°•·Books&Art·•°

After thinking for another five minutes, Qui glanced at his Master. Al-Fy looked back and asked: ‘Need help with that?’

The Ithorian nodded, but remembered something: ‘But am I not supposed to do it alone? To test my own capacities?’

‘That is true, but according to the manual, I may give you a few tips. If you want them, of course.’

‘A manual? What manual? Is there a holobook on how to teach apprentices?’

‘Well of course there is! There is a manual on everything here. Generations of Jedi made sure of that’, the Knight said with an unbothered expression.

‘So teaching is just following instructions, like you are building a techkit?’ Uttered Qui, feeling suddenly disappointed: he always thought that the schooling of Padawans was a unique and creative thing, for every Jedi. The words of his Master caused pain in a way he did not expect. Was he just another object they could make piece by piece into something that was planned a long time ago, with no room for his own decisions? He tried to calm himself. He was overthinking it again. He took a breath, and looked at Al-Fy. He did’t notice she already started answering.

‘… no, it is not like that. It is just a guideline, a reminder not to forget something important’, she looked rather ashamed of her previous words, seeing what they had done to her Padawan. ‘Teaching is always something special, and it is mutual: both sides learn something new. I am sorry if I hurt you, it is just a habit of mine: when in doubt, remember the archives.’

Qui was still a bit mad at her, but forced himself to be polite: ‘No, I am sorry. I guess I overreacted. But please, help me with the quiz.’

Al-Fy loosely shook her shoulders, as if putting the unpleasant conversation in the past. ‘Read carefully, this is a trick question. You are given a bit too much information that you don’t need.’

The Padawan looked back at his datapad. ‘Oh, I understand! I only need the gravity pull!’ He started writing something, then added: ‘Uh… Thank you, Master Janhasdalé.’

‘You’re welcome.’

Qui understood what was needed for him now. If only he could recall that formula correctly! Eventually, he typed: “Because the ball weighs 10 standard kilograms on Coruscant, you must divide the weight of the object by the gravity of the planet, and multiply that by the gravity of the moon named above, which is…” and so he continued. He wasn’t sure if it was even true, but Master Janhasdalé wasn’t correcting him, so maybe he was right after all? When he looked up at her, he saw why. The Jedi was reading something on her wristcom, not paying attention to Qui. He understood her, because he knew that watching someone take a test was quite boring, from the times he and his fellow younglings had to watch over even younger ones to make sure they didn’t cheat.

The test came to an end a while later, and the Master and apprentice were walking towards the exit out of the archives. Qui had a good feeling about his test, except some of the physics questions and one about a very specific politician that lived 200 years ago.

‘Did I do well?’ He asked.

‘We shall see. I will take a look at it tonight.’ Al-Fy answered.

‘But why not make an algorithm do it? That would be way faster.’

‘Because it is not as accurate. Especially with the open questions. And points aren’t the best way to grade students. I can run it now, though, if you want, but I will still check it later.’

‘Yes, please!’

She typed something into her wristcom, and Qui saw the questions and images from the test flashing at a speed no organic being could comprehend. In the top corner, a growing number blinked rapidly. After a few seconds, the device beeped. Al-Fy lowered her hand for him to see the score.

‘Here you go,’ she said, ‘Are you satisfied with your results?’

He studied his points. Not as many as he had hoped, but still acceptable. He made more mistakes than he had expected in the math section: probably some careless errors he made because of haste.

‘It’s fine.’

‘You don’t have to be perfect at everything. Making mistakes is part of the process. We can look over it tomorrow, if you…’

‘Yeah, good idea, that always helps me improve!’ Qui interrupted.

Al-Fy decided not to notice.

The clone waited until most clones started walking to the mess hall. It was on the opposite side of the hallway to where 383 stood, so the growing crowd of troopers turned their back to her. She swiftly but quietly sprinted towards the walking mass. When she got engulfed in it, she found her batch and joined them by walking right after them. The clone hoped that no one would notice she was missing, as usual. But 382, nicknamed “Press”, turn around:

‘Well, look who is back! Sneaking around again, 383?’ he was talking loudly, for the nearby batches to hear him too.

‘You think you are so smart, but in real action, you aren’t going to make it!’ Added 384, ‘You have to fight, you know.’ 383 really wanted to respond with something sharp, but the words didn’t come to her mind. And if they did, she couldn’t risk speaking anyway: her voice was too different from the other clones’ now. It was weird how most clones supported each other in their individuality, and spoke about getting their own identities, until someone was actually different.

‘Leave him alone, you two,’ said 380, who called himself “Carn”, joined in, ‘At least he keeps to himself, and doesn’t spend his whole day yapping like a pair of neebrays!’

‘Hey! We don’t do that, do we, Press?’ 384 ranted, sounding offended.

To that, 381 remarked, not wanting to be left out of the conversation: ‘Actually, you do. And good soldiers just have to listen to orders, so talking is not as useful as you claim.’

‘You’re just sliming the Kaminoans. Get a life, bro!’ Press responded amused.

Everyone laughed, and 383 joined, because that was the easiest way to make everyone switch to another topic.

They arrived at the mess hall. The clones went by the food dispensers and sat down at the long tables to eat. 383 bowed her head low above her plate, her hair hanging downward, so she could bring the spoon to her mouth without having to shove her bangs behind the ears. Food on Kamino, at least for the clones, was pretty much the same every day: some nutritional porridge and bars for breakfast, questionable soup for lunch and puree and meat replacer for dinner. There was also bread sometimes. Usually, they washed these simple meals down with either synthetic bantha milk or vitamin water. 383’s section had only eaten something different twice: they went fishing in the sea as survival training.

Just 30 minutes after waking up the clones finished eating and went on with their training schedule for the day. Today it was sharpshooting, and later battle tactics. She was good at both, because it didn’t require her to talk or move around a lot. Though shooting became increasingly harder as the trooper let her bangs grow longer. It didn’t matter, because she hated it all! The secret, the Kaminoans, her batch: everything! She bit her lip, trying to calm down. No, it did matter. Especially sharpshooting: the only part of weapons training she could possibly train for. If the clone was not able to do this perfectly, it would throw down her average performance. She couldn’t let this happen. This month was already going bad for her.

383 had a growing sense of anxiety, along with sudden bursts of anger at her life that messed with her concentration. ‘It is all that stupid scientist’, she thought. Whenever she felt bad, she blamed it on them. Why did they need to create her? Anem still refused to tell her the full story: something with honor, they said, ignoring the greatest mind, and a lot of talk that didn’t actually tell anything.

 They arrived at the training grounds: a large, circular domed room, divided into different sections, that could revolve around a middle axis. There, the scientists stood, observing, and from time to time even Jango Fett stood there, as some troopers whispered. It was no secret to the clones who their donor was. However, no one dared to talk about him openly. For some reason, the Kaminoan personnel did not want them conversing on this topic. As for 383, she never glanced up at the observing tower, and therefore had never seen the mysterious figure. But the first batch of her section did regularly get trained by him. Most other troopers were jealous. For 383 it was less stress not to think about him.

She aimed her weapon at the target. Next to her, her brothers did the same.

‘Shoot!’ Commanded Carn, who was the first trooper in their batch and therefore the leader. They shot. The energy bursts sprang out of the training blaster as a colorful wave of light. The targets absorbed them, and the points appeared on a large display above. 383 got the second place. She quickly calculated the bare minimum she needed to score to counterweight the absolute disaster of a battle simulation they did yesterday. ‘Blast it!’ It was too much to achieve without climbing to the first place!

‘Again’, sounded the voice of 380.

Another wave of light followed. And so they practiced until lunch, with stationary targets, moving targets, standing on platforms that went up and down and while running. 383 ended up staying second for the majority of the match, which was very hard, since all clones were literally bred to be good at shooting. But she later fell to third place on purpose, because she realized the overseer-droids were watching her progress. Oh, the things she did to not be noticed!

Still angry at her life, the clone went to get lunch, counting out how well she had to perform at battle tactics, while also trying not to walk weirdly, whatever that meant: her batch members started to mention it sometimes.

It was no life like this: always hiding in plain sight, afraid to even exist, while Zo expected her to excel at every possible aspect.

Now, the Master was on his way to the planet Onderon, where there was a trading dispute again. These disputes were getting more frequent by the year, as more and more planets had conflicts, both internal and external. The Republic didn’t have enough senators and social workers to spare, and some missions also required Jedi insights.

Despite himself, So had to admit he missed the presence of his former Padawan. In the nearly 25 consecutive years that he had trained an apprentice, he had gotten used to having another person by his side. It felt empty when he had to pilot the vessel by himself, although there were a few personnel members on board. They all sat in the cargo bay, drinking caf and talking to each other, uninterested in the Jedi in the pilot seat. What So missed, he realized, was the presence of a specific person, and not just someone in general. It was an ongoing inner debate of probably every Jedi: what was considered attachment?

For Master Gidunar, who had studied the Jedi Archives extensively, it was clear that most of the Order actually got that wrong: they considered every friendship or any other relationship against the Code. But while judging others, some thought of their Master-Padawan lineages as families—which was the wrong idea entirely—and considered it acceptable. One thing was clear: the Jedi Code was extremely vague. So had found his own interpretation, but it kept shifting as he learned more. It sounded something like this:

An attachment can mean possession. Possession is thinking you own something, that it is yours and no one may take it. That also includes other beings. Not being able to let go, wanting back what is impossible to return, or wanting to hold onto something unreasonably.

An attachment can also mean emotion: like love, for it is a primal feeling. Something you love, you want to keep, which leads back to possession. Joy, sadness, anger, envy. Unwillingly, you will bond to them, and feel unable to live without them anymore.

That was the path to the dark side of the Force. But not only that. There were enough Force users who had attachments but did not turn to the dark side. Instead, it caused harm in other ways: arguments, injustice, greed, and corruption. Eventually, tragedy always followed.

But friendships and lineages, in how So experienced them, were not defined by possession or emotion. At least, not in their usual meaning. There were other feelings, like the urge to pass down information, knowledge, and wisdom. To share experiences, to have company. This was in the nature of every intelligent species. And it happened that every individual being was different from another, with their own interests and talents, and happened to enjoy certain company more than others. That is why he wanted the company of his Padawans, or some of his Jedi friends: to talk, to plan, to share, and to look forward to the future, whatever it may be.

But the most important part of the Jedi Code was letting go. That meant not missing what was not there at the given moment. Finding interest in what is, here and now.

And that is what the Mon Calamari Jedi now did. He concentrated on the path of the shuttle, manoeuvring through the busy morning traffic. Not that it was less busy at any other time of the day, though. The lane turned upward, and soon they were flying through the upper atmosphere. A few minutes later they reached outer space. Using the main engines at full power, the ship swiftly made a quarter orbit around Coruscant, facing Onderon according to the map. So positioned the ship and activated the stabilizers to keep her in place.

He instructed the ship to calculate the hyperspace route. Good, the route had only one stop. The autopilot took over, placing the shuttle at the exact angle. Because you could only jump in straight lines with no ability to stop or turn, the route had to be entirely free of stars, planets, or asteroids. The ship calculated the orbits of the objects, which is why hyperspace calculations took so long. Then, it picked the simplest path of straight routes. Most had at least three stops, but Coruscant was not the capital for no reason: most hyperspace lanes were easily accessible from here. The lanes were basically very long lines in space that stayed permanently free, and therefore could always be used for trade and travel.

The ship beeped as it became ready.

The food at the Temple was not the best, but it was better than in some places. He knew that because, as a Jedi youngling, he had the privilege of going on off-world guided trips at least once a year. Usually, they picked up a civilian flight with twenty or so other younglings to go to some world relatively near Coruscant. Whether the trip was fun varied from time to time.

The main purpose of these trips was to teach young Jedi how other beings in the galaxy lived. They usually went sightseeing, ate the local food, met some citizens, and even sometimes spent a night in a random tavern. In this way, they learned to adjust quickly to their environments and avoid getting attached to a certain place. That was one of the main parts of Jedi culture. These activities helped future Padawans choose their area of expertise: medicine, history, negotiations, or even assistance in building infrastructure on a backwater world. Okay, that one was weirdly specific. On his last trip, they went to Ephemera, a remote gas mining world where a Jedi Knight had decided to live for an extended period of time in order to help the not-so-wealthy residents build a pipe network for transporting that gas. It for sure was interesting, but nothing that Qui would like to spend his life doing.

What mattered for him was the feeling of freedom, doing anything he wanted. Most assumed he mostly meant uncivilized activities like food fights, skipping classes, and shooting blasters at old canisters. But for the young Ithorian and his friends, freedom was more associated with switching to whatever activity they wanted to do at the moment. Of course, it included the so-called uncivilized things. However, most were fun projects like their time system research and seeing how different generations of Jedi reacted to stupid questions. He liked switching between different ones all the time. Qui was known for thinking fast and talking even faster.

Even now, as he reached the training hall, his mind was focused on something entirely new. But there stood Master Janhasdalé, leaning against the door.

‘Good morning, Padawan Konder. Glad you honoured me by being only…’ She materialized a small holographic clock from a commlink she wore as a bracelet, ‘eight minutes later than we were supposed to start.’

‘My bad. I’m sorry, but are you always going to call me by my full name? Uhm… Master Janhasdalé?’ he added quickly.

‘No, of course not,’ the woman said while holding the door open, ‘I was just being ironic. Try to be on time tomorrow, okay?’

‘Yes, Master.’

They entered the room, where Padawans were training with their instructors, and older Padawans were sparring each other.

‘Shall we begin, then?’ Al-Fy suggested. She took two low-charge training sabers from their display shelves mounted on the wall and tossed one to her Padawan.

‘That would be two for me, Master,’ he responded. The Knight looked at him, clearly surprised; not many Jedi had a distinct combat style at such a young age. Hesitant for a few moments, she decided:

‘No, we will train in single-blade combat today. Maybe next time.’

Slightly dissatisfied, the Ithorian took his stance.

‘Show me the first position,’ began the Knight. Qui tried his best to hide his discontent. He was better than this! He usually won against all the younglings in his class! And the simple forms were something all six-year-olds knew. He did what he was told, though.

‘Second!’

‘Third!’

The Padawan followed the instructions. They were going through the basics very fast for his liking. Soon, however, his Master stopped calling out instructions and nodded in satisfaction.

‘Know the basics well, you sure do,’ Al-Fy praised, ‘now, do you know the “once advanced” technique?’

Qui demonstrated the positions quickly. They were roughly the same movements, but angled a bit more realistically for real combat, and this variation also had more advanced footwork. As he finished, the Knight said:

‘Very good. I assume you know the “twice advanced” technique as well?’

He perfectly demonstrated his abilities for another ten minutes. It all went well, but as they got to “fifth advanced,” which included complex attack and counter-attack combos, the Padawan doubted he could keep up much longer: he didn’t know them so well yet. In fact, he had only practiced them twice before. However, he still tried to impress his Master.

‘Ow!’ he yelped as the lightsaber hit his forward-extended head. Luckily, the low-powered blade only caused a sharp burning sensation before the magnetic field forced it to bounce back, leaving him virtually unharmed. Feeling embarrassed, Qui looked down.

‘Are you alright?’ Al-Fy asked, continuing as he nodded, ‘Cheer up! You did great!’

‘Really?’

‘Of course, this was amazing! It is okay to struggle sometimes. And besides, the fifth positions are indeed quite tricky if you don’t know this,’ and she showed him the combination, but now chanting the footwork positions out loud, ‘Look, while the attack mirrors the feet, the counter-attack often goes together with them. Want to try?’

And he tried. The first few tries he failed again, but at least he didn’t burn himself anymore. Al-Fy showed him the trick again, and they recapped all the movements separately. Finally, he executed it well.

‘I think I’m getting the hang of this!’ he cheered.

‘Yes, but go another time, just to be sure. And try keeping your lightsaber higher this time, so a taller opponent won’t have the chance to strike for your head.’

А дождя всё не видать.

Ветер, гром, шум адский…

Тут вдруг как из ведра,

В миг с неба полилась вода!

Бежит отец снимать бельё,

И убрать казырёк необходимо,

Чтоб бурей его не сорвало!

А ткань под диким ветром шлещет.

При отблесках рогатых молний

Смотрю: дыряв он, не дыряв?

Удержит ли ткань воду?

Управиться ли папа с ветром?

А я стою на мокром пароге

И чрез широко открытую дверь

Вкушаю долгожданный холод,

После той лютой жары!

Тут всё же справился отец.

Козырь с щелчком закрылся,

И в свой короб заскочил, а вода

Из него окатила дверь дождём.

Забижал папа домой, мокрый

На сквозь, и с белья течёт.

Та вода что с тента, в дом попала,

Я вытерла потоп, бельё убрала.

И думаю: «А как же мама?»

Она второй день в Амстердаме,

Может спит в палатке, или отеле?

Надеюсь что она цела.

Страшна гроза в конце июня!

Но ветер стих. Гром всё гремит.

Впитывает природа влагу,

И я прохладу вместе с ней.

Шесть часов спустя рассвет и

Сольце. Опять тепла хоть отбавляй!

Деревье, ночью побитые ветром,

Расправляют свои юные листы.

В новостях: в нашем районе,

Верхушку мельницы сорвало.

Придавило дом, машины.

Up here is the under mask to put on my face under the main mask, obviously. On the right is the Nail, it is the Little Knight's though. Haven't made the cape yet.

​Hiding used to be easier. The clone remembered when they were all little kids. The trooper could fully participate in all activities, laughed, played. As the batch got older, keeping the secret became more hard. 383 got bangs that hid the face. It was impossible to properly do combat training. Theoretical knowledge was easier. History and tactics, languages and bomb disposal they learned from data pads or sitting behind desks. By excelling at these, the clone could barely pull their average performance high enough to balance the terrible combat training. But it was like walking on a thin blade. Be a little too good, and someone would notice. Be too bad at anything, and a scolding followed, which might blow the cover. Perhaps, the trooper thought, hiding will be easier once they were old enough to receive real clone armor. It couldn’t be that long until then, could it?

​The batch had almost reached the locker rooms. Cautiously 383 sneaked to a side corridor. Quietly stalking forward, avoiding surveillance. The clone was almost at the established place, when footsteps echoed through the brightly lit hall. The trooper quickly hid into a supply closet.

​Two Kaminoans walked past. They were talking to each other in those weird voices, full of grace and authority. Someone who didn’t know them might have thought they were kind and caring, judging by how the tall aliens sounded. Cold, scheming, precise. Kaminoan scientists of Timora City didn’t care about their creations. Only credits, driving science further to make even more credits.

​CT-2383 peeked through the door. It was one of a small number of rooms with manual, old-fashioned doors. The two scientists were obviously higher ranked than the ones that were usually seen around here.

​‘… will there be no inspection, then?’ said one.

​‘Unlikely. It has been seven years since the order came in. No one has confirmed it ever since,’ answered the second.

​‘They keep funding this whole operation. I assume we must continue?’

​‘Yes, indeed. Some of us doubt that this army will ever be used. But that is not our problem.’

​‘On that matter, I have been given the task to regulate…’ said the first, as they turned the corner of the corridor, so that the Kaminoans were too far for the clone to hear.

​‘This is interesting,’ 383 thought, while continuing in the opposite direction. Every one knew that they were ordered by a Jedi seven years ago, but none of the clones had heard of any updates regarding their actual use. Who cared anyway? There were other things to worry about.

​Finally the trooper reached the meeting point. Because of the secret it was not allowed to enter the normal locker room. This was the door to the Kaminoan personnel bathroom. Anem Zo, the low-ranking but ambitious scientist, stood by the door.

​‘Late, I see,’ they said, ‘third time this week. I expected more punctuality from you.’ The tone was sharper than the calm face of the Kaminoan led them to expect.

​‘Sorry, doctor Zo. I ran into personnel again.’

​‘Lame excuse. Next time, try harder. I did not create you for nothing.’ They pressed their hands against the lock pad, and the door opened. Anem watched as 383 entered the washroom.

​The clone put the towel on a shelf that was far too high, mounted on the wall. It surely wasn't pleasant to displease the scientist. 383 really hated them. They were the reason for all the problems! How much easier it could have been, if not for their terrible secret! Though Anem clearly did their best to “help” the clone hide, they were still that cunning, self-centered, and uncaring alien. Always demanding the best, nearly impossible, of 383, as if life wasn’t hard enough without it! Always trying to prove their experiment was no failure. And to whom? No one listened to them anyway.

​The clone started rapidly undressing, getting ready to shower. Folded the pants neatly, the tunic on top of it, revealing the bandage across the clone’s chest. As the thin scraps of fabric fell to the ground, CT-2383 thought: ‘how hard to be a female clone!’ Always an outcast, a freak to her brothers and a failed science experiment to Zo.

The reason for that was perhaps the fact that in the last ten years the ranks of the Jedi grew significantly. The Temple had many more inhabitants now, which made more work for the leaders. That was not only true for the Coruscant Temple: the whole galaxy experienced a surge in the Force-sensitive population about 20 years ago. Now, Padawans of that age started to get knighted, though most were still quite young.

Perhaps, So thought, the reason he was assigned two Padawans directly one after another, was because there simply weren’t enough Knights at the Temple. And the ones that were, didn’t want a Padawan yet. After all, teaching is hard. Now, the experience gained by training Al-Fy had helped him make a great Knight out of Sela. Not only in fighting, but also in philosophy, art, and science: key Jedi principles.

Young Knight Sela Heit exited the room beaming with joy. She walked up to the two Jedi on her left.

‘Master Gidunar, I cannot believe it is already so far! I am a real Knight now!’

‘Yes, you made me so proud, I have never seen someone pass the trials so well,’ praised So.

‘He said that when I was knighted too, you know,’ Al-Fy interrupted.

The older Jedi smiled and threw up his hands: ‘Well, we will see how you will do the task of being a Master.’ Al-Fy had requested a Padawan for herself recently.

‘I am sure you will be a great teacher, Janhasdalé,’ mused Sela, ‘just make sure you bring over your love for the Jedi Code!’ Being of a quite energetic and impulsive nature, Al-Fy always reverted to the Code, which she had memorized completely over the years. Though she was respected for it, some Jedi also teased her from time to time.

In the meantime, a few other to-be Masters entered the hall from various directions.

The three waited another half an hour while the remaining Padawans also got knighted. They came over to their Masters to congratulate them, and the young Knights. Finally, four Padawans entered through the far end of the hall, led by an instructor Master. So spotted Qui Konder, a young Ithorian, whom Al-Fy had shown interest in taking as her learner. The Mon Calamari knew him: as a Jedi Master proficient in languages and philosophy, So was often invited to teach the younglings a class or two.

The future Padawans stood shyly by the wall, as every Jedi had once stood. While Qui was nearly always upbeat, even he now was nervous. After all, getting assigned to a Master was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

‘Gena Soojo,’ shouted the guard at the door, ‘come forward, from now on you shall be known as the Padawan of Jedi Knight Ur’nulan Akewo!’ A short Lannik girl came walking to the door. From the other side, a Knight followed. The two shook hands as a greeting, and together they disappeared into the room where the Council members waited. Next up were Al-Fy and Qui. When the guard called his name, the young Ithorian almost jumped with excitement. At the door, Al-Fy winked at him, telling him to calm down.

Soon, a new Master and Padawan were walking down the hall side by side with So.

‘Master Janhasdalé, will my training begin today? Master Gidunar, are you going to teach me all the languages? Knight Sela…,’ blathered the Padawan without waiting for answers.

‘Ho there, one thing at a time,’ said the human, ‘I shall explain everything shortly, but first we must eat. It is nearly evening, and if we want to make it to the kitchen in time, we should hurry.’

‘Sorry, Master! I am just so, so…’