《The Rule of Force》


 Prologue

    In the beginning, it was like the canon...

    "There''s someone up ahead," whispered Zannah.

    "Wait here," said Bane.

    She obeyed.

    Bane, without looking back, took off on a run.

    A minute later, the Sith camp appeared before his eyes.

    Six robbers had knocked down on a clearing in the middle of the camp, sharing their prey. The other two were on guard.

    The Sith rushed towards the mercenaries, Bane scornfully measured their gaze. The power allowed one quick glance to assess the situation. The guards did not even think to notice it, they watched in full view of the angry disagreeing scolding of their six accomplices fighting over stolen junk.

    Bane made the final leap and a devastating whirlwind descended upon the camp. In one gentle movement he grabbed and lit the lightsaber. The monotonous rumble of the scarlet blade ahead of the attacker gave his position a few precious seconds before he appeared. A fleeting warning was enough for the nearest sentry to snatch the phaser, but it did not save him from a dangerously close and deadly blade.

    Bane emerged out of nowhere and hit the first victim with a gust of dark wind, effortlessly dividing his body diagonally from shoulder to thigh. Bane''s blade effortlessly passed through the protective layers of the armor and crashed into the flesh and bone under the armor.

    When the first victim fell, Bane jumped high into the air and rushed toward another enemy. In an instant he overcame the ten meters separating them and simultaneously dodged a sentry''s hasty shot. As soon as he jumped on the enemy, he knocked down with two hands. It was a classic shot by Djem So, the fifth, most powerful and aggressive form of light sword combat. The strongest blow divided the poor man''s helmet into two equal parts and deeply cut his skull.

    The terrible death of the two mercenaries allowed the others to realize what was happening. As soon as Bane turned in their direction, they took up arms and opened heavy blaster fire at the other end of the camp.

    Smoothly shifting from an attacking style of Form V to a more defensive style of Form III, Bane effortlessly, and even a little bored, repulsed close energy discharges with a two-handed sword of light.

    Rotating his weapon in his right hand, he slowed down the attack, enjoying the despair and horror of five living mercenaries who realized the imminent fact of their own death. At first, having knocked themselves down in a pile in the clearing between their tents, now they had done the only thing that would help them survive. They split up and rushed away.

    They ran all over: one of the women to the left, two men to the right; the other three turned and rushed right in the opposite direction to the deadly stranger.

    Bane straightened his right hand, opened his palm, and released the wave of explosive energy of the Force into the woman that ran to the right. The wave did not leave a stone on the stone.

    The force wave hit the woman in the back, fell face to face in the mud and pressed her in the ground, rubbing her spine in powder and twisted her neck. Her body twitched and froze in eternal rest.

    Clutching her left hand in her fist and raising her to heaven, Bane turned to the two men on her right. A dozen rounds of blue lightning bolts swept above his head, clinging to the screaming soldiers, burning them alive with blue fire. In agony, they danced and twitched like puppets on electric strings before smoking bodies fell to the ground.

    In the seconds it took to slaughter the mercenaries, the three remaining robbers reached the camp borders. A few meters from the tents, a strip of dense forest began. Heavy branches beckoned and promised shelter and made the people driven by terror move even faster.

    Bane watched the escape with lazy indifference, savoring the fear of the mercenaries.

    A few steps before freedom, one of the men made a fatal mistake looking over his shoulder to see if the enemy was chasing them. Bane sloppyly threw a lightsaber at him. A rotating blade cut the air, circling the camp in a fraction of a second and rushing back into the palm of his master...

    ...and at that moment something shuddered in the Great Power. And much has changed...

    Suddenly, as the handle touched Bane''s palm, new notes were added to the singing of the scarlet blade.

    The figure in the shapeless grey hoodie appeared out of nowhere, pointed his right hand with a hooked hilt at Bane, and activated the blade.

    A scarlet blade with a hissing split the palm of a new Sith Lord, destroyed the hilt of his sword.

    Half of the hilt and half of the palm fell to the ground with a deafening sound, catching the hilt of the sword.

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    Rising from surprise, Bane flipped back, dodging a possible attack.

    Sith ducked down and focused on his new enemy.

    "Funny, isn''t it?"

    A voice from under a deep gray hood, distorted by a vocoder, sounded with subtle intonations.

    Zannah, who decided to see the teacher in action, moved decisively to the scene, but then, seeing an unexpected guest, sniffed around the corner of the nearest surviving tent.

    She gently sticks her curious face out from behind the corner, watching the action unfold.

    Bane, the growl from the pain that had just reached the brain from the limb stump, released a stream of bright blue lightning from his left hand, which the stranger easily intercepted on the blade.

    "Whoever called himself Darth''s title is just an ignoramus!"

    In pronouncing these words, the gray figure moved counterclockwise, slowly approaching the bald big man in a wide arc.

    "Who are you?" shouted Bane.

    "It doesn''t matter."

    The gray made some of the blade''s rotational movements typical of Juyo.

    "What matters is that whoever calls himself the dark lord can''t control his sense of danger."

    Busy would look and listen carefully, forgetting to breathe.

    The expression on the stranger''s face was not visible behind the hooded helmet, but the condescending baritone left no doubt that her teacher was being bullied.

    Sizzling with anger, Bane turned his pain into the energy of the dark side and, twitching a little awkwardly because of the torn pain in the stump of his hand, emitted a powerful Force Wave.

    A moment before, his opponent had fallen to his right knee and pushed a scarlet blade into the ground.

    The Wave released by Bane encountered a similar but much weaker gray wave, and, after a moment of delay, went further, sweeping away everything in its path, adding a few fat swabs to the picture of the ruined camp.

    The dust rose at the point where the two waves had collided, the dust settled slowly, and the eyes of the approaching Bane saw a broken body lying on the ground in wrinkled armor, visible in the rifts of a grey hoodie.

    A slight movement of thought, and the hilt of the enemy''s sword lay in the left hand of the Sith lord.

    "Wow, the same bend as my sword," thought Darth Bane.

    Zannah boldly approached the place of the fight.

    The giant''s angry eyes in black slipped on a fragile figure.

    The bottomless blue eyes turned to the sniffing teacher with pain, and then she broke through, and the girl started asking her questions:

    "Was he weak, too? How could he hurt you? Did he hurt you?"

    When Bane exploded with anger, he turned his back.

    At that moment, the broken body moved a little and the vocoder wheezed:

    "Bane."

    And three seconds later:

    "I know the Rule of Two."

    Something pierced the speaker and, with a groaning, the voice continued:

    "The real Rule."

    Bane activated the lightsaber and in one jump overcame the distance to the figure and put an angry buzzing tip to the mask of the defeated enemy.

    "What did you say about the rule of two?"

    I don''t know how, but the Lord was hissing the bass.

    "All the more Real?"

    He slightly moved the blade forward, burning the helmet.

    Busy clutching her fists, she was standing a few steps away from the teacher. She could clearly see that for a moment there was a mirage behind the teacher''s back, which instantly thickened to a figure in a grey hoodie.

    In the hand of the figure again appeared the same curved handle.

    A scarlet blade was activated and instantly pierced Bane, described in his back the intricate figure.

    The dark Lord fell to his knees, staring at the blade coming out of his chest.

    The stranger pulled the sword out of the victim''s back, circled it, and stood up so that the eyes twisted by death could see him.

    The blade fell out of Bane''s hand, jumped up and slipped into the winner''s left hand.

    The broken grey body on the ground slowly melted.

    "Illusion," thought the killer should explain to the victim. "Assassin school on Ryloth."

    Something shocking came out of the big guy''s throat.

    Only Bane''s power in the Force allowed him to cling to life with his spine cut in three places.

    "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it," the voice from under the hood exuded loud and clear. "You mean Rule of Two."

    And the severed head of the former lord was heard:

    "Always have Two lightsabers!"

    Zannah is numb. She watched as a stranger cut the head of the teacher into three parts and laid them on a collapsed body, stepped back a few steps and, as if evaluating the resulting composition, bowed his head sideways.

    The girl heard strange sounds. The stranger sang some song not loudly! She had never heard anything like it. Words were absorbed in consciousness, attracted, beckoned and seemed an expression of the undeniable truth of this world.

    "Here we are. Born to be kings.

    We''re the princes of the universe.

    "Here we belong. Fighting to survive

    In a world with the dar powers.

    And here we are. We''re the princes of the universe.

    Here we belong. Fighting for.

    We''re come to be the rulers of your world.

    I am immortal. I have inside me the blood of kings.

    I have no rival. No man can be my equal.

    Take me to the future of your world."

    A stranger interrupted his hymn. Nodded his head, paid tribute to his fallen enemy.

    Then he turned to the girl.

    The moment the child''s gaze with horror looked into the helmet visor passed, and the stranger squatted down.

    "Come here, child."

    The girl froze for a moment, dared not understand what, and the figure threw the hood of a hoodie and took off the helmet.

    Under the helmet was the face of a young boy in his twenties.

    Blond hair with a short haircut, light face, framed also by a short beard, brown eyes, mouth, which played an ironic smile.

    Having gathered all her strength in her fist, the girl stepped towards her teacher''s killer.

    "What''s your name, child?"

    The stranger''s voice didn''t differ much from the distorted vocoder, but there were sympathetic overtones.

    "Zannah."

    The girl was beginning to shake up noticeably. She suddenly realized he wasn''t interested in the answer. In fact, this stranger knows everything! He can see right through her. He knows very well what her name used to be and what her name is now.

    Nodding back, her companion put his hand on her shoulder.

    As if a warm wave had passed through her body, sweeping away doubts and burning fear.

    "I have several names. You may address me by the name of Janus.

    And I will be your teacher."

    "May I ask you a question?"

    For the first time in a long time, the girl has experienced a state of complete peace combined with some reckless fun.

    "Of course."

    "What if he had repulsed you?"

    Her new teacher smiled and threw away half a hoodie.

    There were a few curved handles hanging from the wide belt.

    "Then I would have applied the Rule of Three. Or Four. Or Five."

 Chapter 1. This is the end

    Have you ever had a herd of cats in your mouth?

    No.

    Because cats aren''t herd animals.

    But they shit on me. I feel like...

    I guess they''re going to the herd for me.

    There''s a lot of sand underneath the eyelids.

    It''s disgusting.

    Actually, I don''t suffer from a hangover, but the description says it feels similar.

    Okay.

    Get it together.

    Breathe out, overcoming the powerful "Boom!" in my head.

    Split your eyelids. Split it up, I said!

    Split it with your fingers!

    Fuck.

    There''s a droid leaning over me.

    It was like a C-3PO.

    I guess I haven''t smoked anything illegal in years, fifteen.

    Close your eyes with your fingers.

    Roll over to my stomach, do "lie down", straighten my arms, tuck my knees up and scream "Boom!" in my head.

    It''s hard to get up, but you have to.

    It''s better to die standing up than shit on your knees.

    Yeah, I''m an auto mechanic, and stupid humor is all ours.

    Still swaying, opening my eyes.

    It''s a heartbreaking sight.

    Some kind of round room, like a granite-covered room. Next door, a couple of meters away, is my motorcycle.

    Catching myself.

    Okay. I''m definitely not a terminator, I''m dressed, and I already have my motorcycle.

    The jeans are in place. The jacket is present. No helmet on my head. Boots, moved my fingers, socks. T-shirt.

    Gloves on my hands, with fingers cut off. I think we have underwear too.

    A set.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    My attention was caught by the squeaking wobbling body of the figure.

    For real, C-3PO.

    It''s coming.

    "Greetings. I am the Force Effector. You can call me whatever you want."

    I had to cough and ask in a husky voice:

    "Is there water?"

    He turned his corps from me for a second and immediately turned with a glass:

    "Please."

    Well done!

    I exhaled.

    The thought process began to recover.

    "What are you, an effector?"

    The droid performed a few incomprehensible manipulations.

    "For you, the Great Power has chosen this effector to protect your consciousness from injury."

    I chewed my lips, and I asked the smartest question:

    "Is there any more water?"

    I drank more water, and I got my mind back.

    Yes, I''m 34 years old and I''m a big Star Wars fan. It''s a sin.

    Everything that happens seems unusual and you''re not surprised in your dreams. So, I''m not sleeping.

    Am I in a coma?

    Looking at the motorcycle.

    Maybe with my way of life.

    Pinching myself. It hurts.

    I Put pressure on my eye. The droid''s split, like the environment around it. Not a glitch.

    Okay, I got it. I don''t remember, but I could have crashed.

    Reincarnation? Anything could be.

    I gave out a complex verbal construction out loud that didn''t make sense, but reflected maximum emotion.

    Did you get the battery on your foot? You know what I mean.

    "Well, what the hell is the devil like now, the effector? Do I take it I''m dead in mine?"

    "I''m afraid so."

    "Why can''t I remember how?"

    The droid characteristically swung the upper manipulators.

    "It is so that you do not remember the moment of your death. Otherwise, it''s possible to develop various phobias. All the information about your last week of life is blurred in your mind."

    "Caring. Oh, I see. So there''s no going back."

    "There is no way back. From now on, you''re here."

    Something squeezed in my chest.

    I went to the bike, automatically patted the tank, leaned my ass against the seat.

    Gave a pat on the pockets, found it, smoked it.

    Yeah. There were a lot more plans.

    I didn''t get married in time. And there was this girl... there was one girl.

    Okay, let''s play the cards that were turned in.

    "What do you want from me? The cost of services?"

    It''s that manipulative gesture again.

    "Master, I''m just an effector. It''s my job to check your reactions. On the dark and bright side."

    "Yeah. Got it," there''s sarcasm in my voice. "Listened a lot of the Doors? Now feel the Force."

    The guitar strings hit my head and Jimmy started shamanizing:

    "This is the end.

    This is the end. Beautiful friend.

    This is the end.

    My only friend, the end.

    Of our elaborate plans, the end.

    Of everything that stands, the end.

    No safety or surprise, the end.

    I''ll never look into your eyes."

    "I don''t know what you''re talking about," the droid cried out.

    "Don''t strain the processor."

    For a second, this misunderstanding continued:

    "Now you need to experience positive emotions."

    When I let the smoke out, I asked:

    "Do you really think I have a fucking real reason to dry my teeth right now?"

    The droid''s hung up again.

    "Dry your teeth. Smile. I''m dead, there''s no going back, there''s a lot of unfinished business, there''s not enough property with me! So the iron bucket with the nuts suggests joy?"

    It wasn''t possible to experience positive emotions.

    Rather, it was the other way around.

    Anger woke up.

    I worked a lot after school, I fixed cars in different places, constantly talked to especially clever drivers, got used to it, grew up, quieted down, but in order to...

    "It''s necessary for the test. It seems to me that you have some positive emotions associated with this primitive vehicle."

    Whoa, whoa, whoa. I don''t know what kind of effector you are, but you specifically crossed the line.

    A steel bar is extracted from the side coverall by a spent movement.

    And it starts to get embedded in a golden head with every word:

    "This! Fuck! F! L! H! R! Road King!"

    It''s getting darker in my eyes.

    I can hear a voice as if from behind a closed door:

    "Test passed. Accessory determined. The Dark Side."

    And the consciousness goes out.

    A long time ago in a galaxy far away, a three-year-old boy who stopped breathing a minute ago opened his eyes and coughed up.

 Chapter 2. Let it be

    Ryloth.

    A strange planet, if you ask me.

    Almost half a lifeless, scorched desert. Almost half the desert, too. But it''s icy.

    And a pretty narrow strip near a spaceport with billions of Twi''lek living on it.

    Living on their own, selling their children into slavery. It''s called a "life contract" in the Republic.

    The parents of this body work in the office where these "contracts" are issued.

    Allow me to introduce myself. Forkulen Snowhor, six standard years old. Or Fork, as this body''s parents call me.

    Ironically, there are two parents.

    Of the human race.

    Hal and Gianni Snowhor.

    Office plankton, ordinary, unremarkable people.

    Their salary is average, though higher than that of a simple twi''lek. So I live modestly.

    Modest two-room apartment on the outskirts of the capital, access to the hollow, albeit slightly slow, kindergarten at the office.

    In fact, it''s all that''s available to a human cub.

    An ordinary, but having in his head the consciousness of an adult, a man beaten with life.

    How was I judging?

    If I''ve met this Force Effector, then I must have sensitivity to it.

    And what part of the body is the most important for understanding the Great?

    Not arms and legs, as Obi-Wan presumptuously thought, cutting off the stupid former padawan''s limbs!

    That''s right. Ass, that''s what a gifted master does.

    Perseverance, perseverance and perseverance again.

    So I was delighted with the kindergarten teachers.

    Why?

    A kid who just sits in a corner after compulsory lessons and half-cover his eyes like he''s taking a nap can''t help but be happy.

    At first, of course, looked strange, but I answered the questions, I played mobile games, when in a voluntary forced drag.

    So soon, they''ll be behind me.

    At home, when my parents are asleep, drooling and self-education.

    After all, at the end of my first year of meditation attempts, I still felt her.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    It''s easier from here.

    The technique of full rest during sitting on the most important part of the body, came by itself, not even six months later.

    I just ran streams through myself and it worked!

    Now it''s about the holonet.

    It''s war.

    It''s not clonic, no.

    The meat grinder goes to the Republic with Darth Ruin''s heirs.

    The debiloids from the sideways rooftop are actively creating their tiny quasi-states, it''s not clear what the purpose is.

    In addition, they are cutting up Jedi, each other, and the world population is so vastly dispersed.

    Squadrons collide in space, armies on planets perform maneuvers, cities burn.

    Everything, as always.

    And here I am so little, who, first of all, has to survive, and secondly, has to do something with all this. It''s not for nothing that I''m here.

    And you don''t have to rub it in my face about a bug that thinks it''s God.

    You have to set great goals, because it''s hard to miss a big target.

    In black, the plan to change everything was ready, especially since the name "Skere Kaan", flashed in the news.

    ***

    Lord Kas''im was walking leisurely through the streets of Lessa, one of the two capitals of Ryloth. Tall, with a mighty turn of the shoulders, he attracted close attention of the women of his race.

    Sensitively biting their lips, slender, poorly dressed beauties escorted the figure of the Lord.

    At Ryloth there is no taboo on nudity at all, so most wealthy townwomen preferred to dress only in jewelry.

    So the Kas''im outfit could be considered very puritanical. Short leather vest, fabric armour pants, tall, under the knee, boots. It''s all black. The painting was completed by a black wide belt with a light sword attached.

    After a conversation with Lord Kaan and several other masters, the decision was made. The Dark Brotherhood to be!

    Now all the powers of the Masters are focused on preparing to overthrow the fucking Jedi, preparing carefully to crush the eternal enemies with one mighty blow.

    Kas''im has flown in for an inspection of the secret assassin academy.

    Several fencing master classes must be held and those who might be worthy of training must be selected from the academy that Korriban has decided to revive.

    Of course, after they''ve been beaten out of there.

    The outwardly relaxed gaze of one of the best sword masters of his time noted a lot.

    But even more marked were the invisible threads he used to probe the Force.

    And here''s the bell.

    Somebody''s inept use of the Great One.

    With a sharp change of direction, the Kas''im went into the air-conditioned coolness of some office.

    Twi''lek at the reception desk smiled on duty:

    "Anything for the esteemed lord?"

    The lord frowned over the room, only at the end of his examination to stop the yellow eyes from looking at the girl who had asked the question.

    "I''d like to have a look around."

    Crushed by the gaze of Kas''im, the slave trader''s disliked eye, the girl flipped through:

    "But. So not..."

    The eyes of the Lord flashed for a moment and turned into a desolate doll.

    "Come on, I''ll show you around, sir."

    ***

    I''m sitting on my ass, meditating.

    Suddenly, the Great Neighborhood movement. I''m in the neighborhood.

    Something will happen, but no threat is felt.

    The door to the room of our improvised kindergarten moves away, a secret enters.

    It must be noted that the Twi''lek girls wiggle their hips when walking so that men can bravely press with envy.

    But this one went mechanically, straight as a stick and with an extinct look.

    Three kids who were in the room in addition to me, hammered into a corner, and both babysitters, stopping caressing each other, squeezed into a lump like a straw clinging to the heroic size of a dildo.

    Why? Everything here on Ryloth is free enough, and sex lessons are observed by children from an early age.

    The girl was followed by a tall twi''lek with the distinctive look of burning yellow eyes.

    On the belt is a long cylinder of sword, easily recognizable by all fans.

    Two blades, a Twi''lek, the birth time of the Brotherhood of Darkness.

    If foolishness does not cheat on me, the Lord of Kas''im is before me.

    I must be greeted and polite.

    Rising, short bow.

    "Come with me."

    Split like a team. It''s a team, though.

    He''s clearly not used to persuading. The aura of sith put a lot of pressure on the audience.

    With him, so with him.

    Farewell, childhood, parents and all that.

    New life, hi.

    On the brink of consciousness, I caught the wobbling of the Force. A few possible variants of events, wavering, have disappeared. In return, others were added, a kaleidoscope of options slipped.

    And disappeared, leaving a slight dizziness, however, immediately past.

    So that''s exactly what we''re doing with the Plan.

    That''s the way it is.

    "When I find myself in times of trouble

    Brother Kas''im comes to me."

    Let it be.

 Chapter 3. Ive seen the future, brother: it is murder

    Four years.

    Four long years filled with studies, notations on "all Jedi shit and ashes under the feet of the Masters, and we, future Assassins, a little higher than shit, we can even lick their shoes".

    Yeah, my abilities in the Force are defined as a little above average. So, according to my group curator, if you squeeze all the verbal water out of them, I can become an elite killer with my own lightsaber.

    I will even be allowed to lick not only my shoes, but also the incomparable asses of the Masters on the great holidays.

    And the desire to stick my tongue in as deep as possible is welcome.

    The school is deep in the dungeons of the planet.

    A network of caves a mile from the surface, miles two hundred from the local Aboriginal area. Towards "noon".

    No entourage of the dark, gloomy dungeons. Everything''s very decent, the cleaning droids are keeping order, the ventilation''s working. There''s even a huge pool.

    Sometimes they take us to the local training ground. In a small area covered by an energy dome, different climatic conditions are reproduced. Different jungle, mountainous terrain, etc. that exists in the Galaxy.

    There we learn to disguise ourselves in the terrain, and the punishment for detection is quite unpleasant. A loser becomes a test subject in torture classes for his classmates. Stimulates. Maintains the necessary atmosphere of becoming a wrestler with the light weak.

    There are six of us in the group, we haven''t gotten names yet.

    Unworthy.

    We need to "prove ourselves."

    And the system works not on objective signs, but how the curators of the groups will decide. I mean, again, the ass-licker will break through upstairs faster.

    It''s like nostalgia for a past life.

    Why? Everything''s happened. A couple of times I''ve been around corners the same way.

    The man in charge of our group calls himself "Lupus".

    Yeah, everybody here has call signs and nicknames like in the armed forces.

    Except there''s no useless violence and stupid bullying, it''s strictly monitored. Gifted, even averages like us, are appreciated. It''s just not the way to spend such scarce material. It''s true, you''re punished for everything.

    Discipline.

    Classes are held in groups, with one mentor, who acts as a curator.

    Poisoning, alchemy, ambush tactics, meditation, hiding in the Force, various simple yet techniques of the Force.

    Hand-to-hand fight, physical exercises for agility and flexibility.

    I read novels and had a weak idea about the training of Jedi younglings. I remember exactly what Jedi do not divide children by species and race.

    But the sith train differently. All six in our group were people. I think that''s because different races have different motor skills, and they require different approaches to physical training.

    Apart from us, there are about two hundred pupils and fifty mentors. But they have their own business, we don''t overlap. I brought out the total number, remembering the faces of those I met, running with the group through the corridors of the enclave.

    Although I may be wrong.

    And today, for once, is the day when we finally get to meet the discipline mentors.

    Our training will now be on the principle of "who is more susceptible to what", although I think it''s idiotic.

    Those who developed this learning system were a vivid illustration of the victory of logic over common sense.

    After all, the output turned out to be extremely one-sided specialists narrow profile, which is very difficult to turn into a combat group, where all are interchangeable.

    Therefore, in the case of the withdrawal of someone from the group due to death or injury, the group, originally balanced, lost quality.

    But my opinion is the opinion of a man from planet Earth. And I am now a Sith larva! Individualism and egocentricity are the basis of the dark side.

    Don''t forget the legacy of Darth Ruin. Everyone is afraid that even the Assassins will overthrow the power of their masters.

    Lupus promptly came into our room.

    The room is large, twenty men, but we were gone. Six child pupils, three boys and three girls. Plus four slaves to take care of us.

    I hate slavery, but this is how it''s supposed to be.

    From the youngest fingernails we are taught to sibarite, so that everything connected with the Dark Side and especially with Masters is good in the subconscious.

    Who is a little older has a personal servant, and who is about thirteen years old or two or more, depending on personal success in learning.

    They are proud of this achievement and boast that my adult consciousness is enriched with fun.

    It''s phallometry on the Dark Side, too.

    Lupus looked closely at us who were built upon his arrival.

    "Follow me."

    Actually, this skinny man hasn''t talked much in 40 years, but always on business.

    After climbing three knocked down stairs in the rock, we finally found ourselves in a fairly spacious cave.

    Smooth, like a polished floor. Bright, but not cutting light. On the walls there are shelves with durastale-imitations of light blades, vibration marks, shock batons and stakes.

    In the centre was a circle on the floor, ten yards in diameter.

    Our group was standing behind Lupus'' back, watching his eyes sparkle. Life at the academy was weaned from good surprises.

    From a deep wicker chair, standing near the circle, a high Zabrak rose.

    Black baggy robes, yellow eyes, horns and tattoos.

    "This is instructor "the Hammer". He will train you."

    Lupus'' astounding wordplay ended there, and with his heels spinning, he left.

    The instructor walked softly in front of us for a while. I noticed the grace and lazy slowness of the tiger with which he was doing it. That''s enough!

    The culture of movement is present.

    The voice is deep, pleasant.

    "Pupils. Today you finally begin your weapons training."

    He put his hands behind his back and rolled his eyes dreamily.

    "Yes, with a gun."

    Then, without any transition, he stood up sharply before us. He put his hands behind his back and continued with a steel overtone:

    "But don''t dream of becoming blade masters! Your strength is in a hidden and sudden blow to the enemy''s back."

    And again, without any transition, he began to move, and again, a purring tiger walks in front of us.

    "What I''m going to teach you will hold back the enemy until your comrade stabs a blade in his back."

    That''s lovely. Obviously, we''re talking about gifted opponents. From what I''ve read here, opponents who aren''t gifted just don''t count.

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Okay. In the back, so in the back..

    It''s an important skill. It''s a skill you need to be able to do.

    At the Hammer''s command, we picked up the durastal blade that we liked.

    I chose it with a curved handle. I had one important thought.

    I knew for sure that by the time of Yavin sword of light had degraded. The Jedi had definitely lost part of the school.

    I had a chance to touch the skill of the masters, to learn from the masters. And I expected to swing straight for a more advanced course.

    Three hours of showing and practising the base posts.

    Then showers, slaves wash away dirt and sweat from our tired bodies, then we get fresh clothes in the locker room, and go. To the barricades, I mean, the Archive.

    A grey lively old man with a trick in his eyes gave us a small lecture on the information contained here and gave us three hours to study for ourselves. Then he''s obviously gonna go through the logs and see who was interested in what.

    The man is clearly on his mind and with a penchant for philosophy. Maybe my plan will work here, too.

    Twenty minutes later, I finally got what I wanted.

    And what kind of archive keeper wouldn''t annoy a visitor who looks dumb in front of him without even including the holoscreen?

    "Well, what are we doing sitting here?"

    A rattling tenor was heard above my ear.

    "Time is limited! Aren''t you interested in the answers to many questions?"

    Heh-heh, that''s where you come in, man.

    I turned around in the swivel chair facing him and portrayed Luke Skywalker with the greatest expression of naivety in the face. Really, my eyes are brown.

    "No, master, not interesting."

    The old man leaned on the table and, with his head on his side, looked at me with a squint.

    "Why?"

    Here it is, the moment of truth.

    "I''m not interested in answers because I''m interested in questions."

    The old man laughed:

    "Original!"

    Then he took it seriously:

    "Okay, then let''s see what questions you can find out here."

    ***

    "Give me back my broken night

    My mirrored room, my secret life

    It''s lonely here, there''s no one left to torture

    Give me absolute control

    Over every living soul

    And lie beside me, baby, that''s an order!

    Give me crack and anal sex

    Take the only tree that''s left

    and stuff it up the hole in your culture

    Give me back the Berlin wall

    give me Stalin and St Paul

    I''ve seen the future, brother:

    it is murder."

    Five years. Five damn years we''ve been studying. We learned to kill. And more than that.

    "No, you''re wrong, Fork!"

    Archonte, that was the call sign from the archivist, stood in front of me with a dry fist.

    "That''s the Dark Side''s way!"

    Yes, I''ve earned the right to speak by name for three years instead of "hey, you".

    However, like everyone else in our group. Still, we were above average in ability.

    Unlike Archonte, I was sitting. I prefer to remain calm during the discussion.

    "What is it, Master? The path of the Dark Side is to bear death and destruction?"

    "To free the galaxy from the rotten Republic and the lies of the Jedi!"

    "That would be good, Master."

    That''s where I moved my eyebrows expressively.

    "And the galaxy wants to free itself? Did anyone ask for the opinion of those who are about to be liberated?"

    The discussion began with the news of the release of Korriban.

    Sker Kaan did enter a confrontation with the Republic.

    "Why do you think, Master, why do Republicans so easily recruit volunteers?"

    "Ha, they''re just hiring rich people from the center!"

    "Of course," I got my hands on my knee. "And we''re all idea fighters."

    I have to say, the Academy hasn''t refrained from a rapturous mindset. Critic was welcome. They do make cold, calculating killers here after all. And we have to assess the situation in a balanced way. And act on the basis of accurate calculation, keeping consciousness from slogans and appeals.

    That''s where the looters and the meat are cooked, yes, there''s a great pumping of ideas.

    Sometimes a group comes from there with their brains washed and the rage of berserkers in their eyes. They know their duty, they''ve been told "Bite!" and they''re tearing up.

    "You''re right, boy. There are a lot of mercenaries on our side, too."

    The Archonte had a hard time swinging on the chair next to him.

    "Unfortunately, there''s too few intelligent ideas on both our and Republican sides," he sighed.

    "Master, thanks to you, I learned a lot from the Archives. Always and everywhere, the cause of war is based on economics. Industrial tycoons on our and the republican side profit from the war, and no more. What, you don''t say so? Or at least once, after the victory of one of the parties, the manufacturers of weapons were sitting on the bench of the defendants? No, they also continued to work, but already on the winning side."

    "They only produce," the old man tired of rubbing his face. "Others shoot."

    "Master, it is and it is right. Everyone is busy doing their own thing. Only for a businessman, profit is what counts. And in wartime, profit increases many times. Do you think they''ll do their best to make war long, preferably continuous?"

    The Archonte threw his head up and laughed with his rattling laughter.

    "Wonderful, Fork! Well done! Awesome wrap! He uncovered the conspiracy of corporations that had divided the gifted into light and dark!"

    It''s time for me to smile crookedly, too.

    "Optionally, master."

    However, such conversations made the difference. My access to the archives was significantly, but unspokenly extended with the help of Archmont.

    And the master himself turned out to be an excellent mentalist! He was a great fan of leading various illusions, and in my face found a grateful listener and student.

    Hiding, sending fears at the enemy, dispersal of attention, were standard practices of a student of the Academy of Assassins. But I studied dark healing, combat meditation, deception of the mind, the center of being beyond the program, according to the materials provided by the Archonte.

    Plus a couple hours of extra exercise with a sword in my room.

    The most difficult was to artificially induce the rage necessary for many dark techniques. In my previous life I was a sanguine, trained to keep my emotions under control, although a broken head of Effector Force would not agree with me. But you can''t touch a motorcycle. It''s a saint.

    Now you have to not only cause anger, but you have to do it instantly.

    I''ve been training for three years.

    And that''s the only thing that''s not working out very well yet.

    What''s the Marty Stu?

    It''s nothing like that.

    I use my mind diligently, because it''s the mind of a man, taking into account living here, in his 50s. With a great incentive to know what''s going to happen on Ruusan.

    So while most of the students were doing stupid things, I studied seriously. Everyone else was doing the lesson and stopping there to just relax in their spare time, and when they reached the age of consent, they also actively copulated. And I fucked myself with this study.

    No, I wasn''t acting like a virgin or a monk. Of course, to not stand out too much, and hormones pressed, and to understand the dark side of sex is necessary.

    From time to time, I had fun with a couple of slaves who were given me as a successful student. The funny thing is that they often moaned in two voices in a sexy mess with my participation. Yes! I''ve been practicing mentality!

    I also gained a reputation as a tireless stallion.

    ***

    Only the elders walk in the academy, while the others move in a rapid step or run. So I have to crack to the next point of training, like a deer on corn.

    The workshops where we studied and used fur-deru techniques, I was glad to be accepted. I used to pick up techniques from my childhood on old Earth, and then improved my handwork, in general, I''m "my boyfriend" with craftsmen.

    That''s what I use.

    There it is, standing on my motorcycle. The Harley Davidson.

    It doesn''t look any different from the Earth model "Road King".

    But inside!

    I want to ride on wheels, and they''re almost eternal, not wearing out.

    The reactor, it comes with all the technology of the future.

    I want to fly like a speederbike.

    Because it''s repulsive. And from flying, I rejoiced like a boy.

    A step power switch from the reactor regulates the gearshift foot. The gas knob is now responsible for fine-tuning the power supply.

    Beautiful. Fits as it should, on the left. Gave a pat on the imitation tank, there''s a reactor right there.

    Not today, buddy. A little later, we''re gonna go out and fly.

    I got a trial today.

    "Hey, Mac!"

    The back in the jumpsuit came out of the technical hatch, showed the owner of the jumpsuit had a thick black hair in addition to his back.

    Mac turned and showed a week''s bristles, and a powerful nose that in a compartment with sad Jewish eyes would not leave on Earth any doubts about his nationality.

    "Hello, pest."

    He looked doubtfully at the dirty hands, wiped them against his pants and, having looked at them again, he decided and started picking his nose.

    "Are you going to spoil it again?"

    His intoxicating job of picking his nose makes the words sound a little slurred.

    "Yes. We have to measure the distance."

    After looking at his finger out, Mac waved his hand into the corner:

    "In the drawer. But then you fix it!"

    The essence of my idea was simple.

    Here''s the Mechu-Deru technique.

    It allows you to fix any technical device without knowing its interior or even knowing how it works.

    But if the straightforward theorem is correct, the reverse is also true.

    So you can break a working machine.

    To fix it, you need to feel an object in the Force, then feel a certain irregularity in it.

    And then to make some movement in your consciousness, designed to eliminate this incorrectness.

    Here we go!

    Fixing is complete.

    All right.

    Now let''s get a bunch of Mac''s junk out of my work equipment, tools, knots, even a couple of blasters got stuck.

    Checking.

    It feels like the Force is working.

    The tester shows that the performance is present.

    Now we''re causing an error in this blaster.

    It feels like the Force is broken now.

    The tester confirms that the blaster is broken.

    Calling a droid, ordering us to get the next item. For the purity of the experiment, you cannot touch it with your hands.

    The droid''s a step away.

    Routine performance check, then a "force-induced mistake".

    Testing.

    It''s not working.

    Distance two steps, three steps...

    I''m a practitioner, I know that any skill is honed by an infinite number of repetitions.

    In the end, my limit is reached at forty three steps.

    It remains to endure the headache, fix the broken and go to Master Tuska.

    Thought long and hard before I turned to her. And I''m probably the only one here who''s made up his mind at this age.

    Unless you''re a masochist.

    But I''m an experienced, life-breaking cynic and I know that in addition to the fencing we''ve been given a couple of hours a day, there''s a lot more to be done than that.

    In movies and books, the heroes cost a couple of pathos shakes by Force and "bz-bz" lightning. And mostly they hit each other with lightsabers.

    Lightning and I can now, but only three steps away. That''s the order, you can''t let some small assassins perform what''s the Lords'' calling card.

    And my power in the Force does not yet allow it.

    I''ve just reached the level when I can cause faint convulsions..

    I pay a lot of attention to inconspicuous techniques, without causing a rapturous shine in the eyes of fellow groupies.

    Master Tuska. A cold bitch with a divinely beautiful body that she prefers not to hide from others.

    At the moment, she''s only wearing a wide belt corset with a sword hanging on it. And the hilt of the sword is a complete copy of the dildo, only from singing steel.

    And if, leaving her rooms, she periodically put on a transparent shawl, then inside she did not bother with it.

    "Come in, baby," she blurted out. "You look tired today. Why don''t you have a drink first?"

    Deep, sensual voice.

    If you were a really fifteen-year-old boy, you''d have a good time.

    But an adult, experienced man with experience with bitches of different levels, clearly saw the soul of this outwardly expiring beauty.

    Cold as an abyss, and I did not come to her for sex.

    So I bow, I respectfully answer:

    "Thank you, beautiful, I don''t feel like it."

    The master smiled, clearly expressed that she did not care about my wishes.

    I take my clothes off, I stand by the shield.

    Tuska, excited, fixed me with her straps.

    My head, arms, chest, legs.

    With lust clearly present in the Force, the master asked:

    "Are you ready?"

    I nod my head. She puts a stick in my mouth.

    And then...

    ***

    Lightning strikes a young body from her hands.

    The woman sees the boy twitching and howling, but his eyes open with rage and his body suddenly calms down. Lightning continues to whip at the target, but now they are simply ignored by the pupil.

    Negatio Damnarium.

    Ignoring the pain.

    Her first student, who volunteered to study the technique under her supervision.

    And so, after many meditations, after fifty three attempts, the pupil finally managed to use it!

    A warm wave began to rise from the bottom of her abdomen and the master knew how to amplify this sensation.

    She dramatically increased the power of her lightning and the boy again delayed from the cramps in the muscles torn by pain.

    A wave of pleasure covered her head.

    ***

    The most bastardly thing about these cursed lightning bolts of power is that the victim remains conscious. My seizures stopped as soon as the master began to shiver in the paroxysm of passion, sticking his fingers between his legs.

    Negatio Damnarium is powerful, even though I could not hold back the flow of pain during the lightning bolt, but came to my senses as soon as it stopped.

    In the past, even with weak lightning, a couple of minutes at least came to consciousness.

    I''m not a beast, not a Chosen One like Anakin, who threw himself into the fight almost immediately after Dooku''s lightning.

    But this bitch, who''s leading our torture theory and practice, finally straightened herself out.

    Looking at me with blurred eyes, she licked her fingers and started hurrying, with slightly trembling hands, unbuckling the straps of my shackles.

    To refuse a horny woman is a sin.

    And to refuse a certified Sith sorceress is a sin punishable by death.

    I think I know what''s about to happen...

 Chapter 4. I cant get no satisfaction

    Sith alchemy is something.

    Although, as we study the archive, it becomes clear how much has been lost by the degenerate followers of Darth Ruin.

    Pupils longing for power united against the more powerful teacher and killed him.

    Before they knew it, their master was trying to hammer them into empty heads.

    He, naive, thought they had more than one gyrus, and they...

    Ugh. Barbarians and savages.

    When I gained somewhat more access to the archives, I read how researchers who devoted their lives to the study of the Force were killed for no reason, for they could be a hindrance.

    In the process of killing, a peaceful researcher naturally resisted. And since the action of "chapter trimming" usually took place on its territory, then the winner sifted through the ruins in search of a few surviving books, scrolls and holocrons. And then either an even tougher guy would come and make a Big Bada Boom, or just spit and forget.

    But some of the survivors were found and adapted.

    Some, though incomplete knowledge about transmutation, about symbols, which, being applied to the blade, caused intolerable pain, inflicted wounds to the Force, and simioles on armor made miss, returned the blow. Miracles! Wonders of the Force sometimes turned this world into a world of fairy tales and fantasy.

    Here I sit, looking at the fruits of my many months of work.

    The workshop looks like the lair of a mad alchemist from earthly cinema.

    That''s what it is, though.

    Although Master Marcus, exactly Emmett Brown from the trilogy "Back to the Future", looks quite organically among all these flasks, retorts, burners and other jar crucibles.

    I got in touch with him in my habit, listening to his stories, gently washing on my whiskers. After all, the problem with most people who are reasonable is that everyone wants to talk and almost no one wants to listen. So it turns out that having found an interested listener, a reasonable person first feels sympathy for him, then friendly feelings, then the listener becomes the most important person for him.

    At work in my past life I had to listen to all sorts of nonsense, so I have the right training.

    And the chirping of girlfriends, or walking to the supermarkets with them? I had to keep an interested person in order not to hurt the girl.

    Okay, well, shopping''s not that important.

    Master Marcus generously shared his knowledge, even helped me get rare ingredients for my research.

    But at the moment he''s not paying attention to me, busy with his business, mumbling and mixing something on a lab table covered with burners and some suspicious stains.

    Some of the stains were moving around on the surface of the table, and when they came across others, they started to fight, launching micro-discharges of electricity into each other, some suspicious green fog, or just like amoebas, absorbing the victim.

    I stand at the other end of the room, next to a mountain, where two slightly curved strips of runes are cooled down.

    By force, I lift the future blades and lower them into a quenching solution in which the blood of the terentarek is the simplest ingredient. The hissing does not distract from manipulating the Force.

    Meditation is all ours.

    In the holocron I got from Archont, a holocron created by someone from the master alchemists, there were several, one might say, spells that allowed me to change the properties of materials.

    And, interestingly enough, the spells themselves were just a mnemonic Formula for tuning the consciousness into the right way. The "sorcerer" himself became a conductor of his will, a kind of medium, and everything else was done by the Power for him.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    Having searched other sources, I understood that practically all methods of assassins were based on this principle.

    The connection to the Force is weaker than any Darth with a Master, they use their own potential in general, which is much faster than the Assassin version.

    But if you prepare the "spell" in advance, you can break it in such a way that it won''t seem to anyone.

    Even now, powerful techniques, which I myself would not be able to overpower, are coming off the binding inside the consciousness.

    Long, half-year preparation of a ''spell'' does not pass for nothing, and the molecular bonds of the blades change, the alloy of metals and the Force acquires new properties.

    Cortosisis molecule at the tip, not fused, as it is impossible to melt physically, is fused into one with the blade.

    Singing steel, bronzium, cortosis and all these theoretically non-alloyable metals are subject to the will of the Great.

    My Precious!

    A couple of hours later, when I was already in my room fixing the handle, the Rinka broke in. She in my group and our silent leader.

    "Fork! Have you heard?"

    "Take it easy. One at a time."

    She''s a nice girl, a little fussy, but funny.

    Blondie with a wasp waist, small but firm breasts, ass nut, all with her.

    Add the right facial features, slightly supported nose, naive look green eyes, deep voice, thin, nervous fingers and the ability to touch, homely, look at the interlocutor ... a cute creature?

    You are mistaken.

    She''s the leader of her trio. There are six of us in the group.

    I''m a loner, Brass and Dona work as a couple, and Rinka''s in charge of her own three, Cortis and Marika.

    They go to the point of impact, and she waits for the moment to hit her in the back.

    And by torture in the field, Master Tuska puts her as an example to all the acolytes.

    But if the master takes the sadistic pleasure of the victims'' torment, Rinka is cold and calculating.

    And, in contrast to Tuska''s oozing lust, almost always neglecting clothes, sometimes I wonder in which of her natural holes she drags a sword, Rinka dresses quite strictly, without any hint of provocation.

    And now she''s wearing a nice military uniform, no insignia.

    However, in her everyday life, as I mentioned, she is vain and cheerful.

    The last rivet inside the hilt took the necessary form, and I dug out of the state of meditation.

    "What''s the news, baby?"

    She tightened her sponges.

    "Don''t push it, Fork."

    Okay, let''s do an eyebrow movement that should mean "not so much and I didn''t want to." But the girl''s lips have already stopped acting like a chicken lip.

    "Anyway, you know, we''ve got six fighters here. Marauders. Our age!"

    And he looks so... Waiting.

    I''m turning on the state of the analyst:

    "So what?"

    Impervious, however.

    He takes my hand, leans towards me, slightly opens his lips.

    Yeah, learning how to influence the person you''re talking to. Not bad for a seventeen-year-old snotty little girl.

    "Fork, I know very well what you know and know more than you show."

    "Let''s say."

    Oh, baby, you have no idea how much.

    "Oh, come on, you gotta be kidding me."

    Covers my other hand with my palm.

    "Why do you think they came?"

    What''s there to think? Ruusan not here yet, so there''s no real shortage of gifted when Jedi and Sith cut each other up.

    It''s for mere mortal students of our academy at unreachable altitude, and for true Dark Lords, we''re consumables.

    They wanted gladiators.

    "I think I''m gonna have to kill them, Rinka."

    Just a little pause. I''m adding a little more weight to the words.

    "Perhaps to death."

    Now you can see the instant transition from a sweet home girl to a group leader.

    "I''ll warn everyone to be ready."

    He managed to scream afterwards:

    "Tell them to be ready at any moment!"

    Why? That makes sense.

    We are, as mentioned, the best group our age. That''s what we need to be prepared for.

    It''s time to look in the troubled suitcase.

    That''s what I call a big armored safe in my room.

    Lightweight armor.

    No servomotors, just fabric armor.

    Armored pads protect the groin, the lumbar.

    Shoulders, gloves, handcuffs, knives. Same armor.

    I made myself a helmet modeled on my motorcycle.

    Typical Uvex Enduro, bearded silhouette with visor, visor lift, can polarize.

    All the armour will be sealed, even half an hour in space.

    Lightweight cape with wide sleeves and a hood.

    It''s also fabric armor.

    The whole set of my favorite blue and black.

    Plus there''s the option of turning on the gray and white stripes, like a digital camouflage. And there are two modes.

    The first is static stripes.

    The second one cuts the eye with a chaotic flicker.

    Little Virtual Intelligence inside the helmet recognizes thousands of intelligent species of the galaxy and turns on the blink mode, which will be the most painful to the eyes exactly for the opponent with whom I will fight at the moment.

    That''s technology you can''t understand, baby!

    Aerosol for a volume detonating explosion.

    Tasteless, colorless, odorless.

    It''s also alchemy. It''s activated by willpower.

    It''s only mine.

    Sonic blaster in the right arm, flamethrower in the left.

    The boots have repulsors.

    The backpack''s just a battery. The reactor''s out.

    Two bolos per belt.

    Positioned as a sliding energy stick.

    Blades on the back, with arms down. Jumped.

    It''s not rattling.

    I''m ready.

    You can immerse yourself in a replacement full meditation sleep.

    Our mentors are big jokers, they can blow it up at any time.

    There''s a Keith Richards guitar fuzz in my head. Mick starts singing:

    "I can''t get no satisfaction,

    I can''t get no satisfaction.

    ''Cause I try, and I try,

    And I try, and I try.

    I can''t get no, I can''t get no."

    Saying I''m worried is not saying anything.

    I''m not Rambo. No cool Batman who puts his opponents in tutus.

    And not the fact that the mouse can do anything about the gifted.

    Eleven years of training hasn''t been in vain, and I know now what kind of death machine the body of training is turning into with a drink of Force.

    Reaction, speed, power. Here are three combinations that make a gifted man invincible in hand-to-hand combat against an ordinary mortal.

    And if you add Force Techs, it''s horrible.

    The Jedi in the Clone War were killed in such numbers because they relaxed. Besides, Jedi were killed, either by stupidly filling up with meat, iron, to emphasize, or trained super fighters, who are even less than gifted, or former comrades-in-arms, who have lost their minds.

    It''s either Durge.

    Durge... Put it on hold for the future.

    Here and now is the peak of the confrontation of this era.

    Much has been lost compared to the times of Revan, but still.

    The Force''s technicians are organically entwined in combat, forming quite the working bundles.

    Of course, I wasn''t wasting time going much further in my research, but still... no satisfaction.

    Let''s see, the battle will show.

 Chapter 5. Seek and destroy

    When the storm hit me, Lupus was already waiting for him.

    With a short nod for my bow, he turned to the exit, dropping over his shoulder:

    "Over my shoulder."

    I hurried after him, and I remembered how we, as little kids, were breaking down after him, not even thinking about slowing down.

    Now I was almost the same height as him.

    Right in the best traditions, the atmosphere of importance of the event was stirred up, I entered the high gloomy hall, poor lighting.

    Gothic.

    There were six of us, Lupus, a fat twi''lek and, unexpectedly, Kas''im himself, a perfectly trained person.

    The fat man, according to the canon, is the Lord of the Kopecz, to whom Farfalla will cut off his head on Ruusan.

    Kas''im, glistening with yellow eyes, just looked at us and, having made unclear conclusions, stepped back a little, putting the Kopecz head in first place.

    Yeah, there''s a deputy head of the academy in the dark.

    He''s always disguised, always behind your back, always watching everyone.

    We haven''t introduced ourselves, we haven''t gotten out in decent faces yet.

    All right, rat meat, logs for the fire of war.

    Lupus bowed briefly, saying:

    "Here."

    Kopecz waited a couple of seconds for the continuation, then obviously realized that our curator has exhausted the stock of words for today, spoke himself:

    "I''m going to the front, I need some acolytes."

    His voice turned out to be unexpectedly pleasant to the ear, powerful, not loud, but bossy. "Whoever accompanies me will decide the Force."

    The silhouette of the deputy head of the academy thickened out of the darkness.

    He always wore a hoodie to the floor and a mask covering his face.

    Not paying attention to the general bow of our group, he immediately took a bow by the horns:

    "You have a trial to face. You''ll be dropped off at the range. There will be a group of Jedi there. Besides them, there''s a group of your rivals from another academy. Victory will be awarded to the team that reaches the point of evacuation with Jedi heads. All Jedi."

    He was impressively silent.

    "The victors will receive lightsabers and go with the Lord Kopecz."

    Oh, shit, what happiness! I''ve always dreamed of going to war.

    The rest was quick, concrete.

    They came out of the hall. They got up and sat down in the transport shuttle.

    While smoothly swinging in the chairs of the shuttle, Rinka, struggled with excitement, began pumping:

    "We''re the best, and we''re gonna make it. Jedi shit can''t do anything against us. And neither can the looters!"

    It wasn''t a torture class.

    It wasn''t the first murder experience.

    But it was the first time we were in a serious operation.

    Approximately 12 opponents. Fighting to the death.

    Funny, it looked like a fantastic story. It seemed unrealistic that teenagers were involved in the upcoming massacre.

    Come on, commander, boost our morale!

    I was glad you couldn''t see the smile behind the polarized visa.

    Covered my thoughts more closely, and sank into reflection.

    If I haven''t mentioned it yet, I couldn''t decide on my attitude to the sides of the Force. My knowledge did not represent the Sith and the Jedi in the best light. Both currents of development of the gifted have done many foolishness and abnormalities. And in the end, no one seemed to be the winner.

    Now, I certainly don''t need the victory of the Brotherhood of Darkness.

    Neither does Bane''s bald head, which hasn''t yet been born in a mine-battered bald head.

    But the guy who''s gonna create the Black Guard after Ruusan is interesting. I don''t remember his name, but I do remember the headquarters on Mustafar.

    And the matukai are interesting. And Zeison Sha.

    The Jedi need a visit, but later. The aura should be corrected first, or very well disguised. My disguise is at a decent level.

    It''s not like I smelled flowers at the academy.

    And I killed and tortured for the credits.

    Not a lamb of God, that''s for sure.

    The conclusions seemed to be clear. I need to stay close to headquarters so I don''t miss a moment when Kaan brakes are finally off. Safety is important, because those closer are rarely allowed as forward meat. But you don''t have to get too close to make my absence disturb anyone in the Brotherhood.

    And for that, we''ll have to go to war.

    And the full survival of my group doesn''t worry me much. However, their survival is not of any concern to me either.

    On the other hand, if there was one place near the Kopecz, it would be worth looking more often at the satellites.

    The loudspeaker in the salon barked:

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    "Get ready!"

    "Alright.

    We are scanning the scene in the city tonight.

    We are looking for you to start up a fight

    There is an evil feeling in our brains

    But it is nothing new you know it drives us insane.

    Running, on our way

    Hiding, you will pay

    Dying, one thousand deaths

    Running, on our way

    Hiding, you will pay

    Dying, one thousand deaths

    Searching,

    Seek and destroy

    Searching,

    Seek and destroy

    Searching,

    Seek and destroy

    Searching,

    Seek and destroy

    There is no escape and that is for sure

    This is the end we won''t take any more

    Say goodbye to the world you live in

    You have always been taking

    But now you''re giving."

    ***

    The last thing Padawan Mitch Nurlon remembered from his past life was a fierce battle with the enemies of the republic, the death of his teacher, pierced with two scarlet blades at once, then darkness.

    He had already woken up here on Ryloth.

    One of the nine Padawans who woke up in a cave with him was a Twi''lek and immediately recognized the rocky desert of his home planet.

    They''d been wandering for three days, trying to find their way through a force field enclosing a circle of about ten miles in diameter.

    The food concentrates and water found by the Padawans in the cave were coming to an end when the connection between them began to disappear.

    The five clumps they found in the same cave only provided a stable link between them.

    The Padawans broke into their usual pairs and persistently sought to escape from the trap.

    In the event of unforeseen circumstances, they agreed to meet at the foot of the rock, from the top of which the entrance to their cave was visible.

    Mitch looked around and saw Beef Aamau rushing after him.

    The Ithorian wasn''t feeling well now, but he could make a real difference in the battle. The sounds made by the four larynxes through his two mouths, filled with Power, resonated and gave his techniques a truly miraculous power.

    Although, like all the Ithorians, Beef was unusually peaceful and the techniques he used had a supporting and healing character.

    Mitch had already sensed the auras of four Padawans, but here the place where they were supposed to be located was surrounded by six figures in black armor.

    In response, two blue, yellow, and green blades flashed.

    Mitch ran as fast as he could, accelerating with the help of the Force, more than anything in the world willing to help his comrades.

    About halfway through, the Force stopped accelerating and the Padawan ran at the normal speed of a trained teenager.

    If the first half of the way he overcame in ten seconds, now he has forty, fifty seconds to the place of the fight.

    In a hurry, however, he did not take his eyes off the fighters.

    Black figures in armour, for some reason, instead of light swords, fought with two vibrating blades each. Loudly growling, like madmen, they made rapid jumps, each tried to get to the enemy first, than only interfering with others.

    The outcome was logical and so far all four Padawans were alive, but the law of large numbers should have worked sooner or later.

    To help his comrades in any way, Nurlon activated both of his blades and, waving them, made a loud scream.

    He was heard, and two black figures in a long race went towards him.

    The Padawan turned his back on his fighting comrades, befriending them in a short battle filled with humming and clattering.

    He did not see that the departure of the two looters from his comrades had had a bad effect on their position. Now the figures in armor did not interfere with each other, the bout was divided into separate fights, and the Brotherhood acolytes working with two blades at once got a significant advantage.

    Fighting off the fiercely wheezing through his opponents'' vocoders, Mitch suddenly felt a burst of energy, his opponents'' movements became crystal clear, and his green blades sang a friendly battle song, weaving an indestructible barrier.

    A few pounds, one blow, another, and an acolyte with a roar falls on his back, dropping the blade that fell from his severed arm and trying to pull up his half-severed hip.

    And at that moment the Padawan felt Beef''s pain.

    The Ithorian''s Combat Meditation, which gave him confidence and strength, now transmitted the pain from the slowly piercing body of an energy stick.

    The padawan bent down from the pain that pierced his body, but held his swords in his hands.

    The bawling acolyte twisted the swords in his hands and stepped forward to end the padawan. Mitch, overcoming the pain, straightened, staring into the helmet visor as if trying to catch the enemy''s gaze. But he jumped up and put the both vibrating blades above his head, suddenly shaking like a seizure and collapsing to the ground.

    Only now, through the pain, Carson saw a bolo wrapped around both hands of the enemy and emitting powerful energy impulses into his body.

    The pain finally let the padawan go, and he felt Beef''s death.

    Looking back distractedly, Mitch saw the figure in a shimmering, just cutting his eyes with his shimmering balloon.

    ***

    The crispy Ithorian finally let his spirit out.

    As the Jedi say, he''s merged with the Force.

    Out of breath, anyway.

    I wonder if an Ithorian can talk different conversations at the same time, using different mouths?

    Well, that''s not what I''m thinking.

    I interrupted the wailing of the marauder''s right hand with a blade down his throat.

    Yes, I used alchemy to create two blades.

    The right sword, meanwhile, interrupted the agony of a maroon caught with a bolo. I don''t like it when the sentient suffer. If not enemies. And these looters are not my enemies. They are adversaries. So is this Padawan. Nothing personal, it''s war, mate.

    The Jedi raised his swords at the Jar''Kai stand.

    He''s squinting, I can see he''s got shimmering stains in his eyes on my suit.

    Come on, Son of Light, let''s start reeducating.

    That''s where he shuddered, you bet.

    Two Jedi almost at the same time took off. And with them, three acolytes.

    Our group is working.

    Two more Jedi and the last one joined them an instant later. Judging by the tightly pressed lips of the padawan, the reeducation is postponed indefinitely.

    Then let''s try the real option of testing our abilities.

    The blades in the hands begin the flight of death, describe the rapid eight, ready to break off with blows from unpredictable angles.

    I''ve been looking for descriptions, explanations, crumbs of knowledge about this style of combat for a long time.

    ***

    The lord of Kas''im with ostentatious laziness watched the holo-transfer from drones circling over the place of the fight, but then, when the figure in a shimmering hoodie twisted blades around him, he leaned over the projector with interest.

    Although the Padawan''s skill in Jar''Kai left much to be desired, the strange, curved blades simply tore his defence to shreds.

    A severed brush flew away, a second, then a head.

    Kas''im leaned back in his chair and asked for a figure wearing a hoodie and a mask:

    "Have the Assassins started studying Juyo?" Juyo

    ***

    Tired but satisfied, we stood before the dark eyes of the Lords.

    "You should go to the workshops and get your swords. The Lord of the Kopecz is leaving in six hours."

    The Deputy Chief''s speech reminded me of the manner in which the unforgettable Mace Windu spoke. The smug and careless expression of "Did you do the job? Did you get up? Go on your next assignment."

    And then Kas''im showed up.

    "Hold on."

    Without bothering to recognize a little worm like me, he just poked me with his finger.

    It was just a brain drain! He''s got a manicure!

    Stop!

    Uncomfortable thoughts away from me!

    Here we are at the gym.

    "Show me how you move with your weird sabers."

    I didn''t know I made sabers. I thought I created two short swords with narrow blades.

    I swear.

    Showing my basic body to steel unity exercise.

    "That''s enough."

    I stop bowing and bow again.

    Kas''im extends his hand and I put a blade in it.

    The lord makes some test strokes and notices:

    "No balance."

    I''m sick of these ceremonies, but I bow again:

    "Overlord, the lack of balance is an advantage of this weapon. They cannot fence. They are designed for a sharp and aggressive manner of fighting, with little or no protection. They do not fence with these weapons, lord. They are killed by them."

    The Lord''s eyebrows soared up and he weighed the weapon in his hand again. Then he turned his eyes on me.

    Kas''im''s second hand stretched out and got the second blade.

    And then I realized what the real Master Blade is. My training and battle with the padawan were just twitching compared to the Lord''s movements.

    He was surrounded by a halo of singing steel, the blades spinning at such a speed that they turned into a semi-transparent sphere from which sputtering and chopping strikes came out.

    For ten minutes Kas''im was dancing, gradually increasing speed, and then he stopped and the obsession disappeared. But the impression remained.

    When I caught the thrown blades, I bowed low.

    In fact, there are pinnacles of skill to aspire to, and then it is worth dying on that pinnacle.

    "Your aura seems familiar to me."

    One more bow.

    "It was you who brought me to this academy, Master."

    You can''t hold a poker face, Master Klink.

    It was a glimpse into the depths of my eyes of recognition.

    "And how did you come to think of working with them? With two blades."

    "I met a mention of a school of two swords. I realised that this art was almost forgotten, Master. Forgotten, so little known. To know rare knowledge is an advantage. I was reconstructing it from old records."

    He was still a little silent, bent over.

    "So you know how to use information, acolyte. Let''s do this."

    A holocron slipped from his bag to me.

    "Here are notes of a basic style, more perfect, more complete and perfectly adapted to the lightsaber. Juyo."

    I found a gold mine!

    I just couldn''t dream of it! I''d hug you, Kas''im, and I don''t care about your manicure, but the subordination...

    So I just bow.

    ***

    A week later, I was already in hyperspace somewhere. I got my first assignment.

    There was time for meditation in the flight, trying to realize my path.

    Meditating next to the holocron curator, I realized that I was so interested in the very style of Juyo.

    Juyo is not only and not so much a collection of sword strokes, no matter what weapon.

    Juyo is also a special state of consciousness, a sense of fusion with the environment, a strategy for unexpected turns in the fight.

    In a way, it all reminds us of the "drunkard technique" from an old oriental movie about kung fu, with its seemingly unpredictable movements.

    Everything goes, and the environment, and the swordsman himself, illusions, Dun M?ch.

    And it requires a subtle adjustment for the enemy, it is necessary and its possible actions to be built into its battle strategy, imposing him exactly his rhythm and pattern of the fight.

    And it also became quite clear to me that without a normal mentor to reach at least some level, just above average, is impossible. It is impossible to achieve success without a teacher. Kas''im could have been such a teacher. But first of all, he is too keen on the ideas of the Brotherhood of Darkness, and secondly, who is a pathetic acolyte for him? The Brotherhood has hundreds of them.

    But there''s another one that''s comparable in class to him, Master. And we must meet him!

    Oh, it''s the Great Master! And he deserves a great plan to arrange a meeting.

    My survival, at this stage of my plans for the galaxy, is still important.

    Oh, the clink has worked.

    Lord Kopecz wishes to see the unworthy of me.

    We are now entering another stage of the operation to survive and perfect in the Force.

 Chapter 6. Sympathy for the devil

    Kuat.

    They''ve got us pinned down tight.

    Cheerleading team''s almost all out, three specialists with sniper rifles left.

    All others went down, keeping the Republicans from getting close to the snipers, which is problematic in Kuat''s orbiting shipyards. There are solid manholes, passages, elevators and other technical decks with ducts.

    Our alternatively gifted commanders have found nothing better to do than eliminate the right gentlemen with such noise that the Rankor weeps in envy.

    Every elimination was flawless, with no flashy waving of scarlet blades, but they all stank halfway across the galaxy.

    So what''s the Hutt to extort shares from the victims so you can dumbly leak them to trust funds?

    Republicans aren''t fools, the Justice Corps put one on top of the other and sent a dozen agents to help their Kuat counterparts.

    And a couple of specialist platoons.

    And, in the name of the Dark Side!

    Instead of laying low and beginning to leak misinformation, we, by order of Master Tin''Oor��, commander of the operation, simply multiplied by zero the agents, specialists, and equivalent Kuat security guards. I don''t know who she''s at the top of the Brotherhood giving blowjobs to, but she made a mistake when she decided to act quickly so as not to lose momentum.

    The Jedi took an interest in the case.

    Not only did they come from the central temple on Coruscant, twelve of them, eight Knights and four Padawans, but also their Corellian counterparts, eight more, five Knights and three Padawans.

    The commando battalion and countless Kuat security guards added oil to the painting called "We''re in the shit".

    So far, our losses have been fourteen Assassins, three of whom are Masters, eight looters, a status of total scumbags, half a hundred cheerleaders, all from the Brotherhood''s special operations teams, and hundreds of three bandits and sick fools from local gangs.

    The fact that there are seven Jedi left does not warm the soul.

    Because there are only two of our gifted left, me and this star Tin''Oora.

    However, the draft plan was already in place.

    It wasn''t for nothing that I directed the strikes so as to beat out the Coruscant Jedi in the first place. There are three left, only two knights and a Padawan, so I''ll be out soon.

    T8-M15, connected to security cameras, tracked the movement of the Jedi and the specialists covering them. Our snipers, without waiting for the team, opened fire to suppress, forcing the enemy to lie down.

    The Correllians decided to be real smart heroes and went around. Now they, holding back curses like the true Knights of Light, wandering along the fecal pipelines flowing down their knee. They make their way through the jungle of hanging and occasionally sparkling wires. Their lightsabers cut their way through foam-filled compartments. I''ve filled the compartments with inert gases from the cofferdams, it''s for their snack, a nice bonus. The T8-M15 accidentally blocked their hermetic doors, forcing them to periodically return and look for ways around, but so that the Korellians could reach the rendezvous point in time.

    Yeah, here''s a Coruscant knight, ducked and crawled to the commander of specialists, yeah, yeah, yeah, we''re jamming the connection properly, judging by the gestures, blah, blah, we''re now in the duct, a trick is unreal.

    Have you guys seen the adventures of the great John McClane, New York City Police Department officer could teach you a lot, but not fate.

    Five minutes to set the bookmarks, and now your exit, Madame Star, who can not plan a quiet and competent operations.

    Master Tin''Oora receives a treacherous blow to the head. It''s off. What a nasty boy I am.

    Power handcuffs, shock collar, blindfolded. Sleep well, my commander, and let you dream the juicy phalluses of the Brotherhood leaders.

    Pulled her into the side hallway, closed the door.

    Now open up a little in the Force to be felt by the three Coruscant Jedi closest to me. And I put the three trophy blades in front of me and ran the pain emanations through them.

    The sword crystals were soaked in the power of the owners, and now we can decide that the pain of the characters familiar to the Jedi is being broadcast.

    No, in the last three days, while we were being chased through the shipyards, I wasn''t sitting in a showroom apartment all the time.

    These three swords are my legal trophies.

    Now we have to close down in the Force, and put a command on the shock collar. Tin''Oora begins to cramp and opens up in the Force. That''s it.

    I run five yards down the hall and stand against the wall. Leaning on his back, it''s psychologically easier to blend in with his surroundings.

    Curved sword arms, I hold the reverse grip. Wait, wait, wait. Yes!

    Let''s listen to the music of the universe.

    "Please allow me to introduce myself

    I''m a man of wealth and taste

    I''ve been around for a long, long year.

    Stole many a man''s soul and faith

    And I was ''round when Jesus Christ

    Had his moment of doubt and pain

    Made damn sure that Pilate

    Washed his hands and sealed his fate

    Pleased to meet you

    Hope you guess my name

    But what''s puzzling you

    Is the nature of my game."

    As they got out of the duct, the Jedi ran along a smoothly curving, clockwise corridor.

    They felt the presence of the Dark Side, the emotions of the tried comrades made them run, forgetting to be careful.

    There''s a door on the right that clearly carries the Dark Side. On the left is the branch.

    And when the Padawan had almost reached the door control, the knights rushing after him heard a hoarse breath from the left branch and felt a mighty sonic boom, which threw them against the wall.

    But both Jedi were trained knights, the confusion lasted only a moment, and they straightened towards the figure in a black cloak with a scarlet blade in their hands.

    Similfuturus is the technique every gifted man needs.

    The ability of the Force, allowing the Powers that use it to create a perfect copy of themselves with the Force. This practice also allows you to create duplicates of objects that look indistinguishable from the original.

    The main thing is to overcome the psychological plug.

    The thing is, there''s no such thing as solid matter.

    In fact.

    Everything is made up of atoms, and atoms are made up of energy.

    Consequently, any solid body is made up of energy.

    And the Force is what allows you to control energy.

    And now Lord Vader himself was coming out of the corridor, half-blasted by a Jedi sound blaster, and it''s a shame I didn''t connect the imperial march.

    That''s pathetic, beautiful, but out of place.

    Now I''m starting from my semi-meditative state, the Centre of Genesis rules. I can feel the Jedi well behind the septum and activate the blades.

    The red blades instantly burned one point durasteel, heat-noise insulation, another point durasteel and cut both standing back to the real danger, Jedi spine, closer to the base of the skull.

    The Padawan swirled into the room, but froze, sensing the death of two gifted men, one of whom was his teacher.

    I''m moving the right handle into a straight grip, the left blade is already deactivated.

    A quick look at the projected T8-M15 holosuite.

    The Correllians are still far away, the droid predicts 15 minutes.

    Turn, turn, turn! Gesture crosswise with the Padawan sword.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Makashi.

    Well done, young Jedi, Form II well prepared for a duel, but not for a sneaky trick.

    Juyo is all ours.

    I explode with a series of unpredictable blows, which the padawan easily, as if playing parry.

    Yes, yes.

    He threw a sword from his left, jumped off a flamethrower, flipped back, but landed on a stool that rushed under his feet.

    Now I threw a bolo, handsome, managed to fight back, but he opened up.

    B-z-z-z! A lightning bolt rushed to the padawan and he convulsed. B-z-z-z! B-z-z-z-z! With each lightning strike, I''m a couple of steps closer.

    I''m sorry, Padawan, it''s necessary.

    I stop tormenting myself, take a Jedi sword, jump from the corner and cling to my belt.

    The second, from the right hand, I also let go without looking, and it''s like he''s snapping himself.

    It''s a trick I''ve been rehearsing for a month before it got to automatism.

    Still, a bit of pathos wouldn''t hurt.

    Now to strip the padawan, it''s a good thing Jedi pajama hoodies allow you to ignore a few sizes of difference.

    ***

    The commander of the Republican commando unit listened. After the third enemy sniper was killed a couple of minutes ago, there were no shots fired from the enemy side.

    He listened once again and waved his head at the commander of the second platoon. He made a gesture with his hand and the chain of fighters moved through the workshop, cluttered with the wreckage of machines.

    So they crept up to the gate leading to the Sith lair and were already preparing to open the door and start the attack by throwing a grenade.

    But suddenly one of the squeaky sashes pulled away and the body of a Jedi almost fell out of there.

    He got up and sat down, then clearly skewered from the pain in his side, but still protesting raised his hand, stopping the fighter who jumped to the rescue.

    Then he pointed at the door with the same hand and said something. The soldiers slipped into the gate, half a minute later returned, two dragged a tied body, two more bags.

    Another soldier rushed to the captain with a lynx, but he himself was hurrying towards the Jedi.

    The Padawan looked terrible. His whole face was badly burned, his hoodie shattered, his armor burned in several places with traces typical of a lightsaber.

    "There!" the padawan wheezed and pointed his hand at the gate. "There''s more."

    Judging by the gesture of his hand, there were many more.

    Short teams, and most of the squad got caught up in the gate, searching the premises behind them.

    Four specialists, picked up the prisoner in pairs and immediately grabbed the padawan, and accompanied by a paramedic, as quickly as possible, followed the evacuation shuttle.

    Some mistake made the captain freeze for a moment, but the gunshots and explosions from the yawn of the gate forced him to head inside as quickly as possible.

    "What is it?" the soldier asked.

    "It seemed," said the captain.

    The grille that was blocking the duct collapsed down without miraculously hitting the commando.

    "Yours!"

    A loud voice was heard from above and stopped the movement of the hand that had already swung to start the thermal detonator.

    Four figures in greenish hoodies jumped down.

    "Report!" abruptly demanded that the captain be a gray Jedi.

    His face was crossed by a fresh scar, his hair sticking out and occasionally sparkled with static electricity, below his waist, the hoodie was smeared...

    Something so stinky, suspiciously smelly and familiar was smeared with a jellyfish.

    The other Jedi, however, looked similar.

    But they were Jedi! At first glance, they all looked the same.

    The captain was briskly reportable:

    "We''re conducting a sweep, one prisoner, presumably gifted, has been taken, and the wounded Padawan has been evacuated."

    Grey nodded and turned towards the astrodroid that had entered the corridor.

    The astrodroid stopped for a moment, led the lens of the visor in different directions, turned around and tried to roll back.

    Very. A very suspicious astrodroid!

    The path of this suspicious astrodroid had already been blocked by a blaster rifle fighter.

    But it was too late. The trap slammed. The mice got cheese.

    And in a moment, a dazzling light flooded everything around, after which darkness came.

    ***

    Everyone only sees what they want to see.

    They wanted to see the wounded Padawan, and they got a little bit of trouble not to break their will, and they saw the wounded Padawan.

    While I was being dragged, I was carefully monitoring the small piece of furniture around our safe house and the droid was giving me the picture.

    In the haphazard microwaves between the Republicans, it produced an encoded, compressed signal that decoded my comlink using an agreed protocol.

    It was easy to jam the heads of my opponents, because, imbued with a slightly heightened pity for the young Padawan, they easily succumbed to the desire to ignore what I was doing.

    On the contrary, my intensified emotions made them look more closely at the corridors and the premises along the way for possible danger.

    I''m not Obi-Wan, the "these aren''t the droids you''re looking for" trick in my performance may not have gone away.

    And a switch of attention, that''s the number I can, eat, please.

    Reached the shuttle we just three minutes Guards pushed me into the co-pilot chair, activated the navigation computer with a personal map, entered the access code, contacted the dispatcher to provide a corridor to Kuat.

    And if these guys were asked why they were doing this, they couldn''t answer.

    It''s the Force, Harry! It''s not magic, but it''s not bad either. Or maybe it''s magic, just special.

    The guards dumped Tin''Oora and, surrendering to the strange, but not here and now, panic attacks, ripped the hatch off.

    If they succumbed a little, it''s easier for me, I''ve added to their impressions.

    The horror of the Force.

    It''s an interesting technique when everyone sees their nightmare alive.

    I am still missing for a long time, and only two succumbed, who began, howling with horror, scorching in all directions.

    As long as their comrades didn''t understand anything and were amazed by the absurdity of what was happening, my blades came into action.

    I''m sorry, gentlemen, the Kuat mercenaries, you''re a great specialist, but it''s the right thing to do.

    I slowly take the shuttle out of the hangar, get a corridor, and the autopilot directs the shuttle to the surface.

    Looking at the final scene of the painting "Meeting of the Jedi and commandos, without a feast and mass brotherhood of troops, with the phenomenon of astrodroid to people".

    The whole company is assembled, and I give the mental team of the aerosol to blow up.

    Sorry, T8-M15, you were funny. Very funny astrodroid. But it has to be.

    There''s a white flower in the porthole of the inner blast on the trim of the yard.

    And now it''s got bazaars roaring and hermetic doors kicking, cutting off the depressurized area.

    In Sila, the auras of the gifted and not so much merging with it have erupted. Under their pressure, the mental shield collapsed and I was twisted quite strongly.

    I spit blood out of my mouth and wiped it off, or rather I wiped blood out of my eyes and nose, leaned my forehead against the transparent reliability of the transplant.

    I can''t be the canonical dark one who enjoys death.

    Death is very impressive here. It affects the brain, the personal power. It''s something you can live with. It''s something you can work with. But to enjoy it? Some Sith Lords have clearly been on their special wave of knowledge of the Force.

    Yes, they were.

    So many deaths, all so that the degenerates of Darth Ruin''s teachings wouldn''t muddy the water in the font of the Heavenly River.

    There''s enough targets to destroy and we''re bound to take on the Jedi.

    There will be many deaths. I''ll make it happen to them.

    ***

    Naira Ornori Kuat has always dreamed of even more wealth.

    After all, wealth has allowed itself not to give up anything!

    Luxury outfits, speeders, yachts, cool and cool parties, that''s what she thought was most important in life.

    But all three of her husbands didn''t understand her.

    The first one was too passionate about her job, missing her from dawn to dusk, and was unpleasantly surprised to catch her with three guys at once. Prude. Rude. Greedy!

    And what was she supposed to do if he didn''t pay much attention to her. He''d take her to parties, but they were boring to the point where there were no forbidden ways for a normal herd to cheer her up!

    Only some talk of some unbearably boring business, and looking at the jewellery on the ladies present.

    By the way, her jewelry was the richest, so she didn''t have to descend to communication with these hens.

    Her father''s lawyers were quick to get a divorce, and they also bit off a lot of his fortune. They talked about some kind of dirt, but it was so boring that she didn''t remember anything.

    The second husband was the fourth son of a rich father to whom his parent used to unbuckle loans so he wouldn''t get involved in the family business. It was really fun with him!

    He understood the exquisite entertainment.

    True, four months later, he took a large dose of Spice and never woke up.

    She wasn''t invited to the lineup, but she didn''t want to see the horror. You fool. It''s funny. You bastard!

    The third one was a typical trickster and she dumped him herself, because there must be a real alpha next to her, she needs a male.

    She needs a funny, funny, strong, able to please her with his huge dick and a couple of her friends, Iannie and Prenzilla, whom she often invited to hang out together. They had known each other since high school and their tongues and fingers knew how to make a girl happy.

    Today she fell out of the club heavily high, but not yet fully satisfied, because so far no one has been able to take off. Sticky gigolos, money-grabbing asses that were already sick.

    Where are they, brutal males?

    Where are they, real heroes, real men!

    Naira Ornory Kuat stepped a couple of dozen steps away from the shiny and rattling entrance,

    Naira''s bent.

    She vomited.

    But it was easy to get high, so it was like spitting.

    She''d vomit and rub her palm in her mouth and straighten up.

    As always, she let go for a few minutes, and she was able to pile her eyes together.

    And her eyes pile up on a rather interesting character.

    "What an interesting man!" thought Naira Ornori Kuat.

    ***

    The shuttle had to be demonstratively left at the landing site in the working suburbs of Kuat City.

    He crossed the saddle in a medication coma and, more simply, was high on Tin''Oora.

    They''ll soon find the shuttlecock, but there''s no tricky assassin on his bale bike in the backseat, so they can''t catch him.

    Brainwashing to the shift dispatcher on duty along with shabby camera footage of that bail.

    Actually, the plan announced by the Jedi to intercept the enemies of the republic has only played into my hands. Favorable mode for all involved in the special operation shuttles allowed to easily bother everyone reasonable in the shift. And they believed that they helped some Jedi in the pursuit of dangerous terrorists and calmly gave access to all the records, not being surprised.

    That is, the investigation will find that some gifted man has done some actions, and this gifted man is most likely from the Brotherhood, well, and then it remains only to guess where he is hiding now. What a cowardly dark bastard!

    Traditionally, the sifting of slums with gangster brothels will begin.

    Let them do it, it''s a useful thing, you always have to clean the city of dirt. And we''ll hide in plain sight.

    "Golden Youth", it''s so golden!

    I hid at the entrance to an elite club, where these primitive appendages of their own pleasure centers in drug-liquefied cerebellas have fun, waiting for a suitable object was a moment''s work.

    Easy thinking, and the guards are starting to think that I''m one of those, too.

    I understand the filmmakers well.

    They have to show that the Force is being used.

    The same Vader raises his hand, then someone starts to choke.

    Otherwise, it''s hard for the viewer to link it all together.

    In fact, you don''t have to make pathos gestures at all.

    It''s enough to focus.

    But many gifted people also sin by being tied to gestures, so at first it''s easier, and then it becomes a habit.

    You don''t even have to let lightning come out of your hands.

    But letting lightning out of your ass... that would be a total mockery of your opponents.

    Okay, thinking about using Force techniques is good for relaxation. But attention! We gotta do this.

    We''re missing a couple with a homosexual aura, but a puking chick that fell out of the club is the right thing to do!

    Count the necessary images from the surface of her consciousness to determine the pattern of behavior. Oh, baby, you want to fuck, it''s no big deal.

    We will.

    I came up and handed out a napkin. A light, almost weightless suggestion to set the mood.

    "Baby, are you here alone?"

    She''s looking at me through the eyes of an addict.

    Yeah. You don''t appreciate life. Young lady, you don''t appreciate it at all.

    "A beautiful woman should not be alone."

    Five hours later, everyone was happy and satisfied.

    The apartment in one of the many and rambling Kuat families is just right. How the base fits perfectly.

    I''m a middle-handed businessman from the Middle Ring.

    The legend is simple, the chick picked up a gigolo, no one pays attention to such living dildo.

    Yes, they do. They work and they work.

    The own landing area in the penthouse allowed not only to make a landing unnoticed by the cameras, but also to drag Master Oora inside.

    You bet none of the wealthy people like to be watched in their private lives. That''s why there are no security cameras.

    Naira did not pay any attention to the bale in her hands, focusing on my humble persona, especially some rather immodest organ.

    Four hours of uninterrupted sex, inspired by the Vision of Power, finally settled her down.

    At first I gave her a quality drift, then focused on the holonet.

    We need to track down who''s related and offer Tin''Oora a new plan.

    Finally, the girl screamed for the last time, muttered something sleepily and snored.

    Thank the Force, it''s over.

    Well, at least she didn''t invite her girlfriends like she suggested at first.

    A little more sleep and now she won''t wake up for long.

    Well, I''ve got things to do.

    Unpack Tin''Oora and bring her back to life.

    Under the residual effects of the drugs, she''s a little floating, but it''s for the best.

    A slight loss of sense of reality should allow her to be set in the right direction.

    However, if it does not tune in, information about the connections can be beaten out and torture, just do not want to get out in the foreground before the dark eyes of the Lords.

    "Uh-oh!"

    The Master walks his hand lost in the face.

    I bow in deep bows.

    "Mistress."

    A distracted look, she automatically takes a juice glass from me and drinks.

    The look makes sense a little.

    "What''s wrong? Where are we?"

    "We are safe, master. We''ve managed to shake the chase off the trail."

    Next, I screw in my version, which isn''t quite true.

    How she was stunned. And why would she know who? Undue knowledge is undue sadness.

    How I heroically pulled her to the surface of the planet, and where our turnout is now.

    A short tour of all eighteen rooms ended in the bathing suite. There, the master remembered that she hadn''t bathed in a long time, a week of continuous running from the Jedi, with shooting, explosions and other charm.

    So Tin''Oora plunged into the pool and ordered her to be scraped from the dirt.

    While he was scraping her, under the guise of "but if Mistress wanted to", he carefully imposed on her to continue the operation, using the woman who was currently in the bedroom.

    Still, no one canceled the operation, just need to act thinner, without a sharp spill of finances.

    And the master has come to the conclusion that she will carry out the final operation in a special way.

    How insidious!

    And insatiable. I''m tired as it is, but refusing to have sex with a Sith master is a sin.

    It''s okay, I have experience. The academy provides a great variety of knowledge.

    Soon, Kuat will get his.

 Chapter 7. Brothers in arms

    In orbit of Ruusan.

    The war.

    I''ve been at war for two years now.

    I''ve killed, I''ve tortured, and I''ve been tried to be killed.

    It''s hard to say what was the hardest.

    Probably not being able to scratch my back, because even through tissue armor, it''s a problem.

    And here we are, so beautiful and stinky and partly lousy, flying to Ruusan.

    Ask me, why stinky?

    Have you tried living in armor?

    Even by regularly giving up your laundry, you''ll still soak the protective layer in the smell of sweat, excitement and fear.

    And when you come under massive gunfire, it won''t take long to get your pants in.

    However, your comrades-in-arms are the same, so you treat the unplanned cargo in your pants with condescension. If he pissed in his pants but kept fighting, he''s normal.

    They''ll laugh, but until the next fight.

    And a blaster bolt or lightsaber, of course, give a tightly soldered burn wound. But by passing through the intestines, they create a high fever that causes micro-explosion of intestinal gases and baked shit wants to splash into your mouth.

    When you''re stuffed in a landing shuttle a lot and more, the smell around you is powerful. Especially when somebody in the shuttle is gassing you. Comrades do not want to smell only his digestive system and begin to emit gases in return.

    All this is interspersed with jokes, laughter, blows to the ribs and cuffs.

    Battle brotherhood, as the memoirs later write.

    "Through these fields of destruction

    Baptisms of fire

    I''ve witnessed your suffering

    As the battles raged higher.

    And though we were hurt so bad

    In the fear and alarm

    You did not desert me

    My brothers in arms."

    But today we are almost kings.

    We only fly ten muzzles, only assassins. We had to run through the jungles of Kashyyyk for six months, after a successful mission to eliminate the top of Kuat Corporation.

    But the road is now alone, to damn Ruusan.

    The most interesting thing is that the leaders of the Brotherhood of Darkness do not consider it necessary to celebrate somehow successes in affairs of ordinary participants of their war.

    Mercenaries, okay. They have a fare. Sometimes they even get a bonus.

    Ungifted meat gets paid some kind of money.

    Orders, medals and other awards? No, I haven''t.

    Frozen themselves, in public, of course, to the state of "I''ll kill them all, I''ll stay alone", the Lords believe that their smaller brothers in the Force should "put their heads on the altar of the dark side". And do it for free.

    You can''t even wait for words of approval in front of the formation.

    They provoke a looter, but don''t forget to bite their percentage. Usually 50/50.

    Sometimes, in the mood and twenty percent can leave the performer.

    However, they don''t forget about their own material well-being.

    When in Kuat targets from the board of directors were killed, you think we arranged for them to "accidents", "for natural reasons", seasoned "after a long and long illness" to disrupt the construction of new ships for the Republicans?

    No, we didn''t.

    Exclusively a stock review.

    And on large holders, even the Brotherhood wouldn''t open its mouth. With even the slightest suspicion of a threat, such a strong response could have come that the Jedi Order was just a punching boy compared to it.

    Bounty hunters, at a reasonable price, would deliver any reasonable employer. Packed or shredded.

    Both the Brotherhood and the Order were allowed to wage profitable wars, but no one was going to let them into the distribution of large capitals.

    As a result, the Brotherhood now has three whole and twenty-six hundredths of a percent more shares under its control than before the special operation.

    We had to do something about it.

    Four traces pointed to the direct heirs who had failed due to the trial, and the indirect ones were taken under unobtrusive control.

    Three holders married comrades who needed someone there.

    In principle, only once was it necessary to "straighten the corner" a little bit. But that was the demand of the Lords.

    The Quat Regollo is one-tenth of the shares of the Quat Shipyard.

    This heir, after being announced as such, hit a week''s worth of drinks and drugs, girls and boys. After that, he gave all of his property to some charity foundation, which is registered on one of the Republican senators from Coruscant. And then he killed himself.

    The loser filmed the suicide process on his voice. And all the interested people could see for themselves how Regollo Quat shoved a firecracker up his ass and blew it up. He bled for half an hour on the air, used drugs and mumbled something inaudible about the cunning of the beautiful Jedi.

    Several shareholders, with our active help, shared with larger holders, which allowed us to cover up our main actions.

    All this required training and skill in execution. I spent a year on the job.

    And now, I have to come to Ruusan to perform meat functions.

    Excellent use of human resources, nothing to say.

    One thing''s good. The war is coming to an end.

    Apparently, the Brotherhood is pulling its weight to try to defeat all the Jedi at once. All in accordance with the canon.

    Sleepy eyes look out the window.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    In orbit, squadrons have sluggishly exchanged fire.

    From time to time, groups of fighters on both sides cut through the enemy lines. The fighters fired in different directions, suffered losses, "permissible", as will be noted later in reports. A certain number of cars with pilots were coming back.

    Before entering the atmosphere, the shuttle circled the half-destroyed skeleton of once mighty battleship, which, being abandoned by the crew, has already hit the gravity well of the planet and the whirlpool in three collapsed to the surface.

    Well, at least the blocking squadron gave us an escort from the fighter squadron, because the Army of Light tried to bite off a piece of our shuttles.

    An hour later, I met an old acquaintance.

    Rinka, who didn''t seem to be clinging to the dirt and desolation that reigned in the camp, "pleased" me with the news that only she and I were left of our group.

    The rest of them put their lush heads together.

    And Marika died in the detention of a Jedi, who went to one of the fortifications.

    As I understood, it was Githany, who was not going to resist, because she was going to the Brotherhood, but hot Assassin nature of my friend urged to attack and capture. Bad head, does not give peace to swords.

    Then we stood in a crowd at the staff tent.

    Sker Kaan told us that everything was like one and the same nonsense.

    At the same time, he accompanied his speech with a powerful mental message, brainwashing grateful listeners.

    What is there to say?

    His mental message only comes to someone who''s ready for it.

    I stood there and depicted an aura of rapture.

    Then there was a distribution, and I met Rinka in her mouth.

    The whole company was eighteen reasonable, six of whom were gifted, twelve Mandalore recruits, plus now I''m with a motorcycle.

    How''d you like that? For any biker, his motorcycle is alive and well.

    Somehow, that''s how the battle for Ruusan started for me.

    ***

    Now the sun''s gone to hell

    And the moon''s riding high

    Let me bid you farewell

    Every man has to die

    But it''s written in the starlight

    And every line on your palm

    We''re fools to make war

    On our bro in arms

    I sing old songs.

    I''ve prepared a plan.

    It''s time to sum it up. It''s time for the main exam.

    Darth Bane has arrived at the camp.

    I''ve been gathering information all the time.

    When I was a mechanic, my contact was a good help. Most conflicts aren''t like there was any pressure in the bud, not at all.

    In Heaven''s River, I didn''t change my rule and got to know each other everywhere, even if it was superficial.

    I forgot most of the Sentience''s when I stopped talking and broke up.

    They remembered me.

    And how do you forget me?

    I''m an honest, concretely positive person, ready to always joke, sympathize, get into position.

    I''m not confused by the diversity of life forms.

    And some subtleties in the behavior of some reasonable people, that''s normal.

    Everybody has their flaws.

    You have to judge the intelligent as a person, not by labels.

    Especially since the habit of labels is a criterion for the absence of one''s own opinion.

    I''ve always said that if you don''t have your own thought, remember and quote someone else''s.

    I don''t have and didn''t have contempt for the uncharted, and they appreciated it.

    And that was my advantage.

    When they handed out the rations, they whispered to me that Darth Bane had arrived.

    The masters are preparing for some great and powerful ritual.

    What did you think?

    Nobody notices the attendants, and they notice everything.

    I''ve watched many times that customers have personal conversations, counting ordinary workers for the environment, or at best appendages to the tools.

    I wasn''t offended by such things. Everybody has their own problems and nobody has their own simple ones.

    Especially since listening and peeking, you can learn a lot of interesting things.

    When all the Lords gathered in a circle around Bane, I took a seat in the front row of the audience.

    Too bad there was no popcorn.

    The forest decided to set fire to a ritual of the Force.

    The power of the assembled Overlords was not impressive.

    It was terrifying.

    When everyone, in a single impulse, rushed to cut the Jedi, I walked away from the impression for five minutes.

    Kaan read some speeches, encouraged all those for whom "There is power, there is no need for intelligence".

    Then they rushed to the speeders in a crowd, hurried to cut the Jedi.

    If the pathos could be scooped with a spoon, mine would be stuck.

    So Githany talked to Bane and ran to the Speeder too.

    Beautiful girl, she''d have babies, but she''d be there.

    Bane''s gone, he needs to carry out his "brilliant" plan.

    I sat on the plateau a little longer, looking up at the burning forest from above.

    That''s awesome.

    It''s a power used to kill people like you.

    It''s a stupid waste of resources.

    And if today''s Lords are weak compared to the ancients, what were the ancients like?

    I''m shaken up. It''s not the time to think.

    If both the ancients and the modern ones decided to flush their lives down the toilet instead of creating, it''s their personal business.

    I make a hand gesture and my "King" rolls up, quietly rustling with wheels.

    Why?

    Yeah, I built an astrodroid brain into him, he''s very loyal to me, sympathetic.

    He''ll soon have a personality. Hopefully not like the old movie "I Bought a Killer Motorcycle".

    And not like King in "Christine".

    The figures are in place, it''s time for action.

    He patted on the tank, sat down, gave me gas.

    Let''s go!

    ***

    Excitement and fear. It''s very light.

    Disgusting feelings. They''re present, there, on the edge of consciousness...

    All these years here in the Heavenly River, ripped my veins to come to this day.

    And the uncertainty has remained.

    I smile under my helmet. I''m not a killing machine, as it turns out.

    Death is as easy as a fluff. Duty is as heavy as a mountain.

    It''s easy to remember, hard to accept.

    I''m not afraid for myself.

    It''s scary for the cause. Here''s to my plan.

    Everything hangs in the balance.

    These aren''t Jedi I''ve learned how to kill, almost always in the back.

    Now let''s dive in and start taking preliminary conclusions.

    What''s the upside and what''s the downside.

    Bane killed Kas''im, who is far from my skill. True, the master of the blade got caught trying to lead an "honest duel", and I know for sure that this is not the Olympic Games.

    Give or take.

    The Lord of Qordis in front of me, Bane just dared his power.

    But he wasn''t preparing to defend himself.

    But Bane didn''t see me half a hundred yards away.

    That''s good for me.

    Calm down, we''re leveling our breath now.

    Swords of light is not the main thing.

    It''s not swords that fight, it''s reasonable battles.

    "A true warrior wins first, then comes into battle. A fake warrior enters into a fight, then tries to win."

    By the canon, Bane must show up soon with the girl.

    Yes, now the looters have come, they''ll gut the tents.

    As I was closing in the Force, but the explosion of the Mental Bomb hit the brains a lot.

    My head was shaking.

    We should take a walk around, pull a life out of someone for the Dark Healing.

    But Bane would probably be able to detect the Dark Side ejection, which means he''d know someone from the Brotherhood was alive.

    I''m sitting on my ass straight.

    I''m meditating. Cooking a powerful doppelganger.

    Similfuturus allows you to program the doppelganger for certain actions, but you can''t put many algorithms in it. If I can do it.

    The most important thing is that at the time of activation, it''s a specific Force background.

    So I drink slowly, drop on the drop, from the side so little movement and not trace.

    That''s another plus.

    Despite my independent exercise, I''m not getting Juyo.

    Of course, I''d kill a wimp and a padawan, but I wouldn''t risk it against Bane.

    So, the "hit and bounce" option.

    The doppelganger would be like a well-healthy, weakened after a bomb hit.

    A sword''s made enough for itself, it''s a well-armed patient.

    The Force barrier holds for almost six seconds, that''s a plus one.

    Negatio Damnarium, thank you very much to Master Tuska. I saw her glimpse of the camp, resting in the Force, crazy bitch. You gave me the advantage, and that''s a great plus.

    All the masters love lightning, and I am almost indifferent to them to a certain, and very high power.

    Tutaminis hasn''t really mastered it, but the initial stage, when lightning is caught with a blade, I know how.

    It''s also a plus one.

    On the other hand, the optimist in the cemetery also sees some advantages.

    Oh, I can smell the darkness.

    Bane.

    Clear the mind of an outsider.

    Here we go!

    Bane missed the first punch, enthusiastically killing all the wimps he couldn''t resist.

    It''s all about science, first attacking limbs with weapons.

    I''m trying Dun M?ch.

    "Funny, isn''t it?"

    Bane roasted lightning bolts with his left. Take it with a sword.

    You have to go around it counterclockwise, from the side of the crippled hand.

    Let him focus not on Force Techs, but on the fact that he''s defenseless from this side.

    "Whoever called himself Darth''s title is just an ignoramus."

    Let''s go, let''s go.

    Piss off, let him think primitive.

    "Who are you?"

    That''s great. I can hear some nervousness in voice, all right.

    "It doesn''t matter."

    A few slow warm-ups on Juyo fly.

    Let him think about his missing sword.

    "All that matters is that whoever calls himself the dark lord can''t control his sense of danger."

    Bane roared and got caught.

    Instead of something sophisticated, he hit me with his bare power.

    Power barrier, doppelganger, long throwback, invisibility.

    That''s a combination I''ve worked on hundreds of times.

    The first round is on me.

    Zannah helped. She distracted the bald for three seconds.

    I''m going around, I''m in the back position.

    It''s a classic.

    The doppelganger''s wheezing like a real one. Distract me, honey.

    Bane, when he heard about Rule Two, forgot to breathe, I guess.

    I do Shiak, but it''s not easy.

    I''m not Zorro, but I''ve been practicing the letter "Z," and now I''m painting Bane on my back.

    Something makes me laugh, my nerves.

    The aura of a collapsed Sith kneeling starts to flicker, he fights for life.

    With his spine cut into pieces, his heart, his lungs?

    Strong, strong.

    He was.

    I go around, I pick up my sword.

    Doppelganger, goodbye, dear. You''ve become almost the best friend.

    You''re exhausted, martyr.

    "Illusion," I confessed, and then I looked at Bane. "Assassin school on Ryloth."

    When I watched episode three, I imagined how surprised Mace Windu would be if Palpatine got his second sword.

    The bald man was still fighting for life, but the Force was slowly flowing out of his truly powerful body.

    Something''s wheezing.

    I''m pissed at the pathos.

    It''ll make Zannah clearer, too.

    "I get it. You mean the Rule of Two."

    I crossed both blades around his neck.

    The snap! The gardener should have had scissors like that.

    "Always have two lightsabers."

    Just in case, I cut my head in three pieces. Reinsurance.

    But who knows, these great figures of the canon are not very simple.

    The variant of a born-again avenger doesn''t suit me at all.

    He put the parts of his head on the corpse.

    Yes! Finally, the weight fell off my shoulders, I want the usual, simple.

    I want to search the camp for values.

    But first acquaintance with a small, but very promising girl, who looking in my direction.

    I sat down and leveled the difference in height.

    "Come here, child."

    The girl was hesitating, so I''ll take my helmet off.

    I have a disposable face, I love children. In my past life, I had no problem making contact with a minor contingent.

    The little one came up.

    We need to keep in touch.

    "What''s your name, child?"

    She wasn''t happy to look back at "child". Let''s face it.

    "Zannah."

    I nod. Open gestures are good for contact.

    "My name is..."

    A new life, a new name. The same Latin is used in the galaxy for something special. The name of a two-faced Roman god will do.

    "You may address me by the name of Janus. And I will be your teacher."

    I put my hand on the girl''s shoulder and let a wave of tranquillity take its toll.

    "May I ask you a question?"

    "Of course."

    "What if he had repulsed you?"

    I blatantly smiled and threw half a hoodie away.

    There were a few curved handles hanging from the wide belt.

    Sometimes a simple joke can be the beginning of a long, good friendship.

    I''m looking for friends.

    There''s a lot of business ahead of me. You can''t leave everything to your employees.

    Welcome to the adult world, Zannah.

    Great things await us.

 Chapter 8. Everybodys got something to hide. Except for me and my monkey

    Planet Locust. The Outer Ring.

    Maria''s feverish.

    She stood by the window, wrapped her shoulders around her hands, looking at the glow of the many fires that had engulfed the capital.

    The latest events on the planet gave her a cramped desire to get away.

    And it would be better to be "far away" on Coruscant, where normal people are always comfortable and relaxed.

    The scoundrels outside the window were waving black flags. They were shouting, "Galaxy for all!"

    They''ve already taken over the spaceport. And the shootings were always breaking out everywhere.

    The last hyperlink was blown up yesterday, and the girl was completely lost.

    The "YouInHolo" social network, where she laid out her voice and talked to the reasonable, is unavailable. The police efforts have resulted in nothing. Neighbors said that some of the police had joined the robbers.

    Locust, a planet in the Outer Ring where many farmers lived quietly and peacefully, under the wise leadership of Concordat, was boiling.

    Just two years ago, Free Organization Of Locust was never heard of.

    Then FOOL decided to nominate their candidates for Concordat.

    Of course, no one was going to give the poor flock an opportunity to lead the planet.

    The families of the aristocrats tried to deal with it peacefully, with debts.

    Loans, mortgages...

    But collectors were hung, tax collectors were killed, and the army...

    Locust had no army.

    There were a few Army of Light veterans who now fought in the streets with bandits who thought they could get rights like the Families.

    A single parent, when he left for work today, told her not to leave home. Their house was equipped with a sealing system. The gases that were going to be used against the rioters wouldn''t have gotten in here.

    There were a few explosions, someone screamed loud and scared.

    Maria jumped into the driveway, forgetting to lock the door.

    On their floor there was already a crowd of Kian, a funny sensible man who had not yet decided on his gender identity, and the Harrid family, a single parent, a parent-two and five of their adopted children.

    They all looked frightenedly at the noisy girl coming out the door.

    One parent, Conrad Harrid, licked his lips and nervously noticed:

    "You could''ve kept it down."

    She did not have time to answer anything, because the parent or two, Romual Garrid, abruptly threw his hand, calling for attention.

    A barely audible knock, and the door leading to the stairs was skewed.

    Then she just fell in.

    Five reasonable men, dressed in different clothes, but with black bandages on their hands, punches in their buttstocks, and just kicks and stabs, made all the adults run thirteen stories down.

    The street smelled like garbage, and in Maria''s eyes it immediately protected.

    In their once cozy, quiet courtyard, there was a crowd of tenants.

    The fence was broken in some places. The guards'' house near the entrance was blown up by an explosion.

    For about fifteen minutes the bandits dragged out the rest of the tenants of the elite multi-storey, and the children were taken out carefully, albeit preventing their attempts to rush to their parents.

    The screams and cries were so loud that they completely muffled the engine noise of the flycats that arrived.

    Maria was shaking for fear of the unknown. She noticed the new actors only when a group of intellectuals came almost at point-blank range, and the cordon of bandits parted, letting the new arrivals through.

    The obvious boss, a gray old man of high stature, stood so impressively that all the prisoners were silent.

    Even the children.

    Only a little rustled, fluttering in the wind, the canvas of the old man raised behind his back, black as an abyss, the flag.

    White, a little skill, eyes looked closely and attentively, as if penetrating into the soul. The old man examined the crowd of prisoners, not lingering on anyone deliberately.

    Thin lips were cracked by the failure of his mouth:

    "What, bastards? Shit themselves?"

    Planet Locust shuddered.

    Locust had accepted the will of the Great Power.

    The planet has a future.

    ***

    Ruusan''s orbit.

    The girl fell asleep in a small cabin. Zannahh is tired.. Too many changes in life. Too sudden.

    I kept sitting there, staring dumbly at the dashboard in the ship''s wheelhouse.

    The first steps.

    Everything''s too important. Everything will have consequences.

    Looking at the documents from the Brotherhood made me think.

    What lies in the secret room accounts of the Lords will allow many generations of descendants to have a long and merry time. Theoretically.

    In practice, it gets more complicated.

    Nobody''s gonna let anybody take out or move large amounts of money.

    There was power behind the Brotherhood, so the bankers allowed them some financial autonomy.

    And now the remains of the late Sker Kaan''s fleet and his companions are being killed everywhere.

    The battle in orbit allowed a little caution, seeped out of the gravitational shadow of the planet and slip into hyperspace. Thank you very much, former comrades-in-arms.

    I have no power behind me.

    The agency will no doubt lay low, surrender me to the Jedi, or simply and banally try to destroy me.

    I have a huge number of documents, all with completely different names.

    It''s certainly good for initial legalization. But documents alone don''t guarantee access to a society where you can spin big capitals. Everyone knows each other there, so the emergence of a new face requires a strong legend.

    Just to live the life of an underground millionaire?

    Oh, please. Power will not allow you to exist in the shadows and do nothing.

    I spent a couple of years thinking about a gentleman from the planet Serenno.

    Not Dooku, not even an ancestor, a weaker and simpler figure.

    But there were prospects in this option.

    Hetton.

    Why?

    He''s rich. An aristocrat. By the standards of his planet, has some attention there.

    He looks at the Dark Side with interest.

    I checked the information on him.

    His mother died a few years ago.

    It was a sign.

    The canon is present.

    Hetton found Kaan''s idea of Sith equality in the Brotherhood disgusting and contrary to everything he had learned and believed in.

    His mother, Lauranda, thought only of political alliances. She put pressure on her son. He could have been a ticket to an alliance with the Brotherhood.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    Hetton poisoned her in her sleep. He was afraid his mother would turn him over to the Brotherhood.

    Hetton hid from the Jedi and the Brotherhood, and continued to look for Sith knowledge and artifacts.

    It''s a promising option.

    "King, set a course for Serenno."

    I will look at this Hetton.

    ***

    Serenno.

    Come on come on come on

    Come on is such a joy

    Come on is such a joy

    Come on take it easy

    Come on take it easy

    Take it easy take it easy

    Everybody''s got something to hide.

    Except for me and my monkey.

    The deeper you go the higher you fly

    The higher you fly the deeper you go

    Your inside is out and your outside is in

    Your outside is in and your inside is out

    So come on come on

    Come on is such a joy

    Come on is such a joy

    Come on make it easy

    Come on make it easy

    Make it easy to make it easy

    Everybody''s got something to hide.

    Except for me and my monkey.

    Serenno.

    I was enjoying the time. It was a lot to do. A lot of pleasant and unpleasant things to do.

    But it was interesting for me to live these few years.

    Much more interesting than my years at the Assassin Academy.

    I accepted the practice of destroying life normally.

    I studied dark and bright with interest.

    Were there more darkness?

    Can''t help it. The Force itself put me in the dark.

    But on Serena, it was as if I remembered my old life.

    When you do a job. And that job makes you happy every day.

    When you understand the meaning of "born to do this".

    ***

    In the beginning, I showed Hetton a technique to speed up his learning, and he has grown considerably in skill.

    Where he could collect all sorts of dark stuff. He''d drag everything that belonged to the gifted into his mink.

    But there couldn''t be any information in the holocrons to speed up learning and increase efficiency.

    Because that''s what they teach from the beginning, that''s obvious to all technicians.

    To find them in the holocron is like finding an encyclopedia article on how to write the first letter in the alphabet correctly.

    Zannah was making progress, too.

    Home schooling on Serenno was great for heirs to wealthy families.

    And the girl also spent a lot of time studying the Force.

    The day I arrived at Serenno, I found Hetton''s address and came to visit.

    We had a fruitful conversation.

    An hour later, the mercenaries he had pulled out of various places, under the command of loyal lovers, rushed through the academies, libraries and caches I had indicated.

    In the papers of the Lords there were coordinates and access codes.

    Hetton himself decided to fly with me to the Korriban.

    Maybe I don''t have a very good set of statistics. I get the feeling that all the Dark Ones I''ve met are suffering, to varying degrees, from brain aggression.

    Just "let''s get everybody on their knees!"

    Yes, the Dark Force Techniques require negative emotions, but only in the mastering phase!

    Then, when the consciousness remembers what to do, it''s not necessary to torment the consciousness with negativity.

    So, no, these bruised on the head go on, "anger gives me strength..."

    Funny and nasty.

    I think that''s what the ancient dark lords understood.

    Yeah, I''m sure they were funny life lovers at home.

    And these modern sith...

    Well, how can you stay with a healthy head when you have to either be angry or at least annoyed to do something.

    Hetton took a walk at the Academy. Then he and I took a walk to the Valley of the Dark Lords while the servants gutted the archives and searched for the hiding places.

    This guy really walked in the tombs with an inspirational expression on his face, and then went to make all sorts of pathos speeches.

    What''s it to me, I turned off the external microphones of my helmet and turned on the music, and the servants what''s it like?

    "Come on take it easy

    Come on take it easy

    Take it easy take it easy."

    I got tense at first.

    But probing the Force didn''t do anything.

    The Spirits of the Lords did not come down.

    And I wanted to shit on them, too.

    After three days, they finally went back to the Academy, found their losses.

    Three jerks had their hands torn off when they opened the caches. Four of them were ripped to shit. And one managed to sit in a chair in a torture chamber and activate it.

    Nothing, but the chair was meant for women.

    He yelled loud and long.

    The Jedi squadron arrived three days after our company made the boot in the floor. The satellites we had hanged in orbit before the operation started said warships were coming, and they shut up.

    At the end of the operation, Hetton got inspired and appointed me his teacher. He decided that he would now be the coolest and strongest in the Serenno scale.

    Then he worked his way up to the practical top of Shii-Cho. Then he started shyly trying to conquer Niman. Hetton had the idea of swinging two swords in a pathos.

    And after the remark that Exar Kun owned Niman, but used a staff, he was completely blown away.

    Hetton got himself two blades, which were connected to the staff and cosplayed Exar.

    I was interested in teaching this funny aristocrat.

    It was important for me to understand that my plan had a right to live.

    ***

    Erwin Hetton invited me to his place for an important conversation.

    When I walked into the room, Erwin was sitting in a deep chair, giving orders to his servants. He immediately interrupted and made a gesture with his hand, "Go away, but look at me!"

    The servants made a common bow and quietly moved out.

    Hetton stood up and bowed majestically.

    I nodded briefly to him and continued with the circus.

    I shook hands with all the departing servants.

    The master of the mansion had a clear desire to cover his face with his hand.

    It''s simple. I''m boyfriend for everyone. I drank with all the beers. I used to talk about women and tell jokes. I''m the one who''d stop by the cooks, fix the equipment, and steal all the goodies. And they''d drive me away and laugh at me. I used to make birthday presents for kids all the time.

    In the end, I know all the moves in the palace.

    And not just Hetton Palace.

    Don''t make fun of my skills.

    I know what to know if you live on Serenno.

    Hetton has changed with me. Now he doesn''t have on his face "I had everyone/ And if didn''t, I''m gonna catch them and fuck them."

    But still, nurturing the "aristocracy" has done its job.

    He still thinks he''s superior to someone by birthright.

    Stupid foolishness.

    The delirium of a rich aristocrat from the Middle Ring.

    I remember a phrase from one of the Indian chiefs on planet Earth:

    "We did not receive the privilege of inheriting from our ancestors. We borrowed them from our descendants."

    Why were empires collapsing?

    Those who were called aristocracy did not understand what they were doing instead of serving.

    When they forgot that being born into a noble family was an advance that had to be worked out.

    Ancient Rome could teach many things.

    But who needs it?

    The aristocrats of France?

    Liberty. Equality. Brotherhood.

    Thank you, I know what a Brotherhood is. I peed on his grave.

    Erwin Hetton killed my faith in the aristocracy.

    His first teacher, duros, a hired assassin and a bounty hunter, Gula Dwan could teach a little. He used only the simplest powers of the Force for tricks like levitating objects. But Dwan could teach the most important! He had no sympathy for Jedi or Sith, this fool was only loyal to those who paid more credits.

    It was a great chance for Hetton.

    But he didn''t understand the main thing.

    He couldn''t understand the Greatness of Power.

    For which all these divisions and currents are not important, let alone titles and titles.

    I was disappointed in Erwin Hetton.

    But I could work with him.

    So he could work on my plans.

    "Master," Hetton''s voice rang in triumph. "We finally have allies!"

    Too bad he didn''t watch "Shrek". Then I''d quote, "Donkey, there''s no "us", there''s me and my swamp." He wouldn''t understand. Hutt''s with her, with a quote.

    But the rest needs fixing.

    "Well done, apprentice, well done."

    I walked to the panoramic window and sat in a deep chair.

    Obedient to the thought movement, the bar doors swung open, the bottle jumped in my hand.

    The owner slightly wincered.

    Yes, I prefer beer! And I don''t give a shit that among most aristocrats drinking beer is considered a plebeian.

    And now there are always bottles of beer in the palace bars.

    Well done!

    And yes! I like to drink from a bottle neck.

    Hetton is not expected to hear the joy in my voice.

    Buying his time, he, too, leaned into the chair next door and levitated a bottle of some kind of drinking must have been unreal.

    The glass was also present in the set.

    The aristocrat decided to find out the details.

    "Master, are you dissatisfied?"

    I shrugged my shoulders:

    "What can I say? Basically, I don''t care."

    His eyebrows flew up:

    "Why?"

    I knew very well about his movements. And his dreams, too. And I consciously gave him the opportunity to act. I watched him.

    I came to talk because it was time to adjust "politics".

    If I can do that. If it doesn''t work out...

    The assets I''ve been counting on to be withdrawn from the number accounts of the dead members of the Brotherhood have been withdrawn. At any moment, you can, as my grandmother used to say, "ass on ass and who jumps next".

    I faked a tired breath:

    "You received promises of cooperation from your allies. Your Anti-Republican Liberation Front has won. The planet and the Serenno system are out of the Republic. Next what?"

    There''s a stupor in his eyes. He doesn''t understand.

    I''m reaching out to him:

    "And, most importantly. What will you do to pay off your allies?"

    Hetton came back to life.

    He was clearly thinking about it.

    He''s stalling by taking a sip of wine.

    "Master, we have agreed to establish a Royal Council, which will include..."

    I scornfully waved and he shut up.

    Now Hetton is looking at me with interest. Well, I''ve only been his teacher in training. And in politics, he thought he was a 40-8-year-old bison, and I was a 20-year-old snot.

    And I''ve still demonstratively stayed away from all that "political movement."

    "Hetton, I hear you. You want to be king. And then you just plan to subjugate your former allies. And the "they won''t let you do it" option isn''t even considered. Is that it?"

    He nodded.

    "I have a question for you personally. That''s how it works. You''ve become king. Next what?"

    He even choked on wine.

    "I will lead Serenno to power and glory..."

    Left him with a sorry look.

    Got the datapad out of his pocket, put out charts for clarity.

    "Look here, future majesty. Forty percent of the population lives below the poverty line. Unemployment in the system is eight percent. Mining equipment is worn out by an average of sixty-three percent. There are no factories in the system for any industry. There is total dependence on imported food supplies. What is produced here provides only seven percent of the population.

    Of those who are reasonable and engaged in various fields, one and a half percent have higher technical education. Only eighteen per cent of the population has access to medical services. Forty per cent of children can attend schools. There is simply a lack of schools."

    I put out the charts. I''ve already felt it. That aristocrat didn''t get it. He doesn''t understand. And the reasons aren''t in him at all. Reasons lie deep in the past, Serenno''s system and the entire galaxy.

    But I can speak frankly to this man.

    He''s been useful to me. And he will be useful to me and my plans for a long time to come.

    And I''m not going to feel sorry for him:

    "How are you gonna rule? Do you think that bunch of aristocrats are Serenno? You''re under half a percent. The whole population is in debt, debt in credit. And you don''t have your own currency. You just don''t have anything to secure it. And the republican banks are just holding your balls. If they need it, they''ll secure a rebellion against King Hetton''s tyranny".

    Hetton''s face is petrified:

    "Yes, we are few, but our people can handle any uprising!"

    Oh, my God! God from planet Earth! Is that why the Heavenly River is so deaf, you''ve never even heard of Napoleon here?

    We''ll have to quote:

    "You can do a lot with bayonets, but you can''t sit on them. The best way to deal with a popular uprising is to keep it from happening."

    It''s singing:

    "Most are a herd that''s always dissatisfied. Do I have to please them all?"

    The second bottle of beer slipped into my hand:

    "And you don''t hold the reasonable ones by the herd, so you don''t have to please the herd."

    I remember the other words of that funny Frenchman.

    "Leader, it''s a salesman of hope."

    I''m sorry. For Hetton, I don''t have this product. Only dark skills.

    We had a good talk.

    We both sensed my student approaching.

    Zannah broke into her office and shouted her news:

    "Master, I did it!"

    Then she remembered the decency, made a kneeksen.

    Hetton and I looked over and simultaneously suppressed the smiles.

    The girl promised to grow into a beauty, but not stunning, and one that has something that should be in any girl.

    So small, wrinkled, brown.

    A highlight, if anyone doesn''t get it.

    "Okay, apprentice. Let''s go show you your progress."

    Hetton nods his head:

    "Most interesting. And then we can talk about politics."

    I agree.

    Let him try to put my thoughts in his head first.

    He won''t surprise me.

    I don''t believe he will.

    And the Great Power isn''t giving signs.

    ***

    The girl''s power was already impressive.

    I knew it was Zannah. It''s the same Zannah who''ll be able to do many great and terrible things.

    It was a pleasure to teach the girl.

    I understand. That it''s too early for me to practice pedagogy.

    I myself am only at the beginning of my journey to comprehend the Force.

    But someone had to help the girl follow the path of the Force.

    Heh, heh.

    I need her future power. I need her loyalty.

    She is my Zannah.

    And any nice words about the teacher''s duty are one side of the coin.

    She''ll work beside me. And she will work so well. As good as she''ll learn.

    Before our eyes, there were a few big rocks hanging in the gym, a ball of water several feet in diameter, and grains of sand fluttering around them. A lot of grains of sand. I closed my eyes. When this diamond finishes cutting, she''ll have something to surprise the galaxy with.

    And the girl was also spinning around the hall, repulsing the attacks of the eight Shadows.

    Hetton looked at it and wrinkled annoyingly. The girl was showing a great Jar��Kai that he had never been given himself.

    It''s a purely psychological question.

    Stretching exercises strengthened his flexibility, but there was no naturalness in his movements.

    Hetton''s brains did not want to believe that it is possible to bend, had to do deliberately. But unconscious movements are always faster.

    Zannah curved in such a way that her body seemed to have no bones at all.

    ***

    Hetton was thinking.

    There were more and more supporters of separation from the Republic.

    Their secret front was gathering strength.

    There were more and more of those who loudly broadcast that it was time to make a statement.

    Janus words were interesting, unexpected.

    But what can a twenty-year-old boy in politics understand?

    When the system comes out of the greedy hands of the galactic senate, all taxes now levied on the Republic will remain in the system.

    And that''s a lot of money.

    A little more taxes on the population, and we can build our own fleet. Then no one would ever think that this is a place to live.

    Of course, the military fleet is simply worth indecent money in maintenance, but the opportunity to have a "long hand" warms us.

    Now you can make purchases at a cheap price.

    After the defeat of the Brotherhood of Darkness and the Ruusan Reformation, quite good ships are actively sold out.

    At first, of course, before leaving the Republic, you will have to do with the services of private military companies.

    In the meantime, schools created at the suggestion of Janus for poor children with full boarding and advanced military training will prepare sergeants for him, Erwin Hetton, the army!

    Hetton covered his eyes, he represented a huge landing field filled with flat "boxes" of soldiers. Behind them, huge landing vehicles were floating in the sky, ready to accept this mass and carry them to fulfill his will.

    King Erwin the First...

    He rode the word combination in his mind.

    Sounds good.

    But Emperor Erwin the First sounds much better.

 Chapter 9. We are alive

    Serenno.

    I know it''s time.

    I know she''ll suffer.

    Deep underground, I created one hiding place.

    It was a small room, a small room.

    I created a room specifically for one object. To work with one artifact.

    The material on the walls was inert to the Force. This is to shield what happens here.

    It is necessary to pass three hundred and thirty-three steps of spiral staircase, dropping all the way down to get to the room.

    It''s time to start a new game.

    Zannah was following me.

    She was having fun.

    You bet she did!

    You have to follow a certain conversation scenario to trick an evil uncle.

    And the evil uncle had long been angry and angry. He shook his fists and was almost like the real thing.

    In the dim light of the chemical light brought before us, Darth Andeddu was screaming and shouting.

    Or rather, his image from the holocron.

    Prakit.

    I remembered the name of the planet. For six months, my scouts searched for old maps, then laid out a new course.

    I got the holocron from Andeddu fans.

    Why? Sneaked out, called, found it.

    There wasn''t any pretentious Darth Bain-style fights.

    I just sneaked in invisibility, took off and ran.

    A month''s flight back there, a month''s flight back, that''s the whole operation.

    In that time, the holocron camera was set up.

    Among the items we recovered from the Korriban, there were several Force batteries.

    So they fed power to the holocron. It forced the holocrown Andeddu to be in reality all the time.

    I myself only spoke to the ghost of the deceased Lord once.

    It was on a ship, but it was enough to admit that the canon wasn''t wrong, the dude had an unusually injurious and skittish character.

    All right, you''re gonna eat your negative with a big spoon.

    Except for the Andeddu holocron, there was a Jedi holocron handbook. The Jedi holocron also had the Power and the Phantom Guardian present in the room.

    I set him up so that he would catch the key words and start lecturing with a spruce voice on a given topic, without interruption.

    As a result, after a month of being in the same room as this person, Andeddu finally changed his mood.

    I gave a mental command and the Jedi went out.

    Zannah and I sat down next to each other on the floor.

    It was interesting to see the ghost of the first person to take the title of "Darth."

    "Hello," a apprentice waved her palm.

    The Andeddu scrimped on a Jedi holocron:

    "Hello."

    My next one came, and I started a lesson for my apprentice:

    "Apprentice, you have before you the image of a dead Sith lord named Darth Andeddu. He''s funny."

    "Funny?" The ghost is outraged.

    The Jedi holocron keeper turned on and started broadcasting:

    "FUNNY. Delivering fun, serving fun. Interesting. It''s a funny picture. It''s a funny story. Funny kid."

    "Stop it!" moaning for Andeddu.

    He was clutching his ears, but it didn''t help in his condition.

    The thought team of me and the Jedi is changing the record:

    "Stop, stop it. Stop doing anything. Put an end, limit something. Stop the debate. Stop negotiating. Stop getting to know each other. Stop smoking."

    "Aah!" shouted to Andeddu.

    The image of a Jedi blinked and went out.

    "Watch my lips."

    For better understanding, I waved:

    "You''re nobody here and you don''t have a name. If you resist, this Jedi holocron will eat your brain. Do you understand me?"

    Andeddu wouldn''t take his eyes off my hand on a Jedi holocron, he''d throw his head up fast.

    The Sith ghost smiled.

    The Dark One can always understand the Dark One.

    Well, that''s good.

    There''s something to work with.

    ***

    Coruscant.

    Four years me and Zannah were preparing for surgery.

    I look at the girl and I''m happy.

    No, not her accomplishments. Zannah''s great.

    I''m happy with myself. I was able to keep up with her. She really couldn''t beat me. She was stronger. But she was a young girl. I was a strong man with an old man''s brains.

    It was time to change that.

    "Now you''re ready, apprentice."

    I just wanted to cheer the girl up before a long separation.

    So I put my hand on her shoulder and sent a wave of confidence and warmth.

    I nodded thoughtfully, wrapping a golden curl around her finger.

    Dusk reigned in the lower levels, where no light had penetrated. In artificial light, the power was saved.

    Eternal dull smell, noise of long-unserved fans that pumped air, small rooms of social housing, gloomy, wary reasonable.

    The recognition of the capital''s gloss.

    I did not need a apprentice who would spin among rich children, detached from the understanding of ordinary people. Zannah was doing well in all sectors of society.

    On Serenno, we would go once a week to all sorts of slums and girls, and then the girl would meditate, tuning in to the general aura of the neighborhood.

    In the aura there were echoes of thoughts of all living people, their great sorrow, their little joys, their hopes and despair.

    Sometimes a apprentice would explode and run away to establish visual contact with the most intelligent person who was most interested in her. It is easier to make a closer mental connection.

    And now we''ve been living on Coruscant for over a year, in the 2,000-37 sector.

    A small three-room apartment where one of the rooms has been converted into a server room. There is a hangar rented for many years ahead with a refueled and maintained shuttle ready for departure.

    There''s plenty of money. A lot of money has been laundered through Hetton. But personally I, and at my instigation and Zannah, are supporters of a modest lifestyle.

    Why do I need more things than is really necessary?

    The only thing I have is something that fits in a small bag.

    From transport, my King, where we fly to warm up at a local resort...

    Zannah has a sports model on which she scatters around Coruscant for fun.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    Blimey Sith, she doesn''t even have a swimsuit!

    Like me, she prefers to swim naked.

    And no sexual tricks. I''m not a pedophile.

    Of course, her boyfriends have rolled up on the beach more than once, but a light touch by the Force and they lose interest.

    Although there''s something to see and touch. She''s got a nice sports figure, tight tits, all with her.

    Zannah made good use of her strengths. She''s got a fuse for Lenny Klug, big shot with the local gangsters. He thought I was the elder brother of his beauty, patronizingly clapped on the shoulder at meetings, indifferently asked about life.

    He used to drive a girl in a luxury car, take her to expensive restaurants, rent luxury apartments for "love nights".

    And then in the morning he shone with happiness. Induced suggestion and masturbation can completely satisfy any man.

    After about a month of meetings, the girl began to travel with him to business meetings and even a couple of times participated in shootings.

    In Serenno training camps she was trained to handle various firing things, and the accuracy with which a gifted man can shoot is also clear by default.

    So Aurelia, as the apprentice''s name was here, soon became something of a gang mascot to three hundred bullies.

    Well, why? "The business meetings" she attended always ended in Lenny''s favor. One easy force on the mind, and the opponent is at least ready to "understand and forgive".

    Aurelia''s enemies are stacked with tutus. Beauty, and the boss after "nights of love" is not as evil as usual.

    Tonight we finally waited for the event we needed.

    Hetton, dealing with the soldiers of his "front", thought that we are engaged in creating a legitimate base to strike the Senate. These chatterboxes might take offense at his movements and decide to send ships to disassemble.

    His plans were to crash buildings, take hostages. The dude''s really freaked out.

    He didn''t want to understand that the best secret base is the one they won''t be looking for. And there''s one already on Coruscant.

    A week ago, the servers finally caught a message that the Pantier family of Alderaan was taking one of their offspring to a Jedi temple. The boy was gifted. All of this was presented in a pomp. For thousands of years, the family has served the Republic.

    It''s the right thing to do.

    "Night of Love". And so Lenny is burning with the desire to take the boy hostage.

    The servers have calculated the exact date of arrival, and the landing corridor to a site near the temple.

    There must be journalists there by now, and the family will be broadcasting all kinds of nonsense on camera. PR, in a word.

    Comlink on the apprentice''s arm squeaked and she nodded:

    "Here we go."

    Jump on the King and take off.

    Three rockets hit the landing ship. Two more entered directly into the left and right repulsors. The ship did not survive such mockery and, densely smoke of holes, began to fall slowly. The ship fell gently, it compensated for Coruscant''s gravity with the three remaining repulsors.

    To honor the pilots, they were able to plant the ship on an even keel, even managed not to break the trees in the park adjacent to the Jedi Temple.

    They plunged into the clearing and, while the passengers were slowly regaining consciousness, the airlock was opened. The guards of the Pantier family even managed to fire several shots into the aperture, but were literally swept away by a barrage of killer precision fire.

    The bursting figures in different armor grabbed the boy of five years old in rich clothes and, having killed the survivors, rushed to the exit.

    Dashing speeders were already waiting for them there, and the kidnappers had dissolved into the stone jungle of Coruscant.

    ***

    I was admitted to the Jedi temple.

    That''s exactly what happened.

    The Jedi master who was doing this difficult business was so full of pathos, so thick that when I asked the only question, I immediately regretted it.

    But in order.

    Lenny''s thugs took Magnus Pantier to a creepy secret base.

    Deep down on the very surface of Coruscant, several buildings were turned into a bastion with signs of strife on the walls.

    Inside it was dirty, half of the rooms were intended to be used for various purposes, while the other half was filled with garbage which local relatively intelligent organisms threw down when they thought of cleaning their rooms.

    As we walked down the corridor, one woman was just dumping household waste.

    But the rooms intended for Lenny were quite decent, if it weren''t for the environment.

    It was my first time here, so I took a look around.

    Lenny, lazily falling apart on the sofa, wasn''t happy with the greeting:

    "Baby, why did you come here with your brother, too?"

    Busy, gracefully wiggling her hips, walked up to him and smacked her lips.

    "I missed you, Rankor," she twisted.

    Lenny picked up and waved at me:

    "Sit down, why are you up?"

    I wasn''t proud, dropped my bag on the floor at the entrance and sat in the chair across the street.

    "Honey, can I see the boy? I''ve never seen anybody near the aristocrats," Zannah continued...

    Her eyes flashed for a moment, barely perceptible on a blue background with golden sparks, and the bandit gave the order.

    The boy was ordered to be brought in by a bandit who looked a lot like me.

    And the one who flew away from Hetton...

    When I arrived at Coruscant, I became smoothly shaved.

    Bald. Well, what''s the big deal? I, too, have the right to cosplay Bane.

    The bandit pushed the little Pantier into the room and came in himself.

    The boy was obviously fastened, that''s good.

    Psyche''s normal.

    The key with the unfocused look froze in the chair with the dick in his hand.

    Busy instantly flew to the gangster who came in, and for a moment froze, looking into his eyes. He, too, fell into a stupor for a second, then turned around and went out, closing the doors behind him.

    Okay, now everybody''s gonna know the boss is out of sorts and won''t risk coming in. We don''t need much time.

    Zannah went up to the boy I had put to sleep and sat next to him in a meditation pose.

    She looked at me:

    "It''s not too late to play another way, teacher."

    I was pounding myself, but I can''t back down.

    I shook my head:

    "It''s okay. It''s necessary for everyone. Here we go."

    The boy was to the left of the pupil, I lay to the right.

    I smiled:

    "I told you, that you were ready. Do you remember?"

    She nodded, biting her lip.

    It came out erotic.

    I closed my eyes.

    "Here we go. In the name of the Force."

    The apprentice''s palm soothed with coolness, fell on her forehead and her voice uttered:

    "In her name."

    "Let your mind rest easy

    Sleep well my friend

    It''s only our bodies that betray us in the end

    Well I awoke last night in the dark and dreamy deep

    From my head to my feet my body''s gone stone cold

    There were worms crawling all around me.

    My fingers scratching at an earth black and six feet low

    Alone in the blac of my grave

    Alone I''d been left to die

    Then I heard voices calling all around me

    The earth rose above me

    My eyes filled with sky

    We are alive

    And though our bodies lie alone here in the dark

    Our spirits rise

    To carry the fire and light the spark

    To stand shoulder to shoulder and heart to heart

    We are alive."

    And the darkness came.

    ***

    Zannah saw the teacher''s body soaked and relaxed.

    And it was ashes.

    The cleaning droid jumped out of the door in the wall, cleaning the floor.

    And she was tormented by the thoughts and feelings of Janus.

    Now his consciousness was inside her, burning fiercely with black flames.

    If before the ritual began she had caught a shadow of his doubt even for a moment, she would have thought.

    And so she did not hesitate to put her hand on the forehead of a little ancient freak, Magnus Pantier and burned his soul. And then she poured into an empty vessel the consciousness of the one who had become her closest creature in the universe.

    Sometimes it seemed to her that they could get even closer, especially when she was ingrained in her habit of walking around naked in front of him, catching his estimating and admiring look.

    The teacher never hid anything from her, answered her questions truthfully and as fully as possible. And watching the holovideo also allowed her to learn a lot about the relationship between the sexes.

    So she had been adding to her collection of sex toys for three years and used them in every way, including under Janus.

    But for some reason he only felt for her some quiet tenderness clearly visible in the Force, and she did not dare to take a step.

    She thought it would break their relationship, and she kept silent.

    And now he''s less her age.

    Busy smiled and ruffled the boy''s hair.

    Golden, like hers.

    It''s all right, Janus taught her patience.

    She''ll wait. They can do it.

    The boy shuddered for the last time and fell asleep.

    He''ll wake up in ten minutes. We have to get used to the new body.

    The girl''s turned on Lenny. He looked particularly nasty under the dirt.

    The gangster''s got a lot of nozzles and he''s been fasting. Lenny was "choking the goose", as the teacher said.

    Busy straightened up, glimpsed a glimpse of the comlink.

    The news of Magnus'' abduction was in the top of the news, all kinds of "wanted", "any information" and "reward for any information", shots everywhere.

    Now, obeying the program, the body that brought the boy called the police and reported on the location of the abducted boy.

    He will give them all the information they need for the special operation.

    Now the bill''s gone for minutes.

    Zannah went to the sniffing Lenny, took his pocket blaster, collected the fruits of the "goose" strangling effort in the palm of her hand and smeared them on Magnus'' clothes.

    Next to the boy, she put the blaster.

    Preparation for the scene, "A nasty rapist tried to abuse the child, but he took his blaster and shot him in self-defense," was ready.

    The sentience''s, seeing such, are usually lost and forget about different little things, blazing with righteous anger.

    Six minutes later, the thug who called came back and, obeying the order, rushed to pull up the old armor of the teacher, which he brought in his bag.

    Busy looked into the eyes of the bandit and, focusing, introduced him a new program.

    He turned the light stick of the teacher in his hands and pinned it on his belt.

    He also received a holocron from the Hetton collection, which was heavily phoned by the Dark Side...

    And a personally made Zannah bracelet, that will release the lightning of the Force into the target, and then dissolve into the Great.

    An hour later, Zannah was sitting in the cockpit of a small but very toothed charterer. She set a course for Mustafar, where sent recon droids found suspicious movement.

    As the teacher says, the Stellar Guard must find the Star Banner.

    ***

    The first Jedi who broke into the lair of the abominable ringleader of criminals was struck by lightning from the hands of a bandit who depicted a Sith.

    The Jedi was astonished to the core, so he modestly lay down in a corner to think.

    A second Jedi swirl struck the activating sword, but he did not know what to do with it next to the bandit.

    The hand with the sword flew off, the second blow split the body in two.

    "Yes, a Jedi in anger is a terrible force," I was watching a live broadcast through security cameras.

    The Jedi jumped on, kicked out an unlocked door, and I saw an amazing picture.

    A corpse with his skull almost blown apart at point blank range and his pants down! One thing.

    And next to me, scared to hide behind the sofa, there''s also one individual.

    "Found it," the Jedi reported to the clink without finding anyone else.

    The Jedi squatted in front of me, soothingly patted me on the shoulder, then pulled away his hand, looked back at the corpse, squeamishly curled and took his hand off the couch.

    "It''s gonna be okay, boy."

    He used the couch again as a napkin.

    "We saved you, it''s gonna be okay now."

    All the noises of the battle subsided, obviously, the Justices killed the resistance and now they''re packing the surrenders.

    And that''s where the character came in.

    A Jedi came into the room proudly, something that looked a lot like Jack Nicholson. Maybe because his face stood out with a very expressive game of eyebrows?

    In the wake of him, a friendly crowd of five juniors fell and dispersed, watching the guns on the sides.

    When they did not find danger, they relaxed, and for nothing.

    The main threat came from the "Mr. Joker".

    He walked into the center of the room, sat down, stretched out his hand in my direction, and began with a well-dressed, thick baritone:

    "Child, we saved you!"

    Thank you, Mr. McMurphy.

    But the dude caught a wave.

    "How are you feeling, child?"

    I squeaked something, and it obviously caused the Jedi to have verbal diarrhea.

    "Know, child, that this group of brave men of reason, under my command, performed a brilliant operation to get you out of the clutches of the vile accomplices of the darkness!"

    Did he inspect the premises to see if he was being listened to? Those present were doomed to listen.

    Inspired by this, he went on:

    "It is impossible to imagine what these monsters could have done to you, an innocent child! You could''ve been killed! Or even," he choked when he imagined, "Dip into the gloomy abyss of the Dark Side!"

    Too bad I didn''t meet you at Ruusan, Mr. Daryl Van Horne.

    Such characters should wear a sword in their backs. I''m sure he didn''t go to war, though. People like him sit in the silence and comfort of the temple.

    He''s definitely from Fae Coven''s group.

    There must be a lot of such talkers and propagandists there.

    I made the face of a Puss in Boots and the Jedi took it as a question.

    "My name is Master Jedi Kay Bron, child. And it will be a great joy for me to bring you into the Citadel of Light, the pillar of the Republic, the greatest of the buildings in the galaxy. I will lead you to the Jedi Temple! That is where you will begin your training. You will gain knowledge and grow into a true Paladin of Light! But beware of the temptations of the dark, child! Only Light brings good to all!"

    Suddenly he''s gone blind.

    The listeners are much less in number.

    Just while this walking light-bearing loudspeaker was talking propaganda delirium, the SWAT team, having exchanged gestures, quietly, so as not to attract attention, were retreating from the room.

    The young Jedi also vanished.

    Probably communication with this master raises the skill of invisibility to an unrealistic height.

    "Give me your hand and I will take you out of this place without the blessing of light!"

    That''s how I was brought into the Jedi Temple.

    ***

    Later. The High Council of the Jedi Order.

    I was right.

    This guy was pumping the Jedi invisibility.

    As we walked from the hangar, Master Bron was telling me with pathos about statues, paintings, and almost everything that attracted his attention in the rooms we were going through.

    Isn''t it just horror, as simple as possible, a simple ascent on a turbolift compared to "the ascent of a pure, innocent child to the source of Light for the whole Galaxy"?

    And now I''ve been standing before the Council for an hour and listening to this chatterbox.

    And the masters clearly took it for granted, nodding favorably at the next passage about the "child", "Light" and "Darkness".

    And I learned the secret to Fae Coven''s success.

    She and her supporters were nominated to the High Council only so that they would not eat out the brains of others, but do it with each other, on an official basis.

    Finally, the Master shut up, and the Council looked over.

    The mighty Iktotchi spoke:

    "Yes, treacherous darkness, a lot of trials little Magnus had to pass."

    The whole Council was nodding their heads. They''re really crazy.

    The power that I did in a past life?

    Iktotchi went on:

    "But I can feel the Light in him, and the unbroken spirit in him."

    Everybody was leaving again.

    Fae took the floor. She made a touching face and gave it away in a lousy tone:

    "Master Bron, the Council thanks you and asks that you be escorted to the House of Healers/ It is necessary to examine the boy. His arrangement with the Order will be taken care of by the teachers."

    And Mr. Francis "Frank" Costello has eaten my brain all the way to the Chambers.

    I probably shouldn''t have done that to Andeddu.

    It''s really monstrous. It''s like screwing screws through my ears right into my brain. Alive.

    Like this, under the loud fanfare of the Law of Retribution, I became a youngling.

    Nobody said. That it would be easy.

    Zannah, good luck swimming on your own, my girl.

    And all I have to do is wish you patience, peace and endurance.

    But we''ll manage.

    Our spirits rise

    To carry the fire and light the spark

    To stand shoulder to shoulder and heart to heart

    We are alive.