Mar Tuuk, staring into the viewing screen of his flagship, suddenly felt a nervous tic starting. His right eye twitched involuntarily, repeatedly obscuring his vision.
"You have to be joking!" he said in a low voice, full of despair and anger.
The OOM droid standing nearby, acting as the flagship's captain, looked stupidly from his commander to the other droids on the bridge.
"E-e-e... sir?"
"How were they able to overcome our mine obstacles?!" the Neimoidian exclaimed, throwing up his hands.
"The control rooms on the planet have been destroyed," the OOM reminded him. "Enemy saboteurs..."
"I've already heard that!" Tuuk cut him off. "Why are our ground forces idle?"
"They are pursuing the Republic clones," the droid reported. "Unsuccessfully so far..."
"Hutt take it!" Mar cursed. "All ships—concentrate fire on the breakthrough ships!"
"Roger, roger," the OOM responded.
However, the separatist commander understood that his actions were already an attempt to seize the initiative from the Republic's hands. And a desperate one at that.
And yet, everything had been going so well...
Despite his defeat at Ryloth and shameful flight, he had managed to maintain his position among the separatist commanders. Although his position was shaky, certain support from high-ranking supporters of the Trade Federation allowed him to remain in the active fleet rather than return to clerical boredom.
He had to give many bribes and humiliate himself to get a position where he could quietly sit it out. He took the appointment to Hypori, where the Republic had already been defeated once and did not seek a rematch, calmly. Tuuk's pride had suffered much more after Ryloth than his career.
His hobby of collecting information about the enemy and striving to predict the opponent's steps had played a cruel joke on him. The calculation that Skywalker was incapable of deception, for which Kenobi was also famous, had failed him at the most critical moment.
But now, in the rear of the Republic and the CIS, he could unhindered work on his mistakes, gathering grains of information about those who could pose a threat to him.
First and foremost—about Grand Moff Dougan.
Ambitious, assertive, brave. Prefers simple solutions to complex combinations. A more than mediocre characterization for any of the Jedi. But Mar Tuuk did not intend to step on the same gizka twice. Therefore, when a fleet of Republic strike cruisers appeared in the system, he hid behind the minefields, bringing the fleet to battle readiness. Scattering it across Hypori's orbit, flooding the space around the ships with thousands of Vulture droids.
The plan was simple. Allow the enemy to break through the mines, then finish off the damaged ships. Elegant, and at the same time—effective. And considering that each Acclamator-class ship carried about sixteen thousand fighters, not to mention the numerous organic crew... Yes, this victory would have brought him good dividends.
But all his conclusions shattered against harsh reality.
Having ordered the droids to scan the ships, as the minefields were also flooded with sensor stations, he felt the ghost of the Ryloth defeat looming over him. Because there weren't that many organics on all the ships of the enemy's detachment. Not to mention that the control stations overseeing the mine obstacles turned out to be disabled. As were the backup generators that were supposed to power the backup centers.
At the very beginning of the battle, he was left without a front line of defense.
Which could mean only one thing—another Jedi trap. And these ships were no more than bait...
"Sir," the same OOM approached. "The enemy is successfully advancing through our minefields."
"What?!" Mar literally jumped out of his chair. "How is that possible?!"
"We are recording a significant increase in the mass of the ships. A detailed scan revealed additional deflector field generators and plating sheets welded onto the Republic ships..."
"Immediately recall all ships from other areas of Hypori's orbit!" Tuuk shrieked.
He had divided his available forces—sixty-two Munificents and twelve Recusants—into six detachments of two destroyers and ten frigates each. He had strengthened his own squadron with the two remaining frigates, and it seemed that such forces were enough to stop the Republic breakthrough.
But in light of the new information...
The Neimoidian no longer doubted that the fifteen Acclamators were only an advance party whose task was only to punch a breach in the defense. Considering that the minefields were installed outside Hypori's geostationary orbit and were in a static state—by laying a corridor, these ships could easily open the way for the main invasion forces. Tuuk saw no other task for them—the armor and additional deflectors were precisely intended for detonating mines and clearing the space of them in a specific location.
And at the same time, such a successful placement of his own forces in terms of operational response to a straightforward invasion again played a cruel joke on him as soon as the mines were without external control. Now they were no more than pieces of metal with baradium charges dangling in space—only signals from the control stations on the surface could force them to change position, falling on the invaders en masse.
The only thing he could undertake was to pull his forces into a fist. Но произойдет это, судя по скорости преодоления республиканскими кораблями заграждения, слишком поздно для того, чтобы атаку удалось задавить в зародыше. Because each of the detachments had to travel to the invasion zone for at least half an hour at full speed.
"Relay to the ships of my detachment—advance toward the enemy and maintain concentrated barrage fire on any Republic ship that overcomes the minefield."
"Sir," another OOM approached him. "New enemy ships have appeared in the system..."
"What is this?!" Tuuk gritted his teeth. Running to the technical console, he saw with his own eyes how more than fifty ships appeared in the rear of the Republic breakthrough detachment... Hammerheads, Marauders, one Valor-class cruiser...
"It seems Grand Moff Dougan himself has dropped by for a visit," Tuuk hissed. "Only he uses such ancient history as a flagship."
"Orders, sir?" The artificial voice of the droids began to get on his nerves.
No time to lose his head. He had been instructed on this matter by Count Dooku himself—like all commanders of the separatist army in this part of the galaxy.
"Contact General Grievous," he ordered. "Relay that we have contact with Grand Moff Dougan."
***
Control stick forward, and the X-wing tumbled out into the open from the Telos's aft hangar. Actually, it wasn't in the plans; I had to ask for some improvements during the modernization. And here it was, my personal hangar, designed to receive the Defender and an entire squadron of fighters. A small thing, but pleasant. It's not right to clutter other hangars set aside for the ship's aviation with my own junk. And when you have a personal hangar with your own pilots and your own team of mechanics, you can be at peace about unexpected surprises.
Yes, the Christophsians, whose numbers among the crews of the ships under my command are growing, are loyal, and one shouldn't expect "ambushes" from them. But. As the rule of this galaxy goes—"Overconfident Emperors conclude their careers with a flight down a shaft." Therefore, to kill two birds with one stone—and quiet the slight pangs of conscience, and have a deck crew loyal personally to me, I called former Temple engineer Kodos Pike into my service. The same one who helped me put the Defender in order immediately after its discovery in the Temple Hangars. Fired along with his team of technicians when the Temple's powers-that-be uncovered their little scam with outdated equipment.
I rolled the machine into a left "half-roll" to avoid getting in the way of the Torrent squadrons. They have their work, and I and my two wingmen have ours.
"Leader to Saw and Lolita," I said into the helmet microphone. "Everything in order?"
"Saw to Leader," Ollee's cold voice rang out in the headphones. "Systems normal, ready to perform the task."
"Lolita to Leader," Ahsoka said in a slightly embarrassed tone. "Ready."
"Excellent, Rogues," I said. Sorry, Wedge Antilles, but you'll have to come up with another name for your squadron. "Form up in line astern behind me, overlapping deflectors. Stay so close you're breathing down each other's necks..."
"Maybe it would be better then for you to take the rear position and let me go ahead?" Ollee inquired.
"What for?" I asked in surprise.
"It'll be more habitual for you to move behind Ahsoka," through the Force, I felt a caustic mixture in the girl's voice. "You'll cover her, so to speak, from the rear..."
"Ollee..." Ahsoka began.
"Saw," I interrupted the girl. "No time for jokes now. We need to attack and disable the enemy flagship..."
"As you command, Leader," the girl said indifferently.
Rounding the hull of the Telos, which was moving toward the target, the trio of X-wings surged toward the objective.
The enemy flagship was easy to identify. Unlike the second Recusant, it stayed in the center of the formation. Two "floors" of frigates covered it from below and above, and the second destroyer was at the spearhead of our attack.
To the right, at a sharper angle toward the same target, a pair of Hammerheads was approaching, belching squadrons of Z-95 Headhunters from their hangars. Yes, despite the fact that our air wing was heterogeneous, I gave preference to Incom machines. A huge number of Torrents, Eta-2s, and other "zoos" had accumulated in the army, which had to be used, replenishing combat losses with machines from my partner's assembly lines. Well, if there was one thing I had learned, it was how to master the Grand Army of the Republic's budget. And it would be a sin not to do it—as fighters, Headhunters possessed great speed and acceptable armament. Its competitors could boast the same, but... the price of each machine was not at all equal.
The ARCs were currently smashing the separatists' left flank. We had very little time left before two more enemy detachments joined the fray. Their Vultures were already circling "carousels" with our fighters, but so far their turbolasers were silent. But it couldn't last long.
We should take advantage of the numerical superiority and destroy the commander's detachment before reinforcements fell upon us. Breaking the enemy one by one is much easier than gathering them against yourself in a single front.
The number of separatist droid starfighters habitually exceeded the number of our starfighters by several times. But there is nothing we cannot handle.
Habitually slipping into the Force, I reached out mentally to my wingmen. Ahsoka, catching my mental probe, readily joined the Battle Meditation. But Ollee... remained cold and unreceptive to such a thing. Insulted innocence, indeed.
I opened a communication channel with the apprentice.
"Ollee... The meld is necessary. We are much more effective this way..."
"You two can handle it," the girl chuckled. "You're quite good at it."
"Stop it," I asked. "Between us..."
"... 'it was only sex,'" the girl mimicked. "'Nothing like that.' 'I love only you.' Anything else from that series you want to add, Master?"
"I didn't swear my love to you," I recalled, throwing the fighter to the side, simultaneously turning a pair of Vultures into a field of debris. "And my promise..."
"I don't need handouts," Starstone snorted. "I didn't find myself in a dumpster. To be satisfied with a man after someone else."
"It didn't bother you before," I said. A crimson streak from a blaster cannon passed over the nose of the X-wing, but couldn't penetrate the powerful deflector.
"Before, you weren't sleeping with my friends," Starstone brought up the argument. "And here... quite the knight, aren't you. Both helped a girl thrown out of the Order by your own efforts and put her to work. Shared your experience... well done, in a word."
A squadron of Vultures, breaking away from the general melee, rushed to intercept us. Well, okay, it happens.
A roll through the right planes followed; I pulled the control stick toward me, aiming at the upper deck of the sharp nose of the enemy's flagship destroyer; at the top point of the climb, I threw my fighter into a flip. The gray plating of the enemy ship and the flashes of anti-aircraft guns flashed past—and now overhead.
The Confederacy Recusant, being mercilessly beaten by a flight of Hammerheads, held up quite well under fire. It would endure everything imaginable and unimaginable just to defeat the Telos. It wasn't for nothing that the enemy ship sharply gained speed, closing with the Republic flagship.
Right, right.
"Admiral Declann," I contacted the commander. "The enemy Recusant intends to ram you."
The Telos was holding in the front ranks. And not at all because its crew wasn't afraid to die. It was just that this cruiser's shields had enviable reserves, and its numerous guns were an additional argument for plowing through the enemy formation.
"We see it, sir," Nial's voice sounded tense. Still—Battle Meditation is not like having a cup of tea. It requires concentration and diligence. Although my future Grand Admiral had advanced in this discipline thanks to information from some holocrons I kindly provided, I couldn't call him a virtuoso in this science. "We are shifting the Marauders to its destruction."
"I'll help however I can," I assured him. With one flick of my thumb, I switched the weapon systems to proton torpedo control. The Force suggested that the Togruta followed my example.
"Ollee, we are attacking the enemy Recusant with proton torpedoes."
"Joining in," the fighter trailing our trio rocked sharply to the side, firing on the move at the nearest artillery tower of the destroyer.
"Oh, for...!" Ahsoka cursed, breaking away to help the apprentice. Because the latter, getting carried away with destroying enemy turbolasers in a strafing run, hadn't taken into account that the enemy ship also had a way of defending itself. Including a large number of starfighters.
A distant spark was already glowing in the aiming frame—a Vulture that, gaining speed, was closing on Ollee's X-wing. The green color, however, quickly changed to yellow, and when Bro-bot hummed indignantly, it turned red. Pressing the trigger, I released a missile, having switched to this type of ammunition in time. Too much honor for a droid—to be destroyed by a proton torpedo.
My target turned, performing a loop-the-loop and raced away from the heat-seeking projectile. The droid had no chance of outrunning the torpedo, but that didn't matter anymore—the main thing was that the leader of the enemy squadron didn't open fire on the girl.
"Saw!" I called the apprentice. "Get back in formation!"
"Just a couple more towers..."
"Immediately!" Ahsoka's fighter was spinning around Ollee's X-wing, fending off the Vultures, turning an increasing number of them into scrap metal with every second.
"As you command," the girl said indifferently. Nevertheless, she broke through to the Recusant's bridge, slamming two torpedoes into it at once. A grandiose flash literally tore the superstructure from the ship's body, causing it to spin frantically in the vacuum.
Other Vultures scattered, leaving Starstone's X-wing alone, rushing to intercept me. Who programs their intelligence anyway?
With short bursts, I turned three enemy fighters into steam and clouds of debris. Ahsoka, having arrived in time, finished off the rest of the squadron. Ollee, returning to formation, indifferently let the only surviving Vulture go. However, it didn't live long—a Headhunter flashing nearby concluded the enemy's activity cycle.
"What the Hutt are you doing?" I shouted to the apprentice.
"Attacked a Star Destroyer," she stated in a tone as if she did it every morning with her eyes closed.
"You could have died," Ahsoka admonished her. "The anti-aircraft fire is thickest there."
"What do you care?" Ollee asked irritably. "Work together, I can handle it myself..."
"Stop playing with the hurt in your ass!" the Togruta erupted in curses. "You're acting like someone stole the last pastry out from under your nose at breakfast, which you'd already declared yours!"
"A brilliant comparison," I commented, returning the weapon system to the laser cannons, set them to fire simultaneously, and caught the nearest Vulture in the aiming frame. When the frame turned green, I pressed the trigger. Four laser beams shot off one of the planes, causing the opponent to hit an invisible wall as if by magic, fly to the side, and shatter into pieces, catching a burst from Ahsoka's guns.
Starstone's X-wing flashed past. I pulled in behind and slightly to the right of the apprentice, who, tumbling through the left planes, dove toward an interceptor gaining altitude. The opponents exchanged shots and both missed.
Through the Force, I felt the boiling irritation the girl had turned into. She was literally radiating rage, anger, and one didn't need to be a Jedi to understand—Ahsoka's words had touched a nerve.
And as if to confirm her words, Ollee's machine rolled ninety degrees along its long axis and gave a salvo from all four cannons at once before breaking away to the side.
All four of her shots were accurate. Two melted long holes in the right part of the Vulture's fuselage, two more pierced the central module of the ship—where the machine's artificial intelligence was located. For a second, it continued its rapid movement forward, and then shattered into a million fragments.
Just to be safe, I rolled to the right. Who knows what was on that psycho's mind. Even Ahsoka went quiet, sensing the emotions that were tearing her former (?) friend apart.
Reforming into a wedge with me in the center, the entire trio headed straight into the combat zone.
Meanwhile, while we were occupied with stunts with enemy starfighters, the situation on the battlefield had changed. And not for the better.
The Telos was finishing off the first Recusant, which under a deadly hail of turbolaser bolts had turned into a smoldering piece of metal, smoke, and holes, slowly drifting to the side.
The Marauders, with their cavalry charge, had significantly annoyed both Munificent detachments covering the enemy flagship. The number of opponents had decreased by several units, but at the same time, two of our Hammerheads were slowly retreating to the rear. One was completely missing the upper part of its bridge, and the other's hangar doors were continuously belching streams of fire and smoke. It seemed some Vulture had been lucky enough to reach the tender vitals of our ships.
Checking the fleet marks, I noted with sadness that the frantic Vultures had also "gnawed" through seven Marauders. Total—we had fifty-two ships left—the Telos, twenty-eight Hammerheads, and thirteen corvettes, three of which were not participating in the battle, fending off the encroaching droids seeking to finish off our infantry transports. So far, they were succeeding.
It seemed that crushing the enemy with mass was a simple matter. And the calculation had been precisely on that.
And yet, the separatist commander had mixed up our plans with an overwhelming number of starfighters. Which was starting to be annoying—even if Hammerheads cost me practically nothing (after all, I wasn't spending my own), but...
There clearly wasn't enough aviation. And even if I re-armed the fleet with Venators, it wouldn't fix the situation—even in that case, with an equal number of ships, the opponent would have a clear advantage in numbers.
We desperately needed a full-fledged carrier in such formations. Moreover, both in the Tenth Systems and in the Eternal Empire's fleet. I'll have to talk to Sienar about this. He's being quiet about his LST project for the Empire.
Meanwhile, reinforcements arrived for the enemy. Four detachments of twelve ships each at once. And eight Recusants—that was already bad. Considering that due to my apprentice's impulsive character, the time allotted for destroying the flagship had run out.
And now it was our turn to fight in the minority.
Although we had managed to save ten fireships, which were now bravely taking the fire of one of the enemy's reinforcement groups (it was good they were arriving from one side). He strengthened them with all the available Marauders, whose missile launchers were literally glowing from the white-hot nature of the launch tubes.
The Hammerheads, which had also suffered considerable losses—flying past them at cruising speed, I couldn't spot a single intact one—were furiously firing at the remains of the beaten CIS detachments, every now and then turning one of the frigates into a supernova. True, the separatists didn't hesitate to respond and with mechanical pedantry deprived my ships of combat capability.
The Marauders are quite capable of holding back the onslaught of enemy aviation and lethally spoiling the airtightness of the Munificents' construction.
The enemy's return salvos were no less destructive. The Confederacy gunners tried to punch holes in several ships at once, and in the end, their persistence was rewarded.
On one of them, a series of internal explosions following a targeted salvo from two Recusants turned the frigate's insides out into the vacuum. Another, hit in the stern during maneuvers, froze, sliding by inertia, and was subjected to furious shelling from nearby enemy ships. Playing with its thrusters, turning its nose toward the opponents, the brave little ship released an avalanche of missiles. No doubt, everyone on board that ship understood that loss of mobility was death for them. Но ни на секунду не прекратили вести бой, сметая надстройки и обшивку со звездолетов КНС.
The result was predictable, and from that, it seemed that by watching the ship's death from the side, you became something like an accomplice to the crew's murder. Fortunately, not all of them. The frigate held out long enough to release all possible flight craft from the hangars, including escape pods. And only after its guns and launchers went silent was the opponent finally able to destroy the ship.
"Ollee," I called the girl using the communication system. The Padawan had just finished turning another Sep droid into melted scrap metal. "This has to end. Now."
"Oh, really?" the girl snorted in a voice full of indignation. "It seems to me that's exactly what you were aiming for. My humiliation."
"Women. You're so difficult."
Yes, that's exactly what the one who had pushed the girl into the embrace of madness with his beastly behavior thought now. A striking duplicity was developing in me.
"Listen to me," I reached out to her through the Force, but as before, the girl held her mind under reliable protection. Moreover, she rushed in pursuit of another Vulture. "Yes, I was wrong to avoid you..."
"Wrong?!" the girl shrieked. "You wiped your feet on me! You turned my world upside down, fucked and dried out my worldview, and now you come to me with the words 'Forgive me, darling, I didn't stick my member into the hole of a dirty slut'?"
"Technically—Ahsoka is not..."
"What difference does it make?!" Ollee's answer coincided with a short burst that tore apart another Vulture. Its wingman followed it into the land of digital orgasm in the same second, destroyed by my fighter. "You don't care about me! You stick it in every hole... What are you doing, you asshole?!"
The girl's burst of rage coincided with my targeted shot, which surgically accurately separated the left planes of her X-wing from the fuselage. The machine began to tumble in the vacuum, completely losing control. Closing my eyes, I listened to the Force and pressed the trigger again, depriving the fighter of its right wings as well, which caused another stream of curses on the air.
"Shuttle," I tuned to the frequency of one of the evacuation ships from a destroyed Marauder. "This is Grand Moff Dougan."
"On comms," the ship's pilot responded.
"Commander Starstone's fighter was damaged in battle. Tow it to the Telos. I'll cover you."
"It will be done."
"... yourself, you dirty bastard!" I heard, returning to my flight's frequency. "I'll tear you to pieces and eat your heart..."
"I haven't had those kinds of role-playing games yet," I had to admit. "But we'll definitely discuss that."
The return trip was relatively... calm. Not counting a dozen Vultures trying to encroach on the sacred and finish off my apprentice along with the transport. And the endless stream of abuse and threats in three languages from the little fury.
"Control," on approach to the flagship I contacted the Telos, "pull Commander Starstone's fighter inside with a tractor beam. And... clear the hangar of personnel."
"Acknowledged, Grand Moff," the duty officer responded.
The shuttle, having dropped its load on approach, flitted away. Having destroyed several Vultures circling the cruiser, I, having made sure the X-wing's fuselage had landed on the deck, brought my machine in after it.
As soon as the fighter's landing struts touched the hangar plates, I opened the cockpit canopy and jumped out.
Only to, following the warning of the Force, dodge a Force Wave that, like a feather, swept my starship aside with a wild screech.
"Scum!" roaring with rage, Ollee was charging at me. The aura of rage and anger surrounding her was so dense that it seemed it could be distinguished visually. Including the crackling discharges of lightning on the girl's fingers. "I'll kill you...!"
Dodging a bolt of Force Lightning, I accelerated to the limit using the Force, closing with the apprentice. Noticing that her eyes were shining with molten gold, I caught her hands by the wrists, pulling her toward me with a jerk.
"You...," the aura of rage emanating from the girl faltered as soon as I hugged her, pressing her face to my chest. The stream of hatred she was emitting was interrupted. Now... it was something else. Not aggression, but... sadness?! "What did I ever do to you that you'd treat me like this?"
A quiet sob was heard.
"I did everything for you... I keep your secrets, I obey... I'm ready for anything just for you to notice me, you stupid idiot! Heartless beast! Selfish bastard!..."
"Easy, easy," I whispered, stroking her hair. "I know..."
"I'll gnaw your face off," the girl promised with a sob. And in contrast to her words, I felt her arms wrap around me. Very tightly. Even the creak of metal was heard.
"I'm sure you will," I agreed, looking around. Noticing Ahsoka standing in the hangar doorway, I shook my head. She was the last person needed here.
But the Togruta approached us with quick steps, hugging both of us.
"Ollee, I'm sorry, I..."
"And I'll turn your womb inside out and pull it over your head," the girl gritted out, raising her eyes to the Togruta. "Slut..."
"Actually, I haven't been with anyone before this..." Ahsoka started. However, meeting the girl's gaze, she fell silent.
"I just acted as I saw fit," the Togruta added after a few seconds. "Well, he wouldn't kick out a half-naked girl..."
"You should just shut up," Ollee said wearily. "I haven't forgiven you yet..."
And at the same time, her anger completely died out. Freeing one hand, I put my arm around Ahsoka, squeezing both young... women now. Realizing clearly that their fate was becoming... not indifferent to me.
And that... is alarming.
"Fine," I pulled away from them, looking away. "The mushy stuff—after the battle. We still have the CIS fleet to crush."
"I told you—he's a dry crust," Ollee proclaimed, secretly wiping tears from her face.
The Togruta, taking the girl's hand, shook her head disapprovingly:
"And to this man I gave the right to be first... Come on, girlfriend, we have a lot to talk about."
Looking at the retreating figures of the girls, I could only wonder how fickle these women are.
***
The shiny hull of the royal yacht emerged from hyperspace. The swift silhouette cut through the vacuum at great speed, bringing the only passenger of this luxurious ship closer to a goal known only to her.
"I've never been this close to a battlefield," a sultry voice said. Padmé, smirking, set the ship on a course to close with a detachment of Republic ships detected by the scanners.
"And how then do you manage to keep your finger on the pulse and release such spicy stories filled with inside information?" she inquired.
The Zeltron, smiling charmingly, crossed her legs, sprawling in the co-pilot's seat.
"Did the last issue upset you so much, Senator?"
"Rather, I was struck by the extent of your awareness," the Naboo woman fibbed slightly. "Confess, Elin. Do you have sources in the Chancellor's office?"
One of the most scandalous journalists in the galaxy—Elin Tyrell, famous for her extremely detailed descriptions of the Senate's inner workings and the Grand Army of the Republic—looked at the Senator with the gaze of a satisfied pet.
"You don't hope, Senator Amidala, that in exchange for your help in getting me to the location, I'll start giving you my secrets?"
"Yes, that would be very simple," Padmé thought.
"You could at least share where you got the information about my journey," the former Queen said with a hint of irritation. "I don't remember spreading it at every step."
"But as you can see," the reporter smiled, "those who need to be are in the loop."
"I'm not sure you really need to be," Amidala thought grimly.
The meeting with Elin Tyrell had happened just before departure. Having brought the ubiquitous C-3PO with her, Padmé was already about to board her ship when she saw the Zeltron approaching. The sentient she least wanted to see.
The journalist, after an exchange of greetings, immediately showed her cards. She knew WHERE and WHY Amidala was going. And she had information on where the former Queen would head after that. Padmé had only two options for how events would unfold. The first urged Padmé to ignore the Zeltron's blackmail and set off on her journey. Only in that case, the persistent reporter promised to cover the Naboo woman's flight in the press. And considering that the Senator would spend much more time on the way than the Zeltron needed to publish the material, there was every reason to suspect that instead of a friendly meeting, a squad of droids led by General Grievous would be waiting for her. As had happened once before.
The second... take the reporter with her. She didn't claim a full journey. She was only interested in Padmé's intermediate stop. There, where she hoped to find an ally in her difficult task.
Well, that could be arranged.
The former Queen agreed to the second option. But not at all because she was touched by the Zeltron's speech about how she dreamed of visiting a systems army's location and observing the actions of soldiers and officers. For Padmé, this was a chance to find out from the reporter the name of her informant in the Chancellor's inner circle. To have such a source of information for the opposition... it was a treasure.
But for this, she needed to get Elin talking. And she turned out to be a non-talkative representative of her race. Which didn't fit the stereotypes about Zeltron flightiness.
One way or another, the flight through the layered cake of separatist-occupied and Republic-held systems ended at the designated intermediate point. Where eyes were dazzled by the abundance of Republic ships.
And as if in mockery, two marks appeared on the scanner—ARC-170 fighters rapidly approaching her ship, which was aiming for the flagship of the forces located here.
"Unidentified vessel from Naboo," a clone's voice rang out on the bridge. "This is a Republic patrol. Identify yourself, or we will open fire."
Padmé stared in bewilderment at the equipment she had recently installed on her ship in total secrecy. A smuggler's trick Anakin had once told her about. A transponder transmitting the identification signs of a peaceful merchant vessel from some dusty planet in the Mid Rim. The signal stated that a non-descript little ship was in front of a casual observer, one that even pirates would be ashamed to look at.
The trick had worked perfectly for all three days of the journey. And here... it seemed to have broken.
"This is the final warning," the clone commented on a salvo from the guns in front of the Naboo yacht's nose. "Identify yourself, or I open fire..."
"Don't you want to talk to them, Senator?" the Zeltron inquired.
"I'm trying to contact the one in charge of this mess," Padmé hissed. "I don't really want the whole fleet to know about my arrival in an hour."
However, no one answered the calls. And there was no other choice...
The ship was jolted hard. Several instruments wailed, indicating damage to the hull and a reduction of deflectors in several sections to a minimum.
"Cease fire!" she contacted the pilot. "This ship belongs to the Senator from Naboo, which I am. Sending confirmation codes. Your actions are insulting..."
"Ma'am, I frankly don't give a damn who you are," the clone stunned her. "Codes received and decrypted. Confirmation is there. But there are also questions. If your vessel is diplomatic—where is the red hull coloring according to the Republic standard?"
"This is a secret mission!" Amidala roared into the microphone. "I need to see your commander. Identify yourself, clone, so I can report your actions to command."
"My name is Commander Consul, ma'am," the clone introduced himself without any trace of agitation in his voice. "I am the commander of the 127th squadron, assigned to the fleet flagship. Don't forget to tell the commander that when you meet him. And yes, stay in the corridor relayed to you—it's unsafe here."
With those words, both ARCs, wagging their wings, performed a turn, leading them away from the yacht. Padmé, suppressing the desire to tell the boor everything she thought of him, continued to pilot the ship, adjusting the course according to the relayed coordinates.
"And they told me clones were obedient," Tyrell noted.
"Yes, I was of the same opinion," Amidala agreed with her. "It seems that in this army, everything is somewhat different..."
"On the other hand," the reporter continued, ignoring the senator's remarks, "we are in a combat zone. No wonder the soldiers are somewhat... cautious."
The Senator, not wishing to develop this topic, concentrated on piloting the ship.
As soon as they approached the planet's orbit, two more Republic fighters joined them. This time—Headhunters. Under their escort, more like a convoy, the shiny yacht overcame the minefield surrounding the only planet in the system and surged toward the massive hull of the flagship cruiser.
The fact that a battle had recently boiled here was visible to the naked eye. Dozens of ship hulks with traces of a hot battle, plenty of debris, transport ships scurrying between Republic starships, every now and then carrying escape pods or damaged fighter hulls under their bellies.
Numerous starfighters patrolling the Republic starships frozen not far from stationary orbit. Bright welding lights on the ship hulls... The fleet, having survived the battle, was putting itself in order, obviously preparing for a continuation of combat operations.
"They took a beating," Tyrell noted, pointing to several Republic cruisers with numerous holes, including in critically important areas.
"But they won," Padmé countered, meaning the numerous hulks of CIS starships being carefully towed away from the Republic fleet's anchorage. Now the place where relatively intact Republic combat ships were towing disabled starships looked more like a space graveyard. Although Padmé knew that in accordance with certain regulatory documents, "scavengers"—companies that won tenders for the disposal of CIS and Republic equipment—would soon arrive here, this place chilled her to the bone. One only had to imagine for a moment how many lives the Republicans had given here for victory... And it made her uneasy.
The flagship's dispatcher relayed docking coordinates to her, and the nimble shiny ship flitted into an inconspicuous hangar in the aft part of the flagship. Despite the absence of external damage in this part of the ship, inside the hangar everything looked as if a bomb had exploded there, overturning and grinding all the flight craft inside into dust.
Except, perhaps, for a medium-sized corvette with characteristic hull lines and diplomatic hull coloring.
The landing ramp hadn't even finished lowering, and the senator's feet hadn't even touched the hangar floor, when she bumped into a tall figure standing in front of her in brown-gold armor, over which the man wore a black and silver cloak of traditional Jedi cut. And membership in the notorious Order was not required to understand—this sentient was extremely displeased with her appearance in his fleet's location.
"Master Dougan," she greeted the man politely.
"Senator Amidala," the Jedi addressed her with ill-concealed irritation. "Have you not drunk your green tea lately?"
"I beg your pardon?" the Naboo woman was taken aback.
"Are you not treating the boo-boo in your head at all?" The question completely disoriented Padmé, but subconsciously she understood that the Jedi was intricately inquiring if her head was in order. "This is a combat zone! We finished mopping up the separatist bastards less than an hour ago, and here you show up, you can't just erase it. Does your survival instinct not work at all? Or is arriving secretly at a fleet's location a way of committing suicide?"
"It seems," Elin said, descending the ramp, "that this is how they talk to senators in this army."
"Who the hell are you?" Dougan frowned. However, before the journalist could say anything, Padmé intervened.
"Elin Tyrell, reporter," she introduced her passenger.
"Oh, I remember now," the Jedi waved his hand. "You interviewed Elder Iselle from Christophis. And you run your HoloNet channel, distinguished by an extreme degree of awareness on issues to which some half-wit gave you insider access. What the Hutt are you both doing here?"
"Oh, it's nice to be recognized by the masses," the Zeltron smiled. "But I must warn you—Senator Amidala and I have different reasons for appearing here."
A shadow crossed the Jedi's face.
"I'm sure I won't like either of them," he exhaled.
And at the same time, turning toward the door leading from the hangar into the inner premises of the combat ship, he made a gesture to follow him.
Exchanging glances with the reporter, Padmé forced a "working" smile. After such a "warm" meeting, she liked the idea of turning to Dougan for help less and less.
However, there were no other options.
Anakin wouldn't help her. Their relationship had reached a dead end, and only the lack of free time prevented both from officially ending the marriage.
More precisely, it was Skywalker who didn't want to talk to her at all. And she...
Despite any talk behind her back, the Senator from Naboo was by no means a stupid woman. Yes, she was unlucky in some moments, and her knack for getting into scrapes, especially after marriage, had already become a reason for a number of mocks among her colleagues. It was good that the very fact of her marriage to a member of the Order was kept secret.
The girl understood: despite the fact that the marriage had already turned into a fiction, officially dissolving it... was premature. Political experience suggested that any, even the most hopeless-looking situation, could turn out to be a winning one if she used her available resources wisely. That's what she did with Rush Clovis, taking advantage of his nostalgia for their old... relationship. As a result—under certain circumstances, the Chairman of the InterGalactic Banking Clan could become an ally.
Dougan could turn out to be such an ally as well. Despite the fact that there were no particularly special relations between them, he, unlike most Jedi, knew how to think perfectly rationally. Which appealed to Padmé herself, who was used to living mostly not by feelings and emotions as such, but by cold calculation. Life had already proved to her the fallacy of making hasty decisions. And all the weight of the consequences of such a choice.
One who has dedicated themselves to serving the state cannot afford such a luxury as a full-fledged personal life that must be hidden from others.
That is precisely why her marriage with Anakin is doomed. No matter how much she reasoned on this topic, the conclusion was one—divorce. And a return to her maiden name.
Judging by the fact that the young Jedi had stopped bombarding her with constant messages asking for forgiveness, he had come to the same conclusion. But at the same time, he hadn't signed the divorce papers handed to him. He simply ignored them.
Well, Anakin's selfishness and sense of ownership in all its glory. Although both realize that their marriage has reached its logical finish, he will resist to the last. Simply because he wants to do everything himself.
The return of her gift by him spoke most colorfully of this.
The astromech droid R2-D2, which she had given to her husband shortly after their wedding, had returned to Coruscant with another batch of seriously wounded from Ord Mantell. Anakin had returned her gift. The droid that had saved her life during the flight from Naboo. That had helped him blow up the droid control station. That... well, who knows how much this little hard worker had done to save her and her husband's lives?
And now he serves as a navigator on her yacht. Although he isn't particularly needed there, to be honest. She just thought that leaving him alone while she set off for the other end of the galaxy... would be wrong.
Now...
"Senator Amidala?" she heard a familiar voice.
Looking in surprise in the direction of the sound source, her gaze landed on a Togruta teenager she had noticed more than once in Anakin's company.
"Ahsoka?" she smiled. "Good to see you."
"The feeling is mutual," the girl smiled back. Noticing that Dougan didn't even think about stopping, as did the reporter following on his heels, who had begun showering him with questions, Padmé decided to wait to join their company. She needed to clarify some points.
"How did you end up here?" she inquired with feigned benevolence. "I heard you were stripped of your Padawan rank."
"That is so," the Togruta shrugged indifferently. "But that doesn't mean I shouldn't serve in the Grand Army of the Republic, fighting for a righteous cause."
"Commendable words for such a young person," the Senator smiled. "As I understand it, you serve under Master Dougan?"
"Yes," the Togruta agreed. "I serve him. As does everyone in the Tenth Systems."
Something in the former Padawan's words jarred, but what exactly... Padmé couldn't understand immediately, so she made a mental note to look into what was happening later.
"And what brings you here?" the girl wondered. Although no... not a girl. A young woman. Padmé noted with a touch of jealousy that since her last personal meeting with the Togruta, she had grown in height, and her childish facial features and figure had rounded out significantly and were now pleasing to the eye. No doubt, she would turn out to be a stunning woman, dazzling in her beauty.
"I have business with Master Dougan," Padmé confessed, deciding to hide the essence of the problem. "Extremely... delicate. I need to meet with representatives of the Separatist Congress."
"What for?" suspicion was heard in the Togruta's voice.
"If I manage to negotiate with them, the war will end. And billions of lives will be saved."
"Not to mention the Republic's budget, which has been rapidly spiraling into a deficit lately," the former Queen thought.
"Is that so?" the girl said in surprise. "And why are you turning specifically to the Grand Moff? Can't Master Kenobi or Knight Skywalker help you? I recall the first is a lover of negotiations, and the second is a supporter of all sorts of adventures."
"Notes of jealousy I hear in your voice," Padmé mimicked the speech of the Jedi Order's leader with a smile. However, judging by Ahsoka's blank face, she didn't get the joke. "Bail is right. Humor is not my thing," the former Queen thought. "I'm afraid he's the only one who can help me in the current situation. Master Kenobi is undergoing rehabilitation on Coruscant..."
"Did something happen to him?" from the intonations in the Togruta's voice, Amidala understood that she was inquiring more out of politeness than actual worry for the Jedi.
"Something like that," Amidala said cautiously, gesturing for the Togruta to slowly follow the rapidly retreating Jedi. "He made an attempt to independently free Duchess Satine from the captivity of a criminal syndicate. And... he couldn't. Their leader—the same Zabrak Obi-Wan fought more than ten years ago on Naboo—killed Kryze. Kenobi is taking it hard. The Duchess's sister who arrived with him told me that he held up practically the whole way, but in the end, apathy took hold of him. And now, as Master Yoda says, the healers are trying to restore his emotional balance... However, no one is giving guarantees, as you can imagine."
"It's the first time I've heard General Kenobi was so torn up over such a thing," Ahsoka said coldly, with a hint of hidden malice. "Evidently, the Duchess was not indifferent to him."
"Possibly so," Amidala agreed cautiously. "But one way or another, Obi-Wan is currently not in a state to help even himself. The Council sent General Pong Krell to Ord Mantell in his place..."
"Ah, General 'Victory at Any Price,'" Ahsoka huffed. "I've heard of him. We have several units serving with us that previously reported to him. Everyone without exception is thrilled that he treats clones as expendable material and losses don't scare him at all."
"Then that explains the reason for such a large number of wounded arriving from that systems army lately," Amidala voiced her thoughts.
"And why don't you ask General Skywalker? He never refused to come to your aid before," the Togruta recalled.
"Anakin... General Skywalker is busy right now, storming another planet," Padmé corrected herself in time, in the hope that Ahsoka wouldn't notice her slip. "And lately our relations with him have started... to deteriorate."
"Oh, Anakin is a master at deteriorating anything human," Tano declared authoritatively. "Proven by personal experience. But I'm afraid Dougan won't help you either. We have a large-scale offensive on Hypori followed by developing success on several fronts at once. I don't think he'll find the time to go with you into the enemy rear."
"And yet, I hope for his positive answer," the Senator sighed, stopping at the threshold of a small conference room into which the Jedi had disappeared with the reporter a few minutes earlier. "Master Dougan is my last hope."
***
"Is the operational data ready?" Block asked, entering the battle room.
A dozen clones and officers of various ranks, busy working at their terminals, straightened up as they saw the base commander.
"Yes, sir," a clone was beside him, handing him a data pad with data. "The information is current as of this morning."
"Hm," the Admiral nodded absently, scanning the file headers. "So, Grand Admiral Thrawn has finished with the Vaagari?"
"Exactly," the clone confirmed. "Total destruction, seizure of all territories and industry. I've ordered the preparation of occupation forces to occupy the planets..."
"Good," the officer stated with satisfaction. "Anything else?"
"Nothing unusual," the assistant assured. "The cloning stations and training grounds are operating normally. Three more dozen Secutors have arrived from Lehon, we are currently staffing them with crews and equipment, preparing for transfer to Korriban along with three new corps. Darth Malgus has already made threats to send his apprentice to set things in order here if we don't hurry."
"Yes, he can be tough," Block agreed. "But we have the resources he requested. So, prepare the appropriate orders. And warn the commanders of the relevant units."
"It will be done, sir," the clone saluted, slipping like a shadow to the side.
The Admiral, in whose charge was the operational planning of all the military resources of the Eternal Empire, sighed sorrowfully.
He was so tired.
Agreeing to this job, Block hadn't anticipated that it would be SO difficult. Despite the apparent abundance, there was a resource that was always in short supply.
Namely—competent middle and junior level officers. Not executive clones, in whose qualities he didn't doubt at all. But specifically trained sentients with military experience.
He and Jerjerrod had managed to pull a few with them. But that was a drop in the ocean. Fortunately, the technical features of the Empire's fleet allowed for placing experienced captains at the head of entire formations without much damage to quality. The Gemini droids, who in fact controlled any major combat ship of the Empire from the inside, were excellent executors. As were the clones. But if there was one thing you couldn't expect from them, it was creative strategic initiative.
Therefore, along with cloning laboratories hidden in the rock formations, bottomless warehouses, barracks, arsenals, and other attributes of military life, training camps on the surface of Odessen, the Imperial Command Staff Academy had been created on Block's initiative, where he spent most of his free time sharing experience with more than three hundred cadets of various ages who had shown their talents in the so far few battles of the Imperial army and fleet.
However, there were also very young students there. Mostly Twi'leks from the settlement on Zakuul, who listened to his discussions on tactics and strategy with interest and a touch of excitement. The experience of the Sith Empire's military machine accumulated over thousands of years, handed over to his disposal by the Emperor, was gradually being placed into the cadets' heads. So that one day they would ascend to the bridge of a dreadnought or cruiser to carry the Empire's will.
But among the cadets, there were also very interesting students. Those who didn't enjoy any leniency within the educational process. And this despite the fact that they were delivered to Odessen by the Emperor's trusted persons.
One such "character" was currently moving toward him. Quite recently he had returned from his mission, where he had been sent by the Emperor's will. And despite the fact that the details of the assignment were not reported to the admiral, this boy looked pleased with himself. Well, at his age it's forgivable. However, the Admiral would still spoil his mood.
"Sir," the cadet greeted him according to the regulations. "Permission to report. Returned to continue my studies."
"At ease, cadet," the Admiral chuckled. "I see you've returned. I hope you did everything properly."
"Without going into details," a smirk appeared on the cadet's face. "It was done in the best possible way."
"I'd prefer to hear that from someone higher in rank," Block put the youth in his place. "But you've earned a few days in the brig, son."
"What for, sir?!" the kid was taken aback.
"How many times did the flight instructors tell you not to touch the controls until your feet reach the pedals? The co-pilot was sent with you for a reason." Block recalled the last report on the cadet. "And what did you do? Afterburner in atmosphere, and on a medium-tonnage starship! I'm surprised your brains didn't smear across the whole bridge. The Empire invested hundreds of thousands into that ship, and you've already managed to lose an escape pod and damage the strike rocket launch tubes. And you lost a cannon somewhere. Your pay will be cut to the minimum to cover the repair costs."
"I was pursued in atmosphere, sir!" the boy began to justify himself. "I dropped the escape pod with a baradium charge while passing in close proximity to an enemy cruiser. Yes, part of the weapon systems was damaged, but I completed the main mission. And I returned to base! And I'll restore the ship! Especially since I was promised I'd be given it if everything went successfully..."
"Dismissed, cadet!" the Admiral barked. "Two weeks in solitary for disclosing the data of your personal assignment!"
The ward, habitually standing at attention, blinked for a while. It seemed it didn't immediately sink in WHAT exactly he had said to his mentor regarding the conditions for transferring the ship into his ownership. You don't get patted on the head for such talk. And he must understand that from a young age. Otherwise, such executors aren't worth a credit.
"Permission to depart for the brig, sir?" the cadet asked in an unwavering voice.
"Granted," the Admiral saluted him grimly. Waiting for the boy to run out of sight, the man allowed himself to smile.
"'Be stricter, but don't overdo it,'" he recalled the note in the cadet's personal file, written by the Emperor himself. Well, he was trying his best. But, as the Force is his witness, Cadet Han Solo would still bring him gray hairs.