Chapter 59 (Patreon)

“So, my dear—one might even say precious—students!” There wasn’t a trace of sincerity in the Academy Director’s voice. He spoke in a flat monotone, without the slightest inflection. The only thing that came through clearly was exhaustion. “Today you’ll be taking a test on the fundamentals of ritualism. The questions have already been uploaded to your devices. You have two hours. Begin. Anyone who tries to cheat gets grasping appendages grafted onto their ass. Start.”

After those words, the students understood why a medical repulsor platform was hovering beside the head of the JMG.

Siith’khara’Dziha adjusted the small pillow, then, with a grunt, lay down on the platform and sealed himself inside an opaque magical dome with a wave of his hand.

“Is he, like… going to sleep?” one of the students asked in surprise—Semon, a human from Tatooine who made no secret of the fact that he worked for Jabba the Hutt’s kajidic.

“Who knows…”

“Hey, what are you up to?” another Academy student asked in surprise, noticing the Dag calmly arranging a datapad and a couple of paper textbooks at his workstation.

A sneaky, vicious son of a bitch, just like every Dag Semon had ever known. There were very few students at the Academy who had gotten in without outside backing, especially from the second intake onward. Pulling it off was sheer luck. It wasn’t even that a lone sentient couldn’t scrape together enough money. The real problem was the pressure exerted by the galaxy’s powerful organizations.

The Banking Clan, the Commerce Guild, the Trade Federation, Kuat Drive Yards, planetary and system governments, even the Supreme Chancellor’s own administration—plenty of the galaxy’s powerful players sponsored students and sometimes simply sent their own people to study at the Jabiim Academy of Magic. Semon was one of them: young, but already a well-regarded employee of Jabba Desilijic Tiure.

Not just some dumb bruiser from the kajidic—Jabba employed plenty of those—but the son of a trusted servant. That was precisely why he, along with several of his “colleagues,” had been chosen to study magic: close ties to his own family, who served the kajidic out of genuine loyalty rather than fear, were a good guarantee that Semon would come back. He himself had no objection. Despite their reputation across the galaxy, Hutts paid well for loyalty and treated those they valued quite decently. Jabba himself had helped Semon’s family out more than once, and even if such things were trivial to a Hutt, the human family of servants was grateful to their Boss.

“I’m planning to finish this quickly,” the Malastare native said with satisfaction, flashing everyone around him a broad grin.

He was one of the few who had gotten in without backing. Without SIGNIFICANT backing, anyway. Semon didn’t count the support of an ordinary family, even a fairly well-off one by Malastare standards. The bastard was absurdly lucky, brazen—and reckless to boot. Once he graduated from the Academy, he wouldn’t just be flooded with offers; trouble would come pouring in right alongside them. Someone had almost certainly already taken offense at the Dag for muscling in and pushing more important people aside, while someone else would decide to claim a “fresh,” unaffiliated mage for themselves, regardless of what he wanted…

Though this one might actually manage to wriggle his way out of it.

“Right,” Jabba the Hutt’s man snorted quietly. For Dags, their legs counted as grasping appendages.

“Heh-heh-heh-heh.” The Dag chuckled smugly as he began tapping at the holographic controls of his workstation, opening the first question of his test. “What the hell?!”

A small band around his leg, combining a commlink with his student pass, gave a melodious chirp, drawing his attention.

“Huh?” The Malastare native looked even more surprised. He grabbed his datapad and opened the message that had just arrived. “Wait—I passed?”

“For being resourceful,” came the Director’s voice from beneath the dome. “Now get out of here. The stars happened to align in your favor today.”

“Heh-heh.” The Dag’s long face split into a pleased grin again as he hurriedly stuffed his things into a small bag.

“Hey, you… what was your name again? Nampa!”

“Yes, Director?” The Malastare native, already on his way out of the classroom, stopped and turned back toward the dome.

“For your own sake, I hope you actually knew the material. Here at the Academy… yaa-aawn…” A huge yawn sounded from beneath the dome. “Here at the Academy, sure, you’re not going to just drop dead. But once you graduate and get out into the wider galaxy, you’ve got a pretty good chance of doing exactly that if you start slacking off.”

“I can handle myself.” Another smug grin spread across the Dag’s face.

“Then… yaa-aawn… keep getting the hell out of here.”

“Yes, sir. Getting the hell out of here.” Wearing a grin so pleased with itself that it irritated everyone else on principle, the Dag made it all the way to the door—but didn’t leave just yet.

He looked back, still grinning broadly, then flashed everyone in the room a couple of obscene gestures. For some reason, though, the Dag’s eyes were fixed on the two Jedi girls who had started attending the general classes this year as well.

The Malastare native didn’t wait around for a reaction. Chuckling to himself, he scampered out of the classroom on his hands.

“All right, the ass-handed fuck-up has graciously departed, so carry on,” Siith’khara’Dziha’s voice came from behind the opaque wall of the dome.

…

…

“Yeah…” Jabba’s man scratched his chin again, making a mental note to give the Dag a good punch in that smug mug later so he’d stop grinning like that. Simply because it was irritating.

By now, the first-years had gotten somewhat used to the Director’s eccentricities. Not to the point where they could remain unfazed by absolutely anything, but they could already face anything that wasn’t too insane with reasonably straight faces. Unfortunately, they were still a long way from the upper years, so severed limbs, gaping holes in chests, a rancor in a formal black suit with a white shirt and red bow tie, or a little girl with a terrifying smile trying to talk someone into “just one ti-i-iny autopsy” could still get a reaction out of them.

Fortunately, this particular situation didn’t faze much of anyone.

Well, except for the green-skinned Jedi, who looked like she was about to choke on her own outrage.

“Master Siith!!!” the Force-user finally managed to speak through her indignation.

“What is it, Knight Nema?! Having trouble understanding the questions?”

“Don’t play dumb! You saw that! You saw what that Dag showed everyone before he left!”

“Well, technically, not everyone. You specifically,” came a snort from beneath the dome. “Focus on your test. Afterward, find the offender, challenge him to a training duel, and cut his head off. What’s the problem? You can put it back on yourself afterward. Don’t distract the others, Knight Nema.”

“So you think it’s perfectly normal for one student to insult another for no reason? You just find it funny?”

“I don’t feel one way or the other about it,” came another snort from beneath the dome. “You’re grown sentients—you can sort things out among yourselves. I’m not the morality police, and I’m not your spiritual mentor. If something serious happens, then of course I’ll step in, but this particular situation… yaa-aawn… failed to impress me. And you’re not entirely right about our resourceful ass-handed fuck-up having no reason for his… rather heated dislike of you, representatives of the Jedi Order. He also has a problem with the ZeHethbra and the Gran, the Galactic Senate, and the Republic in general. You personally—yes, you’ve done nothing to either Malastare or its people. But your Order is loved on that planet—to the sound of grinding teeth.”

“I… have no idea what you’re talking about, but regardless, that kind of behavior is unacceptable.”

“Then you should study some history.” The dome paled and dissolved, revealing the Director sitting on the repulsor cot and looking at the Jedi with obvious displeasure. “Then you’ll understand. And with understanding will come that inner peace your brothers and sisters value so highly. Does anyone here know anything about Malastare’s history over, say, the last thousand years?”

The Director’s black-and-red eyes swept across the classroom.

“Well, that’s hardly surprising. In the end, it’s just one little planet on the enormous map of this galaxy, same as my Jabiim. There’s nothing shameful about not knowing details like that. Unless, of course, you’re outraged by the behavior of Malastare’s natives—the Dags. If I were you, Knight Nema, I’d first find out why that student feels the way he does about you, and only then start getting indignant. And I’d do the research in private. Because afterward you might feel a little… awkward. Actually, knowing your personality, you’ll definitely feel awkward.”

The sorcerer gestured, calling his datapad from the desk into his hand. He tapped something on it quickly, and a holographic map of the galaxy appeared in the center of the classroom.

“So. The Hydian Way, Mid Rim, grid N-17, Dustig sector, the Malastare system and its namesake world. About a thousand years ago. I won’t drown you in the details—anyone interested can read up on them later—but let’s take a brief dive into history. Malastare’s neighbors, the ZeHethbra from the planet ZeHeth in the star system of the same name, decided to milk the Dags for resources. Why not, right? The ZeHethbra figured it like this: Malastare is rich, ZeHeth wants riches, therefore the Dags should share. So they swooped in and started extracting resources without bothering to ask permission, and for some strange reason the people of Malastare didn’t appreciate it. Greedy bastards, probably. I’m sure every one of you would happily let some stranger into your home and calmly watch them eat your food and take a shit on the table in your living room, right?”

The human’s unsettling smile was full of understanding: obviously, no one present would be happy with an arrangement like that, but absurd as the analogy was, it got the point across perfectly well. Semon himself smiled menacingly. On Tatooine, “guests” like that got shot full of holes with a blaster first, then stripped of anything valuable as compensation and dumped in the trash.

“So the Dags filed a complaint with the Senate. Their world was part of the Republic, after all. The result? Nothing. So they had to pick up their weapons and start evicting the brazen invaders themselves. The natives of ZeHeth turned out to be only moderately greedy. They ran the numbers, decided that a prolonged planet-wide armed conflict would cost them far too much, and got the hell off Malastare. But before leaving, they made sure to file a complaint… with the Senate too! Against the Dags! The result? You’re probably thinking the Republic’s governing body ignored news from Malastare yet again. Nope! The Dags were declared an aggressive species and slapped with sanctions. Let me repeat that: the homeowner who grabbed an intruder by the scruff of the neck and threw him out for blatantly helping himself to someone else’s property was branded the aggressor. All because he should have used the legal mechanisms ‘available to every member of the Republic’ instead of taking matters into his own hands. The fact that Malastare’s original complaint could apparently wander through the Senate’s information network for a couple of centuries didn’t concern anyone. But… who can tell me why Malastare’s complaint was ignored, while ZeHeth’s wasn’t?”

The Director’s gaze swept over the forest of raised hands, then he pointed at a Muun. One of only two in this intake.

“Lobbying,” the Muun replied, gravely and succinctly.

“Exactly. Unlike ZeHeth, Malastare wasn’t friends with anyone important. It traded resources and made a profit. A pretty decent profit for a lone planet. But the Dags stayed out of big politics and big business. The ZeHethbra, on the other hand, had more experience navigating the wider galaxy. They had colonies, resource outposts, and business partners who could push ZeHeth’s complaint through the Senate. The result, as I said, was that the people of Malastare were officially labeled warlike and aggressive… which, admittedly, is rather hard to argue with if you’ve ever met one of them. But that’s how they are now. What they were like a thousand years ago, no one can say for certain anymore. What we do know for a fact—because it’s right there on the Senate’s official HoloNet portal—is that sanctions were imposed on Malastare. Nasty ones, too. They caused serious problems for Malastare’s trade with the rest of the galaxy. But that was only half the trouble. More accurately, it was a negligible fraction of the problems that came crashing down on Malastare after the Republic expressed its righteous disapproval. Not long afterward, Malastare was occupied by the Gran. And that marked the beginning of the darkest era in Dag history, one that lasted for centuries: slavery under the Gran Protectorate of Malastare.”

Siith’khara’Dziha fell silent for a few seconds, giving his listeners time to digest the information. He glanced at the pillow on his cot and sighed heavily. Then he continued.

“Of course, the Protectorate’s explanation was soaked through with the spirit of peace, justice, and democracy: they were going to teach the aggressive savages how civilized sentients were supposed to live. People believed them. Which was fairly predictable—the inhabitants of Kinyen, the Gran homeworld, were and still are regarded as some of the most peaceful and law-abiding sentients in the galaxy. The thing is, at the time the Gran government had adopted an isolationist policy because of certain developments within their society. So the people of Kinyen had very little to do with the Gran of the Malastare Protectorate. In practice, they were two separate states of the same people, with different laws, customs, and social orders. Even so, supporters of the Gran who had invaded Malastare lobbied the Senate into establishing that very Protectorate, which was supposedly going to teach the Dags how to live properly. According to the Gran, they did an excellent job. According to the Dags, the Protectorate used them as dirt-cheap labor, oppressed them, and even exterminated anyone who opposed them, all while continuing to suck Malastare dry of its resources. Who do you believe? Well, that’s for you to decide. Officially, I’ll keep my opinion to myself because, unfortunately, I’ve already gotten far too deeply involved in this filthy political mess, and in certain places I’m now considered a public figure. Unofficially… well, judging by the amount of sarcasm in my voice, I think you’ve already figured it out.”

The Director’s heavy sigh said more than enough about how he felt about publicity, politics, and the subject under discussion.

“Master Siith, what about the Jedi?” a girl from Coruscant asked the question on everyone’s mind.

“Hmm…” The sorcerer grimaced slightly at being addressed by that title. “Well, in the Order’s defense, the Ruusan Reformation was in full swing at the time. The big, galaxy-wide one. The Jedi lost the right to become Lords, to rule star systems and planets, even to have families. Power was being redistributed, the army was being disbanded, the machinery of government was changing, and so was the Order itself. Still, reforms were reforms, but Malastare’s position under the Gran Protectorate… that shameful, degrading position… lasted for a very long time after the Republic’s reforms had ended. Centuries. Why did the Jedi pay no attention to the plight of the Dags, who lived like slaves on their own homeworld? Let representatives of the Order answer that question. Grand Master Yoda has been on the Council long enough to remember those times. I, on the other hand, am an outsider who arrived in Republic space only recently, simply observing from the sidelines and studying the history of a world that is still new to me. But I can say something about the Republic, because this much is available in public sources: the Gran Protectorate made fabulous profits from the energy resources extracted on Malastare. The Dag people had no representative in the Senate; instead, the Gran who were ‘reeducating’ the aggressive species were the ones sitting there. So they made lots and lots of credits off it. So what?”

The Director gave an unpleasant smirk and spread his hands.

“I can’t say for certain, but perhaps the Protectorate was sharing its profits with someone. Or perhaps everyone was perfectly happy with the arrangement, because sanctions imposed on the Protectorate might have hurt the businesses of respectable sentients from various worlds. That’s all speculation. Here are the facts: neither the Republic nor the Jedi ever helped the Dags. Not during the conflict with the ZeHethbra, and not during the Gran occupation of Malastare. Even their partial liberation from that oppression came not through outside assistance, but through a total uprising by the planet’s native population. Only after it had already turned into a full-blown bloodbath did diplomats from the Order and the Republic show up and settle the conflict. And they settled it so well that the Gran representatives still feed very well off Malastare’s resources, while the Dags are still regarded as vicious ass-handed fuck-ups who solve everything with brute force.* Tell me, Knight Nema, do you understand now why Nampa, a native-born Malastarian, can’t stand representatives of the Jedi Order?”

The green-skinned girl said nothing, lowering her gaze to the electronic panel of her student workstation.

“Everything has causes and effects. Trying to learn what they are before you act is generally a good practice.” The Director’s expression shifted from displeased to simply tired. “I’m not saying you need to go running off right now, tripping over yourself to repent and beg for forgiveness. I don’t even want you to take my word for it, because there’s a fair amount of speculation and emotion in what I’ve said. But first, I’d recommend you start looking at things a little more broadly than through the narrow lens of ‘that’s not a nice thing to do.’ You’re not in the Temple anymore, and everyone else is under no obligation to behave in whatever way makes you comfortable. More than that, I know quite a few Jedi who are your seniors both in rank within the Order and in age, so I’m confident that, once you gain some experience, you too will come to understand that the sentients around you don’t divide neatly into good and bad simply because they behave differently from what you consider proper. That doesn’t mean you have to forgive their transgressions. It means you can understand them. If you want to, and are willing to put in some effort. And then you can either accept that they have the right to act or behave in certain… ways, or respond accordingly. Show him the same obscene gesture in return, for example. Simply because you, personally, had absolutely nothing to do with Malastare’s problems.”

The red-eyed sorcerer sighed again, tapped his datapad a couple of times to dismiss the holographic map of the galaxy—which was still prominently displaying Malastare and its neighboring system, ZeHeth—then tossed the device onto the teacher’s desk.

“We’ve spent time on a subject that has absolutely nothing to do with studying magic, so I’m extending the test by another half hour. Clear your heads of anything unrelated, focus, and keep the noise down. If you wake me up early, the Dags’ nasty tempers will seem like a minor inconvenience by comparison.”

With those words, the Director vanished beneath the dome once more… from under which came a blissful yawn followed by a sigh of pure contentment.

“Siith, my dear friend! Villie is so happy to see you!” The Devaronian’s mug looked so damn cheerful… and so well-rested that I suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to nail him right between the eyes with a pulsar.

“Hey, Vilmar.” I practically collapsed ass-first onto the soft booth in the cantina. “How’ve you been? Tried out the upgrades on that jalopy of yours yet?”

“Fortunately, no.” The horned bastard kept grinning broadly. Well, considering his Inferno had been upgraded with better hull armor, it was easy enough to understand why the Devaronian wasn’t particularly eager to test his ship’s hide under actual conditions. “Other than that, everything’s good. Great, even. And a lot of that is thanks to Siith, Villie’s best friend!”

“Nggh,” I briefly explained exactly how I felt about the smuggler’s chatter.

Though in a way, he wasn’t lying. If only because the prosperity of an “honest Devaronian trader” depended on his customers, and I happened to be one of them.

“My little girl sent me a message from Rodia. Says you sent her and a few other students there for fieldwork.”

“Worried about her?”

“About her? Pfft! Rodia should be worried. The girl takes after her mother, so Villie is just making conversation!”

“You’d better get to the point.” I barely managed to suppress a huge yawn. I’d managed to steal a couple of hours of sleep while the monsters were busy with their assignments, but still—not enough.

“Ah…” The Devaronian put on a sorrowful expression, but the moment he caught my scowl, he flashed that bright grin again. “Your little girl likes exotic creatures, right?”

“She does, but she’s on Rodia with your Shella. And right now she’s busy filling the cages of her own personal zoo. That should keep her occupied for a while.” I took enormous pleasure in disappointing the horned swindler.

“But not with the kind of creature Villie brought you today, my dear friend! Not some rancor or acklay, but a genuine vacuum-dwelling life-form.”

“A mynock** or something?” I grimaced. “We have to scrape those parasites off incoming ships from time to time even here.”

“Why do you insult Villie like that?” Vilmar shook his head in disappointment. “Would Villie really bring little Karray some mangy mynock as a present? Right now, in a special compartment in Villie’s hold, there’s a genuine young exogorth***! Tiny—only two meters long! Practically newborn! And not just any exogorth! Villie spent good money tracking down a slug that can’t reproduce, so it’ll grow to a downright obscene size!”

“In a couple thousand years,” I snorted. Still, exogorths with mutations like that were fairly rare, and in the overwhelming majority of cases, they were already enormous by the time anyone found them. Of course, modifying any space slug wouldn’t be difficult for me, but a natural mutation… now that was more interesting.

“Would that really be a problem for my good friend Siith?” the Devaronian asked, narrowing his eyes slyly.

“Keeping the damn thing fed will be,” I shot back.

“Not that much of one,” Grark disagreed. “Space slugs eat almost anything. Doesn’t have to be valuable minerals.”

“Fine.” I sighed, realizing that once again the horned bastard had managed to sell me on something I absolutely did not need at the moment. “How much?”

“Oh, we’ll settle up later,” good old Villie said with a broad grin.

Here we go. Another scheme. I rolled my eyes. That sly, horned son of a bitch was always trying to squeeze something out of me that was worth more than money.

Author’s Note:

*The history of the Dags of Malastare was taken almost entirely from a video by Elven Tanker. I added a few things of my own, but this is an AU, so keep that in mind.

Wookieepedia Minute:

**Mynocks: silicon-based life-forms that were a genuine scourge to starship captains throughout the Galaxy. They fed on energy, with a preference for stellar and electromagnetic energy.

***Exogorths: Exogorths, also known as space slugs, were a species of giant, toothed gastropods. They were silicon-based life-forms capable of surviving in the vacuum of space and inhabited fissures and craters on asteroids. Their diet consisted of minerals, stellar energy fields, mynocks—another silicon-based life-form—starships, and unfortunate creatures that happened to stray into their mouths. An adult space slug averaged around ten meters in length, though some individuals could grow to nearly a kilometer.

At this point, we’ve caught up with the original. I spoke to the author, and he assured me that once he finishes writing the epilogue to another one of his works, he’ll return to The Force of Magic.

So the wait shouldn’t be too long.

May the Force be with you!