Those who do not think about distant difficulties
are bound to face near troubles.
***
When my report to the "higher authorities" concluded and the long-range holograms flickered out, I finally allowed myself a relieved breath.
It seems everything went surprisingly smoothly. The brass are satisfied with my work. Then again, I didn't give them any reason for reproach, so… everything's fine. And yet… there's a strange feeling. Or rather, the absence of one. I don't feel any satisfaction from the work done, no sense of pride in what's been accomplished. Why? I honestly don't know. Maybe…
"Master?" Ahsoka's voice pulled me from the haze of my thoughts.
"Oh—right." I smirked. "Inform O'Connor to prepare the ship for departure. And have her contact Lichtendal."
"We're heading to Coruscant?"
"Yes."
"That's great! Does that mean we'll get to visit the Temple?"
I paused for a couple of seconds.
"It's unlikely they'll throw us straight into battle, so… we can probably count on at least a week of rest. But… given the situation—no more than two."
"I understand," the girl nodded.
Half an hour later, the CR-90 had already docked with the Akagi. Well, Acclamator isn't an Imperial Star Destroyer—its hangar is about three times smaller. We couldn't even fit a Consular-class cruiser inside, let alone bulkier vessels like Corellian frigates. Fortunately, ships are equipped with external docking clamps precisely for situations like this. They provide not only a pressurized passage between vessels, but also a rigid physical connection.
In the hangar, we were greeted by Lichtendal and Blam. The Atoan and the clone saluted us.
"Sir, all ships are at full combat readiness. Awaiting orders."
"Set a course for Coruscant, First Lieutenant. How long will it take us?"
"Twenty hours in transit, sir."
"We're not even really tired, sir," Blam muttered.
"Don't worry. The war isn't going anywhere," I assured the clone.
Turning to my Padawan, I added:
"We'll rest for a couple of hours, then training. Stretch our muscles a bit."
"Got it!"
***
However, despite her Master's instructions, Ahsoka lingered on the bridge. Her attention was caught by an intriguing sight: First Lieutenant Sumeragi Li Noriega and Tin man stood on opposite sides of the tactical table, apparently locked in combat on the simulator.
Stepping closer, the girl greeted them and examined the "battlefield." To her surprise, instead of infantry units, projections of warships hovered above the display. The Togruta immediately turned to the woman.
"Um, Sumeragi? Am I interrupting?"
"No, Commander Tano."
"Wait—can he even command ships? Isn't he infantry?" Ahsoka pointed at Tin man.
"OOM-series droids are fairly versatile. Depending on the situation, they can command ground forces, ships, or even entire squadrons—without any upgrades. Unlike organic officers, who for the most part tend to specialize," Li Noriega explained, calmly watching as her Consular-class cruisers destroyed the last Munificent-class frigate.
"Really?" The Togruta stared at the battlefield with growing interest. "I had no idea. I'll have to try that sometime…"
Oops… I've got training soon…
"In that case… be here in five or six hours," the girl said, clapping the droid on the shoulder.
"Roger Roger," Tin man replied with a crisp salute.
***
However, before allowing myself to rest, I decided to check my prosthetic. There was a feeling… A premonition… An unpleasant one. As it turned out, my suspicions were justified.
One of the medcenter droids confirmed that four of the sixteen joints in the hand required replacement. In addition, the entire outer casing would need to be changed. As IM-6 reported, the metal had become brittle; numerous chips and cracks had appeared. Unfortunately, aside from the joints, the medcenter did not have the necessary components in stock.
After thinking it over for about five minutes, I contacted our maintenance crew—and they pleasantly surprised me by reporting that they had long since manufactured a full set of spare parts. Farsighted fellows. Initiative is commendable from any angle. True, the panels and plating delivered half an hour later were… brand-new: gleaming and polished. For a moment I even suspected they were chrome-plated, but the clone technician assured me it was merely polished metal. They hadn't painted the parts, arguing that I could do that myself.
With a quiet snort, I ordered the droid to begin installation. As if I had nothing better to do than fuss with paint… it would do as it was. What difference did it make? Black, white, silver… I wasn't that particular. And I had a scheduled training session soon; the paint would take time to dry.
So, after admiring the silvered palm for a minute—the artificial hand fitted with special textured inserts that were quite rough, allowing me to hold objects securely in my artificial hand—I tested its mobility with a short series of warm-up exercises and headed to the training hall.
***
Ahsoka slipped aside from the Jedi's strike and attempted to sweep his legs, but her twin-bladed attack was easily blocked by a short orange blade. The next instant, it was her turn to defend herself against the man's attacks.
Suddenly, he leapt back—surprising, considering his distaste for any kind of acrobatics—and drew a blaster pistol.
Ahsoka focused instantly, and the blaster bolts splashed harmlessly against the barrier she projected.
"Excellent!" Her Master gave the blaster a playful spin, then, for some reason, brought the barrel to his lips and blew across it. "Much better."
Ahsoka grinned happily, deactivating her blades. Leaving the center of the hall, they settled onto mats in one corner.
"Really?"
"Absolutely. I'm hoping you won't get shot now if you ever find yourself without your lightsabers."
"So I've mastered the technique?"
"Well… there's no limit to perfection!" her Master intoned, raising a finger toward the ceiling.
For several minutes, they sat in silence.
"Still… I'm glad you became my Master. I've learned so much from you… Otherwise, I might've ended up in the Service Corps." Ahsoka made a face, clearly expressing her opinion of those unfortunate enough not to be chosen as Padawans. Her Master, however, did not share her sentiment.
"And what's with that patronizing, clucking tone?" he huffed.
"Um… sorry, Master. But… it's the Service Corps," the Togruta said, spreading her hands.
"Every job matters, every trade has its place," her Master muttered again in that strange language. "What I mean is, you shouldn't look down on those who… Well, it's one thing to take pride in yourself, but despising those beneath you isn't right. The Service Corps is extremely important. Without it—and without the other Corps—the Jedi Order would be incomplete."
"And what do they do that's so important?"
"Well…"
He cleared his throat and began to enumerate.
"To start with, the Service Corps. It handles everyday operations and everything that allows the Order to function—from basic Temple maintenance and food preparation to information distribution and equipment repairs. Jedi in the Agricultural Corps use the Force to cultivate all forms of life—plants and animals alike—engaging in breeding and improvement. Drought, parasites, disease, environmental instability—Jedi agriculturists combat all of it, and they've achieved considerable success in this endeavor. For example, with a technique known as Consitor Sato, plant growth can be accelerated severalfold without harming them. In addition, this Corps supplies food to all Jedi, and its numerous branches across the Galaxy—called chapter houses—assist those in need locally. I recall that the chapter house on Taanab supplies much of the Inner Rim with its improved denta-beans."
"Huh. I had no idea…"
"Self-education is important, too," Vikt added, propping his head on his hands. "The Medical Corps… well, that one's self-explanatory. The Educational Corps trains younglings. The Exploration Corps… that's a bit more complicated. It used to be a single corps, but now it's divided into three—well, two branches eventually separated to form independent Corps. The actual Exploration Corps—also called the Reconnaissance Corps—conducts practical study of planets and the species, flora, and fauna inhabiting them. Jedi assigned there are rarely seen at the Temple. Sometimes Padawans depart with their Masters, only returning years later to take on padawans of their own as Knights. And then… sometimes they never return at all. They discover new worlds and, through meditation, chart new paths through hyperspace. There's the Balance Corps, which observes the Galaxy by attuning itself to the Force, monitoring the world as a whole and attempting to sense fluctuations from both sides of the Force. Some say this Corps preserves balance —that's how it earned its name. And the Corps of Prophets, whose members focus all their efforts on a single task or location. As for why 'Prophets'—that's simple. They study prophecies, and sometimes… they deliver them. There are a few other Corps as well—some nearly unknown, like the Shadow Corps; others more open, like the Guard Corps, who protect the Temple."
"Wow… I didn't realize there were so many… What do those Shadows do?"
"No idea. I know they exist, but I've never seen one. Maybe they don't exist at all?"
"Uh… how does that work?"
"I told you—I don't know."
"I wonder if they'd take me?"
"They wouldn't. You belong to the great Balance Corps, after all…"
"Oh, come on, Master!"