"We are ready, sir," Matthew stood to the admiral's right. "All ships have reported readiness for the jump."
"You know you're not supposed to be performing the duties of my assistant, Mantrell?" Cyrano reminded him.
The man did not answer. What difference did it make? He and Ervyn were the two senior officers aboard the fleet's ships. Nothing would change from the fact that a corps commander passed on the words of the first officer, who was busy with the final preparations for the jump, to the admiral.
"Very well," the Rendilian sighed, realizing he wouldn't get an answer. "Then let's get underway. Is the Invincible ready to start?"
"It will enter hyperspace right after us," Mantrell recalled the report.
"Excellent, what can I say," Ervyn spread his hands. "At least we won't look pale before the Emperor when we meet. We're late as it is."
He hadn't asked for this flight. And none of his boys had either. However, they were chosen. Among all the available corps on Christophsis, they were the most battle-hardened. The most prepared. The best of the best. It was no wonder that they would become the core of the Empire's new army.
Looking back, Matthew had compared his life before and after the CIS occupation of Christophsis more than once.
A cheerful joker, one of the leading workers in the asteroid mines, he valued two things most in life. His family and his world's independence from the Republic. A prosperous world, though not the most fertile, Christophsis always stood apart in its sector. The locals lived, perhaps not wealthily, but relatively peacefully. There were poor people, but compared to the rest of the galaxy—not so many. And not so pitiably.
The Separatist invasion changed everything.
The aristocrats, who were previously honored by all residents without exception, fled, leaving the planet to be torn apart by the occupiers. The terror and oppression imposed by the latter contributed to the creation of a militia of the planet's most ardent patriots. Matthew was one of those who followed Jo Ptar.
And he regretted it a hundred times.
The Separatists punished disobedience harshly. And Matthew's patriotism cost him his family, who were shot by droids for his decision to fight the army of machines. It was then that he stopped smiling.
The arrival of the Jedi—"guardians of peace"—changed little. They destroyed what remained intact even after the Separatists' capture of the planet. This finally undermined the population's faith in the Order.
Until just one Jedi showed them that all was not yet lost. That it was too early to give up and hide.
Dougan. He opened their eyes, forcing them against the will of many to accept a simple truth—the war will not end as long as even one droid production factory remains intact. And even after a Republic victory, a good future should not be expected.
The Republic will never reconcile itself to the fact that there is a prosperous independent world on the fringes, capable of acquiring fleets and creating its own army. One doesn't need to be a genius to understand—should the CIS win this war, slavery awaits them all. Should the Republic win—slavery will be enshrined at the legislative level with beautiful phrases. A predator that has tasted the blood of its prey will never let go. Neither the Republic nor the CIS, upon learning of the wealth of their sector, will back down until they have total control over it.
It's hard not to believe a man who could do what his other Temple-dwelling brothers did not do. Or did not want to do.
He did it. He forced the last aristocrats to unseal their "piggy banks" and put the money toward the restoration of Christophsis. Toward the creation of its own army and fleet. The Jedi forced the government to work for the people, and not vice versa, as it had been for hundreds of years.
One might think, what could change? It turned out that everything. It turned out that one needn't wait for years for roads to be repaired or new housing to be built, for the destroyed to be restored and work to be given to all those in need. For everything to work as it should, only a strong hand at the top is needed.
That was why the population followed the Jedi. Him alone—not the Order. Volunteers took up arms and stepped onto the decks of starships. There was no family left on the planet that hadn't suffered from the actions of the Separatists or the Grand Army of the Republic. And therefore, there were none who didn't want to serve the cause of victory in this war one way or another.
But no one desired a victory for the Republic or the CIS. Neither of those forces had done anything good for the planet. The Christophsians desired victory for Dougan.
The Jedi who saved them. The Jedi they believed in. The Jedi whom his own brethren did not believe.
Matthew, even if he wanted to, could not forget the time when members of the Order appeared on the planet, convinced that Dougan had subjected the inhabitants of Christophsis to his will. And the longer they sought confirmation of this, the less they wanted to admit that all their accusations were groundless. It's the height of stupidity to think that one can turn the population of an entire planet against someone. Especially when it was shown to that very population "on their fingers" what fate awaited them in the event of a victory by one side or the other.
And from this, everything became clear as day.
Republic or CIS—it doesn't matter what the occupier is called. Someday this war will end, and a little time will pass before the winning side subjects this rich, independent world to itself. And that already went against the opinion of the residents of Christophsis themselves.
And therefore, they served under the command of Grand Moff Dougan.
A man who didn't just talk about peace—he brought it. With real actions, not words.
And therefore, it's no wonder that he enjoyed support in all layers of the population. That's exactly why the recruitment centers were bursting with the number of volunteers. And so it will continue until Dougan wins.
Yes, Matthew, like most significantly important people on the planet, knew that somewhere there, beyond the limits of the known galaxy, a just state was being created. The Eternal Empire of Zakuul, whose ideals turned out to be close to all residents of Christophsis. And therefore, Christophsis was no longer fighting on the Republic's side against the CIS. The Christophsians were fighting against the Separatists, awaiting the order to start a war against the second enemy too. The one that allowed slavery, the one that allowed private companies to have their own armies and armadas of ships, to establish blockades of peaceful planets. The one that couldn't cope with its duties. The one that, in a difficult hour, covers itself with an army of slaves rather than taking up arms and defending its borders with them.
Christophsis was biding its time to return the favor to the Republic. To bring its citizens pain and grief. To force them to experience what the locals themselves had lived through due to the fault of those who tried to restructure the galaxy in their own way.
And the Grand Moff promised to give them a chance. That is enough—they won't miss their own.
Every commander in the army, every volunteer knew—the moment would come when they could repay their enemies a hundredfold. They don't need what belongs to others—their own world is so rich that its natural resources are enough to provide for dozens of generations of their descendants. But they must grow up in a state that isn't bursting at the seams. And which guarantees its citizens a better future.
For this they lived. For this they fought. For this—they died.
And therefore, not a single Christophsian will ever betray their ruler. Not the elder, who only personifies power on the planet. But the one who opened their eyes.
The commander of the First Volunteer Corps did not idealize Dougan. No one is perfect, and unlikely ever will be. However, the desire to put an end to the decrepit order that allows some to oppress others deserves respect. For the sake of a chance at a bright future, it's worth a try. It certainly won't be worse.
A week ago, when Grand Moff Dougan arrived on Christophsis and gathered all the people loyal to him in the Citadel—the future Residence of the Emperor in this oversector—he set a new task before Mantrell, Cyrano, and his people.
To take control of the Katana fleet, which had been lost by the Republic long ago. Matthew was practically unsurprised that the Jedi knew the location of these ships. He had long ago proven that he achieved success where the Republicans failed.
And now the first graduation of naval crews from among the Christophsian volunteers was preparing for a hyperspace jump into Wild Space—to where Zakuul, the capital of the new state, is hidden in the gloom of space. The "Dark Forces" are to become part of the Imperial fleet. Receive their baptism of fire and expand the borders of the state where the feet of Republic citizens have not trod.
And the First Volunteer Corps, like a dozen others, has been granted a great honor—to become the tip of the blade that will eliminate threats in Wild Space for the future citizens of the Empire. And, by the Hutt, they will cope with this task.
Matthew knew this not only because his people were among the best.
Forty years ago, his parents were visited by Jedi. As always, they were looking for Force-sensitive children to take to Coruscant and make part of their Order. His parents refused, and the Jedi left with nothing—it was in the Republic that they could take any children, even against the will of their parents. On the neutral-at-the-time Christophsis, their own laws applied. And the Jedi were unlucky that time.
Matthew couldn't say he stood out from ordinary people. No, there were never any great differences observed between him and his peers. Only sometimes, in moments of the direst crisis, could he intuitively feel how he should act. As if someone from the outside were telling him.
Kailee Omas, the Jedi who recently headed the Christophsian Medical Center, while treating his shrapnel wound in the lung, said that his level of Force-sensitivity only slightly exceeds that of ordinary sentients. That is enough to interest the Jedi. Но, чтобы стать одним из них — нет.
He had never aspired to that anyway. It was enough that the Force, as Kailee called his intuitive decisions, helped him survive in battles. And not to sacrifice his people pointlessly. A sweet girl. She certainly could have interested him if the picture of his family members killed by the Separatists didn't stand before his eyes. Perhaps someday later, when he has taken his revenge and everyone involved in his people's suffering has paid for it, Matthew will start life with a clean slate. Especially since Kailee is one of those who shares the Emperor's views on the post-war arrangement of the galaxy. That means when the war ends, they will remain on the same side.
But until then, only war lives in his heart.
Matthew caught himself that memories of the past had made him clench his hands into fists. Taking control of himself, he was able to unclench them with effort. It was not the time or place to demonstrate his anger. Soon they would arrive on Zakuul, and the Emperor would set a new task before them—and then the sun-glinting armor of the Christophsians, worn over matte-black jumpsuits, would again appear in the very thick of another bloodshed.
Bloodshed for the Empire!
***
Skywalker literally snatched Aubrie Wyn—a Padawan who survived the slaughter on Jabiim and approached the Dark Side closely (a nudge, and she'll fall—and there you can mold whatever is needed)—from under my nose; furthermore, of the hundred Jedi and Padawans I requested, not only did they not send everyone I asked for, but also not quite those who were needed. And yet she was on the list I gave to Yoda—a new Padawan Pack that was supposed to be kept with my army—far from Coruscant. I won't say that those they did entrust to me are better or worse than this girl. But I'm sure I'd have had far fewer problems swaying Aubrie to my side than with Ui Marlo, Bene, Tallisibeth Ennest, Zett Jukassa, whom the Council foisted on me. Moreover, of all of them, I only asked for Ennest—despite low Force-sensitivity, in the Jedi's opinion, the girl possessed extraordinary willpower. And according to Vitiate's point of view, with which I for obvious reasons agreed, it is willpower that is the basis for perceiving the Force and gaining control over it. I knew very little about Marlo. And the two remaining ones were students of the Troll—and unambiguously spies.
I had no doubt I could sway them to my side. After all, they hadn't undergone full training yet. Only Ennest might pose a problem, but water, as is known, wears away stone.
After the aforementioned meeting in the Senate, for two weeks I completed necessary business on Coruscant. Cleaned out my residence, checked the arrival in the army of all the ordered ships and equipment. Paid several visits to extremely interesting senators, concluding that they were not ready to join my undertaking. For now. Paid for the services of the mercenaries who staged the power crisis on Pantora. Secured Papanoida's support—not without the help of Jabba, with whom he had common and extremely interesting acquaintances. And he was very glad for the rescue of his daughters. As well as the lifting of the blockade, achieved by my apprentice Olie, acting in tandem with Senator Chuchi. The latter particularly noted the Padawan's efforts during negotiations with the Neimoidians on the matter of an installment plan for repaying the planet's debt to the Trade Federation. Despite the fact that, by appropriating two annual budgets of the Republic, I could have done it, it was not worth taking Pantora off the "hook." Thanks to the "icebreaker" created by Kenny, the Empire of Zakuul not only enriched itself by a truly enormous sum, moved by the drone into Hutt Space, where Jabba helped "launder" the money for a not-so-small percentage, but also saved itself from a budget crisis. And ensured its further existence for the next few years for sure—until our own industry reaches its proper level.
It's easy to say you are rich when your accounts and bars of precious metals are earned by someone else whose will you fulfill. However, no matter how large those accounts are, they have a tendency to end. Huge orders at Corellia and Rendili almost completely emptied the numbered accounts there. With Sienar's company, everything turned out a bit better—at the expense of funds from numbered accounts, the construction of "Marauders" for the Empire was taking place, while with the Systemic Army's money, analogous ships were being built for Grand Moff Dougan. And a certain percentage of profit from the latter orders entered my numbered account, thereby increasing the number of produced corvettes for Zakuul. What can be called a "circulation of money in the company." With a big stretch.
Under the same legend about the numbered account belonging to the government of Christophsis, Elder Eisel was making purchases on Kuat of military equipment analogous to what I, as Grand Admiral, was purchasing for the Systemic Army. For now, no one was looking particularly askance at such a buildup of power by an individually taken system. But someday it will happen. It cannot fail to happen.
From the funds received on Scipio, a certain part went to the management of MandalMotors as an advance for a truly indecent volume of Canderous tanks, which at the moment existed only as projects and test models. However, in all characteristics, they were a head above Kuat's analogous equipment. And coupled with the fact that the Mandalorians had the capacity for rapid production of a huge number of tanks, there was no doubt that when the moment came, the Imperial army would have the most modern weapons.
It was with such thoughts that I returned to Christophsis, having yielded to Eisel's assurances that the Citadel was complete. One of three existing in the galaxy at the moment. The original and thoroughly destroyed one—on Dromund Kaas. The second—on Zakuul. The Christophsian one—the third and at the moment the last.
Executed as an exact copy of Vitiate's Imperial Citadel on Dromund Kaas (thankfully, blueprints were available on the Imperial station), it seemed alien among the landscape of Crystal City. But, built of local materials, painted in a familiar-to-the-eye green color, it did not cause a brooding sense of danger from a single glance at it.
Until the moment comes to step out from the shadows, the Citadel is just the headquarters of the Tenth Systemic Army. With its assigned staff, command, and operations centers, equipped with the latest technology. Но это лишь внешняя ее часть.
But the inner part—that is my personal space, protected by the most modern security systems, including those sold on the black market to criminal syndicates for protection against Jedi.
Jedi...
At the very thought of the Council, anger boiled within me.
What the hell? I thought I had managed to flip all the switches into the unknown. But it seems the masters decided not to trust me to the end.
Otherwise, how to understand their antics with replenishing my army with Jedi?
Instead of a hundred Knights and Masters and a dozen Padawans, they sent me half at most. And by no means those I requested—for the most part, these are little-known, or else completely unknown to me, Jedi.
And, to confess, I was not ready for this turn of events.
Even in this century, among the Jedi and ordinary sentients, there were characters who could substantially strengthen the Eternal Empire's positions after it becomes time to step out from the shadows. Losing them at Palpatine's whim was categorically not something I relished. That was why I tried to sway to my army those who, in my opinion, deserved attention.
For the same reason, people appeared in the army and fleet who qualitatively contributed to the establishment of the Galactic Empire. Or the Alliance to Restore the Republic. However events might turn in the future, strengthening Palpatine and his clique is not the best thought. Just like a possible resistance.
Yes, let such movements look suspicious, especially against the background of other systemic armies that don't bother with transfers of their officers or purchases of new weapon models. But what difference does it make if all this mess has very little time left?
However, I reflected on the loyalty of the officers transferred to my command not in the first place, though not in the last. Unlike the Jedi, their wishes and thoughts are clear as a child's tear. One only needs to give them what they need and push them just a bit with the Force, and they will make the right decision. Proven.
But the Force-sensitives...
That's a completely different story. They can be subdued, they can be enslaved, but there will be no great use from it. The Force will always find a way to rid a sentient of what is imposed on them against their will. Darth Malgus is direct confirmation of that. Even while under the influence of Sith magic, repeatedly broken, he demonstrated his disobedience right up until I resorted to exceptional measures. But even in that case, I am not completely sure that the Dark Side will not eventually take the upper hand and free his mind.
Valkorion programmed the Hands on the same principle as his own daughter, Vaylin. In the end, she still broke the mental shackles, and the Sith could do nothing about it.
In swaying Luminara to my side, in regard to whom I simply had to break through mental blocks, causing injuries of varying degrees, I subsequently concluded that Sith magic is not the most reliable tool in such matters. In particular—Unduli's current state, floating in a bacta tank, is partly related to the fact that I literally invaded her mind by force. It has consequences—according to Kailee, not very good ones. Bacta can heal physical wounds, but as for returning to a sentient their past life as if you haven't turned their brains in a blender—no. For that, a much more perfect healing power was required than what the girl possessed. Perhaps Barriss Offee, who returned to Christophsis with me, could help with this. While her Master is undergoing treatment, the Council, grinding its teeth, still allowed me to take the girl under my wing. Therefore, flying away from the planet, I hoped that the girls could hold out until my return.
On Zakuul, there was a means for healing Luminara's mind. It only remained to take it and use it.
And, at the same time, I should qualitatively rethink my policy regarding the arriving Jedi. They are not what and not those I wanted to see in my army. But Windu made it clear—there will be no others. The Separatists intensified their pressure on the territories of most systemic armies, and practically all free Jedi and Padawans were there. We, despite the huge territory of responsibility, took those there are. More precisely, they sent me not the best ones, of course, but not total fools either.
That's exactly where the catch was hidden.
The Seduction by the Force that I used on Christophsis, as well as with Admirals Jerjerrod and Blocker—merely solidified in the people's heads what they had come to themselves, by one path or another. And when the Dark Side dissipated, their minds remained undamaged. Only the way of thinking was corrected. Certain priorities were elevated; others, on the contrary, were lowered. It's easy to fan a fire when there is at least a spark. But what about the Jedi in whom there is no such spark? What to do with those who serve the Light Side faithfully and are unlikely to perceive my ideas as a boon rather than as another way for a Dark Jedi to seize power?
That was exactly why I spent a lot of time selecting candidates of those Jedi who had either switched to Palpatine's side after Order 66 or had left the Order shortly before that, considering the Jedi's position incorrect.
But seeing completely unfamiliar Temple-dwellers before me, among whom only a good dozen faces vaguely reminded me that I had once still been interested in their personas on the Internet, the understanding of my plan's collapse crept up on me.
I can subdue them with the Force, breaking their mental blocks as was done with Unduli. But what in the end? She doesn't look like herself. Моя топорная работа нанесла определенный вред, что отразилось на ее боевых качествах и как следствие стало причиной ее травмы и глубокой комы.
Why, one asks, do I need an army of gifted slaves capable only of executing my will?
Exar Kun, from whose arsenal I drew this technique, was not too церемониться with the Jedi. He simply released the souls of the Sith, who seized the Jedi bodies. And he got his own army of gifted ones. And when he required servants—with the help of Sith magic, he subdued the Massassi.
Even when Vitiate strongly advised me to subdue all the Hands to my will, I refused, deciding to earn their respect with my own actions, not by suppressing their minds. And now I've returned to where I started. The Jedi.
Jon Antilles.
Kuro's former Padawan, who chose the path of a wanderer Jedi. A kind of hybrid of a hobo and a knight of the road—I go there, I don't know where, the Force itself will lead. I knew little about him—only that he was supposed to die at the beginning of the Clone Wars during an operation to extract an antidote to some nuclear plague developed by the CIS. He and several other Jedi were simply hacked to pieces by Ventress and the Gen'dai mercenary Durge—only Kenobi escaped, and he delivered the medicine to the Republic.
It turns out something went wrong. Either he didn't participate in that mission, or he was able to survive—it's unclear. But asking "Dude, why are you still alive?" is also somehow out of place.
Ah yes... among those who were supposed to die there was also Fay.
The Sephi Jedi Master, who also belonged to the wanderers and wandered the galaxy in the hope that the Force would suggest where she could perform a good deed. Legends circulated in the Temple about her exploits—original Dougan's memory suggested that as a Youngling, he, like many others, had been enthralled by stories of the legendary Master. And all his childhood he had dreamed of being like her. Eh, boy, if you knew where it's all going—you'd have thought a bit more down-to-earth.
So, why did I remember Fay? Along with other Jedi, she was now languishing in the cargo hold, frozen in a carbonite slab. Moreover, what is most noteworthy—I did not request her transfer to my army from the Council. And she wasn't on the list of those the Order sent to "Gent" either. A curious fact? More than. Especially in light of recent events, when everything is going sideways.
And as a result, I have in my assets—half a hundred carbonite-frozen Jedi and Padawans—not at all those I intended to acquire.
Take, say, this Ree'ke En. Quite a mediocre Jedi Knight, without any particular merits or beliefs. Absolutely no one present could say anything noteworthy about him. He didn't stand out; he wasn't remembered. I don't know what he is or what he's eaten with, but all I remember about this guy is that he died during an operation on Honoghr while trying to obtain information from a crashed Separatist ship. It seems that crash was exactly what finished off the planet's ecosystem, after which Darth Vader was able to recruit the Noghri into his service, promising them to restore the native world's fauna. As is customary with the Sith—he cheated the commoners cheaply. And the exposure of the fact that the Imperials were not restoring Honoghr, but only maintaining it in a state of lifeless desert, led to the death of Grand Moff Thrawn, in whose service by that moment some of the Noghri were. The circle closed. One Skywalker recruited the Noghri; another—freed them.
Hmm... well, suppose this Jedi's appearance at least reminded me of the Noghri's existence. To confess, I'd forgotten about those guys, solving immediate tasks. And yet the mistake isn't of the most forgivable—the Star Wars Expanded Universe knew no better scouts, saboteurs, assassins, and bodyguards in one bottle. And only a lucky accident in the form of obstacles from the Council prevented me from missing such a detail. That should be reflected upon...
Mo. Besides the fact that this guy isn't quite right in the head and was Jerec's minion, I couldn't remember anything else. That means Kuro, through whose patronage this lad appeared in my army, will have to clarify the situation. For these same reasons, I remembered very little about the Jedi investigator Qu Rahn—it seems he was the one who discovered the Valley of the Jedi on Ruusan. As for his pretty colleague—the purple-skinned Twi'lek, Rachi Sitra, I heard of her for the first time. Just like Garen Muln—only that he is a Jedi ace, like Jaisen Suel. Yes, Siri said she seemed to be acquainted with the guy.
In this same category can be placed Larant Tarak, Sia-Lan Wezz, Kai Justiss, Salmara, Sidem Forth and his apprentice Deran Naluan, Master Simms and her Padawan Noira Na, Dass Jennir, and Mander Zuma.
B'ink Utrila and her Padawan Rennax Omani. Here things got a little bit better. I had read about this pair in my time. The girls were tasked with caring for a Dark Side artifact. And as soon as Utrila accidentally touched it, she suffered an emotional trauma that led to her Padawan leaving the Order. And the finale of the Twi'lek's life path was that she, and a number of other Masters, were turned into coleslaw by the well-known General Grievous during his attack on Coruscant.
Xiaan Amersu. That name surfaced in my memory by association with another Jedi.
A'Sharad Hett.
There's someone who wasn't expected. A Jedi Knight raised by Tusken Raiders. Like some Jedi, Hett had an affection for the Rutian Twi'lek Amersu, who died at the end of the war near Saleucami. Subsequently, this guy survived Order 66 and the following repressions by Vader and the Inquisitorius. And he was so offended by Palpatine that he planned to kill him. For which he found himself a teacher—the ghost of XoXaan, one of the first Sith Lords. And, like a local version of Ilya Muromets, he spent twenty years studying the subtleties of the Dark Side. And when he crawled out of his hole, it turned out that Palpatine and Vader were gone. The guy grew sorrowful. Just then the war with the Yuuzhan Vong began, during which the invaders subjected him to torture and finally screwed up the lad's head. So much so that a hundred-odd years after the Battle of Yavin, he declared himself Darth Krayt and began another massacre in the galaxy. Sweetness, mother of it. With such an ally, one doesn't even need enemies.
And finally, Malorum. This lad is even better. Only recently joined the Knighthood. As the history of the GFFA shows, he survived the Order of Stumbling. And so epically that he became the first Inquisitor of the service of the same name, created by Palpatine after the proclamation of the Empire for the hunt for Jedi and various Force-user goodies.
Just magnificent. The boys are like a choice selection—each more beautiful than the next. Hmm, sometimes it seems to me that in this galaxy only girls should have been Jedi—they don't change their points of view on the Force as often. Although, one would think—I have a whole harem of examples to the contrary right here.
Indeed, and that's only the beginning of the list...
My attention was drawn by a barely discernible rustle coming from the ventilation.
The lounge I occupied on my flagship was enormous—not smaller than the bridge in size, and there's room to move there. They knew how to build in the old days.
Conventionally, the lounge could be divided into three parts relative to the entrance. To the right was the bedroom, separated from the rest of the room by very thick walls. To the left—a spacious study, equipped with everything necessary for productive labor.
Well, and in the central part—a kind of reception room, furnished according to the latest fashion—soft sofas and armchairs built into the floor, a bar counter with a capacious cooler for spirits. Yes, it's suitable for holding parties here—a hundred people could be accommodated with comfort.
The ventilation ran under the ceiling, surrounding the central part of the living room, as well as exiting with slatted shutters into the study where I was now, and into the bedroom.
The rustle repeated.
Now that's definitely not a coincidence.
Immersing myself in the Force, I directed it toward the sound. Nothing. Но, раз вентиляция пуста, то…
In the next second, instantly summoning rage and smelting it into fury, I released a stream of Force Lightning that broke through the radiator grilles and poured inside. In the very next moment, a body in black clothes appeared in the darkness of the ventilation, twitching in convulsions.
The air smelled of ozone and burnt human hair.
There, I think that will be enough.
Picking up the body with the Force, I moved it onto the sofa in the living room without much ceremony. Well, what kind of thing is this? Hmm, seems to be breathing. That's good; I need to manage to ask her a couple of questions.
And, almost immediately, the door to my apartments burst open, and inside, with blades drawn, leaked two girls of the same age but of different races.
"Master," Olie cried out. "We heard the noise of battle..."
"Really?" I was surprised. And then, I remembered that I had allowed them to settle in the cabin next door myself. Since we're on an "inspection trip," I should have taken the Padawan along.
And Commander Ahsoka Tano, accepted into the position almost immediately after my return to Christophsis. And what, it's quite respectable—and the girl is constantly busy, she won't be picking up extra lumps on life's path. Especially since she joined our tight, narrow circle.
Only a week of vacation remained, after which I had to return to the performance of duties. Aayla was in charge there now, and in general, she was managing—while the staff was settling in the new place, fierce battles were thundering on the controlled territory, and the army's resources, even volunteer ones, were melting not by the day but by the minute. Too large a territory to be fully defended. But there's nothing to be done—we have to make do as best we can.
That's exactly why, despite a burning desire to take several more Jedi along so there'd be something to do on the way, I then abandoned that idea.
One never knows what might happen. I wouldn't want to lose a potential recruit due to some sudden occurrences. Like the one currently lying on my sofa.
"Ehm... sir," it cost Ahsoka great effort to break the habit of the previous form of address. "Who is she?"
"I don't know," I had to admit. "But we'll find out."
She looks thirteen to fifteen years old. Blonde, with long straight hair. For a child—pretty. People say of such—she'll grow up attractive.
Dressed in a black jumpsuit—the eye immediately recognized cloth armor. So, the comrade is not a simple thief or a stowaway. Such people wouldn't have enough credits for such equipment.
"Girls," turning my head to Olie and Ahsoka, I nodded at the unconscious body. How pleasant it is to be understood without words. Stepping aside so as not to interfere and not to stare at what was about to happen, I began to whistle a persistent parody song from my past life. "Despite the cute face, breasts like a 'one,' breasts like a 'one.' The ass might be excellent, but breasts like a 'one'..."
And no, I wasn't peeking. It's just that with a practiced eye, it's easy to determine when there's a "board" before you. Besides, what to expect from children at that age?
My thoughts immediately raced, imagining the sleepy Olie before my eyes. And Ahsoka, though she had changed her rags for full human clothes, apparently also leans on the local analogue of cabbage.
Ah, mother of yours, the early bloomers will grow up! Boo to being that way. A whole childhood down the drain.
"Master," Starstone called to me. "There's this thing..."
"What? Haven't seen girls in their underpants?"
"She's a Jedi!" Ahsoka blurted out.
"What?" I turned to the girls just as a blue blade came to life in Ahsoka's hand. At first glance, it became clear that this weapon did not belong to either of the two awake girls. "What for?"
"That's not all," the Togruta turned the uninvited guest on her side, revealing the view of the girl's thin back, entirely covered with old and barely healed scars.
"How terrible," Olie covered her mouth with her palm.
Yes, the picture wasn't pleasant.
Whoever this nth girl was, she clearly hadn't had it easy. Not only skinny enough to count all her ribs, but also clearly subjected to violence. Furthermore, judging by the fact that many scars had managed to heal—for quite a long time.
"Look," Ahsoka turned the girl onto her stomach, demonstrating to us a tattoo on the girl's right shoulder blade. "What is that?"
"Trouble," I said, looking at the black triangle with three eyes at the vertices. "Big trouble."
***
"I will not allow the Separatists to enslave my people!" turning on his front paws, Doge Urso informed them. The Malastarian ruler looked concerned. And with reason.
The droid army stood in direct sight of his residence. Two hours' march from their position to the palace. And a small detachment of Republic clones standing in the path of this formidable force.
"I assure you, Doge Urso," an encouraging smile appeared on the Chancellor's hologram face. "That will not happen..."
Anakin wasn't listening to him. Perhaps for the first time in his life.
In his thoughts, he was very far from here.
"How can she?" he thought. "After all, we are husband and wife! And for three weeks now we haven't even communicated!"
The separation brought him pain, turning his scarred heart into a bleeding wound. And he would have to deal with his soul's torments himself.
Back then, in the Senate, the Supreme Chancellor had asked him to participate in this battle. Superiority in space remained with the Republic, but so many droids remained on the planet that it was time to say this world now belonged to them.
As if.
Not on his watch.
Those huge droid "boxes" would soon meet their end—as soon as they approached close enough to use the bomber squadron without damage. The test of the new weapon—the electro-proton bomb—will take place right here and now.
"...Claims that the bomb's electronic field is dangerous only for droids," the Chancellor's voice reached him.
In reality, he was somewhat incorrect.
This new weapon worked against any electronics—which meant when it was detonated, not only droids but also the equipment, armor, and weapons of the Republicans who fell into the bomb's zone of action would suffer. However, looking at the situation from the side—it's better to sacrifice a small number of soldiers by letting the enemy get closer and lured into a trap, than to commit all that and be left with nothing.
"Nothing threatens the clones and your warriors," the scientist explained. "We tried to take all possible problems into account."
"A threat still exists," Mace Windu said. "And that concerns me. There must be another way out."
The Master looked expectantly at the Chancellor's hologram, as if trying to find support in it. However, the latter preferred to look away.
"Alas, no," he objected. "Only this bomb gives us a chance for victory."
"Master," the apprentice called to Anakin softly. "The droids are attacking."
The noise from the steps of the Separatist army reached his ears even at such a distance.
Anakin cast a short glance at Master Windu. He should be in the thick of the battle, not here in the rear! Why is it that whenever Windu commands, he's far from the fight?
Obi-Wan was another matter. He himself doesn't shun the front line and never restrained Anakin from it. Let his mission to Mandalore end soon! The "Hero with No Fear" was beginning to tire in the company of Master Windu's heavy character. However, Anakin understood the necessity of his presence here.
The Republic was fighting bloody battles in the Mid Rim. And Malastare with its fuel reserves is that necessary bridgehead that will help develop the offensive without slowing the pace. But the Dugs were dragging their heels on signing the treaty. First they demanded the lifting of the CIS blockade of their planet.
The Republic did that. At the cost of enormous losses, and yet.
Now, only a little remained—to defeat the enemy's ground forces. Fortunately, the Separatists were commanded by a tactical droid, if the intelligence reports were to be believed. And these machines' favorite strategy is a general battle in which the fate of the planet or sector was decided.
And therefore, the small forces of the 501st Legion were now preparing to accept battle with an enemy numerically superior to them, in whose arsenal were all possible types of armament—from B1 and B2 droids to crab droids and AAT repulsor tanks. And against them, the Republic could only field a battle-worn legion, generously saturated with gunships and AT-TE walkers.
True, the Jedi had an ace up their sleeve that the tactician simply couldn't know about.
A bomb that was awaiting its hour under the fuselage of a bomber ready to tear away with the whole squadron and deliver its deadly cargo straight to the center of the enemy host.
And for this, they had to sacrifice clone lives and wait. Sit here and watch as the red streaks of Separatist blasters, like ocean waves, flood the 501st's forward lines...
Together with Aubrie, they could have done a lot there, but not here! Anakin clenched the fingers of his artificial hand until his elbow hurt. For some time now, this had begun to become a habit.
Skywalker exhaled slowly, trying to regain his composure. But what the Hutt, peace, if such things are happening around? And he wasn't thinking of the war.
Padmé had proposed splitting up. Yes, she had said that to him in the heat of the moment during his fight with Clovis, but then he hadn't taken it seriously. Such things had happened before—he exploded, she grew capricious. In time, everything returned to normal.
And yet their marriage had cracked.
She didn't call him as she had promised in the Senate. Anakin found her himself, coming to their house at night like a thief. But the former senator from Naboo refused to speak with him, stating that she needed a break in the relationship.
A break!
How can one even speak of such things in a marriage, having sworn eternal love to each other?
It's unfathomable!
It's outrageous!
Anakin felt himself becoming irritated.
"Don't touch me!" Padmé said after his clash with Clovis. Said it to him, her husband, in THEIR house!
Went against her husband! After all that they had lived through together!
And dared to cover her fling with Clovis with the Chancellor's assignment!
Declared to him that she didn't feel safe! Informed him that their relationship was built on lies and deception! And the marriage is worth nothing since they don't believe each other! Padmé didn't believe him! Him! The one who saved her people from the Trade Federation occupation! Who had saved her life more than once! Him, the Hero with No Fear!
"Other married couples have everything we don't have and will never have!"
Anakin felt a bitterness filling his soul. Thanks to the Chancellor, who supported him with a friendly conversation, secretly informing him that he, like Anakin, did not trust Rush Clovis. The realization that he wasn't the only one who thought so. And if Padmé doesn't see what's happening under her nose, then he, Anakin, and Chancellor Palpatine can. And Anakin will bring the new manager of the Intergalactic Banking Clan into the clear!
He could survive any battle—on ground or in space.
But on the romantic front, he was suffering defeat.
"Master," the Padawan touched his elbow. "Are you all right?"
"What?" Anakin was lost. Were his emotions written on his face? The girl looked extremely concerned and, praise the Force, spoke in a whisper. "What are you talking about?"
"I felt that you were sad," Wyn became bashful. "I don't know why I decided that, but..."
"You're right," Anakin became serious. "I am indeed uneasy."
Meanwhile, on the horizon, in the very center of the enemy's formations, a brightest flame flared up, partly reminiscent of the explosions of ancient nuclear warheads. And a second later, a huge semi-transparent blue sphere formed at the site of the explosion, inside which lightning raged. Anakin went cold. How similar this was to the Force Lightning that Count Dooku used against him. An impressive and terrifying power at once. Destructive and... beautiful.
The sphere grew steadily, striking the Separatist equipment with its branching lightning. Burned-out mechanisms stopped in place, no longer capable of any actions. However, almost immediately, the sphere spread to the Republic army. Anakin, stunned, watched as the tanks froze, struck by their own weapon.
"What is that? What's happening? I'm losing connection!" the Chancellor became worried as the sphere touched the Doge's palace. The holoterminal sparked and cut out. The hologram vanished. Anakin felt the prosthesis of his right hand short-circuit. The fingers began to clench and unclench voluntarily until they stopped moving altogether. With his left, his own hand, the Jedi opened the panel on the prosthesis and removed the power cell. Yes, that's right—it had melted. Otherwise, the mechanism seemed intact.
"Well, Doc," with a smile, Anakin looked at the author of this miracle weapon. "It seems everything worked out."
A joyful smile appeared on the face of Sionver Boll, the scientist who had developed the bomb just used on the Separatist troops. Which immediately vanished as a monstrous roar was heard in the air.
And then the earth cracked...
***
Gazing from the height of the Intergalactic Banking Clan Chairman's tower at the snow-covered plains of Scipio, Rush Clovis felt a deep satisfaction.
He had achieved what he wanted. He headed the banks, stopped corruption and dishonest Muuns.
He returned stability to the banking system.
And all this was him. An ordinary person.
Behind his back, the holographic terminal came to life.
"Well, Clovis, do you like the new office?" taking advantage of the fact that the Count couldn't see him from behind the back of the chair, Rush turned on the recording of the conversation.
"Dooku," he stated, turning to face the hologram. "What do you want?"
"I must say, you look quite good at that desk," the former Jedi flattered him. "My friend, did you really think that on such an important day I wouldn't drop in to wish you luck?"
"We are not friends, Count," Clovis frowned. "But meanwhile, thank you. Luck has nothing to do with it. The transfer of power went without problems. You needn't worry about the Confederacy's deposits."
"Naturally," Dooku beamed a smile. "The Separatists are completely on your side."
"And what does that mean?" Clovis raised an eyebrow. "I am a neutral party. And there is no one from the Republic or the CIS on my side."
"And yet it was we who put you in this position!" Count Dooku said with emphasis.
"I am grateful to you for supporting my candidacy in the appointment procedure, Count," Clovis spread his hands. "But my position means I must show no preference to either the Republic or the Confederacy."
Dooku's hologram erupted in a restrained laugh.
"Really? And when did you become a consummate idealist?" the former Jedi's smile took on the appearance of a predatory grin.
"What is this conversation for, Dooku?" Clovis squinted.
"I want to take advantage of my investments," the Separatist leader said triumphantly. "What do you think will happen if it becomes known in the Republic that it was I who provided you with the information on the Muuns' secret accounts?"
Without waiting for an answer from the silent banker, the Count continued.
"You cannot inform the Republic that it was I who gave you that information, or you will lose your post. I empowered you, Clovis! And you belong to me lock, stock, and barrel! And if you want to remain at the helm, you will do what I tell you!"
"That will not be," Rush cut the air with his hand. "The banks will act impartially."
"In that case," the Count folded his hands across his chest, "the Separatists will be unable to pay interest on loans."
"And that will put the banking system in an awkward position," Clovis finished for him. "The banks will collapse..."
The man, gasping from the realization of what was happening, lurched up from his place, pacing the office. Stopping in front of the wall where a painting hung—a portrait of the first Chairman of the Intergalactic Banking Clan—the man looked into the painted eyes of a Muun of antiquity.
"No, Clovis," Dooku beamed a smile. "You will be able to stabilize the situation if you raise the interest rate on the Republic's credit lines."
Clovis felt his lips spread in a smile.
Dougan had turned out to be strikingly correct. The Confederacy leader intended to take advantage of his trustfulness to advance him to the post of head of the banks. And then—with his help, manipulate the finances. Clever on his part, especially considering that unlike the Republic, the CIS hadn't made a single credit payment on its loans, which exceeded the Republic's by three times.
"So that's the price of your help, Count," he turned to face the hologram and slowly approached the desk, seating himself in his chair. "You want to use my hands to set the Republic against the Banking Clan. I wonder why you need that?"
"As always," Dooku shrugged. "For the sake of victory in the war."
"Yes, that's about what I thought," the banker smirked, extracting an information chip from a desk drawer. "Do you recognize this?"
"That is the chip on which I recorded for you the data on the accounts to which the Muuns moved the Republic's money," Dooku responded.
"Exactly," Rush carelessly threw the piece of plastic onto the desk. "You know, if I had used it, unpleasant consequences would have awaited me, the banks, and the Republic."
"And you did use it," Dooku huffed. And in the next second, he became wary, seeing how the banker began to smile.
"To your regret—I haven't even touched it," Rush folded his fingers into a steeple on his chest. "The information I used to expose the criminals came to me by a completely different path. And any forensic examination will prove that from the moment this disk was recorded, it has never been opened," leaning over the tabletop, the banker tapped his index finger on the chip. "Your blackmail is unsuccessful, Dooku."
"And I see you don't shun help from the side," Dooku's mustache twitched in an irritated gesture. "But that won't help you. You will either help us voluntarily, or a Separatist armada will not leave one stone on another in this star system."
"Are you sure?" Clovis raised an eyebrow. "As I recall, the Banking Clan has a formidable fleet at its disposal, which by a misunderstanding fell into your hands. But even if you do not wish to return it—and I am completely sure of the opposite—the IBC has enough funds to hire entire armadas that will stop any invasion. Should even that not be enough, the Republic will gladly establish its own base in the system and bring an entire sectoral fleet here, just so the banks don't fall to the CIS."
"It's heartening that you are so sure of your strength, Clovis," the Separatist raised an eyebrow. "To confess, I was sure you had long ago become spineless. Right after your girlfriend—Senator Amidala—dumped you."
Clovis smirked stealthily. Yes, the Master had turned out to be correct with striking accuracy. Few banking analysts could boast of such analytical abilities.
"Blackmail won't work, Dooku," he said. "But since you insist—I will contact the Chancellor, ask him to care for the Senator's safety. And I will send him a copy of our conversation."
"You have started a dangerous game, Clovis," the Count squinted. "Be careful. In the vacuum in which you're dangling, there are even larger asteroids. You'll collide—and you'll be ground to dust."
"A magnificent idiom, Count," Clovis praised. "I'll record that, perhaps. And, yes, thank you for the magnificent idea."
"Which one is that?"
"Raising the interest," Clovis said in surprise. "Is the Count really so old that he doesn't even remember what we spoke of just a few minutes ago?"
"Glad you've thought better of it, Clovis."
"Rejoice too early, Count," Rush ran over the keyboard connected to the holoprojector. "I have sent you, as the official leader of the CIS, a claim regarding the presence of delays on previously issued loans."
"As I have already said," the Count stated, "the Separatists are in no position to pay interest on loans."
"Well, in that case, I will simply be forced to inform the Department of Security and Asset Collection of gross violations of previously concluded agreements. Thankfully, part of your loans has solid collateral," Rush smiled. "I advise returning everything to the last credit, Dooku, before your planets and your property go under the hammer. I give you a month's term for reflection."
"You have a week, Clovis, to accept our proposal," Dooku echoed him. "Refuse—and Scipio, the world you dearly love, will burn. As you remember, General Grievous is completely uninterested in collateral damage."
The Count cut the connection, leaving Rush Clovis alone to contemplate the scrolling text of precious metal exchange rates.
How interestingly it all worked out. Must prepare a report for the Master. And the faster—the better.
***
Contrary to expectations, the Spire's Throne Room was, one might say, empty.
"Can't say a celebration is being planned here," Vette said softly. However, every single one of them heard her.
Being in the huge transpari-steel sphere crowning the Spire's highest tower, even speaking in a whisper could cause a grand echo. Thanks to the magnificent acoustics, no conversation in this room could remain completely confidential.
The room's interior consisted of four massive beams connected at the central platform, on the upper part of which the Eternal Throne was situated on a dais. Yes, this wasn't the device that controlled the Eternal Fleet. But it looked exactly like the one that was lost. And its function remained the same—to command an armada of ships. Another thing was that unlike the numerous but frankly weak ships, now this throne commanded a whole fleet of "Slicers" which, like the dreadnoughts from the Katana fleet, were situated in the system, awaiting an order. And it would undoubtedly come—it wasn't for nothing that Dougan had scheduled the meeting here and required the presence of all Hands without exception.
But besides them, other sentients were here.
Assault Corps soldiers in full combat gear stood on both sides of the main platform, personifying an honorary guard; they wore the same armor as Alpha and Balda, with the exception that on the commandos' armor there were still Republic insignias and coloring.
The Stormtroopers, on the contrary, though dressed like their biological ancestors in the armor of the "Devastation" elite unit, only the coloring on their armor was present in the palette of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul—black with silver. And therefore, despite all their similarity to each other, Alpha and Balda, taking positions on both sides of the Eternal Throne, were strikingly different from the other clones. But, like their younger "colleagues," they hadn't uttered a word since the moment they had taken their post.
One and all, they were exact copies of the donor for the Republic army too. Но, служили только своему повелителю — Императору. No wonder that exactly the Assault Corps soldiers were at the moment the basis of law and order on Zakuul, where through the efforts of numerous allies the population was literally growing by leaps and bounds.
It all started with Twi'lek settlers rescued by Dougan from the clutches of slave traders. Then, from time to time, new citizens of the Empire began to appear on the planet. Now the capital's population was a little over a hundred thousand, predominantly workers of industrial enterprises in the Old City. Despite the favorable situation in terms of crime, several Assault Corps units were stationed on the planet. Therefore, stormtrooper details patrolling the planet's territory bit by bit reminded the locals that law enforcement forces exist on the planet. Also—they guarded especially important objects, such as the equipment production factories, the Imperial Citadel situated at the tower's base crowned by the sphere inside which they all were, the power station feeding the whole planet from a single solar generator the size of a battleship, or the territory of the military garrison occupying a huge space in the center of the capital city.
Through the sphere's transparent walls, each of those present noticed a huge Republic ship. With the smooth lines typical of Old Republic starships and a huge engine "fin," it, like a giant animal having appeared in orbit, proceeded to a leisurely maneuvering between the Imperial fleet's ships suspended in the vacuum.
"Valor-class," Darth Malgus determined on the fly.
"A relic if ever there was one," Vizla huffed from under her helmet. "Surprising it's still running."
Seeing that there were no willing supporters for her topic of conversation, Torch continued to pace the central part of the Throne Room.
Kira, glancing over those present, noted that the Hands, as before, tried to keep apart from each other. Only she and Nadia, and Atroxa and Vette stood together. Ashara, Shae, and Malgus preferred to await the appearance of the "star of the show" in proud solitude.
Unlike the other ships of the fleet, the Valor entered the upper layers of the atmosphere, releasing a shuttle from its depths on the fly that set a course for the Throne Room's docking node.
There were only two ways to get here. The first—having docked at the hangar, from which there was a direct path to the entrance doors.
The second—by means of a spacious turbolift at the tower's base, on whose top the sphere sat, shining in the rays of the local star.
And, apparently, the Emperor did not keep them waiting long—his shuttle vanished into the depths of the hangar.
"Well, it seems for the first time in the past year we've all gathered here together," Kira said softly. And despite the fact that her words were intended only for Nadia, everyone heard them. The acoustics in this place didn't leave even a shadow of a chance for a confidential conversation.
"Actually, you're right," Vette perked up. "Eh, so much has happened during this time..."
"Critical remark. Hope that the master doesn't freeze you, meatbags," a sneering voice sounded from the direction of the entrance doors where the insufferable assassin droid was hanging around.
"Now what did you find in him so special," a coldness pierced the Mandalorian's voice, "that you decided to restore this set of microchips."
"HK is a machine unique in its kind," Malgus said. "As an assassin, he simply has no equals. He is like a Sephi ballerina who slits throats and takes scalps."
"Delight. A truly correct description of my extraordinary abilities, meatbag," despite the distance separating them, Kira was able to make out how the droid's optical sensors flashed. "You have earned the right to live a little longer."
Kira felt irritation wafting from the Sith. But the comedy ceased as soon as the massive leaves of the single doorway in the hall parted to the sides, admitting a figure in metal-gleaming armor and a robe so dark it seemed to absorb the light. And at his sides walked two girls, the first of whom was of the same race as Zavros, and the second belonged to the human species after all.
"Solemn announcement," turning the volume to the maximum, HK announced. "Prepare for exterminatus, meatbags. The Emperor has arrived."