The flagship of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul's expeditionary forces—a Harrower II-class Star Destroyer named the "Chimaera"—hung motionless in the infinite blackness of space, betraying no sign of activity to any hypothetical observer. The nozzles of its engines emitted a steady white-blue glow, while the ship's hull and superstructure were peppered with light leaking through the transparisteel of viewports and observation screens. The vessel made no move to reveal its intentions: its weapon turrets were locked in their travel positions, and the impact missile tubes were sealed shut. The steady flicker of the hangar atmospheric shields remained constant in intensity, a direct indication that no activity was taking place on the landing decks. Not a single starfighter launched from the dreadnought's side, and nothing sought entry into its depths.
However, despite this outward composure, the interior of the destroyer was a hive of activity. In truth, the starship was preparing for battle.
"All systems are at combat readiness," reported the duty officer, looking up from his monitoring console. "Ready to jump into the system on your first command."
"That sounds promising," replied a blue-skinned humanoid, sitting languidly in a multifunctional chair installed on the bridge's central dais. The presence of such a device in this specific part of a Star Destroyer was not part of its original design. However, the subordinates cared little about that. Neither did the Grand Admiral. "Is the fleet on comms?"
"Every single one, sir," the central post confirmed.
"Then..." The Chiss glanced at the ship's chronometer. "We move to phase two. The scouts should be returning any moment..."
R'Lair, arms folded across his chest, watched the behavior of this alien intently. The longer he did so, the more he marveled at his own conclusions.
It seemed that the Chiss was not entirely devoid of human-like traits. He could feel emotions, grow angry, joke, or smile. But for the vast majority of the day, he maintained an impenetrable mask. Like a living statue or a cyborg.
Of all the sentients currently on the bridge, he was the only one showing no emotion. This was despite the fact that the entire crew—from the hangar deck to the duty officers—was in a state of high anticipation for the upcoming bloodshed, the result of a subtle strategy and elegant treachery.
The fact was, the most prominent alien in the Expansionary Forces had proven to be an exceptionally talented strategist. Sophisticated, unceremonious, ruthless... The Twi'lek had been one of many witnesses to the destruction of the Vaagari race—a swift, bloody, and frankly barbaric raid that had concluded not long ago. It could rightfully be called the eradication of an entire people. Now, the time allotted to the race with the whistling name of "Ssi-ruuk" was coming to an end.
Just as before, the Grand Admiral's brilliant mind had meticulously studied every detail regarding the enemy. Their way of thinking, the sparse but suspiciously detailed information available, and certain pieces of art carefully kept in the Grand Admiral's private gallery on Nirauan... All of this had been studied, analyzed, and filed away inside the Chiss's head. It had found its place in a perfect plan to destroy civilizations that posed a threat to the Eternal Empire.
Thrawn had spent a week preparing for the extermination of the Ssi-ruuk. Little was known about the lizards, and even flights into the systems they occupied using reconnaissance variants of the Imperial Navy's primary fighter—the X-Wing, modified with enhanced scanning systems—had yielded little valuable information regarding the lizardmen's defensive capabilities. Nothing of value, save for very detailed information about the defense system of the capital planet, which was currently burning under the metal boot of the Imperial stormtroopers.
"Something troubling you, R'Lair?" the Grand Admiral asked quietly.
"In a manner of speaking," the commander of the Expansionary Forces' military scouts agreed.
"Let me guess," Thrawn smiled. "You are wondering where your scouts have gone?"
"Exactly. I thought this region of space was a mystery to us..."
"It remains so," the Chiss agreed. Seeing the Twi'lek's confusion, he added with a smile: "To us, naturally. Но not to the Ssi-ruuk."
"I'm not sure I follow," the Twi'lek frowned. What did the Ssi-ruuk's knowledge have to do with it? Their data still had to be studied, processed, and systematized. And when would that happen? General Helnior was taking a long time with Lwekk—it wasn't for nothing that Sev'rance Tann had been sent to assist him.
"Scouts are hailing," came the report from the tracking station. "Six signals. Identification confirmed—they are ours. They report the mission is compromised—the enemy detected them. Recon data is minimal—all were forced to engage and retreat just to deliver what they could. Requesting data transfer to the flagship."
"Excellent," Thrawn commented. "Authorize their retreat. Once they arrive, engage information security systems; inform Gemini of the receipt of a potentially dangerous data array. Tell her to be ready for any surprises. Ah, yes. And after that, open a comm channel to our scouts."
"By your command, sir," the clone the Chiss had been speaking to rushed to execute the order without a moment's hesitation.
"You aren't certain of the information our scouts delivered?" R'Lair asked, taken aback. What a Hutt-spawned alien! What did he think he was doing?!
"On the contrary," the Grand Admiral's lips curved into a smile. "I am more than certain of it."
"But, I don't understand..."
"Oh, I shall explain," Thrawn chuckled. He walked at a leisurely pace toward one of the backup consoles and, after entering his command code, beckoned the Twi'lek over. "What do you see?"
"Some kind of junk," the scout replied, glancing at a small hologram of an object.
"From your perspective—undoubtedly," the Chiss agreed. "But to the Ssi-ruuk, this is a work of art."
The Twi'lek looked again at the object, which resembled a stub of pipe with slanted lines and an indistinct pattern that looked more like the scribblings of a mentally ill being. Rapid lines, intertwining in intricate patterns, coils, knots... It was all alien to a sentient eye. It made his head ache.
"Looks like a load of rubbish," R'Lair said.
"Strangely enough, I completely agree with you," Thrawn noted unexpectedly. "However, this pattern," he pointed to the intertwining lines, "makes it clear that the Ssi-ruuk take pride in their ability to keep their intentions hidden from an enemy until they are certain of victory. Do you see how many thin lines converge into the knots, but only one thick line? And only that last one emerges. What does that tell you?"
"It tells me these bastards are dreaming of catching us with our pants down and giving it to us good," the Twi'lek growled. Yes, now he understood the meaning of all those lines. And he didn't like it.
"But to attack, they must know they are many times stronger than we are," Thrawn continued. "They must understand that victory will not cost them any significant resources, while the benefits gained in the end will exceed all expectations..."
The Twi'lek nodded silently, listening to the Grand Admiral's words. And then... it hit him...
"Mother of... Thrawn, are you luring the Ssi-ruuk fleet here?"
"Naturally," the Grand Admiral shrugged. "I'm not going to dig them out of every corner of this part of the galaxy. My time is too valuable to spend searching for every enemy base. The lizards will do all the work for me."
"But... how?" the Twi'lek gasped. "How did you even know there would be something belonging to the Ssi-ruuk at those coordinates where you sent the scouts?"
"Strategy," Thrawn shrugged. "What does a metropole do when it is attacked?"
"It defends itself..."
"And if the enemy is too strong?"
"It calls for help..."
"When we crushed the orbital defenses of Lwekk, it became clear to the Ssi-ruuk rulers that, despite everything, they could not win the battle without outside help. Therefore, they sent a distress signal to one of their military bases. We intercepted it. And on Lwekk, no one ever received an answer..."
"And they thought that base was destroyed," R'Lair realized.
"Exactly. But the Ssi-ruuk wouldn't be themselves if they didn't have backup military bases—places where their entire military might is stored. They tried long and purposefully to establish contact with them... unfortunately, without result."
"And in the meantime, you obtained the destination coordinates," the scout continued, "sent the X-Wings there, which 'exposed' themselves to the lizards, and even started talking to us on an open frequency?"
"Precisely," Thrawn smiled. "The scouts verified our calculations regarding the vector of the Ssi-ruuk communication systems. Yes, of course, they managed to record something on their equipment before they were forced to retreat. But I am not certain the Ssi-ruuk lack the ability to interfere with our information data. That is why the scout files are saved on separate servers. While we wait, our wonderful droid Gemini will sift through this information, create a data summary, and transmit it to the other ships in the fleet."
"But what if Gemini can't withstand the Ssi-ruuk computer viruses, if they happen to have any, and the lizards managed to infect our scouts' data?"
"Then we have a problem," Thrawn shrugged. "I will have to disconnect Gemini from the ship's controls and inform our distinguished cyberneticist, Mr. Nikolai Kainsvorti, that his updated firewall systems are unable to withstand the pressure of programs authored by sentient lizards. You see, it isn't complicated at all..."
"Sir, the scouts have entered our system," the central post reported. "Correction—another object has emerged behind the squadron commander. The scouts will be on board in three minutes. The enemy ship will enter weapons range in four."
"Scan it," Thrawn ordered, returning to his favorite chair.
"It looks like a Ssi-ruuk fighter," the operator reported.
"Most likely a reconnaissance model," R'Lair suggested.
"It makes no difference to us," the Chiss smiled. Touching a key on his transmitter, he opened a comm channel. "Main hangar. In five minutes, launch the duty pair and shoot down the enemy vessel. Ten minutes after that—launch the entire air wing, excluding shuttles."
"By your command, sir," the other end reported.
"I've missed something again," the Twi'lek lamented. "What is actually happening? Why not shoot down the scout with the turrets? Or launch the ships right now?"
"To what end?" Thrawn looked at him with feigned confusion. "To inform the enemy that we have more X-Wings? To let their command know that the ships that caused trouble at their bases aren't just scouts, but the primary unit of our heavy air wing? Or perhaps to plant seeds of doubt regarding our lack of proper discipline in responding promptly to an enemy target? To show them all our cards? No, my dear R'Lair, we shall not do that."
Hearing the explanation, the Twi'lek was once again amazed by how subtly this alien perceived events. And how perfect his strategy was...
"You want it to scan us," he noted when the Grand Admiral replied "Do not interfere" to the central post's report of active frequencies being detected on the Chimaera's hull.
"Of course," Thrawn remarked calmly. "They must be made to understand that victory is all but guaranteed for them."
"So that's why all our weapons are powered down," the Twi'lek grunted. The Grand Admiral nodded silently, continuing to stare into the impenetrable blackness of space. Finally, a pair of X-Wings flashed by, vaporizing the Ssi-ruuk craft in an instant. This still elicited no emotion on the Chiss's face.
For about ten minutes, nothing happened, and then a large starship appeared on the observation screen, possessing a shape extremely unusual for an inhabitant of the explored galaxy.
"Duty officer, make an entry in the log," Thrawn ordered in a voice another sentient might use to ask for a snack. "And... begin the countdown for the fleet."
"Second target, sir!" the operator reported. "Another... and another..."
"Do the hyperspace exit vectors match those used by the X-Wings?" Thrawn asked lazily.
"To the hundredth, sir," came the reply.
"Well then, I think it's worth waiting for all the 'guests' to arrive," Thrawn concluded. "Duty officer! Begin evasive maneuvers."
The Chimaera's nozzles roared to life, leaving ionized particles in their wake. The triangular ship with its forked bow slowly but surely began to maneuver, simultaneously preparing to pour clouds of fighters and interceptors from its depths.
The chase lasted for about ten minutes. The Ssi-ruuk ships tried to overtake the lone vessel, peppered it relentlessly with all their guns, but lacked sufficient speed compared to the destroyer to catch it and land a turbolaser volley on target, let alone damage any significant components.
"Grand Admiral," a duty clone appeared beside Thrawn's chair. "No enemy ships have emerged from hyperspace for over three minutes. What are your orders?"
"Connect me to the fleet," the Chiss ordered.
"Yes, sir."
A moment later, the Chiss was viewing holographic figures a quarter of their actual height, standing in a semi-circle over the transmitter plate built into the arm of his chair.
"Gentlemen, we are beginning the operation. Have you all received the encrypted data from the scouts?" Uniform confirmations followed. "Chronometers on countdown. Squadrons jump to the assigned coordinates."
R'Lair, seeing how the identical clones bowed respectfully to their commander and disappeared from the holocommunication panel, only smiled.
"You are biased against the clones," the Grand Admiral noted.
"They are just humans from a test tube," the Twi'lek grunted. "How can one treat them with respect or anything else?"
"When the corps commanders—Taka and Alex—were nearby, you did not risk making such speeches," the Chiss noted coldly. Turning in his chair toward his companion, he fixed him with the gaze of his glowing red eyes.
"They know how I feel about them regardless."
"Yes, I can see that," Thrawn raised an eyebrow. "But please, remember this. If you cannot remember it, write it down. Between those who left a natural womb and those who left a cloning cylinder—there is no difference."
R'Lair started to object, but encountering the Chiss's cold stare, he swallowed his counter-arguments.
Meanwhile, the Ssi-ruuk air wing had already caught up with the Chimaera, which was fleeing at full speed. With machine-like composure, the nimble alien fighters ran into the resistance of Imperial interceptors, suddenly finding them to be worthy and deadly competitors. On the tactical hologram, the number of small red dots began to dwindle...
"Reports from the Bellicose, the Inexorable, the Judicator, the Dogma, the Nemesis, and the Stormhawk," the duty officer reported, approaching the Grand Admiral and handing him a datapad with an encoded message.
Thrawn, removing the encryption with his code, became absorbed in reading. It didn't take long.
"Everything is quite wonderful," a smile appeared on the Chiss's face. "The enemy has thrown all their forces at us, exposing their own planetary bases. Precisely according to the notes..."
The Twi'lek didn't ask for the contents of the dispatches.
He already knew that each of the aforementioned destroyers was the flagship of task forces that included five Dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers. And, apparently, this was Thrawn's plan—to find the location of the Ssi-ruuk bases, lure out their main forces... but... why? Now the crews of the enemy ships would receive information about the attack on their bases, turn around, and strike at...
"The Adjudicator, the Death's Head, the Imperious, and the Relentless have arrived in the system," the duty officer reported in the same steady voice. "The battlecruiser Adamant has emerged from hyperspace and is requesting a target."
"The time has come," Thrawn rose from his chair and walked right up to the observation panels. "Signal the ships—proceed to phase three."
The flagship, banking into a turn, took its place in the center of its sister-ships' formation. Weapons operators were already training their guns on the enemy starships, firing their first ranging shots.
And yet, it seemed the Grand Admiral was not interested in that at all right now.
His gaze was focused on the single Procursator-class ship in the entire fleet under the Chiss's command—the Adamant, which was positioned above the flagship. This ship—the first in its line—had never participated in a battle before. So today was its debut.
R'Lair sighed inwardly. How much work would there be after the defeat of these people.
As soon as the battles had ceased in Vaagari territory, his subordinates had to master the work of filtrators. Millions of slaves, whom those aliens used as labor and living shields, were now in filtration camps at one of the bases near Nirauan, where appropriate work was being conducted with them. No one wanted to allow individuals who could potentially serve other states or cause some other harm into the Empire's territory.
The presence of slaves among the Ssi-ruuk was also beyond doubt—such things flourished in this part of the galaxy. And who, besides the Twi'leks, who until recently had been Hutt "contracted workers," could separate the infiltrators from the actual victims of circumstance. However, compared to the Vaagari, the Ssi-ruuk didn't keep living slaves for long, processing them into fuel for their machinery.
"Adamant," Thrawn opened a comm channel. "Target the nearest enemy capital ship. Fire when ready."
Several agonizing minutes passed. The Procursator, whose lights dimmed for a moment, seemed to shudder. Near the cruiser's bow, a short flame flashed—a monstrously sized slug was sent toward the enemy.
One did not have to wait long for the results of the cruiser's main battery shot. Both flotillas had closed to medium range, where the distance to the opponents was so small that the enemy ships were being shelled by every single Imperial vessel.
The projectile, made of refractory material, easily punched through the lizard ships' deflector shields, which were not structurally capable of reflecting a physical attack. Had a turbolaser bolt been in the slug's place, it would have surely dissipated against the deflectors without causing any damage to the hull of the Ssi-ruuk starship.
The actual result exceeded all expectations. The cylindrical munition passed through the bow plating like a hot knife, tearing it apart. The rounded hull bulged from within, opening like an exotic flower, beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Tongues of flame, heaps of debris of all kinds. Torrents of air rushing into the vacuum, bulkheads deformed by kinetic force, twisted metal sheets... it seemed nothing could stop, or even slow down, the projectile. But closer to the center of the vessel, the hull stopped disintegrating. Quantity had turned into quality. Multiple internal explosions finished what had been started, completely destroying the Ssi-ruuk starship, which turned into a supernova flash in an instant.
"Impressive," Thrawn said in a level tone.
The scout, staring in shock at the debris field that a minute ago had been a massive starship—by the most modest estimates, twice the size of a Harrower—felt the tips of his lekku start to tremble.
"Impressive"? Is that all? One shot destroyed an enemy ship in a couple of minutes. And how many fighters died during the detonation of the reactor and ammunition? This "battlecruiser" was a true death sentence for enemy starships! And if the Chiss had more than one of these at his disposal, the outcome of the battle could have been decided in just five minutes!
"No," as if hearing his thoughts, the Grand Admiral replied. "We don't need more for now."
"But we can request more Procursators!" R'Lair said heatedly. "With these ships..."
"All in good time," Thrawn cut him off. Left in the minority, the Ssi-ruuk starships seemed to panic for a moment. They ceased fire, changing their disposition with obvious maneuvers. A clear intention to break distance and get away was demonstrated by the engine nozzles turned toward the Imperial ships.
However, the five Harrowers had quite a different opinion on the matter.
Half an hour later, the Ssi-ruuk fleet ceased to exist, and the nimble interceptors from the Imperial dreadnoughts occupied themselves with finding and destroying survivors. The sun was never destined to rise over the Ssi-ruuk Empire again.
***
"Enemy boarding parties on the third, seventh, tenth, and seventeenth decks," one of the operators said with alarm in his voice. "The marine corps is putting up stiff resistance, but... there are too many droids. We've lost the docking umbilical..."
"Not the best news, sir," Declann said with a grim expression, approaching me. "We are immobilized, surrounded by enemy ships, and there's a boarding party on board whose numbers are steadily increasing..."
"We must fight!" the Naboo senator standing nearby declared heatedly. "There are enough clones on board..."
"Senator, please be quiet," I asked, staring at the holographic schematic of the cruiser, whose blue color was rapidly being painted red. The droids, regardless of where they landed—whether they came through the umbilical or got on board via boarding pods—were steadily pushing toward the superstructure. Toward the place where the most important sentients on board were gathered.
"...we can't wait this long," Padmé continued, as if she hadn't heard my request. "There are escape pods on board; they must be used..."
"Just shut up already!" I snapped, looking at the girl, who suddenly shrunk back, with a face contorted by anger. "You have no authority here, woman!"
"I venture to point out..." the Zeltron standing nearby said.
"You pretend to be furniture too," I growled. "If I need someone to pass the time—I'll call one of you. Until then—both of you get in the corner and stay there."
"Stay where?" Eileen didn't understand.
"He's asking us to shut up," Amidala said gloomily, carefully taking the red-skinned female from the planet Zeltros by the elbow and leading her aside.
"Oh? I thought the key word in his whole tirade was 'suck'..."
As soon as both pains in the neck were out of sight, my thoughts returned to what was happening.
Shit situation.
Total shit.
And—the result of my miscalculation.
Yes, there was a hunch that Hypori was a trap. Но intelligence, in the form of the Special Operations Division—whose representative, the beautiful "Gray Paladin" Larant Tarak, a green-skinned woman of Twi'lek appearance, was currently diligently hiding her eyes—assured me that enemy forces sufficient to give me a thrashing simply weren't in nearby space.
"Sir, the information was provided to us by the Bureau of Special Operations..." Larant said. "We didn't know..."
"You can make excuses later," I said coldly. And the girl, I had to admit, had "balls." She led the ships on which reinforcements arrived—the second wave of the landing force. Several corps and my, so far, militarily chaste Padawan Squad. Nothing extraordinary for taking Hypori.
And utterly insufficient to oppose Grievous's armada. Who, according to the same intelligence data, was supposed to be making life miserable for a neighboring system army. Result—the "Fellblade" effectively needs to be rebuilt from scratch. Yes, and to avoid a total rout, Kreev's fleet had to be pulled from Ryloth, which was preparing for the relief of the planet Anakr—that is, a strike on Rendili to clear a path to Gall and its Seventh System Army. A failure more like a rockfall, where one tiny pebble slides down the mountain and drags dozens of others with it. And, in the end, it all turns into a stone avalanche that lands on the head of the traditionally unsuspecting civilian population. "If we survive..."
But the fury wouldn't go away. Even though the girl had personally broken through that whole mess of starships in orbit of Hypori to the Telos in a lone fighter.
Sidious—I'd bet my life he had a hand in this—simply fed my gullible subordinates disinformation. And they ate it up. And I swallowed it. And now Mr. Grievous is coming for our collective souls.
With great effort, I pushed the anger at myself aside. Kreev, whose fleet had been reinforced by Christophsis's Trants, was currently fiercely fighting his way toward us. He, like Garen Muln's squadron, which was currently mercilessly, along with my two proteges, grinding the Confederacy starships into the dirt, understood that the landing on Rendili by the corps under the command of Aayla Secura, Rachi Sitra, B'rink Uttrila, and Xiaan Amersu (yes, yes, yes, a wet dream—Twi'leks of all colors and shades, all in one place), was already irreparably compromised. Actually... I was even glad Kreev had brought the troop-laden Acclamators with him. Because, judging by the completely jammed comm channels, the surface was also witnessing something far from pleasant. It was quite possible that the droids were already finishing off my clones down there, and I...
My hands involuntarily clenched into fists.
Damn, I was played so beautifully!
And thousands of others are paying for my mistake.
Right now, bloody battles were raging on the Telos's decks. No longer hiding, Lady Simi, Hexid, Khem, and Ak'ghal were leading counter-boarding parties, trying to at least partially slow the enemy's advance toward the superstructure. There was no question of repelling the droids with our own forces. The only hope was that Kreev's reinforcements would break through to us, and we, in turn, would hold out until then.
"Sir," Beard appeared in my field of vision. His significantly thinned Torrent Company was effectively our only strike force, not counting the bridge crew, currently at hand. The superstructure had been seized by the enemy. The aft hangar, where the Defender under the control of the Gella sisters was currently being prepared for takeoff, was packed to the brim with secret documents, files, and numerous wounded who had managed to be brought to the evacuation point. The other decks and passageways were a continuous battlefield. My subordinates—both gifted and not—were resisting desperately.
Use the escape pods? Yes, not a bad idea, especially since they were right there—within reach, in the room adjacent to the bridge. But the Separatists had already proven that small survival craft were merely another reason for them to practice their marksmanship.
"What?" I asked quietly.
"A message from Lady Hexid. They had to retreat to the aft hangar—the enemy has taken the superstructure and will be here soon," the clone's expression made it clear he wasn't very happy to deliver such news. But it was his men currently dying below. And it was he, according to the GAR Regulations, who had to report the results of his unit's activity to me. A unit thinning before our eyes. However, I had to admit, Beard was holding up excellently in his new position. Of course, clones, for the most part, don't complain about fate and the massive losses of their comrades... but personally, my soul was being clawed at as soon as I reached into the Force and felt this whole macabre dance of deaths.
"M-da..." Mara, standing nearby, drawled. "Quite a predicament..."
"At least you don't drill into my brain," I asked. "Better..."
I didn't get to finish. From the direction of the turbolift—the main entrance to the bridge—came a jaw-clenching metallic screech. It sounded more like someone was ripping out chunks of the thick shaft. Someone very, very strong. And angry.
"To arms!" I ordered, snapping my lightsaber from my belt. Opening myself to the Force, I felt the emotions on the bridge sharpen. From the clones' indifferent acceptance of what was happening to the quiet panic that, despite her stone-faced expression, Amidala was internally ready to collapse into. On the other hand, her Zeltron "friend," as if wanting to dispel all myths about her race's peacefulness, had already procured an army blaster from somewhere. Well, well, a soldier.
"Stay behind us," I ordered, watching the sparking blade of a cutter slicing through the massive locks of the turbolift shaft doors. "Larant and I will take the first wave. Do not close in; attack only from long range. Beard—you and your men take care of the senator, the admiral, and the reporter."
"Sir," Bill Durbin, the cruiser's captain, addressed me with a scowl. "My men and I can fight too..."
He gestured toward several dozen crew members—Christophsians, whose faces bore a desire to kill. Not because they were going to restore justice and tear apart the droids that had defiled the beautiful ship.
The reason for their hatred of droids lay covered by a scrap of canvas that once used to cover secondary terminals on the ship when it was in the Republic Navy's mothball fleet. The first officer, El Morgan, had commanded the anti-boarding team—Torrent Company—which fought for the main hangar. A young man who hadn't served even a year after graduating from the Academy, he had desperately defended the cruiser's perimeters. But unfortunately, there is little one can do against a numerically superior enemy. Beard had left more than half his men in that hangar. El died from the manipulators of a commando droid that had pierced his liver and intestines with a vibroblade. The officer, essentially still a boy, was conscious when he was dragged into the bridge. It was here he lapsed into unconsciousness and, despite the medical aid provided, died.
Though the majority of the crew consisted of clones and residents of Christophsis, in the short time the boy had commanded them, he had earned their respect. And among the surviving crew members, there were none who didn't dream of avenging his death.
"Don't go looking for trouble, Bill," I advised. "There are enough droids for everyone."
The cutter's light had almost reached the top. Quickly glancing around the bridge, I made sure the soldiers and crew members were safely behind the control consoles. Yes, that was much better than standing in the open.
With a hideous clang, the turbolift doors slid aside.
"Dougan!" The raspy voice of the CIS general, familiar from the third episode of the saga, boded nothing good. And his hunched duraplastic figure was striding toward me and Tarak, who was standing in a crouch, clutching a pair of blasters.
"Hello, Rusty," I made a mock bow. "How's life, how's the family?"
The cyborg was taken aback for a moment. Well, yeah, you probably don't hear that kind of greeting from Jedi on Republic ships very often. Especially such a blatant reminder of dead relatives.
"Jedi scum," Grievous squeezed out. "You don't have long..."
With those words, he stepped aside, letting the commando droids out from behind his back, who immediately began peppering the two Jedi in front of them with fire from their blaster carbines.
Parrying several scarlet bolts with my blade, I redirected them into the nearest commando droids. The Twi'lek, not falling behind, unleashed a sniper hurricane from both blasters upon the enemy, moving across the open space with dizzying speed, avoiding incoming fire. Hm, impressive. I admit, I was skeptical about the rumors of the "Gray Paladins'" virtuoso blaster handling, but now... I'm genuinely impressed. A valuable acquisition, it turns out.
The droids pressed with numbers. They advanced continuously—commando droids, B-1s, and B-2s, who literally flooded all available space, pushing us back toward the bridge by sheer mass. Okay, nothing serious.
Meanwhile, the enemy came under concentrated fire from the clones and the Telos crew as soon as they left the narrow vestibule separating the bridge from the turbolift. Seeing this, Grievous, with a roar, lunged in my direction.
Well, well...
Feeling the Dark Side wash over me, I thrust my left hand, free of a weapon, toward the cyborg. A torrent of crackling, branching lightning erupted from my fingertips, instantly shorting out a good dozen Confederacy fighters, causing the next wave of attackers to simply stall.
Somewhere on the edge of my consciousness, I caught a sense of surprise, the source of which was Amidala. The senator was clearly shocked by what she saw. Hm. Looks like one of those talkative Jedi told her that Force Lightning is an attribute of the Dark Side.
I didn't care. The main thing was to deal with Grievous, whom the Force should now...
Blue and green blades flashed nearby, descending on my head in a diagonal sweep. Interrupting my outburst of fury, I performed a backflip, landing on the deck with a thud. At the same moment, two aimed blaster volleys stitched across the cyborg's torso, significantly scorching his plating. Но the most marks were on his face mask and breastplate—where the last organic parts of this monster were located under the layer of melted durasteel. Larant, who had moved into the line of attack during my jump, took a kick from the cyborg, flying back a good ten meters. I intuitively reached for her through the Force. Alive, but unconscious.
"Kha-kha-kha," Grievous broke into a cough. "A good trick, Jedi. But your little stunts don't scare me. After my adventure on Naboo, I saw to it that my body was invulnerable to electricity."
"You little piece of work," a sharp thought flashed.
"Excellent," I shrugged. "I'll do it the old-fashioned way. Shall we settle our dispute by an ancient naval tradition?"
The cyborg, brandishing a pair of lightsabers, laughed mockingly.
"And what tradition might that be?"
"Simple," I twirled my blade before me and took the classic Juyo stance. "The first one to die loses."
"That suits me," the cyborg growled, lunging forward with lightning speed.
Catching him with the Force at the apex of his movement, I gave him an enviable burst of acceleration, hurling him back into the turbolift. The general, with his far-from-light bulk, scattered quite a few droids like tenpins. His rapid flight ended in the shaft. However, the general's tenacious claws dug into the edges of the doors, preventing a further fall.
"I haven't had this much fun in a long time, Dougan," the enemy commander rumbled. "Your saber will take a place in my collection."
"Then catch," calculating the angle, I threw the weapon toward the opponent, guiding it with the Force. The energy blade, spinning furiously, hurtled forward, decapitating several B-1s along the way, before biting into the shaft wall half a meter above Grievous's head. The general, assessing the position of my saber, laughed contemptuously.
"You missed, Jedi," he chuckled.
"Did I?" one gesture of the Force, and the yellow-gold blade, jerking aside, destroyed the turbolift machinery, causing the lift car to plummet down with a monstrous howl, screeching as it crushed the droid bodies that were unlucky enough to be there at that moment.
Summoning the weapon back to my hand, I smirked, automatically crushing a B-1 that had crawled out from somewhere. Behind me, the sounds of shots mixed with the cries of the wounded continued to ring out. However, I had achieved my goal.
The lift shaft was blocked. To get rid of this obstacle, the droids would have to work hard. It's just a pity that thought came to me a bit late. But what can you do—I hoped I wouldn't have to damage the ship.
"Do you think I can't deal with all of you alone?" Grievous narrowed his eyes, spinning blue and green blades in his hands.
"Wait and see," I replied laconically, habitually reaching for the Force.
But not just to the Dark Side. That was clearly not enough to defeat the cyborg. Yes, Obi-Wan, using only Light Side tricks, managed to carve the general into pieces. But circumstances had aligned perfectly there.
I needed something more than luck.
Boiling fury ignited a flame inside my body. Every muscle, every cell, every nerve—everything was filled with unbearable heat. It felt as if I only had to let it loose, and everything around would be blown to hell. As if I had become a nuclear bomb.
And at the same moment, the Light Side, like a stern master, with a forceful hand of control, directed the all-encompassing rage into the right channel—to strengthen my own body, to sharpen my senses...
The Unifying Force, filling me with a whirlpool of energy, showed favor, pulling back the veil of mystery on the opponent's first strike.
Grievous delivered an overhead strike with the blue saber, which I blocked with my own. And in the same second, the green blade lunged toward my chest from below at a sharp angle. I could literally feel the triumphant rage emanating from the general's organic remains. And the disappointment, mixed with anger, when his little trick failed.
"Imagine that," I smirked, blocking his second blade with my own spare. "You aren't the only one carrying a whole arsenal."
The cyborg roared, trying to break me with the superiority of his body's mechanics. But he didn't achieve much success. Therefore, breaking our stalemate, he switched to a tactic of exhausting confrontation.
He was like a mower, making dozens of movements per second. Feints and real strikes, lunges and parries. Although he didn't possess the Force, his cyberization significantly eased his confrontation with a Jedi. No wonder he had sliced so many into salad.
To withstand such a monster required excellent reaction and power in the Force. One can only applaud Kenobi for being able to do it in principle.
I reached out to the Force continuously, letting it flow through me in a rapid stream, cooling muscles that were starting to hum and fill with fatigue. At the same time, I jumped, tumbled, and moved on Grievous from one side and then the other. But the cyborg was devilishly agile.
He parried my blow with a swing from behind his back, then spun like a whirlwind, delivering upward strikes toward my chin. I had to step back, sensing a dangerous movement. I wasn't sure that even the cortosis, part of the alloy the armor was made of, would hold up long under such an onslaught. Therefore, I wouldn't risk testing it on my own skin. Better to waltz with the cyborg than to rely on the strength of ancient armor. Especially since it was... cozy, in a way.
But Grievous didn't let me indulge in nostalgia. His movements were always changing. His next strike almost hit the emitter of my spare blade—it seemed the opponent had decided to disarm me—and dissatisfaction with the result was clearly readable in his eyes.
Another lunge by the cyborg ended with a predictable block on my part. I felt the growing madness in his head. The prolonged fight was already starting to bore him. He was probably trying to figure out how...
Grievous, pressing on me with all the strength of his artificial muscles, unexpectedly for everyone, turned and ran. He crossed the vestibule in a second, finding himself inside the bridge, and there he looked around quickly, searching for his next victim.
And, ignoring the hurricane of blaster fire, he rushed in a skip toward where the Naboo woman's intricate headgear peeked from behind a control console.
I gave chase, moving quickly after the bastard. Но not quickly enough.
The Force warned me to dive to the side, and the cyborg, braking sharply, rolled to the left, while simultaneously slashing the air with a double strike of his blades in the spot where my long-suffering carcass should have been.
"No luck," I declared. "But points for trying."
My answer was a furious growl, accompanied by Grievous's methodical retreat toward the hidden senator and journalist. Too late, ladies, to take medicine when the organs have failed.
Mere meters separated us. Five between me and the cyborg. Two between him and the two women. Simple arithmetic that, like this whole damn day, was not in my favor.
Behind my back, the battle raged—the droids had broken through the stuck lift car after all, flooding the bridge with their bodies. The clones and crew were engaged in a fierce firefight that occasionally turned into hand-to-hand combat. However, right now, that wasn't what interested me.
"Repeating your own dirty tricks is bad form," I reminded Grievous. He had escaped more than once by taking someone hostage. And now he was preparing to repeat this "feat."
"A Jedi's opinion does not interest me," the general growled, standing next to the console in one long stride. Lightning-fast lunges with his blades—and the women's weapons fell to the bridge floor, cut in half and completely useless for further operation. Grievous laughed triumphantly, gurgling in his cybernetic throat. His arms split—one pair still clutched blades, the other—held both women by the scruff of their necks, like small kittens. "I will finish them without delay if you do not get out of my way."
Hm, and indeed—I was standing between him and the only exit from the bridge. On the other side, the battle raged, and for some reason, the Butcher of the Outer Rim was not eager to break through it. Ah yes, Larant was there...
The Twi'lek had already come to her senses and, finding herself in the thick of the fight, was mowing down droids with sniper shots, trying to break through in my direction. But apparently, Grievous did not want another encounter with her, and therefore thought it best to break out of the bridge, taking the hostages with him. Но if his goal was me, why such strange behavior?
I didn't have time to develop the thought—the cyborg attacked. This time he just came straight at me, continuously working his blades, using the girls as living shields in the places where I could reach him.
I, in turn, to avoid accidentally giving both of them a weight-loss program via "Amputation of Limbs," had to act defensively, while slowly backing away. And at the same time—controlling my rear, where the CIS droids were constantly trying to distinguish themselves. I had to fight them off, blindly working the second blade behind my back. Fortunately, the Force was not going to let me down hard and faithfully warned me of dangers.
Meanwhile, Grievous circled me, probing my defense, looking for loopholes. I had to temper my ardor, switching from the aggressive Juyo to the more appropriate Niman for the circumstances. But even despite this, lethal energy blades raged between us, one touch of which would have been enough to cause significant harm to either of the girls, whom the general had already grabbed by the necks.
"You fight worthily, Dougan," the cyborg assessed. "After Bothawui, I considered you the same scum as Skywalker and Kenobi..."
"Not the best comparison," I blocked a rapid strike of the green blade, forcing it to fly off and plow a deep furrow in the bulkhead. "Your blind rage is your mistake. And it will be the cause of your death."
"I... do... not... make... mistakes," the cyborg literally spat out the words, striking my blade time and time again. It was... difficult. Especially when having to dodge two lightblades and a commando droid that appeared out of nowhere, swinging its huge vibroblade behind my back, intentionally aiming for my spine. Hell no. This might not be the most comfortable position I've occupied in the company of two lovely ladies, but to finish me—you'll have to try harder.
The intensity of the battle didn't allow me to even for a moment get distracted, clear my path again, and short out the droids with Lightning.
Damn.
I just need a second's delay!
On the one hand, what's stopping me from just letting Grievous go with both hostages? Nothing. Can't I put on a pitiful face before the Council, telling them how I did everything I could but couldn't stand against the cyborg? Nothing.
But Grievous didn't intend to break out of here for no reason. With hostages on board his ship, he could demand a safe corridor out of the system—and no one would dare oppose him. Kreev is a good guy, but he would never go so far as to finish off the general at the cost of his own career. And the fact that his rank would be stripped and he'd be kicked out of the fleet for failing to save a senator and a veteran journalist was as certain as anything.
The Force suggested that as long as Grievous was on board the Telos, the droids wouldn't risk finishing us off. After all, he was one of the leaders of the Separatist war machine. I doubt that even super-tactical droids, known for finishing off organic commanders whose actions harmed the mission's success, would have dared to do anything against the four-armed one.
I deflected a strike that was supposed to separate my hand from the rest of my arm, spun, and unleashed a hail of blows on the cyborg, forcing him to switch to defense for a moment. Gorgeous.
A Force Wave of my own making set a record in high-speed disassembly of CIS soldiers for spare parts, littering the turbolift hall floor with their disfigured and mangled parts.
So, I had won a minute, maybe two, of lead time.
"Good trick, Jedi," Grievous hissed, realizing that for a while he had lost the factor distracting me. Of the two components of his success—physical superiority and tactics—he had lost the latter. Even if temporarily, still... He blocked a blow from above, pushed aside one sliding toward his legs, and went on the offensive again.
"Yeah, still got some juice in the tank," I smirked, parrying the cyborg's lunge. He took several steps back, remaining on the defensive, waiting for an opportunity to launch an attack. Only, fat chance to that smooth mask of yours.
It was my turn to attack. A pair of yellow blades drew an impenetrable protective cocoon in front of me, which, meanwhile, occasionally shot out pinpoint stabs at the Separatist's torso. But he held his own. He parried and attacked, constantly shoving one or the other body under my blows. He's itching for me to finish off Amidala or the journalist. Yeah, it'll be a laugh for the whole HoloNet. The whole Confederacy will be laughing if I kill or maim even one of them.
"Do you not value the life of the precious Senator Amidala?" Grievous roared with laughter after he almost caught me, poking the indicated body with a clearly blue face and putting it under my next combo. Cursing that the lethal blade had sliced a piece of the metal headgear and a lock of hair from the senator's head, I was forced to break the combination. Which Grievous, in turn, took advantage of, going into a furious attack. Making a sweeping, cruel lunge toward my legs.
I had to jump, performing a backflip. Grievous, having calculated this, pointedly poked the green blade into the chest area. Only at the last moment did I manage to move aside. A furrow of melted metal remained on the breastplate. And, I can feel it with my skin, the fabric armor also gave way in some places. Not fatal, but extremely unpleasant.
"There are several thousand like her in the Senate," I had to remind him. "One more, one less..."
For the first time in all this time, besides the useless attempts to break free, a stifled cry of surprise came from Amidala. Girl, why are you making your eyes so big? I'm not Skywalker; I'm not going to tear my ass for your skin.
"Kha-kha," the cyborg's laughter mixed with a gurgling cough, and he lost control of the fight for a moment. Which I took advantage of, twisting one of my blades between his right arms. A slight downward movement—and the durasteel claw clutching the Zeltron by the throat fell to the floor with a clang. The girl, coughing and frantically sucking in air, collapsed, filling the vestibule with rasps.
Grievous roared, spinning his blade and intending to pin the girl to the floor. But with a focused Force Push, I sent the Zeltron sliding, ending up in the bridge room. Well, that's one hostage down.
With a big jump, the cyborg suddenly launched an attack. His fierce blows fell like hail. At the same time, he pulled the claw holding Padmé behind his back, clearly intending not to repeat his mistake.
He swung lightsabers in continuous combinations, attacking his opponent from all sides. Looming over me, he pushed me back with the persistence of a tank. Right to where the sounds of droids coming up the turbolift could be heard.
Well, the simplest part was over.
What seemed at first to be disorganized, Grievous's attacks had a clear goal—to distract me and pin me against the turbolift. Where, you see, I might get shot. Or sat on a chair with sharpened vibroblades. Not great prospects.
But, as is well known, normal heroes always take the long way around.
Ducking, I let the cyborg's blades pass over me, then, accelerating with the Force, ran several steps along the vestibule bulkhead, curved, avoiding a meeting with the opponent's blue blade, and dove headlong between Grievous's right and left arms, severing the opponent's last left claw with one blade—a small compensation for the cut-off lower part of my cloak, which became a victim of the opponent's saber during my local wall run.
Meanwhile, the cyborg didn't lose his head, pinning me to the floor with his foot, grabbing my breastplate, and delivering a terrifyingly powerful stabbing blow from the bottom up, intending to pierce the armor in the heart area.
I raised my blades, blocked the strike with crossed sabers, pushing the light-blue blade aside. At the same time, the tip of one of my sabers sliced off part of the durasteel from the opponent's leg, exposing the "skeleton." Sparks from a short circuit flashed blindingly, after which the leg holding me gave way, and the cyborg collapsed nearby, roaring in fury.
Driving an elbow into his face mask and leaving a good dent in it, I rolled aside, avoiding a new saber strike. And I found myself face to face with a B-2 droid, which was too slowly training its manipulator with built-in weapons on me. In the next second, it paid for it, falling to the floor, sliced in two. The same fate befell two other droids that appeared after it.
Glancing into the turbolift shaft, I noted that the enemy had cut through the floor and roof of the stuck car. The droids could climb from the lower decks almost unhindered. But allowing this, of course, was out of the question.
Gathering a ball of pure Force in my hands, which looked like a cloudy sphere with sparkling particles moving continuously inside it, I slammed the projectile into the shaft and the remains of the car. The interaction of the Force and physical objects produced the effect of an exploding bomb, which destroyed the turbolift shaft, twisting its walls, which were so deformed that there was no longer any thought of using this escape route.
A small thing, but pleasant.
"Well," I turned to Grievous, who had already risen to his feet. "There's nowhere to run."
And indeed. On one side was my battered but still powerful self. From behind—the remains of the clones and crew, who, at the cost of huge losses, were finishing off those droids that had managed to break through before. Apparently, there were just over a dozen left there—it would take a few minutes, and this threat would be eliminated.
Grievous realized this too. Although he had lost all his limbs and the hostage on the left half of his body, and his left leg barely bent, he continued to stare at me with all the ferocity available to him. He was clearly planning another dirty trick.
I saw it coming.
The blue blade rose into the air, freezing at the throat of Amidala, who looked more like a bedraggled and disheveled doll.
"You will let me go," he said with a clear threat. "Or this senator's head will remain on board your flagship."
"Well, go ahead," I smirked, seeing Amidala's terror-filled eyes. "If she dies, you definitely won't get away."
"It will all end here one way or another!" the cyborg rasped, pressing his back against the opposite wall and moving in small steps toward the escape pod bay. "I will leave, and we will meet again..."
"We will meet again,
Though the candles have burned out
And the ball is over.
We will meet again," I softly hummed a piece of the chorus from a hit song of my childhood. Who knew, "The Little Prince," that your verses would come in handy in such a situation?
"I will wipe that smirk off your face, Jedi," the cyborg warned.
"Then why do you, a famous warrior, a hero of your people, hide behind the skin of a weak woman?" I asked.
To be honest, I didn't care about the answer. Но talking helped me look at the situation as a whole. And try to find a solution to the problem.
Lunging at Grievous now would guaranteed condemn Amidala to decapitation. Not that I'd sleep worse at night after that, but... in general, let's consider this as an emergency option.
Then what? Ripping the blade from his claws wouldn't work. The jerk held the hilt extremely sophisticatedly and firmly.
"That's right, Jedi," Grievous said triumphantly. "I know what you're thinking. The situation is hopeless—and you will let me go."
"Going to go cry to Dooku and Sidious that you failed again?" I clarified. "Look out, they'll put you in a corner."
"Do you still think you've won?" the cyborg laughed with his hideous, more-like-grinding-metal voice. "Look around—your flagship is only good for scrap metal and is surrounded by my destroyers. Your fleet is destroyed. Like all Jedi, you have lost..."
"Really?" I returned the smirk. It's just a pity that from under the mask, my voice sounded muffled and the sarcastic intonations were lost. "Notice—we are still in orbit, and my landing force is on the planet. And a new fleet has arrived—which means I'll smear you across the orbit like stardust."
"Maybe I lost the battle with you," Grievous said with a threat in his voice. The passage leading to the escape pods was behind him. And now, the hunched cyborg was slowly retreating toward them, continuing to hold the girl by the throat.
Amidala looked insanely frightened. Apparently, she was remembering her past encounters with this monster. And clearly understood that if they were left alone, the cyborg would certainly not be having tea with her.
And, more likely, he would systematically, dragging out the pleasure, strip the skin from her in thin and narrow strips, winding muscle fibers and tendons around his fingers. Well, or he'd think of something else interesting. Grievous is a guy with imagination. So you don't even have to go to a fortune teller. If the senator remains in the monster's hands, her life will end swiftly and in the shortest possible time.
"Planned another dirty trick?" I asked, not particularly hoping for an answer.
"Only Jedi and other Republic scum can play dirty," the general almost spat on the floor, but alas—physiology didn't allow it. "I am implementing my strategy!"
"So, you knew from the beginning that I would turn you into a handless and legless stump?" The smile appeared on my lips by itself. Really, his words were nothing more than empty talk. Flew to the ship. Thought he'd finish off another Jedi quickly, but he failed. And now—he's hysterically thinking about how to fix the situation.
Oh, how I understand him.
"You're a dead man, Dougan," Grievous growled, looking somewhere toward the observation screen, while simultaneously tilting his head in a special way and spreading his legs wide. "For greater stability," I mechanically realized. "You just don't know it yet..."
Something in his voice and, especially, his actions, I terribly disliked. And then I intuitively turned my attention to what was happening outside the bridge.
Literally in the next second, my hair stood on end in all the indiscreet places.
Shaking the Telos from the hull to the superstructure, one of the Recusants slammed into the wounded hull of the cruiser at full speed.
Physics is a cruel science. Especially when it performs its twists stealthily at the most inopportune time.
The force of the collision was such that I was blown from where I stood in a second, painfully slamming my whole body into the remains of the turbolift shaft. Instinctively opening my hands, grabbing the edges of the doorway so as not to fly down, I noted with regret that both blades, clinking cheerfully, flew down, disappearing in the deformed mess.
The deck was slipping from under my feet. The ship tilted noticeably, and all the debris that had been lying motionless on the deck until now screeched toward the side opposite the impact.
With heart-wrenching screams, the Zeltron, who had just got to her feet, slid toward me across the deck. On the border of my perception zone, shocked surprise from the clones brushed by.
Hutt!
Lunging up, I almost jumped out of the lift shaft, vaulting over its walls. Landing, I stayed on my feet despite the tilting deck and glanced toward the cyborg.
The bastard, chuckling contentedly, continuing to drag the limp prisoner behind him, was fleeing in giant leaps and had already opened the hatch of the nearest escape pod, preparing to jump into it and leave our warm company. No way, that won't do.
An image of a scene from the Revenge of the Sith novelization flashed in my head.
Concentrating, I reached out with the Force to the cyborg, feeling for his internal mechanism.
It's not so easy when metallic things of various types and sizes are falling on your head. And yet, I repeated Obi-Wan's trick on the CIS general by changing the polarity of the servomotors in his cybernetic prosthetics.
Grievous's claws opened, releasing the senator from his grip, whom I immediately caught with the Force and pulled toward me with a jerk. I just didn't take into account that her trajectory would coincide with the Zeltron's tumbling.
The girls collided in the air. The crack of heads meeting hit my ears, coinciding with the clang of the escape pod's entry hatch, in which Grievous had disappeared. Almost immediately, the starter engines fired, and the miniature ship instantly gained speed, breaking from its mounts and hurtling away from the ship.
Mother of...!
He got away, the scum.
The ship's hull shook like a good girl at a rock festival. And from the fiery reflections flooding the bridge view screens, it became clear what Grievous was talking about.
The Telos, deprived of engines before the boarding, was in a high orbit of Hypori. The ram gave it acceleration toward the planet, and now the once-proud and most powerful cruiser in all the Tenth System Army was slowly, but every second more rapidly, gaining speed, entering Hypori's atmosphere.
Shit!
Touching both women, who consistently bring misfortune to everyone around them, with the Force, I made sure they were alive. Sighing in disappointment, I used telekinesis to pull them out of the pile of metal debris, moving them to the escape pod bay, where the debris did not clutter all the free space.
"Sir!" Beard was nearby, sliding elegantly on the tilted floor. "We've been knocked out of orbit!"
"I see," I said grimly, watching as two more clones, half a dozen crew members with injuries of varying severity, and Larant "descended" from the main part of the bridge in a similar way. "Is that everyone? Where is the captain?"
"Dead," the Gray Paladin said through her teeth. I noticed several blaster burns on her tunic—her right shoulder and collarbone were shot through. "When we were rammed, he fell. The commando droid was faster."
"Yo-ho-ho," I said tiredly. My head was splitting.
Opening to the Force, I expanded my perception to the whole ship. There were few living on board. And sparks of life were noted only in the aft hangar and here, on the bridge, in my immediate vicinity. But there were droids on board up the wazoo. Concentrating, I touched Darth Hexid's mind, transmitting my order. "Everyone to the escape pods."
"We're leaving the Telos?" a middle-aged Christophsian with the rank of second officer looked at me in surprise.
"Yes," I said irritably, watching as the clones and Larant rushed to the "cradles," hurriedly pushing the unconscious senator and reporter into them.
"Sir, I request permission to remain on board the cruiser," the officer stood at attention. "It is my duty as the senior officer among the crew to take all measures to save the ship. I will go down seven decks, start the emergency generators and the starter engin..."
His words were drowned out by the crack with which my fist slammed into his jaw. Already not standing firmly on the flat surface, the man fell like a log before his few subordinates. Looking at them, I nodded my head at their immediate commander, then toward the escape pod, where the clones were already beckoning us with their hands.
"Your new commander was concussed by a piece of junk," I announced, watching their disconcerted but completely agreeing nods. "Carry him into the escape pod and launch immediately."
"And you, sir?" one of the junior officers asked quietly, hoisting the second officer's body onto himself.
"Right behind you," I reported grimly.
It took the sentients a few seconds to reach the "boats" and leave the doomed ship.
I, leaning over the hole in the turbolift shaft, spent a few seconds returning my sabers. Hanging them on my belt, I looked sadly at the dying ship, engulfed in a monstrous fire.
"It's all very sad," the words fell from my lips.
After which, reaching the last of the remaining escape pods, the highest-ranking official on board the flagship cruiser Telos, as prescribed by the Regulations of the Grand Army of the Republic (as well as the Instructions of the Armed Forces of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul), was the last to leave the starship doomed to an inglorious end.