I was slowly but surely regaining consciousness. Whoa, looks like I've got a lot of training to do on this technique... Unbelievable — passing out from just using it once. At least I'll have something to keep me busy in the near future... Rubbing my eyes, I found myself lying on a bed. My right eye was still burning, but not as badly. Looking around, I realized I definitely wasn't in my room...
It resembled a hospital ward most of all — nearby stood unplugged medical equipment, and the air had that indescribable smell of a hospital room after disinfection. A room in the Hall of Healing? I turned my head and realized I wasn't alone — Rela was sitting to the right of the bed, leaning back in her chair, fast asleep. In that state, the Twi'lek looked incredibly cute.
"Rela," I broke her peace. The girl didn't react. So I raised my left hand and gently nudged her shoulder. "Rela..." I repeated, calling to her. Then she woke up, opened her huge eyes, and looked at me sleepily.
"Light!" The Twi'lek snapped awake instantly, threw herself at me, and hugged me tight. "You woke up..."
The Force, she's going to break all my ribs like this!
"Ow, hey, let go," I groaned demandingly, "my whole body aches."
Yeah, the technique is beyond praise, but the backlash... And I've read a lot, a whole lot of theoretical guides on moving objects through space, including in hyperspace, read about teleportation, about ancient technologies that supposedly might have something to do with teleporting an object, talked to Kuro about it. In the end, I came up with my own version of the technique, but until it's refined, I'm unlikely to dare use it again. Of course, the very fact that I managed to use it makes me incredibly happy, but, as they say, it could have been better.
Still — it's a pretty decent trump card. No joke — using it to cut off a whole Magister's arm. And even if it was a little unfair, although... What am I saying? There's no such thing as a fair fight. As long as you can fight, use any method to defeat your enemy. Within reason, of course, heh-heh. No, there are always crazy people, but it's better not to let them get power — keep them far away from trouble. Otherwise, you can easily become someone that even your worst enemies would unite against, burying their tomahawks for a while.
"S-sorry," the girl pulled herself together. "It's just that they said you were wounded on a mission, and I... got worried."
I sighed... She got worried. What she feels is obvious even to the naked eye. But I don't have time for that today. And to do something like that in the Temple... Although, I should ask myself — am I going to do "it" with her at all? Maybe I should stop for a while? I have, like, other problems on the horizon. Starting with finding that sentient who supplied Seth Hart with information. I should check if he knows about Damask and Palpatine. And yet I doubt I should reveal them to the Galaxy right now, but information about this pair won't be superfluous. At the moment, I only have one, but significant advantage — knowing that these individuals are adherents of the Dark Side of the Force, while they're unlikely to know anything about me except that I'm a Jedi Shadow.
"As you can see, I'm more alive than the dead," I turned my attention to the Twi'lek. She was wearing a standard Jedi robe. "Though it hurts, feels like my whole body," I'd still like to know what this backlash is tied to — just a lack of experience using the technique, or if I miscalculated something somewhere. Hmmm... "So, what happened after my... mission?" I wonder if the Magisters announced Jonal's betrayal or decided to hold back the information.
"Ahem," Rela cleared her throat. "I can only tell you what I heard myself. The High Council, an hour after you were admitted to the hospital, announced that Magister Jonal Ezar had died of old age." Heh, they weaseled out... Yeah, he's an old man, sure, but he could still run and jump for another twenty years easily, because, as far as I remember, he's around eighty now. Still, the Magisters are right about one thing — stirring up the Order with real news isn't just harmful — it's dangerous! "Hey, Light, are you listening to me?! Yes? And why do I get the feeling you're lying... Well, anyway, in the end, the Senate demanded an explanation from the Order about the actions on Royiss-VIII of 'an overly impetuous Jedi with a Taser up his backside.' The Senator from the Portmouk sector, where that little planet is located, even demanded that his trial be held by the Senate itself with the participation of the High Council. I wonder who that could be. Light, don't you have anything to tell me?"
"Uhh... What are you talking about?" I decided to play dumb.
"About this!" At that moment, Rela showed a frame from the fight of a very familiar Jedi. Me, that is. Yeah, I'm in trouble now...
"Oh, you mean him! Heh. He-heh. Really, 'a Taser up his backside'..."
"Light!!!"
"Huh? What? Where?"
.".."
.".."
.".."
"Well, it was me, okay! Happy?!"
"What do you mean 'happy'? Do you have any idea what I felt when I realized it was you? Have you completely lost your mind? You could have died!"
"And you wanted me to consult with you before going to kill him?"
"Yes! I mean..." And then I could watch the girl's cheeks start to change color, and her words began to come out quieter and faster. "You, of course, could have not consulted me, but I worry... I... You..." She looked at me then. "You blockhead, that's what you are! And anyway, why am I the one making excuses? What were you even doing there?!"
"What, what?... I was dispensing justice the Jedi way! All according to the traditions of our ancestors — found out, located, beat up. They even made a commendation recording, I think. They should have thanked me with money, the misers..." I looked up at Rela. "So, are we done with this issue?"
"No!"
"Yes! So, you were saying something about the Senate... Right, they supposedly demanded answers from the Order. And, judging by the fact that I woke up not in a prison cell, my personal involvement in all this, thank the Force, wasn't needed. What about that Senator?"
"The Council sent Magister Dooku to talk to him. As I understood it, the Magister clearly explained to the Senator exactly where he was wrong." Hmm, Dooku really does have a reputation as a decent diplomat. A normal diplomat, of course.
"However, that doesn't rule out possible dirty tricks from the High Council," I summed up. "After all, I endangered sentients who were innocent of our squabbles. Don't get me wrong... but I believe I couldn't have done otherwise. Even if I had the chance to turn back time, I would do exactly the same."
"And still, 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 Magisters didn't reveal the fact of Ezar's betrayal, Rela's questions to me are logical.
"The enemy was weakened after our first skirmish. I felt like I was losing time — it was slipping through my fingers like sand. I didn't want to allow more victims — how many more could he have killed if I hadn't stopped him? Yes, I feel sorry for those sentients. But they are an immeasurably small price for his death." I looked the girl in the eyes. "This is the way."
"Sounds 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 still, we have completely different ways of thinking. Having gone through losses and gains, I've realized that for every achievement, we always pay something — our time, nerves, health, and sometimes life... And for great achievements, the price is especially high. That's why all great accomplishments don't come without sacrifices — otherwise, nothing works. Looking at the history of the Galaxy, you understand that it's all made up of wars and truces, victories and defeats. From this lesson, you can derive one rule — win, because otherwise you won't be spared. Yes, you can try to minimize casualties, but how to do that, and is it even worth it? After all, sentients don't know the future, and those who do, even hypothetically, won't change anything. Lately, I've been torn between exposing Palpatine and Plagueis and leaving them to keep playing with the Galaxy. At the moment, I was leaning toward the second option, 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 might encourage them to continue doing nothing. Like, since we were able to destroy our enemies even in this state, why change anything? Ah, there I go again... I should focus on the present, but I'm back to thinking about the distant future, which I first need to survive to see and not accidentally die somewhere. So, what do I need, what do I need... First, it would be good to get stronger myself, then find Seth's information source, then... all that jazz. Yeah, there aren't that many things to do, but time... Although what am I saying — it's 53 BBY, I have room to maneuver up to the ceiling. And political matters should be put aside for now — it's not the time for them, and what would I even do there? I don't really want to become an errand boy, and they won't let me go any higher.
While I was indulging in my thoughts about the beautiful and distant, the screen separating me and Rela from the rest of the world suddenly slid open, and another sentient appeared next to the Twi'lek — it was a mature dark-haired human woman, dressed in a classic Jedi robe.
"I see you have awakened, Knight Light," she examined me, then shifted her gaze to Rela. "You should leave. I wish to speak with the patient in private."
I glanced at the Twi'lek. She glared angrily at the woman who had appeared, but didn't dare to contradict her and began getting ready to leave. When she reached the exit, she turned and looked at me, as if to say our conversation wasn't over yet. Then Rela left. Ah, how hard it is to explain to a girl things 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."
"Don't mention it. It's my job." She raised her right hand to her eyes and opened a datapad. "So, let's see. The body is normal, nearly ideal indicators across all systems. Except for..." 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 blood vessels burst there. I've never seen anything like it. What did you do?" Zayra asked me directly.
"What did I do? I came up with a new Force technique and used it right in battle," I decided not to lie.
"And more details?" the woman inquired. "You combat types are always fighting, getting wounded, and sometimes coming up with things that make me desperately want to forget the lessons in diplomatic etiquette my mentor gave me and give you a piece of my mind. Or not. I wonder how such idiots manage to 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 specific mark on an object that my eye can see. And then I swap places with that object."
"Swap places?"
"Teleportation," I reported. "By the way, if my indicators are 'nearly ideal,' then why was my whole body aching too?"
"Oh," the woman sighed heavily, putting her hand to her forehead, "the reason here is that your body simply isn't accustomed to such an impact. Jedi can endure much of what would almost certainly kill the non-gifted. You've also been through a lot," she nodded at my right hand, which I was holding over the blanket. Along its entire length, an ugly scar was visible, left by a very unpleasant animal. "But what you did is new to your body, hence the reaction to the Force technique. As for the technique itself, I regret to inform you that you are an idiot. Did I hear correctly that you used it not in training, but in battle, and likely alongside a sensory technique?"
"Yes," I agreed.
"The Force... And did you not think that this created colossal pressure on the occipital lobe of your brain's cerebral cortex? Or did you think that your technique only involved your eye?"
"I don't understand, what does the occipital lobe have to do with it?"
"Tell me, Knight Light, have you studied the anatomy and physiology of your own body?" the woman asked slyly.
"No," I admitted. "At least, not in the aspect you're talking about. On Tustr, where I grew up, they taught us xenobiology, which explained the specifics of the Sephi — who we're compatible with, how and why."
"They explained that to children?"
"Yes, so what?" I asked. "For your information, Sephi children are extremely serious sentients... For the most part."
"Interesting planet."
"At the Jedi Temple, they taught us about the flora and fauna of other planets, how to survive in the wild. And about whether it's better to cut off an opponent's arm or leg. Though I still think there's nothing better than the good old Sai tok (translator's note: cutting an opponent in half at the waist, example — Obi's strike on Maul in Episode I), Sai cha (translator's note: decapitation. Example — Windu's strike on Jango Fett in Episode II), and Shiak. Because, in my opinion, the best move is the one after which you don't have to finish off your opponent."
"It's all clear with you now. You should read some medical literature... At least for general development," the woman sighed heavily. "To put it simply, the occipital lobe of the cerebral cortex belongs to the sensory zone of that same cortex." She brought up a holophoto of a brain in front of me, and then zoomed in on the area we were interested in. "Here, look, it's right here. In gifted adepts focused on using sensory techniques in battle, this part of the brain is especially developed, as are all the other sensory zones responsible for receiving information coming to us from the ears, nose, or tongue. The essence of sensory perception is that, no matter what form it manifests best in you, half of the perception of all information received by our organisms, and its interpretation, lies in this very lobe. The other half is distributed across other parts of the brain responsible for sensory perception."
"Aaaaah... I see..." I nodded, to which the woman gave me a skeptical look. "What? I really do understand. I'm a pretty quick-witted sentient."
"Never say such words, Knight Light," she pressed her index finger to my lips. "'Understanding' is when you prove in practice what I've explained to you. For now, just take it into account. So, I'll continue. In battle, you actively use all your sensory zones. You could say you use everything in your brain that has any relation to sensory perception. Won't you reveal what its particular feature is for you?"
"Precognition and shatterpoint."
"Well, well, the most troublesome abilities for your enemies," she smiled. "Too bad you weren't in my class... I remember in our group there were a couple of sentients 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 battle puts strain on 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 mentors, reading literature. All of this happened because your zones weren't sufficiently developed at the time. Now, you can use the techniques you've learned almost without thinking. The trouble is that the development of your visual zone — the occipital one — is insufficient for using the technique you invented. When you think you're channeling the Force to your eye, you're only half right — as I already said, the energy also passes through the aforementioned zone. What do you think, Knight, caused the blood vessels in your eye to burst?"
"Because it, like that zone, isn't fully... 'developed'?"
"So you did grasp the essence after all," she smiled. "The Force is a very 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 strain, can easily be torn. The result of such an action would be extremely painful for you, and in some cases, fatal: either you might not feel or use the Force at all for a while, or using it would cause you severe pain, or you could die from overexertion — when one muscle in the body fails, all the others follow. That's precisely why we train — the essence of any training is to raise the bar higher each time. Of course, pushing past your limits is also a perfectly workable scheme, but only for those who soberly assess their capabilities. You are clearly not one of those. Let's just say, this time you were very lucky to walk the edge — if you hadn't been brought here so quickly, you could easily have lost the ability to see with that eye, and you'd have needed an implant. Next time, think three times before using techniques you want to use."
"So what should I do to be able to use my technique without such consequences? Eye exercises?" I asked the woman.
She looked at me with surprise.
"Hmm, you're not hopeless after all. As I already said, training does help a great deal. Eye training too, though not much. The best thing is for you to channel the Force both to your eyes and to that sensory zone, in an attempt to somehow develop them. In other words, when channeling the Force, you should, for example, try to make out a letter, like in an eye test. And it's better if it's something you can't make out right away at all."
"I've never heard of anything like that..."
"And I've never heard that you can use your gaze and the Force to place a mark on an object 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 approximately ninety-nine point nine percent of cases, they won't withstand it and will either simply burst, or the vessels in the visual zone will burst, starting a so-called 'hemorrhagic stroke' the vessels in your brain will simply rupture, blood will enter the cavity and begin to put pressure on the tissues. Symptoms: sudden headache, vomiting, rapid loud breathing, tachycardia with simultaneous development of paralysis of an arm and leg. All of this is fraught with mild stupefaction 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, which do you choose?"
"You've described all the 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 will fight for your life to the end," funny, her. "Well then, I'll give you the exercises, but for now let me remind you again — channel the Force through the indicated parts of your body, constantly trying to engage them — this will not only make the responsible structures more resilient but also improve other Force techniques associated with these zones — the same shatterpoint. Use teleportation only when you're sure you can quickly exit the fight. Otherwise, it's over for you. I think you already understand that for now, your limit is one use. Yes, and take this into account — our Hall can put a legless person back on their feet, restore sight to the eyeless, and teach the mute to speak. But we cannot bring you back to life if you suddenly decide to become one with the Force. No one can help you there then. Am I making myself clear, Knight Light?"
* * *
Some time later, I left the Hall of Healing — the conversation with the healer made me realize that sometimes I need to think about the consequences — what I want to achieve and what I can achieve. Yeah, I need to approach strengthening dear old me with caution. Otherwise, my little eyes will burst, and hello, implants... And if such a fate befalls me right in battle? I don't even want to think about it, let alone hear from Master Lorm what an idiot I am... Though he might not even need to use profanity for that.
What really surprised me was the invitation to the tribunal over Magister Jonal. As I thought, he's still alive. The trial was conducted by the Order's High Council in a closed room on the lower level of the Temple. It wasn't particularly huge and didn't resemble the one where Ahsoka was tried for the actions of her "friend." There weren't even any Guards around the prisoner. In the center of the room stood twelve chairs, in which the Council Magisters sat. Some of them: Poli Dapatan, Even Piell, and Yula Braylon — were in hologram form. The rest were present in person. Magister Yoda ordered me to stand behind him, which I did. Before the council stood Jonal Ezar, his only hand chained and pulled behind his back... For the first time, I saw him without the mask and hood he always wore in front of everyone, and only now did I realize how old Jonal was — his face was etched with deep wrinkles, his short-cropped white hair was slightly disheveled, and a somewhat insane look only completed the image of a fanatic.
"Let us begin," spoke Yoda, who was sitting in the center. A corresponding Magister had already been invited to take Jonal's place. It turned out to be Yaddle, a member of Yoda's species. She looked just like Yoda, only she was a woman. She had brown hair and green skin. "Jonal Ezar, you are accused of harboring a Dark Side gifted and handing over fellow Order members to him. What do you have to say to this?"
"Hmph," the old man snorted. "You think you have the right to accuse me of anything?"
"We do," said Piell. "You entered into a conspiracy with Seth Hart — one who, in his time, was trained to become a Sith Lord. By doing so, you betrayed the Jedi Order, betrayed the many Archaeologists and Shadows you knowingly sent into a trap."
"We are here to learn your motives, or perhaps you have hidden other actions from us?" asked Dapatan.
"We are also gathered here to give you the justice you deserve," added Oppo Rancisis. "For all your actions committed against the Jedi Order and the Republic..."
"Ha-ha... Jedi, Republic..." the old man suddenly laughed loudly. "And this tribunal... My motives... And what I've hidden... You are pathetic nobodies," he said sharply. "Good-for-nothings who have sunk into dogmatism and don't want to notice where it has led us. You want to understand my motives? As you wish! I want to kill them all. All those goddamn bribe-taking senators. I want to purge our Order of all the weaklings we've acquired over a thousand years since the Ruusan Reformation! Look around you — in whose name and for what do we fight? In the name of protecting Republic citizens? Or in the name of a corrupt Senate? Aren't you ashamed?! I could have fixed all of 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 have listened! But those who agreed with me would have remained. And under my rule, they could have achieved unprecedented prosperity! No change comes for free — you have to pay for everything. And the price for making the Republic a normal state is immeasurable... And it will pay it — sooner or later! Or it will fall."
"That is not for you to decide," Elksa Kreiss said sharply.
"And not for you either, Kreiss," Ezar replied. "This is the future. You will either pay... Or burn in the fire of war, during which those you supposedly 'protect' will turn against you. They will call you traitors, want to capture you. You know why?! Because you stood by and did nothing! Sentence me to death, Jedi, because I cannot be reformed. I will not stop and will never change my mind under any circumstances! I do not acknowledge any guilt! My actions were for the sake of maintaining peace, stability, and order in the Galaxy!
I closed my eyes... And really — as a Shadow, he saw the Order's decay to a far greater degree than the others. I understand the reasons for his actions and his motives, because in the course of my own development I reached the same fork in the road — everything has a price. But he, having set out on the path, understood it in his own way, essentially perverting it. They said it right once: light can not only warm, but also burn. No one likes fanatics — not their own, not outsiders. To the Council, his actions are the actions of a madman, which, alas, he is.
"So you admit no guilt?" Dooku asked dryly.
"No matter what you say — I would act the same way, time and again," he exclaimed. "You are the pathetic mongrels of a corrupt Senate. To gain power for myself, I had to convince everyone that you were weak! And I almost achieved it! Light Flyingstar!" He looked at me. "You are the one I regret most of all. You could have become a great Jedi under my guidance. I thought you could think for yourself…"
"I do think for myself, Master Jonal," I interrupted him, "but not the way you do. You crossed a line. Do you know the difference between a Tyrant and a Savior? One becomes great by destroying Greatness, and the other — by creating it!"
"Those are two extremes of the same entity! To some, you would have been my heir, the beacon of the Jedi. To others — a vile traitor. It's impossible to be perfect for everyone! I thought you understood that."
"I did understand that," I replied, "but sacrificing those who didn't even know your goals… That's despicable." He hadn't been honest with his own subordinates, all so they wouldn't get in his way.
"You are not the one to judge me, boy! Or have you forgotten your stunt on Royiss-VIII? Did those who surrounded Set Harth suspect your true goal?"
"No," I admitted honestly. "And no apology or justification of mine will undo the fact of their deaths. But I understand and accept my guilt, Jonal Ezar. But you? Do you accept your guilt?! Do you agree that you doomed countless 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 answered him. "And only you say you're not guilty. But the fact is different: so many Gifted died because of you… I'm willing to look into the eyes of the relatives of those who suffered on Royiss. But you aren't. You know why? Not because, in your understanding, the end justifies the means. That only applies when the means you use know what they're getting into. No… You're just afraid of them. Afraid to admit your own guilt, because if anyone finds out, it will put an end to your entire system, prove the falseness of your ideas!"
"A lie! Light Flyingstar, you are a pathetic imitation…"
"Silence," Even Piell cut him off sharply. "This boy is far better and smarter than you. Because he understood what you, at eighty years old, never realized."
"We have heard everything," Yoda said. "It is time to pass the verdict. Hmm…"
"He must be destroyed," Dapatian said. "Though it is hard to admit, though Jedi do not kill the unarmed, there are moments when we are forced to do so."
"Death… hmm… Is there anyone who agrees with this verdict?" Yoda asked. All the Masters raised their hands without much delay. "All in favor? To kill him? In that case… Master Dooku," Yoda said.
Yan Dooku stood and activated his lightsaber.
"No matter what you do, the future I spoke of… It is inevitable! The fire of war will consume the Galaxy… And you will be the cause! You will be its victims!"
"By the Will of the Council," Dooku said, drowning out the condemned man's shouts as he approached Jonal. "I swear my mind is clear, with neither hatred nor fear in it. Only a desire to deliver justice." He raised his blade. An instant later, Ezar's head fell to the floor, and his body crumpled to its knees. Silence fell.
That was it… Now it was all truly over… Both with him and with Set Harth.
"Light," Yoda suddenly said, just 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, Grand Master," I replied to Yoda. "I have a feeling our conversation will be interesting."