Chapter 33 (Patreon)

We spent two weeks on Shili. The sea was great. We swam so much that by the end of it, none of us even wanted to look at another wave.

Speaking of the sea, I should probably mention Shmi. She was genuinely happy. Every now and then, though, I caught a shadow of sadness on her face; I suspected those were the moments when she wished her son were there with her. But overall, she was absolutely delighted by the sheer amount of water. She didn’t even want to learn how to swim, preferring to splash around in the shallows. “The thought of all that deep water beneath me gives me the creeps.” More than anything, she simply reveled in the open sea like a little girl, every so often gazing in wonder at the endless waves stretching all the way to the horizon.

I absolutely loved Romri’s homeworld. Her people showered us with gifts for the entire two weeks. Little by little, in small batches, but every single day. By the end of it, each of us had stacks of beautiful hides, piles of carved bone ornaments, several sets of traditional clothing—which Suti absolutely adored—and traditional weapons. Koit was especially thrilled by the latter, particularly the spears; our Gungan was a true enthusiast when it came to cold steel. Hell, the villagers even made furniture for us while we were there. We installed some of it in our cabins on special mounts, replacing the ship’s standard interior fittings.

And all because I had disguised my large-scale study of the Togruta species as medical checkups and healing. Yes, I’m that shameless a bastard—and proud of my cunning, utter lack of scruples, and sheer genius. The sorcerer studies healthy Togruta to gather statistics, then treats the sick and crippled because now he knows how their bodies are supposed to work. Why, I’m practically the embodiment of a storybook villain. I even indulged in bouts of mad laughter and cries of, “Bring in the next test subject!” And they did, laughing at my “jokes” right along with me. Meanwhile, I amassed a mountain of data on the species, with everyone participating entirely of their own free will. The bravest even agreed to vivisection—painless and nonlethal, mind you.

So by the end of those two weeks, the locals had two completely healthy villages—their own and the neighboring one. We had a mountain of gifts, storerooms crammed with meat and local fruit, vegetables, and roots, and an absolute ocean of information on Togruta. And I had acquired a reputation as something close to a holy ascetic, personally sent to Shili by the Gods, the Force, and their precious little Romri.

Another benefit of our little operation, aside from the mountain of gifts, was the good reputation and free publicity—not just for me, but for the JMG as well. Shili might not be the most technologically advanced planet, but gossip was practically the ultimate information-delivery system. Give it a couple of months, and on the other side of the planet they’d be telling stories about “the great holy healer from Jabiim, a sorcerer from Jabiim’s Mages’ Guild.” Sooner or later, that story would reach the Jedi, who would once again reassure themselves that I was practically dressed in white, despite the black robe.

And then all kinds of sentients would start coming to me for treatment. I’d work something out with Stratus and set up a waiting list for healing, with one condition: “If you come yourself, bring ten healthy members of your species with you—of both sexes.” As for payment, we’d do it in the finest tradition of my world: charge according to what the patient could afford, which was essentially what had happened here anyway. An excellent idea, especially considering Karray’s progress in chimerology. The little one needed practice, and she certainly wouldn’t be the only chimerologist around.

Speaking of the Jedi, the idea worked even before we left. The day before our departure, we received a visit from the Order’s local representative, Shaak Ti, along with her Padawan, Fe Sun. The meeting was perfectly calm and cordial. I suspected the older Togruta had contacted her superiors and gotten some information about me, because she greeted me as none other than “Master Siith.”

The woman was, like every Jedi I’d met, calm and level-headed, and by the end of our conversation I’d decided she was pleasant company as well. She spoke with me for about half an hour, then went off on her Jedi business—training her apprentice, who was also a Togruta, though not from Shili. As far as I understood it, Shaak Ti was preparing her for something like a Jedi ranger role: someone meant to operate out in the wilderness with minimal contact with other sentients. Otherwise, I had no idea why you’d train an apprentice in the wildest parts of her homeworld, as Shaak Ti herself put it, “far from civilization.”

I also kept working on my own projects in the calm, relaxing atmosphere. Every now and then I’d take a datapad, a small table, and a chair out to the beach and work there in peace, sipping juice made from local fruit or caf and herbal brews. Suti often kept me company, working on her own studies. She’d also talked the village women into teaching her Togruta dances, which made her very happy; she took great pleasure in showing us the new dances she’d learned while dressed in local traditional clothing.

When we left, the entire village came out to see us off, and along with all the gifts, we took with us some very warm memories of that wonderful planet. No exaggeration—Shili was the best world I had ever visited, inhabited by some of the finest sentients I’d ever met.

The vacation was coming to an end, but the galaxy didn’t seem any less full of interesting things. So the Rung was already headed for our next destination—we intended to see as much as we could with the limited time we had left.

*** Shili. The wilderness. A few days after the Rung departed. ***

“Master?” Fe Sun said, drawing her teacher’s attention. “I want to talk about that... sorcerer.”

“I’m listening,” the Jedi Master said with an encouraging smile.

“I know he did a lot of good for the villagers here on Shili, but I think his real purpose was evil!” the girl blurted out, finally voicing what had been troubling her lately.

“And what makes you think that?” the Togruta asked, still smiling gently and looking at her apprentice with approval. Shaak Ti encouraged Fe to reason her way to answers for herself. Later, she would always discuss the girl’s conclusions with her, gently correcting her where needed and smoothing out the rough edges.

“He’s... suspicious! And creepy! When he looked at me and smiled, I got scared! I can’t even imagine what someone must be thinking to smile like that! And he looked at everyone that way! He dresses all in black, he has red eyes... and his name is Siith!”

The Jedi Master allowed herself a quiet chuckle.

“There are countless races and species of sentients in the galaxy, Padawan. Their traditions, habits, and behavior can often seem strange or frightening to us. I agree that there is something unsettling about Master Siith’s appearance. But remember this: a Jedi must judge by deeds, not by how a sentient looks. There have been cases in the Order’s history when misunderstandings led to terrible consequences precisely because the Jedi... failed to understand the situation properly. The man we’re talking about helped Master Tholme and his Padawan, rescued Knight Chatak from pirate captivity, met with Masters of the Order, among them Grand Master Yoda, and was granted an audience with Chancellor Palpatine. And here on Shili, he treated our people while refusing payment and accepting only symbolic gifts.”

“He’s still...”

“Suspicious,” Shaak Ti agreed with a nod. “Though Master Rancisis is absolutely delighted with him—especially his sense of humor. But Padawan, the fact that the Order has not sent Knights or Masters after Master Siith does not mean he will not be watched. The same goes for his Mages’ Guild. And remember this as well: not everything is what it seems. When you earn your Knighthood and begin traveling the galaxy on missions for the Council, you will meet countless sentients. Some will look dangerous and prove to be exactly that. Others will hide their vile nature behind pleasant smiles and an eagerness to please...”

The Jedi Master faltered and fell silent. Her apprentice waited patiently while her mentor considered whatever thought had just occurred to her.

“Fe, I need to think,” the Togruta told her apprentice seriously. “Study on your own for a while. We may need to make some changes to your training plan.”

“Master?” the young Togruta asked, watching Shaak Ti in surprise as she settled into a meditative pose.

“Patience, Padawan,” the woman said with a reassuring smile. Then she closed her eyes and let her mind sink into serene stillness.

Jedi never stop learning. Younglings learn from their instructors in the Temple. Padawans learn from their Masters. And those who become full-fledged Jedi do not leave learning behind, devoting themselves to service and self-improvement until the very end. They draw wisdom from everywhere: from other Jedi, from their own experience, from the sentients around them, and, strange as it may sound, from their own Padawans. Today, Fe Sun had given Shaak Ti something to think about.

More specifically, she had made Shaak Ti question her approach to Fe’s training. Jedi were diplomats, investigators, and warriors. Was Shaak Ti really doing the right thing by training her in places where encounters with other sentients were few and far between? And Togruta themselves... Her people on Shili were, for the most part, decent sentients. Their dangerous world fostered solidarity, mutual support, and empathy. Scum certainly existed, but encountering them was genuinely rare. Would Fe truly be prepared for what awaited her out in the galaxy after the kind of training Master Ti was giving her?

The vacation was over. I could say I was disappointed, but that wouldn’t be entirely true. There was a little regret, sure, but I was practically itching to sit down and get back to real work. Besides, I’d had enough new impressions for a while. Everything in moderation.

After Shili, we flew to Mandalore—Arvik’s ancestral homeworld. It was relatively close to the Togruta red-orange predator paradise. I wanted to see the cube-shaped cities rising from a planet whose biosphere had been completely wiped out during one of its conflicts.*

Honestly, Mandalore didn’t impress me. The cities were smaller versions of Coruscant, and there was no nature to speak of—just wasteland. It looked a lot like the area around my Mentor’s home. The locals themselves called their society “pacifist”...

Well... I could understand them, in a way. The Mandalorian way, as a philosophy, hadn’t exactly brought their world much good.

“I’m Mando’ade, but even so, I’ve never actually been to Mandalore,” Arvik said suddenly, sounding a little thoughtful as we left the spaceport and decided to take a walk through the city.

Customs, by the way, was handled fairly professionally. The rules were pretty similar to Corellia’s, but the locals were polite, despite the sideways looks they kept giving Arvik in his armor. The Mando knew what to expect, so we’d left the nastier weapons aboard the ship, and the mercenaries carried only stun weapons. Ten minutes of instructions, signatures confirming that we’d read the basic rules for staying on Mandalore, a brief conversation between Arvik and the shift supervisor, and we walked out of the inspection post without any trouble.

“For me, this planet is the ancient homeland of my ancestors. The place where the philosophy I follow was born. That’s all. I don’t feel any real connection to it.”

“Uh-huh.” To be honest... I couldn’t have cared less. I was just looking around with mild curiosity, feeling a little disappointed by the complete lack of anything interesting. No one had asked Arvik anything. He’d started talking on his own, which was a little unexpected. Maybe it had something to do with those occasional thoughtful spells he’d been having ever since meeting that Fett fellow, another Mandalorian.

“Again...” Romri muttered quietly, with a trace of melancholy in her voice. Apparently, someone had heard something like this before.

“Arvik, no offense, though,” the Gungan joined in, “but I’m starting to get the feeling you’re trying to convince yourself of that.”

“In a way, yeah,” the Mando said with a snort, taking off his helmet and resting it in the crook of his arm. “Far too often, when I’m around other Mando’ade, I hear people going on about the lost glory of our ancestors and how Mandalorians have degenerated into a bunch of pacifist bastards.”

“And what’s your take on it?” I asked, intrigued by the sarcastic edge in our stalwart warrior’s voice.

“Simple, Boss. Long ago, the Taung came here from Coruscant after losing a war. They were the first Mandalorians. Thousands of years passed, war followed war, and history repeated itself. The Mando’ade yielded this world to the Mandalorians. That’s what I call the local pacifists. But you know what the real problem is, Boss?” Arvik asked, then continued without waiting for an answer, sweeping a hand at our surroundings. “It’s that the real Mando—the ones who wear the armor and make war their trade—have somehow gotten themselves hung up on this dead piece of ground. They howl themselves hoarse about how wrong the path these locals have chosen is. Why? What for? As if the clans care where they raise their children! We are warriors! If this planet wants nothing to do with us, then to the demons with it, as you like to say. The armor matters! The language matters! The prosperity of the clan matters! Raising the young matters! The Mand’alor matters—not the planet, but the leader! A real one. A worthy one! This world is nothing more than a place where true Mandalorians happened to live for thousands of years!”

“But that’s not nothing, Arvik,” I said with a shrug. “Sentients tend to grow attached to the place they call home. Still, I think I get what you mean. I’ve never been particularly attached to the land myself.”

“And Jabiim? You call that home, don’t you?” the Togruta asked in surprise.

“Jabiim...” I gave the girl a faint smile, which made one of the passersby stumble. “If I’m being completely honest, Romri, I used to feel absolutely nothing for that world. But Arvik had a point—the place itself doesn’t matter. The people do. The Stratuses matter; they’ve become companions of mine, maybe even friends. Karray, my ward, matters. So does Karina, my apprentice. Very serious Rob—who is actually Ras—matters. My former students matter too, though not so much that I lose my mind worrying over their well-being. Even the people who serve in my manor matter to me, in their own way. And all of them, despite the climate, the endless rain, the ion storms and everything else, love their world. So if I don’t particularly care which planet I call home, why not Jabiim? All those good people must have found something in it.”

“So basically, Boss-sa, you just don’t care,” Koit concluded with a cheerful grin.

“Pretty much,” I said with a simple nod. “And Arvik doesn’t care either.”

“That’s about right,” the Mandalorian snorted. “It just pisses me off that those of us who wear beskar’gam waste so much time and effort on a world that rejected us. There are pitifully few of us left in the galaxy as it is. And instead of forgetting about this place—or just letting it go—and focusing on rebuilding the clans, raising the young, growing stronger... Mando like those idiots from the Watch waste their time on bullshit like terrorism, revolutions, and coups.”

The man drew a deep breath and looked with a kind of pity at the pedestrians hurrying back and forth and the speeders gliding along their routes. There was disgust in his eyes, sadness, and... a trace of understanding.

“And for what?” he said sadly, all the earlier fire gone from his voice. “For this patch of lifeless ground? For these people, every last one of them either dar’manda or descended from them? They abandoned their heritage. They left the path. They betrayed the Resol’nare! You can’t become dar’manda and then suddenly change your mind and—boom—you’re Mando’ade again! That’s like... like a whore deciding she’s done being a whore and announcing she’s a pure maiden now! ‘Take back Mandalore!’ It’s nonsense. Complete nonsense. You might as well say we should take back Coruscant because it was the Taung homeworld!”

“To be fair, their descendants aren’t really to blame...” I began, but Arvik cut me off.

“It’s not about the descendants or what their ancestors did. The point is, no one’s stopping them. Any one of them can leave Mandalore, undergo the trial, and join a clan.”

“Hah. Yeah, because passing your trial is sooo easy...” Romri laughed.

“If you want it badly enough, our little aurodium treasure, you’ll find a way,” the Mando said, baring his teeth. The Togruta only snorted and rolled her eyes. “If there’s a will, there are options. But there isn’t any will! Just like there’s no point in clinging to Mandalore.”

We spent less than a week on Mandalore. There was practically nothing to do there: a couple of trips out into the barren desert, mostly out of curiosity. On the last one, I performed an analysis ritual and got a general idea of the damage that had been done to the planet. We visited a couple of cantinas and tried the local food. I lost a thousand credits playing sabacc, which had Romri grumbling at me all evening. Our Mando got into a fight with a group of local pacifists who were taking themselves far too seriously. He ended up behind bars because of it, but getting him out turned out to be fairly simple: both the witnesses and the holocam recordings confirmed that he hadn’t been the one to start the trouble.

After leaving Mandalore, we set course for Ossus. I wanted to see one of the monuments left behind by the ancient Sith-Jedi feuds. In the Adega system, we found a half-dead world occupied by a Jedi archaeological expedition. I’d already assumed we’d be politely—or not so politely—told to get lost, but the local Force-users turned out to be a pretty hospitable bunch. In exchange for a hundred kilos of meat and another hundred of fruit and vegetables from Shili, which we “gifted” to the Jedi, who were delighted by the prospect of some variety in their meals, we got two full days of guided tours with a lively, cheerful apprentice and a Knight who clearly loved his work.

The senior of the pair, a Gran named Shalak Zoko, buried us under a mountain of ancient history as he explained the purpose of the halls we wandered through in the excavated ruins of the local academy. The Knight was passionate about his work and an excellent storyteller, so everything he told us was genuinely fascinating. That was how I learned more about Tython, the world the Jedi had come from before settling here. About the balance maintained by the ancestors of the modern Jedi—the Je’daii. About how that balance had been broken, triggering cataclysms on their world and the first war among Force-users, who split into several factions.

His Padawan, a Miraluka named Laa Tanaka, wasn’t particularly well versed in history, but she seemed to have ants in her pants and an incredibly easygoing nature. The young woman in the blindfold—barely more than a girl—bombarded Romri, Shmi, and Suti with questions about our travels. She grilled Koit about the Gungan underwater cities, and his stories ended up catching both her Master’s interest and mine. She tried to draw our Mando into conversation too, but he simply put on his helmet and pretended he wasn’t there. I didn’t escape her attention either: “Are you really, really sure you’re not a Sith?” “Can Jedi enroll in your Academy?” “How much would it cost?” “Are there any age limits?”...

All in all, it was engaging, interesting, and at times even fun. And the Jedi revealed yet another side of themselves to me. I already knew Force-sensitives did more than diplomacy and waving glowsticks around, but reading about Jedi archaeologists and actually meeting them were two very different things. I found these people much easier to relate to: they were passionate about their work, loved what they did, and practically lived for it. Pleasant sentients.

Next came a visit to Mon Cala, where we toured the underwater cities. Very unusual, though I can’t say I have anything particularly specific to tell about the world. Beautiful underwater... landscapes, I suppose? An enormous variety of aquatic flora and fauna. Chilly relations between the planet’s two native sentient species... And that’s about it.

All in all, I’d had a pretty interesting vacation, I thought as I walked down the Rung’s ramp, followed by the sentients who had become my crew and traveling companions. A large transport was waiting for us below, basically Jabiim’s answer to a landspeeder. The only thing that made me slightly uneasy was Cordelia’s far-too-stern expression as she stood there with her hands planted on her hips. She was giving my companions a suspicious once-over, paying particular attention to the women, and frowning more deeply by the second.

Hmm... Wonder what that’s about?

Author’s Note:

*The Mandalore canon used here comes from The Clone Wars. I know the hardcore Mando crowd will probably snort in contempt—but I just couldn’t pass up the chance to meddle with the Kryze sisters’ storyline.