That familiar sensation. You are suspended in a void. A rubber mask fits tightly over your nose and mouth. Through the bluish-translucent veil of bacta, several other tanks are visible. In some, bodies still float; others are being serviced by cleaner droids, their mission apparently complete.
A rhythmic hum followed, then a slight jerk as I was pulled from the tank. Mechanical arms carefully laid me on a table, and cold metallic hands checked my head.
"Patient's vitals are within normal limits. How is your subjective well-being?" A medical droid stood nearby. "I hope you haven't suddenly decided to die?"
"Everything's fine." My body truly felt rested and refreshed. "How long was I in there?"
"Five hours. My apologies, I must check the other patients. The exit is that way."
Waving a manipulator toward the far end of the room, the droid scurried off to the next tank.
After receiving fresh clothes, I stopped by the airlock. What now? Go to my room? But where was that? In what sector of this massive base did my mortal shell reside, and where should it go? These questions demanded answers I didn't have.
The situation was saved by a chirping comlink in my pocket, a small plate with a microphone, a speaker, and a couple of call buttons. It was interesting that it hadn't been there before, though that was hardly surprising. With a new uniform, the locals could have easily slipped anything into my pocket.
"I'm listening."
A mechanical female voice came through the speaker.
"Greetings, Fifth Son. I am voice assistant X. You may contact me with any questions. I am currently tasked with relaying the Director's new orders. Based on the results of the final trial, you have been assigned Rank Two. You are permitted to visit the archives and training grounds one and two. Additionally, per Directive 5.CV/134 regarding supplemental rewards for higher ranks, a personal meditation chamber and a private training room are at your full disposal. Do you have any questions?"
"Yes, where exactly am I supposed to go? My navigational skills suggest I'm currently Hutt knows where."
"A map of all facilities, your schedule, elective classes, and more are stored in the memory of a specialized bracer delivered to your room. To reach the living quarters, follow the combination of red and white arrows. I repeat: the combination of red and white arrows together, not separately. Your room is number twenty-five. Is everything clear so far?"
"So far, yes."
"Then we move to the next point. Per the Director's orders, you will have no assignments for the next two days. This time is provided for adaptation; further information will follow. That is all from me. Do you have any remaining questions?"
"Repeat how often we'll be taking physicals and what they will entail."
"Once every two months, according to the standard Galactic Standard Calendar approved by the new Imperial government. Standards include Force proficiency, lightsaber combat, and two subjects at the Director's discretion, which will be announced in advance; changes are possible. This is the typical format, though rules allow for modifications to the testing structure by direct order of the Director. Any other questions?"
"No. Out."
Well, I had a few thoughts on my next moves. Firstly, I needed a good meal. But before that, I had to retrieve the bracer; I was certain it had more functions than just a portable map. I preferred to keep such an important tool close at hand.
I definitely needed to visit every location available to me. But the priority was the library. I had to find everything my Master told me about, and more importantly, do it discreetly. It would also be nice to hear the latest news from the wider world, but that wasn't the priority. I hoped two days would be enough to scout the entire station...
Lost in thought about the future, I reached the living sector without even noticing. It happened so suddenly that at first, I didn't realize where I was.
The total standardization of the interior design was taking its toll. It was very difficult to distinguish one corridor from another. Without the signposts, it would be easy to believe you were walking in circles through the same halls.
The living sector stood out only by the presence of doors in the walls and the fact that it had several levels. Apparently, it was designed to house at least a hundred children, and I highly doubted this was the only such facility. But right now, even the first floor was barely occupied.
Perhaps there was a division by age, and the older ones were kept elsewhere. Very likely; I doubted only children fell into the set traps. Yes, I definitely needed to dig into the documentation for this base. Information is never redundant.
There was the entrance to my room. If not for X's hint about the number, I would have certainly been lost among these identical doors. Though I doubt I could have entered someone else's room without a key.
After the bracer scanned the metal plate on my sleeve, the door slid aside.
Just as I was told, the bracer was right there. It was a bit unsettling that someone other than me had keys to my home for the next... well, Hutt knows how long I'll be studying here. But to reach an acceptable level and not be a burden to the Emperor, it would likely take at least a couple of years.
Pulling the bracer with the Force, I mounted it on my right arm. It fit like a glove, as if they had measured every contour of my body. Though, why "as if"? I was certain every acolyte had been measured from head to toe more than once.
I had to start getting used to the fact that, for now, I had zero control here. Surely all my movements were logged, my conversations recorded somewhere, and my personal belongings were "personal" in name only. I must admit, it was incredibly unnerving.
I'd have to do something about that eventually, but for now, I needed to see what this thing could do and find out where to eat, my stomach was about to stick to my spine.
After playing with the new gear for a bit, I confirmed that even a complete idiot could master the controls. Buttons were located on each side, responsible for switching the holographic display.
In the center of this broken cross was a circular panel used for highlighting and selecting information, a sort of miniature touch screen.
As I suspected, the functionality went beyond maps. I could check my current rank, the list of perks available at my level, what was available to other ranks (though without detailed descriptions), and the rooms I could access. Also, I could upload information and make my own notes in the currently empty library section.
The final item was a list of rules we were strictly required to follow. I decided to review those later.
A damn convenient piece of tech. Intuitive controls, as they say.
I was so engrossed in studying the device that I only snapped out of it when my stomach growled loud enough to echo through the room. Well, time to eat; I really hoped the mess hall here operated twenty-four hours a day.
The walk took just over twenty minutes at a brisk pace. Once again, the sheer scale of this base amazed me. Seeing it on a map is one thing, but realizing in person that all of this was hollowed out of solid rock...
It was frightening to think of the resources spent. Though somewhere on the periphery of my memory, it surfaced that this was far from everything; I recalled seeing that the Empire was capable of building a station nearly the size of a moon. It didn't seem so unrealistic now.
The Empire is the Empire. How fortunate that I ended up in the service of the Lord. What would have happened to me if not for this lucky break?
The doors to the mess hall slid open. The dining area didn't deviate from the station's general aesthetic: dark gray tones, a dominance of metal in the structures, and absolute geometric precision. A mechanical installation with many taps suggested where the nutrient paste was served. I really hoped it would taste halfway decent.
But I was drawn not just by the decor, but by the scene unfolding before me. In the very center of the hall, several children had surrounded a tall boy. He sat there, looking at everyone standing around him with practiced indifference. On his shoulder was an emblem with the number One.
Involuntarily, my eyes began searching for anything I could throw at him. The desire for a rematch burned within, but I quickly mastered myself. Not the time, not the place. Besides, only the weak surrender to their emotions, and I certainly wasn't that anymore.
The atmosphere was clearly not friendly. Several... teenagers, rather than children, surrounded Number One, trying to get a point across while waving their arms aggressively. Snippets of the heated conversation reached my ears.
"...If you hadn't stabbed me in the back, we could have held out longer!" A boy of about fourteen was nearly screaming in his opponent's face. "Because of you, I'm not even in the top ten!"
"So what? If I hadn't done it, you would have attacked me yourself. I felt it through the Force. You always envied me, didn't you?" The accused was as calm as a Bantha. "Those losers who were late occupy the lowest ranks. You should be happy you even got this far. We all know you're the weakest in our group. The fact that you lucked out and lasted this long was nothing more than a passing whim of the Force."
"What are you saying?!" A blue-skinned Twi'lek girl jabbed a finger at him indignantly. She looked about fourteen, but already possessed that feline grace and feminine allure her species is famous for. "If not for your actions, everything could have been different. What makes you think he would have done that? We were holding them back, and now everyone except you is in the mid-ranks. Look who's above us, the ones who just ran away from the enemy! You just betrayed us..."
Oh, that seemed to hit a nerve; look at how his cheek twitched.
"Tifa, you know I'm the best, the best at everything. I highly doubt I misread the Force. You're second only to me; these weaklings have always envied us. We have great prospects, and now even more so. The incompetent Council is gone, and the Emperor only looks at what you can do. Talented people can soar to the top under his wise leadership. Even these talentless hacks have a chance, let alone the two of us."
"That doesn't change the fact that you acted dishonorably, Sibar. We are comrades and should stick together... that's the only way to survive here. Apologize, and everything will be as it was."
"Why can't you understand?! They…" Number One pointed at everyone surrounding him. "They are dead weight for us. Together we can become the best. I'll help you, you'll help me; we'll be together at the very top..."
Good gods, the royal court drama. I had already settled in with a large portion of food at a short distance from the unfolding drama, combining business with pleasure.
"Enjoying the show?" My running partner from the trial plopped down next to me, his tray also loaded with food. The number Four was visible on his shoulder. Not bad. Now I could get a good look at him. Blue skin with a couple of bright yellow tattoos and dark eyes. I'd never seen anyone like him. He looked twelve or thirteen. If not for the skin color, I'd say he was a perfectly ordinary boy. "Think they'll fight now or wait?"
"Given the tension, I wouldn't be surprised if it happens very soon."
"I think so too. My name's Kamma, or Third Son. What's yours? We can use names between ourselves. I figure our numbers are just for the brass."
"Seth. Fifth Son."
"Good to meet you. I'm a Pantoran, by the way."
"A what?"
"You were staring pretty hard. Never seen one before?"
"Nope. Never heard of them, never seen them."
"Well, now you know..."
Our conversation was interrupted by a sharp cry and the sound of breaking metal.
"I'll kill you, you bastard! How dare you think Tifa would be with you!"
Turning in unison, we saw crumpled chairs flying at Number One. Not particularly fast. I think even for an ordinary sentient, they wouldn't have posed much danger, but it would hurt if they hit.
Several children ducked and scrambled under tables, trying to avoid the improvised projectiles. Some stayed put, staring blankly into their plates. But there were those who decided to dive into the fray, trying to hit just about everyone.
A free-for-all broke out; from a distance, it was hard to tell who was hitting whom or where. Apparently, the new power was going to their heads; I knew that better than anyone.
"Well, that did happen rather quickly." Kamma watched the events with interest. "Strange how he can fend off several opponents at once. Didn't think he was that good."
"It's more that his rivals are bad."
"True enough. Judging by their movements, most aren't from the Temple; they move like ordinary street thugs."
"Don't want to join in?" I continued eating, occasionally using the Force to intercept a stray projectile flying our way. Some jerk standing on a table was using the Force to hurl trash into the pile-on. Not very accurately, so we got hit occasionally. "Looks interesting."
"Nah. Do I look like an idiot? Why get into a fight that means nothing to me? Besides, it's forbidden."
"Is it? I thought it'd be encouraged. I read somewhere that a true warrior is only born in constant combat. And the Emperor only wants those kinds."
"It's explicitly stated in the regulations. Didn't you read them? Oh, there's lots of interesting stuff. What you said is generally true, but I doubt the Emperor wants people like them," he gestured toward the carnage, "trashing the whole base or killing each other off. At least not now. Rigid subordination is one of the pillars of the Empire; strict obedience is the key to its prosperity. As for the rules, there are many, but to sum up: don't cause trouble, and only fight in designated areas, the training hall and such."
"Sounds reasonable."
"Yeah, but as they said back at the Temple, the Dark Side corrupts and triggers uncontrollable emotions. Or something like that. So I don't know if most will be able to follow even basic rules. Though, look at it another way. There were times when it was the Jedi who brought chaos and destruction."
"And how do you know so much?"
"I believe information is never redundant, so I try to study something new at every opportunity. Fortunately, the Jedi archives were open to everyone at the Temple. Probably the only place that wasn't touched by Jedi senility. Though maybe even there the information was distorted."
"So you're a former Padawan? That explains a lot. Though it's strange how easily you accepted the new order; most of the others look like they're being torn apart inside."
"Youngling, but that's not the point. I was always bothered by the Order's tenets. According to them, a sentient was supposed to turn into an emotionless droid carrying out the will of a bunch of senile old men. I suspect I would have been kicked out soon anyway, having my connection to the Force severed. And if not, I would have left myself. Everything in the Order was too... ossified. Sure, they had some good ideas, but the Sith are much freer. The key is to master your passions and channel them in the right direction. I'm already working on that. And overall, I like how the Empire works; it's far better than the Republic. In any case, I finally realize how blind the Jedi were. Their power was nothing compared to the Might of the Emperor."
"Agreed. Oh, look, they're about to get busted."
Several priestesses in red robes entered the mess hall with brisk steps. At their appearance, the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. They radiated irritation and power. Every participant in the fight was instantly pinned to the floor, clutching their throats and struggling to take a single breath.
The whisper of a dozen voices filled the room, crawling into the deepest recesses of the soul and leaving its mark.
"Fighting is permitted only in designated halls." The black eye sockets seemed to look straight into the core of your being. "Any breach of order will result in immediate punishment. We hope this will not happen again."
The multi-headed monster in red robes, speaking with several voices simultaneously, turned and left the room. Ten bodies flew out after it like limp dolls. Their strained faces and twitching hands made it clear that the adventures for these acolytes were only just beginning.
"I've lost my appetite." I only realized just then that I hadn't breathed that whole time. "I'm going to go do something useful."
"Agreed. I'll follow your lead."
Our rooms were close by, so we made the trip together. Along the way, we talked about our past lives.
Kamma spoke of how he was taken from his parents and how he accidentally learned of their deaths. That was the moment the Order began to spark his resentment. When he told his mentor about the tragedy, the response was: "It is the will of the Force"—and that was it! No sympathy or comfort. The Force decided, so it must be!
Because that is the way of the Jedi. Emotions lead to the Dark Side, so they must not be felt. You cannot love, you cannot have compassion; you must simply watch what happens and accept it!
After finishing his training, Kamma intended to leave the Temple and live his own life; his behavior and interest in the Dark Side likely wouldn't have allowed him to stay anyway. As he said, if he hadn't left on his own, he would have likely been expelled. But things turned out the way they did.
He was lucky that during the purge, he wasn't with his group but in one of the basement rooms where his mentor had sent him. Hearing the sounds of battle, he decided to wait out the chaos in that basement, hiding in one of the many niches and covering himself with junk.
If the clones had searched more thoroughly, he would have been found. One of the soldiers even entered the room but never spotted the youngling.
Perhaps if Kamma had stayed there a bit longer, he could have escaped the Temple. But after two days without food or water, he was forced to come out due to intense hunger.
Fortunately, a passing clone patrol spotted him and didn't let him escape, which is why he's here now. He was lucky once more: by that point, the soldiers had been ordered to capture all survivors.
I told him about my own experiences, omitting certain details. But judging by his look, he guessed what I had left out. However, he didn't press for the whole story.
We also talked about Sibar. In his time, he was one of the best younglings of his generation and was preparing to become a Padawan. Kamma and Number One weren't close, but rumors reached him that the boy was eager for the front, wanting to gain fame and become a hero like General Skywalker.
But his plans weren't meant to be. The Jedi Knight he was supposed to be assigned to went missing on his last mission. Only a year and a half later did word come of his death in Separatist captivity. Until then, the Council apparently hesitated to break their promise.
The rest of his fate is easy to guess. By that point, there were already many Padawans who had lost their masters. Those who had been through battle, survived the loss, and hadn't fallen to the Dark Side. They were the ones taken first.
In the end, Number One was left at the Temple, and then came the Great Jedi Purge. Apparently, after everything he'd been through, something in him broke. It started back in the Order, but the mentors apparently turned a blind eye. From a person ready to help and guide everyone, he turned into someone who didn't shrink from stepping over heads. And the Dark Side simply brought his true essence out for all to see.
However, I have to admit, his decision to personally eliminate the obstacles to the first rank was the most effective one. Given that he was objectively the best in our entire group, it was easier to eliminate the survivors himself than to fight droids. I'll need to analyze the events in the hall. Something was hovering at the edge of my mind, but the thought wouldn't quite surface.
Back in my room, I went straight to sleep after setting an alarm. In three hours, a very long day awaits me.
————
Read ahead of schedule here → pat-reon(.)c-om/Bluuuxx [remove the parentheses and hyphen]