I left the warehouse in high spirits. We'd found the armor, inspected it, and—with the help of a few clever droids and a certain crafty Toydarian—managed to fix it up. Almost half of the internals had to be replaced, but given the size of the warehouse, it was no problem. With the Toydarian's help, I suited up. In principle, it didn't weigh much—about fifteen kilograms—and felt slightly unusual, but that was fine. Train hard, fight easy.
The armor didn't restrict my movements at all and was only slightly too large, which wasn't a real problem. Its systems were controlled through helmet commands, with a holographic deck built into the gauntlets. For a Jedi, there was even the option of controlling it with the Force—press a couple of buttons telekinetically, and even a youngling could manage. As for the weak generator… well, I'd survive it somehow. After all, I wasn't going to pretend to be a droid.
Throwing everything else into my backpack, I headed for the holy of holies: the Archives.
---
Yeah, the great Archives… You couldn't sift through this mass of information in a thousand years. It was bigger than Mount Everest.
My first query—"Battles"—returned a jumble so vast I could have howled like a wolf. Why in the galaxy would I need a description of a war between two tribes on a forgotten planet thousands of years ago?
Somehow managing to concentrate, I began extracting more familiar information about major galactic conflicts of the past—and it all started almost from the dawn of time. Well, older than the dawn of time, apparently. My plan wasn't only to read but to copy it onto holodiscs for more thoughtful analysis later.
After a quick review, I realized either I was missing something, or the commanders of ancient times were impossibly brilliant. Ninety percent of major galactic conflicts had been resolved by cunning maneuvers that resulted in the complete defeat of one side—"Evil" or "Good," depending on perspective. Peace agreements, border revisions, or coexistence were practically nonexistent.
The Republic, for example, always had enough strength not just to defeat its enemy but to crush it entirely, seize its territories, and eradicate resistance. Sometimes it looked absurd. How could you occupy a region comparable to your own when only a fifth of your pre-war army and navy remained? You'd have to be a genius… or have a cheat code: a loyal Order of the Gifted, willing to tear itself apart to "eradicate Evil once and for all."
Some semblance of common sense appeared only in the Mandalorian Wars and the New Sith Wars. Even then, the Archives focused almost entirely on Force-users, while ordinary soldiers seemed to have no real role—except for a few elite professionals like Shae Vizla, later known as Mandalore the Avenger. Ordinary troops were cannon fodder, whether for the Republic or the Sith.
The Mandalorians had the Republic at their mercy—until Jedi intervention, led by Revan. The war turned chaotic, and the Mandalorians were eventually crushed. Revan himself lost dozens of ships at Malachor V. The Republic won, but only after unleashing a so-called wonder weapon, the Mass Shadow Generator. The planet became a graveyard.
Ruusan was no better. From the first salvo, the initiative shifted to the gifted Republican commander Jedi Lord Hoth. Terrible losses ensued, yet the end justified the means. The actions of Hoth and his generals saved Coruscant—and with it, the Republic. Although Ruusan had little strategic value, both sides fought like madmen. Positional wars, orbital battles, crashing starships, and raining wreckage decimated troops below. The Supreme Sith Lord Kaan triggered a Thought Bomb, annihilating not only his enemies but his own followers. Only two Sith survived.
Naturally, the Republic and Jedi declared victory. The army and navy were disbanded. The Jedi rejected the warrior-knight tradition, becoming guardians of peace. Power shifted to the Senate and the elected Chancellor. A pitiful Judicial Department remained. And so it continued for nearly a thousand years.
Other conflicts, like Stark's Hyperspace War, were mildly interesting for their fleet maneuvers, but the outcome was always the same: Jedi intervention. No real strategy, no tactics.
I'd come to the Archives to gain knowledge, hoping to emerge as a brilliant commander. Kenobi's phrase echoed in my mind: "Perhaps the Archives are incomplete?" Apparently, I'd have to figure much out myself. Yes, I could fish out grains of truth—but only through persistent thought.
That was why I'd brought holodiscs: to study, analyze, and internalize during breaks. My head spun from the jumble of dates, names, and worlds. I searched in vain for clear descriptions of tactics. Frustrated, I decided to take a break and look up Force techniques and lightsaber combat.
Countless manuals and treatises later, I concluded that the best option was Form III—Soresu. Designed for defense against blasters and fighting multiple weaker opponents, it was perfect. The fact that it was purely defensive didn't bother me. No more reckless charges at full speed. Once was enough. I copied the material onto holodiscs for later study.
---
Exhausted, I pulled away from the projector, stretched my stiff arms and legs, and glanced at the chrono. Seventeen hours had passed. Jedi courtesy for you—if they saw you weren't bothering anyone, they left you alone.
Before heading back to my dorm, I summoned Ethan. The hum of his systems filled the hallway as he appeared.
"Seventeen hours?" he said, stretching with a mechanical sigh. "And you didn't even pause for a snack. Boss, you need to eat something before your body decides to revolt."
"I know," I admitted. "But there's just too much to absorb. We'll pick it up tomorrow."
Ethan's optics glinted amber. "Fine. But tomorrow, we test your armor in a sparring session. Don't overdo it, and I'll make sure nothing—or no one—breaks you. Also, maybe we grab the training droids and practice some formations."
"Agreed," I said, placing my holodiscs into my pack. "We need all the help we can get. Coruscant is a start—but the galaxy is bigger than this city. We'll need every edge we can find."
With that, I dragged myself to my bunk, collapsing onto the mat—armor and all—and blacked out. Tomorrow would be another long, hard day.