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The Force of Magic [Star Wars SI]

Reader mode
Eh, Dooku was always a prime example for sliding down the slippery slope of the path of good intentions directly to hell. He started out as a noble (pun not intended) man who got embittered by life, but he sure ended up a megalomaniacal cartoon villain.
 
Chapter 20 New
There were plenty of cantinas around the spaceport, catering to every budget and every purpose. We picked a respectable place where we could get something to eat and drink while watching pretty girls dance. There was even a warning posted by the entrance: the dancers were there to be looked at, not touched.

That was precisely why we'd come in. I wanted to satisfy an aesthetic hunger, not lust. And the prospect of watching civilized sentients lose their minds to base instincts didn't exactly fill me with enthusiasm.

The place was a little noisy, to be honest. Sentients of all sorts of species sat at the tables. Some were eating, others were simply drinking and watching the stage, where three Twi'lek girls were proving to the universe that when it came to erotic appeal and grace of movement, they were second to none.

I rented us a private booth with a personal dancer. She also doubled as our drink-pourer and waitress. That little luxury cost me a whole hundred credits!!! And let me tell you, that was a very, very substantial sum. And that was before food and drinks.

At first, there was a minor misunderstanding. I sat down at the table on the little couch, while my guys spread out into the corners. For a few seconds I stared at the mercenaries in confusion, until it finally dawned on me that they were doing their jobs as bodyguards.

Then came a long round of persuading the fighters to join me at the table. I'd simply feel awkward eating while three pairs of hungry eyes stared at me. I seriously doubted I could relax and enjoy myself like that. Somehow, I managed to convince the stubborn Mando to have two of them alternate guard duty: one fighter by the door, two at the table. We even drew straws to decide which of the three could drink alcohol. A very pleased Romri won—she was getting a proper night off today.

While we discussed how the late dinner was going to work, the Twi'lek girl waited patiently off to the side with her eyes lowered. But the moment we finally settled around the table—except for the Gungan, who took up position by the door—and decided to order, she was instantly all attention.

What can I say? Exquisite. Absolutely sublime. No, I'm not talking about the food—it was decent enough, but Shmi cooks better. But our Twi'lek's dance... that was something else. Grace bordering on the divine. Sexuality off the charts. Fluidity right at the limit of what should be possible for a mortal body. The girl wasn't merely dancing: she flowed from one pose into the next, graceful, wholly committed, and clearly reveling in what she was doing. And it wasn't only her body that danced. All of her did—even her glances and facial expressions were part of the dance. Coy flashes of smoldering, passionate eyes from beneath her brows, a lightly bitten lip, a teasing smile—and then, in the next moment, fear, shyness, innocence, modesty, all of it melting into searing flirtation.

By the ten-minute mark, we looked downright hilarious. The Gungan had clearly discovered the world of xenophilia and was somehow both on guard duty and in a trance at the same time. The Togruta, judging by the twitching tips of her fingers, her glassy stare, and the way her face occasionally turned an even deeper shade of red, had wandered into the happy realm of same-sex love. As for Arvik and me... we'd melted into puddles on the couches and were simply enjoying ourselves, wearing matching idiot grins. And what else were we supposed to do? Touching her wasn't merely forbidden—it was frightening. Genuinely frightening. You might actually destroy the beauty the artist on that little stage was creating. She was making Art with a capital A, and reaching your grubby paws toward her would only vulgarize her genius.

At some point, the girl stepped down from the stage. With an alluring, irresistible gait, she circled behind me. I felt her breath on one shoulder, while delicate fingers settled on the other, sending a whole stampede of goosebumps racing down my back...

"Would sir like... anything else to drink?" a beautiful young voice asked, her fresh breath brushing against me.

A few seconds of silence—and all four of us simultaneously croaked out a hoarse "YES"!!!

The girl left the room, and we started exchanging looks. Even I felt a little embarrassed, while Romri had gone bright scarlet. The Gungan was looking anywhere but at us, and only Arvik wore the smug expression of a seasoned tomcat who'd kicked the asses of every rival in the neighborhood, fucked the prettiest kitty around, and polished off an entire tub of sour cream.

"I've watched Twi'leks dance plenty of times, and I still can't get used to it," he said, running a hand over the short bristles of his fair hair. "Don't get flustered, Red. Everyone reacts like that the first time. Twi'lek girls know how to... ahem... yeah. They know how."

"Hey!" the Togruta flared up at once, then immediately faltered. "I... yeah, Hutt damn it, that was genuinely incredible. Thanks, Boss."

"You're welcome," I said with a shrug, feeling how dry my throat had gotten. While watching the dance, we'd drained the entire pitcher of juice, and Romri had emptied her cocktail glass. "I'm not going to make you close your eyes just because I'm greedy."

"Uh, no," the Togruta said, shaking her head and making her lekku* sway. "Our last employer wouldn't have treated us to any of this, and he'd have sent us to stand outside, too."

"By rights, that's exactly what we should've done," Arvik grumbled. "Two outside, one inside. Boss, did you hire bodyguards or drinking buddies?"

"Mmm..." I drawled with a grin, blatantly looking the Togruta up and down. She stared at me in surprise for a second, then scowled threateningly. Arvik gave a quiet chuckle at the sight.

"See, Romri? I told you your skimpy outfit would land us an employer," the warrior said, easily dodging the nut she threw at his forehead and grinning.

"But seriously," I said, winking at the fuming Togruta before turning to the Mandalorian, "just imagine it: I've spent my entire life in this universe on Jabiim. In case you don't know, that's a world of endless rain. The locals see the sun once every few months."

"Good planet, though," Koit cut in, nodding sagely. "Climate suits me. But sun once every few months... that is little-little too much, maybe."

"And along with that weather," I continued, "you get powerful ion storms that completely cut off HoloNet communications. We keep in touch with the outside world through cargo ships that make use of rare breaks in the storm clouds."

The Twi'lek girl entered our room carrying another pitcher of juice and a fresh cocktail for Romri on a tray.

"Of course I'm interested in everything, Arvik. It's all new to me, understand? I hired you in part because I wanted to talk to sentients who've already traveled around the galaxy. Frankly, I was counting on you having plenty of interesting stories—for example, about your homeworlds, why you chose the free-blaster life, and all sorts of interesting twists and turns that happened in your lives. So, what about you, Red? Want to tell me about yourself? Whatever you can and whatever you want. If there's anything you'd rather not talk about, I'm not demanding it..."

"I get it," the girl said, baring her teeth in a grin as she took a sip from her fresh drink. "There's nothing especially terrible in my past. I can share. So listen up, and don't say nobody told you! The story of a brilliant pilot, a crack shot, and simply charming Togruta—Romri Tano!"

Though the Togruta had hammed it up at first, she quickly got into the story. She told us about her homeworld of Shili, located in the Expansion Region. About the beauty of its wilderness, its dangerous predators, and the life of the Togruta—not the easiest life, but hardly a terrible one. Romri realized early on that home felt too confining for her, and when her younger sister was taken away by a Jedi—an order she actually regarded quite favorably—she took off to wander the stars.

"Little Ahsoka showed me the road to the stars! Sure, I'm not Force-sensitive, but I've got nimble hands and a decent head on my shoulders," the slightly flushed girl said with a smile. "So I finished pilot training, spent some time flying freighters, and even worked for a small express-delivery company for a year before the Trade Federation swallowed it up. I didn't go work for them afterward—the people there are suuuuch skinflints..."

Romri was really getting into it, and she told the story wonderfully. With just the right amount of swearing, she cheerfully described the things that had happened in her life: the first time pirates boarded her ship, how the crew had somehow managed to fight them off, and her switch to mercenary work. She told us how she'd spent six months grinding through a private bodyguard course and taught herself programming on her own. She poked fun at the sentients she'd met along the way with a light touch that never felt mean, and she didn't spare herself either. I even pointed the Twi'lek girl toward the couch so she could sit down for a while and give her legs a rest. The dancer was clearly awkward about it at first, but after some time she was openly smiling at yet another funny story from the Togruta.

"And that was where, on the smugglers' moon, I met these two. Some guy there was hiring everyone hanging around the cantinas waiting for work. He was putting together an anti-boarding team for a single run. We got talking along the way, and the guys seemed decent enough, even despite this buckethead's tediousness and the long-eared one's constant 'though.' We've been knocking around together ever since, and without any false modesty I'll say this: if it weren't for me, these two would've definitely ended up as space bums."

"That hurt, though," the Gungan said with a cheerful grin. He had switched places with Arvik and took a sip of juice, while a quiet snort came from beneath the Mando's helmet by the door.

"That's how she justifies being greedy," the Mandalorian explained, amused. "But to be fair, yeah, she's the best of us when it comes to negotiating money."

"And why didn't you haggle with me?" I asked in surprise, glancing at the already tipsy Romri.

"Why bother? You offered decent credits, Boss," the girl said, waving her glass and spilling a little. "And you're very generous with loot. I'll tell you straight from the heart now, just don't take offense, okay? You actually overpaid by a fair bit. For Fett or Bane, of course, our combined six grand a month would be wupiupi money, but for ordinary bodyguard work you could've offered thirty or forty percent less. So, basically, you're a fine-looking man, generous—the way I like them—but inexperienced. Um..." The Togruta suddenly looked flustered, blushed a little deeper, and added, "Financially, I mean."

"You know..." I drawled, while Arvik covered his helmet visor with one hand. "That's the first time anyone's called me a sucker, even if only indirectly."

"Uh..." The girl's eyes darted around, then dropped to her glass. Apparently she remembered that I was paying for the table too, and she clearly became upset. "Sorry, Boss, that's not what I meant... I mean..."

"I get it, Romri. Relax," I snorted, scratching my beard. "I'm not going to take offense over something that trivial. I only crawled out of a deep hole fairly recently; I don't know the prices, and everything around me is new and unusual. You'll help me out, won't you? Be my Mentor, so to speak?"

I moved closer to the girl, who was staring down at the table, and gently took her hand in mine, trying to catch her eye.

"Of course, Bo—" the girl started, then froze as she realized just how close our faces were. The Togruta's cheeks rapidly deepened in color. "I'll help?" she almost whispered, somehow making it sound like a question.

"Thank you, Romri." I lifted the corners of my mouth, trying for a light, kind smile rather than my usual frightening grimace. I gave her hand a gentle squeeze, then returned to my seat under the girl's surprised gaze.

"What was that just now?" the Togruta asked after several seconds of silence, addressing the question somewhere into the air.

"You just volunteered to work as a financial consultant for free," Arvik snorted, then gave me a thumbs-up. "Beautiful work, Boss."

"I what?" The Togruta's eyes widened in astonishment, and she turned a stunned look on me. A couple of moments later, an accusing finger was pointed my way. "How could you, Boss? I'm supposed to be the greediest sentient in this room!"

"Boss-sa got you good," the Gungan said, saluting me with his glass of juice before turning his eyestalks toward the Twi'lek girl. "You have schools on Ryloth where they teach dancing like that?"

To be honest, all four of us, along with the dancer, stared at Koit in surprise. He took in our reaction and bared his teeth in a cheerful grin.

"Me? Nah. But when I find wife, I want her to learn little-little here. If my woman dances like that..." The long-eared Gungan made some gesture with his hands. I had no idea what it meant, but his expression was so eloquent that I'd bet good money it was something very, very obscene. "We make lots of little ones together, though..."

"Pervert," Romri snorted, finally getting back to normal. She did push the alcoholic cocktail away, though, and I made a mental note that simple fellow Koit had a surprisingly fine sense for the mood in a room.

After that, we talked about everything and nothing. The Gungan told us how he'd taken part in the war against the machines on Naboo, and how he'd left the army afterward.

"Naboo humans, I hate 'em," Koit said, waving his arms angrily. "Cowards and liars, all of them, though. Before Trade Federation brought their big doughnut with all those machines, they kept hiring mercenaries to fight us. But soon as their own asses caught fire—straight to Boss Nass they came running. Bowing, swearing eternal peace. Me, I don't believe them, though! I still went to fight. I'm no coward. But when we beat the machines, I went to Captain and told him straight: 'Captain Tarpals, I'm leaving! Mercenaries killed my father and grandfather! My brother lost an eye and an ear! I won't fight for Naboo humans, only for Gungans!' Roos Tarpals, he's proper officer. Clapped me on shoulder and says, 'I understand you, Koit. Go if you can't stomach it. At least you won't have to see that idiot Binks.'"

"Binks?" I'd read something about him, but hadn't thought it important.

"Ay." Koit waved both hands dismissively. "Shame of my race. Queen Annoydala's pet Gungan! I mean Amidala. Now she drags him everywhere with her: 'Lookit me, how civilized I am! Brought animal into Senate and everything.' Pah! Makes me sick, watching him shame my people!!!"

"Well, to be fair, the Naboo are helping the Gungans now, from what I've heard," the Togruta said cautiously, clearly afraid of offending him.

"Ay, Romri. Me, I don't believe it, though. They act honest little-little while, then start fooling us again! Gungans are like Boss-sa. We live by ourselves; big galaxy, we don't know. Anyone can come, lie however they like. We trust everyone—and shouldn't, though. Naboo is our planet. Plasma is our plasma. I don't believe Naboo humans pay fair!"

Our Gungan was pretty upset by then, so together we asked our Twi'lek girl to dance some more. By the way, she had grown quite comfortable around us and would occasionally add a comment of her own. Tentatively at first, then without nearly as much hesitation. Even so, she remained unfailingly respectful. A very pleasant little green girl.

This time she danced something cheerful and energetic. The Twi'lek's movements were every bit as graceful as before, and her figure just as lovely, but this dance stirred joy somewhere deep inside, put smiles on our faces, and sent energy bubbling through the body. It made you want to jump up and try something yourself. The only thing stopping me was the certainty that next to her I'd look like a drunken sailor who'd just been beaten senseless by a pack of wild martial-arts monks from the eastern continent of my world.

After the dance, the girl looked at me questioningly, flicked her eyes toward the couch where she had been sitting before, and, after receiving my nod, carefully sat down. Arvik even poured her some juice and pushed the glass toward her, which made the girl pale slightly and shrink back in alarm. Fortunately, she recovered quickly and, after shyly thanking the Mandalorian, took a small sip. She firmly refused any food because "it would get in the way of dancing," the beauty cooed with a sweet smile.

All in all, we had a great time. I definitely liked the guys. They were cheerful and clearly fond of one another as comrades. Arvik was a little pedantic, a commander who took his duties seriously. Koit was easygoing and simple, yet wise in his own way—able to smooth things over with a couple of words and take almost everything in stride, except Naboo humans and "that idiot Binks." Romri... Romri was very sweet. A volcano of positivity mixed fifty-fifty with a black hole of greed, which, incidentally, didn't spoil her in the slightest. The girl would never miss a chance to get what was hers, but you couldn't call her shameless about it either.

Before we left, I asked our Twi'lek girl to perform something really special. Unfortunately, she misunderstood me. I was even a little taken aback when her lips began to tremble pitifully and so much hurt and disappointment appeared in her eyes...

For the first time in many, many years, I found myself stumbling over my words as I explained that I hadn't meant anything like that—I'd simply wanted her to perform something that would make us go, "Whoa, that was awesome." I suspect I'll be dreaming about the relieved smile that appeared on her face for the next couple of days.

Then she actually apologized, which only made me feel even more awkward, while Romri looked at me as though I'd just decided to enslave every Twi'lek in the galaxy at once. Even the Mandalorian's helmet somehow seemed to be staring at me reproachfully through its visor.

And the Twi'lek gave us a farewell dance. First she fastened a collar around her neck with a long chain attached to it—light, slender, but strong. She threaded the chain through a ring on the stage, then wrapped the free end once around her palm and gripped it in her hand.

The chain lay slack across the floor as the girl began to move. At first the dance was free and carefree: broad, fluid motions, eagerness on her face, a bright, happy smile, and eyes shining with joy. But every few seconds, without breaking the rhythm, she wound the chain once more around her hand. One loop at a time. And then, in the middle of another movement light as air, the taut chain brought her up short. The jerk looked so violent, and we were so absorbed in the dance, that all of us flinched—and the Togruta even cried out.

1.jpg

At that moment, the rhythm of the dance changed. Her movements became jerky, bringing to mind a bird caught in a snare. The girl seemed to struggle for freedom, but the chain kept growing shorter and shorter. There was no joy or lightness left in the dance now, only frantic attempts to break free. Panic filled her face, fear showed in her eyes, and her lips parted in a silent scream. More and more often, notes of pleading crept into her movements, a wordless plea for help. But with every moment, she had less and less freedom left.

The chain kept winding around her palm, and the Twi'lek sank lower and lower. Those same beautiful movements now portrayed her attempts to rise from her knees, but it ended with the dancer frozen in a kneeling pose. A pose of absolute submission.

And her eyes—hope had vanished from them, giving way to a slave's resignation and a grief blacker than the darkness of space.

It was so powerful that I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. The Mandalorian by the door was gripping his blaster in his right hand, his helmet tucked into the crook of his left arm. The muscles in his cheeks were working, betraying the anger he felt—not at the girl, but at whoever had taken away her spirit and freedom. A sniff from Romri drew my attention. She was sitting turned away from everyone, wiping something from her face. Even Koit looked lost...

"Just don't tell anyone I danced that for you," the Twi'lek suddenly said as she unfastened the collar. "We're not allowed to show it to guests."

For several seconds I simply looked at her in silence, then nodded and asked only, "What is it called?" Once again, a veil of sadness passed over the girl's eyes, and a sorrowful smile touched her lips.

"Free Ryloth. This dance is called Free Ryloth, sir."


Author's Note:

*Togruta have lekku and montrals on their heads. Montrals grow upward; lekku grow downward. (Short version, without going into detail.)

Original Russian story

You can find more chapters on my Patreon.

The translation is still in progress, and new chapters will also be published here—but with a bit of a delay.
 
Chapter 21 New
We returned to the ship in less than stellar spirits. A recording of today's Senate session, where Alto had spoken, cheered us up a little. The leader of the rainy planet presented the venerable assembly of bribe-takers and embezzlers with a report on Jabiim's use of humanitarian aid, which caused some surprise among the politicians in attendance: apparently, such a thing simply wasn't done. He also took a rather painful swipe at the former Chancellor, who—quote—"didn't give a damn about planets beyond the Inner Rim, much like some of those present here," he added, glaring angrily at those who had protested most loudly when the decision to send aid to Jabiim was being made. When part of the chamber responded with an indignant murmur, he published detailed statistics on Jabiim's problems. Almost the same material I had shown the Jedi, only in a much more detailed form.

While the important senatorial asses studied the information, Stratus offered genuinely heartfelt thanks to Chancellor Palpatine and those who had supported his initiative: "For perhaps the first time in the three thousand years we have been part of the Republic, it has a leader who pays attention to the problems of outlying worlds. On behalf of all my people, I thank you, Supreme Chancellor—you and those who stand with you."

Alto and I had once talked about that pleasant-looking gentleman. We both understood that Palpatine was no kindly, naive old uncle. I'd once known a man who wore the same sort of pleasant smile while gutting lizardfolk without anesthesia. Generous do-gooders don't climb to the top of politics.

His personal oversight of the aid to our planet wasn't just a good deed—it was also a widely publicized display of concern for the people of the Republic, one that earned him points in the eyes of ordinary citizens.

Right now, Stratus was doing something simple: keeping the public's attention focused on the Chancellor's noble act by expressing his gratitude, while at the same time keeping the spotlight on our planet's problems.

And judging by the fact that his speech had aired on one of the highest-rated news channels, and there were reports that the Chancellor had met with Alto personally after the Senate session, the commander's plan had worked. The man really was a powerful speaker, capable of kindling a spark in people's hearts, and Jabiim always came first for him. I wondered how Sheev Palpatine would react to hints about installing turbolasers on our planetary-defense squadron. More importantly, could we afford the possible kickbacks?

"If it improves the situation, I'm ready to marry a Devaronian woman, so saying a few flattering words about the Chancellor is nothing," the commander had snorted once when the three of us—he, his cousin, and I—were sitting in the library again. He'd become quite a rare visitor by then, since the leader of a planet had practically no free time.

We also received news from Cordelia and Karina. First, Stratus's administration and the Jabiim Mages' Guild (JMG) now had a permanent HoloNet connection. It had been Karina's personal project—I'd helped her a little when she first started it—and she had successfully completed it by equipping a pair of transceivers with signal stabilizers.

Second, magical ore-refining technology had been launched in test mode. The metallurgists judged the output excellent, and Jabiim had begun construction of a planetary-scale ore-refining plant. Stratus had also sent in a request for specialist mages who could keep the entire production chain running and, if necessary, create the required artifacts themselves.

At that, I could only heave a weary sigh. I had built the test line myself, while Karina and Karray had handled its calibration after my departure. They wouldn't be able to create the whole thing from scratch, nor could they train the narrow specialists, as I'd started calling such graduates. So once I got back, I'd have to take up teaching again. Fortunately, my girls could give them the necessary foundation, as well as the methods for calibration and setup.

In general, the Academy project was still being developed, but Stratus was leaning toward exactly that approach: instead of spending decades training generalist mages, we'd produce specialists in a couple of years who would work within their assigned field. A sort of vocational school.

Later, once everything being set up on Jabiim could be maintained by the citizens themselves, we could start thinking about an institution of higher learning—one capable of graduating mages who could do more than simply work from established templates, but who also possessed a deep understanding of magic. The kind who could eventually advance magical science on their own.

I was distracted from drafting my reply by a suspicious gathering of my mercenaries in the Gungan's cabin. It wasn't as if they never got together like that, but it was already pretty late, and they'd been sitting in a row on Koit's bunk for quite a while, discussing something.

No, I wasn't indulging in voyeurism. I hadn't even peeked at the Togruta while she was changing. But three armed sentients left unsupervised... The guys seemed decent enough, but we hadn't known one another long enough for blind trust, so I tapped into the surveillance spell and started listening in.

And no, I wasn't ashamed of it.

"Have you thought about where she'd live?" I heard the Mandalorian's tired voice. "We roam around the galaxy and risk our lives. We don't have a home where a dancer who can't do anything except dance—beautifully, sure—would be of much use. And if we get shot, what happens to her then? Think about the places we travel to, too. At the place where she dances now, customers aren't allowed to cross the line. Now imagine we get a job on Nar Shaddaa or Tatooine. Romri, we'd come back and find she'd already been kidnapped, drugged, and sold to the nearest brothel."

I cut off the eavesdropping and smiled sadly. A commander teaching his subordinate that sometimes helping someone can only do more harm. I felt sorry for the Twi'lek girl, of course. I could, for example, shove her onto Jabiim—but what would she do there? Dance for me during my rare moments of leisure? Shmi, at least, was an experienced mother, and I planned to put her to work raising and caring for the orphanage kids. But what was I supposed to do with a dancer? It wasn't as if I could teach her magic...

"Wait, why not?" I scratched the back of my head thoughtfully. "How would Twi'leks learn magic? Hmm... Hmm... Actually, I'm thinking about this all wrong. Give me a sentient, and I'll find a use for them! If I feel sorry for the girl, why not take her for myself? A hamster is all well and good, but having a personal dancer comes with its own advantages. Tits, for example! Heh-heh-heh. All right, enough of that. I'll finish the letter tomorrow. For now, before bed, I think I'll go run a raid."

During the flight from Tatooine to Ryloth, thanks to Romri, I discovered the world of electronic games. Quite an amusing thing. Right now I was role-playing a paladin of some god of light, battling a dark empire of demonic lackeys who were... sorcerers!

The game devoured time, of course, but I was on vacation!!! So come here, you bastards who sold your souls to demons! The time has come for purification by the Light!

Mwah-ha-ha-ha!


I love it when the day starts with caf. Unfortunately, the next one started with a Jedi. And very early, at that. I'm not surprised not everyone likes those glow-stick wielders. When your comlink starts screaming at the crack of dawn, you're hardly going to wish the caller health, happiness, and all the best.

So I first let loose with a thorough string of curses in my native language, and only then bothered to find out who it was.

It was Tholme calling. Without so much as apologizing, the Jedi wished me a good morning—which nearly made me tell him to go fuck himself again, this time in Basic—and informed me that I had a rendezvous with the local bigwig, Lon Secura, in an hour. Muttering something halfway between "got it" and "drop dead," I headed for the galley to make myself some caf. I didn't wake Shmi. I'm not some Jedi asshole, after all—I'm a considerate sorcerer.

With two mugs of caf in hand, I trudged into the shuttle's cockpit, where Arvik was sitting with Emthree. The lack of a shower was getting on my nerves. It wasn't as if I couldn't clean myself with magic; I simply liked freshening up under running water in the morning. And in the evenings, I enjoyed soaking in a bath while reading something about this universe.

"Morning, Boss," the thoughtful Mandalorian grunted, gratefully accepting one of the mugs of hot caf from me. Now there was a man with brains. He took one look at my sour expression and wisely decided not to say anything about a "good" morning or some other nonsense.

"Greetings, Master. Did you sleep well?"

"Morning, Arvik. And greetings to you too, Emthree. Slept well, just not enough. Anything new happen?"

"No, nothing much. The local guards make their rounds every now and then, your droid's been driving me nuts, and Romri's mad at everyone. So don't be surprised if she's... quiet."

"Hmm? What did you guys do to upset our Red?" I didn't care about the guards, and I already knew Emthree could annoy the dead.

"She wanted to go free that girl. Suti. The dancer. Serious shit, Boss—she even suggested we all chip in and buy her freedom. But don't worry. She won't do anything stupid. She'll sulk for a while and calm down."

"Wow, it really got to her," I said, surprised. Our Togruta was an emotional, vivid sort of girl, but I'd never imagined that dance would hit her that hard. Romri, willing to part with money...

"Yeah. My own heart's been aching since yesterday, and I'm not exactly a soft-hearted sentient," the man sighed. "But we've got no home, no place of our own. Suppose we buy her freedom—then what? Where's the girl supposed to go with no useful skills?"

"Sound thinking, Mando," I snorted. "Honestly, what surprises me is that dancer's reaction, Arvik. I didn't come here on a whim—I read quite a lot about Twi'leks and Ryloth beforehand. It's strange to see that kind of reaction from a member of a species that's spent thousands of years raising its own children to be slaves. Without the slave trade, they'd probably have starved to death long ago. So why was she that frightened, and why so much sadness?"

"As for this world, I'd argue that point, Boss. They could've come up with a solution that wasn't such a bastard one. As for Suti, it's simple," the Mandalorian said, shaking his head and taking a sip from his mug. "If you do something to her, the worst they'll do is kick you off the planet—and more likely, they'll just slap you with a fine. And she's no longer an 'innocent flower.' Her current owner could easily make her service clients with more than just dancing, or sell her to a brothel while she's still nice and juicy."

"Hmm... I hadn't really thought about that. But then the sadness..."

"The Twi'lek girl really doesn't want to end up as a whore. It's one thing if some reasonably wealthy sentient buys you. Not to unload cargo, but to dance, to please the eye. As a status possession—something that gets looked after, fed well, and kept in decent conditions. And years later, when your... marketable appearance starts to fade, you can become useful instead of merely beautiful. Help look after the owner's children or grandchildren, for example. Besides, when a loyal servant stays with the same master for many years, people grow attached. They start to value them."

I listened to Arvik with interest, taking the occasional sip from my mug. As for alternative solutions for Ryloth... that was something I'd have to think about in my spare time.

"Maybe he'll fuck her now and then, sure, but it's one thing when she has only one man—her master. Or whoever he gives her to. It's a completely different thing to end up in a brothel, where any dockside trash with enough credits for a quick fuck can have her. Twi'lek girls raised from childhood as pleasure slaves and dancers take it more calmly, but even so—they're sentient beings, and it's not like they enjoy it," the man said, grimacing slightly. "The worst part is that port whores don't often get long, happy lives. Getting your throat cut by some spice-addled freak, losing a lekku to some perverted bastard, or being bought for a pirate ship and raped day after day until you die—that's a shitty prospect."

"So at that place you're not allowed to touch them, but yeah, all it takes is one unlucky day," I muttered.

"True. And sooner or later there'll be girls who are juicier, younger, more flexible. Then they'll sell her out of this club—which, by the way, is practically an elite establishment—and maybe into an elite brothel. And there, once all the guys who used to jerk off over her after her performances have had their chance to sate their lust on her, the merchandise will lose its freshness, the girl will get worn down... Well, you get the idea, Boss. Then comes the next sale. And so on, until she ends up at the very bottom."

"Yeah..." I drawled. "That sounds..."

The man nodded, staring gloomily out across the spaceport through the cockpit canopy.

"I've seen Twi'lek girls dance before, Boss. Suti was giving it everything she had. Maybe she was hoping to impress you and change her future. You rent a private booth with three bodyguards, spend freely, treat us mercenaries to food and drinks. And you treat her like a hu—like a living sentient, not some mute piece of property: you give her a place at a free man's table, let her speak, offer to let her eat with you. And all that without trying to fuck her or even grope her. Most likely, that last dance was meant to make you like her too. To a Twi'lek slave girl, you look like a very good master."

We sat there in gloomy silence for a while, finished our caf, and I told the Mandalorian to get ready to head out. Only the two of us would be going to talk to Secura—I saw no point in dragging everyone along.


The Jedi met me alone and handed Quartermaster back. Honestly, I was a little surprised when I realized that the little beast and the Jedi's marker were in the same place. His Padawan hadn't come along, and when I asked about her, Tholme said the girl had some urgent shopping to do.

"She seemed kind of nervous this morning," the blue Twi'lek's master said with a shrug.

The local slaveowner didn't inspire any particular feelings in me. Honestly, Lon Secura was... bland. Polite, but without sincerity. Grateful, but without any spark. We talked for no more than ten minutes, and when he asked what I wanted in return for helping save his son, I asked for Suti.

The lekku-wearing dignitary agreed easily enough and, after contacting the club's administration, ordered them to send the girl over, promising to settle the financial side of things later.

Well, thanks for that much. The little one had struck me as pleasant enough that I felt like helping her somehow, and if you have both the desire and the means—why not?

The Jedi's reaction to all this surprised me, by the way. Me, fine—I have no particular prejudice against slavery. In my life I'd seen slaveowners who treated their living property far better than some parents treated their own children. But Tholme didn't so much as bat an eyelid when I asked to be given a sentient being as a reward. Damn it, I don't know... that attitude just doesn't fit with their claim to be "defenders of the Republic." Seems like a rather selective kind of protection. Smells a bit like hypocrisy, doesn't it?

On the other hand, those space monks don't interfere in Ryloth's way of life. I mean, they don't meddle in its laws, don't impose their own views, and all that. Most likely, with such an enormous variety of sentients and traditions across the galaxy, that makes sense.

In short, like always in life, nothing is black and white: the advantages are obvious, and you're waist-deep in drawbacks.

Tholme, Arvik, and I waited only twenty minutes for a small landspeeder, which brought the girl to us. Then came a brief farewell to the Jedi Master and the trip back to our little ship, which now had no free cabins left.


We stayed on Ryloth for another two weeks. I rented a few rooms in a cheap but perfectly decent hotel, wandered through cantinas, saw the sights tourists were allowed to visit, and followed a couple of tour routes. Then I got bored. There really wasn't all that much of interest here. Underground cities, tunnels sealed off by airlock gates against predators from the Bright Lands and heat storms that could reach temperatures of up to three hundred degrees, the gardens of floating rocks... And that was about it, really. I never did get a proper look at how the locals actually lived, but our new companion told me quite a lot about it.

Suti was a rather amusing tangle of emotions. She was simultaneously afraid that she might start being mistreated and glad to have left her previous place behind. According to her, the local owners sold slave girls to brothels by the age of twenty-two at the latest. Usually earlier. That was the club's gimmick: only young virgins entertained the patrons. The ones with real talent for dancing lasted the longest. And she was already twenty-one, so for the past few months she had greeted every morning with fear.

She became our best source of information about the Twi'leks' homeworld. And honestly, it didn't impress me much. The situation was actually somewhat similar to Jabiim. The rich and influential families lived fat, while ordinary people got by in less-than-ideal conditions. Food wasn't exactly scarce, but there was very little variety, and jobs were hard to come by because the planet had almost no industry to speak of.

Mushroom farms and the breeding of local animals—which also had to be fed—were the biggest players in the job market. Everything else was small-scale: repair shops, public utilities, the service sector. And in many places, "free" Twi'leks worked and actually envied the slaves, because the latter often lived under better conditions than the former.

By the way, Ryloth doesn't trade only in erotic dancers and sex specialists. There are servants of every kind, sometimes combined with those first two professions. Everything from ordinary maids to secretaries. Plenty of wealthy sentients prefer having flesh-and-blood beings around them rather than metal idiots.

The first time I tried to talk things over with the dancer, I ended up having to calm her down with a soothing brew. The girl greeted the words "I don't really need a dancer" with a mild hysterical fit. I had to put on a stern face and warn her that before dropping to her knees, she should listen to the whole thought first.

Basically, I offered her a chance to move up in the world. I had no need to drag a dancing slave around with me, but a secretary-assistant who could help with business, give a massage, and dance when needed—that was actually useful. And I could teach her some magic as an experiment. At least the basics.

The Twi'lek girl blinked at me, thought it over for all of five seconds, and agreed categorically. After that, the conversation became much more practical, with the focused and enthusiastic green-skinned beauty eagerly nodding along to every point of my plan for improving her qualifications.

The girl's delight was understandable: increasing her value would strengthen her position and improve her prospects in later life. So I tasked Emthree with selecting the disciplines the Twi'lek would need, and gave the go-ahead to purchase basic courses on the HoloNet, including holorecordings of lectures and master classes by secretaries of her species. Twi'leks had been in that business for a long time and knew exactly how to turn an ordinary body into a useful assistant for its master.


Two weeks later, we began our journey along the Corellian Trade Route. I had planned several stops on the way to the Republic's capital, after which I intended to head home.

And immediately after our visit to Mon Gazza, pirates attacked us.

I was sprawled out in my cabin, tweaking some of the schematics for the portal project, when suddenly, the moment we dropped out of hyperspace, the alarm started blaring. I was in the cockpit almost immediately.

"What's happening?"

"Pirates, Boss," Romri growled angrily, while Ras merely jerked his head toward the bulk of a starship hanging nearby. "The moment we dropped out of hyperspace, they caught us with tractor-beam projectors."

"I didn't know any of those were still operational," the Mandalorian said in surprise as he came in right behind me. "That thing's ancient—a Hammerhead-class cruiser."

"Ancient or not, we're screwed," the Togruta said gloomily. "There are too many people aboard. Even your protection won't save us, Boss."

Quartermaster poked his head out of my vest pocket and stared intently at the pirate ship, which really did look like a hammer. Then he gave a questioning little squeak while rubbing his paws together.

"Exactly, furball. Romri, how much does one of those things cost?"


Original Russian story

You can find more chapters on my Patreon.

The translation is still in progress, and new chapters will also be published here—but with a bit of a delay.
 
I'm torn. A Lethan (red) Twi'lek would have made such a good "evil" sorcerers assistant, but it also would've been cliche as hell...
 
Chapter 22 New
The pirates preparing to cut the shuttle open to get inside were somewhat surprised when, immediately after landing, the small vessel's ramp began to lower. Some of the boarding party even laughed delightedly—the shuttle's crew had apparently decided to surrender in hopes of making their fate easier. And when four sentients began descending from the ship onto the deck of the Hammerhead's relatively small hangar, some of them even started whistling mockingly: among the passengers, besides a Gungan, a human, and a Mandalorian, there was a Togruta who was very, very easy on the eyes.

Only the boarding party's commander, a Dug named Saruba, kept frowning. One of the four could cause a lot of trouble. The Mandalorian. There wasn't much to say about him except that, like any Mando, he was encased in armor and loaded down with lethal toys. The Togruta and the Gungan were armed as well: the former with two blasters, the latter with a spear in his hands and a gun in his holster. All three were tense, while the fourth member of the group—a man in robes—raised a few questions and was downright irritating with how pleased he looked. The tall human wore a nasty smile as he surveyed the hangar like he owned the place. His smile grew even wider when he spotted their recently acquired, if badly battered, T-6 shuttle and seven assorted small craft*. Another Jedi? Troublesome, but they'd dealt with those before. There were forty of them here—should be more than enough.

"For something three or four thousand years old, it looks far too good," the Dug heard the robed man say.

"Someone probably took decent care of it," the Togruta replied. "Though we still don't know what shape its internals are in."

"Well, to be fair," the Mandalorian joined in, "some old tubs get upgraded so heavily that the only thing left of the original design is the hull."

"Hey, you lot," Saruba cut into the strange group's conversation, stepping forward and gesturing with his blaster. "Drop your weapons on the floor, raise your hands, and nobody gets hurt."

The red-eyed man turned his gaze on him, studied him for a few seconds, then let out a nasty little chuckle.

"I know it's wrong to laugh at racial characteristics, but when a sentient whose hands literally grow out of his ass points a weapon at you, I just can't help myself," the freak explained his sudden fit of amusement. "No offense, but you're the physical embodiment of what my Mentor used to call me during the early years of my apprenticeship."

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"Correction," the Dug snarled threateningly, grinding his teeth. His men, who knew just how badly their boss took jokes like that, broke into bloodthirsty grins. "Now it doesn't matter what you do with your guns. Somebody's getting hurt for sure."

"Great truth in your words, I hear," the red-eyed man said with a nod.

With those words, the man raised his empty hands, showing that he held nothing in them. Or at least that was what Saruba and some of his grinning fighters thought. They kept thinking it right up until branching green lightning erupted from his open palms toward the nearest pirates. With the distinctive crack of a powerful electrical arc, it struck the two closest fighters, then instantly jumped from them to the next, then the next, and so on until every pirate except the Dug was linked by green arcs. Barely two seconds later, his entire boarding party collapsed to the deck. Thin wisps of smoke rose from the bodies, and the hangar began to fill with the smell of burned flesh.

Several shots, including plasma bolts from the Dug's blaster, struck the red-eyed man, only to burst into harmless sparks that showered down onto the hangar deck. Somehow spared by the lightning, the leg-armed Dug bolted for the nearest stack of crates, trying to keep firing and contact the others at the same time, but something invisible yanked him by the neck, tore the weapon from his hand, ripped away the belt of thermal detonators he had completely forgotten about, knocked the comlink to the floor, and left him hanging a meter above the deck. A Jedi after all?! flashed through his mind, but the man's gaze, coupled with that cheerful yet repulsive smile, made him realize his guess was wrong. Saruba had never been an idiot, and he knew history fairly well—compared to his fighters, at least...

"Sith!!!" the Dug rasped in horror. The invisible force held him tightly, making it hard to breathe without cutting off his air completely.

"Siith," the red-eyed man corrected him, adding another vowel to the word. A stupid thought popped into the Dug's head: Rebranding or something? He dismissed it at once because of the Sith's... Siith's next question. "Am I right in thinking you're the commander of these guys?"

"Y... khh... YES!"

"Excellent," the man said with a smile that made the pirate's tailbone start sweating. "Wait here a couple of minutes. And don't go anywhere."

The strange sentient stood motionless for nearly a minute, staring off into empty space. His companions remained a little behind him, warily looking around. Saruba prayed to every god he knew that the lookouts weren't slacking off and would hurry up and send reinforcements.

"All right, that's enough resting," the man addressed the pirates lying on the hangar deck... and they began to stir, making the Dug feel a few seconds of relief. Right up until one of the men getting to his feet looked at him.

Animal terror seized the bandit as he stared into eyes that were completely white, without iris or pupil. Their absence did nothing to keep the Dug from realizing that his former—yes, former—comrade was looking straight at him. A second later, the face of the man he knew so well, a man he had shared plenty of good booze and bad with, a man he had fought shoulder to shoulder beside, twisted with pure, crystallized hatred. Never in his life had the boarding commander seen an emotion so utterly pure, unmixed with anything else. The Dug couldn't even imagine what someone would have to do to be hated that much.

"Relax, guys, everything's under control," the red-eyed man's calm voice distracted him from the waking nightmare. He was speaking to his companions, who had bunched together and were aiming at the pirates getting up from the deck. "Yes, I know their faces look scary, but I'm controlling them. I warned you it was going to be creepy, so why are you so tense? Just simple, lesser undead."

"Boss," the Togruta's voice trembled, and the Dug actually felt sorry for the girl, so strong was the sense of solidarity in his soul. "This is f... fucked up, Boss, wh... why the fuck is it so scary?!"

"Romri, my aurodium darling," tender, caring notes entered the terrifying man's voice. "Please believe me, they won't hurt you under any circumstances. And the horror you're feeling—that's death looking through their eyes. Don't worry, we'll soon... feed it."

There was so much anticipation and impatience in the Sith's... Siith's last word that all three of his companions shuddered and looked at him. The Dug was no exception. The pirate's eyes stared at the monster in horror. A character from some terrifying children's tale come to life—the kind used to scare little kids...

Strangely enough, while he was looking at the red-eyed man, the terror seemed to fade. Sure, the faces were horrifying, but... Saruba glanced again at one of the creatures standing motionless nearby and immediately looked back at the robed man. Wild, bottomless fear began rising in his soul again from the mere sight of the monster that had once been his comrade. With the kind of gallows humor better suited to a condemned man, the Dug noted that the person he had regarded only seconds ago as evil incarnate was now beginning to inspire feelings of safety and hope. This is completely surreal, the pirate thought bleakly as he dangled in midair, struggling with all his strength to breathe.

"Just don't look them in the eyes. I told you," the man snorted. "These guys are supposed to inspire terror. You could say"—all the creatures turned away from the living at once and began walking unhurriedly toward the hangar door leading deeper into the ship—"you could say that's their primary weapon."

"Couldn't you have done that from the start?" There was genuine relief in the Mandalorian's voice, and the others nodded along. Even the Dug bobbed his head up and down, wholeheartedly agreeing with the armored fighter.

"Better to get acquainted with the effect now than in the middle of a fight," the man who had called himself a Siith said with a shrug. "Don't worry about it. The overwhelming majority ignore the first warning and start staring at the undead anyway, so naturally they end up meeting their eyes. Even I didn't listen to my Mentor back in the day."

The three exchanged looks, and the red-eyed man turned his attention back to the Dug.

"And now, my dear friend, you're going to show us the shortest route to the bridge," the man said, heading toward the group of undead and dragging the suspended Saruba along with him. "I'll warn you right away—and make you a promise. One way or another, I will get the information I need. But if you don't give it willingly, the process will be much more painful for you and a little longer for me. If you cooperate, on the other hand, I promise that, first, you'll live, and second, you'll get an escape pod once you promise to keep your mouth shut. So, what's it going to be?"

"I'll... khh... show you! Let me breathe!" the Dug begged. Live! Live, live, live!!! At once, the noose around his neck loosened, and air began filling his lungs without effort. What a... pleasure it was, simply breathing without having to fight for every breath.

"Excellent decision," the man said, and Saruba could hear the smile in his voice.


Romri was still trembling from what had happened. No, she'd been scared plenty of times in her life, and in some cases you could even say terrified. But this was the first time she could remember nearly pissing herself from fear. She could admit to herself that the only reason nothing had run down her pant legs was because she'd relieved herself not long before. "Might as well make use of the time—I'll give you a demonstration," the sorcerer had said while they were being pulled into the cruiser's hangar. "The main thing is, don't panic. It'll be a little scary. Just don't look the dead in the eyes," he had added for no apparent reason before they went out. It hadn't made sense then. Now it was perfectly clear.

"Boss, are you absolutely sure there weren't any Sith in your family?" Arvik asked, his voice calm again. Yeah, that buckethead was damn near impossible to rattle.

"Absolutely, absolutely!" the sorcerer snorted. "I swear by Hec— uh... I swear by my beard!"

After those words, Siith quickly glanced around and let out a relieved sigh.

"All right, guys. Now I'll show you how spellcasters fight in my homeland. Stay behind me and shoot anyone who tries to get too close. Once we've captured the cruiser, I'll explain everything in more detail, but for now I'll just give you the general idea. As we go, so to speak."

"Got it, Boss," the Mando said with a nod, taking his place in formation and readying his blaster rifle. The Togruta and Koit followed their commander's example, remaining silent. "No pointless chatter in a fight" was a rule the Mandalorian had laid down right at the start of their working together.

Right in front of the cluster of... zombies, probably? Anyway, the door opened, and more pirates began pouring out straight toward the dead.

At that same moment, Siith raised a hand and shouted:

"Chain Lightning!" The zombies standing directly in front of the mage dropped to one knee. Another green electrical arc lashed into the pirates, flying over the heads of the horrifying creatures. The spell killed a dozen enemy fighters. "Forward," the sorcerer finished. The corpses were still hitting the deck while the undead were already rising from their knees and advancing.

Their employer stared intently at the fresh corpses, while the first batch of zombies picked up speed and charged down the open corridor at the pirates who were still firing at them—the ones the spell hadn't hit.

"If you're positioned in front of a spellcaster during a fight, he'll always call out his spells," the man explained as a new batch of undead began getting to their feet. "When he shouts the name of a construct, it means you're supposed to take a specific action. In this case—get out of the line of fire."

Screams of terror began echoing from the corridor, and the shooting turned wild and erratic. It seemed the pirates had completely lost their heads in fear... Romri even felt a tiny bit sorry for the bandits. Then, a moment later, the Togruta imagined what would happen to her if they ever took her prisoner, and the sympathy vanished.

"The word 'forward,' in this case, means it's safe to get back on your feet without worrying about a present flying into the back of your head in the form of a fire spear or ball lightning. A well-coordinated unit knows all the spells its spellcaster uses and the corresponding actions to take when they're cast," Boss calmly continued lecturing them as he walked after the second group of not-quite-dead pirates. "The verbal cue and gesture are also necessary for young and inexperienced spellcasters even in ordinary life; I'll explain why later. But with me, for now, just remember this: if we're in a fight and I shout something that means nothing to you, drop to one knee or hit the floor. Afterward, when we have some free time, we'll drill most of my arsenal, and I'll make you special shields like the ones used by fighters in units equipped with spellcasters."

They moved through the ship's corridors to the accompaniment of blaster fire, shouted orders, screams of terror, and Boss's calm voice, while ahead of their small group an ever-growing army of the dead was steadily wiping out the Hammerhead's crew.

"Me, I actually like this, Boss-sa," the Gungan said in a surprisingly pleased voice. "Spellcasters—good thing, though!"

"That they are, Koit, that they are. Mind you, they're very good when they're on your side. But if the enemy has them too, then things get dangerous for you, and a lot harder for your mage or sorcerer."


"Of course, I could've skipped raising the undead altogether and simply blasted everyone with magic from long range. But I needed to demonstrate how you're supposed to operate alongside spellcasters. Next time we'll try some other approaches where you'll have a more active role. Sooner or later, this situation where everyone is completely defenseless against magic will come to an end, so you need to start getting used to these kinds of... manifested effects," I sighed, standing in front of the sealed door to the captain's bridge. Behind us stood a crowd of "survivors" from the undead assault. "Besides, it's been a long time since I've had any proper practice."

I really had gotten far too relaxed, directly affecting sentients with magical constructs. Karina already knew the simplest ways to destabilize direct-action spells, like the ones I'd used to knock out those lizards when I first encountered the Trandoshans on Jabiim. Any halfway competent mage who left our rainy planet would sooner or later start selling charms and amulets that protected against that sort of thing. So it was time I broke myself of the habit of taking everyone down without breaking a sweat.

All right, down to business. I'd opened most of the doors remotely, but it would be better to take the bridge without a fight. I didn't want anything in there getting broken in the process.

"I'll open the way. We go in, talk first, and then we'll see how it goes," I said, winking at the guys. "But don't shoot unless I give the order."

A simple spell, and I could see the door mechanism. I destroyed the wires carrying the open-and-close commands to it, then fed power directly into the opening mechanism. A brief hiss as the door slid open—the way was clear.

They weren't exactly happy to see us. Around two dozen sentients had crammed themselves into the not particularly large compartment and were bristling with weapons aimed our way. Their faces were... frightened. Nobody opened fire, having drawn the correct conclusions from what they'd seen through the cameras.

"Greetings, gentlemen," I said with a smile, but after spotting one female sentient among them, I added, "And ladies. Who's in charge of this ship?"

"I am," said a fairly tall Zabrak with a scar-covered face, glaring at me.

I looked at him and, with a crunch, twisted the horned man's head around a full hundred and eighty degrees. Auric tendrils were a useful thing at close range. The others watched their former captain's body fall with wide eyes, but when I spoke again, they turned their attention back to me.

"And now?" I smiled politely, though the pirates clearly failed to appreciate my efforts to create a friendly, welcoming atmosphere. One of them even fired, but it accomplished nothing, and the shooter ended up looking behind himself just like his commander had. After that, every weapon was ripped from the bandits' hands and flung to our feet.

"You, Captain!" the only woman on the bridge said with a sycophantic smile. I couldn't tell whether there was more fear or obsequiousness in it, but one thing was certain: there was a catastrophic shortage of teeth.

"Nice to meet someone sensible around here," I said with a nod to the woman. "And whom do I have the honor of addressing?"

"Lyra Hook, sir!" She snapped into something resembling attention under the stares of her comrades. They looked at her in different ways. Some with anger, others with the sort of respect that said, She figured things out fast.

"Any objections?" I swept my gaze over the unarmed group. In response came a ragged chorus expressing agreement with the change in the chain of command.

"Good," I snorted. Settling into the captain's chair, I pulled out Quartermaster, crossed one leg over the other, and introduced myself while stroking my pet. "Call me Siith. Captain Siith."


Author's Note:

*Small craft—fighters, bombers, that sort of thing.

Original Russian story

You can find more chapters on my Patreon.

The translation is still in progress, and new chapters will also be published here—but with a bit of a delay.
 
This is fun and hilarious Star wars fic. A little wordy at first with the introduction chapters, the MC goes on a few too many initial tangents, but well worth the pay off of the rest of the fic!

Love the MC's name and the lost lover who clearly knew Star Wars. I'm surprised living with her hasn't clued him into a few things about his new surroundings yet. I'm waiting for Anakin to get name dropped and him to go 'Ah!'. Or maybe she only watched the Empire Trilogy? So we need to wait until Darth Vader or Darth Sideous get name dropped? Surely she will have dropped some offhand comments he'll eventually recognise?

I like the College for Mages they are building up. Once that gets some traction on it I bet we'll see some interesting butterfly effects. And don't think you slipped that Tanya expie through! The Blond orphan girl was clearly Tanya on her third life lol. Still looking for a safe and profitable retirement. She might even get it this time!

Interested to see what other magical tools and such he will invent and bring about. Possible planetary shields? Tech and magic combined? Maybe he can sell combat worthy robes to the Jedi? Looking forward to his arrival on the Republic Capital for his visit to the Jedi Temple. Him and Yoda in the same room should be awesome. They'll almost certainly get each other and troll everyone else. Maybe he can make Yoda a really tricked out new floating chair?

I have no idea how a meeting between him and Palatine would go. On one hand be doesn't seem to have an easy way to scan or spot Force Sensitives yet, so no big reveal of the Sith. But I imagine he will immediately know 'somethjng' is off about the guy. Maybe they'll really get along? Seeing in each other something to respect? (And arrange to murder as soon as possible? Only in a friendly way?).

Hammerhead acquired! I kinda hope he keeps the ship and takes it back home. Lots of nice ways he could customise something if that size and, when he isn't using it the planet will have another nice patrol ship. A shuttle is a little flimsy to be travelling in across the Star Wars galaxy, after all.

You really have a neat idea going here!

Thanks for writing this fic and hope to see more soon!
 
Jup, the Dug will be alive and even healthier after the vivisection, promise!
 
Chapter 23 New
"All right, flying Dug, go join your friends," I said, lowering my little "balloon" to the deck. He promptly took his place among the small group of his "colleagues." "Lady Hook, be so kind as to tell the rest of the crew to stop resisting. Explain that the new captain guarantees that anyone who lays down their weapons will live." I didn't bother specifying for how long. "Who's the navigator?"

"I'm the navigator, sir," a yellow-skinned Gran said hesitantly, raising one hand with obvious caution while the woman briskly headed for the appropriate controls.

"Excellent." I smiled, and the Gran turned a little greenish. "Make a jump toward Falleen. Then take the ship somewhere it won't be hanging out in plain sight. Everyone needed at their stations for that—get to them. Romri, keep an eye on things. If anything happens, shoot them in the chest and report to me immediately. Fresh corpses make intelligent undead that can keep doing their jobs for a couple of weeks. It's a nontrivial task, of course, but I'll do my best."

"Got it, Boss." The girl smiled at the three-eyed alien and gestured with her blaster toward one of the control panels. The poor Gran turned completely green. Was it just me, or had the Togruta tried to imitate my little smile? Awww. Imitation... Now that's flattering. Very flattering! I should give her a bonus. Everyone should get one, actually! They'd done great. Took their introduction to the undead like hereditary necromancers. I'm never, ever telling anyone about my own "first time."

"Next..." I shifted my gaze to Arvik and Koit and handed the latter the hamster. "Guys, take Quartermaster and a couple dozen ghouls—they'll follow you on their own—and start clearing the ship of anyone who objects to the new captain. Disarm the rest. The zombies will obey voice commands; the shadow of life in them is still strong, but don't give them anything too complicated. I didn't put much effort into making them, so they came out a bit dumb. Find some kind of cart; I suspect there's plenty of weaponry on this ship. Everything we confiscate goes into the armory, assuming there is one. If you run out of dead men, come back and I'll raise some more."

The meaningful look I shot at the woman, who was muttering something into the shipwide comm system, clearly made her more eloquent.

"We'll handle it, Boss," the Mandalorian said with a nod and headed for the exit.

"Good." I watched him go before turning back to the herd of pirate jackasses. "So, gentlemen brigands. What good news can you give me about this ancient tub and its contents? Any aurodium ingots? No? Shame..."

"Sir," one of the bunch spoke up. He was... unpleasant. You know the type: not exactly ugly, built proportionally enough, nothing particularly wrong with his face—and yet somehow revolting. He was one of those. Nasty. Nothing like me—a charismatic handsome devil! "We've got a Jedi locked up on the prison deck."

I sighed and rubbed my face. Unexpected. Had Tholme and Secura really managed to get themselves captured?

"One Jedi?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have a hologram?"

"Yes, just a moment..."

No, definitely not Tholme—the captive Jedi was far too female to be him. And not his cute little Twi'lek Padawan either; the prisoner was far too Zabrak for that. Just some unfamiliar, young—very young—Jedi woman. Quite attractive, even with those little Zabrak horns. I've really been "lucky" with these robed fellows lately. There aren't all that many of them on a galactic scale, yet this was already the second time I'd run into some during my vacation. Hmm... Actually, she might be able to help me!

Questioning revealed that the Jedi had been caught the same way we were. The T-6 shuttle in the hangar was hers. She was in relatively good shape, just "a little banged up," and was sitting in a cell. I took possession of her lightsaber and, after thinking it over for a moment, decided to let her sit there a little longer. First I needed to put my new property in order.

Jedi Knight Bol Chatak felt uneasy. Something was happening aboard the cruiser where she had been held prisoner for nearly a week. It had all begun with a surge in the Force. A very... unusual surge. The Zabrak was struck by how structured it felt. It was probably the first time she had ever associated an effect in the Force with a mathematical formula or an orderly set of geometric figures, accompanied by the taste of ozone after a thunderstorm. The Knight possessed a deep sensitivity to the Force and perceived it through a prism of associations.

A few moments later came the sensation of sentients dying. The instantaneous deaths of a large number of living beings. Then came another surge. This time, besides that same "taste of mathematics," the Force felt cold and... hungry? Very strange, unfamiliar sensations. Most importantly, she sensed no shades of either the Light or the Dark Side. And then more deaths followed.

Someone was storming the starship, and Force-sensitives were involved. At first, the Jedi Knight thought it might be someone from the Order. Master Windu, for example. He wouldn't stand on ceremony with criminals. But the longer it went on, the more the young woman realized that whoever had come aboard the Hammerhead, they weren't Jedi. An atmosphere of terror and despair was wrapping itself ever more thickly around the ship. Something terrible was happening, and the only thing that let her look to the future with even a little hope was the fact that the Force surges remained neutral. Whoever it was, she sensed neither the serenity of the Light Side nor the fury and delight in suffering of the Dark Side. The Force remained impersonal and somehow dispassionate—almost lifeless.

Perhaps some minor order of Force-sensitives, with its own particular way of working with the Force? There were quite a few of those scattered across the galaxy...

In any case, after some time the active phase of the takeover came to an end. Lives stopped being cut short, and amid the fear that had engulfed the old cruiser, flickers of hope began to appear. The Zabrak felt the ship enter hyperspace and sank deeper into meditation. Whatever had happened here, if Force-sensitives had prevailed, she would probably find out soon enough.

By the girl's reckoning, no more than an hour had passed when someone came for her. A man in Mandalorian armor stopped in front of the force field sealing the entrance to her cell.

"Jedi." There was a note of dislike in the warrior's voice, but the girl sensed no hatred directed at her. "I'm going to shut off the force field now. Don't do anything stupid. Boss wants to talk to you. We're on decent terms with the Jedi—don't ruin it."

Knight Chatak rose from the hard metal bunk, which had no bedding whatsoever, and approached the orange-crimson energy barrier. The Mandalorian stood motionless for several seconds. It almost seemed as though his visor was regarding the girl with doubt. Then, with a light touch of an access card to the sensor, the man deactivated the barrier.

The girl was relieved that he wasn't aiming a weapon at her. In fact, the armored man's hands were completely empty.

"I'll escort you. Follow me," came the muffled voice from beneath the helmet, and the Mandalorian turned and started forward, motioning for her to come along.

The Jedi followed behind him. The thought of stunning him with the Force crossed her mind, but she dismissed it. Someone had clearly taken over the cruiser, and the man walking ahead of her was part of that group. Dislike of Jedi... that was nothing unusual, even if such attitudes hardly pleased her. But she was no youngling anymore. Even as a Padawan, traveling with her Master, she had understood why some sentients disliked the Jedi. Her teacher had never lied to her and had told her about the Order's failures as readily as its successes. "Everything is relative, Bol. On one planet, we may be considered heroes, while on another we're characters in frightening stories. One of your duties as a Jedi is to make sure there are more of the former and fewer of the latter."

The Zabrak had great respect for her teacher. The wise and calm Jedi had taught her that the best fight was the one you managed to prevent. And in the present situation, the young Knight saw a chance to avoid fighting altogether. "We're on decent terms with the Jedi," combined with the fact that she had been summoned for a conversation and no one had even pointed a weapon at her, gave her hope that the matter could be resolved peacefully.

Along the way, she could sense concentrations of the Force. Behind many of the cabin and compartment doors they passed, there was something mathematically ordered, cold, and hungry. And even though there was no darkness in it, the girl could feel the bases of her horns itching nervously.

Their path ended at one of the doors. Slightly larger than all the others.

"Just don't do anything stupid, Jedi," the Mandalorian warned her in parting, and to her surprise she caught a faint note of concern for her in his voice. The door opened to let her inside, and Bol took several steps into the captain's cabin.

"Welcome aboard my new cruiser," a voice greeted her. Seated behind a fairly broad desk was a man she initially took for a Jedi. Standing behind him was an M-3PO military protocol droid. The man's calm, composed face and neatly trimmed beard gave an impression of serenity, but the red sclera of his eyes, with black irises and pupils, lent his appearance an unsettling edge. Though was he even human? The galaxy was home to plenty of species that resembled humans—her own people among them—so there was little point in getting nervous every time someone's face didn't match the standard Coruscanti look. Her lightsaber lay on the desk beside him.

The girl allowed herself a little time to take in the cabin's interior. The desk behind which the stranger who had greeted her was sitting, a small padded chair for visitors, a wide double bed, quite a lot of open space, a pair of narrow doors leading into adjoining rooms, and a green-skinned Twi'lek girl. The latter, dressed very modestly by the standards of her species, stood a little to one side of the captain's desk, meekly staring at the floor. Beside her, on a low table near the bed, stood a tray with two cups and a tall caf pot.

"Please, have a seat," the man said, gesturing toward the visitor's chair.

"Hello. Thank you," Chatak replied with a nod as she sat down in the offered seat. She winced slightly: the bruises she had picked up during her introduction to the locals' hospitality were still aching, though not nearly as badly as they had the day after she got them.

"My name"—the stranger emphasized the last word—"is Siith, and I have absolutely nothing to do with the Sith you almost certainly just thought of. I'm from Jabiim, and I represent the Jabiim Mages' Guild—a new, young organization of magic users on our planet."

The red-eyed man studied her face for a second—her doubts had probably shown—then sighed, muttered, "I hope I don't regret this," and slid the lightsaber hilt toward her.

"You wouldn't believe it." The man's face remained impassive, though his eyes were laughing as she cautiously took back her weapon. "But I'm already tired of explaining that I have nothing to do with your enemies' order. Master Tholme and Padawan Secura tensed up when we first met too."

The girl relaxed slightly at the mention of Master Tholme. The Jedi Master was well known and respected. Still, she couldn't afford to let her guard down. The Zabrak regarded the red-eyed man with doubt. On the one hand, returning her lightsaber was a sign of trust. On the other...

"Bol Chatak," she introduced herself with measured dignity, imitating the unhurried gravitas of her teacher. The effect was somewhat undermined by the awareness that she hadn't bathed in a week. "Jedi Knight. I was returning from a mission when my shuttle was intercepted. I've been here for a week now, on the prison deck."

"Knight Chatak, since you've decided not to wave that glowing stick around..." The man turned to the Twi'lek girl. "Suti, please." Mugs of caf were set down in front of both him and Bol. "As you've already realized, we captured this ship. Right now it's heading somewhere quieter, where I intend to get rid of the surplus portion of the surviving crew, contact my homeworld, and, if you need it, the Jedi Order as well." The girl nodded gratefully at that and took a blissful sip of the truly aromatic drink. "Originally, we were heading for Coruscant along the Corellian Trade Route, but this cruiser's pirates tried to capture us, and it turned into a spontaneous boarding action. I don't want to abandon the prize. The Hammerhead may be a rather ancient tub, but it could still be useful to Jabiim's planetary-defense forces. Or I'll sell it to someone else."

The man calling himself Siith took a long drink as well, narrowed his eyes in pleasure, and, after giving the green-skinned girl a grateful nod, continued.

"That brings me to a couple of pieces of news and a couple of requests. So... First, your shuttle isn't operational. The locals did a pretty thorough job of gutting its internals, but don't worry—we'll get you to Coruscant. Second, this ship belonged to pirates, and I need to have it legally transferred into my name. Until that happens, I'd appreciate it if the Order's representative currently aboard could confirm that we're not criminals. And, if possible, maybe help with the transfer paperwork as well. What do you think?"

"Thank you." The girl smiled gratefully and let out a relieved breath. It looked like not only would there be no problems, the situation might actually turn out for the better. "As for transferring ownership, you'll need to discuss that with senior representatives of the Order. But confirming that you're not pirates—that won't be a problem at all. Of course I'll help you."

"Excellent! Suti, dear," the red-eyed man said to the Twi'lek girl as he got to his feet and took his mug with him. The Zabrak tensed a little, but her host simply headed for the exit. "Please give Knight Chatak some underwear and clothes from your own supply, and make sure her things get cleaned."

Bol flushed bright red. Jedi or not, the situation was embarrassing.

"Knight," the man said, looking at her as he paused in the doorway. "Get yourself cleaned up, wash away a week of imprisonment, and rest in a proper bed while they prepare a cabin of your own. Suti will help you with everything, but keep an eye on her—the girl is practically defenseless, and the previous crew is still aboard. As for me, I'm off. There's still plenty to do, and there aren't many of us here."

Then the Zabrak felt more deaths. Five lives were snuffed out almost simultaneously, but whoever had killed them hadn't used the Force. Siith froze for a second and muttered several clipped, guttural words—curses, by the sound of it. Then he looked at her, and she could see the weariness in his eyes.

"Fucking idiots. I'd kill every last one of them, but for now I still need a living crew."

The red-eyed man scratched the back of his head, looked up at the ceiling, and with a heavy sigh left the room. The droid followed him out.

Oh, the nerves that trip to Coruscant cost me. I have no words for how thoroughly fed up I got with those degenerates who came bundled with the ancient cruiser.

We got rid of most of them after landing on one of the practically uninhabited planets. I left with an easy mind: those half-dead bastards wouldn't tell anyone anything or cause the locals any trouble. A delayed curse would kill them in a couple of days. The only pity was that I wouldn't be able to collect their souls—we'd be too far away, and I didn't want to stage a massacre in front of a Jedi who, as it turned out, could sense deaths. Besides, my mercenaries probably wouldn't have been thrilled by mass executions either. Killing in battle was one thing; watching an assembly line for slaughtering the defenseless, even if they were assholes, was another. Unfortunately, governments had monopolized the punishment of crimes.

During the flight to the capital, there were two assassination attempts and one attempted mutiny. So forty-one pirates made it there. Nine... didn't. On the bright side, I added a few more souls to the soul vault. Pure profit, if they hadn't been such a pain in the ass.

Alto had no objection to acquiring another cruiser, old as it was, for next to nothing. In fact, I could've sworn there was a hint of envy in our gallant commander's eyes when I told him how we'd boarded and captured the cruiser. It seemed Stratus had started missing the smell of tibanna after spending so long behind a desk.

The bandits left aboard would bring the incoming Jabiim crew up to speed on the quirks of operating the Hammerhead, and whatever happened to them afterward was a matter for the Jabiim authorities. There were no problems with registering my new property either. Stratus started the necessary bureaucratic procedures, and the Jedi Order promised to help make sure no one put obstacles in our way.

I also happened to meet one of the members of the Jedi Council—Mace Windu. A pretty serious Korun Jedi. We didn't talk for long over voice comms, right after his conversation with Knight Bol Chatak, but the man struck me as a perfectly reasonable sort. Maybe he overdid the sternness a little. So he Sternly thanked me for helping Tholme and Secura, Sternly thanked me for freeing the Zabrak, and Sternly invited me to visit the Jedi Temple when I arrived on Coruscant. I agreed with an impassive face, but once the connection ended, I chuckled a little.

The Korun reminded me of spellcasters who were no longer young, but not yet truly grown-up. A hundred or two hundred years old. They looked down indulgently on the youngsters and regarded the old-timers with bafflement. The latter were very often "a bunch of daft old fools" as far as they were concerned. But another century or two would pass, and those same fellows would join the daft old fraternity themselves. Or go to Hecate, having grown tired of life.

Clever little Knight Chatak showed me her saber and even explained what it meant to the Jedi. She refused to take it apart, though, or let me see the crystal. Greedy little thing. Still, what I managed to pick up was more than enough to start building them myself. The saber itself was an extraordinarily dangerous tool, honestly. The fact that Jedi manage not to cut anything off themselves while using one says a lot about their skill—I'd definitely lop off a couple—maybe eight—of my protruding bits. Though, in my defense, I'm no swordsman worth a damn.

She also showed me how she used the Force. Or rather, she was simply using it while she and Shmi were tinkering with her shuttle, while I stood nearby, brazenly slipped into meditation, and shamelessly studied how the Zabrak manipulated objects with telekinesis... Let's just say I was fucking floored, thoroughly impressed, and came away with even more respect for those people—and an even stronger desire to catch a couple of them and study them properly.

At the moment, we were entering the planet's atmosphere aboard the shuttle. The cruiser was hanging in a parking orbit, with order aboard maintained by our three mercenaries and thirty zombies assigned to reinforce them. Once the crew from Jabiim arrived, the mercenaries would hand the ship over and join me planetside. As for the Hammerhead's undead, they'd be dumped into space once the cruiser was far enough away from Coruscant.

I just hoped no one would find them before the mana in their reservoirs ran out. I wouldn't want someone to stumble across space undead. Actually, scratch that—I'd regret it for the rest of my life if I missed the look on someone's face when they thawed out a corpse that was one hundred percent dead and it started moving.

Demons, I hadn't thought that through. The undead would be dormant and frozen, so their mana consumption would be microscopic. They could hang out there for a hundred years.

On the other hand... who in their right mind goes around collecting corpses in space? And space is huge—the odds of one of my dead men being found by exactly the sort of idiot who collects corpses are tiny.


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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Boroda Orka said:
On the other hand... who in their right mind goes around collecting corpses in space? And space is huge—the odds of one of my dead men being found by exactly the sort of idiot who collects corpses are tiny.
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Man, at his age he really should know better than to tempt fate 😆
 
Boroda Orka said:
On the other hand... who in their right mind goes around collecting corpses in space? And space is huge—the odds of one of my dead men being found by exactly the sort of idiot who collects corpses are tiny.
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….. 👀 dude are you for real?!?!?!!!!!!???? 😧
Well Looks like Sidious may get his hands on them XD
Tho, bets are on for Jedi or Sith that will discover them,
or a poor unsuspecting Corosanti Socialite who is have a party on their Space Yacht stumbles upon them, decide to have some good press by picking them up 🤣.
Space Party turned Horror Movie 😁


Boroda Orka said:
Actually, scratch that—I'd regret it for the rest of my life if I missed the look on someone's face when they thawed out a corpse that was one hundred percent dead and it started moving.
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Honestly fair, I would also live to see and record their reaction XD
 
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LastNomai said:
The Force: Casually guiding someone to the space zombies for the lolz.
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Random SI arriving 100 years before canon.
Great! Prep time is a super power, just gotta stay hidden.
...
wild Jedi and Sith appear

cant hide shit in that galaxy, maybe if youre a droid or null or have wards everywhere
 
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