"A ghost..." Rimon did not say this aloud, not knowing how the word would be received. Who was she in life? And was she a ghost? Perhaps a good illusion, and he was currently under someone's mental influence? The situation was unpleasant and dangerous. And what to do in it was unclear.
"Is this your home?" The question sounded wild: how could a cave be a home? But Shianu had clearly said she was beautifying it, which meant she had been here for some time, lived here, and this place could be considered a home. For a ghost or a spirit. Or did she mean something else?
"It's my home," the ghost replied grumpily, examining him like a strange creature that had inexplicably appeared in a box of trinkets. "But who are you, so quick?"
"Judging by all accounts – a guest?" the smuggler replied, not so much asking as answering. He would have added that he was an uninvited guest, but there were no signs that someone lived here – but he didn't dare, not being able to predict how the ghost would behave. "I didn't expect anyone to be here."
This was, at least, an honest answer. Rock was not being disingenuous, although he still didn't know what to do in this situation. He had never interacted with spirits before.
"No one expects," the ghost floated past him to the disturbed stones, touching the transparent facets with a dry palm. The crystals glowed brighter, the shimmer fading where the spectral hand touched them.
"No name for the guest, nor..." Aunt Shianu grumbled, tidying up her dwelling. "Turn off your light, you oaf! You'd have brought a spotlight too! Don't you see – they don't like it..."
Realizing, Rimon turned off the flashlight and put on a sour face: "Please forgive my manners, such situations don't happen to me often." Again, the truth, again no disingenuousness or falsehood. "Rimon Rock."
He didn't say the banal "nice to meet you," because he didn't know how to react to it yet. But he could ask a question.
"Are they alive?" Rock had encountered living stones before; one was hidden on his ship, in its mineral composition. His eyes lit up when he imagined the value of the cave's contents, but this thought was immediately dismissed. After all, it was someone else's home. And Rimon had never been a burglar and never intended to become one. Not for any money. Smugglers also had their own sense of honor and dignity. He couldn't stoop so low.
Resting one hand on her hip and pursing her thin lips, Aunt Shianu turned to him, managing to look down at him despite the obvious difference in height. The difference was not in her favor.
"No, and what are young people taught now, huh?!" The ghost was genuinely indignant. "Dealing with the Force, but has no idea that there is nothing inanimate in the Universe! Where is the world heading! In our time..."
"I have very little to do with the Force, literally a couple of months," Rimon explained guiltily. "And when was your time?"
"A couple of months? You're a real tadpole," Aunt Shianu sympathized. "In a thousand years, a crystal grows by a fingernail. So count, if they even teach you to count now."
Looking at the crystals, Rimon whistled. This aunt could see... The old enclave in its prime, the civil war, Revan, and perhaps even the times of Exar Kun's war. And who knows what else. Probably only the Force...
"Then who are you?" the smuggler asked with interest, and gestured to the stone: "May I sit down?"
"Not here!" The staff tapped on a protrusion on the wall that resembled a crookedly made chair. "Here you can. There you can't. And I've already told you, do I need to repeat it? I'm Aunt Shianu. What kind of slow-witted youth these days, not like in our time..."
Carefully examining the chair, Rimon still couldn't resist listening to his senses – was there any danger in it, and then looking at it through the Force. Was it what it seemed to be?
Everything was fine with the stone seat. Rimon was not threatened with being bitten on the backside. And yet, he was in no hurry to sit down.
"Were you part of the Order?" he asked uncertainly, comparing the approximate growth time of the crystals and the fact that the enclave had likely not been active for several millennia. It seemed that the aunt had lived here about four thousand years ago. And for all these thousands of years after her transition to the Force, she had been growing stones for lightsabers?
The ghost, who had managed to walk past almost all the crystals, looked back again.
"In the Order?" it sounded with a hint of disdain. "And what haven't I seen there, with those bores? They have no emotions, this is missing, that is missing - when did they even have time to live? No, guest, I have nothing to share with them."
The ghost pursed her lips again.
"I see you don't like my seat, uninvited guest. Well, go back where you came from, I'm not holding you by force. Look for a cleaner and softer place to sit."
"I'm afraid of you," Rimon admitted honestly. It was too interesting to communicate with such an ancient spirit to run away from here, no matter how much he wanted to. "All my life experience tells me to check where I'm sitting, if it's not my chair. Please forgive my distrust."
"And if you're afraid, then there's even less reason for you to be here," the ghost clearly wasn't going to accept apologies. "Go, go, before I send you off after the others. The stones don't like it when you're afraid near them. Their facets start to wrinkle from it."
Shrugging, Rimon stood up and headed for the exit, only turning at the edge of the illuminated area and giving a small half-bow: "Thank you for your hospitality, Aunt Shianu," and disappeared around the bend without turning on his flashlight. Immersing himself in the Force, Rimon could see everything without it, although he, a tadpole, still needed to overcome the frog stage to become a handsome prince, and for that, he needed training, knowledge, and practical application of that knowledge. But they clearly weren't in a hurry to share anything with him...
He was accompanied by disgruntled grumbling directed at those who "walk around, looking for something they don't know themselves, spoiling the beauty..."
"You could have given the fledgling a worm," he heard in passing.
Rock walked to the exit, pondering the ghost's words, the meaning of which only dawned on him when he saw a bird's nest at the entrance. Only then was what he heard finally understood. Shianu watched all the caves, saw them. She could answer many questions. But not now. Now he needed to return to the ship and think about how to behave with a four-thousand-year-old ghost. He also looked at the birds flying under the ceiling and the eggs they were incubating. He remembered the fried eggs that Varu had cooked before flying away...
Kneeling down, Rimon pressed his palm to the cold surface and concentrated. He needed to formulate a question. The correct formulation of the task is half the success, he remembered this firmly. Turning to the Force, Rimon concentrated on the image of Varu, discarding all extraneous and distracting thoughts, and then asked the Force to show when this person was last here, if he was.
The Force's answer was ambiguous. Kailas had never been to this place. But his presence was felt - and quite clearly. A more coherent answer could not be obtained. Rimon frowned.
He needed more information. This ambiguity, strangeness, simultaneously interested and irritated him. Standing up, Rimon walked to the place where he had found the treasure, placed his hand on the cold floor again, and asked another question. Now he wanted to see those who had brought the containers he had taken here.
The images were vague. A few aliens, a couple of people, judging by how quickly they carried the containers and how they looked around - very nervous. They placed the boxes on the stone floor, opened them, took out the contents, put them back. The emotional background showed strong irritation - they were not satisfied with what they saw. Only a couple of paintings interested them, but they somehow put everything they found back, covered it with an old rag, and slammed the box shut.
Then they slowly moved towards a dark opening at the end of the cave... And did not return.
Sighing, Rimon trudged to the cave exit. Using the Force so often and for so long was still quite difficult for him. He could, of course, restore his strength through meditation and stay awake for a few more hours, but time was passing, and he needed food, healthy sleep, not just manipulation of energies beyond his understanding. After all, even seasoned Jedi needed to eat and sleep. The search for answers to unresolved questions was decided to be postponed until morning, and for now, Rimon intended to check the auto-cooker.
The supply of water and food bricks was normal, but meat semi-finished products predominated. The new owners of "Oko" had taken care of that. However, the smuggler had nothing against such a diet for the time being. Choosing the most attractive dish, he started the cooking procedure and went to the lake. It was unlikely that anyone would object if he took a swim. Perhaps the frogs, indignant at his intrusion? Or could Aunt Shianu see him there too?
The water turned out to be quite suitable. It invigorated, refreshed, and washed away unpleasant memories. If only events from the past could disappear with the same ease... At least some of them.
Fifteen minutes later, a quite content Rock sat and savored the fruits of his culinary efforts, washing down the food with juice made from concentrate. It, apparently, was left from the time when "Oko" had not yet been in other hands. Rimon did not deal with the cargo, he postponed it for later, but decided to check his mail. This was enough to spoil his mood.
An old acquaintance informed him that someone was looking for him. And it was unlikely to be to offer him a good contract. The postscript at the end - "take care of yourself, be careful" - spoke volumes. He wouldn't have bothered himself or him for trivial matters.
Unhappily finishing a piece, Rimon pushed the dish aside, took out a bottle of arabask, and poured himself two fingers. He wished he had more, but the supplies had significantly dwindled during his absence. He should conserve them.
So, besides the Empire, someone else was hunting him... This was not the best news for Rimon. However, where he could leave his mark, he always used a pseudonym. And everyone addressed him by this nickname – Black. Early in his arduous path as a smuggler, he had thought of naming himself after his ship, but Rock quickly realized that it was a more effective way to get caught.
And only two sentient beings in the galaxy, not counting his family, of course, knew about his personal life. One Hutt, attacking whom would be the height of foolishness, because Boba Fett himself served him. Nothing to be done when you work for Jabba - he gets all the dirt on you. And one bartender on one unpleasant world. But no thread would lead anyone to the bartender. Not even Jabba. No one knows that Rimon communicated closely with him at one time.
Taking a small sip, the smuggler set about finishing his lunch. Bad news or good, the food shouldn't get cold. He didn't even change his expression, only his gaze acquired an icy tint. So, someone was treading on his heels... Rimon could not allow this. Especially after he himself had become a newspaper attraction, and his name, under unfavorable circumstances, could be associated with his pseudonym.
Especially now that he had just returned his ship and was about to return to his natural element. This meant that this tracker needed to be eliminated. Preferably quietly, and the sooner the better. But first...
First, he needed to deal with the matters that were literally a dozen meters away from him. What were these strange sensations related to Varu? Where did those who brought the containers go? All this needed analysis and an answer. However, he needed to send a couple more messages. The first was to the person who had warned him.
Second, to a friend who might find himself in trouble if they came looking for him. Very unlikely, but... not impossible.
After that, Rimon finished his dinner without any appetite, drank the rest of the arabasc, and went to the side to sleep in a cabin that was equipped in one of the storage compartments. Before that, he had to block any access to the ship and turn on the sensors to warn if anyone appeared nearby.
On the way to the cabin, Rimon stopped by the room where the living mineral was kept and adjusted the lighting there to be as close as possible to starlight. Then, deciding that he had thought of everything and had nothing more to worry about, he fell asleep.
Rimon saw no dreams that night.
Waking up in the morning, Rimon's first action was to check the sensor readings – everything was in order with them, then he did a short half-hour warm-up, took care of his water procedures, and swam in the lake. After that, he sat on the rocks and engaged in other training – studying what he could do with the Force. Telekinesis, Force vision, empathy – a little bit of everything. But even this little bit required regular practice, otherwise, he could lose his skills. He did not fancy finding himself in a dangerous situation and discovering that his own abilities had failed him.
When his hair was completely dry, he dressed, closed the ship, and headed back to the caves. In his breast pocket, wrapped in soft cloth, lay his taciturn, rainbow-colored companion from Gallimar. He wanted to talk to Shianu again, perhaps this time he would find common ground with the spirit. If, of course, she would listen.
Upon reaching the border of the crystal cave, Rimon looked around, and then spoke:
"Good morning, Aunt Shianu."
Murmuring was added to the echoes of his voice.
"...they walk and walk," grumbled Aunt Shianu, appearing from around the bend. "Did you bring a chair with you or what?"
"I slept well," Rimon replied good-naturedly, "I decided that a chair would suit you better. And I'm a healthy guy, I can stand."
At first, Rimon wanted to meticulously plan his conversation with Shianu, but after the ghost's outburst, he decided to let things take their course, remaining friendly, polite, and remembering their first conversation.
"Well, stand then," the ghost conceded complacently, floating past and brushing the smuggler with the edge of her clothing. The sensation of contact was akin to a mild electric shock or that moment between sleep and wakefulness when you are thrown out of the depths of sleep with a body-shaking jolt.
To compete with a four-thousand-year-old ghost in controlling the flows and fields of the Force was an endeavor as likely to succeed as a moth trying to stop a car. There was no fear; he should have been afraid earlier, when he came here, but now he needed to resolve the situation and achieve what he came for. To get answers and information.
Rimon's legs no longer obeyed him.
"Why are you doing this, Aunt Shianu? I came to ask for your advice, to share your wisdom, and you treat me like this," Rock said with a hint of distress.
"But you asked to stand yourself?" the old woman wondered, walking around the grotto. The crystals responded to her touch with an intensifying shimmer. "Nothing pleases you, what are young people taught these days..."
Tapping her staff, she reached her "chair" and sat down on the stone seat.
"And what advice did you want from me, you hasty one, if you didn't fulfill yesterday's request?"
"You have been watching the crystals for a very long time," Rock began, examining the spirit's dwelling. "It so happened that I recently found a crystal, and now I'm trying to take care of it. I wanted to ask for your advice. How best to look after it, what is best and most beneficial for it, and what to avoid doing."
"Found?" the ghost rasped. "Is that what it's called now?"