Ten years, first month, and thirtieth day after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, first month, and thirtieth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Eight months and fifteenth day since the arrival).
As soon as the Delta-class escort shuttle, colloquially marked JV-7, emerged from hyperspace, instead of the familiar blackness of space that filled the ship's cabin, a crimson-orange light struck his eyes.
Fodeum instinctively raised his hand, shielding himself from the radiation emitted by the planet that had risen in his path.
"Who forgot to turn off the big lamp?" he muttered, fumbling to adjust the cockpit's polarization system.
The ship's system responded favorably, and within a couple of seconds, the glow's intensity dropped by orders of magnitude, allowing him to examine the place the coordinates had led him to.
And his mother's assignment.
For several seconds, he watched the glow play beyond the hull.
Crimson, orange, burgundy, and icy-blue streams of ion gas in the vast galactic ocean known as the Cauldron nebula.
And in the midst of this natural beauty—a searing sphere of magma and slag called Eol Sha.
"I didn't book a ticket to Mustafar," Fodeum muttered, glancing at the helmet of his armor lying on the seat.
The ysalamiri mask, replacing the faceplate of the visor, gazed at him reproachfully and condescendingly.
"Remind me to find a more interesting conversationalist than you," the young Jen'saarai requested, bitterly recalling his former partner.
Vex knew how to defuse even the most tense situations.
But what could be done—the "great plan" of Master Bre'ano Umakk predetermined the future of the partner with the former Inquisitor Obscuro.
Well, so be it.
It was hard to resist the Force if you didn't know how.
That's why Fodeum was here, and not somewhere else in the Dominion that had expanded over the months.
According to archival data, the settlement on the planet Eol Sha in the Korva sector had been founded a century ago by gas prospectors.
Brave men and women intended to harvest useful gases in the Cauldron nebula.
With the help of 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 inhabited world close enough to the Cauldron nebula to support the commercial venture, but its days were already numbered.
The orbit of the double moon had come too close to the planet's surface, and with each revolution, it grew more dangerous. Only about a hundred years remained until one of the moons entered the planet's inescapable gravitational zone and tore this bright little ball to pieces.
And no one was there to help the colonists.
Planet Eol Sha.
The gas extraction project never even broke even.
Incompetent developers went bust: the unremarkable mixture of chaldran gases was worth pennies, and the whole endeavor proved not just unprofitable, but outright suicidal.
Investors quickly divested themselves of the property, naturally abandoning the personnel on the planet.
When the time of the New Order came, 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 was doomed to slow extinction.
It was discovered shortly before the start of Grand Admiral Thrawn's campaign by Republican explorers (who also served as professional scouts, but this is prudently omitted from open sources).
The Republican documented the data and drafted an interdepartmental memo recommending immediate evacuation of the few doomed colonists.
Naturally, his report was promptly buried in the thickets of the burgeoning bureaucratic apparatus of the New Republic, preoccupied at the time with operations against Grand Admiral Thrawn.
In the thickets of Republican documents seized during the attack on Coruscant, the Dominion Armed Forces headquarters and the Saarai-kaar personally found those traces that led Fodeum to quadrant R-3, where the planet was located.
There wasn't much information, and it wasn't guaranteed to be reliable, but...
What there was, there was.
And nothing else was forthcoming.
The leader of the first settlers on Eol Sha was a woman who, according to the Republican scout's report, descended from disgraced Jedi.
There were no guarantees that her descendants had inherited their ancestress's sensitivity to the Force.
However, the scout's report mentioned that the settlement leader (at least two years ago) was a human named Gantoris, who with astonishing and supernatural accuracy foresaw various geological cataclysms.
From his earliest childhood, in cases of rockfalls, surges of terminal waters, or volcanic eruptions, he miraculously survived, even when he was an arm's length from his deceased comrades.
Much could be chalked up to inaccuracies and local folklore—and it probably would have been, if not for the fact that the report was written not by some fame-seeking scientist, but by a scout.
Such organizations don't usually keep emotional people prone to distorting facts.
However, no one, even with exceptional natural abilities, could control elemental processes with such precision without prior training—this Fodeum knew well from his own experience.
The Force allows much, perhaps even everything—depending on how deeply you're willing to peer beyond the line of the permissible.
Fodeum wasn't ready for such experiments, so he honed the skills approved by the Saarai-kaar and Master Umakk, those he'd mastered on his own, or under the wise and sensitive guidance of the insistent and demanding Jedi.
Nevertheless, as the son of the Saarai-kaar, the young Jen'saarai protector knew full well that the Order needed to bolster its ranks. He had to heed every premonition to not miss a single potential candidate for the Order.
Especially now, with a respite and the Dominion not conducting active military campaigns, having shifted focus to defense and stabilization of its internal political foundations.
The coordinates of the outpost were also in the Republican's report, allowing Fodeum not to search for the settlement for long.
He altered his trajectory, and his ship crossed the terminator line—the place where day met night.
The "Delta" glided through the lower atmospheric layers, flying over the terrifying surface of the planet, covered in lava lakes, slag islands, and geysers that constantly threatened to strike the hull, which Fodeum dodged almost playfully, fully surrendering himself to the Force.
From the cabin, he could already make out the dilapidated ruins of hastily erected modules, battered over decades in the hazardous zone by natural elements.
Nearby, an extinct volcano crater with hills of petrified lava cut into the eye and evoked unpleasant premonitions.
What particularly unnerved the young Jen'saarai was that smoke occasionally billowed from the crater and its slopes.
Fresh cracks glowed red in places, mesmerizingly displaying their molten contents and portending catastrophe for the settlement in case of new eruptions.
Neither instruments nor Force-sharpened senses could give Fodeum a definitive answer to his unspoken question—were there any living sentients nearby.
Because life was sensed in abundance.
But Fodeum's abilities weren't sufficient to determine whether all these sparks of the Force he felt belonged to sentients, or to animals whose harsh evolutionary fate had allowed them to survive in this hell.
Returning from his first reconnaissance-recruitment mission to report that he was too late and all the colonists had perished was the last thing the Jen'saarai wanted.
For landing, he chose a wide strip riddled with cracks and craters in the ground, located at a respectable distance from the remnants of the locals' outpost.
The shuttle settled safely onto the rocky ground, and Fodeum, donning his helmet, sealing his armor, and gaining the ability to enjoy the conditioning and air filtration systems, headed for the exit, squeezing between two passenger seats.
As soon as he was outside the ship, the helmet's visor instantly alerted him to the high content of soot, volcanic ash, and toxic vapors abundant in the local atmosphere.
A gigantic moon loomed over the horizon, resembling a dented copper gong, its shadow thickly scattered in the smoky air: even by day, it never averted its deadly gaze from the doomed planet.
Gloomy gray clouds and veils of volcanic ash drifted in the sky like a black shroud in which Eol Sha had draped itself, preparing for death.
The planet's surface responded under his feet with groans of excessive strain that Eol Sha endured due to the close presence of another gravitational source—the massive moon.
Hissing white jets of geysers shot from the ground here and there like the stems of ephemeral plants, piercing the air with stifling steam.
It seemed the planet was squeezing out its pain through countless fissures, channels, pores, and craters.
The ground under his feet was literally littered with small craters and subsurface wells lined with mineral deposits.
From unfathomable depths came rumbles and hisses of vapors now and then.
But worst of all, the surface resembled a superheated cauldron that occasionally tried to vent steam to prolong its deteriorating condition.
Falling into such a geyser or steam burst could mean death that was neither pleasant nor quick, and utterly unnecessary.
The Jen'saarai immersed himself deeper and deeper into the Force, anticipating threats on his path and hoping the platform where he'd left the ship would prove as reliable as it had seemed to him and the shuttle's scanners at first.
Arriving on the planet for a recruit but getting stuck here himself—that was no pleasure.
It was good he hadn't brought his own ship.
Designed for exploration, it was formally the best option for such a journey, but...
Thinking pragmatically—if the "Graceful Lady" was damaged, repairs would come out of his pocket.
If it was the Order's shuttle—let the Order's mechanics and technicians worry about it.
He learned of the impending disaster literally seconds in advance.
But due to his limited knowledge of countering such catastrophes, he didn't react in time.
All he managed was to get far away from the cracks screaming mortal danger.
But the tremors underfoot still caught the Jen'saarai off guard.
At the last moment, he used the Force to maintain balance.
And to the accompaniment of rising subsurface rumbling comparable to the warmup of the "Graceful Lady's" ion engines, he enveloped himself in the Force, hoping it would allow him to protect himself.
He was almost right.
A spray of superheated rocks erupting from the awakened crater scattered like shrapnel across the area, nearly finishing him off.
But the ballistokinesis he'd mastered to a sufficient level didn't fail him.
Fodeum simply redirected the threatening stones aside.
True, it cost him precious balance.
The subsurface vibrations would intensify, then suddenly vanish as if they hadn't been there at all.
Then they surged anew with fresh force, only to finally disappear.
But that was just the beginning.
What he'd taken for a small plain revealed itself fully, demonstrating the treachery of the local nature.
From hundreds of cracks around him shot scorching, burning steam, and columns of water shrouded in vapor jetted dozens of meters upward.
"This isn't the water treatment I dreamed of!" Fodeum exclaimed, navigating the deadly natural phenomena with the virtuosity of a circus performer in quick steps.
He vowed to himself not to tell anyone that he'd managed to stumble into a geyser valley right after landing on the planet.
Eol Sha's geyser valley.
A dense layer of vapor fog blanketed the surface.
Weak geysers ebbed like drying streams, and the moisture they spewed instantly evaporated as soon as droplets touched molten rivers of magma or hot slag.
Hundreds of small geysers gave way to several large ones.
Like giant beasts spitting and rumbling, these hundred-meter titans unleashed rains of boiling water on the surrounding space, through which Fodeum was forced to weave.
Again, he cleared his mind of all thoughts, allowing the Great Force to guide him.
Just as the wise Mon Calamari had taught.
Surrendering to the all-encompassing and all-pervading energy, the young Jen'saarai indifferently noted how the world around him began to blur.
He crossed the geyser valley at superhuman speed, employing one of the old Jedi techniques taught him by Bre'ano Umakk.
A wall of steam blocking his path already concealed the remnants of the settlement, but finding the right way for one in union with the Force was no problem.
Like a rocket, he burst through the climatic obstacle and found himself before a massive bunker.
Peeling paint, deformed plating, patches of metal welded over holes in the main material...
And two blasters, outdated in design but pointed straight 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 see behind the backs of the "welcome committee."
The outpost on Eol Sha was a simple structure of used cargo containers and mobile living complexes, crudely clad in metal and converted into bunkers.
Judging by the shacks' appearance, they'd long exhausted their durability, and perhaps their operational lifespan as well.
But for objective reasons, new ones were nowhere to be had, so the settlers lived in what remained from their predecessors.
Squinting, Fodeum noted that most of the containers and modules only appeared inhabited.
Looking closer, they were mere frames placed around the perimeter of the dwellings at the settlement's center.
"Barriers," the Jen'saarai realized.
Whoever had given that order had left the vacant structures around the perimeter so that geysers or any other sources of natural danger couldn't damage the settlement.
Any more than they did now.
Oddly, the settlers didn't seem surprised—only focused and suspicious.
This fact was easily explained, however.
Fodeum was likely the first new face they'd seen since the Republican spy's visage had flashed past them at lightspeed two years ago.
And that face—a mask of an animal, a lizard unknown to the overwhelming percentage of sentients living in the galaxy.
"Guys, let's no sudden moves," Fodeum requested, demonstratively raising his hands. "What you see is a helmet, not my real face. I'm as human as you..."
The locals exchanged glances.
"You take us for idiots?" one inquired. "You think we don't know what enclosed armor looks like?"
"Unlikely, but suppose," the Jen'saarai thought.
"I mean you no harm," he promised.
"Yeah, we're aware," the second replied, holstering his weapon.
The first followed suit.
"You got a holonet station here, that's why you're so informed?" Fodeum thought irritably.
"Lower your hands," the first advised him.
The Jen'saarai, sighing, complied with his interlocutor's words.
The locals looked, honestly, awful.
But better than could be expected from people isolated for decades on a planet where every natural phenomenon tried to kill you.
Their threadbare clothes consisted of patches of every shape and shade imaginable.
Work overalls, pilot uniforms, parts of spacesuits...
Whatever was at hand went into the patches.
"I've come to talk to Gantoris," Fodeum stated without preamble.
"Yeah, we're aware," one of the men replied, nodding toward the settlement's center. "Shall we go?"
"I definitely didn't send a diplomatic note about intending to show up here," Fodeum thought, staring at the patched backs.
Could it be assumed that Gantoris had developed his Force abilities so much that he could not only foresee natural cataclysms but also the approach of sentients intent on...
At that moment, the young protector mentally told himself everything he thought about his own caution and intellect.
Intentionality.
He'd flown here to meet Gantoris.
That was a direct intent, truly discernible in the Force.
It was with such a focus that the Jen'saarai protecting Leonia Tavira and her Star Destroyer used to guard against trouble.
When they sensed through the Force that someone was preparing a "surprise" for the pirate queen, they warned her.
And the ambush was foiled.
"Is this why Grand Admiral Thrawn uses ysalamiri, keeping them close?" the young Jen'saarai protector thought.
For those marvelous lizards repelled the Force.
And anyone in the "repulsion" zone projected by ysalamiri was immune to direct Force influence.
Meaning no one could read Thrawn's thoughts through it.
Realizing such a simple truth, Fodeum nearly stumbled.
Of course!
The New Republic and the Alliance had Jedi on their side.
The Pentastar Alignment had Inquisitors or something like them.
Palpatine had his own Force-sensitive servants too.
And Thrawn's thoughts, like his very existence after the feigned death, remained a mystery to them!
The Force simply couldn't "hint" to any of Grand Admiral's adversaries' close associates or reveal through meditation what he planned.
And if one considered that ysalamiri were also aboard regular fleet ships, protecting commanders and key ship posts...
Well, yeah, why not win that way?
The New Republic had won many impossible battles—because Luke Skywalker, son of Darth Vader, one of the galaxy's mightiest Force adepts in recent history, was on their side!
By rumor, the guy was little trained, but who cared about a Star Destroyer's gunnery accuracy when the order "Base Delta Zero" was given?
Yeah... Training with Imperial instructors in military prep hadn't been wasted—he now understood at least something of military science, if not well.
His escorts stopped so abruptly that the young man bumped into them.
They were beside one of the containers that had lost its original purpose.
Like some others, several large boulders emitting toxic vapors lay on its roof.
The container's doors were deformed and clearly buckled under the weight of the load on the roof.
Several people worked around it, trying to cut away a corner of the structure disintegrating before their eyes.
Judging by the numerous holes of varying sizes, superheated material particles had struck the container, melting a stiffener rib that threatened collapse.
One man worked with double energy.
He was taller than the rest and stood like an ancient hero's statue, propping the upper part of the container with one hand while pulling aside the piece of solid metal with the other that two other locals managed to burn through with a weak plasma torch.
The rest of the settlement's inhabitants watched all this.
Women with faces as stern and expressionless as the men's silently observed, standing on the thresholds of other containers that evidently served as dwellings.
Fodeum barely noticed the children—only a couple of grubby kids peering from an improvised window in the wall of a distant container.
"Gantoris!" one of the Jen'saarai's escorts addressed the "statue." "We've brought the one you spoke of."
"Alright, too late to be surprised now," Fodeum thought, flinching because the giant, unlike his fellow unfortunates, didn't even glance at the newcomer.
Heavy eyes full of determination and unyielding will, and expressions on the faces of everyone who deigned to notice the guest from another world.
And complete indifference to the fact that he differed from them somehow.
The gazes returned to the work on the container.
"What's happening?" Fodeum whispered to one of his escorts.
"During the eruption, molten rock hit housing across the settlement," the man explained. "Three dead. There," he pointed to the container where Gantoris worked, "is our nursery. The rock melted the stiffeners, and if not for Gantoris, the roof would've collapsed and crushed the kids."
"Now they'll cut the rib and start evacuating the young ones," the second replied dryly. "Those who survived."
Fodeum looked at the container anew.
Now he saw that on one side, the one Gantoris held, the hull had numerous melt-throughs he'd initially taken for rust marks.
Directing the Force toward the container, the young man flinched, sensing pain...
"I'll help," he said, striding forward.
The lightsaber hilt leaped into his hand of its own accord.
He approached the stiffener-cutting spot and looked at Gantoris from the side.
Black-as-night long hair gathered at the nape revealed a stern, high-cheekboned male face devoid of lashes and brows.
Sweat poured down it in rivulets.
In his eyes—unyielding determination to hold out as long as possible.
No focus, no glances aside.
This man had immersed himself in the Force, pushing his capabilities to the limit.
If there were other ways to hold the ready-to-collapse container ceiling—it no longer mattered.
Gantoris was doing what he could and must—risking himself to save lives of those who couldn't care for themselves and needed protection.
Such a man would be welcome in the Jen'saarai Order.
They weren't acquainted yet, but Fodeum already liked this man.
He didn't need to explain self-sacrifice and protecting others from dangers.
He'd absorbed that knowledge with Eol Sha's toxic air, carried it through his entire life...
"I've come to help," Fodeum said, addressing the man.
He might not have grown up in such extreme conditions as Gantoris himself, but he certainly understood that acting without permission wouldn't end well.
Here, he was nobody.
His words meant nothing.
Gantoris turned his unfocused gaze toward him, as if looking through the Jen'saarai standing before him.
"Act, black man," Gantoris rasped in a firm voice, looking back at the container before him.
Fodeum was about to say that his suit and cloak were actually brown, but cut himself off mid-thought.
He could already clearly sense that somewhere in the dim depths of the flimsy structure, life flickered.
Life that needed saving.
The Force helped him assess the container's structure and make the decision.
The only right one.
With telekinesis, he hurled the boulders from the container's roof beyond the settlement's boundary.
But this brought no desired relief—the container was deformed, and nothing short of hydraulic tools could restore it to a state where the doors could be opened without destruction.
Fodeum began cutting.
The metal the container was made of wasn't cortosis, but cutting it was no pleasure.
The blue-white blade sank into the metal mere millimeters above the cut the locals had already made.
Fodeum, balancing the energy blade's tip so it wouldn't penetrate deeper than needed, tensed his muscles, advancing his weapon upward.
This wasn't slicing armored doors at Host shipyards.
There, he didn't need to worry about hurting someone inside.
Now—he was saving lives.
The blade, once designed by Darth Vader himself, ruled the metal, advancing through the unyielding medium centimeter by centimeter.
Slowly, but many times faster than a low-power plasma torch could manage.
Fodeum maneuvered the energy weapon to cut the metal along the path of least resistance.
The melted holes in the structure and stiffener rib were perfect for saving precious time.
And finally, after several agonizing minutes that seemed an eternity, the blade emerged from the upper corner of the structure, violating the container's geometry.
Deactivating the weapon, Fodeum reached out to the Force, channeling its flows into the cooling cut, expanding them and prying the metal apart.
He felt his body tense, sweat pouring because the armor's climate control had failed.
But the Jen'saarai didn't retreat.
The metal groaned, emitting sounds of dying monsters, but the gap widened.
And finally, it reached half a meter—enough to begin evacuation.
But the people around him didn't understand this.
He sensed their incomprehension.
The colonists' descendants couldn't fathom why he'd stopped his actions.
Because none of the outpost's residents could squeeze through such a narrow fissure.
Fodeum tossed his deactivated weapon aside and, taking several breaths, immersed himself in the Force again.
The first child, unconscious, floated out through the hole he'd made.
Unconscious, with holes in his right shoulder and left thigh, but alive.
The second crawled out on his own.
Fodeum carried out the third, turning him so his right shoulder was parallel to the superheated ground's surface...
By the time the last child was extracted from the structure, the Jen'saarai could barely find strength to stand.
And only after the Force assured him that nothing remained inside the ten-meter rectangular metal coffin, not even the dead, 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 farther from their forced confinement, but he didn't react to it.
"This is yours," the hilt of his own lightsaber appeared before his face.
The protector raised his gaze, meeting Gantoris's eyes.
With interest, the man examined the lightsaber, not showing by any movement that he was in the least fatigued.
"Thanks," Fodeum thought that he'd nearly lost his lightsaber again. Honestly, he wouldn't have minded if it happened, because despite the initial fascination with the construct, the impression of its creator had receded into the background.
This saber was alien.
He felt no kinship with it, as Umakk had spoken of.
He didn't sense it as an extension of his own will.
But he couldn't find time to craft his own weapon either.
"He said he came for you, Gantoris," one of those who'd brought him to the settlement appeared nearby.
"I know," the natives' leader replied.
"As you said..."
"I know," Gantoris echoed, not taking his gaze from Fodeum. "Who are you, and what do you want from me, black man?"
"My name," the young protector rose to his feet, "is Fodeum Sabre De'Luz. I am a protector of the Jen'saarai Order. I would like to offer you to become part of our Order, to learn to wield the Force you possess. For the protection of those in need."
A combustible mix of confusion and resolve flashed across Gantoris's face for an instant.
"I saw you in my dreams," he said in not entirely steady tones. "But you were... different. You offer to reveal the secrets of my abilities, teach unimaginable secrets. You are the black man who will bring me death..."
"Good thing I'm wearing a helmet," Fodeum thought, willing his dropped jaw back into place with effort.
"Nothing like that is in my plans," he said, clipping the weapon to his belt. "We don't kill the innocent, we only protect..."
"I am confused," Gantoris admitted, causing the nearby people to exchange glances as if they'd heard something heretical. "You speak like the black man from my dreams. You offer to fly among the stars, like the black man from my dreams. But you are not the black man..."
"Technically, I'm in brown armor," Fodeum couldn't withstand the onslaught of revelations. "But it's the metal's color, not because I'm scared to be on Eol Sha."
The atmosphere urgently needed defusing.
Because besides his body, the Jen'saarai's brain was starting to boil too.
What was this cult of the black man visiting Gantoris in dreams?
Understandably, he didn't know the pubescent dreams of teens who'd seen Twi'leks, but this description sounded too frightening.
Was Gantoris recounting a nightmare to him?
"You are not the black man," Gantoris said after reflection. "You are a funny little man. But an inner voice says that if I go with you, I will meet the black man. And perish."
"I've been called worse," Fodeum sighed, studiously not thinking about what Gantoris was actually talking about, which he knew. "I came with the intent to help you know your powers and invite you to the Dominion's defense."
"What is this Dominion of yours?" Gantoris frowned.
"A state whose territory includes Eol Sha," too long to explain. "Our ruler believes that those like you, me, and our kind should learn to use our gift for the benefit of those around us. To save lives, as you've done on Eol Sha these last years..."
"If I leave here," Gantoris looked around, "my comrades and friends will die. I don't fear my own death or the path you call me to. But I won't abandon them."
"This guy will definitely fit right in with us," Fodeum thought.
"I suggest returning to my ship to discuss with competent sentients the matter of relocating your people to a more decent place," the Jen'saarai proposed, glancing at the moon's bulk in the sky. "I don't know about you, but this neighbor scares me. And I don't want to have dreams with black little men offering me all sorts of things."
Gantoris, like the nearby settlers, didn't react to the joke at all.
"Alright, not every Jen'saarai among us is a humorist," Fodeum thought. "Looks like when they were handing out senses of humor to sentients, I took the scraps meant for Eol Sha's settlers."
***
Over the months spent in this galaxy, I'd grown accustomed to both flawless holographic transmissions.
And to distortions that made the image so garbled that only a cloud of white-blue particles remained of the interlocutor.
The current communication session fell into the latter category.
Now and then, the equipment on Protector De'Luz's escort shuttle overcame magnetic and other interference, and a pair of miniature figures regained clarity.
Fortunately, at least the audio transmission proceeded without hitches.
"Among the Dominion's worlds are those that can shelter your fellow planet-dwellers, Mr. Gantoris," I said when the Eol Sha settlers' leader finished outlining his initiative.
"I own no one, Grand Admiral," the man objected. "I am no one's mister."
"This address is merely a respectful figure of speech," I explained.
"I don't like such addressing," Gantoris's hologram stated. "Call me by name. It was given to me at birth. Every outpost resident addresses me by name."
Presumably he was about thirty standard years old, yet he looked like a life-hardened man who'd passed through several "hot spots" in the front lines.
Addressing him by name went against basic norms of communication and mutual respect.
First and foremost—respect for the life path he'd walked through the hell called Eol Sha.
On the other hand, he'd clearly defined the boundaries of self-respect and allowances in communication.
Ignoring them would show disrespect to the interlocutor.
That way, we'd agree on nothing.
"Don't take my words as an attempt to insult, Gantoris," I advised. "Our communication cultures differ somewhat from those accepted among Eol Sha's settlers."
"Nevertheless," the interlocutor said. "I am Gantoris. And nothing else."
"That will be taken into account," 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 resettled on any of the worlds—the local governments will ensure they're 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 Eol Sha's fauna. Can you find us an uninhabited planet or moon where we can tend to our affairs without worrying that our solitude will be disturbed?"
And this was already bargaining.
Despite growing up outside the greater society, he bargained classically—starting with inflated demands.
"We have such worlds," I confirmed. "But you should know that Dominion residents bear certain duties toward the state. Giving a small group of settlers an entire world and setting it up so they live in isolation... That's no problem. But are you sure that's what your survival comrades on Eol Sha want?"
"Yes," Gantoris said. "We need no one else."
And so, what prevented them from claiming an island or continent?
Demanding a whole world under such conditions was unreasonable.
Even the Alderaanian diasporas resettled in the Dominion hadn't demanded a planet, understanding that losing their home world wasn't grounds to give several thousand people an entire planet.
And here, for a couple hundred sentients...
Of course, for the Dominion, this was a valuable deal in prospect—Gantoris traded his loyalty for his loved ones' well-being.
And if his story were as long and detailed as Kyp Durron's, I'd unhesitatingly agree to risk it—not the first time.
But Gantoris was quite the "gift."
Yes, I needed Force-sensitives to bolster the Jen'saarai Order's ranks.
But the choice fell on Gantoris not out of desperation—because I knew his name.
As I did his current whereabouts.
But his prospects as a Jen'saarai...
Yes, in the known events at Luke Skywalker's Praxeum, he progressed well—but that was primarily not due to his personal aptitudes or abilities.
His rapid learning and death Gantoris owed to apprenticeship under Exar Kun's ghost on Yavin IV.
Without Sith mentorship, would Gantoris be as capable, or remain just a name among the "middling" list—a lottery.
And trading a planet/moon for a "pig in a poke" was at minimum foolish.
"Well, your words will be taken into account," I said. "Both those you said last and those when you emphasized you don't rule anyone."
"How are they connected?"
"Directly," I assured. "Speaking of not managing your fellow planet-dwellers, yet demanding something on their behalf—that's a highly dubious semantic construction. If you don't rule your comrades, how can you set conditions for me on their behalf? I dare assume the question of turning your new home into a reservation should be discussed with the entire adult population of the colony. Naturally—after our forces evacuate them to a safer place."
Gantoris drilled me with a heavy gaze for several minutes, accompanied by barely noticeable nervousness from the standing and quietly fidgeting Fodeum Sabre De'Luz.
"Well said," Gantoris broke the silence. "You are wise in your utterances. I will trust you."
Now the question was reversed.
Though unsaid, I'd just been "tested" again.
By those I called to service.
A bad trend, but under certain conditions, it would need to be maintained.
Especially with sentients who'd never heard of me, like Eol-Sha natives.
"The last thesis appeals to me," I said. "In that case, the question of discussing your compatriots' future residence will be addressed after the population's evacuation. I promise to respect any decision of the Eol Sha people. But a whole planet or moon in exchange for your planet-dwellers' isolationism and your service... That's an excessively inflated price in the context of the problem's scale and the obligations you take on."
But I wouldn't let them wrap me around their finger.
Force-sensitive sentients were a valuable resource.
But not so rare that they could dictate terms of alienating entire planets.
There are bargaining positions predestined to be conceded in the compromise-finding process.
But riding roughshod over me...
That's not how agreements are made.
At least if they're positioned as bilateral, thus accounting for both parties' interests.
Take the langhesi.
They're invaluable—a whole race of biotechnologists vitally needed given the number of issues requiring their involvement.
Studying Yuuzhan Vong technologies, creating effective bioweapons against them, participating in cloning labs, integrating into biomolecule production factories that reduce costs for supplying food to the Armed Forces and population...
These are strategic and tactical tasks on whose implementation our borders' security, population's food supply, and army and fleet provisioning depend.
A hungry soldier won't win much.
And if there are no such soldiers, then
A hungry population tends to overthrow the government.
That's briefly on how vital the langhesi are.
But even in that situation, receiving the Dominion's patronage for reclaiming their home world, they hadn't shown unnecessary "character" or expelled the occupiers from the planet.
Instead, they divided spheres of influence, choosing just a continent for their diaspora, not the whole planet.
Meanwhile, Gantoris favored the standing protector De'Luz with an interested glance:
"I was told the Dominion is interested in helping my fellow citizens and ready to dialogue to exchange my loyalty to the government for Eol Sha residents' safety."
"We are dialoguing," I reminded. "And offering you training to use your gift isn't grounds to demand a whole world from me."
"But you need those who channel the Force," Gantoris persisted, trying to bore through me with his gaze.
"Not enough to give several hundred sentients a whole world," I stated.
"My people have lived in unbearable conditions for decades..."
"I sincerely sympathize with them all, but I bear no relation to their hard lot. As soon as I learned of your existence and dire situation, I sent an emissary to conclude mutually beneficial cooperation with the settlers' leader."
"A world where we can live without neighbors' interference is a fair price for my loyalty!"
"Don't overvalue yourself, Gantoris," I advised. "Such an approach has never led and won't lead to anything productive. Whatever you've contrived and whatever you want, the Dominion will provide you the opportunity to settle on a planet of choice. But your people won't be its sole owners and settlers. Nor will they be exempt from Dominion residents' rights and duties. The civil administration will do everything for your kin's accelerated adaptation to current conditions, but no one will look in Eol-Sha settlers' mouths."
"Your words seem to hint we'd better stay on the planet," Gantoris said with a threatening tone.
"The choice is yours," I shrugged. "I'm sure by the time Dominion interests reach this planet, the moon will already have destroyed Eol Sha, and our miners can freely extract useful minerals from the planet's debris without dealing with a group of settlers."
"Is that a threat?" Gantoris's image flickered and blurred, but his voice was audible.
"A statement of fact," I declared. "Eol-Sha is Dominion territory. Whether you want it or not, obeying our state's laws is not a right, but a duty. If you don't wish it, well, we'll withdraw our aid. Protector Sabre De'Luz," I addressed the Jen'saarai. "Evidently, negotiations have reached a dead end. Return Gantoris to his people and leave Eol-Sha. Leave a few observation satellites in the system, and that's it."
"You'll run away, leaving the means to watch us perish in the end?" Gantoris narrowed his eyes.
"We're folding the diplomatic mission because the opposing leader won't accept reality as it is," I explained calmly. "The state's resources are vast, but not infinite. The loyalty of one potential Jen'saarai, whose powers and abilities aren't turned to the entire state's benefit without ulterior motive—that's no price for a habitable world. The Dominion is open to negotiations, but our interests are priority. Proportionality of demands to offers is the key to fruitful cooperation. I hope you have ways to properly care for your people amid the escalating crisis."
Gantoris snorted.
"Your man said the Empire fell apart. But you act just like them, if our chronicles are to be believed."
"I don't allow myself and my people to be fooled," I had to clarify. "As your people's leader, I think you understand my motivations. If not, well, negotiations make no sense in that case."
"We agree to your proposal," Gantoris said quickly. "Any fertile and calm land on worlds not threatened with destruction. But my people must have the option to choose relocation variants."
That is—unconditional agreement with what I'd offered.
Gantoris had tested me for "strength" in his own way and, realizing he couldn't ride roughshod or deceive me, preferred a bird in the hand to the moon falling on Eol Sha.
"As expected," I said. "But given you bargained too long and brazenly, one more condition will be added to the above."
"And what is it?"
"You and your settlers legally renounce all rights to Eol Sha. Both on your own behalf and that of all your descendants. In exchange—you get that land parcel on the planet you choose for free use."
Gantoris frowned again.
He was silent for several seconds, then nodded affirmatively.
"Agreed."
"In that case, I'll immediately order an evacuation ship dispatched to your planet as soon as possible," I said.
Sleight of hand and no fraud.
The Dominion grants a small group of sentients the right to live gratis on a planet they choose, and in return gains rights to a mineral-rich planet that will soon become a vast asteroid belt.
The budget missing property taxes from a small settlement is a trifle compared to what we'll extract from its depths.
Future gas-prospecting operations in the Cauldron nebula might resume.
With reduced logistics—the losses from extraction costs in this region should decrease.
It remained only to determine what exactly we'd gain from this deal regarding minerals.
Data decades old was dangerous to trust.
But even if we "lost" and found nothing profitable in this sector's superprofits, the costs for transporting and supporting Eol-Sha residents wouldn't be excessive.
The reserve budget funds would easily cover them, and we'd recoup losses elsewhere.
"Sir," when Gantoris's hologram faded, the young Jen'saarai removed his helmet and wiped sweat from his brow. "I wanted to discuss something Gantoris mentioned at our meeting. They knew I was coming. And Gantoris said I appeared in his dreams. That he'd perish if he followed me. This sounds very much like Force Visions—a prophecy of one possible future variant."
"Have you reported this to the Saarai-kaar yet?" I clarified.
"Decided to tell you first," Fodeum averted his eyes. "I'm supposed to be your personal protector and accountable to you for my missions. And only then to the Order's head."
"In that case, no need to worry," I advised. "I know about the black man. And how to avoid his meeting with Gantoris. Get him to the Jen'saarai for training as soon as possible. That's all. End transmission."
"Yes, of course," Fodeum said bewilderedly, bowing in farewell. "Am I the only one who doesn't know who this 'black man' is?"
His disgruntled muttering curtained our conversation.
Sitting in the chair for several seconds, I began pondering a plan to ensure Exar Kun's ghost didn't disrupt plans and destroy Carida in my reality.
Yes, the planet was loyal to Imperial Space, and divisions trained on its surface were bought exclusively by the Imperial Ruling Council (because the other Remnants lacked sufficient free funds) and with its direct permission.
But there was a nuance.
Not much time left for them.
And for now, it was time to check preparatory measures' progress and start tugging the vornskr by the whiskers.
Then by the tail.
After that—redirect the mature and cunning predator's attention to other prey.
Next—lure into a trap and break all its bones properly.
Time to pull claws and teeth hadn't come yet.
But that didn't mean it wasn't time to show him who the real predator was in this little galaxy.