Han's gaze locked onto an elderly man whose age had long since crossed the boundary of "elderly."
In truth, he was a fairly sturdy old man, with a hollow where his left eye should have been, rimmed by an old scar.
Like the woman beside him — a human-like (though noseless, admittedly) Neti — he was dressed in simple robes: a dark brown cloak over a grayish-white robe that wasn't exactly fresh.
In his years, Han had seen poorer folks, but this was really... unappealing.
The other Jedi looked more or less presentable, though without any frills.
There were plenty of young ones among them, Han's age or a bit older, but the ones that most irritated Solo were the ones who stood out.
Through simple mental arithmetic, the Corellian concluded that the younger ones were either former Padawans or Jedi descendants, while the ones who were "not exactly fresh" were members of the old Jedi Order.
And right now, he was seeing twenty times more Force-users before him than he usually needed for his internal peace.
Something about these guys — the men, the women, and the aliens — irritated him.
Especially that cyborg that looked like a flying repulsor-ball with a head — was that even a Jedi, or someone's toy?
But there were also those from whom he sensed an undisguised threat.
First and foremost — the pair of Kiffar sitting next to the lilac-haired woman, plus the one-eyed man and the Neti woman.
Second in line for the famous Corellian's panic meter — a separate group of four beings: a Human, a Kel Dor, a Togruta, and a dark-haired Human woman.
They wore heavy armor, the look of life-worn beings who had seen much on their path.
Clearly dangerous opponents in a fight.
They spoke little, barely expressed any opinion on his offensive question.
They just didn't care.
That was unnerving.
But that pair — the Human and the log-thing — really got on Han's nerves with their ostentatious modesty.
For as little as Luke was a fan of various fashion trends and got by with a minimum of belongings and simple clothes, these guys looked like homeless people from Nar Shaddaa.
"Aren't you a bit young, General, to be asking such questions?" the one-eyed geezer inquired.
Leia squeezed his hand in warning.
The Minister of Foreign Affairs didn't want her husband starting a fight right then about who was right and who was wrong.
Especially since Han, whose gaze had swept over the faces of those present, was ready to admit he might be wrong — among this score, there were clearly familiar, if not close, names.
He'd seen these people in the Alliance before.
Just as pilots, commanders — not as Jedi.
What had changed?
"I'm young enough to wear this," Han pointed at the general's insignia on his chest. "And young enough to command an operation and have the right to ask questions. And you've already heard the first one."
"I suggest we begin our meeting with introductions, General Solo," the one-eyed man said, in a tone as if he were the commander here. "My name is Tholme, Jedi Master. I, along with Master T'ra Saa," he gestured to the Neti beside him, "and Master Quinlan Vos," a nod toward the elderly Kiffar, whom Han instantly identified by the ritualistic yellow stripe on his face, "are members of the Jedi Order of the Old Republic."
"I wouldn't hog the spotlight if I were you, Tholme," said a middle-aged man, apparently the leader of that very squad that had also made Han wary. "Half the people here, if not more, are Jedi from the Old Order."
Jedi Master Tholme.
"Want to argue who's the bigger Jedi, Dorivonn?" the older Kiffar looked at his opponent challengingly. "I haven't heard anything about you and your guys for the last... mmm, may the Force help my memory... thirty years, no?"
Quinlan Vos.
"Maybe because Jedi Guardians don't stick their necks out and don't get confused about which side they're on, eh, Vos?" asked the one called Dorivonn. "And yeah, nothing's been heard about you either. Same period."
The lilac-haired woman uncompromisingly placed her hand over the younger Kiffar's wrist as he reached for his lightsaber.
Meeting Leia's gaze, the woman — no longer young but still quite beautiful — gave her a disarming smile.
Her expression said: it's all fine, don't worry, this is just an old Jedi greeting for friends who haven't seen each other in a very, very long time, there won't be any problems, of course, but just in case, evacuate the Endor and a couple of nearby ships.
This company was starting to not just displease Han — it was driving him absolutely crazy.
Even old Ben Kenobi wasn't as much of a pain in the ass as these guys.
He, even though Han hadn't liked him at first glance, still hadn't provoked outright rejection.
But the younger Kiffar, the spitting image of his elderly companion (if you shaved off thirty to thirty-five years), clearly wasn't about to calm down.
"Marcus, am I imagining things, or do you have some kind of grievance with us?" Quinlan Vos asked. "If you want, we can step outside and sort this out like men..."
"Are you even in any shape to do that, turncoat?" Marcus Dorivonn asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly.
"Turncoat?" Han frowned. "What the bantha poodoo is going on here anyway?"
Judging by the faces of most of those present, they were looking for the answer to the same question.
"Nothing serious, General Solo," the one-eyed Tholme assured him. "It's just that Jedi Guardians lack an understanding of tactical flexibility. They're warriors to the bone, used to cutting through truth as efficiently as they cut through enemy heads."
"I see you're looking for a fight, Tholme," Marcus Dorivonn said, narrowing his eyes.
Jedi Guardian Marcus Dorivonn.
"Wanna bet they'll start fighting right now?" Leia whispered into her husband's ear.
The Corellian was taken aback.
His quiet little wife had shown her teeth.
It seemed that along with her children, she'd also picked up something else Corellian from Han — recklessness and the ability to have fun even in the most desperate, hopeless situations.
"Hey, knock it off!" Han barked at the arguers. "We're supposed to be on the same side here, so don't you dare start a brawl! The last thing we need is our only Jedi killing each other instead of the Galactic Alliance's enemies."
Silence fell in the room.
"Only?" Jedi Master Tholme repeated.
"That's right," Han said firmly.
Though, judging by the eyes of those present, he was already starting to doubt the certainty of his categorical statement.
"I'm afraid you're mistaken there, General Solo," the one-eyed schemer declared. "As far as I know, there are now over a hundred Jedi in the Galactic Alliance who have come out of hiding. We're merely a small group, the operatives you'll need to accomplish the task at hand..."
Han felt that long-familiar feeling of being deceived stirring within him.
"Don't go anywhere," he said with a strained smile, freeing himself from his wife's grip. "I'll be right back... Honey, would you be so kind as to talk with the people here while I don't kill every last one of them to a Hutt?"
And he quickly left the conference room, heading for his office.
* * *
It was a rather unusual feeling — not being in one's familiar uniform, but in a hospital gown.
Light, almost weightless.
Not form-fitting.
Offering no way to conceal weapons or tools.
In clothing like that, you feel naked.
The cold in the room was just an illusion.
The brain, accustomed to certain conditions, starts to panic when its receptors detect unfamiliar humidity, temperature, ventilation, and exhaust power.
But the worst part was something else.
Sitting here, not knowing what would happen next.
No, they did have an idea of what was to come.
A detailed one.
But it was one thing to read a description, and another to understand that you were about to undergo this yourself.
Of your own free will.
It was... emotional.
With the characteristic sound of a pneumatic door mechanism, part of the wall disappeared, and a woman of average height entered the room, flooded with white artificial light.
The sterilization field let her through, killing any microbes, viruses, and other harmful, dangerous substances.
A free-cut medical suit, necessary only for maintaining the body's thermal balance and the room's sterility.
Pale blue, almost violet hair, reaching mid-back.
Bright violet irises.
Smooth skin indicating the doctor's youth...
No, not the doctor's.
Her body's.
But the fact that beneath the medical mask, her jaw was moving, indicated that this specialist was at the very least negligent in her duties regarding sterility.
There was definitely nothing in her hands or pockets — otherwise, the sterilizer would be shrieking like a fire alarm right now.
"Are you having some kind of problem?"
The question was logical and more than objective.
"Me?" the medic mumbled, looking at her with those gorgeous eyes. "No, everything's fine. Actually, I'm supposed to be asking about your well-being, not you."
"You have more important things to do."
"Uh-huh," the medic nodded, audibly swallowing the contents of her mouth. "The canteen has such a tender Nerf steak today, you wouldn't believe it."
"Oh, so my arrival at your center interrupted your meal."
Sarcasm and provocation.
Let's see how she reacts.
"No-o-o," she — was she even of age? Her behavior was like a teenager's. Why draw out words? Professionals don't do that. Speech should be short, informative, clear. "That's already the sixth steak today. They have a chef here so good I literally lick the plates clean..."
That added up to a portion of about half a kilo of food and drink in total.
So she'd already eaten three kilos of food and drink. Was she alright?
"Well, then," the doctor approached, pulling on medical gloves and, with zero ceremony, pried open her eyelids. "So, what have we here?"
"You're asking me?"
"Don't distract me, I'm talking to myself. Le-e-et's see... Hemorrhage in the left eyeball. Blood vessels are shot, from what I can see," she said the last bit after illuminating the patient's eyes in turn with a specialized device. "No infection or traces of it detected; you haven't reported any injuries, surgeries, or other interventions, so this is either hereditary, or an acute bout of vomiting, glaucoma, high blood pressure, or intraocular pressure... Any blood diseases?"
"No."
"Any blood thinners?"
"No."
"I don't see any glaucoma either... Vomiting?"
"No."
"Then it's hereditary... Good."
"Really?"
"No, of course not. But what can you do? The human body is imperfect. Fixing genetic defects requires much more investment and intervention than repairing a mechanism. But we'll fix you too, don't worry," the doctor assured.
"You're sure I'm the one who should be worried?"
"I've eaten, so I'm calm as a Jedi. Ah-ah-ah... Trying to threaten me, are you?"
"I'm beginning to doubt that you actually possess the qualifications that Grand Admiral Thrawn promised."
"Listen," the medic pulled back from her, and her violet eyes seemed to darken in shade. "If you know a specialist in transplanting brains between bodies, feel free to go to them. I'll go have another meal; they just brought in some Corellian treats."
"Has no one ever shoved a scalpel into your eye?"
"Funny you should mention that!" the violet-eyed medic laughed softly. "I was once opening up the skull of a mangled Twi'lek girl, and she woke up in the middle of the operation, almost cut me with a used scalpel. Can you imagine? I accidentally repaired the connection between her brain and spinal cord, and her paralysis went away."
"You find that amusing?"
"I do — my colleagues, not so much."
"I'm on their side."
"Has anyone ever told you not to argue with the surgeon who's about to dig around in your head?"
"Has anyone ever promised to pull your tendons out while you're still conscious, using only a manual winch?"
"Hm... one-one. I'm sure that would be an interesting experience. Invite me to a trial sometime? I'd really like to try something new."
"Are you a psychopath?"
"Just a little. But my name is Third. And I'm the best brain transplant specialist. And a bit of a geneticist. But none of my colleagues want to admit that last part, so... This, by the way, is my twelfth body. And the first one on which I performed eye replacement surgery myself. What do you think?" for some reason, the frequent blinking of those long eyelashes from ten centimeters away was annoying and provoked the urge to lash out.
"Can you just do what's required of you and talk less?"
"Then how are we going to communicate?"
"You intend to talk to me during the operation?"
"So I take it you'll also refuse... Everyone refuses. Even though it's nothing at all. Snip," Third simulated scissors with her fingers, "and that's it, no pain or any other sensations. Just lie there and talk until the brain extraction is done..."
"And they called me a monster?"
"I want to know what will happen to my body in case of failure."
"First of all — I don't have failures. I might accidentally work a miracle and make a paralyzed person walk again, or make a mute person talk, but I won't cause harm. Though, I did try experimenting with frontal lobes, but it didn't really work out. Apparently, you can't just get telepaths that easily..."
"SHE'S INSANE!!!"
"What if the new body rejects my brain? Will you transfer me back to the old one? The one I'm in now."
"Oh, why don't you love yourself?" Third was surprised. "No, of course not. Usually, yes, I transplant old brains into cloned bodies; your situation is a bit different. But the body cloned for you is compatible in every parameter."
"You made a clone from my DNA?"
"No, of course not. From the original clone's DNA."
"I'm sorry?"
"I don't think I've said anything offensive... Stop it. I can see you reaching for that surgical clamp."
"Answer when you're asked something!"
"Oh, by the holy synapses, don't you know that for every donor, we grow a clone for cloning in a natural environment without any intervention, without alterations?"
"No, I don't know. By whose order?"
"And who do we all work for?"
"That's not an answer."
"Thrawn ordered it, who else? Only by his command do sentients meet with me..."
"It sounds like a punishment. Though… maybe, maybe."
"What are unaltered duplicate bodies used for?"
"That's the base of genetic material in case the donor dies! There are clones that develop without accelerated growth, and there are those that have already been grown using that procedure with several technologies, but are lying in carbonite freezing. They started doing this after the death of some major from intelligence. True, the order came earlier, when some lieutenant colonel, a template for cloning clone commandos, died. Most clones of this type now belong to that mercenary from Mandalore, what's his name?"
"Fett?"
"Yeah, that's the one. But there are plenty of other donors prepared too. Eh, there would be more, but not everyone is suitable for such a procedure — there aren't that many donors, about two thousand or so. But for now, we have what we have… if we had working gene therapy to stop accelerated growth, we'd have no problems at all. And if only we had an excellent stasis system…"
"Will my new body also be cloned?"
"Of course. But if you really want, I can transplant your brain into that old woman's body?"
"It wasn't destroyed?"
"Nope. It's lying in the warehouse. I experimented on it after taking DNA samples."
"What was the point of the experiments?"
"I was trying to restore it. Given that your clone has hidden defects in the reproductive system…"
"Did you succeed?"
"I'm not as good at resurrecting the dead as I am at brain transplants…"
"Yes or no?!"
"No. Someone was very thorough in destroying biological activity. But don't be upset…"
"I wasn't even thinking about it."
"…I found the cause of the defects in your clone. And the new body will differ little from the original. Well, except for rapid aging, of course. But you of all people shouldn't complain, really? The new clone won't be as defective as the current body… Oh, the one who created you didn't love you…"
"Third."
"What?"
"Shut up and do it."
"Why are you all so nervous? I told you — put down the scalpel, everything will be fine, Lady Isard."
* * *
Han stood, leaning his hands on the edge of the projector and staring intently at his interlocutor.
What a pity he wasn't his own father-in-law and couldn't destroy things with a mere wave of an artificial hand.
"I'm sorry, General," the hologram of the woman shook her head. "I'll tell him you called, and the General will contact you as soon as he has enough free time. But at the moment the Supreme Commander is too busy to…"
"To discuss with me the plan of attack on the Dominion's cloning laboratory, is that it?!" Han sneered, looking up at the blue-and-white projection of Bel Iblis's staff communications officer. "Are you mocking me or what?! I was given orders to storm possibly the most defended Dominion target outside the metropolis, and you can't even put me in touch with Iblis?! Emperor's black bones, don't feed me vacuum!"
"The General is busy and…"
"Go to a Hutt," Solo kicked the projector stand in the heat of the moment, then switched off the transmitter.
He swore in several languages for about ten minutes before giving up trying to contact Bel Iblis through various communication channels.
Neither the personal, nor the secondary personal, nor especially the work comlinks answered, forwarding the caller to assistants.
Other high-ranking officers serving under Bel Iblis couldn't help Han either — they either didn't know where the Supreme Commander was, or simply didn't answer his calls.
But their assistants or unit chiefs of staff were happy to tell Solo that he should mind his own business and not impose on those who were already very busy…
Infuriating.
Han tore off his general's tunic with hatred, crumpled it, and threw it aside.
He ripped open his shirt collar, flopped onto the leather sofa, and stared at the deck screen.
His eyes caught the reports from the commander of the Endor, indicating that the squadron assigned to attack Kamino was fully assembled; the ship commanders confirmed full combat readiness, so all that remained was to wave a hand, salute, and fly into the unknown.
To, as he understood, give the Dominion a proper thrashing.
But his gut told him that he and his subordinates would be the ones to get hit.
If not in orbit, then certainly on the surface.
Behind him, the door mechanism hissed, and Han saw Leia enter the cabin out of the corner of his eye.
"Haven't they killed each other yet?" he grumbled.
"No, everything is peaceful," said the former princess. "I ordered them to stay away from each other to avoid conflicts."
"Oh, a brilliant idea," Han laughed with irony. "Sentients who are supposed to clear a path for us through minefields, and they have to stay away from each other. They're already ready to tear each other's throats out…"
"The thing is," he heard the already familiar voice of the one-eyed man, "that we lived separately from each other for too long. And over thirty years, we absorbed, ingrained, and cultivated different points of view."
"I don't remember inviting you into my cabin," Han turned to face Master Tholme, who had entered behind Leia.
"Yes, I noticed," the latter grinned. "I figured you wouldn't mind a private conversation."
"Wrong decision," Solo grunted.
"Han," Leia smiled at him. "Don't ignite fuel in a leaky fuel tank…"
Tholme let out a short laugh into his fist.
The Corellian exchanged glances with his wife.
Even though he wasn't sensitive to the Force, he still understood Leia from half a word or a single look.
Usually he understood.
Fortunately, this time she didn't show him anything new, except a warning disapproval.
"Do you have something to tell me?" Han looked at Tholme, who silently sat down opposite him in an armchair.
"There is always something to say when one has a mind," the latter said.
"Spare me the metaphors," Han asked. "My head is already so full of other things it's about to burst out of my ears."
"I understand," Tholme nodded. "General Iblis apparently wasn't completely honest with you."
"Oh, no," Han smiled nervously and wagged a finger. "'Not honest' is not the word at all! He dumped two dozen Jedi on my head who are ready to tear each other's throats out. Meanwhile, none of you lifted a finger to fight the Empire. You know what phrase I always took as a joke?"
"I can't even imagine."
"On some planet I once heard from a bounty hunter that after Order 66, more Jedi survived than the galaxy had known before it."
To Han's surprise, Tholme didn't get angry, but on the contrary, laughed quietly (clearly out of politeness).
"An amusing joke," he agreed. "But, as we know, every joke has a grain of truth. So I don't see any contradiction here…"
"Except that for almost the last thirty years, the Jedi have been hiding in corners of the galaxy, afraid to face an enemy who — if my memory serves me correctly — intends to exterminate you. You could have challenged him, lured him into a trap, ganged up on him and then," the Corellian drew his thumb across his own throat. "What's the problem? Or is it better to sit and cower in the Outer Rim until the problem solves itself with someone else's hands?"
Han was deliberately twisting the facts.
Only an idiot with a handful of soldiers would launch a frontal assault against the full might of the Empire.
Even the Rebel Alliance avoided open battles with the Empire until they had amassed enough strength for the final blow.
"You're not entirely right there, General," said Tholme. "The fall of the Order is a very painful topic for every Jedi. Some coped with it and moved on, undermining the Empire from within; others were unable to do so and withdrew from affairs. And those who openly opposed the Empire were very quickly destroyed. And again — a group of strong Jedi tried to lure Darth Vader himself into a trap."
"I assume, since he survived almost twenty years of Imperial rule, the plan didn't succeed, did it?"
"He killed them all, though he was hurt," Tholme said dryly. "When rumors of the Jedi who had challenged the Empire and been killed began to spread, many of us, considering ourselves the only survivors, chose to go into hiding, waiting for the right moment."
"In short, you got scared. You ran instead of fighting for your ideals."
"You haven't been with the Rebel Alliance from the very beginning either, so I'd ask you to be more merciful towards us."
"Well, I actually found a reason to stay," Han snorted.
"And many Jedi did the same," Tholme noted. "They just mostly didn't advertise their past. But when Alliance intelligence began searching for Jedi, we started coming out of the shadows."
"You waited quite a while for the right moment," Leia observed. "The Emperor died several years ago."
"Many of us once came to the conclusion that the galaxy might be better off without the Jedi," Tholme said. "After all, the Sith are the ideological counterweight to the Jedi. And if the Sith aren't provoked by the existence of the Order, then perhaps they will eradicate themselves?"
Han winced.
It sounded so strained, he felt like pulling the Manaan noodles off his ears that were dangling to the floor.
"Then maybe explain why the two schemers — Kenobi and Yoda — didn't drag you all out of the holes you were in by the nose over the last twenty-plus years, didn't band you into one unit, and start hitting the Empire as a single force?" Han inquired. "Why was the role of killing the Emperor and Darth Vader entrusted to a boy who hadn't even received a proper training, huh?"
"I cannot be held responsible for the actions of Master Kenobi and Grand Master Yoda," Tholme replied calmly. "But they are both not unintelligent beings, so there must be some logic to their actions. As far as I've heard, Luke Skywalker is much stronger than most Jedi, just like his father," at the mention of Darth Vader, Leia flinched. "And no, I don't mean the Emperor's Hand, but Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker. In his time, he was a good Jedi. Not without complaints, of course, not without problems, but who doesn't have them?"
"So what changed?" Han asked. "Why did you sit in your shelters for twenty-nine years, and then suddenly decide to come out of the shadows? All two hundred of you at once!"
"We were called," Tholme answered simply.
"And before that you weren't?" Solo clarified.
"You would be surprised, General, but the Empire does an excellent job of brainwashing its citizens," the Jedi Master said with sadness in his voice. "Immediately after the destruction of the Order, we were blamed for starting the Clone Wars, for the attempt on Palpatine, and for much more that turned the galaxy away from us."
"To be fair, the Jedi themselves did quite a bit to damage their reputation in the past," Leia said.
"Only those who do nothing make no mistakes," Tholme reasonably noted. "We were blind for a thousand years to the fact that the Sith had not been completely destroyed. We were led by the nose, and sadly, successfully."
"That sounds like an excuse," Han admitted.
"The Jedi are strong, General, but not all-powerful," Tholme noted. "It's easy to deceive when you know your enemy. The Jedi thought they had destroyed the Sith a thousand years ago. We were wrong. But now no one wants to repeat the same mistake — that's why we answered the call."
"You sense that the Emperor has returned?" Leia understood.
"General Madine told us about that," Tholme reported. "I can see that you are capable of channeling the Force, but you misunderstand what it is. You can't be in constant contact with it — it exhausts you, makes you distracted, forces you to rely on the Force all the time. And the one who does that is doomed to be deceived by a more cunning enemy or one more capable of directing the Force. That's exactly how the Jedi were defeated."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"You cannot sense through the Force someone whom you have never felt in it," Tholme explained. "The Emperor hid his abilities from us using unknown methods. To us, he was an ordinary man, so we cannot track him — we don't know what kind of Force signature he projects. But we can feel the growth of the Dark Side."
"In the Galactic Core?" Han clarified.
Why not double-check Thrawn's words, right?
"In part," the Jedi replied. "But the north of the galaxy is also in danger. The Force in the territories of the Dominion and the sectors between the Hydian Way and the Perlemian Trade Route is beginning to strengthen. Its natural background is intensifying — and it is by no means of the Light Side. There is Light there, no doubt. But also much Darkness. And that is what frightens the Jedi, what makes them come out of the shadows. We know that some of our comrades, mostly Consuls, have taken the bait of one of our comrades — Master Bre'ano Umakk — and gone to the Dominion. Most obviously, it is this migration that has caused us to begin perceiving the Force in that region of the galaxy as something denser than before. When the Jedi scattered across the galaxy, the overall background of the Force could not reveal them. But now they are consolidating in specific places. The Force in individual regions of the galaxy is becoming stronger. That brings nothing good. We, the group selected by Bel Iblis, even if we cannot find common ground with each other, are nevertheless capable of resisting the Dark Side. I, and not just I, sense that near Kamino there is some distortion in the Force. Not as large as in the Core, but still strong. If there is a concentration of fallen Jedi or Sith who serve the Dominion, then we must destroy this hotbed of the Dark Side before they attack us. Marcus Dorivonn may not be the most amiable conversationalist, but he and his group are strong fighters. Not to mention that they gave the New Jedi Order a holocron they discovered many years ago."
"Are you saying Pellaeon has his own Jedi now?" Han tensed, filtering out what didn't interest him at the moment. "Not one, two, a dozen, but dozens?"
"I think they have quite a few gifted individuals," Tholme said evasively. "And it's unlikely they are Jedi. Possibly those who turned to the Dark Side. Possibly those who became disillusioned with the Jedi Order. Anything is possible — until we meet them in battle, it's too early to say anything concrete. But one thing I can say for sure — the New Republic isn't sitting idle either. There is also a pocket of the Force there."
"The Dark Side too?" Leia clarified.
"No," Tholme assured her. "There are Jedi there as well, as far as I know from my sources. And the worst thing imaginable would be a confrontation between two Jedi Orders. That only benefits the Sith and our enemies, not the galaxy."
"Great," Han shook his head. "Every major player in this galaxy has their own version of Jedi. Wonderful. Splendid. First there was no one, then Thrawn stirred up the galaxy, and they started crawling out like sand diggers on Blenjeel. And now the Dark Side is waiting for us on Kamino…"
"Only on Kamino?" Han's head snapped up, looking at the Jedi Master.
He didn't like any of it.
Both that Tholme was looking at Leia, and the tone in which he had voiced his last question.
"You'd better clarify your opinion, Jedi Master," Han warned. "I don't like it when people look at my wife with reproach."
"Not at all," Tholme objected. "I wouldn't dare judge anyone. And I never sought to do so. But I think Lady Organa wouldn't deny that recently she has been quite often resorting to the Dark Side of the Force on an emotional level?"
"Lady Organa-Solo," Leia said in a categorical tone, boring into Tholme with her uncompromising gaze.
Which, incidentally, the one-eyed man endured calmly.
Though, on the other hand, when your friend is a tree, you acquire even more remarkable abilities.
"I apologize if I offended you," Tholme said conciliatorily. "However… Who is your teacher? Why doesn't he help you fight the Dark Side and fits of anger?"
"My brother showed me some techniques," Leia revealed the secret after a moment's thought. "He also constructed a lightsaber for me. Now that he's missing, I use his notes to become a Jedi."
Tholme closed one eye and held out his hands in front of him.
"Please, that's enough, I understand what's happening," he said, shaking his head. "The art of the Jedi is not something that can be learned from books or even holocrons. They are created to pass on knowledge to future generations, but they are not capable of controlling the learning process. At least, not all of them. A holocron or ancient texts are only supplementary training, but they cannot replace a living teacher. Otherwise, the Jedi would have long since trained younglings by sitting them in front of holocrons, instead of spending years raising successors. But even in such a situation, there is always the danger of falling to the Dark Side. Basically, Jedi in their holocrons only impart knowledge, while the Sith create guardians that examine the student to consolidate the result. But the Dark Side is strong. Without understanding how to fight it, how to control oneself, it's easy to change one's views, to convince oneself that only strength and control can achieve good. For oneself or for the galaxy — that's a secondary question. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. My students masterfully absorbed Jedi philosophy and knowledge. But that didn't protect them from turning to the Dark Side or violating Jedi prohibitions."
"Maybe you're just a bad teacher, huh?" Han asked, but Tholme and Leia, looking into each other's eyes as if in an invisible duel, didn't react to the Corellian remark.
"I can control myself."
"I'm sure you can. But allow me to ask, how will you know that you are doing something correctly and not in a distorted way? Who will give you answers to the questions that arise while reading the records? A holocron could be that very crutch to lean on in the absence of a teacher, because the guardian can tell you a lot. Take, for example, your lightsaber. Your brother constructed it for you. But according to Jedi tradition, the padawan himself builds it before undergoing the full Trials and becoming a Jedi Knight. Constructing a lightsaber teaches patience, planning, allows you to show ingenuity and give an outlet to your own inner feelings. A weapon that, during assembly, is imbued with your own Force, becomes an extension of your hand, your consciousness, your action… Getting it for free taught you nothing. A fragmented learning process for Jedi art leads to losses and gaps in knowledge. He who has not been properly trained almost never achieves success without making many mistakes along the way. As practice shows, lives have to be paid for those mistakes. Often the payment is made by innocent sentients."
"Can I have that again, but for someone who doesn't have the art of muddling brains?" Han asked.
"Master Tholme is hinting that it would be a good idea for me to find a teacher of Jedi art in Luke's absence," Leia said restrainedly.
"I can imagine your brother's face when we rescue him from captivity and tell him that he's an underachiever and you have another teacher," Han snorted.
"Honestly, I'd advise him to study a bit more too," Master Tholme declared. "The only thing worse than dangerous knowledge is fragmented knowledge. Trying to fill gaps in knowledge on one's own leads to catastrophes. Thousands of Jedi throughout the Order's history tried to comprehend the Force beyond what they could understand, accept, realize, and apply without harm to themselves and others. Only a few succeeded."
"Something tells me, Master Tholme," Han addressed him, "that you didn't come here to talk about the assault on Kamino."
"Rather, you want to be the first to stake a claim on me as your student," Leia continued her husband's thought.
"I won't deny it would be a great honor for me," Tholme said, not in the least embarrassed. "You see, of all the Jedi you've seen before you, only I and Quinlan Vos have come so close to the Dark Side and managed to withstand it. I think that's exactly what you need. But," he smiled stiffly, "who am I to give orders, is that right, General Solo? Just an old Jedi who told what he could about healing to the padawan Cilghal."
"You know the granddaughter of the late Admiral Ackbar?" Leia was surprised.
"We spent a lot of time on Dac when I, the Vosses and Saa joined the Alliance," Tholme recounted. "The girl has extraordinary abilities. I think in her time she could have become one of the best healers of the Old Jedi Order. In our time… I hope she becomes the best."
"How long have you been with the Alliance?" Han asked.
"From the very first days, when the government established itself on Dac," Tholme said.
"And where have you been hiding all this time?" Solo blurted out involuntarily.
"Thirty years on Nar Shaddaa, in districts where even the most hardened cutthroats are afraid to go," the Jedi Master grinned, winking at Solo. "I recommend it, General. If one day you have to hide from someone as powerful as the Empire — fly to Nar Shaddaa."
Leia turned pale.
To Han, those words didn't sound good either.
Like a hint from the future.
"Regardless, Master Tholme, make sure that the Jedi team is capable of making their way through the minefields," Han said dryly. "One more... Jedi will be flying with you."
"Yes, we all sense him," Tholme said sadly. "A strong warrior. Haven't felt one like that for a long time. Only… Isn't he too young?"
"What are you talking about?" Han frowned.
Leia, too, seemed interested.
"Your boy," Tholme explained. "Is it wise to entrust a ten-year-old with men's work?"
"A ten-year-old?" Han didn't understand. "Who are you even talking about?!"
"Galen," Leia's face froze, as if she understood something important. "So that's why I sensed him so strangely! You feel him in the Force as a child?"
"Of course," Tholme nodded. "As a very strong child who… he's a clone, isn't he?"
"You can determine that with the Force too?!" Han was taken aback.
"Those who fought side by side with an entire army of clones may notice the long-forgotten sensation of artificiality nearby," Tholme chuckled. "I remember when I first saw clone soldiers, I couldn't pull myself together. My eyes see adult men, professional soldiers, but the Force indicates they're like children. Don't you feel that, Lady Organa-Solo?"
"No," she said. "I don't control the Force very well, so I can't grasp such subtleties. And he doesn't act like a child at all."
"That's true," Tholme said. "The confidence that you're an adult with a past, who knows what he's doing in the present and has no plans for the future, makes identifying clones much harder. One in a crowd is practically indistinguishable — if not for his Force sensitivity."
"But you detected him."
"As I said — he's alone," Tholme said. "And he has a strong connection to the Force. The only reason I can tell he's a clone is that I sense the distortions in his Force radiation. When you're surrounded by clones, when you deal with them constantly, you get used to the feeling and practically stop paying attention to sensations — only to faces. And if those are identical too, it becomes a real problem. But it's a double-edged situation. Clones with identical faces differ in the Force. Slightly, but if you pay attention to their radiation, you always know who's in front of you."
"I'm confused," Han admitted.
"Me too," Leia didn't deny.
"That's exactly why," Tholme rose from his chair and headed for the exit, "proper training is necessary. You've just heard fragments of information about the Force and clones, but you don't see the whole picture. That's why you don't understand more than what you've heard. And this, as I already said, is a great..."
"...danger," the former princess finished for him, looking at her husband.
It seemed they'd been married for two years, and he already understood her from half a word, even when she didn't open her mouth.
"Have fun," Han waved his hand. "I need to figure out how to reach the target quickly. Without minefields, we'd only have a few days to Kamino, but with such problems..."
"Don't worry about the minefields," Tholme said unexpectedly. "We Jedi, who've been sitting quietly in our holes for thirty years, also have something to show the uninitiated viewer."
"I hope so," Han snorted. "Because otherwise we'll get our teeth kicked in."
"War doesn't come without losses," Tholme shrugged, looking at Leia. "If your pregnancy doesn't bother you, Minister, we can go to the small warehouse where we've set up a training area..."
"No, Master Tholme," Leia said decisively, stroking her noticeably rounded belly, "it doesn't bother me. Teach me to be a Jedi."
"And to control your emotions, resisting the Dark Side of the Force," the one-eyed man winked.
"Uh-huh," Leia twitched her nose. "That too."
Tholme looked at her for several seconds, then smiled.
"Can you braid hair?"
"Um... Yes," the former princess said hesitantly. "Not as well as Winter, of course... How does this relate to learning the Jedi path?"
Tholme looked past Leia at Han with some confusion.
The Corellian raised both thumbs up, showing his approval and faith in the Jedi Master's patience.
Take that, you pompous gizka.
First you messed with our heads, now it's Leia's turn.
She certainly knows how to wring an opponent dry and find out everything she's interested in.
It's a family thing, maybe...
* * *
"Sir," General Cain seemed agitated. "We have problems on the surface."
"Report."
A clone of Veers doesn't worry for no reason.
So it's something truly unpleasant.
"Through one of the entrances, a stormtrooper, four commandos from Delta Squad, and Starkiller have infiltrated..."
Well, I see the logical assignment of the code name to the Dark Apprentice has taken effect.
"Continue."
"The armored doors are locked. Communication channels are blocked. We don't know what's happening inside the base."
"Is there a jammer operating inside the base?"
"It appears so, Grand Admiral."
"How long to break through?"
"The doors are made of pure beskar, so... At least two hours, sir. I've already ordered technician teams with plasma cutters to the surface. The Force-users are trying their own methods, but so far without success."
Shit...
What's so important on this base that such strange things keep happening here?
"Discuss with Captain Pellaeon the possibility of a precision orbital strike without damaging the base's interior. Immediately!"
"Yes, Grand Admiral."
What were you trying to hide, Sate Pestage?
And did someone continue your work?