The blackness of infinite space was... oppressive.
No sunlight, no fresh natural breeze... No solid ground beneath one's feet.
At times, it seemed he had agreed to become the commandant of the Maw Installation entirely in vain. To be in total isolation, without the possibility of freely communicating with any of his old acquaintances. He couldn't even get drunk in a cantina and cause a ruckus, as he had in his youth and early years.
And it wasn't even because the eyes of all the few sentients on the station were fixed upon him, Moff Jerjerrod.
There was simply, quite banally, no one to do it with.
The small staff of scientists sent to the station by the Emperor spent most of their time in their laboratories, working tirelessly on their projects. Strangely enough, they had quite easily accepted the fact that most of their inventions could, and likely would, be used against the Republic and the CIS. At first, he had feared that unrest might break out and the "skymen" would have to explain the "party line" to the slow-witted.
But, as it turned out, high salaries (and by the standards of the Republic and the Confederacy—simply enormous ones), coupled with a disdainful attitude toward bureaucracy and the decaying elite of the galactic superpowers, provided very fertile ground for the Empire's scientific intelligentsia. Regardless of which side of the barricades that same intelligentsia had previously labored upon.
"When did you wake up?" Slender fingers, adorned with intricate patterns over a flawless manicure, descended onto his shoulders, gently massaging his neck.
"A couple of hours ago," the Moff replied, turning his head and kissing his mistress's hand. "Today is an important day. I need to prepare a report for the Emperor."
"Did Wessex finally finish the blueprints?" Jenna Zan Arbor purred into his ear, nibbling on his earlobe. Jerjerrod, with a chuckle, kissed the blonde on the lips, simultaneously inhaling the delicate scent of her hair.
"As you can see," he nodded toward the monitor of his workstation terminal. "Despite having to make a mountain of corrections, she truly works efficiently. The Sith meditation sphere arrived from Ziost only a couple of days ago, and Lira has already integrated it into the ship's systems. Just like the mass shadow generator..."
"A big ship," Jenna remarked, pointing at the model of the Imperial flagship. "It vaguely resembles the ships of the squadron guarding our station."
"A little over thirteen kilometers in length," Jerjerrod said, shaking his head. Yes, vaguely, the Sovereign—as this project was majestically and threateningly named—resembled the Harrowers, a squadron of which had arrived a couple of months ago to guard the Empire's vital facility. A massive beast... But, through Lira's efforts, remarkably maneuverable and fast. Not to mention that its armament included all the most advanced and deadly technologies available on the arms market. Its construction at a conventional shipyard could have taken years and billions of credits. However, Zakuul owned the New Forge, for which creating an Executor was merely a matter of time. Two months, to be exact.
The Sovereign was the result of Lira Wessex's work on the technical specifications she received from the Emperor. The Executor project represented the generalized requirements the ruler of Zakuul set for his own flagship. Unfortunately, maintaining its original criteria proved impossible—adequately providing a nineteen-kilometer monster with energy sufficient to power the required number of turbolasers and point-defense artillery, as well as other systems, turned out to be an insurmountable task. Sienar spent more than a month without sleep, endlessly optimizing and improving his own solar ionization reactors, squeezing the maximum possible out of them. It proved impossible to leap above one's own head, so a new project was proposed to the Emperor. Which, after some holo-discussions, was approved. And today, finally, it took the form of its final incarnation. All that remained was to transmit the information on this ship, as well as on the other completed projects of the Maw Installation, to the Emperor. And another month of work for the secret research base of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul could be considered successfully concluded.
"You know the joke about men with big toys, right?" Jenna said with a smirk. However, the Moff did not share her mirth.
"I wouldn't advise joking like that," he said dryly. "The Emperor is not a man who understands or forgives. Believe me—I have spoken with him personally. And I am certain that if I didn't share his views... In short, one shouldn't pull a predator's tail. If he wants a flagship superior in power to an entire strike group—that is his business. My task is to realize his plans."
"Why are you so tense," Jenna frowned. "He isn't even here..."
"The entire Installation is a station created according to blueprints he provided. I am certain there are plenty of listening devices here..."
"And where are they hidden?" Zan Arbor smiled. There was no answer. Because Jerjerrod didn't know it himself. And he didn't particularly intend to inquire.
Turning his chair away from the desk, he cast a warm, smiling gaze over the young woman from head to toe. For her years, she looked exemplary—slender, fit, with beautiful curves and unfading beauty. Once in the mess hall, he had heard rumors that Arbor used some self-made chemical reagents to preserve her youth. But the details didn't interest him. It was enough that he possessed this beautiful woman, who dispelled the boredom of his routine.
Of course, it had taken some effort—kidnapping an outstanding geneticist who had caused a stir in the galaxy was much easier than securing her loyalty. After she was brought to the Maw and informed that she was now a loyal subject of the Eternal Empire and that there was work for her, Jenna resisted for quite a long time. She believed that the CIS would find and rescue her. Naturally—a leading Separatist scientist had vanished.
But the longer she spent on the station, the more she became convinced that she had been "written off." Like spent material. That was the calculation—Jenna was too vain and egoistic to accept the fact that Dooku would simply give up and stop searching for her.
To be honest, Jerjerrod himself was surprised that the Confederacy command hadn't even attempted to investigate Jenna's disappearance. Just as they hadn't investigated the death of their other geneticist—Zeta Magnus. It was as if they were merely cogs in a great machine within the Confederacy's assets. Cogs that were replaced as needed.
This became the motivation for the unique geneticist, who took the position of project lead for Alpha Red. A desire to take revenge on the Confederacy of Independent Systems, which had laid its grasping paws on all of Arbor's achievements that remained in the Separatists' possession after her vanishing without a trace. Specifically, on the so-called rock mites—parasites capable of devouring any structures on any planets in short order.
The Emperor promised her revenge—if she worked for the Empire. And Jenna agreed.
True, it irritated her that instead of the sophisticated biological weapon she desired to create to fight her former employers, she had to dig through samples of Vagaari organic technology and Bafforr tree pollen from Ithor. And arguments that her work was the preparation of a preemptive strike for the Far Outsiders did not inspire the girl at all.
"Fine, if you don't want to answer—that's your right," the geneticist finally stopped drilling him with her perceptive gaze. Ignoring her own nakedness, she stretched pleasantly, once again demonstrating the charms of her body to him.
"The morning briefing is in half an hour," the Moff informed her, checking his chronometer. "Are you going like that?"
"Why?" she ran her hands over the curves of her body. "Afraid that Nikolai's advances will be successful?"
"I'm afraid you'll catch a cold," he replied with a smile. Jenna gave him her lovely, treacherous smile and headed toward the bed, near which her clothes were scattered in disarray—traces of the beginning of last night's wonderful evening.
Jerjerrod, turning back to the terminal, closed the file with the data on the Sovereign. Attaching it to the general report file, he moved on to study another document.
The young cyberneticist was indeed showing signs of attention to the geneticist. Fruitlessly, it had to be admitted. However, the lad didn't give up. And, it had to be acknowledged, his infatuation with the beautiful girl added motivation to his work.
Otherwise, how to explain the fact that before Arbor's appearance at the Installation, he had been sluggishly and not very productively tinkering with the software of encryption devices and Gemini droids. But as soon as the beautiful blonde appeared on the horizon—work began to boil. As a result—in less than a month, he had developed new security systems and algorithms for the Gemini from scratch, which increased the efficiency of the already perfectly functioning droids. Although Jenna had tried several times to categorically resolve their misunderstanding, the Moff, with a heavy heart (what sane man would like the fact that another is chasing his woman, even if she is a mistress?), forbade her from such actions. Nikolai Kynesworthy, like all the other scientists—the "Brain Trust," as Jerjerrod called them—was too valuable to the Empire to allow his genius to sit idle. Moreover, the cyberneticist had recently announced that he had begun work on a new Gemini model—perfect in every sense. Even if these games with feelings worked against the scientist himself in the end, the Moff realized that without the genius of cybernetics, most of the Maw Installation projects would simply hang in limbo. Primarily, the protection of the Empire's own information flows.
The project of engineer Umak Leth—the World Devastator—depended directly on Kynesworthy. Since, having tasked Leth with creating a specialized ship capable of processing scrap metal and old junk in its depths to create military equipment necessary for the Empire—fighters, weapons, armor, droids, and so on—the Emperor had explicitly hinted that such technology in the wrong hands could become a weapon of mass destruction capable of sterilizing entire worlds. And computer security and the protection of the World Devastators' systems from digital attacks was one of the priority tasks.
The Emperor held a similar opinion regarding Leth's other project, which he was developing jointly with Bevel Lemelisk—a staunch advocate for creating the most destructive, and at the same time, the most defenseless weapon in the galaxy.
The Galaxy Gun. An installation capable of firing projectiles equipped with hyperdrives. The concept—to fire from an installation at one end of the galaxy to hit targets at the other—was, in essence, incredibly brilliant. Especially considering the fact that the target could be absolutely anything—a ship, a planet, an asteroid... The projectile, having received targeting data, would inevitably catch the target. And strike it.
Kynesworthy was involved here as well—for the same reasons as in the other projects. Possessing such a weapon in its hands, the Empire could not allow the possibility of malicious actors changing the final coordinates. The Emperor could not allow someone, an enemy saboteur or a computer virus, to interfere with the operation of such a destructive weapon. One only had to imagine for a moment the fact that instead of an enemy fleet, the projectile would strike an ally—a starship or an entire planet—and all the baseness Jerjerrod had to resort to for the sake of Nikolai's successful work paled before the possible consequences. Victory is worth the sacrifices. And if it must be the delicate emotional state of a cyberneticist—within the scope of the galaxy, it is such a small thing.
The Moff, thanks to his access codes, had access to the files of all his subordinates. And the department where Frap Radicon worked was no exception.
"Another starship?" Arbor's voice came from behind.
"Still just a project," Jerjerrod lamented. "Lira and Frap are working on a new concept for a combat ship."
"Project Immobilizer?" Arbor flashed her knowledge. The man shook his head ruefully. Yes, the scientists had big problems with secrecy. He would have to give them another "reprimand" so they wouldn't blab about their work to every colleague they met.
"Exactly that. A wonderful idea—to use gravity well technology, on which the principle of the Vagaari mass shadow generators is based, to pull enemy ships and smuggler vessels out of hyperspace, or to block enemy starships from fleeing the battlefield..."
"It's amazing how many valuable things there are in the galaxy. Doesn't it bother you that only the Emperor knows where to get them?" Jenna inquired.
"Not at all," Jerjerrod smiled. "He is creating his own state under the noses of the Republic and the Confederacy, and so easily snatches the best specialists from under their noses... At times, it seems to me that he truly knows everything."
"You think so?" the geneticist smirked. "If that's the case, then why haven't live specimens been delivered to me yet to test the virus prototypes?"
"I know no more than you," the man shrugged. "Perhaps these Far Outsiders haven't arrived in the galaxy yet. Or the Emperor doesn't yet consider it necessary to attack them—until Zakuul expands to its full potential. There are a great many options, and only he himself can know the answer."
"I don't particularly like all these ambiguities," the girl admitted. "Especially when dealing with the gifted..."
Jerjerrod smiled secretly. He had heard of Jenna's attempts to study the Force by capturing a couple of Jedi. More than ten years had passed since then. The interest in how the interaction of sentients with this semi-mythical ephemeral substance—which for a long time was considered accessible only to Jedi—worked had not faded. However, the longer this conflict lasted, the clearer it became that the notorious Order was not the only one in the galaxy that knew how to control the Force. There were dozens of them—and practically every such organization strove to seize power in the galaxy.
And the more Jerjerrod's confidence grew in the truth of the Emperor's words—the gifted had been the cause of conflicts in the Galaxy Far, Far Away since time immemorial. Even the current war thundering across all worlds was the fruit of the skillful intrigues of the Jedi's ancient adversaries. The suffering of billions of sentients just so one group could settle old scores with another.
It was sickening—to realize oneself as a pawn in someone else's game.
"Despite everything, I believe the Emperor unconditionally," Jerjerrod said, rising from the table and buttoning his uniform tunic. The time for rest was over; it was time to get to work. "You may not believe it—but after speaking with him personally, you will change your opinion about the gifted. Not all of them, of course..."
"I can't wait for this rendezvous," Jenna smiled, adjusting his collar.
Putting his arm around the girl, the Moff left his apartments in her company, heading for the briefing room where the other scientists were supposed to have gathered already. For the most part, they had already provided him with reports on their activities; however, Rebus—the engineer tasked with updating the small arms of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul's army (one couldn't use BlasTech clones copied at the New Forge forever, which were in service with the GAR)—though he had made significant progress in this matter, had, in his habitual absent-mindedness, forgotten to send the corresponding files.
Chatting with the girl about insignificant trifles, the Moff walked unhurriedly through the spacious corridors in the direction he needed. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the lush crowns of the Ch'ala trees, which shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow thanks to the peculiarities of their structure. Reacting to every sound, the trees blazed with various colors. Beautiful, but from the standpoint of the ergonomics of a space station's interior—it was a great waste to plant them in almost every hall of the Maw Installation. Although, according to rumors, such trees were a personal whim of the Emperor, who ordered them to be planted even in his own Citadels and all government buildings. And public places on Zakuul were also dotted with such flora.
Though, Jerjerrod admitted that the presence of even some non-uniform vegetation on a station surrounded by impenetrable space allowed the staff to distract themselves from the station's gray and dull interiors. However, if he were the one deciding the interior question, he would certainly have planted fruit trees. What difference did it make to the droids which vegetation to care for? And this way, the staff would have fresh fruit within walking distance.
Unfortunately, Ch'ala trees could not boast any worthwhile utility except for their own appearance. And what did the Emperor find in them?
***
Breaking through the battle formations of the Republic's meat droids—what could be simpler?
Nax Kirvan didn't even pay attention to the clones' pathetic attempts to slow his breakthrough. A pathetic imitation of humans, not even worthy of being noticed.
The Baron rushed toward his goal, sweeping everything away in a hurricane of death. Clones, ship crew members, shipyard workers—simply dust beneath his feet. The crimson blade of the dark apprentice flitted like a deadly sting, slicing through bodies, severing limbs, piercing vital organs. With every step, he absorbed the bitterness from the deaths of sentients, seasoning the fire of rage burning brightly in his chest with these feelings.
Was he angry that instead of attacking the pathetic remnants of the Republic fleet and army on Enark, he was forced to attack the shipyards of Allantin Six? Yes. But only until Lord Tyranus informed him of the essence of his mission.
The shipyards were nothing. The Republic had enough slips. And the defense there was appropriate—even the Eclipse was heavily damaged, clashing with the fleet of Master Adi Gallia. Not to mention that most of his strike fleet was merely scrap metal. He justly gave the Republicans the victory in this space battle. And at the same time, he snickered maliciously, watching as the remnants of the Republic fleet rushed in pursuit of the "fleeing" Eclipse. Naive, they thought his flagship was truly damaged. No. In fact, the dreadnought was drawing a mixed detachment of Venators, Hammerheads, and Acclamators away from the shipyards. While Kirvan himself, commanding a detachment of two dozen Recusant-class light destroyers, made a lightning-fast dash to the slips, inflicting critical damage, burning everything living, turning the Republic starships under construction into space junk, and finishing off with furious turbolaser volleys those few of Gallia's space ships that had survived the fight with his vanguard forces.
And even if Dooku hadn't tasked him with destroying the shipbuilding capacities of this planet, the Baron could not deny himself the pleasure of causing as much harm as possible. Because he was openly enjoying the execution of this mission.
And it wasn't just that his daring escapade was a maneuver intended to distract the Republic's attention from Hypori and allow Grievous to escape. Again.
This plan was the perfect embodiment of Sith philosophy. Deception hidden within another deception. Because while the Eclipse was finishing off one part of Gallia's fleet, and the Recusants were crushing the unfinished starships on the slips, he himself, at the head of the landing force, was sweeping everything in his path, moving toward his true goal.
The bright spark of the Force burning in the administrative center of the Allantin Six shipyards. Master Adi Gallia.
He and the Tolothian shared a common past. Once, while still young Padawans, they had been infatuated with each other. However, being knighted had severed their connection and struck him painfully. For it was Adi who had initiated the breakup—the woman he loved.
"The Code is above all," she had said. In the hope that he would understand. Oh, he understood. Immediately after he left the Order. And now he was rushing toward his victim to inform her of this.
After frying a couple of clones who appeared in his path, he smiled, enjoying their agony. Even if the Republic soldiers were not full-fledged humans and radiated almost no emotion in battle, some of them allowed the dark side adept to feast on their suffering before death, increasing his already immense power.
Which he, channeling into Telekinesis, used to blow out the heavy armored door leading into the administrative center. The multi-ton warped metal plate instantly killed more than a dozen sentients inside. The rest—of which there were more than a hundred—would become the legitimate prey of the company of commando droids that had come with him.
"You don't lack for arrogance, Kirvan," the Tolothian said, stepping in front of the Baron to block the passage to the central control console of the shipyards.
"Do you ever get tired of your pompous little phrases?" the aristocrat inquired, glancing over the girl from head to toe. Light armor, a traditional cloak... Nothing remarkable. He had killed Masters like her before.
"I rarely ever get tired," the young woman countered, activating her lightsaber. "We can resolve this the easy way, Nax..."
"Too simple for me to fall for it," the former Jedi laughed. "I prefer bloodshed and chaos."
"So be it," the young woman said with regret, shaking her head. What was this? Sadness on her face? From having to cross blades with a once-close person? Oh, Force, how dull.
Kirvan felt a biting disgust for his former friend. In the time they had been on opposite sides of the barricades, she hadn't bothered to develop. Jedi dogmas were firmly stuck in her head, making her weak.
The light side of the Force would never give enough power to learn to think for oneself. Nax remembered himself in the Order—pathetic, obedient. Even the meeting with Yoda—the kind old master, Kirvan's first mentor as a youngling—had shaken the Baron. For a second, it had clouded his thirst for power. But the old tricks—meaningful speeches and tedious mumbling about the sublime—hadn't helped Yoda. And after studying the holocron of Darth Andeddu, Kirvan had finally broken his chains. Now he was the true embodiment of power, free from all shackles...
Obeying his command, the commandos flooded forward like a metal wave, killing everyone in the room. Except the Jedi. Adi belonged to him.
Meanwhile, the Tolothian, without hesitation, threw herself into the attack, nearly hacking him in half. Kirvan, disconcerted by the fury of her pressure, leaped back and temporarily lost his balance, but quickly regained his concentration. Hmm, Gallia had managed to surprise him after all. He hadn't expected such pressure from her before. Now... It seemed not all members of the High Council were idly degenerating on their past merits.
Swinging his lightsaber, he forcefully clashed his crimson blade with her blue one. Adi took his strike in a hard block, causing the energy of the kinetic blow to ripple through her entire body. Her discomfort was visible by the way the girl winced. There was more to come...
Without stopping, the Baron tore off from his spot, appearing at the Jedi's side, raining down a series of furious blows upon her. Gallia was right-handed. And as far as he remembered, it was her left side that she kept under control the least. However, the woman, not appreciating his lunge, unleashed a telekinetic strike on him, which he easily dissipated by raising a Barrier.
So that's how it was... it was getting more and more interesting.
He sent a wave of lightning directly into his opponent's face, but she masterfully defended herself using her weapon, absorbing the deadly dark side technique. Kirvan, feeding his inner rage, began to increase his pressure with the Force, clearly noticing that the stubborn girl, unwilling to weaken the only technique she knew against traditional Sith assault, dug her feet into the floor so as not to slide. How stupid...
Kirvan cut off the flow of lightning and then lunged forward. His first strike was aimed at the girl's head and, at an angle, was meant to sever her left arm. With the second, he intended to damage the muscles in her left leg, thereby depriving her of mobility. But here, too, Adi was able to surprise him.
Noticing his approach, she leaped back, performing a backflip. At the same time, while in the air, she hit him with a Force Push, which he hadn't expected at all. The Baron tumbled backward, getting caught in the background battle of deaths between the Republicans and the commando droids. Slicing through the nearest opponent with his blade without looking and ending his life, the Baron looked at his opponent with a smile, but in a new way.
"Your abilities have grown significantly," he said with a note of approval.
The Tolothian, who hadn't wasted any time, turned a couple of his fighters into scrap metal. Now she stood in the center of the room, periodically reflecting stray blaster bolts.
"What are you talking about?" she inquired calmly. And even if she looked calm and focused, the Baron felt her agitation in the Force.
"I don't know a single Jedi who would actively use the Force and fence just as effectively at the same time," he smirked. "Vaguely reminds me of Master Dougan's style. I had the pleasure of meeting him in combat..."
"A pity he didn't finish you off," Adi replied simply.
"A Jedi regretting the absence of their enemy's death?" Kirvan roared with laughter. Noticing that one of the shipyard workers was aiming a blaster at him, he threw his blade, which decapitated the threat before returning to the dark apprentice's hand. "It seems Yoda and Windu themselves don't understand how far into the darkness their Order has gone."
"No further than you," Gallia said coldly. Kirvan, continuing to laugh, went on the offensive.
The Order and all its ideals were eroded from within—Master Gallia was clear proof of that. If a member of the High Council departs from the norms of ordinary respectable combat courtesy and muses on fatalism—then he is right. Yoda is the last of the blind, believing that the Jedi are still guardians of peace.
No. They are the chain dogs of war, insufficiently educated, insufficiently resistant to the temptations of the dark side. The behavior of his former lover was direct proof of that.
Clashing blades with the Master, Nax thought for a moment—what if he could turn Adi to the dark side? Not to defeat her, capture her, and make the Council dance to his tune, but specifically to sway her to his side. To make her his apprentice.
The seeds of the dark side were already in her—that was clear from her flashes of emotion, which she radiated every time his strength and power forced her to go on the defensive. She felt that the dark side had made Kirvan stronger, that he had become better than any Jedi. And this made her doubt her own worldview, instilled over decades of serving the Order. The impenetrable dome of the Order's dogmas was cracking, and with every minute of this confrontation, Gallia was becoming further from her ideals.
And closer to the dark side.
Nax blocked her extremely cunning lunge, pushed the blue blade away from himself, and with all his strength delivered a punch to the girl's face. She, taken aback by such unceremonious treatment of the fair sex, pulled away but maintained her combat focus.
"That was... low," she said, spitting saliva mixed with blood onto the floor.
"Treachery is the way of the Sith," Nax said triumphantly, glancing around stealthily.
Yes, the peripheral battle was already over. Nothing else was to be expected—the commandos had slaughtered all the Republic fighters and were now, having taken up defensive positions at the entrance, firing back at another squad of clones that had hastily arrived to help. Wonderful. Noticing that one of the droids was standing in front of the central control console, the Baron roared with triumph again.
Force, how simple it all was. To lead the Jedi by the nose. Deception contained within deception. And so on—to infinity. Truly, Dooku hadn't miscalculated by making him one of the high commanders of the CIS army. And he expected such success—for only thus could this operation end. Regardless of the outcome of the actual confrontation between two former... friends.
Yellow sparks flickered with a hiss in the room. Both gifted, circling each other, had rendered most of the control equipment useless. The backup systems hummed strainedly, trying to return functionality to the damaged systems. Soon, the central control post of the shipyards would become useless. It would take a long time before the Republic could restore the chaos he had wrought here—both inside and out. For, besides his detachment, dozens of others were operating at the shipyards. Their task was to plant multiple explosive charges that would destroy key elements of the shipyard, halting their operation. Even if Count Dooku hadn't ordered this, improvisation was one of the traits Kirvan had developed in himself with his transition to the dark side.
The former Jedi lunged forward when the Master was momentarily distracted—one of the commandos had fired a blaster at her. The girl, not even particularly bothering, deflected the bolt back at the shooter with a sharp movement, ending his period of activity.
"Do not interfere!" Kirvan growled. "She is mine!"
His sword left a superficial cut on her left forearm before the girl could parry the sudden attack. The girl hissed—evidently, the crimson blade had burned through her golden armor. It seemed this didn't affect her fighting style in any way, but with a practiced eye, Kirvan saw that the Tolothian began to slow her movements, stopped breaking into risky attacks, and concentrated more on defense.
She was waiting for time. Apparently, a large squad of clones was moving here—after a few seconds, the dark apprentice caught a change in the number of living organisms in the immediate vicinity of the central control post. Hmm, he would have to speed up.
Nax pressed on, time and again breaking through the young Master's defense, inflicting damage on her armor. He felt the flashes of pain emanating from her, triumphantly noting that with every new blow that reached its target, she became more enraged, like a fury ready to pounce on her victim. The moment of his triumph was approaching...
Not bothering himself with further continuation of the lightsaber duel, he, calling upon all the dark side power available to him, unleashed a torrent of Force Lightning upon the Tolothian. She tried to block it just as she had done before, but the power of the fallen Jedi proved too great. The lightsaber with the blue blade simply flew out of the girl's hands, and the sparking blue streams of electricity pierced her body, deafening Kirvan with a soul-piercing scream of pain.
Without interrupting the moment of his triumph, he continued to torture her with electricity, laughing.
, causing the woman who had fallen to the floor to writhe, twisting in pain after every contact of the electrical discharge with the Jedi's body. Relishing the piercing screams, the Baron approached the defeated opponent. Only when the soles of his boots were near the face of the Jedi Master, exhausted by the attack of the Dark Side, did the Baron allow himself to stop the torture.
He had achieved victory over one of the twelve Jedi presiding over the others. Alone, without outside help. And it could not be said that he was at the limit of his capabilities. Gallia, shaking in convulsions, had certainly fought with more elegance than the previously slain Tiin. But her Force was not flawless. The Iktotchi had maintained faith in the Light Side until the very end, while the Tolothian broke time and again, opening herself to the darkness.
"Now you see how strong the Dark Side is," he said tenderly, crouching down and stroking her beautiful face with the back of his hand. "Your pathetic Light is no match for Sith philosophy. Yes, you realized it yourself—I see how emotions are tearing you apart. I have opened the path to the art of the Dark Side for you, and now you can stand beside me. I have mastered many ancient Sith teachings, become stronger than anyone sentient in the Galaxy Far, Far Away..."
"I... know someone better," the girl's teeth barely met. Her gaze blazed with fury, but to Nax's disappointment, the irises of her eyes did not turn the coveted amber color. "Better kill me, because when Dougan comes for me..."
"Stupid Jedi bitch," Nax, his face contorted with malice, delivered a stinging slap. "That's the whole point! I couldn't care less about your shipyards—if not sabotage, then the computer virus that the saboteur droid is currently uploading into the information system will knock them out for months! No matter how many ships Dougan sends you—I have destroyed them all! No, you stupid bitch," grabbing the Jedi's head with his hand, he lifted it and slammed her face into the floor with force, knocking the defeated opponent unconscious. "Your captivity is merely a pretext for Dougan to stop his search for Grievous and rush here to save you. And I will find a way to meet him here."
***
A strike.
A strike.
Another strike.
Shea delivered precise and extremely painful movements with hands encased in special combat gloves, created solely to crush the bones of an opponent. Despite being manufactured more than three and a half thousand years ago, they functioned perfectly. Especially when compared to modern analogs, whose effectiveness was slightly less than nothing.
And here... Just three strikes—and two broken collarbones and a shattered shoulder. Nothing life-threatening, but incredibly painful.
"I don't hear an answer," she commented on the silence of the prisoner sitting tied to a chair. His hands were pulled back and securely fixed. And his head hung on his chest. From lips split by a simple slap, thin streams of blood mixed with saliva flowed onto his bare body.
However, despite the injuries, the prisoner remained silent.
In general, there was no particular point in torturing him. His henchmen had told everything they knew. About their leader's desire to capture her. About the secret passages they used to sneak into her residence in Keldabe unnoticed. About the weapon caches, the locations of training camps... the youths of yesterday had told a lot. And rightly so—one should not remain silent when Mandalore the Avenger himself is about to cut you into leather straps. In words, they were all "supercommandos." But in reality—they were entirely lackluster mandos.
In the best years, such people wouldn't even have been sent to guard the kitchen. Certainly not under her command.
"Maybe he can't hear?" Boba inquired carelessly, playing with a vibroknife. The kid was present at the interrogation not as a mere spectator. He was quite capable of asking the right questions. With the right atmosphere. And with the right approach. "I did break his ear canals, after all..."
"That doesn't affect the hearing apparatus in any way," Iceheart—no, the Torch—mechanically countered. Mandalore took the opponent's chin with her fingers and tilted his head up. "He's just still counting on something."
"My employers will get to you," Spar said with a rasp. His defiant gaze was meant to irritate the red-haired beauty, but instead, she continued to maintain her natural composure. "And then we will switch places..."
A strike with the edge of the palm to the larynx forced him to break off and dissolve into a fit of coughing. An old, reliable way to cut off a chatterbox. It always works.
"I want to hear names," Vizla said in an even tone. "Who hired you, bastard?"
"You... cough-cough-cough... won't learn... cough-cough... anything from me," the self-proclaimed Mandalore wheezed. "You can... cough-cough... kill me, but..."
"Wrong answer," the girl delivered a slap to the prisoner. In the silence of the residence's basement, which had served as the home for Mandalore since ancient times, the crunch of a broken cheekbone sounded simultaneously with the sound of the strike. "The upper jaw is next. Names."
"Filth!" Spar spat at her, demonstrating his contempt. The bloody spit spread across the breastplate; however, Shea had stopped paying attention to such trifles more than three thousand years ago. As if there hadn't been someone else's guts, blood, or shit on her Beskar'gam. Blood and saliva were not the worst things she had washed off her armor.
But she could not forgive such treatment either.
Pressing with great force with her index finger on one of the teeth in the upper row on the right, she clenched her hand into a fist with a short movement, bringing down one of the simplest but most painful strikes from her arsenal onto the man's skull. And again—the crunch of bones. And the howling of the clone.
"I can do this all day," she warned. "There's no particular hurry."
"Good luck," Spar grunted. "Jango himself trained me. Torture is nothing to me."
"Well, we'll see," Shea said indifferently. Nodding to the young Fett, Mandalore the Avenger stepped back.
She was not being insincere. Indeed—haste is only needed during sex with a married man whose jealous wife is waiting for him at home. And Mandalore the Avenger is a national hero. The liberator of her people from the yoke of criminal clans could allow herself a mere trifle—to subject to torture a man who had attempted to commit the gravest crime on Mandalore: to deprive the people of their leader.
The uprooting of the criminal scum from her home planet had required some effort. She had to fight for every city, using every weapon that MandalMotors could supply to the people's army. The number of victims among her fighters was counted in the tens of thousands—killed, seriously wounded, crippled. The losses among the civilian population (even pronouncing that term was loathsome to Shea) had already exceeded a hundred thousand. And the counting continued.
The criminals fought desperately—especially after a small fleet of united Mandalorian clans struck the motley criminal squadron holding control over the orbit. Deprived of support and the possibility of evacuation, the fighters of Black Sun and the Pyke Syndicate fought like trapped animals, mercilessly exterminating everyone who crossed their path.
In former times, Shea could not have imagined using dirty tricks as a necessary evil for her people. However, the experience of the initial creation of the militia proved that the Mandalorians, who had not waged wars for decades, had gone soft, turning into obedient livestock devoid of their own backbone. If she wanted to hold her power and return her subjects to lost traditions, she had to shake them up. The harder, the better.
Mass killings of civilians by criminals were exactly what was needed. Now there was no shortage of those wishing to join the army. Beskar filled the streets again—the mines on Concordia were working at full capacity, but no longer to provide precious metal to the pathetic scavengers of the Death Watch with their perverted ideas of the Mandalorian heritage. But for real business.
The Mandalore system was liberated from the bastards. But there were still hundreds of worlds in the sector under the enemy's rule. And they would have to be long and diligently uprooted. That is why loyal war masters were now training recruits, and the brat from Clan Beroia was able to fully reactivate all the production sites of his company for the first time in his life. Now, more than a hundred Crusaders—small but nimble and deadly corvettes—already hung in orbit of Mandalore, destined to become the core of the Mandalorian sector's fleet for a time.
Mandalore was beginning to breathe deeply again. It was gaining strength. Already, half a million fighters of its army were ready to bring down their wrath upon their recent oppressors like a striking sword. But one should not act so crudely. An independent Mandalore was a symbol-world that burned like a beacon of hope in the galaxy, calling back to the homeland thousands of those who had become bounty hunters.
And even if this was only the beginning, the powers that be in the galaxy had already sensed the change in the wind blowing from the once-humiliated people.
Chancellor Palpatine had sent his plenipotentiary representative to discuss the issue of Mandalore joining the Republic. Yesterday, that idiot senator had departed for Coruscant, without the slightest chance of returning to the Senate as a victor—one who could annex the sector to a decaying state.
The confidant from the Separatist Congress also met with failure.
And although the proposals of each side differed drastically, the ambassadors would bring the same answer to their masters. "The Mandalorian sector is a small but proud state. It is friends with whomever it wants." A transparent hint that none of the proposals satisfied the leader of the Mandalorians.
A simple "play for the public." Because Mandalore had long ago chosen its ally. Who regularly poured billions of credits into the decayed economy of a world tormented by the failed policy of pacifists and the occupation of criminals. Mandalore was building "its" fleet at the expense of Zakuul. "Its" army, too. Even the food supplies from Illodia were paid for from the Empire's accounts. Even if all these financial flows were carefully disguised as harmless deals—so as not to attract the attention of Republican officials—the fact remained.
Dougan kept his word—Mandalore became an independent state under her leadership. However, the economic noose with which the Empire ruthlessly tied the homeland of the galaxy's most famous warriors to itself was more reliable than any paper.
And primarily because if the Central Bank of the Empire were to say "No," the credits flowing into Mandalore's accounts through the offshore accounts of the InterGalactic Banking Clan would dry up. And the multi-million population would be left hungry on the ruins of former greatness. Not to mention that the production workshops would stop without the supply of materials coming directly from the Empire in a thin but inexhaustible trickle of smuggling shipments, headed by Jorj Car'das.
The longer Shea reflected on Dougan's actions, the more she realized that the boy, for whom she had felt no respect since their first meeting, had learned much from Vitiate. In particular, he had very skillfully exchanged his credits for a lion's share of MandalMotors stock. In fact, despite the fact that most of the company's shares on paper belonged to various companies and organizations, in reality, the latter were merely a cover for Zakuul. Owning what was effectively a controlling stake in the company, Dougan, on the one hand, gave money to increase the Mandalorians' defense capability—purchases of equipment were made at the expense of his credits. And at the same time, on the other hand, as a shareholder, he received profit from the spending of his own money. And all of it went toward Zakuul acquiring Mandalorian equipment for its own army and fleet. Equipment not inferior in quality to the products of famous galactic concerns, but significantly cheaper in its cost.
And if so, then very soon Crusaders would appear in the Zakuul fleet, ships that have no equal in the entire galaxy in exterminating fighters and anti-missile defense. Even Sienar's Marauders were less suited for such tasks. Now... everything would be different.
Listening to the screams of Spar, whom Boba was masterfully carving into meat, Shea gave the lad an appraising look. Yes, there was definitely talent in him. With proper handling, he would make a suitable tactical commander for the army of Mandalore. In a few years.
Meanwhile, she needed such a person right now. Kal Skirata had proven himself well in such a field. But he was forced to hastily return to Christophsis—during the aging Mandalorian's absence, his Republican subordinates had managed to significantly screw up. Dougan had ended up in a trap and barely managed to get out alive. An amazing ability to invent problems for himself and heroically deal with them. But judging those on whom you depend almost entirely is a bad habit. Harmful to health and business relations.
However, it was necessary to find worthy commanders. She could easily plan and execute the assault of one planet at a time. But many hundreds of worlds looked to Mandalore, a significant part of which were currently under occupation. And liberating them one by one was a bad idea. It was necessary to strike all the planets at once to exclude the enemy's ability to rotate their forces.
On the one hand, she had quite a few Mandalorians under her command who were sufficiently skilled and grounded in tactical mastery. However, they were now mostly busy raising the youth, who still had to pass the test of battle. Merciless and bloodthirsty—fortunately, the same Emperor "helped" with the choice of target. But, as befits Mandalore, she would personally lead the youth into battle. It only remained to think through the process itself—it was necessary to hide from the public and enemy spies that more than two hundred thousand Mandalorians had suddenly left their home world and disappeared in an unknown direction. And the place where they would "surface" would be far enough from the known galaxy for their actions to become known.
The calculation was simple. No one can ever guarantee overwhelming success when young warriors go into battle. Especially against an enemy that, no less than the Mandalorians themselves, adheres to personal canons of honor.
Using the youth to liberate the worlds of the sector meant giving an extra reason for information leaks into the HoloNet. Should the CIS or the Republic learn of heavy losses among the youth in the first battles, one could safely count the hours until the appearance of occupation troops within the home borders. This way, if the youth traditionally suffered heavy losses, it would not become known. At least for the first time, until the talkative tongues of modern Mandalorians found "grateful" listeners.
However, the question of how long the Mandalorians would continue to "dance" to others' desires remained open. Shea had already received from Caleb Daark, currently holding the post of prime minister of the sector, an exhaustive report on the state of the economy of the Mandalorian heritage.
Complete devastation. The isolationism of the pacifists had led to Mandalore's traditional export items—military equipment and suffering—being unclaimed on a galactic scale. Military campaigns followed by the plundering of wealthy planets were a thing of the past. MandalMotors, whose military product segment Duchess Satine Kryze had left without work, tried to enter the galactic market for swoops, speeders, and other civilian consumer goods, but proved unable to compete against the industrial giants. Who, one might ask, needs simple but effective machines when there are models with ornate and flashy bodies on the market? The galaxy in which she woke up had changed radically. Showing off and posturing were the meaning of life for the middle class. In this regard, Dougan's proposal to export this segment of MandalMotors products to the markets of Zakuul proved more timely than ever. A escape pod that appeared at the right time on board a dying starship.
Of course, Incom Corporation had already firmly established itself in the Empire's market, but their civilian products did not have a large assortment and were not sold on the necessary scale. Therefore, the engineers from Fresia spent more time on military orders, supplying the army and fleet with T-65 X-wing heavy fighters, Headhunter interceptors for planetary defense forces, and with great difficulty built civilian transports and support vessels for the fleet.
MandalMotors could offer much for the Empire's army and fleet in the field of ground equipment. However, this budget item of the young state had already been mastered by the state corporation Haor Chall Engineering, which produced a wide range of military equipment satisfying any needs. And yet, Mandalorian-made Canderous-class assault tanks found a response in the Emperor's soul. As did mass-driver technologies, which had widely proven themselves in the fleet. And even if the Mandalorian company did not produce these installations—after all, the fleet was built at the New Forge, where access for ordinary engineers was strictly forbidden—Zakuul took the path of acquiring the rights to independently produce the technologies of interest to them, paying considerable percentages for the use of others' developments. The result—considerable funds trickled into Mandalore, while their own factories did not have to be distracted by the production of third-party equipment.
And yet, such income was clearly insufficient for a proud and warlike people to feel economically independent. The main sales market—the Eternal Empire—could at any moment refuse a supplier located deep in the Republic's rear. And then the sector as a whole, and the Mandalorian capital planet in particular, would face another economic collapse.
At the moment, the Emperor clearly positioned Mandalore as, albeit a sovereign state, one tied hand and foot to Zakuul. A cold and pragmatic calculation that allowed Dougan to dictate his terms to Mandalore the Avenger. Extremely clearly and plainly.
It was not such a fate she wanted when she agreed to follow Vitiate. The bastard, like his apprentice, had once again proven that he was capable of calculating the situation far in advance. There was no doubt that, while promising the Torch to present her with the rule of Mandalore in gratitude for her services, the former Sith Emperor had planned exactly such "sovereignty" for the proud people. Dougan merely, like another pawn, played the cards that had been dealt to him by his teacher.
Was it humiliating? Yes, it struck at pride and made the blood boil with rage.
Was such a thing fraught with danger? Without a doubt. The planet and the sector were henceforth tied to the Empire. A break in relations meant, at best, stagnation and a miserable existence. At worst—nothing would stop Dougan from sending a fleet to the Mandalorian sector and cleaning everything out at the root.
However, the situation was not so bad if viewed from the other side. Only Shea knew the true state of affairs. Even her closest allies remained in ignorance. And as long as it remained so, the position on Mandalore was stable. Money was coming in, the economy was slowly but surely crawling out of the knockdown. And the future... in the end, what prevented her as the ruler of an entire sector from creating reserve funds where the surplus profit would accumulate? This financial cushion would allow her, in the event of an aggravation of relations with Dougan, to stay "afloat" for some time.
It was only necessary to continue playing by the Emperor's rules. Not forgetting to set aside trumps until they were needed.
"Mandalore," the little squirt Fett addressed her with respect. The boy was diligently wiping blood droplets from his vibroknife. "There is some progress."
"I had no doubt in you, Boba Fett," she said sincerely. "Did you find out the name of the client?"
"Yes," the lad nodded, smirking. "Without balls and a cock, anyone will break. Alphas are no exception."
Vizla raised an eyebrow questioningly. Yes, Mandalorians did not stand on ceremony with enemies. But to deprive them of their gender essence... To dishonor the enemy is the key to victory. But this thesis had not been applied to torture since the times of the Taungs' settlement of Mandalore. It seemed the boy truly didn't care about any written or unwritten rules. A problem was emerging. Traditionally—where it was least expected.
"Who hired him?"
"Does the name Lord Tyranus mean anything to you?"
Without allowing the slightest emotion to appear on her face, Shea cursed inwardly. The matter was taking an extremely foul turn. The second Sith in the galaxy was officially extending a helping hand and publicly declaring proposals for an alliance. And at the same time, he was going to behead the Mandalorians with one blow. Crude, but it could have worked.
"The reasons for his interest in my person?" she asked.
"Spar doesn't know the details. But Dooku asked him to interrogate you after the capture using any means at hand."
"What did he want to know from me, you stupid animal?" the Torch approached the bleeding Spar, grabbing him by the hair, tilting back the face disfigured with the help of a vibroknife.
"Tyranus was interested in your relationship with Grand Moff Dougan," Spar looked extremely depressed, occasionally casting glances at the parts of the scrotum that had once belonged to him.
"Where did he get such information?" the red-haired beauty asked, clenching a tuft of hair in her hand.
A miscalculation—evident. But where was the leak of data that constituted one of the greatest secrets?
Making a sign for Boba to leave, the girl waited until he left the torture chamber, after which, approaching the exhausted clone, she shattered his kneecap on his right leg without warning, calling for a frank dialogue. Waiting for the cries of the doomed man to subside, she shattered the second one...
Only after the ribs of the Jango clone began to turn into fragments unpleasant for a person's rich inner world did Spar begin to speak. He spoke for a long time, incoherently, mixing his assumptions with clear facts. But facts too detailed and, at the same time, not publicized for the general public for a simple mercenary to have heard them somewhere. Especially considering the fact that he had not left the borders of Mandalore since the beginning of the war.
Finally, when he finished, a nasty smirk appeared on his face.
"Tyranus knows a lot about your master, you vile bitch," the clone laughed. "Your scams..."
He did not have time to finish.
With a precise and powerful strike, Shea crushed his larynx. Ignoring the corpse's convulsions, silently, under the surprised gaze of the little Fett, she proceeded to the exit of the torture chamber, taking out her personal holocommunicator as she went.
The Emperor would definitely not like this news.
***
The sunset on Hypori was burning out in a crimson glow, in which the giant structures of industrial facilities were drowning. The system's star skirted the orbit of the Separatist world, carrying its light to another part of the world. To where the brave soldiers of the Republic were relentlessly crushing the enemy with a sea of blaster fire.
However, a military-experienced observer, had he the opportunity to survey the battlefield from a bird's-eye view, would have noted that the conflict was moving toward its final stage. The Republican soldier moved irresistibly through the disfigured ruins of industrial facilities diligently erected in the past by the forces of the Techno Union, leaving behind thousands of destroyed battle droids. There was no force capable of stopping the clones in their decisive offensive.
Because all attempts by the droid army to launch a counteroffensive, or at least slow down the progress of their organic opponents, were ruthlessly suppressed by airstrikes. Long gone were the CIS anti-space defense systems, which allowed Republican starships to descend into the atmosphere to acceptable heights and incinerate everything the enemy could oppose to the advancing forces with precision bombing.
These unceremonious actions of Grand Moff Dougan clearly demonstrated his own postulates, which were perceived ambiguously in the high command but met with approval among those who forged the Republic's victory with weapons in their hands.
As soon as the clones and numerous Jedi who arrived with reinforcements managed to gain a foothold, securing a huge bridgehead in the heart of the enemy's industry, commando and scout units silenced the anti-aircraft fire system and deflector domes deployed by the droids under Grievous's command with surgical strikes. And from the sky poured streams of coherent fire and bombs, literally incinerating droid units of any size.
The number of losses among the fighters of the Tenth Systems Army decreased significantly, and the area of occupied territory grew exponentially. All that remained now was to finish the assault on the main Separatist stronghold on Hypori. General Grievous's base—one of the secondary production centers for the production of B-2 super battle droids. The only place on the planet where unprecedented security measures did not allow the destruction of the power fields. A division of J-type proton beam cannons held off the aviation and starships of the "Gent," not allowing them within effective firing range.
And therefore, the clone forces moved to a systematic siege. Yes, it could last more than one day, but the outcome was predetermined. The orbit was under the control of the Republic. On the surface—more than half a million fighters—clones and militiamen. And while the former fell upon the droid fortifications, the latter carried out the clearing of controlled territories with enviable pedantry, destroying battle droid units that had miraculously survived and taking control of surviving equipment.
This is exactly what Grand Moff Dougan reported to the Jedi Council in his evening report. The communication session with Coruscant was not planned, but the Jedi could not ignore the call from the Council and the Chancellor. Especially in light of the stench that had risen in the HoloNet after his recent "interview."
"You are literally destroying the industry of the Techno Union," the Chancellor noted, whose holographic figure studied the impassive Grand Moff standing on the other side of the holoterminal with a searching gaze.
"As I have already said, it is simpler and more effective to bomb everything here than to lose several corps for the sake of Separatist factories that are of no great significance to the Republic," Dougan noted politely. "All these industrial complexes are geared toward the production of battle droids. And if the Council and the Senate do not plan to create their own B-2s, it is pointless to waste human lives for the sake of..."
"Such actions may provoke retaliatory measures from the CIS," the hologram of Mace Windu noted. He, like Grand Master Yoda, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Luminara Unduli, and the resilient Kit Fisto, were present at the meeting. Mara noted that the Mirialan, like Dougan, looked sleep-deprived and tired. The others, like the Chancellor himself, were alert and fresh. Well, yes, they don't have to sleep for only a few hours a day, leading one of the most ambitious operations in the entire Grand Army of the Republic.
"Until now, there has been an unspoken rule between us and the Separatists—not to cause great harm to each other's economies," the Nautolan reminded. "It is terrifying to imagine what Count Dooku's response will be."
"To be honest, I thought we were waging a war, not playing 'giveaway,'" Dougan smirked. "Although... how would you know, Master Fisto. Sitting in the rear..."
"For your information," Kit countered with a reproachful tone, "I am heading to Naboo. As before, we want to enlist the support of the Gungan Grand Army for conducting combat operations in the Mon Calamari sector."
"Let me guess," under the mask, his face was not visible, but Mara, who had recently taken the position of his adjutant, could bet that he was smiling. Even when he used the mask, his voice gave away his emotions. "You need the support of Senator Amidala."
"Exactly so," Obi-Wan Kenobi said. "Your actions in arresting her and placing her in the guardhouse... are excessive and insulting to the Senate."
"In that case, the Senate should make the leash for such eccentric individuals shorter than it actually is," Dougan snapped. "The diplomatic immunity and innate dim-wittedness of the former Queen of Naboo have already become the reason for the start of this war. Breaking into the territory of a planet that has withdrawn from the Republic... Although, who am I telling. Master Kenobi, you yourself did almost exactly the same thing."
"The Senate has long ago given an assessment of the actions of Jedi Kenobi, Skywalker, and Senator Amidala," the Chancellor intervened, smiling politely at those present. "Considering that the Republic does not recognize the legitimacy of the Separatist movement, and consequently—at the moment of those events, the Senator and the Jedi enjoyed diplomatic immunity. And their actions can in no way be interpreted as damaging the interests of the Republic. Which cannot be said about your recent activities. Techno Union stocks have fallen on the market by more than twenty points. It must be understood that the loss of profit and authority may force the Techno Union into a radical response. Including for the sake of personal revenge against you. Because it was precisely because of your actions that the CIS received a blow to what is most important to them—finances."
"The CIS has already made their counter-strike," Windu noted. "Less than an hour ago, a holorecording from Allantin Six arrived at the Temple. The shipyards are damaged, the fleet is completely destroyed. Baron Kirvan has captured Master Gallia."
"How could this happen?" Luminara was horrified. "Adi is an excellent fighter and..."
"The recording of the battle proves that Kirvan has become strong," Yoda shook his head. "Sith teachings he is mastering..."
"What is important is not how he did it, but why," the Chancellor shook his head. "Intelligence has provided me with a copy of this recording. Baron Kirvan demands that you, Grand Moff, personally meet with him and fight, answering for your barbaric actions on Hypori."
"Oh, really," Dougan said in an even voice. "The snake has crawled out... And why should I interrupt an operation that should end in the near future with the killing or capture of General Grievous, whom I was prevented from dealing with by one restless senator and a journalist accredited by you," he nodded toward Palpatine, "Master Jedi, who for the sake of virtual popularity was ready to drag the achievements of my fighters and the sacrifices they made through the mud?"
"It is not for you to complain about popularity," Fisto noted sharply. "The public is enthusiastic about your figure after that interview. But everything will change as soon as you finish with Hypori and the citizens learn about the means by which you achieve your victories."
"Especially," Windu continued, "in the context that Kirvan's holorecordings are now being distributed via the CIS Shadowfeed, accusing you of the fact that he was forced to attack our shipyards on Allantin."
"Our losses at Allantin are on your conscience, Master Dougan," Kenobi reported. "Adi Gallia is in captivity because of you..."
"Forgive me, Masters," Unduli intervened. "But am I the only one who sees that your reasoning is stretching..."
"feeding gizka to a bantha?"
"Be that as it may," Palpatine folded his arms across his chest. "The government cannot allow the separatists to continue in this vein. Kirvan has promised to execute Master Gallia and the captured shipyard workers if you do not arrive for a meeting with him in fifteen hours."
"Fifteen hours... Clever. So, I should have taken off an hour ago? Because such a journey will take exactly fifteen hours—if I drop everything right now," notes of suspicion appeared in the Jedi's intonations.
"A trap, this is," Yoda grumbled. "To lure out and kill Master Dougan, Kirvan wants. A hunt for members of the High Council of the Order, he has opened..."
"That may be so," Palpatine agreed. "But the Grand Moff is under my command. I am forced to give you an order—to travel to the coordinates Kirvan attached to his message," the holoterminal beeped, signaling the receipt of a message, "and do everything in your power to save as many lives as possible. Neither the Republic nor the Jedi Order will survive such a blow to their reputation if this operation fails."
"You know," a tired sigh came from under the mask. "I hope I'm wrong, but no one wants to play for a coach who has started the wrong game."
"What are you speaking of, Master Dougan?" the small Grand Master perked up.
"Teacher Abhira used to say that playing dangerous games is like sleeping with your sister; even if your sister is a beauty and her buffers are healthy, it's still illegal..."
Mara listened with her mouth open. Seeing such a thing with her own eyes... was worth a lot. Especially if one noticed the cold expression on the Chancellor's face, silently listening to this stream of consciousness as if some deep meaning were hidden within it. And the bewildered looks of the Jedi glancing at each other spoke for themselves. Dougan had long been known as the author of many "pearls." Apparently, the Jedi was once again spewing out something that would please the public and be turned into quotes.
"What are you getting at, Dougan?" Windu asked sharply. Irritation on the Korun's face broke through his usual Jedi composure.
"...and then all this inbreeding starts," Dougan continued, ignoring the Master's remark and looking directly at Palpatine. "Children who have no teeth, who only know how to play the banjo, drink apple juice through a straw, and screw livestock on farms..."
"Enough, Master Dougan!" Windu barked. The Master was openly infuriated.
"I think you took my hint," Dougan said coldly. "I just wanted to say that you aren't being completely honest with me."
A slight smile appearing on Palpatine's lips did not escape Mara. The Jedi and the Chancellor stared at each other without looking away, as if trying to examine every detail of their opponent's clothing. For a moment, it seemed as if the temperature in the room used as the communications center on Hypori had dropped. Mara felt a chill run down her spine.
"Your behavior..." Kenobi said, stroking his beard with his fingers, "is impermissible and may have far-reaching consequences."
"Report it to the Celestial Chancellery," Dougan requested. "And now, if you don't mind, I need to head to Allantin, despite the fact that it is separated from my area of responsibility by separatist territory."
"Master Dougan, the Council objects to such behavior..." Kit Fisto leaned forward.
"Well, shove those objections up your ass," Dougan advised. "Check your prostate while you're at it. Although, from your behavior, it's plain to see you do it regularly and with pleasure."
"Why, you..." the Grand Moff's hand touched the key to turn off the holoprojector. The blue figures of light dissolved into the air.
For a moment, the Jedi stood in silence. After that, turning to Mara, he walked abruptly toward her, simultaneously removing the mask from his face. Pulling the girl to him, he pressed his lips to hers, rewarding the stunned beauty with the most sensual and passionate kiss she had ever experienced in her life.
"What the...?" she asked indignantly when the Jedi broke the kiss. Heartless brute, he could have gone on for another couple of minutes...
"For luck," he smirked. "If I don't come back—consider me... No, to hell with it. It's time to quit this Marxism-Jediism..."
After these words, the armored figure of the Grand Moff left the communications center, leaving the Alderaanian aristocrat in complete bewilderment.
***