"Impressive," Xizor said with a smirk on his face, observing the scene unfolding before him from the bridge of the flagship Gozanti-class cruiser. "Radiation is no threat to us, of course..."
"Trifles compared to the losses we might have sustained in the event of a direct assault," Maul replied indifferently. What did he care how many criminals or residents of Emberlene died as a result of the bombardment and subsequent radiation contamination?
"I agree," the Falleen remarked. "Our losses on Mandalore..."
"Do not concern me," the Zabrak interrupted him. "View it as a purging of the ranks. Those who are unable to hold what I have conquered are not worthy of continued life."
"Not the most popular point of view among the fighters," Xizor grimaced. "Few want to fight for an organization that is not only outside the law but also doesn't hold onto its people..."
"What difference does it make?" Maul grumbled. "Scouts report that the loot on Emberlene is so vast that we'll have enough credits to buy half of Hutt Space and force the slugs themselves to brew us caf in the morning. I don't care about the dying rabble—new ones can always be hired. On any planet, you can hire a whole army of beggars who, for a few credits, will run to organize mass slaughters themselves."
"Do we have other targets for plunder in mind?" the Falleen licked his lips in anticipation of more riches.
"All in good time, Xizor," Maul shook his head. "You don't think I'm stupid enough to blurt out my plans, do you? I rule the Shadow Collective, and I advise you to remember—an attempt to overthrow me will result in total destruction for you and your kind."
"I never even thought of such a thing," the prince shrugged. At the same time, he reeked of disappointment in the Force. He was dejected that his "subtle" manipulation had been exposed. And so easily at that.
But none of that mattered. The main thing was that Maul had practically fulfilled his master's task.
The Mistryl fell victim to their own tactics. Before attacking a planet, they would send assassins to eliminate the entire top command of their victims' armies. Now, the Collective's skilled mercenaries had completely exterminated all significant figures of the Emberlene armed forces, destroyed equipment depots, shield generators, and anti-aircraft artillery. The planet had instantly turned into a defenseless, tasty morsel.
The Shadow Collective fleet had suffered heavy losses—more than a hundred cruisers were now nothing more than junk floating in zero gravity. However, their cost was incomparable to the wealth that would end up in Maul's hands after the sacking of Emberlene.
The planet was now being methodically flattened by the criminals' ships using a nuclear arsenal borrowed from the long-term storage depots of Mandalore. Was it ruthless? Without a doubt. And this made his chest feel warmer, because feeling the mass deaths of sentients and absorbing the terror of the final moments of dying sentients was a great pleasure that the Zabrak had never experienced before. Even in the service of Darth Sidius, he could not boast of bringing death to millions. Now—it was quite different.
Maul was not stupid. And what he was doing for the Emperor was not something secret to him. Even if he didn't voice it openly, the Zabrak felt that there was something more behind all his actions. Mandalore had clearly demonstrated this.
The destruction of the failing government gave the locals a reason to remember their warrior roots and seize power. And one could bet their own limbs—the new leader of Mandalore was firmly tied to the Eternal Empire of Zakuul.
Obviously, the Immortal Emperor had similar thoughts regarding Emberlene. The Mistryl had done a gargantuan job to enrich themselves. Their conceit had blinded the ruling elite. And the ill fate in the form of Maul's mercenaries was the ultimate punishment that should break the back of the natives' arrogance. Their world had slid back to the fringes of progress. Their wealth would pass into the treasury of the Shadow Collective. Poverty, hunger, radiation, ruin... All this would make the locals excellent prey for those who would come here after Maul. And the Zabrak had no doubt that the next step would be the recruitment of the surviving Mistryl and the remnants of their army.
Natural-born spies, assassins, saboteurs, excellently trained and capable of penetrating wherever the client desired, possessing unsurpassed camouflage skills... Maul himself would not have turned down such agents.
But such a task was not set before him.
He had to be extremely precise in executing the Emperor's will.
"We have finished with the bombardment," the commander of the flagship noted. "What will be the next orders?"
"Send the landing force to the surface," Maul grinned. "It is time to gather the bloody harvest."
"What will be the instructions regarding prisoners and hostages?" Xizor frowned. Maul knew that he already possessed information about who they would actually have to deal with on the surface. And he was worried about the consequences. The Mistryl could become extremely dangerous enemies. After all, the more victims there were among the local population, the heavier the retaliatory strike would be. Only he didn't know a simple truth—the more pain and suffering the people of Emberlene experienced now, the more compliant they would be later.
"No prisoners or hostages," the Zabrak said indifferently. "Everyone who stands between us and the loot must be exterminated."
"Genocide?" Xizor was taken aback. His eyes widened, and in the Force, he exuded an extreme degree of shock. It was he who was to lead the ground forces. His face would be before the eyes of those who would die at the hands of the Collective's fighters. And it was him the Mistryl would primarily seek to kill.
Oh, yes, you're already guessing how many credits you'll have to spend on hiring new bodyguards. You fight for your own hide to the last and are ready to spend any amount of money. Typical behavior of a cowardly non-Force-sensitive.
"By no means," Maul shook his head. "We don't want the CIS or Republic fleet following us, do we? Do not pursue those who flee. At least someone from this wonderful race must survive."
"As you command... Lord Maul."
"Do not delay, Xizor," the Zabrak advised. "We are only interested in the planet's wealth here. The coordinates of the vaults are known to us. We should not stay here longer than necessary."
***
"Senator, you've lost your mind!" in a burst of emotion, Ion Grettcher jumped up from his desk. "Do you realize for even a moment what penalties Rendili StarDrive will have to pay if we refuse this order? Not to mention that my career will go down the drain!.."
The man interrupted his angry tirade, noticing the beep of the holocommunicator built into the tabletop. Shifting his gaze to the monitor screen, positioned so that his interlocutor could not see what was written on the screen, he became absorbed in reading, leaving the Alderaanian alone with his thoughts.
Bail grimaced with displeasure. It was always like this. Young people who had rapidly soared to the top of the corporate food chain would never take risks for the sake of a noble goal. Profit ruled these corporations. And considering the estimate for the construction of new ships for Christophsis—it was simply an unimaginable amount of capital.
However, the Senator had an ace up his sleeve. The young Rendilian, who in less than a year had risen from the position of a top but rank-and-file manager to the position of Vice President of the company for wholesale orders, was the last link in the chain of sentients with whom the Alderaanian was conducting a dialogue. The boy didn't know that very little depended on him. And he was striving with all his might to prove his importance.
Mon Mothma's "contact" turned out to be exceptionally useful. Not only was she a very attractive Mirialan girl, quite knowledgeable in the intricacies of Rendili StarDrive politics, but she also knew perfectly well how to brighten a middle-aged senator's leisure time. Moreover, it turned out that she was the one who had serviced the first Christophsis order—the modernization of the ships purchased from the Order.
And how interesting is the fact that the customer for this refitting was none other than... Master Dougan. Yes, even if he was little known to anyone at that time—at the dawn of his fame, he wore a mask that had long erased his appearance from memory. However, those few moments when he demonstrated his healed face were enough for the media to capture him. And Mon's contact did not hesitate to inform her of this.
Therefore, the whole story with the construction of the fleet for Christophsis took on new colors after the visit to Rendili.
Dougan himself ordered the fleet for Christophsis, which was subsequently presented by Elder Eisel as the property of the Christoph system. Deception? Without a doubt. But what was it supposed to cover up? Most likely—the fact that a single Jedi had enough funds to purchase an entire fleet. A simple multi-stage combination with the Christophsian government—and these ships were allegedly transferred to Dougan for his sole possession free of charge.
Like thousands of previous ones.
Like thousands of future ones.
Is there any doubt that it is Dougan who actually owns the fleet, builds the Hammerhead-class cruisers at his own expense, and legalizes them through Christophsis, accumulating them under his command? No, there isn't. He worked out this scheme from the very beginning and uses it now without embarrassment.
But for what? He has achieved great success and enjoys popularity in society and the Senate. Palpatine favors him and...
Bail felt his mouth go dry.
Palpatine.
That's who is behind all this. Dougan is his close and trusted associate, who soared through the vertical of power so quickly that only someone who doesn't know about his friendship with Palpatine could be surprised by it. And if one develops this thought further...
"I have spoken with your government," Bail noted tiredly, seeing that the young man had finished reading his mail. And a sly smile appeared on his face. "You are the last one clinging to this order. Considering that your government gravitates toward the Confederacy... it is very dangerous to entrust you with the construction of starships for the Republic."
"Meanwhile, Elder Eisel does not think so," the Vice President noted coldly. "The order has not been canceled. And the first hundred ships will be ready on time. But thank you for once again emphasizing the fact that it is because of our short-sighted government that the number of slipways for fulfilling this order has been reduced. And, as a result—we are missing the deadlines for delivering the ships and will be forced to pay huge penalties."
"Are you talking about those same Hammerhead-class cruisers that are being modernized according to the models of the latest Predator-class starfighter starships?" Bail narrowed his eyes. "Believe me, the issue of Rendili joining the CIS is being discussed in the highest circles of your planet as an almost self-evident fact. Now imagine what legal costs and fines will be imposed on you if our latest armed developments fall into the hands of the CIS?"
"A clever speech," Ion smirked. "And as always—smooth. You are asking us to break the contract with Christophsis, stating that since we won't have time to make these ships on schedule, they will go to the CIS. And you are very transparently hinting that the Republic will impose sanctions on us because of this. Might you tell me where you studied oratory and diplomacy?"
"Alderaan University," Bail shared the information. "I have only outlined the obvious options for you. You don't think the Republic will stand aside when the CIS captures such an important world for it, do you? No, I am more than sure that the day after you switch to the CIS side, it will be crowded here with the Republic fleet, which, I must admit, is not the most careful when it comes to preserving infrastructure. Have you seen the latest CIS news? Master Dougan literally leveled the Techno Union industry on Hypori to the ground. It seems nothing will ever be built there again, and after the fleet leaves, only scorched earth will remain."
"Yes, I saw the Shadowfeed news," Ion agreed. "And I even watched the stock market reports. You know, I find them extremely interesting."
"I don't follow stock market analytics," Bail admitted.
"And that's a great pity," the young Rendilian smiled. "You are intimidating me with the idea that our government will join the CIS. Well, I admit it—Rendili StarDrive has always followed in the wake of its own establishment. Under other circumstances, I would have punched you in the face for hinting at the ruin of Rendili by Republican forces, but I grew up in a decent family and will not do that. I am used to achieving everything with my intellect, so I will tell you a few interesting facts that, obviously, your insider prostitute did not inform you of."
"I'm sorry, but..."
"I advise you to take her away from Rendili at the conclusion of our conversation," Grettcher said coldly. "I have already ordered her dismissal for violation of corporate ethics. But that has little to do with our topic of conversation. So, you gave me the example of Hypori, that the entire economy there was destroyed to zero..."
"A few hours ago, the orbital bombardment of the last fortified line of the CIS ended," Organa recalled the fresh news, ignoring the insolent youth. From the height of his experience, he knew that sometimes you need to let your impulsive opponent say more than necessary. In such hasty phrases, a lot of interesting things often slip through. "The Techno Union has already lost more than fifty points on its shares... Very soon they will put the planet up for auction—it is not profitable for the separatists to restore anything on territory occupied by the Republic. And the Republic doesn't need this planet for similar reasons. So we'll see it at auction soon..."
"You won't," Ion noted confidently.
"Why is that?"
"Hypori no longer belongs to the Techno Union," the Vice President walked to his desk and activated the holoprojector, unfolding the stock market reports. "Have you heard anything about the company Haor Chall Engineering?" Seeing the man shake his head negatively, Grettcher continued: "A middle-of-the-road company that worked for the CIS. The Republic destroyed their production facilities, the CIS seized all intellectual developments and patents. In essence, these insectoids were left with nothing."
"What are you leading to?"
"Oh, I'm speaking quite clearly. You just don't possess the financial literacy to understand it. But let's continue. You remember that battles took place on Geonosis not so long ago? It seems they were led by Master Dougan's units," the young man narrowed his eyes.
"Yes, that's so, but..."
"The factories on that planet were owned in equal shares by Geonosian Industries and the Techno Union. The latter also owned Hypori..."
"I think I'm beginning to guess..."
"The Techno Union may be at war with the Republic, but they are excellent financiers. And they managed to sell the ruined planets to the aforementioned Haor Chall Engineering. Don't you find the irony in all this? The metal on Hypori hasn't even cooled after the orbital bombardments of General Grievous's base, and the planet already has a new owner. Who, as in the case of Geonosis, allows the Republic to keep its garrison on the surface—Christophsian volunteers who will ensure that CIS weapons factories do not open on the planets again. Convenient, isn't it?"
"The question arises—where did Haor Chall Engineering, a ruined company, get so much money to buy as many as two planets?" Organa frowned. Although, he had some guesses.
"To be honest, I don't care," the man shrugged. "But the fact remains—even if the Republican fleet arrives here, there will always be someone who will acquire a major shipbuilding company with a thousand-year history. And since I am in the company's inner circles of power, a certain percentage of this deal will fall to me as well. So I am not to be intimidated by possible sanctions—I will end up on a bantha in any case."
"But think of your employees," Organa felt the interlocutor's tone had changed. If at the beginning of the conversation he was almost in hysterics, now he seemed to have found a second wind. "The CIS seizure of your slipways, as well as the subsequent invasion of the Republic fleet—and, believe me, it will definitely happen—will eventually lead to mass unemployment."
"Yes, there is a grain of common sense in your words," the young man smirked. "But, as I said, you don't follow what's happening on the stock exchange."
"But I know the mood of your people! Ordinary citizens are extremely dissatisfied with the fact that your government is flirting with the CIS..."
"But they are even less satisfied with the position of the Republic, which has abandoned its loyal supplier that has provided you with combat starships for millennia," Ion noted. "And your words about possible economic sanctions pale against the background of exactly how events will develop under the scenario you yourself described."
"Then enlighten me," Bail smirked. "Your shares dropped in price as soon as it became known that an emissary of Count Dooku—the former Jedi Quinlan Vos—had arrived to see you. I was informed that he and your leaders have been discussing the issue of Rendili joining the CIS for twenty-four hours. Knowing the moods of your politicians—it is inevitable. The separatists will occupy Rendili, seize the latest equipment of the Republic armed forces—through your own fault. These are multi-billion dollar losses. Which will become even greater after the planet returns to the Republic..."
"If it returns," Ion emphasized the first word with a chuckle, causing Bail to have an unpleasant premonition.
"What do you mean?"
"It's simple," Ion shrugged. "As you expected, our government has expressed a desire to join the Confederacy of Independent Systems. As have the top officials of Rendili StarDrive. The CIS fleet has already arrived in orbit two hours ago to take control of our defense systems and defense fleet..."
"What I warned you about!" Bail cried out. How poorly timed! On Rendili, almost everyone knows that a Senator of the Republic is here. If Organa is taken prisoner by Vos—it will be a heavy blow to the reputation of their political alliance. "You must immediately destroy all developments on Republican ships before..."
"Calm down, Senator Organa," Ion ordered him coldly but authoritatively. "The traitors to the people of Rendili, the so-called Independent Provisional Government of Rendili, have been arrested by our planet's military under the leadership of Admiral Jace Dallin. The new government of Rendili is introducing a military dictatorship on the planet, and this also applies to the property of the nationalized Rendili StarDrive company."
"A coup d'état?!" Bail was horrified. "You've lost your mind! This is civil war!"
"Only a narrow-minded Alderaanian senator could think that the people of Rendili, who have survived betrayal by the Republic and found themselves on the verge of occupation by the Confederacy, would be as short-sighted as those in power?" Ion burst out laughing. "No, Senator. There is no civil war and there won't be one. The people of Rendili have united around their true leaders—Admiral Dallin and the new director of Rendili StarDrive in my person..."
"What? How?" Bail was stunned. "You mean while I was waiting for your reception for several hours—you were pulling all this off? Seizing the company?"
"Exactly so, Senator," Ion smirked. "You see, as I said—I achieve everything with the help of my intellect. I know how to assess the risks and benefits of this or that action. And I haven't regretted for a moment that I agreed to cooperate with one extremely influential individual."
"Who are you talking about?"
"I am not authorized to elaborate on that," Ion shrugged. "But all his warnings have come true. Our short-sighted politicians decided to plunge us into chaos, forced us to humiliate ourselves while saving face before the Republic, which defected to our competitors—Kuat. And they even decided that an alliance with the CIS would be the best choice... No, our people are united in their opinion—neither the Republic nor the CIS suits us."
"You are withdrawing from the Republic?" Bail was stunned.
"Exactly so," Ion agreed. "The defense fleet is fighting the CIS ships, and soon everything will be decided in our favor—be sure of that. At this moment, our senator is demonstrating a video recording of our conversation in the Senate as proof of the subversive activities against our economic interests by individual representatives of the Republic," Bail turned pale, looking in the direction indicated by the newly minted head of Rendili StarDrive. A massive statue standing in the corner of the office gleamed with optical lenses installed instead of eye sockets. Not the most noticeable hidden surveillance system. Accustomed to luxury, Bail hadn't even paid attention to the modest interior. And now he paid for it. How else could it be explained that against the red background of the statue, he hadn't noticed the scarlet light of the video recording?
"I think none of the entrepreneurs in the Republic will have any opinion left about the rottenness of your political system," Ion concluded. Then, touching one of the keys on his desk, he turned off the video recording system. "I will convey it in Admiral Dallin's words. You have one hour to leave the territory of our system. Otherwise, you will be detained by our security forces. Our meeting is over. All the best, Senator," the mocking smile on the young Rendilian's face was frankly irritating, but Bail was smart enough to know when the game wasn't worth the candle. Nothing would change from him telling the upstart everything he thought of him. But there were no guarantees that there wasn't another video surveillance system in the office that could further undermine his already low authority in the Senate.
The Senator, having respectfully said goodbye to the man, silently left the office.
He should get to his ship as quickly as possible and contact Mon Mothma to inform her of what was happening. He should not put this off until his arrival on Coruscant.
An airspeeder took him to the landing pad where his Tantive IV was located. Glancing at the technical maintenance crew fumbling near the landing struts, the Senator rapidly made his way to the lift that took him to the deck. Meeting Captain Raymus Antilles's gaze, he irritably cut off his report and headed to the long-range communications booth.
"Mon," the Senator from Chandrila answered the outgoing call almost immediately. "How..."
"Bail!? Are you in your right mind?" the redhead cried out. "You practically threatened the head of a corporation! The Senate is furious; Palpatine has initiated an internal investigation! Our positions are already shaky after Amidala's stunt!"
"Mon, I was misled," Organa said with a sigh. Yes, he understood how badly he had messed up at this meeting without any outside help. He didn't need to listen to lectures on top of it! "Wait, what did Padmé do?"
"Haven't you been following the HoloNet at all?" Mothma was taken aback.
"No, a state of emergency was introduced on Rendili, the population stayed at home except for the shipyard workers," Bail recalled. "I was told these were preparatory measures to nip possible uprisings in the bud..."
"Like hell!" Never before had he seen the woman so enraged. "First, Amidala, without Senate authorization, sticks her nose into the thick of it—on Hypori—and she is detained by Dougan's enforcers..."
"What did she need there?" Organa was surprised. "There are military operations going on!"
"Ask her!" Mon barked. "The Senate is in hysterics. The public has already pelted our faction's speeders with rotten fruit—right in the Senate parking lot! Because this idiot flew into the thick of combat operations along with a journalist and ruined Dougan's capture of Grievous! Do you realize what we're having to clean up? Because of members of our faction, we first failed to capture the CIS Commander-in-Chief! Now your threats to Rendili StarDrive! Do you even realize what a bucket of shit has been poured on us? Rendili has withdrawn from the Republic, declaring its independence! And this was when the Senate was discussing the agenda for involving Rendili StarDrive in the construction of new destroyers! Palpatine's supporters have set all the dogs on us! Claiming that it is we, and not they, who are striving in every way to put spokes in the wheels of democracy!"
"Listen, Mon," Bail said tiredly. In his head, he already clearly imagined the picture of further events. The reputation of the opposition, as well as their personal reputations—his, Amidala's, Mothma's—would fall below all possible points. Palpatine's lobbyists had already shown they wouldn't ignore this fact. Just laying the blame for Dougan's failure on them alone... "But we can play on this! I found out about this just before the restrictive measures were introduced. Dougan did carry out an orbital bombardment of Hypori in violation of all the rules of war..."
"Yes, and that too has been held against us!" Mothma reported. "The only way to destroy the bloodthirsty Grievous," as he stated it on the net. And he particularly emphasized that he would have done it even sooner if Amidala hadn't interfered!"
"This is some kind of conspiracy," Bail shook his head. "It can't all happen like this all at once..."
"Meanwhile, it has!" Mon stated. "The HoloNet is literally exploding with dissatisfaction toward us and approval of his actions. The electorate is already creating petitions to lift the moratorium on the Base Delta Zero order! More than ten million approvals in the half-hour since the demonstration of your 'negotiations.'"
"Too efficient..."
"Considering that the author of this petition in the HoloNet is Eline Tyrell, sent by the Chancellor to cover the activities of Grand Moff Dougan... Hutt, we just had to run into this press-whore!"
"It's Palpatine," Bail said, turning grim. "He planned all this..."
"I hope so," Mon said quietly. It was clear from her face that she was tired. "Do you have proof?"
"Yes," Bail smiled. "Your contact on Rendili told me many details... Extremely scandalous ones. She was fired for it, by the way."
"Can you tell me?" the Chandrila native lit up. "This channel is encrypted, right?"
"Yes, of course. Your friend said that the first ships—the ones that kicked Trench's ass during the First Battle of Christophsis—were purchased from the Order by Dougan. Through front men, of course, but it was he who negotiated with her about carrying out the modernization work. He also paid for everything from a numbered account that the Christophsians are now using, passing it off as their own."
"Dougan?" Mon was taken aback. "A Jedi went for such manipulations? Incredible..."
"Don't forget that it was the Order that created the clone army and an entire fleet,"
Organa reminded him. "However, something else entirely attracted me here."
"For example?"
"I am increasingly convinced that Palpatine is behind all of this," he said, lowering his voice as if afraid someone might overhear. "The Jedi are wealthy, that is beyond doubt. But just imagine. Palpatine has always enjoyed popularity among many of them. His friendship with Skywalker is no secret. Dougan is also at the height of his fame. Moreover, he has distinguished himself in several battles, exposed a corrupt Moff, and immediately took his place. A little more time, and he is already commanding a sector army. He barely had time to do anything in that field, and now, under his command, is a systems army—the largest of the ten."
"There is a grain of truth in that," the Chandrilan said slowly. "Palpatine pushes his supporters among the Jedi to the front lines of the media. And he doesn't hesitate to tear Windu to shreds during regular military reports. He can easily present any of their successes to the public as his own—after all, it was he who noticed such talents and promoted them. Especially Dougan—now half of the Outer Rim is in his power, three systems armies..."
"Just for a moment, imagine that Palpatine is connected to all these Christophsian fleets," Bail continued. "Where does Dougan get such funds? It's billions! Most likely, Palpatine is sponsoring him. And he acquires ships for himself, hiding behind the loyal Christophsians. They, in turn, provide Palpatine with resources—ships, an army—which he can use for a violent seizure of power."
"Bail, you're talking about a violent seizure of power," Mon gasped. "You don't think that... No, even Palpatine isn't so terrible as to hold onto power in his hands that way..."
"But it would explain a lot," Organa countered. "Besides what I've already said—also the concentration of all the Kaminoan clones in Dougan's hands. The reserves of Kamino and Rothana—the secret planet of Kuat Drive Yards... I don't know about you, but I believe that Palpatine, with Dougan's help, is concentrating enormous military and production capacities in the hands of a single Jedi whose loyalty he has already secured. And if something happens, this entire armada will be at Coruscant in the shortest possible time. No other army possesses such reserves as Ghent. And if you take the two neighboring ones..."
"Bail, this is all too much," but it was clear from Mothma's face that she was troubled by the same conclusions. "The army and fleet are under the direct control of the Jedi... and not all of them are supporters of Palpatine..."
"Not all, but many, Mon," the Alderaanian noted grimly. "I wouldn't be surprised if it turns out that this whole scheme with the clones and the fleet being built in secret at Kuat for these soldiers was Palpatine's initiative."
"This all smells foul, Bail," Mon shook her head. "Return to Coruscant as soon as possible; we need to discuss all of this very specifically."
"I'm leaving now, Mon. There's nothing more to do here anyway," Bail sighed, ending the communication session.
After remaining silent for a few minutes, he used breathing exercises that Obi-Wan had once shown him during their misadventures on Zigoola to try and clear his mind of negativity. Only then did he leave the room...
...coming face to face with a pair of sentients in technical coveralls.
From the collision with a young man carrying a rather impressive mechanical part on his shoulders, the latter fell with a crash onto the corridor floor, polished to a mirror finish.
"What the Hutt?!" the usually restrained senator cursed. "Who are you people?"
"Well, it's like this," a Duros in a technician's coverall scratched his large nose. "We're repairing your hyperdrive..."
"Did something happen to it?" Bail became wary.
"Actually, yes," the young human male said with a white-toothed smile, hoisting the part back onto his shoulder. "Captain Antilles noticed several malfunctions in the systems and called us. Our friends are fixing the landing strut hydraulics, and I've calibrated your hyperdrive and replaced one of the motivators."
"Strange, he didn't say anything to me," Bail grew suspicious.
"Well, the comms aren't working," the Duros spread his hands, slowly chewing on a toothpick. "Those bureaucrats are up to something again..."
"I need to leave Rendili as quickly as possible," the senator stated.
"Don't you worry," the man smirked. "Everything's working perfectly. After all, I have the most trained and fastest hands in the entire Outer Rim..."
***
"Have you been waiting long?" Bo-Katan asked, pulling Obi-Wan out of his thoughts as she approached him from behind. The girl, who continued to wear her set of Mandalorian armor (though with the Death Watch markings washed off) even on Coruscant, where many had disliked natives of Mandalore for thousands of years, sat down at the table opposite him, removing her helmet and placing it beside her.
"A couple of hours," Kenobi looked away from the datapad screen, shifting his gaze to his companion. "Mere trifles."
"And you're as gallant as ever, Jedi," the last of the Kryze line snorted. Obi-Wan felt a pang of conscience—he had heard that phrase once before. From the lips of another representative of this same Mandalorian clan. Under similar circumstances. "Why did you call?"
"There is some information," he said, lowering his voice.
"Spit it out," Bo-Katan perked up.
"Not so fast," he shook his head. "I don't have the information."
"Stop talking in riddles," the Mandalorian growled. "I won't care about your manners and pretty eyes—I'll break your jaw."
"Oh, so I have pretty eyes?" Kenobi smirked. But he immediately checked himself. What are you doing, Obi? You were in love with her sister! However, it was too late to back down.
The young woman smiled at him. Her gaze warmed by several degrees, causing the Jedi's heart, which had constricted a moment ago, to start beating as before.
"Will you be ordering something, darlings?" a waiter droid rolled up to the table. Kenobi smirked at the address. This same droid had met him here a little over a year ago—when he had come to Dex for information.
"Call me that one more time, and I'll rip out your motivator," Bo-Katan promised. The droid, blinking its photoreceptor, immediately backed off.
"Call Dex," Obi-Wan requested. The droid, spinning in place, announced to the entire establishment:
"Darling! You have visitors here. Looks like a Jedi with his rude girlfriend."
Obi-Wan felt the pair instantly become the object of universal attention. But as soon as Bo-Katan bestowed her heavy gaze upon the few patrons, the onlookers hurried back to their business. Convenient.
"Obi!" a massive Besalisk, squeezing his bulky body between the tables with monstrous agility, practically leaped from the kitchen into the dining area. Exceptional joy at the meeting was written all over the alien friend's huge face.
Scooping the Jedi into an embrace, the four-armed monster lifted him off the ground several times before setting him back down.
"Long time no see," he smirked. "You've gotten thin!"
"It's been like that, Dex," the Jedi replied evasively. "The war, I've had to spend some time in the hospital a few times..."
"So you're on Coruscant now?" the Besalisk clarified. Receiving an affirmative nod in response, he scratched the top of his head with clawed fingers. "And for how long?"
"A little less than a month," the Jedi admitted.
"And you only came now?" The owner's eyes widened. "No, friend, that won't do. Stop by every day—at least let me fatten you up..."
"Can we stop with the pleasantries?" Kryze asked impatiently, poorly hiding her irritation. "My time is expensive..."
"Your girlfriend, Kenobi?" the Besalisk teased his friend.
"No, an acquaintance," the Jedi cautiously countered.
"Pity," the alien grinned. "That's exactly the kind you need—a woman with fire..."
His enthusiastic speech was interrupted by a short burst from a flamethrower built into the Mandalorian's armored wrist. She, enduring Dex's reproachful look as he used all four arms to wave away the unpleasant smell of burnt fuel, pointedly tapped her index finger on the table.
"Kenobi dragged me here for some information related to Mandalore," she said. "Start talking, big guy. Before I burn your joint to the Hutt."
"Whoa..." Dex burst out laughing. At that moment, the waiter droid rolled up to the table, delivering a tray with a business lunch. Businesslike, she set the food before the trio—Kenobi had to move over so Dex could sit on the same bench with him—and the droid, glaring with her optical sensors at Kryze, rolled back to the kitchen. "Eat and listen."
Obi-Wan silently began cutting syrup-drenched waffles into pieces. Bo-Katan, measuring the Besalisk with a sullen gaze, pointedly began twirling a dessert knife in her hands.
"Eat, don't be afraid," the owner smiled. "Minimum calories, maximum taste. Especially since with your lifestyle, Mandalorian, extra weight isn't in your future."
"Much you know, monster," she replied without emotion, cutting and putting a small piece of the sweets into her mouth. "I'm waiting."
"Anyway," the four-armed humanoid leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "I heard a little bird sing that a cantina owned by Mandalorians has appeared on the lower levels."
"Well... that happens," the Jedi noted. "Not everyone has to be a mercenary or an assassin. Ow!" he cried out softly, using the Force to dull the pain under his left knee. Kryze, who had hissed at him, silently and very eloquently hinted that the next blow from an armored boot might land in a much more private place.
"It's not that simple, Obi," Dex continued. "How many decent establishments do you know where the owner hosts entire groups of Mandalorians? And even closes the place for it? Believe me—that doesn't happen on the lower levels."
"I'm still not catching the point," Kenobi admitted. "What's unusual about these Mandalorians?"
"The point is that everything changed in that establishment after several Mandalorians who trained your clones on Kamino gathered there," the Besalisk reported. "And later, they were joined by that very Mandalorian woman who is currently running things on your home planet," he pointed a finger toward Kryze. "And she spoke to them very aggressively—so much so that the cantina owner went broke on repairs. And as the cherry on top—after that meeting, as I heard, there was no one left to train your commandos. And problems started on Mandalore..."
"So they have a base there?" Bo-Katan's teeth ground loudly enough to be heard throughout the diner. "What good is that if I'm concerned about Maul?"
"Wait," the giant waved his hands. "I haven't told everything. According to my data, these same Mandalorians participated in the raid on the Jedi Temple..."
"How do you..." Kenobi started, but then cut himself off.
"Only the blind and deaf don't know that you were cleaned out, Kenobi," Dex shook his head. "If I were a betting man, I'd wager that the lady who was tossing Mandalorians around in that diner is behind the attack on your Temple..."
"I don't care about the Temple," Bo-Katan said. Looking at the Jedi with reproach, she said frustratedly: "And you called me for this nonsense?"
"She's an impatient one, isn't she?" Dex laughed. After laughing his fill, he looked at the red-haired woman who had pursed her lips. "Don't glare at me like that, Mandalorian. About your Maul..."
Kenobi tensed, hearing the specific mention of the familiar name.
Actually, he had asked Dex primarily to look for information about the Sith remnant, while scanning his spy network for the state of affairs on Mandalore in the background. Even if he hadn't saved Satine, perhaps he could somehow repay Bo-Katan by restoring her power in her homeland. After all, she was Satine's heir...
"Did you find him?" Obi-Wan asked quietly.
"Espionage is not an exact science, Obi-Wan," the Besalisk shook his head. "If you want guarantees, you've come to the wrong place..."
"Speak," Bo-Katan hissed, gripping the knife in her hand. Her entire appearance suggested she would get an answer about her sister's killer's location one way or another.
"He's on Emberlene right now," the owner replied. "My people say it's total chaos there. Nuclear bombardment, looting of the planet, millions killed..."
"Nuclear weapons?" Kenobi gasped. "That's barbaric... They're banned and haven't been produced..." Bo-Katan," he frowned, seeing how the girl carefully avoided his gaze. "Don't tell me there were nuclear warheads on Mandalore..."
"I won't," she said. "You said it yourself. Pre Vizsla prepared them years ago and kept them on Concordia. Just in case..."
"This is... just..." Kenobi ran a hand over his face. It was getting worse by the hour. An angry Zabrak was bad enough. Now he had nuclear weapons in his hands... "Why did you keep quiet?"
"You weren't exactly open about your romance with my sister either," Bo-Katan squinted. The stunned Obi-Wan pulled back from the table, not understanding what caused the storm of emotions churning in the girl. Meanwhile, she stood up, put on her helmet, and turning to Dexter, slowly repeated: "Emberlene, you say...?"
"Yes, it's in the Mid Rim," he said. Having received confirmation, the girl strode rapidly toward the exit, first tossing several credits onto the table.
Both men, turning over the backs of their chairs, watched her go. As soon as the girl's figure, quite attractive even in armor, left the establishment, the Besalisk playfully nudged his friend with a fist.
"What a woman, Obi-Wan!" he said with delight. "What energy, what femininity..."
"Dex, actually, she was going to burn your diner down," the Jedi reminded him. "I don't think someone like her..."
"That's exactly the kind you need, Obi," the owner noted reproachfully, "strong-willed, decisive, charismatic. Otherwise, you'll live your whole life chasing your ideals. And real happiness is right there," he pointed a massive finger after the Mandalorian. "Walking away, swaying her hips beautifully."
"Since when did you become an expert on the beauty of human women?" Kenobi frowned.
"Since the moment Hermione started working for me," the Besalisk said with a laugh, pointing to his head waitress, who was serving another table in a very revealing blue dress. The pretty middle-aged blonde, noticing the gazes fixed on her, smiled sweetly and returned to work. "Believe me, friend, I've lived many years. And in the end, if you don't address this question early, you're left alone, working with four hands in your own diner, and returning to your gloomy bachelor home becomes more depressing every day."
"I am faithful to the ideals of the Order, Dex," Obi-Wan countered.
"Yeah," the Besalisk rose from his seat, pulling up his perpetually slipping pants as he went. "When you were telling me about your women... what were their names? Ah, Siri and Satine!"
"Dex," Kenobi said warningly. He didn't like his comrade's constant hints. Every time he heard his friend's musings on family and marriage, he began to regret that, as a young Padawan, he had told him about his love interests. Dexter, as an experienced information broker, easily used everything he heard for his own purposes. "I asked you..."
"I remember, Obi!" the giant waved him off. He paused by the table, folding both pairs of arms over his chest and stomach—a clear sign of his deep dissatisfaction. "But I won't stop telling you. The Republic is rotten to the core! And you Jedi, with every generation, get more bogged down in all of this..."
"Dex!" Kenobi raised his voice slightly. "Don't continue. Please."
"Do as you wish, Obi-Wan," the Besalisk waved all four arms. "But before you stick your head back into the maw of corrupt galactic politics, think if it wouldn't be better for you to settle down somewhere in a quiet world of the Outer Rim and have kids with that red-haired beauty."
"Then I would break my oath to the Republic and democracy," the Jedi said gloomily.
"But this way," the Besalisk put special emphasis on the last word, "you are guaranteed to survive this whole mess. I've buried too many of my friends, Obi. I don't want you to become another one."
Before the Jedi could ask Dex anything, the latter, invariably supporting his pants with a hand, disappeared into the kitchen.
Sighing, Obi-Wan poked at his dessert with a fork for a few more minutes, then, after paying, left the establishment, trying not to meet the eyes of his friend who was watching him closely.
***
One cannot but give credit to how masterfully, with flair and spark, Sidious plays.
To make Hypori a bait, luring me there. To send Grievous—the "Knight Slayer"—after me to ensure my demise. And when it didn't work—to arrange a rescue mission, capturing Adi and forcing me to trek across half the galaxy to meet this psychopath—Baron Nax Kirvan.
That the Baron had gone completely off his rocker became clear back when my Wrath—"formerly" Quinlan Vos—reported that Dooku had handed over the Darth Andeddu's Holocron he delivered to the Baron for study. That very Sith holocron for which the Count had sent Vos and his second servant, whose name hardly anyone would remember and whose history would record him as "another jerk with a red sword." Of whom very few remained on Dooku's side lately.
Of those who actually represented some interest—Vos himself, who had already reported on the coup d'état on Rendili. Thanks to the former Jedi and current senator—both worked as well as possible. Vos brought the Confederacy fleet with him and unleashed it on the Rendilians, clearly demonstrating to them how the gang of separatists actually felt about them. Moreover, Quinlan's actions were nothing more than the exact execution of Dooku's orders. Either subordinate Rendili or destroy their fleet, preventing them from joining the Republic forces.
The traditionally useless-in-a-global-sense Organa did even more. Such clumsy blackmail... To be honest, from one who so skillfully seized the throne of Alderaan, I expected much more interesting and subtle manipulations. Was it not for nothing that Sidious considered him one of his main opponents? To earn such reviews from the strongest Sith of the age while being non-Force-sensitive—one has to try. But, apparently, not in this universe. Either Grandpa Lucas thoroughly "combed" his literary universe, or my intervention "tears the veil" from the surrounding gloss. One way or another, everything turned out quite... interestingly. Organa is a political corpse, and it's high time for him to tuck his tail and flee Rendili... toward new adventures on his own backside.
Kirvan... yes, the boy was a very worthy opponent even before being "buffed" by Andeddu's knowledge—not for nothing did he mow down legions and slaughter Jedi by the dozen like pigs. Now, having studied the ancient Sith's knowledge, he has become even more dangerous.
Of course, neither he nor Dooku knows that the holocron Quinlan found on Korriban is just a pathetic duplicate where Andeddu dumped all sorts of "trash" and his senile reflections. I knew this because I had studied the holocron before giving it to Vos as a gift for Dooku—my Wrath couldn't exactly disappear from the radar for so long and then show up to his "master" with nothing, could he?
The third problem, strangely enough, popped up where it wasn't expected.
Sha'ala Donita.
Dooku's "assistant," whom Ashara encountered on Manaan and Vette on the slaver planet, turned out to be a very skillful piece of filth, trained in the techniques of the Dark Side of the Force. Not on the level of Ventress, it must be admitted. But skillful enough to oppose Vette, Deezy Azmo, and Matthew Mantrell. Apparently, it wasn't for nothing that she was covered from head to toe in Sith tattoos. Dooku's secret apprentice? A replacement for Asajj? Who the hell knows now—the girl vanished into the sunset, having significantly shredded the "skymen" and sent a good hundred militiamen to the land of the eternal hunt. Which is generally bad. She surely "marked" both the ships assigned to Vette for the raid on the slave traders and the participation of the Christophsians in all of this... Trouble is brewing, and I should think carefully about how to frame all of this in case the situation goes public. And apparently, Sidious is now bending over backward to drag my reputation through the mud, equating me with the other Jedi. Look, there's already a fifth video on the HoloNet about Skywalker's successful "meat grinder" operations in his area of responsibility. True, they're a couple of hundred million views short of my interviews. But Palpy is clearly trying to exalt his Chosen One.
Well, to hell with them all. It's not much longer to play this comedy anyway. Maybe Vitiate (by the way, where did that old fart disappear to?) got his kicks from leading everyone in the Sith Empire and the Republic by the nose, pitting them against each other while creating his Eternal Empire, but I still have my head on straight.
Yes, at first it was "a thrill." Playing on the edge of a knife, the sense of danger fueled interest in all these pocket intrigues and manipulations. I'm doing a good thing—cutting the galaxy's conflicts at the root, building an ideal state.
Now, however, when the Eternal Empire is slowly but surely expanding, burning its way with a red-hot iron into the Unknown Regions, ancient Jedi and Sith relics and knowledge are flowing like a river to Zakuul into my personal treasury, and the number of like-minded subordinates is growing every day, a kind of apathy has set in. As if my incentive to move forward had been taken away. The excitement with which I threw myself onto the barricades of bureaucracy, war, the fight against slavery, and the building of the Empire is now far in the past. Projects are moving along well-worn tracks. The number of soldiers and officers is growing. The population of the Empire is multiplying—the petition from Pantora for (secret, of course) annexation to the Empire alone is worth something. Of course, the Diplomatic Service politely promised to coordinate such a request with me. And I'll even say more—I will satisfy Papanoida's wish. It wasn't for nothing that I gave Bane the task of bringing his young protégé together with the Pantoran senator. Of course, I could have done it myself—the girl is cute, good-looking, and has everything going for her. And I haven't lost the skill of nudging a conversationalist's thoughts in the right direction. But I'm sick to death of all this digging in other people's brains.
To hell with all that. I have few, but quite enough subordinates and allies among the gifted to recruit new ones this way. We'll follow Revan's path—"My cause is just. Those with me—forward to bash the enemy. Those against me—sit on Coruscant and nag each other's brains, just don't get in the way."
It's time, finally, to devote time to myself as well.
I digested Kun's knowledge for quite a while and mostly in snatches. Primarily because there wasn't enough free time. Now it has appeared—there's nothing to do anyway while I'm flying to the meeting place with Kirvan.
I can also dive into more mundane matters.
Assimilate the knowledge of Muur and Marr, whom I absorbed. I've started this process several times already, but everything in this galaxy is standard—if it's not one thing, it's another. Either the Jedi wreck a corps, or they lose a fleet, or something else...
It's a good thing there's someone to "dump" Oli on. I don't have time to teach the girl. And I'm not particularly strong in Sith magic. And according to Ashara, Starstone has a talent for it. Only one needs to handle such nuggets more delicately. Not as crudely as I did—dangling the carrot of sex in front of her and getting kicks from her outbursts.
Of course, I didn't send the girl to Tython—she hadn't "earned" it, as they say. Но the head of the Academy found her a couple of suitable holocrons. Which the girl is now cramming like the "Our Father" in the Citadel on Christophsis. Under the watchful eye of Fay—and who else to assign to a capable student who has a natural talent for falling into a rage? Correct—a thousand-year-old Jedi who knows 100,500 ways of self-control. And those are just the ones she hasn't forgotten yet.
Do I get pleasure from forcing Jedi to learn the knowledge of the Dark Side and Sith to learn the Light? No. Not a bit. For me, it's not another notch on the memory "Corrected 100/200/300... defectives." In my understanding, what is happening is merely a necessity. Like going to a loathsome job. You know it's irritating, but it pays. And one always wants to eat.
In my case, it's the clear preponderance of Jedi, of whom seven or eight thousand remain in the galaxy, but the number is constantly growing due to the knightings of yesterday's Padawans, whose lifespan on the front varies from a few weeks to a couple of months. The Empire's assets—a little over fifteen hundred gifted who are diligently gnawing the "granite" of the science of the Unifying Force on Tython. Not enough, of course, considering that the Jedi are strong precisely in numbers—how many times has it been that a handful of weak gifted put a single but strong Force-user on their lightsabers? Of course, I had a trump card in reserve, but I just couldn't get to it. I planned to after Hypori, but as they say, it didn't work out, no luck.
Well, it remains to be hoped that by the time the total showdown begins, the quality of the Imperial Knights will be a worthy alternative to the quantity of the Jedi.
In the meantime, detached from the worldly, frozen in a meditation pose on the floor of my own cabin aboard the Defender, I delved deeper and deeper into the knowledge with which the ghosts were rich. Thanks to Ashsha and the Mimban crystal, this was happening faster than in previous times.
An audio signal from the door didn't distract me much from the process. With a flick of a finger, I unsealed the room, allowing the sentient waiting outside to enter.
"Am I disturbing you?" A stupid question, of course. But what can you expect from yesterday's Jedi?
"Can't sleep?" Without opening my eyes, I pointed Kaili to a spot beside me.
The girl quietly padded over and sat opposite, silently taking a pose identical to mine.
"I'm anxious... Emperor," she said softly. "Bad premonitions."
"Maybe your period is coming up?" I inquired.
"No, heavens, it's already passed," the girl flushed. A grown woman, yet she reacts to such flat jokes. Eh, girls in our generation are getting thin-skinned. "It's about our mission..."
"Don't worry," what kind of meditation was this anyway. "I'm right here."
"To be honest, that's why I'm anxious," the girl admitted. "I haven't had... combat assignments yet."
"Well, this will be the first," I shrugged. What the hell difference did it make? What was with this woman-talk late at night—the chronometer already showed deep night, and it was a little over five hours to the destination.
Having received an ultimatum from the Council, I had no choice but to take the fastest vessel and head to Christophsis. There, pick up my Defender—compared to the other ships in the fleet, it is objectively faster. Thanks to the mechanics and the Gella Sisters for that.
After the mass death of the Prophets, the veil of the Dark Side had thinned slightly. Of course, it wasn't enough for the Jedi to fully see the future. But for me—quite enough. Images of future events flicker more and more often. Including a strong feeling that in this rescue mission, I would need a specialized gifted-healer from here. And there are two such for the nearest three armies. Barriss was currently swamped in the hospital on Lantillis—Luminara was unsuccessfully storming the planets of the Mon Calamari sector, where the separatists had dug in properly. And the number of wounded of varying degrees of severity was increasing before one's eyes. Even if Barriss is one of the best healers, it simply takes her too long to reach me. And by Luminara's honest admission, she hadn't even spoken to the girl of her own race about loyalty to the Empire. And the situation with Kirvan could turn out any which way—but certainly not in the context of my usual games of "look, I'm an ordinary Jedi who learned a couple of good tricks." The Force said that I would have to act not under the guise of Dougan-the-Jedi, but as the Emperor. That is, at full strength, applying all the knowledge available to me. Because I had no intention of risking the loss of Adi for the sake of preserving my cover. In the end, the gifted truly loyal to me, who know the inside story, can be counted on the fingers of a Jedi-bad-fencer's hand.
So Kaili appeared in my squad. The girl had been learning healing techniques for quite a while, and according to Aayla, successfully—not only Jedi ones but also Sith ones. With the latter, of course, not everything was so smooth—but even if I spend all my time studying Muur's knowledge, my progress will still be lower than the knowledge Omas managed to obtain.
"How is your progress with XoXaan's Holocron?" seeing some awkwardness on the girl's face, I tried to lighten the mood with small talk.
"There is certain progress," the healer replied in a pleased tone (it seemed I wasn't the only one burdened by such a tense atmosphere). "Though... communicating with the multi-thousand-year-old spirit of one of the twelve Exiles is quite an experience. She is... willful. And constantly tries to lure me to the Dark Side."
"So, she needs to be reminded that she is only alive as long as she shares her knowledge," I concluded.
XoXaan's Holocron—one of the first Sith in the form we know them—differed from other Sith, and indeed Jedi, repositories of knowledge in that instead of a virtual guide who instructed the gifted, Xo had imprisoned her spirit. And Kaili was, in fact, communicating with a Sith. With all the cunning and sophistication inherent to the latter.
Even just to make the ancient bitch cooperate, effort was required. In particular—demonstrating to her what happens to Force Ghosts who dare to oppose "party policy." Yes, of course, long conversations on the topic of "old lady, you didn't just want to fall into the Darkness, but to learn to control not only the Light but also the Dark Side of the Force, so why are you being stubborn?" also played their part. What ultimately prompted XoXaan's Ghost to embark on the path of cooperation remained a mystery. But she was a very peculiar mentor. She not only told Kaili about healing techniques using the Dark Side but also gave detailed comments on other Dark-oriented themes. So one could, with a stretch, say that Omas was receiving a full education—as befits an Imperial Knight.
"Don't trouble yourself, my Emperor," the girl smiled apologetically. "I will pass your words to her—I think that will be enough."
"Call me if anything," I shrugged. "What difference does it make who passes the knowledge of Xo to you—her herself, or me?"
"It is an honor to be your student," Kaili smiled. "Sometimes I envy Starstone..."
"In private, you can address me as 'thou,'" I requested. "You've saved my life three times, after all."
"Fine... But, actually—twice," the healer recalled. "After the battle with Tann and the attack on the Chancellor..."
"If not for your..."
...and tedious meditations after Geonosis—my progress would have stood still for a long time," I assured. I had no intention, naturally, of going into detail about how those specific meditations, following my appearance in a Galaxy Far, Far Away, had nudged me onto the correct path of assimilating Exar Kun's knowledge and restoring the inherent abilities of the body I had inherited. Sincerity is good. But it was enough that Oli knew more than necessary. I didn't want to increase the number of those initiated into my secret without need. "So—three."
"So, it turns out I'm your personal healer?" the girl smiled.
"I think we've already talked about this," I chuckled. "But, yes. I imagine when everything falls into place, you'll have to head something like the Imperial Medical Center—the finest medical institution in the Empire."
"I accept this appointment with honor, my Emperor," the girl performed a polite bow. As much as was possible in a meditation pose. Because of this, her already impressive bust was revealed to me at a rather revealing angle.
While the girl was returning to her original position, I noted that the lacing of her jacket—the girl continued to wear the same attire in which she had set out with me and Oli on the mission from the Jedi Temple—was loosened more than usual. And an experienced eye noticed the absence of several details in the habitual wardrobe of the usually modest girl.
"It seems to me that XoXaan has achieved certain success in seducing you to the Dark Side," I chuckled, not taking my eyes off the indicated part of the girl's body.
She, following the direction of my gaze, only smiled. Shaking her mane of dark hair, the girl, like a pampered cat, stretched sweetly, demonstrating the mesmerizing curves of her body to me.
"The mentor said that one should not underestimate the power of one's own beauty," the healer replied simply, confirming my own thoughts. "Besides, I am a free girl. And mastering the Dark Side erases certain boundaries imposed by Jedi teachings..."
"If you only knew how many times I've heard that already," I said with sadness in my voice. Casting a glance around the cabin, I stood up with a sigh and headed for the door. "However, there is a lot of work to be done in a few hours. We won't have time to yawn. Therefore, I suggest you get some sleep..."
But just as my intention to seal her in and protect my other companions from accidentally witnessing the scene about to unfold in my cabin manifested into a concrete action, a chime announced that there were more guests behind the panel.
Casting a tired look at the healer, which harmonized well with her cheerful smile, I unlocked the door, assessing the extremely erotic outfits of Darth Simi and Darth Hexid, who had been concealing themselves with the Force until this moment. A surprise, then.
Gifting each of the girls a heavy look, and finding not a hint of embarrassment or a desire to retreat, I inquired with an almost piteous groan:
"Ladies, whose side are you on anyway?"
However, the Zabrak women, who unceremoniously slipped inside and sealed the entrance door of my cabin behind them, left the question unanswered.
Automatically shifting it into the category of rhetorical.