He was falling into the darkness.
The bottomless pit into which his consciousness was plunging extended its grasping claws toward him, enveloping him in an icy touch.
He could not scream, call for help, or in any way report his dire situation.
A hopeless fall...
And then, when he had already reconciled himself to his essence—a monster surrendered to the Darkness—the Light appeared above the abyss.
So bright that, touching the sticky bonds of Darkness, it evaporated them almost instantly. And when despair and hopelessness had already flooded him, the Light snatched him from the depths of the Abyss.
The return from the depth was painful—his body ached as if it were being burned by red-hot durasteel.
And the Light, upon inspection, turned out to be anything but what was desired. From afar it seemed gentle, bright, innocent.
But in reality...
Light and Darkness, in truth, were intertwined in a complex and incomprehensible symbiosis, from which wafted a great power.
And he touched this power, accepting it for himself with all his heart.
But the deeper he became entangled in it, the more painful it became for him. At first, he could hold it in, but as soon as the first wave of pain receded, the man could not restrain himself, allowing a light groan.
And then his world began to shake, as if an earthquake had happened under his feet.
"Wake up!" A passionate female voice invaded his ears. "Wake up!"
Opening his eyes, he realized with relief that it was only a dream.
"What happened?"
"You were groaning in your sleep again," the girl whispered. There was alarm and concern in her voice.
"Main thing is it was only a dream," he tried to encourage her with a smile. "Just a dream..."
"Three nights in a row?" she clarified incredulously.
Yes. Three nights in a row. Ever since he had returned.
The same nightmare—the apotheosis of his entire existence. When he was awake, it seemed the fragments of the past remained behind. But as soon as he closed his eyes...
"Why are you up so early?" throwing back the edge of the blanket, he sat up in bed, admiring the slender figure skillfully shedding her outer clothing. She did it so gracefully that the man cast the remnants of the dream from his head.
"I am a professional. Or have you already forgotten?"
"Such a thing is forever etched in memory. Wait," he narrowed his eyes, recalling his last request. "Did you find out?..."
"Where Janna Zan Arbor is located?" she finished the sentence for him. Receiving an affirmative nod, the girl, left in only her underwear, leaned over with a sigh and picked up the clothes. Fumbling through the pockets, she threw a holodisk into his hands. "Here—is all the information on her. The location address down to the apartment number where she actually sleeps."
"Did anyone suspect you?"
The girl, legs apart, stood with hands on hips, demonstrating her beauty without a shred of embarrassment, advantageously emphasized by her long purple hair.
"I am a professional, Quinlan Vos, let me remind you again," she said with a smile. "And the role of a double agent forces one to be twice as cautious."
"I readily believe that," he said dryly. Then, catching himself, he pulled a smile onto his face. "You did well, Khaleen. I am proud of you."
The girl went silent for a moment, frozen in one pose. But, evidently, she appreciated the compliment, smiled, and slipped under the blanket, pressing her whole body against him.
"You know," placing a hand on his chest, she tried to look into his eyes. "Ever since Dooku hired me to follow you... When I got to know you better, I wanted to tell you about it. But I was afraid of your reaction."
"A perfectly justified caution," the Kiffar agreed.
Sighing, he set the holodisk aside. He certainly wouldn't be able to review the information contained there now. The girl demanded attention. By refusing, he could sow seeds of doubt in her, which could have a very negative effect in the future.
"Had you told me about this even six months ago... I can't even imagine what my reaction would have been."
"You were gone for so long. Dooku interrogated me more than once, believing I might know the reason for your absence. It's so good you're back. And... found out about everything. By the way, why don't you say how you found out I was working for Dooku inside your organization?"
"Because my Master told me so," Quinlan thought. "And you are not supposed to know that."
"There is no secret in that," he lied. "Having seized the holocron on Korriban, I struck down another of Dooku's servants. And set out on a journey to find myself. During... a stop on one of the planets, a revelation visited me. And I learned your deepest secrets."
"It's all... amazing, and scary," Khaleen said. "As long as I've lived—I just can't understand all these Jedi things of yours."
"The Force—is inscrutable," Quinlan declared. "Just when you begin to think you've been able to open some of its mysteries—in that same second it opens new horizons before you."
"Sounds... promising," the spy said silkily. "By the way, don't you want to tell me where you got such luxurious apartments on Nar Shaddaa?"
"This is our new home," he assured her. "A gift from... an influential gentleman. Here we are safe and left to ourselves. No one—neither Dooku nor the Jedi—knows about this place. From here we can work without fear of being discovered. Though, we can do more than just work here."
Catching her emotions through the Force, the Kiffar reciprocated, sliding his hands under the blanket.
Even the Emperor's Wrath needs to relax.
***
"The Republic destroyer is damaged," the tactical droid reported. "Deflector fields are down, artillery brought to silence. Engines destroyed. They are entirely in our power."
"Send the boarding party," Nax smirked. "And prepare my shuttle. I will personally lead the assault."
"The ship is waiting for you in the hangar, Commander."
Rising from the luxurious chair in the center of the bridge, the servant unhurriedly headed for the nearest repulsor train.
The dreadnought assigned by the CIS command to his lead was striking not only for its firepower. Unlike the first ship in the series, this one did not possess ring ionic cannons. Only an artillery superior to any enemy fleet. Not in quality, but in quantity.
And now a grouping of Republic Venators had known his wrath.
However, having destroyed more than a dozen Star Destroyers from the Eighth Systems Army grouping that had arrived in the Kercoidya system to respond to the placement of a Separatist base here, Kirvan still felt his inner rage was not satisfied.
The trap was perfectly organized. CIS intelligence had spread information that a powerful Separatist defense node would be placed here. And even the specific date of the equipment convoy's arrival had reached the Council's ears.
As expected, the Jedi took the bait. And threw all their reserves into eliminating this threat. Only instead of a transport convoy, the Malevolence awaited them here at the head of fifty frigates and light destroyers, surrounding the Republicans immediately after their appearance in the system.
Of course, a base would be organized here—immediately after the opponent lost a mobile strike group capable of creating problems in this supersector. Most of the ships available to the Jedi were bogged down in battles throughout the area of responsibility and would not be able to come to the rescue. Even if the command went for it—they would arrive in fragmented groupings, which would not be difficult to destroy.
The global plan for the localization and encirclement of several Republic systems armies, developed by General Grievous, would begin to be implemented right here. And then it would pass through all neighboring ones with fire and sword. The Republic would blaze in fire and writhe in pain, bleeding out from destroyed fleets. It wasn't for nothing the Count had put him at the head of the operation—granted him a chance to distinguish himself and settle scores.
Revenge... a sweet dish, which he would execute with his own hands.
Count Dooku had been disappointed by his failure—Grand Master Yoda had survived. However, the CIS leader stated he hadn't particularly hoped for it. After all, the greatest of the Jedi was a completely different level. Despite any ancient Force techniques the Count shared with him, Yoda was still an unattainable goal.
Unlike other members of the Jedi High Council.
And one of them was currently his target.
Master Tiin. The Iktotchi who had irritated him back when Nax was a member of the Order. Specifically, this Jedi had always disliked him.
And now, when his flagship resembled a star-sized sieve, a real chance to get even had appeared.
The lonely Venator, helplessly drifting in space, had hundreds of punctures from which tongues of flame burst, burning off the remaining oxygen in the breached compartments. The hangar blast doors had been sealed by the crew, but the saboteurs operating aboard the starship had already opened the right broadside hangar specifically for him.
The droid pilot landed the transport sloop, dropping the ramp down which the fallen Jedi literally flew. He felt the smell of burning and clotted blood. This and the faint stench of a Jedi in the Force made his heart beat faster. His eyes narrowed. And the sight of dozens of dead bodies in snow-white armor only whetted his thirst for death.
His lightsaber was activated before he saw the opponent with his own eyes, ready to parry the shots fired at him by a squad of soldiers sent to oversee his landing. The Force guided his hand—no, the Force was his hand. That was how he felt. In such moments he was the concentration of the Dark Side. It flowed through him like expensive wine flowing from the neck of a bottle, bringing joy with consumption and promising more and more. His blade drew glowing lines in the air, reflecting blaster shots back at the shooters, ending their already short lives.
A dozen clones, firing on the move, descended through the main corridor to the hangar, sealing the door behind them. Baring his teeth, he ran toward them, thirsting to attack them. Rifles were nothing against the power of the Force. A single Force Push scattered them like dolls. For most, this proved fatal—the Baron felt their deaths in the Force, reinforcing his own power with the death throes of his enemies.
But there were also those who survived his attack.
One he struck with lightning. A second he choked until he lost consciousness. A third he swept aside toward the nearest partition. The rest he elegantly and aggressively dismembered, ignoring their cries of despair and pain. In agony he found only enchantment.
With the help of the Force, after previously making sure no living remained in the hangar, he pushed the armored doors apart.
"All clone units support the offensive," a voice roared over the intercom. "Destroy the boarding party."
The Baron only smirked. Even if the Jedi's voice was low and insinuating as always, he caught notes of despair in the enemy's intonation.
Like an untamed element, he burst into a squad of clones he encountered in an adjacent corridor. Their lives ended as soon as he desired it.
Worthless enemies. Only taking up time.
And suddenly he realized the purpose of all these ridiculous attempts to stop him. The Iktotchi was merely stalling for time, hoping to deprive him of strength before the inevitable meeting. Which would end in his death.
Approaching the turbolift, he reached out to call the cabin that would deliver him straight to the bridge level. But a premonition of inexorable threat forced him to be more cautious. And, thanks to the Dark Side, having sent several nearby saboteurs into the cabin, he avoided the fate of dying in such an unceremonious way—the repulsor lift, as soon as the doors closed, was left without centralized power supply and fell like a stone into the shaft.
The voice over the ship's intercom became more alarmed.
"The target is moving toward the bridge! Stop him at any cost!"
Too stupid. Could one think that an adept of the Dark Side could be stopped by such a thing?
Making sure the shaft was safe, he hacked notches into the cylindrical tube with several thrusts, and clinging to them, climbed to the necessary level, kicking the doors out with the help of the Force.
A pair of clones, stupidly positioned outside, died instantly. What a pity, he would have liked to drink their suffering.
Like a meteor he raced through the corridors, not paying much attention to the meat droids' pathetic attempts to stop him. They were nothing against the Force. Dust under the feet of the strongest.
Pure and liberating rage blazed in him, casting all other emotions aside. He gathered several facing panels from the wall into a pile, spinning them and hurling them at the soldiers who tried to block his way to the bridge. Thin durasteel plates sliced through the bodies clad in armor with the ease with which red-hot iron passes through butter.
The partition leading to the bridge burst open as soon as he applied the Force.
Vaulting over the threshold, he felt with perverted delight the watchful doom of the clone fighters in the bridge. And only one—Jedi Master Saesee Tiin—did not pay attention to the adept of the Dark Side, standing with closed eyes and muttering something under his breath.
Seeing Nax, the clones immediately opened fire. Flashes of blue blaster bolts heated up the lowest emotions within him, which he had saved for the real battle. Controlling his anger, he reflected all the shots and turned his rage into retribution. He felt no need to restrain himself. These bastards stood between him and Tiin. But he would certainly solve that problem.
The first clone fell, struck by his own blaster bolt. Two more he cut down with his light blade, accelerating to the limit. The rest he smeared across the partitions with the Force.
Stopping to gather his will like a cloak enveloping the flaming heart of his anger, he prepared for the duel with the Jedi, whose unperturbed calm he felt through the prism of the Force.
And this Jedi manner literally drove him out of his mind.
Saesee Tiin expressed confidence and contempt with his whole figure, surveying the bridge littered with his fighters' corpses. A brown cloak hung from his metal spaulders, which further emphasized his power. Seeing the armor elements over the standard Jedi attire, Kirvan only smirked. A pathetic parody of a warrior, which the Iktotchi never was. Compared to the Baron himself, of course.
"Kirvan?" One fluid movement, and an ignited saber was in his hand. "This trap is not of your intellectual level. After such a brilliant operation, they send you against a High Council member? A boy? Dooku is decisively losing his mind."
"You will die here, Master Tiin," he said the Jedi's rank with mockery. "The Light is weak, as are you."
The Jedi looked with sadness at the lightsaber in his own hands.
"You have much to learn, Nax, before saying such a thing to one who is stronger and more experienced than you."
Grim and silent, he took a combat stance. It turned out Tiin had been able to guess that his defeat was not just a natural result of the battle, but the outcome of a clever plan? Well, perhaps the Jedi was not as stupid as he seemed from the outside. However, he would not be able to get far with this information.
He raised his left hand and from his fingertips toward the Jedi flowed materialized rage. A blinding Force Lightning, capable of incinerating a sentient in fractions of a second.
Tiin only laughed. He extended his weapon's blade, saturating it with the Force. The lightning, attracted by it, struck the lightsaber, helplessly dissipating across the energy weapon without harming the owner himself.
Nax ceased his attempt, the veil lifting from his eyes. His anger was increasing. He felt stung by the fact that his attempt had failed. The Sith of the past were literally laughing at him, seeing his helplessness.
No. He would tolerate no mockery of himself. The Jedi would die here.
And now. He had something to surprise the Iktotchi with.
In the lunge he felt weightless, like a flying spear. The red blade of his saber, aimed exactly at the enemy's throat, sliced the air. Rapidly spinning in the air like a red deadly disk, it inexorably approached the Iktotchi...
The Jedi, insultingly, didn't even accept the fight. He merely slipped to the side, avoiding the deadly rendezvous with the Sith weapon.
Nax, roaring, pulled the saber back into his hand.
To the Hutts with all these flirtations! He would eviscerate the Master with his own hands!
Rushing forward, he delivered a hacking strike from above in a jump with extraordinary strength. The Iktotchi parried, letting the red blade slide along his own weapon. He didn't block the strike; he redirected it, saving strength.
Nax triumphed! The Iktotchi was, in fact, weakened! He was trying to hold on to force the Baron to expend all his physical strength, after which he would go on the offensive. Hilariously funny.
As soon as his blade slipped from the tip of the Jedi's lightsaber, the latter suddenly soared upward, landing behind the fallen one's back. Kirvan was confused for a second but reacted in time. This time he dodged Tiin's strike, performed a leg sweep, parried a saber strike, and applied the Force to push the enemy away.
However, the Iktotchi proved ready for such a feint, parried the strike, simultaneously delivering his own Push. Just as Kirvan repeated his power attack. They were thrown away from each other for several meters as soon as the energy of the two adepts met.
Already more cautiously, realizing the Master had plenty of tricks up his sleeve, Kirvan began to circle him in a wide semi-circle, as a predator observes prey before rushing at it to sink sharp fangs into the most vulnerable spot.
Anger forced him to attack. He was offended to the depths of his soul. Count Dooku had a low opinion of the Iktotchi's abilities, instilling a similar confidence in the Baron. Now that he knew a direct attack would likely fail, he had to find another way to get closer to the opponent. Or force the Jedi to come to him.
Suddenly the Iktotchi began to move, attacking with striking rapidity with furious diverse strikes. Kirvan retreated and licked his lips. Green and red energy collided; he blocked strike after strike. Still the Iktotchi advanced, trying to suppress him with his determination and speed. Kirvan decisively broke the opponent's sequence and retreated four steps, then stopped. He drew his blade around himself, forming a power defense in a deliberate imitation of the Soresu style used by several other Council members—Obi-Wan Kenobi, Luminara Unduli...
A superb defensive technique. Nothing and no one can break through a Force Barrier while Kirvan fed it with his emotions. The Jedi... didn't know much, and had forgotten even more. Therefore, the Baron very much hoped the Iktotchi would recklessly rush at him.
However, the Master proved wiser than was usually believed. Correcting understanding that he could not penetrate the defense, the Iktotchi backed away and tried to use various slow styles with sudden and rapid attacks. But the Baron parried them too, and when it seemed the Master's defense had weakened, he began his attacks. And, exhausting the opponent with his pressure, each time he went under the protection of the Barrier, forcing him to intentionally lose tempo and expend his internal reserves. A battle of attrition.
Though such manipulations were by no means easy for Kirvan himself, he still calculated that he was stronger in the Force than any Jedi. Well, except perhaps the Grand Master or Master Windu were above his level.
But they weren't here.
The duel raged throughout the ship's control center, which shook and rattled, and the equipment around it fell apart. The fallen Jedi ignored everything: the sparking equipment, the debris under his feet, to concentrate exclusively on this fatal battle. Tiin would not have defeated him in any case, but seeing that the battle was taking on a protracted character, Nax increasingly asked himself: could he defeat Master Tiin? He had to. He would rather die with the ship than end the battle and admit his failure. The Baron knew what fate would await him if he did. He would not allow Count Dooku to torture him a second time.
The Iktotchi was cunning and strong and had several tricks in reserve that Nax had never met before. Even performed by Count Dooku. But the latter was older and knew almost everything about the Dark Side of the Force. Including Jedi science. Nax tried to attack a couple of times, obviously hoping to cause a mistake or exhaust his opponent. But it was he who immediately missed a counter-strike. The consequences of the intense duel began to tell. Soon his cloak turned into a smoking rag, and one of his spaulders burned with red fire after meeting the Jedi's green blade.
Kirvan intensified the pressure; the feeling of victory and attaining his full power was approaching. Soon the Jedi's lightsaber and his head would belong to him. Then he would truly be worthy of his master's praise!
He caught the Republic general in a choking grip and continued to squeeze him despite it partially turning against him. The general grabbed him by the throat with one hand, continuing to parry attacks with the other. The apprentice allowed the fire in his lungs to feed his thirst for triumph. Even from the darkness beyond his field of vision, he sent flying objects at Tiin's legs and face, striking him from all sides.
Distracting the general with the battle, Kirvan frantically searched for a way out of the situation. In a lightsaber fight, he also wouldn't win. But that was why he was being taught the Sith teaching, that... Hutt! Well of course!
A fragment of a clone's torso, recently cut into pieces by the Baron, struck the general's knees from behind. With a cry of disappointment, the defeated Jedi fell, his face acquiring a purple shade of irritation, and his eyes bulged. Nax relaxed a little, letting them both breathe some air, but before the Iktotchi could get to his feet, he was on top of him, pressing on their crossed lightsabers, which hissed millimeters from their faces.
Saesee tried his best but could not turn the red blade away from his face. His eyes were full not of cleansing hatred, but of regret. Even at the end, the Iktotchi clung to his weak Jedi path.
"Dooku thinks," the Master was gasping—after all, the Baron had managed to knock the ground from under his feet, "that he was able to turn you... against the Order. There is no power in the Dark Side! I see your future! You will be disappointed..."
The Count's apprentice exerted his strength, leaning on the weapon with all his weight, and brought the blades even closer to Tiin's face.
Sweat appeared on the face of the Jedi lying on both shoulder blades.
"I feel... I feel only..." shock and confusion reflected on his face. "Death? You will die just as Quinlan Vos did—in solitude and immersed in your own rage..."
"Old fool," Nax bared his teeth. "Vos has returned to Dooku, becoming stronger than ever before, and entirely submissive to the Dark Side."
A wave of surprise and disappointment wafted from the Iktotchi. Naturally—the entire Order considered him dead. The Kiffar had been able to surprise everyone.
With a wild laugh, Kirvan, feeding himself with the Dark Side of the Force, unexpectedly for the Jedi grabbed his own blade with his left hand, wrenching it from the Jedi's weakened hand. Pulling slightly away from the Jedi's torso, Kirvan crossed the green and red blades on the latter's throat, and with cheerful fury spread his arms apart, separating the horned head from the slightly stout body.
Catching the gifted one's death in the Force, Nax froze for a moment, after which, realizing his triumph, he burst out laughing, filling the empty bridge with a triumphant yell.
He had succeeded.
He. Had killed. A Master.
A wild euphoria seized him when, clutching the hilt of the Jedi's lightsaber with all his might, he felt the faint echoes of the Light Side within it, encased in the crystals inside the weapon. Jedi filth, which drove him to madness by the mere fact of its existence.
Drawing in all the Darkness he could reach, Nax passed his rage through the defeated opponent's weapon, noting with jubilation how the hilt's internal mechanism warped under the influence of his power. The crystals offered resistance to the superior Force for a moment, but then, helplessly flickering in the Force with dying lights, crumbled into hundreds of tiny fragments.
He had finally destroyed the Jedi. With hidden malice, he looked at the mangled hilt, considering which of the postal companies would deliver it to Coruscant fastest, straight into the Grand Master's paws.
The ancient old man would undoubtedly identify who had committed the sacrilege over the weapon and learn the name of his associate's killer. And then rumors would crawl through the Temple that Nax Kirvan, once a mediocre Jedi, had mastered a vast Power sufficient to strike down a Jedi Master.
Perhaps it would even attract new supporters to their side.
Cooling his moment of triumph, he stood up, taking a holoprojector connected to his personal comlink from his pocket. The contact he intended to link with was undoubtedly waiting for the Baron's report.
"Count Dooku," as soon as the holographic figure appeared over the device, the acolyte bowed his head subserviently. "The task is completed. The Jedi strike squadron is destroyed in Kercoidya orbit. The transport caravan may depart."
"Commendable, Kirvan," satisfaction was felt in the Master's voice. "Master Tiin?"
Instead of an answer, Nax, pulling the object to him with the help of the Force, demonstrated the severed head, holding it by one of the horns.
"Hm... doubly commendable," a pleased smile appeared on Dooku's face. "You have worked excellently, my apprentice."
"You have taught me superbly, Master."
"There is a new assignment for you. A group of Jedi is moving from Ryloth and Christophsis to Coruscant on the corvette Consular. You must intercept them tomorrow in the vicinity of Iktotch, where they will make a stop to transfer to the Venator, and destroy them all."
"It shall be done," in anticipation of the massacre, Kirvan smiled. "May I know who I am to fight?"
"Weaklings from the Tenth Systems Army," the Count snorted. "They are so unremarkable they were kicked out even where every temple-dweller counts. Master Simms with her apprentice—this pair is the most dangerous. Knight Malorum—a dandy, dangerous mostly to himself. Salmara and Kai Justiss will not present a great threat—they are seriously wounded."
"It will be a great honor for me to destroy them all personally. Especially since they are all Dougan's subordinates."
"Do not put your personal revenge above the common cause," the Count said threateningly. "Follow my instructions exactly, and you will have a chance for a rematch with that Jedi. But first we must make him suffer by finishing off those he so recklessly sent to the Temple unescorted."
"I will enjoy every moment of their torment, Master," Nax promised, baring his teeth. "Especially since I already have a plan."
***
"You will know the wrath of my people, despicable one!"
A short humanoid being with four-fingered limbs, crucified on a torture platform, exuded streams of abuse in several languages into the interrogation room space, accompanying the interrogator's actions with this.
A clone, with a facial expression completely ignoring the victim's cries, used a sharp surgical instrument to slice the Vagaari's body into narrow strips of skin. Marking out another limb and treating the bleeding wounds with a chemical reagent, the executioner used clamps to peel off the skin—particle by particle. Neatly storing them in a special container, the clone re-treated the exposed "meat" with another portion of chemistry, which caused indescribable torment to the patient. And a new stream of abuse and threats.
Then, everything repeated again.
"A tough bastard we've got here," noted the clone standing next to her. Like two drops of water, he looked like those she had fought against while adhering to the Separatist side. But, unlike those, this one—like all other soldiers of the Empire—looked... less emotional, perhaps.
Casting a glance at the chronometer, the clone grunted.
"Third hour started."
"Estosh is one of the most notorious leaders of the Vagaari," Sev'rance explained, not taking her eyes off the ongoing execution. "A 'Blood Avenger,' as they call such types."
"And in fact—a thug like few others."
"You are absolutely right, Misk," the Chiss agreed. "But he is the leader of his people. Break him—and we get all the secrets of their race at our disposal."
"That would be good," the clone agreed. "We suffered greatly from the actions of their soldiers and weapons on the ground. We should learn everything we can, and then deal with them finally."
"I thought, Marshal, your fighters were already seeing to that?" Tann smirked.
"Of course, General. But clearing Vagat Pracat is not a quick business. There are more than forty million of these two-mouthed bastards here. We have only five corps, for most of whom this is the first battle. Orbital bombardment..."
"We have already discussed this, Misk," Tann sighed. "Our task is not only to destroy the Vagaari as a species, but also to capture any technology that will be useful to us."
"I thought that besides the mass shadow generators we captured on this scum's flagship," the clone pointed at the prisoner, "they have nothing else useful."
"One should not act recklessly," the Chiss countered. "Your soldiers have already seen for themselves that their organic weapons can be much more lethal than a blaster."
"That is so, General," the clone agreed. "But in battle I'd rather hold my blaster than an overgrown bug."
The Chiss smiled. The thoughts of the commander of the Empire's 4th Assault Corps were in harmony with her own.
The Vagaari—the first target of Grand Admiral Thrawn in the Unknown Regions—had been designated personally by the Emperor. Despite the fact that several hundred star systems lay between the Empire's borders and the space inhabited by these barbarians, the order was categorical.
Leave no Vagaari alive. Total extermination.
Genocide...
A measure that was not to even Thrawn's liking—with his unconventional views on tactics and strategy. Recognizing the danger to the entire region from the Vagaari—primarily considering their possible contacts with the Far Outsiders. And a union between these two threats, which the Emperor spoke of as an accomplished fact...
Therefore, she was leading the operation.
General of the Zakuul Eternal Empire... Lady Tann.
The first step on the path to solving this problem was the elimination of the most notorious Vagaari leader—Estosh. He was the commander-in-chief of all the forces of the Ascendancy's long-standing enemy. A most valuable source of information on the resources the adversaries might possess, the territories occupied by this people, and secret bases.
"The blight must be uprooted."
So said the Emperor.
His opinion was an axiom. His desire was law.
Having knelt before him, she herself had agreed to serve and obey. Unquestioningly.
Information on the enemy leader's location had come from Nirauan. As had all available information on the Vagaari. Despite the fact that the data packet had been sent personally by Thrawn, Sev'rance remained fully convinced that the source of this data was Csilla. Too detailed. Too meticulous.
Even the best intelligence cannot achieve such results in such a short time. Another matter—if gathering information bit by bit over decades.
The Ruling Families can say as much as they like that the Ascendancy's dominant doctrine is defense. Its people's population is not so large as to think of conquests or war for colonies. The Chiss are satisfied with their living space and have no intention of going beyond its borders. Isolationism—that was the reason why the rest of the galaxy had managed to forget about them.
One could guess for a long time about who had supplied Thrawn with this intelligence—a lifetime would not be enough. Despite his exile and formal censure of his preemptive strike tactics, he still possessed great influence both in the army and among the Ruling Families. Very little time would pass before her kin—former fellow officers of the Grand Admiral or his like-minded associates—would flock to Nirauan.
And, given the shortage of personnel for command positions, the choice of the Vagaari as the first target for the Empire's strikes was a more than clever move on the Emperor's part.
With one blow he was killing several beasts at once.
First and foremost—he was leading the threat away from the Empire's own borders. The Vagaari were conquerors. Learning of a competitor's existence, they would inevitably have attacked as soon as they learned of Zakuul's existence. Fighting such a cunning enemy on one's own territory was wasteful.
The second reason for this choice was winning the Chiss's loyalty. The Emperor undoubtedly valued Mitth'raw'nuruodo; moreover, he had known of his existence long before he appeared on Zakuul. And he had very tactfully used the latter's patriotic desire to secure his homeland from a cruel enemy, putting the Chiss at the head of the expeditionary forces operating in the Unknown Regions. Exactly where the greatest number of dangers existed, both for the Empire and for the Chiss themselves.
And this step—a preemptive strike on enemies—was exactly what would attract the Ascendancy's attention to the Empire. The Chiss were used to considering themselves the most organized force in this part of the galaxy. Discovering the appearance of a huge militarized state right next to them would force them primarily to mobilize all their armed forces—after rumors of the defeat of the Vagaari and other enemies reached the public, it would be logical to expect an attack on their own territory. Just as it would be to gather information about the Eternal Empire of Zakuul—and its strength. And the presence of the disgraced Chiss at the head of the forces destroying the Ascendancy's enemies would be a signal for the start of diplomatic relations.
"I do not wish to see the Chiss as my enemies. I do not wish to see them as part of the Empire. But I will not object if the Ascendancy shows prudence and becomes a full ally of Zakuul."
Such was the Emperor's policy.
In the distant past, the Chiss had been the Sith Empire's only ally. And as a pair they had the Republic wherever and however they wanted. Only the intervention of the Jedi, and also, as she had learned quite recently—the Emperor's lack of interest in conquering the galaxy, had determined the results of the long conflict.
The Emperor was wise to extend a hand of friendship to the Chiss. Because war with the Ascendancy was disastrous for everyone. And, most objectively—needed by no one.
The two states had nothing to divide. The Chiss were satisfied with the current state of affairs—at least, that was the official position of the majority of the state's residents. The Empire would not gain much even if it eventually conquered her kin's territory.
An alliance was the optimal solution for everyone. She understood this, Thrawn knew it, and he had undoubtedly conveyed it to Csilla. The General hoped with every fiber of her soul that the aristocrat would have enough foresight to take advantage of the situation in a way beneficial to himself.
Sev'rance could bet that the Ruling Families were simply waiting for the Empire to clear the enemies further from their borders. This would allow them, without revealing their own forces and resources, to analyze the Empire's capabilities and be convinced of its intentions.
Therefore, the extermination of the Vagaari was merely a free demonstration of Zakuul's strength.
And it had to go like clockwork. Without the slightest problem.
That was why, aboard her flagship—the Star Destroyer Chimaera—the Vagaari commander-in-chief was now being tortured. While the starship's crew members were extracting sentients who had survived the short but fierce battle, whom the Vagaari used as human shields. The huge but poorly armed ship of the Vagaari, compared to the "Ripper," had no deflectors—this technology remained unattainable for the savages. They solved the problem of reliable protection for their starships with extremely strong hull plating, superior to that on the Empire's ships.
And thousands of transpari-steel bubbles on the ship's exterior. There, in transparent domes, were sentients—thousands of various beings who were supposed to take the entire blow of an attacking starship.
Fortunately for the Vagaari and hundreds of captives, such barbarism did not stop Tann.
Three "Rippers" pinned the Vagaari ship near the latter's secret base. The skirmish took a little over an hour. During that time, the interceptors dealt with the enemy's few starfighters, bringing its engines and firing points to silence, and also swept away all the base's defensive systems.
Now on the huge planetoid, riddled with tunnels containing storage for loot and slave camps, the fighters of Clone Marshal Skip's 4th Assault Corps were in control. The 3rd Corps had suffered significant losses in the battle on the Vagaari ship, so Tann had made the decision that another unit should undergo its baptism of fire in battles with the soldiers of this race. After all, too many battles lay ahead to miss such an opportunity.
Just as it was to miss the working examples of mass shadow generators. Thanks to Thrawn, the Ascendancy had already acquired a functioning model of this technology several years ago. Now the time had come for the Empire.
Only two of them were allowed to remain at the disposal of the Empire's expeditionary forces—as soon as Tann, using her mental link with the Emperor, reported this to him, he made that very decision. For the rest, as well as for the samples of Vagaari biological weapons sent to Nirauan, an escort group was to arrive, which, as Tann reflected, would deliver them to the Empire's research center. And there, more advanced samples would be developed.
The torture had been going on for several hours. Estosh was holding on with the last of his strength—Sev'rance felt it through the Force. The interrogator was injecting him with stimulants, simultaneously sharpening the sensations of pain and not allowing the prisoner to lose consciousness.
Driven to frenzy, the Vagaari muttered incoherent nonsense mixed with truly useful data. The interrogator didn't particularly distract himself with conversations with the prisoner—the recording of the conversation had been going on from the very moment Estosh was dragged aboard. Now the main thing was to make him speak—and exactly what could be sorted out later. The Twi'leks from the fleet intelligence group would see to that.
"Ma'am, may I ask a question?" Misk interrupted the silence, trying to look her in the eyes.
"Try, Marshal," the system of ranks, identical to that adopted in the Grand Army of the Republic, did not please Tann at all. But who was she to dispute the Emperor's word? "I don't promise I'll answer you—some questions remain a mystery to me too."
"General," clearing his throat, the clone continued. "The Twi'leks from intelligence said that we are clones. In general, we know that ourselves. But in the Republic army, clones also fight—the same as we are."
"I don't hear a question, Marshal."
"How are we different, ma'am? Clones of the Empire and clones of the Republic? After all, we all have the same face. One face, one blood, one heart."
"You are mistaken, Misk," Tann shook her head. "Yes, the face is the same. But each of you is an individual. Unlike the others. And the biggest difference between you and the Republic clones is that stormtroopers are full citizens of their state."
"And the Republic clones?"
"They have no rights—only duties. To fight for the Republic. To die for the Republic."
"So, our brothers there," he waved his hand in the direction where he believed the center of the galaxy was, "are essentially slaves?"
"Precisely," Tann nodded. "They are fighting for a state to which they owe nothing. And which owes them nothing. Except perhaps for food and equipment."
"Really?" the clone was surprised. "Our brothers are fighting for food?"
"An interesting comparison."
"It turns out that is so."
"Ma'am, why don't Republic citizens fight themselves?"
"Some do. But the majority believe the clones owe them everything—including that they must fight the machine army for them."
The clone stared silently at the prisoner. It did not escape the Chiss girl that he clenched his fists, noticeably tensing up.
"Is everything all right, Misk?"
"Perfectly, General. Just waiting for the Empire to bring order to that part of the galaxy too. Can't wait to look into the eyes of those who exploit my brothers."
Tann gave a barely noticeable smile.
Maintaining the necessary motivation in subordinates' heads was a commander's direct task. And she certainly wasn't the worst.
***
"Contact!"
The warning, arriving via comlink, was late by literally a couple of seconds. Cursing quietly, the clone instantly ducked behind the rocks, hoping the clanker patrol hadn't spotted him. That was difficult when you were wearing matte-black armor and the landscape around was the color of a baby's accident.
Niner had guessed there would certainly be something to shoot at here—the front line, after all.
But to this extent...
"A light stroll, yeah," Fi's grim joke went unanswered.
Omega Squad had landed on the planet Sniv more than a week ago.
A standard mission to gather information. A piece of cake for such an experienced commando squad. Especially since according to intelligence there was nothing here but a small CIS outpost.
"I think it's time to start making jokes about the Republic intelligence's mental abilities," Darman muttered, surveying the plateau opening before the squad.
"What's the point?" Atin responded. "Every report they have is a cause for a comedy routine."
Listening to the negotiations on the closed channel of his squad's fighters, Niner could not agree with their opinion.
The planet, located at the very border of the Jent systems army's area of responsibility, where their squad, as well as the rest of Arca Company, had been transferred under Grand Moff Dougan's command, looked extremely harmless in all reports. A backwater that the clankers had only paid attention to because it was a backwater. No strategic benefit—to the nearest hyperspace route was like a bantha's ride. Minerals—slightly fewer than the fingers on a failed demolitions expert's hands. Who would think of setting up even an outpost here?
Exactly such were the arguments in the special operations squad before leaving for the assignment. No one had particularly bothered to reinforce them. Even Etain would have been very useful to the quartet of clones. Even if she was a Jedi, the girl had joined the collective, not separating her existence from the squad's activities by half a step.
However, she had stayed at the base now. Something was wrong with her health. Darman had inquired about her well-being, and upon returning told the brothers she would be fine. And old man Skirata had told them the same before the flight.
And not believing the old man was not just a mistake. It was an insult for which one could hate oneself for the rest of one's life.
"Any ideas?" Fi inquired of his comrades. "How shall we act?"
"Comms are jammed," Atin reminded them. "So we're on our own on this planet."
It was clear from the squad's technical specialist's voice that he was beginning to get irritated. The first stage in the short process of winding up an individual commando. Next comes anger, which grows into rage. Well, then the boy goes off the rails. The prospects of getting out of here unnoticed vanish faster than ice in the sun.
If Atin lost it, that was it. Lights out, throw a thermal detonator.
For the mission, the squad used an old freighter, which were obtained in large numbers by the systems army's patrol ships. Not an hour passed without a report arriving at headquarters about the detention of a smuggler, privateer, or simple pirate ship. War is a time when all the rot of the sentient world raises its head from the social cesspool where it usually hides.
What could be less remarkable than a battle-worn, poorly armed freighter that had flown into a remote system? Except perhaps a bantha in the sands of Tatooine.
However, for the CIS fleet concentrated in orbit around the planet Sniv, the appearance of an alien ship was a cause for concern. Four hundred Munificents, two dozen Recusants, and a pair of Providence-class carrier destroyers.
And all this was a screen for more than fifty Lucrehulks hanging in low orbit over the planet. And an endless stream of landing barges disappearing into the bellies of these Trade Federation giants. An invasion fleet, no less.
An armada the command was unaware of. What was their task? Unclear. Were there more ships, or was what the freighter's equipment managed to record before the little ship, struck by Vultures and plowing a enviable track on the surface with its nose, came to a halt to never rise again, the entire CIS fleet in this sector?
Questions alone, to which the four clones now had to find answers. Just as they had to think of a way to get out of here—preferably safe and sound.
The landing had been hard, but there were no casualties. Minor bruises didn't count. Omega had managed to leave the landing zone, covering their tracks, before droid patrols on speeder bikes appeared on the scene.
And although the crashed ship was now far behind, smoke from the explosion and the fire that had spread across the area still hung behind their backs.
The quartet of commandos composing Omega Squad was now absolutely motionless, hiding in the shadow of huge stone boulders, peering at the picture spread out before them.
A huge droid factory—you couldn't mistake that thing for anything else—towered in the center of the droid base like a mountain peak. From the landing pads surrounding the conveyor, landing barges were tirelessly taking off. And into orbit they were lifting anything but fruit and vegetables to please Republic residents.
Hundreds and thousands of droids were heading into space, ready for their mission—to bring destruction and chaos. And now only the four clones could in any way influence the further work of this enterprise.
CIS soldiers did not need barracks, rest, or food. Therefore, besides the giant droid factory building, the CIS base, fenced off by a three-meter permacrete wall, was mostly open space. A parade ground where freshly assembled droids, tanks, transports, and...
Increasing the zoom of his own helmet's visor, Niner swore quietly.
Bantha fodder.
Droidekas.
Inventions of the Colicoids' dark genius, these lethal things had significantly bled all the clones of the Grand Army of the Republic without exception. And now thousands of these machines were slowly marching across the parade ground, drawing into the interiors of dozens of CIS landing ships in a thin stream.
"Not good," Atin said, hearing the account of the new troubles. "B-1s and B-2s are one thing, but droidekas..."
"If we get out of here," Darman said grimly, "I'll find the piece of s—t that prepared the information on this planet and break his face all the way down to his tailbone. This is a setup."
"In that case, we should head to Coruscant," Niner said quietly. "The old man said the intelligence came from the Special Operations Brigade."
Fi whistled in surprise.
The Bureau—the place where they had served since the very start of this war. The union of all clone commandos, from where they, having received assignments, set out across the galaxy to deliver pinpoint strikes to the opponent. General Zey headed the Brigade, for whom, as well as for his current Padawan, most commandos had respect.
"Could it have been a setup?" Atin shifted in place. Well, it looked like the second phase had begun.
"Have you completely lost your mind?" Darman flared up. "Zey wouldn't do that."
Though Fi remained silent, Niner understood he held the same opinion.
However, the squad leader himself was not inclined to agree with his brothers so recklessly. And the reason for that was something they didn't know.
The complexity and discretionary nature of the Regulations, and the endless amendments and additions made to them by the Senate, created a double line of command for the commando squads. On one hand, they were fighters of the Tenth Systems Army and orders given by commanders on the spot were law for them. However, despite the transfer from direct Brigade command to the active army, the commandos were also obliged to carry out the will of the superiors from Coruscant. And this despite the fact that they had several thousand of their own squads left in the SO Bde. Departing for their station, Niner, as well as Boss, and Sergeant, and the leaders of other commando squads believed they would be performing tactical tasks in the army's area of responsibility. And so it turned out—now they at least wouldn't be chased to the other side of the galaxy. But the existence of dual command, neither of which could be refused (a war crime, after all), gave rise to unhealthy ferment among the elite of the clone army. Jango wouldn't have approved of such a mess.
Hutt-spawned Amendment 134-Besh. It was less than two weeks old, and already a headache for years to come.
Not long ago, a fleet reconnaissance operation had successfully failed, the goal of which was to find and destroy a CIS listening station that was "sucking" information from the army's communications. The success of this mission was to be the prologue to a full-scale offensive along the entire length of the supersector's borders in this region of the galaxy.
The Tenth Army upon its creation had "bitten off" a generous piece from the 4th Sectoral. And not the "tastiest" one. Cyrillia, located at the junction of the territories of three sectoral armies, was a bone in the throat. Though the planet was famous only for being the home of the company producing the notorious DUM-series droids, the SO Bde had established their link to the CIS by the end of the first year of the war. Even if the production of battle droids there was not large, CIS raiders were based in the system—no matter how much the government denied it.
Gindine. The Kuat Drive Yards assets there had been captured by the CIS, and since then Munificent-class frigates had been frequent guests in this region. Fortunately, a CIS fleet base was deployed in the system, and the huge mineral deposits (otherwise the Kuati wouldn't even have turned their noses) made this system another unpleasant "gift."
Mimban... The disaster of the 224th Division had not healed in the clones' memory. Just as Jabiim would never heal. Muunilinst. Christophsis. And a good dozen other planets in this galaxy. Only in other cases had it been possible to save at least someone. The 224th had perished in its entirety. No one escaped. And since then the clankers had only strengthened there. According to rumors—for to call these sluggish trickles of information supplied by Republic Intelligence "intelligence data" was impossible—the clankers had located something like a headquarters for the entire grouping there. And to pry this infection out required far more strength than had been available in the 4th Sectoral since its creation. Small wonder that as soon as this region became the Jent area of responsibility, about whose fighters' persistence very encouraging rumors were circulating, they were tasked with throwing the Separatist scum out of the sector.
Another headache was Amberland. There seemed to be nothing supernatural about this world. However, with the joining of the CIS, the residents had gone to war with their neighbors, conquering, plundering, or simply destroying the population of almost all neighboring planets. The residents of Soloriis, T'surr, Attahox, Nan'tri, Nyxor, and Daalang would not lie. At least those who survived.
Specifically, on the latter, located at the intersection of hyperspace routes, the Seppies had erected their own base. And as the Old Man assumed—it was a bridgehead for an attack on Hutt Space, with whom the Republic had the misfortune of concluding a peace treaty.
Yugo'kor—the residence of one of the most powerful pirate clans in nearby space. Convoys following through Hutt Space into the 12th and 4th had a very hard time. Azure Spear had made many attempts to neutralize this threat. But the Separatists established on Randor, a key world for local hyperspace routes, negated all attempts. To breach the defense of an economically developed planet around which deep-echeloned space defense was built and hundreds of combat ships hung in orbit was no easy task. And even less so for the battle-weakened 12th.
Well, and for dessert—the Dreisum system. Not particularly remarkable, but rich in raw materials.
Thus, the opponent had dug in in an entire sector, at the intersection of several routes, locking the space like a mousetrap. Too bad this only became known after the Jedi lost an entire squadron and the bulk of the 212th Corps there. Of course, the data obtained by the scouts was much fresher than what was available on Coruscant, but the price... too great.
Returning to the orders from the SO Bde, Niner could bet that those at the top, if they didn't know for certain, suspected that fortified enemy positions had formed from the southeastern part of Jent, as well as from the north.
Because only thus can one explain the dispatch of Delta Squad to the planet Quen near the Hutts—Boss had been quite eloquent about that.
Aiwha Squad—on Chalacta, Vevut—digging with its nose on Darkknell, an agricultural world that had only joined the Republic a year ago, Yayax—on Ubrikkia, where, as on Gindine, there were Kuat Drive Yards shipbuilding facilities.
What to say—even the Nulls, whom the Hutt usually can't force to carry out orders—even they had scattered in space from Bimmisaari and Boz Pity to Lowick and Formos.
If the three other squads—Inferno, Hurricane, and Laskovyi Mai—had not been occupied in troop operations, they would have been sent on similar missions.
Estimating the scale of the search measures in his head, taking into account the known enemy deployments, Niner could state only one thing.
Coruscant clearly had information about CIS actions in these sectors. If they got out of here, it was not excluded they would be moved to the opposite edge of the Jent army's area of responsibility. Because there was clearly if not an attempt at encirclement, then a separation of the Tenth Systems from its nearest neighbors.
What a pity it was impossible to speak with the commandos from the Seventh and Eighth. They undoubtedly had similar tasks. And if so, it was worth preparing for a global poodoo. Fighting in encirclement was the worst a soldier could imagine. And there was no difference whether you were squeezed by the opponent in one city, on a planet, or in a system. Thousands of deaths of clone brothers and other sentients were guaranteed.
And that was not just "not good." It was...
Niner found no decent synonyms, so he decided it was best simply not to show that he knew more than the others.
The squad's situation was already deplorable—the four of them in enemy territory. It wouldn't do to undermine morale by announcing they had likely been shoved here on purpose.
The Captain felt no anger upon realizing this fact. He understood perfectly well that regardless of the operation's success, command would in any case realize something was wrong here. If even one fighter returned—he would report it personally. If no one returned—guessing the reasons for failure was pointless.
However, it was too early to sing the traditional Mandalorian funeral song. They had gotten out of worse scrapes. Both they and other squads. The hunt for terrorists on Coruscant alone—the last assignment for most commando squads in direct Brigade subordination—was worth something.
Not "shiny," in a word.
"Any suggestions?" Niner inquired of his comrades.
"Blow everything to the Hutt and get out," Atin grunted. Oh, looked like he'd returned to the first phase again. The case where regression was for the mission's benefit.
"Accepted," the Captain agreed. "How? I left my baradium bomb in my other pants."
Muffled laughs from the fighters rang out in the helmet headsets. Laughing meant they hadn't despaired. Good.
"Niner," Darman caught his attention with a barely noticeable nod of his head. "Look."
Still hiding in the shadow of the local relief, the Captain adjusted his visor to the point where his brother was pointing.
"Curious," he drawled.
Indeed—the situation was more than interesting.
Primary reconnaissance had shown that the wall surrounding the Separatist base was solid. Their speeders jumped over this obstacle when going on patrol. Vultures didn't need gates at all.
And yet, Omega was now observing a clanker caravan moving toward the blank wall. More than two dozen repulsor-cushion transports were hovering above the ground, avoiding encounters with the irregularities of the local terrain.
"Interesting, and what is it they're transporting?"
"Multi-service transport," Fi identified immediately. "A capacious thing—you can chew droids with your nape in there."
"Met those before?" Niner inquired. He himself was seeing such CIS machines for the first time. Huge, awkward... As if someone huge had chewed an MTT and spat it out from indigestion.
"Their models were attached to reports on battles on Raxus Prime, Ren Var, Thule," Fi explained. "I leafed through them in my spare time."
"Familiar names," Darman drawled. "Is that when the Jedi were looking for some ancient thing?"
"Spot on," Niner agreed. Now he too remembered—there had been information on these machines in the general GAR database. "20 tons of net cargo..."
"Or droids," Atin reminded them.
"No difference," the Captain cut him off. "This convoy—is our chance to get inside without attracting attention."
"It's five kilometers to them across practically open ground," Darman noted. "We'll be spotted from the observation towers."
At the tops of each of the CIS base walls were very tall—ten meters, no less—thin towers, clearly for guards. Separatist stinginess as always exceeded logic. Had there been even one organic detector on this base—not even fancy armor would have saved the commandos.
Meanwhile, the chain of transports approached the wall almost closely, and in that same second part of it went down, granting the trucks a road into the base territory. Settled in comfortably—you couldn't even see it from afar right away. And you couldn't get closer—in sunlight, four fighters in matte-black armor would stand out...
Wait.
In the light of day.
"Fi," the plan had already matured; now it only remained to show patience. "You and Darman are first on watch. Watch the convoys—I have a feeling it's not the only one rolling around here. Most likely, they are delivering resources to the conveyor. Otherwise, the Seppies just have nowhere to get metal in such volume. And keep an eye on the patrols—we need to determine their frequency too. Atin and I will relieve you in two hours."
"And if there are no new convoys?" Fi clarified.
"Then we'll wait for dark and climb over the wall the old-fashioned way," one of the rock ledges formed a fairly spacious hollow under it, where two commando squads could have fit if desired. Now their backpacks with supplies and most of the weapons were there. Niner, waving to Atin, slid down there, preparing to fall asleep right in his armor.
"That's understandable," Fi grumbled. "But what are we going to do on the base?"
"Everything as always," the Captain put his left hand behind his head. It didn't add much softness to his head, but habit is a persistent thing. "We'll go in, determine the capacity of this factory, and blow everything to the Hutt. There's certainly a reactor in the factory. So we'll give the Seppies a fireworks show."
Hearing the brothers' satisfied grunting in the comlink and the creaking of Atin settling down nearby, Niner habitually placed his right hand on his blaster and instantly fell into sleep.