out to be... less than stellar—but a passion for money like hers needed to be steered in the right direction. She could become the Guild's treasurer someday. Romri, by the way, was also planning to enroll in our Academy and train as an artifact-maker. I could only shake my head. I had no idea where the girl was going to find the time for all of it. Worst case, I'd meet her halfway and stretch out the program so our lekku-and-montral wonder didn't work herself into the ground.

Suti became my secretary, with Emthree assigned to assist her. The little Twi'lek, by the way, looked very much like a genuine "sorcerer's victim" to the Stratuses. That particular misunderstanding gave me a good laugh. Slavery was viewed very harshly on Jabiim, so once word of the green girl's status reached the ruling circle, I was very politely called on the carpet. Cordelia was clearly furious, even if she was keeping herself under control, and Alto wasn't exactly radiating warmth either. The conversation itself, however, turned out to be fairly brief and forced Cordelia to swallow most of the scolding she had clearly prepared in advance.

"Siith, that Twi'lek who came back with you. Your slave..." the Commander-in-Chief began, and I cut him off at once.

"Ah, yes, Alto. You'll be able to help her get citizenship quickly, won't you? And in her case, I'd like to handle all the bureaucratic matters personally."

"Mmm?" Stratus asked with tremendous profundity, to the accompaniment of his cousin's raised eyebrows.

"She's panicking," I explained, putting on my most patient and understanding expression. "She's afraid she'll be thrown out onto the street. She's a good girl—quick learner, gives an excellent massage, and when she dances..." I actually rolled my eyes, remembering the way Suti moved. "There are no words, my friends. You have to see it. I just want all the paperwork ready in advance so the girl doesn't get scared. You know—call her in, tell her first that she's officially my secretary now, and only then drop the fact that she's been freed from slavery on her."

"And why not just free her?" Cordelia asked with a frown.

"Ah..." I sighed. "Cordelia, how about we go on vacation together next year? To a Jabiimite, slavery is a horrifying fate. Suti, though, was born into a society where slavery isn't just normal—it can even be something others envy. She was raised as a slave. People genuinely envied her, because not every free Twi'lek eats as well as a slave does. Not every free Twi'lek gets the same kind of education. To that girl, freedom is terrifying. It's something she'll have to face. Alone. She's educated enough to understand just how hard it is to make enough money on your own to guarantee even a basic living. She's scared because she knows that apart from reading, writing, arithmetic, and pleasing a master, she doesn't really know how to do anything."

I scratched at my beard, looking into Alto's cousin's eyes, and was relieved to find thoughtfulness there instead of hostility.

"I need sentients who help rather than create problems, Cordelia. You and Alto want there to be not even a hint of slavery on Jabiim... well, aside from the pirates we've captured," I allowed myself a faint smile, which the Commander-in-Chief mirrored. Double standards in their purest form. "I know that, and I respect it. I don't care whether Suti works for me as a slave or as a free citizen. That's why I'm asking you—let's make this as painless for the girl as possible."

And that, more or less, was how the only "war" over Twi'lek freedom on Jabiim came to an end. I did have to draw up a contract afterward and carefully break the news of her new status to the newly freed woman. Contrary to my concerns, she didn't panic and took it quite calmly. I think she'd simply gotten to know me better by then, so there was no reason left for her to be nervous.

Shmi Skywalker made it through every bureaucratic hurdle with durasteel composure, though I had softened the process for her as much as possible, and took charge of the Guild's first and only orphanage. Skywalker threw herself—there really was no better way to put it—into the children's problems and needs, pouring into them all the maternal care she'd never had the chance to give. And no one could have been better suited to the role. Literally the very next day, a list of requests and recommendations for improving the children's living conditions landed on my desk, complete with explanations and justifications for every item.

Ras was perfectly fine with taking the position of the Rung's second pilot and decided to pick up navigation as an additional specialty. His girlfriend, whom he'd gotten together with at the Rendili shipyards, remained our cruiser's engineer and mechanic, but I signed a separate contract with her as well—extremely strict when it came to confidentiality, and extremely lucrative. Risha Trant would be helping me with Project "Void Hide," handling the mechanical side of things and the ship's internal systems.

I had conceived a mad fusion right on the border between golemcraft, chimerology, necromancy, and local technology. For now it existed only as rough drafts, but if it actually worked... When the girl looked over my sketches, she seemed extremely enthusiastic, and afterward we added a clause to the contract stating that her name would appear on the work as a co-author. I respect a hunger for recognition—I'm exactly the same way. So if the project succeeds, our future control interface will be called the "Dziha-Trant Control Module." And as for the surname "Dziha" being in the name...

A day after we returned, I received an unexpected visitor.

I'd settled into an armchair in the library, set my enormous mug on the side table, picked up a datapad, and opened the schematics for the portal project, intending to relax while making a couple of adjustments. I reached for the mug—and it wasn't there. I felt around the table, found the warm spot where it had been, and looked around in surprise.

Hecate was sitting in the armchair beside mine. With my mug in one delicate hand. The goddess was looking at me reproachfully, lightly tapping a finger against the inscription: "DO NOT MENTION THE PANTALOONS."

"Well, I'm... I'm trying to break the habit!" I blurted out before I could stop myself, while thinking, Siith, you mountain goat, how the hell did you forget about that inscription when you stare at it every damn day?!

"This should make it easier to remember," said the girl—still little more than a child—with a mischievous smile, sliding an identical mug toward me. Just like last time, she had duplicated it from the original, almost as if she'd simply pulled the second one out of the first.

Only this one had my ugly mug in profile at the exact moment a very thick book came flying into the back of my head. It was almost physically painful to look at, and to complete the masterpiece, there was a caption across the top: "Ouch! That hurts!" Yeah... all right. That was, in fact, very clear and highly motivating.

"Sit, Siith'khara'Dziha," the enchanting woman who looked to be just past thirty said with a sigh, giving a little wave of her hand. Well... I sat. More than that, I pretty much dropped straight back into the armchair I'd been about to rise from so I could kneel before the Goddess.

"So, if I understand correctly, the Dziha bloodline came to an end on the shell of the Great Turtle?" I asked after a few seconds of thought and a sip of caf.

Now looking like a young woman, she briefly closed her beautiful silver eyes in assent, a faint smile touching her lips—satisfied, yet sympathetic at the same time.

"Your former uncle somehow managed to incur the wrath of the Merciful Ones. The result was the death of every member of the family. But..." Her smile widened, and I was treated to a conspiratorial divine wink. "But the Merciful Mother asked me to tell you that she has no quarrel with the new Dziha line. More than that, my friend has added your family name to the list of those who will be shown no mercy."

"And naturally, in gratitude, I should—"

"You don't owe anything," the First Mentor cut me off with a quiet chuckle. "The situation back home is such that the entire Pantheon is looking for excuses to do you favors without making it look like outright sucking up."

"And the slaughter of the Dziha..."

"A fortunate coincidence. The head of the old Dziha family really did have the misfortune of drawing the displeasure of Those Who Grant the Final Mercy. The scale of their wrath is, admittedly, rather puzzling, but I think you've already figured it out."

"I have," I said with a nod.

What was there not to understand? When I first arrived here, the possibilities had been staggering, but I hadn't fully grasped them. Over time, though... To put it briefly, the Gods were hungry for access to a new feeding trough. The problem was, I had no intention of letting them in. Without Hecate's blessing, spellcasters would have a hard time resisting madness, but this universe would definitely be better off without the Merciful Ones. I was grateful to the Lady of the Last Breath, sure, but nobody had asked her, had they? No. So she could damn well do without.

And being "untouchable"... With the Merciful Ones, I wouldn't put it past them to arrange a "last breath" for everyone around me if the mood struck them. Servants aren't family. Friends aren't family. And there you'd be, living on and watching everyone you grew even slightly close to die. The family line would end too, because no prospective wife or husband would live long enough to make it to the wedding. No, no, no. To Dozdrogodul with that.

I already had more than enough to deal with in this galaxy. The Jedi, who I was sure would be keeping an eye on me. The Sith, lurking somewhere out there and bound to take an interest in new wielders of the Great Force. Politics, which I'd already gotten tangled up in despite having absolutely no desire to touch that shit in the first place. And I was more than certain this universe had no shortage of all sorts of people who would find spellcasters very interesting.

"A sound decision," the goddess said with a nod, watching my face. "For now, at least."

Hecate smiled brightly, once again looking like a young girl, and stretched with obvious pleasure. The sight was so mesmerizing that every thought vanished from my head, leaving behind nothing but a ringing emptiness. The goddess glanced at me and gave an amused snort.

"By the way, Siith'khara'Dziha, I want to thank you. That idea of yours with the students has been an incredible success. A little clarity of thought during an exam, a boost to memory, a touch more eloquence... and the happy young men and women thank Hecate generously, sharing their faith with me. They've even started raising toasts in my honor!"

The enchanting elderly lady giggled coyly, covering her mouth with one hand.

"They're only tiny streams, but there are already thousands upon thousands of them. Thanks to your efforts, I can now remain freely in my Libraries in this world. I'm even coming out ahead. And back home, I've grown considerably stronger as well. I never chased power, child, but... this kind of might is simply astonishing!"

Her slender fingers clamped down hard on the armrests, making them creak pitifully. In the span of a heartbeat, that beautiful face lost all its serenity and took on something predatory and dangerous. The charming smile twisted into a sinister grin. Her silver eyes flashed, the irises turning molten gold, and I... think I finally understood what people meant by "shitting bricks."

My hair stood on end in sheer terror as a kaleidoscope of thoughts flashed through my mind, all of them neatly summed up by one very expressive word: fuck. A goddess—the most accomplished of all sorcerers—under the madness of magic? That was the end. I had absolutely nothing that could stand against her. Even setting divine power aside, millennia of mastering Hecate's Art would leave me no chance whatsoever in a magical duel, but I wasn't going to give up... Wait.

A scandalously cheerful giggle reached my ears. I looked back at the Mistress of Magic... and once again lost every coherent thought, this time from sheer surprise. The goddess noticed my stare, stopped trying to hold it in, covered her mouth with one hand, and burst out laughing.

Um... was that a divine snort just now?

"Ah-ha-ha-ha! Siiiiith! You should have seen your face! Ha-ha-ha-ha! Oh, I can't—! Aaaah-ha-ha-ha-ha!" the young woman howled from the armchair, slapping her left hand against her knee. I think something in me broke...

"G-goddess?" Demons. Now I was actually stammering.

"Ahhh... oh, whew... hee-hee-hee... ah..." Hecate wiped a tear away with her pinky, flicked it somewhere onto the floor, and looked at me seriously. "That's for the pantaloons, sorcerer. And besides—female solidarity."

Then she giggled again, gave me a wink, and vanished.

"Um... mmm... right... ahem... Can't even put this into words without blaspheming, can I..." I scratched my beard with hands that were still trembling slightly. "I should ask for a calming herbal brew instead of caf. Yeah. Excellent idea, Siith. I could use the walk too."

I was already on my way out of the library when I froze, then shot back like a meteor toward the spot where the Lady of the Moon had deigned to flick away her tear.

"Well..." I held the small crystal up to the light and peered through it. A god's tear. Dozdrogodul take... someone. A treasure. Now that was Hecate for you: prank me and reward me in the same breath. I didn't believe for a second that she had simply forgotten the tear. Gods did not treat things like this lightly.

I only remembered that I'd meant to ask for a calming brew once I was back in my quarters, carefully tucking the priceless treasure into an enchanted casket. On the way to the kitchen, though, all I could think about was how to make Hecate laugh like that again. Never mind that my heart had nearly launched itself out through my anal sphincter—I'm a chimerologist. I'd survive somehow. Crystals of Divine Tears, on the other hand, were exactly the sort of thing worth keeping around. The Quartermaster, currently stuffing himself with treats at Maria's, would back me up on that.

Original Russian story

You can find more chapters on my Patreon.

The translation of new chapters will also be published here—but with a bit of a delay.
 
Last edited:
Boroda Orka said:
Crystals of Divine Tears, on the other hand, were exactly the sort of thing worth keeping around. The Quartermaster, currently stuffing himself with treats at Maria's, would back me up on that.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...
Definitely a Divine treasure ;)
And yeah, screw those other gods, best to only have Hecate there, the other fucks would make the galaxy worse.
Plus, with Hecate being the only goddess around, she will become an Uber Elder God/Primordial level god, enough to curb stomp or prevent other gods from his homeland from pulling shit.
If he needs any rare resources he can beseech Hecate to get them, she will have enough power or eventually get enough power to get them.
 
I see where Siith takes his trolling from, and roflmao at him regaining his family name after the previous owners back on The Great Turtle got murked, as if the ones doing that wouldn't do it to him too should the fancy strike them.

Now Siith needs to provide more means to ensure his patron gets the recognition they deserve, for the gifts are as amazing as the pranks they play.
 
Chapter 35 New
This afternoon, Jabiim would welcome its first intake of fee-paying students. Every single place had been snapped up the instant—literally the very first second—the option to buy one appeared on the HoloNet. And just a couple of hours later, word got out about an auction on Tatooine where those very same places would be resold.

Over the past year, ever since a certain red-eyed sorcerer returned from vacation, Jabiim had begun attracting quite a bit of attention. It wasn't as though news about mages was echoing across the galaxy, but the people who needed to know, knew. They knew you could buy protective charms and amulets there whose capabilities sometimes surpassed those of certain models of personal shield. They knew that, for a decidedly immodest sum, you could significantly strengthen a ship's hull on that rainy little world. And they knew that the JMG could regrow a lost limb with phenomenal speed, restore damaged organs, and even correct congenital defects.

The JMG administration apologized, but there was nothing they could do about it anymore: Jabba Desilijic Tiure's people had completed the purchase entirely aboveboard. They did, however, promise to change the purchasing and registration process for the next intake.

For all those reasons, quite a few sentients headed to Tatooine hoping to buy one of the training places from the new, as some people whispered, "finally useful Force-sensitives." There was even talk of a brief shootout breaking out, but Jabba's kajidic enforcers restored order.

And now, in a rather pretty park on the small plaza outside the administration building, fifty sentients had gathered beneath a force-field dome—the ones who had secured their places. Thirty-five had bought theirs on Tatooine, ten had come from Coruscant, and the remaining five were sentients who, one way or another, worked for Jabba.

The Academy complex itself consisted of a five-story administration building, with every floor above the first given over to dormitories. Behind it stood a large building listed in the brochure as the academic block. On one side was the training ground, and on the other, the sports complex.

The future students, along with those accompanying them, were waiting for the start of some sort of "small welcoming ceremony." A modest podium had been set up by the building, though no one was on it yet. There were about twenty minutes left before the event began. Most of those gathered were human, though a few members of more exotic species were present as well.

Probably the most diverse little group consisted of a Miraluka, a Devaronian woman, a lanky Muun towering over everyone else, a human man and woman, two silent Sephi of opposite sexes, and a blue-skinned, red-eyed girl no one seemed to recognize.

The group had only just begun introducing themselves and exchanging cautious greetings when they were interrupted.

"Quiet. Do you hear that?" the blue-skinned girl said, raising a hand to stop the conversation. A flicker of surprise crossed her usually calm, almost expressionless face.

Somewhere in the distance came a long, bloodcurdling roar, sustained on a single note. There was pain in it, terror, and utter hopelessness.

"I think it's coming from over there," said Visna, the Miraluka, nodding toward the academic building, which rumor had it used to be some kind of factory. "Whatever it is, it's definitely big... and it doesn't sound like it's doing well."

"Uh... kinda losin' m' desire to enroll here," the young Muun muttered with a shiver. He either had an odd way of speaking or some kind of speech impediment. When they'd introduced themselves, he'd given his name as Penro.

"I'm honestly surprised a Muun decided not to go into... finance. No offense," said Tolvit, a young black-haired Rendili man with green eyes, looking curiously at the tall humanoid.

"That's just st'reotypes," the Muun said, giving a slow, indifferent shrug of his narrow shoulders. His species was, after all, closely associated with banking. "Dunno why everyone thinks that if you're Muun, you've gotta have your own p'rsonal bank."

The alien's lips curved into a faint, mocking smile.

"M' family specializes in security systems, and my brother studies at the Higher School of Finance. That's where he met a Togruta who sold us those same Jabiim protective amulets without making us wait in line. And the wait for those things is m'nths long now. The family made some inquiries, the elders thought it over, and... here I am."

"Amulets? Not charms?" asked a short, very young Devaronian woman. The girl, who had introduced herself as Shella, was quite pretty, with soft-looking white fur and large, curious yellow eyes. She did seem rather nervous, though—uncertain of herself.

"Am'lets," the long-faced Muun confirmed with a nod. "Though ch'rms are hard to get too."

"Look," the blue-skinned girl spoke up again, indicating the approaching figures with her eyes. Several sentients were striding toward the entrance of the administration building. A fairly tall man in a black hooded robe, red eyes glowing ominously beneath the hood, was animatedly discussing something with a broadly grinning Devaronian. A girl of about ten or eleven trotted along beside them, while a green-skinned Twi'lek in a modest but stylish suit brought up the rear.

"That's my dad," the young Devaronian girl sighed, her eyes darting around in embarrassment. "And the one in the robe is the sorcerer—the Academy Director and head of the Jabiim Mages' Guild."

"Your father kn'ws Siith'khara'Dziha?" Penro asked, surprise and respect mingling in his voice. He was clearly making an effort to pronounce the name correctly; for a moment, a look of intense concentration crossed his face.

"He does now," the fluffy little Devaronian whispered miserably, her face falling.

"Quiet, l't's listen," the Muun whispered. The group had stopped almost right beside them, and their conversation was anything but hushed.

"I'm telling you straight—Willy is offering you his friendship from the bottom of his heart!" the Devaronian's voice carried over to them. "There's nothing Willy can't get for his friends, savvy?"

"Wilmar, give it a rest," the robed man said, rolling his eyes up toward the dome holding back the rain. "All the places are taken. I've already told you that! I can't just squeeze your daughter in. Come back next year, just don't forget to register through the HoloNet. We're changing the purchase system, so this kind of problem won't happen again."

Every eye in the little group turned toward the fluffy girl, who immediately did her absolute best to pretend she wasn't there.

"Friend, listen," the Devaronian went on, still beaming. "Just one extra sentient! Willy will cover every expense of keeping her here, pay the same price as the most expensive place bought from that slippery Jabba—only the money goes to the JMG, not him—and help his friend Siith buy or sell absolutely anything!"

Another roar from some kind of monster echoed from the Academy grounds, and the man they had called Siith abruptly stopped looking like someone who wanted nothing more than to get rid of the Devaronian.

"Absolutely anything?" he asked Wilmar, glancing toward the direction the horrible sounds were coming from.

"Absolutely anything!" This time the horned man flashed such a dazzling smile that a few people felt the urge to blink.

"Excellent!" The man answered the Devaronian with a smile that made Wilmar's own smile falter, while those watching the exchange went through a whole round of nervous swallows. The blue-skinned girl actually started patting around her belt. Maybe she was looking for a blaster.

"Dad!" the girl squeaked, grabbing the red-eyed man by the sleeve of his robe.

"Don't 'Dad' me, Karray! That monstrosity of yours eats enough for ten and shits enough for... four. Dozdrogodul... scratch her! Anyway, Grark, you find me a buyer for a four-assed acklay,* and I'll enroll your daughter on the same terms as everyone else. Deal?"

"Of course, friend," the Devaronian said, flashing that smile again now that he'd recovered. Then, a second later, he faltered. "A what kind of acklay?"

"Four-assed," the red-eyed man repeated calmly.

Those watching noticed the Twi'lek standing behind the sorcerer start to shake—shoulders and lekku both. She was trying desperately to hold it in. Her face managed to stay composed, but the rest of her body was laughing despite her best efforts.

"Dad! It's an omnivorous acklay with a modified metabolism and digestive tract!" the girl exclaimed, actually bouncing in place with excitement.

"Too bad the toothy bastard itself hasn't figured out that it's an omnivore now. Or that it absolutely has to eat fifty kilos of fruit and vegetables every day because someone went and rebuilt the damn thing's entire biology! And I still have absolutely no idea why that creature needs four asses!!!"

"I'm little and inexperienced!" the girl pointed out quite reasonably, blinking up at him with perfect innocence.

"Oh, how convenient!" the sorcerer exclaimed, throwing his hands toward the heavens, though amusement was dancing in his eyes. "When it's 'Dad, buy me an acklay,' suddenly we're grown-up, seasoned chimerologists. But the moment we grow three extra, completely useless organs for defecation, we're little and inexperienced?"

"They were justified!" young Karray protested, stamping one little foot.

"Oh, really? And how exactly?"

"Because I wanted them!"

"Ahem... Well, that is an argument, yeah," the red-eyed man said, scratching his beard and nodding in agreement as the eavesdropping group exchanged baffled looks. "But that doesn't change the fact that we have to force-feed the beast plant matter! I've told you dozens of times that making changes like this to living creatures is difficult and tedious. Enhancing traits they already have—that's what you should be doing at your level of skill! I thought you wanted to create an unstoppable, heavily armored killing machine, with bones tougher than beskar, reflexes faster than a Force-sensitive's, and enough strength to make rancors sulk in a corner with envy!!! And what did you make instead? A former predator turned omnivore that'll die without the right diet!"

"But it worked," the girl insisted.

"Partially, Karray! You never finished the project! Your acklay has to eat plants, but it doesn't understand that!"

"But you said yourself that working with the mind or instincts was beyond my level." Her lips pushed out in an offended pout, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. The robed man looked at this embodiment of misery, sighed, then crouched down beside her and rested a hand on the little girl's head.

"Sweetheart, I've told you hundreds and hundreds of times: there's no such thing as an unsolvable problem. Think about it. If your creation doesn't understand that it needs to eat greens, what can you do about that? Why, for example, do you love chocolate so much?"

"Because it's..." The girl's eyes widened, her mouth fell open into a little O, and both hands flew to her cheeks. "Because it tastes good!!! Taste recognition! The way taste and smell are interpreted! If Force thinks grass tastes good..."

"He'll eat it on his own," the red-eyed man said with a nod, ruffling the girl's hair. "I'm surprised it took a hint for you to arrive at something that obvious."

"And why didn't you tell me earli—"

"Because you need to think for yourself," the sorcerer snorted. "A flexible mind is a sorcerer's greatest weapon. His most important tool. You did the core work well—if we ignore the creature's four asses—but one poorly thought-out detail turned this place into a full-blown circus. Hell, those lunatic Mando have started sending fighters to feed your beast like it's a training exercise. They even set up a betting pool. I've already had to put warriors back together six times!"

"Sorry, Dad..." the child said, looking downcast. The red-eyed man sighed and bared his teeth in a terrifying grin. Apparently, that was supposed to be an encouraging smile.

"Don't apologize, sweetheart. I hit the jackpot four times. Just learn something from this mess and go finish the job. I think Wilmar will have a much easier time selling your omnivorous acklay if it actually eats grass on its own. Four asses and all, yeah... And with the money we get for it, we'll buy you something else to work on. Sound good?"

"Yeeees!!!" The little girl bounced excitedly in place, then took off at a run toward the direction the mournful roars kept coming from. "Dad's gonna buy me a rancor! Or a krayt dragon! Or even a sarlacc!!!"

Meanwhile, the sorcerer turned his attention back to the Devaronian.

"So, we have a deal? The beast will be delivered to you tomorrow. Don't worry—it'll be sedated, and we'll give you enough sedatives for the trip as well. You sell the creature, keep ten percent of the profit so you've got an incentive to get a good price instead of just dumping it on the first buyer you find. And your daughter..."

"Shella Grark," the horned man supplied, somehow managing to beam even more brightly. The red-eyed man nodded to the Twi'lek, who made a note on her datapad.

"Shella Grark will be admitted to the Academy on the same terms as everyone else."

"Deal, my friend! You'll see—Willy will handle everything perfectly and squeeze the maximum profit out of it!"

The robed man gave a nod and headed toward the podium. The Twi'lek—apparently his secretary—kept pace right behind him, while the Devaronian looked around, spotted his daughter, and made his way over with a dazzling grin.

"See, princess?" the horned man practically radiated good cheer. "Your father handled everything perfectly, and you didn't believe me."

"If you hadn't forgotten about the auction, none of this would've happened," the girl pouted. "Playing sabacc on the Smuggler's Moon was more important to you than flying to Tatooine for your own daughter!"

"That's not true, sweetheart. Besides, it worked out even better than I expected!" Wilmar said smugly, putting an arm around his daughter. She was already quite a bit taller than he was, though—Devaronian men were short, unlike their women.

"Hmph," Shella snorted angrily.

"No need to snort at me, sweetheart! You got into the Academy just like I promised, your Director solved his acklay problem, and your father is about to make some very good credits off a unique animal! You really shouldn't imitate your mother so much, or I'll want to go back to Devaron even less than I already do. And think about it—what happens if Red-Eyes suddenly needs something hard to get? Or wants to sell something exclusive? Who's he going to call? Some random outsider, or the father of one of his students? Obviously he'll call his new friend Willy. And Willy will make damn sure your Director is happy."

"What about the fact that the animal is..." one of the Sephi finally spoke up, hesitating as she searched for the right word.

"Four-assed?" the smuggler barked out a genuine laugh. "That's perfect! We've had dwarf acklays, trained acklays, cybernetically enhanced acklays—I've even heard something about Force-sensitive ones! But Willy has never heard of a four-assed acklay! And exclusives always sell well, savvy? I heard Jabba himself was mourning the loss of his favorite pet about a year ago."

The red-eyed man stepped up onto the podium, drawing everyone's attention away from the conversation.

"Ladies and gentlemen," his voice carried across the entire plaza despite the complete lack of any visible microphones. Only the Miraluka reacted strangely, flinching and looking around. "My name is Siith'khara'Dziha. I am the Director of this Academy and head of the Mages' Guild. Welcome to Jabiim on this beautiful rainy day."

"At least they put a dome over us," the Rendili muttered.

"Yeah, the dome is handy," the sorcerer on the podium agreed, making everyone look back and forth between the Rendili and the Director in surprise. "It's an extremely useful spell, one you'll be able to master fairly quickly, and the number of ways you can use it may pleasantly surprise you. But you'll hear all about that in class. For now, let me say a few words about the boring stuff—the rules and the Academy itself."

The man allowed himself a faint smile, which stirred a quiet murmur among the gathered crowd.

"First of all, until you complete your training, forget about anything that clouds the mind. Alcohol and drugs of any kind are strictly forbidden to spellcasters. Anyone who can't resist the urge to turn themselves into an animal will be expelled. After graduation, do whatever you like, but I have no intention of watching my students suddenly start exploding their own heads, growing hooves, or developing some other ridiculous complication. Everything else is exactly as stated in the Academy brochures, except for one thing I want to emphasize: experiments on sentients may only be carried out with the sentients' own consent. Written consent."

The Sephi man sneezed at that.

"Bless you," the sorcerer said with a nod. What followed was a short speech, most likely prepared in advance. The Director's opinion of it was obvious from his bored tone and the way he kept rolling his eyes whenever he reached one of the more grandiose passages.

"I think the Director doesn't li—" the Rendili started to whisper, only to get elbowed by the human woman beside him. Littia was a native of Kuat and had practically glowed with delight earlier when she realized there were no Corellians here.

"What—" the young man started to protest, then glanced toward the podium, where the red-eyed sorcerer was watching him with interest even as he continued his speech. "Ahhh..."

The more observant members of the audience could have sworn they saw a flicker of disappointment cross the Director's face before it gave way to weary resignation.

Only the blue-skinned girl—the one who still hadn't introduced herself—was typing something into her datapad, occasionally glancing first at Wilmar Grark, then at the Academy's increasingly miserable-looking Director. The latter, incidentally, kept casting the occasional look her way as well. Later, someone even suggested that, given their unusual matching eye color, the two might belong to related species. Possibly even be close relatives.

Author's Note:

*Acklay: one of the most terrifying predators of Vendaxa—a planet known for its rampant fertility and for having one of the most diverse ecosystems in the galaxy. Acklays were especially prized in gladiatorial arenas, since capturing one was extremely difficult. Without regular feeding, they grew hungry very quickly, and a starving acklay had enough appetite for several bloody performances a day. (Stolen from Wookieepedia.)

I'm happy to announce that the original author is finally getting back to continuing this story — which, personally, I'm absolutely thrilled about.

I'd also like to introduce another one of his works set in the DxD universe, which won the majority of the votes in the translation poll.


Original Russian story

You can find more chapters on my Patreon.

The translation of new chapters will also be published here—but with a bit of a delay.
 
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