"Master Rancisis's fleet will attack the Separatists as soon as they're occupied with the ground landing," Obi-Wan Kenobi said, pointing at the holographic battle display. "They won't be able to land troops and defend against our ships simultaneously. Knights Secura and Tsui Choi — you'll lead the first fighter flight. Myself and my Padawan — the second. Both squadrons will take down the droid landing craft without getting drawn into the orbital battle. All other Jedi will defend Kamino on the surface."
"Does that make sense?" the blue-skinned Jedi Master Tsui Choi asked skeptically. "Won't the shields protect the city from bombardment?"
Before Kenobi could counter his comrade, another Jedi spoke up.
"Tipoca City and the other cities are vulnerable to attack from the surface," a knight in dark gray armor said in a weary voice.
Obi-Wan thought reproachfully that he was probably the one among those present who knew the least about the latest Jedi to arrive for Kamino's defense. Yoda had literally sent him at the last moment, casually mentioning that the Jedi had returned from a long journey that had ended with the recovery of a valuable find for the Order. His face was unfamiliar to Kenobi. However, he was in the company of Aayla Secura. During the flight to Kamino, Kenobi had noticed they seemed to be acquaintances.
Meanwhile, the knight continued.
"There will be a gap between Master Rancisis's fleet arriving and the droid landing beginning. Long enough for the Separatists to drop a considerable number of droids on us. The machines will easily slip under the energy shields and give us a bloodbath on the surface." He pointed to several spots on the Kaminoan cities. "If we had heavy artillery, we could place it on these platforms, giving the Confederates a serious pounding from the start..."
"Master Yoda appointed Obi-Wan to command this mission," Anakin, as usual, didn't mince words. "So he knows best what to do..."
The knight jabbed a finger at the hologram with a smirk.
"Remind Master Yoda of that when the Separatists destroy the interceptors' hyperspace rings, and we can't even pursue them..."
"Knight Dougan," the hologram of Oppo Rancisis flickered a few times, as if undergoing the Lannik's irritation. Kenobi mentally rolled his eyes. Of course! Rick Dougan! The knight who had used an unknown Dark Side technique on Geonosis, after which he underwent a long rehabilitation. There were rumors that on the eve of his assignment to a sector army, he had fled the Temple, citing Force visions. Whispers of his betrayal spread through the Temple, just like the betrayal of Quinlan Vos, whose hologram flickered next to Rancisis's miniature figure.
But Dougan's return to the Temple — and with a trophy, the holocron of the ancient Jedi Ulic Qel-Droma — had quieted the rumors. It was from this holocron that information was gleaned that could help destroy the Dark Reaper. True, by the time the holocron was delivered, the Sith weapon had already been defeated by him and Anakin. Still, the Council appreciated the Jedi's contribution to the Order's cause and simply ignored the fact of his unauthorized absence. Although Obi-Wan had heard rumors that it wasn't so simple, and that Dougan had actually been acting on Yoda's orders. But those were just rumors circulating among the Padawans. "I need to listen to Anakin less!" Obi-Wan decided. For some reason, Anakin had taken a dislike to Dougan. The latter, in turn, with cold indifference, put the arrogant Padawan in his place.
"Our fleet is strong enough to prevent the Separatists from escaping," Rancisis assured. "So I suggest you focus more on the ground operation."
The knight silently nodded to the Master and hurried back to his place, where, as Obi-Wan managed to see, he received a light elbow to the ribs from the Twi'lek.
"Perhaps if you weren't wearing such expensive armor," Anakin called after the knight, "you'd concentrate on the task assigned to you."
A smirk appeared on Dougan's face.
"The armor isn't for show, Padawan," the knight emphasized the last word. "Thanks to it, my limbs stay attached if we happen to run into Count Dooku."
At that same moment, the briefing room in Tipoca City nearly filled with the sound of activated lightsabers. Obi-Wan saw Anakin's metallic fingers creaking as he squeezed the hilt of his lightsaber.
The Kaminoan representative at the briefing — Taun We — shifted her gaze from one Jedi to another. It seemed as if something terrible was about to happen...
"Breathe out, Skywalker," Dougan suddenly rose to his feet and headed for the exit. "The guests have arrived."
A second later, an alarm signal spread through the city's corridors.
"Separatists in orbit," Taun We noted, pointing at the red icons of enemy ships.
"Well, time for some fun," Anakin said with a grim smile, leaving the briefing room along with the other Jedi.
A couple of seconds later, only Obi-Wan, Taun We, and Rancisis's hologram remained in the room. The Tisspi'aran shook his head sympathetically and disconnected.
Obi-Wan felt the Force whispering to him that the consequences of today's altercation would echo significantly in the future.
* * *
Throughout the war, the planet Kamino would hold strategic importance for the Republic. Here, like hotcakes, the Kaminoans churned out Republic clone troopers — the foundation of the Republic's army. Much like Rothana, where the Acclamators and the Republic's ground vehicles were mass-produced, Kamino was the Republic's Achilles' heel. The capture or destruction of the cloning centers on Kamino would inevitably lead to the Republic's collapse.
Because the CIS army was composed mostly of droids — which the Confederacy's factories could produce by the millions per hour — the Republic's enemies held a massive advantage. And the planned strike on Kamino was meant to put a fat cross on the Republic's prospects in the war.
Perhaps it would have happened, had the Confederacy not been a toy in Darth Sidious's plans. The latter didn't need a CIS victory. A momentary defeat of the Republic wouldn't allow the Sith to achieve their ancient goal — the extermination of the Jedi. Palpatine had conceived the Clone Wars to stretch the Jedi as thinly as possible across the galaxy, away from the Temple, and to blind them with their faith in the clones' subservience. The Sith was simply waiting for the moment when a strike would deal maximum damage to his ancient enemy. And, given that in the first two months of the war nearly a hundred Jedi had died — from Masters to Padawans — I'd say his plan was quite effective.
Since the battle was supposed to end with a Republic victory, the Sith saw to it that news of the coming separatist armada's invasion reached Quinlan Vos — a Jedi who played the role of either a double or triple agent within the CIS ranks. It was from him, quite recently, that Jedi Knight Aayla Secura received information about the impending attack and submitted it to the Jedi Council. The Council, in turn, got seriously involved and pulled a good dozen Jedi back to their homeworld: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Aayla Secura, Oppo Rancisis, Tsui Choi, and many others. Among the latter was also me.
Of course, I understood I was heading into a meat grinder where droids and clones would tirelessly and mercilessly annihilate each other.
But, honestly, I didn't think my first assignment would be Kamino. I hitched a ride to the planet on a passing Acclamator delivering another batch of reinforcements.
The starship was a standard representative of its class. Over seven hundred meters long, two hundred high. A class 0.6 hyperdrive. Twelve quad turbolasers. Twenty-four laser cannons. Four proton torpedo launchers. A crew of seven hundred. Sixteen thousand clones as cargo. Nothing my ships couldn't handle.
Walking briskly along the metal causeways of Tipoca City, I slowly, unhurriedly — as Kira had taught me — saturated my body with the Force. I let it flow through my veins, filling my muscles with energy, relieving their tension, preparing them for battle.
My earlier fears about my unsuitability as a Jedi were in the past. Even though my training with the Emperor had only just begun, absorbing Kun's ghost had allowed me to make a qualitative leap in my development.
The Niman, which the previous owner of this body had barely mastered, was revealing its full potential to me as I gradually absorbed the knowledge of the former Dougan. Hearing that after Geonosis many Jedi were retraining from Niman to other forms, I just smiled.
The diplomatic form. Sure.
God knows how long ago, a prototype of the sixth form was created by the royal machetero of the Kashi-Mer dynasty and named after the pantheon of their local gods. And, I have to admit, the "diplomatic" style appealed so much to the authors of the First Jedi Schism — the Legions of Lettow — that they adopted this fencing style. After pummeling their heretical former brethren with accusations, the Jedi adopted Niman, making it the notorious sixth form. After the invention of the lightsaber, it was on the basis of Niman that the Sith and Jedi of the past studied the possibility of using a second blade. However, only a few of them managed to use this style as a primary one, rather than as a "second blade to support the first." Millennia of evolution turned Niman into a stereotype for single-blade combat, and Jar'Kai into its two-handed counterpart. Though the latter is also a separate combat style with roots just as deep as Niman's ancestor.
I've gotten a bit sidetracked.
The thing is, after Ruusan, most of the Jedi warriors — those who could prove, not by word but by deed, that Niman wasn't a pastime for the dim-witted — were killed. Those who remained either didn't know Niman that well, or had learned from the remaining holocrons. And learning from a primer, without an experienced teacher — that's a pretty lousy way to go.
That's why this poor Niman suffers — because no one understands it.
Except Exar Kun, that is. He studied Niman inside and out, both with one blade and two. That's why absorbing his spirit gave me an undeniable advantage over all my opponents in swordsmanship.
And, in general, over a month of wandering the Outer Rim and Wild Space, I'd gotten pretty proficient in fencing and using the Force.
Daily sparring with Malgus and Kira, delving into the subtleties of combat use of both sides of the Force... Rituals and practices...
I must say, it all started the moment I cut apart a carbonite-frozen former Jedi in the trophy vault.
Jaesa Willsaam, possessed of a rare gift for determining the true nature of living beings. Valkorion explained that once, the girl had been useful to the Sith who bore the title of the Emperor's Wrath, but after his betrayal, the Emperor's servants tracked him down and destroyed most of the traitor's companions. Jaesa, cornered by Nathema zealots, surrendered, was brought before Valkorion, and placed in carbonite.
There, on the station, having sent Kara and Malgus out of the vault, I pointed at the remains of the fallen Jedi.
"How many of them are in your hidden stashes? Why was it necessary to freeze Kira? Malgus?"
"Exactly as many," the Emperor cut him off, "as needed to pull the rug out from under my enemies' feet. You don't realize it now, but later, after living a few centuries, you'll understand that savoring the distorted face of someone who ruined your plans isn't a mental disorder at all."
"But you didn't have this vault," I squinted, "until you killed the Voice in the Dark Temple."
"I didn't," the Emperor confirmed. "But when Arcann and Thexan delivered Malgus, frozen in carbonite, to me, I couldn't deny myself the pleasure of collecting the whole set."
"The whole set?" I clarified. "You kidnapped and froze everyone who went against your will?"
"Oh, no," Valkorion smiled. "Those, I destroyed. But those who helped them ruin my plans, like Kira assisting the Hero of Tython, I brought here. She was brought here after my death, so I hadn't finished processing her yet," the Sith admitted. Looking at me, he said: "You do like her for her rebellious nature, don't you, apprentice?"
I preferred to remain silent then. And there wasn't really anything to say.
The Emperor gestured for me to follow him. We walked along the carbonite slabs until the Emperor stopped in front of one of them.
"Nadia Grell," he explained the name of the figure, meekly frozen in its long slumber. "A Sarkhai who helped the Jedi foil my plan to destroy the Jedi Order and fragment the Republic. After the Eternal Empire's invasion, Thexan personally killed Barsen'thor on Tython. He watched as one by one, his allies, his companions, were killed by my people. And when the famed Jedi Consular was on the verge of madness, Thexan sent him into the Force. Nadia and her small child were brought to Zakuul," a smirk played on the Emperor's lips. "I drained all the life force from him, while Nadia, isolated from the Force, slowly sank into stasis."
"Mandalorian Shea Vizla," the Emperor pointed to a red-haired girl in Mandalorian armor, motionless frozen in the metal. "Mand'alor the Avenger. I noticed her command talents after she and her warriors helped the Hero of Tython capture the droid — the key to the entire Eternal Fleet network. I didn't even have to persuade her," Valkorion declared solemnly. "She saw how the Republic mercilessly exterminated rebellious worlds. The Alliance she helped create had fallen. The Hero was unable to protect his companions... She agreed to join me, for the sake of watching the Jedi Temple burn one more time, and seeing Sith starfighters dominate the skies of Coruscant..."
"Togruta Ashara Zavros," Valkorion pointed to the next slab. "Companion of Darth Nox..."
"But he's a member of the Dark Council," I recalled. "Your loyal ally..."
"His faith lasted exactly as long as he himself was in power," the Emperor cut him off. "Only he and the Hero of Tython ever commanded my respect. Only them could I see by my side. But Kallig's descendant turned out to be far less far-sighted than the Jedi."
"Did you kill him?" I inquired.
Valkorion shook his head negatively. The Emperor's face showed disappointment.
"He ran away," Vitiate practically spat out. "Like a hunted beast, he hid from my servants, but they managed to track him down. The Eternal Fleet's invasion of Korriban was his end. He took Arcann's arm and damaged his face. But, in the end, Thexan and Darth Atroxa killed him and most of his companions."
"Atroxa?" I was surprised. "A Lethan who commanded Sith forces on Korriban. Arcann killed her."
Valkorion indicated with his eyes alone the adjacent slab, in which the infamous red-skinned Twi'lek was frozen.
"Few beings made the right decision — to join me voluntarily," he commented. "Atroxa was one of them. Much to Arcann's displeasure, who longed to spill her blood. Well, he quelled his anger by exterminating Nox's people."
"Surely Arcann asked you why you were freezing them all?" I was surprised.
"Of course he did," Valkorion nodded toward the next slab, beckoning me. "Where do you think he got the idea to freeze the Hero of Tython instead of killing him?"
Near the last carbonite slab with a frozen being inside, Valkorion fell silent for a moment, as if admiring the face of the Twi'lek suspended in time.
"Who is she?" I inquired.
"Vette," he explained. "The companion of the Sith who became my Wrath. The embodiment of my will, the executor of my desires."
"And the one who betrayed you," I stated more than asked.
"I promised to kill him last of all my enemies," Valkorion said. "And I kept my promise. I found and personally killed each and every one of his companions before his eyes. Only the Twi'lek managed to escape and hide long enough to join the Hero of Tython. And when he no longer needed her, I unfroze my Wrath again. I allowed him to watch as Malgus tortured the girl, making her suffer over and over. He tore off her skin, cut her muscles, and crushed her bones. And when she was ready to die — we sent her to a bacta tank. And repeated the torture anew. And only when he lost his mind from despair and helplessness, and her will became dependent on my desires, did I allow him to die." The Sith fell silent, immersed in memories.
A whirlwind of questions swirled in my mind.
"She cut off his head with his own lightsaber," the Sith answered the unasked question. "Without hesitation, without ceremony, without tears or regrets. As befits an Emperor's Hand."
"So," a thought dawned on me, "they created all that foundation that I am to realize? You secured their support, and used them at those points in time when they were needed, unfreezing them at a convenient moment?"
"Exactly right," Valkorion confirmed. He pointed to the slabs that were empty. "Not all of them survived. Many were killed, or they sacrificed themselves for our common cause. Like, for example, the agent who smuggled the virus aboard the dreadnought Katana. I lost most of my agents during the New Sith Wars. But, I must say, I did acquire one valuable servant."
"I take it," I pointed to the carbonite slabs, "he's not here? And never was."
Valkorion looked at me with approval.
"How did you guess?" interest was literally seeping through his voice.
"The codename 'Harth' seemed vaguely familiar," I explained. "When I looked through the reports of your Hands, almost all of their code names stopped working after Ruusan. But 'Harth' appeared. He'd worked for you for a thousand years. It seemed strange to me — there's hardly such a long-lived race."
Valkorion smiled faintly at my reasoning.
"And then I remembered," I continued, "that Bane's apprentice, Zannah, wanted to make a Jedi her apprentice. He eventually escaped from her, taking a holocron that contained the ritual for transferring the mind from body to body. And no one ever heard of that Jedi again."
"Laudable," Valkorion noted. "You're right, it's Set Harth. He's one of those Emperor's Children who were planted among the Jedi. Unlike many others, he was never exposed. He became one of the first Nathema zealots and carried out my will for many thousands of years. After Bane exterminated the Sith, I sent Set to his apprentice to assess whether she could become my successor. But Darth Zannah turned out to be just as short-sighted as her master. Set took her holocron so she couldn't prolong her life. As a reward for his service, I allowed him to transfer his consciousness from his immortal body into a new one."
"You made him immortal?" I was surprised.
Only Scourge had been initiated by the Emperor into the secrets of immortality. Now, it turns out, Set was too?
"But what about his training in the Order during the New Sith period?"
"And who said he trained with the Jedi after he joined me?" Valkorion grinned. "No, the last time he set foot under the arches of the Jedi Temple was over three thousand years ago. And now he's busy dealing with the construction of our fleet..."
I fell silent. I was starting to feel like I was superfluous in this epic. Giant resources, servants, a fleet... What was stopping Valkorion from taking over the galaxy himself?
"You're troubled by something," the ghost noted.
"Yes," I nodded. Pointing to the carbonite slabs occupied by beings, I asked: "What are we going to do with them?"
"Whatever you see fit," the Emperor shrugged. "They have fulfilled my will. Now you are the leader. They are your servants. Just speak one phrase you know well, and they will kneel before you and carry out your will."
"Tempting," I admitted.
Spotting a central control panel, I headed towards it and entered a general defrost command. With a hiss and steam, the slabs began to heat up...
"Most of them are Force-sensitive Jedi or Sith," I noted. "Good soldiers, engineers, and pilots would also come in handy — we have a lot of ships, and no one to command them."
"Ordinary beings are unimportant," Vitiate cut him off. "History is written only by Force adepts. All the rest are just expendable material. One in a trillion non-sensitive beings might prove truly useful."
The ancient Sith's words spoke the truth of this galaxy. Here, the Force-sensitive ruled. And the rest were just dust beneath their feet.
"How long ago did Set unfreeze Kira and Malgus?" I asked Valkorion. The Emperor tore his gaze away from the sight of beings falling free from their carbonite prisons.
"Immediately after we departed Yavin 4," he admitted.
"What for?" I inquired.
"For the same reason you are now unfreezing these servants," he noted. "You need advisors, generals, executors, spies..."
"And it's just a coincidence that among your Hands, the survivors are mostly women in their prime?" I asked with a smirk. "Especially Kira and Vette..."
Valkorion remained meaningfully silent.
"The flesh is weak, my apprentice," he said after a minute. "You can possess their minds, but if you do not win their hearts — a fate far worse than Darth Nox's awaits you. Remember this, when any of them spends the night with you."
With these words, the ghost vanished, not allowing me to retort.
For about ten minutes, I watched as five women — each beautiful in her own way, and no less dangerous — came to their senses after prolonged carbonite freezing. They rose from their knees, brushing grains of carbonite from their clothes and armor.
They asked no questions, only took their weapons and equipment from the containers built into the base of the slabs with the unhurried professionalism of experts. Glancing over their heads, I was surprised to see Kira and Malgus had joined our small gathering. The Sith and the Jedi had dressed up, wearing the canonical Sith and Jedi armor familiar to me from the game.
Blaster bolts clicked and activated lightsabers hummed. There were none of the red, blue, or green colors so familiar to my eye. Sun-colored blades flared and vanished as their owners checked the functionality of their weapons.
"It seems," the red-haired Mandalorian pointed her blaster at me, "you'd better start talking, boy, before I spank you and send you home to your mommy."
A loud, gurgling laugh came from Malgus.
His vocoder turned his laughter into a grinding noise, making Kira, who was standing closest to him, wince.
I tossed the hilt of my lightsaber in my hand. I probably wouldn't need this room anymore. None of them know who I am, or why they should serve me. Well, a little sparring would be appropriate for winning their hearts.
The anger inside me instantly flooded my veins with the boiling lava of the Dark Side. Releasing my blade from its hilt, I pointed it at the Mandalorian.
"Well, go ahead and try," I laughed, twirling a figure-eight in front of my face. "After we're done, I'll have a personal assignment for you."
The red-haired beauty smirked, slamming her helmet onto her head. The jetpack nozzles ignited behind her back, and Mand'alor the Avenger soared into the air.
* * *
Despite the fact that the Jedi starfighters and the fleet of Oppo Rancisis were methodically destroying the separatist ships, there was no particular progress in the matter of defeating the enemy.
I refused the offered Delta-7, staying on the surface. Like Shaak Ti. Like the downed Obi-Wan. Like Skywalker, who followed him.
The droids were charging straight ahead, without any tactics. Having no field commanders, they mindlessly littered Kamino with millions of pieces of debris, once valuable as droids called B-1s and B-2s.
Meanwhile, the Republic forces were retreating. The CIS forces managed to seize all the cargo platforms, the security perimeter, and even the central weapons cache, which held millions of units of weapons and ammunition. In a couple of hours of incompetent command, the Republic had pissed away nearly half the factory.
"Shea, Vette," having thrown a squad of droids off the bridge connecting two platforms, I called my... companions on an encrypted channel. "Where are you?"
The Mandalorian and the Twi'lek had arrived on Kamino at the same time as me. Except they were delivered by a disguised Sith Fury, piloted by the Lethan. Clinging, like the Millennium Falcon, to the hull of an Acclamator, my Hands, on an invisible ship, lurked near one of the cloning laboratories.
"Almost done," Vette responded. "This system is so complicated, I could barely figure out the security protocols..."
"Less talk, Twi'lek," the redhead snapped. "These droids keep pouring in. A little more, and I won't be able to hold them back; they'll break through."
"Master," the Lethan's voice sounded in my ear. "Allow me to join them. One Mandalorian won't hold back the advancing forces..."
"Denied," I amplified my leap with the Force, vaulting from one more platform onto one of the main buildings, instantly plunging into the thick of battle. "I'm practically right there."
The droids had practically surrounded a small group of clones. Newborns, five years old, no more. They were cut off from the barracks located further down the ramp. Obviously, under the protection of older clones in white armor, the "children" were supposed to return to the barracks and remain under guard, but as usual, everything went wrong.
Right in front of the barracks, they ran into a droid squad that had outflanked them. The tin cans immediately oriented themselves and started pouring fire on the clones from all barrels. And, to make matters worse, another B-1 squad appeared behind them. Luckily, there was plenty of cover on the ramp — numerous crates and containers, man-height, marked with the insignia of Rothana Heavy Engineering. Hiding from stray shots, the clones were weakly returning fire at the pressing enemy.
As it happened, I had moved my previous fight from the mid-levels of the ramps onto the sloped roof of the Kaminoans' saucer-shaped buildings. And, seeing the droids pressing down on the "saucer" where Vette and Vizsla were digging through the Kaminoans' dirty laundry, I rushed towards it. Delays in the form of half a hundred child heads, protected by a dozen clones, were something I hadn't expected.
"General, sir," one of the soldiers rushed towards me. With the Force, I pushed him back. The same second, a good dozen blaster bolts seared through the spot where the clone's body had just been.
"Stay in cover!" I barked, darting to the side, towards the honor of the clones — the heavily depleted droid squad separating the clones from the barracks.
The calculation was simple. Fighting a firefight with whatever cover the barracks provided behind you was better than fighting on two fronts.
There were about ten droids in front of me. Slow, dim-witted droids. Easy as pie.
I slid feet-first in front of the first pair of droids in the very center of their formation, sweeping my blade across their hulls. Slipping through to the barracks door, I ended up behind the droids. The same few crates, generously absorbing the shots of the Imperial stormtroopers' predecessors, still separated them from the clones.
With a Force push, I threw one of the droids off the ramp, dodging left by inertia, towards the wall. Out of the clones' field of view, deflecting blaster bolts with my right-handed lightsaber, I shot a lightning bolt with my left hand at the four B-1s standing in front of me, instantly shorting out their circuits. The next moment, the droids, caught by the Force, were already flying into their still-active brethren. A couple flew off the ramp along with the lightning-struck ones.
Only four opponents remained.
Closing the distance between us with a leap, I landed behind them, slashing the nearest one diagonally. Without waiting for the debris to hit the floor, I smashed my boot into the head of another. Deflecting a shot back into the droid that fired it, I surveyed the battlefield, crushed it with the Force without much thought, and hurled it out of the complex.
Stepping out from behind the crates, I waved the clones over to my side.
"Move it!"
The soldiers rushed towards me one by one, in short dashes, not forgetting to cover the fleeing younglings from the Separatists' fire, and redeployed into the barracks. Half of the armed clone troopers remained outside to prevent the droids from storming the barracks.
"Thank you very much, General," one of the clones, with olive insignia on his helmet and pauldrons, approached me. "If it weren't for you, we'd be in a bad spot."
"It's all right, Sergeant," I clapped him on the shoulder, my eyes scanning the small copies of Fett. "Younglings," I addressed them. "Everyone all right?"
"Yes, sir," the boys, some of whom clutched captured droid carbines or rifles picked up from corpses, didn't look scared.
"We were created for this, sir," the clone explained. "We don't know fear."
"Pity," I twisted my shoulder, where a scorched blaster mark showed on the armor. "Fear helps you stay behind cover and not stick your head out during a fight."
"Sorry, sir," another clone, without any insignia, appeared nearby. "We haven't seen any Jedi since the start of the fight, haven't received any orders."
I didn't have time to answer. Grenade explosions rang out on the ramp.
I shot outside like a bullet and witnessed the remnants of the droids — from the squad that had been nipping at my clones' heels — being finished off by a trio of clones in armor differing from the so-called Phase-1, which the Jango Fett duplicates born on Kamino had worn during the first part of the Clone Wars.
"ARCs!" dawned on me.
Advanced Recon Commandos are clones created and trained specifically for "delicate" operations. Sabotage, insurrections, reconnaissance... These guys can handle anything. Especially those classified as "Null"-class. A half-dozen crazy, independent, authority-defying clones that only their mentor — a Mandalorian from Clan Skirata — could command. But, as far as I remembered, the "Nulls" didn't take part in the defense of Kamino.
So, these were "Alphas" in front of me. A hundred commandos created after the "Nulls." Unlike their predecessors, the Kaminoans decided not to experiment with the "Alphas" and made no genetic enhancements. As a result — they got a hundred practically unmodified clones of Jango Fett, trained by the Mandalorian himself, who had been in stasis up until the attack on Kamino.
"What's this soldier supposed to be?" grumbled one of the commandos, jabbing the barrel of his carbine in my direction.
"Hey, who the hell are you? Drop your weapon," the second of the trio immediately dropped to one knee, leveling a blaster rifle at me when he saw me step toward them. "Or I'll fill you full of holes..."
"Lower your weapons," commanded Shaak Ti, who had just walked up, in a ringing but strong voice. Glancing at me, smiling at the sight of the clone younglings peeking out from the doorway, she ceremonially inclined her head forward.
"Knight Dougan," she greeted me.
"Master Ti," I returned the greeting. "What brings you here?"
"We are heading to the laboratory where the third generation of clones is located," the Master answered. "The direct route is collapsed — the bridge was destroyed by the Separatists, so we're taking the long way around."
"Osi'kyr!" one of the commandos — the one who'd kept quiet when we first met — landed a solid kick on the brother who had knelt, and with the words "Shabuir!" cuffed the first one on the back of the head. "Jetii," he said more quietly, jerking his chin in my direction.
"Please forgive the clones' hot-headedness, Jedi Knight," strangely, I hadn't noticed the lanky Kaminoan at first. Lama Su, the ruler of the planet, in person. Together with Shaak Ti, they'd come in behind the improvised barricade, leaving the ARCs at their backs, on the opposite side of the crates. "The 'Alphas' have only just awakened and haven't yet..."
"Everyone take cover!" Igniting my lightsaber on the move, I yanked all three clones toward me with the Force, tossing them back over the obstacles, and rushed forward down the ramp, straight at a pair of Droidekas rolling out from around the corner.
I didn't make it. The parasites stopped instantly, unfolding into combat formation. Like in slow-motion cinematography, I watched the energy feeds of the Droidekas' shield generators power up, watched the rapid-fire blasters train on me...
The first Droideka — thank the Force — I managed to slash with my saber, slipping past it within a couple of millimeters. One of its limbs fell off, and, losing its balance, it toppled onto its side. The shield flickered and went down. Spinning in midair, I Force-pushed the damaged opponent off the ramp and landed on my feet.
The golden blade caught the first volley of crimson bolts from the second Droideka.
The first burst went into the floor, the second into the air, the third — back at the Droideka. Ricocheting off the ceiling, the bolt vanished. And right after that, three pulse grenades landed at the Droideka's feet, their explosions simply tearing the Separatist droid apart.
"Done!" Vette squealed cheerfully in my ear. "I've got the data!"
Covering my mouth with my hand, as if wiping blood from a bitten lip, I quickly spoke into the microphone.
"Get out of here with the data, the Jedi are one corridor away from the lab!"
"Drag your blue ass out here!" came Shea's immediate growl. "I'm out of blaster charges."
"Stop yelling at me!" the blue-skinned Twi'lek declared indignantly. "I'm moving as fast as I can."
"I can leave you alone with the droids!" the Mandalorian shouted back.
Over the comm, I could hear the crackle of equipment and the sound of blaster fire.
"I'm at the extraction point," Darth Atroxa cut in. "Vette made it out. The droids have Shea pinned down."
"Help them!" I swore, seeing three commandos and Master Ti hurrying toward me.
"As you command," the red-skinned woman answered. Literally a second later, I felt the platform take several massive hits from the large-caliber guns of the Fury. The floor beneath me shook; I dropped to one knee, using the Force to keep my balance. Good thing my lightsaber was deactivated, or I might have cut off something important.
One of the clones crashed onto his back, the other two stayed upright. The Master grabbed onto the nearest protruding structural detail of the complex, which kept her on her feet.
"Was that an explosion?" Lama Su asked in his guttural voice, peeking out from behind the crate.
"Looks like it," one of the commandos muttered.
"Shea and Vette are on board," the Lady Sith reported. "We have the data. Departing for Odessen."
"Got it," I whispered, more for formality's sake. I pictured the Sith ship, camouflaged by a cloaking field, breaking away from the opposite side of the complex and shooting upward. A couple of moments later, I felt the aura of the Lethan — muffled by Sith sorcery, but still familiar to me — vanish. The Fury had entered hyperspace. The mission on Kamino was over.
* * *
No matter how comfortable the Imperial station was, it was designed for keeping secrets, not for organizing a galaxy-wide rebellion.
The nebula that restricted hyperspace jumps would become a burden if evacuation became necessary.
So, after chopping the equipment in the carbonite-freezing bay to pieces, I and my seven followers — quite satisfied with the beginning of our relationship, shaking off the rust (in their case) and putting the vaunted Kun-style saber combat into practice (in mine) — gathered in the mess hall to discuss strategy for the near future over cups of instant caf and disgustingly tasting ration bars.
Sitting at the head of the table, I swept my eyes over my Hands. That's what I'd decided to call them. Hands. Special assistants, scouts, spies, saboteurs, generals... Companions whose faith was built both on a desire for revenge and on the Sith sorcery that had bound them to me.
There was a clear division of interests around the table.
Kira and Nadia sat in the far corner from me, whispering quietly to each other.
Malgus, the Togruta, and the Lethan had clustered tightly together on my right. Vette was opposite them. And the Mandalorian had chosen to demonstratively sit across from me, throwing looks full of fury at me every now and then.
Of course, one against seven trained Sith, Jedi, a Mandalorian, and a Twi'lek who was simply a good shot — I wouldn't have lasted. Even if I'd absorbed a dozen ghosts. But I honestly won a long, exhausting battle against Shea. Well, actually, we parted in a draw. I deprived her of her flamethrower and jetpack; she knocked my lightsaber out of my hand. Essentially a stalemate — would have been, if not for the Force. With it, I plowed the Mandalorian across almost every carbonite slab, which turned out to be quite fragile in practice. For dessert, I toasted the girl with a couple of lightning bolts and appointed her head of the kitchen for the upcoming event. In my opinion, there's nothing more humiliating and detestable for a warrior than cooking.
Especially since she's a downright lousy cook.
"Even the caf is shit," Vette grimaced, demonstratively pouring the brown sludge into the waste disposal. "After all these years, you could have at least learned to brew caf," she addressed the complaint to the Mandalorian. The redhead, rubbing a nasty bruise covering half her face (I confess, I didn't notice her helmet fly off before the last slab), swore obscenely in her own language.
"And how am I supposed to deal with her?" the girl from Ryloth appealed to me.
"You could just shut your mouth and stop pissing everyone off," suggested the gloomy and silent Darth Atroxa. With a face devoid of any hint of emotion, she absorbed the tasteless rations and washed them down with equally awful caf, like a robot. "The Lord didn't awaken us for nothing."
I nodded curtly to the Lethan, acknowledging her emphasis on my silence.
"If you're done bickering like dogs, I'll begin," I leaned forward slightly. "My name is Rick Dougan. I am the apprentice and heir of Emperor Vitiate. And... a Jedi Knight."
"Jedi," the Jedi faction looked at me in bewilderment. Vette's huge eyes went wide too. The Mandalorian, on the other hand, rolled her eyes. Malgus snorted contemptuously. The Togruta and Darth Atroxa prudently stayed silent. "But why?"
Sighing, I briefly recounted my plan.
"We have to stop the production of clones," Kira declared. From the looks of those assembled, I noticed that only Vette and Nadia supported her point of view. Understandable — the rest had fought on the Sith side.
"Otherwise, the Order will just be exterminated," Nadia backed her up. "We can't allow that."
"We won't allow it," I promised. "Both the Sith and the Jedi must cast aside their age-old contradictions and become something new. It's time for the Jedi to end," I said. And added: "And the Sith too."
"Once, we were a single order, exploring the Force. Now, thousands of conflicts later, both the Sith and the Jedi have degenerated, mired in their dogmas. And this conflict will continue for generations," I swept my eyes over those present. "History holds many examples of adepts who used both sides of the Force, living without fear of their emotions. We must achieve the same. If anyone has a different opinion," I swept my eyes again, "you're welcome to get back into the carbonite."
No one volunteered.
"Well then," I concluded. "Let's get to the essential matters."
We needed a proper base. The Imperial station, while securely hidden from prying eyes, still had the nebula making hyperspace jumps difficult. Besides, solid ground under your feet is somehow nicer than metal plates.
We had plenty to choose from. The Defender's navigation computer was a big help. Planets connected in one way or another to galactic history were now forgotten, the routes to them lost, or — as in Kamino's case — deliberately hidden. An ideal time and opportunity to set up a base.
I figured a world filled with the Force would be suitable for a base. But the more we explored such worlds from the Defender's navigation database, the more I doubted I'd be able to find a suitable one.
And, after a trip to Dromund Kaas, I made a decision.
In keeping with our slogan about the balance of the Force, I insisted the headquarters be located where the Force was in equilibrium. Dromund Kaas, Yavin 4, Lehon, Korriban, Ziost — radiating the Dark Side — were as unsuitable as Telos 4, Ossus — radiating the Light. Even though they had some material infrastructure we could easily use. But in that case, it would give an advantage to the adepts of whichever side of the Force the planet was saturated with.
I had to find a planet where the Force was in balance.
Tython, which immediately came to mind, had to be ruled out, as the planet turned out to be flooded with the Dark Side. This couldn't help but amuse the Dark Side adepts. How ironic — the home of the Jedi saturated with Darkness. While Malgus sprinkled in snide remarks like "We should have visited you here instead of Coruscant," Darth Atroxa and the Togruta Ashara informed me that during the Second Galactic War, Tython had suffered a major catastrophe that wiped out most of the living beings and the world's biosphere. That's why Tython was contaminated with an excess of the Dark Side.
The slight preponderance of the Dark Side over the Light wasn't hugely noticeable, but it created a certain aura of a tainted planet. And despite Kira, Nadia, and Ashara arguing specifically for the ancestral homeworld of the Jedi, I had to deny them that. The Jedi had left Tython, evidently relocating to Coruscant, where they rebuilt their Temple after Malgus's invasion.
Zakuul, which Vette had been buzzing my ear about, greeted our reconnaissance group — Shea, Vette, and Atroxa — with nothing but colossal destruction and a harsh radiation background. Even though we might have scavenged something interesting from the wreckage of the fallen empire, no one wanted to get irradiated.
The former capital of the Eternal Empire lay in ruins. An unknown enemy had destroyed every trace of its former glory down to the foundation. Watching the image of the devastated world from the station's holoterminal, I couldn't even speak. It felt like someone had turned a personal vendetta into genocide.
We saw a similar picture on Dromund Kaas. The capital of the Sith Empire lay in ruins. And although Dark Side adepts could be sensed on the planet, Valkorion angrily and irritably rejected my suggestion to contact them. Malgus's casual suggestion to wipe them out root and branch also went unanswered. Maybe later...
All of us — me and my seven followers — stood on the bridge of the corvette, watching the picture of total planetary destruction. Despite traces of Sith architecture surviving here and there, the planet, saturated with the Dark Side, overgrown with impenetrable jungles swarming with ferocious predators, reminded me of Yavin 4. An ancient Sith world that had suffered a devastating Jedi invasion...
"It seems the Republic has put an end to Emperor Vitiate's legacy," Kira said. And although she wasn't smiling, her voice held a certain harsh, grim triumph.
Her apparent submissiveness, which she'd exuded since our first meeting, seemed to have evaporated. A spark of triumph flickered in her eyes. Valkorion, who had only visited our company during the search on Dromund Kaas, looked at the former spy with icy indifference and dissolved just as silently.
"And you're not so hopeless, Jedi girl," Malgus gurgled through his vocabulator. "You would have made a good Sith," he remarked. The iris of the Sith's eyes flashed gold. "One day you'll need a teacher..."
Kira looked up at Malgus with irony. In her posture, her expression, her voice, there was a challenge. Not just the challenge of an inexperienced Jedi to a grizzled Sith, but the challenge of a being who understood the nature of the proposal firsthand.
Kira's biography had a place reserved for the Sith Empire. The girl was born among the enemies of the Jedi, became one of the Emperor's Children — spies subordinate only to him. She fled to the Republic, where she became a Jedi. No matter how strong Malgus was, if a life-or-death fight broke out between those two — I'd bet on Carsen.
"Remind me, where is your New Empire, Sith?" the girl said with a caustic smirk, in a thin, friendly voice, addressing the Sith commander.
Mentally, I slapped myself hard on the face.
Darth Malgus's eyes lit up with an ominous fire. The hilt of a lightsaber appeared in the Sith's hand; Kira responded in kind, easily spinning the hilt of her lightpike before her. Heavy silence hung over the crew on the bridge. Two of my companions were ready to kill each other.
"Enough," I pushed them slightly apart with the Force. "I don't need you two sniping at each other either."
"That didn't stop you from fighting the mercenary," Nadia said in a quiet, calm voice. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed she had unobtrusively positioned herself to the left behind Carsen. So as not to get in the way of her using her lightsaber.
Both girls kept their hands on the hilts of their lightpikes with unruffled composure. I had seen Kira in action, at least in the game, and knew she was a serious opponent, but I only had a superficial idea about Grell. Still, somehow I felt that even outnumbered, both Jedi women could significantly thin out their opponents from the opposing faction.
"I said — enough," I said as sharply as I could. "As soon as we find a place for the base, the first thing you'll do is set up a sparring area for yourselves. But on my ship — no duels."
With sullen faces, the servants — Jedi, Sith, Mandalorian, and smuggler — hurried to leave the bridge.
Only Darth Atroxa remained on the bridge, diligently pretending the altercation didn't interest her.
"What are your orders, my lord?" she inquired.
"Set a course for Odessen," I commanded. "Let's hope at least there everything is fine. Unlike our team spirit," I grimaced.
Sitting in front of the ship's control panel, to the left of the central protruding panel, the Lethan just chuckled. I sat on the other side of the galaxy hologram, leaning back wearily in the chair.
It's hard to manage even a small group of individuals who obey you only conditionally.
During the time spent in the cramped world of the ship, I began to understand that I was by no means an authority for them. Valkorion — he was their true master. Neither my victory over the Mandalorian, as I had hoped, nor the journey had brought us any closer. And now I had just let them be disappointed in me again.
"I should have sent them on reconnaissance in different ships," I thought. The station had three Sith Furies ready for operation. Equipped with cloaking systems, like the Ghost squadron, these ships could have been used by me for a more efficient search for a base. I had even made certain attempts at that, sending a team of Shea, Vette, and Atroxa to Zakuul while I, with the rest of the team, checked Tython. But on returning from the expeditions, the devil made me investigate Dromund Kaas with the full crew.
I was tired. Too tired. Maybe Valkorion was wrong about me after all, and I can't even handle seven people — let alone a whole galaxy, like he wants. I need to rest and look at the situation from a new angle, with fresh eyes.
And the crew needs rest too. Designed for four people, the bunkroom couldn't accommodate everyone.
Malgus had set himself up in the cargo hold. Actually, he hadn't really asked permission — he just rigged up a sleeping spot there.
Vette had moved into the engineering bay, where she spent her time with an R3 unit she'd taken a liking to, performing the duties of a technical specialist on the ship.
Shea Vizsla had unilaterally occupied the medbay. When I objected that the only bunk there belonged to potential patients, the Mandalorian snorted contemptuously, declaring she had yet to encounter wounds that couldn't be healed while stationed in the bacta tank installed during our stay on the Imperial station.
So, it was amusing to realize that in the bunkroom, just one wall away from me, the Force had achieved balance — two Sith, two Jedi. No matter how the Togruta positioned herself as a Gray Jedi, her worldview remained consistent with that of her previous teacher.
"I'm going to my quarters," I said, realizing that even on such a small ship, the crew needed to know where their leader was. "How long's the flight?"
The red-skinned Twi'lek checked the instruments and said:
"Eight hours, my lord."
"Enough time for a good rest," I remarked. Leaving the bridge in the care of the Lady Sith, I headed to my cabin.
Locking the door behind me, I shed my Jedi robe, which I was thoroughly sick of. There were scorch marks in several places from my clash with Shea. A couple of blaster burns. Only fit for the trash. None of my companions even mentioned I was walking around in rags. What a state. They're probably laughing behind my back.
I was sorely tempted to stoop to lowliness and take over their minds, using Valkorion's implants. Just one phrase, and almost all of them would be my devoted servants. Hanging on my every word, striving to carry out all my orders in the best possible way...
And every time I drove those thoughts away.
If I can't instill respect in seven people, can't make them carry out my will because they consciously submit to my influence and orders, then I'm a washout as a ruler. You can't subjugate all the intelligent beings in the galaxy to your will.
The panel by the door beeped. At that very moment, I was struggling with the fastener on my chestplate. During my wanderings through the backwaters of the galaxy, the Jedi armor had become thoroughly tiresome. But time and again I donned it like a second skin.
The greaves and vambraces were already lying on the anatomical stand. All that was left was to take off the chestplate and backplate, the padded undersuit, and I could slip under the covers and lose myself in sleep... And then someone else had to show up.
At that moment, I regretted that the ship didn't have a visual intercom. That way, without opening the door, I could have talked and sent the uninvited intruder on their way. Now I had to open the door. As soon as the door panel slid aside, I saw Darth Atroxa standing right in front of me.
"What's the mat..."
"Can I help you, my lord?" A playful spark danced in the Lethan's eyes, and her long, slender fingers instantly found and unfastened the stubborn clasp on my armor. The chestplate and backplate clattered to the floor.
The Lethan's voice unsettled me. Previously obsequious, it had now acquired notes of flirtation, of teasing. My mind, for some reason, painted a picture of a predator cornering an exhausted prey. And, of course, I wasn't the hunter here.
I took a step back so the heavy chestplate wouldn't crush my toes, and my legs bumped against the edge of the bed.
Thoughts swirled in my head, and, for some reason, words got stuck in my throat.
The Lady Sith took a step toward me. The door closed behind her, breaking the silence in the room with the click of the lock. Now in the captain's cabin there were only me, an insanely sexy red-skinned Lethan, and a bed that could easily fit not just two or three people.
With a touch of theatricality, but with the sexuality characteristic of her race, the Twi'lek shed her hooded Sith cloak and her chestplate, remaining only in tight pants that hugged her slender, graceful legs and a wide top that nevertheless left on display a magnificent, flat abdomen with the contours of moderately toned muscles, its navel adorned with a jewel containing a small precious stone. I felt my masculine nature suddenly realize that standing before me was not just a lethally dangerous Lady Sith, but also a beautiful, sexy girl.
My brain calculatedly whispered that dark side charms were being directed at me, and that they were the cause of the surge and riot of my hormones. With a certain laziness, I absorbed the Lethan's charms. I had been in this universe for over a month. I was surrounded by very cute and sexy girls. What was wrong with one of them wanting to be more than just a subordinate? After all, even in my own universe, bosses slept with subordinates. And I, after all, was the future ruler of my own Empire.
Atroxa bared a row of slightly pointed, snow-white teeth and ran the tip of her tongue over them. Like a snake ready to strike its prey.
"We have eight hours, my lord, to relieve your tension," she said, placing both hands invitingly on her belt, from which the hilt of her lightsaber dangled.
"Well, why the hell not?! It's a good rest too," I thought, putting my hand on the Lethan's belt. It fell to the floor in the same second. The lightsaber hilt clinked softly.
The slender fingers of her graceful hand slowly, stoking my interest, slid the Twi'lek's tight pants down to the floor, from which she freed herself with a casual movement of her sexy legs. The Lady Sith knelt obediently before me.
I ran my fingertips over the Lethan's lekku, idly remembering that besides part of the brain, Twi'leks had erogenous zones there. Letting small portions of the Force flow through my fingers, I quite involuntarily affected her nerve endings as well.
The Sith rolled her eyes in ecstasy, opening her mouth, which I sealed with a kiss. The girl's thin red fingers found the fastenings of my padded suit and began hastily stripping away my excess clothing.