The formalities took about an hour. Rimon had to present all the documents for his ship, wait for them to contact Maliha and make sure again that he could indeed pick up "The Oculus." It took a lot of time to find out what changes had been made to his ship to avoid unpleasant surprises. But the hardest part was satisfying the desire to know how the operation went, and at the same time not say anything superfluous. This problem had to be solved with the help of the Force.
Finally alone on board "The Oculus," Rimon involuntarily reached for the liquor cabinet, but stopped halfway. The colors, in moments of using the Force, became denser, more voluminous, brighter, more saturated, as did the awareness of the consequences of each action. The butterfly effect could sometimes be seen firsthand, and now the realization came that alcohol was not the answer, and would lead to nothing good. It differed from tedious moralizing in that everything was depicted in quite understandable pictures that awaited a person who decided to find truth in wine.
Placing his palm on the cold polished surface of durasteel, Rimon sighed, and then dived even deeper into the Force, dived to emerge next to himself, to see himself from the outside, to look at himself differently, otherwise. His vision seemed to split, simultaneously he saw on one side the familiar semi-darkness of his ship, and on the other - a tired, life-worn man of just over twenty, who looked sadly into the distance, beyond the hull of his ship.
Looking even more closely, Rock began to distinguish the processes occurring in his body, neural connections, chemical reactions in the blood, a chaotic, disordered movement. This was wrong, wild... And he also saw his own... he couldn't find a good term, "aura," "bioenergy," "human background" came to mind. But the closest was – "flickering." He saw his own flickering for the first time, and he didn't like it. It was the aura of a sick, greedy person who had nothing left but the desire to earn money. The realization of his own inadequacy came... unexpectedly. Where there was once a goal - to get the ship back, now there was nothing. Emptiness, an abyss.
And this emptiness was frightening. To the point of nausea. To weakness in the knees.
There were several ways to fight this. To drown the abyss with alcohol - the simplest and fastest, and therefore unacceptable. He chose another way - rest. One could always relax, rest, gain positive emotions in the company of those who are truly dear. This required time, and Rock was willing to spend it.
But now he had to do a few more things: first, relieve the tension, and second, help the body cleanse itself of all the slags it had accumulated. Carefully manipulating the processes of substances through the Force, Rimon accelerated the process of removing decay products and harmful substances from the body, slightly stimulated the nerve endings where necessary to stabilize the work of the nervous system and the body as a whole. Everything was here, at hand, look at the pattern of energy that enveloped every part of his body, and carefully direct it so that the aura, the color of the energy he emitted, straightened closer to green, evoking a sense of health, peace, and tranquility. It was like fixing a malfunctioning microcircuit: you rely on pure intuition to imagine how everything should work, what and how it flows, you don't invent something new and don't "chemically tinker," as inexperienced people do. You just see the overall picture and how it should be, and carefully rebuild, achieve harmony, and strive for the ideal. Everything should be in balance and work in unity. After a couple of minutes, his well-being began to improve, and his aura took on warmer and brighter shades, making Rock smile and return to his body. Now he could think about what to do next, and about the journey to Corellia, to the place he could call home.
But first, he had to finish a few important things here.
Going up to the cockpit, Rimon began the pre-flight engine preparation, managing the system that had been installed here in his absence. A primitive navicomputer, a primitive virtual intelligence, primitive settings for everything. As long as it worked. How far all this was from the coordinated work of the systems that Rock had configured for himself... Of course, he could revert everything to its old form, but he wasn't going to risk it before jumping into hyperspace. His hands glided over the control panel as skillfully as a musician's fingers over the keys of his favorite instrument. For him, the ship was also an instrument that, if tuned correctly, played such music that everyone was captivated.
After checking the main modules of the ship, whether it was refueled and ready for departure, Rimon launched a standard check of all modules, more for peace of mind, and finally sighed and regretfully admitted that there was nothing to blame the current and other exploiters for. The ship was fully functional, although its functionality was limited.
Leaving the AI to prepare the ship, he descended by elevator, then, blocking the door open, sent it back up. Tinkering with the wiring, he found the right contact and unlocked one of the caches, just the right size for paintings. Making sure all systems were working, the pilot, captain, technician, and cook in one person brought the ship out of the hangar on repulsors, having warned the locals beforehand, then smoothly brought the ship to the parking spot and, taking the cargo from the vehicle, moved it onto the ship.
Engaging the кара's autopilot, Rimon sent it to the renters' parking spot and paid the rent through the holonet. Then he soared into the planet's cloudless sky.
Scanning the area for life forms and all sorts of technology, Rimon carefully landed near a waterfall. Turning the ship nose-first towards the cave entrance to make it easier to move the cargo to the main compartment, he drove a small repulsor platform for loading down the ramp, which was usually just a floor plate, and began to slowly, carefully, drag the cargo to his ship. When all the boxes were inside, he began to examine their contents more closely. But apart from blasters, nothing particularly noteworthy was found: comlinks, decks, jewelry, which no collector would be interested in. But even for that, money could be made. Or given to Gariyon. However, first, everything needed to be cataloged and checked for any trouble.
Taking one of the decks and a comlink, Rimon went up to the second level to a small lounge that bordered the cockpit. He pulled a toolbox out of a niche under the table, quickly rewired the contacts, having first ripped out all the unnecessary parts, in his opinion, attached the comlink to the deck and connected direct access to remote control from his own deck with voice control. He set a voice password and, after checking a couple of commands, such as shutting down the engine, opening the ramp, and locking the control system, went outside. One more unsolved mystery of the waterfall remained.
The abyss beckoned with its unknown, creating a thirst for exploration. Rimon needed a new goal, and this fit perfectly into his plan: a small, quick exploration would give some support to his inner world.
The cave seemed completely empty without the containers, and this brought some joy: having his own cargo, even stolen, was familiar and pleasant. Shining his flashlight beam into the cave's abyss, where the passage further on should have been, Rimon saw nothing his eye could catch. He had to resort to a tried-and-true method: immersing himself in the Force, he slowly moved forward, illuminating his path, examining the walls with the Force, and listening to his senses: were there any troubles ahead? Waiting for trouble had become a habit for Rimon a long time ago.
The passage turned out to be a blurred crack in the rock. The water-smoothed walls of the fissure shimmered with the soft colors of the rock. He had to watch his footing: the floor was uneven, in places turning into a narrow groove where it was difficult to fit a foot.
Rimon strongly disliked this state of affairs. If something happened, he couldn't run back, he'd trip, fall, and that would be it, no more running. But he didn't abandon his idea, only focused more intensely on examining the rocks through the Force. He absolutely did not want to stumble into a trap.
The Force was silent. At least at first, while the passage widened and then almost closed, turning into a narrow crack. No one had set any traps here. But gradually the passage began to widen until the smuggler found himself in a small cavity from which four corridors led. One was the one the smuggler had come through.
"Well, I'll be a Hutt's spleen..."
Rimon quickly marked the location of the desired corridor on his deck, and then, contacting the ship, even triangulated himself on the deck, thankfully he now had direct access. He decided that all further movements would be recorded by the courier's navicomputer; he didn't want to wander in the stone labyrinth without supplies. Looking at all the corridors, Rock immersed himself in the Force: perhaps it would tell him where to go?
Visually, the corridors looked identical. But the left one seemed somehow... unreliable? The middle one evoked no feelings. The right one...
There was something there. Or there could be. Or it could have seemed so to his agitated imagination.
Deciding to deal with the corridors in order of importance, the smuggler began to illuminate the corridor that seemed unreliable, trying first to visually determine what had alerted him. At the distance his flashlight could illuminate, nothing suspicious was visible, and he absolutely did not want to go into it to find out what trouble was there. Sending a request to the ship, asking if any outsiders had appeared nearby, he sat down, crossed his legs, and thought.
The middle corridor evoked nothing interesting, according to either the Force or his subconscious, but the right one... One drunken sage - and when people get drunk, they always consider themselves wise, especially if they see a twenty-year-old scruffy guy sitting nearby - said: "If you don't know where to turn, turn right." So why not? Rock looked at his deck, made sure it was quiet around, and that he could continue to pretend to be a speleologist - or whatever they called those smart people who explored caves...
Getting up from the floor, he brushed himself off, put his deck in his breast pocket, and carefully moved further down the right corridor, doubling his caution and attention to the sensations evoked by the Force. He didn't forget about simple sight, though.
This passage was no different from the one Rimon had walked before the fork, except that it turned from time to time. But after a few turns, the smuggler began to feel that it was getting brighter around him. Stopping, he delved deeper into the Force and began to look with his inner gaze at what was ahead, deciding first to find out what was the source of the light and if it was dangerous.
No threat was felt ahead. The light, wherever it came from, was of natural origin.
Continuing his journey, Rimon moved forward slowly. The fact that no threat was felt did not mean that there was none. Perhaps it was insignificant or unlikely, which meant caution was still necessary.
Another turn led him into a rather spacious cavity. The flashlight became unnecessary - the cave was filled with the soft glow of crystals. They were everywhere - in the folds of the rock on the walls, like on shelves, on the stone floor.
"Dantooine crystals..."
He knew the legends that crystals for the Order's lightsabers were mined on this planet, but that he himself would stumble upon them... such thoughts had never occurred to him. If he had data on the types of crystals, if he had information on which ones could be used and which ones couldn't... It was difficult to find such information on the holonet. He knew about rare stones that legends were made of, that had names. But he had no general data. He could try to meet with some Jedi, but this idea seemed doomed to failure. After thinking, Rimon decided to take a few samples for study, of different shapes, different shades, different auras in the Force. This should be enough, and if anything, it's never too late to come back.
An idea came to him unexpectedly, smelling of adventurism, but still... He was clearly not the first one here. Touching the cold floor of the cave, Rimon turned to the memory of the stones, the memory of the Force, hoping to see who had been here before him. To see what he had done and how he had done it.
The smuggler's experience and strength were apparently insufficient to look that far. The stones remembered someone... But that someone had touched them too long ago to see anything more than a vague image now.
These places had not been visited for a long time, it seemed that the information about the caves had been lost. It turned out that he alone suffered from curiosity. Whoever brought the pirate loot into the cave behind the waterfall, he didn't go any further.
Rimon slowly stood up, looking around. He was looking for a few crystals that would attract his attention in some way. Perhaps the Force had given him a gift in the form of help in creating a lightsaber, or perhaps he was simply rewarded for his curiosity. Like with the containers.
A voice behind him sounded raspy, malicious, and completely unexpected.
"And who do we have here, so impolite?" someone asked, who a moment ago was not here. "Comes in without an invitation, takes what's not theirs without permission... What kind of youth these days..."
Rimon froze in the pose he was in when the stranger spoke the first word. Then his body, already merged with the Force, went into combat mode. Rimon concentrated on the voice, and his eyes stared at the crystals in front of him. Not to pick something for research anymore. In the smooth facets of the crystals, the smuggler tried to find a reflection, a possible target. Trying to determine if there was a threat to his life, Rock pondered the words he heard. Based on them, there was no threat. Although he could be being mocked.
He felt no threat, although the Force responded with a completely unfamiliar agitation. The crystals reflected only his own face. But the voice didn't disappear.
"No hello to you, Aunt Shianu, and no..." a short pause, after which the voice gained a grumbling tone. "You're going to start shooting here, you fool! I was beautifying the place, and you're breaking it?!"
To allow himself to relax, let alone hold back his hand, which was already reaching for the blaster on its own, required titanic effort. Adopting a relaxed posture, he nevertheless did not lose his alertness.
"Hello, Aunt Shianu." The words came out on their own, based on what he heard, but were spoken uncertainly, as if Rimon didn't believe himself, and he didn't. "But who are you?"
"Until you hit me with your staff, you won't say hello..." grumbled the same voice. Did it seem to him, or did it soften slightly? His peripheral vision caught a faint glint somewhere behind his left shoulder.
Carefully turning, Rimon tried not to make any sudden movements so as not to provoke his unexpected interlocutor. And froze.
There was enough light in the cave to clearly see the transparent, slightly stooped silhouette of an old woman leaning on a staff. An old, worn cloak almost hid her figure, but the hood was thrown back, revealing neatly tied gray hair in a bun. On her wrinkled face, her eyes, attentive and far from senile, flickered.