Chapter 35 (Patreon)

This afternoon, Jabiim would welcome its first intake of fee-paying students. Every single place had been snapped up the instant—literally the very first second—the option to buy one appeared on the HoloNet. And just a couple of hours later, word got out about an auction on Tatooine where those very same places would be resold.

Over the past year, ever since a certain red-eyed sorcerer returned from vacation, Jabiim had begun attracting quite a bit of attention. It wasn’t as though news about mages was echoing across the galaxy, but the people who needed to know, knew. They knew you could buy protective charms and amulets there whose capabilities sometimes surpassed those of certain models of personal shield. They knew that, for a decidedly immodest sum, you could significantly strengthen a ship’s hull on that rainy little world. And they knew that the JMG could regrow a lost limb with phenomenal speed, restore damaged organs, and even correct congenital defects.

The JMG administration apologized, but there was nothing they could do about it anymore: Jabba Desilijic Tiure’s people had completed the purchase entirely aboveboard. They did, however, promise to change the purchasing and registration process for the next intake.

For all those reasons, quite a few sentients headed to Tatooine hoping to buy one of the training places from the new, as some people whispered, “finally useful Force-sensitives.” There was even talk of a brief shootout breaking out, but Jabba’s kajidic enforcers restored order.

And now, in a rather pretty park on the small plaza outside the administration building, fifty sentients had gathered beneath a force-field dome—the ones who had secured their places. Thirty-five had bought theirs on Tatooine, ten had come from Coruscant, and the remaining five were sentients who, one way or another, worked for Jabba.

The Academy complex itself consisted of a five-story administration building, with every floor above the first given over to dormitories. Behind it stood a large building listed in the brochure as the academic block. On one side was the training ground, and on the other, the sports complex.

The future students, along with those accompanying them, were waiting for the start of some sort of “small welcoming ceremony.” A modest podium had been set up by the building, though no one was on it yet. There were about twenty minutes left before the event began. Most of those gathered were human, though a few members of more exotic species were present as well.

Probably the most diverse little group consisted of a Miraluka, a Devaronian woman, a lanky Muun towering over everyone else, a human man and woman, two silent Sephi of opposite sexes, and a blue-skinned, red-eyed girl no one seemed to recognize.

The group had only just begun introducing themselves and exchanging cautious greetings when they were interrupted.

“Quiet. Do you hear that?” the blue-skinned girl said, raising a hand to stop the conversation. A flicker of surprise crossed her usually calm, almost expressionless face.

Somewhere in the distance came a long, bloodcurdling roar, sustained on a single note. There was pain in it, terror, and utter hopelessness.

“I think it’s coming from over there,” said Visna, the Miraluka, nodding toward the academic building, which rumor had it used to be some kind of factory. “Whatever it is, it’s definitely big... and it doesn’t sound like it’s doing well.”

“Uh... kinda losin’ m’ desire to enroll here,” the young Muun muttered with a shiver. He either had an odd way of speaking or some kind of speech impediment. When they’d introduced themselves, he’d given his name as Penro.

“I’m honestly surprised a Muun decided not to go into... finance. No offense,” said Tolvit, a young black-haired Rendili man with green eyes, looking curiously at the tall humanoid.

“That’s just st’reotypes,” the Muun said, giving a slow, indifferent shrug of his narrow shoulders. His species was, after all, closely associated with banking. “Dunno why everyone thinks that if you’re Muun, you’ve gotta have your own p’rsonal bank.”

The alien’s lips curved into a faint, mocking smile.

“M’ family specializes in security systems, and my brother studies at the Higher School of Finance. That’s where he met a Togruta who sold us those same Jabiim protective amulets without making us wait in line. And the wait for those things is m’nths long now. The family made some inquiries, the elders thought it over, and... here I am.”

“Amulets? Not charms?” asked a short, very young Devaronian woman. The girl, who had introduced herself as Shella, was quite pretty, with soft-looking white fur and large, curious yellow eyes. She did seem rather nervous, though—uncertain of herself.

“Am’lets,” the long-faced Muun confirmed with a nod. “Though ch’rms are hard to get too.”

“Look,” the blue-skinned girl spoke up again, indicating the approaching figures with her eyes. Several sentients were striding toward the entrance of the administration building. A fairly tall man in a black hooded robe, red eyes glowing ominously beneath the hood, was animatedly discussing something with a broadly grinning Devaronian. A girl of about ten or eleven trotted along beside them, while a green-skinned Twi’lek in a modest but stylish suit brought up the rear.

“That’s my dad,” the young Devaronian girl sighed, her eyes darting around in embarrassment. “And the one in the robe is the sorcerer—the Academy Director and head of the Jabiim Mages’ Guild.”

“Your father kn’ws Siith’khara’Dziha?” Penro asked, surprise and respect mingling in his voice. He was clearly making an effort to pronounce the name correctly; for a moment, a look of intense concentration crossed his face.

“He does now,” the fluffy little Devaronian whispered miserably, her face falling.

“Quiet, l’t’s listen,” the Muun whispered. The group had stopped almost right beside them, and their conversation was anything but hushed.

“I’m telling you straight—Willy is offering you his friendship from the bottom of his heart!” the Devaronian’s voice carried over to them. “There’s nothing Willy can’t get for his friends, savvy?”

“Wilmar, give it a rest,” the robed man said, rolling his eyes up toward the dome holding back the rain. “All the places are taken. I’ve already told you that! I can’t just squeeze your daughter in. Come back next year, just don’t forget to register through the HoloNet. We’re changing the purchase system, so this kind of problem won’t happen again.”

Every eye in the little group turned toward the fluffy girl, who immediately did her absolute best to pretend she wasn’t there.

“Friend, listen,” the Devaronian went on, still beaming. “Just one extra sentient! Willy will cover every expense of keeping her here, pay the same price as the most expensive place bought from that slippery Jabba—only the money goes to the JMG, not him—and help his friend Siith buy or sell absolutely anything!”

Another roar from some kind of monster echoed from the Academy grounds, and the man they had called Siith abruptly stopped looking like someone who wanted nothing more than to get rid of the Devaronian.

“Absolutely anything?” he asked Wilmar, glancing toward the direction the horrible sounds were coming from.

“Absolutely anything!” This time the horned man flashed such a dazzling smile that a few people felt the urge to blink.

“Excellent!” The man answered the Devaronian with a smile that made Wilmar’s own smile falter, while those watching the exchange went through a whole round of nervous swallows. The blue-skinned girl actually started patting around her belt. Maybe she was looking for a blaster.

“Dad!” the girl squeaked, grabbing the red-eyed man by the sleeve of his robe.

“Don’t ‘Dad’ me, Karray! That monstrosity of yours eats enough for ten and shits enough for... four. Dozdrogodul... scratch her! Anyway, Grark, you find me a buyer for a four-assed acklay,* and I’ll enroll your daughter on the same terms as everyone else. Deal?”

“Of course, friend,” the Devaronian said, flashing that smile again now that he’d recovered. Then, a second later, he faltered. “A what kind of acklay?”

“Four-assed,” the red-eyed man repeated calmly.

Those watching noticed the Twi’lek standing behind the sorcerer start to shake—shoulders and lekku both. She was trying desperately to hold it in. Her face managed to stay composed, but the rest of her body was laughing despite her best efforts.

“Dad! It’s an omnivorous acklay with a modified metabolism and digestive tract!” the girl exclaimed, actually bouncing in place with excitement.

“Too bad the toothy bastard itself hasn’t figured out that it’s an omnivore now. Or that it absolutely has to eat fifty kilos of fruit and vegetables every day because someone went and rebuilt the damn thing’s entire biology! And I still have absolutely no idea why that creature needs four asses!!!”

“I’m little and inexperienced!” the girl pointed out quite reasonably, blinking up at him with perfect innocence.

“Oh, how convenient!” the sorcerer exclaimed, throwing his hands toward the heavens, though amusement was dancing in his eyes. “When it’s ‘Dad, buy me an acklay,’ suddenly we’re grown-up, seasoned chimerologists. But the moment we grow three extra, completely useless organs for defecation, we’re little and inexperienced?”

“They were justified!” young Karray protested, stamping one little foot.

“Oh, really? And how exactly?”

“Because I wanted them!”

“Ahem... Well, that is an argument, yeah,” the red-eyed man said, scratching his beard and nodding in agreement as the eavesdropping group exchanged baffled looks. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we have to force-feed the beast plant matter! I’ve told you dozens of times that making changes like this to living creatures is difficult and tedious. Enhancing traits they already have—that’s what you should be doing at your level of skill! I thought you wanted to create an unstoppable, heavily armored killing machine, with bones tougher than beskar, reflexes faster than a Force-sensitive’s, and enough strength to make rancors sulk in a corner with envy!!! And what did you make instead? A former predator turned omnivore that’ll die without the right diet!”

“But it worked,” the girl insisted.

“Partially, Karray! You never finished the project! Your acklay has to eat plants, but it doesn’t understand that!”

“But you said yourself that working with the mind or instincts was beyond my level.” Her lips pushed out in an offended pout, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. The robed man looked at this embodiment of misery, sighed, then crouched down beside her and rested a hand on the little girl’s head.

“Sweetheart, I’ve told you hundreds and hundreds of times: there’s no such thing as an unsolvable problem. Think about it. If your creation doesn’t understand that it needs to eat greens, what can you do about that? Why, for example, do you love chocolate so much?”

“Because it’s...” The girl’s eyes widened, her mouth fell open into a little O, and both hands flew to her cheeks. “Because it tastes good!!! Taste recognition! The way taste and smell are interpreted! If Force thinks grass tastes good...”

“He’ll eat it on his own,” the red-eyed man said with a nod, ruffling the girl’s hair. “I’m surprised it took a hint for you to arrive at something that obvious.”

“And why didn’t you tell me earli—”

“Because you need to think for yourself,” the sorcerer snorted. “A flexible mind is a sorcerer’s greatest weapon. His most important tool. You did the core work well—if we ignore the creature’s four asses—but one poorly thought-out detail turned this place into a full-blown circus. Hell, those lunatic Mando have started sending fighters to feed your beast like it’s a training exercise. They even set up a betting pool. I’ve already had to put warriors back together six times!”

“Sorry, Dad...” the child said, looking downcast. The red-eyed man sighed and bared his teeth in a terrifying grin. Apparently, that was supposed to be an encouraging smile.

“Don’t apologize, sweetheart. I hit the jackpot four times. Just learn something from this mess and go finish the job. I think Wilmar will have a much easier time selling your omnivorous acklay if it actually eats grass on its own. Four asses and all, yeah... And with the money we get for it, we’ll buy you something else to work on. Sound good?”

“Yeeees!!!” The little girl bounced excitedly in place, then took off at a run toward the direction the mournful roars kept coming from. “Dad’s gonna buy me a rancor! Or a krayt dragon! Or even a sarlacc!!!”

Meanwhile, the sorcerer turned his attention back to the Devaronian.

“So, we have a deal? The beast will be delivered to you tomorrow. Don’t worry—it’ll be sedated, and we’ll give you enough sedatives for the trip as well. You sell the creature, keep ten percent of the profit so you’ve got an incentive to get a good price instead of just dumping it on the first buyer you find. And your daughter...”

“Shella Grark,” the horned man supplied, somehow managing to beam even more brightly. The red-eyed man nodded to the Twi’lek, who made a note on her datapad.

“Shella Grark will be admitted to the Academy on the same terms as everyone else.”

“Deal, my friend! You’ll see—Willy will handle everything perfectly and squeeze the maximum profit out of it!”

The robed man gave a nod and headed toward the podium. The Twi’lek—apparently his secretary—kept pace right behind him, while the Devaronian looked around, spotted his daughter, and made his way over with a dazzling grin.

“See, princess?” the horned man practically radiated good cheer. “Your father handled everything perfectly, and you didn’t believe me.”

“If you hadn’t forgotten about the auction, none of this would’ve happened,” the girl pouted. “Playing sabacc on the Smuggler’s Moon was more important to you than flying to Tatooine for your own daughter!”

“That’s not true, sweetheart. Besides, it worked out even better than I expected!” Wilmar said smugly, putting an arm around his daughter. She was already quite a bit taller than he was, though—Devaronian men were short, unlike their women.

“Hmph,” Shella snorted angrily.

“No need to snort at me, sweetheart! You got into the Academy just like I promised, your Director solved his acklay problem, and your father is about to make some very good credits off a unique animal! You really shouldn’t imitate your mother so much, or I’ll want to go back to Devaron even less than I already do. And think about it—what happens if Red-Eyes suddenly needs something hard to get? Or wants to sell something exclusive? Who’s he going to call? Some random outsider, or the father of one of his students? Obviously he’ll call his new friend Willy. And Willy will make damn sure your Director is happy.”

“What about the fact that the animal is...” one of the Sephi finally spoke up, hesitating as she searched for the right word.

“Four-assed?” the smuggler barked out a genuine laugh. “That’s perfect! We’ve had dwarf acklays, trained acklays, cybernetically enhanced acklays—I’ve even heard something about Force-sensitive ones! But Willy has never heard of a four-assed acklay! And exclusives always sell well, savvy? I heard Jabba himself was mourning the loss of his favorite pet about a year ago.”

The red-eyed man stepped up onto the podium, drawing everyone’s attention away from the conversation.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” his voice carried across the entire plaza despite the complete lack of any visible microphones. Only the Miraluka reacted strangely, flinching and looking around. “My name is Siith’khara’Dziha. I am the Director of this Academy and head of the Mages’ Guild. Welcome to Jabiim on this beautiful rainy day.”

“At least they put a dome over us,” the Rendili muttered.

“Yeah, the dome is handy,” the sorcerer on the podium agreed, making everyone look back and forth between the Rendili and the Director in surprise. “It’s an extremely useful spell, one you’ll be able to master fairly quickly, and the number of ways you can use it may pleasantly surprise you. But you’ll hear all about that in class. For now, let me say a few words about the boring stuff—the rules and the Academy itself.”

The man allowed himself a faint smile, which stirred a quiet murmur among the gathered crowd.

“First of all, until you complete your training, forget about anything that clouds the mind. Alcohol and drugs of any kind are strictly forbidden to spellcasters. Anyone who can’t resist the urge to turn themselves into an animal will be expelled. After graduation, do whatever you like, but I have no intention of watching my students suddenly start exploding their own heads, growing hooves, or developing some other ridiculous complication. Everything else is exactly as stated in the Academy brochures, except for one thing I want to emphasize: experiments on sentients may only be carried out with the sentients’ own consent. Written consent.”

The Sephi man sneezed at that.

“Bless you,” the sorcerer said with a nod. What followed was a short speech, most likely prepared in advance. The Director’s opinion of it was obvious from his bored tone and the way he kept rolling his eyes whenever he reached one of the more grandiose passages.

“I think the Director doesn’t li—” the Rendili started to whisper, only to get elbowed by the human woman beside him. Littia was a native of Kuat and had practically glowed with delight earlier when she realized there were no Corellians here.

“What—” the young man started to protest, then glanced toward the podium, where the red-eyed sorcerer was watching him with interest even as he continued his speech. “Ahhh...”

The more observant members of the audience could have sworn they saw a flicker of disappointment cross the Director’s face before it gave way to weary resignation.

Only the blue-skinned girl—the one who still hadn’t introduced herself—was typing something into her datapad, occasionally glancing first at Wilmar Grark, then at the Academy’s increasingly miserable-looking Director. The latter, incidentally, kept casting the occasional look her way as well. Later, someone even suggested that, given their unusual matching eye color, the two might belong to related species. Possibly even be close relatives.

Author’s Note:

*Acklay: one of the most terrifying predators of Vendaxa—a planet known for its rampant fertility and for having one of the most diverse ecosystems in the galaxy. Acklays were especially prized in gladiatorial arenas, since capturing one was extremely difficult. Without regular feeding, they grew hungry very quickly, and a starving acklay had enough appetite for several bloody performances a day. (Stolen from Wookieepedia.)