I slowly but surely regained consciousness. Ugh, it seems I still need to train this technique... To think – to fall unconscious from its simple application. But at least I'll have something to do in the near future... Blinking my eyes open, I found myself lying on a bed. My right eye was still burning, but not as much. Looking around, I realized that I was clearly not in my room...
It most resembled a hospital room – medical equipment disconnected from the network stood nearby, and that indescribable smell of a hospital room after disinfection hung in the air. The Healing Hall room? I turned my head and realized I wasn't alone – to the right of the bed sat Rela, leaning against the back of a chair, sleeping soundly. In this state, the Twi'lek looked extremely cute.
"Rela," I broke her peace. The girl didn't react. Then I raised my left hand and gently nudged her shoulder. "Rela..." I repeated my address to the girl. Then she woke up, opened her huge eyes, and looked at me sleepily.
"Light!" The Twi'lek immediately woke up, rushed to me, and hugged me tightly. "You're awake..."
Force, she'll break all my ribs!
"Ouch, oh, let go," I groaned demandingly, "my whole body aches."
Yes, the technique is beyond praise, but the backlash... And I've read a lot, a whole lot of theoretical manuals on the movement of objects in space, including hyperspace, read about teleportation, about ancient technologies that, it seemed, could be related to object teleportation, talked with Kuro on this topic. As a result, I came up with my own version of this technique, but, since it's not finalized, I'm unlikely to dare to use it again. Of course, the very fact that I was able to apply it makes me incredibly happy, but, as they say, it could have been better.
And so – it's a pretty good trump card. It's no joke – to cut off the hand of a whole Master with its help. And although it was a little unfair, although... what am I talking about? There are no fair fights. As long as you can fight, use any method to defeat the enemy. Within reason, of course, hehe. No, there are always crazy people, but it's better not to let them gain power – to avoid trouble. Otherwise, you can easily become someone against whom even the fiercest enemies will be ready to unite, burying their tomahawks for a while.
"S-sorry," the girl came to her senses. "They just said you were injured on a mission, and I... got worried."
I sighed... She got worried. What she feels is clear to the naked eye. But I don't have time for this today. And to do something like that in the Temple... Although the question arises, will I even do "it" with her? Maybe I should stop for a while? I have other problems on the horizon, as it were. Starting with finding the sentient being who supplied Seth Hart with information. It's worth checking if he knows about Damask and Palpatine. And yet, I doubt that they should be revealed to the Galaxy now, but information about this pair will not be superfluous. At the moment, I only have one significant advantage – the knowledge that these individuals are adepts of the Dark Side of the Force, but they are unlikely to know anything about me, except that I am a Shadow Jedi.
"As you can see, I'm alive and well," I said, turning my attention to the Twi'lek. She was dressed in a standard Jedi robe. "Although my whole body feels like it's aching," I mused, "if only I knew what caused such a backlash—was it a simple lack of experience with the technique, or did I overlook something? Hmm..." I continued, "So, what happened after my... mission?" I wondered if the Masters had informed anyone about Jonal's betrayal, or if they were holding onto the information.
"Ahem," Rela cleared her throat. "I can only tell you what I heard myself. The High Council, an hour after you were hospitalized, announced that Master Jonal Ezar had died of old age." "Heh, they managed to get out of it... Yes, he's old, of course, but he could still run and jump for another twenty years, because, as far as I remember, he's around eighty now. However, the Masters are right about one thing—stirring up the Order with real news is not just harmful, it's dangerous!" "Hey, Light, are you listening to me?! Yes? And why do I feel like you're lying... Well, in the end, the Senate demanded explanations from the Order regarding the actions on Roisse-VIII by 'one overly hasty Jedi with a taser in his backside.' The Senator from the Portmouak sector, where this planet is located, even demanded that the Senate itself conduct his trial with the participation of the High Council. I wonder who that could be? Light, don't you want to tell me anything?"
"Uh... What are you talking about?" I decided to play dumb.
"About this!" At this point, Rela showed me a frame from the battle of a Jedi I knew very well. Me, that is. M-da, this is bad...
"Ah, so you're talking about him! Heh. Heh-heh. Truly 'a taser in his backside'..."
"Light!!!"
"Huh? What? Where?"
"..."
"..."
"..."
"Well, it's me, it's me! Are you satisfied?!"
"What do you mean 'satisfied'? Do you even realize what I felt when I realized it was you? Have you gone completely mad? You could have died!"
"And you wanted me to consult with you before flying off to kill him?"
"Yes! I mean..." and then I watched as the girl's cheeks began to change color, and her words became quieter and faster. "You didn't have to consult, of course, but I worry... I... You..." Then she looked at me. "You blockhead, that's what you are! And why am I even justifying myself? What were you even doing there?!"
"What, what?... I was dispensing Jedi justice! All according to the traditions of the ancestors—found him, found him, beat him up. They even made a laudatory recording, it seems. They should have thanked me with money, the stingy bastards..." I raised my eyes and looked at Rela. "So, are we done with this question?"
"No!"
"Yes! So, you were saying something about the Senate... Right, they, it seems, demanded answers from the Order. And, judging by the fact that I woke up not in prison, my personal involvement in all this, thank the Force, wasn't required. What about that Senator?"
"The Council sent Master Dooku to talk to him. As I understood it, Master explained to the Senator very clearly where he was wrong." "Hmm, and Dooku does indeed have a reputation as a good diplomat. A normal diplomat, of course."
"However, this doesn't rule out possible mischief from the High Council," I concluded. "After all, I endangered innocents in our disputes. Don't misunderstand... but I believe I couldn't have acted otherwise. Even if I had the chance to turn back time, I would have done the exact same thing."
"And yet, I'm curious why you didn't contact your superior, didn't contact the Order, but went in alone? Huh?" The Twi'lek apparently decided to finish me off. But since the Masters hadn't revealed Ezar's betrayal, Rela's questions to me were logical.
"The enemy was weakened after our first skirmish. I felt I was losing time—it was slipping through my fingers like sand. I didn't want to allow more victims, after all, how many more could he have killed if I hadn't stopped him? Yes, I feel sorry for those beings. However, they are an immeasurably small price for his death." I looked the girl in the eyes. "Such is the way."
"It's a bit like the Sith, don't you think?" the Twi'lek asked me. "The end justifies the means, if I remember correctly?"
I looked at her seriously. And yet, we have completely different ways of thinking. Having gone through losses and gains, I realized that for every achievement, we always pay something—our time, nerves, health, and sometimes even life... And for great achievements, the price is especially high. That's why all great deeds are not without sacrifices—otherwise, nothing will work out. Looking at the history of the Galaxy, you understand that it consists of wars and truces, victories and defeats. From this lesson, one rule can be derived—win, because otherwise, you will not be spared. Yes, you can try to minimize sacrifices, but how to do it, and is it worth it? After all, beings don't know the future, and those who do, even hypothetically, won't change anything. Lately, I've been wavering between exposing Palpatine and Plagueis, and leaving them to continue playing with the Galaxy. At the moment, I was leaning towards the latter, because I saw no reason why, after digesting these Sith, the Senate and the Jedi would suddenly wake up... I'm even afraid that such non-canonical outcomes will encourage them to continue doing nothing. Like, if we managed to destroy enemies even in this state, why change anything? Eh, I'm rambling again... I should focus on the present, and I'm already thinking about the distant future, which I should first live to see and not accidentally die somewhere. So, what do I need, what do I need... First, I'd like to become stronger myself, then look for Set's source of information, then... cat soup. Yes, there's not that much to do, but time... Although what am I talking about—it's the fifty-third year before the Battle of Yavin-IV—I have plenty of room to maneuver. And political matters should be removed from the plans for now—it's not time for them, and what would I do there? I don't really want to become a errand boy, and they won't let me higher.
While I was lost in my thoughts about the beautiful-distant, the screen separating Rela and me from the rest of the world suddenly moved aside, and another being appeared next to the Twi'lek—it was a mature dark-haired human woman, dressed in a classic Jedi robe.
"I see you've woken up, Knight Light," she said, examining me, and then turned her gaze to Rela. "You must leave. I want to speak with the patient alone."
I glanced at the Twi'lek. She glared angrily at the woman who had appeared, but she didn't dare to argue and began to leave. When she reached the exit, she turned and looked at me, as if saying that our conversation was not over yet. After that, Rela left. Eh, how hard it is to explain to a girl something she doesn't understand and probably never will.
After a pause, the woman spoke:
"Well, welcome to the Hall of Healing, Knight Light. My name is Zayra Hoyle. I am a healer."
"Good day," I nodded to the woman, "thank you for your care."
"You're welcome. It's my job," she brought her right hand to her eyes and opened a datapad. "So, let's see. The body is normal, almost perfect indicators across all systems. Except that..." she looked me in the eyes, "I found a strange anomaly in your right eye. You weren't wounded there, but at the same time, an abnormally large number of vessels burst. I've never seen anything like it. What did you do?" Zayra asked me directly.
"What did I do? I invented a new Force technique and used it in battle," I decided not to lie.
"And in more detail?" the woman inquired. "You warriors are always fighting, getting wounded, and sometimes inventing things that make me desperately want to forget the diplomatic etiquette lessons my mentor gave me and say a few kind words to you. Or not so kind. I wonder how such idiots live to old age?... So, what do you want to tell me, Knight Light?"
"Well..." I scratched the back of my head, "the essence of this technique is that... Using the Force, I place a certain mark on an object that my eye sees. And then I swap places with that object."
"Swapping places?"
"Teleportation," I informed her. "By the way, if my indicators are 'almost perfect,' why did my whole body ache too?"
"Oh," the woman sighed heavily, placing a hand on her forehead, "the reason lies in the fact that your body is simply not used to such an impact. Jedi can endure much that would almost certainly kill the un-gifted. You've also been through a lot," she nodded at my right hand, which I held over the blanket. A unsightly scar was visible along its entire length, left by a very unpleasant animal. "But what you did is new to your body, hence such a reaction to the Force technique. As for the technique itself, I can sadly report that you are an idiot. Did I hear correctly that you used it not in training, but in battle, and probably along with sensory techniques?"
"Yes," I agreed.
"Force... Did you not consider that it created colossal pressure on the occipital lobe of your cerebral cortex? Or did you think your technique only involved your eye?"
"I don't understand, what does the occipital lobe have to do with it?"
"Tell me, Knight Light, you haven't studied the anatomy and physiology of your body, have you?" the woman asked slyly.
"No," I agreed. "At least, not in the aspect you're talking about. On Tustra, where I grew up, we were taught xenobiology, which explained the peculiarities of the sephi—who we are compatible with, how and why."
"They explained this to children?"
"Yes, why?" I asked. "For your information, sephi children are extremely serious beings... For the most part."
"Interesting planet."
"And in the Jedi Temple, we were told about the flora and fauna of other planets, about how to survive in the wild. And about what's better to cut off an opponent—an arm or a leg. Although I still believe that there's nothing better than good old Sai tok (note: dismembering an opponent at the waist into two halves, example—Obi's strike on Maul in the first episode), Sai cha (note: decapitation. Example—Vader's strike on Jango Fett in the second episode), and Shiak. After all, as far as I'm concerned, the best move is one after which you don't have to finish off your opponent."
"I understand everything about you. You should read some medical literature, perhaps... At least for general development," the woman sighed heavily. "To put it simply, the occipital lobe of the cerebral cortex is part of the sensory area of this very cortex," she brought up a holophoto of a brain in front of me, and then zoomed in on the area of interest. "Here, look, it's here. In Gifted adepts focused on using sensory techniques in combat, this part of the brain is particularly developed, as are all other sensory areas responsible for receiving information coming to us from our ears, nose, or tongue. The essence of sensory perception is that, in whatever form it manifests best in you, half of the perception of all information received by our bodies, and its interpretation, lies on this very lobe. The other half is distributed among other parts of the brain responsible for sensory perception."
"Aaaah... I understand..." I nodded, to which the woman gave me a skeptical look. "What? It's really clear. I'm a very understanding being."
"Never say such words, Knight Light," she placed her index finger on my lips. "Understanding is when you prove in practice what I've explained to you. For now, just take it into consideration. So, I'll continue. In combat, you actively use all sensory zones. You could say you use everything in your brain that has any relation to sensory perception. Won't you reveal its peculiarity specifically for you?"
"Precognition and a weak point."
"Well, I never, the most problematic abilities for your enemies," she smiled. "It's a shame you weren't in my graduating class... I remember a couple of beings in our group who could have used a conversation with such a talented sephi as you. In a duel. But I'm getting sidetracked. Naturally, using these techniques in combat strains your centers. You probably remember that at first, the techniques didn't come easily to you—you had to spend time on countless training sessions, listening to lectures from instructors, reading literature. All this happened because your zones were not sufficiently developed then. Now, you can apply the techniques you've learned almost without thinking. The problem is that the development of your visual zone—the occipital one—is insufficient for applying the technique you invented. Thinking that you're directing the Force to your eye is only half true—as I've already said, the energy also passes through the aforementioned zone. What do you think, Knight, why did the vessels in your eye burst?"
"Because it, like this zone, is not entirely... 'developed'?"
"So you did grasp the essence," she smiled. "The Force is a rather useful energy that anyone with a midi-chlorian count above standard can use. Imagine that the Force is another muscle in your body that, under excessive load, can easily tear. The result of such an action will be extremely painful for you, and in some cases, fatal: either you won't feel or be able to use the Force for some time, or its use will cause you severe pain, or you might die from overexertion—when one muscle in the body fails, all the others follow. That's why we train—the essence of any training is to raise the bar higher each time. Of course, overcoming yourself is also a perfectly working scheme, but only for those who realistically assess their capabilities. You are clearly not one of them. Let's just say, this time you were very lucky to walk the edge—if they hadn't brought you here so quickly, you could easily have lost the ability to see with your eye, and you would have had to get an implant. Next time, think thrice before using the techniques you want."
"And what should I do in that case so that I can use my technique without such consequences? Eye exercises?" I asked the woman.
She looked at me with surprise.
"Hmm, you're not hopeless. As I've already said, training helps a lot. Eye training, including, although not much. It's best if you direct the Force to both your eyes and that sensory zone in an attempt to develop them in some way. In other words, when directing the Force, you should, for example, try to make out a letter, as in an eye test. And it's better if it's something you can't see immediately at all."
"I've never heard of anything like it..."
"And I've never heard that you can place a mark on an object with a glance and the Force, and then swap places with it," I stroked my right eye. "Otherwise, if you neglect training and try to actively use this technique, your eyes can expect two consequences: in about ninety-nine and nine-tenths percent of cases, they will not withstand it and will either simply burst, or the vessels in the visual zone will burst, initiating what is called a 'hemorrhagic stroke'—the vessels in your brain will simply rupture, blood from them will enter the cavity and begin to press on the tissues. Symptoms: sudden headache, vomiting, rapid loud breathing, tachycardia with simultaneous paralysis of the arm and leg. All this can lead to mild stunning and even loss of consciousness, up to a deep coma," the healer informed me in a matter-of-fact tone. "The second case—your brain and eyes will adapt. The chance is about zero point one percent. I wouldn't risk it if I were you. So, what do you choose?"
"You described all possible options so vividly that you leave me no choice, Knight Zayra. And I'd still like to live a little longer."
"And that's precisely why you're not hopeless. If anything, I'll fight for your life to the end," it's funny to her, right? "Well, I'll give you the exercises, and in the meantime, I'll remind you again—run the Force through the indicated body parts, constantly trying to engage them—this will not only make the responsible structures more resilient but also improve other Force techniques related to these zones—like that weak point. Use teleportation only when you are sure you can quickly disengage from combat. Otherwise, you're done for. I think you already understand that at the moment your limit is once. Yes, and consider this fact—our Hall can bring back the legless, restore sight to the blind, and teach the mute to speak. But we cannot bring you back to life if you suddenly decide to go into the Force. No one can help you there. Am I explaining myself clearly, Knight Light?"
After some time, I left the Hall of Healing—the conversation with the healer made me realize that sometimes you need to think about the consequences too—what I want and what I can achieve. M-da, I need to approach strengthening myself with caution. Otherwise, my eyes will burst, and hello, implants... And what if such a fate befalls me right in battle? I don't even want to think about it, let alone listen to Master Lorm calling me an idiot, even more so... Although he might not even use profanity for that.
What surprised me greatly was the invitation to the trial of Master Jonal. As I had thought, he was still alive. The trial was conducted by the High Council of the Order in a closed hall on the lower level of the Temple. It wasn't particularly large and didn't resemble the one where Ahsoka was tried for her "friend's" actions. There weren't even any Guards around the prisoner. In the center of the hall stood twelve chairs, in which sat the Masters of the Council. Some of them: Poli Dapian, Even Piell, and Yula Brylon—were in hologram form. The rest were present in person. Master Yoda ordered me to stand behind him, which I did. In front of the council stood Jonal Ezar, his only hand shackled and pulled behind his back... It was the first time I saw him without the mask and hood he always wore, and only now did I realize how old Jonal was—his face was eaten away by deep wrinkles, his short-cropped white hair was slightly disheveled, and a somewhat mad look only completed the image of a fanatic.
"Let us begin," Yoda, sitting in the center, said. Jonal had already been replaced by the appropriate Master. It turned out to be Yaddle, a fellow species of Yoda. She looked just like Yoda himself, only she was a woman. She had brown hair and green skin. "Jonal Ezar, you are accused of harboring a Dark Gifted and handing over your brethren in the Order to him. Do you have anything to say to this?"
"Hmph," the old man snorted. "Do you think you have the right to accuse me of anything?"
"We do," Piell said, "You conspired with Set Hart—one who, in his time, trained to be a Lord of the Sith. By doing so, you betrayed the Jedi Order, betrayed many Archaeologists and Shadows, whom you knowingly sent into a trap."
"We are here to learn your motives, or perhaps you have concealed some other actions from us?" Dapian asked.
"We have also gathered here to mete out justice to you," Oppo Rancisis added. "For all your actions committed against the Jedi Order and the Republic..."
"Ha-ha... Jedi, Republic..." the old man suddenly laughed loudly. "And this trial... My motives... And what I concealed... You are pathetic wretches," he said sharply. "Useless beings who are mired in dogmatism and don't want to see where it has led us. Do you want to understand my motives? Here you go! I want to kill them all. All these damned bribe-taking senators. I want to cleanse our Order of all those weaklings we've acquired over a thousand years since the Ruusan Reformation! Look around you—for whom and for what are we fighting? For the defense of the Republic's citizens? Or for the corrupt Senate? Aren't you ashamed?! I could have fixed all this—I just needed to be given power, resources, and strength... And then I would have..."
"Then what?" Yaddle asked him. "Drenched the entire Galaxy in the blood of those who disagreed with your ideas?"
"Yes! Because they wouldn't listen! But those who agreed with me would remain. And under my rule, they could achieve unprecedented prosperity! No change happens easily—everything must be paid for. And the price for the Republic becoming a normal state is exorbitant... And it will pay it—sooner or later! Or it will fall."
"That's not for you to decide," Elxa Kreiss said sharply.
"And not for you, Kreiss," Ezar replied. "This is the future. You will either pay... Or you will burn in the fire of war, during which those you supposedly 'protect' will turn against you. They will call you traitors, they will want to capture you. Do you know why?! Because you stood by and did nothing! Sentence me to death, Jedi, because I cannot be corrected. I will not stop and will never change my mind under any circumstances! I admit no guilt! My actions were for the sake of maintaining peace, stability, and order in the Galaxy!"
I closed my eyes... And indeed—as a Shadow, he saw the decay of the Order to a much greater extent than the others. I understand the reasons for his actions and motives, because in the process of development, I myself reached the same fork—everything must be paid for. But he, embarking on the path, understood it in his own way, essentially distorting it. It was rightly said once that light can not only warm but also burn. Fanatics are not loved by anyone—neither their own nor others. His actions are those of a madman to the Council, which he, alas, is.
"So, you admit no guilt?" Dooku asked dryly.
"It doesn't matter what you say—I would do it again and again," he exclaimed. "You are pathetic lapdogs of the corrupt Senate. In order for me to get into power, I had to convince them that you were weak! And I almost achieved it! Light Flaingstar!" He looked at me. "I regret you the most. You could have become a great Jedi under my leadership. I thought you could think for yourself..."
"For myself, Master Jonal," I interrupted him, "but not like you. You crossed the line. You know what the difference is between a Tyrant and a Savior? It's that one becomes great by destroying the Great, and the other—by creating the Great!"
"These are two extremes of the same entity! To some, you would be my successor, the light of the Jedi. And to others—a vile traitor. There is no ideal relationship from all sides! I thought you understood that."
"I understood that," I replied, "but to sacrifice those who didn't even suspect your goals... It's vile," he was hiding things from his own subordinates so that they wouldn't interfere with him.
"You are not to judge me, boy! Or have you forgotten your stunt on Royce-VIII? Did those who surrounded Set Hart suspect your objective?"
"No," I admitted honestly. "And no apologies or justifications of mine will negate the fact of their deaths. But I understand and accept my guilt, Jonal Ezar. And you? Do you accept your guilt?! Do you agree that you doomed many Jedi to death?! That, without informing anyone, you used them to satisfy ONLY YOUR OWN ambitions?!"
"No, because I am not guilty!"
"Those are just your words," I replied to him. "And only you say you are not guilty. But the fact is different: because of you, so many Gifted have died... I agree to look into the eyes of the relatives of those who suffered on Royce. But you do not. Do you know why? Not because in your understanding the end justifies the means. It is applicable only when the means you use know what they are going for. No... You are simply afraid of them. Afraid to admit guilt, because if they find out, it will put an end to your entire system, prove the falsity of your ideas!"
"Lies! Light Flaingstar, you are a pathetic imitation..."
"Silence," Even Piell interrupted him sharply. "This boy is far better and smarter than you. Because he understood what you, in your eighty years, have not yet realized."
"We have heard everything," Yoda said. "It is time to deliver the verdict. Hmm..."
"He must be destroyed," Dapathian said. "Although it is hard to admit, although Jedi do not kill unarmed people, there are moments when we are forced to act this way."
"Death... ahem... Is there anyone who agrees with this verdict?" Yoda asked. All the masters raised their hands without much delay. "Do you all agree? To kill him? In that case... Master Dooku," Yoda said.
Jango Fett stood up and activated his lightsaber.
"Whatever you do, the future I spoke of... it is inevitable! The fire of war will consume the Galaxy... And you will be to blame for it! You will be its victims!"
"By the Will of the Council," Dooku shouted over the condemned's exclamations, and approached Jonal. "I swear that my mind is pure, it holds neither hatred nor fear. Only the desire to render justice," he raised his saber. A moment later, Ezar's head fell to the floor, and his body collapsed to his knees. Silence fell.
That's all... Now it's truly over... Both with him and with Set Hart.
"Light," Yoda suddenly said, as I was about to leave the hall. "I must speak with you before your departure. I will expect you tomorrow morning."
"I will come, Great Master," I replied to Yoda. "I have a premonition that we will have an interesting conversation."