Ten years, one month, and thirty days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, first month, and thirtieth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Eight months and fifteen days since the Arrival.)
As soon as the Delta-class escort shuttle, commonly designated JV-7, dropped out of hyperspace, instead of the usual blackness of space that filled the ship's cockpit, a red-orange light struck his eyes.
Fodeum instinctively raised his hand to shield himself from the radiation emitted by the planet standing in his path.
"Who forgot to turn off the big lamp?" he muttered, blindly adjusting the polarization system in the cockpit.
The ship's system responded favorably, and after a couple of seconds, the intensity of the glow decreased by orders of magnitude, allowing him to see the place where the coordinates had led him.
And the errand from his mother.
For a few seconds, he watched the glow playing outside.
Scarlet, orange, burgundy, and icy-blue streams of ion gas in the vast galactic ocean called the Cauldron Nebula.
And in the midst of this natural beauty — a red-hot sphere of magma and slag called Eol Sha.
"I didn't buy a ticket to Mustafar," Fodeum muttered, looking at his armor's helmet lying on the seat.
The ysalamiri mask replacing the faceplate of the visor stared at him reproachfully and condescendingly.
"Remind me to find a more interesting conversationalist than you," the young Jensaarai asked, bitterly remembering his former partner.
Vex knew how to defuse even the most tense situations.
But, what could you do — Master Bre'ano Umakk's "Grand Plan" predetermined the future of his partner with the former Inquisitor Obscuro.
Well, let it be so.
It's hard to resist the Force if you don't know how to do it.
That's why Fodeum is here, and not somewhere in another part of the Dominion that had grown over the months.
According to archival data, the settlement on the planet Eol Sha in the Corva sector was founded a century ago by gas extractors.
Brave men and women intended to collect useful gases from the Cauldron Nebula.
With specially equipped gas-collection ships, they planned to distill the gaseous yield into pure substance, which would then be shipped and sold to neighbors.
Eol Sha was the only habitable world close enough to the Cauldron Nebula to support commercial ventures, but its days were already numbered.
The orbit of its double moon had come too close to the planet's surface and was becoming more dangerous with each revolution. Only about a hundred years remained until one of the moons would enter the zone of the planet's irresistible gravitational pull and this bright ball would be torn to pieces.
And there was no one to help the colonists.
The Planet Eol Sha.
The gas extraction project never even reached break-even.
Incompetent developers went bankrupt: the unremarkable mixture of Cauldron gases was worth pennies, and the whole venture turned out not just unprofitable, but downright suicidal.
Investors quickly disposed of the property, literally abandoning the personnel on the planet.
When the time of the New Order arrived, the Old Republic shattered into pieces.
The pitiful handful of Eol Sha's inhabitants were simply forgotten in the ensuing chaos.
The outpost on Eol Sha is doomed to slow extinction.
Shortly before the start of Grand Admiral Thrawn's campaign, it was discovered by Republican researchers (who were also professional scouts, though open sources prudently don't mention that).
The Republican filed a report and composed an interdepartmental memorandum recommending the immediate evacuation of the few doomed colonists.
Naturally, his report was immediately buried in the depths of the New Republic's rapidly expanding bureaucratic apparatus, which at the time was preoccupied with Grand Admiral Thrawn's operations.
In the depths of Republican documents seized during the attack on Coruscant, the Dominion Armed Forces headquarters and Saarai-kaar personally found the traces that led Fodeum to Quadrant R-3, where the planet was located.
Not a lot of information, and there's no guarantee it's accurate, but...
It is what it is.
And nothing else is foreseeable.
The leader of the first settlers on Eol Sha was a woman who, according to the Republican scout's report, was descended from fallen Jedi.
There is no guarantee that her descendants inherited their ancestress's sensitivity to the Force.
However, the scout's report contained a mention that the leader of the settlers (at least he was two years ago), a man named Gantoris, predicted various geological cataclysms with astonishing and supernatural accuracy.
From earliest childhood, in cases of rockfall, terminal water eruptions, or volcanic explosions, he miraculously survived, even when within arm's reach of fallen comrades.
Much could be attributed to inaccuracies and local folklore — and so it would surely have been considered, were it not for the fact that the report was compiled not just by a scientist seeking fame, but by a scout.
Such organizations usually do not keep emotional people prone to distorting facts.
Only, no one, even possessing exceptional natural abilities, could control elemental processes with such precision without prior training — Fodeum knew this well from his own experience.
The Force allows many things, perhaps even everything — depending on how deeply you are willing to look beyond the line of what is permitted.
Fodeum was not ready for such experiments, so he concentrated on honing those skills that were approved by Saarai-kaar and Master Umakk, and which he had mastered either on his own or under the wise and sensitive guidance of a persistent and demanding Jedi.
Nevertheless, as the son of Saarai-kaar, the young Jensaarai defender knew well that the Order needed to replenish its own ranks. He had to listen to every premonition so as not to miss a single potential candidate for the Order.
Especially now, when there was a respite and the Dominion was not conducting active military campaigns, focusing on defense and stabilizing its internal political foundations.
The coordinates of the outpost were also in the Republican's report, allowing Fodeum to not spend a long time searching for the settlement.
He changed trajectory, and his ship crossed the terminator line — the place where day met night.
The Delta glided in the lower layers of the atmosphere, flying over the planet's terrifying surface, covered with lava lakes, slag islands, and geysers that kept threatening to strike the hull, from which Fodeum dodged almost playfully, surrendering himself entirely to the Force.
From the cockpit, he could already make out the dilapidated ruins of quickly erected modules, which, over long decades of being in the danger zone, were thoroughly battered by natural elements.
Nearby, a cooled volcanic vent with hills of petrified lava caught the eye and caused unpleasant forebodings.
What particularly unnerved the young Jensaarai was that smoke swirled from time to time from the vent and on its slopes.
Fresh cracks glowed red in places, mesmerizingly showing their red-hot contents and presaging a catastrophe for the settlement in the event of new eruptions.
Neither his probes nor his Force-sharpened senses could give Fodeum a definite answer to his unspoken question — whether there were any sentient beings nearby.
Because life was sensed in great quantity.
But Fodeum's abilities were insufficient to understand whether all these sparks of the Force he felt belonged to sentients, or to animals whose harsh evolutionary fate allowed them to survive in this hell.
The Jensaarai had no desire to return from his first reconnaissance-recruitment mission and report that he was too late and all the colonists had died.
For landing, he chose a wide strip of ground, riddled with cracks and craters, located at a considerable distance from the remains of the locals' outpost.
The shuttle landed safely on the rocky ground, and Fodeum, putting on his helmet, sealing his armor, and now able to enjoy the air conditioning and air filtration cycle systems, headed for the exit, squeezing between two passenger seats.
As soon as he was outside the ship, the helmet's visor instantly warned him of the high content of soot, volcanic ash, and poisonous vapors rich in the local atmosphere.
A giant moon loomed over the horizon, looking like a dented copper gong, its shadow heavily scattered in the smoky air: even during the day, it did not take its deadly gaze off the doomed planet.
Gloomy gray clouds and masses of volcanic ash floated in the sky like a black shroud, in which Eol Sha had wrapped itself, preparing for death.
The planet's surface responded under his feet with groans of excessive strain that Eol Sha was experiencing due to the close proximity of another source of gravity — the massive moon.
Hissing white jets of geysers, like the trunks of ephemeral plants, shot out of the ground here and there, piercing the air with stuffy steam.
It seemed as though the planet was squeezing its pain out through countless cracks, channels, pores, and craters.
The ground beneath his feet was literally riddled with small craters and underground wells lined with mineral deposits.
Here and there, from depths beyond imagination, came the rumble and hiss of steam.
But the worst part was that the surface was literally like a red-hot cauldron that kept trying to vent steam to prolong its worsening state.
Getting caught in a geyser like that, or a steam vent, meant dying a death that was neither pleasant, nor quick, nor frankly necessary.
The Jensaarai immersed himself deeper and deeper into the Force, predicting threats along his path and hoping that the landing pad where he had left his ship would prove as reliable as it had seemed to him and the shuttle's scanners at the very start.
Flying to a planet to recruit someone, only to get stranded there yourself — some pleasure that was.
Good thing he hadn't taken his own ship.
Designed for exploration, it was formally considered the best option for a trip like this, but...
Thinking pragmatically — if the Graceful Lady got damaged, he'd have to pay for repairs out of his own pocket.
If it was an Order shuttle — let the Order's mechanics and technicians worry about it.
He learned about the coming disaster just seconds in advance.
But due to his limited knowledge of how to counter this kind of catastrophe, he failed to react in time.
All he could do was get away from the cracks that screamed with lethal danger.
But the tremors under his feet still caught the Jensaarai off guard.
At the last moment, he managed to use the Force to keep his balance.
And to the accompaniment of a mounting underground roar, comparable to the warming up of the Graceful Lady's ion engines, he wrapped himself in the Force, hoping it would protect him.
Almost got it right.
A hail of red-hot rocks, blasted from the depths of the awakened crater, scattered like shrapnel across the area, nearly killing him.
But his ballistokinesis, which he had mastered to a decent level, didn't fail.
Fodeum simply redirected the threatening rocks away.
This cost him his precious balance, though.
The underground tremors kept growing, then suddenly vanished as if they had never been.
Then they surged back with renewed strength, and after that, disappeared for good.
But that was only the beginning.
What he had taken for a small plain revealed its full nature, demonstrating the treachery of the local environment.
From hundreds of cracks around him, scorching hot steam blasted out, and pillars of water shrouded in steam shot dozens of meters into the air.
"This is not the kind of water treatment I was dreaming about!" exclaimed Fodeum, weaving between the deadly natural phenomena with the virtuosity of a circus performer, moving at a brisk pace.
He made a vow to himself never to tell anyone that he had managed to wander into a valley of geysers right after landing on the planet.
The Geyser Valley of Eol Sha.
A dense layer of vapor hung over the surface.
Weak geysers ran dry like drying streams, and the moisture they ejected evaporated instantly as soon as the drops of liquid touched the molten rivers of magma or hot slag.
Hundreds of small geysers gave way to a few large ones.
Like giant animals spitting and rumbling, these hundred-meter-tall giants rained boiling water over the surrounding area, through which Fodeum was forced to navigate.
Again, he emptied his mind of all thoughts, letting the Great Force guide him.
Just as the wise Mon Calamari had taught.
Surrendering to the all-encompassing, all-pervading energy, the young Jensaarai noted with detached indifference that the world around him was beginning to blur.
He crossed the geyser valley at a speed beyond human limits, using one of the old Jedi techniques that Bre'ano Umakk had taught him.
A wall of steam rose in his path, already hiding the remains of the settlement, but finding the right path for one who is allied with the Force is no problem.
Like a rocket, he burst through the climatic obstacle and found himself in front of a massive bunker.
Chipped paint, deformed plating, holes patched with pieces of metal over the base material...
And two blasters, albeit of an outdated design, aimed directly at his face.
"Um..." Fodeum hesitated slightly, looking at the men standing before him, gripping blasters in their muscular hands. "Well, hello!"
With a quick glance, he assessed what he could make out behind the backs of the "welcoming committee."
The outpost on Eol Sha was a simple structure made of used cargo containers and mobile living quarters, crudely covered with metal and turned into bunkers.
Judging by the appearance of the shacks, these structures had long since exhausted their safety margin, and possibly their maximum service life.
But, for obvious reasons, there was nowhere to get new ones, so the settlers lived in what was left by their predecessors.
Fodeum squinted, noticing that most of the containers and modules only looked habitable.
If you looked more closely, they were nothing more than frames set up around the dwellings in the center of the settlement.
Barricades, the Jensaarai realized.
Whoever had given that order had placed empty structures around the perimeter so that geysers or any other sources of natural danger couldn't damage the settlement.
Not as much as they did now.
Strangely enough, the settlers didn't look surprised — just focused and suspicious.
That fact was easily explained, though.
Fodeum was probably the only new face they had seen since two years ago, when a Republic spy's face had flashed before them at lightspeed.
And that face — an animal mask, a lizard unknown to the vast majority of sentient beings in the galaxy.
"Guys, let's take it easy," Fodeum asked, demonstratively raising his hands. "What you see is a helmet, not my real face. I'm the same kind of human as you are..."
The locals exchanged glances.
"You think we're idiots?" one of them asked. "Do you think we don't know what closed armor looks like?"
Unlikely, but let's assume, the Jensaarai thought.
"I mean you no harm," he promised.
"Yeah, we know," the second one replied, lowering his weapon.
The first followed suit.
Do you have a HoloNet station running here, since you're so well-informed? Fodeum thought irritably.
"You can lower your hands," the first one advised him.
The Jensaarai sighed and followed his interlocutor's words.
To be honest, the locals looked terrible.
But better than you'd expect from people who had been isolated for decades on a planet where every natural phenomenon tried to kill you.
Their worn-out clothes were made of patches of all shapes and colors.
Work overalls, pilot uniforms, parts of spacesuits...
Whatever was at hand went into the patches.
"I came to talk to Gantoris," Fodeum declared without any preamble.
"Yeah, we know," one of the men replied, nodding towards the center of the settlement. "Let's go, then."
I definitely didn't send a diplomatic note about my intention to come here, Fodeum thought, looking at their patched backs.
Could it be that Gantoris had developed his Force abilities so much that he could not only predict natural disasters but also the approach of sentient beings with intent...
At that moment, the young defender mentally cursed his own caution and intelligence.
Intent.
He had flown here to meet with Gantoris.
That was a direct intention, something you could actually detect in the Force.
It was the same trick used by the Jensaarai who protected Leonia Tavira and her Star Destroyer from trouble.
When they sensed through the Force that someone was preparing a "surprise" for the pirate queen, they warned her.
And the ambush fell apart.
Isn't this why Grand Admiral Thrawn uses ysalamiri, keeping them close to him? the young Jensaarai defender thought.
After all, those beautiful little lizards repelled the Force.
And anyone within the "repulsion" zone projected by ysalamiri was not subject to direct Force influence.
Which meant no one could use the Force to read Thrawn's thoughts.
Realizing such a simple truth, Fodeum nearly tripped.
Of course!
The New Republic and the Systems Alliance had Jedi.
The Pentastar Alignment had Inquisitors or something like them.
Palpatine also had his own servants sensitive to the Force.
And Thrawn's thoughts, as well as his very existence after his supposed death, remained a mystery to them!
The Force simply couldn't "hint" or allow any of the Grand Admiral's close opponents to see, through meditation, what he was planning.
And if you consider that regular fleet ships also carried ysalamiri, protecting commanders and key posts...
Well, no wonder he kept winning, right?
The New Republic had won many of the most impossible battles — because they had Luke Skywalker on their side, the son of Darth Vader, one of the most powerful Force adepts in the galaxy's recent past!
Rumor had it the guy wasn't well-trained, but who cares about the accuracy of a Star Destroyer's gunners when the order is "Base Delta Zero"?
Yeah... The training sessions with Imperial military instructors hadn't been in vain — now he understood at least something about military science, even if not perfectly.
His escorts stopped so suddenly that the young man bumped into them.
They were next to one of the containers that had lost its original purpose.
Like some others, several large boulders emitting poisonous vapors lay on its roof.
The container's door panels were deformed and had clearly sagged under the weight of the load on the roof.
Several people were working around it, trying to boil off a corner of the structure that was crumbling literally before their eyes.
Judging by the numerous holes of various sizes, red-hot particles of matter had fallen on the container, melting a support beam, which threatened to collapse the structure.
One man was working with double the energy.
He was taller than the others and stood like a statue of an ancient hero, supporting the upper part of the container with one hand and pulling aside the piece of solid metal that two other locals were managing to burn through with a weak plasma torch.
The rest of the settlement's inhabitants watched all of this.
Women, with faces as stern and expressionless as the men's, silently watched what was happening, standing on the thresholds of other containers that apparently served as dwellings.
Fodeum barely noticed any children — just a couple of grimy kids watching from an improvised window in the wall of a distant container.
"Gantoris!" one of the Jensaarai's escorts addressed the "statue." "We brought the one you spoke of."
Well, it's too late to be surprised now, Fodeum thought, shuddering at the fact that the giant, unlike his comrades in misfortune, didn't even look at the newcomer.
Heavy eyes full of determination and unyielding will, and an expression on the faces of everyone who deigned to pay attention to the visitor from another world.
And complete indifference to the fact that he looked different from them.
Their gazes returned to the work on the container.
"What's happening?" Fodeum whispered to one of his escorts.
"During the eruption, molten rock hit the dwellings all over the settlement," the man explained. "Three died. In there," he pointed to the container where Gantoris was working, "is our daycare. The rock melted the support beams. If not for Gantoris, the roof would have collapsed and crushed the children."
"Now they'll cut out the beam and start getting the kids out," the second one replied just as dryly. "Those who survived."
Fodeum looked at the container with fresh eyes.
Now he saw that on one side, the side Gantoris was holding up, the hull had numerous melt-throughs, which he had initially mistaken for rust stains.
Reaching out to the container with the Force, the young man shuddered, feeling pain...
"I'll help," he said, stepping forward.
The hilt of his lightsaber jumped into his palm by itself.
He walked over to where the support beam was being cut and looked at Gantoris from the side.
His long, night-black hair tied at the back of his head revealed a stern, angular male face, devoid of eyelashes and eyebrows.
Sweat poured down it, whole streams of sweat.
In his eyes — an unyielding desire to hold on for as long as possible.
No focus, no looking around.
This man had sunk into the Force, pushing his abilities to the limit.
Whether or not there was another way to hold up the collapsing ceiling of the container no longer mattered.
Gantoris was doing what he had to — taking a risk to save the lives of those who couldn't take care of themselves and needed protection.
Such a man would be welcome in the Jensaarai Order.
They weren't even acquainted yet, but Fodeum already liked this man.
He didn't need to explain what self-sacrifice and protecting others from danger meant.
He had absorbed that knowledge with the poisonous air of Eol Sha, carried it through his whole life...
"I came to help," Fodeum said, addressing the man.
Maybe he hadn't grown up in such extreme conditions as Gantoris himself, but he understood perfectly that if he tried to act without permission, it wouldn't end well.
He was nobody here.
His words meant nothing.
Gantoris turned his unfocused gaze towards him, as if looking through the Jensaarai standing before him.
"Get to it, black man," Gantoris said in a hoarse but firm voice, looking back at the container in front of him.
Fodeum wanted to say that his suit and cloak were actually brown, but he stopped himself mid-thought.
He could already clearly sense that somewhere inside the murky depths of the flimsy structure, life flickered.
Life that needed saving.
The Force helped him assess the container's structure and make a decision.
The only right one.
With telekinesis, he flung the boulders off the container's roof beyond the settlement's border.
But that didn't bring the desired relief — the container was deformed, and nothing but hydraulic tools could restore it to a state where the doors could be opened without destruction.
Fodeum started cutting.
Even if the metal the container was made of wasn't Cortosis, cutting it was still no pleasure.
The blue-white blade bit into the metal just millimeters above the cut the locals had already made.
Fodeum, balancing the tip of the energy blade so it wouldn't penetrate the structure deeper than necessary, tensed his muscles, pushing his weapon upward.
This wasn't cutting through armored doors at the Hast shipyards.
Back then, he hadn't needed to worry about anyone inside getting hurt.
Now — he was saving lives.
The blade, once constructed by Darth Vader himself, sheared through the metal, advancing through the unyielding material centimeter by centimeter.
Slow, but many times faster than with a low-power plasma torch.
Fodeum maneuvered the energy weapon to cut through the metal's grain along the path of least resistance.
The melted holes in the structure and the support beam were perfect for saving precious time.
And finally, after several agonizing minutes that felt like an eternity, the blade emerged from the upper corner of the structure, breaking the container's geometry.
Deactivating his weapon, Fodeum reached out to the Force, channeling its currents into the cooling edges of the cut, widening them and pushing the metal apart.
He felt his body tense, felt sweat pour down him because the suit's climate control system had already died.
But the Jensaarai didn't back down.
The metal groaned, emitting the sounds of dying monsters, but the gap grew wider.
Finally, it reached half a meter — enough to start evacuation.
But the people around him didn't understand that.
He felt their incomprehension.
The descendants of the colonists simply couldn't grasp why he had stopped his actions.
Because none of the outpost's inhabitants could squeeze through such a narrow fissure.
Fodeum tossed his deactivated weapon aside, took a few breaths, and plunged back into the Force.
The first child, unconscious, floated out through the hole he had made.
Unconscious, with a hole in their right shoulder and left thigh, but alive.
The second crawled out on their own.
Fodeum brought out the third, turning them so their right shoulder was parallel to the scorching ground...
By the time the last child was extracted from the structure, the Jensaarai could barely find the strength to stand.
Only after the Force let him know that not a single soul remained inside the ten-meter rectangular metal coffin — not even a dead one — did he allow himself to sit on the ground and catch his breath.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the children being dragged away from their forced imprisonment, but he didn't react to what was happening.
"This is yours," the hilt of his own lightsaber appeared before his face.
The defender looked up, meeting Gantoris's gaze.
Not without interest, the man examined the lightsaber, not a single movement betraying any sign of exhaustion.
"Thanks," Fodeum thought about how he had nearly lost his lightsaber again. Frankly, he wouldn't have minded if it had happened, because despite his initial fascination with this construct, the impression of who had created it had faded into the background.
This saber was someone else's.
He didn't feel the kinship with it that Umakk had talked about.
Didn't feel it as an extension of his own will.
But he also couldn't find the time to start making his own weapon.
"He said he came for you, Gantoris," one of the men who had brought him to the settlement appeared nearby.
"I know," the leader of the natives replied.
"Just like you said..."
"I know," Gantoris echoed, not taking his eyes off Fodeum. "Who are you, and what do you want from me, black man?"
"My name," the young defender rose to his feet, "is Fodeum Sabre De'Luz. I am a defender of the Jensaarai Order. I would like to offer you a place in our Order, to learn to use the Force that you wield. To protect those in need."
For a moment, a burning mixture of confusion and determination flashed across Gantoris's face.
"I have seen you in my dreams," he said in a not entirely steady tone. "But you were... different. You offer to reveal the secrets of my abilities, to teach me unthinkable mysteries. You are the black man who will bring me death..."
Good thing I'm wearing a helmet, Fodeum thought, forcing his dropped jaw back into place with an effort of will.
"Nothing like that is in my plans," he said, attaching his weapon to his belt. "We don't kill innocents, only protect..."
"I am confused," Gantoris admitted, causing the people nearby to exchange glances, as if they had heard something blasphemous. "You speak like the black man from my dreams. You offer to fly through the stars, like the black man from my dreams. But you are not the black man..."
"Strictly speaking, I'm wearing brown armor," Fodeum finally cracked under the pressure of these revelations. "But that's because of the metal, not because I'm afraid to be on Eol Sha."
The situation urgently needed defusing.
Because besides his body, the Jensaarai's brain was starting to boil.
What was this cult of a black man visiting Gantoris in his dreams?
Obviously, he didn't know about the teenage dreams of boys who had seen Twi'lek girls, but this description sounded way too ominous.
Was Gantoris recounting a nightmare to him?
"You are not the black man," Gantoris said after a moment's thought. "You are a funny little man. But my inner voice says that if I go with you, I will meet the black man. And die."
"I've been called worse," Fodeum sighed, carefully not thinking about the fact that he knew exactly what Gantoris was talking about. "I came with the intention of helping you understand your powers and inviting you to protect the Dominion."
"What is this 'Dominion' of yours?" Gantoris frowned.
"A state that Eol Sha belongs to, it's too long to explain. Our ruler believes that people like you, me, and others like us should learn to use our gift for the good of those around us. To save lives, like you've been doing on Eol Sha these past years..."
"If I leave here," Gantoris looked around, "my comrades and friends will die. I am not afraid of my own death or the path you are calling me to walk. But I will not abandon them."
This guy will definitely fit into our ranks, Fodeum thought.
"I propose we return to my ship to discuss with competent people the matter of moving your people to a more suitable place," the Jensaarai offered, glancing at the massive moon in the sky. "I don't know about you, but this neighbor makes me uneasy. And I don't want to dream about little black men offering me all sorts of things."
Gantoris, like the settlers nearby, didn't react to the joke at all.
Well, not every Jensaarai is a comedian either, Fodeum thought. Looks like when they were handing out a sense of humor, I took the crumbs intended for the settlers of Eol Sha.
* * *
Over the months spent in this galaxy, I had grown accustomed both to flawless holographic transmissions...
And to the distortions that made the image so warped that only a cloud of white-blue particles remained of the speaker.
The current communication session was one of the latter.
Every now and then, the equipment on Defender De'Luz's escort shuttle overcame magnetic and other interference, and the pair of miniature figures regained their clarity.
At least the audio transmission went without problems or delays.
"Among the worlds of the Dominion, there are those that can shelter your fellow countrymen, Mr. Gantoris," I said as the leader of the Eol Sha settlers finished laying out his proposal.
"I own no one, Grand Admiral," the man objected. "I am no one's master."
"That address is merely a respectful figure of speech," I explained.
"I don't care for that form of address," the hologram of Gantoris declared. "Call me by my name. It was given to me at birth. Every resident of the outpost addresses me by my name."
He was presumably around thirty standard years old, yet at the same time he looked like a life-hardened man who'd been through several "hot spots" on the front lines.
Basic norms of communication and mutual respect prevented me from addressing him by his first name.
First and foremost — respect for him, for the life he'd lived through hell called Eol Sha.
On the other hand, he himself had clearly defined the boundaries of self-respect and allowances in conversation.
To ignore them would be to show disrespect to the speaker.
We'd never come to an agreement this way.
"Don't take my words as an attempt to insult you, Gantoris," I advised. "Our cultures of communication differ somewhat from what's accepted among the settlers on Eol Sha."
"Nevertheless," my interlocutor said. "I am Gantoris. And nothing else."
"That will be noted," I promised. "As will the fact that a new home will be found for your people. We have thousands of planets with the most varied climatic conditions at our disposal. Your fellow citizens can be relocated to any world — the local governments will see to it that they are adapted to the new living conditions."
"We don't need someone else's planet," Gantoris declared. "We've lived for decades without any neighbors except the fauna on Eol Sha. Can you find us an empty planet or moon where we can mind our own business and not worry that our seclusion will be disturbed?"
Ah, now this was bargaining.
And despite the fact that this sentient had grown up outside of a large society, he was negotiating classically — starting with "inflated demands."
"We have worlds like that," I confirmed. "But you should know that the inhabitants of the Dominion bear certain obligations toward the state. Giving an entire world to a small group of settlers and arranging it so they live in isolation... That's not a problem. But are you sure that's what your comrades in survival on Eol Sha actually want?"
"Yes," said Gantoris. "We don't need anyone else anymore."
In that case, what's stopping you from claiming some island or continent?
Demanding your own world under those conditions is unreasonable.
Even the Alderaanian diaspora that moved into the Dominion didn't demand a planet, understanding that the loss of a homeworld wasn't grounds to give several thousand people an entire planet.
And here, for the sake of a couple hundred sentients...
Of course, from the Dominion's perspective, this could be a valuable deal in the long run — Gantoris was trading his loyalty for the well-being of his loved ones.
And if his history were as long and detailed as, say, Kyp Durron's, I'd agree to take the risk without hesitation — it wouldn't be the first time.
But Gantoris... well, he was a real "piece of work."
Yes, I needed Force-sensitive sentients to swell the ranks of the Jensaarai Order.
But my choice fell on Gantoris not because I was desperate — but because his name was known to me.
As was his current place of residence.
But his prospects as a Jensaarai...
Yes, in the events I knew of at Luke Skywalker's Praxeum, he had progressed decently — but that was primarily due not to his personal aptitude or abilities.
Gantoris owed his rapid training and his death to his apprenticeship under the ghost of Exar Kun on Yavin IV.
Without a Sith's tutelage, would Gantoris be equally capable, or would he remain just a name on the list of "mediocrities" a lottery.
And trading a planet/moon for a "pig in a poke" well, that was at least foolish.
"Very well, your words will be noted," I said. "Both those you just spoke last, and those when you emphasized that you do not rule over anyone."
"How are those two connected?"
"Directly," I assured him. "Claiming that you do not govern your countrymen, yet at the same time demanding something on their behalf — that's a rather dubious logical construct. If you do not rule your comrades, how can you set conditions for me in their name? I venture to suggest that the question of turning your new home into a reservation should be discussed with the entire adult population of the colony. Of course — after our forces evacuate them to a safer location."
Gantoris stared at me with a heavy gaze for several minutes, accompanied by barely noticeable nervousness from Fodeum Sabre De'Luz, who was standing there quietly fidgeting.
"Well said," Gantoris broke the silence. "You are wise in your words. I will trust you."
The question now was the reverse.
Though it wasn't said aloud, I had just been "tested" once again.
By those I was calling into service.
A bad trend, but under certain circumstances, it would have to continue.
Especially with those sentients who had never even heard of me, like the people from Eol Sha.
"The last point strikes me as agreeable," I said. "In that case, the question of discussing your countrymen's future place of residence will be taken up after the population is evacuated. I promise to respect whatever decision the people of Eol Sha make. But an entire planet or moon in exchange for your countrymen's isolationism and your service... That is an excessively inflated price in the context of the problem's scale and the obligations you are undertaking."
But I wouldn't let them make a fool of me.
Force-sensitive sentients were a valuable resource.
But not so rare that I could be presented with such demands for the alienation of entire planets.
There are positions in negotiations that are predetermined to be eliminated during the process of finding compromise.
But sitting on my shoulders and dangling their feet...
That's not how agreements are made.
At least, not if they are positioned as bilateral, and therefore — taking into account the interests of both contracting parties.
Take the Langhesi, for example.
They are incredibly valuable — an entire race of biotechnologists who are vitally necessary given the number of issues that require their involvement.
Studying Yuuzhan Vong technology, creating effective bioweapons against them, participating in the work of cloning laboratories, integrating them into the factories producing biomolecules that reduce food supply costs for the Armed Forces and the population...
These are strategic and tactical tasks, the fulfillment of which depends on the security of our borders, the food supply of the population, and the provisioning of the army and navy.
A hungry soldier won't fight much.
And if there are no soldiers at all, then...
A hungry population tends to overthrow the government.
That's the short version of how important the Langhesi are.
But even in that situation, having received the Dominion's patronage in the matter of reclaiming their homeworld, they didn't show unnecessary "backbone" and kick the occupiers off the planet.
Instead, they divided spheres of influence, choosing only a continent for their diaspora, not an entire planet.
Gantoris, meanwhile, bestowed an interested look upon the Protector De'Luz standing nearby.
"I was told that the Dominion is interested in helping my fellow citizens and is ready to engage in dialogue to exchange my loyalty to the government for the safety of the inhabitants of Eol Sha."
"We are engaged in dialogue," I reminded him. "And the fact that you were offered training to use your gift is not grounds to demand an entire world from me."
"But you need those who wield the Force, don't you?" Gantoris pressed, trying to bore a hole through me with his stare.
"Not enough to hand over an entire world to a few hundred sentients," I declared.
"My people have lived in unbearable conditions for decades..."
"I sincerely sympathize with all of them, but I have nothing whatsoever to do with their hardship. As soon as I learned of your existence and plight, I sent an emissary to negotiate mutually beneficial cooperation with the settlers' leader."
"A world where we can live without neighbors interfering — that's a fair price for my loyalty!"
"Don't overestimate yourself, Gantoris," I advised. "That approach hasn't led and won't lead to anything productive. Whatever you may think and whatever you may want, the Dominion will provide you with the opportunity to settle on a planet of your choice. But your people will not be its owners or sole settlers there. Nor will they be exempt from observing the rights and duties of Dominion inhabitants. The civil administration will do everything to accelerate your kin's adaptation to current conditions, but no one will be spoon-feeding the settlers from Eol Sha."
"Your words sound as if you're suggesting it would be better for us to stay on the planet," Gantoris said, a threat in his voice.
"The choice is yours," I shrugged. "I'm sure by the time the Dominion's interests reach this planet, the moon will have already destroyed Eol Sha, and our miners will be able to extract minerals from the planet's debris unimpeded, without needing to resolve anything with a group of settlers."
"Is that a threat?" Gantoris's image flickered and went out of focus, but his voice was still audible.
"A statement of fact," I declared. "Eol Sha is part of Dominion territory. Whether you want it or not, obeying the laws of our state is not a right, but an obligation. If you don't want that, well, we'll withdraw our assistance. Protector Sabre De'Luz," I addressed the Jensaarai. "It appears these negotiations have reached an impasse. Return Gantoris to his people and leave Eol Sha. Leave a few observation satellites in the system, and that'll be all."
"Running away, leaving us the chance to watch as we eventually die?" Gantoris narrowed his eyes.
"We're shutting down the diplomatic mission because the opposing side's leader refuses to accept reality as it is," I explained calmly. "The state's resources are vast, but not infinite. The loyalty of one potential Jensaarai, whose strength and capabilities are uncertain — that's not the price of a habitable world. The Dominion is ready to negotiate, but our interests take priority. Proportionality of demands relative to offers is the key to fruitful cooperation. I hope you have ways to take care of your people in a growing crisis."
Gantoris snorted.
"Your man said the Empire fell apart. But you're behaving just like them, if our records are to be believed."
"I do not allow myself and my people to be swindled," I had to clarify. "As a leader of your own people, I think you understand my motives. If not, well, in that case, negotiations are even more pointless."
"We agree to your proposal," Gantoris said quickly. "Any fertile and peaceful location on the surface of worlds not threatened with destruction. But my people must have the opportunity to choose their options for where they will be resettled."
In other words — unconditional agreement with what I had proposed.
Gantoris had tested my "mettle" in his own way and, realizing he couldn't get the better of me or fool me, preferred a bird in the hand to a moon falling on Eol Sha in the sky.
"As intended," I said. "But, given that you behaved too long and too brazenly in the negotiations, one more condition will be added to the terms already stated."
"And what would that be?"
"You and your settlers legally renounce all rights to Eol Sha. On your own behalf and on behalf of all your descendants. In exchange — you receive, for free use, that plot of land on the planet where you wish to live."
Gantoris frowned again.
He was silent for a few seconds, then nodded affirmatively.
"Agreed."
"In that case, I'll immediately arrange for an evacuation ship to be sent to your planet as quickly as possible," I said.
Sleight of hand, and no fraud.
The Dominion grants the right to a small group of sentients to live free of charge on a planet of their choice, and in return receives rights to a planet rich in minerals that will, over time, turn into a vast asteroid belt.
The budget missing out on property taxes from a small settlement — a trifle compared to what we will extract from that planet's depths.
Perhaps future gas exploration work in the Cauldron Nebula will resume.
With logistics shortened, losses from extraction costs in that region should decrease.
All that remained was to figure out exactly what we would gain from this agreement in terms of minerals.
Trusting data that was already decades old was dangerous.
But even if we "burn out" and find nothing useful in terms of super-profits in that area, the costs of transporting and supporting the inhabitants of Eol Sha would not be excessive.
Budget reserve funds would easily cover them, and we'd make up the losses elsewhere.
"Sir," when Gantoris's hologram faded, the young Jensaarai removed his helmet and wiped sweat from his brow. "I wanted to discuss something with you that Gantoris mentioned when we met. He knew I was coming. And Gantoris said I appeared to him in his dreams. That he would die if he followed me. That sounds a lot like Force Visions — a prophecy of one of the possible futures."
"Have you reported this to Saarai-kaar already?" I clarified.
"I decided to tell you first," Fodeum averted his eyes. "I'm supposed to be your personal protector, and I should answer for my missions to you. And only then — to the head of the Order."
"In that case, you can stop worrying," I advised. "I am aware of the black man. And of how to avoid his meeting with Gantoris. Deliver him to the Jensaarai for training as soon as possible. That's all. End transmission."
"Yes, of course," Fodeum said, bewildered, bowing in farewell. "Am I the only one who doesn't know who this 'black man' is?"
His dissatisfied grumbling became the curtain on our conversation.
After sitting in my chair for a few seconds, I began to plan how to ensure that in my reality, the ghost of Exar Kun would not become the cause of disrupted plans and the destruction of Carida.
Yes, the little planet was loyal to the Imperial Remnant, and the divisions trained on its surface were bought exclusively by the Imperial Ruling Council (since the other Remnants didn't have enough free cash) and only with its direct permission.
But there was a nuance.
Their time was almost up.
And for now, it was time to check the progress of the preparatory measures and start tugging the Vornskr by the whiskers.
Then by the tail.
After that — redirect the attention of the seasoned and cunning predator toward other prey.
Then — lure it into a trap and thoroughly break every bone in its body.
The time for pulling out its claws and teeth hadn't come yet.
But that didn't mean it wasn't time to show it who the real predator was in this little galaxy.