Darth Deimos and the cryogenic storage.
That phrase could have titled a book about the adventures of a Sith in the kingdom of eternal frost.
In the past, he had read children's stories and novellas with similar titles, but now he would never pick them up again.
So as not to destroy that very childhood wonder, evoked by the perception of an unformed mind that lacked the rich life experience he had now personally acquired.
And, honestly, he was grateful to Gantoris, who had arrived on Egon IX despite a direct ban, to take care of his teacher.
A teacher who had himself become a student.
Some kind of sur, really.
But none of these thoughts compared to what Deimos felt inside the left hive.
Life that was awakening.
Life that was bewildered.
Angry.
Dismayed.
Demanding blood.
Life oriented toward war.
Deimos could not stand aside.
He felt that if he could do nothing, this life would strike at the flank of Maul's units.
The droids had already shown their ineffectiveness against the living Terror Troopers and their mechanical hangers-on.
Therefore, they would not hold back those trying to escape the cryogenic storage for long.
And the very fact that the wounded Shadow Guard, former Jensaarai, had seen how many Terror Troopers rushed into the left hive told him that the cryogenic storage was under threat.
From the conversations of Meilis, Maul, and Starkiller, as well as the base intercom voice, he understood that now was the time to strike.
His reset arm and shots of stimulants, along with bacta, helped him forget about the wound.
For a while.
And so he moved deeper into the base.
He could not allow the Terror Troopers to destroy what was in cryogenic suspension.
Because, judging by the base's reaction, it was something hostile to the complex's personnel, requiring all possible forces to contain or destroy.
How did it go? The enemy of my enemy is my debtor?
Or something like that.
Gantoris was eager to go there himself, or help Deimos, but was stopped by an order from his teacher.
"You are responsible for evacuating the spoils and holding the beachhead," the former Jensaarai commanded.
The logic of this order was simple.
If something that he did not want to think about happened below, it was better to risk wounded Force-sensitives than the young and promising Gantoris.
The native of Eol Sha had already proven that he could grasp much, could control his Force and emotions.
That he could become a new generation of Jensaarai, or possibly (and most obviously) join the Shadow Guard.
And Deimos, Maul, Tano, Meilis...
They were all representatives of the "old" generation.
Beings who, though strong, had originally been trained in a different philosophy.
From a certain point of view, they would never become Jensaarai of the Order because they were "outsiders," not originally raised in the modern philosophy of the Jensaarai Order.
But that was just an excuse.
A self-suggestion about the reasons Deimos did not want to risk his student.
For this same reason, he did not tell Gantoris that his wounds were nowhere near as well numbed as he would have liked.
But that pain gave him strength.
It nurtured the Dark Side within him.
And helped him move forward.
The squad of droids he had taken with him were moving too slowly in his opinion.
Or he was too fast.
Either way, with a burning star of rage inside him, Deimos moved forward, cutting through the enemy's barrier.
He already felt deaths below, on the lower level of the left hive, and knew that he could not save everyone there.
But he tried.
Was he ashamed that he intended to use the rescue of unknown beings to make them serve the Dominion faithfully?
Why would he be?
The Light Side, the Dark...
What Hutta difference did it make which you followed if you acted for the greater good?
For the prosperity of your state, your people?
Who cares how you kill the enemy — with a Force Lightning or a lightsaber.
Whether you are angry at that moment or, like a droid, are inaccessible to simple emotions?
No difference in how you do it, as long as you remain a sentient afterward.
His anger grew with every step that brought him closer to the entrance to the lower level of this part of the complex.
The Force responded to his emotional state, picked him up, wrapped him in its power.
Now the wounds received from the Empire's war machines stopped bothering him.
He sensed several stealth soldiers setting up an ambush ahead, preparing to prevent him from getting through the doors, above which was written in Basic in large letters: "Cryogenic Storage of Special Contingent."
"I will not stop," Darth Deimos growled from under his mask, activating his lightsaber and charging at the enemy.
The soldiers understood him perfectly.
So they stopped waiting for him to fall into their ambush and attacked the Shadow Guard rushing toward them.
Darth Deimos became the very embodiment of rage and inevitable doom.
He cut the Terror Trooper in front of him in two, drawing a black line across his chest, with the same swing sliced the soldier on the left, and with his other hand sent a discharge of energy at a third, hurling the soldier against the complex wall with such force that he died on the spot, leaving only a bloodstain on the permacrete wall.
The Shadow Guard did not feel the least trace of fear that one might expect from the remaining soldiers.
And if he drew power from the emotions of his enemies, he would certainly have lost strength when faced with such.
But he himself was a malevolent reactor.
Picking out a couple of enemies, he threw his saber at them, and the blazing white-blue blade, guided by the Force, cut them both.
At the same moment, two more soldiers attacked him from the right, considering him unarmed.
If he were a Jedi, that would be the case.
Instead, Deimos released a wave of Force Lightning at them, only calming down when life left the cybernetically disfigured soldiers.
Returning his weapon to his hand, he shut off the blade and hung it on his belt.
A locked door stood before him.
But what was that compared to the Force?
And its thickness was not like the entrance to the complex, so he just needed more Force...
It took him only a few seconds to achieve the critical mass inside him capable of breaking through one of the panels, when the unexpected happened.
The panels swung open, and a bio-droid crawled out, its plasma cutters flashing.
Clearly, it was set on killing the intruder.
He would have to change the plan.
And the next moment, timing it so the bio-droid would be in the doorway, Deimos accelerated with the Force and threw his body forward.
Slipping under the limbs of the terror machine, he broke it in half by hitting it from below with the Force.
The bio-droid, unable to withstand the resistance in the doorframe, was split into two parts.
And Darth Deimos himself ended up inside the storage.
Damaged light panels illuminated a corridor filled with wires, pipes, and other technical junk.
Because of the uneven lighting, the shadows inside lengthened, like harbingers of death that had come here.
Despite the suffering and death he sensed around him, the corridor was calm.
A calm that was about to be rudely broken with his direct participation.
Deimos's boots clattered on the polished metal floor.
He walked toward the aura of death, so the corridor soon ended, and the Shadow Guard entered a spacious hall.
The room stretched for several dozen meters.
As did those located to the left and right of this hall.
But they all looked roughly the same.
On both sides stood rows of simple but high-tech cells, making the place look like an insect hive.
More like coffins than medical equipment, the stasis capsules indicated by their very appearance that they were not a product of "first-freshness" industry.
Stasis storage on Egon IX.
The whole appearance of what lay before Darth Deimos told him that these rooms had been built for anything but medical purposes.
And sterility was clearly not a concern here.
Just as little concern was given to the bodies resting in each of the stasis capsules.
Deimos walked quickly along the rows of frozen people with identical faces, noting that their capsules had practically the same design, color, shape...
And all blinked with identical red alerts, reporting the death of the one inside.
The icy pallor of freezing had not even faded from the bodies yet.
It became clear what had happened here.
The cryogenic storage had not thawed all at once.
First — the farthest capsules, then — those closer to the exit.
But the Terror Troopers had moved in the opposite direction.
And killed everyone they could reach.
That is, everyone.
This thought made Deimos move even faster.
To his right, left, and straight ahead, he felt the presence of purposeful soldiers whose Force emission was too similar to be a simple coincidence.
So the information that the enemy soldiers were clones was confirmed.
His attention was caught by movement to the right, then to the left.
The Terror Troopers noticed that he was breaking through their ranks, mercilessly mowing down anyone who tried to stop him.
The space between Deimos and those suicide fighters who tried to stop him shrank.
Like a meteor, but in a horizontal direction, he sped through the corridors, sparing none of the enemy soldiers.
He rushed toward that very epicenter of death he sensed ahead and killed everything that tried to stop him.
Deimos paid no attention to the corpses he left behind, until he burst into a large room where a battle was raging.
Clones — relatively young and showing signs of premature aging — in black bodysuits, were fighting hand-to-hand with dozens of Terror Troopers.
The floor was littered with wounded and dead — predominantly soldiers in black undersuits.
They were poorly armed — some had managed to acquire vibro-knife gloves from the Terror Troopers, as well as their immobilizing blasters.
But mostly, the soldiers awakened from freezing fought with their hands, feet, and other body parts.
Before Deimos's eyes, as he beheaded three with one blow, one clone soldier, already pierced by the clawed paws of a Terror Trooper, sank his teeth into the enemy's neck.
The latter threw him off, but lost a chunk of his neck, torn out by the teeth of the mortally wounded soldier.
Scattering Terror Troopers left and right, Deimos managed to save several soldiers in undersuits.
"Who are you?" at one point a clone appeared before him, quite young, about thirty years old, no more.
He held something resembling a blaster, its barrel aimed at the Shadow Guard's face.
One movement of the lightsaber, and the threat would be nullified.
Deimos barely managed to suppress inside himself the desire to deal with the insolent bastard who dared threaten him.
It took great effort to choke the Dark Side, which, like a wild beast, demanded he kill everyone around.
"Friend," Darth Deimos growled from under his mask, extending his left hand to the side and frying two Terror Troopers with Force Lightning.
Strangely enough, it turned out there were no more living enemies left in the room.
But they were moving here from other corridors.
And would be here soon.
He told the clone, who still hadn't lowered his weapon, as much.
"Without armor and weapons, we can't handle them," said another soldier, whose chest was slashed by Terror fighter claws. "Climber, they'll kill every last one of us here."
He didn't look very good, but definitely wouldn't die in the near future, and that was the main thing.
"Gather everything the enemy has," ordered the first clone, finally realizing that the owner of the white-blue blade wasn't going to kill him. "You take that, Trace. We need to break out before more of them arrive."
"I'll help," Darth Deimos announced. "My droids are already operating on the middle level; we need to strike in the opposite direction. If we can get to the surface, consider yourselves saved. The base could explode any moment — we need to get out as fast as possible."
The clone looked at the many corpses of his comrades lying at his feet and shook his head.
"Too many losses. We haven't properly recovered from the freezing yet," he admitted, showing a tremor in his pale-blue left hand. "Those deemed unfit for cyber-prosthetic work were kept here..."
"You can tell that to the Grand Admiral," Deimos said. "On my way here, I saw something like an arsenal or warehouse..."
"A storage for our gear and equipment," a glint of hope appeared in the brown eyes of the dark-skinned commando. "If there's anything there, we're in luck. But I wouldn't count on much."
As if they had any hope of surviving this slaughter at all.
"Then follow me," Deimos ordered, putting his hand on his belt. "I'll clear a path through the Terror Troopers. Flanks and rear are on you. I'll notify the surface — they'll send more droids for support."
* * *
"...it has been established that Gantoris used suggestion on the transport aviation flight controller to convince him that he had permission to leave the 'Guardian,'" Captain Pellaeon finished his report, looking at me. "The surface reports that upon arrival, he immediately took command of the ground forces in the beachhead area and is expanding it. Eighty percent of the base has been captured so far."
"Deserters should be dealt with briefly," noted Major General Jurgen. "Whatever his motives, he disobeyed an order. Such things cannot be forgiven, otherwise it will happen again."
As if anyone didn't know that.
Cain, involved in a heap of reports from the surface, was currently coordinating the dispatch of droids from the 'Raider' to the surface.
Because the droids aboard the 'Guardian' were running out.
All of them were already on the surface in one way or another, but at best only forty percent remained intact.
Out of twenty thousand, that is.
And mostly those were droidekas or VXs.
B-2s were completely unsuited to resisting Terror Trooper and droid units.
In fact, they weren't designed for that.
But I wasn't about to worry about losing those machines either: that's what they were created for.
To die where we could save clones.
Building a droid was much easier than raising a stormtrooper.
And cheaper.
So the "tin cans" performed the function assigned to them — they were expendable.
However, it had to be understood that even living, trained soldiers were not all that well prepared to counter Terror Troopers and other Imperial project products.
Primarily because, eleven years ago, Boba Fett had brought twenty Terror Troopers and two hundred droids — mostly spiders and one Terror Walker — aboard the escort frigate 'Nebulon-B' called the 'Salvation.'
Together, they destroyed ninety percent of the frigate's crew, almost a thousand sentients.
In less than half an hour.
And only the intervention of Object 1138 and other Rebel Alliance forces saved the ship from complete capture by the Terror Troopers.
"This is not desertion," I declared. "Gantoris, recalled from the surface along with the stormtroopers, went after his teacher."
It would be a different matter if he took a ship with a hyperdrive and fled the system — then yes, the question would be fundamental.
"Sir, but disobeying orders!"
"I completely agree with you," I nodded. "Once the operation is finished, Gantoris will be punished. But not now."
I was not well-versed in the Force, but at the same time I had to understand that there was a greater and a lesser evil.
Gantoris's arrival on the surface was clearly not without reason.
Whether on his own initiative or in response to someone's call, the matter had to be looked into.
However, considering that the guy had managed to increase control over the complex from fifty percent to ninety within half an hour of being on Egon IX — that was an indicator.
The troops under his command had repelled six attempts by the enemy to move between the base's buildings, which neither Maul nor Deimos had done.
And the guy had realized that there were transitions between buildings not only on the upper level, but also below.
And he took them under control.
Yes, that greatly increased droid losses, but at the same time Maul was now close to the central computer and was about to destroy the Terror Troopers besieging her.
Two regiments of B-2s sent after Starkiller and 'Delta' had lost half their soldiers, but managed to wipe out seventy percent of the soldiers sent from the reactor to the storage.
And in the left hive, there was also progress — cleanup of the middle level was finishing and they were moving to the lower level, where the last three hundred-plus Terror Troopers and Terror Droids had gathered.
Essentially, only three pockets of resistance remained.
But it was from one of them — the actions of Starkiller and Delta Squad — that whether we won this battle or not depended.
And so I carefully evaluated Gantoris's actions and orders, without interfering.
The man was clearly acting with an understanding of the situation and applying pressure where the greatest danger or benefit lay.
Almost all the reinforcements he had were now fighting in the right hive in an attempt to prevent the base from being blown up.
"A message from the surface," General Cain cut into my thoughts. "Darth Deimos reports that he has broken through to the cryogenic storage. Most of the cells are either empty or already contain corpses. But he managed to save several dozen clones and is preparing their evacuation to the surface. Requesting assistance."
"There is the answer for what purpose Gantoris went to the surface," I said. "Send droid reinforcements to them and intensify the assault in the left hive using the droidekas and VXs holding the beachhead."
"Sir, but that will weaken the beachhead's defense," Cain noted. "I advise waiting fifteen minutes for transports from the 'Raider' to arrive and using them."
"Thank you for reminding me, General; I understand the danger of this maneuver. Carry out the order."
In fifteen minutes, we could free the clones and get them to the surface.
There was no point in holding the beachhead where we had shifted the front line deep into the complex.
Not now, when we were one step away from failure and possible destruction of the base — every minute counted.
Whether Starkiller would win or not, we had to at least try to save the clones from the storage.
The rest...
Unfortunately, it took a back seat.
Too many Force-sensitives were on the front line for us to simply retreat.
We had to save those who could still be saved.
"Inform Darth Maul to prepare for evacuation," I ordered. "Let the droids handle the breakthrough to Lady Meilis."
Deimos was breaking out to the surface, and here we could only help with what we had.
Maul also had a chance to get out of there.
Starkiller and Tano... Well, if they could make it.
If not...
No offense, but I'd rather bet on securing the loot than on some crazy attempt to save everyone.
The odds aren't in Starkiller's squad's favor.
But if they manage to pull it off...
I could pull both Starkiller and the Deltas out of there, leaving it all to the droids, but then we'd lose the chance to capture the base intact.
The droids in the right hive still have several more floors to fight through to reach the base's defenders — the second wave of the opposition just left the reactor hall.
This improves Starkiller's and the Deltas' position, but it doesn't eliminate the danger of the situation.
It's a shame this universe doesn't have a proverb about a bird in the hand, but it does have an equivalent about a hundred credits and a shipment of spice.
A hundred credits is better.
* * *
It was no longer a secret to anyone that the base was turning off the lights to make it harder for Dominion soldiers to get inside.
Well, at least that was the official story.
In reality, the Deltas understood that the base was simply conserving reactor power output, stockpiling critical mass "just in case."
And soon it could all end in a very, very big firefekt if they screwed up.
Though, there was someone else who might be able to help with that problem.
"They say that guy can force Star Destroyers to crash-land on planets," Scorch said quietly over the internal channel.
From outside the comms, naturally, not a sound came from him.
But judging by how Starkiller had just torn a Terror Trooper apart with his bare hands, it seemed things weren't as smooth as the whispering commandos might think.
The Boss had noticed that with each kill, the man was becoming harsher toward his enemies.
In terms of how he caused death, that is.
"Looks like he enjoys their death throes," Fixer muttered, watching as Starkiller yanked another enemy out of the darkness and literally punched his head clean off with a single blow.
Strakn through.
Even the Boss felt a shiver run down his spine.
You don't often see that kind of method for dealing with a foe.
The Deltas weren't into tormenting the enemy — usually, just killing them was enough for them.
But this...
Well, nothing surprising — they were Sith, after all.
"Take cover!" Starkiller commanded, diving first behind a massive wall protrusion that the soldiers had been following.
Due to the lack of lighting, it was very dark here, so dark that even the clones' pale armor didn't stand out under the emergency lamps.
The four commandos, clutching blaster pistols and combat knives, obediently tried to spread out into cover.
But they didn't lose their vigilance.
Massive metal doors at the far end of the corridor swung open, and Terror Troopers poured out, sprinting straight toward...
The Boss braced for battle.
Even though it wasn't a pleasant task, in a fight between former comrades and the Deltas, he would bet on saving himself and his squad, not on "brotherly feelings."
Yes, when they had finished in the tunnel and pushed deeper into the left complex toward the power source located there (which became clear thanks to an overheard conversation between two Terror Troopers dragging an unconscious Ahsoka Tano further inside), they had killed one of the enemy soldiers.
Then they had to wait while the enemy made the necessary post changes.
And that gave TC-0333 the chance to look the enemy in the face.
One glance at the corpse was enough to understand why the Boss was familiar with the Terror Trooper's tactics and why almost all of them acted in such a familiar way.
They were Jango Fett clones.
Judging by their close-combat skill and the wrinkles on some of their faces, mostly the officers', they had been created about forty years ago.
Right around the same time as the Deltas.
Given that the Empire had never again brought in Mandalorians as troop training instructors, it wasn't hard to figure out where the Terror Troopers got their knowledge and techniques of Mandalorian close-quarters combat.
Did the Delta Squad soldiers feel any pity for killing two or even three dozen brother clones with their own hands?
Part of what they felt could be called regret — the instructors had taught each of them that a man with the same face as you was a friend, a brother, an ally.
But now they were on opposite sides of the barricades.
An ally was only someone who had your back.
No matter how bitter it was to admit, today they were killing brothers, and those brothers were trying to return the favor.
The base's calls to security services sounded, which, apparently, were the reason for the change in the enemy soldiers' disposition.
"Eighteen fighters inside," Starkiller reported after at least thirty Terror Troopers had run past them. "Four by the doors on the inside. Ten right near the reactor. Three more by the far wall. And Ahsoka Tano is also in there — one enemy soldier is next to her. She's captured, alive, but feels in the Force like she's unable to channel it. In a fight, she'll just be dead weight until we free her."
The Boss and the other soldiers listened in silence.
Even though they had to work with Jedi, the Deltas had never fully grasped the nuances of their terminology.
Comlinks crackled to life on the command frequency.
Darth Maul reported in, followed by Lady Meilis.
Starkiller, for his part, reported the danger of a reactor detonation — even the short time the entrance doors had been open was enough for him and the Deltas to see blocks of explosives on the hull of the solar ionization reactor's hemisphere.
Given that Starkiller had ordered the Boss and Fixer to handle Tano's safety, and Scorch and TC-0333 to disarm the reactor, it seemed he was taking the problem of the enemy soldiers on himself.
And... that was even the right call, it had to be said.
Because who else was better suited to deal with the enemy's invisible soldiers when they had the ability to sense them no matter what?
"And the pyro-maniac is tearing it up," Scorch almost snorted with pleasure upon hearing about the half-breed's achievements.
"Six-Two," Fixer called to him.
"Got it."
"Our job is to prevent the detonation," Starkiller announced, assigning the soldiers to their directions.
That was pretty easy when you at least had visual images of the rooms' interiors.
And the Deltas had those.
Granted, they weren't clear or three-dimensional, but sometimes they had to work in even more confined conditions.
Starkiller concentrated, as if listening for something, then nodded affirmatively.
"Keep your comlinks on," the man said, looking at the Delta Squad commander. "Boss, I'll try to warn you about danger from camouflaged soldiers whenever possible."
The Delta commander nearly choked.
"Thank you, sir."
That was truly unexpected from Starkiller.
They had only been working together for a short time, and they hadn't noticed any sentimentality in the Dark Apprentice.
But the fact that he showed concern for ordinary soldiers who could easily be killed by a strike from behind was truly important.
Because Darth Vader usually didn't suffer from that — sure, he had saved fighters of the 501st Legion from death more than once or twice, but he wasn't exactly quick to warn them before a fight, like, "Don't worry, boys, I've got your back."
But this...
"We're going to have to mark this day in red on the calendar. The day the gifted actually gave a damn about us..."
"Six-Two!"
"Yeah, I already shut up, Fixer, I shut up..."
"That's not what I mean! When you're done with your calendar, pass me the red marker."
"And me too," the Boss added after a moment's thought.
TC-0333 remained silent.
That guy basically saw himself as expendable, so it would be stupid...
It would have been.
But now he was part of the Delta.
And they would teach him to love life.
* * *
The door to the warehouse turned out to be no tougher than the rest.
Deimos blew it open with a Push, but realized he couldn't keep this up for long — he was starting to get tired.
"Go ahead," he rasped, stepping aside.
The Force he had been using all this time was beginning to drain his body and internal reserves.
The wounds he'd taken in this operation flared up.
He just didn't have the strength to move on.
But the commando clones (or regular clones, who could even tell them apart?) stormed into the warehouse without any fuss, silently and efficiently clattering around inside something that clearly indicated they weren't empty supplies.
"Darth Deimos," the former Jensaarai flinched when he realized someone was shaking him by the shoulder. "Are you alright? I've sent advance teams to scout the way up. It's hot up there."
The former Jensaarai looked at the man in the snow-white Katarn armor.
A blue visor stared back at him.
But the DC-17 blaster rifle was pointing off to the side.
"Climber?" Deimos clarified, grabbing the hand offered to him. "Is that you?"
"Yes, sir," the clone pointed to the barely visible grayish inscription of two letters and four numbers on his armor. "My serial number."
"Seriously?" Deimos looked to the side and saw dozens of similar soldiers, fully or almost fully equipped in Katarn armor. The same went for their weapons. "They actually stored your armor and weapons here? Are they idiots or something?"
"I don't think so, sir," the clone shook his head. "Our armor was used to make armor for the Terror Troopers. The weapons and armor for those who couldn't be reprogrammed were stored for use as target practice."
"What the hell for?" Deimos asked in surprise. "You're prisoners. Rejects."
"And targets for Terror Trooper training," Climber replied calmly. "There aren't many of us left. But the desire to live a little longer remains. Are we breaking out?"
"Of course," Deimos nodded, hesitating. "Did the Imperials happen to leave you any meds? My wounds are acting up."
"Just the bare minimum, sir, to keep us alive longer for training," Climber snapped his fingers, and another clone came up to him, turning his back. The commando, without any questions, unzipped his plastic backpack.
"I hope there's something that isn't expired," Deimos joked.
"Don't worry, sir," Climber assured him, pulling out a syringe-tube with a colored mark. "For a friend, we save the best."
* * *
"Prepare for defense!" the second Terror Trooper announced, approaching Rex. "Enemy forces have been detected approaching the guarded facility. A partial self-destruct order has been received from the base. Execute the commander. Proceeding with the reactor detonation order. The procedure for deactivating stabilizing equipment has begun. The working body will be released in five minutes via detonation of the outer containment circuit."
So that's what the explosives were for!
This was a ship-class solar ionization reactor.
Ahsoka, like all the gifted in Dominion service, had inevitably been required to study at least the basics of the technology she'd be interacting with.
In the event of an emergency and an internal energy surge, ship-class solar ionization reactors could be stabilized (or at least the crew could be protected from harm) in two ways.
First — a controlled release of stellar matter through special channels into a vacuum.
Second — dropping the reactor, leaving the starship without its main power source entirely.
Since the Terror Troopers didn't need to save anyone, there was no reason to drop the reactor.
And probably nowhere to drop it to, either.
So they were going with the first method.
But to make the reaction as deadly as possible for the Dominion soldiers, they were releasing the artificial star instead of using a directed energy and radiation vent.
Which meant there wouldn't be an emergency cooling hatch opening for the solar ionization reactor, but rather a detonation of both the hatch and the reactor shell, followed by almost instant death.
The artificial star's matter would erupt into the rooms of the secret Imperial base.
Melting and burning everything in its path.
The attackers would have no chance of escape.
It was highly unlikely that the base's creator had built its bulkheads and doors to withstand a superheated stream of stellar matter and radiation.
Otherwise, he definitely wouldn't have...
"But the order is partial!" Ahsoka noted, trying once again to free herself from the shock cuffs.
No luck.
"That doesn't concern you, Commander," the second Terror Trooper cut her off. "CT-7567, carry out the order. I will command the reactor defense until the explosives detonate."
Rex remained silent, staring blankly at Ahsoka.
"But the order isn't complete!" the Togruta kept pushing her luck. "You need to request confirmation! What if it's just a glitch and..."
The second Terror Trooper silently struck her across the face.
"Silence," he ordered, looking at Rex. "CT-7567, carry out the elimination order!"
"Acknowledged," Rex agreed calmly, freezing as the second Terror Trooper stepped aside to take command of the defense of the only passage into the reactor room. "Carrying out elimination order..."
You didn't need to be a military genius to understand that an assault was imminent, one in which Rex's squad — twice bloodied, first to fifty, then to thirty fighters — couldn't hold the reactor.
It was a purge.
A guaranteed one.
Who else but the clones of the Grand Army of the Republic knew that Jedi were capable of the unthinkable and could survive the most unpredictable situations?
Killing Tano before the detonation was the best way to ensure it.
Apparently, the second Terror Trooper was in charge here, and Rex simply couldn't disobey the order because of his cybernetic prosthetics.
By killing Ahsoka, they could throw all their forces into defending the complex until the molten core destroyed the passive containment systems and flooded everything with lethal radiation and particles.
Vibro-claws gleamed.
"Rex, you don't have to do this," Ahsoka suddenly realized that the thread of her life was about to be cut.
The only way to fix this was to try to reach Rex, to the remnants of his humanity.
To use Sith cunning and manipulate their friendship to at least try...
"CT-7567, don't hesitate!" the artificial voice of the second Terror Trooper sounded somehow impatient.
Why didn't he do it himself?
Ahsoka asked the enemy that same question.
"Afraid to get your hands dirty killing an unarmed prisoner?" she hissed, hoping that the threat to her life, the threat of death for a friend, would still affect Rex and he could... "Decided to dump all the dirty work on your subordinate, huh? You were probably the same kind of coward before you were cyberneticized! That's why they put you in charge of the others — you bast..."
With a metallic clang, the second Terror Trooper's claws extended, and he approached Ahsoka, blocking the still-hesitant Rex from her view.
"You don't know what I've been through, Commander Tano," his voice sounded like a funeral dirge. "Unlike you, I didn't run with my tail between my legs when the world fell apart around me. I fought, abandoned by everyone. By everyone I considered my brothers. I was practically dead when they found me. And the only thing those I valued and at least somewhat respected could grant me was death. As a Terror Trooper, I continue to serve. Darth Vader opened my eyes to everything that was happening to me. I was only used by those who called themselves friends. Just like you are using CT-7567 right now to save yourself. Maybe not all of you, but most of you will die today. Me, CT-7567, and the rest of the clones who became the best version of soldiers..."
"No," a voice suddenly sounded behind the speaker. "I am not CT-7567. I am Rex. I... will not take part in this."
Each word came with difficulty, as if he was fighting himself just to get it out.
"You aren't taking part anyway," the second Terror Trooper stepped aside so Ahsoka could see that Rex was trying to move but couldn't. "Darth Vader warned me you'd gone soft. They made you a Terror Trooper not because you met the criteria. But because that was the order. None of you ordinary soldiers can do anything against a commander's order. All your attempts to stop yourself lead to paralysis. I control your body, soldier. Insurance in case of insubordination. And right now you've proven you're not a Terror Trooper. You're still the same useless organic mass..."
"No!" Ahsoka screamed. "He's my friend!"
Jerking forward, she fell at the feet of the speaking Terror Trooper commander.
Knocking him off balance, the girl felt metal blades rake across her back and legs, slashing through her armor, suit fabric, skin, and muscle.
She screamed, unable to contain the pain, but kept rolling forward, trying to get out of the kill zone.
But that wasn't all.
She timed the moment when the enemy would get back to his feet to hit her in the back, and, screaming in agony as the blades entered her back, she jerked her shackled hands upward.
Her joints resisted, as did her body, filling with blood from her punctured lungs and other internal organs, but she achieved what she wanted.
Not completely, but she managed to damage the shock cuffs, and the disorientation passed instantly.
Too bad the Force didn't return in full.
By the time the enemy landed a second blow — one that would have ended her life — Ahsoka had managed to concentrate.
The damaged cuffs couldn't hold her, and she thrust her palm forward, directing the Force at the enemy.
The Push was weak — it was all she could manage, choking on blood and her own pain.
But the goal wasn't to destroy the enemy.
He stumbled, nearly fell to the floor, but regained his balance.
That was enough to make him shift his attention from his primary task...
But Rex didn't even move.
"Good try, Commander," the Terror Trooper commander said. "But your Jedi tricks are well known. And the bad soldier's paralysis isn't controlled by the commander. It's only triggered by him and maintained by the armor's cybernetics until the traitor is dealt with. Darth Vader thought of everything."
With those words, he tore open the throat of Rex, who had been unable to budge an inch, with his vibro-claws.
"No-o-o-o!"
Ahsoka's scream erupted along with streams of blood as Rex crashed backward onto the floor in a fountain of blood.
Like a shockwave, her scream surged toward the commander, knocking him off his feet and slamming him against the wall.
But the weakened young woman couldn't tear her friend's killer to pieces.
Instead, though clearly damaged, he got to his feet, ready to finish what he started.
And if he couldn't finish it, the soldiers rushing to his aid, ready to tear Ahsoka apart, would.
Rage and the pain of loss stirred the fading spirit within the Togruta's body.
All the dark emotions raging inside her intensified a hundredfold, burning away everything that stood in the way of making her vengeance a reality.
The blood filling her lungs and trachea gushed out of her mouth in a powerful stream.
The wounds, fatal for most sentients, ceased to trouble her, and the Dark Side, unleashed from Beskar's control, filled her body with energy.
No, she didn't get to her feet.
She flew upward, like an angel of vengeance bringing only death.
The hilts of lightsabers tore from the belt of the dead Rex, whose life there was no longer any chance of reviving or saving.
Darth Ahsoka didn't even register the carnage beginning behind her — the Delta Squad and Starkiller were launching their assault.
Her entire being was focused solely on the creature whose death she desired more than anything in the world.
Anger at herself for her amateurish scheming leading to the death of an old friend mixed with rage and the desire for the most brutal killing of the direct perpetrator of Rex's death.
She didn't care about her own fate or injuries — the Dark Side of the Force had shut down her survival instincts.
It sustained and carefully nurtured Ahsoka, giving her the strength to enact her revenge.
And she was enacting it.
Space itself shuddered as she extended her invisible hand over it, ripping the explosives — which had never been activated — off the hemisphere of the solar ionization reactor.
Her blades fluttered like swift birds, deflecting the stunning shots the doomed killer fired at her.
She savored his confusion and panic.
She was also draining the last vestiges of life from him, turning this remnant of a man into a vessel of pain and suffering.
And she absorbed it all, letting the Dark Side use the foreign life force to heal her wounds.
His limbs buckled as his thinned and desiccated muscles could no longer support his armored body.
The blaster, barely audible amidst the battle, clattered to the floor — along with the two halves of the Terror Trooper who had tried to protect his commander and attacked the Togruta from behind.
Ahsoka killed him without even turning around.
Her lightsaber blades plunged into the already exhausted and nearly mummified body of the Terror Trooper commander, pinning him to the floor like a saint condemned to crucifixion.
"Grant... me... a quick... death..." the defeated enemy rasped, his voice pleading.
But Ahsoka had no intention of doing that.
Her gaze froze for a moment on the green and green-yellow blades embedded in the killer's sides.
"Jedi don't do that," a cry from the past reached her.
But she forced the memory away.
With no effort at all, she punched the enemy in the chestplate, caving it in around his heart.
Her blow was so powerful that the paint coating the chestplate flaked off like dead skin.
Her eyes were drawn to the faded, engraved numbers on the right side of the chestplate: "... 1207."
But Ahsoka had little interest in that.
Her right hand had already found what it sought.
She held her enemy's heart, and her fingers were about to close and crush it...
With her other hand, she tore off his helmet, wanting to look her killer in the face and remember his death throes.
She was met with the same disfigured clone face, much older than Rex's.
This told her she was facing a veteran clone.
But she didn't care about his name or his past.
Only how he would die.
And the fact that blood, mixed with technical fluids, was flowing from the back of his head, that wires were sparking, making him groan and wince — that did not satisfy her.
He would suffer more.
"Please..." the vocoder rasped, and his tortured, disfigured face contorted into a mask of supplication. "Kill me... I... didn't want to... Kill me..."
Tears streamed from the clone's eyes, and the mirrors of his soul revealed a soul that was shattered and completely lost to any independent life.
Ahsoka shuddered.
That single phrase instantly drove away all her thirst for death.
"Fierfek!" a voice rang out above her, muffled by the helmet, and a clone commando with orange markings over his Katarn armor appeared in her field of view. "Lady Tano! Lady Tano! You're killing him!"
Yes, that was exactly what she wanted!
She should have finished him off right away, with these very swords… which…
They're white!
But just a moment ago they were yellow and green!
But she left this weapon in the Temple almost thirty years ago!
How could this…
How could she see something that isn't there‽
Someone shoved her shoulder, and the delusion finally vanished.
The darkness receded but surged back, calling her to tighten her fingers and savor death.
"Lady Tano, please!" the leader of Delta Squad removed his helmet and looked at her with the pleading gaze of a stern warrior, tears rolling down his cheeks. "I saw everything. We all saw. Please! Spare his life! He'll pay in full! Please, don't kill him!"
What the Hutta!
He killed Rex!
He must die!
In the most agonizing way!
Here!
Now!
She felt the heart in her hands trembling with the fear of death, and the warmth of blood in the shattered sternum no longer warmed her.
She must!
Her fingers barely squeezed the heart when the terror trooper nearly arched in pain.
"N-no," the nearly bloodless clone rasped, choking on his own fluids. "Boss… I'm so glad… not abandoned…"
"Bantha poodoo, ma'am!" Boss grabbed her shoulders and shouted in her face. "Have mercy! Please! He's our brother! Spare him!"
"He killed my friend!" Ahsoka roared, feeling unable to do what she intended.
Hutt's seed!
The girl tore her hands from the stranger's chest, covering her face as tears of helplessness streamed down, diluted by someone else's blood.
"Sev, you stupid animal!" Boss's voice was heard as he emptied his load-bearing belt, not taking his eyes off the wheezing terror trooper commander. "Don't you dare die! Don't you dare, Sev! Fixer, your test-tube mother, we need a medic! Hemostatics over here!"
Another clone appeared next to the first, then another and another…
They swore at each other, cursed the unconscious terror trooper commander, filling him with the contents of syringe tubes, bacta sprays, and packing the wounds she had caused.
"He does have brains after all!" one of the commandos with black markings grunted as he bandaged the soldier's head.
"Six two!"
"I won't shut up!"
"Shut your mouth and give me the anti-shock!"
"This is yours, ma'am," the sobbing Ahsoka heard.
Looking up, she saw a clone commando crouched before her with a bloody handprint on his face.
He was holding out the hilts of lightsabers to her.
The very ones that looked like the weapons she had crafted as a padawan in the Jedi Temple.
The very ones with which she had failed to kill the enemy in this battle.
The very ones that reminded her of who she had been before all this and prevented her from finishing what she started.
The very ones that kept her from becoming an executioner, yielding to the Dark Side of the Force.
Muttering something in response, Ahsoka ignored his gesture, stood up, and walked towards Rex's body.
Beside him, with a complete lack of interest on his face, stood Starkiller.
He looked at the disfigured face of the dead man without a mask and said nothing.
Ahsoka crouched beside the body, looked at Rex's wide-open eyes, at the mask lying nearby, and passed her hand over his face, closing his eyes.
The Force, which had receded from her like an ebbing tide, still pointed to death as an inevitability…
Knowledge of the Dark Side of the Force stirred in her mind, but somehow none of it came to mind to resurrect the dead.
"We're done here," said the same clone commando who held her blades. "The base is no longer in danger of destruction."
"I don't care," the Togruta said, looking at her weapon in the commando's hands. "Take these lousy swords to the Hutt."
"Yes, ma'am," the clone silently disappeared from sight.
Silence fell.
Tano looked at Rex in pain, thinking that the Force, which had always been with her and helped her get out of any situation, had suddenly... failed.
Why did this happen‽
Why didn't the Force help her‽
Why did her claws reach their target instead of missing‽
Had the Force turned away from her‽
"Was he a good clone?" Starkiller suddenly asked.
Ahsoka, devastated and vulnerable after her helpless rage, felt that only emptiness remained inside her.
"He was a wonderful friend," she said. "A loyal comrade. A mentor. A warrior…"
A pool of blood had gathered under Rex's body, but Ahsoka didn't react to it staining her clothes.
The Togruta was already up to her elbows in blood.
In every sense.
"I see," said Starkiller. "I'm sorry he died."
"Me too," Ahsoka replied in a hollow voice.
"You didn't kill his murderer," Starkiller observed.
"And what would that revenge fix?" the Togruta asked, realizing she was only looking for a logical explanation for her weakness.
"You can still kill all the commandos and take revenge," Starkiller suddenly offered. "I'll make sure there are no questions…"
"I won't become a monster," Ahsoka declared sharply, standing to her full height before the man who was nearly half again as large as her. "Nothing will turn me into a servant of the Dark Side! I command myself, my body, my emotions! No one else!"
Starkiller's emotionless face flickered with surprise…
And respect.
He silently stepped aside, clearing her path to the exit.
Without strength, with aching wounds and emptiness inside, Ahsoka Tano trudged away, carrying the body of her fallen friend with the help of the Force.