Improvement of the food ration through products from Ukio.
All of new techniques for line infantry (artillery preparation before the start of an offensive, small group tactics, adaptive camouflage...).
Hellagen remembered the general surprise of the clones who came under Dougan's command when it turned out that the Grand Moff did not recognize the identification numbers under which the clones were listed as products coming out of the Kamino incubators. Instead, the Jedi required each clone to acquire their own name, reflecting their internal individuality.
It was under the Grand Moff's leadership that disabled clones were given a chance for a future life. Yes, with prosthetics and implants. But—in the ranks. At work. Performing the tasks set before them at birth.
And no longer as a gray mass of obedient "meat droids."
As individuals.
The Marshal, whose eye caught a commando droid killed by a well-aimed shot to the head, sighed heavily.
"Yes, kid," he said quietly. "We were created from the same molds."
The difference between a clone and a droid is not that great. Both have serial numbers. Both are programmed to follow orders. Both are cannon fodder.
Back then, on Kamino, standing with his brothers, looking at the newly minted legion commander, he couldn't have known that he would be filled with respect for this man in armor and with a lightsaber on his belt. And yet... he was.
When did it happen? On Kamino, when Dougan was giving his fiery speech?
Or on Christophsis, when he risked dying in an encirclement along with them, but did everything so that as many clones as possible survived?
Or was it during the first funerals? When for the first time, fallen brothers were committed to the earth, rather than sent to Kamino or medical centers as organ donors for others who were lucky enough to survive?
It's useless to guess. Now you won't find the answer to that question. The main thing is that the Kaminoan clones' faith in their commander is firm and unshakable. Yes, the "shinies" might not yet understand this...
They don't understand. But over time, having survived one or two bloody battles, they will realize they were incredibly lucky to end up in "Ghent." And those who live to see the end of the war will follow their leader anywhere.
Hearing hurried footsteps behind him, Hellagen turned around. Sinilian and Lodbrok were moving quickly toward him. Through the helmets on their heads, he could not see the expressions on their faces.
"Sorry, brother," Sinilian said dryly.
"A clumsy joke to ease the nerves after the battle," Lodbrok added. "No one wanted to hurt your feelings or insult the Jedi."
"Forget it," Hellagen waved him off. "Better get back to our positions—evacuation is soon."
"Yeah..." Sinilian drew out heavily. "To be honest, I don't want to leave until the job is done."
"They say a large contingent of volunteers and commandos will be sent here to scour the dungeons," Lodbrok said. "Maybe they'll even find Grievous."
"It would have been better if we did it," Sinilian remarked.
"It's not our business to dig through rubble looking for pieces of one cyborg," Lodbrok noted reasonably. "Maybe he didn't survive the orbital bombardment at all."
"Don't even hope for it," Hellagen remarked coldly. "Our guys spent half a day plowing up his base from orbit, and how many droids survived?"
He kicked the chassis of a nearby B2 battle droid lying on the ground with disgust.
"Nothing to be done," Lodbrok spread his hands. "The Supreme Chancellor's order beats even the tasks set by the Grand Moff. They said—return all line units to their home bases—we obey."
"If Dougan were here, such Hutt-filth wouldn't have happened," Sinilian remarked confidently. "Give us a day or two to comb the catacombs—and we would have definitely found that bastard—whole or in pieces."
"Something strange is happening up top," Hellagen said gloomily. "Perhaps our Jedi," he emphasized the word "our," highlighting the fact that he was speaking specifically about those representatives of the Order assigned to the Ghent army, "are right."
"About what?" Sinilian clarified.
"The Republic is not the state we should be fighting for."
None of the "silent ones" found anything to answer him.
The three marshals walked the rest of the way to the evacuation zone in complete silence.
***
The holoterminal seemed to have frozen. It hummed barely audibly, its status indicator blinking. But it still couldn't establish a connection with the desired subscriber.
It was... starting to get annoying.
"Sir," a clone's voice came from behind.
"Not now, Marshal Salvo," George'o'george replied crossily. "I have a comms session with headquarters."
"I understand, sir," the clone expressed absolutely nothing in the Force. That's just how they were made. That was annoying too. Like fighting side-by-side with droids. "But, we have good news."
"What good news could there be in this god-forsaken place?" the nobody chuckled. "This is Taral-V!"
The planet—a wild mix of lush vegetation and overtly hostile fauna, almost continuously drenched by rain—was also annoying.
Not only was there absolutely nothing here that could be of interest as an enemy military infrastructure object, but they also had to dig through all kinds of crap.
George, by an effort of will, called upon the Force, clearing his mind of emotions. This is not the way of the Jedi. One should not act this way. But, Hutt take it! This Jedi Code is a relic of the past! We are sentient beings! Why must we deny emotions?
The young Jedi Knight could not understand this. More precisely—he didn't want to.
He had only recently passed the Jedi Trials, leaving behind years of apprenticeship. Not the easiest ones—while most of his peers had been full Jedi for five to seven years, and some had even reached the rank of masters, he at thirty had only just become a knight. Was it not because his mentors considered the young man excessively emotional? And tried in every way to slow down his personal growth, forcing him to diligently and studiously master Jedi science.
Annoying.
"We stumbled upon ruins," the scout said cautiously. "Everything just as High General Luminara Unduli said—some kind of abandoned and heavily ruined complex. Clearly—of military purpose. In the past."
"Curious," the negativity vanished instantly. And he had been planning to pick at the command's brains, asking for a transfer from this god-forsaken place. The Jedi deactivated the comms console. "How bad is it?"
"We'll have to work hard to clear the rubble and bring everything to at least minimal functionality," the clone took off his helmet, smoothing his short buzz-cut hair with his hand. "Hutt planet! Even hair grows faster from these rains!"
George smiled. He liked the joke.
"Is the find far from here?" the nobody asked the clone.
"I wouldn't say so," the clone admitted. "Literally half an hour's journey."
"I want to see it personally," George decided.
"Yes, sir," the marshal-commander nodded. "That's why I reported it. The Latti is on the landing pad."
"Then let's go."
Stepping out of the command tent, the Jedi, shivering from the raindrops, pulled his hood over his head, wrapping himself tighter in his brown cloak. Salvo, following him, felt much more comfortable, clad in his Infiltrator armor set, painted in various shades of green. Sometimes George even envied the clones. And once again he thought about changing his Jedi clothes for at least the armor of the soldiers.
The gunship was "under steam" in the far part of the camp. A huge area, once occupied by lush vegetation and giant trees, was being mercilessly burned and cut down by scouts and engineers who had arrived here to set up the corps' operational base. The nobody ducked into the troop compartment. And as soon as Salvo boarded, the ship soared into the air, rushing into the distance, almost skimming the treetops with its belly—it was dangerous to climb higher to avoid catching an electrical discharge during the storm.
The campaign against the separatist group in the Mon Calamari sector was developing extremely slowly. The entire Gren system army was treading water. Master Luminara Unduli and the 41st Elite Corps of Marshal Gree were thoroughly stuck in the non-stop slaughter in the Camdon system. The separatist base on the planet Thalas was a tough nut to crack, preventing Republic forces from breaking deep into the sector. Especially considering that unlike the Republic, the separatists and Quarren were literally sitting on well-equipped shipyards, continuously providing them with reinforcements.
Padawan Barriss Offee was busy setting up a rear medical base on the planet Drongar in the rear of the main forces fighting against the separatists in this sector. Practice had already proven that not many wounded live to see Lantilles, where the main medical base was deployed. And the Heft did not want to squander its resources categorically.
Especially since there weren't that many of them to begin with. On the contrary, they had to ask neighbors for help.
The Tenth Systems Army had already "shared" the 91st Reconnaissance Corps led by Stass Allie and Marshal Neyo. Now the scouts were stuck on Dorney, pinned down on the ground and in space, having moved to defense, waiting for new help. And again—from "Ghent," which had already sent them the 32nd Landing Corps of Master Ma'kis'shaalas.
Six more line corps: the 45th Infantry Corps of Master Durmar, the 46th Infantry Corps of Master Zeltek, the 47th Infantry Corps of Knight Osar Oset, the 50th Infantry Corps of Saras Lurn, the 61st Infantry Corps of J'upi She, and the 62nd Infantry Corps of T'Bolton were to arrive on Lantilles soon to become the operational reserve for "Heft." The battles in the Outer Rim had already sucked all the life out of Master Unduli's system army.
The non-stop battles for Lantilles had already "ground up" most of the fleet. The headquarters held on only due to the planet's own fleet. It was a good thing that Vice Admiral Pellaeon and Commodores Autumn and Parck (and again—from "Ghent"!) arrived on time, repelling the enemy's last offensive, and effectively destroying it. This allowed them to push the separatists back from Faziire, and then to Uiter, where Pellaeon was now fighting for the strategically important planet. Which the separatists, naturally, had no intention of giving up.
Commodore Autumn's Scimitar squadron, after a hot battle, knocked the enemy off the planet Gizer, capturing the planet and the star system located at the intersection of several hyperspace routes. The CIS, as quickly as it had captured Gizer in the past, just as rapidly found itself outside its borders.
The Sledgehammer squadron under the command of Voss Parck finally broke the separatist units on Roche, bypassed the rock mites-infested Ord Tidell, and deblocked Aargonar, freeing units of the 41st Elite Corps, which were transferred to Camdon without a break. The commodore's bled-out formation reached Abhean, knocking the separatists out of this system with its massive shipyards on almost the last bits of tibanna. However, there was effectively nothing left to develop the success. The ships needed urgent repairs, crew replenishment, and aviation replacement. Although the separatists tried to knock Parck out of the occupied territory, he dug into the system, perfectly understanding that if he retreated with damaged ships, the pursuers would simply grind him to dust. The headquarters understood this too, sending him two dozen Dreadnoughts for help. The situation, in general, leveled out. And it didn't plan to change one way or the other. Master Unduli had to continue fighting the separatists in encirclement—with droids sitting tightly both in front and behind her. However, the Mirialan had enough resources to hold out for a few more weeks.
For now, that was where the successes of "Heft" ended. Another replenishment of ships and clones was expected, but apparently, they would be directed to deblock Unduli's group. To do this, they would have to deliver a series of swift strikes on the enemy-occupied systems of Centares, Desevro, Makem Te, Quermia, Tula, not to mention finding a way to overcome neutral systems like Columex, The Wheel station, and others.
When he first received the order to go to the planet Taral-V, which hardly anyone in the galaxy had heard of, it caused a storm of indignation in him. Sending a trained Jedi, and with an entire corps of scouts, with all the attached equipment to the middle of nowhere, while soldiers were needed literally at every step, seemed to him the height of idiocy. And only Master Kai Hudorra, himself heading the 83rd Landing Corps to Damendin—to attack another separatist outpost on the borders of the Mon Calamari sector—was able to bring some clarity. In particular, that the inconspicuous world of Taral-V was a direct, and unknown to the separatists, road to Minntuin—one of the most modern Quarren shipyards supporting the separatists in the Mon Calamari sector. An unexpected attack on Minntuin, or at least creating a hotspot of tension effectively in the separatists' rear, would force the enemy to redeploy the forces holding back Unduli. And as a consequence, even if it wasn't possible to destroy the CIS shipyards tirelessly churning out Recusant-class light destroyers, by distracting attention to himself, George would allow the Republic to break into the sector itself, reach operational space, and force the separatists themselves to defend.
He understood the rest himself. And Luminara's instruction—to find the ruins of an ancient base and use it as a foundation for creating a full-fledged deployment site for large forces and a fleet. And the Mirialan's plan—to hold back the enemy until an opportunity appeared to deliver an unexpected strike.
But no one said that even finding these ruins would be a problem.
"Landing!" the pilot's voice reached him.
The nobody ran a hand over his face, trying to relieve the tension. It didn't help.
From the flight altitude, he could barely distinguish the tiny figures of clones scurrying below. But he recognized the construction and military equipment immediately. And, to be honest, he was greatly surprised by the ease with which the clones worked, since the soldiers had been sent to this part of the planet just over five hours ago. But they had already managed to uproot a significant number of trees, and even clear a landing pad.
Jumping onto the permacrete, the nobody looked at the numerous cracks and pits in the material. Yes, this was built a very long time ago. But with expertise and very high quality.
"This way, sir," Salvo pointed him toward a huge hill, around which LAAT/i were bustling, uprooting ancient trees and dragging them to the side, where there was already an impressive volume of such building material.
"That's a piece of rock," he noted, looking closely at the grayish fragments flickering among the green palette of vegetation covering the entire formation.
"That's what we thought at first, too," the clone agreed. "But then the scanners indicated that this 'hill' consists of durasteel and is hollow inside."
"A building?" George asked stunned, looking at the discovery with new eyes. "It's huge!"
"We broke inside," the marshal continued. "It's something like a command center. Apparently, there was a fight there—and a hot one. Lots of soldier corpses, destroyed equipment, vehicles. And something else..."
"What exactly?" the Jedi became alert.
"You'd better see for yourself, sir," the marshal was the first to duck into the massive maw of the doorway, hidden from view by the massive hull of an AT-TE. The nobody, placing a hand on his lightsaber, followed him.
Inside, semi-darkness reigned, only partially dispelled by the helmet lights of scurrying clones and portable lamps.
George, getting used to the gloom, began to distinguish the interior—several levels of technical floors, numerous outdated terminals and monitors, the hulks of clearly combat droids frozen like silent idols...
And dozens of corpses. Most of them were dressed in dark gray armor with bucket-like helmets. However, there were also skeletons of those whose attire stood out with spacious robes, rotted over the centuries. The place looked more like a crypt. Images of pain and suffering, echoes of an ancient battle, flickered in the Force...
"I don't like this place," he said quietly.
"Neither do we, General," Salvo admitted. "But an order is an order. Here," he walked up to one of the clones who was bustling near the remains of a humanoid creature. Taking an object from him, he handed it to the Jedi. "This is what I wanted to show you. And there are quite a few of them here..."
The nobody, taking the cylindrical object, not believing his eyes, held it up to the nearest light source to examine it more closely.
"A lightsaber..." he said puzzled. "But... where did it come from?"
"We've already found about half a dozen of these," Salvo admitted. "Was this some kind of Jedi outpost?"
George, touching the activation button with his finger, literally fixed his eyes on the crimson blade, which, after working for only a few moments, flickered and vanished.
"I'm not sure it was a Jedi one, Marshal," the nobody said dryly, hanging the found weapon on his belt. "I'm liking our mission less and less..."
***
"Leaving us so soon?" I heard a melodic voice as soon as I approached the ramp of the expropriated separatist sloop I had arrived in.
"Yes, the political talk didn't work out," I said, turning to face The Daughter, who had traditionally snuck up on me from behind. Is this a subtle hint, or does she think it's funny—appearing behind someone's back out of nowhere? I had passed the spot where she was standing now just a second ago. And, of course, there had been neither a glowing beanpole with green hair and a cleavage down to her navel, nor a griffin—her alternative form. "Do you want to continue the Father's work—talk me to death?"
"By no means," she smiled coldly, drawing level with me. Because the Celestial was standing almost right next to me, I had to tilt my head back to look her in the eyes. Yes, not the most comfortable pose for a dialogue—how do others stand it when talking to me? "But, isn't it pleasant for you to talk to a beautiful girl?"
"If the girl weren't cold as a fish, with facial expressions that would make Kristen Stewart's mouth never close at all—then, most likely, I would have even invited you into the cabin for a romantic dinner," a toothy grin and an unambiguous turn toward the ship were meant to let this obscurantist woman know that I didn't really want to talk to her.
"After you live for millennia, you will realize that expressing emotions on your face is a waste of time," the girl said, following closely at my heels.
"You sound like the teachers of the modern acting school of my homeland," I parried. "And, judging by your Father's words, if I don't agree with your worldview and plans for the galaxy—I won't even live until the time I have kids."
"Sounds like sarcasm."
"No. People there also believe that facial expressions and emotions are for others."
"I meant your phrase about the duration of your own life," the girl calmly followed me into the cockpit and smoothly sat down in the co-pilot's chair. "Do you think it will be that short?"
"I suspect that in the Father's plans, the time of my existence is significantly shortened. And this is despite the length of my life line," starting the engines, I sealed the compartments and lifted the little ship into the air.
"And I thought fatalism was not your philosophy," The Daughter chuckled.
"Valor is my credo," a phrase from an old French comedy about... time travelers came to mind. "I don't mean to offend—but what the hell do you want from me?"
"I thought the Father had expressed his point of view?"
"Correctly noted—'his'," I remarked. "And, I feel it in my gut, your appearance before my eyes now—is not coordinated with daddy. Therefore, I repeat the question: what the hell?"
"Yes, your insight cannot be denied," despite the smile on her lips, the girl's eyes remained cold as ice. It made me shudder. "I wanted to talk... with someone other than members of my family."
"So, I'm a nuisance for the Father, entertainment for you... I'm afraid to think what kind of proposal The Son will approach me with."
"Are you sure my brother will want to meet you?" The Daughter asked mockingly, also switching to "thou" in the conversation.
"Well, he had a talk with Anakin Skywalker. Or will he still have it?"
"The future is not predetermined," the girl stated. "But you're right. The Chosen One has not yet visited Mortis. I think if you agree to the Father's proposal, our meeting with Anakin Skywalker might not take place. Even for us, it is difficult to calculate our Father's actions."
"Mmm... so that's how it is. Let's make a deal. Since you're bored and have forced yourself onto my head, then please, don't find it too much trouble to answer my questions about The Family."
"Why are these questions necessary?"
"The better to hear you," I replied. But I thought to myself that this madam had probably never read the fairy tale about Little Red Riding Hood. "You lure me here, demand to meet, and gently hint that only your point of view in the galaxy is the only one and racially correct."
"That is the Father's position," The Daughter noted dryly. "Aha. But, apparently, you don't agree with him on everything. Otherwise, you wouldn't have appeared on my ship so that I can't get rid of you. I don't believe all these stories about a lack of communication." "Only he sees the whole picture of what is happening in the galaxy. Therefore, it is no wonder that everything happening is the result of his will."
"I'm sure that whatever my answer is, The Chosen One will appear here," I grunted, banking between the rocks floating in the air. The Daughter clearly wanted something more than "just to talk." Which means there is an opportunity to get new bits of information from her about what is happening. Because the Father's revelations did not please me. Not a bit.
"Where do such thoughts come from?" The Daughter exuded a mixture of surprise and irritation, raising her thin eyebrow. Well, she seems like a grown woman, but the principle of "pluck them out, then draw them on" is still preached.
"According to the Father—he was the one who created Anikey," I told her. "And, in the events known to me, so that he, after your parent's death, would continue the work of controlling you and your brother in the matter of maintaining the Balance of the Force on Mortis."
"So that's how it is," The Daughter said significantly. "I didn't know that..."
"So that's how it is?" I repeated her own words. "I imagined that everything The Family does is a collective decision."
"It's not that simple," the girl objected. "The Father is the patriarch. The last of our race. The oldest. The wisest. He gave life to me and my brother. It is logical to assume that the Father does not share all information with us. After all, compared to him, we are too young."
"Right, so how old are you?"
"I thought such tactless questions were not asked of girls," The Daughter narrowed her eyes. "At least, during the dawn of our culture, everything was exactly like that."
"Is that so? And I thought you and The Son were already born in this galaxy..."
"Common misconceptions," The Daughter shrugged. "Here we only found our second form... In our culture, this means the period of maturity. But less developed peoples with whom we contacted do not understand the subtleties of Celestial development. Therefore, it is no wonder that such an opinion exists. We are not going to correct every underdeveloped civilization mired in its misconceptions just to bring them to enlightenment and truth, are we?"
"And why not? It doesn't bother me to repeat the reason for my actions to sentients over and over again. To explain, to put it into their heads..."
"We tried to do that at the very beginning," The Daughter said quietly. "The sentients did not believe our words. They demanded proof. We provided it."
"And what happened?"
"Have you heard of a race known in the galaxy as the Creators of the Guardian?"
"Uh... no."
"And soon, no one in the galaxy will hear of it again," The Daughter said sadly. "We entered into contact with them. Tried to convey our knowledge and philosophy to them. But, they did not believe, they demanded proof..."
"You killed them?"
"Yes... and no," The Daughter said slowly. "When we revealed the truth about ourselves to them, it caused irreversible consequences. Almost the entire race was destroyed, and their planet—turned into a wasteland. More precisely, we thought the entire race. But, as it turned out, some survived. They fled in fear beyond the borders of this galaxy. Sentients are not capable of accepting our worldview, nor of comprehending our essence."
"Yes, Abeloth can confirm this by her own example," I chuckled.
"Who?" The Daughter frowned. I caught the anxiety and excitement emanating from her. And the girl seemed transformed. A furrowed brow, a slightly bitten lower lip...
"Ah yes, you called her The Servant," I "recollected" as if not noticing the changes in the girl. "It was only later that she became The Mother to you. Well, and after she dipped into the Pool of Knowledge and drank from the Font of Power..."
"Everything was in a different sequence," The Daughter noted, regaining her composure. "And we only started calling her The Mother quite recently, as a sign of her merits during the time spent with us millennia ago."
"Is that so? And does it matter? You yourselves created a monster, the complete antipode of the Father, a creature that feeds on fears, destruction, strives for disharmony and total exterminatus of everything around."
"You don't need to describe to me what I already know," The Daughter shook her head. "The Son and I have entered into battle with her hundreds of times when she left her prison. Again and again, we imprisoned her back. This cycle is endless. It causes pain to each of us—except the Father, whose heart has hardened over the millennia. He is old, and therefore only my brother and I participate in the battles with The Mother. The Mother seeks to kill him, and only the two of us are able to stop her. You have no idea what a torment it is—time after time to cause pain to the one who loved and protected you for centuries. To watch her suffering, returning her to the trap. Wishing her peace, but unable to end her suffering..."
"But does she suffer? I always thought Abeloth enjoys what's happening."
"You wouldn't understand. In the past, she was an ordinary mortal who suddenly received great knowledge and immense power. It is intoxicating. The mortal mind is unable to fight the temptation, which leads to her breakdowns. Unfortunately, she is so powerful that her will for destruction is projected into the galaxy, bringing death to billions."
"Wait a minute," a bright thought struck me. "So, all the conflicts in the galaxy—is that Abeloth's doing?"
"It's not that simple," the girl complained. "Conflicts are the nature of sentients. There's no getting away from it. But with the appearance of The Mother... Wars became... more aggressive. Bloodier. Larger in scale. And more frequent. Like a fire in a forest."
"If my memory serves me right, a stronger forest grows after a fire..."
"You sound just like the Father," The Daughter said with the same cold smile. Well, of course, of course. Papa is a real genius of phraseology and logic.
"Then why not kill her?" I asked. "That would relieve you and The Son of the duties of regularly pushing her back into prison. And your hearts wouldn't bleed every time..."
"It's... difficult to explain," The Daughter said. "We feel our guilt before her."
"For not protecting her from all these temptations?"
"Yes. After all, we all lived on the same planet. In a secluded corner of the galaxy, where not everyone could get. But... we underestimated her thirst for love for us. She, the last of her kind, was terrified by the thought that one day she would die, while we would continue to live without her care," the girl smiled sincerely for the first time in the entire conversation. It seems thoughts of those ancient times brought her joy. "Despite the obvious, she could not understand that we are a superior race. Not children and capable of taking care of ourselves. But maternal care is always... pleasant."
"Hm..." I bypassed another flying piece of rock, thinking over what The Daughter had said. "The last of her kind... Wait a minute, so she...?"
"Yes, the only survivor of all the representatives of that civilization that so persistently demanded proof of our origin and power from us."
"Oh, so that's the deal," I drawled. "You destroyed her race, and after that forced her to serve you?"
"No," the Celestial shook her head. "It was an act of mercy on the Father's part—to preserve the life of the last representative of her race remaining in the galaxy."
"To make the last representative of a race you accidentally destroyed a servant on a planet with sources of unprecedented power. And force her to wait on you..." I summarized. "The plan is as reliable as a Swiss watch."
"No one expected everything to turn out exactly like this," The Daughter sighed. "If there were an opportunity to fix this situation, to overcome the enmity between The Mother and the Father, to reunite The Family..."
"Wait," I steered the sloop outside the danger zone and made it hover in the air. "I'm interested in something regarding Abeloth. One generally becomes The Mother after giving birth to children..."
For a few minutes, the sloop just hung in the air. I admired the views, The Daughter remained silent with an imperturbable face. Eh, what a beautiful woman. Doesn't pick at my brain, always looks great. Pity she's over two meters tall and as emotional as a fish. Otherwise—nothing, there's something to pay attention to. However, I was gnawed by insurmountable doubts.
"Fathers receive their social role after a similar procedure," The Daughter noted, finally breaking the silence. "But, in our case, my brother and I were born without conception."
"Aha," I grunted, admiring the landscapes beyond the viewscreen, "I'm willing to believe that."
"What are we waiting for?" she suddenly asked. "Is everything all right?"
"Absolutely. It's just that in such a unique situation as yours, in my home world, a star lights up brightly in the east, and three wise men come down from a mountain. So I'm looking, waiting..."
The girl fell silent for a moment, then, snorting into her fist, she smiled.
"Yes, I understood the meaning of your joke..."
"Digging in my brains again?" I asked.
"Is it forbidden?" she wondered.
"It's not particularly welcomed."
"I should have said so in advance, I didn't know," the Celestial said without a shred of regret. Yes, a simple statement of fact. "And besides, my mental abilities are not as strong as the Father's. He can read all thoughts at once, while I... only what is connected with the last images in the mind. You told a joke, I saw images of religion in your memory... In general, don't worry, your secrets remained with you. Most of them."
"Oh, thanks a huge bunch," I grunted. "So, the Father told you most of the information about me?"
"Exactly so," she agreed. "Only he has access to the midi-chlorians. They communicate only with him, as the guardian of harmony and the Balance of the Force. Neither I nor The Son can use this tool—as well as many others. Simply because it is forbidden by our laws..."
"Wanna bet the laws were written by the Father?"
"Of course," The Daughter said as if it were a matter of course. "After all, he is the patriarch..."
"But The Son breaks them, doesn't he?"
"My brother allows himself much," she answered somewhat excessively harshly. "The Father keeps him under control, and he likes that less and less. I fear one day this may lead to the death of one of them."
I almost choked on my spit. No way!
"Tell me, Daughter, are you able to see the future?" Oh, how much effort it takes to make the question sound extremely innocent.
"It is always in motion," oh, you don't say! Do you and Yoda have the same manuals, or what? "Any variable can lead to the realization of one future, and the oblivion of another. I thought you understood this when we talked about the Father's meeting with Skywalker."
"How could I, a simple man," I chuckled, carefully thinking about something beautiful. "Well, what about your own future? Is it also in constant motion?"
"Like any other," the tone of her voice changed just a little. But one could already conclude that the conversation about The Family weighed on her. Well, never mind, my wax beauty, bear with it a little. I won't poke too deep with my questions. Especially since all the answers, consider them on the surface. "Seeing our own future is difficult for us. Not to mention that it is forbidden by the Father."
"I'm not sure I understand..."
"The Force is an extremely complex tool," The Daughter sighed. "I am the true embodiment of the Light Side. My brother—of the Dark. Each side of the Force has its own properties, techniques, possibilities. We can see the future, but only in the context of the ideal embodiment of the sides of the Force subject to us. While for an objective picture, it is necessary to have at least a little of the opposite side. It's easier for you, biological species. No matter how hard you try to reject emotions, they are still with you—it's an organic process, the chemistry of the brain, fluids, and other things..."
"So, you mean to say that no matter how much the Jedi boast 'There is no emotion, there is peace'—they can't escape it?"
"Even I know that the path of total denial of emotions is stagnation and death," the girl noted. "The path of the Jedi was strong when they did not deny emotions, but controlled them."
and them. Right now, their teaching is perverted and will lead only to death.
"And yet, the Sith draw strength from emotions, but at the same time—they do not live by them constantly."
"Those who exist for the sake of feeding emotions, for the sake of gaining greater Power, which in turn breeds an even greater number of emotions—are merely ruthless beasts. My brother is a vivid confirmation of that. He revels in his energy and emotions endlessly. Just as I do in my self-abnegation. But even we are subject to the practice of adopting each other's tenets—it is an inevitable process of our evolution. True Sith, however, control themselves, not allowing themselves to fall into a whirlpool of rage and Power. As you see, in their teaching, if you look closely, there is also a Jedi seed."
"Naturally, considering that as a religious movement, the Sith appeared precisely because of the Jedi," I snorted. "But it's a bit easier for you. You aren't physical objects, after all..."
A light smile appeared on the lips of The Daughter. Gracefully, like a veil in the wind, she fluttered from her seat, passing her hand over my cheek. From her touch, it felt as if an electric current hit me. The hair on my skin stood on end, shocked by contact with an entity whose level of Power could hardly be described.
She was magnificent. Warm as the spring sun, gentle as a light breeze. Fragile as porcelain. The physical contact lasted only a moment, but...
"Can a non-physical being do that?" she asked.
"It's... indescribable," blood pounded in my temples, boiling from a rush of adrenaline. Yes, I take my words back. She doesn't need emotions at all—all her feelings, or a semblance of them, splashed onto me at the moment of contact. Boundless devotion and love for The Father. A pointedly cold neutrality toward The Son. A gnawing pain, bordering on self-destruction, at the mere thought of Abeloth...
"Yes, this form can do much," The Daughter agreed, sitting back down. "Throughout our lives, we undergo many metamorphoses—from the essence of the Power to forms like these... My brother and I have only one alternative form each—no matter what power we possess, metamorphoses require incredibly vast expenditures of Power."
"Uh... why?"
"An alternative form is not an illusion," the girl smiled. "It is a direct restructuring of one's body at the molecular level. It requires immense concentration and millennia of training to master this art to perfection. At the same time, with each new time, we exhaust our internal reserves more and more. And, if one does not have a constant replenishment of Power—one can lose control over the Power in an instant and turn into a rotting, decomposing corpse, simply by making a mistake in the sequence of restructuring one's own genes. According to The Father's stories, our ancestors changed their appearance so often that it began to affect their natural, original form—such as mine. And by the sunset of our civilization, the progenitors looked no better than Abeloth in her natural manifestation."
"I take back my comparison to Kristen Stewart... Your stories can scare the crap out of someone."
"I take no offense," the girl smiled. "You are a rather curious specimen. For the first time in millennia, a sentient has appeared in my circle who is capable of not just listening or agitating me toward achievements, but is... truly alive. I admit, it is extremely curious to communicate with such an extraordinary person who does not revere me at the mere sight of me. And is capable of not just listening, but asking questions... It has been a long time since that happened."
"Since the time of The Servant's appearance?" I prodded her.
"Yes, something like that," she noted sadly. "But even with them, the communication lasted much less than with you."
"Speaking of time. I've probably already been missed..."
"Outside of Mortis, time flows... differently. Here one can live for millennia, while in the outside world, mere seconds will pass..."
"Uh... Your old man is strict," I said cautiously. "Mortis is almost like a prison. I wouldn't dare live in such a house."
"We had no other choice," the girl sighed. "Abeloth is too strong for any of us alone—due to our predilections for one side of the Power or the other. The Father could restrain her, but he is weak. He fears he will not be able to win—and then chaos will overwhelm the galaxy."
"Well yeah, and the system will break to hell," I continued the thought.
"What system?" The Daughter inquired.
Damn... oh, Papa, how many secrets do you have...
"Oh, I just said it," I had to lie. And instantly began to think about something completely opposite to the thread of our conversation. "Just a saying..."
"You have curious thoughts related to the system," a smile appeared on the girl's lips. "Quite... interesting... One woman and two female Zabraks..."
"The Daughter," I cut her off gloomily. "I thought we discussed this!"
"Guilty on all counts," the girl didn't even try to deny it. "But you must understand me—for me, it is as natural as any physiological process is for you."
"Yes, I like processes," a heavy sigh escaped my chest. "Only not all the participants of what you saw are alive... Wait! You can resurrect the dead!"
"If you don't mind, then..." The Girl looked at me intently, then her gaze dimmed. "I'm sorry, Egor. The natural order of things can be cheated when it is not so far gone. Her brain is dead. And even if I breathe life into her body—she will never be the same. An empty vessel in which life only flickers, but there are neither thoughts nor reactions. Only physiological processes."
"A pity," I sighed. "She was a good friend."
"Judging by your thoughts—more than a friend," the Celestial noted quite correctly.
"That makes her death doubly frustrating," I stated. "In the very prime of her life..."
"Death is the natural course of life, Egor," the girl said sympathetically. "One can live forever, but what is the price for that? Your teacher consumed the Power and life essence of billions—and more than once. His life spanned centuries. But is such a life worth the destroyed destinies?"
"We talked about something similar with your Father," I recalled.
"Right now you are not with my Father," the girl noted. "You asked me to lift the veil of my Family's secret. But are you sure you know what you have truly become?"
"Why, are there that many options?" I chuckled. "The richest man in the galaxy, a philanthropist, Emperor. The list of characteristics is exhaustive."
"And yet," The Daughter did not give up, "you are a guest from another universe. The ways of this galaxy are foreign to you. You do not accept the established order of things, you strive to do everything your own way."
"In my opinion, if it weren't my way, and if everything were just so, the galaxy would be in a real mess," I countered. "In the end, against my enemies, the only applicable principle is the ancient Sith one: 'Screw over your neighbor, for if he is not screwed over by you, he will screw you over himself and rejoice.' As for me, let others suffer rather than me and my subjects."
"And is there a difference between those very others and your subjects?" the Celestial clarified. "The latter were once the former. And your crusade against Palpatine only proves the fact that your lack of principle, growing from your Teacher's vision of what is happening, is nothing more than a selfish worldview."
"And then I realized that I understood nothing, I had to frankly admit. I confess, I am a sinner. I'm not that strong in all these political manuals for brainwashing the population."
"Are you sure of the rightness of your point of view?" she asked. "That Zakuul is the state that is necessary in the galaxy. And the Unifying Force is the panacea for conflicts that are several tens of thousands of years old?"
"Of course," I was indignant. "How can a state be unnecessary that rejects the cancerous tumor of its predecessors—democracy? That excludes from its political system the weakest element—an unfriendly gathering of sentients striving only to stuff their pockets?"
"While depriving yourself of the possibility of a broad view of the problem?" the girl clarified. "Just as the imposition of the only correct point of view on the fate of the Power?"
"Order of Imperial Knights absorb all the knowledge about the Power that exists in the galaxy. And they assimilate their knowledge for the good..."
"And why did you decide that your approach is correct?" The Daughter clarified.
"I... held the same point of view when I was Egor," I had to admit. "A strong centralized power, an order of gifted ones as a reliable support..."
"And it didn't surprise you that Vitiate chose you specifically as his herald?" The Daughter doubted. "One whose worldview so precisely coincides with his own?"
"Why do you all keep harping on about this Vitiate," I got angry. "He found someone who is closest to him in spirit. Someone who wants the same thing himself, who doesn't need to be constantly watched or have their task execution controlled by looking over their shoulder..."
"It is strange that among the billions of sentients on your planet, only you were found who holds these seemingly obvious views on things," the girl dropped as if by chance. And that tone of hers completely spoiled my mood.
"What are you trying to say?"
"All the time that we have been following Vitiate, I cannot recall an instance where anything in his plans happened by chance..."
"I don't think he dreamed of dying at the hands of a Jedi more than once," I laughed.
"He is cunning and inventive enough to have backup plans for each of his main plans," she reminded. "The Sith Empire as a way to seize the galaxy and sacrifice it to his immortality. The Eternal Empire as insurance for the first plan, and at the same time—a self-sufficient plan for another conquest of the galaxy. But this time by drawing his most outstanding opponent to his side—the Hero of Tython. The current reincarnation of the Empire... Where is the guarantee that after the task set before you is completed, Vitiate will not sweep you off the board like a piece that only gets in the way of the game?"
"I have insurance for that case," I shrugged.
"Yes, The Father said," the girl chuckled. "Quite simple and inventive."
"If he wants to build a new Empire with my hands and then dump me, seizing my body," the girl looked at me with great interest, "then a big surprise awaits him. Two, even. And don't look at me with such surprised eyes—I wasn't born yesterday. I managed to read the brochure 'How to work with Vitiate and when to expect a stab in the back.' And the Hands managed to tell me a thing or two—Battle Meditation is truly an interesting thing. So there's no need to process me once again in the style of your Papa, saying, your Teacher is a son of a bitch, and we won't dump you. You will, just like Valkorion. Perhaps even worse than him. So, until a better offer comes my way, I will continue to play my role—building MY Empire and waiting for the dead Emperor to make his move."
"Quite... commendable," The Daughter smiled contentedly. "Judicious, prudent, cautious. I am... impressed. But have you thought about what logical conclusion you will come to?"
"Of course," I snorted. "I will build an effective state where the majority will be satisfied with life, and various kinds of dissident assholes will either be wiped out in the latrines, or in forty-some years will meet the Yuuzhan Vong, get their asses kicked by them, and come crawling on their knees with tears in their eyes, begging to protect them from extra-galactic obscurantists who sacrifice the populations of entire planets to their gods."
"You said—Yuuzhan Vong?" a shadow crossed The Daughter's face.
"The very ones, darling," I smiled. "Or did your daddy not tell you about that either?"
The Celestial gave me an expressionless look from beautiful but empty eyes. Her face resembled a porcelain figurine. Lifeless, as if artificial. This continued for several minutes. Then a light, almost shy smile appeared on her lips.
"Is the invitation to a romantic candlelit dinner still valid?" she inquired innocently. "If so, I wouldn't refuse to try human food again."
Snorting, I smirked at the girl, setting the ship in motion. The former Separatist sloop moved slowly toward the former Separatist dreadnought.
And in the pilot's head, only one thought beat: "Don't you dare, Rick! Don't even think about it!"
***