The crackling accompanying the flickering holograms made it clear to everyone present that the recent attack had damaged the communication systems as well. Looking at the holograms of the Chancellor and the Grand Master, who were listening to Shaak Ti's report on the results of the battle, my thoughts were in a completely different place.
As an "Hurricane" team, we are, of course, quite mediocre. Of the seven Jedi participating in repelling the attack, four are in the medical center. Two sat out in the rear entirely—and while there are no questions for Omas, since I called her along not for the purpose of swinging a sword, there are many questions for the Togruta.
And the first is—how the hell did she almost screw up the Tipoca City command center?!
Looking back at the equipment shattered by the droids' rapid-fire blasters, which clone engineer brigades were now hastily restoring, one can only marvel that no one died here. Of course, excluding those three poor clone operators whose bodies were carried out when Siri Tachi and I arrived here, having finished off the last droids.
Truly—the ways of the Force are inscrutable. I would understand if Ti had been fighting off a battalion of droids—then there would be no questions. Like, well, they trashed a couple million in equipment, but say "thank you for being alive." But in the corridor, there are at most a dozen B-2s lying around, hacked to pieces. It raises more and more questions—what the hell is she even doing on the Council? She's not exactly a top-tier fighter. The defense of the command center—the heart of Tipoca City—was organized poorly, or rather, was completely absent. That means she doesn't exactly shine with the proverbial wisdom either.
If I didn't know the stuffiness of the Order members, I would definitely think she was doing "that thing" with someone.
"…and thus, the irreparable losses among the third, fourth, and fifth generation clones amount to no less than six hundred thousand," Prime Minister Lama Su blinked several times, then added. "Nearly five hundred thousand are embryos from the fifth generation."
"Along with the number of starships and clones we lost in the space battle, our losses are so immense that I cannot even imagine the Senate's reaction to such news," Palpatine threw up his hands, rolling his eyes to the sky.
He should be performing in the Opera himself. Such performances are worth at least an "Oscar" for Best Lead Actor. Mentally, I applauded the Sith.
"How do the injured Jedi feel?" Yoda asked a more pressing question.
"Nearly all of them have serious damage to the musculoskeletal system," Kylie replied, checking her datapad. "We have placed them, like all the wounded, in bacta, but that is only a half-measure. Aayla Secura is recovering—I think she'll be able to walk in a couple of days; the broken ribs and femur will knit. Padawan Starstone is still unconscious and her condition is stable but grave—the armor saved her from fractures, but the Force Lightning severely damaged her nerve endings and muscles. The Masters… I cannot guarantee their recovery, unfortunately, in the current conditions."
"And why is that?" Yoda frowned.
"Kamino lacks the equipment to treat such serious internal damage," the Prime Minister took the floor. "Masters Unduli and Gallia have a series of serious brain and spinal cord injuries respectively. We are sustaining their lives with bacta, but restoration at the atomic level is required here. Unfortunately, we are powerless here—we have never purchased such equipment."
"To the Temple they must be delivered immediately," Yoda grew stern. But he immediately heard Kylie's protests in response.
"Master, a long flight will surely kill them," the girl whispered. "Without urgent intervention, they won't last three hours!"
"In trouble, we cannot abandon them!"
"Perhaps we won't have to," I intervened. Seeing the gazes of those gathered turn toward me, I explained:
"The medical center on Christophsis is equipped with the latest technology. During Admiral Trench's second attack on that system, there were a large number of wounded who were provided with similar aid. If they can withstand such a short flight, then I am certain the Masters will live."
Kylie, catching the Grand Master's gaze, thought for a moment.
"I think it's possible," she said. "But it will require an extremely fast ship…"
"There is such a ship," I said decisively, implying my corvette.
"Resolved then," Yoda even cheered up. One can understand him—who would want to lose two Masters in a single day. "Arranging with the government of Christophsis falls to you, Master Dougan."
"I'll see to it immediately after the briefing," I nodded, hiding my own exultation.
It just so happened that the fate of both comatose women is not a matter of indifference to me. Unduli is my supporter of her own will. Gallia… I'm not entirely sure about her, but the flight time from Coruscant to Kamino was spent not only sating her carnal hunger. During the period of pleasure and subsequent sleep, Jedi are so defenseless against Sith magic. And their brains are open to subtle suggestion.
I had already pulled such stunts with Vette and Atrox during our intimacy on Christophsis. Vitiate's mental triggers in them are, of course, good. But, unfortunately, there is no guarantee that they won't turn against me..
Sith magic is an extremely complex thing, and thanks to Exar Kun for having studied well under his mentor. His knowledge proved very useful.
The first objects for experimentation were the Twi'leks given to me by Jabba. Submissive by nature, they quite softly accepted into their minds mental triggers to remain loyal only to me under any circumstances and serve my will. As a result—thanks to them, I have a relatively secret lair on Nar Shaddaa, for which I had long-term plans. As well as for the remaining, still untouched "strongholds."
Progress in subduing sentients to one's will required continued experiments on sentients who already possessed their own will and were not dependent on me for any reason. Admirals Block and Jerjerrod are perfect examples of that. I won't say they are very talented officers, and under other circumstances, I would hardly have bothered to lure them to the side of my Empire. But Zakuul desperately needed specialists—commanders included. Therefore, I decided to test my theory of subduing sentients using Sith magic alone, without Vitiate's help, on them. If it worked—good. If it hadn't—well, it's not exactly a loss.
Satisfied with the success with the officers, I used my connection with the Tholothian to solidify the result. For, besides an army and admirals, I also need Force adepts devoted to my cause.
Kun's memory suggested to me that the greatest success can be achieved by weakening the victim's mind before manipulation. Exhaust, distract, cloud. Mental blocks in such circumstances burst at the seams, and penetrating the mind of another being became much easier.
I didn't have absolute certainty that I had managed to subdue Adi to my control. But after all the manipulations, through the Force, I felt a well-hidden sympathy from her side. Kira and Nadia felt similarly toward me—but they were both Hands, specifically broken by Vitiate for this purpose. Their obedience to my orders could also have roots in earlier violence against their brains performed by the Emperor. Unfortunately, I didn't have the opportunity to continuously experiment on Jedi. So, I had to manage as the occasion arose. The sympathy from Gallia's side came in very handy.
It only remained to save her and observe the reaction to her loyalty. If everything goes successfully, then I can continue my work on those Jedi who were promised to me as reinforcements for the 13th Sectoral.
Of course, the tactic—enchanting Jedi minds after fruitful intercourse—is, of course, a pleasant thing—especially in the first part. But it doesn't suit every Jedi I would like to see under my banners. At least because some of them are of the same gender as me.
So even if the plan with Adi Gallia works—I need to think about how to implement it in a more decent form. My conscience and orientation simply wouldn't allow me to approach Rahm Kota, and that character is one I'd definitely like to have for the future Order.
"We should discuss the Republic's payments aimed at compensating for the damage suffered," blinking again, the Prime Minister looked at the Chancellor.
Palpatine, with a routine smile, replied:
"I understand your concern, Prime Minister Su, but I fear this is an untimely question right now. A meeting with your senator is scheduled for next week—we will discuss this matter then as well."
"As you wish, Supreme Chancellor," the Prime Minister bowed respectfully and slowly headed toward the exit.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Palpatine perked up.
"This attack is an extremely low and treacherous act by Count Dooku," he furrowed his brows as if angry. As if. "General Grievous and his assistants nearly deprived us of an army."
"Even individually, each of them—General Grievous, Savage Opress, Baron Kirvan—represents a huge threat," Shaak Ti stated.
I wonder, how would she know? She didn't even appear on the same square kilometer as them. And yet she acts so confident, as if she personally broke a rib off each of them.
"It is a regrettable fact that Nex Kirvan also ended up on the side of the Separatists," Yoda sighed sadly.
"I remember him," Ti nodded. "He is a very gifted fencer and has a strong connection to the Force. In his time, he was the best of Master Drallig's students…"
"Ahem-ahem," I cleared my throat, drawing attention. "Pardon me for distracting you from listing the virtues of an opponent who nearly killed my Padawan, Master Gallia, and Knight Tachi, but it seems better to discuss measures aimed at catching this killer. If I'm not mistaken, he boasted that he caused the death of eight Jedi on Rullag. So he shouldn't be underestimated…"
"Sixteen Jedi he killed on that planet," Yoda croaked. "Every Padawan too, his hand reached. No one survived in that battle. A legion of clones we lost as well."
"Pardon me, but I have never heard of a battle on Rullag," Kylie reminded us of her presence. "What happened there?"
And right now, I was glad of her question as never before. Since I myself had never heard of this battle. Nor of the fallen Jedi himself.
The Force allowed me to extract from memory any information I had once studied regarding the Star Wars universe. And I'd bet my arm that I had never once encountered a mention of Baron Nex Kirvan and his misdeeds in the field of the Clone Wars.
"Defeat we suffered," Yoda admitted. "A droid manufacturing plant to destroy, a legion of clones and eight Jedi with their students went there. No one survived and the droid production we did not stop. Even now they are being manufactured, and we are powerless to prevent it—deep in Separatist territory that planet is now."
"And yet a certain amount of luck favored us today," Palpatine said thoughtfully. "Savage Opress represented no less of a threat to the Republic. Thanks to Moff Dougan, this danger has been eliminated. I thank you, Master Jedi, on behalf of the Republic."
Oh boy, such pleasantries toward me. I'm about to wet myself with joy.
"It is my duty, Supreme Chancellor," feigning a bow, I was nonetheless smiling under my mask. "Eliminating threats to the galaxy is a matter of honor for every Jedi."
Especially for one whom such a beast could potentially hinder. Fortunately, now the Zabrak, who was on a dope of Dathomirian magic from Mother Talzin (eh, potent stuff, if it made such a seasoned Jedi killer out of a weakling like Savage), definitely won't appear on the galaxy's horizon.
"With your permission, Grand Master, I would like to remain at the army's location," I really don't feel like going back to Coruscant, for the life of me. "Until Master Unduli recovers, the 'Iron Spear' is effectively without command. This is dangerous in the current situation, where our forces are so small and Master Unduli is unconscious."
"The absence of command will bring chaos, I agree with that," Yoda replied. "But to the Temple you must return. Your healing is not complete."
"With all due respect, Master Yoda," Palpatine intervened. "Of course, I am far from the subtleties of the Jedi art, but it seems to me that during the last battle, the Master proved he is in excellent shape."
"Soul wounds are not so easily healed as physical ones, hmmm," Yoda grumbled, glancing at the Chancellor. The latter, frowning dissatisfiedly, locked his hands over his chest.
"I do not presume to invade Jedi affairs," he hurried to assure. Yeah, right. "But the situation is extremely serious right now. We have practically lost the entire military contingent of the 14th Sectoral Army. The 13th's position is also not simple. I would recommend leaving Master Dougan at the head of the 'Iron Spear.' Especially since one of your healers is near him and can always help."
"Aayla Secura will replace him during the absence," the Grand Master stated decisively. "The Council has urgent business for Master Dougan. In the Temple you must be as soon as possible."
"In that case," from Palpatine's tone, one could tell he didn't like Yoda's answer. And what head of state would like his officer being pulled to headquarters while his army is in a dire state, one of the flags is shattered to pieces, and enemy squads are scurrying around like it's their own backyard. But for now, the Chancellor, though he possessed great powers, nonetheless couldn't, or didn't want to, go into conflict with the Jedi, dictating his will to them. Amusing, considering how their last meeting will take place. "I am forced to take my leave. Cares of the Republic require my attention elsewhere. Moff Dougan, it would be desirable if you paid a visit to my office after your return."
"By all means, Chancellor."
As soon as Palpatine's hologram faded, I felt a breath of cold. Goosebumps ran down my spine, and under the mask, it was as if the temperature had dropped several degrees. And almost immediately there was a sense of someone's presence… massive, icy, alien. Like a ram battering the gates of a medieval fortress, some powerful Dark Side adept tried to force his way through all those invisible layers of mental armor I had built around my mind over the last year. Using techniques of the Light and Dark sides, I had achieved truly impenetrable defense, which no Jedi from the outside could simply overcome.
But the unknown person didn't intend to be delicate. He pressed on the mind as if he weren't even trying to think of a flanking maneuver.
And judging by the fact that Kylie and Shaak standing nearby didn't react at all, continuing their conversation with the Grand Master, this Force attack was intended specifically for me. Strange that devout adherents of the Light don't feel a Dark Side attack a meter away.
I didn't intend to tolerate such a stunt. I had almost succeeded once, and I'd grown slightly more skilled since then.
Taking advantage of the fact that under my cloak I could accumulate a sufficient amount of the Force, like a snake catcher, I "grabbed" the Dark Side stream poking at my head and, holding it, directed my own charge toward the sender.
No, I didn't intend to kill the unknown person who was showing interest in me for the second time. My idea was entirely different.
I felt the Force crossing the galaxy, striving toward its edge. A place where I had never been, but meanwhile, knew enough about it for an assumption about the reasons for both attempts to be born in my head.
As soon as my counter-measures reached their target, I used all my Force to destroy the Dark Side channel still battering my head.
My suspicions were confirmed. I don't know whether it's good or bad—in the Expanded Universe of Star Wars, a very fun mess started after something like this, from which the galaxy couldn't recover for quite a while. Though they didn't know for a long time what the cause of the misfortunes was.
I, however, perfectly understood the prospects. And I knew for certain where we could meet. And then…
No use looking too far ahead for now. First I should deal with Yoda's hyper-custody.
"Master Dougan," the words reached me as if passing through streams of water. "Are you all right?"
I turned, looking into Kylie Omas's face. The girl looked extremely concerned—it seems they've been calling me for more than just the first time.
"Yes, everything's fine," I lied. In reality—who the hell knows how it'll all turn out.
"We felt you focusing the Force," Shaak Ti clarified the situation. "And it was as if you fell out of reality…"
"Pardon me, it seems I had a vision," no one will be able to check that option for certain.
"And what did the Force reveal to you?" Yoda said with interest.
"I saw Toydaria, Grand Master," the words flew from my lips of their own accord, as the very first watched episode of the animated series came to mind at the sight of the short Master. "It seems to me the King is in danger. I saw droid squads on the planet…"
"Future is clouded by the Dark Side," the Grand Master commented with a sigh. "King Katuunko has provided great help, allowing the use of Toydaria for transporting humanitarian aid to Ryloth. As soon as possible you must arrive at the Temple—I sense a threat to him. Your vision we must study."
"I will arrive as soon as I deliver the Masters to Christophsis," bowing respectfully to the Master, I headed toward the exit from the command center. There was much to do before getting off this planet.
But first, I should talk to Jabba.
***
With an elusive movement of her blade, Kira pierced the chest of the last clone.
The yellow blade easily passed through the once snow-white armor, scarred with scratches and streaks of mud, dividing the human heart into two halves. Hearing a death rattle from under the helmet, the girl tossed the corpse aside with a wave of the Force. Like a piece of meat, the body fell with a squelch into the slush into which the recent rain had turned the ground. The last element in the mosaic of dead Republic soldiers now lying at her feet.
"You shouldn't have set up camp here," the girl said with a modicum of sympathy, stepping over the bodies frozen at her feet.
Who had ordered the soldiers to settle for the night near the ancient structure will remain a mystery. But Kira Carsen couldn't allow a company of soldiers to disrupt the course of her mission.
The battle in the darkness lasted no more than ten minutes. Sentients, even in large numbers, cannot stop a born killer endowed with the Force.
Sharpening her senses, the girl tried to encompass the entire structure to find the path to the coveted goal.
The energy emanating from the object, like a beacon in the darkness, simultaneously showed the way and beckoned like an oasis in the desert to a tired traveler.
Glancing over the field of the recent battle once more, the girl stepped under the vaults of the ancient building with indifference.
Had someone told her during her travels with the Hero of Tython that nearly four thousand years later she would nonetheless become an uncomplaining servant of the Emperor, she would never have believed it.
She, like many others, had been trained since infancy to become one of the Children of the Emperor.
Vitiate never missed an opportunity to control not only his adherents but also his enemies. It was exactly for this—carrying out the Emperor's will—that his "Children" were created. Of course, none of them were ever a biological relative of this monster. Until the moment the Eternal Empire manifested itself, Kira could have sworn the monster the Emperor had become over millennia would never bring his own offspring into the world.
Each of the Children was a sleeper agent embedded in the most varied layers of Republic society—even the Jedi Order. Not one, even the most thorough check could reveal their hidden motives—the Imperial guardsmen, under whose vigilant leadership the group learned the subtleties of their future profession, were true aces of their craft.
There were never only humans or Sith among them—the Empire's well-known attitude toward aliens allowed the agents to operate without fear of being exposed. The Republic never managed to fully grasp the essence of Vitiate's plan. Having dealt with the First Son, the Order preferred to consider each of the Children a victim in whose consciousness a secret personality was implanted that didn't reveal itself until the very last moment. Barsenthor's investigation provided the Council with completely different information, in places contradicting what Kira had told them.
The Jedi Consular reported that in an inactive state, the Children of the Emperor behaved without causing suspicion. Most of them hid their Force sensitivity, as Chancellor Palpatine was doing now, breaking their masking only to transmit particularly important information directly to the Emperor. Only the First Son could "activate" the sleeper agents, and then the hidden entities took over the bodies of their hosts. No matter how much Kira tried to dissuade the Council, no one listened to her. Despite the disappointment, she understood the Council's motives—what faith for a former Sith? And even the Hero of Tython's intercession couldn't add weight to her words. Kira did not doubt that despite Vitiate's presumed death, his sleeper agents continued to operate in the Republic.
The Children were the Emperor's eyes and ears in the enemy camp, capable of picking up his thoughts and even hosting his consciousness in their own minds—as had already happened aboard Darth Angral's dreadnought. Recalling the details of that duel with her Master, Kira could only conclude that having escaped the Sith as a child, she had never been able to learn that by taking control of his Children's bodies, Vitiate, through an almost unbreakable mental link, could use his immense power through his servants.
It is quite possible that those Voices of the Emperor he used to govern the Sith state underwent the same training as Kira and her processing comrades. And Dougan's actions only confirmed that in the end, each of the Hands experienced something similar—of course, so far he had only taken control over Atroxa, but that didn't exclude the possibility of Vitiate's student invading the mind of any of them at any moment. Perhaps only Vette and Vizla escaped such a fate—the girl had never heard of a mental link between a Force adept and a non-sensitive sentient.
The girl caught herself thinking that until what happened on Nar Shaddaa, she would hardly have accepted her fate—to serve the galactic conquest plans harbored by Dougan and Vitiate. But now it didn't matter.
She accepted the Dark Side as a part of herself—for the first time in nearly four thousand years. Vitiate's magic had finally worked.
Kira Carsen had become her Emperor's underling. But, it did not belong to the Sith.
Wandering through the corridors of the ancient structure, the girl stumbled upon a stone wall across the corridor. It seemed her intuition had led her into a dead end.
Turning to the Force, she noted with a smile that in the maze of underground passages she had made several wrong turns and as a result hit a dead end—the massive stone masonry that was part of the chamber where the crystal was kept.
Analyzing the strength of the structure, the Emperor's Hand made several quick cuts in the wall, pulling out a massive block with the Force.
Slipping inside, she, without relaxing her concentration, crushed several hidden traps—so dilapidated that they most likely wouldn't have worked. But she didn't intend to risk it.
Picking up the crystal with the Force, she carefully placed it in a container developed thousands of years ago to shield such objects. As if entering stasis, they continued to store energy within themselves while meanwhile becoming invisible to others.
Sealing the vessel, she quickly made her way outside, proceeding to the ramp of her Fury.
Angular, looking extremely warlike, the interceptor belonged to a new series developed by one of Dougan's servants. Maintaining its former lethality, the ship had become even more dangerous, high-speed, and equipped with modern technology. A wonderful gift that Vitiate's student had given to each of his new underlings.
The hidden transport problem was finally solved. Each Hand from now on possessed their own ship, which sharply increased the mobility of each. And they didn't have to work in a team. Considering that she had only formed a friendly relationship with Nadia, this approach suited her more than the potential opportunity to go on the same assignment with Atroxa or someone else among the servants.
Nadia's words about Dougan's sympathy for her, she took neutrally. Because she had known about it practically since the moment of their first meeting. No, she wasn't jealous of the Emperor for his other flames. Even for the Sarkhai, who didn't hide her physical favor toward the modern Jedi. Unlike that Lethan whore, she felt a certain sublime tenderness coming from the man toward her—the same kind that forms between a master and a pretty servant. It isn't love, in any of its manifestations.
Love is when good people are miserable. Her current situation suited her completely. A clear demarcation: he is the master, she is his servant. Often this grows into something more, but having known the strongest betrayal of her life, the girl considered herself no longer capable of a sublime feeling. For herself, Kira, leaving Nar Shaddaa, decided she would carry out any will of the new Eternal Emperor. He only had to ask, and she would be whoever he wanted.
The girl boarded her ship in complete silence, launching the pre-flight preparation from a sleeve remote. Proceeding to the hold, where a storage area for valuables had been equipped, she placed the container under the lock of a massive safe that if necessary could even survive a shot from a light turbolaser.
Already on the way out, her gaze touched a long ark—the goal of her previous mission. Looking like a high-tech coffin, she had anchored it to the deck to prevent it from shifting in the event of sudden maneuvers in flight.
Approaching it closely, the girl ran a hand over the viewing glass, smearing a thin layer of frost.
The attractive dark-haired woman lying inside the stasis capsule with luxuriant black hair looked serene. As if she weren't keeping an ancient Sith artifact with her capable of turning all sentients nearby into monsters overnight.
Without a doubt, Kira knew the one lying inside this high-tech tomb.
Celeste Morne. A Force-sensitive woman born nearly four thousand years ago. A Master who dedicated her life to the service of the Jedi Covenant—a deeply secret organization within the Order itself. Created with one goal—the search and destruction of Dark Side artifacts, this group intended to prevent the further spread of Sith teachings, to prevent another extinction of the Jedi, as had happened previously. From the height of her experience, Kira only noted with sadness that despite hundreds of attempts to prevent the inevitable, the Jedi were never able to achieve their goal. Like the rakghoul plague, the Sith continued to live and harbor plans for their triumphant revenge.
In her time as a Sith, Carsen had heard stories about this outstanding individual. The Empire spent incredible resources on checking ancient rumors and legends in an attempt to find artifacts of the past or long-forgotten superweapons capable of turning the tide of the war with the Republic. The Muur Talisman, a Dark Side artifact Celeste kept with her, could turn any sentients into bloodthirsty rakghouls. A perfect way to break enemy resistance—turn all the inhabitants of Coruscant into these creatures.
While training in the Order, Kira also encountered the fact that the Jedi were searching for said amulet. But for the purpose of its destruction—the Council perfectly realized all the danger represented by the ancient Sith invention.
But neither side had achieved success. Instead, she—Dougan's follower—had found the Covenant agent.
Most likely, he would be pleased with her success.
A thought flashed in her head. And what does the Emperor intend to do with the objects she procured for him? But she immediately dismissed that thought.
She is a servant. She doesn't ask questions.
She carries out her master's will.
***
"This… is incredible!" Umak Leth exclaimed, pointing to the structure that appeared before his eyes once both dreadnoughts dropped out. "To think of creating something like this, in such a place…"
Malgus, his eyes wide, looked at the short, fat engineer with irritation. Perhaps he really is a talented scientist, but his appearance is truly like that of an Ugnaught. All that's missing is the vegetation sticking out everywhere and tusks.
He hated mental communication sessions with the sovereign, but he flew into a rage even more when he was interrupted in the most unceremonious fashion.
The Sith carefully hid his irritation with the current mission. To gather every single Empire recruit aboard his flagship and deliver them to an object where in complete isolation, under the protection of the Sevastopol, they would create superweapons for their new master.
"I don't recognize the station's design," a gray-haired scientist with a cybernetic eye implant said distrustfully. Bevel Lemelisk.
He and a female scientist were transferred by Atroxa onto the Shattering Hand in an intermediate neutral system of Hutt Space, after which she disappeared, having received a new assignment. Leaving this "genius" on his conscience.
A man who had managed to drive him to a fever pitch, discussing with the Sith his plans for creating a huge battle station, a single shot from which would be enough to blow up planets. A complete idiot! How can one even consider such a project?!
Malgus did not presume to evaluate the scientist's plans from the standpoint of their scientific value. But as a ruler of the New Empire, as a commander, he would unambiguously never have used such a "tool." Not only is such a project ruinous for the treasury of any state. Of course, it can be built in relative secrecy—distant and poorly studied worlds in the galaxy are plenty. However, how much labor, materials, and equipment will be required for such a thing? Not to mention that to maintain such a station, a contingent of several million people—both technical and military—will be required. Why, such an object will take almost a whole day just to prepare for a jump into hyperspace! And why create a facility for blowing up planets if there are hordes of skystalkers and clones who will sweep away any resistance?! Worlds must be captured, subdued to one's will, their wealth and slaves enjoyed. Destroying potential resources is the greatest stupidity a human brain can conceive.
In any case, it wasn't for him to decide.
The Emperor must evaluate the project, and the Sith would exert every effort to ensure Dougan did not approve the creation of this monster. Of course, the New Forge can be recruited for construction, but in that case, it will be occupied with only this project for months, if not years—and the new dreadnoughts the sovereign called "star destroyers" will have to be waited for a very, very long time.
Meanwhile, new ships are needed right now.
Yes, he had subdued practically all the worlds of Sith Space, but there is an over-large difference between conquering and holding what has been captured. To protect hundreds of worlds from occupation, even a dozen of the most powerful destroyers is not enough. A fleet is needed—and the more "Harrowers" under his command, the faster he can proceed to the second phase of occupying the once-native worlds.
Only three things are needed to capture the galaxy.
An army.
A fleet.
And money.
Valkorion was able to provide Dougan with immense funds—the very fact that thousands of ships are being built on Rendili at the latter's request (Malgus nearly exploded upon learning the sovereign had decided to build Republican Hammerheads) gave them a chance to inflict substantial damage on the Republic.
But to capture the galaxy, a thousand ships is not enough.
Tens of thousands are needed, and ideally, they should be precisely "Harrowers."
The New Forge can build any number of ships and equipment—fortunately, Dougan limited its production range to creating "skystalkers," stormtrooper equipment, and small arms. The Forge's third section, only recently put into operation, focused on creating copies of the Emperor's station currently protecting Odessen—the secret headquarters. But the more Zakuul grew with new territories, the clearer—at least to Malgus—became the acute shortage of production capacity.
The New Forge alone cannot provide for all their needs—even Revan couldn't force the Star Forge to create a fleet in a short time that would suppress the remnants of the Republic's.
They needed dozens of enterprises for every branch of military affairs.
If the New Forge were switched only to creating "skystalkers," they would get a huge army, but there would be nothing to arm it with. And so it goes—in every possible situation. Distribution of production only slows the pace. The Empire grows but doesn't have time to close the holes in its frontiers.
Malgus tried to convey this to the sovereign, again asking permission to conquer the Dromund system. And first and foremost, the Empire vitally needs the Dromund-Kalakar orbital shipyards, once owned by the Imperial company "Taerab Starship Manufacturing," which created the "Harrowers." Indeed, most of the Imperial fleet appeared from the depths of those giant orbital docks.
In his time, the Sith had visited Kuat, where under a secret identity he acquired a certain percentage of the company's shares. Looking at the massive ring girdling the planet, he only smirked. In the poisonous atmosphere of the gas giant Dromund-Kalakar, there were three such rings. One—for the production of dreadnoughts, the second—for the manufacture of support ships. Well, and the third endlessly produced fighters, interceptors, and bombers.
He put in a lot of effort to carefully research Kalakar's orbit and ensure that, although the "rings" had suffered under the influence of time, restoring them was simple enough. Only a few thousand slaves and full control over the system are needed.
Formerly, there were four such rings in orbit around Dromund-Kalakar. It girdled the gas giant just as Kuat is girdled by its single ring. All administrative rooms were located here, as well as endless research laboratories, testing grounds, and dwellings for slaves and staff. The opponent destroyed this ring during the combat operations against the Eternal Empire. Arcann had hurried with the murder of his father, not having learned all his secrets, and couldn't paralyze the entire shipbuilding program of the Sith Empire. The remaining three, hidden in the depths of the atmosphere, the hostile side never discovered—and here the paranoid nature of the shipbuilding company's management was justified, having hidden most of its capacity in areas of Kalakar impenetrable to scanning, which gave huge chances for the speediest restoration of the Dromund system's entire shipbuilding capacity.
Yes, the sovereign refused the request—to conduct a punitive raid and return to the Empire what is its by right, fearing to draw Palpatine's attention prematurely to the death of his servants—the Prophets of the Dark Side. But no one forbade sending repair droids there.
After the rout of Eeth Koth's army, Malgus took advantage of a temporary lull and sent both "Harrowers" remaining at his disposal with cloaking systems to deliver mechanical servants to the rings. The Force is not able to track the intervention of non-living organisms, and therefore, the Prophets will never learn that under their very noses an army of droids is working, returning the Empire's possibly largest strategic reserve.
At the height of the Cold War, the Empire achieved truly incredible rates of warship construction in complete secrecy. Every week, one new "Harrower" and several "Terminus-class" ships came off the slips. It was exactly this that helped, in the end, to regain the right to a piece of the galactic pie. Of course, when Dougan learns of his little liberty, he won't be particularly pleased. But the Sith wouldn't be himself if he hadn't safeguarded himself. The sovereign seeks ancient knowledge and greater power—Malgus is ready to provide him with both.
"It seems similar ones were manufactured during the Great Galactic War," the only girl among this entire group said.
Malgus stealthily, as the hood over his head hid the movement of his eyes, held his gaze on Lira Blissex.
She was the smallest of all the recruits. Looking at her, thoughts of complete defenselessness spun in one's head, but Malgus reminded himself in time that it was she who created the Republic's primary combat ship at the moment. The Venator, some of which his fleet had already managed to clash with.
"You are absolutely right," he said, noting that at the sound of his voice the girl flinched. "But this object is better protected than any other in the galaxy."
"Well, since you so easily use optical cloaking technology," the girl countered, hinting at the cloaking shield that hid the station from visual observation until Malgus's ships approached close enough for certain recognition. "Then security is at its peak."
"The sovereign values each of you," Malgus scanned the entire group of scientists. "Therefore he doesn't skimp on the security of this object."
"Isn't it a bit excessive," a tall man in the black uniform of an Admiral of the Zakuul Empire spoke up. Malgus hadn't had time to meet him, but he knew perfectly well that he had been a Republic military man in the past. Fortunately for him—they hadn't met in battle. "Cloaking can quite provide us with reliable protection. Especially since there are surely light ships aboard the station…"
"I do not discuss the sovereign's orders," the Sith said in a threatening tone. "And I don't advise you to, Moff Jerjerrod."
The institute of Moffs—the highest officials in the Sith Empire—Palpatine used in his state with all his might. Dougan had done exactly right, borrowing a significant part of his innovations for the Zakuul Empire precisely from the Sith state, and not from the democracy rotten through and through.
Jerjerrod became the first Moff in the Zakuul Empire. And he received such a responsible appointment—to become the administrator on the object—not at all for the desire to maintain his appearance in exemplary order. Dougan never attracted those who were useless for his Plan. And consequently, this man too—will succeed in the post to which he was appointed.
"We are ready for unloading, Darth Malgus," the clone who was the commander of his flagship addressed him.
"Proceed," he gave the order. Then, turning to the scientists, he said: "I advise you to quickly pack your things and move to the station—the Shattering Hand won't linger here long."
Watching as the scientists scurried to the exit, he swore to discuss the baseness of such missions with the sovereign.
After the station was manufactured by the New Forge, it was moved here—into the heart of the anomaly zone, where no sane sentient would poke their nose. Of course, he had to work hard—Malgus had not blazed a path for himself through space for a long time, relying on the Force alone. But there was no other way. The trodden path was now marked with navigation beacons and any Zakuul Empire ship could reach the object—if they knew of its location.
The object's operation was assumed in deep secrecy, and consequently, the scientists simply needed a supply of food, equipment, and consumables—all this, despite what was in the station's own warehouses, Malgus had brought more of. And now hundreds of loaders were filling the holds of cargo ships to transport all this to the address, clearing the holds of both "Harrowers." The Borodino and its entire mechanical crew would remain here to protect the station and its personnel.
A truly immense contingent of "skystalkers" was to protect the station in case of a sudden breach of the defensive perimeter.
"And you're not a matter of indifference to her, Darth Malgus," Jerjerrod approached him close enough for the Sith to catch the scent of his cologne. The man pointed with his eyes alone at Lira Blissex, who had left the bridge among the last.
The miniature woman bestowed an interested look upon him, after which she vanished into the turbolift car.
"It doesn't matter," Malgus said gloomily. Infatuation is a dangerous feeling for a Sith. It makes you weaker. After the death of his Twi'lek slave, the Sith had not sought to establish close relationships on the principles preached by ancestors. There was no need for that, so the Sith used the services of those representatives of the fair sex whose love had to be paid for upfront. It was really cheaper that way.
Right now, for him to fall in love is like wetting himself in public. Everyone around sees that something is wrong with you, but only you alone feel that pleasantly warm mass in your pants.
But he also didn't intend to deny that he liked the miniature girl with pointed features and a slightly over-large nose as a woman. Perhaps, if they spent time together frequently, he could have inclined her toward informal relations—if the Emperor doesn't limit himself in the number of mistresses, then why should he deny himself natural desires?
"It's your business, Darth Malgus," Jerjerrod shrugged. "But in your place, I wouldn't waste time and would take the bantha by the horns."
"You are not in my place, Moff," Malgus threw out coldly. "Attend to your work so I don't have to stick around here for an eternity."
"Don't worry so much about me," the man smiled slyly. "You can tell the master that object 'Maw Installation' has been launched on schedule."
***
"Do not worry about the compensation, Prime Minister," the cloaked hologram said in a rasping voice. "You will receive the full amount immediately."
"I thank you, Darth Sidious," the Kaminoan performed a grateful bow. "You and Darth Tyranus are our most generous clients."
The hologram faded, leaving the Prime Minister alone.
Well, almost.
"In moments like these, I begin to wonder whose side you are actually on, Lama Su," a black figure in the far corner of the office stirred, a reminder that it was not a statue. "You are a skilled liar. Deceiving both employers in favor of a third… and receiving triple compensation… Yes, that is quite a feat."
"Should I take that as a compliment, Emperor Dougan?" the Kaminoan asked with a hint of respect.
"In a way, yes," the Jedi walked forward, settling into the chair prepared for him. "Now, where were we before Darth Sidious interrupted us?"
"I was just explaining to you that four hundred thousand embryos with replaced inhibitor chips were moved off Kamino a week before the attack," the Prime Minister reminded him. "As were the remaining nineteen thousand Spaarti cloning cylinders. The bulk carrier holding the cargo has already met the escort dreadnought and arrived at Odessen. I only do not understand why you are establishing a new clone production laboratory? What is wrong with the moon of Yavin?"
"You know, Prime Minister, there are beautiful animals on your planet—aiwhas. And they have a peculiarity—they never make only one clutch of eggs," Dougan said significantly.
Lama Su felt a soothing warmth emanating from this strange Jedi. He had not felt anything like it since the moment he was born. Unusual sensations, but he was glad he had met this man. Communicating with him brought a disproportionate sense of calm.
The aura of power and confidence radiating from the Jedi soothed the Prime Minister's conscience and anxieties.
Unlike Kamino's other two clients, the Kaminoan, calculating and pragmatic by nature, believed only the one who had approached him last.
Darth Sidious and his assistant, Lord Tyranus, offered no guarantees of a secure future. They only paid—and paid a lot—so that an army would mature in secret from the second employer. Its goals concerned no one on Kamino—such interests were bad for business. But the longer the war lasted, the more often Lama wondered—what would happen after one side won? In the past, Kaminoan cloners always maintained their neutrality, avoiding participation in the conflicts sweeping the galaxy for millennia. Thanks to this, they preserved their civilization and flourished. The risky venture of creating a vast army, which forced them to join one side of the conflict, erased the old path, and the future became blurred.
The Republic could offer nothing at all except payment for the clones they so desperately needed and membership in the Senate—a lumbering machine that had long ago lost the ability to control the situation. But Lama Su highly doubted that in the event of a Republic victory over the CIS, the Senate would allow Kamino to continue its business. Experience in creating a massive clone army was undoubtedly a wonderful line on a galactic resume. But this could also be the cause of the death of the Kaminoans. Everyone understood that only the massive turnover of clone production for the Grand Army of the Republic prevented Kamino from taking on outside orders. And when the need for army replenishment fell away, how long would it be before powerful criminal clans turned to them to create their own armies? Would the Republic really leave unmonitored a planet whose resources were capable of harming the galaxy? No, one would have to be a complete idiot for that. And Supreme Chancellor Palpatine was no such thing.
And finally, the third option. The Jedi Dougan. However, based on what the Prime Minister now knew of the Order, this representative was fundamentally different from them. Of course, they could have simply hired bounty hunters and gotten rid of him, thereby avoiding the danger of exposing the double game—the Republic and Sidious. But the Jedi, unlike the other two clients, had clear plans for Kamino after the planet joined his state—the Eternal Empire of Zakuul. Fulfillment of permanent state contracts to create and replenish the Empire's clone army. This involved very, very large funds, considering that Dougan was not, in fact, opposed to Kamino continuing its work on creating other models for third-party clients alongside the army clones after joining the Empire. Any contracts, except for the production of military models.
But it was not by this alone that Dougan drew attention. Yes, he paid generously to ensure the Republic army departed Kamino without inhibitor chips. This was complex and stressful labor, considering that biological chips are implanted in embryos at an early stage of development. Lama Su was taking a great risk, receiving payment for the same army from three different sources. The Republic demanded clones. Sidious insisted on using chips capable of fully controlling the army through Emergency Orders. From Lama's point of view, this was senseless—clones themselves receive loyalty imprints to their master during training. They can be overcome, and quite easily. It is enough to find an equivalent object for loyalty to the latter. Complex human psychology, which the Kaminoans, unfortunately, had not learned to fully understand.
Zakuul, on the other hand, demanded and paid for the extraction of inhibitors from the heads of already adult clones and the implantation of modified chips into younger versions. At the same time, Dougan made payments for such labor regularly, without delays, unlike the Republic. And he paid for Kamino's services at the same prices as the Jedi. In total, the cloners received not one thousand credits for each clone, but three. Which was much more profitable for business. Especially if one recalls that in the first phase, two hundred thousand units were prepared for the Republic. The second generation, given the Republic's massive losses in the first six months of the war, already numbered a million units. Small manipulations with under-strength large formations allowed the Kamino treasury to be enriched even further.
The third generation, which had only begun to enter the armies, was of course inferior in number to the previous replenishment—only five million clones. And even those funds the Republic found with great difficulty. Kamino's representative in the Senate spoke in detail about the squabbles among the Republicans during the discussion of the bill on the free regulation of banks. But one way or another, the Chancellor still found the necessary credits, and new clones were being sent to the Grand Army of the Republic's disposal. True, there was a major caveat… about which he did not intend to tell the Jedi.
The physiology and genetic improvement of the Kaminoans had rendered them, over millennia of directed evolution, immune to most mental Force techniques. A small natural anomaly they inherited from the Hutt gene code.
"Have you managed to extract the inhibitor chips from the third-generation clones?" the Jedi inquired.
"As agreed," the Kaminoan blinked. "For you, we have prepared three hundred thousand third-generation clones with obedience chips for you and are ready to ship them immediately."
"Commandos?"
"Them as well," the Prime Minister tried to smile. His people's facial expressions had lost their purpose over the years. Which sometimes baffled many races when communicating with natives of the cloner planet. "At your disposal—we will load them onto ships."
"That is good news. And what about the fourth-generation cadets?"
"The attack will allow us to tighten medical control over the clones," Su reported. "Last time we extracted and implanted chips at the stage before releasing the products to the client. Now, we can begin universal 'examinations to exclude the possibility of biological contamination' and operate under the cover of this legend."
"What about the training programs for the new equipment? Have you included it in the 'flash memory' database?"
"Certainly."
Unlike the Kaminoan cloning process, analogous Spaarti technology allowed a fully healthy clone to be grown in one year instead of ten. True, the Jedi Master, according to encrypted messages from Ko Sai, was able to discover a method by which clones were grown in truly record time—in half the standard period. Lama Su studied the technical features of the Spaarti devices and was firmly convinced that the reason lay not in the equipment itself. Ko Sai reported that the Jedi's underlings were using certain creatures situated near the cloning equipment. She had not been able to identify their species, unfortunately, which was regrettable—otherwise, the Kaminoans could have solved the problem of the dangerous side effect of rapid growth—clone madness. However, Dougan promised to share this secret later. As well as the Jedi knowledge in the field of cloning—it was no secret to the Prime Minister that the man's servants had paid a visit to the ruins of the old Jedi Temple on Dantooine, where the Order's cloning experiments were conducted nearly four thousand years ago. The Kaminoans, who already had a corresponding reputation in narrow circles at that time, provided methodological aid to the Jedi, and the progress was encouraging. But they had not received the results of the experiments—one of the Jedi destroyed the enclave with orbital bombardment. On Kamino, it was believed the laboratory was also destroyed, but Ko Sai assured that ancient Kaminoan equipment had been delivered to Yavin IV—and Dantooine was the only place to which it had been supplied during the planet's entire existence.
Another advantage of Kaminoan technology over Spaarti cylinders was that on Kamino, clones realized themselves as distinct individuals during the growth process and gained skills over a long period of training. Spaarti cylinders, on the other hand, instantly implanted the necessary volume of information into the clones' brains, thanks to which the product could reach the customer in insanely short periods. And reducing the time for production and training of products always leads to an increase in orders and payment for them.
Unfortunately, they had never managed to achieve stable operation of Spaarti cloning cylinders on Kamino. Therefore, Lama Su did not sell cheap, selling all the cylinders to the Jedi for a truly indecent sum, along with the "flash memory" programs. Of course, it was necessary to update them, introducing new information packages alongside the Republic equipment—Lama did not know the details, but he guessed they related to Zakuul Empire technology.
"Master Dougan," the Prime Minister addressed the Jedi. "Given the situation, should I worry about Kamino's safety?"
"Are you speaking of the losses my army suffered?"
"Exactly. Previously, a powerful fleet protected us; now, however…"
"In the near future, a large number of ships will enter my army," Dougan brushed it off. "And I will transfer some of them to protect your system. Naturally, they will be manned by clones loyal to me."
"Can you give a guarantee that there will be no more attacks?"
"Even the Banking Clan wouldn't give you that," Dougan smirked. "And what have you to fear? Any damage to you is compensated threefold."
"That is so. But I would not want Kamino's cities to be under attack in the future. It is bad for business."
"I will exert every effort to secure the planet. Speaking of security—is that object my commandos delivered to you placed in stasis?"
"Of course," Lama Su blinked. "We loaded it onto your commandos' ship and will export it with the first transport as soon as you say the destination."
"Here," the Jedi handed over a single-use credit chip. "Payment for this little service. My people will do the rest."
"As you command, Emperor," the Prime Minister tried to project benevolence on his face.
***
"I beg your pardon, hunter," the client's hologram in a long mantle with a hood pulled over his face watched the Duros admiring the view from the window of a secret apartment on Coruscant. "I require your services."
"I'm listening," the call had come through on the same frequency as the previous major client who had organized the contract for the Jedi's assassination. Subsequently changed to the attempt on the Chancellor. Consequently, the communication session promised to turn into a major payday.
"I need a Jedi Holocron," the potential client said as if it were a matter of course.
The ease with which some clients suggested taking on completely unrealistic work sometimes irritated Bane.
"For that, I must penetrate their Temple," he began to list the obstacles to the mission's fulfillment. Not at all to refuse the work. On the contrary—he never saw impossible goals for himself. He only wanted to drive up his price. "And that is impossible. I would add—deadly!"
"Perhaps your reputation is slightly exaggerated," the cloaked sentient smirked smugly.
"Not at all," Bane snapped back. It seemed the client was not a simple one; he would have to haggle for a good fee. "I will require a fighter with advanced weaponry and cloaking. Oh yes," the mercenary settled leisurely into the chair across from the holoprojector. "And triple remuneration."
"Price does not concern me," the client replied almost with contempt. Now that was another matter—he loved such orders. A stingy client is a sign of trouble. A generous one—a sign of good pay. And big problems in the future. "I will also give you something that will help you penetrate the Temple."
Bane sensed something was wrong. Orders are never this simple. He had to be on guard.
"Then it's a deal," in reality, he broke into a smile, not wanting to betray his fears.
***
The morning sky of Tython darkened with storm clouds. Thunder could be heard rolling across the hills surrounding the Temple's perimeter. Lightning flashed here and there, but Ashara, frozen on the platform before the main entrance to the Academy, seemed not to notice the bad weather. The Force warmed her inside and did not allow her clothes to get wet.
Students gathered on the training ground spread out at the front of the Temple. Some of them cast disapproving glances at the clouds and the unshakable Togruta. Without a doubt, they were not enticed by conducting a training session under a sky open to the elements. But during their time here, they should have understood that the educational process does not stop due to the whims of the elements. Just as it does not stop due to the state of the students' health. The elements are nothing compared to the power of the Force. And those who are too stupid to heed its wisdom must understand on their own skin that they should not do so henceforth. The diligent students, who were the majority, did not fail to protect themselves, like their mentor, with a Protection Bubble.
The Togruta ensured that every student gathered on the training ground.
Her attention was drawn to a group that had recently arrived on Tython. They had been brought by Nadia, who had left the planet as soon as she informed the Togruta that these were new recruits, former Jedi. They kept themselves apart from the rest, who looked suspiciously at the former Jensarai. In other classes, they were little different from the general mass, but now their isolation was striking.
The Togruta allowed herself to smile.
The dogmas of the old Order still reigned in their heads; therefore, their faith in the Unity of the Force was not strong. Perhaps they were currently disappointed that they had agreed to join. She could bet that today's training would end with a very instructive lesson.
Commanding the start of the session, she watched as the students split into pairs, taking stances characteristic of their chosen fencing styles. No, they were not Younglings; they did not need training swords, so the air filled with the crackle of clashing lightblades.
Perhaps someone would have condemned her teaching method, but the first and last volunteer, a whiner from Rodia, now rested in a grave specially dug for him, where other students had carried him after Ashara shattered all his bones and evaporated his blood with Force Lightning. Those who doubt the power of the Unity of the Force must experience all its might. So that others would not be tempted.
The downpour began. Slowly at first: massive drops fell to the ground and the training ground's permacrete so rarely that the sound of each falling could be clearly distinguished. But after half an hour, the clouds disgorged a true watery abyss onto the earth, and the rain poured in a real torrent.
Zavros paid it no attention. She turned inward to watch the events from the side.
A long time ago, it seems in another life, she betrayed the ideals of the Jedi Order, embarking on the path of the Sith. Idealistically calculating that the two teachings could coexist. And now, thousands of years later, she was finally closer than ever to the fulfillment of her dream.
The New Empire of Zakuul would combine the most progressive views on social life and the Force. A comprehensive study of this, until now, mysterious energy. A return to the roots, when the Force was not divided into schools and its adepts did not drench the galaxy in blood, striving to rid themselves of competitors.
Could Vitiate's student do this? She was counting on it very much. Otherwise, it cannot be. It must not be otherwise.
Wars and confrontations drove progress. But had the galaxy stepped even one pace forward since she had taken part in battles on one or the opposite side?
No, it had not. Even four thousand years later, sentients travel the galaxy on hyperdrives whose class is hardly different from those she was used to at the height of the confrontation between the Empire and the Republic. Has poverty been defeated? Hunger? Slavery? Xenophobia?
No. As before, the galaxy blazes with the fire of conflicts, prejudices, and distrust. The Republic, which was the hegemon in the galaxy for millennia, continued to gather more and more new worlds. But this conglomerate of civilizations had still not stepped beyond the Skyriver. It had not overcome the gravitational barriers surrounding the galaxy. Despite millions of planets rich in all sorts of natural resources, the galaxy, far from being properly studied, continued to reside in poverty. The rich became richer, the poor—even poorer.
The sovereign understood this. He wanted happiness for all, under the protection of an immortal and infinitely wise ruler. She did not doubt that in the end Vitiate would nonetheless reveal to him the secret of immortality. The constant change of leaders, each of whom sees the future through the prism of their own views, is a flawed practice that breeds conflict. This must be ended once and for all.
"You're already a corpse, acolyte," she said in a calm tone, stopping next to one of the Jedi who had recently joined the Academy.
A young human male—what can I say, almost a boy—gripping a simple lightsaber hilt with a light-blue blade, was diligently practicing parrying an attack from his partner, a Nautolan. And if the battle were taking place at high speeds and the alien had even a minimal education in anything other than Shii-Cho, the human would be lying at her feet now, choking on his own blood from a liver damaged by a lightsaber.
"I fight superbly!" the human said defiantly, shaking his by no means short dark-brown hair, through which a white lock peeked. "And am in a position to reflect any…"
He did not finish the phrase, caught by the Force. Atroxa, not especially concentrating, delivered a powerful Push to him, which threw him several meters beyond the platform. One has to give him credit—he sprang to his feet almost immediately, taking a Soresu defensive stance.
"You pride yourself on what you know yourself," the Togruta said instructively. "But you do not know what your opponent has been taught. His feigned weakness could be a ruse that will cost you your life."
"You have committed a base act!" he shouted, cautiously approaching her. "There is no honor in this!"
"I hope when you are mortally wounded by stealth, you, dying in a puddle of your own urine and excrement, coughing up blood, will be satisfied that your opponent is an honorless man."
"Jedi do not act that way!" the youth flared up.
"And that is why they were nearly exterminated several times throughout the Order's history," the mentor didn't even bat an eyelid.
"But they survived every time! And became stronger!"
"Indeed?" Ashara raised an eyebrow. "I was a Jedi more than three thousand years ago. But why can I protect myself from the bad weather, while you stand wet to your very underwear?"
"I…" the human couldn't find anything to say.
"All of you," the girl gave a sign, calling to suspend the sparring that had not stopped for a single moment while she spoke with the former Jedi. "Who among you considers himself powerful enough to challenge me?"
The crowd of students was silent. The memory of what had happened to the Rodian was still fresh as morning caf.
"Maybe you?" she looked at the Nautolan. He shook his head negatively.
"Or you," she pointed a finger at a dark-haired girl among the former Jedi.
"No, Teacher Zavros," the latter bowed submissively, demonstrating her humility.
"I'm ready!" well, who would have doubted it.
Ashara commanded everyone to clear the platform, simultaneously throwing off her mantle. Left in a single form-fitting top and leggings, the girl took both of her blades in her hands.
"Well, begin," she smirked, noticing that the former member of the Order was not taking his gaze off the curves of her body. But as soon as she spun the blades in her hands, he returned his attention to the battle.
The man moved with calmness and confidence. Typical Jedi dogma for combat. How many had it led to death? How many more would it lead to?
From the very beginning of her training, she had considered the mantra about the unshakeability of peace to be untenable. Following the Code, a Jedi turned himself as if into an unfeeling droid. But is that how a living organism should behave? Why deny the very essence of one's being? Sentients are distinguished from machines precisely by being capable of feeling and experiencing emotions.
On the opposite side of the ring, the man stood at the ready. His face's skin, polished by the rain, seemed to glow in the reflections of the lightning that cut through the overcast sky. A perfect setting for a lesson.
He lunged forward rapidly, starting the duel with a series of aggressive complex attacks. He moved fast... but not enough to catch her off guard. From the crowd of students, in response to the indisputable and unexpected skill, sighs of amazement rang out as the Togruta deflected the assault easily enough, simply shifting to the side.
In response to the inevitable counterattack, the man retreated, staggering. For a fraction of a second, Ashara saw that her opponent had overstrained himself and left his right arm vulnerable to a strike sufficient to end the contest and make him a cripple. Fighting her perfectly honed killer instincts, the girl was barely able to restrain herself. An easy victory would not sober a fool and would not bring the lesson she was putting into this duel.
The battle continued in a habitual combat rhythm, where offense and defense changed rapidly. Ashara ensured her attacks were effective but crude. She had done the same with the Rodian—judging by the barely distinguishable hum among the students, they realized it was only a trick. But no one was in a hurry to give the former Padawan any advice. Excellent. They wanted him to reach the essence of the lesson himself.
By this simple trick, she tried to convince the student that she was a dangerous but nonetheless less skillful opponent. Every time she reflected one of the man's attacks, she embellished her own defensive maneuvers, transforming quick parries into prolonged, clumsy overhand strikes that allegedly kept the blue blade from her body only thanks to blind luck.
With the sliding wave of each exchange of strikes, the Jedi cautiously touched the Force, testing his opponent and looking for a weakness he could use to his advantage. Wonderful, he's not as stupid as he seemed at first. It took only a few minutes for the boy to master the previous lesson. He understood on only the second try. Smart boy.
Despite all his training, the Jedi, and frankly speaking, none of the students, had real experience in long, prolonged battles—not one of them had ever been in a war when they had to break through enemy ranks for several hours, destroying one squad after another.
Unnoticed, as the Jedi tired, his strikes became less precise, parries less thorough, and transitions less elegant. A thick fog of exhaustion gradually clouded his mind, and Ashara knew that very soon he would make a critical and fatal miscalculation.
Although she was fighting a human, the real battle flared up within her herself. Despite the crudeness of his technique, the boy was not at all stupid. Behind his preening and pathos stood a decent mind that was capable of calculating the situation ahead. That meant something would come of him—all that remained was to knock the Jedi heresy out of him, but at the same time not kill him. And that was what proved far more difficult for her.
Despite all the Sovereign's compliments, she continued to be a fighter, a killer, a Hand. Every now and then she had to retreat to refrain from delivering a strike to a breach provided more and more often by the opponent's desperate attack. Ashara understood that only a crushing victory, which she was striving for, would give the needed effect. It would help to knock the blinkers off this talented boy's eyes.
And in the end, her patience was rewarded. The man became increasingly broken, continuously and unsuccessfully trying to get the upper hand over his "clumsy" and "unskillful" opponent. When the prolonged physical strain began to take its toll, his swings became frantic and reckless, until he left all claims to defense in an attempt to end the duel which he felt was escaping him.
When the Padawan's recklessness turned to despair, every impulse in Zavros screamed with the desire to act and end the fight. But instead, she allowed the tantalizing proximity of the human's defeat to sate his thirst for revenge. He understood perfectly well that he was being played like a gizka. And gradually, through the prism of Jedi teaching, he turned to his own anger. The thirst for rage grew with every second, until it turned into a physical pain tearing apart his entire essence. The Dark Side filled the man, and she felt that rage was about to tear him to pieces, ripping the skin and gushing out in a fountain of blood. Perfect. The boy is not just capable. He is talented. And will become an excellent adept of the new Order.
She waited until the very last second before releasing the energy languishing inside in a terrifying surge of the Force. She passed it through her muscles and body parts, moving so fast that it seemed as if time for the rest of the world had stopped. The Jedi threw himself at her, exuding streams of the Dark Side, acting intuitively, surrendering to the power of his rage.
An error many make. This should be stopped before he makes erroneous conclusions that will take root in his subconscious and lead to a limitation of his own power. Physical limitations are easy to overcome—but the prohibitions of one's own mind sometimes become the strongest prison.
In the blink of an eye, she delivered a lightning strike from below upward at an angle, shearing off the upper part of the lightsaber hilt. And before he realized what had happened, she spinningly delivered a powerful kick to his head from the side. Like a downed starship, he crashed to the permacrete platform. His attempt to rise was instantly stopped by a sweeping strike of the other leg to the face. The platform was sprayed with blood and several knocked-out teeth. A distinct crunch of the lower jaw heralded total defeat.
For one moment, none of the observers even understood what had happened. Their minds required some time to discover and follow the blurred patch of movement, swifter than their eyes could see.
The maimed man lay on the ground, writhing in agony and spitting clots of blood onto the platform. The streams of rain instantly picked them up, carrying them out of sight. But to replace those that disappeared, new blood arrived.
The girl deactivated the yellow blades and returned the hilts to her belt. Turning to face the students, she scanned their ranks with a calm gaze. The Force that had been raging in her all this time calmed down, just as a tame vonskr stops growling upon hearing its master's command.
"Lesson is over!" she shouted. "You have all witnessed how an underestimation of the opponent will lead to your death. Even turning to the Dark Side, you will not defeat a skillful, calculating, and experienced opponent. Your task is to control the Force, not to obey it. Forget Jedi dogmas! You are the masters of the Force, its owners and users. Subdue it to yourselves and you will become invincible. Lose control—and you are corpses. Not one opponent will leave you alive," feeling that the Padawan had risen behind her, blazing with anger, the girl shifted slightly to the side, letting a blow aimed at her head pass.
As soon as the opponent's hand appeared over her shoulder, she caught him by the forearm with a lightning movement, twisted it in the joint socket, and broke it at the elbow with a jerk.
Under the impenetrable downpour, a horrific cry of pain rang out, and the injured youth fell to the platform, torn by sobs of pain.
Not one of the students rushed to his aid, silently watching his suffering. Yes, they had learned the lesson of control over the situation, but failed another.
"By leaving your comrade on the battlefield, you are guaranteed to doom him to death," she stated. "But if he survives, he will become your enemy for the rest of his life. And at the first opportunity will strike you in the back. Each of you is part of a collective, bound by brotherly ties. Betray one—and others will betray you."
The smartest ones immediately rushed to the victim, carefully lifting him to his feet. Glancing at the victim, she noted that the human's eyes had rolled back, and the pouring rain was washing streams of blood from his face.
"You were witnesses to a visual lesson today," she informed the gathered crowd, trying to shout over the noise of the rain. "Victory is the result not only of skill but also of strategy. Be patient and cautious. Victory is worth nothing if you allow the opponent to escape. Your enemy must be destroyed. Achieve this not because you are better or stronger than the opponent. Be smarter than him and more calculating."
The girl approached the victim and took his chin in her hand, peering into his eyes. Pain shock had already set in, but he was still keeping himself conscious, fighting oblivion.
"Let this be a lesson to you all," she concluded. "Secrecy can become your greatest weapon. Hide your true power in secret until you are ready to deliver a decisive blow."
"And now it is time for you all for theoretical classes," she commanded. Turning to a pair of former Jensarai holding the boy who had fallen into unconsciousness, she noticed the Nautolan with whom he had sparred was also nearby.
"What is his name?" she inquired. He replied. "Take him to the medical center, then I expect everyone in class."
Standing under the pouring rain, she watched as three students carried the fourth under the Academy's vaults.
Ferus Olin, then. It was not in her rules to choose favorites, but this boy was intriguing. She would need to take a good look at him—if he learns the lesson, he will most likely leave Tython much faster than most of those who arrived before him.