"I'm curious why you chose this particular place," Kira muttered. "One might think it has some symbolic meaning for you."
Rick shook his head negatively.
"There are no witnesses here," he explained. "We mustn't reveal your identity."
"Yeah, right," the girl muttered, throwing off her cloak. A lightsaber pike instantly appeared in her hands.
"Last time you fought Malgus, you seemed to snatch movements from memory, breaking the sequences," Kira recalled. "It really got on Malgus's nerves. And it made you vulnerable. If he didn't have orders, the Sith would have finished you in the first couple of minutes."
"I didn't know you were watching," the man replied, remembering. "Otherwise, I would have tried to give it my all."
"That day has come," Kira told him and ignited her double blades. Golden rays played in her hands, describing endless sequences of thrusts, surrounding the girl with an impenetrable wall of energy.
In response, the Emperor's apprentice unclipped his own weapon from his belt. A shimmering golden blade burst from the richly-inlaid hilt with a low hum and hiss.
The opponents assumed combat stances and began to slowly circle each other.
"My blade has no training mode," Kira warned. "I can easily kill you if you slip up."
"Prove it."
He lunged forward, and the battle erupted.
* * *
Resting from her previous sparring session with Rick, Nadia was enjoying some water mixed with fruit juice.
The three of them were training in an abandoned university building, not far from the monument erected in honor of the fallen clones. A spacious, windowless room in a small warehouse, with a single exit, was perfect for secret sparring sessions.
Watching Kira and Rick train, the Sarkhai girl expected the Emperor's apprentice to start the fight in an aggressive style, but the ferocity of his attack still caught her off guard.
He started with a series of high strikes, holding the blade with both hands and bringing it down on his companion from the height of his full reach. Kira, surprised by the brute force so uncharacteristic of Niman, still easily blocked the lunges with her lightsaber pike. But the power Rick put into his strikes was such that the girl had to step back, and for a moment she even lost her balance.
However, she quickly recovered and dodged an upwards chopping strike from Dougan that could have easily split her from pelvis to shoulder. The girl blocked the lunge with one of her blades, crouched, spun on the spot, simultaneously answering with a quick thrust to the opponent's face. Rick merely moved his head to the side, pushing the girl away from him with the Force.
"Not bad at all," the girl commented. "Few people expect strong attacks from a follower of Niman."
"Well, I don't have many opponents with lightsabers," the Jedi smiled. "Atroxa, for instance, gave me trouble with her Ataru."
Kira laughed heartily. Grell, hiding a smile, buried her face in her knees.
Atroxa, like Malgus, was a follower of Shien — Form V. Atroxa only mastered Ataru during the Ruusan period, at the Academy on Coruscant, in her fruitless attempts to recruit the Sith Lord Kaz'im. However, as Nadia suspected, Atroxa, with her ambitions, couldn't ignore the opportunity to gain knowledge in other forms of lightsaber combat. She just didn't advertise it. As befits a Sith.
Grell herself preferred the defensive style of Soresu, which she had perfected over thousands of years. Combined with a lightsaber pike designed to change its blade length, her form of combat created an impenetrable defense. Her friend, despite using a similar weapon, remained faithful to Makashi. The girl, during the Cold War period, was always on the cutting edge of the attack, so in those times when every other person had a lightsaber, she gave preference to the best form of lightsaber combat against her own kind. Over the millennia, her fighting style had woven in dozens of elements from other forms, providing her, among other things, with a relatively decent defense against blaster weapons.
Kira answered with a quick thrust to the face with one of her blades, but Rick moved his head to the side and immediately delivered a circular cutting blow aimed at her heart.
Ashara supplemented her arsenal not only with Jar'Kai, familiar to her since the War, but also with Ataru. Malgus, although loyal to his Shien, never neglected to use Makashi's arsenal. However, more than once or twice, he had been seen practicing Juyo, but the Sith warrior never demonstrated full-fledged use of this style in combat.
Meanwhile, the training continued. Rick, in a stance traditional for followers of Niman — a two-handed grip, the blade angled toward the ground — suddenly burst forward, spinning on his axis and delivering a rising cutting strike. Kira instantly dropped to one knee, but caught his blade with one of hers, tilting her saber and redirecting his strike downward. The tip of Rick's blade dug into the permacrete. This should have left him open for a counterattack, which Kira used. Holding Dougan's blade pinned to the ground, she rose sharply from her knee, simultaneously striking at the opponent's head with her second blade, forcing Rick to defend. The latter, apparently confused, instead of stepping back and breaking the distance, raised his left hand to shield himself…
Nadia cried out, realizing the man wouldn't react in time…
Kira's golden blade bounced off a whitish, semi-transparent Force Barrier projected by Rick.
Squeaking in surprise, the girl jumped back, deactivating her blades.
The man held the Force Barrier before him with interest — a hemisphere projected from his left palm, shielding him from any physical attacks.
"Interesting," he said. "A terribly familiar technique… Let's call it a day," he said, making the Barrier vanish with an effort of will.
"I'll be on the Fury," he threw over his shoulder to his sparring partners. Pulling the face mask of the Sith warrior armor towards him with the Force, he extinguished his blade and quickly left the room.
Meeting Kira's eyes, Nadia just spread her hands.
* * *
"You should see this, brother!"
Despite the fact that Alpha's voice, like those of the other millions of clones in the Grand Army of the Republic, sounded similar, he could easily distinguish the author of the question. Not because his ARC brother had any special vocal qualities. It was simply that they were the only two on board this ship. And certainly only Balda knew the frequency of his comlink, which he was now abusing, distracting his comrade from work.
"Balda, I'm busy," Alpha said without taking his eyes off the tactical holoprojector, fortunately his comlink was on speaker mode.
"Just look at this! It's super…"
"We have less than half a day for the attack plan," Alpha said with slight irritation, "and you're still wasting time on nonsense. We still won't make the deadline…"
"But this armor is just super!" came the enthusiastic voice of the other ARC over the speaker. "I wonder why we weren't given armor like this?"
Alpha had known Alpha-22 — the name given to the ARC whom the general had nicknamed "Balda" according to Kaminoan customs — since birth. Just like all his other brothers. But out of the entire hundred Alphas, only Balda couldn't keep his mouth shut during mission planning.
One of the Kaminoan scientists once said that Alpha-22 compensated for his strong emotions — fear, for example, or joy — with his talkativeness. As if uncontrollable chatter helped him regain his inner calm.
"We were developed excellent armor, Balda," Alpha said in a mentor-like tone.
For the second hour, he was studying the holomap, carrying out the general's order — to develop a plan for attacking the CIS positions. By holding the Northern and Southern metropolises, as well as a bridgehead in the capital, the Separatists were effectively depriving the Republic forces of room to maneuver. The dozen or so settlements on the planet — excluding the three aforementioned metropolises — were of little interest to anyone. The droids limited themselves to patrolling these towns, while the militia set up ambushes from time to time, honing their guerrilla tactics.
This didn't change the big picture. The capital, shielded by an energy barrier, had no fear of bombardment by enemy orbital forces. But as soon as the Republic troops emerged from cover, the enemy's air power was upon them, with no escape.
"I'm telling you, this one is better," Balda insisted. "Just take a look. One little peek."
Shaking his head, the clone commando finally tore himself away from the terminal and honored his brother with a voyage through all the ship's compartments, with the firm intention of giving him a piece of his mind. And, to be honest, after seeing him, he started worrying about a different thing — that they might catch it from the general.
After the arrest of the former captain of the guard, a certain amount of unrest had begun among the locals. The general, fearing a leak of information, sent both commandos to his mercenaries' ship, where they were supposed to work through the latest intelligence and voice their thoughts.
Balda, bored after several hours of unsuccessful modeling, started wandering through the ship's compartments, ignoring Alpha's prohibitions. For doing things on his own, he could get a severe reprimand from the general, and for no good reason at that.
Alpha felt very positive about their general. He didn't fit the mold of the Jedi the clone had seen on Kamino. He didn't flaunt the mythical Force, he didn't disdain wearing armor. He didn't treat clones with the disdain and arrogance that the clones had already tasted on Kamino from representatives of the Order. Could it be said that their general was a good man? In light of recent events, when the clones had been buried with full military honors, Alpha had no doubt about it.
He couldn't call the general his friend — there was still a feeling that the Jedi, unintentionally perhaps, distanced himself from getting close to his subordinates. But maybe that was for the best? Duty is duty, and friendship is friendship. Although, like the clones, the Jedi devoted themselves to the service of the Republic, Alpha had never thought to call himself equal to the Jedi. He and all his brothers were created for war. The Jedi, on the other hand, had reluctantly accepted command.
Unlike his infantry brothers, the ARC wondered what would happen to the clones when the war ended. The Jedi would return to their Temple, but what about him and his brothers? What would their fate be?
Alpha was tempted to ask the Jedi about it, but the man was always disappearing somewhere — either to the front lines or in the company of mercenaries. And, to be honest, Alpha was afraid of the answer to his question, suspecting he wouldn't like it.
Balda's fate was already clear to him. He would strangle him with his own bare hands.
While Alpha was poring over the plans, the other commando had stuck his nose where it didn't belong. In one of the compartments, he had found a storage room and, without any hesitation, barged right in. From who knows where, he dragged a suit of armor out into the light of day and put it on himself.
It had to be admitted that Balda was right. The Kaminoan armorers would have given a lot to get their hands on this sample.
Like the clone armor, this sample had a fabric armor bodysuit as its base, but it was thicker than what the clones wore. However, the suit was a bit big for Balda — the folds of fabric revealed the former owner's build.
The durable ergonomic armor components were visibly thicker than those worn by clones. Unlike their own armor, what they found wasn't pure white. It was rather a greyish shade, with numerous red and grey-black geometric patterns. Across the chest from the left shoulder went a strap with pouches, at the top of which, handle down, a massive vibroknife was secured in a sheath.
On either side of the narrow cloth belt were armored panels. On the left side was an empty holster for a blaster, on the right — another pair of pouches. Magnetic clamps on the back securely held a grey-black backpack, inside which one could easily hide all the clones' simple belongings, with room to spare. At the top of the backpack was a powerful communication transmitter, something the clones could only dream of having in their own armor.
Built into the armor's vambraces were a portable computer and a holoprojector, which not only increased the wearer's autonomy — even the Null ARCs could hardly boast such equipment.
The helmet inspired the most admiration. Not only were its visors nearly twice as wide as those on the clone armor, but it could form a closed system with the whole suit. The latter was something the Kaminoan armorers' creation could also boast about. Targeting computer, various scanners, rangefinder. Mounted on the helmet over the visor was a mechanical brim that protected against the scorching sun rays, which, for example, on Geonosis, had kept many of his brothers from seeing properly. Even the visor's polarization didn't help.
"Put it on," Balda said, showing off in front of his comrade, pointing to a locker to his right. "There are half a dozen more in there. All in packaging, like new. As if they were waiting for us…"
"Not new," Alpha objected, pointing to the numerous scratches on the armor plates. "If they were waiting for us, the undersuit would be our size. Take it off, I said!"
"You'll take it off my dead body," Balda said in a low, threatening voice. Alpha massaged his temples with effort. Not only had they come up with nothing, but this poodoo had also put on someone else's armor. No, they were definitely going to get it…
"Ahem-ahem," the Jedi's voice sounded like a bolt from the blue.
Obeying ingrained reflexes, Alpha spun around over his left shoulder, coming face to face with the general standing in the doorway. The man, dressed in the familiar grey-steel armor, stood leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, watching the clones' reaction with interest.
Who, meanwhile, standing at attention, were expecting punishment.
"At ease," the man chuckled. He looked at the clones with a smile, their faces fixed on him with guilty expressions.
"Sir," Balda began. "It's my fault…"
"Like it?" the general asked unexpectedly. The simple question baffled both ARCs. Alpha exchanged glances with his brother, hoping maybe he understood the hidden subtext of the question. But Balda let him down here too.
"We like it, General Dougan," Alpha uttered.
"Well, that's good," the Jedi smirked crookedly. "Consider it a gift — one set for each of you."
"Sir?" The bewildered clones exchanged glances again. They had disobeyed orders, broken into his storage room, and he wasn't even going to give them a dressing-down?
"Get changed," he ordered. "I'll be waiting in the conference room."
With these words, the Jedi turned to leave. Then he threw over his shoulder: "The undersuit adjusts with the wrist computer, Balda," and left.
"Yes, sir!" Both clones, as if on command, pounded their fists on their chest plates. The military salute the general had demonstrated at the funeral procession had found a response among the legion's soldiers and militia.
Alpha didn't like gambling, but if he had to, he would bet that there wasn't another general like this in the entire GAR.
The armor's computer adjusted the fabric to the clones' builds using metal threads woven into the undersuit. A couple of minutes later, both clones, clutching the helmets of their new armor under their arms, returned to the compartment where the holographic map of the Crystal City was slowly rotating above the holoprojector.
* * *
The Jedi, resting his hands on the tabletop, was examining his palms, as if there was something interesting there besides the armored gloves and the polymer coating on the inside of the suit.
"Sir," clearing his throat, Alpha attracted the general's attention. "We… wanted to apologize for the intrusion…"
"It's fine," the man waved his hand. "I asked the girls to bring this armor for all the ARCs…"
An awkward silence fell. Those present remembered the Berserker, whose sacrifice had ensured victory and survival in the last bloody battle.
"Will all the ARCs get this?" Balda inquired. "On Kamino, they said they'd improve our armor, of course, but this radical…"
"This armor wasn't made on Kamino," the man objected. With a gesture, he invited both commandos to sit down. As soon as both clones had taken their seats opposite the general, the latter continued. "It was created during the Great Galactic War, when the Republic was pitted against the Sith Empire."
"So we aren't the first clones created for war?" Alpha asked, but received a negative answer.
"That was about four thousand years ago. Cloning wasn't widely known back then, so the Republic's army was recruited from its citizens. But the Republic army also had commandos — just like you. This armor belonged to them."
"Pretty well-preserved after all these years," Balda noted, looking around.
"It was made right," the man chuckled, then continued. "The commandos who wore this armor were called the Wrecking Crew. I got the armor from the vaults of… a collector. I think you need it more than the lockers of some vault."
"We are grateful to you for this, General," Alpha expressed the general sentiment. "Did our well-being warrant your attention?"
"Of course," the Jedi replied, as if it were a matter of course. "Could it be any different?"
"The thing is," Balda said, "clones from other legions don't favor their generals… Well, and the Jedi reciprocate."
The man sighed, as if he hadn't heard this story for the first time.
"Unfortunately, that's true," he said. "It wasn't out of a good life that the Jedi took up the path of war again. And unfortunately, the Order didn't teach us how to be generals. So it turns out that the Jedi have to learn the art of war on the fly."
"But that doesn't explain treating our brothers like things," Alpha objected. "You are also a Jedi, you also have no general training. But you don't risk our lives needlessly. And you don't treat us like 'meat droids,'" he added the last phrase, lowering his voice.
"Where did you hear that?" the man demanded an answer.
"The brothers were discussing it," Alpha answered reluctantly. "When we were preparing to repel the attack on Kamino. When you were assigned to command the 204th, many thought that you would be just like the other Jedi."
"And I'm not?" the man inquired curiously.
"No, sir," the clones answered in unison.
"You don't sacrifice us in the name of victory," Balda said. "The brothers in the infantry don't understand this, because we were born to fight. They taught us to minimize losses and always achieve our goals, of course, but Geonosis, Kamino… the brothers have gotten used to the fact that we are expendable…"
"You care for the wounded and the dead," Alpha continued, cutting off his talkative kin before he said too much. "You surpass other generals in every way," he noted.
The man broke into a smile. The praise obviously pleased him.
"Alpha, Balda," he addressed each one. "If you ever hear someone calling you 'meat droids' or things," he jabbed at the vibroblade sheaths attached to the straps of the clones' new armor, "use those things to make that talker regret it. Whoever he is."
The clones exchanged glances. No one had expected such a turn of events.
"I can't answer for all the Jedi in this galaxy," the man continued, "and I don't want to. It's a troublesome business. But those who serve under my command will never, do you hear me — never, tolerate insults from anyone. The fact that you and I are born differently doesn't mean someone can allow themselves to do that."
The man shook his head.
"I won't tolerate lawlessness from my soldiers," he warned. "But I will never let anyone bully them. Have you got that?"
Both clones nodded silently.
"That's good, then," the general concluded. "I should have said it earlier, but the topic never came up. Well, no matter, I'll announce it at the next officers' meeting."
The general's words were to Alpha's liking.
If on Kamino, when first meeting the new general, the legion and the ARCs saw only another commander appointed from above, everything changed afterwards.
Alpha began to suspect that their commander was not so simple when he barged into Lama Su's office. And when the Jedi began zealously extorting additional clone units, weapons, and ammunition from the Prime Minister, the commando became certain that General Dougan was far from simple as he seemed. The ARC pondered, recalling that the supplies that arrived with the legion didn't include even half of what the Jedi had wrung out of the ruler of Kamino. Through simple calculations, the commando concluded that the equipment of an entire infantry regiment had been held back somewhere.
As his memories drifted back to Kamino, Alpha suddenly remembered that besides the equipment, the General had made very specific demands of Lama Su. Over time, this episode from the meeting with the Kaminoan had faded — overshadowed by recent events — but now it surfaced in his mind. Should he voice the question now?
"Well then," the general drummed his fingers on the table. "Let's take a look at the attack plan. I have a couple of ideas…"
"Well, next time," the ARC decided. Maybe not in the near future, but one day the ARC would ask his commander why he needed a full-cycle setup for an entire regiment. Of course, it wasn't his business — the Jedi knew best — but two coincidences, the equipment for a regiment and the cloning equipment for a regiment, couldn't go unnoticed.
* * *
Vette watched the stars around the ship compress into points as the Eagle dropped back into realspace, and stared at the world spread out before her.
Admittedly, she didn't understand her master's orders, but she didn't intend to dispute them.
Leaving Christophsis, she had made, perhaps, the most gut-wrenching journey in her entire history. After delivering Atroxa to Kamino for a meeting with her master's contact, she input the coordinates the man had asked her to memorize and never leave in the navigation computer.
She had visited the homeworld of Emperor Vitiate.
Nathema. A barren sphere that left a feeling of a seething, invisible abyss.
The planet was simply devoid of anything alive. Only the ancient ruins of cities and settlements, and droids that had outlived their masters. However, traces of battle remained.
Hundreds of battle droids stood frozen for eternity, struck down by lightsabers. The girl found dozens of corpses — humans and Sith, whose premature deaths were the result of virtuoso lightsaber combat.
Her stay on the planet wasn't long. Following her master's instructions, Vette discovered the former Isolation Chamber — the place where Valkorion once tormented his daughter. The half-ruined building could still meet her master's requirements. A reliable Zakuulan energy source — a solar generator — powered the cargo the Twi'leks had delivered here: the cloning incubators stolen from Kamino. There were five of them in total, but three hadn't survived the Fury's numerous raids on Christophsis. However, for her master's plans, even two were enough. Lama Su, whom, it turned out, Atroxa had visited, was certainly not thrilled that someone else knew about his dealings with Dougan, but after several sessions of Force Choke and cuts on his body performed by the Lethan, he obsequiously transmitted the necessary information to the Fury via an encrypted communication channel. Atroxa, who had her own assignment for the Prime Minister, showed no interest in her colleague's mission.
It didn't require great skill or special knowledge — the Kaminoan provided the entire cloning program for the needed subject. One only needed to add the sample to the incubator and start the process. The Prime Minister assured her that there shouldn't be any problems with the process — they had tested the procedure many times on finished products.
Only after making sure that the automatic cycle system was working did the master's faithful servant leave this dead world, returning to Odessen, making a loop to pick up her companion.
Then it was time to execute her master's other plans.
Naturally, she was surprised that Dougan had established contact with Atroxa — previously, this had only been allowed for the Emperor. From the stories of the gifted Hands, the sensation was quite something. At moments like this, Vette thanked the Celestials that she hadn't been born Force-sensitive.
Her master had changed their tasks. Vette was facing a solo mission, although initially, she and the Lethan were supposed to complete it together.
Her master decided otherwise. The two Sith were going together to search for an ancient Rakatan artifact. Vette had heard of it, but she had always thought the station was destroyed. Witnessing Malgus's violent reaction upon receiving the task to find the "Factory," she could only admire her new master's foresight. Obviously, he suspected the Sith of insincerity, which had become evident in front of the other Hands.
Rick, having taken Atroxa's body, broke Malgus again. Just like the Emperor in his time, the man forced the warrior to kneel before him and swear an oath of allegiance. It wasn't that the giant liked it, but it was better than dying from Sith magic.
Vette shuddered, recalling that the same magic was bound within her. But she didn't have as stubborn and obstinate a nature as Malgus, so, after the incident in the shower, she quite reasonably decided that voluntary submission to the man was much more beneficial. And more pleasant.
Atroxa had told her that the Emperor's apprentice literally fills his partner with the Force, which heightens every sensation. Before that incident, the girl had been skeptical. She had already known one such "filler." You couldn't get anything from him but rage and animal instincts. The Wrath of the Empire lived in constant conflict and had no habit of caring for his little slave. When he wanted her — she was always there. On the battlefield or in bed.
But this one… was different. Both as a partner and as a Force-user.
Over four thousand years, Vette had been with many men — of almost all known races. They all enjoyed her sexuality, taking it for granted. They got what they wanted — "Thanks, sweetheart, see you next time."
Rick, though… was different. Of course, he was a man, and after getting what he wanted, he even distanced himself somewhat from her and Atroxa. The latter was understandable — she needed to be kept on a leash. Once she got into bed, that was it, you couldn't drag her out. Ashara had once said with a laugh that the Force had gifted the Sith Lady with an insatiable sexual appetite. And that was the only Force characteristic the Lethan possessed.
The man gave her this ultra-secret mission the night before departure, inviting her to a secret rendezvous that ended in passionate intimacy. Of course, Vette understood that he was using her — and, once on Nathema, she realized he needed a loyal, Force-insensitive servant. But she didn't take any offense from it, simply enjoying the moment.
Her new mission was a continuation of Atroxa's mission on Kamino. For an unknown reason, the man had sent the Sith Lady along with Malgus. Perhaps he wasn't entirely sure of the latter's loyalty.
But, one way or another, Vette and her Harrower found themselves in the sky above the planet Myrkr. The Borodino, left in reliable hands, had departed for Dantuin.
Admittedly, Vette had never even heard of such a planet before. But, through Atroxa's voice, her master had explained the task to her.
However, as is often the case, everything didn't go according to plan.
Despite the perfection of their cloaking systems, Harrowers couldn't exit hyperspace invisible. The ships needed a couple of seconds to raise their cloaking screens.
Unfortunately, that couple of seconds was enough for the local people on the planet to make a few rash moves.
Apparently, the master, even though he had instructed each of his Hands to recruit worthy candidates for service in his Empire, didn't know that this planet was a refuge for pirates, smugglers, and other scum from across the galaxy.
"The scanners show one large freighter," Atis Farr reported to her.
A native of Mandalore, Atis — a muscular, middle-aged man with a completely bare face — belonged to the ancient Mandalorian Farr clan. Once, they helped Revan in his fight against the Emperor, but after Revan's fall, they scattered across the galaxy, almost completely wiped out by both Imperial and Republic forces.
The Twi'lek sympathized with them. To the best of her ability over thousands of years, she had used their services more than once, allowing the clan to stay afloat. Living on the moon Dxun, in an ancient Mandalorian fortress, the clan couldn't boast of its military strength — they barely numbered just over fifteen hundred people. But, unlike other Mandalorians, they honored their traditions and didn't forget those who helped them. Which couldn't help but play into Vette's hands.
When the Master needed people, Set Harth, of course, had tried thoroughly, attracting various specialists. But there still weren't enough.
That's why Vette had to call the Farr clan to her master's banner. The conversation was tough — without mincing words, Vette told the clan about her master's intention to continue Revan's work in part and bring peace to the galaxy. The Mandalorians, it must be said, weren't happy to be dragged into a war again, but neither did they want to stay near Onderon, which had joined the Separatists. Besides, refusing help to the one who had saved them for so many years…
All in all, thanks to a small diversion arranged by the clan's scouts at the tracking stations on Onderon, the entire clan moved aboard both destroyers and then vanished into hyperspace.
"I didn't expect to meet people here," the girl remarked.
"That's exactly why they're here," Lew grinned. "The planet is located not far from the Inner Colonies, yet few know about it… A suitable haven for all sorts of scum."
"They're locking onto us," a voice came from one of the posts.
"Shields raised?" the clan leader inquired. Receiving a satisfactory answer, he ordered: "Train the guns on them."
"Fighters are taking off from the planet," Vette noted, then added: "And armed freighters."
The Mandalorian laughed. It seemed the scum from the entire galaxy was preparing to rise against two heavily armed ships.
"Launch the fighters," he ordered.
The clan had its own motley fleet of light forces — mostly Incom Z-95s, but they could boast a couple of Crusader-class patrol vessels — the only military ships produced by MandalMotors. Despite the fact that MandalMotors management had prepared these ships to defend their home system, the new government in the person of Duchess Kryze had shut down the project. The clan managed to get half a dozen of the patrol vessels, paying an exorbitant price, but now, surrounding the Sith dreadnought with an impenetrable anti-aircraft dome, the patrol boats once again proved the shortsightedness of Mandalore's pacifist government.
Meanwhile, the vagabonds of Myrkr were seriously intent on fighting. Their fleet consisted of about fifty ships — from freighters miraculously holding together in vacuum to quite decent converted yachts, obviously stolen from less attentive owners. Every single one of them was armed, but they could hardly stand against the power of a Star Destroyer and its escort fleet.
"Open a communication channel with them," Vette asked, watching a hundred Mandalorian fighters exchange fire with the enemy ships.
"Why?" Farr was surprised. "In just half an hour, we'll wipe them out."
"A couple of minutes of conversation, and some of them will serve us," the girl winked. She knew perfectly well the price of a smuggler's loyalty — and judging by the overwhelming number of freighters trying to slip out of the system, they made up the majority of the motley crew. "Tell your people to surround them, but not to fire."
The Mandalorian made a sign with his hand, and a wonderful female voice flowed from the bridge of the Eagle.
"Don't turn our chance meeting into a massacre, ladies and gentlemen," the girl said. "We can all come to an agreement. I assure you, I have a good offer for each of you. Anyone who wants to earn some money, please deactivate your weapons and return to the planet, where I will soon descend. For those who can't wait to die — be my guest, our guns are loaded."
A dozen minutes later, having torn two dozen dissenters to shreds, the Mandalorian fighters organized a patrol around the planet, preventing any possible attempts to escape.
Under the guard of a couple of hundred Skywalkers and two dozen Mandalorians in armor and carrying heavy weapons, the blue-skinned Twi'lek went to the negotiations.
* * *
Jorj Car'das couldn't call himself a smart man. But he couldn't be denied resourcefulness.
Very young, together with his friends, he set off to conquer space. Naive, striving for knowledge, to grasp the infinite.
The events of five years ago, weeks of captivity among an alien race, had changed him.
Becoming domineering, harsh, demanding, he lost his boyish enthusiasm. In half a decade, he managed to put together a quite respectable gang of smugglers — almost two hundred individuals scattered across the galaxy, with a dozen freighters — in the depths of the unfolding war, few could boast such scale. Except maybe the Hutts.
But the disgusting slugs were busy with their own affairs. The small volume of Car'das's operations didn't concern them — for now. Watching their passivity, Jorj could already picture the faces of the underworld bosses he was preparing to topple from their dominant position in the galaxy.
Back in captivity, Car'das had gained invaluable experience from the alien commanding the defense unit.
Information. That was what lay behind the powerful of this world. Thrawn had shown him the power of information, and now Jorj never missed an opportunity to obtain any possible information. Who knew when it might come in handy?
However, the appearance over Myrkr, where Car'das's organization had its main base, of a huge warship, was news to him. He knew the types of every Republic warship and those of their competitors, the Confederacy. As did everyone in his organization.
This knowledge was necessary to understand who could be buttered up and who should be run from. But here, Jorj was powerless.
The invasion of strangers, on whose behalf a pleasant-looking Twi'lek spoke, nearly ruined his deal with Booster Terrik. A fellow Corellian, together with his partner, had interested Jorj with an offer to purchase ancient Jedi artifacts, which, as Jorj already knew, the Order would buy up, albeit secretly, for a huge sum.
Of course, he felt sorry for the pirates the newcomers had wiped out. But how many times did you have to tell those Zygerrians that haste never leads to anything good? And so it happened. Car'das's gang, Terrik's crew, and a good dozen others returned their ships to the planet, awaiting further developments.
Myrkr had been used by galactic gentlemen of fortune as a temporary refuge for over a hundred years. Over time, a small settlement sprang up where various guests could rest, make repairs, or get rid of loot. Nothing supernatural — a couple of dozen residential modules, a refueling station, a couple of lousy cantinas, and clearings carved out for landing pads, forming a ring around the central building — Car'das's own residence. He had put more effort than anyone else into making this planet profitable. And since his guys had a share here, why not have his own personal dwelling? Nothing special — a prefab residential module, the space in front of which was covered with the local dirty-yellow sand. On this sand now trampled all the ship captains, forcibly returned to the planet without exception. Many had left people on their ships — just in case.
He, like the others, tracked the massive, clearly non-modern transport that had taken one of the free pads. The two flights of Z-95s escorting it rose into the air and began patrolling the perimeter.
Jorj, among others, pondered who they would be negotiating with. Unlike the mercenaries — and there was a gang of them, about a dozen, all armed, loudly speculating about who their new masters might be — he did so silently.
Few could afford to build such a ship — it was no less than seven hundred meters long. And the number of turbolasers suggested it wasn't a converted transport at all.
Booster Terrik paced impatiently on the sand, every now and then reaching for the blaster in his thigh holster, hearing a stray rustle in the nearby forests. His partner, like Jorj himself, adopted a wait-and-see position.
The guests didn't keep them waiting long.
At first, the smuggler thought he had run into Republicans — soldiers clad in snow-white armor, carrying blaster rifles, surrounded the settlement, herding into the center those who had planned to stay on their ships. But, looking closer, he dismissed his theory.
No, these weren't the infamous Republic clones. Droids. Clad in armor, with jetpacks on their backs, but droids. Following them were Mandalorians — their armor was unmistakable.
Jorj strained his memory, recalling that there was a group among the Mandalorians — the "Death Watch" that supported the Separatists. These could well be them — Mandalorians in the company of battle droids (and what make were they, anyway?) was a perfectly explainable reality. But it wasn't time to voice his hypothesis yet. The Twi'lek had been broadcasting from the ship — and, as everyone knew, the CIS didn't particularly favor natives of Ryloth. Look at the Zygerrians, who filled their pockets with credits by shipping Ryloth's inhabitants off to slave markets.
And so, as soon as the entire small population of Myrkr was gathered in one place, surrounded by an impenetrable wall of armed droids and Mandalorians, the very same Twi'lek stepped out from behind the latter.
Blue skin, a slender body, a cute face. Jorj merely stated the facts. The girl, dressed in a light jacket and tight leggings, wore two massive blasters on her belt that didn't match her pretty appearance at all.
"Are you the one who captured us?" Booster asked demandingly.
"I won't keep you here a minute longer than necessary," the girl smiled. "I have a mission on this planet," she shared. "And you will help me complete it."
"And then you'll help us?" one of the mercenaries — a Trandoshan — remarked sarcastically, baring his teeth in a well-known gesture. "Dibs, I'm first…"
The next second, he fell like a log, with a smoking burn on his chest. Under the silent stare of the crowd, the Twi'lek returned one of her blasters to its holster.
"Anyone else want to chat?" she clarified. No candidates for corpses were found. "Well, that's excellent," the killer approved. "Let's consider that you all agreed to help me and receive a good reward for it."
"What's the job?" Booster Terrik broke the silence again.
The crowd, stunned by the previous swift execution, recoiled in horror from the Corellian. This only amused the Twi'lek and drew laughter from the Mandalorians. Jorj estimated that there were only two dozen of the latter. But he had no particular desire to start a firefight.
"We're interested in the local lizards," the girl said, still smiling charmingly. Then, looking at the bewildered faces of the gathered gentlemen of fortune, she added: "Ysalamiri. My master is very interested in them, and is willing to generously reward those who work for him."
"And what if we don't agree to catch them?" another bounty hunter asked, a friend of the one whose body was cooling on the sand.
Another shot rang out, and the galaxy was rid of one more scumbag.
"It seems the issue of payment is resolved?" the girl clarified. Seeing no questions, the Twi'lek smiled once more. "Get to work, boys."
* * *
For lack of options, Car'das's gang joined the ysalamiri hunt.
Honestly, Jorj was only superficially familiar with Myrkr's fauna. Mainly because of the vornskrs, which regularly harassed the camp, hoping to profit from the careless. He had to organize punitive operations, exterminating the predators by the dozens, but the stubborn creatures, whose favorite food was the aforementioned lizards, always returned to their familiar grounds.
Jorj had no idea why the newcomers might need these little lizards. The smugglers and other mercenaries were exhausting themselves trying to separate the lizards, whose claws were embedded in the trees. The work was going badly. The successes of Car'das's men, who delivered the ysalamiri along with chunks of wood, were all the more noticeable. What was the point of straining to extract the animal's claws from the trees if the lizards would die without these perches?
The Twi'lek, observing the process, noticed this and called Jorj over.
"We could just saw down the trees with the same success," she remarked, pointing at the massive fragments of olbio trees that the members of the Corellian's gang were delivering. "We need the lizards, not the wood."
"If you need the lizards alive," Jorj warned, "you shouldn't separate them from the trees. While we're prying their claws out, we'll either kill the creatures or cripple them."
"Well, your competitors have no problem extracting the lizards from their perches," she remarked, pointing at the bounty hunters, each dragging a pair of the slow animals. Admittedly, the animals looked extremely emaciated.
"But my lizards won't die in a few days from lack of food," Jorj retorted and added: "Ysalamiri dig into trees and eat the young bark and shoots. After that, they move to a new place."
"How fascinating," the girl smirked. Turning to the Mandalorian standing nearby, she told him to pass the useful observation on to the other lizard catchers. "I think my master will pay you well for your foresight."
"Will the payment be the same?" Car'das nodded towards the two corpses, left on the sand as a warning to the others. The girl followed his gaze and smiled.
"We need loyal and well-versed specialists in their field," she said. "Those scum… Consider it a favor I did the galaxy."
"And what kind of specialists are you looking for?" Car'das became interested.
"Pilots, engineers, soldiers," the girl shrugged. Seeing the astonishment on her interlocutor's face, she added: "My master has ambitious plans, deep pockets, and his own view on the structure of the galaxy."
"Before, when people who disagreed with the structure of the galaxy got help from the Mandalorians, the galaxy drowned in blood," the Corellian recalled.
The girl smiled again.
"You just need to choose whose side you and your people will be on," she reminded. Glancing at her chronometer, she returned her attention to the man. "You don't have much time left to think. Get back to work, Jorj Car'das. The sun is still high."
* * *
When the Eagle arrived at its next destination, the Borodino was already waiting for it.
The dreadnought wasn't hiding, drifting like a silver block on the orbit of a forest-covered planet.
Both ships exchanged greeting messages and took up synchronized orbits. A thin stream of cargo traffic from the first Star Destroyer was supplemented by a carousel of shuttles and freighters from its sister ship, the Eagle. Perhaps this planet was hosting such a large company of guests for the first time in four thousand years.
But before, on this very planetoid, the fates of the galaxy had been decided. It was symbolic that it was here that the master ordered the foundation of his army to be laid.
Yavin 4. Vette would recognize this planet out of thousands.
The place where Revan resurrected the Emperor.
The place where the Hero of Tython put an end to Revan himself.
The place from which the victorious march of the new Empire would begin.
"The Borodino has landed a ground team," Lew, as always, had prudently gathered information. "They are clearing the area and eliminating the local fauna."
"Equipment?" Vette inquired.
"The deal went through," the Mandalorian confirmed. "The equipment, the installation instructions — we have everything. The Borodino is unloading the containers, but they don't have enough ships."
"I think," the Twi'lek looked meaningfully at Car'das and Terrik standing nearby, "we can help them."
Both Corellians, not tempting fate in the person of the blue-skinned warrior, made the only right decision. "Credits don't smell," Terrik declared. Jorj was inclined to agree with his fellow countryman.
After the exhausting work on Myrkr, they received offers they couldn't refuse. Those who refused were fed to the vornskrs. Jorj and his gang, Terrik and his partner, and a good dozen others who agreed, joined the Twi'lek, who still hadn't revealed her name. Though, it didn't matter.
Few could boast that their accounts were credited with a six-figure sum just from catching lizards. Of course, Jorj understood that this was just a test. A sort of advance to check the mercantilism of his new subordinates. They were now heading to the Smuggler's Run, but no longer as free fortune hunters, but as heralds of a new master.
In the smuggler world, fools don't live long. Those who took the money and didn't return would be found by the Mandalorians. And made a living example.
Whoever their mysterious employer was, he wasn't afraid of conflict with the Hutts and, apparently, had deep pockets. Jorj was curious who it could be. A senator who fancied himself the new master of life? Or another criminal consortium?
However, as Jorj's life experience showed, as long as his pockets were full of credits, it wasn't worth asking unnecessary questions.
"Well then, gentlemen," the Twi'lek rubbed her hands together in anticipation. "Let's begin."
* * *
Splitting the void of space with its wedge-shaped hull, the Tsesarevich dropped into normal space. The dreadnought instantly bristled with dozens of cannons, ready to repel any possible attack. But the ship was surrounded only by the void of space and the light reflected from the surface of the target planet.
"No ships," Ashara shook her head. However much the Sith Lady resisted, a separate task was found for the fallen Jedi. And, it must be admitted, unlike Malgus's assignment, the Togruta liked her mission.
Despite offers from other Hands, she took no living crew members on her mission. Only Skywalker droids and R3-T7.
The little astromech droid, after a complete overhaul, had proven simply indispensable to her at the base on Odessen. A jack of all trades, he could replace most of the loafers Hart had hired.
Gleaming with a new silver-gold finish, the astromech handled the most complex tasks the Togruta could entrust to him. Bringing the ancient, giant military tactical holoprojector—which took up a good third of the free space in the War Room—online was entirely the astromech's doing, no matter how much the noisy Rodian engineers argued, suggesting they dismantle the archaic device and sell it to some collector.
The girl thanked the Force that the astromech had been returned to Odessen after Dougan's landing on Christophsis. The little one turned out to be a pleasant conversationalist and quickly established a rapport with the base commander.
"R3," the Togruta addressed the astromech. "Mask the ship and take us into orbit."
The droid, connected through the information output to the dreadnought's central computer, whistled a response and began transmitting electronic commands.
Soon, a cloaking field concealed the ship.
"Shall we land on the planet?" the girl suggested. The astromech beeped contentedly, sending out another batch of orders.
The extreme automation of Sith dreadnoughts made having a crew a superfluous luxury. R3, equipped with the most advanced heuristic processes, handled this task successfully. But unfortunately, for full functionality, the dreadnought still needed a living crew.
During her time in the Imperial fleet, each Harrower could boast of carrying a hundred and fifty fighters, bombers, and shuttles on board. The ship required a huge contingent of pilots and support personnel. Unfortunately, Vitiate's engineers had never been able to rid the ship of the need for living pilots. Partly, of course, the Skywalkers could pilot shuttles, but maneuvering support from them was like using a bantha as a hound.
By the most conservative estimates, the ship required about four hundred crew members, of which only a hundred were command and control personnel. Three hundred other sentients were that infamous aviation crew.
Having left the shipyards of the long-defunct Sith company that built the Harrowers, the dreadnought required 2,400 crew members and could transport just over seven thousand passengers to any point in the galaxy. Each ship of the Emperor's Ghost squadron had its own military contingent of 5,000 Skywalkers, whose tasks included boarding and counter-boarding missions. As for the payload… well, the modernization had done it good—the ship could now transport up to fifteen thousand people with full combat gear and support equipment. A reserve for the future, no doubt.
But the Togruta's mission was not to destroy any planet. She had returned to the homeworld of the Jedi.
Tython. The ancient homeworld of the Jedi. Thousands of years had passed since the ancestors of the Republic's guardians settled here. For centuries, the Sith dreamed of storming their enemies' home and holding a bloody feast. But they couldn't finish what they started.
Darth Angral nearly succeeded, but the Hero of Tython stopped him. A Jedi Knight who became the Order's blade against the Sith Empire. The man who slew Vitiate, his servant Revan, Vitiate's true incarnation—Valkorion—and his children. True, in his pursuit of peace in the galaxy, he himself didn't notice how he became what he fought against. The Emperor of the Eternal Alliance… a state that could have become the strongest in the galaxy. But the Jedi lost everything. First the Eternal Fleet. Then the Republic's support. Even controlling the home of the Eternal Fleet—the planet Iokath—the Hero of Tython couldn't stop what was fated. Too humane to take the Republic and the Jedi by the throat, he doomed himself to destruction. The Sith Empire, supporting its ally, lost most of its strength and, in the end, collapsed, burying forever the Togruta's idea of a state that absorbed the best aspects of the Republic and the Empire.
At first, she thought the Hero of Tython could make this a reality… The girl nearly decided to leave her master to join the former Jedi…
In the last days of his Empire, Valkorion and his servants found them.
The girl didn't regret her choice. The years of wandering with Lord Kallig ended as they began. She found someone who would truly embody her ideals.
As a Padawan, Ashara was away from Tython when the Devastator arrived—perhaps the most successful superweapon the Republic had ever produced. Combining numerous developments from Republic scientists, stolen by Darth Angral's spies, this Harrower could turn any planet into a scorched planetoid. Sometimes the Togruta wondered why the ostensibly peaceful Republic developed such a terrifying weapon. But she found no answer.
Though right now, it would have come in handy. The most humane one. For instance, the Prison Planet.
By ionizing a planet's atmosphere, this weapon turned any technology into useless scrap. And, she had to admit—pulling such a trick on the main worlds of the CIS and the Republic could have ended the war in a short period.
But unfortunately, all samples of this humane weapon were lost—the prototype was destroyed by the Jedi, and the Devastator was blown up by Kira and the Hero of Tython.
However, the Emperor's apprentice had at his disposal the Silencer—a flagship Harrower capable of destroying even the largest ships with its super-powerful cannon.
But her task was different.
Three dozen shuttles emerged from the hangars, carrying their contingent to the surface of Tython. The planet, where the Sith had once indeed carried out a massacre, bore the imprints of the Dark Side, but not so critical that the Light Side was lost to this world.
The planet, of course, did not possess the harmonious balance of the Force that Odessen could boast, but it was still close to it in its saturation of the Dark and Light sides. The Jedi ancestors valued this world precisely for its balance of the Dark and Light sides. Over time, everything changed. Light gained a dominant role on the planet, perverting the tenets of the ancient researchers of the Force.
Now, the planet seemed to be returning to its roots. The Togruta wasn't surprised to learn that Dougan's goal was the recreation of the Jedi Academy on Tython.
The Emperor's apprentice was interested in all the structures on the planet. The Togruta's responsibility was to clear the rubble, guard the buildings, and protect discovered artifacts. Reading between the lines, the Jedi had extensive plans for the planet, and therefore Zavros's mission was only the beginning of something larger.
The fallen Jedi understood that without special equipment and trained personnel, it could take years to restore the grandeur that had once existed on the planet. Still, she wasn't about to argue with orders.
The planet and the destroyer's holds contained everything needed to create a mobile base. Ordering R3 to land at a spot she indicated, she eagerly slipped out of the shuttle, running out onto the area covered with a thick layer of sand in front of the Temple.
The Jedi had left this planet tens of thousands of years ago, abandoning the concept of the Balance of the Force and succumbing solely to the Light Side. But as soon as the Sith invaded Coruscant and destroyed the Order's stronghold, the Jedi returned here.
She herself wasn't yet born when the Jedi began resettling Tython. Traditions held that the Order's Council had meditated for a week before choosing a new home for the Jedi. Guided by the Jedi Code, which called for not clinging to attachments, the Jedi didn't copy the old ziggurat from Coruscant. Instead, they borrowed Alderaanian architecture, erecting three massive dome-shaped bastions. The girl looked at the still sturdy, though time-worn, buildings with hidden longing.
The central dome bore traces of cracks from hits by Sith munitions. The two smaller domes, which she remembered housed the Temple's main defense system, appeared more intact.
"Set up a perimeter. Ensure the safety of the shuttles and buildings," the girl ordered the approaching 'Praetorian'—the ground contingent commander. Bulkier than the others, painted black, the droid confirmed the order with a short voice command. Contacting his subordinates, he organized the landing of the remaining shuttles with the Skywalkers. Watching as small squads of Skywalkers scattered in different directions, the girl gestured for one of the squads to head inside the Temple.
Moving after them, the Togruta noted with a pang in her heart the time-worn pedestals where large carved wooden statues had once stood, revealing the interior of the complex's main dome. Bereft of any decoration or adornment, the main entrance to the Jedi abode resembled the maw of a huge animal, ready to swallow anyone who dared enter.
At the threshold, doubts stopped her. She heard the clanking of metal from the reconnaissance squad and understood there was no danger inside.
It was something else. Was she, a fallen Jedi, a minion of one of the Dark Council, the cause of more than one Jedi's death, worthy of entering this sacred place? How would the Force react to that?
But the Force was silent.
The girl, inhaling deeply, stepped under the roof of the ancient Jedi sanctuary.
* * *
The New Forge greeted them with an oppressive silence.
Dozens of corridors, filled with light and devoid of the slightest hint of life.
No droids, no sentients. Only the oppressive feeling of the Dark Side. So palpable, as if it hung in the air. Every room gleamed with brightness, lacking the dust and mustiness that might be expected from an abandoned, unused complex.
Atroxa felt the Dark Side flowing through her veins, kindling instincts, stirring her blood, calling for battle. Malgus, walking beside her, felt the same.
The Lethan could literally feel the Sith seething inside with dark emotions. His respirator drew in air with such force, as if trying to absorb the very emanations of the Dark Side.
The contingent of assault droids following behind them slowly but surely dispersed through the station's rooms, taking control of more and more of the Forge's territory. Encountering not the slightest resistance, the armed squad from the Victory slowly but surely advanced toward the heart of the former Foundry.
"Any ideas how this happened?" the girl inquired. Examining the Forge's architecture, she couldn't help but admit that the interior matched the common opinion of the Rakata as an aggressive, warlike race that once controlled most of the known galaxy. Devoid of decorative excess, the station literally screamed to its visitors that it was built for war and tolerated no weakness from its masters.
"Revan suspected that the Foundry was something more than a droid factory," Malgus replied. "After capturing the station, we found many reports from his people describing the Foundry's negative impact on them. Depression, aggression, destructive behavior… Revan was by no means a fool. As with the Forge, he understood that the Foundry was destructive to everyone except its masters. The more actively you use them, the more they use you."
"Surely Revan, with his Force, couldn't handle the Foundry?" the Twi'lek girl smirked.
"Vitiate never admitted it," Malgus continued, "but I always suspected that all the time Revan was his prisoner, the Emperor did to him exactly what he did to us after the fall of the Eternal Alliance."
"You're saying he turned Revan into his Hand?"
"I'm saying he succeeded once," Malgus cut in. "I studied Revan. His records here, at the Foundry, notes in the Emperor's treasuries, Nyriss's observations… Arrogance led him and his friend into Vitiate's clutches. May the Force judge me, but if what Revan did in the Republic—the Star Forge, his own Empire—wasn't the Emperor's plan. Of course, the Jedi Archives could shed light on many of his actions, but the Order chose to forget him, erase him from history."
"But, nevertheless, he captured the Foundry," the girl reminded. "And planned to destroy the Empire with a robotic army."
"Threats to the Empire always made Vitiate act ruthlessly, without regard for losses, using every available force," the Sith reminded. "And this time, the Empire's response to perhaps the most serious threat was the Dark Council's intervention and sending just a small squad to eliminate Revan? Don't make me laugh, Atroxa," Malgus shook his head. "In the three hundred years he was the Emperor's prisoner, Revan fell and again became his obedient servant. Could he have hidden his thoughts from the strongest adept of the Dark Side of the Force for three hundred years? No, he couldn't. None of us could. Revan was only a man, and his will was in Vitiate's hands for three hundred years. No," the Sith stopped at a junction, deciding which way to go. "I'm more inclined to believe Revan planned to exterminate the Empire's population to please the Emperor."
"That can't be true," Atroxa pointed randomly to the right corridor. Malgus directed the droid squad into the left one.
"Revan escaped the Foundry and threw all his efforts into bringing back the Emperor's spirit," Malgus countered. "Isn't that proof of his loyalty?"
The Lady Sith fell silent, pondering his words.
Meanwhile, their procession reached a massive armored bulkhead, which, unlike the previous ones, did not open as they approached.
Malgus, familiar with many of the Foundry's systems, directed streams of the Dark Side at the door's lock, which, once saturated, disengaged with a metallic clang, allowing the half-meter-thick doors to slide apart, letting the Sith inside.
Framed left and right by a colonnade of massive pipelines, the passage over an impenetrable void plunging into the station's depths led them to a wide semicircular platform, from which a ramp led to a second level, framed by wide panoramic screens through which the Sith saw a quartet of Harrowers. Three surrounded the last one. Between the ships, white figures of Skywalkers scurried about, performing repairs on Malgus's captured former flagship.
The Smiting Hand resembled a huge hive swarming with drones.
"Perhaps," Atroxa said with a smile, "from here we'll return, having gained one ship."
"Ominous forewarning. If you return," boomed a synthesized metallic voice from hidden speakers. Malgus went cold, remembering who that mechanical voice belonged to.
With a frightening clang, the armored doors slammed shut, crushing several Skywalkers. Malgus and Atroxa, back to back, ignited their lightsabers, expecting an attack.
The pair of assault droids remaining with them collapsed in an instant, felled by precise shots from a far corner of the Forge's control room.
Then, in a combat stance, holding a blaster rifle and keeping the Sith in his sights, a rust-red droid stepped into the light.
"Gloomy triumph. Welcome, meatbags," said HK-47. The red light of his optical sensors flashed, boding no good. "Start talking."