Night fell over Coruscant.
Orbital mirrors projected the light of the local star onto the other half of the planet, where the daylight was just beginning to break.
However, the capital of the Republic did not sleep for a moment. Although it wasn't visible at first glance.
A little over a year ago, Coruscant was overflowing with life, splashing in its own fun. Nothing could disrupt the habitual way of life of the capital world's inhabitants.
It seemed it would always be so.
But Geonosis changed a lot.
And now most of the air traffic at night consisted of military ships. Police skimmers and law enforcement units of the Grand Army of the Republic, clone assault gunships, various types of transport starships...
Grand Master of the Jedi Order Yoda stood on a tiny balcony, barely noticeable on the massive body of the Jedi Temple, serenely observing the picture of the night city.
The Clone Wars, like powerful hands, had scattered the Jedi across the galaxy, so that at any one time there were only a few knights and masters in the Jedi Temple. Even fewer—masters. If in the first year of the war the masters could gather at least half of the total membership, now—Force grant that at least Mace Windu and Even Piell were almost always on hand.
Naturally, Yoda, the Master of the Order and military advisor to the chancellor, holding the post of commander of the Grand Army of the Republic, spent almost all his time on Coruscant.
And now, at any minute, he could return to the command center to listen to another report from a Grand Moff or a Jedi Master.
The little Jedi sighed with unusual sadness, processing the latest news in his head, among which there were generally no positive ones. And those that were—were lost against the general background of galactic negativity.
The victory at Atracken—a bloody battle that raged for almost nine months after the first battle of Geonosis—turned out to be overshadowed by the mass poisoning of the planet's biosphere, the death of most residents, and the evacuation of the few survivors. Replacing Kaminoan clones with Arkanian ones helped break through the enemy defenses, but... The price of victory was too high.
Senator Amidala's rebellious attempt to independently conduct negotiations with members of the Separatist Congress failed as expected. Even worse—the CIS responded with terror, destroying a power plant on Coruscant, which left the entire Senate District without power. Of course, what was destroyed was restored, but... none of the senators even remotely wanted to hear about peace negotiations. Especially in light of the ill-considered actions of that same Amidala, who went to the active army to Master Dougan and prevented the latter from calling General Grievous to account. What was this wise woman thinking? For Yoda, this would forever remain a mystery. Queen Neeyutnee, who recently headed Naboo, recalled the senator to her homeland, and one could only guess—whether Amidala would return to Coruscant in her former capacity, or whether she would be replaced by another politician from Naboo. It remained to be hoped that Master Fisto, who went there to ask for help from the Gungans for an operation in the homeland of the Mon Calamari, would be able to resolve the arising troubles. Now, more than ever, the Jedi needed allies in the Senate. But they only threw such stunts time after time that the little Jedi's hair on his neck stood on end and flew away, caught by gusts of wind.
The stunt of Senator Organa of Alderaan had no less resonance in society. Possibly even greater. On the one hand, it was a relief to the heart already because Rendili, along with their huge corporation, did not join the separatists. On the other hand, they also withdrew from the Republic, demonstratively breaking the contract for the construction of another batch of Hammerhead-class cruisers and returning the developments on super-heavy turbolasers passed to them. Elder Eisel, with whom the Grand Master had a conversation in the morning, only bitterly stated that although Christophsis had saved huge funds, this could little please the Jedi. Because new ships in the system armies of Dougan, Unduli, and Gallia were not expected for a very, very long time. The CIS suddenly shifted their emphasis to the territory of these three armies, significantly weakening their pressure on the Colonies and the Mid Rim, which allowed a "sigh of relief" for the rest...
to systemic armies. There was no question of a counter-offensive—the Jedi and clones were currently licking their wounds, striving merely to hold the front. One could say that the focus of major battles had once again returned to the Outer Rim. And Master Dougan, responsible for nearly half of the Outer Rim of the galaxy, would have to try extremely hard to at least hold out until the Grand Army could build up sufficient strength for a de-blockade.
The fact that three systemic armies were under a siege impenetrable to military units was, of course, not reported on the HoloNet. Yoda considered it a great stroke of luck that they had managed to complete the redeployment of Kaminoan clones to Dougan's disposal in time. He now had just over twelve million line infantry under his command. Not to mention several million specialized clone soldiers. The Grand Master considered the dispatch of the latter to Dougan's disposal to be his personal achievement. For it was he who had to bear the brunt of the polemics from Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, who for some reason had changed his mind about providing comprehensive support to Dougan and had nearly halted the transfer of millions of soldiers to aid the besieged. The Grand Master had to exert every effort and give his all in his diplomatic talent before the matter moved from a dead point. In many ways, the Jedi owed support to Grand Moff Trachta, who went out of his way to help his colleague, assuring the Chancellor of the correctness of his point of view and providing objective arguments in favor of such movements of manpower. With precise examples and calculations, he explained to his immediate superior that without reinforcements, Dougan would not withstand the pressure of the Confederacy forces concentrated against him. Especially in light of the latest intelligence from Isard's department, which reported the appearance of two more heavy cruisers—that is, super dreadnoughts according to the Anaxis military college version—of the Subjugator class. The first, as many remembered, was destroyed by Anakin Skywalker. The second had now vanished from all radars just as Master Dougan began the operation to rescue Master Gallia. And now, in a period of relative calm, two more appear—the Desolation and the Subjugator. And, once again, in Master Dougan's area of responsibility.
It seemed the Sith had taken a severe dislike to the young master—there was simply no other way to explain the current confrontation. The Subjugator, according to intelligence, was in the vicinity of the planet Felucia, where Republic troops had been beaten more than once, meaning it threatened the units of Master Unduli. The Desolation appeared at the shipyards of Allantin IV, where the repair facilities damaged during Baron Kirvan's raid were currently being restored. And, most regrettably, it destroyed a group of Hammerhead-class cruisers sent to aid the seventh systemic army, "Greck"—more than fifty ships. At the same time, it sustained significant damage itself; among other things, one could forget about the massive ion cannons installed on it, as on the Malevolence, which burn out entire task forces. The result of this confrontation is horrific: fifty Republican ships destroyed, the shipyards of Allantin IV open to any invasion (the half-dozen Venators from the same systemic army that arrived for repairs did not change the situation). And the wounded Desolation escaped, losing twenty escort ships—Munificent-class frigates—in the process. This is an extremely small price for the losses incurred.
In the end, Palpatine gave in. But not at all because he took into account the words of the Jedi and the commander of the first systemic army. The deciding factor was the arguments of his political allies, who convinced their colleague that the Chancellor's image would suffer irreparable harm if a widely known Grand Moff were destroyed while surrounded, and the Republic, having the strength, failed to provide feasible assistance.
Only after this did the Chancellor agree to send reinforcements to the besieged armies. As it turned out, the price of obtaining these reinforcements was enormous. Not only did the clones move to the besieged armies via three different routes—along the Corellian and Perlemian Trade Routes and the Hydian Way—but the massive convoys with these armed forces were subjected to regular attacks by the CIS, leading to massive losses among the fleet and many hundreds of heavily damaged or destroyed combat starships of the systemic armies "Greck," "Heft," and "Ghent." For the most part, these were the same Hammerhead-class cruisers, operated by Christophsian specialists who had entered the service of the Republic. But this offered little consolation to anyone. Hearing of such losses among the fleet, which effectively deprived "Ghent" of any operational reserves of spacecraft, Chancellor Palpatine merely remarked that the ships carrying the ground forces had survived.
And then, at the next session of the Senate, he delivered another blow to the gut of the Jedi.
Skillfully manipulating the senators' opinions, Palpatine delivered a fiery speech, calling on everyone to remember the horrors of the recent terrorist attack on Coruscant. After which, having secured the support of the majority, he pushed through the sluggish resistance of the opposition—which had significantly disgraced itself recently—his personal vendetta against Count Dooku.
In response to the Separatist attack on Coruscant, the Republic had to answer a hundredfold. And crush the CIS forces by sweeping with fire and sword through the "Triad of Evil": Saleucami, Felucia, and Mygeeto. The main strongholds of the Confederacy in the Outer Rim. To the timid objections of the opposition in the person of Senator Mon Mothma of Chandrila, who noted that the key Separatist worlds were defended by millions of battle droids and hundreds of ships, something the Republican military could not boast of, Palpatine graciously and in an emphasized polite manner reminded her that the "Heft" army, which was ordered to occupy Felucia, and "Ghent," in whose area of responsibility the planet Saleucami was located, now had more than ten million clones of line infantry alone at their disposal, not to mention volunteers. And regarding the fleet... the Chancellor very cautiously hinted that it was the opposition's fault that new arrivals of Hammerhead-class cruisers from Rendili would not be forthcoming due to his political opponents. And while the Chancellor's enemies were being dragged through the mud, he magnanimously announced that he was confident in the operation's success, since two of the three key Separatist planets were in the zone of the armies under the operational command of Grand Moff Dougan, "who has already proven his excellent training and tactical skill to us more than once."
Of course, the Chancellor could not help but sugarcoat the pill, revealing that he had ordered all military facilities in the three systemic armies to be placed under the direct command of the same Jedi, which "will significantly facilitate the fulfillment of the tasks set before the army and the Jedi, which they, given all the care and attention shown to them, simply have no right to fail."
That was the kind of morning it was today. During which Yoda first listened to quite favorable reports that the deployment of all Kaminoan clones to the three systemic armies had been completed successfully. And in the evening, he learned that the Jedi's good old friend Palpatine had literally hung a target over the Jedi Temple, which clearly demonstrated to a public dissatisfied with the course of the war exactly which building needed to be leveled to the ground if even one of the planets specified by the Chancellor was not captured.
The upcoming campaign was to be the focus of the next three months of the war. The Chancellor gave the Jedi no more time. "The response to the Separatists must sound in the shortest possible time, so as not to give even a reason for doubt that the Republic is weak." Such was Palpatine's explanation.
And while the candidates for the commanders who would lead the offensive on Saleucami and Felucia were clear, as for Mygeeto...
At the cost of great effort, they managed to hide the shame that fell upon the head of the Order in the person of the temporary commander of the systemic army "Kresh." While Obi-Wan was undergoing treatment in the Jedi Temple, the Council sent its most prominent and effective Jedi in his place—Pong Krell, who destroyed two corps of new clones by tricking them into fighting each other, and then fled. According to intelligence reports, he joined the Dark Acolytes of Count Dooku.
This could not help but be saddening. Even if such cases were rare in the overall mass, they were nonetheless present. Jedi—both young and experienced—were defecting to the side of the rebel Count. The Council had already received no fewer than half a dozen such reports, which required an immediate reaction from the Order. Before the information leaked to the HoloNet.
They had to discuss Obi-Wan's return to the active army—he was just supposed to arrive with a report after completing his diplomatic mission on Ord Cestus, where Mace had sent him forcibly to prevent the Master from indulging in his personal hunt for Darth Maul. There are Shadows for that. Knight Mo, who had voluntarily left Dougan's army, was an excellent candidate for such an action.
The defeat on the planet Null cost the Order more than a dozen Jedi healers. Padawans, masters... all killed by bounty hunters. Nearly a thousand clones died as a result of this barbaric raid. And if not for the arrival of Mace Windu with reinforcements on the new Predator-class starfighter ships, the defeat could have turned into a rout.
And how many dozens of smaller battles were lost by the Republic? In how many did they win? There is no number for them... And there is no end to this war...
"Master Yoda," the head of a clone communications officer appeared in the doorway. "Master Dougan is calling you from aboard the Separatist flagship."
"Separatist still?" the short Jedi grunted gloomily, moving back into the corridor.
He covered the ten meters separating the balcony from the communications center in a few seconds—after all, he was not as old as he seemed to many.
Inside were already the invariably sullen Master Windu, Piell, fierce even in a calm state, and the previously mentioned Kenobi. And above the holographic terminal, the figures of the other Council members flickered.
"Welcome you, I am glad, friends," Yoda croaked. "And to see you all in good health as well."
Silent bows were his answer. It seemed only Master Dougan, who looked deathly tired even on the hologram, did not notice Yoda's appearance.
"See I do, successful your mission was," the Grand Master said, winking at the smiling Adi Gallia. He did not want to create the impression among those present that he had not believed in her survival on that mission. He had to maintain his image of an all-knowing and wise mentor to the very end. Otherwise, even his tired appearance could harm the Jedi.
"Yes, Master Yoda," the Tolothian confirmed. "In a sense..."
"Did you encounter complications?" Obi-Wan Kenobi was surprised. Indeed, everyone present did not expect any negativity from a rescue mission. Especially one executed by Master Dougan, known for his effectiveness.
"Yes," Adi said quietly. "Baron Kirvan is dead." Yoda felt a slight relief in the Force emanating from Mace. Nax had been a massive problem. And, though it was not the Jedi way, his death simplified many things.
"Count Dooku has lost another of his henchmen," Kit Fisto remarked with his usual smile. "It's just a pity that General Grievous once again escaped from under your nose, Master Dougan."
"Go to hell," the latter snapped, not even looking at his interlocutor. Yoda, spreading his ears, looked questioningly at the Jedi standing on either side. They, in turn, looked at him.
"Master Dougan..." Kenobi began.
"I killed Baron Kirvan," he said. "Saved Master Gallia. The Separatist mercenary Durge and another Separatist acolyte, code-named Jek-14, killed Knight Kylie Omas while she was healing Adi. My commandos captured the enemy Subjugator-class super dreadnought. And forgive me if I, having lost a dear... comrade-in-arms, learn that my troops were not allowed to comb the catacombs of Hypori and catch Grievous, but were withdrawn to the rear! As a result—that maniac is still at large! And after all this, I have to listen to criticism from this..."
"Enough, Master Dougan!" Mace cut him off. "The order your troops received to withdraw from Hypori was simply a successful Separatist disinformation; the Chancellor's office has nothing to do with it, this has already been sorted out."
"Oh sure, of course," the Jedi Master grunted. "We know these 'disinformations.' It seems we learned to recognize them six months ago."
"Into darkness such reasoning will lead us," Shaak Ti said.
"We all mourn the loss of Knight Omas," Plo Koon mumbled. "But that is no reason to get personal!"
"Hear that, tentacle-head?" Dougan smirked, looking with undisguised hatred at the blinking Nautolan, who, like everyone else present, did not understand: whether he had been insulted or something else...
"Capturing the Sovereign is a massive blow to the Separatists," Kenobi diplomatically switched to another topic. "We can use this for propaganda purposes."
"I intend to do just that," the youngest Council member shrugged. "As far as I am reported, the journalist Tyrell is still under house arrest on Christophsis."
"That person is close to the Chancellor," Piell reminded. "Everything could turn against you, Master."
"I will take the necessary measures to prevent such a thing," Rick nodded barely perceptibly.
"The Sovereign must be delivered to the shipyards of Kuat or Rothana," Windu said thoughtfully. "The ship will be thoroughly studied by the engineers there before being sent for smelting."
"Forgive me, Master," Dougan said. "But the Black Overlord will remain under my command."
"What kind of overlord?" the one-eyed Piell smiled.
"Black," the Jedi Master replied without a hint of irony. "Anal punishment for the Separatists."
Chuckles broke out among the members of the Order present. Luminara and Adi blushed, Kenobi began to hide a smile in his beard. Even Yoda, despite the indecency of the joke, could not suppress a chuckle.
"Subjugator-class cruisers are weapons of terror," Mace noted coldly. "Republic doctrine does not allow their use..."
"I don't give a damn about that doctrine and its authors," Dougan admitted. "Those bastards killed thousands of my people and friends, dropped a flagship from orbit. The Black Overlord is my legitimate trophy. Given the colossal losses of my fleet in recent times, this one ship will replace an entire armada. So, there can be no question of breaking it down for scrap metal."
"But..."
"Pointless, this is," Yoda said. "Allow you I do to keep this ship..."
"Well, nobody was asking you anyway," Dougan said quietly. However, everyone present heard. But Yoda chose to let this insolence pass.
"A new task for you there is," he said.
"I bet it's even worse than the previous one," the Jedi Master grunted.
"Undoubtedly," Mace said. "Chancellor Palpatine has moved to escalate with the Order, directly setting before us an extremely difficult and practically impossible task. If we fail, the Jedi will lose the public's trust completely."
"The 'Triad of Evil'?" Dougan asked impassively. "Three of the most important Separatist planets in a few months?"
"Actually, that is classified information," Mace Windu croaked.
"Not much of a secret," Dougan concluded, "since senators are blabbing about it left and right. Personally, the information reached me from Commander Syndulla. And he, in turn, heard it from Senator Suuwie. I hope I don't need to say at this meeting in what establishment she received such information?"
"The Twi'leks' interest in this operation is curious," Obi-Wan frowned.
"Nothing special," Dougan replied calmly. "They dream of paying the Separatists back in the same coin they played on Ryloth."
"One way or another," Plo Koon noted, "we must mobilize significant forces and develop invasion plans for Felucia, Saleucami, and Mygeeto."
"Entrust to Masters Unduli, Kenobi, and Master Dougan I wish these missions," Yoda said.
"I will depart for Ord Mantell immediately," Obi-Wan replied readily.
"My group of forces is surrounded," Unduli reminded. "And we still haven't taken the Mon Calamari sector. Perhaps in a month or two, the Separatist defense will be broken..."
"Too long," Windu shook his head.
"Then we should send another Master," Oppo Rancisis noted. "I would join, but..."
"You have your own tasks," the Korun rejected. "Master Plo Koon is busy restoring the front. Master Fisto, how are your negotiations on Naboo going?"
"Difficult," Fisto admitted. "The Gungans don't really want to return to Dac again. Boss Nass is not very optimistic about the success of our operation against the Separatists. Without quoting, I will only say that the Gungans consider the new operation a pointless venture, as they are not sure we won't lose Dac again."
"It's hard to blame them for such a point of view," Dougan said. "We already kicked the Separatists off the Mon Calamari home world once, and less than a year later, we are forced to win it back. Again, under your command, Master Fisto. Great plan, Kit. If I understood correctly—it's just fantastic. Reliable as a Swiss watch."
The Masters looked at each other in surprise, clearly not understanding the end of the phrase.
"What do you suggest, Master Dougan?" Yoda narrowed his eyes. He, at least, knew how to set aside the young Jedi's sarcasm and catch the meaning of his high-flown mockery.
"There are about ten billion Mon Calamari on the planet," he reminded. "They are amphibians, they know the terrain, and in general, they traditionally adhere to the ideals of the Republic. Then why don't we, instead of dragging a Gungan army through two or three front lines, simply use the help of the locals. I think they are not particularly happy about the Separatist triumph there. If I remember correctly, about five corps under my command are clone scuba divers, which is almost four hundred thousand men. No matter how many droids there are, we will kick them off the planet without outside help. The main thing is to break through to Dac. Which, in general, is what Master Unduli is doing now. And since I've stopped hunting for all sorts of scum, I will send additional reinforcements of clones and ships to her super-sector. By the way, Master Yoda, thank you for the additional forces. I am flattered. Aayla Secura reports that we even have clone assassin units and clone soldiers for secret operations. The full authorized strength of these very interesting fighters under my command... Is this a hint, or did you just give me all the Kaminoan clones?"
"A hint?" Kenobi smoothed his beard. "What is the matter, exactly?"
Eyes crossed on the Grand Master. Yoda moved his ears disapprovingly.
"Clone assassins are GAR fighters specially created to fight Jedi, armed with vibro-blades built into their gauntlets," Dougan explained. "And clones for secret operations—well, they're from Isard's department. Mostly they were busy eliminating clone deserters."
The short Jedi felt a disturbance in the Force.
"Jedi killers?" Piell frowned. "I haven't heard of such."
"Created they were in the deepest secret by the Chancellor," Yoda admitted with a sigh. "As a weapon against Jedi, in case of our brothers' transition to the enemy side."
"What the hutt, Master?!" It seemed Piell's single eye would pop out of its socket. "Are Shadows not enough for us? Now we have to be afraid of clones too?"
"A necessary measure it was," Yoda pursed his lips. "The Senate gave permission for it to Palpatine. Powerless to oppose them were Master Windu and I."
"Well, or you just didn't want to declassify the existence of our own 'secret police,'" Dougan said in a neutral tone. Then, seeing the lack of understanding in the eyes of those present, he added with a sigh:
"I mean the Shadow Corps. Jedi fighting other Jedi. By the way, one such specialist deserted from my army. Can I set the clone assassins on his trail, Master Yoda?"
The Grand Master shook his head in disappointment. This was not the reaction he expected.
He hoped the Master would understand that he had sent him protection from the adepts of the Dark Side. Professional killers capable of defeating most of Dooku's gifted followers. And to preserve a valuable representative of the Order for a future as murky as before.
"Jedi Mo left your army on my order," the Grand Master lied, not wanting to escalate the situation further on this basis. "He was not needed by you, sitting idle. There is a shortage of Jedi in other armies; I recalled the unneeded ones from your command."
"Well, actually they were sitting on their asses while the corps were being formed for them," Dougan scratched his chin. "If you haven't forgotten, reinforcements were arriving to me almost squad by squad until recently. But as soon as I go to catch Kirvan, I return and I'm told: please deal with almost fifteen million line infantry, special clones—engineers, medics, sappers, lancers, paratroopers, heavy-armed, 'blaze' troopers, flamethrowers, assassins, 'shadows,' almost fifty thousand commandos, naval specialists, and so on through the nomenclature. No, I'm not complaining; if there are more—I'll find a use, send them. It's just that I don't have that many Jedi—about... thirty, if I remember correctly. Masters Unduli, Gallia, how many do you have?"
"Ten," Luminara said coldly.
"Eighteen," Adi replied.
"Total—just over fifty," Evan Piell calculated the result of the simple mathematical operations. "Out of nearly seven thousand currently scattered across the galaxy. Am I the only one who doesn't understand the logic of distribution?"
"There is also a squad of Padawans under your command," Mace tried to wedge into the conversation. "And a clan of younglings has been entrusted to your care."
"I haven't said a word about those yet and have no complaints about their presence in my location," the Jedi Master seared the Korun with a look. "But have we run out of full-fledged Jedi?"
"Needed in another place they are," Yoda shook his head. "You have many competent officers—they can lead the clones. Jedi are needed to lead the new clones..."
"Well, as you say," Dougan agreed somewhat too easily. "I'll have enough clones in the current situation. I hope the Council is notified that our three armies are already effectively surrounded? Well, not counting the 'crooked path of life' through the Hydian Way and the Perlemian Trade Route."
"Brought to us this information was," Yoda nodded.
"Intelligence informs that within a few days the Separatists will occupy the Denon and Bestine systems," Mace said. "Which will mean a complete blockade of the Hydian and Corellian..."
"Let's add that between the Gizer captured by my people and Tanaab lies a powerful Separatist group of several thousand ships," Master Dougan interrupted, "and we get a complete encirclement where we are left to our own devices."
"There remains a chance that we will manage to break through the Umbaran screen," Ki-Adi-Mundi spoke up, to which the youngest member of the Council gave him such an incredulous look that no additional explanations were required.
"I am departing for the location of the 'Ghent' army," Evan Piell said unexpectedly, causing bewilderment among all present.
"The Council did not give you such an assignment," Master Windu immediately snapped.
"I sanctioned this mission," the Grand Master cut in, stopping possible squabbles. Looking into the eyes of his Korun colleague, he shook his head barely perceptibly, urging him not to continue the escalation.
Even without squabbles among the Jedi, the situation was as serious as it could be.
"I don't need anyone's permission to be where I am needed," Piell snorted, seeing his main opponent backing down. "Especially since the Council is still not fully staffed with Masters..."
"Seriously?" a shadow of a smile appeared on Dougan's lips. "And here I thought you'd again settle everything quietly without me, and that would be that."
"You should have more respect for other members of the Council, Master Dougan," Oppo Rancisis tried to rebuff him.
It didn't work.
The Master merely snorted with a smirk, waving his hand. Ignoring Master Gallia, who was making some signs to him.
"This question I have wanted to raise for a long time," Yoda prevaricated. "The candidacy of Stass Allie I would like to support in the vote..."
The Grand Master felt the close attention of most Council members but demonstratively continued to look straight ahead. There was no need to say anything. The message was clear enough as it was.
A short vote among those gathered led to the unanimous acceptance of another Tolothian as a member of the Council. The Master, not taking part in the discussions, stared stubbornly ahead.
But his thoughts were far from what was happening in the hall. Mace, glancing at the first among equals, continued the briefing, while Yoda's thoughts went deep into himself.
He felt clearly that the conspiracy around the Jedi was beginning to become more tangible. If before he had only vague assumptions, guesses, a premonition, then now... Everything that was happening was taking on a certain meaning.
The war had forced the Jedi to lose their main advantage—strength in numbers. The guardians of peace were spread thin across the galaxy so that it seemed as if they did not exist. Reports and accounts, records and dispatches—all this had turned into a whirlwind of poorly controlled bureaucracy, in which politicians and officials were strong. But not the Jedi.
The Grand Master was forced to admit that even he, despite his giant life experience, simply could not keep track of everything. Before, when the Jedi were always at hand, in the Temple, it was much easier to do.
The Temple had been in a fever for the entire first year of the war. There was no clear structure for Jedi assignments—tasks were handed out almost on a first-come, first-served basis, members of the Order were thrown into "hot spots" with clone units, or even without them. The massive losses, which they feverishly tried to plug with the hasty knightings of yesterday's Padawans, led to even greater losses. Yoda, hearing that more than three hundred Jedi had died on the front in less than a week, nearly lost his speech. These were colossal losses, the likes of which the Jedi Order had never known in similar circumstances.
And the premonition, though clouded by the Dark Side, still whispered to the Grand Master that the Jedi Order's hardest days were still ahead.
For the first time in his life, he felt despair.
Because he could in no way influence what was happening, and this... was frightening.
Yoda was increasingly leaning toward the thought that the War was the fruit of an extremely subtle and calculated Sith plan, designed to bring imbalance to the galaxy. To defame the Jedi, deprive them of public support, dishonor them...
He did not want to believe Count Dooku, who had told Obi-Wan back on Geonosis, just hours before the start of the Clone Wars, that a Sith Lord was operating in the Senate. Such a thing simply could not be, because then it demonstrated the complete defenselessness and non-viability of modern Jedi against their ancient enemies. Which, in turn, cast a shadow on the Grand Master himself. Forcing him to wonder if his own actions had led to such a degradation of the Jedi.
Perhaps it was fundamentally wrong to protect his charges from the ruthless lessons of the past? Should they not have chased the quantity of Jedi at the expense of quality? Should they have conducted recruitment work more thoroughly, which would not have led to regular forced "exceptions" to the general rules?
So many questions, so few answers...
For the first time, Yoda clearly felt that he lacked a simple and straightforward thing. The advice of someone unblinded by the Order's teachings. A view from the outside.
Sometimes it seemed to him that he had found such a sentient in the person of Rick Dougan.
The boy had spent his entire youth outside the Temple, studied literally "in the field," grew up separately from the Jedi community. Perhaps not the greater part of his life, but certainly the most intensive part. The process of turning from a boy into a man took place outside of Jedi dogmas.
Which could not help but affect his perception of what was happening in the world.
And he had proven this more than once.
Even if at first Yoda had treated him warily—like Anakin in his time. But, after so many months of war, he was firmly convinced that the youngest of the Order's members, even if he had joined the ranks of the Masters in a non-traditional way, was a beacon in the coming Darkness.
Looking back, the Grand Master clearly realized that with every fiber of his soul he had tried to protect the boy from the accidents that were increasingly happening to Jedi lately. And, predominantly, with lethal outcomes. He did this so that in the crucible of war, a weapon would be forged—not a potential Chosen One, whose power is great but whose skills are ordinary, even if based on honed reflexes. But a real fighter, such as the Jedi of the past were.
One whose views were increasingly finding reflection in young minds, in the hearts of the younger generation—the future of the Order. A Jedi icon in the eyes of the public.
The true embodiment of the Light Side of the Force—humane but just. Merciful but ruthless. Doing what is necessary not to relieve the symptoms of a disease, but to eradicate the illness.
But, it seemed, the Sith had calculated the Grand Master's little combination. They understood the danger to their power emanating from Dougan. And they were making every attempt to eliminate him.
The green-skinned Jedi immediately understood the reason why Adi's capture had occurred. The Sith had given such an order to their most skillful assassin. They had pitted their most perfect weapon against the Jedi ideal. They distracted him from the inevitable destruction of their bloodthirsty monster—General Grievous, after which they pushed through the Chancellor's office an order to withdraw the most experienced combat units from the front line, bringing in green militia instead, through which Grievous broke like a lightsaber through a tabletop.
But, without doubt, the Sith's subtle calculation was built on the belief that Kirvan and his henchmen would be able to get rid of Dougan. And he had surprised them most unpleasantly...
The Grand Master, continuing to maintain an impassive expression, pretended to listen to the reports of the members of the High Council, while he himself, like a youngling, rejoiced that he had managed to transfer the younglings and Padawans most promising in terms of the Order's future to Dougan's care.
Even if children prone to the Dark Side were not ready to become even Padawans, the Master would be able to teach them many lessons designed to teach the younger Jedi to control their inner Darkness. To show how to cope with the urge for destruction, the emotions within themselves.
Perhaps the time of the Jedi as guardians of peace had passed, and the galaxy needed warriors like Mace Windu and Dougan himself.
Yoda allowed himself an internal smile.
It seems he found the answer to the question of the Korun's distrust toward the young Jedi.
They are so similar, like two identically charged particles that are not destined to be near each other due to the laws of physics. That is why they cannot get along. Like Mace, Rick is organically incapable of accepting the traditional Jedi dogma of denying emotions. Like Mace, the young master draws strength from them, channeling into a creative direction what others use only to achieve their own goals, gaining personal power and profit without caring for the welfare of those around them…
"Your opinion, Master Yoda?" Obi-Wan interrupted his reflections.
"On which of the matters voiced?" the short Jedi inquired with his usual philosophical equanimity, twitching his ears.
"The kidnapping of A'Sharad Hett by the Separatists," Windu prompted, familiar with his older comrade's habit of drifting into thought. "Master Dougan is certain that this action was carried out according to the design of the Sith with the goal of subsequently turning this Jedi to the Dark Side."
"A strong Jedi, Hett is," Yoda sighed. Yes, he had heard of this tragic episode. And he fully shared the Jedi Master's point of view. "Touched the Dark Side he has, and subject to it he was. Such Jedi are easiest to break. Find him we must, before too late it becomes. See to this, Master Dougan."
"As you command, Master Yoda," the Jedi bowed his head respectfully. "And what should I do when I find him?"
"Act according to the circumstances," it was hard to say this, but necessary. Yoda humbly accepted another burden on his shoulders. "The relevant experience, you have."
"I'll do it in the best possible way, Grand Master," the young Jedi smirked.
A few minutes later, the meeting ended. Looking as if he had aged several hundred years, Yoda, leaning on his cane, slowly hobbled toward his own quarters.
He resolutely needed to rest.
Otherwise, he might not live to see that moment in galactic history when a new hope for the Jedi Order would appear.
***
A blaster shot flew past Micky's head, shattering against the stone wall behind him.
"That was close," Marshal Ventor commented nonchalantly, demonstrating just how close Micky had been to death. Half a palm's width—and the scarlet bolt would have entered his helmet's forehead panel. No big deal. Things had been worse.
"Main thing is I'm alive," the commander of the 73rd Reconnaissance Corps brushed it off, though he instinctively tried to stay lower than the top edge of the improvised barricade. "Don't want to die before my time."
Glancing at the platoon assigned to his corps that had been cut down in the ambush, he only shook his head. Pity for the boys. No one knew that Separatist mercenaries had settled at the end of this corridor. And with heavy repeaters that had stitched the reconnaissance group right through. Even the new armor hadn't saved them.
"These mercenaries are either too arrogant," the commander of the 156th Assault Corps offered a thought, "or they've gone completely stupid from sitting in this complex."
"Is there a difference?" Micky shrugged with a grim chuckle.
The Separatist Rindellia base had only just begun to be stormed. After the heavy fighters silenced the fortification artillery and the Jedi fought their way inside, everything just started spinning at once.
Firefights with droids, firefights with mercenaries, firefights with heavy equipment. Pain, horror, brothers' limbs torn off by explosions, dozens of corpses in black-and-silver armor…. A familiar sight for any assault.
Micky's scouts went in the first wave of the attack. Fast and nimble, they broke into the complex from four directions at once, opening the way for the assault units. But, in general, they hadn't finished their own participation in the campaign, supporting their brothers with fire and thermal detonators.
And here was the last obstacle in this sector of the base—a fairly wide corridor leading to a turbolift that went down to the very lowest level of the base, of which there were about twenty. The Separatist bastards had dug in. But no matter, this annoying hindrance would soon be eliminated.
Micky glanced back—one of the soldiers was giving him some kind of sign, peeking out from around the corner. Looks like one of the replacements, yesterday's "shiny."
Micky waved his hand for him to pull his senseless head back into cover. The enemy was jamming communications—an annoying interference that the soldiers from the 217th Assault Corps were supposed to deal with. But Riviriv was stuck a level above—he couldn't break through the screen of AAT tanks. Hutt, who told these Separatist freaks that tanks could be used in the wide corridors of the base?
The sniper didn't keep them waiting long, slamming a scarlet charge into the right half of the inexperienced clone's breastplate. The soldier fell backward, instinctively clutching the damaged area of armor. A couple of soldiers immediately rushed to him, grabbing his gear with the firm intention of dragging the fool off the battlefield.
"Covering!" Micky commanded, peeking out from cover along with Ventor and generously dousing the enemy marksman, who had dug in behind a mountain of destroyed droids, with carbine fire. Yes, it was ineffective—the blue discharges slapped against the chassis of long-destroyed droids without causing them harm.
But, unlike the mechanical soldiers who knew no fear, the organic soldiers of the CIS (Micky made no distinction between simple mercenaries and the regular units of the numerous organizations that made up the Confederacy) didn't much like it when they were subjected to massive fire from all types of weapons. Even if they understood in the back of their minds that it was just suppressive fire.
The marksman vanished, preferring to wait out the deadly threat. Micky, hearing that the soldier was in cover, nudged his fellow marshal in the shoulder, and both rolled back behind their own refuge.
Several more single blaster shots hit the barricade—the remains of a DSD1 dwarf spider droid.
"A sniper or just a lunatic?" Ventor suggested.
Micky thought for a moment, estimated the accuracy of the shots and the timing of their production, and voiced his agreement with the first option.
"Yeah, there was a time when these Koorivar didn't poke their noses outside of Murkhana and Bomis Koori IV," the commander of the 156th Assault Corps complained, checking his cartridge charge, "and now they're all over the Outer Rim…"
"I heard the Confederacy hires a lot of mercenaries," Micky said, pulling the helmet of one of the dead brothers lying nearby toward him, putting it on the barrel of his carbine, and lifting it above the droid wreckage, mimicking a live target. Almost in the same second, the helmet flew aside, with a scorched face shield and a smoking hole in the visor. "That bastard, he's shooting right for the visor."
"Yeah, looks like they found a weak spot in the Infiltrators," Ventor said angrily, pressing into cover: a couple of aimed shots flew over his left shoulder. "Means there'll be more snipers now."
"Still better than Phase I," Micky noted. "At least it holds up against blaster rifle hits, unlike that Kaminoan craft."
"Yeah," Ventor sighed. "If we had protection like this from the first days of the war—we would've saved so many brothers."
"What was, was," Micky noted philosophically. Glancing at his wrist computer, he estimated the remaining time on the chronometer. "How long do you think we'll have to play decoy here?"
"How should I know?" the brother wondered. "It was your Jedi who decided to crawl through the ventilation. Ask her."
Micky, after some thought, concluded that it wasn't worth doing. General Kuro was an extremely peculiar sentient. Not interfering in the routine activities of the corps, she preferred to give the clones complete freedom of action on the battlefield. While she herself took a very active part in sabotage missions, which she carried out very, very well. Even the commandos sometimes spoke with admiration of her skill.
Therefore, the scout preferred not to compromise his general, who was now crawling through narrow ventilation pipes to the rear of the annoying sniper who was preventing them from breaking through further with his aimed fire—the last of a large detachment of CIS fighters.
"I keep wondering why this creep hasn't blasted us with a grenade launcher yet," Ventor spoke up. "One rocket—and he'd take out not just us, but half a company."
His colleague nodded toward the soldiers of the two corps—his and Micky's—hiding behind the ribbed supports of the corridor. Yes, the offensive had slightly mixed the clone units, but that was no problem. We'll sort it out after the battle.
"Why don't you shout to him not to be shy," Micky suggested. "But personally, I prefer to keep following the plan."
"I'm just saying," Ventor hesitated. "By the way..."
Master Kuro's plan was as simple as the composition of water on Kamino.
The enemy snipers, like the mercenaries in general at this base, felt an almost sporting interest in picking off GAR unit commanders of all stripes. Therefore, this sniper certainly couldn't afford to miss the opportunity to kill two marshals at once: him and Ventor. And he continued to sink charges into their cover, trying to catch the moment when one of them would get careless and expose himself to a shot. The marshals teased him, every now and then poking out the helmets of the fallen soldiers who had gone quiet nearby. Yes, expensive gear was being ruined, but no matter—the rear would fix it later. Before burial, clones were always stripped of their armor, which then passed to someone else. Yes, not the most pleasant job for the logistics guys—working with the corpses of brothers, but what can you do?
But with the help of a little trick with the helmets of the fallen, the marshals could continue to pin the sniper's attention to their position, allowing the brave Jedi woman to get behind him.
Vzhooosh. A second blaster discharge flew past. Micky instinctively jerked aside, feeling the discharge particles ricochet off his armor.
"Hit?" Ventor asked concernedly.
"Shoulder pad got scorched," Micky reported. "Didn't notice I'd poked it out past cover."
"You might as well poke your head out," Ventor chuckled. He leaned to the side, firing a long burst from his carbine, forcing the sniper to take cover again. Then, waiting for the dry click from the depths of the weapon, he hid.
"Empty," he complained.
"What, do you eat them?" Micky was indignant. "We were both full when this started! I still have half my cartridges left!"
"Then don't be greedy, share," Ventor advised. "I'm an assault soldier, after all; we weren't taught to save ammunition."
"Right," Micky remembered. "How could I forget! Your motto is 'Maximum tibanna, minimum hassle'."
"Yours is 'Faster, quieter, deadlier'," the assault commander snapped back. "So, will you give me another magazine?"
"Just take it," Micky brushed him off, handing his comrade several clips for the carbine.
The sound of falling metal reached their ears. Before Micky could realize that the source was a hundred meters away—at the sniper's position—the characteristic hiss of a Jedi sword rang out. And almost immediately—a roar and a frantic howl of pain.
"She finally crawled there," Ventor grunted. "I was already starting to grow a Boroda (Beard); thought I'd die of old age before the fight started."
"You're always unhappy about something," Micky snapped back without malice. He liked his colleague—lively, with his own character, a competent commander. True, sometimes he drifted into grumbling. Getting old, maybe?
Hearing the signal from Master Kuro, both commanders, ordering their soldiers to continue moving without losing vigilance (who knows what surprises the Seps left in the corridor?), moved forward.
Micky's practiced eye immediately identified four anti-personnel pressure mines, quite skillfully hidden in the floor tiles. Admittedly, if he hadn't had such extensive experience in dealing with these things, a big explosion would not have been avoided. But everything turned out fine.
Sappers, arriving from somewhere in the second wave of the offensive, almost delicately relieved the clones of the deadly danger, after which the marshal was finally able to reunite with his Jedi.
The enemy had chosen an extremely good position. In this place, the tunnel was not finished in terms of decoration—there were numerous pits in the rock where the enemy had placed their ammunition. On one side—a perfectly clear corridor for firing. On the other—a turbolift shaft, though, as the scouts who inspected it reported, with a jammed cabin rigged with baradium charges. It seems the Separatists left a blocking detachment here, cutting off their own retreat. If they get killed—well, fine. The baradium will delay the clones. And if it doesn't, the power of the explosion will be enough to collapse the shaft and seal the point of penetration to the lower levels.
Clever. Droids clearly couldn't come up with that. It seems the mercenaries themselves had cut off their own way back.
"You don't look well, Master Kuro," he said, pointing to the woman's black tight-fitting clothes, torn in several places and even scorched by shots in others.
"You still haven't learned how to give compliments to women," she said with a dark smile on her lips. Then, seeing how the clones were climbing over the improvised Separatist barricade and beginning to inspect the bodies of the mercenaries, she added. "Ran into a couple of Droidekas on the way. Had to deal with them."
"Droidekas in the ventilation?" Ventor asked as he approached.
"The ventilation isn't continuous," An'ya explained. "These clumsy fools didn't even finish construction—the utilities broke off in several places, I had to improvise. That's where the Droidekas caught me in the adjacent corridor."
Micky, without saying a word, unclipped the plastic backpack from his back, taking out a medical kit—bacta patches and an aerosol. Handing them to the Jedi, he only nodded in response to her words of thanks. As if to say, why waste words? We're on the same side.
"Wounded here," one of the 156th soldiers reported, pointing to a couple of mercenaries hiding in one of the massive gouges. A pair of organics, wrapped in bandages; one had an eye knocked out, the second had an arm torn off just above the elbow. Probably suffered when the scouts were destroying droids with rockets.
"Deal with it, Marshal," the general asked, sitting down on a crate and starting to treat her wounds.
"Officers?" Micky asked, approaching the prisoners. Yes, they were in traditional soldier uniforms, but this wasn't the first case where enemy commanders tried to save their skins by changing clothes.
Both shook their heads negatively.
"How do we disarm the lift?" Ventor asked, stepping on one of the wounded men's shin.
The mercenary, hissing in pain, began to babble in his bird-like language, slipping into Galactic Basic. The assault commander, unable to withstand such violence against his auditory apparatus, pressed his ribbed sole harder, simultaneously twisting it, causing even more pain.
"We are simple soldiers!" the second one shouted, seeing his comrade's agony. "The commander set the charges," he pointed his finger at the chopped-up figure of the sniper.
"Useful information?" Micky asked again. And again—the mercenaries could not help him with anything. All orders, diagrams, and so on were stored on the commander's datapad, which the engineers were already dealing with.
"Then we don't need you," Ventor concluded, ending the enemy fighters' life paths with two precise shots. Receiving a blaster bolt to the forehead, both opponents went silent.
"And for what Hutt?" Micky asked in an even tone. He felt no regret over the execution of the mercenaries. He just wanted to understand his colleague's motivation.
"Did you hear the order 'Take prisoners!'?" the assault soldier answered a question with a question.
"No," Micky admitted.
"Neither did I," Ventor replied in a tone as if he were talking not about two cold-blooded executions, but about something routine happening every minute. Though, who knows them, these assault soldiers.
"Logical," the commander of the 73rd Reconnaissance Corps admitted. Noticing the sappers preparing to descend into the shaft to disarm the turbolift, the marshal took off his helmet, mechanically scratching the already healed scar on the right side of his head.
"Yeah, fun job," he said.
"Best job in the galaxy," Ventor grunted, hanging spare cartridges taken from a support soldier on his belt.
***
Not a single muscle twitched on the face of the hereditary Count of Serenno.
Self-control is the politeness of an aristocrat. And one's face should not be lost under any circumstances.
Even if you learn from the best Jedi hunter that he failed in his task.
"I understand you, Durge," Count Dooku finally said after several minutes of silence. "A most wretched report. You have disappointed me, but I will give you a chance to redeem yourself. Go to Toydaria. Capture the king there and bring him to me. Alive!"
"Boring," the Gen'dai grumbled, however, noticing the unwavering expression on the face of the Separatist head of state, the mercenary's hologram only silently bowed and vanished.
Yes, it didn't work out with Dougan. A pity.
However, there are always other options for solving the problem.
The communication panel blinked with an incoming message.
The Count, sighing, turned on the holoprojector, readily kneeling before his master.
"Lord Sidious," he greeted the hologram with the traditionally cast hood over the head, hiding the true face of the man masterfully manipulating the galaxy.
"Lord Tyranus," the other echoed. The former Jedi caught the sharp manner of his master's speech. This meant Palpatine was extremely dissatisfied with what was happening. "I am aware that Dougan was able to survive."
"Yes, Master."
"How? Jek-14 has never allowed failures before."
"The Jedi was not alone. With the help of cloaked ships, he delivered commando squads on board, who disabled the crew of the Sovereign. Also, he had henchmen with him—two Jedi and two monsters. Jek was able to kill one Jedi, but the second is clearly a Sith."
"Is that so?" a slight surprise appeared in Sidious's voice. "On what is this conclusion based?"
"She used a scarlet lightsaber color. Furthermore, Jek-14 said that the Zabrak fighting on Dougan's side is perfectly proficient in Dark Side techniques. As is the target himself. Therefore, he decided to kill the healer Jedi and Adi Gallia, but succeeded only with the first."
"Curious," Palpatine concluded. "Events are rapidly gaining momentum. And we must act even faster if we want to get rid of this annoying Jedi."
"Do you have a plan, Master?"
"I ALWAYS have a plan," the Chancellor said with emphasis. "Have your armies already blocked Dougan's armies?"
"Practically, Master. In a couple of days, we will cut all remaining hyperspace routes, and three armies will be surrounded."
"Excellent. Throw all the forces you have at him. He should be crushed like an insect, destroying all his clones, militiamen, and all ships."
"This will not be easy, Lord. After Rush Clovis's demarche, our allies from the Banking Clan lost significant positions in that structure. Clovis uses the services of mercenaries to track down and eliminate our spies and supporters. Of course, we were able to capture the main shipyards, like Gwori, but Clovis is strong enough. Of the eight thousand Muun ships, only half are under our control."
"Dougan has just over fifteen hundred starships," Sidious said. "The Munificent-class star frigates alone will be able to tear him to pieces."
"Undoubtedly, that is so. But by throwing all our forces at him, we will expose the fronts in other regions of the galaxy. The Separatist Council will not accept such a decision."
"Their opinion is insignificant," Sidious reminded. "Force them, under the pretext of weakening the Banking Clan, to pull everything they have out of the reserves. The more of their starships Dougan destroys, the easier it will be for us to make up for lost time. And the larger the Separatist armadas are, the more forces Dougan will need to stop them. His reserves are at their limit. Even the tens of millions of clones, among whom he has gained almost absolute loyalty, will not save him."
"But you handed Rothana and Kamino over to him," Dooku reminded. "These are enormous capacities that will allow him to repair his own ships many times faster and treat the wounded. And this, in turn, slows down the destruction of the groups subject to him."
"Sometimes one must sacrifice the small to save one's face," Palpatine decreed. "In essence, nothing changes. Send your Dark servants to kill all the Jedi under his command—we cannot even allow the possibility that anyone connected to him survives. Let your spy—the tactical droid—report all movements of Dougan's fleet to you. I will continue the work of undermining his reputation in the Republic and the Senate."
"Of course, Lord. But with the help of the HoloNet, he will be able to continue to publicize his activities. This may attract even more supporters to his side. Spies report that on Pantora, clones are training thousands of militiamen."
"Yes, communication is an extremely sharp point," Sidious admitted. "Without it, Dougan's efforts would remain a secret to the galaxy. And the CIS Shadowfeed would be able to become the only source of news from this part of the Outer Rim."
"Are you suggesting destroying the HoloNet stations?" Dooku was taken aback. "But they are a key element not only of communication, but also of economic and other operations. All deals, all negotiations will be at risk."
"This will hit the Banking Clan even harder," Palpatine noted. "After the Muuns' encrypted banking network merged into the Shadowfeed, Clovis has to use the HoloNet for transactions. The destruction of the relays on the borders of the besieged armies and the Banking Clan territory will lead to the complete collapse of his system. With one blow, we will deprive Dougan of communication with the outside world and force Clovis to meet us halfway."
"I do not doubt your wisdom, Master," Dooku said cautiously. "But the destruction of relays is an extremely grave crime. For such a thing, one is immediately disintegrated."
"Then let Grievous and Trench deal with it," Palpatine flared with rage. "Place the last two Subjugators and all forces acting against the Greck, Heft, and Ghent systemic armies under their command. All major operations should be conducted right there. Frame it as the destruction of the most dangerous threat—the Senate voted for an attack on Mygeeto, Felucia, and Saleucami. This should make the Confederacy worry about its assets. They will swallow this misinformation without further questions. If necessary, I will personally force Gunray to go into the reserves and bring to light everything that can shoot."
"I will manage with my own forces, Lord Sidious," Dooku promised. "We will hire pirates to help Grievous and Trench destroy the relays in space. And the Shadowfeed… We can always use the same Munificent-class star frigates as mobile relays to inform the CIS. But this will distract significant forces—if we want to arrange a sudden communication breakdown. Dougan may use this for his own purposes."
"For this, the CIS reserve forces are necessary," a triumphant smile appeared on Sidious's lips. "I recall the Trade Federation had Kontos-class palace ships, perfectly suited for line combat. I think with a small modification, they will be able to destroy Dougan's ships without much trouble. However, even if there are huge losses among the Separatists—that concerns us least of all."
"Undoubtedly, Master," Dooku smiled. "They are merely pawns in our game of holochess."
"Quite right, Count Dooku," Sidious's smile began to resemble a snarl. "Merely pawns."
***
"The situation is bad," I commented on the briefly recounted conversation with the Jedi Council. "We are threatened with encirclement, and consequently, all the accompanying charms. Plus—another few million clones on our shoulders, supplied with chips and not particularly loyal."
"Christophsis will need a lot of time to free all of them from the Sith chips," Aayla Secura's hologram said. "A corps a day is the maximum they can provide us. And even then—that is the limit of the medical center."
"We'll have to involve Kamino for these purposes," I sighed. The fresh reinforcements generously provided to me by Yoda were a real headache. To be honest, I didn't even think that so many of Fett's clones had survived. I was counting on a million or two, maximum five to seven. But now there are more than ten under my command. The headquarters is completely buried under the record sheets of clone units—we had to figure out what exactly was coming to us under the "reinforcement" label, in what condition, and what could be done with it.
The fact alone that the units are arriving without equipment (thankfully at least in armor and with blasters) is already brutally straining the logistics. How are we supposed to provide everything necessary for forty tank corps if they don't have a single SPHA, not a single repulsor tank? The boys went across the galaxy in whatever they had on them.
Good thing they didn't take the equipment off the divers. Speaking of them.
"Transfer all clone divers to Kamino," I ordered. "I'll arrange with Lama Su that they'll have their own base there. Let them deal with these for now. They managed to create millions of clones—they'll manage to free them from the Sith chips."
"That's more than twenty corps," Aayla reminded. "We'll have to recall all available Acclamators from the front to transport the soldiers."
"And would it be better if the divers were hanging out on Christophsis, where there isn't a single natural body of water? Or on Ord Pardron? Though, maybe to Ryloth with them?"
"Forgive me, Master," the girl said dejectedly. "I will execute everything."
"We'll have to try very hard on the troop movement," I exhaled. "All commandos to Ord Pardron, except for those whose loyalty we are sure of. All the shinies from the ground units to Ryloth. I'll contact Rivus—enough of him lounging around, let him pull his Duros ass to your home planet and pull up the green ones. I feel it's going to get hot soon, and I'm not ready to lose thousands of fighters just because they aren't familiar with our tactics. When I'm done here, I'll contact Syndulla and Su, settle all the issues. For now, get busy with the preparations."
"It will be done, Emperor," the girl said submissively. I mentally cursed.
"Sorry, Aayla," I said peaceably. "My nerves are shot. You did a great job on Rothana."
"Thank you, my lord," she smiled. "Colonel Romulus Ameron completely controls the system and the production workshops. He has already calculated that Rothana, even at the peak of its capabilities, will not be able to provide our army with all the necessary equipment."
"Another problem," I chewed my lips. Hutt, how could this be. I deceived myself. "I'll solve this problem in the near future. Otherwise, is everything on Rothana according to plan?"
"Admiral Zaarin has already sent the advance ships—the planet's defense systems are under our full control. With the exception of the Mandators."
"Yes, those things are a problem," I admitted. "We'll lose a lot of ships if we try to take them in a line battle. We need to think about how to disable them by the time the Empire strikes."
"Soon, Master?" the girl smiled. I shook my head negatively.
"Until Zakuul acquires a solid rear, until the main shipyards go into operation—one shouldn't even think about a full-scale battle with the Republic or the CIS. The base territories are barely acquiring a proper appearance to turn into self-sufficient sectors capable of striking and not falling apart when receiving a counter-strike. There is more than one month of work ahead, so... Besides, our economy... You can't look at it without tears. If not for Vitiate's reserves, our little robbery of the Republic's two-year budget, and the virtually free construction on the New Forge—we would have gone bankrupt long ago. The ISB is barely coping with the flow of refugees wanting to take citizenship. While we are chasing barbarians around Wild Space—the available forces and ships will be enough for us. But when the galaxy catches fire, even fifteen million clones—whether produced in the Empire or transferred under my command—and provided that all of them remain loyal to me—this may not be enough. Palpatine clearly does not intend to create his own cloned bastards on the same scale as Fett's clones. This means we need even more clones—at least a billion. Given that the fleet will be occupied mainly by Christophsians, unlike the Republic, where there are still cloned crews on every second, not counting the first, starship, a billion stormtroopers is what you can start a war with. And again, it all depends on how many more clones our Kaminoan brothers in mind can still produce."
"Yes, I read Lama Su's report that the donor's genetic material will come to an end in six months at the current production rates," Secura recalled. "He suggests finding a new one..."
"Everything new is well-forgotten old," I smirked. "I have a suitable donor. But I will resolve this issue with the Prime Minister myself."
"As you command, Emperor," the girl bowed, then froze in a listening pose.
"I missed you too, Aayla," I smiled. The girl answered me with the same guilty smile. Yes, talking about pleasant things almost immediately after the death of a mutual friend is somewhat immoral. "As soon as I'm done here, I'll return to Christophsis. We have a lot of work. Including personal matters."
"I will be waiting for you impatiently, my lord," Secura assured me, ending the communication session.
Leaning back in the luxurious chair in the conference hall of the Black Overlord, I allowed myself a few minutes of peace. How I lack time. Routine, constant crises requiring personal intervention... How tired I am of these multi-sided games, in which one always had to keep in mind who could be told what, and who it was better to lie to.
Honestly, I'm already tired to death. And after Mortis, all this fuss with dosing information even for the closest associates—it just causes disgust.
But one has to put up with it. In no state—totalitarian or democratic—does any assistant to the ruler know everything. The Eternal Empire is no exception.
My head was splitting from the abundance of information. As soon as the connection with the outside world was restored, I was literally overwhelmed by the reports of the guard commanders, the reports of the assistants, the activities of the army...
Yes, it's a difficult task—to weave a conspiracy on a galactic scale. No wonder Palpatine, when he finally stopped playing with the Jedi, lost his mind. The old man burned out at work.
Though, one cannot but recognize his endurance. He lived like this for decades, as I have for the last year and a bit.
Yes, wondrous are your works, the Force.
"Sir," the comlink beeped with the sad voice of one of the clones. "Ships from Mistress Vette's squadron have entered the system."
"Why such an offended tone?" I didn't realize.
"The commander forbade meeting them with friendly fire from the whole broadside," the clone complained.
"Of course," I hope he wasn't offended by my satisfied smirk. "The power of this dreadnought is enough to carry out a Base Delta Zero order on a single planet all by itself."
"Really, sir?"
– Sinner perked up. – Can we…?
"Is that you, Sinner?" I identified him immediately.
"Yes, sir."
"Itching for action?"
"Yes, sir. Haven't burned anything for a week now."
"I promise you, Sinner, if my plan on the planet below doesn't pan out—the three of you, along with Necromancer and Captain Korr, can burn it to the ground."
"Really, sir?" excitement buzzed on the other end, followed by a quiet whisper: "Boys, he's giving us permission to torch the planet!" accompanied by my own soft chuckle. Truly, they might look twenty or thirty years old, but the moment those inhibitor chips were out, childhood mischief started leaking from every crack. God, what a foul thing—fighting a war with an army of children. Memories stirred in my mind of the so-called "Children's Crusade," where medieval European schoolchildren sought to bring peace and Christianity to the Muslim world.
"Of course, Sinner," my sigh came out overly melancholy. "When have I ever lied to you, my children?"