I slept for fifteen hours, if not more. My entire body was leaden and stiff; for the first few minutes after waking, I had to engage in a vigorous routine of stretching and calisthenics.
Once I finished my basic exercises, I sat down to meditate, and was astounded. My connection to the Force had improved significantly. This had happened before; the more actively you use the Force, the better you feel it. But I had never experienced a leap this sudden or profound.
By concentrating my focus, I could easily predict what would happen in any part of the room a couple of seconds in advance.
I no longer needed to focus on a single specific object. I was able to track several items simultaneously, even in a "background" mode, knowing exactly what their immediate future held. Granted, I couldn't sustain this for long, literally only for a few seconds, but previously, such a feat was unthinkable.
The range of my perception had also expanded. Before, I could sense the space around me up to thirty or forty meters. Within that radius, I could clearly feel the location of living organisms and fluctuations in the Force.
The exception was Force-sensitives. If they weren't actively masking themselves, they shone like stars, detectable from hundreds of meters away. As for those who were hiding... they wouldn't reveal themselves until you practically collided with them—unless they were merely masquerading as an ordinary sentient being.
As the description of that technique stated: "You must become part of the very fabric of reality that observers are accustomed to; you must be visible in the Force, but not as a Sith. To ensure no one recognizes your true form, you must be perceived as a given."
Or, according to another approach: "You must compress yourself in the Force until you become tiny. Microscopic. The enemy has as much chance of finding you as finding a specific molecule among billions of others."
These were just two of many methods. Perhaps, just as every sentient perceives the Force differently, the approach to its techniques must be based on the teachers' knowledge, which is then transformed into the unique, inimitable skills of the student.
Kamma and I had discussed this. He can only lift one or two projectiles, but they are dozens of kilograms heavier than mine. I, on the other hand, can lift several relatively light ones. Each of us tried to explain to the other how it felt, but we failed to reach a common understanding.
He couldn't comprehend how it was possible to be simultaneously concentrated and yet maintain a de-focused eye on several items. I couldn't understand what he meant when he said, "Weight does not exist."
I was pulled from my engrossed study of these new boundaries by a faint shimmer in the Force appearing at the edge of my perception. Someone gifted in the Force was moving quickly along the wall, clearly attempting to conceal their presence.
The Force flowed through the stranger, almost entirely masking them within it. Yet, a weak, dark glint of the Dark Side flickered through the uniform shroud of the Force here and there.
Interesting, it seemed this technique could be bypassed not just through specialized counter-skills, but by a simple expansion of one's own capabilities.
The door slid aside, and a familiar blue-skinned figure appeared in the doorway. My muscles, which had tensed instinctively, relaxed, and I leaned back into my pile of rags with relief.
"I'm glad you've finally woken up," Kamma said, stepping quickly into the laundry room and dropping onto a heap of linens. His eyes scanned me intently, as if he were seeing me for the first time. "You've grown stronger. Compared to before, you feel about ten percent better than you were."
"What is this obsession with translating everything into numbers and rational terms? Why not just say, 'My dear comrade, you have become significantly stronger'?"
"I find it the most practical approach. For instance, how will you understand the difference between you and an opponent if I just say he is 'slightly' weaker? I'm certain you would only hear the word 'weaker.'"
"Point taken."
"However, if I tell you that the difference in your combat skills is exactly two percent, you will remain focused and avoid making careless mistakes."
"Mistakes are always 'careless' by definition."
"Let's not engage in sophistry; I think you understand my meaning. One must always calculate and plan everything thoroughly."
"Even the probability that my brain might give out from overexertion right here and now?"
"That is not material for analysis, but rather excessive fantasizing about something you lack, according to confirmed data."
"Do yourself a favor and shove your data where the sun doesn't shine. What happened to me?"
"Your vitals are normal; you simply fell asleep. It's far from the worst thing that has happened to us here."
There was no arguing with that.
"Facts are generally difficult to argue with. Now, if you've rested, we have Force-manipulation training on the schedule soon. Are you coming?"
"Do I have a choice?"
******
During the training session, my performance increased as expected. I was now able, albeit with effort, to lift a dozen heavy blocks and control each one individually.
My Force Push, which I had been trying to improve actively but fruitlessly, showed its first positive trends. The distance at which I could reach an enemy increased by a couple of meters.
We also had a rather sadistic exercise. There was a protective dome forming a circle ten meters in diameter. Several Remote Droids would fly in and fire blasters at you.
That would be fine, but the dome had a built-in defense; touch it, and you were immediately fried with electricity. Furthermore, the droids didn't fire "weak" bolts. A single hit could easily numb the affected limb. And you weren't allowed to touch those flying bastards, only dodge or defend yourself using the Force.
The most malicious part was that the dome gradually shrunk until only a circle of 1.5 by 1.5 meters remained. The intensity of the shots would increase until they became near-lethal. One hit like that would leave a burn that would send you to the med-center, if you were lucky enough not to be forced to keep training.
I had been thrown into this wonderful place because... well, apparently, I wasn't "breathing correctly."
I had been there before and showed above-average results, though far from the most remarkable. I remember being taken down by a shot back then when the circle narrowed to four and a half meters.
This time, I managed to hold out much longer without trouble. That sensation returned, the one where you know exactly where the blow will land. There was no need to jump or roll to clear the line of fire. When you know exactly where the bolt will strike before it is even fired, a slight pivot on your heel to shift your body aside is enough.
The trouble started at the four-meter mark when the mode switched and the rate of fire increased. Even with my precognition, I had to roll from side to side. During one such leap, the dome caught me.
My body arched, and my limbs broke into convulsions. The pain was intense, though after these months, not entirely unfamiliar. But that ten-second torture was enough to make me lose consciousness.
******
The shift in the balance of power did not go unnoticed by those around me.
Specifically, I was struck by Force Lightning less frequently now, as it was easier to meet the instructors' criteria. On a global scale, the attacks on our group had dwindled further, at least when we stuck together.
Because it wasn't just me growing; my partners were too. Kamma was only slightly weaker than me in all respects and was constantly trying to overtake me. In a one-on-one duel, I beat him six times out of ten, but in a real-world survival situation, his chances were higher.
If I were a warrior, he was an assassin. Until recently, I couldn't sense him in the Force at all; if we had crossed paths on the street, I might easily have failed to block a lightsaber strike in time.
And it wouldn't necessarily be a saber. Kamma felt that favoring only one weapon was foolish. He had assembled an extensive arsenal of melee weapons and blasters of his own manufacture, thanks to the abundance of parts in the warehouses.
He also had a habit of disappearing for a week or more. What he did, I didn't know. All my attempts to track his movements ended at his room; according to the sensors, he sat there all week.
But according to the Force, he wasn't there. Where could a sentient go from a completely sealed room with no secret passages or crawlspaces? I'd looked for them in my own room; they didn't exist.
Lana acted as our group's support, though calling her a "witch" would be more accurate. The red-headed fury had a volatile temper, yet she possessed skills that likely no other acolyte could match.
According to Kamma, she spent her childhood on Dathomir in one of the witch clans practicing a different approach to the Dark Side than the Sith. She had been sold several years before the war began to ensure her clan's safety from a powerful pirate group.
After the Empire arrived, the gang was destroyed. According to Kamma's intel, the girl killed the leader herself when he locked himself in with her to hide from the stormtroopers. She then surrendered voluntarily to Imperial forces. According to the medical report our information gatherer dug up, Lana had inflicted twenty-eight knife wounds to vital points.
Her trail went cold for a month before she surfaced here.
And now, she seemed determined to return to her roots. Based on what I gathered from her archive searches, she was most interested in Sith Alchemy, healing rituals, or conversely, curses, as well as expanding her sensory capabilities.
Truth be told, the girl was a remarkable sensor, capable of scanning over a kilometer around us.
Given all this, people tried not to provoke us directly. I'm certain everyone tries to gather as much intel on everyone else as possible, so they know who is best left alone.
This was wonderful, especially considering the general atmosphere among the students. Tension in our collective, which had long ago abandoned cohesion, sanity, and mutual understanding, was reaching a breaking point.
Many students easily entered states of uncontrollable rage and lunged at their detractors. Even the punishments, which everyone used to fear, had ceased to be effective. New corpses appeared. One student strangled another with the Force; no one had time to intervene. By the time the Priestesses arrived, the victor was already desecrating the body. And that was only one case of three.
You could say we were sitting on a powder keg. The timer had long since begun its countdown. I don't know what will serve as the spark, but sooner or later, an explosion is coming.
Despite all this, for the first time this month, I managed to breathe freely and slow the pace of my training slightly. The Force spoke clearly: a little more, and I would cross an invisible point of no return. If I overexerted myself like that again, it could be fatal for my body.
I even researched this in the archives. Jedi Healers had noted more than once that the body changes under the influence of the Force.
For example, a case was described where a Jedi practicing Form IV: Ataru, where everything is based on flexibility and speed, developed tendons, muscles, and joints that weren't just highly conditioned. They were twice as developed as the average in the Order among those practicing other forms.
Or a Jedi practicing Battle Meditation for a long time found that one section of their brain was developed five times better than that of an ordinary sentient of their species.
I don't know what changes my training will lead to, but it's clear that the more rapid the growth, the harsher the toll on the body. And I certainly don't want to tempt the Force more than necessary.
I decided to spend my newfound free time studying economics and continuing the investigation into my former home.
While the economy in this world differed little from my old one, essentially a similar system with its own nuances stretched across the galaxy, I found interesting leads on the second point.
I had the sudden stroke of luck to find a wealth of useful information regarding Master Lyman Jay Curra. By that point, I had almost despaired. This sentient seemed to have vanished after leaving the Order. No one had seen him; he was recorded nowhere. But that couldn't be right, could it?
It suddenly hit me: what if I looked for photographs instead of records? Like an image search in my world. You upload a photo and get similar shots. I was so desperate I was even willing to risk exposure. But it was worth it.
To my amazement, a mountain of information crashed down on me. Almost all of it concerned his life after leaving the Order.
The former Jedi had become a guard for some high-ranking figure on Muunilinst, the home planet of the Muuns, the primary owners of the Intergalactic Banking Clan, which had once mired the Republic in debt up to its ears. As one senator famously put it: "If we increase the Republic's indebtedness, we can write off the needs of ordinary people. Economic collapse awaits the Republic."
My dear Jedi had entered the service of one Hego Damask, a sufficiently influential individual. On the surface, he seemed nothing extraordinary compared to the rest of his race's elite. However, the Force whispered that there was something here, though I couldn't grasp what.
Of course, it wasn't as simple as it sounds. I spent hours over archive records, sifting the wheat from the chaff. I made sure to cover my tracks by using the same method to look for the faces of other Jedi who had left the Order. It probably wouldn't fool anyone, but why not? I could say I was looking for Jedi who survived the Great Purge this way. No one would likely believe it, but it was at least some cover.
My search, thank the Force, was not in vain. A couple of other former Jedi were indeed discovered, which I reported to the Director. But my main work proceeded in a different direction, which was not difficult to verify with proper effort.
However, having found this information, I hit another dead end. There was no mention that this sentient was involved in construction. Nearly everywhere, he was simply a guard and almost never left his employer's side. I needed to find a new channel for my thoughts.
During one such session in the archives, Kamma approached me. I had learned to sense him faintly but clearly at a close distance. The prodigal son had finally decided to return to us; he had been missing in an unknown direction for a week and a half.
When I looked up, I immediately tensed. Usually, he looked neat and tidy. Unlike most here, Kamma looked... somewhat more aristocratic. I had seen archive holorecords of Count Dooku; Kamma moved and tried to dress similarly.
But now he looked completely disheveled. A sleeve was half-torn, his trouser leg was covered in some kind of filth. His hair was matted and hung in clumps. If it weren't for the eyes of a satisfied cat who had found the cream, I would have thought he'd been beaten.
"Excellent, I'm glad I caught you here. I have urgent news."
"Tell me, I'm all ears."
"Not here. Meeting at our place in half an hour."
"As you wish."
At the appointed time, I was already sitting on the piled rags. The rhythmic hum of the machines was lulling me. Sitting in front of a terminal for seven hours straight is incredibly draining. If not for the sound of the door opening, I would have certainly fallen asleep or drifted off to conquer the distant reaches of the astral plane.
As expected, my comrades entered. Once everyone was settled, Kamma took the floor.
"I managed to find out something about the next trial."
"How?!"
If he had said he'd found a way to resurrect the dead, we would have been less surprised. Trial data is kept personally by the Director, and we only learn of it when he chooses.
"Don't interrupt, and you'll find out faster. I managed to infiltrate other floors, don't ask how, I won't tell. And while wandering the corridors, I nearly collided with our dear instructors. Either they've grown lax and didn't notice me, or they let me overhear this information on purpose; I'm not sure. Now, to the point. They were discussing a trial after which the number of students will be reduced by at least half. Do you understand what that means?"
"That next time, we'll be killing, or we'll be killed," Lana said.
"Correct, Lana. And as I suspect, it won't happen here."
"Makes sense," I added. "If they want to cut the numbers that drastically, they're unlikely to arrange something in the same format they've used twice already."
"Exactly. Unfortunately, I don't have more information, but what I have is enough. I doubt anyone else possesses this knowledge."
"Confess, did you plan this from the start?" I asked. "We turn out to be a very convenient group for such a battle. A warrior, a scout, and support, it's like we were assembled to order. Perfect for combat conditions outside these walls."
"I suspected this would happen, but I didn't know it would be so soon. But as you correctly noted—"
"As you can see, our group is good enough for us all to survive together. So now, we must prepare. If things go as I think, we have just under a month until the next trial. That's where it will all happen. So, let's discuss our plan of action..."
******
The Director lounged in his luxurious chair, waiting impatiently for the Lord to contact him. They needed to discuss the final preparations for the new trial. It was a shame that Hutt-vomit Grand Inquisitor would also be present; he didn't want to accidentally reveal his intentions.
But overall, everything was going exactly to plan. Of course, he'd had to adjust it slightly. That bastard Grand Inquisitor had pulled his "boys" from combat missions. The wretch thought he could maintain his influence in the Inquisitorius that way. But the Director knew for a fact he was having problems; several Inquisitors were already dead and would soon need replacing.
And that was when his proteges would enter the organization. It was actually better that they had been returned to his wing. This way, they could break all the other foundlings. the "First" was handling his duties perfectly; only a few defiant ones remained...
Well, he would get rid of that carrion during the exam by the hands of his trainees.
Though there were a few useful specimens among them. One had brought information on two Jedi directly to him. A pity, he could have made an excellent assistant, but the risk was too great. He wasn't loyal to the Director personally. And his comrades... he would have to try to get rid of them. They were simply too strong and could create problems for his boys.
What a tragedy those old fossils, the Instructors, couldn't see past their own noses and only prayed to the Lord. Yes, the Lord was powerful, but he wasn't everything in this world. If not for that, they could have influenced the Empire together through their students. Then the Emperor would surely recognize the Director's merits and place him at his side. He was thoroughly tired of being stuck in this hole.
He would need to summon the First and give him precise information. Yes, he would do that, but not all at once; let the boy grow on his own as well. And let him bring that Twi'lek girl along; she might prove useful. He should start slowly grooming her and pulling her to his side.
Yes, have him prepare a list of those who need to be "processed." Perhaps some of them would die in the process, but those were acceptable sacrifices. They could always be written off as accidents. The scheme was already well-rehearsed. The key was not to overdo it.
The panel next to the holoprojector blinked, signaling the start of the session. Rising, the Director prepared for a long conversation.
"Greetings, Emperor. Grand Inquisitor."
The gaze of two pairs of yellow eyes fixed on the sentient, making him involuntarily shudder. Fortunately, his loose cloak hidden it well.
"Let's get straight to business; I have little time. Director, proceed."
"As you command, my Lord. All preparations are complete. No one can swim across the strait separating the island from the rest of the continent. Likewise, the abandoned station is equipped with all necessary devices. We are only waiting for the delivery of the bombers."
"You have met the expectations placed upon you. After this trial, only the best will survive, and we can soon replace the losses, correct, Grand Inquisitor?"
"Precisely, Emperor. We have discovered several hideouts where teachers are hiding with their Padawans. Likewise, two planets where younglings were sent. Furthermore, we discovered a sect on a planet in the Outer Rim which also includes gifted children. According to your command, all listed targets will be processed and directed according to the Harvester program."
"I expect successful results from your actions. And now, you, Director, listen to a new order. Upon completion of the trial, move all survivors to the second level. I would like to try a different approach to training on the newcomers. That is all. Upon completion, I expect a detailed report on those who survived. That is all..."
You son of a karking...
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