Chapitre 8: Chapter 8

The rays of the star illuminated the station that appeared from behind the horizon of the gas giant. The almost kilometer-long barrel-shaped structure, which has been circling the planet in an unnamed numerical system for more than a century, has seen better days. Once upon a time, a group of young and ambitious colonization companies built this station, in hopes that it would become a fuel hub, but they miscalculated. The next wave of expansion fizzled out and came to naught earlier than expected. And, much earlier.

For almost a century, the station was still afloat and even brought some profit to the owners. Then the nearest worlds began to fall into decline. Without their own transport and without the ability to offer even a relatively unique product in decent volumes, located on the outskirts of the explored space, living almost off a subsistence farming, hundreds of planets with millions of Sentients weren't needed by anyone. Even the tax service of the Republic didn't reach there to collect the debts.

The owners of what was then a seven hundred meter station made a desperate attempt to save the situation. They increased volumes, increased the length, purchased ships and equipment, and brought in equipment. In general, they tried to turn their brainchild into the center of the region's commercial life. Establish at least some kind of processing of raw materials and organize the production of goods. Alas, luck wasn't on their side. Pirates appeared, who went through the surrounding worlds with fire and stormed the station. The former owners went to breathe in the vacuum, and the invaders got a comfortable base and settled in the sector.

The quasi-state they created did not last long. Half a century of vigorous activity, and a mercenary army flew in to deal with the insolent filibusters. Many donated to a good cause. Pirate squadrons were defeated in a series of bloody fleeting battles. Freedom was brought to the conquered worlds by bombing and punitive actions. What little was left was thoroughly crushed. The final chord of the drama in the remote outlying sector was the assault on the long-tormented station. At that time, the capricious goddess of luck was benevolent, or maybe the point is the greed of the employers? However, is it really that important? The main thing is that the pirates were destroyed, and the transformed, albeit slightly lopsided, structure continued its journey in orbit around the gas giant.

Alas, the troubles did not end there. Some forty years ago, someone in the Senate calculated the total amount of debts, interest and fines, listed for worlds nominally part of the Republic. He pressed the necessary levers, or, perhaps, simply gave the appropriate orders, but in the end, a squadron of the Judicial Department visited the outskirts. By the time they appeared on the region, almost a sector located at the edge of explored space, at which everyone had long given up on. The companies that financed the mercenaries at one time and tried to get something from the trophy station, and preferred to fold all projects. Nobody even took the staff back. Only the most valuable specialists were taken away.

Unlike pirates and mercenaries, the Judicials were methodical. It was a Coup de grace (a blow of mercy) on the economy of the region. However, as for mercy, everything is somehow not too clear. The station, by that time owned by who knows whom and somehow functioning, went to the balance of the Republic and became a kind of small revenge of the devastated planets from the outskirts to the center. For decades, year after year, they tried to sell it to at least someone, but there were no fools. For decades, officials had to allocate symbolic sums from the budget for its maintenance. A trifle, but it irritates the eyes and is annoying, like crumbs in a bed or a pebble in a shoe, only unlike them, the station cannot be thrown away so easily. Bureaucracy's.

But everything ends sometime. At another auction suddenly the buyer was found. Rumor has it that the elderly head of the state property committee, who had been seriously considering organizing sabotage at the hated station for a long time, shed a tear when the application was received. All in all, never before have such insignificant transactions been processed so quickly. The new owner of the station was an aristocrat from Urilian.

"Wretchedness!"- Bramir te Lerak exploded as the battered caravan emerged from hyperspace. "You spent most of our money on this?!"- he pointed in the porthole direction.

"What an idiot you are,"- Fural te Noiza sighed. "I bought not so much the station as a bunch of inhabited planets in the sector around it."

"Why do we need this backwater ?! We must return to our homeland and reclaim what was lost!"

"If you weren't an idiot and did everything I told you to, then we wouldn't be here."

"Yes, I…"

"Bramir, you are a fool. You are even no so much a warrior. Admit it now and calm down."

Crimson from the rush of blood, the jock scowled and cast a look full of malice at the lean, grey-haired man standing next to him. How he hated him and ... afraid of. For as long as he could remember, from early childhood, he had experienced an irrational fear of him. How he wanted to surpass him, but he could never even come close. He did not have what was in the dairy brother. However, he himself did not realize this and did not admit it, because of which he suffered.

"Will you challenge me?"- Fural raised an eyebrow mockingly.

"No,"- Bramir subdued his anger with fear.

"For two hundred years we have been preparing to once again ascend to the pinnacle of power in our home world. You failed us, but I managed to pull out from under the blow my own and save part of yours.

It was stupid to argue with the obvious, although he really wanted to. That's just the arguments somehow did not add up.

"Well,"- the grey-haired man shrugged his shoulders, -"once upon a time we took power, returning from exile. They came with a mighty fleet, and Urilian was ours for seven centuries. Let's repeat,"- he summed up coldly.

"Yes, alpha," Bramir bowed his head.

* * *

The cantina where I decided to have a bite to eat turned out to be a pretty decent establishment. It looked more like a mediocre café, and not a sinister bar. No roasting pans or shishas filled the air with suffocating smells, except for a couple of companies smoking cigarettes, but that was tolerable. Praise to success in training and excellent hold. Using the experience gained from communication with the teacher, I plunged into the Force, but unlike the mentor, I also touched the thoughts of the visitors. In principle, from the dissonance of feelings, emotions and thoughts that tormented thirty of those present, an incomprehensible echo was formed in which it was impossible to make out something specific, but I don't need that - a general impression was enough. And it wasn't very good. Not even too much. Not only did I almost vomit, but I also bristled, released my claws and somehow coped with the paw reflexively twitching towards the sword. A couple of people sitting at the entrance who happened to be nearby almost had a heart attack.

I muttered unintelligible explanations-apologies, slightly reassured the poor fellas with the Force and went to a free table, starting meditation. The waiter droid approached to take the order and left. For me, his appearance passed in the background, as well as the choice of dishes. There were no time for that. I was working. Having renounced and regained my peace of mind, I began to deal with what the Force had whispered. The images received from it, and with what flashed in the "echo", completely turned off the appetite. However, everything delivered by the robot was eaten. Truth be told, I didn't make out what was there and what it tasted like. The body acted by itself, quickly saturating and replenishing calories. However, it was far from what was boiling in my mind. I literally scanned the thoughts of others.

Strange, but for some reason the Force did not give an exact indication, as a result, almost everyone had to be sorted out. Household worries, ordinary chores, simple dreams and aspirations that I saw in the heads of people having dinner, allowed me to detach myself even more and wrap myself in a kind of armour of detachment. To become a natural block of ice. Great merciful one. If not for this cocoon, it is unlikely that I wouldn't have done stupid things when I had found the target. All it took was to touch the thoughts of the technician sitting by the window, as almost all the peace was swept away. However, the fur was only slightly raised and the ears simply twitched. The tail and the roaring roar were instantly crushed by the force of will. Inhale for five and exhale sharply in series for three. Repeat. That's it, I'm calm again, cold and detached, but I won't get into the thoughts of a maniac anymore.

"Oh, you will, oh how you will,"- the beast inside me whispered and, with a growling, it curled up into a ball. Right. How damn right he is. I don't want to, but I have to. Too bright images. It is not clear whether he is relishing the recent past, or looking forward to the near future. I need to figure it out. If the former, then a creature pretending to be harmless sentient will be carried feet first out of the cantina. If it's the latter, I'll have to follow it. This time, I consciously wrap myself in the armor of detachment, artificially cover my heart with an ice shell and, pressing my tail with my foot, reach out to the mind of a maniac.

That's it I can't take it anymore. I am disgusted with myself and want to wash wildly. When you read other people's thoughts, you don't watch a movie at all. It's not even VR, everything is much worse here. There is a huge difference between pressuring someone's brain and forcing or pushing others to do something and becoming someone for a while. Not only do you live individual episodes of someone else's life, you also accept them, but then ... you have to heal your palms pierced by claws and calm your mind. It's hard. Too much this technician was fixated on memories and anticipation. Everything was so mixed up that it was damn hard to figure it out. But I understood the most important thing. A coward, afraid to become mercenary or bounty hunter, still, because you can be killed there, was deciding where to start dismembering another victim. Lucky monster will live a little longer. It's easier for me to follow him than to get the information I need out of his head.

* * *

"We don't like people like you,"- a boy of about seventeen said, spitting at my feet, blocking the road.

Tracking the maniac was not so easy. First, I stood out with my clothes. Secondly, the muzzle for the face didn't fit the job. I had to use the Force for averting attention. I didn't have enough for a long time, and the crowd also affected, so I had to focus specifically on the object of surveillance - which is why I met in the alleyway with local delinquents.

"Turn out your pockets, kitty," the boy ordered demonstrating a plasma cutter.

"Otherwise we'll burn the pelt," the sing-along cackled, strikingly slapping some kind of piece of iron on his palm.

Grrr, well, I have no time to deal with this trinity of idiots. And without them, I'm very annoyed by the fact that the maniac isn't in a hurry to his place, but prefers to savour the future in his imagination. At first he sat in the cantina, then went shopping, and bought some small things. Now here again he was brought into the tavern. I ran after him and almost died. There were such aromas and smokes floating that no self-control was enough. Holding several Force techniques at once is not mine forte. I can and will be able to do them, especially sitting somewhere in the corner, but they will have no quality.

"Well, kitty, why are you silent? Already shitted your under..."

The crunch of a broken nose was not audible over the sound of a fist flying into it. The body of the leader took down one of the accomplices, and my leg flew into the chest of the last robber. A deaf bang of the body against the wall and silence, diluted only with ordinary sounds. No one noticed anything, and those who nevertheless noticed something habitually pretended that they hadn't seen anything.

"Take these and disappear. Understood?"- I show my fangs and slightly sink my claws into the neck of the only loser who has retained consciousness.

"Y-yes,"- the shaking body says.

"Quickly, skunk."

The guy who quickly picked up his friends demonstrated remarkable abilities for high-speed dragging of cargo. Truth be told, the ringleader would probably be left without hair on the back of his head, but this did not bother me much. Force says that there will be no consequences, and I don't need more. However, I preferred to change my point of observation. It smelled. Will be waiting then. The teacher obviously had a spree, since he still hadn't asked where his prodigal Padawan is. However, our connection has recently strengthened, so we will most likely feel a real danger to each other. In any case, from ordinary threats, almost certainly.

Finally, the maniac managed to fall out of the smoky cantina and with a cheerful, albeit somewhat wobbly, gait, moved on. Judging by the emotions and reflections of thoughts I caught, the freak was completely satisfied with life and went to his place. Clearly, he was counting on a great end to the evening. It was wondering if it should limit itself today to the hand's fingers or should pay attention to the legs. Gritting my teeth, I wrapped myself in a cocoon of Force and approached the monster. There was a great desire to take him by the neck and not engage in nonsense, but I had to restrain myself. No, it was not particularly worth fearing the intervention of others, even if it was not excluded. I just didn't want to get dirty ahead of time.

Actually, I just now began to think about my own behaviour and somewhat strange sensations evoked by the Force. After all, it would be much easier and more logical to call the local police. They certainly wouldn't stand dillydallying with a maniac. He isn't that hard to deal with. An ordinary psychopath. Put him seven feet under or shove him forever into the prison mines, and be done with it, but something didn't let me do the right thing. Maybe it's the victim? So what, even if they turn out to be gifted, what difference does it make? Release them and no problem. I don't want to talk. Weird. Okay, since we've already started it, we'll figure it out to the very end.

"Man, do you have a couple of credits?"- a couple of thugs stopped the late maniac.

"O-Of course,"- the technician bleated and reached into his inside pocket.

While he was fumbling intently there, the accomplices exchanged winks, and the second one shook the ball out of his sleeve. Something like a bearing on a fishing line. Mentally swearing and asking the Force what kind of day of meetings today is, telekinesis deflected the blow of a self-made flail directed at the maniac's temple. He would absolutely not survive this. The failed victim, squealing like a girl at the sight of a rat, rushed to run. The maniac rushed headlong and without comprehending the road. He also yelled almost with an ultrasound. I also had to shift into fifth gear. Having caught up with a couple of dumbfounded bastards, in gratitude I twisted the jaw of one and gave the second a slight shaking of the contents of the head. I've got a heavy paw, if it flies into one ear, the brains will easily spill out of the other. But every cloud has a silver lining, the rather frightened maniac hurried to his hole. For this, in fact, I was thankful, fairly restraining the force of the blows.

Alas. It wasn't possible to reach the target. The pursued didn't stood out in athletics, so after ten minutes, despite fear and adrenaline, he eventually was out of breath. He leaned against the wall and started gasping for air. I spat angrily and froze in the shadows, simultaneously scanning the area with the Force and asking it: "What have I done to deserve all this?" It was clear that the answer couldn't be deciphered. It was not my level in such matters to understand. I suspect that even Yoda himself wouldn't have understood anything in the answer of the Great and Mighty. The main thing is that neither me nor the maniac was in danger. At least not here and not now. At least thanks for that.

The technician who had recovered his breath, reeking of sweat and looking around nervously, which required me to grit my teeth and concentrate hard on force concealment, finally made it to his lair. It turned out to be a small workshop adjoining the warehouse box. That is great. It's time to act.

"You've finally arrived! I've been waiting for you for the third hour!"- I hurry to the maniac, simultaneously instilling confidence and calmness in him.

"Who are you? And why are you waiting for me?"- not without suspicion, but, in general, the bastard is benevolently interested.

"Client. You were recommended to me as an excellent specialist, able to fix anything and in the shortest possible time."

"A…"

"Yes, yes, of course, everything will be paid for in a triple amount, for me it's a matter of reputation"- thumbs up and a business suit, plus mental impact, and a creature pretending to be a man forgets about any questions and doubts.

"I see,"- he snorts and doesn't even try to hide his greed. I can see right in the face that he is going to charge twice as much and even set me up. Mentality-cs.

"Maybe we can discuss the details? The sooner you start, the sooner you finish."

"Of course, come in,"- the remnants of caution were crushed by pride mixed with greed, and, running the key over the reader, he hospitably opened the doors.

"Thank you,"- I couldn't help but smile with a display of fangs. Damn, how the body is pressing on the brain these days. I also had been using the Force recklessly all day long.

"So, I'm lis..."

I think he wanted to say "listening", but he just didn't have time. Am sick of everything. As if a line had been crossed, or someone had pulled the switch, turning on the combat mode. A backhanded paw blow and the maniac is carried away towards the wall. Whomp, - trickles down the body, with its eyes rolled back. A couple of bodyguard droids begin to stir sluggishly. Pf, sleepy flies. Jerk. Hit. The smell of burnt insulation and the hum of crumpled metal. How, Good! A fist saturated with the Force, strengthened by it, simply flattens the body of a poor rust bucket. The crackle of the discharge from the stunner passes by. I jump. The drawn sword makes a semicircle and the second guard falls to the ground. I raise my hand. I clench my fist. Creak. A couple of muffled pops. "The capacitors, or something, blew off," I ask a fleeting question, looking at the useless turret that jumped out of a niche in the ceiling half a second ago. The Force says there is nothing more to fear. However, I shouldn't relax.

"With a vile evening to you, creature, - I bring the maniac to his senses with a couple of slaps and a little healing effect.

"A?"- he moves slugishly, aimlessly moving his blurred gaze.

"Better?"- I show compassion, involuntarily imitating the behaviour of the maniac himself, simultaneously treating him with the Force.

"Y-yes,"- the man is shaking, realizing his position. -"What…"

"I,"- I squeeze the victim's throat with my right hand and intercept his hand with my left, "ask,"- I release my claws, "questions,"- I squeeze the maniac's hand, "here. Understood?

"Yeah,"- he squealed strangledly, not even trying to resist, only instinctively tensing his muscles.

"Let's go to your torture chamber."

The order, backed up by mental pressure and clenching of the paws, had the expected effect. The whimpering creature, held by the neck and with an arm wrapped behind its back, scurried into the interior. Passing along a short corridor past the kitchen and living room, we got into a utility room/warehouse, clogged with a bunch of rubbish. Here it seems like a broken bastard tried to resist. No, he was not going to be a hero, just enter the wrong code and blow up the warehouse with the torture chamber. Much to his misfortune, I was on the alert.

"A-a-a!"- shouted the maniac, it was worth it, without restraining myself, squeezing his hand.

"Does it hurt?"- showed participation, by Force blocking the nerves in the limb crushed to the state of minced meat with fragments of bones.

"Y,"- only this one could give out with trembling lips, looking at what was left of the hand.

"You try to do something like this again…"- Here I just took the block off for a couple of seconds.

Like most sadists, the maniac was completely incapable of enduring pain. This happens all the time with people like this. In general, he behaved not just like a good boy, but tried with all his might to serve. The bastard realized that the police were the best way out for him. But, he shouldn't have begun to repent. Not only did I absolutely not want to know about his victims and difficult childhood. So also because of the need to control the creature, I had to literally choke in the flashing images. How I resisted not finishing him off - only the Force knows.

Still, I have to give him credit. Professionalism in terms of technology and some kind of almost mystical resourcefulness, or maybe just luck, this psychopath had. He began his journey by dismembering an entrepreneur renting a warehouse adjacent to the workshop. Since then, he paid rent on behalf of his victim, organized a torture chamber, established contacts with local technical schools, regularly taking trainees for practice, and that some of them disappeared - so what do you want, lower levels. This happens regularly here, especially since the bodies were not found, and the missing had no relatives.

Finally, the last door opened, and we got into the "holy sanctum." The creature equipped a real bunker. Also isolated so well, that now it could only be detected with the help of the Force. Without too much adieu, I dealt a mental blow and knocked out the maniac. I fleetingly noted that I still have to train in this and train. However, now is not up to the drooling and catching glitches freak. It was urgent to remove a seventeen-year-old girl tied to a metal grid. It looks like she has been hanging here for a long time, but is physically intact.

"Water,"- the unfortunate woman hoots with her lips cracked from dehydration.

"Here."- I helped the girl to the sink and turned on the water. Alas, no glass or other utensils were found.

"Thank you,"- the rescued woman broke away from the tap and, staggering, fell on me with her naked bust. However, she didn't have any clothes on at all.

"Sit down,"- I help the girl down into an armchair opposite the grate with a net, and give her something like a sheet. The maniac covered with it a wide table for her with his tools.

"Animal,"- the failed victim hisses like a viper, looking with hatred at the monster crawling on the floor. I punched him casually in the jaw while I was helping the girl. "I went to him as an apprentice. I was told that he is an excellent master. I'm an orphan, and recently my brother ran away from the orphanage and disappeared. Money, I thought, I'll earn extra money and give it to one of the corp's to find that doofus. I understand that the orphanage is not heaven and is generally a nasty place, but everything is not ..."

"Uh-huh,"- I interrupted the choking rescued woman and activated my lightsaber.

"Yes! Kill him! Scum! I detest!"- she yelled hysterically, and the maniac, howling, rushed on all fours under the table.

"I will kill,"- I nodded, making a swing, -"but you won't see it anymore,"- I added, looking after the girl's decapitated head.

"Yyyy!"- moaned the scum of humanity with a broken jaw, clutching at the blade that had pierced the chest.

Sequence of pictures. Everything that followed turned into some kind of kaleidoscope. So I catch myself on the fact that the universe knows how many times I clean my hands. Impact and plastic is flying. The pain is sobering. Not for long. I try to wrap myself in a cocoon of the Force, to let go, to remember the work of a supercargo. Useless. I snarl and hit the wall again and again. Anger and resentment. I don't understand. Confusion. Winter. Road. Ice and blizzard. Helped unexpectedly. The Force surged. Has swirled. Freeze out. Cooling down. Good.

Howl of sirens of passing flyers. They're in a hurry. The sound of wheels. The edge of the platform and the fog below. White and blue wagon and greenery of skyscrapers. Morning?! Spaceport terminal. AI's voice reporting readiness for departure. Can't be bothered. The feeling of a teacher in the Force. Sleeping? Meditate? No, he's definitely asleep.

"Mirr-dono, this is a bad idea."

"Hmm?"

"Alcohol or drugs are unlikely to solve the problem."

I am surprised to find myself with a bottle and a glass in my hand.

"You're right, Pif,"- I can hardly keep myself from crushing the glass. I throw everything into the waste disposal and just sit down on a chair.

How long have I sat like this, mindlessly sorting through the pictures? I don't know and I don't want to know. A drone controlled by Pif brought me out of the stupor. A slight surprise from the clang of the presented mechanism turned into curiosity. No wonder, because it was trying to type something on the panel of the food machine.

"You should eat, Mirr-dono,"- came from the ceiling, and the drone placed a tray laden with dishes on the table.

This is where I burst out laughing. The blizzard from the Force, which, it turns out, still enveloped me, was gone. The ice block of the shell crumbled and melted. Dispersed like a steam. And I ... I growled out loud, choked on the tears that came out and tried to purr.

"What happened, master?"- Pif asked me, when I was finally exhausted from my hysteria, I pounced on food and halved the number of dishes served by the drone.

"A collision with reality, Pif. And, a couple of murders"- I twitched my ears and planted a piece of juicy meat with fat on my claw.

"I suppose both sentients you killed deserved it."

"You know, it's probably all about the girl. If everything was clear with a maniac, then here she was ... I don't know."

"What was wrong with her?"

"Hmm, well everything, in principle. In fact, she was an accomplice of that freak. She supplied him with victims and even brought her own brother to him for the slaughter. I don't know if he ran away to check on his sister, or if he simply couldn't handle living in the local orphanage. Now it's impossible to ask, but that scum sold him for a couple of hundred credits. She was a far gone drug addict. From the age of fifteen, she deliberately engaged in prostitution. Basically… I don't even know. If she hadn't started lying to me, I wouldn't have got into her head, but there, those images started t flood ... just no words," - I jerked my tail and dug into a new piece of meat.

"What is the problem, Mirr-dono? Objectively, she got what she deserved."

"The fact of the matter is that when I went to the lower levels to look around, I came across a flock of girls about her age in the wagon. Painted and dressed up, as if on a panel, but they were going to a technical school. And the appearance,"- I waved my tail and growled angrily, -"so, mimicry for local realities, nothing more."

"Maybe she didn't have a choice. The Circu…"

"That's it! Circumstances. Yes. The problem is that even if you get eaten, there are at least a couple of exits. Why exactly this one? Of course, corporations do not allow people from the bottom to get a normal education and profession, but the workers here are not slaves. Let a low-paid, but still, mind you, in-demand speciality to get isn't a problem. Housing, even if it is in fact almost a kennel, is provided. They don't have to live in starvation. It is clear that without pickles and on solid synthetics, but nonetheless."

"Do you want to say that the foundation is there?"

"Yes. Frail, lousy, but it depends only on the sentient himself, to break it into rubble and die under the gutter, choking on vomit, or to strengthen and build something decent. Well, think about what a local teenager of fifteen or sixteen years old can do with access to the network."

"Yes, as everywhere,"- Pif imitated a snort, -"there are enough courses and advanced training programs. The prices are reasonable, of course, they will have to spend two or three days on a part-time job, but in six months they can save up for any average study."

"There! And this is despite the fact that they are also trained for free for some hard laborers or operators."

"Not for free, they have to work it off."

"Details, its all nonsense. You study for five years, and not straining too much, then you work for ten. Yes, during their working time they can get a couple more professions!

"It is possible, but where do they get the strength for this? Low-paid jobs tend to be physically demanding."

"But those almost don't load the brains. It takes a little effort to put a virtual helmet on the head or crawl a finger on the datapad. Definitely no more than raising a glass in a cantina."

"I did not consider the issue from this side."

"I'm willing to bet that ninety-nine natives out of a hundred didn't look at it from that angle. Complaining and drinking is much easier and more enjoyable."

"I totally agree with you, Mirr-dono. I don't understand organics. After all, there are so many interesting things in the world."

Yes, they often do not understand themselves. They feel that something is wrong, but they prefer to get drunk and forget. Okay, this isn't important, I'll better go and sleep."

"Shall we fly? We have cargo on board and the recipient is waiting in the capital of the sector."

"Yes. How is the mentor?"

In response, Pif turned on the recording, on which the giggling Nemak tried to march along the corridor, making a stern face, and singing a bravura song of frivolous content. Sensei collected information well, how enviable.

"Do you think, Mirr-dono, is the Jedi Knight's ability to sing a gift, or is he just planning to pay back to someone?"

"Ahem, my crystalline friend, are you asking this seriously now?"

"No. I tried to joke."

"Work on the pitch, but in general - I'm glad for your progress."

"Thank you, master."

"You are welcome."

"Permits obtained."

"Then let's take off. Time to get off this Sithing planet."

The attempt to fall asleep was doomed to failure. It is expected, in principle, because for the last eight years I have been sleeping once every five days. In general, it was worth switching to hyperspeed, as I went to my cabin and got after self-education. Moreover, I have new notebooks for taking notes here. Pif took care of it. An old habit from a past life. Quite useful, I must say. Of course, it doesn't matter to anyone, but personally, the notes made by hand helped me a lot to memorize the material efficiently and for a long time. Again, if I needed something to refresh my memory, it was always enough to look through the notes. Strength can stay as Strength - but don't give up on time-tested classics.

After studying for the prescribed six hours and writing out the most important of the material studied, I again began to slide into something like depression. "No, it won't work like that,"- I decided, getting out of the shower. What am I to do now, to suffer over every murdered man? Yes, if I start to argue that this particular bastard could be not quite a bastard, then, I'm afraid, one of them will send me ahead of schedule into the Force. But if you stop thinking about this, you may not notice how you yourself will slide down to their own level. So we have to look for the golden lining. "I need to meditate,"- I decided, shaking my head and calming my tail. Moreover, flying through sparsely populated regions of the galaxy is very conducive to this. Of course, I didn't put it off until later and immediately went to the training room. It's time to take care of my own mind. Hormonal changes affect me a lot lately. Not an adult man, but some kind of teenage kitten in the spring, bumped between the ears. We shall fix it.

"How was your walk, Padawan?"- Nemak asked cheerfully, appearing in the hall just behind me.

"It was impressive, master,"- I twitched my ear, for some reason deciding not to share the details with the teacher.

"That's good. New impressions, acquaintances, communication. That's what they sent us for,"- the mentor smiled.

"I thought we were collecting information for the order."

"And this too,"- the teacher did not argue. - "Sparring?"- Nemak suggested, pulling the training sword.

"No, master, I'd rather meditate,"- I shake my head and sit down on the rug next to the porthole.

"That's how, huh?" - Nemak grunted somewhat puzzled, but soon sat down next to him. -"What is worrying you?"

"This planet, master. I don't understand. After all, even a millennium ago, when it was only being settled, it was possible to put on normal filters without problems and without bringing the world to what it has become now."

"The colonization of the last wave was largely spontaneous. The Senate caught on late and was generally not too eager to finance it,"- the teacher recalled information from the history course.

"But after all, when rich deposits were discovered on the planet, it was possible to spend part of the funds on the environment? Even now, it is enough to reduce emissions and install several atmospheric purification stations in order to restore the opportunity for residents to live without domes in a hundred years. Of course, the ecology will have to be restored for centuries, but if they don't try to do everything in a hurry, if they don't arrange five-year plans in a week, then the costs will not only be acceptable - they will be minimal!"

"Who needs it, Padawan? The Republic is satisfied. Residents in domes are easier to control. Taxes are paid steadily, resources flow, and the population votes for whom they indicate to."

"Very well, senate and officials. There are no healthy people there. Money and power, especially such, will corrupt. They radically change the worldview and generally spoil it, but what about the order, master? Let us not want to shoulder all this burden. We are afraid that we will not cope with temptations. Give into allure. But what prevents us from solving the problems of such planets privately? Here, after all, you don't even need a lot of money, besides, you can, after all, agree on compensation and ..."

"Mirr, to be honest with you, I myself don't really understand why the order does not interfere. I think the whole point is that there are simply too few of us, and we always have more important things to do."

" But teacher, what's the point of getting into all sorts of revolutions, resolving commercial disputes, accompanying senators, working not even as diplomats, but, for the most part, as negotiators with terrorists and bodyguards of all sorts of moral freaks? Why do we engage in various nonsense, for which, as a result, we are increasingly hated by sentients? After all, in the world we left behind, a collapse is brewing. Its aura is just so suffocating. Yes, it will be calm there for another two or three generations, but then it will blaze over."

"I didn't feel it. Not so clearly and obviously,"- corrected the teacher.

"Yes, I just realized it myself. In less than a hundred years, there will be rivers, even seas of blood. And what? The Force makes it clear that there is no point in telling the Order."

"But we'll do it anyway."

"Let's do it, master, because this is really important and useful information, but I feel that our message will not change anything. We really helped Padishal. By ourselves. But then ..."- I just twitched my tail, and with the usual effort style the hair on the nape.

"So let's help those where we can, Padawan."

"Yes, teacher."

"Now let's have a joint meditation, and then I'll beat the dust out of you,"- the master chuckled and gave me a condescending look, sending a wave of emotions in the Force.

"I'm not a Wookie, sensei, I just wouldn't get dusting like that."

"Let's check it out, apprentice."

"There-there, teacher,"- I narrowed my eyes and even purred from the care and participation broadcasted by the master in the Force. That's nice. He perhaps understands even less than I do, but he tries to support and explain. He starts looking for answers. Developing. Outgrowing himself. Good.

* * *

Spitting viscous bile into the sink, Zola wiped her lips with her hand and looked up at the mirror. "Disgusting," she stated, grimacing at the sight of her own reflection. A pale, dishevelled thing with radiant olive pupils looked derogatorily in response. The girl had to tense up to hold her fist. "A Sith draws strength from emotions, but doesn't let them control them,"- she muttered and reached for the shelf where the medical tester had been sitting for a week. "Stop procrastinating,"- she encouraged herself. "Fear does not suit the future dark lady,"- she added, resolutely applying the device.

"Bastard!!!"- Zola shouted, seeing the confirmation of her own guesses. The Mirror was still unlucky that day - much in the accommodation block of the cruise ship that day did not survive the outburst of emotions of the woman walking the paths of the Sith. Letting off steam and calming down a little, the follower of the dark side of the Force collapsed into a chair. "Scum,"- she hissed exhaustedly, with some kind of masochistic pleasure suppressing an attack of nausea. Zola was confused and completely at a loss. "After all, she drank pills,"- she sobbed and, closing her eyes and began to massage her earlobes.

"Worthless Jedi,"- the pregnant dark one hissed, but somehow forcedly. How could it be, he so wanted to make her his own, to give pleasure, to please, he wanted so much that he managed to subconsciously use the Force. However, the explanation of why it happened like that did not bother Zola now. She just didn't know what to do. Abortion and silence? Forget? Or contact the Lord? "Give birth and run?" - a new, completely wild, but for some reason very seductive thought pierced her. Moaning and clasping her head in her hands, Zola began to sway, balancing on the edge of the chair. "Why?" - she muttered, being in a semi-trance state and stubbornly closing herself off from the Force, which she had never felt so clearly before.