Summer vacation at Alderaan University was spent differently by everyone. Initially, I thought about focusing on training, leaving the planet for a while. To go back to that planet where I trained with Master Lorm. But two people adjusted my plans. The first was Magister Jonal Ezar himself, who asked me directly at the end of the school year about my results. And he clearly wasn't interested in my academic success. Scolding me for getting too caught up in new things and forgetting about the mission, he told me that several more Jedi Archaeologists and even one Shadow had disappeared. They were probably all dead. And now all the informed Magisters were literally on their ears because the Shadows hadn't been able to cope for years. And I was just loafing around here…
After getting a substantial chewing out from the boss, I was forced to reconsider my plans and started listening carefully to what Bail was saying about how to spend the summer vacation. Practical training here only happens between the second and third years, and I wasn't planning to drag it out. I intended to get all the information by the third year, take my exams externally, and get out of Alderaan. Especially after the chewing out from Jonal. Here we are, sentients are dying like flies, and I'm just loafing around on Alderaan among high society. At the very least, I felt ashamed of that framing. We do what we can, the way we can… But after Jonal's chewing out, I realized I wasn't actually putting any effort into this mission, just relaxing.
Naturally, my efforts to find information paid off. After another training session, during which I first sent Bail to the floor, then Delon, and then both at once, Bail, after drinking some water from a bottle, decided to start the conversation I'd been expecting.
"What are you all planning to do when the vacation officially starts?" he asked all of us. Rulana, sitting next to Delon and helping him recover from an unequal fight with a Jedi who wasn't even using the Force, looked at Antilles curiously.
"Do you have any suggestions, Bail?" I voiced the question for everyone.
"Of course," he nodded. "We could go on a submarine yacht cruising the sea."
Alderaan had several seas whose coastlines could be used as beaches in the summer. People went there for entire weeks and even months to relax. Many Alderaanians loved not just traveling to the seas or mountains of their own planet's continent, but also going off-planet to explore other worlds. Fortunately, every sentient inhabitant of the planet had money for interplanetary flights. Almost… And Alderaanians bought the best rooms in the best hotels because they were wealthy and successful by many standards, really. The planet's location, the right trade and financial policies, and the right choice of allies at certain times in galactic history all played a part. Which, however, didn't save this beautiful planet from destruction by the Death Star.
This time we were at the huge Antilles estate, located three kilometers from the University. It was a massive, three-story palace, decorated with the flowers of House Antilles and their guards at almost every step. Bail's father, his sister, and his Jedi mentor were absent from the estate at the moment — according to Bail, they'd flown off on House business. And now Bail was proposing an interesting way to spend the summer: going on a luxury-class submarine. In my first world, only one submarine could be called that — the Soviet, and later Russian, Project 941 submarine; an incredible behemoth by Earth's standards, which, besides armament, even had a swimming pool and a gym for the crew. But since the Galaxy Far, Far Away had advanced far beyond the technology of the Soviet Union and even the USA, 'underwater hotels' and yachts where aristocrats could relax had naturally appeared here.
"What yacht are you talking about?" Amella asked.
"The Azure of Alderaan," Bail said.
"The Azure?" I asked, puzzled, recalling recent news and facts. "But isn't it near the coast of Apalis? That's the domain of House Organa."
"Yes," Bail sighed. "That's right. But my father is offering me this trip. My younger sister, Breha, will be there too. I don't know what my father is planning — maybe he wants negotiations with the Organas?"
The whole essence of the relationship between the Organas and the Antilles can be described in one phrase: the game for the throne. As I'd learned long ago, Alderaan used to be ruled by members of House Pantir. They were the ones most often elected to that position — yes, Alderaan has an elective monarchy, albeit a lifelong one for the elected. The title of King practically passed down by inheritance among the members of House Pantir. But they had all died out long before the present day. The result was that everything boiled down to a confrontation between wealthy aristocratic houses. Among them, the Organas and the Antilles stood out. Every time the monarch of Alderaan died, having lived to some impressive number for the human race, elections for a new Viceroy were held. If the Pantirs had been Kings of Alderaan, after their deaths the position began to be called 'Viceroy of Alderaan.' Although some of them called themselves 'Kings.' In short, the traditions of Alderaan are complicated.
The current Vicereine is from House Organa — Mazicia Organa. She is the fifth Organa on the throne, and a quiet discontent is brewing among the Antilles: 'You've ruled so long, maybe it's our turn?' Mazicia has an heir, Bail — it is he who is predicted to be the new monarch of Alderaan. The King isn't even dead yet, and they're already playing the game of thrones — what a funny place. Everyone is anticipating who will be elected the new Viceroy when Lady Mazicia deigns to end her life's journey. Although here it's mostly due to the quiet discontent of their closest political rivals, the Antilles, over House Organa's hegemony; the ambitions of the Antilles themselves, primarily Bail Antilles's father, Olaren; and the presence of a capable heir on the Antilles side, who have also begun actively recruiting weaker aristocratic houses to their side. Hence the talk of contradictions in the elections, which apparently weren't even planned for the near future. It's a joke — Bail Organa is thirteen years old, and Bail Antilles is nineteen. Ordinary citizens were supposedly allowed to vote, but it was calculated using a rather strange coefficient system of 0.6 to 0.4. The number of votes from the aristocratic houses, given by the heads of those houses, was multiplied by 0.6. And the number from ordinary citizens was multiplied by 0.4. This applied to each candidate. In this bizarre way, the 'support coefficient' for each candidate was calculated.
At the same time, in the HoloNet news feed from Alderaan, other candidates had long since sort of faded into the background. It was either Organa or Antilles. The people actively argued on the forums and, as is usual in political arguments, some from the two different camps promised to find someone and show them who was more right using the good old, time-honored method of beating up their opponents. As one wise man said: 'That's politics.' The Antilles were actively heating up the situation, trying to blacken the Organa name, and there was already talk that the elections might even start much earlier than the official death of the forty-year-old woman — not exactly legal, but big money and the Antilles' ambitions worked wonders. There was talk of holding the elections early to avoid hypothetical chaos during the future election of the monarch when Mazicia died.
The aristocratic families held their breath, watching the favorites. And the favorites were delivering, creating one info-event after another. Notably, both the Antilles and the Organa were considering all options, from prolonged confrontation to peaceful resolution of issues. There was no talk of elections anytime soon.
"Personally, I intended to visit Tustra," I informed Bail. "But a submarine yacht sounds clearly more interesting than what I could get on Tustra during vacation. The Great Winds are my witness, this is interesting. I've never been to places like this."
"Oh, it's a wonderful place," Mia said with an important tone. "Bars, dance clubs, casinos, swimming pools, gyms, saunas… Everything you need for leisure. And all of it top quality. So if I were you, I'd accept the invitation without a second thought."
"And I'm not hesitating," I shrugged. "I agree."
"I suppose I will too," Delon said, looking at Rulana. "What about you, Amella?"
"Naturally, my father and I will agree to my presence," Amella snorted. "No other options are considered. Otherwise, you'll get mixed up in something," she looked at me.
I just shrugged. So I have a plan for the summer. And don't forget the main mission again.
"Taivi, a word," Bail called to me when we were all about to head home. Rulana and Delon had already left the hall. Unlike Mia and Amella, who were taking an impossibly long time to get ready. The man nodded to the side, and we moved away from the girls. Once we were far enough from them, he came close to me and spoke quietly, barely audibly. "Taivi, do you have any contacts among the Jedi?"
"Contacts among the Jedi?"
"That's right," he nodded. "You said you were trained by your uncle, a Jedi."
"But he died in the Outer Rim, Bail," I said sadly. I don't think I'm overdoing it.
"You said that too. But do you know anyone else?"
"Why do you ask, Bail?" I asked him with concern. "Is someone threatening you? Maybe you should contact the Order directly?"
"No," he shook his head, swallowing. "We can't do that, under any circumstances. But maybe you can help us establish indirect contact with the Order? So do you have anyone, or not?"
"Let's say I do," I nodded, smiling approvingly. "My uncle introduced me to a Shadow."
"A Shadow? Who is that?" Antilles asked me. "I've never heard of such Jedi."
"No surprise," I shrugged. "Few people have heard of them. Even within their own Order, according to my uncle, not everyone knows about their existence; they think of them as something like Guardians. Shadows are special Jedi, honed for killing Dark Siders and searching for particularly dangerous Dark Side artifacts. That's what that woman told me about herself."
"Dark Siders?" Bail's eyes widened in surprise. "Sith?"
"Sith," I confirmed, "and not just Sith. The galaxy is full of all kinds of Gifted who could theoretically become targets for Shadows. But why are you even asking me about Jedi, Bail? Why can't you contact them through your mentor?"
"The mentor," Bail looked at the floor, "doesn't really want to contact his former comrades. He calls them 'crackpot, orthodox monks.'" And he was so polite with me when he realized I was a Shadow and had hypothetically come to kill him. Though — in what way is he wrong? The main drawback of the Jedi is words, not actions. We all talk about the Light Side of the Force, the Will of the Force. But for most sentients, both the mythical Will and that same Light Side of the Force are all the same. Actions define reality, not words. That's why: the Jedi who suffer from dogmatism and sit on their hands don't earn any respect from the people. But those who back their words with deeds — the gossip about them is exclusively positive.
"So what's the problem, Bail?" I asked him. "What do you want from me? For me to connect you with the Jedi?"
"No," he shook his head. "Hm… I don't know how to explain to you the situation… I got myself into a couple of months ago… out of my own stupidity and inexperience."
"Speak plainly and without concealment," I said.
"Well then… It happened last spring. One of the employees of House Antilles's company suggested we sign a contract with a certain sentient." Aha. "He praised him as a very worthy sentient. At the time, I wanted to earn my father's favor, so he wouldn't be disappointed in me. So I signed the contract almost without looking. At first, everything went well — we transported goods according to the client's order. But then, unexpectedly, the ship was stopped. It was stopped by Jedi, and they found artifacts on it… some kind. What did you call them?"
"Dark Side artifacts," I reminded him.
"Right," he shuddered. "The ship's captain died a couple of days after the Order started its investigation. The ship was requisitioned. Rumors started going around about our company, that we were transporting something forbidden. And we're not some smugglers from the Outer Rim! My father hushed the matter up, the employee was fired. But…" he swallowed, "I kept some papers that employee worked with — contracts and information about where the cargo was picked up and where it was delivered." I felt my eyes widen in surprise. Jackpot. The Gifted we were looking for wouldn't consider someone like the Antilles small fry. He must have left a much bigger trail with them than in the Lothar case! However much Bail wanted to earn his father's favor, he wouldn't have gotten involved with this Gifted without some information. Which means I can get valuable intel on our target through him.
"And what about the employee?" I asked Bail.
"Why are you interested?" the man asked, looking at me suspiciously, but he still answered. "He died at home from some kind of disease."
Coincidence? Or was the Gifted cleaning up loose ends? He probably wouldn't have risked going after the Antilles; he was probably satisfied with just removing the intermediary.
"This is dangerous business, Bail," I said. "But I think I can get in touch with my contacts and they'll send someone to you. Just keep in mind that they'll send Shadows… And they… are a bit peculiar, my friend."
"I don't care who they send. As long as I have all those things I signed, all that information, I'm really scared, Taivi," the man said. "The ship's captain was a healthy, young man who died. He just died! And that employee's death looks strange too. I… I don't want to put myself or my House at risk. If you can contact a Jedi and bring them to me, I'll gladly hand over everything they want on this case. And I'll pay you extra…"
"Bail," I sighed heavily, putting my hand on his shoulder. "We're friends. What payment? I'll help you for free. I can feel that the information your family has left is very important. The Jedi will help; the main thing is to call the right Jedi. I'll send a message today."
"Thank you, my friend." I could swear the weight of an ISD had just been lifted from his shoulders.
"You two took a long time," Doyn said. "Look, Alderaan will be completely over the horizon soon."
The system's star is named after the system itself. Though it's a bit disorienting sometimes.
"Are you okay, Bail?" Mia asked solicitously. "I think someone overdid it at training," she looked at me threateningly.
"I know nothing," I shook my head. "They attacked first."
"You asked them to," Doyn said. "Stop making excuses."
"I can walk you girls," Bail looked at them. "I just need to wash up a bit. Excuse me."
"I don't have time to wait," Amella said impatiently, adjusting her green dress.
"Then Taivi can walk you," Mia smiled. "I'll wait for Bail."
Just call a speeder here. Yes, they're not very popular in Aldera. But all the wealthy aristocratic houses could use them twenty-four seven.
"I don't need to be walked," Amella snorted, "especially not by someone like him."
"A lady's wish is law," I shrugged.
"What?" she asked sharply. "And that's all you have to say?"
"What am I supposed to say, Amella?" I asked the girl. "You said you didn't need to be walked, especially by me. So I won't. Will you call a family speeder? Or will you get there yourself? I don't really care."
"You know, I've changed my mind," she crossed her arms over her chest. "Walk me home."
"As if. I wouldn't dream of it," I said flatly. "Your house is in the opposite direction from mine. Plus, you're talking like you're giving orders. And I'm not your servant, I'd like to remind you."
"So I have to beg now?! Maybe get down on my knees?!" Amella asked loudly. Bail cleared his throat, and she glared at him furiously, making him look away. Tall order…
"That would give me aesthetic pleasure, Amella," I said. "Getting you on your knees — many dream of it. But no. Let's not dirty your favorite dress. You've read novels about handsome knights and ladies, haven't you? Have you forgotten how a lady asks a gentleman to walk her home? At least like that."
"Ladies don't ask," Mia interjected. "The gentlemen themselves offer their services."
"But I don't want to offer my services right now. Besides, she can call a speeder from her House's estate. Or is that difficult?"
"You're a heartless lump of wood," Doyn declared loudly.
"Believe me, I have my reasons for being one," I smirked. "And they are far more important than many things. As for whether you need to be walked — if you ask nicely, like a polite person, I'll agree to consider your request. Well," I looked into the girl's blue eyes, "I'm waiting."
"Sir," she said quietly, "will you walk me home? I'm scared to go alone in the dark."
Bail couldn't hold it in and snorted, earning a preventative smack on the back of the head from Mia.
"So be it, my lady," I bowed slightly. "I agree to escort you and protect you from any danger. I'll wait for you in the hall."
Night fell over Alderaan. The streets of Aldera were pleasantly lit. It was warm, so we walked just as we were. Me in black pants and a white shirt, and the girl in her favorite green dress. The street was empty — it was an aristocratic district, after all. The commercial district, with its many cafes and diners, that was definitely lively. Amella was torn between wanting to walk closer to me and the fact that I was clearly humiliating her. What could I do? I only want to protect her, mainly her mental health. Because soon I'll be leaving this planet. I can graduate from the University as an external student. And I'm unlikely to come back here often. I'm not Tyvi Lanian, who'll go work as a bureaucrat or manager after graduating from University; I'm Light Flyingstar, who'll go fulfill his duty as a Jedi. Or am I just overthinking things about Amella? She doesn't seem like an easy girl who needs a "look and dump" kind of relationship; moreover, it would mess with her head too much. So what should I do? And this is all in the context of the escalating confrontation between the dissatisfied Antilles and the ruling Organa.
"Well?" asked the girl walking beside me. "Aren't you going to say anything?"
"And what should I say about your romance novels you're reading? Should I compare your eyes to the stars sparkling in the sky, or pay you some other compliments?" I asked the girl. "Don't forget — I'm an unfeeling blockhead. And given the choice between reading romantic nonsense from the HoloNet and reading the 'Guide to Bookkeeping,' I'd prefer the latter. At least the latter will be useful to me."
"Hmph," Amella snorted. "With that attitude, you'll never get married."
"I'm Sephi, if you've forgotten. We live at least two hundred years, four hundred at most. So don't worry too much about me."
Right in front of us, a group appeared that I genuinely didn't want to see today. Jaiko Mecetti, Renard Calypso, Valir Alor, Magbet Rina, and Linda, that same Gifted one playing the role of guard for Jaiko himself. What really set the Tapani apart was their similar style of dress. They all, almost always, wore a classic three-piece suit. The only difference was the color scheme. Jaiko preferred classic black. Renard — scarlet, Valir — yellow, and Magbet wore gray. Linda wore black pants and a matching shirt, unlike the other girls in our group, who wore dresses below the knee.
"Amella," the aristocrat tensed up, looking at the girl. "I'm surprised to meet you here, so late, and under the protection of someone like him."
"Gentlemen," Amella bowed slightly; I repeated her gesture. Then we both nodded to Linda. She wasn't considered noble and didn't enjoy much respect in the group. "Tyvi agreed to escort me to my family's estate."
"Did he?" Renard asked. "My lady — this protector is rather weak. I would advise you to choose someone better."
"Better?" Amella replied to him. "This gentleman, Tyvi, just demonstrated himself excellently in fights against our friends."
"With all due respect, my lady," Valir Alor took the floor, "a real battle that might start over your beauty and a training battle are very different." Finishing his speech, he looked at Jaiko. He nodded.
"He's right, my lady. Tyvi doesn't know as much as we do; he didn't have all the teachers that we had. I can protect you better," he said pompously.
"And what do you say?" Magbet asked me.
"The lady's wish is law," I stated phlegmatically. "If she decides I'm not suitable for her protection, I'll leave."
"I'll decide that," Amella said. Thank the Force! "When I see proof that you can't protect me, sir."
What?
"And what other proof can be presented?" Jaiko grinned. "Even a girl can beat him. Linda."
Where did I go wrong in my words? I wasn't given a chance to analyze my recent behavior. Linda closed the five meters separating us, appearing in front of me, and, enhancing herself with the Force, tried to smash my nose. Just like that, straight on? I crossed my arms in front of me in a block. The blow was heavy, even pushing me back slightly.
"What are you doing, sir?" Amella asked Jaiko.
"What am I doing?" Jaiko asked innocently. "Linda just decided to show that, as a man, Tyvi isn't the most reliable."
Not the most reliable? Even without a lightsaber, I'd thrash her so badly her own mother wouldn't recognize her. However, I don't want to blow my cover. But I don't want to get beaten either! So I'll use the Force in "passive" mode. If I start enhancing myself, she'll expose me immediately. But if I use the Force only for predicting events and analyzing weak points — then it'll be harder for her to expose me. I readied myself for battle, raised my right hand, and beckoned Linda.
"I'll break both your arms as a lesson," I said simply.
"That's impossible," the girl rushed at me again, but this time I felt my favorite and familiar feeling of precognition. I struck at the advancing Linda, but she jumped, landing above me, and struck down with her right leg, which I dodged to the side. The girl landed and immediately attacked me with punches and kicks. But it's useless. I can see where each of her strikes will land. Including. I can clearly see all her weak points. Where she'll dodge, how she'll block, how and where to strike her. When fighting a faster and more experienced opponent, my senses aren't something to rely on. But against an equal or weaker opponent, such an advantage is a perfect boon. She'll cover her neck after we exchange blows? Then take a hit to the torso. The hit was successful; she lowered her arms and took a heavy breath, which I took advantage of, landing my favorite high kick. The girl fell onto the road.
"What were you saying about impossibility, Linda?" I asked the girl. "You attacked me, in the middle of the street. Any camera will confirm that. And since I can't let this go unpunished, and you," I looked menacingly at the now-subdued quartet of aristocrats, "have gotten on my nerves, perhaps a little punitive demonstration will do you good! Don't get up," I said, but the girl got to her feet and attacked me with a straight punch to the face, enhancing herself with the Force to the limit of her abilities. Foreseeing the blow, I dodged to the side, grabbed her arm with my left hand, and before she could react, struck her arm hard with my right hand. A crunch of bone was heard.
"AAAH!" she whimpered. Letting go of her arm, I grabbed her left arm in a lock before she could come to her senses. I take it she's only heard about Crucitorn? Or hasn't heard of it at all. An instant later, the same crunch came from her left arm. I grabbed the girl by the neck and lifted her slightly off the ground.
"You pathetic bastards, remember what happened here. This is the last warning, Jaiko. You don't mess with me, I don't mess with you. Otherwise — next time I'll bring a vibro-sword and cut something off you. Do we understand each other?" I asked him.
"Yes," the aristocrat hissed.
"Take your trash," I said, throwing the girl to the ground. "Let's go, Amella." I grabbed the girl's hand and quickly led her away from the crowd of aristocrats. There's nothing they can do to me. I beat Linda, and they clearly understand that defeating a Gifted one is no small feat. They aren't Gifted themselves and are clearly weaker than Linda.
"That's some strength you've got," the girl said quietly.
"I told you where I got these abilities," I said angrily. "And rest assured — I didn't even show half of it."
"But Linda is clearly Gifted," Amella said. "I know about it; my father told me. How did you beat her? Could it be. . ."
"Gifted. Ungifted," I snorted. "No such thing. There are either idiots or smart people. That girl is definitely sensitive to the Force, everyone in the group knows that, not just you. But she doesn't know how to use her abilities. That's why she lost to me. I hope she learns her lesson."
"I hope they leave us alone," Amella said, agreeing with me.
Ten minutes later, we approached another huge building. It was more modest than the Antilles' place, though. At the same time, unlike the others, the Doyns clearly preferred a modern style. The mansion stood out among its neighbors. The lantern light let me see the main two-story building clearly, flanked by two towers, each five stories high.
"Thank you for the escort," the aristocrat said.
"Always welcome," I shrugged. "Just learn to ask people for help properly next time, Amella."
"I've always treated you well!" Amella said, a little too loudly. "It's all you. You always look at me. Like I don't even exist."
"An interesting accusation, I'll remem—" I didn't get to finish; she quickly closed the distance and kissed me on the lips, then, smiling strangely, turned around and skipped home, humming a tune.
"How am I supposed to restrain myself and remember the mission?" I said, stunned, into the void. "And Mila. . ." I sighed heavily. "Though, maybe she wouldn't want me to limit myself. . . because of her."
I turned around and walked towards the hotel.