Darth Maul had captured Satine—the only one his old enemy loved. To lure Kenobi out. Knowing full well that he wouldn't be able to bring an army with him.
And even Satine's execution—pointless in a political sense—had happened only so that he, Obi-Wan Kenobi, would experience soul-crushing pain. To know in his own skin what loss, emptiness, and hatred felt like...
And no matter how much he tried to hide it from those around him, the Jedi had indeed crossed the line. He had opened himself to feelings. He had allowed the Dark Side to lead him in battle. To fight for the sake of revenge, for the sake of killing...
It was doubly sad to admit that he had been one step away from ending the confrontation that began over ten years ago. He should have simply... not been a Jedi. And then there would be less pain and suffering in the galaxy.
They wandered the maze of Sundari's streets for several hours before they were certain the enemy had lost sight of them completely. Getting rid of the armor in a nearby Death Watch cache took half an hour. Dressing in new clothes to look like locals—another half hour. Using a speeder, in whose hidden compartment Satine's body was securely stowed, to get out of the city—a little over an hour.
And after that, their journey to Keldabe began.
During all this time, they didn't exchange more than a couple of words. Just two people, strangers to each other, each grieving for a third. And each in their own way...
"She was my sister!" Bo-Katan said clearly and loudly. The Jedi started, realizing he had fallen asleep on the way. Looking around, he saw that their speeder was already on the outskirts of Keldabe, parked near one of the semi-ruined residential buildings.
And nearby, as if on parade, more than a dozen identical XS-class Corellian freighters were lined up. Obi-Wan racked his memory, recalling a report at the Council. Someone from Jedi Intelligence had reported that a fairly large transport company was operating in the galaxy, whose fleet consisted of such ships. Apparently, they were affiliated with Hutt Space and were periodically recruited to transport military cargo during the first year of the war, when the Grand Army's logistics were literally suffocating from their own incompetence.
The second thing that caught his eye was a middle-aged man talking to Kryze, standing at the ramp of one of the freighters. A slightly haggard face, a stocky build, a pair of blasters on his belt. A typical Corellian smuggler. Not the worst company Kenobi had ever been in.
"Bo-Katan," the Corellian said wearily, "you have my condolences. Honestly. I don't know what kind of person your sister was, but losing loved ones is always painful. But despite all that, I'll say it again. I won't take your job. It's a direct order from the Mandalore."
"Since when did you start listening to that red-headed bitch?" Anger rang in Kryze's voice. "Have a conscience, Car'das."
"I did," the man nodded. "No pleasure in that union. I value my own ass more. It's had more than enough adventures in the last year as it is. So, either go negotiate with Shea, or find yourself another pilot."
"I can be your pilot," a child's voice rang out from somewhere in the alley. Kenobi, like the other two, stared in that direction. To his great surprise, a boy of about eight or ten appeared before his eyes, dressed in dark pants and heavy boots. Over a light white shirt, he wore a dark jacket, and a massive blaster was visible on his belt. Obi-Wan, meeting the boy's eyes, noted with surprise that he had an unnervingly intelligent gaze for a child. Hard, prickly, observant.
With a slow, almost swaggering gait, he approached the group. Behind him, at a distance of several meters, walked a tall Wookiee with fur dotted with gray patches. In her hands, she carried a monstrous-looking blaster rifle, and bandoliers with power cells were worn crosswise over her chest. And this alien's look was unfriendly.
"Who the hell are you supposed to be?" Bo-Katan asked in surprise as the boy reached them.
"A stray," Jorj grimaced as if from a toothache. "Showed up in our company not long ago. Kid, I hope your friends don't charge your hyperdrive, what the Hutt are you even doing here? You were supposed to fly out with Dewlanna this morning."
"Don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong, Car'das," the boy said coldly, but with a crooked smirk, as he moved closer. "Unlike you, I've got enough metal in my credits to take a risk for a good price."
"You?" The Force told Obi-Wan that Kryze was surprised to the extreme. "How old are you even, kid? Six?"
"Eight," the boy said solemnly, making Kenobi feel there was something remarkable about him. As if the Force itself wanted him to take a closer look at the lad. "But don't worry, auntie, you're not my type. If you were about thirty years younger..."
" I'll cut your ears off and shove them up your ass, you brat," Bo-Katan growled, taking a step toward the boy. But she stopped immediately, seeing the barrel of a blaster pointed at her, held by the lad in a quite professional manner. Pressed against his torso, so the opponent would have minimal chance of knocking the weapon from his small hand.
"I wouldn't recommend it, auntie," he said. "I have an iron rule—I shoot first. So, are you flying with me, or what?"
"Go to—"
"We're flying," Obi-Wan spoke up, deciding it was time to stop pretending to be asleep. Hopping out of the speeder, he approached the group, showing the tensed boy that he had no weapon on him. "Assuming you have a ship, of course..."
"He's got a bucket," Car'das said with a hint of envy. "The whole company is wondering where he got a relatively new freighter—it's forty years old, if that, and with plenty of non-standard and very expensive upgrades."
"That one," the boy pointed with pride to a snow-white ship standing at some distance from the others. Like a low-slung saucer, it rested on several landing struts, its boarding ramp invitingly lowered.
Resembling a flattened disk, it nevertheless had an offset cockpit pod with glazing. And although Corellian shipbuilding traditions were recognizable in its exterior, the Jedi found it impossible to identify the ship type at first glance. Especially considering the fact that, to his shame, he hadn't even noticed the ship standing a hundred meters behind him.
"And you know how to fly it?" Kenobi was surprised, looking at the boy with a mixture of disbelief and wonder.
"I'm a Corellian, sir," the boy said proudly. "The art of piloting small ships is something I absorbed with my mother's milk, wherever that bitch might have been wandering."
"Aren't you a bit small for a pilot?" Kryze doubted. "Do your feet even reach the pedals?"
"For that, I have Dewlanna," the boy nodded toward the approaching Wookiee. "In case anyone's interested, she's one of the smartest Wookiees I've ever met. And together, we handle our ship just fine."
"Right, right," Bo-Katan huffed. "So you're so confident in yourself that you're ready to go against the opinion of the Mandalorian leader and provide me with your ship?"
"Mandalore the Avenger doesn't give me orders," the kid smirked. "I'm a free agent and I don't owe anyone anything."
Hearing this, Jorj Car'das spat at his feet and walked quickly onto his own ship. It seemed the boy got on his nerves.
"Is that so," Obi-Wan chuckled. "Well..."
"Well, well, hyperdrive's swell," the kid interrupted. "Are we talking or flying?"
"Flying," Kenobi said. "But we have a problem with cash..."
"No big deal," the boy smirked. "I'll take your speeder as payment. Looks like it's worth about fifteen thousand. That's enough to pay for the passage for the two of you. And for not asking questions."
"Thirty," Bo-Katan said coldly. "It's only six months off the assembly line..."
"In that case," the boy smiled charmingly, "consider it so that you'll even have a hot lunch on the way. Where are we flying, by the way?"
"To Coruscant," Kenobi answered quickly. He had been ready to start haggling with the boy—the kid, after all, had named a price for the flight without even knowing the final destination. And upon learning that the travelers needed to go to the capital, he could have hiked the price.
"I'd even parade through the Kessel Run for that," the boy shrugged. "If we're done, grab your gear from my speeder and follow Dewlanna on board. I'll be back in half an hour—just going to sell this machine to a local fence and I'll be back." He patted the transport the Jedi and Mandalorian had arrived in.
"Regarding the cargo," Kenobi hesitated. "The thing is, we have with us..."
"Put the corpse in the second refrigerator," the boy said carelessly, having already opened the luggage compartment. "Dewlanna will show you how to turn on the stasis system. I don't want the ship smelling like a dead person."
Following this, he hopped easily into the driver's seat. Waiting for the pair—the Jedi and the Mandalorian—to remove Satine's body, carefully wrapped in a thick burial shroud, from the speeder, he started the engine.
"Listen," Kenobi approached the driver's side of the transport. Seeing that Bo-Katan and the Wookiee had headed toward the ship, he asked the question that troubled him. "I don't mean to offend you, but your starship doesn't look like it's capable of breaking through a blockade of criminal ships..."
"Don't worry, pops," the boy smirked. "I've got the fastest hunk of junk on Mandalore. I'll get you to Coruscant faster than you can imagine."
"I don't like your boasting, boy," Kenobi pursed his lips. His life experience proved that the more a sentient talks about their capabilities, the worse they realize them.
"Remember this, pops," the boy said without a smile. "I stand by my words. I don't say anything I can't do. My former... employer taught me to think forty times before putting something into practice. So, don't sweat it, we'll break through that blockade."
"I'll try not to forget your words," Obi-Wan smiled, stepping back from the speeder. "What's your name anyway, young captain?"
"Solo," the boy drawled. "Han Solo."
***
The rear part of the Telos's bridge, through the efforts of the designers, had been cleared of everything unnecessary. And now, separated from the rest of the superstructure by thick armored plates, the spacious room served as an operations center where all senior officers had gathered—either in person or as holograms.
"Gentlemen," Dougan said, carefully ignoring the fact that at least two ladies—a Togruta and his own apprentice—were present in the room. "We are three hours from reaching the objective. Therefore, there is nothing stopping us from revealing the goal of our mission to you."
In the center of the operations center was a large holoterminal, around which, with hands behind their backs, stood the commanders of the four corps assigned to the Grand Moff. In addition to the two Jedi, the fleet commander—Admiral Declann—was also present. There were also several holograms of Jedi from the Order's Council.
Mara, patiently restraining her curiosity, stood in the back rows—along with a good dozen various specialists from among the Christophsian volunteers who staffed the fleet's ship crews. Well, it was understandable—only the main players were invited to the "table." And she was a simple staff operations officer who had practically begged to participate in this event at the very last moment.
Staff work was honestly... exhausting her.
Every single day she compiled reports from the fronts, formed reports for various instances, and conducted endless negotiations with commanders on the ground to clarify the situation. And all this just so that twice a day—before dawn and after sunset—she could look into the Grand Moff's office and place a data pad with updated information on his desk.
One could go crazy like that.
Therefore, taking advantage of the opportunity during the morning report, she had asked Dougan to participate in the upcoming operation. Even as a gunner. Anything to get out of this routine hell for a while.
"And what about the reports?" the Jedi asked, smiling cheerfully. "How will the army survive even a week without your concise and pithy reports?"
"If you only knew how much time I spend filtering out grains of valuable information from the volume of shit your Jedi comrades send instead of reports," the girl thought then. But aloud, she answered something completely different.
"Sir, my work does not require me to be at my desk constantly. All information reaches me through communication channels anyway, so I can go with you without detriment to the service."
"Do you want to escape the office, Cross?"
"Precisely, sir." Lying to a boss who can see right through you was not the best career move. "Permission to speak frankly?"
"Go ahead."
"Sir, if I don't change my surroundings, at least for a while, I'll certainly lose my mind," she explained quietly.
"Have you tried taking a vacation? Even General Jinn takes time off."
"No, sir. Vacation is an unaffordable luxury during a war. I just need a change of scenery, nothing more."
"Or to find a man," the Grand Moff added quietly, causing the girl genuine surprise.
"I beg your pardon..."
"I said, I'll see you on board, Captain," the Grand Moff replied then with a dry smile on his lips.
And here she was among those "big bosses" discussing the invasion plan for...
"Hypori?!" Master Ti's voice expressed extreme doubt. And no wonder: after the first attack on this planet—a strategic center of the CIS, from where endless streams of droids moved throughout the Outer Rim—had failed, the command had preferred not to risk new attacks. For almost a year, Hypori had remained in the GAR's rear, bristling with minefields and a substantial defense fleet, where there were more than fifty Munificent-class frigates alone. Not to mention two dozen Recusant-class destroyers and regular trips by Lucrehulk-class battleships transporting the mechanical army to their service locations.
"A serious target, this is," Grand Master Yoda said. "Strongly protected, it is."
"Not to mention that Hypori was not indicated in your plans at all," Master Windu noted grimly.
"That is true," Dougan shrugged. "It seemed to me that it goes without saying—eliminate the problems in the rear to be at ease during the operation on the Corellian Run. I don't want someone sticking a knife in my back at the height of the main offensive."
"What is your plan?" Master Fisto inquired.
"Well," Dougan looked around. "Captain Cross, first provide the information on the planet."
Mara, feeling the gaze of dozens of eyes on her, approached the holoprojector.
"The planet Hypori, located in the system of the same name in the Ferra sector. According to intelligence, several Geonosian hives are located on the planet, moved from their homeworld before the start of the war with the CIS." A hologram of the planet in question appeared on the tactical terminal, with numerous markings. "The main production facilities of the Techno Union are located in the equatorial part and are engaged in the manufacture of B-2 super battle droids. Actually, controlled space mines are also produced on the planet—the front line of defense for Hypori, Neimoidia, and a number of other major CIS planets..."
"Master Dougan," the Korun unceremoniously interrupted the red-haired officer's monologue. "Last time, our fleet suffered huge losses precisely from the action of these mines. How do you intend to bypass this obstacle in the planned attack?"
"Um..." the Jedi in question looked meaningfully at those present in the room. "To be honest, I thought questions would begin after Captain Cross's report."
"The Council will not give you consent to conduct this operation if the chance of defeat is too great," Shaak Ti shook her head.
"Right, look who's talking..." the Grand Moff threw aside. Но затем, шумно выдохнув, произнес, обращаясь к голограммам коллег по Ордену.
"The mines will not be a problem."
"How so?" Master Yoda asked in bewilderment.
"The minefields are controlled from the surface," Dougan explained. He glanced at Mara, indicating with a nod that she could take her seat. The girl, not needing to be asked twice, flitted behind one of the work terminals, seeking to be as far as possible from the high command. "A few days before the attack, I sent a sabotage group to Hypori, which will destroy several space mine control centers on the planet. This will allow us to avoid unjustified losses during the assault."
"Do you not consider the possibility that the separatists might have redundant systems?" Shaak Ti frowned.
"Most likely, they do," the Jedi shrugged. "In that case, we have another trump card. Admiral Declann..."
"Honorable Council," the black officer commanding the fleet drew attention to himself, adding several more marks to the hologram. "The attack will begin half an hour before the main forces of the fleet enter the system. Fireships will arrive with the advance party, from which a signal to start the operation will be sent to the saboteurs on the surface. They will blow up the defense centers, which will either deprive the separatists of control and simplify the main part of the operation, or force them to use backup centers, which will be detected by the saboteurs and destroyed during the breakthrough of the fireship squadron to the surface..."
"What kind of ships?" Windu asked in surprise.
"Fireships," the admiral repeated patiently. "We have equipped more than a dozen Acclamators of varying degrees of damage with additional deflectors and particle shields. They will push through the minefield, forcing it to detonate before the main forces arrive. Based on the intelligence gathered, we know that the minefield has only one line, the depth of which is three to five ship hulls. Given the size of our detachment, this will be more than enough to punch a suitable corridor for the invasion forces."
"Would it not be more sensible to use the Lucrehulk-class ships we have for this?" Dougan's apprentice, Ollee Starstone, suddenly asked. Her mentor gave her a careful look but remained silent. An awkward pause followed.
"Padawan Starstone's idea deserves attention," Shaak Ti spoke up. "Those ships are massive, have good shields and a strong hull..."
"Unfortunately, to use both Lucrehulks, we would have to spend several days."
"For what reason?" Windu frowned.
"The plating and shield generators from those ships," the young Togruta intervened, leaning forward, "were used to strengthen the protection of the fireship detachment..."
"Ahsoka?" Shaak Ti asked with unconcealed surprise. "How..."
"An unexpected meeting, this is," Yoda added.
"Master Dougan," Windu addressed him with emphasis. "For what reason is former Padawan Tano present at this meeting?"
"She was expelled from the Jedi Order, after all," the Nautolan Fisto recalled.
"And?" Dougan raised an eyebrow.
"Unclear, your decision is, Master," Yoda squinted. "Explain yourself, you must..."
"What is there to explain?" the Jedi shrugged. "Ahsoka Tano is a citizen of the Republic, a skilled pilot, and not a bad commander, even by the standards of the Jedi Order. Membership in the Order is not the only basis on which a citizen of the Republic can be hired for service in the Grand Army. Мои полномочия позволяют подбирать себе тех разумных, которых я сочту нужным. Is the matter settled, or..."
"And you are ready to allow command to one who caused so much grief for the Council and the Order?" Kit Fisto chuckled.
Mara watched with curiosity as Dougan and the young Togruta exchanged glances. As smirks appeared on both their faces.
"Don't worry about me, Master Fisto," the Grand Moff declared cheerfully. "It's better for you—the further Ahsoka is from Coruscant, the safer the Temple."
"Thanks a lot," the Togruta grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.
"No offense," the man said conciliatorily. "Can we get back to discussing the operation?"
"Yes, that is exactly what should be done," the short Jedi decided.
"As Commander Tano already said, we used parts from those ships to strengthen the construction of the fireships," the Jedi continued. "Fifteen starships is more than just two, even if they are very large. With their collective mass, the detachment will punch a corridor in the minefield much larger in area than two Lucrehulks."
"According to our information, there is a huge fleet in orbit of Hypori," Shaak Ti recalled. "With what forces are you storming the planet?"
"With the forces of the strike fleet under the command of Admiral Declann," the Grand Moff stated. "Thirty Hammerheads, twenty Marauders. Four corps of line infantry in the first wave will be landed on the surface to establish a bridgehead, after which five more corps of volunteers will arrive in the system to handle the army's rear on the surface. Padawans transferred to my command will also land with them."
"Forget you must not about the younglings flying to you," Master Yoda said. "Personally, you must oversee the entire process of their presence in your army."
"Don't worry, Grand Master," Dougan bowed slightly. "We won't stay on Hypori for long. Any resistance will be suppressed quickly, harshly, and without any ceremony."
"What about civilian casualties?" Shaak Ti's eyes widened.
"I've already realized, Master Ti, that you didn't prepare for the first landing on the planet at all," Dougan chuckled. "Be it known to you that there is no indigenous or any other civilian population on Hypori. The planet is lifeless, and the only ones who live there are the technical teams of the Techno Union and Geonosians who control the droid production lines, who at any convenient opportunity will pull blasters out of their stashes and shoot us in the back. Without thinking about who is in front of them—a Jedi, a clone, a volunteer, or just a conscientious citizen. I am not going to sacrifice thousands of clones just so that a few Skakoans or Geonosians are taken prisoner. Therefore, the attitude toward them will be appropriate—anyone on the planet with a weapon in their hands is a combatant. Anyone who wounds or, God forbid, kills my fighter will be killed in return. And regarding such individuals, the talk is short—if they didn't surrender, it's not my fault. There will be no wounded."
"Outrageous," Kit Fisto exhaled. "Clones were created precisely to fight for the Republic and clearly fulfill the tasks set before them! You, by such actions, are pre-condemning innocent sentients..."
"Listen, you walrus-faced fool," the Jedi Master addressed the Nautolan wearily. "I knew you were a textbook coprophile before this. Но что еще контуженный на всю голову – это для меня открытие. Act in your army however you want—that's your business, and the responsibility for the death of your subordinates is on your conscience. I have no pity for those who sit at the conveyor controls and produce droids that then shoot not only at my soldiers but also at civilians, across the entire Galaxy. I set tasks for my subordinates in such a way as to obtain maximum benefit with minimum losses. And if your tentacle-like head doesn't have enough brains to reach that on its own, watch and learn while I'm alive."
Mara, stunned by such a conversation between Jedi, looked around in surprise to gauge the reaction of those present. But... to her amazement, she saw that on the faces of the clone holograms, though they looked imperturbable, there was... approval. Though not explicitly, these stern men treated their commander with understanding and respect. Despite the fact that he had effectively cursed out another, no less high-ranking than himself, in front of them and violated all possible written truths of the Regulations.
"Master Dougan, Master Fisto," Mace Windu said sternly. "Stop this immediately!"
"As you wish, Master Windu," the Nautolan bowed low, giving everyone his unchanging smile.
"Not that I particularly wanted to continue," the Grand Moff shrugged. "Any more questions for me, Masters?"
"Yes, Master Dougan," Shaak Ti drew attention to herself. "As for the other operations you had planned..."
"Master Ti!" the man approached the holoprojector closely, raising his voice for some unknown reason. "Master Ti! The connection is breaking up... Repeat, I can't hear you!"
"The communication channel is stable on our end," the Korun frowned. "I don't understand what's happening..."
"... we are... breaking up... proceeding..." Dougan said disjointedly, then touched the holoterminal keyboard. In that same second, the holograms of the Jedi Council members vanished.
An awkward silence hung in the operations room. Master Dougan, pursing his lips, looked into the eyes of each person present in turn.
"Any questions?" he asked quietly.
"None, sir," Marshal Nix replied—the only one of the four corps commanders who was present at the meeting in person.
"If I may," Marshal Ded intervened. "Harshly said, but... fair."
"We are all grateful to you, Commander, for caring about saving the lives of our brothers," Marshal Master joined the previous speakers.
Only one remained silent. The commander of the 7th Air Corps.
"Any problems, Marshal Cody?" Admiral Declann inquired.
"None, sir," the clone straightened up. "It's just... a bit unusual to hear such things... from a Jedi. After all, we are..."
"... just as sentient as the rest of us," Dougan finished for him. "And I hope you, each of you," he looked at each of the marshals in turn, "will bring this to the attention of your soldiers. I don't throw my fighters into hell or suicidal missions. Our motto is speed and efficiency. Fewer deaths—more dead clankers. I will tolerate nothing else."
"Yes, sir! Yes, sir!" the clones barked as one, standing at attention with their right palms to their temples.
"Dismissed, men," Dougan waved his hand. "Get the boys ready. The landing force will go in the rearguard of the main forces under the protection of several corvettes. As soon as we break through to the surface and clear the bridgehead from orbit—be ready for an emergency landing."
"It will be done, sir!" One by one, the clone figures faded. Nix, saluting the Grand Moff, quickly left the compartment. Declann followed him. The naval specialists, left alone with the command, vanished almost immediately, returning to their posts according to the battle stations on the bridge.
Mara, continuing to work at her terminal, was at a loss. For the first time, she was confused, not knowing where to run or what to do. And honestly, she didn't like this state of affairs one bit. Because Dougan had kept his promise, taking her with him. But he hadn't assigned her to any of the squadron's services.
"Now, you," cracking his fingers, the Jedi was beside his Padawan, mercilessly grabbing her by the ear and twisting it slightly. "What the Hutt do you think you're doing, you little pest? Who told you to open your mouth?"
"And who forced the two of you to do this?" the girl cried out with bitterness and tears in her eyes. "Ahsoka! You were like a sister to me! Master, I idolized you, and you... with my best friend!"
"How did she find out?" the Togruta asked in a stunned voice, her eyes wide.
"Force bonds!" the girl shouted when the man stopped twisting her ear. Dissolving into tears, she looked at the man and the Togruta, pointing at them with an accusing gesture. "You're both traitors! Especially you, Master. You told me you don't sleep with young girls, promised you'd wait for my sixteenth birthday, and then—you immediately dragged Ahsoka into bed! Who is the same age as me. You're a liar and a hypocrite!"
"I didn't lie to you," the man said coldly. "And you're wrong about Ahsoka's age. Togrutas are legally older than humans by the time they spend in the womb. It's strange you don't know that, even though you were Jocasta's Padawan..."
"That doesn't justify you!" the girl said bitterly, sobbing. "I... I saved your life, and you don't even..."
Without finishing, the Padawan ran out of the operations room. The Togruta stared at the Jedi in complete silence.
"Rick, I thought you..."
"It seems our bond is much deeper than I anticipated," he said gloomily. "Or I didn't block it well enough last night."
"Well..." the Togruta drawled. "Quite a situation... Should I talk to her?"
"Don't," the Grand Moff shook his head. "She needs time to be alone. And I need to think about how to resolve the situation."
"So maybe you should just invite her to your cabin?" the Togruta suggested innocently. "And give her what she wants... Her brain is literally melting..."
"Melting," the man agreed. "But... in short, I need to 'push' her just a little more, and she'll be ready to open up to the Living Force. If I do it now... I'm afraid Ollee will think she achieved her goal through hysterics, not personal merit. And instead of a full-fledged student, I'll get a little brat."
"Wouldn't it be easier to tell her the truth?" the Togruta approached the Jedi, pressing tenderly against him. "She's not stupid, she'll understand you're stimulating her... Perhaps she'll open herself to emotions, realizing what you want from her..."
"Not after the events of tonight," the man objected. "Right now she's hurt, and in her eyes, I'm practically the enemy. Fine," he turned, kissing the Togruta on the lips. "I'll act according to the situation. When she calms down, I'll talk to her."
"Take my advice," Commander Tano said with sympathy. "The simplest resolution to the situation is to stop pitting her against her own demons."
"I'll keep that in mind," the man replied drily. "And now I'd like to be alone."
"As you wish, Emperor," the girl performed a playful curtsy, then turned and silently walked out the door.
For a while, silence reigned in the room. Mara, licking her dry lips, prayed to all the gods that the Grand Moff wouldn't notice her. An insanely uncomfortable situation and...
"Don't bother, Captain Cross," Dougan said, continuing to stare at a single point on the surface of the holoterminal. "With that hair of yours, you can't even hide behind the terminal."
"Forgive me, sir," the girl tried to add regret to her voice. But her thoughts were far from it. Rising from the chair, she straightened her tunic, looking at her commander. "I... didn't have time to leave."
"Oh, forget it," the Jedi waved his hand. "It certainly won't get any worse."
He was right about that.
What could be worse than what she had heard?
So, it seemed the Jedi's apprentice was trying in every way to get into his pants, and he was fending her off for various reasons. Interesting. Considering that Mara herself had heard that Jedi abstain from sexual relations.
But according to Commander Tano, Rick Dougan was definitely not a supporter of that rule. And he had managed to get into the young Togruta's panties. To be fair, she looked... appetizing, despite her young age. From her developed figure, you wouldn't say she was only sixteen...
And yet, what had happened brought certain thoughts to mind.
If Dougan didn't adhere to celibacy, then...
The girl secretly licked her lips.
Well, why not? He was a handsome man, and smart. So why not...
"And you too, Captain," Dougan said wearily, hanging his head.
"Forgive me, sir," the girl blushed. "But those are my thoughts. You can't just read them like that..."
"I didn't read anything," he grimaced. "It's written all over your face. And it shows in your uniform..."
"What's wrong with it?" the redhead blinked, mechanically running her hands over her sides and hips, smoothing out possible wrinkles.
"The fact that it's tailored a bit more than the Regulations require," the man sighed. "Specifically to better accentuate your figure. Isn't it?"
She wanted to protest, but, meeting the man's tired gaze, she only nodded silently.
Well, what was so wrong with that? She was a young, beautiful girl, and she wore a uniform. Why not take advantage of the opportunity and find herself a man? Especially since in the Blade fleet, they weren't all clones. And according to rumors, there were no poor people among the Christophsians.
"You're right, sir," she licked her dry lips, feeling the taste of lipstick. Another element of women's cosmetics that, generally speaking, shouldn't be on an officer's face according to the Regulations. But recent events demonstrated to her that the Regulations in this systems army... well, everything was much simpler than it seemed. "But you're no saint either, as I've understood. Forgive my boldness," the man raised a heavy gaze to her, "but as I understand it, you have the same problems with women as I do with men."
"What?" Dougan didn't understand.
"Well," talking about such things with a superior officer was... somewhat burdensome from a moral point of view. "As I understand it, many people want to fuck you too, but you only 'give' to those who deserve it..."
"A fascinating and concise description of my life's credo," the man chuckled, giving her an interested, appraising look. The girl, who was no stranger to enduring such "viewings," didn't utter a word until the Grand Moff had satisfied his curiosity.
There was, of course, something beastly about it. Because she was being appraised like a domestic animal. But... if one were to imagine for a moment what position the one doing it held, and what prospects were opening up...
Unfortunately, in the galaxy, without a pretty face and spreading one's legs, a girl from a bankrupt aristocratic family from one of the well-known planets in the Galactic Senate in the Mid Rim couldn't even dream of taking a place befitting her talents with just her brains. "You always have to bend for someone, daughter," her father used to say. Just shortly before their modest business was ruined and then swallowed by an influential aristocratic house that had seized all political power and the economy of the planet, and her father committed suicide, unable to endure the shame and poverty.
One could endure it, shoving one's pride as far as possible. But to achieve more, so that...
"Mara," the man said with a sigh, pulling her out of her memories. "You are a young, beautiful girl. With a stunning appearance. Your brains are in the right place. What is missing in your life that you are ready to become a mistress?"
"Well, I like you and...," casting her eyes down, she babbled, cursing herself mentally.
"Mara," the man muttered wearily. "I am Force-sensitive. And the Force is telling me right now that you are trying to pull the wool over my eyes. And in the most blatant, unceremonious way. Since you know my secret, it's logical that I'll keep yours too."
"Is that so," the girl chuckled, casting off her feigned simpleton persona. "Are you thereby calling on me to remain silent about your dalliances on the side?"
"Now I recognize the Mara Cross written about in your code cylinder," the man smirked. "And yes, I wouldn't mind if you kept your tongue behind your teeth."
"Everything has its price," the girl said uncompromisingly. She noticed surprise flicker in the man's eyes. Whatever. Jedi were rich. And if so, he could afford to shell out for her silence.
Jedi without their Order represent nothing. They are not adapted for life in normal society, they have no money, no housing. And Dougan must understand that if she just told someone about what happened here—he would be kicked out instantly. And he would lose everything he had.
So he'll be a good boy—he'll do what she demands of him.
It was good that she didn't have to play the idiot for another year. And she didn't have to waste time looking for a more or less rich and influential lover. It was wonderful that everything could be done without all this filth she had to go through to find money to continue her studies at the Academy.
So, Mr. Jedi...
However, what struck her most was that Dougan was smiling. Looking at her like a cat that had overeaten on cream. And pulling his lips to the sides...
"And how can I help the most dazzlingly cunning and dangerous bitch I've seen in recent years?"
"I'll take that as a compliment that will cost you a little more," she threw back coldly. Let him think what he wanted. She was an aristocrat by birthright. And the breeding could never be beaten out of her. Including the haughty look, the proud posture, and the habit of twisting those around her as she pleased. "I need money. A lot."
"Two questions," the Jedi nodded. "What makes you think I have it? And—for what purposes do you need it?"
"You have it," the girl chuckled. "I spent a lot of time talking to Christophsian military and politicians, visiting their vomit-inducing diner with ridiculous comedians, to find out—the Christophis government has nothing to do with the accounts from which ship purchases are made. And considering that this started after you appeared in their lives—I think you are rich enough to satisfy my little whims and make the rest of my life comfortable."
"Well, let's assume so," the Jedi smirked. "You answered the first question. What about the second?"
"None of your business," Mara shrugged.
"Pity, I was hoping for a detailed, tearful story of your fall into the abyss of depravity," the man sighed. "Well, since there's no story—there's no money either." He demonstratively turned away from her, activating the holoterminal in tactical mode. "And yes, you can snitch to the Jedi, the Senate, anyone you want—I doubt it'll work out..."
"Bastard," Mara thought. It seemed he wasn't that simple. Although, what did she expect from a man who was leading half the galaxy by the nose? That he would fall for a scheme refined over years for scamming rich spoiled brats?
"I need money to take revenge," she said.
"Now it's getting interesting," the man replied, without looking up from his task. "What happened?"
Mara gritted her teeth. She didn't want to tell the story of her family's fall to a man she barely knew. And she didn't want to feel like a fool if it would help, but she didn't do it. Not to mention how much she didn't want to experience the humiliation of him listening to her and refusing.
"I come from an ancient aristocratic house," to the Hutt with it! Better to do it and regret it than to exhaust herself with reasoning about what would have happened if she hadn't. "My ancestors lived for generations to care for our planet, influenced politics, however, after the Galactic Wars, they stepped away from that—not without the help of competitors—concentrating on business. Our family was never large, but we carefully raised our children, giving them the best education. And we considered it our duty to devote a large part of our lives to serving in military organizations, tempering our character. Unlike other softies from the aristocracy. About eleven years ago, my father joined the struggle for political power, having many supporters. And to achieve victory, he made a deal with another aristocratic house—our long-time opponents."
"Let me guess—you were betrayed?"
"Exactly. We were betrayed, ruined, plunged into poverty, and exiled from our home planet," Mara said with malice, shaking her curls. "My father committed suicide to avoid the shame. My mother gave her last so that I would survive and enter the Judicial Forces Academy. But she didn't live long either. I am the last of my line. I had to change my last name, to hide so the killers wouldn't find me."
"How interesting," the Jedi turned to her. And judging by everything, he wasn't lying—he was truly interested in what she was saying. "As I understand it, you want to kill the one who did all this to you?"
"More than anything in the world," she said defiantly. "You, as a Jedi, can't understand what revenge is. Но для меня – это смысл всего существования. To overthrow a killer pretending to be a kind and fluffy pacifist. To avenge the death of my parents, for everything I had to go through to achieve what I have now..."
"And you think I can help you with this?"
"I'm more than sure," Mara said carelessly. "You have money. And you're not that simple if your pet sluts call you 'Emperor.' So, you have resources."
"I do," the man agreed. "Even more than you can imagine."
"Then—you'll share," Mara stated decisively. "Think of it this way, you won't have a couple of extra ships—it's not a big deal."
"I suppose so," the man agreed. "The story... touched me, I won't hide it. I'll help." Mara smiled contentedly. "But, of course, not because you're blackmailing me."
"And what will make you take my side?" the girl chuckled, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm certainly not sleeping with you. You're handsome, of course, but not my type."
"If I got a clone for every time I heard that, I'd already have an army," the Jedi laughed. "No, I have my own reasons. Let's say... what if I help you seize power on your planet?"
"I'll rule it," the girl shrugged. "Harshly, but fairly."
"Good words," Dougan praised. "Is the planet part of the Republic?"
"For now—yes," the girl smiled unkindly. "But I have no desire to leave my people in a state that helped a usurper destroy my father. Especially since one of yours was involved."
"A Jedi helped seize power?" the man was surprised.
"Something like that," the girl gritted out. "Helped cover up the scandal, hush up what happened, conveniently switching public attention to a political crisis."
"Do I know this Jedi?"
"How should I know..." the girl was surprised. "His name is Jorus C'baoth."
At the mention of that name, the Jedi tensed. Furrowing his brow, he seemed to think, digging into his memory.
"Wait a minute... If my memory serves me right, Jorus only participated in one political crisis of such magnitude... Mara," he turned his gaze to the girl. "What is your real name?"
"Mara Cross Ulgo," the girl said quietly. "Of House Ulgo. I had to erase some data to throw the killers off the scent..."
"It can't be," the Jedi looked at her in shock. "You're an aristocrat from Alderaan?"
"Yes," the girl said coldly. "Does that change something?"
"And the one you intend to kill, as I understand it, is..."
"... Bail Prestor Organa, Viceroy of Alderaan," the girl stated drily. "Is it really so hard to rid a democratic state of one of the leaders of the political opposition?"
***
Cutting through the icy vacuum with its hull, the Retvizan burst from the embrace of hyperspace. A moment later, two more Secutor-class Star Destroyers materialized beside it—the Tsesarevich and the Orel.
"Hyperjump completed," Admiral Modus, on board the flagship dreadnought, commented on the maneuver.
"Excellent," Lady Grell nodded to the officer—a middle-aged man who once held a position in the Judicial Forces and the Republic fleet. A good acquaintance of Admiral Jerjerrod, he had followed his senior comrade, joining the Eternal Empire of Zakuul. And now, like several other officers loyal to Dougan who had defected following their disgraced admirals—Block and Jerjerrod—he commanded a formation of Star Destroyers. But Modus was luckier than most—by the Emperor's decision, he led the ships of his personal squadron, the Emperor's Shadow.
For the first time, this strike formation had finally gathered together.
Frozen in suborbital orbit of the most valuable planet in the Core, they awaited the last three. So that after they had disposed of their precious cargo, they could depart for their deployment location, awaiting new orders.
"So this is the goal of our journey," the man standing beside Nadia said quietly.
"Yes," she agreed. "Tython."
"We've heard legends about this planet," he continued. "The birthplace of the Jedi teachings. A world in balance with the Force."
"Exactly, Shegren," she said, addressing the Matukai leader. "The place where it all began tens of thousands of years ago. And from where it will continue, in part—thanks to your help."
Turning around, she looked at the other men standing on the bridge.
"The help of all of you," she specified.
The leaders of all the teachings who had been prudent enough to accept the offer to join the Imperial Knights had gathered to gawk at the final destination of their long journey.
Red Roberts, the leader of the Zeison Sha, who had been silent the whole way.
Ikeru—a former student and now the leader of the Black Guard.
And several others whose joining had not been as bloodless.
The Dathomirian witches, who could only be conquered by completely wiping out the Nightsister clan. The lightning attack by Asajj Ventress, who led the paratrooper contingent of sky-born and the first graduates of the Imperial Knights, literally drowned the rebellious clan in blood. No one was left alive—and it wasn't even because most of them were killed during the attack. The hundred witches captured and delivered to the New Forge... yes, such a fate is worse than death. To remain in the role of a "battery" for the rest of one's life... It's terrifying. Но необходимо.
Selkaths from the Order of Shasa from Manaan. The smallest of the joining factions. To recruit them, a coup d'état had to be staged.
The Jal Shey, whose search had been delayed due to their nomadic lifestyle. And it had taken the death of several Force-sensitives on both sides before this ancient order of negotiators agreed to follow the path of Zakuul.
The Paladins of Teppo, whose skill with blasters had significantly thinned the mechanical contingent of recruiters.
The Followers of Palawa, for whose sake their habitat—the planet Bunduki—had to be joined to the Empire.
Several representatives of the Breath Givers, tracked down across the galaxy with great difficulty through the efforts of Cad Bane.
The Fallanassi—an organization of Force-sensitive women whose life's goal was the study of the ability to create illusions. A gift rarely used even in Grell's youth. And to encounter it in these dark times for all Force-sensitives was impossible. Except that Darth Ksarion had demonstrated his skill on Yavin 4. But it hadn't saved him from death.
"So, we will be trained here?" Shegren asked again.
"To master the new yourselves and teach what you know to others," Nadia corrected him. "There are a huge number of Force-sensitives in the galaxy whose potential is too small to become a high-level Force Master or blade master. But the art of the Matukai can kindle a bright fire in each of them..."
"... turning children into weapons," Red Roberts noted. "One way or another, they will all become warriors."
"There is no other way," Nadia sighed. "If we do not handle their proper," she emphasized the last word, "upbringing, if we do not open the eyes of the Force-sensitives to the One Force, the bloodshed between Sith, Jedi, and their supporters will continue until the end of time."
"You didn't give such a chance to the followers of Darth Glovoc," noted Evgum, the Raging from the Black Guard. "Your Imperial Guards cut them all down to the last man."
"And they are the same adepts of the Dark Side as we were," Ikeru agreed with his "colleague." "On what was your choice based?"
"The Children of the Storm received the same offer as all of you. But they rejected it," Nadia sighed. The bloody battle with the followers of the ancient Sith Lord Darth Glovoc, who had survived millennia thanks to the technology of a Sith sarcophagus, became the first major test for the Emperor's personal guard. The Force-sensitives selected and personally enhanced by Dougan, from among the best graduates of the Academy on Tython, led into battle by their leaders—Logan, Sabre, and Adkar—could not be stopped by the thousands of believers in Glovoc's power, who had not left his crypt for hundreds of years. Nor by the large number of non-Force-sensitive fanatics. Nor by the power of the Force-sensitives, who could compete with any Sith warrior or sorcerer from the times of the Galactic Wars.
In fact, it was a half-truth.
The Guards, led by the Emperor's personal orders, were able to capture many of the Children of the Storm. Along with their peacefully slumbering leader. The strongest, most capable of them were separated from the main mass, which was sent by the usual route to the Lehon system.
Nadia thought sadly that several hundred Force-sensitives had already accumulated on the station. Perhaps the most abundant "meal" for the New Forge in the last thousands of years.
One way or another, the Emperor's enemies would serve him.
Like those who possessed huge potential in the Force but rejected the offer of voluntary joining.
Several Children of the Storm—a couple of dozen, no more.
A dozen Sinisters—cultists from Prakith who guarded the secrets of Darth Andeddu.
In strictest secrecy, they were all delivered to the Imperial Citadel on Zakuul, where they languished in dungeons, deprived of their powers, awaiting the Emperor's decision. And in fact, Nadia believed that unlike them, those who ended up at the New Forge were very lucky.
Dougan does not stand on ceremony with those who can be useful to him personally. Therefore, it won't be surprising if, after some time, the composition of the Imperial Guard is replenished.
And... in fact, who knows who else ended up on those lists? It wasn't for nothing that Atroxa went underground, handing over the recruited members of the Black Guard to her care. There was also no news from Celeste Morne and her apprentice Sariss.
Of course, she understood that she had no right to be interested in the work of the other Hands.
But... at times it began to seem to her that the more Dougan wanted to bring order to the galaxy, the more he became like his teacher. And soon, there would be no one left in the galaxy who could compete with him.
Even if through the hands of a student, Vitiate would achieve his goal—he would gain power over a submissive galaxy. What would follow was unclear. But now, looking at the events taking place in the Celestial River, she was already beginning to doubt that the peace promised by Dougan would ever come.
Fortunately, the resolution of this issue remained outside her competence. She had made her choice long ago.
And she served her master. Faithfully and truly.
Like all those two thousand Force-sensitives she had delivered to Tython.
"We shouldn't delay," she said. "Your training must begin immediately. We shouldn't keep Lady Zavros waiting. In her anger, she can be killingly sweet."