The Force of Magic [Star Wars SI]

[WerewolfEros]

This chapter is dedicated to proper CHEESE.

Click to shrink...

But there's been no mention or hint of Sheogorath?? lol

 

[Vyraco]

I'm just waiting for Palpatine to steal all the knowledge of Magic he wants, deciding he don't need no Magic Oath with no stinkin Force Ghost, and going (more) absolutly batshit insane...

 

[Doomsought]

Ooh, I figured out the catch. The blessing of Hecate also protects against dark side corruption. Since many forms of Sith indoctrination rely on it, the effects will be especially noticeable to Sith acolytes.

 

[readsalot]

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Secura watching him a little more closely than necessary. There was surprise in her expression—and wariness.

He was a rather strange sentient, actually. On the outside he looked completely human, and inside his anatomy matched closely enough as well, but certain quirks in his biology pointed to some kind of shapeshifting chimera only distantly related to humanity.

Click to shrink...

Who's this dude a Vong?
Also great chapter, old Palpy has been shown the wonders of a Hardcopy Book well done

 

[FTR2017]

At this point it seems like the entire first class are spies.

Click to shrink...

Spies, and one or two viziers and ambitious princes while at it.

 

[Boroda Orka]

Tann watched the group of Force-sensitives passing in the distance out of the corner of her eye, with just a hint of curiosity. At their head were the visibly pleased Academy Director and a chuckling Thisspiasian. The Chiss pretended to be absorbed in the notes on her datapad. Yes, while standing in the middle of the corridor. Strangely enough, that was perfectly normal here—the students had a habit of picking up some of the Guild Master's quirks.

No anger stirred in her at the sight of the Jedi, nor any resentment. She found them interesting; she didn't particularly like them, but that was as far as it went. Her patron and teacher, however, had a... complicated attitude toward Force-sensitives who followed the Light Side. The Count never missed a chance to make some cutting remark whenever he encountered them. "A shadow of former strength." "Fragments of a glorious past." That was roughly how the aristocrat spoke of his former Order. And often, somewhere deep beneath the obvious disdain and the generous helping of contempt, a very attentive observer could glimpse a trace of bitterness and disappointment.

But to the Chiss, the Jedi were simply opponents. The young woman had a quick, powerful mind and was skilled at gathering and analyzing information from every available source. She had been trained for it—back home on Csilla and here, in Republic space. And from everything she had learned about those who followed the Light... she had no desire to follow their path. That insane mountain of restrictions they piled onto themselves and carried for the rest of their lives held no appeal for her. No enjoying the fruits of hard-earned glory, no personal possessions, no family.

At the thought of family, the Chiss failed to keep her expression perfectly composed. The faintest hint of an angry grimace crossed her beautiful face, forcing her to pay closer attention to controlling her emotions.

Vandalor...

Fucking sex-crazed piece of four-assed acklay shit! When Sev'rance found out what that primate had been doing after completing the Count's assignment... she did nothing. There was no point in arguing or making a scene. As always when dealing with outsiders, the Chiss kept a mask of icy composure on her face and simply handed him a datapad containing a recording of how he had spent his time in a Nar Shaddaa brothel. That was all that piece of filth deserved. After that, she stopped paying him any attention. If "a little variety" mattered more to him than she did, then he was welcome to enjoy all the variety he wanted.

Those who knew little about the Chiss tended to think them almost unemotional. The young woman allowed one corner of her mouth to lift in a faint, mocking smile. That wasn't true. It was simply a matter of her people's traditions. Emotion was reserved for those close to you—friends, family, those you respected enough to consider worthy of seeing what you truly felt. Showing everyone else what was in your heart was weakness, and weakness deserved no respect. The sex-crazed bastard she had once considered her lover had proved unworthy of that privilege.

Yes, Tann allowed for the possibility that all of this had been some elaborate game on the part of her patrons. Whether it had been the Lord's initiative or his Master's made no difference. But that did nothing to lessen Vandalor's guilt. Nor did it give her any reason to resent her mentor or his Teacher. In fact, even if the information that had found its way into her hands—and that animal's little adventure in the brothel—had all been arranged by the Count, she could only thank him for it. Who knew how long it might otherwise have taken for her former lover's true nature to reveal itself in all its glory? It had been another harsh lesson. Whether from her Teacher or from life itself, she had learned it.

She had learned the lesson, drawn her conclusions, committed them to memory, and moved on to the Count's next assignment. A disciplined, responsible officer—that was how the young woman saw herself—and she kept her attention firmly on the task at hand: mastering sorcery, studying the Guild, documenting its teaching methods, and becoming acquainted with the most important figures on Jabiim. The last part, at least as far as circumstances allowed.

So far, the only person she had managed to meet was Siith'khara'Dziha. A man of... contradictions. Probably human. She simply wasn't sure. After spending some time at the Academy, she had even begun to wonder whether he might be part Chiss. Sometimes, especially when meeting someone for the first time, his face remained just as cold and unreadable as those of her own people. But when he smiled, he reminded her of Count Dooku in the moments just before an especially painful lesson.

A faint air of madness seemed to follow their Director wherever he went. Talking to him, it was often difficult to tell whether he was discussing some serious, important philosophical subject or simply making fun of everyone involved. One moment he would look at the people around him like some ancient sage; the next, he would be animatedly discussing some moment from an online game with the young Togruta, Romri. Then he might suddenly stop in the middle of a corridor, his face intensely focused and his gaze fixed on nothing, only to pull out his datapad half a minute later and start frantically typing out notes. His lectures were lively and packed with easy-to-understand analogies. Easy to understand, yes—but most of them were either downright crude or outright indecent. Much like his sense of humor.

Then there was that habit of walking down the corridor with a glowing sign over his head that read I'M NOT HERE. If anyone tried to speak to him, the Director would look at them as if they were an idiot and point at the sign. And the nicknames he gave the students? Penro the Muun had become "Stretch," the Devaronian girl was "Hit-Girl," the Rendili was "Shipwright," and both Sephi were "Ears." The girl from Kuat, at least, had gotten lucky. He called her by her name—Littia. When Shipwright objected, the Director explained, "Shipwrightess sounds awful, and everyone will think the two of you are a couple." The Rendili refused to give up. Pointing at the two Sephi, he noted that they weren't a couple either. The Director looked surprised, asked the natives of Thustra, learned that they were brother and sister, shrugged, and said, "Still relatives."

Some of the students complained, but Tann saw more than simple mockery in it. There was recognition there as well: everyone the Director singled out in his peculiar way had caught his attention during practical lessons. The Devaronian girl, Wilmar Grark's daughter, had earned her nickname after she literally killed one of the other students with a bolt of fire. Burned a fist-sized hole straight through his chest.

While some of the students—including the killer herself—were busy losing their lunch and the rest stood frozen, unsure what they were supposed to do, the Director gave the fluffy girl a light pat on the shoulder and said, "Not bad, actually, but you need to work on your directional vector. Don't puke. I've seen spells with a lot more mistakes than that." Then, right in front of them, he held the body suspended with his aura and, with a running commentary, stripped the dead student to the waist, closed the hole, restored the organs, bones, muscles, and skin... and brought the corpse back to life.

"First corpse," the Academy Director said with a satisfied squint, clapping the slightly unsteady young man on the shoulder. "Go join the others, Deadman. Thanks for giving me a chance to demonstrate what chimerology can do. Next time, though, catch the pulsars with your head—the circlet will protect you."

And that was the full extent of the man's reaction. Though after watching the sorcerer work with her own eyes, Tann could understand why he was so calm: Deadman, a young man from Coruscant, had been dead for no more than ten minutes, and any problems involving his dead brain had been taken care of by the student circlet on his head—the only item of the uniform that everyone was required to wear.

Siith had added at the time, "If you somehow manage to drop dead, this artifact will keep your head in stasis for a week, giving me enough time to repair any damage done to the body. And if the brain itself is threatened, it'll generate a shield that keeps your skulls from suffering irreparable damage."

"Yes, young man?" the Director said in response to the raised hand of the student with a hole burned through his clothes where his heart had been. He was still a little pale, but he was standing steadily now, which earned him a small measure of respect from the Chiss.

"Why does the circlet protect only the head and not the whole body, sir?"

"So you'll have some motivation to learn the basic defensive spells as quickly as possible, obviously," Dziha said with a snort. "Pain, suffering, lost limbs, torment, the agony of death... You have no idea how motivating that can be!"

Tann could imagine it quite well. Pain, at least, was a perfectly workable motivational technique in her Teacher's repertoire. She herself had occasionally used similar methods back home to motivate certain subordinates.

"Admit it—after seeing how efficiently our fluffy beauty," the red-eyed man said, giving the Devaronian a playful wink, "breaks boys' hearts, every one of you thought you should probably put a little more effort into learning defense, am I right?"

At the low murmur of agreement from the students, the sorcerer bared his teeth in a grin that was both cheerful and unnerving, prompting a wave of nervous flinches through the room.

Speaking of names and nicknames, Dziha called the Chiss herself by her full name, which had sparked yet another wave of rumors that the two of them were, at the very least, acquainted—and still left the blue-skinned woman herself puzzled.

But none of that mattered. Why had so many Jedi been sent here? And with an actual Jedi Master—a member of the Council—leading them? That would definitely have to go into her next report. Before that, though, it might be useful to have a word with her new friend. Suti was a busy Twi'lek, but she was also very open and friendly. Tann could easily drop by for ten minutes after classes. The Director usually spent that time in the laboratories, working on his own projects.

---

The Dark Woman watched the strange little girl work. She was tiny, yet handled the Force with complete confidence. Just as the Jedi who had encountered these sorcerers before had said, the Force felt strange around them. There were no shades of either Dark or Light at all. Instead, there was a sense of rigor and precision—and in this case, a taste of blood and the stench of slaughter.

On the metal table near the center of the fairly large room lay a young bantha. The breed was called a "swamp bantha," though in truth it was simply adapted to worlds with rainy climates. Shorter fur, broader hooves—that was about all the Jedi knew about it.

The room itself was some strange hybrid of a spacious surgical ward, a sorcerer's lair from an old tale, and a technician's workshop. Medical equipment stood alongside cabinets filled with vials of various substances. There were machine tools, two medical droids, everything was sterile and spotless... and a little girl in a floor-length black robe, her hood thrown back.

The Jedi herself remained motionless under concealment atop one of the tall metal cabinets, which looked more like a safe than anything else.

Her independent mission had gone smoothly enough... if she ignored the journey here, when she had been forced to hide from her fellow Jedi, and that peculiar moment when someone—or something—had begun studying her intently from behind. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't identify the source of the observation, and after several attempts the woman had started to feel rather foolish, twisting around beneath the ceiling. Once she activated her concealment and moved to a new vantage point, the sensation of being watched disappeared.

In Kuro's opinion, the Council was taking the newly formed Guild far too lightly. Especially with the shadow of the Dark Side shrouding the future so completely. And the JMG's controversial leader himself raised far too many questions. Who was he? Where had he come from? What exactly was he trying to achieve with the organization he was building? The woman trusted the Grand Master and the Council, but... a little independent verification couldn't hurt. Especially since Master Rancisis was clearly far too favorably disposed toward the red-eyed man.

"Yes!" The girl standing in front of her "patient" jumped up, throwing both fists into the air in triumph. Then she launched into some incomprehensible but exuberant little dance. The redhead's face was glowing with joy and triumph. Very cute child, the thought slipped into the Jedi's mind before she could stop it.

The little girl darted toward the comlink lying on one of the tables, then suddenly froze. "But something's missing," the young sorceress drawled thoughtfully. "Right! The color sucks!"

A few quick steps, and the girl once again froze over the bantha in intense concentration. An'ya felt the Force begin to pour out of the child again. The amount was relatively modest, but the structure of it was another matter entirely. The redhead stood perfectly still. Only her darting pupils, focused on something visible to no one but her, and the faint twitching of her fingers betrayed the fact that this statue was a living person.

Nearly twenty minutes passed with neither of them moving. Then a wave of change swept through the animal lying on the table.

"Heh-heh-heh," the girl giggled in the cartoonishly sinister way only children could manage. "A pink, dwarf, swamp, guard killer bantha. P.D.S.G.K.B.-1. Heh-heh-heh. Dad's gonna lose it! Or maybe... Naaah... The four-butts joke won't be funny a second time. Hee-hee!"

"Mistress, have you finished?" the 2-1B medical droid spoke for the first time. Its companion, an FX-6, also began blinking to life as it came out of standby.

"Yeah, I think that's it." The girl ran her fingers into the hair at the back of her head and scratched thoughtfully. Kuro remembered seeing Siith'khara'Dziha make exactly the same gesture in a holorecording. "Pillkin, you, uh... keep an eye on the PDB... er... PDSGKB-1, hee-hee-hee. If the bantha's still doing fine in an hour, ask someone to move her to a separate enclosure. We'll test her tomorrow—there are Jedi visiting Dad, and I want to see the ones I'm actually allowed to notice!"

The girl grabbed her comlink and dashed out of the room, but not before casting a sly, barely suppressed look of amusement toward the spot where the Jedi was hiding, making her raise an eyebrow in surprise. The Dark Woman did not believe in coincidences like that, so...

A few seconds of silence followed, broken only by the sounds of the medical droids moving about—and by a quiet voice, too soft even for the machines' sensitive sensors to detect:

"I feel... stupid again..."

---

The young Knight Secura was a little disappointed. She had expected something far more insane from this place than an atmosphere that felt much like an ordinary school. The students they passed gave the sorcerer respectful nods, which he sometimes ignored entirely as he showed the Jedi around his domain.

Lecture halls, rooms for "practical exercises," testing grounds, laboratories... Allowing for the Academy's unusual specialization, it all looked like an ordinary educational institution. Even the students resembled perfectly normal young screwups—or, at the opposite extreme, overachieving nerds hurrying off to whatever they had to do. And for a complex this large, there really weren't that many people around. Aayla had been in places like this before, and while she wouldn't always have described herself as especially... disciplined, she did consider herself observant.

One of the students they passed did make her a little uneasy—a young man who felt very strange. His emotions were there, clear enough, but in the Force... not quite a blank spot, though close to it. It was as if, instead of a young man nearly six feet tall, she were sensing some small animal. His emotions were odd as well: dislike and envy mixed with a sense of... superiority? A rather unusual combination, but... the galaxy was vast. There was no telling who—or what—you might run into.

The biggest dose of cuteness, though, came from the Director's daughter—the red-haired child Aayla had seen at the library opening. She joined the tour right near the end, promising her father a "huuuge surprise" tomorrow. Siith seemed to have mixed feelings about that. His expression held both obvious fondness and a trace of apprehension. Though if the stories about the acklay were true, Aayla could understand why.

"Well, that's about it," the sorcerer said, spreading his hands with that perpetually unpleasant smile of his. "How about dinner now? My house isn't far, and my cook... Trust me, you need to try the food."

"If it wouldn't be an imposition," Master Rancisis said, looking at him questioningly.

"No, not at all. As soon as I was informed that the arriving Jedi were headed for the Academy, I gave orders for dinner to be prepared with guests in mind. And you can tell me what's been going on out there in the wider galaxy. I've been buried in work—only rumors ever seem to reach me," the man added with an exaggeratedly mournful sigh. "We can bring your injured colleague along as well."

"No. He's on a restricted diet and bed rest," Aayla cut in, giving Master Rancisis a stern look. The young woman had no doubt that if Quinlan were offered the chance, he would cling to the opportunity to escape the ward with his teeth and his remaining hand. Her former Master... wasn't exactly disciplined either. "Master Vos is still far too weak to go visiting."

"That's all right. Tomorrow, after the treatment, he can try Maria's cooking," the sorcerer said with an easy shrug, then turned his head toward an empty corner. "What about you, Master Kuro?"

The Jedi turned in surprise toward the white-haired woman who had appeared out of nowhere.

"Damn it! Third time today I've felt like a..." she muttered, trailing off before finishing the sentence, then fixed the red-eyed man with a suspicious stare. "How?"

"The concealment is good," Dziha said with a serious nod. "You just decided to hide in the home of a reasonably competent artifact-maker. And I have a hundred students here, Master. A hundred novice magic-users. Demons only know what might pop into their heads at any given moment. And the instructors aren't much better—mostly youngsters who were sitting behind desks themselves just yesterday, and most of them have already amazed me with the sheer force of their stupidity..."

"Hmph." Karray lifted her little nose, making Aayla smile. The child clearly did not consider herself one of those who had impressed her father with the sheer force of their stupidity.

"So, what about dinner?" Siith'khara'Dziha repeated.

"I don't mind. And what exactly gave me away, you're not going to tell me, are you?" the Dark Woman asked with a caustic, bitter smirk, casting a strange glance at the girl.

"Why wouldn't I?" the sorcerer said in surprise as he headed toward the exit from the academic building. "Body mass and scent particles—that was what gave you away first. And you kept tripping the security system's sensors, which don't rely on the visual spectrum alone. Echolocation, for example."

"So that's what those clicks I keep hearing are," exclaimed the Master, slithering along beside the sorcerer and occasionally shooting Master Kuro looks that promised a conversation later.

"You can hear them?" the red-eyed man asked, surprised all over again. "Your auditory system must be more advanced than ours."

"That's right," the Jedi Master said with a smile. "But don't even think about vivisection!"

"All Jedi are stingy," Karray snorted, still holding her father's hand.

"Karray!" the sorcerer said, giving her a reproachful look.

"But Dad, it's true!"

"Karray!" Dziha said firmly, shaking his head. "No name-calling. Apologize to our guests."

"Ugh..." The girl pulled such a mournful expression that Aayla giggled. "I'm sorry."

"That's better," the sorcerer said with satisfaction, ruffling the child's hair. "Tomorrow you'll be assisting me with the treatment of an almost-whole Jedi Master!"

The girl's eyes went wide with delight, and with a squeal she launched herself at her father for a hug.

"Children," the red-eyed man said to the Jedi with an apologetic smile, though somehow it still came out a little unsettling. "It takes so little to make them happy..."

---

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.

 

[Vyraco]

Some children would love to watch a lightsaber being disassembled and reassembled... Karray wants to watch the dis- and reassembly of a Jedi Master. She'd love to poke his liver, maybe even his heart or brain, but that would be unprofessional.

 

[Elmoslayer5]

... if you poke a specific part in a Jedis brain with electricity do you think you could get the body to do a force trick?

 

[WerewolfEros]

... if you poke a specific part in a Jedis brain with electricity do you think you could get the body to do a force trick?

Click to shrink...

Now I want Karray to ask Siith that with all the Jedi present, with Siith seriously considering it, that would be so fucking hilarious

 

[FTR2017]

I think this could be the STar Wars equivalent of The Addams Family, we're only missing an undead butler, an old hag well-versed in cauldrons, and a sapient disembodied hand.

I also foresee this pink bantha goring someone in the near future! Thus providing Siith with more opportunities for willing near-whole Jedi vivisections for researchrestoration purposes!

 

[Elmoslayer5]

Now I want Karray to ask Siith that with all the Jedi present, with Siith seriously considering it, that would be so fucking hilarious

Click to shrink...

Might be funnier if she asks that while siith is mid "healing".

and a sapient disembodied hand.

Click to shrink...

Hmmm i dont think Anakin would miss his hand, just gotta find the thing and bring it to life...

Anakins hand could totally do force tricks, also would the hand be considered the "chosen one".

Imagine it, his hand standing on its stump mutely screaming 'unlimited power!!!' While electrifying a misbehaving student.

 

[Boroda Orka]

"That little one gives me the creeps," Vos confided to his former Master, flexing his new arm. The Jedi was still impressed by how quickly they had restored the limb and rid him of the lingering weakness left by his severe injuries.

The operation had gone surprisingly quickly and, despite Quinlan remaining conscious at his own request, was almost completely painless. The only discomfort came from faint, sharp twinges as the nerves were connected. There were even "bonuses," as the sorcerer put it. After grafting the arm in place—which the spellcaster had pulled out of some kind of tank full of "soup"—he went over the Jedi's entire body as well. "Everything looks good overall, but we can make it just a little better. At the very least, I can get you off that diet right now," Dziha had said, instantly putting an end to any hesitation on the part of the Jedi Master, who was thoroughly sick of eating extremely healthy and completely tasteless paste.

Overall, Quinlan found himself liking the sorcerer. There was something cheerful and reckless about him, much like Quinlan himself. Even the looks the Jedi occasionally caught him giving his red-haired ward felt familiar. Vos had looked at his own Padawan, Aayla, much the same way—and the girl looked at her adoptive father exactly as the little Twi'lek had once looked at the Kiffar who had saved her. It was obvious there was a deep bond between them, no matter how hard Siith tried to act like a Mentor rather than a father. Not that it fooled anyone outside the two of them. If anything, it felt more like some private game between two people who were very close, with rules only they understood.

The only problem was the way the little thing looked at the Jedi... like a child eyeing a new present. A toy. He had seen little girls happily giggle as they pulled the arms and legs off their dolls, then "played doctor" with them. Brrr... And then there were comments like, "Oh, that's interesting! Dad, look at his gallbladder!" followed by delighted clapping, or, "His respiratory system is completely standard. Boring, even," accompanied by a disapproving shake of the head and a reproachful look aimed straight at the Kiffar. For a second, he had actually felt ashamed of having such unremarkable lungs!

A charismatic little thing. Charismatic—and frighteningly well versed in anatomy, biology, biochemistry... Well, compared to the Jedi Master himself, at least. Most of the terms the girl casually rattled off while peering into a Force projection visualizing the state of his body went completely over his head, even though the education provided at the Temple was very good.

"Come on, Quinlan," Tholme said with a smile. "The child is simply brilliant—and very enthusiastic."

"About your inner world, Master," Aayla giggled, looking over the now whole and healthy Jedi.

"I'd say our inner world," the healed Jedi Master said with a snort, sweeping his gaze over his fellow Jedi. "Not implying anything, but if we ever send one of our people here again, make sure there are at least two of them."

"I second that," Master Bulq said with a crooked smile. "'Mister Sora, you're a Weequay, right? I've never met a Weequay before,'" he quoted the little girl.

"Uh-huh, uh-huh," the Twi'lek nodded, then continued. "'Nothing hurts, does it? No? Pleeease?' Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! And then she just bats those eyes at you."

"You may find it funny, Knight Secura, but I nearly blurted out that an old leg fracture—healed for five years now—still aches from time to time," Bulq said with a snort. "Sweet child, but yes, a little terrifying. I just hope she doesn't grow into someone we'll have to hunt down."

"Exactly," the Jedi Shadow said darkly, looking at Oppo Rancisis. "With all due respect, Master, you are far too well disposed toward Siith'khara'Dziha."

The Jedi let out a short, weary hiss and rolled his eyes slightly.

"Master, I think you're looking at the situation from the wrong angle. Yes, there is no Darkness in them—the mages, I mean. But there is no Light either. I consider the sorcerers from both sides: their neutrality can be both a danger and an advantage. And I believe I'm handling this correctly. Even you, An'ya, think the old Thisspiasian is taking this new institution that has appeared on that rain-soaked world far too lightly. But I'm not. That is precisely why a member of the Council is here. And not alone, either—Master Bulq is with me, one of the finest swordsmen in the Order. Master Tholme and Knight Secura came to Jabiim with me as well, as Quinlan's former Master and former Padawan. No younglings. No Padawans. Knights and Masters. Not every Council assignment gets a team this strong."

"Master?" the blue-skinned Twi'lek asked, raising her brows in surprise. "So you're not actually fond of the sorcerers—you're only pretending?"

Rancisis laughed cheerfully and shook his head.

"No, Knight Secura. I genuinely like the Guild as a whole, and Master Siith in particular. But two hundred years in the Order have given me a great deal of experience. Not everything is what it seems. Supposed friends stab you in the back when you least expect it. Sentients who seem noble and kind can turn out to be rotten and vicious. And a man named Siith, who looks like a Sith, has red eyes like a Sith, and wears a sinister, unsettling smile... may turn out to be a perfectly reasonable and pleasant fellow, while his Guild may prove a useful ally—or, at the very least, a reliable supplier of Force artifacts. Do you understand, Knight Secura?"

"Master Rancisis is here," Sora Bulq said, nodding to himself. "And he's doing exactly what he should. We're investigating this remarkably stupid report with a team that, in my opinion, is even stronger than necessary. The JMG restored Master Vos's missing arm, which is excellent in its own right. Besides, Master Rancisis's genuine goodwill is far better for diplomatic relations than a grim-faced Master Kuro—or me, for that matter, forgive my bluntness." The Weequay gave the woman an apologetic nod, and she merely waved it off. "And no one tried to obstruct you either, Master. Siith took your... hm, little game of hide-and-seek rather well."

"And that, An'ya, is exactly what spared you an unpleasant conversation with the Council," the Thisspiasian said, shaking his head in disapproval. "It was a reckless decision to go sneaking into the home of Force-sensitives we know so little about. Especially while your colleagues were trying to persuade the leader of those same Force-sensitives to heal one of our own. What would you have said to Master Vos if Siith had dug in his heels and refused to treat him?"

Quinlan merely smiled good-naturedly at that and waved his new hand. Secura, however, gave the Shadow a look that could hardly be called friendly.

"What would you have told the Council if Dziha had refused to work with us the way he refused to work with Corellia? The Greens are still chewing on their lightsaber hilts in frustration, while Corellian shipwrights seem to spend half their time spitting in the direction of the enclave and the customs officials. Our new acquaintances' products have already become extremely, extremely sought after. Jabiim physically cannot meet the demand from the thousands of companies interested in buying their protective amulets, charms, and all sorts of other useful items. And those new hull-strengthening devices? Those alone are worth a fortune. The JMG could simply downgrade the Temple's priority and lose absolutely nothing. We, on the other hand, would lose the already tiny trickle of those concealment rings. You liked those, didn't you, Master? And the amulets that make it much easier for our people to survive combat missions aren't exactly useless either."

"I took the possible threat seriously..." the Shadow began, raising her voice slightly.

"So did I. So did the Council, Master Kuro. So did Grand Master Yoda, who asked me to test the waters as carefully as possible," Rancisis cut her off. He looked perfectly calm, but an attentive observer would have noticed the faint, irritated twitching at the tip of his tail. "I probably would have brought you along without a second thought if you'd come to me with your concerns. I would have calmly taken responsibility if you were discovered. But! Not only did you act on your own, you also made me and the Council look like fools who can't even keep one of their own Masters under control! You're a Shadow, after all—an experienced Jedi Master, not some young Padawan!"

The Dark Woman stood there frowning, doing her best not to meet the eyes of the Council member, who was very clearly in a bad mood.

"Perhaps, Master, it would be better to speak with Master Kuro in private?" John Tholme suggested mildly, casting his colleague a sympathetic look.

"And we'll speak in private as well," the Thisspiasian said with a nod. "But Master Kuro needed to put herself in my place—to feel the embarrassment, the awkwardness, the sheer stupidity of the situation. And it was twice as unpleasant because of how indulgently Master Siith treated the whole thing. He called your little escapade 'a game of hide-and-seek,' An'ya. And he reacted more calmly than some Masters do to youngling mischief. Perhaps, Master Kuro, he meant nothing demeaning by it. Perhaps you see nothing particularly terrible in it either. But I do not like one of the Order's strongest Shadows looking, in the eyes of outsiders, like some girl who not only got caught, but apparently knows nothing about discipline."

An'ya Kuro took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Then she exhaled and looked directly at the Thisspiasian.

"I'm sorry, Master. My actions were reckless," the woman said, bowing her head in acknowledgment of her fault.

"Ah..." Rancisis sighed, almost like a human. "Our lives are an endless education. All of us Jedi, from younglings to Masters, must walk our path with our eyes wide open and listen carefully, so we don't miss the lessons life chooses to teach us. I only hope that you, Master Kuro, everyone here, and myself included, can take at least a grain of wisdom from this situation. We must remember that the actions of a single Jedi can have consequences for the entire Order."

For about a minute, silence hung over the ship's compartment as everyone processed what the Master had said.

"Ahem..." the healed Jedi cleared his throat. "By the way, whoever this Maria is, she's an incredible cook. During dinner, I actually found myself regretting for a moment that Jedi aren't allowed to marry!"

"Pfft." The Twi'lek snorted. "That's only because you've been living on paste this whole time, Master."

"Envy is the path to the Dark Side," Quinlan said with a snort. Master Rancisis chuckled softly, while the others answered with smiles of varying width. Even Master Kuro allowed herself a cautious smile, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly.

"Laugh it up," the Twi'lek said, folding her arms across her chest. "Let's see how funny you find it when the healers get their hands on you and start checking your health." Then, watching the Kiffar's face fall, she added with a wicked little smile, "Vokara Che in particular. She wasn't exactly thrilled by the idea of you being treated by 'some shamans.'"

"Master Rancisis, don't you happen to have some assignment for me? The Force is whispering that I really shouldn't go back to the Temple just yet."

"That's not the Force. That's your survival instinct," the Weequay said with a snort. He was a frequent visitor to the Order's medical wing and knew the head of the Healing Halls' formidable temper firsthand.

"Take it easy for now, Master Vos," Oppo Rancisis said cheerfully. "Tomorrow we still have a trip to the 'military base of the ruthless Gungans' and a tour of the local metalworks. But I think you should start mentally preparing for your meeting with Master Che as early as possible."

---

"Where am I supposed to find you a Weequay?"

Karray's big, beautiful, terribly sad eyes stared up at me, full of pleading.

"No, sweetheart, we are not kidnapping Master Bulq!"

The girl shifted her pleading gaze to the head of Jabiim's Internal Security Service, who was sitting in the chair beside her.

"And don't look at Cordelia like that! She's not going to kidnap a member of the Order either just so one tiny manipulator can poke around inside him!"

"Well, technically..." the head of Security began hesitantly.

"Cordelia, have you lost your mind?!" I stared at the tough young woman in outrage. One look from my ward and she was already starting to melt. "Stop that immediately! We are not kidnapping Jedi! At least not while they're here on an official visit to Jabiim!"

"Pleeease! Daddy, pleeease! Please, please, please!" Those enormous eyes held all the sorrow in the universe.

"That won't work on me! And besides, you already have a project to work on!"

"Dad, it's a bantha! What could possibly be interesting about a bantha?!"

"What you made out of it! P.D.S.G.K.B.! Venomous spines that stand on end whenever it senses danger, hollow fangs full of venom, the instinct to stay at the edge of the herd, away from other similarly modified banthas... No, it turned out well, I'll give you that. Predators will go for them, get a dose of venom, and die. I even understand the pink fur—it draws attention! But why doesn't it moo? Why does it scream 'SHAZUUUUUU!'?"

"Hee-hee-hee-hee! Did you see how that blue Twi'lek jumped?" the little menace cackled shamelessly, remembering how Aayla Secura had practically leapt like a mountain goat when the redhead's creation suddenly let out its roar earlier that day. "But I'm almost done anyway! One more week, tops, and that's it! Dad, come on, huh? Just one Weequay! Their hides are really tough! They can even take a blaster shot! Besides, they started it! Spying! Aunt Cordelia, tell Dad!"

"Siith, what if we took that white-haired one and..." Stratus perked up when Kuro came up. She wasn't being serious, of course—mostly just teasing me—but the Jedi Shadow had taken a painful swipe at the young woman's professional pride, so the joke carried a distinctly unhealthy amount of enthusiasm.

"No, no, and no! How about... how about I get you a rancor instead? You wanted a rancor, right?"

"Daaaaad... Rancors are boring!"

"What do you mean, boring? Even a five-meter one weighs two tons! And those ugly bastards can grow up to twenty meters! Hide like armor, nearly sentient, fangs, claws, a mouth big enough for you to crawl right into! Come on, say yes and I'll contact Wilmar! Good old Willy will bring you the finest rancor on Dathomir, huh?"

"Can he get one here within a week?" the girl asked thoughtfully.

"Of course he can! Grark's been whining about upgrading his Inferno for ages. I'll hint that we'll move him to the front of the line—he'll come running faster than he would for a request from his daughter. Or an order from his wife. Heh... Those Devaronians are all horned, henpecked husbands."

"Okay, Daddy..." Karray drawled sadly, letting out a mournful sigh. The little girl trudged toward the library door, then sloooowly closed it behind her, watching me all the while with a gaze full of inhumanly profound sorrow. Only the cheerful tap-tap-tap of my ward's little feet spoiled the image of galaxy-sized despair.

"Seriously?" Cordelia raised an eyebrow with a mocking smile. "'Devaronians are all horned, henpecked husbands'? And I'm the one she can twist around her little finger? Karray played you perfectly, and you fell for it! My little darling was after a rancor from the start, not a Jedi. Or maybe a krayt dragon."

"Pfft..." I gave her a condescending look. "As if I didn't know. I'm the one who taught her tricks like that. Just asking for a rancor would've been boring for her, and I didn't want to disappoint her. Let the little one enjoy her small victory."

"Tch, you're annoying!" she snapped, waving me off like some bothersome student before going back to her book.

We sat like that for another ten minutes. Stratus read her book, I read mine, taking occasional sips of caf from an enormous mug.

"By the way, did you know Alto asked your employee out to dinner?" she asked, pulling me away from the page with a distinctly mischievous edge in her voice.

"Shmi?" I asked without looking up from the text.

"Tch. You knew!" Another irritated click of the tongue.

"I didn't know. I guessed," I said with a snort, taking another sip of caf. "I figure after his adjutant landed himself a wizard in the kitchen like Maria, our Commander-in-Chief started thinking that man does not live by the army alone. And Shmi, if she falls short of the mistress of my kitchen at all, it isn't by much. She's a good person too. And after I put her through a few cosmetic procedures and repaired the damage slavery had done to her health... well, she turned into quite the beauty."

"You two are obsessed with cooking," my companion grumbled. Her own culinary skills amounted to opening a self-heating ration pack or ordering from a restaurant.

"You're being unfair." I brushed off her grumbling easily. "Cooking is a good thing, but it's nowhere near the most important one. Skywalker is a wonderful woman in her own right. Very kind, pleasant, caring, fond of children. She has plenty of virtues, one of them being an almost complete lack of self-interest. And you and your brother... you're practically relics in that regard."

"We simply do what's right."

"I'm not arguing with you." I set the book aside and met Cordelia's stubborn stare. "Besides, Shmi is closer to his age, and generally speaking... Suti would be intimidated by him. Romri... her personality just isn't the sort that would appeal to Alto. A couple of the instructors are practically kids themselves. It's only the new students chasing after them. So that really leaves Shmi Skywalker. Especially since your brother was over at her new domain just the other day, inspecting our orphanage."

"Oh, whatever!" The irritated Security chief buried herself in her book again, snorting angrily.

What was wrong with her this time?

---

Original Russian story

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