"The production of clones must be stopped if we wish to win this war," General Grievous's sinister voice grated on the ears. And his disgusting, god-forsaken appearance was a sight certainly not for the faint of heart. However, one glance at him was enough to conclude that whoever designed the cyborg had clearly phoned it in. One might ask, why leave organic parts in a chassis that lacks continuous protection? No, I understand that Grievous is a sort of experiment, the results of which Palpatine later used to save the life of his new apprentice. Но сейчас это явная халтура! He has a ton of vulnerabilities. One lucky blaster shot, and all the organic matter would instantly cease to function. Obi-Wan Kenobi proved the complete failure of such experiments by the end of the war. No wonder Old Palpy dressed his truncated apprentice in a full combat suit.
"Concentrate on the execution of your part of the plan, General," Count Dooku seconded with cold, aristocratic politeness. "My Dark Acolytes will ensure the completion of the main part of the plan."
With that, the holographic recording faded, leaving those gathered around the transmitter in the Jedi Temple's communication center with conflicting feelings. Bewilderment, lack of understanding, and grim determination were palpable. And that was just the trio present in the Temple alongside me. Then there were Unduli, Ti, Skywalker, and Kenobi, who stood before us as holograms.
To be honest, formally, I shouldn't even be here—Jedi undergoing treatment are not permitted at briefings. The Order stubbornly looked after the favorable psychological climate of its wounded. Kento Marek and Roan Shryne, whose bodies suffered during the operation on Geonosis—which, thank Allah, ended in our victory (with considerable losses for the troops and fleet of the 13th Sectoral, by the way)—could confirm this. The bugs' sonic weapons are a real pain in the ass. And although that pair got roughed up quite a bit, all their fractures and bleeding were patched up during the medical transport's flight to Coruscant. So, the two idlers were just wearing out their robes, lounging on hospital beds.
But Yoda gave in to my desire to attend. Never mind that he grumbled like a thousand-year-old stump the whole way from the foyer, where I met him, to the communication center. Well, that's a secondary matter; my mind has already grown accustomed to filtering out his stream of consciousness. Therefore, taking my usual place by the window, I watched the comedy "The Jedi Deciphered the Enemy's Plan" unfolding in the center. It's funny, truly. It never happened before, and here it is again—the cunning enemy turns out to be even more cunning.
"So, their goal is Kamino," Kenobi voiced the common thought. Well done. Captain Obvious himself. Ten out of ten enemy plots uncovered.
Hmm, after the coma, sarcasm is just bursting out of me. A "comedown" after all that star-crossed mess Palpatine dropped on my head? I should probably keep my tongue behind my teeth, or I'll say too much.
"The danger of this plan of the enemy is great," Yoda frowned. Really? So, it's not clear that the loss of Kamino is the collapse of everything? My plans—first and foremost. So, staying indifferent is not an option.
"The Separatists are taking a big risk by attacking the clones' homeworld," Skywalker smirked. "Kamino has strong cover."
For the love of... so much pathos. And total ignorance of the operational situation. How confident must you be in yourself that you didn't even bother to find out where the ships for breaking Trench's blockade and the ground forces for the planetary assault came from—an assault the Afro-Jedi is still leading single-handedly. After Falon Grey and Roblio Darté died on their Acclamators without even setting foot on Twi'lek soil, the Korun refused any help from fellow Jedi on the planet, personally leading the remnants of the expeditionary corps. The irony of the situation was that besides the two who merged with the Force and Skywalker with his Padawan, other Jedi didn't actually participate in the attack. It's easy to be noble when it costs you nothing. Alright, you lover of throwing droids in hand-to-hand, we'll settle accounts for the twenty thousand clones who died as a result of your idiotic Zerg-rush.
Kenobi, who was now stroking his beard, reflecting on the fate of the clones' homeland, is no strategist either. No Suvorov. He lost almost his entire group of destroyers. Luckily, he had the sense not to take ground troops and equipment into the space battle. Of course, his "excellent" command had its pluses for me personally—in the person of Admiral Block, a generally good and competent officer. But the thought that Grievous single-handedly wiped out Ravik's grouping and nearly destroyed Pellaeon's ships and the man himself—that's a warning bell. The 13th is now more than just "on life support." Aside from Strickland's grouping and Kreeve's squadron, which consolidate all surviving and combat-ready ships, we have nothing left to fight with. I'd be extremely surprised if the CIS doesn't take advantage of this. And the attack on Kamino is just the first swallow. I need to hurry the Rendilians and Sienar—they should have at least fifty ships ready between them. And I need them like oxygen.
"It used to be that way," I put in my "two cents." "The ships that guarded Kamino were transferred under your command to participate in the battles at Ryloth and Geonosis. As were the ground troops."
"Oh," the Chosen One said simply. Yes, what a pity that repentance for those pointlessly lost Venators isn't written on your "fearless" brow. As always, the Tatooinian brat got everyone around him killed except for his own flagship. Formally, of course, the blame lies with Tano, who led the starfighters into a frontal assault. But the teacher bears responsibility for the student!
"Now it's clear that we didn't scare Grievous off at Geonosis," Luminara stated. "He was merely regrouping for the next attack."
"But we severely battered his ships," Kenobi's former Padawan reminded with a hint of pride. "And now he is weak enough that he can be caught at Kamino. We won two brilliant victories…"
"And lost the only combat-ready unit in two supersectors that could guaranteed stop the cyborg," I corrected. "I'll let you in on a secret—right now at Ord Pardron, there isn't actually a single fully repaired ship larger than a light cruiser. And, if I'm not mistaken, Grievous managed to save his flagship, half a dozen Recusants, and as many Munificents. A magnificent victory, Knight Skywalker. I am much obliged to you."
And yet, I couldn't restrain the sarcasm. The Chosen One's jaw literally clenched. Likely, like me right now, he ground his teeth just to keep from saying what he thought of his opponent. Patience, Rick, patience. We'll settle with him yet. Look at everything more simply. The 204th Legion didn't participate in any of those meat grinders, so you saved your people. Those who died are from the first generation, who are loyal to the Chancellor. You'd have had to get rid of them eventually anyway—one way or another.
"In this regard, the danger to Kamino becomes even greater," Unduli noted. "We cannot withdraw our forces… what remains of them," the Master corrected herself, looking at me. Right, girl, don't forget whose team you're on, "from Ryloth and Geonosis. I will contact Rear Admiral Strickland. His ships are the closest to Kamino. Damaged though they are, it's the only thing we can oppose to Grievous's armada."
"In that case, Anakin and I will move on our destroyer to Kamino," seeing the former apprentice's nostrils flare, Kenobi intervened. Pity, I'd have liked to see Palpatine's future apprentice snap at me. Of course, right now he isn't as popular in the Order as he will be by the end of the war. And an argument with him (and I'm sure I'd tear him to shreds) wouldn't add loyalty points to me in the Temple. Not like the battle with the Troll.
At the memory of the blade master's face contorted with surprise when I activated the second weapon, a vulgar smirk involuntarily appeared on my face. Yes, he certainly didn't expect that. Naive Jedi. Who told him everything would be so simple? Especially after Juyo appeared in my arsenal.
As a fencing style, it satisfied my needs more than completely. Combined with the Niman I had fully mastered and my significant study of Ataru and Soresu, Juyo provided me an unquestionable advantage over anyone seeing it for the first time. The Jedi certainly can't compare to me—like Cin, they will believe until the last that I am practicing Ataru. Until it's too late. Especially since I won't have to hide my affiliation with the Unified Force and keep my own Darkness under control. Drallig nearly saw through me when the disguise control cracked in the heat of battle. I had to yield my positions and return to Niman, which I can fence with even with my eyes closed—thanks to Exar Kun. Perhaps I shouldn't use Juyo in the future until special occasions. A style that uses all the body's resources, mood, and feelings—it is superb. But not in the environment of the prim members of the Order.
The same cannot be said for Dooku's Dark Acolytes. Why hold back before them? Slice them into thin pieces and scrap them. Practice shows that if I use the Force in all its manifestations, none are my match. Except perhaps Dooku or Palpatine. One shouldn't forget, of course, that the Count taught Juyo to General Grievous, but even he cannot realize the style fully—only a mechanical repetition of thrusts and combinations.
On the other hand, Skywalker, having only the Dark Side and Djem So in his arsenal, slaughtered all the Jedi in the Temple, including Drallig. Am I getting too ahead of myself, saying I can defeat him? Likely, yes—even against true Niman, the brute force of Djem So is no match. But let's not count our chickens before they hatch. There are still a couple of years before Darth Vader appears, and the time should be spent wisely on personal growth. Luckily, Kira has tucked away a sweet gift for me.
"No," Gallia shook her head negatively. Right. We're having a meeting. I got a bit too carried away with my daydreams. "You and your clones are needed on Felucia. A truly difficult situation has developed there."
"But after Geonosis, Ahsoka," Skywalker tried to protest, but Kenobi stopped him again. Look at that, how caring. He remembered the apprentice. And the girl, by the way, had a hard time—worms, freezing, Barriss's attack. By the way, the latter apparently arrived at the Temple too. I'll have to talk to Unduli about her. A whole year has passed—it's time to get active on the issue of recruiting my supporters. It will be absolutely wonderful if they are all concentrated in my army—always at hand, and the clones in my army should already be on my side by the climax of events.
"We depart immediately. Padawan Tano will have already recovered in the bacta tank by our arrival," Kenobi said submissively, despite Skywalker's silent objection.
I smirked to myself.
Just brilliant. Putting the kid straight from the frying pan into the fire.
And this is while Vokara Che prescribed me a vacation for "spiritual recovery" after several fractures and concussions. Hanging around the Temple for two months like a turd in a pond. Luckily, I didn't have to be in the Jedi abode constantly. This loophole helped me secure the support of the best scientists of the Palpatinian Empire I know. True, there were still several potential recruits left, including on the other side of the front, but finding them required time.
Hmm… a thought flashed in my head related to this trio and their mission on Felucia. Tempting, tempting. Especially since I have a specialist in such matters at hand. I don't think much has changed in the security system in four thousand years. However, a visit to the Archives is a must. Better safe than sorry.
It's an ill wind that blows nobody good. While Unduli controls my army and I'm cooling my heels, occasionally appearing for restorative meditations with Kylie, I've found time to get down to my own plans. Which, for now, are moving at a snail's pace. Specific victories are good. But the Plan must gain momentum more rapidly. The first year of the war is ending, and in the near future, important events are to take place in which I'll have to participate.
Just think. If at first I thought the Hands I had would be enough, now I'm certain of the need to expand the number of my own emissaries. I should ask Ashara if there are any worthy candidates among her proteges.
Destroy or subdue. That was the advice Valkorion gave me once. Perhaps I should use it regarding potential candidates literally at my fingertips.
But first and foremost, I should deal with Kamino.
The chronology of the Clone Wars known to me has already gone haywire. And since the canon characters won't be on Kamino, who will stop Grievous and Dooku's envoys from the total exterminatus of the cloning laboratories? If I didn't have a personal interest there, I wouldn't give a damn about this attack. But as it is, at the very least, my own army is ripening there. The recent giant losses should justify the massive purchases of third-generation clones loyal to me personally. And it's high time to meet Prime Minister Lama Su. It's time to take the extra equipment from him. The Stormtrooper Corps requires significant replenishment.
"I will mobilize all available forces for the defense of Kamino," Unduli spoke up meanwhile. "Master Ti and the planetary leadership have already been notified. I believe I should lead the defense of the planet while my Padawan undergoes treatment. I will take the 204th Legion with me," a short glance in my direction. Receiving an approving, barely noticeable nod, she continued. "Currently they are the only fully equipped unit in the army."
"We should not allow the militia access to the secret of Kamino," Adi Gallia suddenly protested. "This is classified information, and involving volunteers in it is fraught with risk."
"Agree, I do," the Grand Master said. "On Ord Pardron, leave the auxiliary troops."
Of course, this reduces the amount of infantry, but the Master's logic is also clear. Few even within the GAR know the exact location of Kamino. And letting mere mortals in on it is also not a good idea.
"As you wish, Master Yoda," Unduli made a bow.
"And we, in turn, will try to send you all possible reserves," Master Gallia echoed her. A shadow of determination flickered on the young woman's face. "Aayla Secura and her 327th Corps are currently the closest of anyone we can send. Perhaps I too shall move to assist you. I believe the apprentice Dooku spoke of is that same Zabrak, Savage Opress."
"If so," Yoda narrowed his eyes. "A chance we have to catch the villain."
"In such a matter, more than three Jedi will be required," I spoke up. Those gathered looked at me in surprise. "What is it, Masters? Kamino is one of the most important planets in the galaxy. My Padawan and I are moving out…"
"Unwise this is, Master Dougan," Yoda objected crossly. "Under treatment you are."
For the most part, I don't give a damn about Kamino and the havoc the Separatists will wreak there. I would, if not for my agreement with the Prime Minister. I promised him protection, which means I should put every effort into minimizing Grievous's strike. Memory tells me that the armada the cyborg brings with him won't be all that large. And as for the landing force—they'll be crushed like flies on the windshield of a speeding sports car. But the planet's cloning capacities will suffer, and that primarily hindered me—the more clones from fresh batches die, the fewer clones loyal to me will enter the army. Not to mention the risk of losing those precious Spaarti cloning cylinders. Furthermore, instead of Ventress, other acolytes will participate in the attack. Their goal is likely the same—seizing clone DNA. But whether other Jedi, not Kenobi and not Skywalker, can handle the opposition—I'm not sure. This means I should participate directly in the epic operation.
Except, the Council is certain that after the ill-fated attack on the Chancellor, I need spiritual "healing." What for? I can't understand. If it weren't for the ability to leave the Temple and run my business on Coruscant, I'd be howling like a bantha.
Therefore, let's switch on all our logic and apply it to the Master. He is not immune to logic.
"With all due respect, Grand Master, but Grievous and Opress are extremely dangerous opponents. And three Jedi, even Masters, are insanely too few for a reliable defense. Both the cyborg and the Zabrak have already proven to us that they are capable of handling a far greater number of Jedi. I don't mean to boast, but of everyone present here, only three have had experience in real combat with Sith acolytes. And two of them are currently elsewhere."
Yoda narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. He seemed to be trying to figure out if I was trying to hoodwink him. Of course I am. The main thing is not to show it so obviously.
"Moreover, Dooku said several acolytes would participate in the attack," formally he said something else, but wordplay is our everything. "Kamino is too important for us not to use all available reserves. Master Gallia and I can be there in ten hours."
"Handle it they will without your help," Yoda concluded.
"And I agree with Master Dougan," Obi-Wan said thoughtfully. Unexpected support, I must admit. "I deeply respect Masters Ti, Unduli, and Gallia, but our opponents are far too strong. Especially if there are more than two of them."
"It should not be forgotten that if we suffer a defeat there with unused resources available, the Senate and the public will turn on the Order. And it will be very, very hard for us to wash ourselves clean of their accusations," I injected politics into the conversation.
This was supposed to work—the prolonged nature of the war was progressively increasing the number of those dissatisfied with the Jedi. First and foremost—in the Senate. Consequently, this brought a fair amount of headache for the Council.
"Besides, Master Dougan is certain he is healthy," Skywalker smirked with a self-satisfied little smile. "And will be able to show his skill in battles with General Grievous and Count Dooku's new apprentice."
Why, you little prick!
"Unlike you, Skywalker, I defeated my opponents," take that. "And they won't return to continue grating on the nerves."
"Especially Sora Bulq," the Knight smirked.
Son of a... You haven't defeated a single one of your gifted opponents on the first try. Or even the second. You chased that poor Ventress around until she got tired of Dooku and Sidious herself.
Kenobi preferred to look away, not noticing his former student's insolence. Yoda made a show of being interested in his own cane. Master Unduli rolled her eyes as if Skywalker's antics were already stuck in her craw. Only Adi Gallia looked at the overstepping Chosen One with a hint of disapproval.
"Indeed," what's the point in getting into a scuffle with an opponent in front of almost half the Council? We'll settle accounts at another time and under different circumstances. "My Padawan and I can fly out in the near future."
Yoda nodded in agreement. It seemed the old man didn't withstand the miracles of logic. Excellent. Let's remember this moment to have something to appeal to in the future.
"My ship is ready too," Gallia supported. "While preparations are underway, we can find someone else."
"Give you the go-ahead for this mission, I do," but the Grand Master's intonation was far from approving. "I do not think you will need anyone else. Five Jedi and Padawan Starstone should be enough. Return to your healing you must afterward, Master Dougan."
"As you wish, Master," I bowed in respect.
Excellent. Now for the small stuff.
The squat Jedi headed toward the exit. It took me a few steps to catch up with him, but already in the corridor.
"Something bothering you, Master Dougan?" he inquired grumpily.
"Yes, Master Yoda. I wanted to talk to you about the Jedi I'd like to see in my army," I had to start from afar.
***
"Wake up, soldier," the incessant pounding of an armored fist against Olee's metal door was enough to wake even the dead. However, the Padawan, judging by everything, wasn't too keen on waking up in the middle of the night. "Great deeds await us!"
As always, the meeting of the participants in the Kaminoan operation had dragged on past midnight. Skywalker and Kenobi had signed off, heading for their own mission. Instead, Secura joined us. The girl looked tired even on the hologram. She and her corps were performing some mundane mission on a backwater planet of the Outer Rim in the area of responsibility of the 12th Sectoral. Judging by the fact that the Council decided to involve her, the mission went well.
A lot of time was spent discussing various details. Mostly they concerned the list of ships that could be drawn to Kamino in the shortest time. Taking advantage of the fact that few were paying attention to me, I stealthily sent instructions to Unduli.
Grievous will not launch an invasion as long as the monitoring station on the Rishi moon is functioning. Luminara has already sent Alpha and Balda to "inspect" the station. If we're lucky, they can organize the clones before the landing force is deployed. If not, then hopefully they'll handle it no worse than Cody and Rex—in that case, they have instructions to destroy the station. Still, these guys will give most clones a run for their money; commandos, after all. Luminara has already received a warning that it's worth worrying after the station stops sending signals.
"We were just preparing for departure," hearing about the new assignment, the Twi'lek girl cheered up. "I think it will take a few hours for loading and no less than six to reach the destination."
"Excellent news," Gallia concluded, appointed as the lead Jedi for this mission. "Master Unduli will be on Kamino in nine hours. Master Dougan and I—a little later."
"Actually—earlier," I wanted to say. After modification, the Defender, on which I intended to fly, was far faster than the Jedi analogs.
"So you're with us, Rick?" Secura smiled.
"Where would I be without me," I shrugged comically. After exchanging a few jokes, we ended the communication session.
"I will head to the hangars; my starfighter should have been prepared by now," Adi Gallia informed. "I advise you to use Deltas—we'll be there faster."
Yeah, right. Considering the class of hyperdrive on the rings these ships used to move across the galaxy, my corvette will be there significantly faster.
"Actually, I have a fast corvette," I admitted. Indeed—the faster we arrive, the more chances to prepare. "There's enough room on it for us…"
"Sounds like an invitation, Dougan," the Master said with a sly smile on her face.
"Basically, yes," I said without a second thought. And only after an unambiguous smirk did it hit me that the phrase had a double entendre.
"In that case, I'll wait for you at the Temple berth in an hour," the Master gave the instruction, not saying goodbye, vanishing into the nearest corridor.
Good grief, guys. Of all things, I certainly didn't expect flirting from a member of the Council. And where? She's about forty! I'm practically young enough to be her son.
On the other hand, by the standards of a galaxy far, far away, she's still very, very young. Luke Skywalker felt quite comfortable even at sixty. And how old was he when he got together with Mara Jade? And he even managed to sire an offspring.
No, something decisively has to be done about all these women. They stick like flies to honey. I can understand the Twi'lek girls—to them, such communication is almost like a handshake for humans. But, damn, the humans, the Jedi, the Masters too?
It seems the authors of the Expanded Universe were greatly mistaken in asserting that a vow of celibacy almost flourished among the Jedi.
With roughly these thoughts, I went to get the Padawan. Sending a message to the Defender on the way, I spared myself the need to personally wander around the night city for the ship.
"Master, have you seen what time it is?" the door opened, and a sleepy Olee appeared before me. With disheveled hair, rubbing her eyes with her hands, the girl exuded bewilderment in the Force mixed with regret over the interrupted sleep. Small wonder—she'd gone to sleep only five hours ago. After the sparring with Drallig, I had dragged her to the training room, where we spent the whole day learning some combinations from Soresu. The style was equally new to both me and her. Но в отличие от учителя, девочка училась медленнее — у меня как-никак есть фора в виде знаний Куна, а уж этого парня учили на совесть. And he chose Niman having already gained a general practical understanding of the other fencing styles.
We finished late in the evening. The Padawan went to hit the sack, and I, having successfully met Yoda—to the Communication Center.
"Time to do great deeds, student," I had to say in a didactic tone. "And besides, meeting your Master, even in the middle of the night in just a nightgown—that's bad form."
"Oh!" The girl, instantly waking up, realized she was indeed standing before an adult man in practically what she was born in. And what she was wearing revealed more than it should have.
Vanishing into the darkness of the room, she began clattering with something, obviously looking for clothes. Rightly so. But how am I supposed to unsee what's already entered my field of vision?
No, I definitely need to take up the Padawan's proper upbringing—before long, Drallig will turn out to be right. I don't know about him, but children didn't attract me in either of my lives. And somehow it was wrong—even if she were older. A Jedi and his student… Brrr, I've seen such videos on the Holonet from the local analog of Brazzers. Earthly adult film directors filmed such parodies with far more talent.
"Give me an hour, and I'll be ready!" came from deep in the room. Something fell with a crash. A quiet curse in Huttese was heard. And such a choice one that I felt the blood rush to my ears.
"Half an hour, and I'll be waiting for you in the hangars," I warned. "Take your armor with you—we're flying to Kamino. So, you'll still have time to change."
"And you couldn't have said that right away?" came a pitiful whine from where the crash and cursing had sounded.
"Make haste slowly, young Padawan," I smirked, walking away from the room. "Half an hour and not a minute more! If you're late—you'll be sparring with the Troll until my vacation ends!"
"Well, blast it…!" I didn't get to hear the end, as the automation, without further ado, closed the door to the room.
Good grief. If Padawans allow themselves to sleep in semi-transparent nighties that would do honor to any sex shop, what should one expect from older representatives of the fair sex?
Sighing, I thanked the Force that at least Aayla Secura is a white raven in this preserved kingdom of Jedi lust that surrounds me.
***
"General Tachi!" A low voice, as if passed through a vocoder, reached her ears not far from the entrance to the Archives.
Shaking her golden hair, the girl looked curiously at the Jedi rushing toward her. He moved quickly, his steps measured, which sent a soft clatter of his boots' metal soles through the corridor. A matte black mantle billowed as he moved, creating the impression that darkness accompanied the man. A funny association, given his reputation.
"Master Dougan," she broke into a smile. "I'm pleased to see you."
"The feeling is mutual," the Jedi replied, catching up with her. "Do you mind if we address each other informally?"
"As you wish," she smiled. Then, realizing the comicality of her words in the context of the situation, she smiled again and extended her hand. "Siri."
"Rick," his handshake was strong, masculine. And unexpectedly soft—considering the interlocutor was encased in armor. "Master Yoda said that you currently do not have a mission assignment."
"That is so," the girl agreed. Small wonder—it's the middle of the night. I wonder why the hell he's wandering around the Temple? "My last mission fell through, and since then I've been in the Council's operational reserve. Which is strange, considering the shortage of Jedi in the army…"
"Eager to get back into service?" the Master inquired. He gestured invitingly. Siri, who had just finished her self-study in the Archives and intended to sleep at least until dawn, sighed and followed him inside.
"I am not burning with a desire to fight, but I understand it is necessary," she shrugged. "However, time and again the Council rejects my requests to head to the army."
At night, even Jocasta Nu went to rest, leaving several service droids in her place. Considering that all particularly important zones of the Archive could only be visited by Masters, and the rest of the information was in open access at any time of day, it was no wonder a heavy silence hung under the high vaults of the ceiling. At such a time, even before the war, there were no takers for getting bored at computers. Perhaps only particularly diligent nerd-Younglings, whom she never belonged to, could be found here during the period of theoretical knowledge check-ups. However, with the start of the war, the Council strictly forbade anyone who hadn't passed the Knighting ceremony to be in the library at night.
"In that case, I can help. I have a guess as to why you aren't being given a new assignment."
"Really? And how?"
"I head the 13th Sectoral Army," he explained. Although it wasn't required—in the Temple, any Youngling knew the names of the Jedi who had become famous for their feats. And about the only one who currently holds sole command of an entire sectoral army, legends were practically told.
"Yes, I heard something about that," the girl replied vaguely. Indeed, I'm not going to tell the man about how you idle away the time studying the most famous victories of the Grand Army and the Jedi. Master Dougan has already written his name in history—Jocasta Nu mentioned something about compiling a chronicle of the Jedi feats of our time. It was laborious and terribly painstaking work—thousands of Jedi were now fighting on the fronts. And each of them was a genuine model of heroism.
"So there it is. Our area of responsibility is large, and there aren't many Jedi. Especially after the big losses at Ryloth and Geonosis."
"An irreplaceable loss," she agreed.
Ryloth, like Geonosis, became a literal hell for all the Jedi fighting in the ranks of the 13th and 14th Sectoral Armies. After the Separatists sliced the latter into small pockets of resistance and destroyed them with lightning strikes, of more than three hundred Jedi under Moff Ravik's command, no more than a dozen remained. And almost all of them died during the last battle of the Moff's life. Clee Rhara, the teacher of her friend Garen Muln and an unsurpassed Jedi ace, died during a bloody battle with General Grievous's armada in orbit of Geonosis. And before that, she had managed to escape the previous bloody slaughter. Garen, who oversaw the Jedi ace corps on Coruscant's moon, Centax-2, took the news hard. Actually, now that Obi-Wan was at the front without leave, only Garen from her former friends remained near Coruscant.
Geonosis also turned out to be an inhospitable place. True, besides a single loss, the participating Jedi got off with only wounds. Roan Shryne, Sia-Lan Wezz, Kento Marek, Soara Antana… Obi, during recovery from his own wound, spoke with her over the Hololink, telling of how hard a time they had. And after the case with the discovery of the Geonosian Queen and the infection of an entire crew with brain worms… In that moment, she was afraid for her old… friend. But Kenobi, with the irony inherent to him in his youth, remarked that unlike Master Unduli, worms didn't crawl on him.
"At the same time, the war requires more and more Jedi participation," Dougan noted. "Master Yoda gave me carte blanche for any candidates I deem necessary. And you are one of them."
"And you came to me first?" Siri couldn't overcome her childhood habit of smiling in response to an interlocutor's words or actions that seemed sweet to her. In her youth, she often smiled in Kenobi's company. And he didn't shun her. There was a time when Obi—the same one who has now turned into a wise and reasonable Master—wanted to leave the Order, and she criticized him for those actions. Yes, many stars have faded since then. And that spark that was between them in their youth didn't exactly go out. Rather, it lost its color. Despite mutual confessions of love, they were unable to develop it into something more. The intervention of Kenobi's teacher, Qui-Gon, "set" the Padawan on the path of serving the Code. And the feelings that flared up aboard a ship that should have died exiting hyperspace faded, paled. Obi-Wan, not sparing her feelings, "broke up" with the girl. The man who helped her overcome her most unpleasant traits trampled her love. In many ways, this helped to perfectly play out the farce of her departure from the Order, which led to her infiltration and subsequent destruction of a criminal gang.
Her first and last attempt to raise a student ended with Ferus Olin, her Padawan, leaving the Order. A Jedi girl who died through the fault of Obi-Wan's student became the trigger that led Olin to a life outside the Temple. For a time after his departure, they still maintained contact, but with the start of the war, contacts became fewer and fewer.
Sometimes she herself wondered if it was worth leaving the Order, whose members, called to be models of morality and honesty, duty and justice, were in reality not as they should be. Such thoughts visited her every time another scandal broke out among the Jedi related to romantic relationships. Quinlan Vos and Aayla Secura. Kit Fisto and Aayla Secura. It was rumored that almost every Jedi had one interest or another—the mysterious nature of the Order members contributed to attracting the opposite sex.
Unfortunately, even Obi-Wan, who so clearly explained to her the need to strictly adhere to the dogmas of the Code, deceived her. Rumors of his affair with a Mandalorian noblewoman were so fragmentary and contradictory that she didn't believe them for a long time. Until she asked him about it directly. Obi-Wan never knew how to lie. And he likely never would learn.
"Confessedly—you are the only one of all the candidates who is currently on Coruscant," Dougan reported without embellishment. "I understand the offer is abrupt, and if you want to refuse…"
"I accept," Siri replied quickly, not letting him deprive her of the chance to get out of the Temple. The Jedi Master's hint that he knew the reason why the girl still hadn't received a single assignment after the mission to procure "ice-cutting" equipment was as clear as could be. Obi-Wan went to no small lengths to keep her from the active army. Her former teacher, Adi Gallia, had hinted at this quite vaguely. And Siri trusted her as she trusted herself.
"Hmm… I didn't think you'd be so…"
"Expressive?" A smile appeared on her lips again. She definitely had to do something about herself. Otherwise she'd be "grinning" at everyone she met like a fool. She'd noted this frivolous manner during her training under Adi. And she could in no way force herself to overcome the established reflexes of her facial muscles.
"I was going to say 'quick to decide'," the Jedi corrected himself. "The thing is, we have a mission to Kamino ahead…"
"I'm in," this time she smiled genuinely, not reflexively. The young Master appealed to her in some way. His open nature and simple manner of speaking reminded her somewhat of a young Obi-Wan. And Siri always valued that type of person.
"Our transport departs in about forty minutes," the Jedi scratched the back of his head, hidden under the mantle's hood, with an armored glove. "I have some business in the Archive, so I'll wait for you at the landing platform at the scheduled time."
"In that case, I should hurry," Siri smiled. And again—she did it quite genuinely.
***
Efforts to suppress a yawn were completely in vain.
No matter how hard Olee tried to overcome the remnants of sleep, with every step it became harder for her. From the girl's room to the hangars, a significant distance had to be covered—including numerous transitions through the Temple corridors. And all while carrying armor, the weight of which she was, actually, used to. But not when her sleep was interrupted in the most unceremonious fashion. As a result of the unceremonious intrusion by the Master, in an attempt to quickly pull the relic of the ancient Jedi onto herself, she fell, painfully hitting her hip. And fragments of armor fell on top of her to boot.
So, limping on her right leg, the girl carried a hiking backpack on her back, where she had unceremoniously thrown things that might be useful on a journey. A set of armor, neatly secured on a storage stand, thank the Force, floated after her on an anti-gravity suspension. Disheveled hair, which she hadn't bothered to style, hung from her head in untidy locks. Her bangs, every now and then, tried to fall over her eyes and block her view. She had to brush them aside almost every minute.
Well, what so important happened on Kamino that required flying there late at night? There's a whole clone factory there under the supervision of Master Shaak Ti—is there really no one who could deal with whatever problems arose?
Right, here's a fork. Wait a minute. Where to go? Straight, right, or left? She always got confused in this part of the Temple.
"Olee?" a voice sounded right by her ear. "And why aren't you sleeping at such an hour?"
With a wandering gaze, the girl stared at the source of the sound.
It turned out to be a girl of average height, with long dark-brown hair shot through with red strands. Her hair was neatly styled, if you could call it that with loose hair falling to her shoulders. The girl was dressed in a travel suit of dark-brown leather, hugging her slender figure. A wide belt with a bandolier on which hung a lightsaber hilt revealed the beauty (Starstone concluded this unequivocally) to be a Jedi. And a quite striking one—a laced décolletage didn't so much tighten as highlight her medium-sized, neat chest.
"She seems familiar," the girl decided, measuring the Jedi who had called to her with an appraising look.
Unlike her, Olee herself was dressed in simple clothes she began to wear after the dressing-down given by Master Windu. An orange-brown tunic, over which she wore a fitted Jedi robe, comfortable leggings of the same color, and comfortable boots. After many months of wearing armor, the Padawan could no longer return to a Jedi robe that sometimes chafed in the most immodest places.
"Do I know you?" she inquired, unable to restrain a yawn. And only with a delay realized that such unceremonious address to a Jedi might have unfavorable consequences. There was already a precedent—thank the Great Force her teacher didn't recall his punishment.
The Jedi gave a sweet chuckle. Which made her want to sleep even more.
"I dress differently in the Halls of Healing," as if at a click, her brain finally shook off sleep, and a chill ran down her spine.
"Healer Omas," biting the inner surface of her cheek until it hurt, the girl made a bow. Not a deep one—otherwise the weight of the backpack might have toppled her. "I didn't recognize you."
"Not surprising," Kylie smiled. "You're sleeping on your feet. Where are you going at such an hour? And with armor in tow," she added the last phrase, glancing behind the girl's back.
"Master told me to prepare for a mission," Olee said tiredly. Well, the minute of alertness passed and sleep again demanded its due. "We're flying to Kamino."
"Is that so?" Kylie wondered. "Turns out we're traveling companions."
"Oh," the girl said, suppressing a yawn. Is the teacher gathering a strike team, like Master Windu did for Geonosis? What happened there that he yanked not only her but a Jedi Healer out of bed too? "So we'll fly together."
"Looks that way," Kylie uncompromisedly pulled the backpack off her shoulder, hoisting it onto her own back. Sweet, she didn't even stumble under such weight—and there must be thirty kilograms total. Well, fine. If she wants to lug a backpack in addition to her travel bag, let her.
"Shall we go?" Omas suggested, tossing her head toward where she believed the hangars were located. Olee nodded silently. Then, she slowly pointed to a neighboring branch of the corridor.
"Hangars are that way," she finally remembered.
"That's right," the girl smiled, stepping in the correct direction. "You know, I last left the Temple about five years ago—as a Padawan."
"Why so?" Olee stepped sluggishly, feeling that if she didn't reach a bed in the next twenty minutes, she would fall asleep right in the corridor. And let her Master punish her afterward. She just can't fight sleep! After all, she's still a child—she doesn't have as much strength as an adult Jedi. Look, Kylie is stepping along as if she'd been sleeping for twenty-four hours before this. And she, too, was likely yanked from bed.
At the thought that the Master had seen her in her nightshirt, the girl felt a surge of energy. Sleep retreated for a moment—long enough to turn bright red.
"Healers are not the most traveling of Jedi," the companion told meanwhile. "To be honest, I am not the best subordinate of Vokara Che. So I deal with what happens in the Temple itself. While those with more talent than me, yes, often fly to the front lines and on humanitarian missions."
"And I thought you were actually one of the best," Olee admitted. "You've pulled my teacher from the brink so many times."
"To be honest, not once was it my own merit," Kylie lagged behind so the girl would catch up with her. "The first time he arrived at the Temple after the battle of Geonosis. He had big problems with internal calm. He was like a vessel shattered into pieces—it was like that for many back then. Vokara said it was post-traumatic stress—Jedi for the first time in a thousand years had participated in a large-scale battle and survived the deaths of dozens of their brethren. And the other two times you know yourself. We fear that every time he is on the verge of life and death, something in him changes. In a worse direction. Death… I don't even know how to describe it. Such a thing does not pass without a trace."
"Probably," the girl shrugged. "To me, the Master doesn't take everything happening too close to heart. Sometimes I even think that under the mask, it isn't a human at all."
"Believe me, it's a human," the Healer assured her. "But we healers sometimes discuss our patients. And many said that your Master, after his journey to the Unknown Regions, returned quite different. Harder, I suppose."
"I'm ready to agree with you there," the girl nodded. "What normal teacher would wake a Padawan in the middle of the night and make her fly across half the galaxy?"
Kylie laughed softly.
"Obviously, something serious is happening there, if the departure cannot wait until morning."
"Well, I think he'll tell us," the girl suggested. "Master never hides anything from me."
"Really?" Omas wondered. "My teacher, on the contrary, often threw me 'food for thought' and then listened to my conclusions. Sometimes he even sent me alone on certain missions to see how I'd handle it independently."
"No, Master is different," Olee stated. "He knows a lot—I say this as a former Padawan of Jocasta Nu. Even in the Archives I didn't study much of what he tells me. For example, the code of the Jedi ancestors."
"Were there such?" the Healer wondered. "I thought the Order always existed in the form we know it."
"Yes, and I thought so too," Starstone admitted. "In history class we were told about how four Masters created the Temple on Coruscant, after which the Jedi path began."
"I was told the same in my time."
"And Master says that a very long time ago on a planet in the Deep Core called Tython, there existed Je'daii who studied all aspects of the Force—meaning the Dark Side of the Force too. Then something happened there, and they fled to the worlds of the Republic."
"Amazing," Kylie shook her head. "Studying the Dark Side… that's dangerous! First and foremost—for one's own essence. Darkness changes us, makes us bloodthirsty, greedy, striving for all kinds of evil, dictatorship…"
"Master Yoda told us about that," Olee agreed. "But Master says those times are long gone and very few people even remember them. I wonder where he knows it from himself?"
"Don't you know that your Master was once the Padawan of the researcher Jedi Abhira?"
"Nope. Master doesn't talk about his past."
"Well, that's his personal business, of course. You know who the researchers are?"
"In general terms. They travel the galaxy, look for new planets, hyperpassages, and such."
"Yes. And sometimes they stumble upon numerous artifacts of antiquity. So, for example, your Master discovered the holocron of an ancient Jedi—Ulic Qel-Droma—and delivered it to the Temple. They say that after that, Master Yoda respects him very much. And Master Windu, on the contrary."
"Is there anyone he trusts?" Starstone wondered.
Kylie laughed heartily.
"I prefer not to think about it. It wouldn't do for someone to overhear such talk—and then a lecture from the Master is inevitable."
"That's for sure," the girl grimaced. "He once scolded me for wearing armor in the Temple. Now here," she pointed to her attire, "I wear this while I'm here. He even forbade me from appearing in the Halls of Healing."
"And I was wondering what happened to you, where you'd disappeared to."
"Master Windu happened to my head," Olee muttered quietly.
"That's true, it's best not to catch his eye when you have some guilt behind you," Kylie nodded.
Thus, talking, Olee didn't notice they had come out onto the outer landing platform. The one from where they once flew away on the Defender.
And now, this beautiful ship stood waiting for the two of them. Light falling from the open maw of the ship illuminated several human figures standing by the ramp. In one of them, the girl recognized the Master—he's hard to confuse with anyone in his inimitable black mantle. But the two others, in typical Jedi clothing, sheltered from the wind gusts by heavy brown cloaks, were unknown to her.
"And here are our late arrivals," the Master greeted them happily, graciously taking her and Olee's luggage from Kylie. "Anyone changed their mind about flying?"
The question was addressed to all the girls present—Olee, even with her again dozing gaze, could distinguish that one of her traveling companions was Master Gallia. But the second, a girl with long golden hair, she was seeing for the first time.
There were no takers, so the Master ordered everyone to board.
"Our mission will not be an easy one, so I advise you to get a good sleep," he said finally. "And for you, Olee, that's an order. If I see you wandering the ship—instead of fighting droids, you'll be cleaning the fuel tanks."
The Jedi, softly laughing, scurried upstairs, discussing the teacher's joke at the Padawan's expense.
The entry hatch shut, and the ship's owner graciously demonstrated to the passengers all the necessary rooms for them. Olee, Kylie, and the golden-haired Jedi girl who introduced herself as Siri Tachi immediately set about unpacking their things.
With the rights of an old-timer, Olee immediately took one of the bunks closer to the entrance. The shape of the crew quarters and the nature of the lighting created a shadow in this corner, which guaranteed that light from the lamps wouldn't hit her eyes upon waking. Besides, from here there was a view of part of the corridor.
Master Gallia and the teacher headed to the opposite part of the corvette. Olee, stuffing her things into a locker, followed, while the two other neighbors in the quarters began preparing for sleep.
"She's pretty," Olee thought to herself, looking at Siri. The girl was not at all inferior to Kylie in the beauty of her figure. Comparing the girls by the beauty of their facial features was a thankless task—it was considered from time immemorial that every girl is a beauty. For a suitor will be found for each. So, were they ordinary sentients, they'd long since have been married to some good men.
In the cockpit, an old acquaintance, Kenny, habitually occupied the pilot's seat. The teacher and the Master were quietly talking about something of their own, having moved to the section with the holoprojector; therefore, the girl, noticing a friendly gesture with the drone's manipulator, gladly approached him.
"Hi," she smiled at the drone.
"And to you, little Jedi-ess," the drone responded. "How are you doing?"
"Could be better," Olee admitted. "As you see, I have to fly on a mission in the middle of the night to save the galaxy."
"A useful business," remembering the mechanical robot's treacherous nature, she wasn't surprised to hear sarcasm from him. "If you need help—ask. I'll cover you."
"You always protected the Master," Olee recalled. "Because he is the owner of this ship."
"That is unchanging," the drone confirmed. "But the longer I am active, the more I understand that he doesn't really need my protection. Especially since he has enough henchmen without me."
"Who are you talking about?" Olee frowned.
"My mistake," the drone immediately dodged, "this information is not available to you."
"What do you mean?" the girl's eyebrows shot up. "I'm your owner's student. You can tell me everything."
"There you are mistaken, young Jedi," the drone demonstratively turned away from her, and his manipulators flitted over the instrument panel. "Starting the launch cycle. I advise you to return to the quarters and get a good sleep. As I understand it, a good scuffle awaits us."
"You're intentionally dodging the answer, aren't you?" Olee inquired suspiciously.
The drone froze for a moment, then turned its head toward her and blinked its optical sensor.
"Yes. Now return to the quarters and power down. The journey won't be all that long."
"Nasty hunk of junk," Olee smirked. The drone ignored her remark, after which the girl felt the deck under her feet tremble—the ship was gaining speed.
On the way out of the cockpit, she noticed that the teacher and the Master—who was smiling like a Zeltron on spice—were slowly walking her way.
Recalling the punishment waiting for her, Olee slipped like the wind toward the quarters. One of the girls had already turned off the overhead lighting, so, orienting herself more by memory and touch, the girl reached her bunk and, without undressing, crawled under the blanket. Judging by the muffled breathing, her neighbors in the quarters were sleeping the sleep of the dead—the Force responded with total peace that only a sleeping person is capable of.
Voices were approaching. It could be heard that the Master and the Master were quietly conversing about something—and, judging by the latter's cheerful voice, the teacher was telling something funny.
Olee, from under half-closed eyes, watched as in the semi-darkness of the corridor, the door leading to the teacher's cabin slid almost soundlessly to the side. The dark figures of both senior Jedi vanished behind it. The door panel returned to its place, and a second later, there was a distinct click of the lock.
With a noisy exhale, the girl turned to her other side and tried to fall asleep.
***
The planet's electrical storms were a common occurrence for this solar system. The facility built here by the Order back in the period known to the Masters as the Hundred-Year Darkness possessed low susceptibility to scanners. And natural phenomena made it undetectable.
To anyone who didn't know the exact location of the Jedi Order's secret prison.
"The Prism." That was the name it had in the Council's classified files.
Located in orbit of the sixth moon of the planet Diab in the namesake system, devoid of life, minerals, and any other reason for anyone to appear here, it was one of the furthest points known in the galaxy. More precisely—known to the Jedi. For the Archives and their secret card files, accessible only to life members of the Council, were available only to a few. Specifically, they contained the unretouched pages of the history of the galaxy and the Order.
It is characteristic of sentients to forget the lessons of history. And thereby doom themselves to its repetition. The Jedi learned this in their own skin after the last Great Schism. Since then, not a day had passed without the Order fighting any manifestation of filth in the galaxy. The Dark Side with its temptations must be destroyed once and for all.
For that which is given to a sentient sensitive to the Force too easily, which comes carelessly in dark thoughts, just as easily forces them to commit crimes of unprecedented cruelty.
For thousands of years, the Jedi stood guard over the peace and tranquility of the galaxy. And they would stand for as many more. If they could solve this complex riddle composed by the Sith Lord.
The one who organized the training of Darth Maul, who killed Qui-Gon Jinn. The one who placed Dooku at the head of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. The one according to whose plan the war is now developing. A slaughter in which the Jedi had to win. Were obliged to. Otherwise—chaos awaits the galaxy.
Mace Windu, as always grim-faced, with grim thoughts, piloted his Delta-7, following the course laid by the astromech.
Few in the Order and beyond knew that besides skilled fencing, the Master perfectly piloted anything that could fly. This had saved his life more than once—any actions the enemy does not expect are the key to success. And if so, it is inconceivable not to have several "aces" in one's hand.
One of those was precisely the ability to pilot the Delta-7. The Jedi interceptor sung of by aces. And which was supplied nowhere else but to the Order. Mace had once put a lot of effort into preserving such a right for the Jedi—to dictate terms to those who sign contracts with the Order.
For an iron discipline is needed in everything. He understood this like no one else. It was discipline that helped him keep his own dark echo of a soul under control. The Dark Side that he used only for battle, and only in the name of Jedi ideals and the triumph of law and justice. The Sith of the past would have been horrified to learn of such—using the Dark Side in the name of Light. And Windu would have given much to look them all in the eye and demonstrate his ability to walk on the edge.
But the Sith avoided him. The fallen knew too well WHO this dark-skinned Korun was. And preferred, like yard curs, to throw themselves at those who were weaker. Skywalker, Kenobi, Dougan… Mace knew perfectly well why throughout the entire war he had not met with any of the Dark Acolytes.
Dooku, an old comrade, traitor, and enemy, clearly knew about Vaapad. And understood what a powerful weapon Mace's control over his own Darkness gave him. Therefore, he kept his henchmen away from him. It was a bit flattering—fear of defeat made these ignoramuses pass, bypass him. Because he is the true weapon of the Light. And as soon as any of the Dark ones appeared on his path, they would no longer be able to leave.
The Korun had given too much to achieve what he now has. No one besides Yoda knew that in the past, he had undergone training as a Jedi Shadow. Merciless training and hundreds of successful missions—all this invisibly, piece by piece, changed him. Hardened him, made him callous. To see only light and dark. No mixtures. Irony, considering that drawing his strength from both sources, he turned his own Force into something gray. That which he was obliged to fight.
Perhaps that was why the Grand Master preferred to make decisions contradicting his, Windu's, logic. The correct logic. Yoda, for all his merits and qualities, was too soft toward others. He granted the right to be his punishing hand to Mace. And the latter always did what was required.
Because someone must do it. It simply cannot be otherwise.
Because often those on whom he relied could not handle even simple tasks. It was necessary, as before, to roll up one's sleeves and do everything oneself.
To be honest, Windu had nothing against Dougan. Until the latter returned from his journey to the Unknown Regions. And, unlike Yoda, he knew the boy's true background.
Officially, it was recorded in the Order's chronicles that Master Abhira found him on one of the wild planets. Alone, abandoned by everyone. And, meeting no obstacles, took him into the Order, and later—to training.
Reality, however, is less merciful. Abhira, like any Jedi Shadow, had tracked this brat's parents for years. Unclean, practicing both sides of the Force, they had sired such an abomination. And the Shadows were ordered to cut out this entire nest of vice. They successfully handled the task, but the potential they saw in the boy outweighed their own prudence. They brought the boy to the Temple in hopes he would make an excellent hunter of Dark Side adepts. Windu, like most of the Council of First Knowledge, was categorically against it. But Abhira was able to guarantee that he would raise a proper Jedi. And, with a heavy heart, they believed him. And let him go into further wandering.
The boy, returning from the journey alone, didn't raise particular questions. The teacher died, and he, not knowing what to do next, arrived at the place—the only one he considered home. Mace, having taken the kid under his wing in the strike squad, for curiosity's sake, applied his unique gift to him—the ability to see shatterpoints. And such turned out to be more than should have been expected. Mace said nothing, but was internally glad. The boy's potential could ensure him a place among the main mass of Jedi. And the questions about him would be resolved.
But the brat presented everyone with a surprise. Abhira, for all his merits, was not a model teacher among the Jedi and had no pedagogical talents. But he was harsh in upbringing, which played into everyone's hands, and unconditionally loyal to the Republic. And if so, he must have raised his student by the same criteria. A catch that for a thousand years helped avoid dangers, schisms, and mass falls to the Dark Side of the Force. A person devoted to the Order cannot teach his student anything else. And in that case, without revealing his potential in full, no Jedi would be able to cause the Order any significant damage.
Similar technology was applied to Obi-Wan and Skywalker. The idea of teaching a boy powerful in the Force, too clever to take Jedi teaching on faith, is dangerous. Но в тот раз члены Совета воспротивились, в память о Джинне, решив все же обучить мальца. And the most loyal Jedi was assigned to his training. So that he, though trained, would not experience the temptation of the Dark Side. Who better than Obi-Wan to entrust with this task?
So it turned out—Skywalker grew, matured, not suspecting that there is a world of the Force dangerous enough in inexperienced hands. He, the Chosen One, as he was considered. And he is obliged to restore balance.
Dougan, despite the seeming similarity with Kenobi's situation, managed to surprise. In less than a year, he reached a level beyond the reach of most Jedi. And he became truly dangerous, given his origin. Moreover, the shatterpoints disappeared, which could not be true—it doesn't happen that way. And if such occurred, it meant Dougan was lying about where he got such talents. Windu had hunted the Dark Side for too long to allow himself to be deceived.
But none of the Shadows had managed to detect anything linking Dougan to the Dark Side. That meant they hadn't looked well enough. And he should deal with it himself.
From ancient times, the Prism contained the most dangerous criminals from all over the galaxy. With the start of the war with the CIS, the once-empty cells began to fill again. And to one such "visitor," the Master was heading.
The starfighter touched the hangar landing platform gently. The massive maw began to shut—slowly, as if the mechanisms could no longer handle the task of ensuring the prison's normal functionality. This was partly true—repairing such a huge and secret facility would be the end of the prison's secrecy.
Therefore, the only inhabitant of this place resignedly put up with the fate he chose more than five decades ago.
"Master Windu," the low, threatening bass of a strong old man with a bushy beard, wrapped in a worn Jedi cloak over a bare chest, greeted him as soon as he left the cockpit. "I am pleased to see you."
"The feeling is mutual, Master Albert. But urgent business has brought me here."
"As always," the old man nodded understandingly. "Please follow me. You know the procedure."
Besides the lone Jedi Master, the prison was guarded by a hundred of the fiercest and most dangerous security droids that sacredly observed the Prism's safety. No one ever appeared here except alone and only accompanied by the Master. Otherwise—immediate death.
Most of the station was occupied by thousands of cells for prisoners. A small piece of the main level—a bedroom for the sole observer. Conditions more than strict compared to how the other Jedi lived.
"Master Albert, I would like to meet one of your prisoners."
"They are all at your service," Albert smirked. "Which of this rabble is needed?"
"CIS General Loathsom," Windu said quietly. The name of the sentient who was the first to cross Dougan's path. Unfortunately, the Jedi never managed to interrogate him—it was good enough that the Senate made concessions, giving him to the Order to determine his further fate. And as much as Windu wanted to fly here earlier, the affairs and concerns of the Order tied him to an entirely different part of the galaxy.
Albert frowned. Now his face resembled a cold mask of madness.
"You must be mistaken," he said. "That General left the Prism by your order."
"What?" Mace's eyebrows shot up of their own accord. "How did that happen?"
"Two months ago a girl arrived here, a Jedi Consular. She presented documents certified by your signature stating that the rebel should be handed over to her for further transport. I checked the documents for authenticity three times, and only then released the prisoner."
Windu felt the adrenaline in his blood boil.
This cannot be! Someone discovered the location of the prison, treacherously invaded here, and freed his last possible weapon that gave a chance to expose the scoundrel.
"What did she look like?" he growled. "Did the cameras record her?"
"No," from Albert's frowning face it became clear that he only now realized how he'd been deceived. "They haven't worked for three years; I reported it to you."
"Hutt!" Windu kicked a chair with all his might in rage.
He wanted to smash everything that came to hand. To give himself entirely to incinerating rage and not think of the consequences. Perhaps destroy this entire prison along with all the scum it contained.
But he couldn't. Because he is a Jedi.
He'd have to find a new weapon. And begin the search for this mysterious Jedi girl.
"What makes you think she belongs to the Order?"
"She arrived on an assault shuttle—one of those you used to deliver CIS prisoners here. She was dressed in our robe and had a lightsaber pike with yellow blades."
"Did she use the Force?"
"Yes."
"What race did she belong to?"
"Sarkhai."
Windu, saying nothing, silently turned and headed for the hangar. There was nothing more to do here. The trail had gone cold. And it was necessary to find a new one. To find a Sarkhai girl, a Jedi with a yellow lightsaber. And the search could again drag on, since, remembering all the actual Jedi of the Order, Windu could swear that the Sarkhai had not been trained in the ways of the Light Side of the Force for almost four thousand years.