"Not the most convenient format," I lamented, watching as seven Hands, two teenage girls, and two droids lined up before me almost in a row. "Next time we'll gather at the Citadel."
"As you command, Master," Atroxa responded. For which she earned distrustful-mocking glances from all those present. Even the mechanical warriors looked at each other. It didn't escape me how HK, with a characteristic gesture, demonstrated to those around him that the Lethan Twi'lek wasn't all there.
"Now, I would like to hear from each of you information about your latest completed missions. Let's start with you, Darth Malgus."
"As you command," the Sith rasped. "With the exception of the Dromund system, Sith Space is under our control. I have established headquarters on Korriban, from where it is convenient to reach any world within the nebula."
"Do the Republic or the Separatists know of your presence?"
"By no means," Malgus said indignantly. "Separatist outposts have been blockaded and destroyed; the Republican invasion armada has been partially destroyed. Acclamator-class ships have been captured and can be put into service after extensive repairs. In orbit of Korriban, Ziost, Ch'hodos, and a number of other worlds, I have placed orbital stations and garrisons in outposts of key planets."
"Excellent," I replied. "Wright Sienar has prepared fifty Slicer-class and Limit-class destroyers for the Empire. Take five more ships of each type and fifty Dreadnaughts. This fleet must hold the captured territories at any cost."
"I will fulfill your will," although Malgus's eyes clearly did not express a desire to obey, he bowed low.
"How are your other assignments faring?"
"As you ordered, the Jedi Quinlan Vos and the remains of the Sith Darth Maul have been delivered. Both have been placed in the Citadel's dungeons. This," he pulled two pyramids from under his robe, in which I instantly recognized Sith holocrons, "is my gift to you."
"Details," no, purely practically I should have plenty of such goods, but why the hell would I refuse something new? "Where did you get them?"
"One belongs to Darth Andeddu. Quinlan Vos and another Dark minion were hunting for it during my landing on Korriban."
"And the second?"
"It belongs to XoXaan," raising his head, the Sith looked me straight in the eyes.
"How interesting," I murmured, catching both pyramids with the Force and bringing them to me.
Just like that, the matter began to take a swift turn.
Darth Andeddu was an ancient Sith who in his time conquered the planet Prakith in the Galactic Core. He founded his cult there and, naturally, died. And it happened that a thousand years before today's events, Darth Bane visited Prakith and obtained Andeddu's holocron, learning from it how to transfer his consciousness into another body after death. Which, purely technically, allowed for eternal life. The only problem was—as far as I recall, Bane destroyed that holocron after performing a mental intrusion into the data volume.
"I didn't know Andeddu had several holocrons," I admitted.
"Polite Inquiry: Will you permit me, Master?" Hmm, now that's a turn of events I certainly didn't expect. What does he need?
"What is it, HK?"
"Bland Explanation: My previous master, may the Force finally rest his restless soul, told me that by the time of his death, Andeddu had become paranoid; and therefore, apparently, he created several holocrons which his followers left in various places."
"Thank you for the excursion into the history of Darth Revan's time, HK," I chuckled.
"Joyful Exclamation: I am glad to serve you, Emperor. Veiled Hope: Do you not wish for me to kill those two small meatbags you brought with you? Plea-a-ase say 'Yes, HK, you may disembowel them and dry them out'."
"What?" I was taken aback. In the Force, it was clearly felt that Ahsoka and Olie, standing quietly to my right, stiffened significantly. "No, HK, you can't kill them! They're my apprentices!"
"And here I am in solidarity with my colleague in the trade," the Iokath drone came to life. "You have enough gifted servants without raising two more rugrats," its shoulder-mounted cannon moved toward the children.
"Why, you piece of rusty durasteel!" Olie boiled over, activating her weapon. "Just move, and you're going for scrap!"
"Delight: Has someone worthy of attention finally appeared here?" HK's optical sensors lit up. Honestly, if he weren't a droid, I'd have thought he was crying for joy. "Distressed Statement: If you only knew, colleague, how much time I have spent without a worthy target."
"I understand your distress. I am one of Iokath's best assault drones. And my sensors bleed lubricant when I have to see what pathetic mechanical soldiers the enemy has."
"Joyful Exclamation: Do you want me to tell you how I destroyed the rebels on Christophsis?"
"That information is worthy of attention..."
"What the hell is going on here?" Ashara gasped softly.
"It sounds disgusting," Vette wrinkled her nose. "But it seems those two are equally obsessed with a mania for murder."
"It even brought a tear," said Nadia, pressing her lips together, gazing with tenderness at the scene of revelations by the two droids.
"What's with the mush," Shea demonstratively turned away from the conversing droids. "They're acting like two... Oh, Hutt, I imagined the scene," the girl intuitively suppressed a spasm, doubling over. "I'm going to be sick."
"Don't forget to put your helmet in place," I advised. Then, seeing the brewing hubbub, I demanded silence. "HK, Kenny, keep watch on the other side of the entrance bulkhead."
"Joyfully: Anything you command, Master!"
"But the stormtroopers are standing there," the drone's optical sensor blinked.
"Then keep watch over them."
Both droids marched toward the exit. Meanwhile, HK, gesturing fiercely, told in vivid detail how he had cut down a good hundred people.
"...and then I crushed his chest and noted, 'I don't hear any sounds of hydro-domination and rolls, meatbag!'"—this phrase was the last before the two maniacally-inclined friends vanished on the other side of the entrance bulkhead.
"Even the sound of it was nasty," Ashara winced.
"You're lucky you only heard it," Vette lamented. "I saw it all..."
The very fact that they allowed themselves such frivolous conversations in my presence during their reports, for which I had nonetheless gathered them together, demonstrated that despite everything, to Shea, Ashara, and strangely enough—Vette, I was not someone especially significant. Their very behavior betrayed their attitude toward me. And while I understood Shea's style from the first meeting—she could only be broken, never bent—and Vette is basically a lady without brakes, the fact that Ashara—the head of the Academy on Tython—actively joined this pair surprised me. It seems the girl had stayed too long away from real power and had gotten things a bit mixed up. No matter; if she needs to be put in her place—I'm not one to hesitate.
Looking at Grell's unperturbed face, I noted that the patterns on her face reminded me of a picture seen more than once on resources dedicated to Jedi exiles.
XoXaan. As if things weren't bad enough...
Seven thousand years ago, another period of dissatisfaction and a desire to join the mystery of the Dark Side occurred among the Order's members. A conflict broke out, called the Hundred-Year Darkness, as a result of which the proponents of forbidden teachings predictably got it in all parts of their bodies. The Jedi, quite promptly in an unequal struggle with kind words and lightsabers, reduced the population of dissenters to a single dozen, after which, SUDDENLY, mercy woke up in the Jedi. Therefore, they sentenced the twelve apostates to exile and sent them out on a falling-apart ship beyond explored space.
Unfortunately for the Republic, and the whole galaxy in general, the exiles survived. They crashed on Korriban, where in the shortest possible time they subdued the local race of Pureblood Sith, rising above them. Thus the title of Sith Lord first appeared.
XoXaan was one of them. Along with Karness Muur.
The lady turned out not to be as simple as desired. Like Muur, she was knowledgeable in healing through the Dark Side, created various amulets... After her death, according to sources on a cycle of works set in the galaxy a century after the Battle of Yavin, she left her holocron and the ghost imprisoned within it on Korriban, awaiting a suitable student. Who turned out to be the already well-known A'Sharad Hett, who subsequently became Darth Krayt.
And it turns out that besides Muur's spirit, two more closely connected with Darth Krayt's Empire appear in my field of vision. I could literally feel XoXaan's spirit inside the pyramid—it had awakened, sensing such a tempting accumulation of the Force, especially the Dark Side. However, neither the holocron's gatekeeper nor its mistress's spirit were in any hurry to show themselves. How sweet. Could it be XoXaan doesn't consider me worthy of being taught her subtleties? I recall she waited millennia before she encountered Hett and recognized him as suitable for training.
Strangely enough, the creator of the method of how never to die, Darth Andeddu, also remained a Force ghost—in his fortress on Prakith. One of Darth Krayt's followers visited the old man for certain questions. They failed to reach an agreement.
And now this is my headache. Just wonderful.
"I thank you for the generous gifts, Darth Malgus," I looked him in the eyes. I'll have to keep my eyes peeled with him—the certainty that the Sith didn't peek into the holocrons' contents is nil. Especially the one that belonged to one of the first Sith ladies. Even Vitiate himself wouldn't be able to figure out there whether he can be trusted further or if this little messenger is already "sent." "Yes, by the way, regarding the Dromund system. I give you permission for its capture."
"It is an honor for me, Master," I could feel the joy and anticipation emanating from him.
"Restore control over it," I continued my instruction. "And put the system's shipbuilding resources into operation. The quantity of minerals and materials you extract on other planets in the Space should be enough for the continuous construction of ships that will strengthen your fleet."
"In that case, I will require more living soldiers necessary to operate the new starships," he reminded.
"You will have them," I had to promise. Indeed, the plans for capturing the galaxy are rapidly depriving me of resources. "Yes, and finally. Capture as many Prophets of the Dark Side as possible."
"Master?" Malgus looked at me with bewilderment. "I do not judge your opinion, but why do we need these outcasts?"
"We?" I had to ask back.
"You, Emperor," the Sith corrected himself instantly.
"Do not forget yourself, Malgus," I said coldly. "I only need one of them. All the others will go to feed the New Forge. Which will allow us to increase its productivity in the shortest possible time."
Yes, the automated factory could create any type of equipment without delay, repeating it thousands of times. Но, как и другая технология раката — Кузница требовала питания Силой. For now, Masters Ikrit and Baas, imprisoned in its depths, allowed for the acceleration of my fleet's production. But despite their potential, as regrettable as it is, their time is short. The Forge will dry them out, after which the "fuel" will need to be replaced.
"I will fulfill your will," the Sith bowed his head. "Permit me to depart immediately?"
"Go, Lord Malgus," I commanded. "And bring victory to the Empire."
***
Rachi Sitra, having deflected a blaster bolt fired into her face, redirected it back into the enemy droid.
"Retreat!" she commanded.
Nothing more can be done here.
Yes, they had discovered the listening station. On Ruusan's second moon.
Only no one intended to let them go with that information.
And therefore the Separatists, methodically burning out the fire points on her ship, were taking the practically defenseless starship into a "box."
And, not to mince words, they were landing troops—thankfully there were enough holes in the hull.
The Twi'lek held the defense on the hangar deck, where the CIS mechanical soldiers were crowding as if it were smeared with motor oil for them.
Glancing around, the girl's gaze caught on the nearest clone to her with distinctive markings applied to his helmet.
"Erkas!"
The clone reacted instantly to the call.
"I'm here, General," ignoring the blaster bolts scurrying in all directions, he approached her, not forgetting to shower the enemy from his rifle.
"We must leave the hangar," she ordered. "And depressurize it!"
"Ma'am," even though a helmet was worn on the clone's head, it seemed to her he was looking at her like a fool. "The tin cans don't care—whether there's air or not."
Rachi rolled her eyes.
"We'll throw them out of the hangar with the air current," she explained. Noticing a group of droids, she caught a transport container from the deck with the Force and hurled it at the enemy.
"Ah, good plan then, ma'am," the clone gave a thumbs-up. "Better than the previous one."
Erkas commanded a squad of clones she had requisitioned when she rushed to retake the hangar. It seemed to her ten fighters would be enough to push back the enemy with the support of the deck crew. However, no sooner had the shutter opened than she realized how greatly she had miscalculated.
The droids aren't landing on the ship. They're already here.
And the deck crew too—though without signs of life.
The droid landing vessel stood in the middle of the hangar; therefore Rachi, despite Erkas's protests, ordered the CIS ship destroyed with a grenade launcher. The soldiers carried out the order unquestioningly. And as a result, the wreckage destroyed the hangar door's main control panel. Having left the armored bulkhead unlocked, she was unable to carry out her plan—to cut off the enemy's speediest access to the Hammerhead's depths.
Erkas and the two remaining surviving clones retreated with Rachi, crawling from one cover to another. Finally, only one dash remained—to reach the entrance. And break through with a fight to the bridge—the road was surely littered with soldiers' corpses and the purposeful figures of droids.
Catching several transport containers with the Force, Rachi threw them toward the droids, momentarily cutting off their firing sector.
"Retreat!" she commanded.
The trio of clones did not keep her waiting. Covering their withdrawal with suppression fire, the last remaining fighters vanished into the corridor. One of the soldiers slashed a burst across the control panel, and a heavy armored plate cut off the exit from the hangar.
"That will hold them," Rachi approved.
"Too many killed," said Erkas, pointing at the space inside the ship littered with clone corpses. To Rachi's hearing came distant sounds of firefights; that meant someone on board was still alive. That is joyful news.
But the fact that their ship is moving toward the enemy's outpost—now that's a situation that isn't pleasant.
Communication had been disrupted from the very start of the anti-boarding measures—surely the droids were jamming it. She couldn't even find out what was happening around her.
"What next, General?" the soldier inquired.
Oh, if she only knew!
If Qu Rahn had kept his word and returned on time—they would have been in hyperspace long ago. But no! He nonetheless continued his mission, because of which the cruiser was forced to accept an unequal battle. And where is Qu now? Unknown. Just as the fate of Captain Park is unclear. They have been acquainted not very long, but of his own will he wouldn't lead even a damaged ship toward the enemy.
"Breaking through to the bridge," figuring that it wasn't so far away, the girl decided at any cost to try to save the ship—the only way to escape the system.
"As you say, ma'am," Erkas nodded to the clones, and they began with almost lightning speed to search the corpses of their fallen brothers. The Twi'lek felt her eyebrows rise. Looter clones?
Evidently her surprise was too noticeable, as the sergeant explained, obviously specifically for her:
"The dead have no use for ammunition, ma'am. And a couple of extra cartridges won't hurt us."
"Yes, perhaps you are right," the girl became bashful. Noticing that the soldiers had finished replenishing their ammunition, she commanded them to move.
Being a general is not easy. Especially when one knows nothing of military matters. Oh, Force, if she had been put in command of an archaeological expedition—that would be another matter. Но война…
She resolutely understood nothing of it. And her orders stemmed only from logical (in her view) reasoning. But, apparently—not entirely correct ones. When she had taken the clone unit with her, their ship was not setting a course for the enemy's base. Now, however, she reproached herself for not staying there, defending the command center.
Reproached herself for not being able to order Qu Rahn and avoid this situation in principle...
Turning a corner, the girl literally ran nose-to-nose with a squad of commando droids. The machines assessed the situation for a moment, after which they decided to attack.
The Jedi was faster. Having thrown several back with the Force, she instantly activated her snow-white light blade, whirling in a deadly dance.
The nearest she separated into two irregular halves, slashing it from pelvis to shoulder. The second the girl, parrying a shot to her stomach, literally cut off the front part of its head. The third and last caught a shot to its head from a clone in its body, slumping, falling loudly to the floor.
"Seems that's all for these," the sergeant commented, passing the smoking frames.
"Let's hope it won't be worse further on," the Jedi lamented.
To her surprise, the further path turned out to be far calmer. They encountered several B1 squads, which were dealt with quickly and without extra fuss. If only it were like this all over the ship, she thought.
The bridge was some passage away from them when the sound of melting metal reached Rachi.
"Be careful," she reminded just in case. "I hear someone trying to breach the bridge's armored door..."
"Ready," Erkas waved a hand to the clones. Weapons clicked, informing their owners of readiness for new firefights.
Peeking around the corner, Rachi quickly oriented herself in the situation.
"Captain Park?" she said in surprise.
The officer looked terrible. One half of his face was burned to the skull bone. His left eye had leaked out, and he kept his right constantly squinted. Instead of hair on his head—one solid wound, covered with a crust.
With his right hand he held his left from time to time, evidently shattered in the bone—as soon as he let it go, it hung like a whip.
"General Sitra," the officer rasped. He stood surrounded by half a company of clones and crew members, covering a pair of clones who, with the help of a heavy cutter, were trying to break through the thick bulkhead. "Glad you're alive."
"It's mutual, Captain," the girl said, approaching the team. The trio of clones followed her. "What happened?"
"Oh, just a tiny bit of trouble," from the man's tone and excited state, the Jedi realized that he was in a state of shock. "Just commando droids broke into the bridge and began killing my crew. Lodbrok," he pointed to one of the scouts, "pulled me out of the bridge after the explosion. We gathered a squad to retake the ship."
"I am sorry that happened," Rachi said sincerely. The officer only jerked, as if from a blow. "You don't know where General Rahn is?"
"I don't know, and I don't want to know," the commander snapped. "If you see him, tell him how glad I am he found what he was looking for. Now I'm more interested in where my ship is moving."
"The droids are leading us to their base ship," the Twi'lek shared the latest news. "We noticed it during the battle for the hangar. A Trade Federation core ship. But all covered in communication equipment."
"That's probably that very listening station," Vos suggested. "Only a pity we have nothing to blow that thing apart with."
"The missile silos are intact, sir," Erkas reminded. "I think in the maintenance zone we can find several flight-ready interceptors."
"That won't help us against four Separatist frigates," Vos Park stated negatively. Glancing at the hackers, he inquired: "How much longer?"
"Twenty minutes, sir; the alloy is very thick," the clone answered.
"Hutt," the officer cursed. "In twenty minutes we'll have docked already."
"Let me try to help," Rachi offered. Approaching the bulkhead, she activated her lightsaber, plunging it into the metal alloy.
She hadn't done anything of the sort before. Although she was a good lightsaber duelist, having earned praise during her apprenticeship from the Troll himself, the girl made little use of her weapon for its direct or any other purpose.
She had become a Knight only recently—less than two months ago, when her teacher considered his Padawan ready to undergo the Trials, which she passed brilliantly. And instead of an expedition to Ossus—the ancient abode of the Jedi—the Council kept her in the Temple for a time, not assigning any missions, and then announced her participation in the war. As befits a Jedi, the girl did not discuss the Council's will.
"It's going tough," Lodbrok noted, commenting on her efforts. The girl looked at the ten-centimeter melted furrow left by her blade. Yes, the metal indeed was strong. But the matter was progressing far faster than if the clones continued to cut the bulkhead themselves.
Meanwhile, the captain, deciding to leave the bulkhead problem to her conscience, began to give orders, assigning the clones to take positions favorable for defense—in case of uninvited guests.
"You don't know what happened to General Rahn?" she inquired softly of the scout.
"I dropped him on Ruusan," hearing this, the Twi'lek almost let the blade out of her hands.
"What? He was supposed to return."
"I told him so, ma'am," the clone admitted. "But the General required me to deliver him to a canyon where some dilapidated statues stand. And then—he left the shuttle, taking some supplies with him. We tried to wait for him and look for him, but he turned off his comlink."
Mentally the girl cursed, catching herself that a Jedi should not utter such things aloud. But how, by the Hutt, could Qu Rahn have done that?! Is his obsession with finding the Valley of the Jedi so great that he's ready to break his oath of loyalty to the Republic? A Jedi deserting from the army? The Council will not like that at all. And Grand Moff Dougan won't be thrilled either.
Rachi had never met him, but extremely contradictory rumors circulated in the Temple. Some said he was a hero and a superb warrior; others—that he was a self-important poseur, out of control in his arrogance. The Twi'lek was not used to forming an opinion based on others' words, so she decided to postpone that activity until a personal meeting with her fellow Jedi.
And the girl was already beginning to dimly suspect that it would not be the pleasantest.
The blade touched the door mechanisms—sparks showered from under the melted metal. Jerking her hand away as one hit it, Rachi noticed the plate gave way to the side.
"Captain," she called to Park. "The mechanism is destroyed; the armored door can be moved manually."
"Excellent," the man gave the corresponding order, and several clones, clutching the edges, began to move the heavy plate to the side.
No sooner had a gap appeared sufficient for a person to penetrate than the girl, without a second's thought, slipped inside, activating her weapon on the move.
In the bridge were about two dozen droids—predominantly B1s, a couple of B2s, and half a dozen commando droids. Nothing she couldn't handle.
Sitra opened herself to the Great Force, asking it to guide her hand.
The blade, like an extension of her body, flickered, deflecting blaster shots, biting into the enemy's hull casings. She felt rather than noticed that clones flooded into the bridge after her, directing aimed fire at the droids.
The girl exulted. The chances of success increased manifoldly.
Crouching before a B2 that appeared unexpectedly before her, the girl with a swing of the sword cut off both its arms with built-in weapons, after which with a sliding strike from bottom to top she cut it into two halves.
Immediately before her flickered the blade of a vibrosword wielded by one of the commando droids. The girl recoiled, avoiding the fate of having a scar across her whole face, after which, pulling the droid to her, with one powerful stroke of the snow-white blade she cut it in half.
Another commando, who tried to shoot her point-blank, slumped with a melted head, shot through by Erkas's accurate shot. The girl allowed herself to be distracted from the battle for a moment, nodding to the clone in a sign of appreciation. He jokingly saluted her, striking the head of a B1 that appeared from nowhere before him with his buttstock.
After a couple of minutes, not a single whole droid remained on the bridge.
"The controls seem intact, sir," a clone from the team reported to Park. "We control the engines, armament. We can make a hyperspace jump..."
"Not now," the man said slowly, staring through the observation screen at the behemoth of the interception station hanging before the ship.
Like an animal whose fur over millennia of evolution has turned into sharp spikes, the core ship bristled with hundreds of antennas of various designs. Even with the naked eye it was visible that this starship was going nowhere—it's a stationary construction designated to the orbit of Ruusan's second moon to listen in on conversations from the shadows. And without outside help it will not leave its haven.
"The enemy obviously doesn't know the ship is back under our control," Erkas expressed his thoughts. "That can play into our hands."
"You are absolutely right, Sergeant," the captain agreed. "Head for the missile console. As soon as we approach that station—open fire with everything we have."
"Sir, in that case we'll reveal ourselves," Lodbrok noted.
"But we'll destroy the listening post," the ship's commander countered. "That is for us—the priority goal in the current situation. It's unknown if the core ship will remain in the system if we just escape. If yes—that means the Separatists will bring an armada here to protect the object. If no—then ours will again have to scour the whole oversector in search of this plague. So, we will do everything to destroy the listening post. Any objections?"—and not giving anyone even a chance to open their mouths, the captain continued. "Splendid then. Head for the missile console, son."
"Yes, sir," Erkas responded, taking a seat across from one of the massive operator consoles.
"We wait until the last," Vos Park warned. "Are the silos open?"
"Since the start of the battle, sir."
"Well, just wonderful then," the captain smirked sinisterly. "Be ready to open fire as soon as we're at a distance of a couple of kilometers from their base. We can't allow them to be able to dodge or intercept the missiles."
"Captain," the Twi'lek approached the man. "You are performing, indisputably, a heroic act. The Separatists won't even leave a wet spot from us after we destroy their base."
"I'm aware, General," the burned officer nodded. "No need to voice my own thoughts to me. You are a Jedi, right? They say you all have a capacity for foresight. Any help would be useful to us—especially in controlling the hyperdrive."
At first the girl was taken aback, realizing the captain was giving her orders. But, realizing that the time and setting did not favor the exchange of pleasantries, she silently sat down at the required console.
"On command, be ready to release the missiles," the captain raised his voice slightly so all those present could hear him. "Right after the explosion—turn on the hyperdrive; we'll try to escape from here..."
The Hammerhead and the core ship were separated by literally five to seven kilometers when the cruiser's missile silos belched a stream of impact projectiles. Like huge smoky cigars, they emerged from their nests and rushed toward the defenseless station—visually on the surface of the Separatist ship there weren't even anti-meteor guns. Well, all the worse for them.
The simultaneous detonation of a dozen projectiles is a terrible thing. They literally turned the enemy ship inside out, turning it into a huge fire-and-fragment rain.
The Hammerhead jerked as numerous debris drummed against its bow section.
"And now it's time to run," Park said with satisfaction.
The cruiser jolted. Then several more times—the enemy had uncovered their trick and was now trying at least not to allow them to vanish.
"General!" Park shouted when a new damage mark appeared on the ship's status screen. That's it, the sensor cluster can be forgotten. The Hammerhead is blind.
"I'm already at it," the girl finished entering the hyperspace coordinates, after which, as if receiving a kick in the ass by a giant foot, the ship rushed toward the stars, avoiding the fate of being turned into a handful of wreckage.
No sooner had the cruiser vanished, transitioning to hyperspeed, than dozens of turbolaser streaks cut through the spot where it had been a second before.
***
"So," I said, turning my gaze to the standing-with-an-independent-air Mandalorian. "How are things on the Western Front?"
"All quiet," the girl shrugged. Then, realizing she was showing her pride in the wrong place, she continued. "I recruited all the specified Jedi remaining on Coruscant. Took them all to Tython."
"In fact, I'm most interested in the slaughter you staged in the Temple," the icy tone of my voice seemed to sober the redhead, shaking from her the delusion of her own infallibility. "Did I set such a task?"
"No. We acted according to the circumstances," turning my mask toward the Togruta, I noted that the girl was literally glowing with anger. "Followed the Duros's trail, and after his bomb exploded, bound the Jedi, immobilized Bane, burst into the vault. It's not our fault that werewolf decided to escape through a vent in the ventilation. He managed to remove the protection from the outer doors—and then we were seen in the process of working by everyone who was in the Archives."
"You're just butchers!" like a little predator preparing for an attack, the Togruta took several steps forward. "Because of you, Jedi died!"
"Little one," Vizla said lazily. "We are Mandalorians. Turning Jedi into bloody mincemeat is our national sport."
"How dare you!" the Togruta grabbed her swords from indignation but prudently did not activate them.
Gave me the opportunity to stop this whole circus.
"In fact, the Mandalorians have something to avenge," I sobered the girl. "Not much time has passed since the Jedi conducted the Mandalorian Decimation, completely destroying the ecosystem of Mandalore and several other planets."
"That... can't be true!" Ahsoka stated with conviction.
"And yet it is so, little pipsqueak," Shea stated. Looking at the bashful Togruta, she continued. "I delivered all the holocrons and the mercenary to Zakuul."
"Cad Bane?" the mercenary's fate did not interest me much, but he possessed some information that would come in handy.
"In the Citadel's dungeons," the Mandalorian shrugged. Naturally, she considered sparing the Duros's life a mistake, but I did not intend to initiate her or any other of my henchmen into my plans. "A bit crumpled, but alive."
"Excellent work," the girl in no way reacted to the praise. "Cuy'val Dar?"
"Stopped working for the Republic," Vizla responded. "Seventy people on my side. Some preferred to sit it out."
"All the worse for them," I concluded. "Head for Mandalore. It's necessary to resolve the issue with any competitors."
"Easy as two fingers on permacrete," the Mandalorian huffed. "What will the orders be regarding Duchess Kryze?"
"She will be taken care of," hearing my promise, Ahsoka flinched. Well, get used to it, little one. In this world, diplomacy decides nothing.
No sooner had the door closed behind Torch than Nadia Grell took a step forward. Kneeling, the girl held out to me a small glowing cube. Pulling it to me with the Force, I felt a faint warmth it exuded. In contrast to the Sith repositories of knowledge, contact with which chilled to the bone.
"I activated the holocron by implanting a kyber crystal," the girl explained. "We possess all the information. Shall I begin the recruitment?"
"There's no need for that yet."
And in fact, what the hell is the point in the middle of a war of removing children, even if especially Force-sensitive ones, from their families? For now, the training program of the Academy on Tython is not ready to shed light into such young minds.
"How is General Loathsom faring?"
"As ordered—personally checked the survivability of escape pods when they're dropped into hyperspace."
"The result?"
"Scattered into atoms."
It was extremely reckless on my part to leave traces of my activities—and even more to use Hands on Christophsis. Therefore, fortunately for thousands of years the Council still hasn't bothered to change the location of its secret prison, Nadia corrected my mistakes. Despite everything, one should not leave the Jedi or the Chancellor the opportunity to get too close to me.
Yes, to the trial Loathsom was delivered already in a "processed" state—my first experience in subduing another's mind with the help of the Force went poorly. The General spoke all kinds of nonsense and flooded the surrounding space with saliva. But even in that state he was dangerous—if the Jedi intend to restore his mind with the help of healers. This way—no sentient, no problem.
"Have you familiarized yourself with Master Baas's holocron?" at the mention of the familiar name, my Padawan and Commander Tano became animated. Well yes, who in the Temple didn't know this guy.
"Yes, Master."
"I need them all," I warned. "Either the Zeison Sha, the Matukai, and the others join Zakuul, or they fall silent forever. Neutrality is little desirable, therefore—be extremely persuasive. Those who become our allies, deliver to Tython—they will become a valuable acquisition for our new Order."
"As you wish," the girl bowed. Complete indifference was read on her face. As on the faces of the other Force-sensitive Hands. But both minors burned in the Force with excitement. Not because they were worried about some Force adepts about whom only rumors circulated in the Temple. But from the realization of the level at which the implementation of my Plan is being conducted.
"For the duration of this mission I am transferring to you the Retvisan, the Tsesarevich, and the Eagle," the flagship of the Emperor's Shadow squadron had been standing idle without work for some time. As had its unique weapons. Since the moment the Sienar-modified ships began to replenish the Imperial fleet, the need for the routine use of unique dreadnoughts had dropped, and they were all awaiting their hour in orbit of the capital world. "Take Commander Ahsoka Tano as help," the girl literally exploded with surprise.
"But how can I help?" the small Togruta became bashful.
"You are a vivid representative of how imperfect the Jedi Order's policy is," I explained. "I think it will be interesting for our potential allies to hear firsthand exactly how things stand in the Eternal Empire of Zakuul."
"I...," meeting eyes with Atroxa, the girl sighed resignedly. "As you command."
"You may be dismissed," having caught a barely-not-pleading look from the Togruta, I preferred to ignore it. One must understand that in the matter of reshaping the galaxy, no one will manage to stay clean.
***
The blurred traces of myriads of stars compressed into dots familiar to the eye. The hyperjump is complete. The fleet has arrived in the Dome-Bradden system. And a single glance at the unfolding enemy formations was enough for Gilad to understand—a serious test of strength lay ahead.
"At another time, it would be wonderful to organize a tropical resort on this planet," noted Jedi Tolme, standing beside him.
The officer cast a sideways glance at the General, hoping that thanks to the scar and unseeing eye, the latter would not notice the skepticism written on the face of the squadron commander.
It didn't work.
"Are you troubled by something, Admiral?" Tolme inquired.
"Yes, the Hutt take you! Troubled is putting it mildly," Pellaeon thought with anger. "First, because of your little group, I had to interrupt the raid and lose the opportunity to break the Separatists in pieces. Then—wait a heap of time while you all deigned to develop a 'brilliant' plan. And now we're to move head-on at the enemy fleet! And this whole Hutt-cursed operation now threatens enormous losses! Whose side are you even on, Generals?"
"Just a tiny bit, General Tolme," Pellaeon said in a level voice. "It seems to me that there are quite a bit of the enemy indeed to the Hutt."
At the end he didn't restrain himself and poured irritation and resentment into his speech.
Intelligence reported that the enemy at the initial moment of attack would have no more than a dozen Munificent-class frigates in orbit of Dome-Bradden—for his squadron, a simply laughable threat. An hour wouldn't have passed before they had turned the Separatists into space junk and landed troops on the planet. And by the moment the main CIS forces in this sector came to their senses and drew together—he could have taken a favorable position and with the support of the attached Arrows conducted battle even with superior enemy forces.
And now the situation has changed fundamentally.
The enemy's intelligence had not slept. No sooner had they correlated Pellaeon's course with the possible direction of attack than they drew all their available forces to the planet. And that is TWO dozen Munificents, five Lucrehulks, and a Providence-class star destroyer, with which not a single ship of his squadron can compete one-on-one. Yes, and it should be remembered that all this bounty is generously seasoned with hundreds of enemy interceptors.
And he has in his assets—the Equalizer, a dozen Hammerheads, two dozen Marauders, four Acclamators overloaded with infantry and equipment, and two Pelta medical ships. Yes, there are five Consulars—but those are like a poultice to a dead man. They'll have to be kept next to the landing ships the whole battle—just so as not to lose at least the landing units.
Gilad felt a chill run down his back.
No, he wasn't afraid. He was beforehand worried for the thousands who would die in this fight.
"Launch interceptors," he ordered, addressing the bridge crew. "Prepare bombers."
A battle plan was already beginning to take shape in his head.
It becomes clear that in this battle every single warship will have to participate.
"Pass to the Peltas—let them stay close to the cruisers," he directed. "Consulars—guard the medical ships and Acclamators from enemy starfighters. Hammerheads and Arrows—'Sandwich' formation. Arrow 5—lower hemisphere."
Purely formally, the enemy was inferior in the number of ships, but not in their quality. Each Lucrehulk was worth half of his Hammerhead-type heavy cruisers. And they are armored very much indeed on conscience. This "cactus" will have to be gnawed for a long time. Especially since the enemy had already undertaken a redeployment.
The commander of the enemy fleet placed the Trade Federation ships in an "X" shape in the center of his formation. The frigates took places between these ships. And like an overseer, above the central Lucrehulk, squeezed from two sides by two others, rested the Providence. The Hutt tear its developers! It's a natural death machine that not every Venator can fight on equal terms!
So, need to calm down. Inhale-exhale, inhale...
"Relax, Admiral," the Jedi delivered a pearl. "This task force is commanded by a tactical droid."
"What makes you think so?" Pellaeon frowned. Now, after a year of war, the tacticians no longer represented for the Republic fleet officers that superstitious horror as at the very start of their use. The Separatists had tried, putting into them data on battles over thousands of years. And as a consequence—the droids commanded successfully. Until the Republican commanders learned to break their pre-programmed and one-type battle schemes with unexpected maneuvers.
"An organic would never launch most of the starfighter wing toward us," he pointed to the tiny dots approaching them. "Right now he is effectively leaving his capital ships without cover for our bombers. And besides—their Lucrehulks lack their central sections; surely they are landing ground forces on the planet."
"In that case," Gilad reckoned, "'Sandwich' is most relevant."
The tactical move called "Sandwich" appeared a little over half a year ago—as soon as the Marauders proved to the whole galaxy that they shouldn't be underestimated. Concussion missiles plus good armament—all this essentially put them in one line with light cruisers. But the stubborn ones from the Senate still refused to put the ship up for auction, which hampered the replenishment of battle losses.
The "Sandwich" represented an order in which the main strike forces were in the center of the formation, covered from below and above by missile ships capable in minutes of turning enemy ships into an un-seaworthy piece of metal. But as practice showed—this formation is most effective against an enemy starfighter wing.
Speaking of which... it seems luck is smiling on him after all.
The Trade Federation ships significantly lost in defense when the core ship separated from the starship's main part. Consequently—their shields weakened. Such a calculation error of the enemy should be taken advantage of.
From the hangars of the Separatist ships flew countless multitudes of droid starfighters, or, as they were called, "vultures," preparing to strike a head-on blow against his fleet.
Well, not on his watch.
"Pass to the Marauders—barrage fire," he directed.
This technique—a massive air raid from CIS ships—had already been analyzed more than once in tactical games at sector command. A favorite tactic of command droids. Hmm, it seems the Jedi is right after all.
Or the enemy commander is intentionally misleading them.
Pellaeon's fleet had already closed sufficiently with the enemy for the guns of every single ship to enter the fray. Even the Consulars now and then were shooting toward the enemy.
In such a meat grinder it is difficult to assess the whole picture entirely, standing on the bridge. It's much more convenient to do it near a tactical map on a holoterminal. Но его сейчас, как назло, оккупировали остальные джедаи. Well, the Hutt with them.
"And yet you were wrong, General," Pellaeon pointed to an evasive maneuver performed by the enemy interceptors. Having suffered enormous losses, they, contrary to custom, did not continue their attack but broke into flights, entering battle with Republic interceptors. Such a tactic was not in favor with the droids. That is—did not occur at all.
The battle was smoothly growing into a clinch.
The commanders of the Arrows, realizing in time that hunting for enemy interceptors was useless and fraught with damage to their own starfighters, switched to a duel with the Munificents. The Hammerheads at this time were whaling on two Lucrehulks, and—very successfully.
One was already drifting, venting remaining oxygen and relatively small pieces of metal into space. The second was still fighting back, but its days were numbered.
"Launch bombers," Tolme directed.
Pellaeon cursed softly. In such a scuffle, sending them to battle—guaranteed to lose most. Но и риск оправдан.
"To all ships," Pellaeon directed. "Bomber squadrons—to launch. Target—the core ships."
It did not escape the middle-aged officer's attentive eyes as "cores" appeared in the practically empty Dome-Bradden sky, in a swift dash trying to reunite with the rest of the fleet. But who's going to let them do that without problems?
Meanwhile, the opponents exchanged their first losses.
More than half a dozen enemy frigates one way or another went out of action—some turned into blazing wreckage; some simply lost atmosphere or pieces of hull plating. Among the Republicans there were also losses—one of the Hammerheads, the Wanderer, caught a hole in its hangar deck and could no longer carry out starfighter rotation.
Before Pellaeon's eyes, the core ship nearest to the Republicans turned into a ball of incandescent gas after a pass by a bomber squadron. Gilad smiled. A good omen.
But it didn't go without sacrifices on the clones' part—the victorious squadron lost two-thirds of its personnel, burned in the flashes of Separatist anti-aircraft guns. And almost immediately "vultures" fell in on their tail. Noticing this injustice, the nearest Torrent interceptors rushed to the rescue, but too late.
By the moment they finished with the Separatists, one bomber remained from the squadron.
"Whose unit is that?" Pellaeon inquired of a clone tactical officer.
"Gold Squadron from the Harbinger, sir," he responded. "Only the squadron leader, Corvo, survived."
"Understood," as much as the pilots were a pity, on war you can't save everyone.
One of the Lucrehulks popped silently—right at the moment a spherical ship docked with it. This one, it seems, was reached by the Marauders—concussion missiles were just scurrying around the Trade Federation ships.
"Enemy flagship in range of our guns," the operator reported.
"Attention Acclamator task force," Gilad opened a communication channel. "Target—the Providence-class destroyer."
The endless stream of "Vultures" however decreased by almost half, which eased the load for Republic interceptors. The Torrents were scurrying like mad, flooding space with blue beams.
Now the battle flowed into a phase the officers among themselves called "the scuffle."
Clear boundaries between the sides were erased. The enemy commander moved his forces forward, having ceased to act as a mother hen. The enemy's swift dash broke the Republic fleet's order. And now the battle turned into a firefight.
At the same time, Pellaeon managed to maintain concentration of fire on the enemy flagship.
The carrier ship caught fire, falling apart literally before their eyes, as soon as several proton torpedoes from the Acclamators that had miraculously reached the target struck it. Blind luck.
"Enemy without shields!"
"Full volley of concussion missiles!" Gilad oriented himself instantly.
Unlike its brothers, the Equalizer could show the enemy such teeth that they wouldn't appear even in a bad dream.
Like a snow avalanche on Hoth, a stream of concussion missiles left the silos aboard Pellaeon's flagship. Dozens of jet trails pierced the airless space separating the two flagships...
The enemy reacted. Furthermore in several directions. A huge number of droid interceptors rushed to intercept the deadly projectiles. And the enemy flagship itself tried to turn from its designated course.
Only a third of the original number of missiles reached the target.
And that was enough.
Tearing out pieces of hull plating, crumpling gun turrets and sensor clusters, the missiles entered the left cheek of the Providence, instantly tearing out of the ship a piece where a good corvette could fit. And, to the misfortune of the enemy fleet—the bridge, shining with green transpari-steel, vanished in fiery flashes.
"Continue shelling the flagship!" the Jedi voiced.
Gilad only smirked. Why the hell? These ships, despite their power, do not have the capacity to be controlled from auxiliary bridges, due to the absence of the latter. Now, the enemy fleet has lost control, which means...
A silent flash of light heralded the death of one of the Hammerheads. Hutt...
Following it, under the concentrated fire of a Lucrehulk, first went out of action and then broke into pieces after a series of internal detonations, another. Against this background, the explosion of three Marauders seemed like something insignificant.
"The enemy is changing course," the Jedi noted, pointing to how the enemy task force, having stopped breaking through the Republic's ship formation, leaned to the right, exposing its severely beaten sides.
"They're retreating," Pellaeon realized, when the outermost of the Lucrehulks, using the free space, turned into a swift silhouette. "No, that won't do!"
"Fleet order!" He opened a general communication channel. "Concentrate fire on the Lucrehulk-type ships—must not allow them to escape!"
"Admiral," another Jedi appeared nearby. Tall, heavily built. "General Mo," Gilad recalled. "What are you doing? We should destroy them all!"
"Look around, General," Pellaeon pointed in the direction of the enemy ships. "From their fleet, only a few Munificents can make a jump. The rest—is flying junk. We need to finish the Lucrehulks so they don't appear here in a week!"
"I don't agree," Mo stated. As if in refutation of his words, another CIS fleet starship vanished in fire. And with it—two Republic bomber squadrons. "I am cancelling your order..."
"Calm down, Mo," Tolme became animated. "The Admiral is absolutely right. We cannot allow those ships to hang around in the army's rear. The Munificents do not pose a threat, unlike the Lucrehulks."
The Jedi stood, silent, for probably five minutes. After which, having witnessed the death of another Trade Federation starship, he turned and marched away.
"A heavy sentient," the Admiral concluded.
"You don't know yet how pedantic and annoying he can be," Tolme huffed. "Well, since no one is bothering us anymore, let's see how we can speed up the destruction of the enemy group..."
After another two hours of battle, although it would be more accurate to say, finishing off the remains of the enemy fleet, the Republic fleet proceeded to land the 77th Reconnaissance Corps on the surface of Dome-Bradden.
***
"All thirty thousand Spaarti cloning cylinders have been delivered to Odessen," Vette reported when it was her turn to account for her work. "Admiral Block has taken charge of the headquarters and asked me to convey that clone production is proceeding in strict accordance with the schedules. Already, we have five full-strength line infantry corps awaiting orders."
"Did you deliver the captured Acclamator to Lehon?"
"Yes," the girl beamed. "Sienar spent a long time describing the flaws of that design in detail; however, he promised to fix the shortcomings and launch an improved version into production. In passing, he warned that after his modernization, it will be a full-fledged large landing ship, not a 'Kuat knock-off, the offspring of an unnatural love between a mynock and a bat-wing'."
"Our chief shipbuilder is in his element as always," I chuckled. "Did he specify a timeline?"
Despite the fact that in Wild Space one didn't have to fear CIS or Republic listening stations, I still took no risks. Although Raith assured me he had encrypted the communication channels so that "not a single piece of Republic filth will figure out what's what," my position remained unchanged. Perhaps, in the event of a signal intercept, our enemies wouldn't understand the content. But they could track the source and direction of the communication channel. For now, we are not yet ready to withstand a siege of our worlds.
"He needs a week to rework the blueprints and produce a prototype. As soon as it's ready and tested, Sienar is prepared to begin production. According to his assurances, by using the developments from the Ravagers, he can reduce the crew to two hundred people while increasing the number of transported fighters to a full corps, including their associated equipment."
"Ambitious, as always," I smiled under my mask. Truly excellent news.
Despite the fact that we had capital ships—Slicers, Limit-class light destroyers (which after modernization more closely fit the classification of "battlecruisers"), and starships from Dark Forces—the Empire still lacked armed transports for moving ground forces. Using the first three types of starships for such purposes would be a true sacrilege. The Acclamators captured by Malgus at the Battle of Korriban were perfectly suited for this.
During my time commanding a sectoral army, I, like most Republic military leaders, had become increasingly convinced that the Acclamators did not live up to their original class—assault cruiser. Yes, they were relatively well-armed in the forward arc. However, they were not fit for line combat—only for situations where there was really nothing else to put against a superior enemy. Therefore, despite their massive procurement for the systems army, these starships were destined to be military transports, protected within formations by vessels designed specifically to repel attacks by enemy line forces. In their original configuration, these ships could transport a clone legion with full supplies and heavy equipment, plus a couple of regiments of volunteers tasked with logistics and guarding strategically important sites on the planets where landings occurred. If Sienar (though, knowing him, one should say "when," not "if") achieves success with the Acclamator modification, delivering one corps of my army won't require dragging four ships of this type along—it will be enough for one to land to disembark thirty thousand clones with all the necessary heavy support equipment. Given that both the systems and imperial armies will have to operate for a significant period without support from nearby rear bases, it is the most suitable solution.
"How is Mr. Doriana feeling?" I inquired, recalling Vette and HK-47's visit to Cartao. A fascinating scam to seize the last Spaarti cloning cylinders remaining in the galaxy. Vette snatched ten thousand from under Sidious's nose; twenty thousand were then loaded onto a pseudo-Republic ship by the Kaminoans. And now Odessen, where the General Staff of the Imperial Army and Navy under Admiral Block's command is now stationed, has transformed from an Eternal Alliance base into a competitor to Anaxes, housing our cloning resources and endless clone barracks on and beneath its surface. Four hundred thousand Jango Fett embryos will mature quite rapidly under the action of the Spaarti equipment. And they will depart into the depths of space unknown to the Republic to secure the borders of the growing Empire.
"Awaiting his hour in a cell beneath the Citadel," Vette said cheerfully. As if Sidious's henchman wasn't currently being cut to pieces in a grim dungeon to extract every possible piece of information from him.
"Has he voiced anything useful yet?"
"So far, only about his involvement in the destruction of Outbound Flight."
"What?" Olie couldn't contain herself. "The expedition was destroyed?"
"Yes," frankly speaking, I wasn't lying. I just hadn't voiced the full facts known to me.
Outbound Flight was the initiative of Jedi Master Jorus C'baoth to go beyond the known galaxy. A massive project that Chancellor Palpatine—also known as Darth Sidious—ordered Doriana to destroy using Trade Federation ships, to prevent even the possibility of the ships falling into the hands of the Yuuzhan Vong, for the confrontation with whom the future Emperor had been preparing all his life after the destruction of the Jedi Order.
But the Force decreed otherwise.
Doriana's ships were destroyed by a young commander of the Chiss Ascendancy—Thrawn. He, influenced by Sidious's stories about the expedition's threat to the galaxy if it fell into the hands of invaders, helped Doriana shoot down the Jedi ships. Officially, it was believed all the colonists perished. However, the truth was that although Outbound Flight did not reach its goal, it crashed on the planet Redoubt, located within Ascendancy territory. The survivors lived in complete isolation from the surrounding galaxy for several decades until the Chiss, having established diplomatic contacts with the New Republic—the state that succeeded the Empire after Palpatine's death on the second Death Star—discovered the wreckage. And the descendants of the settlers.
Besides the expedition's demise, Doriana—who didn't know Sidious and Palpatine were the same person—performed many tasks for his master. And, I suspect, the staged assassination attempt on the Chancellor was his handiwork.
Yes, Palpatine's advisor might not be very talkative now. Soon he will sing. Ziro the Hutt also wasn't very forthcoming—until they started skinning him with a dull knife.
"The laboratory on Yavin IV continues its work under the protection of Clan Farr," Vette continued. "A thousand cloning cylinders are continuously producing soldiers according to the new inputs."
I only nodded silently.
Yes, the Spaarti cylinders produced clones who were racially loyal only to me and would never go against the Empire or my will. At least—that's the design.
***
However, at my personal request, Ko Sai was creating special clones. Outwardly, they were no different from the rest of the Jango Fett clones—except for some features unknown to the general public. These fighters are destined to become more than just stormtroopers. They are assigned the role of my personal army, unquestioningly carrying out any order—from orbital bombardment to the killing of any sentient, whoever they might be. Especially—if the enemy is Force-sensitive. It is from them that the crews for my personal fleet—the Emperor's Shadow—will be staffed, which I plan to expand as soon as the opportunity arises to acquire Adegan crystals. It is not fitting for the Immortal Emperor to have only a dozen ships. No, guys. Мой флот должен нести службу, охраняя стратегически важные системы Империи, куда обычным разумным доступ будет просто запрещен. Yavin IV, Nathema, Ziost, Dromund Kaas, Tython, Lehon, Object Mau. Malgus, undoubtedly, suspects that it is clones loyal to me under his command, but he hardly knows how deeply this obedience is written into their heads.
"You are all my servants, slaves, tools," Vitiate once said. And, I must say, I am beginning to understand that maniac. When the question is about the conquest of the galaxy by force, keeping it from collapse and decay—all means are fair. In the name of a better future.
Sentients, even the most devoted, can betray—as the history of this galaxy has proven more than once.
But those who have obedience to me written on their subcortex—never.