The cantina was empty… The moment I walked in, the scene of destruction met my eyes—a wrecked cantina, more or less. From the look of things, most of the damage had been caused by a big weapon. Shards of bottles and glassware were scattered everywhere. The bar counter was, surprisingly enough, still intact. Well, he sure made a mess of the place… I swept my gaze across the room, searching for the one intact spot. A table, where Shadejen himself sat, drinking straight from a bottle. Two Twi'lek waitresses were serving him—based on the auras I scanned, they were twin sisters. And he had a good eye; the girls were worth looking at. Slender, toned bodies, full chests. The glaive stood planted right into the floor. He'd cut through the concrete—must have used the Force.
"Who's there?" Shadejen asked, lifting his gaze to me. "Oh… Finally managed to get drunk."
"Sir, you—" one of the girls started, stepping forward, but I walked around her, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"It's all right, beautiful. He's an old acquaintance of mine, and I'd like to have a word with him. Rest assured, we don't intend," I swept my gaze over the cantina, "to trash this place any more than it already is."
I pushed a wave of calming Force toward the girl, then sat down at the table across from Shadejen.
"You look terrible," I noted.
"Either I'm finally stupid enough to get drunk, or you really are Light Flyingstar," Shadejen sighed, exuding such a powerful reek of alcohol that if I hadn't learned to resist it using Matukai methods, I'd be drunk by now. "No," he raised his hand and touched my clothes, "you're not a dream."
"Not a dream," I agreed. "I see you're spending your time productively," I said, scanning the cantina, "though I definitely approve of some of your leisure choices," I glanced at the sisters, who had taken position nearby.
"I'll bet," Shadejen snorted. "But approval's all you can offer, isn't it? Your Alderaanian beauty won't approve…"
"Who knows? We're effectively separated," I cut him off. He slid a bottle of alcohol toward me.
"You were looking for this, weren't you? 'Tustran Wind'—your favorite liqueur," he said.
"Who would've thought my favorite drink wouldn't be in the Core Worlds, but would be in this dive bar. The will of the Force is an interesting thing."
"You know, I tried it. Never liked sweet alcohol."
"Everyone has their flaws," I nodded.
"Well, you didn't come just for the hell of it, did you?" Shadejen tipped back another bottle of Corellian whiskey. I glanced at the waitresses. They seemed indifferent to the latest alcohol consumption. Guess they were used to it. "Come to mock me?"
"Why would I?" I asked, taking a sip of my drink. Mmm… Divine.
"The Council of Pathfinding Masters already did that," Shadejen snorted. "'We grant you the rank of Warrior, but Theodor's investigation must stop.' BASTARDS!" he roared, slamming his fist on the table. Immediately, the waitresses' hands touched his cheeks. The warm, soft palms of two beautiful women calmed him down.
"I lost my own mentor in a similar way," I sighed. Lorm Decer's face appeared before my eyes. "So I don't see any reason to mock."
"And? Did you come to pour out your heart about how you understand my pain?" Shadejen asked sarcastically.
"I do understand, but honestly, that's not why I'm here, Shadejen. You're a big boy—you'll figure out what to do with your pain yourself. I've simply outgrown mine. I just remember the lesson. You can fly off the rails and start cutting everyone down left and right, or you can try to drown yourself in the oblivion of alcohol and women. I'll only condemn you for the first option, and I'll put you in the ground right then and there," I laid a lightsaber on the table. "However—I came to offer you a way to give him what he deserves."
"Revenge? And you're going to be part of that?" I nodded. "Is revenge the Jedi way?" Shadejen asked with a smirk.
"It's not revenge. It's justice," I said. "When I killed the Dathomirian witch who caused my mentor's death—I wasn't taking revenge. I was delivering justice for the crimes she committed. What's the difference? Revenge is uncontrolled. Justice—that's cold reason."
"Ha-ha-ha-ha," he laughed. "Cold reason? Me and cold reason," he propped himself up on his elbows, "that's a funny joke. What justice? What righteousness?" his face twisted in anger. "I want to kill that creature! And everyone dear to him! But… I remember what he did to us. Out of the three of us—only you and the mentor managed anything. And even that's questionable. I don't have a fraction of a chance… So I'll pick one of the two options."
"Well," I poured myself a second glass, "you don't necessarily have to face him in battle yourself. I understand you clearly want revenge, but the years of training drilled into you absolutely tell you not to go after him. However—I know how to get back at him. Even for someone like you."
Shadejen leaned back in his chair.
"You know?" he asked.
"Yes, I managed to figure out who he is. And most importantly—what his weakness is. We are his weakness. More precisely—our actions on the planet Tsai. The explosion that happened after I was buried alive."
"That was the Tyrannical Sacrifice technique. The Tyrant Techniques are techniques that came down to us from one of the Founder's sons. One of them—instantly increases all of a Matukai's parameters. Strength, agility, physical power, endurance, body toughness… But all of that has a drawback in the form of internal damage to bones and muscles. Imagine: the strength you'd achieve after about five years of intense training. That's the strength that technique draws… However—the cost of using it is far too high. If you lose yourself, you could even bury some Master of yours, though you'd drop dead beside them the next instant. The second Tyrant Technique—Tyrannical Self-Sacrifice, as it's been called. It instantly gathers Force energy inside the user's body, using the spirit as fuel… And then detonates…"
"Complete destruction of the body?" Shadejen nodded. "And on top of that—the soul as fuel? That's a one-way ticket. No merging with the Force, no falling into the abyss. It's the end of everything."
"Correct," Shadejen grabbed a bottle of Wookiee brew and drained it completely. "The end. Master Theodor sacrificed himself so that you and I could survive."
"And so we could bring justice to that Sith," I said. "Or do you think his sacrifice was only so you could grope two Twi'leks on Ryloth?"
"Hmph. What do you know about him?" Shadejen snorted. "Master Theodor always wanted what was best for me."
"And what's best for you, Shadejen?" I smiled, drinking my second glass. "Surely not crawling into a kennel like a beaten dog and quietly whimpering while licking your wounds. I remember you as someone else. A Warrior. A Matukai. A proud being. And now you've just holed up in a kennel. You say you want revenge, not justice? Yet here you sit, getting wasted and seducing two Twi'leks. I don't know—whether Theodor would want you to become a Matukai and risk your life, or whether he'd want you to find a peaceful life far from all the Galaxy's troubles. I just don't know. But you know what I see?"
"Enlighten me," he leaned forward slightly.
"You don't know what you want yourself. That's it. That fight broke you," I hammered home. "Everything you believed in, everything you held onto—shattered into pieces like broken glass. And now you don't understand, torn between petty revenge and the urge to crawl into a kennel like a beaten dog."
"Kh…" he grimaced. "And you think if I go with you, I'll find myself again?"
"I can't give you any guarantees. And I won't force you. You can finally find the limit of your alcohol resistance here, hole up in some distant corner of the Galaxy, or find the courage to go restore your pride and honor. But—I feel that force won't lead to anything good. So decide for yourself," I grabbed the bottle of liqueur, still half full.
"Umm," one of the Twi'leks tried to stop me.
"This is my payment to you," I said, using ionization to disable their collars, which indicated the girls' slave status. "I'll arrange it with your master."
Walking out of the cantina, I almost ran into the Toydarian.
"Well?" the insectoid asked.
"Let's see," I said, turning my gaze toward the exit. Out walked Shadejen himself. He'd drunk that much, yet there wasn't a hint of alcohol in his eyes.
"Light," he said, returning the glaive to his back. "I've decided. I want to give that freak what he deserves. Where do I sign?"
"Nowhere to sign, Shadejen. Just come to my ship. We'll plan our actions."
"Gela, Rola, follow me," Shadejen waved.
"Gela? Rola?" the Toydarian asked.
"Yes," I nodded. "That's my payment, respected Zello, for saving your cantina from further destruction. But the girls value Shadejen more, so let them go with him."
"But what's the point?" he asked angrily. "You've taken two workers from me! I have no waitresses left—the non-slaves ran off!"
"That's because the former master was a miser," one of the girls blurted out.
"You should reconsider your business model, Zello," I said coldly. "The Jedi Order does not approve of slavery—even among those for whom it's traditional. Though to a lesser extent the latter. Goodbye. Shadejen thanks you for your payment."
"But…"
"The talk was about a reward. About what form the person completing your task would take it in—that wasn't specified. I did my part—Shadejen is no longer trashing your cantina."
"Listen, that's enough," the Matukai cut in. "If you don't understand," he stepped up and stood opposite the insectoid, "I'll just cut off your wings."
The Toydarian flew higher.
"You can't do that. Don't interfere with my negotiations," I blocked the Matukai, stepping between him and Zello. "Listen, it's perfectly logical, isn't it?"
"Bastard. I did say I'd give a reward for getting him out of there. But do Jedi condone such relationships?"
"Do Gela and Rola belong to me?" I asked sarcastically. "They're following Shadejen."
"Bastard…"
"Your insult wounds me right in the heart, respected…"
"You don't have one," he hissed and disappeared into the cantina.
"If I don't have one, how do I breathe?" I asked aloud.
"He meant figuratively, not literally," the Matukai noted.
"Is that so," I chuckled. "Let's go, to the ship. There's room for everyone, including our guests."
* * *
At the Star Trek, a group of Mandalorians was already waiting for me. Jacob was sitting cross-legged not far from where the ramp was lowering. Vanda was pacing back and forth nearby, gesticulating actively. Hori and Bombur stood farther off, chatting with some Rodian. The man was thin, wiry, with green-tinted skin. Two blaster holsters hung at his belt. He wore dirty-brown pants, a shirt of the same color, and a jacket. Given Ryloth's geography, he was dressed to reduce visibility. He looked like a veteran—as soon as we appeared, his gaze swept over me, then Shadejen, and lingered on Gela and Rola for a split second. The girls shrank back, but moved aside at a wave from Shadejen. It was better they didn't participate in what was coming.
"Good afternoon," Jacob stood up and immediately came toward me. He extended his hand and I shook it. "Long time no see, Padawan. Glad to see you alive and well."
"I'm a Knight now," I replied calmly to the Mandalorian. "And I see you haven't wasted any time either," their armor had the familiar inserts of krayt dragon scales.
"It would be foolish to expect otherwise," Hori noted. "Ah, yes, let me introduce you. Logun Irean," he presented the man, who gave a slight bow.
"This is the Jedi?" he asked Hori.
"Good afternoon, my name is Light. How much have you been told?" I asked, looking at Hori.
"The bare minimum, Light," Logun answered. "They said you have a job. Need to blow up some complex—maybe even with ship turbolasers. Then land on the wreckage and clean up what's left."
I sighed and sent a signal to the ship. It lowered the ramp.
"Come inside and I'll tell you everything," I said. "Why I need the Mandalorians and you, respected Logun. And, of course, your team."
"One moment, the team is coming," the man said, raising his left hand to his compound eyes. Five minutes later, my ship was getting cramped. It really wasn't designed for this many beings. Logun's team consisted of about forty beings. But only seven could fit inside, plus all the Mandalorians and Shadejen. The area around the holoprojector was noisy, and I watched them with some wariness until Jacob approached me. Logun's team was dressed in clothes of varying degrees of wear, but all were armed.
"Don't wait for them to quiet down. When you address a group—don't wait for anyone, seize their attention immediately. You're the leader on this mission, aren't you?" the man asked me. "Go for it." He stepped back, and I took a deep breath. This wasn't the same as presenting at a training board.
"Attention," I said loudly, infusing my voice with the Force and calming the room. Holding their converging gazes, I activated the holoprojector, displaying the image of the Sith I'd captured—specifically, Set Harth, whom I'd photographed on Tsai. Shadejen's face twisted in anger, while everyone else stared curiously at the cloaked figure with a lightsaber in their right hand. "Allow me to introduce you. This is Set Harth," I said. "A being whose power rivals a Sith Lord. And this is him almost a thousand years ago, after the Seventh Battle of Ruusan," I showed his younger version.
"A thousand years old?" Logun asked in surprise. "Nice enemies you've got there, boy."
"Enemies, for challenging whom I'll pay well," I met Logun's gaze. "And if we can actually win, the Jedi will pay you enough for your grandchildren to live on."
"But first we have to win," Vanda noted.
"Correct. The one you saw first is a clone. Almost a thousand years ago—Set Harth, still a Padawan of the Jedi Order, found the Sith holocron of Darth Andeddu, who had come close to unlocking the secrets of eternal life. He learned to transfer his spirit into other vessels when he died. That's the simplified version."
"So—our enemy is a thousand-year-old Jedi who learned to leave his body in case of danger?" Logun asked. "What have you dragged me into, Jacob? A Jedi! Who can avoid death, no matter how low his chances of surviving!"
"And a million credits for you," I looked at the man. "Plus—everything Set Harth has accumulated over nearly a thousand years of his life: ships, resources, relics—as trophies. Some portion will have to go to my Order. However, I'm sure they'll offer you money for everything they request. On top of that, according to my plan—you don't have to challenge him at all."
"Then maybe we should hear your plan?" Vanda asked. "So far you've only presented us with problems."
"The plan could be called simple. We split into three groups," I switched the holoprojector to a diagram of Set Harth's mansion on Royiss. "First—me. I attack Set Harth openly, drawing him to me. And I'll make sure half the Galaxy knows he's a Sith within thirty seconds of the fight, and within a minute—even the Unknown Regions will know. He's hidden from the Galaxy for almost a thousand years—and under his own name. I dug up old files and studied them. Jedi Shadows and Guardians were sent to him to find out if he was the same Set Harth. Many returned empty-handed. His House supposedly descended from the Set Harth who had been a Jedi, but where Set himself disappeared—supposedly no one told the Jedi."
"And how did he fool them?" Hori asked. "It's extremely hard to fool your kind—tell that to Palpatine and every Baneite to their face, if you're a man."
"I think it's all because of the chaos after the Ruusan Reformation," I said. "No one had time for him back then. And when they did—the only one calling himself Set Harth didn't match the age and parameters, since he was officially non-Force-sensitive. Since then he's been a wealthy aristocrat of Royiss. And anticipating your question, Hori—why he's showing himself in the Galaxy now. I think it's all connected to the Matukai," I looked over at Shadejen. "Jedi archaeologists recently discovered many sites related to them. Someone in the Order had been working for Set from the very beginning. And reported it to him."
"Are the Matukai teachings really that valuable?" Logun asked, glancing at Shadejen.
"Hmph," Shadejen snorted.
"Either way—Set Harth came out of hiding and launched intensive activity. Over nearly a thousand years, he built connections, grew strong, confident, and amassed enough resources. But he got exposed quickly. Either he wasn't actively hiding, or the Jedi working for him made mistakes, or he completely forgot how to operate covertly. But he attracted the attention of the Matukai and the Jedi. His main trump card—the knowledge from Darth Andeddu's holocron," I said. "But that's also his main weakness."
"Explain," Logun tilted his head. "Please," he added when I met his eyes.
"Clones," I answered. "Do you think only Andeddu experimented with them? For tens of thousands of years, Force-sensitives of all kinds and persuasions have tried to answer questions about the limits of our potential and the limits of the Force. Vitiate, Hord, Revan, Arca Jeth, Exar Kun, Ulic Qel-Droma, Darth Marr, Satele Shan, and even Tsai Lyn of the Matukai Order. Many Jedi, Matukai, Sith, and others have explored the limits of the Force, pushed its boundaries, and discovered new abilities for survival. Many Sith, after Andeddu, tried to unlock the same secrets he did. And naturally—they tried clones. They created them with various methods, various techniques. But there was a problem. And that problem—is especially acute when transferring a mind. It's rejection. Every Force-sensitive's body is unique and irreproducible. From a genetic standpoint, you can make a clone of me, but it's no longer me. It would be non-Force-sensitive, yes, perfectly identical, but it would never be me. Literally—recreating a Force-sensitive artificially is impossible. The same applies to transferring into other bodies. An unprepared body can start to decay. Clones, even being perfect replicas of Harth, have the same defects. They aren't durable. And they can't handle the Force of a true Force-sensitive—especially one like him. I don't know exactly what accounts for this peculiarity in each Force-sensitive. Besides, we're not at a lecture on the study of the Force. We're at a briefing. Before his death—Shadejen's mentor, whom I and Shadejen encountered with Set Harth—used a technique, dangerously wounding the enemy. And considering what I saw as the consequence of that technique, Set Harth will be forced to change bodies. He defeated me and two Matukai almost effortlessly, at his peak. But now—we won't be facing a full-powered, peak Sith Lord, but at best—an overly powerful Dark Jedi. Eliminating such threats is my duty."
"That sounds more realistic," Jacob noted.
"I'd like the promised reward to sound realistic," Logun said quietly. "However—why can't you call on the Jedi for backup? Is it because of the traitor inside your Order?"
"That's right," I nodded. "And, forgive me, but I won't disclose anything about him. You need to know enough—who we're fighting…"
"But do you have proof that Set Harth wants to change his body?" Bombur suddenly asked. "What if, following your plan to lure Harth out to yourself—you end up facing not a freshly body-swapped teenager—how old should the new body be?"
"Fifteen, the body, I mean," I replied.
"There. What if you end up facing the one who splattered you and two Matukai across the wall?" Shadejen, standing near Bombur, clenched his fists. Everyone looked at me.
"The HoloNet is a cesspool," I replied. "But once something gets in there—it never disappears," I tapped my datapad and brought up a news item on the projector. "The introduction of the Heir of House Harth. The newly-minted Set XXXI Harth," I smirked. "The fifteen-year-old heir will be presented next week. Guests include the Elected Monarch of Royiss-VIII, His Majesty Raish Raik, the aristocracy, and… the Army, obviously. However, there's a law—a Jedi can attack a Sith if they prove publicly that he is a Sith. And I'll broadcast it across the entire Galaxy. My Order will see it too. That will not only justify us but also disrupt Harth's plans if he somehow escapes or defeats me."
"I understand, but I still don't want to get involved in this," Logun said. "Your plan isn't bad. The reward is beyond praise. My two IR-3°F ships can destroy the surface buildings on his estate, and their boarding teams can attack the underground levels. But… Suppose you defeat him—what then? His soul… Or whatever he has? It'll slip away and transfer into a new clone, escape and start taking revenge. I'm not crazy enough to have those kinds of problems."
"That's why our second group consists of the respected Mandos," I nodded toward the Mandalorians, "your assault team, and Shadejen," I gestured toward the Matukai with my head. "Shadejen is Force-sensitive and will sense anything that might be a threat. He'll help you destroy the clones that Harth might have gathered. The numbers you can field for the assault, Jacob Jarps's group," Shadejen glanced at the Mandalorian in surprise, "and my friend Shadejen's group—will be enough to destroy even his indirect escape routes while I'm fighting Harth. If you succeed, seeing no alternative, he'll try to take over my body. A Sith already tried to take over my body once. And I know how to resist."
"Well, if we lose," Logun said sarcastically, "then to hell with losing, right? You'll expose Set Harth to the entire Galaxy and the hunt will begin, right, Jedi? So typical—you don't even consider the possibility that you might die."
"I do," I replied coldly. "But if you, respected Logun, are so afraid of a challenge and death—then why did you choose this profession? The profession of a mercenary? What are you paid for when you take jobs? For complaining?" I felt cold fury toward the Rodian. "Questions? Distrust? If you're so afraid of dying—you can always sell your ships and build a toy factory somewhere. Start churning out ship models and selling them to kids who dream of space. I know your race are hunters. Rational common sense promotes survival. And if it tells you to leave—leave. I'd rather spend time finding someone who won't back out than convincing you. If you want to criticize my plan—criticize it. If you want to join the attacking force according to my plan—agree. No other options are available, Captain Logun Irean," I said coldly.
His officers looked at their captain.
"To hell with you, Jedi. I agree," the Rodian said.
"Then," I handed him an infochip. "Here's everything: the coordinates of Harth's palace on Royiss and the rendezvous time. We only need to figure out what to do about the planet's aerial defense. They might react fast enough."
"There aren't that many guards on that planet," Jacob said. "I looked it up while you were speaking—they have about twenty-four fighters suitable for planetary defense. Not particularly well-equipped, but they could cause problems."
"Problems aren't always solved with violence," the Rodian said. "Garreton," a hunchbacked man came over. "Will you talk to their commander?"
"Consider it done, Captain," the man said unpleasantly.
"And what will he do?" I asked. The devil. I thought a swift attack would neutralize the fighters from Royiss, but now I see the probability of their attack is quite high. We need to minimize damage. And that's without counting the army.
"He'll do what helps their commander choose a better place to live," the Rodian said. "We could attack their headquarters first. But—that would bring some unpleasant consequences. This way, we can ask their commander to show some… sluggishness, which will give us time to destroy the surface structures of Harth's estate, land the assault, and not get too badly hit by fighter fire."
"My ship, by the way, when piloted by a droid, can help you, Logun. It has seismic charges…"
"Just ask your droid not to use those things near my ship!" Logun snapped.
"As you say."
"So," Jacob summarized, "let's recap. Light attacks Set Harth during the inheritance ceremony, right at the reception, draws the attention of 'the entire Galaxy' to the problem of the Sith existing. At the same time, Captain Logun attacks the mansion, destroying surface targets. Maybe we should play it safer?" he asked. "We have personal fighters, and until you finish your strikes on the mansion, Logun, we'll cover you. Then you can switch your second ship to guarding against fighters."
"Agreed," the Rodian confirmed.
"And then we: Logun's boarding team, Shadejen the Matukai, and my team—go down and clear the underground levels and everything the turbolaser fire didn't reach," Jacob finished.
"And take this infochip," I levitated it into Jacob's hands. "It has the lower-level schematics."
"How did you get them?" Vanda asked.
"I… met a woman… And we had a nice chat over… a drink…"
"Aren't you too young for something like that?" she snapped.
"She didn't complain," I smirked. "In fact, she enjoyed it very much. Like no one else ever had," I looked into Vanda's visor.
Vanda snorted, and from the Rodian came a phrase:
"You're a funny boy," he said. "Survive this fight."
"I also wish you all good luck in the coming wars. Rendezvous in a week, during the heir's presentation. Don't be late..."