**Chapter 354: Exiles and New Blood**
**Dagon's POV**
Sleep was a luxury I often avoided in both my lives. It was something only true peace could afford. Even now, with the girls, I enjoyed it very much — the warmth of shared bodies, the quiet rhythm of breathing, the rare moments when the war felt distant. But currently I was alone in the Mern-13 barracks' private room reserved for me. Ahsoka, Zule, Stella, Flare, Kayla, and Aayla were all at the Jedi Temple, undergoing healing meditation after the long, brutal strain of the Dentaal battle. So I enjoyed the bed by myself, stretching out in the quiet darkness.
The soft beep of the datapad pulled me out of sleep's embrace.
"Damn… Who's calling at such an early hour?"
With difficulty I got out of bed — the lingering Hutt-related weakness from earlier treatments had not yet fully passed — and after a couple of unsteady steps I collapsed into the chair by the small desk.
"So, what do we have here?"
Glancing at the datapad, I was mildly surprised. The caller ID showed contact had been made not through official Republic or Jedi channels, but through my humble little company with the somewhat epic name "Atlas." You know, the same shell entity I initially created just to purchase Gozanti-class cruisers with pilot droids. Its accounts had later been used to collect the interest Jabba owed me after the Hutt rescue. True, the name was epic only to me; for everyone else it was just another obscure word lost among thousands in the galaxy. When drunk or high, companies — and ships — were named far worse things.
I accepted the call. A few seconds later a hologram resolved in front of me.
A humanoid. Human? Still human, but strange. The figure bowed solemnly, speaking with a thick, almost musical accent.
"Greetings, alien known as Jedi Dagon Marek. I am Kamal Duo'Chell, patriarch of the Chell branch of the great Xi Char people and head of Haor Chell Engineering."
"Uh… Hello. What can I do for you?"
"I came to you for help."
My amazement knew no bounds. "Why me? Why not turn to the Senate or the Order?"
"Your name, alien, resonates throughout the galaxy. But we have other reasons as well."
"Explain, sir? I don't quite understand."
"You're right. 'The Divine Comes in the Details.' Therefore, I will speak plainly. Our race — the Xi Char — understands technology better than anyone else in this galaxy. For centuries our brothers, guided by the Prelate, have perfected this art. But we dislike outsiders, so our knowledge has remained confined to our planet. My ancestors from the Chell branch thought differently. The Xi Char had to show this world that we were the best. Having founded the company I now lead, we offered our services to the aliens known as the Trade Federation. We collaborated for many years… but now disaster has befallen us. The workshops on our planet Charros IV have been destroyed. The Prelate of the Xi Char race has decreed that we — the Chell branch — have violated the commandments and must be exiled."
Things were taking an interesting turn. "What does this have to do with me?"
"You can help us. Ever since our workshops' orders were taken over by aliens calling themselves 'Baktoid,' Haor Chell Engineering has been struggling to make ends meet. Now that we've been ordered to leave, only you can save us."
"I wonder how?"
"We know of your involvement in many technical projects. We want another chance to show the galaxy the greatness of Xi Char mechanics."
"Hm. But why do you need me? If you're such good technicians, why not turn to Kuat or Sienar?"
"I won't hide it, foreigner: they are interested in us. But their only condition will be the takeover of our company."
"You want to save it, don't you?"
"Yes. The Chell branch must live."
"And what should I do?"
"I will answer… after you answer my question."
"Fine."
"What do you know about the Xi Char Order?"
"What, what… I'm hearing this for the first time!"
Kamal laughed — a dry, clicking sound. "Your answer made me happy, alien."
"I wonder why?"
"That is precisely why I suggest you buy our company."
"Well, well…"
After turning off the datapad, I stretched, loosening muscles stiff from sitting too long in one position, then moved back to the bunk and stretched out blissfully. The students were right after all — it was still too early for me to be jumping around like a saiga in the mountains. That damn fight at Dentaal had really worn me out. Sitting at the datapad, I noticed my fingers twitching involuntarily at times. And if it were my own hands, that would be fine. But the fact that the artificial fingers of the mechanical prosthesis were twitching — that was too much. I really hoped the medication would take effect and this crap would go away. It would be strange if the tension I had endured left no trace at all.
For now, it was time to rest. Luckily, there was plenty to think about while lying there.
The first thing that came to mind was the state of my wallet. I was broke! The measly couple hundred thousand credits remaining in my account seemed pathetic compared to the tens of millions that had been there just yesterday. But the poor Jedi — meaning me — had just become the owner of Haor Chell Engineering. And although I still had only a vague idea of what I needed it for, or whether I'd ever recoup the cost, I didn't have much choice.
If the Jedi found out about this… No, I could easily explain my "undeclared" funds and why I needed them. Hutt, I wasn't buying Twi'lek babies; I was spending the money on outfitting my ships and my soldiers. A perfectly acceptable explanation. You didn't have to look far for examples. That same Saesee Tiin had a Delta-7 upgraded to such an extent that all that remained of Kuat's original creation was a bit of the nose and the canopy. I wouldn't be lying if I said at least a couple million — maybe even five — had been spent on it. Where did he get that money from?
But if the Order discovered that, despite having a ton of money, I hadn't helped those in need who came to me… I was afraid even my own students wouldn't understand. Of course, Jedi weren't Benedictine nuns, and they knew you couldn't help everyone. Over the past fifty years there had been about a hundred conflicts, and the Jedi had participated in barely a quarter of them, stopping only ten percent. But if they were approached with a request — especially one of this magnitude — they came and helped.
So I had to help.
First, I needed to find a place for these exiles. Exactly forty-five thousand of them were currently crammed aboard a single LH-1740-class ship — that same spherical contraption manufactured by the Neimoidians that served as the central module of the Trade Federation's container ships. As Kamal assured me, the vessel, though old (manufactured a couple of years before the Naboo incident), was reliable and proven. Given their passion for technology, I could trust that.
After half an hour of searching the HoloNet, I found the right place. For twelve million credits I purchased a small, formerly Trade Federation cargo terminal on Brentaal IV, located on the outskirts of the city of Woodrad. After the planet was recaptured by the Republic, all Separatist property had been confiscated and handed over to the local administration, which — surprisingly — hadn't pocketed the money but spent it on rebuilding the infrastructure of Cormond and Korowak. The property went up for auction, and bidding had been weak. Neimoidian and Skakoan assets were quite specific, which suited me perfectly. The trading post came equipped with a landing pit suitable for LH-1740s, warehouses, a small landing pad for barges, a residential complex, and repair shops. Formalities would take some time, but the property was effectively mine.
Next, I contacted Moff Lius Terbonne. The old man was still in charge of Sector Twelve and, despite being busy, found a few minutes for me. I asked for permission to allow the Xi Char ship to enter Republic space and requested an escort of a pair of corvettes to its destination. The Moff was in a good mood, especially after I forwarded him the plans for redesigning the *Exquisite*'s sister ships. Sector Twelve had six such vessels, and I suggested they follow one of the new Sienar-Kuat joint designs called the Allegiance-class. As for my request, Terbonne didn't ask too many questions. The story about "important specialists lured by the Republic through the Jedi" landed well. And I was almost telling the truth — they *were* important.
I had paid almost thirty million credits for their company — tax-free. Plus fifty Ilum kyber crystals to help "decorate" their new temple-workshop.
More precisely, they were important because Haor Chell Engineering had developed the Scarab fighter for the Trade Federation, and later the Vulture droid that had caused us so much trouble in the skies and in space. On the ground, the Xi Char had distinguished themselves by producing — in collaboration with Skakoan technologists — the IG-226 and the more famous IG-227 "Fire Hail" droids.
I learned all this between inquiries about acquiring the cargo terminal and the comm session with Terbonne. Afterward I pondered for a few minutes whether to criticize their technical solutions or praise them for working within their racial limitations (which I had also inquired about).
Strictly speaking, little was known about the Xi Char. They looked almost like ordinary humans, the only obvious distinguishing feature being their striking blue eyes — not light blue, but a deep, vivid blue. They also had four genders and a swarm-like social structure, similar to the Geonosians or Colicoids. What wonders the galaxy held…
As for limitations: first, they disliked droids. Or rather, not all droids. They used only the most primitive ones, classifiable as Class V — the lowest tier — and viewed Class IV droids (those with limited intelligence) with open hostility. Perhaps they had once been burned by something like a Skynet. The Force only knew. That was why the Vultures had been so dependent on control stations and external resources.
The second prohibition followed from the first. The Xi Char disapproved of mutilations that supposedly violated natural beauty, so individuals who lost an eye or limbs were often exiled from society. Therefore, these techies had no real concept of prosthetics. They could replicate an entire organism — the Vulture was modeled after a predatory insect from their homeworld — but they didn't make individual replacement parts. I had briefly hoped they might help with my own mechanical hand… Oh well.
We would find a place for these exiles. Let them reach Brentaal first, then we would see. Perhaps recruit some to work alongside Raith Sienar and Lyra Blissex. You never knew — maybe they would offer good advice. As I understood it, Haor Chell's signature trick was extreme miniaturization and cost reduction. Well… and maybe we could give them a couple of ideas in return. If they could implement them, great. If not, then they simply wouldn't beat the clock.
Having finished the immediate business, I decided to see what the HoloNet was saying about me and what was happening in the galaxy at large. Honestly, I hadn't watched the news in a while.
It was… something. No, I wasn't exactly being praised — it was more that I was the only Jedi who wasn't being openly criticized. But the others — the Council, the Knights, it didn't matter — were accused of every mortal sin: secret conspiracy with the CIS (recalling that Dooku had once been a Jedi), indifference to civilian casualties (especially on Coruscant), and more. Residents of the capital planet, especially those who had lost friends or relatives during the recent attack, were particularly vocal in blaming the Jedi Order.
If I were the Council, I would be far more concerned about positive PR. A couple of high-profile "victorious" operations, preferably with holovids in the style of the Christophsis footage. That one had been a bit pompous but beautifully filmed. In light of the carnage at Coruscant — I could hardly call it a proper battle — such agitation and propaganda were desperately needed. Because there was a huge square right in front of the Temple. If ten million angry residents ever gathered and decided to stage a "storming of the Winter Palace," we might actually be tempted to start swinging sabers…
The beeping of the medication timer made me wince. Time to drink that pink swill again. But I had to, or I really would kick the bucket. It was almost breakfast time anyway, so I might as well go fill my belly with something more substantial.
**Scene 2**
Additionally, the following officers are promoted to the rank of Captain, with subsequent assignment to command Venator-class ships: Idian Pet, Allisha Retana, Fias Endel, Vega Welker, Don Ti Ray, Simo Zikh, Fjor Leran, Seger Morosh, and Mish Slickhall.
After catching my breath, I continued the briefing in the Mern-13 command center.
"Regarding the ground forces, they are divided into four corps. One will be led by Marshal-Commander Blam. The others by Colonel-General Sebastian Menuk and Lieutenant-General Gil Ka'Taramas. The fourth position is still vacant. However, as are many others in both the navy and the infantry corps. This shortfall must be addressed as soon as possible. I plan to head to Anaxes, to the Academy, where I'll recruit final-year cadets for our Systems Army. Commander Ceri, Major O'Connor — you're coming with me. Prepare the *Akagi*. I'm scheduling departure for eighteen hundred hours."
"It will be done, sir!" The Zeltron woman's voice was filled with undisguised enthusiasm. The other newly promoted officers — many of whom had jumped two or even three ranks — were equally delighted. I wouldn't be surprised if the off-duty commanders threw an epic party tonight.
"By the way…" Remembering a thought that had been swirling in my head for a long time, I stopped the Atoan by the shoulder. "Lichtendal… Haven't you been to Anaxes?"
"No, sir. We all trained at the Corulag Academy, which specializes in officers' command and staff work."
"Do other academies also have their own peculiarities?"
"You're right, General. Anaxes also trains naval communications specialists, maintenance crews, gunners, and battery commanders. Reitali trained lawyers for the Justice Corps, and now they train practically everyone there. Fighter pilots are trained on Coruscant, and infantry — including naval infantry — is trained on Carida."
"I'll keep that in mind…"