Chapter 38 (Patreon)

“That little one gives me the creeps,” Vos confided to his former Master, flexing his new arm. The Jedi was still impressed by how quickly they had restored the limb and rid him of the lingering weakness left by his severe injuries.

The operation had gone surprisingly quickly and, despite Quinlan remaining conscious at his own request, was almost completely painless. The only discomfort came from faint, sharp twinges as the nerves were connected. There were even “bonuses,” as the sorcerer put it. After grafting the arm in place—which the spellcaster had pulled out of some kind of tank full of “soup”—he went over the Jedi’s entire body as well. “Everything looks good overall, but we can make it just a little better. At the very least, I can get you off that diet right now,” Dziha had said, instantly putting an end to any hesitation on the part of the Jedi Master, who was thoroughly sick of eating extremely healthy and completely tasteless paste.

Overall, Quinlan found himself liking the sorcerer. There was something cheerful and reckless about him, much like Quinlan himself. Even the looks the Jedi occasionally caught him giving his red-haired ward felt familiar. Vos had looked at his own Padawan, Aayla, much the same way—and the girl looked at her adoptive father exactly as the little Twi’lek had once looked at the Kiffar who had saved her. It was obvious there was a deep bond between them, no matter how hard Siith tried to act like a Mentor rather than a father. Not that it fooled anyone outside the two of them. If anything, it felt more like some private game between two people who were very close, with rules only they understood.

The only problem was the way the little thing looked at the Jedi... like a child eyeing a new present. A toy. He had seen little girls happily giggle as they pulled the arms and legs off their dolls, then “played doctor” with them. Brrr... And then there were comments like, “Oh, that’s interesting! Dad, look at his gallbladder!” followed by delighted clapping, or, “His respiratory system is completely standard. Boring, even,” accompanied by a disapproving shake of the head and a reproachful look aimed straight at the Kiffar. For a second, he had actually felt ashamed of having such unremarkable lungs!

A charismatic little thing. Charismatic—and frighteningly well versed in anatomy, biology, biochemistry... Well, compared to the Jedi Master himself, at least. Most of the terms the girl casually rattled off while peering into a Force projection visualizing the state of his body went completely over his head, even though the education provided at the Temple was very good.

“Come on, Quinlan,” Tholme said with a smile. “The child is simply brilliant—and very enthusiastic.”

“About your inner world, Master,” Aayla giggled, looking over the now whole and healthy Jedi.

“I’d say our inner world,” the healed Jedi Master said with a snort, sweeping his gaze over his fellow Jedi. “Not implying anything, but if we ever send one of our people here again, make sure there are at least two of them.”

“I second that,” Master Bulq said with a crooked smile. “‘Mister Sora, you’re a Weequay, right? I’ve never met a Weequay before,’” he quoted the little girl.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” the Twi’lek nodded, then continued. “‘Nothing hurts, does it? No? Pleeease?’ Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! And then she just bats those eyes at you.”

“You may find it funny, Knight Secura, but I nearly blurted out that an old leg fracture—healed for five years now—still aches from time to time,” Bulq said with a snort. “Sweet child, but yes, a little terrifying. I just hope she doesn’t grow into someone we’ll have to hunt down.”

“Exactly,” the Jedi Shadow said darkly, looking at Oppo Rancisis. “With all due respect, Master, you are far too well disposed toward Siith’khara’Dziha.”

The Jedi let out a short, weary hiss and rolled his eyes slightly.

“Master, I think you’re looking at the situation from the wrong angle. Yes, there is no Darkness in them—the mages, I mean. But there is no Light either. I consider the sorcerers from both sides: their neutrality can be both a danger and an advantage. And I believe I’m handling this correctly. Even you, An’ya, think the old Thisspiasian is taking this new institution that has appeared on that rain-soaked world far too lightly. But I’m not. That is precisely why a member of the Council is here. And not alone, either—Master Bulq is with me, one of the finest swordsmen in the Order. Master Tholme and Knight Secura came to Jabiim with me as well, as Quinlan’s former Master and former Padawan. No younglings. No Padawans. Knights and Masters. Not every Council assignment gets a team this strong.”

“Master?” the blue-skinned Twi’lek asked, raising her brows in surprise. “So you’re not actually fond of the sorcerers—you’re only pretending?”

Rancisis laughed cheerfully and shook his head.

“No, Knight Secura. I genuinely like the Guild as a whole, and Master Siith in particular. But two hundred years in the Order have given me a great deal of experience. Not everything is what it seems. Supposed friends stab you in the back when you least expect it. Sentients who seem noble and kind can turn out to be rotten and vicious. And a man named Siith, who looks like a Sith, has red eyes like a Sith, and wears a sinister, unsettling smile... may turn out to be a perfectly reasonable and pleasant fellow, while his Guild may prove a useful ally—or, at the very least, a reliable supplier of Force artifacts. Do you understand, Knight Secura?”

“Master Rancisis is here,” Sora Bulq said, nodding to himself. “And he’s doing exactly what he should. We’re investigating this remarkably stupid report with a team that, in my opinion, is even stronger than necessary. The JMG restored Master Vos’s missing arm, which is excellent in its own right. Besides, Master Rancisis’s genuine goodwill is far better for diplomatic relations than a grim-faced Master Kuro—or me, for that matter, forgive my bluntness.” The Weequay gave the woman an apologetic nod, and she merely waved it off. “And no one tried to obstruct you either, Master. Siith took your... hm, little game of hide-and-seek rather well.”

“And that, An’ya, is exactly what spared you an unpleasant conversation with the Council,” the Thisspiasian said, shaking his head in disapproval. “It was a reckless decision to go sneaking into the home of Force-sensitives we know so little about. Especially while your colleagues were trying to persuade the leader of those same Force-sensitives to heal one of our own. What would you have said to Master Vos if Siith had dug in his heels and refused to treat him?”

Quinlan merely smiled good-naturedly at that and waved his new hand. Secura, however, gave the Shadow a look that could hardly be called friendly.

“What would you have told the Council if Dziha had refused to work with us the way he refused to work with Corellia? The Greens are still chewing on their lightsaber hilts in frustration, while Corellian shipwrights seem to spend half their time spitting in the direction of the enclave and the customs officials. Our new acquaintances’ products have already become extremely, extremely sought after. Jabiim physically cannot meet the demand from the thousands of companies interested in buying their protective amulets, charms, and all sorts of other useful items. And those new hull-strengthening devices? Those alone are worth a fortune. The JMG could simply downgrade the Temple’s priority and lose absolutely nothing. We, on the other hand, would lose the already tiny trickle of those concealment rings. You liked those, didn’t you, Master? And the amulets that make it much easier for our people to survive combat missions aren’t exactly useless either.”

“I took the possible threat seriously...” the Shadow began, raising her voice slightly.

“So did I. So did the Council, Master Kuro. So did Grand Master Yoda, who asked me to test the waters as carefully as possible,” Rancisis cut her off. He looked perfectly calm, but an attentive observer would have noticed the faint, irritated twitching at the tip of his tail. “I probably would have brought you along without a second thought if you’d come to me with your concerns. I would have calmly taken responsibility if you were discovered. But! Not only did you act on your own, you also made me and the Council look like fools who can’t even keep one of their own Masters under control! You’re a Shadow, after all—an experienced Jedi Master, not some young Padawan!”

The Dark Woman stood there frowning, doing her best not to meet the eyes of the Council member, who was very clearly in a bad mood.

“Perhaps, Master, it would be better to speak with Master Kuro in private?” John Tholme suggested mildly, casting his colleague a sympathetic look.

“And we’ll speak in private as well,” the Thisspiasian said with a nod. “But Master Kuro needed to put herself in my place—to feel the embarrassment, the awkwardness, the sheer stupidity of the situation. And it was twice as unpleasant because of how indulgently Master Siith treated the whole thing. He called your little escapade ‘a game of hide-and-seek,’ An’ya. And he reacted more calmly than some Masters do to youngling mischief. Perhaps, Master Kuro, he meant nothing demeaning by it. Perhaps you see nothing particularly terrible in it either. But I do not like one of the Order’s strongest Shadows looking, in the eyes of outsiders, like some girl who not only got caught, but apparently knows nothing about discipline.”

An’ya Kuro took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Then she exhaled and looked directly at the Thisspiasian.

“I’m sorry, Master. My actions were reckless,” the woman said, bowing her head in acknowledgment of her fault.

“Ah...” Rancisis sighed, almost like a human. “Our lives are an endless education. All of us Jedi, from younglings to Masters, must walk our path with our eyes wide open and listen carefully, so we don’t miss the lessons life chooses to teach us. I only hope that you, Master Kuro, everyone here, and myself included, can take at least a grain of wisdom from this situation. We must remember that the actions of a single Jedi can have consequences for the entire Order.”

For about a minute, silence hung over the ship’s compartment as everyone processed what the Master had said.

“Ahem...” the healed Jedi cleared his throat. “By the way, whoever this Maria is, she’s an incredible cook. During dinner, I actually found myself regretting for a moment that Jedi aren’t allowed to marry!”

“Pfft.” The Twi’lek snorted. “That’s only because you’ve been living on paste this whole time, Master.”

“Envy is the path to the Dark Side,” Quinlan said with a snort. Master Rancisis chuckled softly, while the others answered with smiles of varying width. Even Master Kuro allowed herself a cautious smile, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly.

“Laugh it up,” the Twi’lek said, folding her arms across her chest. “Let’s see how funny you find it when the healers get their hands on you and start checking your health.” Then, watching the Kiffar’s face fall, she added with a wicked little smile, “Vokara Che in particular. She wasn’t exactly thrilled by the idea of you being treated by ‘some shamans.’”

“Master Rancisis, don’t you happen to have some assignment for me? The Force is whispering that I really shouldn’t go back to the Temple just yet.”

“That’s not the Force. That’s your survival instinct,” the Weequay said with a snort. He was a frequent visitor to the Order’s medical wing and knew the head of the Healing Halls’ formidable temper firsthand.

“Take it easy for now, Master Vos,” Oppo Rancisis said cheerfully. “Tomorrow we still have a trip to the ‘military base of the ruthless Gungans’ and a tour of the local metalworks. But I think you should start mentally preparing for your meeting with Master Che as early as possible.”

“Where am I supposed to find you a Weequay?”

Karray’s big, beautiful, terribly sad eyes stared up at me, full of pleading.

“No, sweetheart, we are not kidnapping Master Bulq!”

The girl shifted her pleading gaze to the head of Jabiim’s Internal Security Service, who was sitting in the chair beside her.

“And don’t look at Cordelia like that! She’s not going to kidnap a member of the Order either just so one tiny manipulator can poke around inside him!”

“Well, technically...” the head of Security began hesitantly.

“Cordelia, have you lost your mind?!” I stared at the tough young woman in outrage. One look from my ward and she was already starting to melt. “Stop that immediately! We are not kidnapping Jedi! At least not while they’re here on an official visit to Jabiim!”

“Pleeease! Daddy, pleeease! Please, please, please!” Those enormous eyes held all the sorrow in the universe.

“That won’t work on me! And besides, you already have a project to work on!”

“Dad, it’s a bantha! What could possibly be interesting about a bantha?!”

“What you made out of it! P.D.S.G.K.B.! Venomous spines that stand on end whenever it senses danger, hollow fangs full of venom, the instinct to stay at the edge of the herd, away from other similarly modified banthas... No, it turned out well, I’ll give you that. Predators will go for them, get a dose of venom, and die. I even understand the pink fur—it draws attention! But why doesn’t it moo? Why does it scream ‘SHAZUUUUUU!’?”

“Hee-hee-hee-hee! Did you see how that blue Twi’lek jumped?” the little menace cackled shamelessly, remembering how Aayla Secura had practically leapt like a mountain goat when the redhead’s creation suddenly let out its roar earlier that day. “But I’m almost done anyway! One more week, tops, and that’s it! Dad, come on, huh? Just one Weequay! Their hides are really tough! They can even take a blaster shot! Besides, they started it! Spying! Aunt Cordelia, tell Dad!”

“Siith, what if we took that white-haired one and...” Stratus perked up when Kuro came up. She wasn’t being serious, of course—mostly just teasing me—but the Jedi Shadow had taken a painful swipe at the young woman’s professional pride, so the joke carried a distinctly unhealthy amount of enthusiasm.

“No, no, and no! How about... how about I get you a rancor instead? You wanted a rancor, right?”

“Daaaaad... Rancors are boring!”

“What do you mean, boring? Even a five-meter one weighs two tons! And those ugly bastards can grow up to twenty meters! Hide like armor, nearly sentient, fangs, claws, a mouth big enough for you to crawl right into! Come on, say yes and I’ll contact Wilmar! Good old Willy will bring you the finest rancor on Dathomir, huh?”

“Can he get one here within a week?” the girl asked thoughtfully.

“Of course he can! Grark’s been whining about upgrading his Inferno for ages. I’ll hint that we’ll move him to the front of the line—he’ll come running faster than he would for a request from his daughter. Or an order from his wife. Heh... Those Devaronians are all horned, henpecked husbands.”

“Okay, Daddy...” Karray drawled sadly, letting out a mournful sigh. The little girl trudged toward the library door, then sloooowly closed it behind her, watching me all the while with a gaze full of inhumanly profound sorrow. Only the cheerful tap-tap-tap of my ward’s little feet spoiled the image of galaxy-sized despair.

“Seriously?” Cordelia raised an eyebrow with a mocking smile. “‘Devaronians are all horned, henpecked husbands’? And I’m the one she can twist around her little finger? Karray played you perfectly, and you fell for it! My little darling was after a rancor from the start, not a Jedi. Or maybe a krayt dragon.”

“Pfft...” I gave her a condescending look. “As if I didn’t know. I’m the one who taught her tricks like that. Just asking for a rancor would’ve been boring for her, and I didn’t want to disappoint her. Let the little one enjoy her small victory.”

“Tch, you’re annoying!” she snapped, waving me off like some bothersome student before going back to her book.

We sat like that for another ten minutes. Stratus read her book, I read mine, taking occasional sips of caf from an enormous mug.

“By the way, did you know Alto asked your employee out to dinner?” she asked, pulling me away from the page with a distinctly mischievous edge in her voice.

“Shmi?” I asked without looking up from the text.

“Tch. You knew!” Another irritated click of the tongue.

“I didn’t know. I guessed,” I said with a snort, taking another sip of caf. “I figure after his adjutant landed himself a wizard in the kitchen like Maria, our Commander-in-Chief started thinking that man does not live by the army alone. And Shmi, if she falls short of the mistress of my kitchen at all, it isn’t by much. She’s a good person too. And after I put her through a few cosmetic procedures and repaired the damage slavery had done to her health... well, she turned into quite the beauty.”

“You two are obsessed with cooking,” my companion grumbled. Her own culinary skills amounted to opening a self-heating ration pack or ordering from a restaurant.

“You’re being unfair.” I brushed off her grumbling easily. “Cooking is a good thing, but it’s nowhere near the most important one. Skywalker is a wonderful woman in her own right. Very kind, pleasant, caring, fond of children. She has plenty of virtues, one of them being an almost complete lack of self-interest. And you and your brother... you’re practically relics in that regard.”

“We simply do what’s right.”

“I’m not arguing with you.” I set the book aside and met Cordelia’s stubborn stare. “Besides, Shmi is closer to his age, and generally speaking... Suti would be intimidated by him. Romri... her personality just isn’t the sort that would appeal to Alto. A couple of the instructors are practically kids themselves. It’s only the new students chasing after them. So that really leaves Shmi Skywalker. Especially since your brother was over at her new domain just the other day, inspecting our orphanage.”

“Oh, whatever!” The irritated Security chief buried herself in her book again, snorting angrily.

What was wrong with her this time?