Chapter 23 (Patreon)

“All right, flying Dug, go join your friends,” I said, lowering my little “balloon” to the deck. He promptly took his place among the small group of his “colleagues.” “Lady Hook, be so kind as to tell the rest of the crew to stop resisting. Explain that the new captain guarantees that anyone who lays down their weapons will live.” I didn’t bother specifying for how long. “Who’s the navigator?”

“I’m the navigator, sir,” a yellow-skinned Gran said hesitantly, raising one hand with obvious caution while the woman briskly headed for the appropriate controls.

“Excellent.” I smiled, and the Gran turned a little greenish. “Make a jump toward Falleen. Then take the ship somewhere it won’t be hanging out in plain sight. Everyone needed at their stations for that—get to them. Romri, keep an eye on things. If anything happens, shoot them in the chest and report to me immediately. Fresh corpses make intelligent undead that can keep doing their jobs for a couple of weeks. It’s a nontrivial task, of course, but I’ll do my best.”

“Got it, Boss.” The girl smiled at the three-eyed alien and gestured with her blaster toward one of the control panels. The poor Gran turned completely green. Was it just me, or had the Togruta tried to imitate my little smile? Awww. Imitation... Now that’s flattering. Very flattering! I should give her a bonus. Everyone should get one, actually! They’d done great. Took their introduction to the undead like hereditary necromancers. I’m never, ever telling anyone about my own “first time.”

“Next...” I shifted my gaze to Arvik and Koit and handed the latter the hamster. “Guys, take Quartermaster and a couple dozen ghouls—they’ll follow you on their own—and start clearing the ship of anyone who objects to the new captain. Disarm the rest. The zombies will obey voice commands; the shadow of life in them is still strong, but don’t give them anything too complicated. I didn’t put much effort into making them, so they came out a bit dumb. Find some kind of cart; I suspect there’s plenty of weaponry on this ship. Everything we confiscate goes into the armory, assuming there is one. If you run out of dead men, come back and I’ll raise some more.”

The meaningful look I shot at the woman, who was muttering something into the shipwide comm system, clearly made her more eloquent.

“We’ll handle it, Boss,” the Mandalorian said with a nod and headed for the exit.

“Good.” I watched him go before turning back to the herd of pirate jackasses. “So, gentlemen brigands. What good news can you give me about this ancient tub and its contents? Any aurodium ingots? No? Shame...”

“Sir,” one of the bunch spoke up. He was... unpleasant. You know the type: not exactly ugly, built proportionally enough, nothing particularly wrong with his face—and yet somehow revolting. He was one of those. Nasty. Nothing like me—a charismatic handsome devil! “We’ve got a Jedi locked up on the prison deck.”

I sighed and rubbed my face. Unexpected. Had Tholme and Secura really managed to get themselves captured?

“One Jedi?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you have a hologram?”

“Yes, just a moment...”

No, definitely not Tholme—the captive Jedi was far too female to be him. And not his cute little Twi’lek Padawan either; the prisoner was far too Zabrak for that. Just some unfamiliar, young—very young—Jedi woman. Quite attractive, even with those little Zabrak horns. I’ve really been “lucky” with these robed fellows lately. There aren’t all that many of them on a galactic scale, yet this was already the second time I’d run into some during my vacation. Hmm... Actually, she might be able to help me!

Questioning revealed that the Jedi had been caught the same way we were. The T-6 shuttle in the hangar was hers. She was in relatively good shape, just “a little banged up,” and was sitting in a cell. I took possession of her lightsaber and, after thinking it over for a moment, decided to let her sit there a little longer. First I needed to put my new property in order.

Jedi Knight Bol Chatak felt uneasy. Something was happening aboard the cruiser where she had been held prisoner for nearly a week. It had all begun with a surge in the Force. A very... unusual surge. The Zabrak was struck by how structured it felt. It was probably the first time she had ever associated an effect in the Force with a mathematical formula or an orderly set of geometric figures, accompanied by the taste of ozone after a thunderstorm. The Knight possessed a deep sensitivity to the Force and perceived it through a prism of associations.

A few moments later came the sensation of sentients dying. The instantaneous deaths of a large number of living beings. Then came another surge. This time, besides that same “taste of mathematics,” the Force felt cold and... hungry? Very strange, unfamiliar sensations. Most importantly, she sensed no shades of either the Light or the Dark Side. And then more deaths followed.

Someone was storming the starship, and Force-sensitives were involved. At first, the Jedi Knight thought it might be someone from the Order. Master Windu, for example. He wouldn’t stand on ceremony with criminals. But the longer it went on, the more the young woman realized that whoever had come aboard the Hammerhead, they weren’t Jedi. An atmosphere of terror and despair was wrapping itself ever more thickly around the ship. Something terrible was happening, and the only thing that let her look to the future with even a little hope was the fact that the Force surges remained neutral. Whoever it was, she sensed neither the serenity of the Light Side nor the fury and delight in suffering of the Dark Side. The Force remained impersonal and somehow dispassionate—almost lifeless.

Perhaps some minor order of Force-sensitives, with its own particular way of working with the Force? There were quite a few of those scattered across the galaxy...

In any case, after some time the active phase of the takeover came to an end. Lives stopped being cut short, and amid the fear that had engulfed the old cruiser, flickers of hope began to appear. The Zabrak felt the ship enter hyperspace and sank deeper into meditation. Whatever had happened here, if Force-sensitives had prevailed, she would probably find out soon enough.

By the girl’s reckoning, no more than an hour had passed when someone came for her. A man in Mandalorian armor stopped in front of the force field sealing the entrance to her cell.

“Jedi.” There was a note of dislike in the warrior’s voice, but the girl sensed no hatred directed at her. “I’m going to shut off the force field now. Don’t do anything stupid. Boss wants to talk to you. We’re on decent terms with the Jedi—don’t ruin it.”

Knight Chatak rose from the hard metal bunk, which had no bedding whatsoever, and approached the orange-crimson energy barrier. The Mandalorian stood motionless for several seconds. It almost seemed as though his visor was regarding the girl with doubt. Then, with a light touch of an access card to the sensor, the man deactivated the barrier.

The girl was relieved that he wasn’t aiming a weapon at her. In fact, the armored man’s hands were completely empty.

“I’ll escort you. Follow me,” came the muffled voice from beneath the helmet, and the Mandalorian turned and started forward, motioning for her to come along.

The Jedi followed behind him. The thought of stunning him with the Force crossed her mind, but she dismissed it. Someone had clearly taken over the cruiser, and the man walking ahead of her was part of that group. Dislike of Jedi... that was nothing unusual, even if such attitudes hardly pleased her. But she was no youngling anymore. Even as a Padawan, traveling with her Master, she had understood why some sentients disliked the Jedi. Her teacher had never lied to her and had told her about the Order’s failures as readily as its successes. “Everything is relative, Bol. On one planet, we may be considered heroes, while on another we’re characters in frightening stories. One of your duties as a Jedi is to make sure there are more of the former and fewer of the latter.”

The Zabrak had great respect for her teacher. The wise and calm Jedi had taught her that the best fight was the one you managed to prevent. And in the present situation, the young Knight saw a chance to avoid fighting altogether. “We’re on decent terms with the Jedi,” combined with the fact that she had been summoned for a conversation and no one had even pointed a weapon at her, gave her hope that the matter could be resolved peacefully.

Along the way, she could sense concentrations of the Force. Behind many of the cabin and compartment doors they passed, there was something mathematically ordered, cold, and hungry. And even though there was no darkness in it, the girl could feel the bases of her horns itching nervously.

Their path ended at one of the doors. Slightly larger than all the others.

“Just don’t do anything stupid, Jedi,” the Mandalorian warned her in parting, and to her surprise she caught a faint note of concern for her in his voice. The door opened to let her inside, and Bol took several steps into the captain’s cabin.

“Welcome aboard my new cruiser,” a voice greeted her. Seated behind a fairly broad desk was a man she initially took for a Jedi. Standing behind him was an M-3PO military protocol droid. The man’s calm, composed face and neatly trimmed beard gave an impression of serenity, but the red sclera of his eyes, with black irises and pupils, lent his appearance an unsettling edge. Though was he even human? The galaxy was home to plenty of species that resembled humans—her own people among them—so there was little point in getting nervous every time someone’s face didn’t match the standard Coruscanti look. Her lightsaber lay on the desk beside him.

The girl allowed herself a little time to take in the cabin’s interior. The desk behind which the stranger who had greeted her was sitting, a small padded chair for visitors, a wide double bed, quite a lot of open space, a pair of narrow doors leading into adjoining rooms, and a green-skinned Twi’lek girl. The latter, dressed very modestly by the standards of her species, stood a little to one side of the captain’s desk, meekly staring at the floor. Beside her, on a low table near the bed, stood a tray with two cups and a tall caf pot.

“Please, have a seat,” the man said, gesturing toward the visitor’s chair.

“Hello. Thank you,” Chatak replied with a nod as she sat down in the offered seat. She winced slightly: the bruises she had picked up during her introduction to the locals’ hospitality were still aching, though not nearly as badly as they had the day after she got them.

“My name”—the stranger emphasized the last word—“is Siith, and I have absolutely nothing to do with the Sith you almost certainly just thought of. I’m from Jabiim, and I represent the Jabiim Mages’ Guild—a new, young organization of magic users on our planet.”

The red-eyed man studied her face for a second—her doubts had probably shown—then sighed, muttered, “I hope I don’t regret this,” and slid the lightsaber hilt toward her.

“You wouldn’t believe it.” The man’s face remained impassive, though his eyes were laughing as she cautiously took back her weapon. “But I’m already tired of explaining that I have nothing to do with your enemies’ order. Master Tholme and Padawan Secura tensed up when we first met too.”

The girl relaxed slightly at the mention of Master Tholme. The Jedi Master was well known and respected. Still, she couldn’t afford to let her guard down. The Zabrak regarded the red-eyed man with doubt. On the one hand, returning her lightsaber was a sign of trust. On the other...

“Bol Chatak,” she introduced herself with measured dignity, imitating the unhurried gravitas of her teacher. The effect was somewhat undermined by the awareness that she hadn’t bathed in a week. “Jedi Knight. I was returning from a mission when my shuttle was intercepted. I’ve been here for a week now, on the prison deck.”

“Knight Chatak, since you’ve decided not to wave that glowing stick around...” The man turned to the Twi’lek girl. “Suti, please.” Mugs of caf were set down in front of both him and Bol. “As you’ve already realized, we captured this ship. Right now it’s heading somewhere quieter, where I intend to get rid of the surplus portion of the surviving crew, contact my homeworld, and, if you need it, the Jedi Order as well.” The girl nodded gratefully at that and took a blissful sip of the truly aromatic drink. “Originally, we were heading for Coruscant along the Corellian Trade Route, but this cruiser’s pirates tried to capture us, and it turned into a spontaneous boarding action. I don’t want to abandon the prize. The Hammerhead may be a rather ancient tub, but it could still be useful to Jabiim’s planetary-defense forces. Or I’ll sell it to someone else.”

The man calling himself Siith took a long drink as well, narrowed his eyes in pleasure, and, after giving the green-skinned girl a grateful nod, continued.

“That brings me to a couple of pieces of news and a couple of requests. So... First, your shuttle isn’t operational. The locals did a pretty thorough job of gutting its internals, but don’t worry—we’ll get you to Coruscant. Second, this ship belonged to pirates, and I need to have it legally transferred into my name. Until that happens, I’d appreciate it if the Order’s representative currently aboard could confirm that we’re not criminals. And, if possible, maybe help with the transfer paperwork as well. What do you think?”

“Thank you.” The girl smiled gratefully and let out a relieved breath. It looked like not only would there be no problems, the situation might actually turn out for the better. “As for transferring ownership, you’ll need to discuss that with senior representatives of the Order. But confirming that you’re not pirates—that won’t be a problem at all. Of course I’ll help you.”

“Excellent! Suti, dear,” the red-eyed man said to the Twi’lek girl as he got to his feet and took his mug with him. The Zabrak tensed a little, but her host simply headed for the exit. “Please give Knight Chatak some underwear and clothes from your own supply, and make sure her things get cleaned.”

Bol flushed bright red. Jedi or not, the situation was embarrassing.

“Knight,” the man said, looking at her as he paused in the doorway. “Get yourself cleaned up, wash away a week of imprisonment, and rest in a proper bed while they prepare a cabin of your own. Suti will help you with everything, but keep an eye on her—the girl is practically defenseless, and the previous crew is still aboard. As for me, I’m off. There’s still plenty to do, and there aren’t many of us here.”

Then the Zabrak felt more deaths. Five lives were snuffed out almost simultaneously, but whoever had killed them hadn’t used the Force. Siith froze for a second and muttered several clipped, guttural words—curses, by the sound of it. Then he looked at her, and she could see the weariness in his eyes.

“Fucking idiots. I’d kill every last one of them, but for now I still need a living crew.”

The red-eyed man scratched the back of his head, looked up at the ceiling, and with a heavy sigh left the room. The droid followed him out.

Oh, the nerves that trip to Coruscant cost me. I have no words for how thoroughly fed up I got with those degenerates who came bundled with the ancient cruiser.

We got rid of most of them after landing on one of the practically uninhabited planets. I left with an easy mind: those half-dead bastards wouldn’t tell anyone anything or cause the locals any trouble. A delayed curse would kill them in a couple of days. The only pity was that I wouldn’t be able to collect their souls—we’d be too far away, and I didn’t want to stage a massacre in front of a Jedi who, as it turned out, could sense deaths. Besides, my mercenaries probably wouldn’t have been thrilled by mass executions either. Killing in battle was one thing; watching an assembly line for slaughtering the defenseless, even if they were assholes, was another. Unfortunately, governments had monopolized the punishment of crimes.

During the flight to the capital, there were two assassination attempts and one attempted mutiny. So forty-one pirates made it there. Nine... didn’t. On the bright side, I added a few more souls to the soul vault. Pure profit, if they hadn’t been such a pain in the ass.

Alto had no objection to acquiring another cruiser, old as it was, for next to nothing. In fact, I could’ve sworn there was a hint of envy in our gallant commander’s eyes when I told him how we’d boarded and captured the cruiser. It seemed Stratus had started missing the smell of tibanna after spending so long behind a desk.

The bandits left aboard would bring the incoming Jabiim crew up to speed on the quirks of operating the Hammerhead, and whatever happened to them afterward was a matter for the Jabiim authorities. There were no problems with registering my new property either. Stratus started the necessary bureaucratic procedures, and the Jedi Order promised to help make sure no one put obstacles in our way.

I also happened to meet one of the members of the Jedi Council—Mace Windu. A pretty serious Korun Jedi. We didn’t talk for long over voice comms, right after his conversation with Knight Bol Chatak, but the man struck me as a perfectly reasonable sort. Maybe he overdid the sternness a little. So he Sternly thanked me for helping Tholme and Secura, Sternly thanked me for freeing the Zabrak, and Sternly invited me to visit the Jedi Temple when I arrived on Coruscant. I agreed with an impassive face, but once the connection ended, I chuckled a little.

The Korun reminded me of spellcasters who were no longer young, but not yet truly grown-up. A hundred or two hundred years old. They looked down indulgently on the youngsters and regarded the old-timers with bafflement. The latter were very often “a bunch of daft old fools” as far as they were concerned. But another century or two would pass, and those same fellows would join the daft old fraternity themselves. Or go to Hecate, having grown tired of life.

Clever little Knight Chatak showed me her saber and even explained what it meant to the Jedi. She refused to take it apart, though, or let me see the crystal. Greedy little thing. Still, what I managed to pick up was more than enough to start building them myself. The saber itself was an extraordinarily dangerous tool, honestly. The fact that Jedi manage not to cut anything off themselves while using one says a lot about their skill—I’d definitely lop off a couple—maybe eight—of my protruding bits. Though, in my defense, I’m no swordsman worth a damn.

She also showed me how she used the Force. Or rather, she was simply using it while she and Shmi were tinkering with her shuttle, while I stood nearby, brazenly slipped into meditation, and shamelessly studied how the Zabrak manipulated objects with telekinesis... Let’s just say I was fucking floored, thoroughly impressed, and came away with even more respect for those people—and an even stronger desire to catch a couple of them and study them properly.

At the moment, we were entering the planet’s atmosphere aboard the shuttle. The cruiser was hanging in a parking orbit, with order aboard maintained by our three mercenaries and thirty zombies assigned to reinforce them. Once the crew from Jabiim arrived, the mercenaries would hand the ship over and join me planetside. As for the Hammerhead’s undead, they’d be dumped into space once the cruiser was far enough away from Coruscant.

I just hoped no one would find them before the mana in their reservoirs ran out. I wouldn’t want someone to stumble across space undead. Actually, scratch that—I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I missed the look on someone’s face when they thawed out a corpse that was one hundred percent dead and it started moving.

Demons, I hadn’t thought that through. The undead would be dormant and frozen, so their mana consumption would be microscopic. They could hang out there for a hundred years.

On the other hand... who in their right mind goes around collecting corpses in space? And space is huge—the odds of one of my dead men being found by exactly the sort of idiot who collects corpses are tiny.