I left Tatooine with a light heart.
The Protector, under the control of the permanent pilot of Iokath manufacture, carried me through the atmosphere heated by the glow of two suns. There, in orbit of Tatooine, a squadron awaited me, which was to return triumphantly to its base — Ord Pardron.
Where I would finally fully assume the duties of army commander.
Admiral Var, as soon as communication was restored, cheerfully reported a lull on the fronts — the active phase of counter-offensives had shifted to passive positional battles. The enemy was exhausted and in dire need of reinforcements. We, on the other hand, had reinforcements from the Center, which could strengthen us on the most dangerous fronts.
After the tension between the Republic and the Hutts was relieved, Jabba the Hutt's fleet lifted the blockade of the Hammer fleet, and Pellaeon was finally able to contact us. After exchanging news, the commodore sent a corvette to me, while he himself departed for his base — he was to reinforce Kreeves' group near Rodia. CIS scouts had been appearing there far too often.
K1, at my direction, set a course for Ord Pardron, and illuminated by the glow of its engines, the corvette jumped into hyperspace.
A motley crew had gathered on board — two wounded clones residing in the medbay. The shuttle's med droid had done everything in its power, and now the guys, though forced to stay in the 'hospital bed', had no fear for their lives. Although... they weren't afraid anyway...
That's how clones are made — their natural aggression, their personal opinions, even their instincts are largely dulled, in the name of a single goal — obeying the commands of the command.
There, in the head of every clone, sits an inhibitor chip (and that's for sure), which at a certain moment will force them to execute the infamous Order 66. That is how the extermination of the Jedi is supposed to happen.
But now, everything will go a different way. Sidious's plan will not come to fruition to the extent he would have liked. Heh-heh-heh...
Watching Luminara and Oli fencing, I mentally leaned back into contemplation of what had been achieved.
In my head, the structure of the army of the future Empire had already taken shape.
Rendili and Corellia... I should carefully study the issues of these systems switching to my side. You can't put all your eggs in one basket — that is, whatever the wonders of the Forge, it is not invulnerable to a massive attack — Malak would testify to that. Therefore, I should consider the issues of annexing or capturing important shipbuilding facilities. Malgus, who is conquering Sith space, mentioned the restoration of the shipbuilding facilities of Vitiate's Empire — their coordinates have long been forgotten, and the resource base is not depleted. That option suited me. But the problem was that the relatively intact shipbuilding complex of Dromund Kalakar required the extermination of the Prophets of the Dark Side, who had settled on Dromund Kaas. During our previous visit to the capital world, Valkorion hid us from sensor observation and in the Force, but it cannot continue forever. And too early 'revival' of the Prophets would attract Sidious's attention. A delicate moment. But once solved, Sienar would get an almost ready platform for assembling his new improved 'Slicers'.
The abandonment of Zakuul was perfect for deploying machine-building plants on it, which is exactly why 'Haor Chall' went there under the vigilant supervision of Nadia. Soon, a branch of 'Incom' will join them. At first, they will have to make room on the planet; we'll see later.
As I already said, Rothana looks extremely attractive to me. Located deep in territories controlled by the 'Iron Spear', with a successful offensive, it could be quickly captured and redirected to produce the equipment and ships we need. I just need to get there. I think the 'Rendili Shipyards' would not mind getting Rothana under their control, as a spit in the face of Kuat. I need to think this through. For now, I should make sure that Rendili carries out the repair of the 'Katana Fleet' as quickly as possible and accelerates the production of new ships 'for Christophsis'. After all, to secure the territory of the oversector, I will have to launch massive strikes against my neighbors. In particular — against the 14th Sector Army. I don't like it when someone breathes down my neck.
The Kaminoans deceived the Republic, claiming that a healthy clone could be created in ten years. It could be done faster, but more expensive. Significantly more expensive. Neither the Republic nor the Jedi could afford such expenses, so Sifo-Dyas settled on the 'standard' service package. And the clone army patiently grew all these years...
The path of expenses and unguaranteed results that the Kaminoans offered the Jedi Master was that, like all merchants, the Kaminoans had a tendency to expand their range of services and purchase advanced equipment. Even if by not entirely legal means.
That memorable conversation of mine with Lama Su lasted a long time. The Prime Minister did not understand my hints, or pretended not to. So I had to break his arm and leg with the Force, and then make him listen.
I had no confirmation of my words, only inaccuracies in the canon once gleaned from literature. But in my opinion, that was enough to at least ask questions.
So, according to my information, at the beginning of the war, the Kaminoans managed to clone a Force-sensitive individual and obtain two such gifted clones based on him. Rahm Kota's Padawan named Falon Grey became a guinea pig, without knowing it. At the beginning of the Clone Wars, he was seriously wounded and sent to Kamino for treatment. Where the cunning gray-skinned bastards obtained DNA samples from him and created two Force-sensitive clones based on him — X1 and X2. It would seem, well done, that's where the cloning of Starkiller by Darth Vader comes from. They improved the technology in the Imperial period, and the Sith probably advised how and what...
But what's interesting in this story is that both of Gray's clones fought in the Clone Wars as GAR soldiers. That means they were grown faster than 10 years. And that means the Kaminoans screwed the Republic somewhere, but where exactly is not yet known.
This I told the ruler of the Kaminoans. I seasoned the story with details of his deal with Sidious and Tyranus, told him what future awaited Kamino — from the aftermath of war to rebellion, nationalization, and loss of autonomy. I shamelessly exploited my knowledge of the future, played on the myths and fears of ordinary beings about the Jedi. Few could boast of knowing the peculiarities of Jedi foresight. And the Kaminoans were not among the chosen. Lama Su could not catch me on the fact that Force Visions are fragmentary in nature, not a sequential plot.
Moreover, by promising him punishment from the Council for interfering in the Jedi's jealously guarded secret of cloning Force-sensitives, I managed to break the Kaminoan. Generous compensation, a promise of real protection, reinforced by Force Persuasion, broke Lama Su's will. The conditioning that Count Dooku had instilled in him in his time was nothing compared to the power I had gained by absorbing the spirit of Exar Kun.
But even I was puzzled by what I saw.
"So, Palpatine has a new army. I have no doubt that he will one day consider our cloning operations a threat and will seek to destroy our capabilities. But he is a fool if he thinks we handed over all of Fett's battle clones to him," said Lama Su, commenting on the scene unfolding before my eyes.
In a secret laboratory located in the government quarter of Tipoca City, tens of thousands of cloning cylinders rose in even rows. They did not have the simplicity that I saw in the 'Clone Wars' animated series. And each of them was filled with almost mature clones of Jango Fett, peacefully dozing in nutrient solution. Only dozens of staff members, carefully bustling around technical objects, broke the silence in the room.
These cylinders reminded me more of those I had seen in videos of 'The Force Unleashed', where Galen Marek's clones were grown in an underground facility. Something between the stasis pod of the Master Chief from the 'Halo' universe and a laboratory test tube.
"We spent considerable funds and effort to obtain twenty thousand such cloning cylinders," the Prime Minister told me. "And a lot of money went on bribes to officials to smuggle them out past Jedi attention from Cartao..."
"Damn it," I swore. "Cartao! That's..."
"Spaarti cloning cylinders," the Kaminoan confirmed my guess. "It was thanks to them that we were able to obtain the clones of the Jedi Gray. However, we cannot repeat the cloning success."
"For what reason?"
"All subsequent clones, both Force-sensitive and ordinary, go mad after some time," Su said perplexedly. "On average — after a week or two. We are trying to understand the cause, but the larger the batch of clones grown in these cylinders, the faster such psychosis occurs. We are striving to solve this problem. The limit we were able to establish experimentally is 100 clone units. Funding for research in this area, which we asked Master Sifo-Dyas for, could significantly increase the size of the Grand Army of the Republic — on average, a healthy clone is created in such units in 2-3 weeks. Moreover, copied skills using a special training program are already implanted into its memory. Now we are conducting experiments on stabilizing clones based on data obtained from Force-sensitive clones."
"Three weeks and a fully trained fighter..."
"Without any doubt, he needs training in real conditions — otherwise the knowledge will not be assimilated. But this approach would allow us to create clones tens of times faster..."
"You know, Prime Minister," I grinned. "I think you will be interested in my proposal."
"You have already intrigued me with promises of all kinds of support," the Kaminoan snorted, pointing at the applied devices for bone knitting.
"Oh, come now," I chuckled. "I know how to neutralize such a significant drawback for you."
"Really?" Doubt was evident in the Kaminoan's voice. "My best scientists..."
"Don't know a damn thing about the Force," I finished. "I need a trial batch of these cylinders — say, one thousand. Tests will be conducted at my secret base. And if they are successful, your problems with the cylinders will be solved."
"And we will be able to get more money from the Republic for meeting order deadlines," Lama voiced his thoughts.
"No, of course not," I laughed. "You will have a completely different client. A more generous one."
* * *
As Vette informed me, the experiment was successful.
The Ysalamiri reliably blocked the clones' connection to the Force, and as a result, thousands of clones peacefully existed in an improvised training camp on Yavin 4 under the observation of a Mandalorian clan. I should inform the Kaminoans of the success and increase the production scale of my Yavin clones. Especially since the appearance of ships of the 13th Sector Army at Kamino will not arouse much suspicion. I just need to deal with those subordinates who have great prospects for further service to MY Empire.
Fate (or the Force) brought Pellaeon and the young sprouts of Palpatine's Empire and the Rebellion to my attention. Future heroes of the Empire and the Alliance — under my command. And now it depends only on me how to use my personnel.
But in the context of the miraculous method of creating a clone army, I omitted one well-known name. The name that, in legends, a little over twenty years later, would terrify the young New Republic.
Thrawn. A Chiss, whose strategic mind and virtuoso command made him the thirteenth, secret Grand Admiral of Palpatine. And now, he languished in exile, because his talent ran counter to the interests of his native Chiss Dominion, hidden far away in Wild Space. And the more I thought about the future, the more I desired to find him and recruit him to my service. Yes, now he is young, not as experienced as in the time of the Empire, but still... I cannot let such a valuable asset fall into Palpatine's hands.
He should be found. Like Malgus, who is subjugating Sith Space to my will, Thrawn will be able to bring unknown parts of the galaxy under my banner. The Empire of the Hand, as he called his conquests in the depths of the Unknown Regions and Wild Space. Too tempting a morsel to turn a blind eye to all this.
Thinking about Thrawn, I noted with surprise that my thoughts were overly concentrated on his person. And yet he was only one of a baker's dozen...
But, let's return to thoughts about the army.
The main infantry forces, the so-called expendable troops, were droids. The Skywalkers worked perfectly for me as cannon fodder. Simple to maintain, easy to produce. A third of the New Forge's capacity was currently dedicated to manufacturing these war machines. At this stage, that was enough to capture the abandoned worlds of Sith Space and take control of the worlds I had marked. The second third, regardless of the time of day, churned out weapons and equipment for the future army without interruption. The last section was still under construction and was unlikely to come online anytime soon. But one way or another, its purpose was the production of heavy equipment.
Unlike its predecessor, the New Forge could not independently create new designs for droids or weapons — it could only replicate the samples it received. But it did so with astonishing speed. By the time Operation Knightfall began, I would have an army of Skywalkers of all types, outnumbering the combined forces of the Empire and the CIS tenfold.
And the design bureaus of Haor Chall Engineering, Incom Corporation, and Sienar would supply me with new weapon prototypes. Which the Forge would replicate thousands and thousands of times.
The soldiers currently being produced on Kamino would, unfortunately, remain loyal to the Republic — nothing could be done about the first and second generations of clones. Reading the reports kindly prepared for me by Admiral Var, I noted that the Senate, reluctantly, had signed a contract with Kamino to purchase another batch of clones. The second generation.
The pioneers of the clone army, like my legion, would suffer significant losses by the end of the first year of the war, which was just around the corner. It was no wonder that repeated defeats on the warfronts had forced the bureaucrats to agree to purchase a new batch. Fully grown, completely trained individuals would join the Grand Army in a couple of months, mixing with the battle-hardened first-generation clones. A similar infusion was anticipated for my army as well — after all, my area of responsibility was such that I had more clones and fleets than most.
Therefore, I needed to keep a close eye on them. The legion that had been through fire, water, and durasteel pipes with me would soon be rid of those infamous inhibitor chips. The luxurious medical center at Christophsis would help me maintain the troops' loyalty at the proper level. Of course, removing the inhibitors was no guarantee that some clones wouldn't still execute that accursed Order 66, but that, as expected, was where the devil lay. In the details.
If I remembered correctly, from the middle of the second year of the war, and by the end of the third year, the Kaminoans would supply the Republic with the third and fourth generations of clones — they were currently undergoing mass training. And additional medical procedures — the inhibitor chips, which became the key to the loyalty of a vast army. Despite everything, they had followed the order and exterminated those with whom they had shed blood for so long. Because the Supreme Chancellor's order took priority over the words of the Jedi.
However, that wasn't quite the case now. The first and second generations would carry out the Chancellor's orders — I harbored no illusions about that. But the third and fourth, and all subsequent ones — that was MY army. No matter what edge of the galaxy they were on, they would carry out MY orders. For such was the program in their inhibitors from now on.
I had long pondered whether I should simply remove the inhibitors from the clones' heads altogether. Let them decide for themselves whether they should fight for me or the Republic. But then I dismissed that Jedi nonsense. They were clones. Their purpose was war. In my Empire, they would be granted civil rights and a decent existence. They would cease to be tools in the hands of politicians. That should be enough for them. But free will was not for soldiers. The right to contemplate orders was a privilege for their new leadership. At least until Palpatine was defeated.
Of course, after a long conversation with Balda and Alpha, I had ordered their inhibitors removed. Those guys had earned their free will. But I dismissed their request to do the same for the entire legion. It wasn't time yet.
The cloning facility on Yavin 4 followed the same principles. The Storm Corps, as I affectionately called the clones produced there, were ARC troopers of the Alpha class. Combined with the inhibitors that ensured their loyalty to my orders, these clones, along with those who would defect to my side, auxiliary forces, and mercenaries, would form the second line.
The third line would be represented by members of the new Order. It was funny to say, but beyond general phrases and concepts, my vision on this matter hadn't progressed. However, it was the Force-sensitive individuals who were destined to lead the army and fleet. I had about two years (adjusted for changes in cause-and-effect relationships due to my intervention) to prepare completely loyal Force-sensitives. Unfortunately, I couldn't implant chips in all of them, or, as with Unduli, show them the future. In the first case, it wouldn't help — the Kaminoans had tried; in the second, it was too slow.
Atroxa, like a little child needing encouragement, informed me of the successful recruitment of members of the Jensaarai Order. There weren't many of them — just under a thousand — and they weren't particularly powerful, but they were only the beginning. As soon as I dealt with the pile of sector army matters that had fallen on me, I would gather my trusted Hands and pay a visit to another place. Where thousands of Force-sensitives were just waiting for a strong leader to guide them. How did I know that? It had already happened on the pages of the "Legacy" era books.
The Force pulled me from my thoughts. Scanning the training area, I instantly understood the reason for the unease coming from Oli.
Dropping her gaze to the floor, as if trying to press herself into the walls of the corvette, one of the Twi'lek twins moved silently toward me from the doorway. To be honest, I couldn't tell them apart — even their voices were very similar. However, at our parting, Jabba had told me they only looked alike in their clothes. But I hadn't yet bothered to verify his words.
Besides the two clones, two slave girls, a couple of Jedi, and not counting the ancient droid, there was no crew on the corvette. Consequently, if a pair of notable alien girls disappeared in my cabin, the conclusion would suggest itself. Seriously, I didn't invite them for a tea party.
If Luminara had accepted the news of Jabba's gift completely calmly, then Oli... Had you ever seen a little fury? Well, this black-haired "half-pint" (yes, she was taller than a meter and a half, but a head shorter than me. So, I had the right to call her that. After all, it wasn't me who foisted her on myself).
Yes, things hadn't worked out between us at first — after all, who likes having a teenager with ambitions thrust upon them? But after her selfless — and I couldn't call it anything else — saving of my life.
I thought it would be a good idea to treat the girl gently, but with humor. In the back of my mind, a thought flickered that the Padawan was overly intrusive and curious, and she had wormed her way into my trust quite deftly — she even addressed me informally. If this continued, she'd soon be patting me familiarly on the ass.
Therefore, observing through the prism of the Great Force the hint of jealousy toward the Twi'lek coming from Starstone, I made a mental note for the future: to put my student in her place. Otherwise, Heaven forbid, Cin Drallig might turn out to be right.
Though... on the other hand, I could understand her.
Unlike the outfits the sisters had worn during my negotiations with Jabba, the Twi'lek now looked much more alluring. Ankle boots with short uppers. Tight leggings of shiny blue fabric that created the illusion of nudity. And an intricate top that separately framed her rather nice and neat breasts. Though, as far as I was concerned, I would call it a top.
Her flat stomach was crossed by intricate black line tattoos, disappearing under the leggings and covering the visible parts of her chest, back, arms... So that was what the Hutt was hinting at.
"My Lord," half of the gift from the crime king of Tatooine bowed low. "Ann and I have prepared dinner for you. Will you do us the honor of tasting our dishes?"
A distinct nervous chuckle came from the Padawan's side. She couldn't see my face from under the mask, so I shook my finger at her sternly.
I had no intention of refusing. Neither sister was Force-sensitive — I had checked. But somehow, they still knew I was hungry.
"A timely offer," I remarked, rising from the couch. "Why not?"
"I, by the way," Oli interjected, "am hungry too."
"We haven't finished our training yet," Luminara pulled her up short. Meeting my gaze, she added, "We'll join you in a couple of hours."
"But..."
"Don't get distracted, Oli," the master's voice grew stern. "Your defenses aren't as good as you think. So first, training, then dinner."
"Yes, Master," the girl, pressing her lips together, returned to her training stance.
Tann Gella, watching me with an ingratiating gaze, let me go first and followed behind.
Descending to the main deck, I caught sight of the blue-white glow of hyperspace streaming before my face, filling the corvette's compartments through the transparisteel elements of the cockpit.
The Iokath droid sat silently in the pilot's seat, not even acknowledging the footsteps on the deck plating.
Deciding not to disturb it, I headed toward my quarters.
The door panel slid briskly aside, letting me in. Stepping over the threshold, I began to suspect something was amiss.
No, the set table was present and practically groaned under the weight of exquisite dishes. Beside it stood the second twin, Ann, dressed in a long, sleeveless gown. But the unmade bed, the dimmed overhead light, the scent of incense... I would say the atmosphere was hardly suitable for a meal.
My suspicions were confirmed when Tann sealed the door.
"Please don't be angry with us for the deception, my Lord," she babbled. "But our position obliges us to please our master. And you are so pensive, so tense..."
"I'm intrigued by what's happening," I said, removing the mask from my face with a habitual motion and pulling back my hood. "Especially by how deftly you pulled this off right under my nose."
"Allow me," Ann said, slipping her robe off her shoulders with a light movement, revealing an outfit compared to which Princess Leia's slave costume was a model of decency. "We'll take it from here..."
The Twi'lek's nimble hands fluttered over my armor, helping me out of it. At first, the second sister did this alone, but after a couple of minutes, Tann joined her. To my surprise, the second sister had imperceptibly shed her outer clothing, remaining in attire just like her sister's.
Grinning, I let the girls strip me of my outer garments. Embracing them both, I nodded toward the dinner table and clarified.
"But we will definitely eat afterward," I caught a smile from both sisters and let them lead me to the bed.
* * *
The sparring with Master Unduli was nothing like the battle she usually imagined training with a teacher would be. His furious pressure, his swiftness and inevitability, were incomparable to the Mirialan's seeming slowness. The moment Oli thought everything was too simple, she nearly missed an unexpected lunge from her opponent, which would have caused her big problems in a real fight.
"You're distracted," Unduli noted, deactivating her blade. "Training won't work like that. Inattention is the key to defeat. I thought the teacher told you that. It's the foundation of any Jedi training."
"We have... a peculiar relationship with the teacher," the girl hesitated.
The master gestured for her to sit on the couch. With a sigh, Oli clipped her blade to her belt, realizing the sparring was over.
"I noticed how you looked at him when he left with..."
"With the slave girl, Master," the Padawan replied more sharply than she intended. Catching herself, she looked at Luminara, wondering if she had been rude. She didn't want to offend her master. "It's just... A Jedi owning slaves..."
"You're clearly troubled by it," the Mirialan stated the obvious.
"Of course! A Jedi shouldn't have attachments. And Master... how can one just own other beings? It's illegal and immoral."
"Padawan," Unduli said didactically. "Your indignation is understandable. But these beings are a gift from Jabba the Hutt as a sign of the alliance treaty. If your master had refused it, he would have mortally insulted the Hutt."
"But they're slaves! And the Republic fights against slavery. And now he's there, in his cabin, and they're feeding him. I can reach out to him with the Force and feel him relaxing in the company of those slave girls. It's disgusting! How can he not understand that?"
"Oli," the master said patiently, interrupting the girl's concentration. "The galaxy is multifaceted. The customs and behavior of many species cause disgust and bewilderment. What is normal for Hutts is sometimes even illegal for us. But we are forced to coexist peacefully with them — otherwise, the Republic would have to fight on multiple fronts."
"I don't understand," the girl admitted.
"In the past, at the dawn of its formation, the Republic was mostly made up of humans. And against other races, humans organized a great many crusades — for extermination, for the capture of new territories, and for other reasons. Humans couldn't accept that other beings lived somewhere else, with a different worldview. So it was logical that aliens fought to defend their territory and their ideology. The Jedi Order put an end to the madness, and all sides sat down at the negotiating table. And they managed to reach a consensus. The Republic as you see it is the result of one race's tolerance toward another."
"I... I don't really understand, Master."
"Alright, look at it yourself," Luminara rubbed the bridge of her nose patiently. "The Jedi have a tradition — upon completing training, the teacher cuts off the Padawan's braid."
"Well, yes..."
"Many consider it barbaric. But for us, it's perfectly normal. Just as it is perfectly normal for a Hutt to give slaves as gifts, as you call them. It's part of their way of life."
"But they're living beings... they could have been abducted from their planet and..."
"Young Padawan," the Mirialan tapped her finger on her interlocutor's forehead. "And where was your head when the instructors were telling you about the etiquette of other races?"
"I... I was sick. Probably," the girl blushed.
Luminara submerged herself in the Force. Listening to its echoes, she concentrated, trying to dampen the emotions emanating through it. After a few seconds, she succeeded. Well, that was the right move. The Padawan shouldn't witness an outburst of emotions.
"Many thousands of years ago, when Ryloth — the Twi'leks' homeworld — first learned of the immensity of the surrounding galaxy, they were living through a most severe crisis. Their planet is harsh and has little to offer that might interest the Core Worlds. So the Twi'leks took a different path. Their women are beautiful — well, you can see that yourself — so many of them found refuge as concubines, or as they're called in the Republic, 'indentured workers.' That is, essentially, the Twi'leks hired themselves out to their masters."
"Pfft, some hiring," the Padawan muttered.
"One way or another, they had no other way to leave the planet and settle across the galaxy," Unduli concluded. "Over time, of course, this died down. But an indelible impression remained in the galaxy's memory — if a powerful person has Twi'leks, it means he is high-status and more respected; if he doesn't have them, he isn't."
"But Knight Secura is also from Ryloth," the girl recalled. "Why doesn't she act like that?"
"Oh, little one," Unduli smiled, recalling conversations with her friend. But you couldn't tell a child that, could you? "Aayla is a Jedi. And all of us, when we become Jedi, try to adapt to Coruscant's culture. So don't think badly of your teacher. He couldn't insult Jabba by refusing his gift. But he won't keep them with him either. Most likely, he'll send them somewhere or find them something they enjoy."
"Right," Starstone grinned lasciviously — something the master of Soresu clearly hadn't expected from the young Jedi. "We know all about their 'enjoyment.' The HoloNet is full of recordings of their 'activities.'"
"Hmm," the Mirialan furrowed her brows. "Isn't it a bit early for you to start watching things like that?"
The girl's eyes widened as she realized she had said too much. Pressing her lips together, she silently stared at the floor.
"You shouldn't judge everyone by the same standard," Unduli admonished. "If all Twi'leks seem depraved to you, remember with what dignity Knight Secura conducts herself, and be ashamed of your thoughts. Aayla is a typical representative of her kind, but can you say anything like what you were thinking about her? No. She is a role model for many — both in morals and in valor."
"I understand, Master," the girl stood up and bowed. "Forgive my offensive thoughts. I... I will take Knight Secura as my example."
"Well, at least you don't know the shameful pages of her history and the improper content of our conversations," Luminara thought. Otherwise, taking Aayla as an example wouldn't be the best option.
The master smirked at her own thoughts. Even in such small things, Dougan was right. The Jedi weren't what they wanted to appear to be. Even though he hadn't said it directly, wasn't it natural for beings to be who they were born to be? Why, for the sake of serving the Order, should they lose their individuality? Oh, so many questions had risen in her head. Dougan, Dougan. Why did you return from the Unknown Regions? Why did you turn everything upside down? For salvation? Or are you our doom?
Unduli sighed sadly. She believed in Dougan's visions, in what he had shown. But was there truly no other way than to destroy the Order?
* * *
Summing up the factual results of the past period of the war, the leaders of the Confederacy of Independent Systems were furious.
Dooku, seated at the head of a huge round table, was silent, allowing them to speak. Though honestly, their petty squabbles and concerns didn't interest him. Each of them was just dust under the feet of a Sith. The only one to whom he was truly accountable was currently on Coruscant.
But he too was in a foul mood. Sidious didn't tolerate disruptions to his plans. And the operation to kidnap the little Hutt was supposed to be one of the victorious milestones in this war. Leaving many small battles on the Republic's balance sheet, the Confederacy was meant to win the big, politically significant ones. The treaty with the Hutts had ruined everything. The Master had said quite correctly — the Hutts must have had a very significant interest to break a thousand years of sovereignty and form an alliance with the Republic. Those provisions of the treaty that were supposedly presented as the Hutts' global interest — profiting from the war under the guise of helping refugees — Sidious didn't even consider a half-reasonable explanation.
"For thousands of years, the Galaxy has been exterminating itself, not without the help of the Jedi. Hundreds of planets destroyed, trillions in exile. And only now the Hutts decided to intervene? Don't you find this worthy of attention, Lord Tyranus?"
And Dooku found it worthy of attention.
"The same solar wind doesn't blow twice," the proverb said.
But now, Jedi Master Rick Dougan was doing it regularly. The capture of Christophsis, the capture of Loathsom, the defeat of Trench, the capture of Yukio, the capture of Gunray, the operation on Teth... Christophsis's unwise aid, the streams of volunteers that planet was sending to his army. What was there to say — they were building him a fleet! Dooku's scouts reported that representatives of Christophsis had spoken with nearly every major military hardware manufacturer.
The disappearance of Tann and Ventress, the defeat of Balk — all of this was on the conscience of a single Jedi.
Holy Force! Even if Yoda himself had turned to the Dark Side, he would have caused less trouble than this incomprehensible upstart.
Analyzing his opponent based on the information his scouts had managed to find, Dougan had never distinguished himself with anything remarkable. A mediocre youngling, a Padawan who didn't reach for the stars... Even his teacher had been foisted on him as a kind of punishment.
Douda Abhira... Dooku had to strain his memory to recall that annoying, cantankerous master. An explorer. A seeker of new peoples and paths. Hmm...
Spies reported that Dougan had spent his entire life as a Padawan with Abhira in the Unknown Regions. Dougan had participated in the Battle of Geonosis and had even distinguished himself somehow. But afterwards, he left the Order. No one had heard of him for several months, until right before the Battle of Kamino, when he returned. And his career took off. He almost immediately ended up among the 'battle' Jedi, received a large unit under his command. And dealt such a blow to the CIS forces at Christophsis that it was worth considering whether he should be poached.
Balk had said the boy was experimenting with the Dark Side. His clumsy attempts to copy Vaapad had merely amused Sora, and he had let the boy go, satisfied with his claim that the Hutt was dead. And Dooku had believed his servant. He had even managed to reach an agreement with Jabba... but as soon as he left the system, everything went awry...
Dooku loved to analyze his opponents. And when he dissected Dougan, so to speak, he reached unsettling conclusions.
The Jedi clearly stood out from the common mass of his temple brethren. Sidious assumed the Jedi had found an ancient holocron and, with its help, achieved greater mastery than many of his brethren. An idea undoubtedly worthy of attention. Perhaps that was the case. But could a holocron teach a Force-sensitive tactical genius? Highly doubtful. That was a gift one was born with.
The Master had given him a dressing-down for shifting the responsibility for dealing with the Jedi onto Balk. But what was the point of finding henchmen if you couldn't make them work instead of you?
The metal doors of the entrance opened, admitting General Grievous. As he approached, most of the CIS leaders — those cowardly scum — flinched. Well, the Count thought, if even allies feared him...
"My friends," Dooku began his speech. "Since we are all assembled," he gestured around the table. Incidentally, some of them were only present as holograms, due to being busy with important engagements. "I consider it necessary to discuss what we have managed to achieve in these eight months of war. Thousands of worlds are under our control, including, despite the protracted battles on Muunilinst and Jabiim, we continue to hold our key planets. Speaking of Jabiim. Our ally, Alto Stratus, has informed me that he has dealt a crushing defeat to the Jedi, forcing them to retreat to their evacuation bases," a murmur of approval rippled through the assembled. "A little more, and we can drive the Republicans from yet another world."
"What about the failure in the negotiations with the Hutts?" Wat Tambor. The Skakoan in his customary armor towered over the table as a hologram. His troops and fleet were waging an unceasing war for Ryloth. Against the Republic, against the Twi'leks... And, it must be admitted, he was winning. "The treaty with the Hutts will complicate my position on Ryloth."
"My friend," Dooku smiled. "This is only a temporary difficulty. The Republic will not be able to use the Hutts' resources operationally — and certainly won't be able to dislodge you from your fortifications."
Nute Gunray shook his head.
"But the Jedi are very strong. Especially after the appearance of their new ships — the Venators. General Grievous and his super-dreadnought with the ion cannon proved not so useful..."
The cyborg standing next to the Count coughed, interrupting the Neimoidian's unexpectedly bold speech. The latter, though present at the meeting as a hologram, shrank uncomfortably as soon as the cyborg focused his gaze on him.
"No one expected such a treacherous attack from the Republic. It was unexpected for us, but at the same time, the Malevolence caused the enemy considerable trouble. So, it fulfilled its mission. Of course, its loss is irreplaceable for us, but the Malevolence 2 will be a worthy alternative. In less than a month, the additional weapons will be installed, and your new super-dreadnought, General," he looked at Grievous, "will enter service. Use it to achieve maximum success."
"How is the preparation for Operation Durge's Spear proceeding?" asked Shu Mai.
"In accordance with our plans," Dooku said vaguely. "Such a large-scale operation requires significant forces and a more opportune moment. I think we should postpone the operation's implementation... say, by six months."
The CIS leaders began whispering, exchanging glances.
"For such a significant period? Wouldn't it be more logical to strike now, when the Republic is weakened by defeats? In six months, they will have thousands of new ships..."
Grievous intervened in the conversation.
"Stop your cowardice! My new flagship and its attached fleet will sweep through the Mid Rim, annihilating the Republic's forces. And into the resulting breach in the Republican army, the forces of Operation Durge's Spear will charge. As a second echelon, they will crush the Republic's forces, weakened by our offensive. We will cut the Republic in two — sever its Center from the Outer Territories. And smash them piece by piece. Count Dooku! Allow me..."
"My friend, you will have a different assignment. The situation on Muunilinst and Hypori needs to be stabilized. For now, the cautious Jedi have failed to breach our space defense, but more and more reinforcements are arriving for them. Darth Sidious considers it necessary to resolve the issue of the siege of Muunilinst once and for all. I think you will support him, most esteemed San Hill?"
Muun, head of the InterGalactic Banking Clan, bared his teeth in a predatory grin. His hologram flickered slightly with interference — the siege conditions on Muunilinst taking their toll.
"Your mercenary, Durge, is performing his duties admirably," he reported. "The Republic keeps sending more and more clones against us. Gendai easily crushes these timid attempts to break our defenses."
"Excellent," Dooku smiled. "General Grievous. You are to advance on Muunilinst, crush the Jedi orbital force, and then eliminate the invasion forces on Hypori."
"I will carry out this order with pleasure, Count Dooku," the cyborg bowed.
"Undoubtedly," the man smiled. You will do everything required of you, monster. And at the end of the war, you will become the hook on which all war crimes are hung. That is Sidious's plan. "As for Ryloth... Are additional forces needed there?"
"Absolutely," the Skakoan surveyed those present. "The latest Republic attacks have damaged a large number of our ships. If they attack again, we will have to retreat."
"Given the reinforcement of the 13th Sector Army," Shu Mai chimed in, "that seems reasonable. The Commerce Guild is ready to provide assistance with available forces."
"Excellent," Count Dooku turned to Nute Gunray. "What news does the Trade Federation bring us?"
The viceroy gestured to his attendant.
"We are ready to strike at Rodia..."
"Eager to repay the debt for your capture?" Po Nudo, head of the Hyper-Communications Cartel, smirked.
But the viceroy only gave him a contemptuous look. Dooku smiled inwardly. Great Force, how simple it all was. They were ready to tear each other's throats out, not even noticing how they were being led around by the nose.
"Splendid," the former Jedi said aloud. "We should launch a preemptive strike against the 13th Sector Army. They've relatively stabilized their positions on the fronts. That's unacceptable — given their alliance with the Hutts. It would be wise to strike at Christophsis — as a sign that we haven't forgiven the defeat inflicted on Admiral Trench. What do you think, gentlemen? Should we entrust the revenge to the admiral himself?"
"He has alr'eady prov'n his incomp'tence," Gunray stated. But his position received no support.
"Count Dooku," Poggle the Lesser intervened through his translator. "The restoration work on the Geonosian factories is proceeding at full speed. We are already ready to strike at the clone contingent stationed on the planet and retake the surface."
Count Dooku looked at him with interest.
"You surprise me with your efficiency, Archduke. We didn't expect your factories to be operational for several more months. Are you confident in your forces?"
The Geonosian listened to the translation, then nodded confidently.
"We already outnumber the Republic forces on the planet a hundred to one. However, lacking a fleet, we cannot strike at the orbital group — the clones have four Venator-class ships."
Dooku pondered, absently stroking his beard. Truth be told, the CIS didn't have many free forces in that sector, but the proximity of the planned operation sites...
"Archduke," he addressed the alien. "I believe Admiral Trench will be able to assist you with this."
* * *
The most powerful Jedi of his generation. Perhaps even of any generation of Jedi. He is faster, stronger, more resourceful than any Jedi Knight. And even many Masters — and why hide it — Magisters, envy him. He knows this because he can see it in their shifty glances, their arrogant manners. The way they try to humiliate him with their "my young friend," "young Skywalker."
But he knew the truth. The fastest. The strongest. A superb pilot. An invincible warrior. On land, at sea, in the air, or in space, there is no one who even approaches his talent. He possesses not just power, not just skill, but also resolve: that rare, priceless combination of fearlessness and grace.
He is the best at everything he does. The best of all. And he knows it. And he's proud of it. The media call him the Hero Without Fear. Why not? What does he have to fear?
Except perhaps...
Staring through the transparisteel viewport at the receding orbit of Jabiim behind the ship, Anakin felt a tremor in his right hand. The phantom pain of a severed limb had caught up with him again.
Clenching his teeth, he squeezed his metal fingers into a fist with all his might. The prosthetic tightened until the electronics sent feedback into his real muscles. But even that wasn't enough.
He had lost. The Hero Without Fear. Like all the Jedi on Jabiim, he had experienced not just fear — but terror. An all-consuming feeling of loss when the Nimbus Commandos stormed Base Cobalt. One by one, the last Jedi fell — those who had managed to survive.
He remembered Ahsoka's despair, her eyes full of horror as true hell raged around them. The remaining equipment exploded, clones and militiamen burned alive. Jedi fell one after another...
And all that pain of loss pierced through the web of the Great Force, straight into his heart. It struck his most vulnerable spot. Showing him once again that he was not all-powerful. He couldn't save everyone.
Fear still lived within him, gnawing a breach in the wall of fire that protected his heart.
Sometimes Anakin imagined the horror that devoured his heart day after day as a krayt dragon. That terrible predator of Tatooine — the hero of many horror stories. And every night, when Anakin couldn't lose himself in battle or in the company of friends, that krayt dragon found its way out. It crawled out of that closet in the farthest corner of Skywalker's heart and devoured him alive in his sleep.
And he, the best of the Jedi, could not resist it.
Every night the dragon reminded him how he had held his dying mother in his arms, how she had spent her last strength to say, "I knew you would come for me..."
Every night the dragon reminded him that someday he would lose Obi-Wan too. Lose Padmé. Or they would lose him.
Everything dies, Anakin Skywalker. Even stars burn out in time. That's what one of his mentors once told him.
Everything dies. And you have to accept it.
Everything dies...
He could barely even think about it.
Just imagining Padmé's death made him scream, waking in terrible agony. Again and again, day after day.
Even his own death didn't worry him as much as the thought of losing Padmé forever.
Before, Obi-Wan's teachings had helped him, but now... even that wasn't enough.
Jabiim...
The place where his dragon had found food. Now it was taking over Anakin's heart, extinguishing the burning flame of youth, joy, carefreeness. It was turning the heart of the hero without fear or reproach into ice.
Anakin threw his head back. Hot tears ran down his cheeks. So many losses. So much disappointment. And at the center of it all — him.
He hadn't been fast enough to save Obi-Wan from a falling walker. As a result, Obi-Wan was now in a coma.
He hadn't been a good teacher — and Snips was now in the infirmary, having endured Stratus's torture and abuse. Two weeks of captivity hadn't passed without a trace. Emaciated, bearing the marks of torture after being captured during the assault on the capital, she had been delivered to the commando extraction point, at a terrible cost.
The only thing that warmed his heart was that he had put an end to this madness. The Chancellor, his old friend, had begged Anakin with pleading eyes to evacuate, to leave the clones and loyalists behind, to flee from Cobalt to where the only one of the Republic's three transports had been able to land. To where Obi-Wan was, and where Ahsoka was supposed to be brought...
But he had stayed. For exactly ten minutes. And that had been enough to settle the score with Alto Stratus once and for all. Together with Aubrie Wyn, he had fought that monster and his Nimbus Commandos. He had let the Force guide him. He had let the fear of defeat take hold of him. He had released the dragon from its cage, and it had given him strength. His heart had filled with ice, but the dragon breathed flame, and once again the burning power flowed through Anakin's veins.
He was faster and stronger again. He was invincible. He had become inevitability itself.
Leaving the remains of Base Cobalt, Anakin looked back more than once, trying to make out Stratus's headless body lying in the pouring rain. And even though it was impossible to see after a few kilometers, the Jedi couldn't convince himself that this nightmare was over. Together with the injured but alive Aubrie Wyn, he arrived at the extraction point.
As the senior capable Jedi, he listened to the report from the commander of the only Acclamator that had broken through to the extraction point. Staring into the face of the dark-skinned commander, Anakin felt each word strike his raw nerves like a whip.
The clones, exhausted and wounded from two months of fighting, looked like a ragged bunch compared to the almost gleaming-with-satisfaction loyalists. They had all come here — with families, wives, parents. The loyalists of Jabiim, who hadn't lifted a finger to liberate their planet, were desperate to leave it.
After hearing the starship commander's report, Anakin looked at the smug face of the loyalist leader and said loudly:
"Captain Declann, load the clones on board. The loyalists stay on the planet..."
There were many arguments and curses, attempts at confrontation, and even open armed conflict. Anakin let the dragon take control. Using the Force, he held Orlis Gillmunn, the loyalist leader, by the throat, barely restraining himself from breaking his neck...
The Republic left Jabiim, carrying to the stars the curses of the trusting Jabiim loyalists and the shameful defeat of the Republic and the Jedi in general. And of Anakin Skywalker in particular.
* * *
For the first time, arriving on Ord Pardron didn't feel like a burdensome obligation.
Ambition was triumphant — from now on, I owned all this splendor. Even if I was only temporarily acting as Moff, still... Power. Absolute power...
Unlike my previous visit, I now observed radical changes. For the better, by the way.
Immediately, as soon as the corvette entered hyperspace, the order reigning in the system caught my eye. The station in orbit was still a checkpoint for transports, but now they moved as if along invisible cosmic highways. Even columns of civilian starships flowed around the station, not lingering at inspection points longer than necessary.
"Well, well, we have a covering squadron," Oli chuckled, pointing at five Venators hovering near the station. Their menacing gray hulls inspired power and respect.
"And patrol ships," Luminara added, indicating several fast corvettes dispersed in nearby space.
"Looks like order has appeared," I marveled. An incoming call signal blinked, and Admiral Var appeared on the screen.
"Jedi Master Dougan," he nodded. "Welcome."
"Good to see you, Admiral," I smiled. "How are things?"
"Generally stable, relative calm on the fronts," the old veteran squinted. "And I don't like it."
"Well," I concluded. "As soon as I land, I'm at your service."
"I look forward to it," the old veteran gave a military salute, then ended the call.
"Set course for the spaceport," I ordered the droid.
It was time to take power into my own hands.
* * *
The galaxy, as always, was measured. It had no concern for all those cunning plans and ambitions that guided the beings inhabiting it.
The galaxy had existed before them and would continue to exist just as long after their deaths. The scars of wars and conflicts would heal, only for a new generation to earn new bruises.
And so it would be again and again. Wars among these stars would never cease as long as fools ruled them.
He did not consider himself one of those fools, and so, many years ago, he had made the right choice. He had joined one whose life story filled him with puppyish delight.
A Sith who had destroyed a decaying order. A man whose will had created two Empires that had conquered the galaxy.
Vitiate's spirit had spent millennia gathering information about the galaxy's life. Who better than him to rightly decide its fate? The strongest must rule. The Sith were never more right than in this.
As the temperature suddenly dropped on his starship's observation deck, he understood with inner reverence that his master had arrived.
"Set," the Sith spirit addressed him. Among all his immortal Hands, only Set Harth, the former Jedi archivist, had the full right to call himself the Emperor's Hand. All the others... they were merely pawns. Tools. Once the goal was achieved, there would be no need for them. Besides, they might suspect something...
"Master," he bowed obsequiously before the ghost.
"Rise. There has been no need for that for a long time."
"As you command, master."
Vitiate silently approached the observation screen, watching the galaxy's glow.
The enormous hemisphere of transparent wall was colored with the hues of distant stars. Somewhere out there, in the cold vacuum of space or in planetary atmospheres, thousands upon thousands of beings fought and died. Millions.
They all died for a single purpose. The logical result of the Master's and his humble servant's long, painstaking labor.
He gazed upon his teacher's creation and saw that it was good.
More than that. It was magnificent.
The Sith of past and present could only dream of such a perfect plan. But they could never have done what Vitiate had accomplished. And once the plan was fully realized — they would never be able to do so again.
The galaxy would once again belong to a single being, whose will would become law.
"Your apprentice is doing excellent work," Set broke the silence.
"That is his purpose," Vitiate remarked. "To be the best. To become an icon. To lead and to subjugate. I am pleased with his progress."
"At the same time, he has already attracted the attention of the Sith," Harth noted. "Of course, with your support, none of them are his equal..."
"It is not yet time to move against Sidious and his clique," Vitiate said. "Too little has been done. Too much remains to be accomplished. He acts quite confidently to realize his own plans as well. We only need to continue correcting him occasionally, not allowing him to make mistakes."
"Sleeping with underlings is not the right course of action," Set snorted.
"Still bitter about Atroxa's rejection?" Vitiate grinned. Harth wisely remained silent.
"He can be understood," Valkorion continued. "He comes from a savage world where one could only dream of such things. The transfer of his consciousness here made him my debtor. He may not realize it, but that is his nature — he is cruel to enemies but cannot harm an ally without proper motivation. A wonderful symbiosis of consciousnesses in one body..."
Silence again. Set marveled once more at the multifaceted nature of his master's plan. Finally, he decided to ask the most important question that troubled him.
"Master, do you regret... the body's owner? He is lost forever."
Vitiate fell silent. The Jedi wisely did not break the silence. The question was already sharp enough; there was no need to escalate the situation. But curiosity, the thirst for knowledge... that was his bane. And so he could not remain silent.
"He is merely a tool," Valkorion said. "One that failed to justify itself. Thousands of years of selection, improvement... only for the Jedi to take him from the hands of those incompetent underlings to whom you entrusted Thexan's clone for upbringing? That was your blunder, Set," the ghost pointed an accusing finger at the fallen Jedi. "If I weren't certain of your absolute loyalty, I would think you deliberately failed to delete the records about him from the Temple and allowed the Jedi to take him. I wasted extra years to retrain him, my child. Only for Jedi heresy to cost him his life. The doubts that took root in his head nearly cost us our plan."
Harth swallowed convulsively. Vitiate was closer to the truth than ever before.
"But now everything is corrected," he noted. "And the Earthling in the clone's body... Although, biologically, he is only partly Thexan. Your son's genes were significantly improved, so Dougan is his best incarnation."
"But that doesn't stop him from being my blood," Vitiate snapped. It was clear that his momentary rage was subsiding. "Egor's consciousness in my descendant's body is the best incarnation of Thexan, you're right. But he still needs more power. He has successfully absorbed Exar Kun's ghost, assimilated it, and uses ancient Jedi and Sith knowledge without much trouble. I think we can move to the next phase. Have you found what we're looking for?"
"As always, Master," Harth said with a smile. He activated a galactic map, pointing to one of a dozen marked locations. "In this area, significant CIS forces are concentrated. Penetrating there at the moment without attracting attention is impossible. But I think, during the course of the war..."
Vitiate fell silent, pondering his next steps.
"In that case, we should provide him with other ghosts. Let him gain experience before taking control of this Force nexus. Once that power is in his hands — even Palpatine will be no match for him."
"But then his power will be close to yours," Harth noted.
"Power is nothing without corresponding control," Valkorion cut him off. Looking at Harth, he said:
"I still can't get used to your new body. Though so many years have passed."
"This game with bodies has kept the Jedi in the dark for nine centuries now," Harth smiled, adjusting the thin bandage over his blind eyes. "They have no idea what problems my new identity — a Miraluka Jedi named Jerec — could cause them..."