"Sir! I have excellent material for the evening prime time slot!"
"Besides words, is there anything else?"
"Of course, of course! I'm sending you the video file. Did you get it? This is footage from the bridge of the cruiser 'Salvation,' which recently docked."
.".. This... Is this a Jedi?! I've never seen anything like it."
"Me neither, sir! That's why I came to you immediately. You have no idea how this will end! He stopped a sword with his bare hands!"
"That can't be! Although... he really did stop it. It's some kind of Jedi trick!"
"Sir, that's not all. I spoke with the crew — this Jedi is the same one who utterly defeated the Separatists on Christophsis!"
"Really? My boy, this is incredible luck... We'll air it in the next broadcast..."
* * *
Oli peered impatiently at the doors of the Halls of Healing ward. Many healers had gathered there, and even Master Yoda himself was present.
The girl didn't know what they were talking about, but she understood perfectly well about whom.
About her and her teacher.
He was currently in a bacta tank. The clone medics had put him in an artificial coma, injecting a huge dose of painkillers. Alpha, like an overseer over slaves, hadn't closed his eyes for a second while the doctors — clones and droids — removed the remains of armor and under-suit from the body.
She had been afraid to be present in the operating room. Her imagination painted an image of a disfigured body. According to the medics, not a single intact patch of skin remained on the body. It had all burned, split, hardened, or evaporated under the influence of the Dark Acolyte's lightning.
They had stayed on Christophsis for exactly two hours — that was how long it took the First Regiment to transfer aboard the 'Salvation.' Local technicians quickly and efficiently repaired the ship's damage, after which the cruiser jumped into hyperspace.
Christophsis, lying in ruins, for all its willingness, could not provide the Jedi with proper care. Oli, whose world was falling apart at the seams, couldn't find the strength to decide what to do in this situation.
She was saved by that strange Mandalorian, Shea Vizla. As soon as she learned that it concerned Knight Dougan, she took control of the situation. A dispatch about the necessary help was sent to the Temple. Ships from the self-defense fleet guarded them all the way to the capital, and the best Christophsian doctors monitored the Jedi's condition.
Watching all this, the girl couldn't help but marvel at how many people cared about her teacher's health. Of course, Alpha had told her that the Jedi had liberated Christophsis, spectacularly defeating the Separatist army and fleet. But such devotion... It was beyond her understanding.
Listening to the Force, only now — after three days of travel and a week here on Coruscant — did she realize that her teacher was different from other Jedi. Wandering aimlessly through the Temple, when Vokara Che, angry, chased the girl out of the Halls, the Padawan couldn't help but notice how empty the Jedi abode had become. Thousands of Jedi and students were fighting on fronts across the galaxy.
They were losing. That was clear from snippets of conversations, from the news. The Republic's army was suffering defeat after defeat. The recently erupted rebellion on the planet Jabiim had drawn enormous Jedi forces. No one could say exactly how many had been sent there. But definitely — many. Skywalker, Kenobi — those were the ones who would lead the battle on that planet. However, even Yoda himself, in a conversation with Mace Windu, which Oli accidentally witnessed, was not confident of victory.
"Padawan Starstone?" Aayla Secura, well known to most young Jedi, appeared beside her.
"Master Secura," the girl rose from the bench and bowed. "I was lost in thought, I didn't notice you approach."
"I figured as much," the Twi'lek smiled, sitting down beside her. "Waiting to hear what Vokara Che has to say?"
"She seems worried," said the student. "Maybe he's gotten worse?"
"A healer friend of mine says it's actually the opposite," the Jedi told her. "He's recovering, but he's still in a coma. That's what scares the healers. But they'll figure it out," she assured.
"I feel that he's in pain!" Oli declared.
"Is that so?" Secura looked first at the child, then at the locked door behind which Dougan lay, puzzled. "And how do you know?"
"I... I can somehow reach out to him," the girl tried to explain. "When I saw him like that, I was lost. He wasn't breathing, and his face... it was like a huge burn. I remembered everything we were taught about healing, and I directed the Force at him. And... and he started breathing. I... I don't know why, but I felt his pain. He was furious. I felt it. I was so scared... And then the clones ran in and injected him with medicine."
"And then?" the Twi'lek asked warily.
"He just sort of went limp," the Padawan recounted. "And the anger, it just disappeared all at once... The teacher seemed to vanish in the Force, but I could still feel him..."
The Twi'lek thought for a moment. Strange things the child was saying. A Jedi in anger? Vanished in the Force? No, she must have gotten something mixed up. She should be shown to the healers herself, but they were all primarily busy with wounded Jedi, of whom there were over a hundred in the Temple right now. Even the student healers were occupied with treatment.
"There's no need to sit here every day," Secura decided.
"But what should I do?" the girl wondered. "My teacher is in a coma, I'm not given any assignments."
"Is that so?" the Twi'lek smiled. "Then maybe you'll accept my offer?"
"What offer, Master Secura?"
"The Council has assigned me to take the younglings to Ilum so they can find crystals for their first lightsabers," she explained. "I heard you're without a weapon..."
"That's right," the girl looked away embarrassed. "The teacher will kill me when he wakes up."
"Well, that's unlikely," the Jedi assured her. "I know him. Rick doesn't come across as a tyrannical teacher."
"That's true," the girl confirmed. "He knows a lot of things. Even the ancient Jedi code!"
"Is that so?" the Jedi looked very surprised. "To be honest, even I don't remember it."
"I can tell you," the Padawan offered readily.
"Definitely," Secura promised. "So, what about my offer?"
"But what if he wakes up while I'm in flight?" the girl thought.
"You said you can feel him," the Twi'lek reminded. "So you'll feel it when he comes to. We'll send him a message from the ship."
"You're a genius, Master Secura!" the girl exclaimed, throwing her arms around the Jedi.
Stunned by such a display of emotion, Aayla could think of nothing better than to pat the child on the head.
"You'll become a great Jedi, Oli," she promised. "Of course, if you don't break a couple of my ribs right now."
* * *
"You screwed up," it wasn't even a statement, just a statement of fact.
"Only those who do nothing make no mistakes," I remarked. Then, seeing Valkorion's displeasure, I added: "I thought the sword would be enough for defense."
The Emperor theatrically put his hand to his face. A facepalm from the greatest Force adept? Seriously? I'm amazed by all this.
"The energy of a lightsaber is not enough to fully absorb Force Lightning!"
"Your advice would be more useful if you gave it in time," I snapped.
The Emperor looked at me. Interested and threatening at the same time.
"Don't let your ambitions cloud your mind, apprentice. I am stronger than any living being and can destroy you with a snap of my fingers. An apprentice who cannot act without regular supervision is a useless tool."
"Yes, Master," I bowed to the Emperor. His moralizing infuriated me, but I was too hasty with open confrontation. I don't know about a snap of the fingers, but I had no doubt that he could indeed destroy me.
During my time in this body, I had accumulated questions for the Emperor. But asking them now... unwise. The Lord was displeased. Well, perhaps he would be more talkative when my successes became more... impressive.
I looked around in passing.
We stood on the edge of a canyon. Around us — only a lifeless desert with rust-red sand. Massive figures and decorative patterns carved into the rocks... Ancient steps leading into the tombs of the Dark Lords...
The Emperor projected Korriban, the ancient homeland of the Sith.
"You should train thoroughly in the use of the Force," Vitiate finally said. "Do not repeat your mistakes. If this half-trained girl almost killed you, then Tyranus, and especially Sidious, will leave no trace of you."
"Yes, Master."
What was the point of arguing? Both he and I understood that, like most adherents of Niman, I had limited my Force training, devoting my hand-to-hand training only to lightsaber duels. Honing my swordsmanship, I got so carried away that I completely overlooked the fact that the enemy already had trained adepts in their assets who could easily defeat me.
"Be careful with the Jedi," the Sith said after a pause. "Control over Christophsis is an important achievement, but it was done crudely. The Order will certainly have questions for you."
"I suspected as much."
"Then make sure you don't attract attention!" the ghost growled. "Jedi are strong in their numbers. One collective, one goal, one dogma. You may be the greatest Force adept, but a group of less powerful adepts can defeat you."
"I understand, Master," as if I didn't understand. All the key battles of the Jedi against the Sith occurred when the former had numerical superiority.
"It's time to begin active operations," the Emperor gestured for me to come closer. "The Republic is building up its clone army, the CIS is keeping pace..."
"No production can compare to the power of the new Forge," I remarked. "With its help, we can build a droid army and a fleet that will crush both the Republic and the Confederacy."
"A commendable acquisition," the Emperor assessed. "But the fleet needs crews, and the army needs commanders. Besides, once we act openly, you will need trained warriors to oppose the Jedi."
"It seems to me you already have candidates," I said with a yawn. What a coincidence — when the teacher's and student's thoughts align. He has candidates, I have them too. Excellent ones, by the way. I just need to recruit them.
"I do," he nodded. "Hart spent a lot of time tracking them down. But before you go to them, you yourself still have much to learn."
"For example?" I inquired.
"Here on Korriban," the Emperor pointed to the Valley of the Dark Lords, "a great power was once hidden. Many thousands of Dark Lords studied and died here. And after them, dozens of holocrons and artifacts remained."
"I must find them?"
"You intend to create a new order," the Emperor sighed. "Not Sith. Not Jedi. Knights who will be stronger than their predecessors. What can you teach them if you yourself know so little?"
"I understand, Master," bowing my head humbly before the Sith, I began to slowly ponder my next actions.
"Splendid, my apprentice," the Emperor grinned. "The main thing is to find and retrieve these artifacts first..."
* * *
Watching the young knight come to his senses, Yoda thought with some relief that the hardest part was only beginning.
"Grand Master," Rick looked around and nodded to the green-skinned Jedi. "Glad to see you."
"And I," the Jedi grumbled. "Glad to see. How do you feel, Knight?"
"I've been better," the man admitted. "Am I back in the Halls of Healing?"
Yoda nodded understandingly.
"Badly wounded you were," he poked a clawed finger at the Jedi's chest. "In battle with a Dark Acolyte of Count Dooku."
"Ye-e-es..." the man drawled. He embarrassedly put his hand to his face. Discovering that he had no hair, the Jedi carefully ran his fingertips over the numerous scars. A couple of them crossed the left side of his face, pulling the corner of his mouth downward, making him look displeased.
"Force Lightning destroyed all your skin," the healer intervened. A young girl had been silently watching the instrument readings until then. Yoda had kept only her for this conversation. The other Jedi had left the ward, going about their business.
Yoda noted for a second that the Jedi seemed to recognize the healer. That was possible — after the Battle of Geonosis, he had also been here.
"Oh," said the Jedi. "So now I'm a bald freak?"
"There are some techniques..." the girl began, but Yoda unequivocally pointed her to the door. The healer bowed and silently left. They would talk later. Their conversation could not wait.
"Your friends from Christophsis took good care of you," the Grand Master waved his paw, and one of the wall cabinets opened. Before the Jedi's face appeared armor hanging on mounts, identical to the one that had been destroyed in the last battle. Wrapped in airtight packaging, it looked like new, although Yoda knew it was not.
"Strange," said the Jedi. "I don't remember asking for this."
"Something else is strange," the Grand Master uttered, drawing attention to himself. "Why would a Jedi need Sith warrior armor?"
An awkward silence fell. Rick looked at the armor as if examining it, seeing it for the first time. But Yoda had lived in this world for centuries and understood that the man was merely searching for a plausible explanation.
The Council of First Knowledge had already found an explanation for the Jedi's attraction to Sith artifacts. It horrified most of the High Council. They recalled his absence at the start of the war. The unnatural love of the people of the Christoph system (though even the Shadows couldn't find out anything here — the new self-defense forces identified Jedi spies with astonishing accuracy and expelled them from the system).
Scouts on Rendili reported the construction of hundreds of ships, analogous to those in the 'Hammer' fleet. But, however much one might want to draw parallels to the Jedi, the client everywhere was listed as the government of Christophsis. Still, many found even these circumstantial evidence sufficient. Mace, in his characteristic manner, demanded arrest and execution. He was supported by Plo Koon, Rancisis, Saesee Tiin, Agen Kolar, Gallia... The rest of the Council abstained. However, Masters Piell and Mundi strongly objected to such accusations. They were supported by the recently appointed Obi-Wan, who had replaced Windu's student, who was undergoing treatment, on the Council.
Vokara Che, who had examined the unconscious patient's body, noted residual manifestations of the Dark Side. And the holo-recording... no matter how poor it was, no one could dispute the gleam of the iris. The positions of Windu's supporters were strong. The news of Dooku's servants who had fallen to the darkness was too great a shock for the Order. And even more alarming were the intelligence reports about the Jensaarai Order, who had rejected the ideals of the Jedi Order and left it. And as it turned out — only to secretly embrace the dark arts.
However, besides the accusers, there were also defenders. The Dark Woman, for example. The best of the Shadows, she was the only one who had managed to visit Christophsis and return with a full report. She had laughed out loud at the speculations that Dougan had corrupted the inhabitants with Sith artifacts or sorcery. She had encountered nothing but human passions and adoration for a hero. But she did not deny the other evidence of the Dark Side. The most reasonable explanation seemed to be that the Jedi used some Dark Side techniques. Or, at the very least, had knowledge of them. And in a critical situation, he used them to save his life.
The words of such an experienced Sith hunter undermined the Council's convictions about the Jedi's fall to the Dark Side. After all, Windu himself walked the edge with his Vaapad. Meanwhile, many had fallen to the Darkness while using it. Plo Koon used Force Lightning. And there were many such examples. Why go far — many Padawans noted in Skywalker a tendency toward the Dark Side. Giving in to his anger, he became stronger than his opponents. But after the battle, he always returned to the Light. Therefore, the Grand Master decided to act in his own way.
He remained alone with the man without fear, to resolve the questions once and for all. If the fears of the Council of First Knowledge were confirmed, the Jedi would not leave this ward alive. Yoda thought bitterly that too often prominent members of the Jedi Order had embraced the Dark Side of the Force. And this talented young man...
"It's strange that this is only being discovered now," the Jedi remarked, turning to Yoda. "Yes, it's Sith armor. I found several copies on the black market and purchased them. Unlike the junk the clones are wearing and what's sold on the market now, despite its age, it works. If it weren't for the cortosis coating..."
"No need to make excuses," the Grand Master noted. "The Council is concerned about your rage in battle. Many Council members think you have turned to the Dark Side."
"Excellent," the young man sat up abruptly on the bed and got to the floor. Swaying slightly, he leaned his hand against the cabinet. "If so, why am I not in a cell yet?"
"I disagree with the Council's opinion," Yoda explained. He sensed any changes in the Force within the room, but the knight remained an impenetrable cold monolith. No emotions, no trembling of the Force. Clear, cold resolve. Without a trace of the Dark Side. "I do not believe in your fall."
"Thank you, Grand Master," the Jedi bowed. "I take it that's why I was summoned to Coruscant — for a trial?"
Yoda inwardly chuckled. This Jedi was perceptive.
"The Council has many questions for you, Knight Dougan," Yoda said. "Though, there wouldn't be any if any Jedi could sense you in the Force..."
The man looked at Yoda, puzzled. With great distrust. As if he had demanded something so personal that it bordered on outright rudeness.
"I'm not used to anyone prying into my soul, Grand Master," he explained. "The fewer gifted individuals sense me in the Force, the emotions I control, the easier it is for me to remain myself. My enemies don't know my sorrows or weak points. They don't know my fears and can't use them against me."
There was a certain rational grain in that, which Yoda appreciated.
"You must resist the Dark Side," Yoda said instructively. "Your mentors teach you this. Among the Jedi, you have no enemies. Only the Sith. But they are not worth closing yourself off from your friends and allies. How can friends support you on the battlefield if they cannot feel you in the Force, hmm?"
"I am not accustomed to relying on support, Grand Master," the knight explained. "Out there in the Unknown Regions, I had to depend only on myself..."
"You are not in the Unknown Regions now, hmm?" Yoda smiled. He hated doing this, but right now he was manipulating his interlocutor. Word by word, he was seeping through his mental armor, using the flaws in his defenses. "Why hide, then?"
"I..." The knight stroked the spot where his hair used to be. "I didn't think about that... I will try to correct it, so as not to raise more questions..."
"That is the right decision," Yoda said, closing his eyes to concentrate. Such methods would lead him to the Dark Side, but without them, uncovering the truth would drag on. Still, the result justified itself. Doubts were dispelled. At today's Council session, he would deflect the attacks of Windu and his supporters. "You should not be alone in this difficult hour."
The Master looked up at the Jedi from below.
"As I see," he said, adjusting his grip on his cane, "you are feeling better?"
"Better than before," the Jedi smiled.
"Then," the Master began walking toward the exit, "you should hone your skills in resisting the Dark Side, Master Dougan. Your apprentice has departed for Ilum — she is escorting the younglings, along with Master Secura. They should return in a week. So you have some time."
"As you say, Grand Master," the man bowed. Then, having apparently replayed Yoda's words in his head, he raised his eyes to the latter. "Master?" he asked again.
"Your actions are worthy of praise," Yoda grumbled. The Council, of course, would be furious, but he was the head of the Order for a reason — to make such decisions. "I consider you worthy of this rank."
"Thank you, Master," the Jedi bowed his head. "I will try harder than before..."
Yoda smiled with satisfaction. This was roughly what he had expected. This trick worked on everyone whose rank was given with a slight "advance."
"That is not all," Yoda said, pulling a small command cylinder from his pocket and handing it to the Jedi. "You need to be in the tactical hall today. To discuss a new assignment."
"A new assignment?" the Jedi asked in surprise. "I thought this was just an excuse to summon me to the Temple for testimony."
Yoda ignored the remark.
"The situation in your sector army is troubling," he revealed. "Moff Bailur will soon stand trial. A replacement has not yet been found."
"Few people want to drag themselves to the southern army, surrounded by pirates, Separatists, and with the Hutts nearby," the Jedi continued Yoda's thought. "And Admiral Var seems to be managing..."
"We suffered a serious defeat at Ryloth," Yoda interrupted the Jedi. "The second in the last month. The army needs a commander who is tough, talented, and knows no defeat. Otherwise, they will sweep us away and cut us off from the clones' homeworld."
"Well, I don't know any such candidates," the Jedi shrugged. "Unless, perhaps, a Moff... Grand Master? Why are you staring at me so intently?"
With a sigh, Yoda thought that sometimes even the most talented people could fail to see the obvious.
Leaving the Jedi, stunned by the realization, alone, the Grand Master slowly shuffled away. He had to endure a heated debate in the arena of the High Council. Still, few would go against the will of the Grand Master. Yoda saw the Light in this Jedi. Yes, there was Darkness there too, but it was held in a vice, locked away, buried deep in his soul. Controlled Darkness. Perhaps Mace would understand Yoda's feelings. The Force whispered to him, and Yoda, like any Jedi, was merely its servant. The Force was strong in Dougan, which meant the Order was stronger with him. What a pity that the Chosen One lacked this strength and self-control.
Yoda sighed heavily. Skywalker. The hope of the Order. His face and the ideal of the Jedi Knight. Sending him to Jabiim, the Council had the feeling it was making a huge mistake. But besides Skywalker, Obi-Wan, and Dougan, there were no other proposed candidates for the role of operation commander. If not for the battle with the Dark Acolyte and the numerous objections to Dougan's candidacy, it would have been he who was to lead the Republic's army there. But the Force itself had ordained otherwise.
The second battle for Ryloth, led by the acting Moff, Vice Admiral Var, had failed. Twenty-four capital ships were lost to the Republic. Almost all of them from the 13th Sector. In effect, this army now had only a third of the standard personnel, equipment, and ships for a sector army. And this despite the fact that these numbers for the 13th were doubled.
Yoda hated manipulating people, and especially Jedi. Those he had taught, mentored, and initiated into the ideals of the Order. But the war... it had changed almost everything. The Council would have to accept his decision. Dougan's appointment, even if it wouldn't pass without hysteria from the Chancellor's office, would still partially alleviate the shortage of soldiers and ships. Christophsis had promised full support to Dougan? Ships, volunteers, and resources? Excellent. Now he was in charge of an entire army. Let those ships that Rendili was now building for Christophsis serve the Republic.
* * *
This isn't just a clusterfuck, this is a COMPLETE CLUSTERFUCK.
So much for a rest! I've got my hands full here.
Pulling on my armor, I noted with pleasure that my underlings had also taken care of the cloak. Throwing it on over the rest, I felt the computer adjusting the ancient Sith "armor set" to my body. The automatic med-kit pricked me, injecting a dose of adrenaline, stimulants, and painkillers.
Glancing at myself in the mirror, I almost pissed myself from fright. No eyebrows, with lacerated eyelashes. The left half of my face — like I'd detonated a grenade right in front of it. Several deep furrows from unevenly fused epidermal tissue. A crooked scar from the center of my forehead to my ear. A twisted mouth. Several dozen slightly red welts all over my head. A slightly squinted left eye socket — like I was aiming down a scope. And a wide scar across the lower part of my chin.
Pressing the mask to my face, I let the suit latch it on and begin authorization. To hell with everything. I won't be a freak. I'll walk around in a mask for now, cosplaying as Revan, and fix my face later.
Though, I'd better fix not just my face. My whole body is scarred and still hurts. Even breathing deeply is painful.
My lightsaber took its rightful place on my belt. And how the hell wasn't Yoda afraid of a one-on-one meeting with me? What if I really had been Dark? Though... he nearly diced up "It's-Him-Your-Senate" guy too, so what's me to him?
Right there, in the closet, I also found my personal datapad. Plugging my command cylinder into it, I dove into the reading. I had to wait anyway until the armor finished calibrating.
Well, Grand Master, you old bastard. I was projecting an image to you as a person. Like, there's darkness in a man, just like in all of us. You could've just let me go my merry way. No, you had to dump a mission on me. Bastard.
Still, I was wrong to curse the Grand Master. In one short conversation, I got promoted twice. Now I don't have to fly all over the galaxy — just sit on a planet, give orders, and let other Jedi carry them out.
Oh, you son of a...
Daydreaming.
The command cylinder is essentially a soldier's documents. It contains information about his education, security clearances, authorities, awards, penalties, and so on and so forth. A personal file in one hand. Some sections are classified. Well, business as usual.
Let's start from the beginning. Of course, my Jedi education and past are top secret — readable only by Jedi.
But the military information... after entering my personal password, I swore a lot and for a long time.
First of all, I'm not the sole commander of the 13th Army. The oversector and all the territories we defend in our area of responsibility are commanded by a civilian governor — a Moff. His position isn't abolished, but there's no candidate for it either. So for now, only I have full military and executive authority in the 13th Sector.
Which means I can do whatever the hell I want. Within reason, of course.
Each army has its own personal bank account. Payments to military equipment suppliers are made from it. Yes, yes — for ships, equipment, ammunition, each of the twenty armies pays for itself. It only gets clones for free — paid for by the Republic's budget. Everything else, you have to buy yourself. On the one hand, it's good. You make a deal with a supplier, give him a little money, and the necessary stuff comes to you ahead of everyone else. On the other hand — I'm not the only smart one in this galaxy. Oh, not by a long shot.
Don't even ask about the amount in the account — you can't look at it without crying. Where the hundreds of millions disappeared to, the Senate Investigative Committee would have to find out.
The only good thing is that, unlike my Homeland, direct purchases were the norm here. No tenders, auctions, or other joys of democracy. But there was still plenty of room for corruption.
I could contact any representative of any weapons company approved by the Republic's bureaucrats without restriction, and negotiate with them about purchasing new equipment for the army. Unfortunately, the cylinder didn't provide a connection to the sector's computers, so I didn't know the real state of affairs regarding materiel in the sector army.
So, the military command of the sector was placed on me. Fleet operations, military ops. And, until a Moff is appointed — civil affairs are also on me.
Well, it's not a bad career move, but how do you build an Empire in these conditions? When you have to pull an entire army out of the shithole yourself?
Alright, Rick, stop panicking. Let's think, let's reason...
First of all, I tried to call Oli — I should tell my apprentice I'm alive. But her comlink was switched off. Secura's too. Most likely, the connection is unavailable because missions to Ilum are usually classified — after all, it's a Jedi planet where they mine crystals for lightsabers. So her location is a secret. I'm no big expert in ECM, but I imagine you can still track a ship by its comlink.
This armor didn't have the communication codes or other goodies that I had saved in the memory blocks of my previous set. So, after hiding the command cylinder in a belt pocket, I used another password to connect to the backup storage on the datapad, copying its contents into the armor's computer. Alright, passwords, codenames, meeting places — all with me.
Time to act, Master Dougan...
* * *
The Sith's sanctuary was located in the industrial quarters of Coruscant. There, he could relax, take off the mask of Sheev Palpatine. It was from there that he maintained communication with Dooku and his other associates. But now... Now he had to be Chancellor Palpatine.
The director of the Senate Bureau of Intelligence, Armand Isard, had passed this information to him relatively recently, and Palpatine hadn't had time to review it yet. Today, according to the same Isard, the Loyalist Committee intended to use the recording during the next Senate session. He needed to prepare.
Palpatine leaned back on the luxurious sofa in one of the rooms adjacent to his own office. All of them had been allocated for the Chancellor's needs since ancient times, and since Palpatine came to power, they had been fortified, reinforced, and shielded. Now his resting place looked more like a bunker. All the better.
Meanwhile, the action was unfolding on the screen... From the very beginning, Palpatine understood what battle he was about to see.
Sev'rance Tann against the Jedi Dougan. Palpatine smirked, remembering how he had almost betrayed his surprise upon seeing the ancient Sith armor on the Jedi. Still, he hadn't paid it any mind then — who knows what junk the Jedi might have kept in their warehouses.
But the battle... The battle that cost the Order a valuable trophy — the captured Nute Gunray. Dooku had only mentioned that they had managed to free the Viceroy. But without details. They hadn't interested Palpatine. What did it matter, since Sev'rance had removed that thorn from his side...
Despite years of training and polished manners, the Chancellor rose from the sofa when he saw the Jedi absorb the energy of Tann's lightsaber.
Tutaminis! In its purest form! The Jedi bastard hadn't even strained himself, stopping the blade with his wounded palm. On the contrary, he had turned it back on her. Palpatine traced, literally second by second, how the Jedi, struck by Force Lightning, channeled the energy into his own body and knocked Tann off her feet with a powerful blow.
Once more. The Chancellor set the recording to replay.
An experienced fencer's eye noted a certain roughness in the Jedi's actions, his slowness, a certain bluntness. Well, of course! Niman! He was well-trained enough — Plagueis had taught Palpatine everything he knew himself. Including the Niman style. And Sheev would have bet half the galaxy that not a single living Jedi could know those techniques, those combinations. The Jedi had been content for a thousand years with only the first level of Niman — pathetic scraps left for them by the survivors of Ruusan. The Sith, however, had preserved their knowledge. And expanded upon it.
Sidious tracked the battle, forming his opinion. Undoubtedly, the boy was talented. He controlled the fight perfectly — as perfectly as a Jedi could. Monolithic defense. He had set himself the goal from the start: to exhaust the enemy, to get under his skin, to break him. Strange tactics, considering that this was primarily a Sith way of fighting. Jedi focused on a quick and decisive victory. Dougan did everything differently.
Palpatine was trembling with anticipation. Only towards the end of the battle did he realize that from the very first meeting, the Jedi had been subtly weakening Tann — so subtly you could barely notice it. Every word he spoke carried the Force. Unfortunately, the recording couldn't convey that, but Palpatine was sure of it.
Dun Moch. A technique that was inherently neutral, but the Jedi, unaccustomed to cunning during a battle, had classified it as Sith. Idiots...
But this Jedi was no idiot. Almost not an idiot at all. Except maybe at the end. When he pointed the tip of his blade at Tann, instead of angling it so the Lightning would hit it. A simple technique, but as practice shows — few Jedi knew it.
This one, though... knew a lot... Palpatine smiled, thinking that the Jedi, who would undoubtedly study the recording, would hardly notice how much the boy had put into this battle. Force Valor, Center of Being, just a touch of Battle Meditation. Well, well, it seemed Force Slow had been used there too. Why else would he, in his armor, be more agile than his more mobile opponent?
And finally, definitely Crucitorn. To endure such pain... You had to be able to do that. Seeing the Jedi fall, knocked down by his own apprentice, Palpatine was almost not surprised to notice that the clones who arrived at the scene had diagnosed the Jedi's vital signs. And had begun treating his wounds with bacta. There was no doubt that he had survived. Something else irritated Sidious.
Morichro.
If not for the danger of being exposed, Palpatine would have thrown something heavy at the screen. Or incinerated the room with Lightning.
Bantha fodder. Where did the boy learn that? No, there wasn't the slightest chance of it. This was training. Thorough, persistent, lasting for years. Among the Jedi, only Yaddle had mastered this Force technique, which allowed the slowing of an organism's life processes. But she was dead. Could she have taught these secrets to someone?
And yet, it didn't seem like anyone had taught him. Niman, while surpassing the Jedi's knowledge, was still rough work. As if he had learned from a book. Regular sparring would have polished his movements — and then Tann would be lying on the floor, not him.
Palpatine growled, feeling he had found the reason. A holocron.
The boy had a holocron — possibly an ancient one, a Jedi one, created before Ruusan. That would explain his mastery of many Force techniques that are now either banned or unknown to the Jedi. What secrets might that holocron hold?
Palpatine used his habitual breathing exercises to bring himself to a calming state. He should give Dooku an order — to track down and kill the boy. To retrieve the holocron and give it to Sidious for study. But who could handle such an extraordinary Jedi?
Sidious lay back on the sofa again, closing his eyes.
He needed to analyze everything. Problems of this magnitude should not be ignored.
* * *
The Council contacted me after sunset.
I walked up the steps of the Temple with a cheerful stride, quietly whistling some tune.
I had accomplished what I wanted. Perhaps even more than I had counted on. Money, as always, had done its job.
Corellia, where my "Protector" awaited me. The executors, after speaking with a faceless hologram, received assurances that the order for a hundred "Defender-2" was still in effect. According to them, by the end of the eighth month of the war, the slipways could be loaded again.
Fresia, where the management of the Incom company wished to hear my proposals. I should drop by there as well.
Speaking of which, the most interesting meeting had taken place here, on Coruscant.
Heading towards one of the most luxurious skyscrapers on Coruscant, I recalled everything I knew about this man.
A scion of a wealthy family. In his youth, he had organized his own reconnaissance company and laid several hyperspace routes on the Outer Rim, discovered planets with rich mineral deposits, whose coordinates he sold to mining magnates. He had amassed a huge fortune from this in his younger days and returned to his family, proving he was worthy of being part of it.
And now, he headed the family business. A huge corporation that once led the market in starship construction, but now found itself far from the lucrative pie. And even knowing Darth Sidious, for whose apprentice he had designed his personal starship, didn't save the company from its current situation. The Sith had used him and thrown him onto the scrap heap of history.
Not that Sienar was bankrupt. The Clone Wars had forced him to count his money more carefully. Need drove Raith to trade on both sides — with the Republic and the Confederacy. While the Senate, generously bribed by Sienar's donors, only routinely wagged its finger. But everything could change, couldn't it?
I contacted Sienar's secretary, gave her my numbered account number, stating that its holder intended to meet with the management. The girl politely refused me... After half an hour of wrangling, during which I acquired ten percent of Sienar's shares in addition to my five, and sent him a very interesting file by email, a meeting was finally arranged. Sienar. Personally. The time and address were the only things that came back to the email address from which I had sent the file.
A droid porter met me. It dismissed the taxi from the landing pad and escorted me to a reception area deep inside the penthouse. The droid pointed to a sofa, explaining that its master would arrive shortly.
Left alone, I allowed myself to look around.
The richly decorated living room combined luxury and practicality. Computer terminals, monitors built into the walls, models of spaceships arranged on podiums throughout the room. And a massive desk made of real wood, behind which towered a chair so imposing that a person in it would have to seem tiny.
"You know..." The master of the office appeared unexpectedly. "I expected many things. That the holder of such a large account would be a pirate, the head of a criminal group, a reclusive millionaire, the ruler of some planet. But a Jedi... Forgive me, what was your name?"
"Jedi Master Rick Dougan," I grinned.
"Raith Sienar," the elderly man smiled, extending his hand. I shook it with my armored glove.
"Well," the man took his place at the head of his desk. "Given that the Jedi created an army in secret from the Republic, it's no surprise that you might own such an impressive numbered account. The only question is, why buy my shares?"
"There's no question about it at all," I smirked. "I have an order... which didn't particularly impress your top manager. Well, I don't think you'd refuse one of your shareholders."
"An order?" Sienar's eyebrows arched. His hand touched a sensor panel embedded in the desktop. "Are you referring to this?"
Above the desktop, a three-dimensional hologram of a triangular ship appeared, with a split bow and a squat bridge set back towards the stern.
"Exactly," I nodded. "A beautiful ship, don't you think?"
"Well..." Raith became less enthusiastic. "These are archive blueprints of an ancient battleship. The ship might have been good. In its time. But now, in the era of automation... I'm afraid, despite its impressive armament, it won't be popular now. Of course, it could be modernized... But still, it would be easier to build a new project, a new ship. However, it's still money down the drain. The ship would be very expensive. It would be cheaper to buy Separatist battleships on the black market..."
"Don't you see the irony?"
"What kind?" Raith looked at me in confusion.
Now it was my turn to display holographic data. The head of the corporation only glanced briefly at the three-dimensional image of the ship.
"Yes... the 'Marauder' corvette. Our design."
"Unclaimed, by the way," I reminded him. "Though you and I both know it's a fine ship."
"Who cares about our thoughts, honored Jedi?" Sienar laughed. "If we're still going to end up with the Republic remaining clients of Kuat Drive Yards. That should concern you too, my friend, as my largest shareholder. I'm afraid you've invested your money quite unprofitably..."
"On the contrary," it was my turn to smile. "I have a different view of the situation. I have resources that can restore our company's profitability. And clients in the Republic. And not only there, for that matter."
"For example?" Interest appeared in Raith's eyes.
"As you know, the Grand Army of the Republic is divided into twenty sector armies. The command decided that each army should purchase its own equipment."
"And by a completely random coincidence," Sienar added, "you can assist in the purchase of our products?"
"Assist?" I chuckled. "Raith, may I call you by your first name?" The shipbuilder only made a vague gesture. "Under my command is the 13th Sector Army, which is experiencing a serious shortage of ships of all classes."
"Is that so," he smirked. "And that's why you decided to buy 'Marauders' for them? Patching up the holes at the front? I've heard that the 13th and 14th Armies have been getting quite a beating lately."
"Isn't that a reason to resume production of the 'Marauders'?" I smiled. "For my part, I am ready to provide funding."
"I take it the talk of kickbacks is coming next?" Sienar smiled. "I can offer you up to 10 percent of the value of each ship."
"That doesn't interest me," I shook my head.
The man looked at me in bewilderment.
"You'll get another two percent from the sale as the second-largest shareholder," he added. "That's good money, Master Jedi."
"My friend," I allowed myself a smile, though it was hardly visible under the mask. "Kickbacks, bribes, and the like are the business of Republic bureaucrats who only profit from war. I want to bring peace and order to this galaxy."
"Not bad for a single Jedi," Raith chuckled. "But I'm afraid you're going to need a lot of 'Marauders' for that."
"And not just them," I nodded at the dreadnought hologram. Then, seeing Sienar's silence, I displayed a hologram of the "Fury." This made the man lean forward from his chair, examining the hologram closely.
"Once, this was a personal starship for Force-sensitive warriors," I explained, and the image changed again. "And this starship was used by the best scouts of an ancient state," Sienar curiously examined the hologram of the X-70B "Phantom" prototype. "This ship," now a "Terminus" appeared before his eyes, "could control entire star systems on its own."
"An impressive archive of museum antiquities," Raith chuckled when the holographics ended. "Some concepts are familiar to me..."
"Of course," I chuckled now. "You built a similar ship more than ten years ago. It was found during the lifting of the blockade of Naboo..."
Raith only waved his hand dismissively.
"Don't listen to those Senate hacks and the tabloids," he advised.
"I know the truth, Sienar," I added more Force to my voice, drawing the man's attention. "But it doesn't interest me. I'll deal with the Sith myself. But I need your support. Your mind, your ion engines, and your solar ionization reactors."
"I see you know a lot," Sienar hissed.
"More than I'd like," I admitted. "My knowledge and my plans will ensure a comfortable existence for your companies now, not in the future. Your need to trade with the CIS will disappear. The trillions sitting idle in the numbered account will enter the company's circulation. And when the time comes, you'll be able to walk into the office of the management of Kuat Drive Yards and take a dump on their desk. While your upgraded 'Harrowers'," I pointed my finger at the dreadnought hologram, "destroy their orbital shipyards."
"Ambitious," Raith admitted. "But what makes you think I will help you, rather than report a crazy Jedi to the Order?"
"Mr. Sienar," I dismissed the ship holograms, clearing the space in the office. "How tightly does the Banking Clan have you by the balls? They have fifteen percent of the shares. How long will it be before they bankrupt you and throw you on the street?"
"We have a good financial cushion," he remarked. "We'll hold out as long as necessary. Besides," he smiled, "you just gifted us several hundred trillion from your account."
"Let's just do the math, Raith," I smiled back. "You and the Santhe family each hold 25% of the shares. The Muuns have 15%. And I, thanks to your stubbornness, own the remaining 35%."
"Impossible!" Raith lunged toward the table, pulling up trading data on the holographic screen. "Hutt! You bastard, Master Jedi!"
"I need you, Mr. Raith," I assured him. "I've returned trillions of credits to the company. You can buy back their pitiful interest from the bankers — the interest they use to control your supplies. Or you can wait until I do it myself. Either way — you'll end up on my side. Whether you want to or not."
Raith sat there, glaring at me from under his brow. He was livid.
Until today, Sienar himself held 70% of the shares. Eager to secure loans from the bankers, he'd put up 15% of his shares as collateral. The shipbuilder wasn't fazed by the enormous interest payments. He was confident in success. And when the Republic pulled the rug out from under him, and the Marauder never went into production, he said goodbye not only to those shares but also to massive sums from the company accounts. He had no choice but to float another portion of shares on the market, just before the Clone Wars. The conflict had been brewing for a long time, so he had a chance — a good one — that the shares would be picked up by major clients. But the Republic bet on Kuat and its resources. Sienar was left with nothing. And the interest kept piling up...
Now, effectively, I own the majority of the company's shares. Even if Sienar buys back the shares from the Muuns, he'll still trail behind me. Of course, together with the Santhe family — his relatives who control part of the company — he could outweigh my shares and lobbying power. But that won't last long. Especially since, once the Santhes learn about the sums that could flow into their pockets, they'll accept the offer.
And I'll bet my last tooth that Sienar was thinking exactly that.
"Raith," I said, as gently as I could. "You've been treated like cattle. By the Republic. By the Muuns. Even by me. But I'm extending a hand of friendship to you. Along with it — Republic credits to buy your beautiful machines. And my own funds, so our company can keep growing."
"A limited purchase of Marauders won't save us," Raith finally said. "How many are you willing to take for your army? Two, three hundred? Fine, that'll give us roughly — five hundred million credits. That's not enough to reclaim the shares the Muuns are holding. Without large orders, we'll still be grasping at straws..."
"I've already offered you orders, Raith. You just need to take those schematics and modernize them..."
"Hmph," Sienar bit his lip, staring at the hologram of the Harrower. Then he grabbed it and, with a flick of his fingers, broke it down into components. "Let's say we can install the new cannons from Time & Buck — the ones Kuat is now putting on the Venators. We overhaul the power system immediately... Hm, what's this? Half the reactor room goes under the knife, this storage is useless too, the engines... Well, not bad for a thousand-year-old wreck, but my ion engines are better... So, the generator will exit from the bottom here... We get an energy surplus. Hm... we can route that to the shields. Oh, and let's reinforce the anti-aircraft armament..."
I watched in silence as the man before me, practically on his knee, revised the blueprints of one of the best ships of the Sith Empire. Maybe he was right that in its original form, the Harrower couldn't have handled the Venators, but judging by everything, a very different future now awaited it.
Raith muttered something under his breath, editing the schematics. He seemed utterly uninterested in anything — even my presence. With the heavy curtains blocking out the sunlight, it was hard to tell the time of day, but the sight was worth it.
Sitting before me was the Tony Stark of a galaxy far, far away. And beneath his hands, a perfect weapon was being born.
* * *
."..you didn't listen to my opinion before," Windu's voice reached me. "You're ignoring the Council now, too. He can't be trusted with this mission!"
"Masters," I bowed to the Jedi gathered in the Temple's operations center.
"Master Dougan," Yoda greeted me. "Come in. There is a mission for you. A personal one."
Besides him, the modestly sized room held the presences of Saesee Tiin, Agen Kolar, and Luminara Unduli. The latter, after greeting me with a warm smile, shrank back when she caught the fierce glare of the Afro-Jedi.
I was still clad in Sith armor, which, judging by everything, was driving Windu crazy. Well, and not just him, it seemed. Windu, in any case, didn't even try to hide his dislike for me. Well, we were never going to be friends anyway. Following his gaze, I smiled.
He was staring at the legion emblem embroidered on my cloak. Well, what can you do if he can't figure that out.
"Dark times have come for the Republic," Windu said, nodding at the holoterminal.
"Today, during a Senate session, a representative of the Hutt Jabba from Tatooine contacted the Chancellor," Unduli said. Beads of sweat ran down my back. Oh no. Here we go! And it had been such a good day!!!
"Unknown parties kidnapped his son," Tiin continued.
"Kidnappings aren't uncommon among Hutts," I said. Maybe I could weasel out of this mission? I'd just come back from the dead. And behind this kidnapping is Dooku himself... I really didn't need to deal with his dark followers right now. Let Skyscrambler handle it!
"We believe this is the work of Count Dooku," Master Kolar said.
"And what is this certainty based on?" Things were unfolding just like in the movie. But even there, they didn't justify these Jedi assertions.
"Jabba sent mercenaries to find the boy," Unduli explained. "They all came back, cut to pieces by a lightsaber."
"Shit!" I cursed mentally. That witch, Ventress, is there! She'll chop me into kebab for sure.
"If I understand correctly, the mission is to find the child and return him to Jabba?" I clarified. As far as I remembered, the Republic wanted to use Hutt territory for its own purposes. As a transit zone, I think.
"That is your part of the mission," Windu said, cutting it short. "Master Unduli is to negotiate an agreement with the Hutts for the use of their hyperspace routes for our military convoys."
"Well then," at least I wouldn't have to deal with the Hutts. "Is there any additional information?"
"The Hutt gave us some information that his mercenaries managed to gather," Unduli said. "They concentrated their efforts in the southern part of the Triellus Trade Route, bordering Hutt Space. We believe the search for the child should begin there."
"May I begin the mission?" I asked.
"No need to rush, Master Dougan," Yoda said. "Reconnaissance you can send from Coruscant. A Padawan you must wait for. And with Moff Trachta meet you must. The Chancellor insists."
"Moff Trachta?" I was surprised. "Who is that?"
Asking why Palps was so interested in our meeting was pointless. The Sith decided to gather information about me through one of his people. That's a given. Especially since the Moff's surname was familiar. I think he's one of the Emperor's best lackeys in the future. I'll have to be careful with him.
"He commands the First Sector Army," Kolar explained. "The Moff will help you settle into your role as sector army commander and share his experience."
"Which you, without a doubt, need," Windu spat venomously.
"Thank you for your concern," I bowed low, then quickly left the room. Though I wanted to test the legendary Vaapad of the Afro-Jedi. No wonder I didn't like him from the start. He'll be grinding his teeth at me now. Bastard.
Well, that's the least of my concerns. I need to contact my people and visit the Moff. Maybe he'll have something interesting to say.
* * *
The moment the door closed behind the Jedi, the masters returned to their interrupted argument.
"I don't trust him," Windu declared. "No Jedi would allow himself to wear Sith rags. I can't sense him. That's not normal!"
Luminara discreetly rolled her eyes.
Master Windu possessed a unique gift — he could see vulnerabilities through the Force. Everywhere. In a person, in metal, in a building... This ability had gotten him out of the toughest situations countless times. No wonder he was so furious.
For the first time, the Grand Master had abused his authority. He had unilaterally decided the fate of Master Dougan, putting the Order in a conflict with the Chancellor's office — they were already looking for a candidate for the command post, but the Jedi's decision didn't impress them. Politicians once again believed the Jedi were seizing power. It was the same when Master Rai-Gul was appointed to the Second Sector, and when Master Ki-Adi-Mundi was appointed to the Fourth... Nothing to be done — people still remembered the time when the Jedi ruled the Republic. And, despite acknowledging past merits, they were not eager to let the Order regain political power.
Not that any of the Jedi wanted that.
They had been forced to become generals. And few of them liked it. Some liked it least of all.
"I was able to penetrate his defenses," Yoda cut in. "Uncontrolled Darkness there is not. This knight serves the Light. And the armor... merely practical it is, nothing more. Lightsabers were also developed by the Sith. Yet use them we do. Did that make us fallen?"
Luminara mentally applauded the Grand Master. The lightsabers that Jedi used today were first invented by the Sith. After the bloody war, the Jedi simply adopted the enemy's technology.
"No, Master," Saesee Tiin bowed his head respectfully. "But his candidacy is still highly controversial."
"The politicians don't approve of him," Windu noted. "There are more outstanding candidates for this position..."
"Challenge my decision you wish to, old friend?" Yoda said with interest. Windu was taken aback for a moment, then bowed his head respectfully.
"All the better," Yoda grunted. "Master Unduli, let us discuss the upcoming negotiations with the Hutts."
The woman smiled modestly.
"I agree with you, Master Yoda."