Marshal Commander Riviriv watched the final batches of cargo that cargo gunships were delivering to the planet's surface.
Crossing his arms and furrowing his brows, he surveyed with an unblinking gaze the landscape that now stretched before his eyes.
Geonosis.
Cursed planet with a scorching sun. It seemed the very air burned the lungs. One had to fight for every mountain ridge, for every seemingly harmless hole in the ground.
The locals just wouldn't settle down. Even after two massive purges, they still possessed a vast number of droids, armored vehicles, and weapons to resist.
The clone ran a hand over the two short strips of hair on his head. Hutt, sand even in the hair! A bit more, and it would be pouring out of every crack when moving.
Loudly thundering with walking supports, AT-TEs marched out of the depths of transport ships down a massive ramp. Huge machines, the foundation of the armored fist that would be directed against yet another enemy fortification.
The Geonosians had holed up in a hollow mountain visible on the very horizon. Continuously showering the advancing troops with fire from thousands of blasters, the bugs felt safe. It was understandable—as soon as the heavy equipment approached the fortification, the entire space around the stronghold turned into a hellish inferno, if one can call the massive rocket bombardment with which the locals met every assault attempt that.
How many guys have died already? Two, three thousand? Unburied bodies showed white in the planet's rusty landscape, reminding the attackers of their predecessors' fate.
"Riviriv," he heard his name.
"General Vezz," he greeted the Jedi woman. "Another assault?"
"Yes," well, if it must be, it must be. That's why the Jedi are placed at the head of the army—to lead the military campaign. "But, not right now."
"Agreed. The tanks are still unloading."
"It's not about them," Sia-Lan countered, squinting as she looked at the wretched Geonosian fortress. "Headquarters sent support."
"Really?" the clone was surprised. "I thought we were the reinforcement."
"It turns out there's someone else besides us," she smiled. Searching for someone in the crowd with her eyes, she nodded toward a group of clones in Katarn armor.
"Commandos."
"I've heard of them," in fact, tales of the commandos' exploits circulated throughout the Grand Army, passed from one clone to another. Soldier's radio, as someone dubbed it. "If they're truly what I've heard about them, they could win the war themselves."
"I see you're not exactly thrilled for them," the Jedi noted.
"Don't get me wrong, General," the Marshal Commander hesitated. "They're just like us, but for some reason, they're the elite. And we're just dirt underfoot, expendable material."
"You're wrong about that, Riviriv," the woman shook her head. "Every life is valuable. And for us, there's no difference who's before us—a clone, an alien, or a sentient."
"Even the lives of Geonosians are valuable, ma'am?" the clone frowned.
"Yes," the clone's eyebrows shot up. "But for me—they are less valuable than the soldiers under my command."
"Good to hear that, General," Hutt, and it truly was good when your commander says you're not just a soldier bred in a test tube to die for the interests of a state you never lived in. In an army where there's one face for everyone, it's hard to find your own piece of individuality.
The Marshal had already heard more than once from clones in other units that most Jedi, although they speak of their desire to keep the peace, in reality care little for saving the lives of their subordinates. Those same commandos can confirm this—in the first Battle of Geonosis, just over half of the ten thousand survived. The Jedi sent them into battle as if they were ordinary infantry, not for a moment considering the difference between clones. For it was not for nothing that they were all trained according to different programs—infantry separately from scouts, paratroopers from "heavies," flamethrowers separately from engineers. And, naturally—commandos according to a completely special program.
"So what is their task, General?" he inquired.
"While we build up forces outside the range of the Geonosian fortifications, the commandos will penetrate the defenders' positions and disable their artillery and shield generators. In short—standard work for them."
"I suppose so," the clone leaned away from the Jedi, running his hand forcefully over his hair to let the sand spill out. "A pity they weren't sent earlier. They could have saved so many lives."
"Unfortunately," Sia-Lan admitted with sadness. "There aren't many commandos in our army compared to other systems armies. After all, sectoral command tries to assign them tasks independently. Having almost ten commando squads is all we can afford at the moment. Unfortunately, it's not enough for even one squad to be present on planets during an invasion. We are fighting too many battles..."
"General," the clone lowered his voice. "Permission to ask a question?"
"Yes, of course."
"There are rumors that the Kaminoans will soon stop supplying clones to the Grand Army of the Republic. Но, если мы несем такие потери," he gestured toward the plain littered with a mountain of corpses that were once soldiers of the 89th Corps. "Как мы выиграем эту войну?"
"I wish I knew, Riviriv," the Jedi admitted. "But even the number of clones currently in the Grand Army is insufficient to wage war fully. Just Geonosis required two line infantry corps. And how many such planets are there in our sector? In the oversector? In the region?"
"I get the principle, ma'am," the clone interrupted the Jedi. "But then, why are there so few clones?"
"If I only knew, Riviriv. Perhaps when Master Sifo-Dyas placed the order on Kamino, he believed that fighters who outclassed droids two or three to one would manage in the quantity he ordered. It seems fifteen million clones were ordered on Kamino?"
"If you count the line infantry, Coruscant Guard, special units, and the technical personnel for ground vehicles and gunships—then yes," Riviriv reckoned. "To be honest, no one knows how many of us there are in total. For our brothers also fight in space—and the crew of one Venator is already several thousand clones. One could, of course, calculate it if one knew how many ships the Republic has in total..."
"Do you think anyone is counting?" the Jedi smiled. "Sometimes it seems to me that we are all in some wheel, running forward, spinning in it, spinning, but unable to get out."
"At least you Jedi have somewhere to return to after the war," the clone sighed bitterly. "The guys sometimes ask me what will become of us after victory. And I don't know what to tell them."
"And does none of you wonder what will happen if we lose?" Vezz was surprised.
"And what is there to think about?" the clone spread his hands. "If the Separatists win, then we all die. That's clear even without extra words."
***
"Yes, most likely so... Then we should try very hard to survive," at the end of the phrase the girl tried to smile, but it came out somewhat awkwardly.
"You know, before me, Marshal Commander Flash commanded the corps," the clone said after a few seconds of silence. "His leg and left arm up to the elbow were torn off during a skirmish on Arbra. As a fighter he's no good anymore, so he was discharged. At first they wanted to send him to headquarters for clerical work, but then command decided he'd done his fighting. They discharged him to civilian life, sent him to a medical center on Coruscant. Patched him up, stitched him together. Gave him some simple prosthetics, the cheapest ones—who's going to spend money on a clone? They assigned him a disability pension and then forgot about him. Some of the guys still communicate with him via HoloNet. And he says he's barely making ends meet. As you know, we have a fast metabolism, so almost his entire pension goes on food. He pays for the room where he lives and is completely without means of existence. The guys and I sometimes send him packages—rations left over from..." Riviriv fell silent, realizing he had blabbed too much. Glancing at the Jedi, he saw that she understood perfectly.
"You send him the rations of those who died?" she clarified.
"Yes, ma'am," swallowing hot saliva, the clone confessed. "I know it's a crime, since it's Republic property. Но, вы поймите, они все хорошие парни! Мы росли вместе, ели одну еду, сражались и умирали плечом к плечу… Мы просто не можем им отказать в помощи! Тяжело осознавать, что когда ты выработаешь свой ресурс, то останешься никому не нужен."
"They..." the Jedi said.
"Pardon, what, ma'am?" the clone didn't catch it.
"You were telling about one clone, but then you misspoke, saying your guys help several clones."
"Uh... I misspoke, General."
"Riviriv," a sternness appeared on the Jedi's face. "How many are there?"
"Ma'am," the clone panicked. "I'll answer for the embezzlement of rations, only I beg..."
The Jedi's eyes rounded.
"What do rations have to do with it?" she wondered.
"Well, you're questioning me about the number of clones to whom we send rations to find out how much we've embezzled," the Marshal Commander clarified.
"What nonsense!" the Jedi waved a hand at him. "Don't be silly. Mutual aid in the army is one of the foundations that should be an iron rule for everyone. So, I wasn't even going to accuse you of anything or report it anywhere."
"Thank you, General," the clone felt a weight lift. Hutt, why did he even start this conversation? Did he think that because she treated her subordinates so tenderly, she was somehow different from that general who sent them into a frontal attack on a CIS mechanized unit on Arbra? Why should she be? They're Jedi, after all—all cut from the same cloth.
Most likely, she'll just forbid him from continuing to help his brothers who became disabled. And that makes one sad. It's unpleasant in your soul when you, because of your own talkativeness, spoil what had worked for an entire year. How are the brothers to survive now?!
"So how many?" the General repeated her question. Clarifying exactly what she meant made little sense.
"Five hundred seventeen, ma'am," he said. "But we did it with the best intentions. Understand, they know nothing besides war. We can handle any type of weapon, operate any vehicle, but for civilian life we're completely unsuited. Some, of course, managed to find work, like dishwashers or cleaners, but the bulk of employers don't want to deal with clones who not only age before their eyes but also lack arms and legs."
"That is hard," she agreed. "Surely, it's not only in your corps that maimed clones experience difficulties in civilian life."
"Permission to be frank, ma'am?" the clone braced himself.
"Of course."
"The Republic doesn't give a damn about us once we stop being useful in the war," he blurted out what the soldiers had discussed more than once in the barracks, reading the latest messages from brothers in civilian life. "We understand that providing millions of disabled people with decent housing and work is beyond the state's strength, but none of the officials even tries!"
"I understand your indignation, Riviriv," the girl assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "But you'll be surprised to learn that there is a way out of the current situation."
"Really, ma'am?"
"Yes," this time an encouraging smile appeared on her face. "You know, when I was in the hospital on Christophsis, I noticed how many clones on the planet have prosthetics. They're still in the army—some in headquarters helping plan operations, some training volunteers. Some are on duty guarding warehouses on bases."
"Really, General?" the clone's eyebrows shot up. "Of course, the guys and I were in the hospital on Christophsis," the clone scratched a healed scar on the right side of his head. "But somehow we didn't run into our brothers there. After all, prosthetics that could return us to service cost big money. I didn't know we mattered to anyone after we can't hold a weapon in our hands. Didn't even think about it..."
"Neither did I," the Jedi admitted. "But after talking with the Grand Moff, I looked at many things from a different angle. Therefore, I have no doubt that if one turns to him with a request for help for the maimed clones, he will unequivocally help."
"Sounds like a fairy tale, ma'am," scratching the back of his head, the clone said. "What business does a Jedi, and especially a Grand Moff, have with the fates of clones who have lost their value in battle?"
The Jedi began to smile.
"Take my word for it—this Jedi is very different from the others you've dealt with. And he won't abandon any of his fighters in trouble. Every fighter in the 13th Sectoral knows this."
"Good if so," the clone agreed. "General, permit one more question?"
"No need to ask me about it every time," she warned. "I am always open to dialogue."
"Why doesn't General Dougan, if he's such a sensitive leader, run for a government position? Or at least in the sectoral command? If he truly is not indifferent to the fate of the ordinary soldier, then if we had the right to vote in elections, he would have the support of the entire Grand Army of the Republic. When soldiers know that a commander will take care of them even if they stop being useful on the battlefield, they are ready to follow such a general even into hell. Not to mention supporting him in elections or carrying out his orders."
Sia-Lan laughed softly. Riviriv became bashful, thinking he had said something stupid.
"Forgive me if I said something wrong," he said. "Just thought that since we're having such a frank conversation, why not be frank to the end."
"Frankness for frankness," Vezz said. "I don't think he needs it. He has... extremely radical views on the state of things in the Republic. I venture to guess that one day he will tire of all the ongoing mess and reshape the galaxy to his taste."
"If that's so, ma'am," noticing that the stream of tanks had already dried up, the clone put his helmet back on his head, "then you can tell him that if he needs help in setting things in order, the guys and I are in."
Riviriv noted how the Jedi's facial expression changed. Wonder what thoughts made her cheerful mood evaporate?
"I'm afraid, Marshal Commander," she said quietly, "that time may come sooner than we all think."
"In that case," the clone gripped his rifle more comfortably, "just call."
***
The glowing crystal in the transparent container drew gazes. The size of an infant's head, even through the casing it radiated truly transcendent Force.
Small wonder that even Alpha and Balda, not at all Force-sensitive, couldn't tear their eyes away from it.
"A Kaiburr crystal, Emperor," Kira introduced this wonder of the universe softly.
"It's beautiful," Olie whispered. The girl looked at the source of the Force with huge eyes, as if a predator that had hungered for a week was eyeing tired and meaty prey at a watering hole.
There's a grain of truth in her words. The crystal indeed could be classified as a work of art even at first glance. There are many wonders in the galaxy, and if the compiler of that list knew of this object—he would inevitably include it.
He won't find out. The crystal will not leave this hall.
As one famous character said—"My precious-s-s."
"You have worked well, Kira," I praised my subordinate. The girl, smiling for a moment, bowed. "Were there problems obtaining it?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle," the former lover of the Hero of Tython replied in a neutral tone.
I resolutely did not like her tone.
Kira Carsen, a ray of light in the darkness, seems to have broken. From cheerful and benevolent, she had turned cold and grim. Even Atroxa standing beside her did not radiate as much of the Dark Side of the Force as the former Jedi. This should not be permitted. Among all the Hands, Kira held a special position.
And it's not even that in the game this character was my favorite of all the secondary ones. The girl truly possessed a certain magnetism—that's why I still hadn't decided, despite everything, to turn her into one of my tools. Но сейчас эта невысокая стройная красавица с каштановым каре, которую не портил даже тоненький шрам на лице, казалась мне отталкивающей и безжалостной.
Looking at her, I understood that this is exactly what powerful Jedi who fall to the Dark Side turn into. They revel in new abilities, take pleasure in others' torments and suffering. Like children who have gotten their hands on an unlimited quantity of sweets.
And it was frightening.
The concept of balance in the Unified Force was to become an integral part of the new Empire. All Force-sensitives in service were to adhere to it. And even more so—my Hands, the conduits of my will.
The Gella sisters informed me that the girl had changed drastically after her visit to the "stronghold" on Nar Shaddaa, but I didn't think it was this much. She had literally fallen into the Darkness and was enjoying this flight into the abyss. How much time will pass before she turns into a frantic monster that the rest together won't be able to stop?
The history of this galaxy showed that Force adepts who knew one of its sides excessively deeply turned their beneficial impulses into terrifying consequences for the galaxy.
Numerous Schisms among the Jedi always resulted in endless bloodshed and subsequent disasters for the galaxy.
Darth Malak, having proclaimed himself Dark Lord of the Sith, for the sake of destroying Bastila Shan destroyed Taris, which meant billions killed and wounded.
Darth Nihilus devastated Katarr to slake his insatiable thirst for the Force, without which he simply could not continue to exist.
Darth Sidious drenched the galaxy in blood as soon as he destroyed his opponents—the Jedi.
Darth Vader, in a fit of renouncing his old life, drowned the Jedi Temple in blood, not even sparing the younglings. And for more than twenty years he broke the galaxy's spine, imposing his perverted and, in his view, efficient peace and order.
Jacen Solo, having accepted the Dark Side as the dominant teaching of the Force, repeated his ancestor's path, killing Luke Skywalker's wife and again drowning the galaxy in blood.
Darth Krayt, in pursuit of power, trained by XoXaan, having survived the Yuuzhan Vong's tortures, turned into a beast, mercilessly exterminating everything in his path.
What will Kira become? A Jedi with four-thousand-year experience, fallen into the Darkness? I dread to even imagine.
And even more, I will not allow it. My favorite will not turn into a monster. Not as long as I'm alive, for sure.
"Was your mission to capture the ark successful?" I asked. Although I knew the results of each of the Hands' missions, I nonetheless took pleasure in hearing them report to me. The advantage of supremacy of power—you can get whatever you want.
"Yes, Master," the girl said without a shadow of emotion. "The ark and its contents have been delivered to Zakuul and await you in the Citadel."
"And you don't want to tell me about the bloodbath you staged on that planet?" I asked. I didn't know the details. Но, находясь в Храме, не мог пропустить мимо ушей информацию о горе трупов на Джеббле. Considering they were discovered after Carsen informed me of her mission's successful end, putting two and two together was not a problem.
"I merely removed obstacles to the fulfillment of the mission assigned to me," Kira replied simply.
Well. Staging a galactic coup, on the eve of global bloodshed, I am scolding a girl for finishing off some laborers. A pun of galactic proportions.
But despite the superficial similarity, every murder must have a weighty justification behind it. It's one thing to kill a gang preparing a terrorist act. It's another to deal with miners who likely posed no danger.
Having heard my considerations, Kira, with the same impenetrable look, replied:
"Every one of them was a witness to the fact that it was I who took the ark and its contents. Leaving such a lead for whoever might be out there is dangerous."
Yes, there is more than enough logic in her words. Witnesses are an unpredictable matter. You never know how fast they'll stick a knife in your back.
"I categorically dislike your approach, Kira," I shook my head. "Go to your quarters. We'll talk later."
"As you command, sir," the girl curtsied and, turning sharply over her left shoulder, left the Throne Room with a quick step.
"Teacher," Olie called softly. "You said Kira was a former Jedi..."
"One of the best, moreover," I said thoughtfully. "She was a loyal companion to one of the best Jedi of the past..."
"Revan?"
"The Hero of Tython," I had to neutralize the gap in my apprentice's education. "What you see is the result of serious emotional trauma. This will lead to no good."
"So is she on the Dark Side?" Starstone continued her questioning.
"Seems like it," I nodded. "She will stay on Zakuul—until I decide what to do with her."
"Is it really possible to change it somehow?" the apprentice was surprised. Ashara, hearing such nonsense, burst out laughing. And instantly fell silent as soon as she raised her eyes to me.
"History shows that Force adepts change their allegiances to the sides of the Force as if riding a turbolift," I recalled the historical "about-faces" in the air by Jedi and Sith. "But returning her to the Light is definitely not the way. But restoring Balance..."
I didn't finish, looking again at the crystal standing at the foot.
There were big plans for it; however, in light of recent events I had to change them.
"Olie," I called to my apprentice. "Touch the crystal."
"What?!" looking at the girl, I saw how her eyes rounded. Not just the Padawan's, for that matter. Atroxa and Ashara looked no less shell-shocked.
"Am I not speaking loudly enough, or what?" I inquired crossly of my young associate.
"No, of course, I mean yes, I mean..." the girl looked at me with a pleading gaze.
She was afraid. For the first time in her life, she was observing such a concentration of the Force. No wonder she prudently didn't want to mess with it. Unlike me, she didn't know the consequences.
"You don't trust me?" I had to ask point-blank. "Are you afraid the crystal will harm you?"
"I..." the girl was instantly bashful, hanging her head on her chest. She was afraid of the source of the Force. And even more afraid to admit it, thinking that weaklings are not kept here.
She was partially right.
But weaknesses are there precisely to be overcome to become stronger.
What is the point in being an all-powerful Emperor if your own apprentice doesn't even come close in her power? Comparing our energies, I concluded that the girl would likely never be able to become an excellent adept of the Unified Force. She simply lacked her own resources. And she perceived attacks on Jedi dogmas in her head quite aggressively. No matter how hard I tried to beat them out of her.
A real joke.
"Father was beating the nonsense out of me, but I always knew where to get more."
"Let it be so," perhaps it's not yet time to make her stronger. Strength must be earned, accepted, and one must be ready to learn the new. But forcing the new against one's will is not our way.
In complete silence I rose from the throne and slowly descended to the base of the pedestal on which it was placed.
The container with the crystal stood at my feet. One only had to reach out...
Sitting on one knee before the source of the Force, I nimbly removed the armored gauntlet from my right hand. Looking at the ugly knuckle, covered with muscles and epidermal adhesions, I placed my palm on the crystal.
"Truly warm," the voice sounded hollow... and as if it didn't belong to me. Or rather, not only to me.
"Teacher, you've gone mad!" Olie rushed toward me. However, she braked sharply, stopping about a meter from me. "W-what's happening?"
Her voice reached me as if passing through a ton of cotton wool in the ears.
Reality distorted, acquiring red shades.
Now the crystal, which had seemed snow-white, appeared before me in blood-red color. As if streams of arterial blood, waves of energy emanated from it and passed through my body.
My head began to throb as if millions of craftsmen had turned on jackhammers. The noise grew, as did the intensity of the energy pulsations from the crystal's depths. With every second everything happened faster and faster until a bloody haze appeared before my eyes, obscuring everything around.
And with it—a feeling of extraordinary strength.
Even before this I didn't consider myself a weakling, but now...
It was as if someone had opened a dam from which the Niagara Falls of energy roared. As if a pack of wild animals had suddenly broken from their place and was racing into the distance across an endless grassy meadow. And all this power, might, raged in me, distended me from within, sought to break out, to spread around.
The Force wanted to go on a rampage and crush. Crumple everything in its path and turn everything to dust. The Force wanted to destroy...
And so, when the countless herd of the Force nonetheless reached the boundaries of its habitat, the field ended. I erected walls in the path of this uncontrollable power, which in the blink of an eye encircled the frenzied animals. The Force called out, demanding a way out.
I did not submit. On the contrary, I began to compress those walls myself, gritting my teeth in pain.
This Force is mine alone. And I am the only one to whom it will belong.
The walls moved toward the flow, threateningly reducing its habitat.
The pack of wild energy howled again, demanding freedom. I remained deaf to its calls.
"I command you," I began to repeat to myself like a mantra.
The Force answered with a refusal. It didn't want to obey.
Then I shifted the boundaries of my consciousness so that the demons simply had nowhere to turn. The walls squeezed them from all sides, forcing them to stand closer and closer to each other.
The Force broke out in a wild roar and threw itself at the walls. Monstrous blows crushed the material from which I had erected the walls, striking sparks and gravel from the barrier.
It could not break out. The Force was caught in a trap. And the more it tried to find a way out, the less opportunity to maneuver remained for this untamed element.
The Force threw itself at the fence again and again, striking in a single direction—it sought to punch at least a crack through which it could slip and burst its shackles from within.
My will proved stronger.
The Force, like a raging ocean, merged into one, rolling against the walls, seeking to leap over them. Not a chance. As soon as I realized exactly what the energy imprisoned in the crystal was plotting, I covered its dungeon with a dome, fusing it with the walls. Now there was not a single way out of the trap.
And the Force realized it. It calmed down, turning into a serene oceanic surface.
The Force began to bargain. Ask, plead, demand to let at least a part of it out. In return it promised to leave a particle of itself for me, to make me stronger.
The Force whispered that I am not ready for such power. The Force mocked my past and sneeringly asserted that not someone like me should command it.
And with this the Force signed its own death warrant.
The trap snapped shut, grinding the particles of this energy into dust with its inaccessible walls. Will tore the rebellious one into pieces, tearing chunks from it again and again and absorbing them. And with each such intake the walls became harder, and the space inside them smaller.
And when only tiny crumbs remained of the untamed Force, it begged for mercy. It appealed to my mercy, benevolence, and everything most light, asking to preserve at least a tiny part of it.
I remained deaf to its pleas.
Will enslaved this Force entirely. Transformed it into a part of itself, destroying its individuality.
Opening my eyes, the first thing I noticed was that the crystal had stopped glowing. Now it was just a red piece of gemstone which, indeed, very distantly resembled a small skull.
An empty and cold skull.
"Master," Atroxa was nearby. Ashara approached at the same moment, helping me rise. "Are you alright?"
"Almost," despite the victory, the jackhammers were still throbbing in my head. And inside me, it was as if an electric current was flowing through my veins. Even the hair on my back stood on end.
"You know," having freed myself from the grip of my Hands, I returned the armored gauntlet to its place and looked at my apprentice. "You were right not to want to touch the crystal."
"Yes?" the girl asked with veiled admiration. "You... you glowed for so long that I began to worry."
"No, not at all," I waved a hand, slowly ascending the steps. "If a person glows—that's normal. That's how evolution intended."
Collapsing into the chair, I sent a relaxing wave through myself. It got slightly easier, and the hammers began to strike more quietly.
"Lady Atroxa," I addressed the Lethan. "You worked wonderfully on Kuat."
"I thank you, Emperor," the girl bowed low.
"I have already received the first results from Admiral Jerjerrod," I shared the news. "They are... intriguing."
The Lethan stood with her head tilted, awaiting my further words.
"You should talk to Cad Bane," after a few minutes of silence, I said. "He possesses information regarding our enemy's laboratory on Mustafar. I want you to beat those data out of him."
"With pleasure, Master," I felt the girl smile. Violence for original adherents of the Dark Side is quite a treat. "After that, head to that sanctuary and obtain all information available there. Then, proceed to the ancient Jedi enclave on the planet—I will inform you of its location a bit later."
"What am I to do there?"
"Adept of the Dark Side, who once broke away from Lord Kaan's Brotherhood of Darkness, dwell in those ruins," I explained. "They call themselves the Shadow Guard. Recruit them, or destroy them. I permit you to take the Sevastopol and the necessary contingent of ground forces for this."
"As you command, my Master," the girl straightened up. A smile indeed played on her face.
"And finally, Lady Atroxa," the headache vanished as soon as I sent the Force through my body. "The Shadow Guard possesses vast knowledge regarding the Dark Side. This information must fall into my hands under any circumstances."
"Consider it already yours," the girl smiled predatorily.
"In that case, I delay you no longer, Lady Atroxa," I gestured that the Lethan could be free.
***
He detected the Jedi ship as soon as it exited hyperspace. Just a small sensor array in Rugosa's orbit, yet how much trouble it would cause the Jedi. And how much it promised for the Separatists.
"Jump to hyperspace," he commanded the holographic projection of the ship's commander. The B1 droid answered like a obedient dummy "Roger, roger," and somewhere out there in the bottomless cosmos, the CIS frigate tore away from its place, tearing through space and time.
Kirwan, gazing at the holographic model of the Consular-class corvette, smiled. The Grand Master, the "teacher of teachers," had not a single chance.
Yoda can preach to the Jedi's ears as much as he likes that the Dark Side does not give advantages over the Light. He is mistaken. The Sith teaching—that's where the true power, the true authority is.
Everyone in this galaxy strives for power. And those who do not desire it are merely weaklings and losers. He himself had been like that when he was in the Order. And now, having opened himself to Count Dooku's teaching, he is a hundred times better than any Jedi.
And the foremost of them will now experience this for himself.
Over the orbit of Rugosa, a moon over which Toydaria held a protectorate, space-time began to thin; swelled like a bubble; tore. Naksu had no need to see it with his eyes—having dipped into the Force, he could observe it even from the moon's surface.
Like a drop of water condensing on cold glass, the first Separatist ship emerged through the gap into normal space. As always, it was a workhorse of the Confederacy fleet—a Munificent-class frigate. Another followed it.
And finally, tearing the icy vacuum with its mighty hull, filling the planet's orbit with endless streams of turbolaser shots, the Overlord slid into space.
A practically exact copy of the ill-famed Malevolence destroyed under General Grievous's command, the Overlord was its full twin brother, with one significant difference.
Kirwan's flagship had no ion cannons, which had so generously thinned the Republic fleet. Instead of that, as it turned out, extremely vulnerable weapon, the dreadnought's powerful reactors fed numerous turbolaser batteries, of which there were twice as many on board the Subjugator-class ship as on the first-born of the Free Dac Volunteers Engineering Corps.
The corvette, finding itself in a trap, began to maneuver hysterically, trying to avoid a direct hit that threatened not just a hull breach—the entire ship could evaporate. Naksu met the report of the droid performing the role of commander with a smile.
"Target surrounded. We are firing, however the target is slipping away."
"No matter," the fallen Jedi decided. Indeed, where could Yoda go in the current situation? Only if he merged with the Force.
He cautiously reached toward the corvette with the Force, enclosing it in his mental embrace like a Twi'lek concubine.
The Baron smiled, touching the pilot's mind. Although he was a clone, a copy of a person created only for war, he still experienced emotions. At the moment—fear. No, even terror: the frigates released "vulture" droids to corral the prey even faster.
Kirwan burst out laughing, feeling as a turbolaser shot that hit the corvette's hull tangentially licked off one of the three engines like a bantha's tongue.
The Consular, like a beaten nexu, began to spin, spewing clouds of smoke and pieces of red hull plating into space.
What drama, who would have thought.
Jedi Master Yoda, the best of the Order's members, a calculating and farsighted politician and leader, had fallen into a trap set by his former pupil.
The Baron smiled, literally feeling how grateful Count Dooku would be to him when the CIS ships destroyed the Grand Master.
Yoda was hurrying to a meeting with the King of Toydaria to discuss the issue of building a Republic base on the planet. The only world located in Hutt Space but not controlled by those fat slugs. At least—not directly.
Toydaria had maintained neutrality since the start of the conflict, while not forgetting to help the Republic. As, for example, it had done by providing its planet as a bridgehead for sending humanitarian aid to besieged Ryloth. Count Dooku was strongly displeased that such a scam by Senator Bail Organa and that clown, who by misunderstanding was called the representative from Naboo, Jar Jar Binks, had been crowned with success.
Since then, the Jedi High Council had not missed a chance to win the Toydarians over to its side. King Katuunko, ruling Toydaria, finally, almost a year since his participation in the Alderaanian's and Gungan's scam, decided on an open meeting. Spies at his court asserted that the King had already made his decision—to join the Republic.
Which would make the situation in the nearby sectors significantly less attractive for the Separatists. Republic shipments through Hutt Space could converge on Toydaria, which might mean the placement of an entire fleet there. Which would create problems for Count Dooku's plans in nearby systems.
Kirwan had been sent by the ruler of Serenno with one single goal—to attract Katuunko to the CIS side. If the King proved too stupid to understand the obvious—the Confederacy will win this war, sooner or later—then the Baron received carte blanche for negotiations with the King's successor. Fortunately, the one who should become so in the event of the Toydarian ruler's death did not share his King's farsightedness. But isn't that even better?
The Force slashed across his nerves.
Naksu, in a frantic impulse, snatched a monocular from his belt and aimed it at the orbit, just at the moment when the Republic corvette flew apart into millions of tiny fragments.
MAGNIFICENT!!!!
The Baron, not believing his eyes, took the device from his face, looking at the droid's hologram.
"You destroyed the ship," he stated, poorly concealing his joy.
"Yes, my lord," the B1 said in a raspy voice. "Only..."
The fallen Jedi's joyful mood vanished instantly. Had these metal blockheads messed up again?
"Speak!" he growled.
"An escape pod managed to depart from the ship," but there was no meaning in those words anymore. Kirwan, even without the droid's prompting, saw how, leaving behind a smoky trail from hull plating heated during entry into the moon's atmosphere, an escape pod was racing toward the ground hundreds of kilometers from his position. From here it looked more like a burning meteor that would fly into pieces upon contact with the soil. But, unfortunately, that will not happen in reality.
The Force suggested to the Baron that the pod's passengers would surely survive.
In a fit of sudden uncontrollable rage, he destroyed the holo-transmitter with Force Lightning. Hutt's bunglers. One has to do everything oneself.
It always amazed the Baron how unnoticeable death is in space. No air, and neither the roar of an explosion nor death screams can be heard. Even in the Force, the end of a pathetic life was almost not reflected: the corvette's pilots and crew died quietly, without wails. Their images in the Force blinked and went out like candles in the wind.
***
Jumping into the fighter's cockpit, the fallen Jedi took the machine into the air, directing the fighter's nose toward where the smoke was coming from—Master Yoda's pod had landed. Now it is necessary to finish his task—otherwise the Count's tortures will be even more terrible than last time when he failed the mission on Kamino.
Yoda's escort knew their business well. No sooner had the former temple-dweller's ship, as like as two drops of water to General Grievous's favorite fighter, materialized over the landing zone than they were already waiting. They instantly read the situation and opened fire with all available weapons. Kirwan threw his ship to the side, avoiding an encounter with a pair of missiles. Blaster bolts drummed against the hull—too weak to even scratch the paint on the plating.
Kirwan dashed upward, tumbling between sharp streams of deadly light emanating from the ground. Hutt, it turns out those small figures on the ground have not only hand weapons—but also heavy repeaters—the pierced stabilizer spoke for itself. This complicated the task.
The fighter instantly jerked sideways and turned, letting past another pair of missiles that dissolved in the dirty air. Seemed like ordinary infantry launchers. Against an aerial target they are ineffective—but if they had homing heads, he would have had to sweat to shake off the persistent projectiles.
On a good day Kirwan could destroy a legion of meat droids and not break a sweat. Now, however, showering the escape pod's landing site with fire from his guns, he felt a stream of sweat trickling down his back.
No, he will not lose today. Any day when the chance presented itself to deliver Yoda's toasted green head to the master was, without doubt, a lucky one.
Going into a dive, he noticed a tiny figure in white armor showering his fighter with fire from a rapid-fire weapon. A clone! Baring his teeth, the Baron aimed his weapons at the source of danger.
Another light blinked and went out.
Yoda, presumably, also felt it.
There he is, a huge ball of energy shining in the Force, which, like a small sun, could blind anyone if looked at too long. The Baron turned the fighter's nose and pressed the trigger. To hell with it, constant recourse to the Force was exhausting. He would deal with the Confederacy's enemies in the old way.
Yes, the Grand Master can't do without acrobatics. Kirwan gnashed his teeth, seeing the green dwarf begin to hop along the branches of local plants.
Soaring into the air, he made several turns, then went back into a dive, flooding the massive sand-colored shrubs with fire.
Unexpectedly, a glint of a green lightsaber caught his eye near the escape pod. Kirwan felt the Force emanating from the saber's owner. Splendid!
Switching fire to the pod, Kirwan watched with satisfaction as it turned into a ball of fire and wreckage. The light of the Force went out, which caused a victorious cry in the fallen Jedi.
Making a turn, he led his fighter to the point where King Katuunko awaited the meeting with Master Yoda.
Time to inform the King that the rendezvous will not take place.
***
"Lady Zavros," the Togruta braced herself, hearing her name after several minutes of silence. "How are things on Tython?"
The Togruta smoothed her lekku with a hand, then spoke.
"I have fully restored the Jedi Temple, turning it into the Academy headquarters. The local life form—Flesh Raiders—are under my full control. There were attempts at rebellion, and my students suppressed them brilliantly."
"Are there complications with your students?"
"Some," the girl tilted her head. "There were particularly zealous adherents of the Light, but I corrected that defect."
"Is that so? Someone from the Jensaarai or from the latest reinforcement?"
"One from each group."
"Even so... What is the others' reaction?"
"They are readily learning the tenets of their distant Je'daii ancestors," the girl shared. "And their pursuit of the new is generously rewarded."
"How are things with the Great Temples?"
"We have discovered all their ruins and practically restored them to their original form. A very short time will pass, and they will be ready to receive students."
"Teacher," Olie interrupted the conversation. "What are Great Temples?"
I noticed how the Togruta smiled stealthily. It seems this question is more than relevant for her.
"Lady Zavros, do you not wish to enlighten a young and inquisitive mind?"
"With great pleasure, my Master," Ashara bowed respectfully. Then, meeting my apprentice's eyes, she began her tale.
"The Je'daii Order formed more than thirty-six thousand years ago on the planet Tython, where the Emperor commanded the founding of the new Order's Academy. The Je'daii divided the Force into two aspects—the Light and the Dark Side, considering it necessary to maintain a balance of these two principles within oneself. If a Je'daii disturbed the balance and was inclined toward the Dark Side, they were sent to Ashla, one of Tython's moons, to meditate until they restored the balance within. Similarly, to Bogan, the other moon, were exiled those who favored the Light Side. The basis of the Je'daii training process was the Great Journey, which took two years. During this time, every student had to visit all nine Great Temples erected on the planet."
"But why so many?"
"Each of the temples had its own unique specificity. For example, the temple of Mahara Kesh, located on the surface of one of the oceans, specialized in teaching healing. On the continent of Masara is located the temple of Bodhi, where students learned the Force through literature, music, painting, sculpture, and other forms of art. Within the walls of the temple of Qigong Kesh, the Je'daii honed Force skills and expanded the boundaries of knowledge about it. Part of the classes took place on repulsor platforms floating between the spires, and part—outside the temple walls, in the Silent Desert—the sands of which absorb any sounds. The temple of martial arts, also known as Stav Kesh, was used by the Je'daii to study and hone combat skills; it also interacted closely with the forge-temple Vur Tepe, in which students learned the physical aspects of the Force and manufactured their weapons."
"Are lightsabers that ancient?" Olie whistled. Which caused another fit of giggles from the Togruta.
"Master, permit me to return to Tython with this young fidget?" Ashara addressed me. "I assure you that in less than a year, she will amaze you with her successes."
"Forgive me, dear," I chuckled sadly, looking at the Togruta. "But this," a nod toward Starstone, "is not your fight."
"I understand," the girl smiled, then continued. "Above one of Tython's most mysterious places—the Abyss—is located the temple of Anil Kesh, where the Je'daii learned science and alchemy, accumulating a theoretical base and achieving practical results. And finally, the last of the temples we discovered and restored—Kaleth, or the Temple of Knowledge. Here the ancient Je'daii accumulated all their knowledge gained over thousands of years. Unfortunately, we haven't been able to find two more temples, and we don't even suspect their purpose, but we won't abandon our work."
"How much time is needed to visit each of the temples and learn at least something there?" Olie said enthusiastically. "That's a huge task... In the Jedi Temple we study for almost our whole lives."
"And for the Je'daii the whole path took about two years," Ashara smiled.
"Two years!?" the girl exclaimed. "What can you learn in that time?"
"You'll be surprised, little one," Ashara huffed, "but even now, when training is conducted only at the Academy headquarters, many of the students know and can do more than many Jedi."
"Nonsense!" the girl stated self-importantly. Oh, indeed. Seems someone truly should head to Tython.
"The last of my students who told me something like that," Ashara replied simply, "I first made dig a grave, then sent his corpse there."
The Padawan fell silent instantly, evidently realizing it's not worth arguing with the person your teacher placed at the head of the new Order's training.
And in confirmation of those words, Ashara casually surrounded herself with a Cocoon, on the surface of which miniature lightning bolts flickered now and then.
"This is a combination of several well-known Force Techniques," she explained. "The sphere protects me from any external influence, and the lightning can attack anyone in the immediate vicinity. A splendid way to break through enemy ranks."
"Wow," Olie said admiringly. "Teacher, can you do that?"
"You have seen not even a small fraction of what the Emperor can do," I said instructively. "Recall, can any of the Jedi do anything similar?"
"N-no, it seems not," Olie said, stuttering, admiring the twisting lightning bolts dancing along my hand. "But lightning—it's an attribute only of the Dark Side of the Force. What about Balance?"
"We resort to one side of the Force or the other depending on the situation we are in," Ashara shook her head. "It doesn't mean we have fallen to one side or the other. On the contrary, as soon as the need for such has passed—we continue to hold our abilities within our bodies, without disturbing the internal harmony."
"Is there anyone among the students ready for graduation?" I inquired.
"Few," Ashara replied without concealment. "I brought two dozen of the most outstanding students with me to demonstrate them to you. As for the rest... All without exception understand the reason for controlling their powers, but no more than a dozen of the remaining students truly understand this and apply it in practice. We are severely lacking profile masters in the field of martial arts, Dark Arts, Force Forging... Rajivari's Vault is, unquestionably, a treasure trove that gives students in short periods the knowledge they couldn't get in ten years. However, simple theory is insufficient. We need practitioners capable of fully demonstrating and explaining that where my own knowledge is not as strong as I'd like."
"And what is Rajivari's Vault...?" Olie again voiced her question in the Throne Hall.
Exchanging a glance with the Togruta, I signaled to her that it was time for another lecture.
"Master Rajivari, one of the first Jedi, one of the four founders of the Jedi Order," she explained. "Unfortunately, after the Je'daii rejected the concept of Balance, they concentrated their research in favor of the Light Side. Rajivari was radical. He created his own Je'daii database. And such an optimal and efficient one—it could in a short period teach a student what they would learn for years in a standard curriculum like the Jedi's. Or the Sith's."
"I thought the Jedi destroyed the Vault," to say my surprise at hearing of the object's preservation was boundless would be an understatement.
"No, Master, only blocked access to it," Ashara shook her head. "If I may, I would like to voice my request."
"I am listening attentively," I nodded.
"Among my students there were talks about the Zeison Sha and Matukai you already mentioned. The former are incomparable masters in the physical manifestation of the Force, the latter in martial arts. Even one representative from each of these teachings would make an invaluable contribution to the Academy's development," Zavros said.
"Well, if they join us—they will all go to Tython," I promised. "If not, then..."
"And at the same time they are not the only ones who could enrich the training process," the Togruta continued.
"Meaning?"
"During my youth my master—the Emperor's Wrath—visited the planet Voss," the girl recalled. "The Voss Mystics are some of the best seers and philosophers in the galaxy. And they do not adhere to any radical views on the Force."
"They haven't contacted the rest of the galaxy for a long time, preferring isolationism," I remembered. "But I have heard you. As soon as the opportunity arises, I will send an emissary to them. Any further wishes from the head of the Academy?"
"Selkaths," she said instead of an answer. "Revan was able to secure their support during his bloody campaign against the Emperor. They had their own Order that made great strides in the field of healing. This would also be a huge help to us."
"My answer is identical to the previous one," what else can be said? The Republic is circling Manaan like a cat around a leaking sour cream packet. The Selkath homeworld is the sole supplier of the second most valuable medical preparation after bacta—kolto. And dialogue with them should be conducted very cautiously. "It seems you have something else to suggest to me?"
"Yes," Ashara added without embarrassment. "During the First Great Schism among the Jedi, the so-called Legions of Lettow used the martial art of Teräs Käsi, which, like the Matukai's similar training, helped Force adepts to resist their opponents—specifically Jedi—even without the help of weapons. But besides that, the Legions combined the philosophy of many other Force teachings—the Breathgivers, the Followers of Palawa, the Order of Dai Bendu, the Baran Do, the Chatos Academy, and many others. In each of these teachings there is something that could enrich our own training process, and thus—qualitatively strengthen my trainees for better service to the Empire. If I am permitted to speak openly, I would like to thoroughly investigate which of these Force teachings are still active and incorporate the necessary practices from their arsenal into the training process."
"An interesting thought," no, without sarcasm—truly interesting. Every Force teaching in the galaxy had its own zest, differed from the others. Jacen Solo in his time spent much time wandering the galaxy, taking lessons from various Force schools. And became one of the most powerful Jedi of his time, whose abilities many times exceeded those of other Jedi. Therefore, one should think hard and seize the opportunity, enriching one's own teaching based only on Je'daii views. Only not to the detriment of one's own interests. For the mentioned First Schism occurred precisely because some Jedi wanted to join greater knowledge about the Force. As a result—of all the members of the Legion of Lettow, only Arden Lyn survived, whom in the far future in the Expanded Universe Darth Vader discovered and enlisted into the service of the Dark Side. "I need time to consider this and make a decision. Tomorrow at dawn I would like to meet with your students and test them in action. If they are as good as you say—they will find a use."
"As my Master wills," the Togruta bowed restrainedly. Receiving a sign that the audience was over, the girl, throwing a parting glance at Starstone, quietly withdrew, leaving me in thought.