Shielding his tired eyes from the scorching sun with his hand, Obi-Wan gazed with relish at the Naboo yacht coming in for a landing. The swift vessel, gleaming in the rays of the local star with its recognizable mirror-like hull, decelerated in the atmosphere, descending to reach the surface and evacuate just two beings from this remote world.
Both, in an extremely exhausted state, at the limit of human endurance, awaited their long-desired rescue. The mission, which was to become the key to victory over the Separatists, had nearly cost Kenobi and his new friend — the senator from Alderaan — their lives.
"Still find this planet a 'majestic sight'?" the Jedi Master needled. The man of royal blood, Bail, just smiled.
"I can't wait to leave it, Obi-Wan," he remarked. The man, taking a sip from his canteen of water, silently stared at the descending rescue ship.
The Jedi, leaning his back against a boulder that served as his support, closed his eyes. Finally allowing his body to rest.
Zigoola.
Despite the destruction of the Sith temple and the ancient holocron hidden within it, the Jedi continued to feel the power of the Dark Side emanating from the planet. It felt all around him, like searingly icy water in a mountain river, roaring in its natural fit of rage at a random witness to its might.
The Darkness tempted him, tested him. Its impulses and calls still pierced his brain like red-hot needles, but he didn't respond to them. The Darkness had tested him, and he had emerged from this confrontation victorious. And now, sensing that the Jedi and the senator were about to leave the ancient Sith abode, the Dark Side raged, striving with its last strength to break the Jedi Master's will.
Mountains and deserts. Arid plains. Rivers and lakes practically nonexistent. A dead world — exactly what was needed to preserve the secrets of the ancient order. It was unclear what Bail had found majestic about it. When they arrived on the planet, the senator had remarked that he saw "majesty" in this world. Well, now there would be something to needle Organa about in private. The shared adventure had brought them closer. So now, Anakin wasn't the only one who could boast of friendship with members of the Republic Senate. Though, Anakin's connection with the senator was of a completely different kind than ordinary friendship. Kenobi knew about his former Padawan's romance with the senator from Naboo, who was now rushing to the Jedi's rescue. But he kept silent. Obi-Wan couldn't reveal to the Council that the Chosen One, as Anakin was believed to be, had violated the Order's Code. That would be a betrayal of a friend, and the Master treasured his friendship with his former Padawan.
"Friends of the Republic" an organization of beings dedicated to preserving the ideals of the Republic. Senator Organa trusted them almost blindly — shortly before the Clone Wars, they had helped resolve a brewing crisis between Alderaan and Chandrila. Then, according to the man himself, the organization had helped him resolve complex political conflicts at least five more times, so they had an enormous amount of trust credit.
Organa had come to him with news that on a remote planet in Wild Space, the Sith had hidden a holocron in an ancient temple, containing their detailed plans for the upcoming war.
The temptation to obtain them and put an end to the war... had proven too great. Kenobi had rushed off without a second thought, commandeering one of the corvettes.
Their ship had crashed upon landing. Finding no signs of life on the planet, Obi-Wan was already ready to turn back when the ancient Sith ghosts tried to seize control of his body. In a merciless struggle with the ancient spirits, Kenobi nearly strangled the senator, but managed to regain control in time. However, the ship could not be saved.
And the entire journey, lasting several days, to the Sith structure, they had to make on foot. Remembering how he had managed to withstand the temptations of the Dark Side, which urged him to kill the senator and usurp the ancient Sith knowledge, Kenobi recalled his training in the Temple with reverence, glad that his faith in the Light Side had proven stronger.
Rising on enormous stone pillars, the majestic, gloomy structure — the Sith temple — towered over the lifeless plain, shrouded in an aura of death and fear. A huge chamber, its walls pockmarked with niches filled with artifacts, manuscripts steeped in the Dark Side. And in the center of the hall — it. The ancient Sith holocron, which from the moment of landing had sought to break Kenobi's will and seize control of him, did not survive the encounter with the Jedi's lightsaber blade.
Only with the help of a telepathic crystal had Obi-Wan managed to contact Yoda and hope for rescue.
Gazing at the serene face of the senator, who had become his friend during their journey, Obi-Wan thought with relief that the end of the mission was near. The splitting headaches and visions tearing at him had nearly cost him and the senator their lives. But, to his credit, Organa hadn't abandoned the Jedi with his clouded mind, for which Obi-Wan was extremely grateful.
Soon they would reach Coruscant, and the Jedi would be able to speak with the Grand Master in private. There was much to discuss.
True, here on Zigoola, he hadn't found the Sith's plans for this war, as the "Friends of the Republic" intelligence had promised. But he had destroyed their temple and hundreds of priceless Sith manuscripts and artifacts — now they were buried under tons of stone and structural debris. Yes, the Council wouldn't be able to study them, but the enemy wouldn't be able to use what was lost either.
However, what troubled him most were the visions.
Not the ones where the Dark Side urged him to kill Bail, accept the Sith teachings, or take his own life.
The Light Side of the Force is kind to its adherents. And so, in the depths of madness, Obi-Wan had been able to glimpse the future. And while Force Visions are very hazy and imprecise, even the Grand Master himself demanded that his students not blindly trust visions. "For it is only one of the possible futures," Yoda would say.
But Kenobi was no longer a youngling. And it was hard to mislead him with the ambiguities of visions. However, he couldn't ignore them either.
During the telepathic contact with the Grand Master, Obi-Wan had also told him about the Force visions. Though without enthusiasm, the elderly Master had agreed with the concerns of Qui-Gon's former student, promising to send a squadron of ships to investigate.
The Sith had returned to their historical homeland.
The Jedi, exhausted from the mental struggle against the temptations of the Dark Side, had seen an unprecedented enemy marching across the sands of Korriban, clearing the ruins of Ziost...
The Force whispered to him that there, in Sith Space, a new flame was kindling in the furnace of galactic bloodshed. Before his eyes, thousands of droids of an unknown model were emerging from the depths of formidable and clearly combat-ready ships. Slowly but inexorably, shielded from the rest of the galaxy by the Impenetrable Caldera, a new power was maturing. And intuition told the Jedi that this power was by no means of the Light.
However, one way or another, during the mental contact more than a week ago, the Grand Master had assured him that a Council member — Master Eeth Koth — had already departed for the Sith homeland to verify Obi-Wan's concerns.
He just had to wait for news from him.
* * *
The morning meditation was irrevocably disrupted by an intrusion into her quarters.
An instant before the knock on the door, Ashara opened her eyes and rose to her feet. Calling her lightsaber into her hand, the girl headed to the entrance of her cell and flung open the door.
"Hutt's shit!" The man standing in the corridor recoiled, landing on his backside on the floor. "Were you waiting under the door or something?"
"And you wanted to watch me through the keyhole?" the girl inquired, pointing the hilt of her lightsaber at him accusingly.
"You're a Jedi?" The man got up, brushing off his trousers. "I never would have thought you guys had a secret lair here..."
"That's none of your business, Terrik," Ashara shook her head. The Corellian looked at her suspiciously. Smirking, the girl stepped outside, locking the door behind her. Slowly walking towards the exit of the Temple, she waited for the man to catch up. "I was informed that the caravan would be commanded by Booster Terrik. I assumed it was you..."
"Ah," the smuggler snorted. "And here I thought you'd been poking around in my brain."
"Don't flatter yourself," the girl requested. "So, did you bring everything that was needed?"
The smuggler nodded affirmatively.
"Ten Incom super-freighters with construction and defensive equipment. Repair and architectural droids, anti-aircraft emplacements, a planetary shield generator... You Jedi really went out into the sticks, and you brought a whole arsenal with you."
"We're not Jedi," Ashara noted. Passing through the main hall, packed to the brim with containers and bustling Skywalkers, they approached the main entrance.
"Yeah, that nasty bitch already told me that," the man rubbed his neck.
"Who are you talking about?" Zavros tensed. But, seeing a very familiar figure on the stairs, she gestured for the man to be quiet.
The natural Force background of Tython had hidden the unexpected guests from her. The Togruta ground her teeth in displeasure. The Corellian, hearing this, whistled in surprise and hurried to blend into the crowd of smugglers, who were curiously examining the remains of an ancient shuttle from the Cold War era.
"Atroxa!" she nearly shouted at the Lethan standing with her back to her. "What the hell are you doing here?"
The red-skinned girl turned to face her with deliberate slowness, flashing a dazzling, lipless grin.
"Ashara," she smiled. "Or should I call you 'Instructor Zavros' now?"
"To hell with your jokes," the Togruta pointed accusingly at the other Hand. "What are you doing here?"
As always, the Lethan was dressed in her usual combat suit, unchanged since the Eternal Empire's invasion of Korriban. But even in armor, she looked excessively sexy. This was clearly evidenced by the predatory glances thrown her way from the smugglers gathered nearby.
"I'm carrying out the Master's orders," the girl gave a slight bow, pointing behind herself. Brusquely bumping the girl with her shoulder, the Togruta drew level with her and swept her gaze across the area in front of the Temple.
At the cost of incredible effort, she had managed to restore most of the Temple. The Flesh Raiders and "Skywalkers" had obediently cleared the space around the structure, exposing the remnants of former landscaping previously hidden under mountains of debris — fragments of fences, training and landing platforms, paths, and footbridges across small streams.
Now, on the cleared platforms, there were already several Corellian XS freighters that she hadn't seen in ages, a single Fury — undoubtedly Atroxa's ship — and a pair of old, well-worn medium cargo-passenger transports, around which crowded beings wearing painfully familiar robes.
Dougan had telepathically informed her that a caravan with food, construction equipment, and materials would arrive. He had particularly emphasized that under escort, all the necessary resources she would need to restore all the Temples on the planet would be delivered to Tython.
And the girl cursed herself for misinterpreting the Master's thoughts.
Even under conditions of mental communication, he still hadn't revealed to her that the restored Jedi Temple would be receiving new inhabitants.
"Nearly three hundred Force-sensitives," Atroxa said quietly, following the Togruta's gaze to one of the large transports, around which the former Jensaarai were wandering. "Not much, but perfectly workable material."
"The Academy isn't ready..." Ashara said. "I can't teach them all alone..."
"You can," the Lethan said in a low voice. Zavros glanced sideways at the Hand's blackened eyes and made a bow.
"Master," she greeted.
"Ashara," the Emperor's apprentice responded from the other side of the galaxy. "You have done much to restore the Jedi Temple on Tython."
"Thank you, Master," the girl bowed again. "The system is under our complete control. Thanks to the partial restoration of the Fury station on the system's far border, we are always aware of movements around the system. The Ravagers provide us with reliable cover. The Great Temple itself is not yet fully rebuilt, but with the help of the equipment you sent..."
"Our new recruits will help you," the voice promised. "I have deemed you worthy to train the first generation of our followers. From now on, you are the head of the Academy on Tython. Terrik and his people will provide you with everything you need."
"Will Atroxa be staying here?" she inquired.
"No," the man replied. For a moment, he fell silent, studying the former Jedi. "No compromises with your conscience, Atroxa. Teach them the principles of the Je'daii, teach them to be loyal to our cause, and you will be rewarded."
The Togruta looked at her interlocutor suspiciously. A reward? She didn't need one. But the girl didn't dare contradict the Master by voicing her opinion.
"Atroxa will take my astromech droid from you," the man told her. "They've brought you enough R2 and R3 series droids so that you won't need it."
"As you command," the girl noted with some sadness that the mechanical servant had been very useful to her in organizing the restoration work. Without him, she'd have to do a lot herself — it was unlikely a capable assistant would be found right away.
"I'm counting on you, Ashara," the man said.
"I won't let you down, Master," the new head of the Academy assured him. Satisfied with her answer, the Emperor's apprentice gave a barely perceptible nod. Almost instantly, the Lethan's eyes regained their former hue.
"I must say, it's invigorating. But frankly, that's not how I'd like to feel him inside me," the girl remarked. "Hasn't he taken you over yet?"
"Not in any sense," Ashara cut her off. She turned on her heel to disappear into the Academy's inner chambers. Pausing for a second, she addressed the Lethan. "Before you get off my planet, tell the newly arrived students that I'm waiting for them in the training wing."
Without waiting for an answer, Zavros disappeared under the arches of the former Jedi Temple.
Atroxa smiled at the irritation emanating from the Togruta. Walking towards her ship, she directed the "Grays" where they should go, then, tapping the top of the astromech droid waiting for her by the ship, she boarded the interceptor.
She had a meeting with the Master ahead and a new assignment to receive.
* * *
Afshin Makati considered himself a pragmatic being.
Standing on the bridge of the Decisive, he contemplated the enemy's defensive formation. Five Lucrehulk-class battleships, arranged in two "tiers," plus two dozen escort ships — an equal number of Munificent-class frigates and Recusant-class light destroyers. And all of this, for good measure, was covered by a huge number of small craft. Every so often, a small group of small craft would break away from the main mass and test Makati's detachment's defenses in combat.
"Sir, what are your orders?" inquired Peccati Syn, the flagship of Arrow 2 detachment. "We won't be able to hold them off for long. The missile magazines are a third empty."
"Give me ten minutes, Captain."
The commodore himself understood that he wouldn't be able to hold back the waves of Vulture droids crashing against his ships with just attack missiles for long. Despite the enormous losses among the small craft, the enemy did not relent in their onslaught, striving to overwhelm the Republicans with the mass of nimble fighters.
The promised support — Commodore Pellaeon's squadron — had not arrived at the appointed time. The enemy was jamming the squadron's transmissions, and Makati physically could not contact command.
The reconnaissance data had proven incorrect. The enemy possessed far greater forces than those available to Makati. Mentally calculating the performance characteristics of his ships and the enemy's, the man came to discouraging conclusions. The advantage lay with the enemy.
And the commodore had no desire to engage in a battle without a guarantee of victory. Yes, thanks to the missile corvettes, they had managed to pin down the enemy, significantly mauling their fighter wing and seriously damaging two Recusants. One frigate was still drifting behind the CIS fleet, never having recovered from its damage. But Afshin could not resolve the resulting stalemate with the starships at hand.
If he had the support of Commodore Pellaeon, he would risk engaging the Separatists. But being outnumbered...
However, Makati saw no unsolvable problems. And so, he pondered how to destroy the enemy piece by piece. If he had spotted the Recusant detachment immediately, he would have used the help of General Jin and his fifty Marauders, who had made the jump to the Monastery, judging by the exit vector. But now, what was done was done. Time had been lost. Jin had departed to carry out his assigned task, and it was impossible to recall his ships.
Notably, in the bridge behind him, near the tactical table, stood a Jedi — Master Unduli. Together with the clone Nyx, commanding the legion, she was conversing about something, not interfering with the commodore's concentration. "Interesting," Makati noted. "Usually Jedi go out of their way to offer their particularly valuable and rarely effective opinion. But the General has stepped aside, citing that space combat is the commodore's domain."
The time Syn had designated was running out. Moreover, the planned operation time — four hours — had expired two hours ago. And so...
"Sir, ships are emerging from hyperspace!" the operator reported. Then, a moment later, added, "It's Commodore Tigellinus's squadron."
"Excellent," Afshin said, inwardly cursing in Huttese. What the hell? It would have been faster to send help from Bothawui than from Dressel.
The holocommunicator beeped, signaling incoming calls. Taking a deep breath, Makati joined the Jedi Master and the legion commander.
"Commodore Makati, Captain Syn, General Unduli —" the hologram of the Stiletto squadron commander greeted the senior officers (and Syn's hologram) with a short bow. "Glad to see you in one piece. Commander Dougan sent us to your rescue."
"Well," Afshin spread his hands. "We have a stalemate situation. The enemy has an advantage in heavy ships and armament, but we're holding them back from any advances with our attack missiles. Commodore Pellaeon's squadron never arrived, the rear attack on the CIS fleet wasn't carried out..."
"The enemy has gone on the offensive at Christophsis, Rodia, Geonosis, Ryloth," Rufaan said. "The 14th Sector Army is in disarray — they're under attack on all fronts. Anvil and Hammer are holding off attacks from the southern part of the Corellian Run, taking heavy losses."
"What's the situation near Bothawui?" Unduli inquired.
"Jedi Master," the officer addressed. "I've been informed that Grievous's armada has been defeated. He himself managed to retreat to Mimban. Commander Dougan is moving with all available forces to assist the Christophsis Defense Fleet. There are reports that the CIS fleet is commanded by Admiral Trench..."
"That's not good," Unduli frowned. "Trench is a very dangerous opponent, especially after his defeat at the hands of Master Dougan. The Jedi Council believed the admiral had fallen into disgrace or died after the Battle of Christophsis — he disappeared from our intelligence's radar for a long time, so... An unpleasant return, I must admit."
The officers silently stared at the Jedi. They were joined by the silent hologram of Captain Batch, who apologized for the delay. Blaming faulty equipment, the captain became all ears.
Since the situation had fundamentally changed, it fell to a member of the Order to command the combined force.
"Commodore Tigellinus," she addressed the newcomer. "Are the Ruusan Rebels with you?"
"No, ma'am," the officer shook his head. "When I received the order to move to your position, they were still fighting on the planet. General Kota assured me that within a day he would throw the tin cans into the sea."
"Well then," the Jedi folded her arms. "We must crush the enemy without delay. Commodore Makati, you claimed you had a plan..."
"It's ready, General," Makati gestured for everyone to look at the tactical terminal. With quick movements, he arranged holographic figures, providing corresponding explanations.
"The Hammerheads will be positioned in two 'tiers' above each other, at an acute angle to the enemy ships. The Marauders will take positions on the sides of the cruisers — to the left and right of the 'tier'. The flagships will be behind the cruisers," he explained the scheme. "The cruisers will deliver a frontal strike, while the corvettes will hit the flanks. The enemy will have to spread their fire across different targets, and consequently, they won't gain a critical advantage over us."
"Extravagant," Unduli remarked. "And risky. As soon as the enemy gets to the flanks of our corvettes, they'll finish them off with minimal losses..."
"I disagree with you, ma'am," Rufaan interjected. "The enemy ships, except for the Lucrehulks, are designed for battle on opposing courses, so to inflict serious damage on our corvettes, they'll have to expose their flanks to our cruisers' fire. If they concentrate on engaging the cruisers, then the corvettes will break through their defenses from the flanks."
"In that case, we won't be able to send our bombers to attack the Trade Federation battleships," Batch noted. "They have superiority in Vulture droids, which we won't be able to compensate for."
"We successfully mauled their small craft park with missiles," Syn objected. "The Vultures move in a tight group and only 'spread out' before the target, which allows us to thin them out before they reach our ships..."
"And our aviation tracks down and finishes off the survivors," Makati finished.
"Clever," Tigellinus assessed. "Well, I think we can proceed with the annihilation of the tin cans?"
Makati noticed the smiles that ran across the officers' faces. The joke, as they say, 'landed'. Only the Jedi was in no mood for laughter.
"Take command, Commodore," she touched Afshin's shoulder encouragingly.
"Yes, ma'am," the man nodded to the disappearing holograms of the officers. The figure of Rufaan, who disconnected last, saluted his colleague as a sign of respect.
The commodore thought for a second, then activated the intercom.
"Attention, battle stations..."
* * *
What truism should anyone connected with a "galaxy far, far away" remember?
The enemy is considered defeated when you personally finish him off. Although, even that is not always the case...
A simple thought, like all genius things. But at the same time, another lesson for the future for me.
The victory over Grievous cost us a dozen Marauders, eight Hammerheads, and half of our fighters. Two cruisers and as many corvettes had to be left in the Bot system for urgent repairs.
Admiral Strikelenn's fleet was retreating to Ord Pardron for repairs and replenishment. At the moment, it is unknown how the fate of the battles at Rodia and Christophsis will be decided. With the remnants of three squadrons, I will try to reinforce the fleet where necessary... But, in case of our defeat, having at least a partially repaired Strikelenn formation is better than having nothing.
Sector Command was screaming hysterically, demanding to stop the Confederates, promising to send reinforcements in a day, two, three... As if there, on Coruscant, no one understood that the remnants of my fleet could be swept away in less than 12 hours.
It's terrifying to think — if the CIS can overturn our barrier from the 'south'... The sector army 'Iron Spear' can be written off. And that 'slightly' goes against my own plans.
Pellaeon was unable to move from Rodia to reinforce Makati — his squadron, together with Commodore Kreeves's unit, was holding back the bold and furious offensive of the Trade Federation near the homeland of the creators of 'GenoHaradan'. Three dozen CIS battleships were furiously cutting their way to the planet's surface.
One could state endlessly that the enemy's furious onslaught at Rodia was nothing more than the revenge of Viceroy Nute Gunray for his shameful capture. It didn't make things any easier, and it didn't add any support ships. Besides, Gunray himself was not observed at the head of this miracle fleet.
The situation at Rodia was becoming more difficult by the hour. Pellaeon and Kreeves were desperately resisting, thwarting the enemy's attempts to land troops on the planet's surface. But acting against superior forces is no pleasure. It's one thing to fight organics — sentients are sentient because the fear of huge losses and their own death deters them from even greater deaths. With machines, that dynamic didn't work. The Traders were ready to sacrifice every single ship to achieve the occupation of the planet. A matter of prestige, however.
By the time reinforcements arrived, Pellaeon and Kreeves had lost five ships and control over the northern hemisphere of Rodia. 'Hammer' and 'Anvil' did not receive the reinforcement of the two dozen Marauders they were supposed to get — a perfectly planned operation at the Monastery went off plan. Headquarters reported losses — including among the Jedi — but right now that didn't matter to me. The fallen can be mourned in a quiet stop. Now there is only one task: to eliminate the enemy's offensive. Slow it down, or better yet, push it back.
"Commodores Kreeves, Pellaeon," I looked at the holograms of the officers from the bridge of the 'Salvation', which had emerged from hyperspace in the thick of events in orbit of Christophsis. "Glad to greet you."
"The feeling is mutual, Commander," even the hologram showed Pellaeon's exhaustion. Understandable — the Confederates had struck about ten hours ago. And since then, the battle had not stopped for a minute. Only thanks to the talents of both commodores, the enemy had not destroyed the squadrons and did not cause a massacre on the planet.
"The squadrons 'Blade' and 'Mace' are coming to your aid," I pointed to the holograms of Commodores Declann and Zaarin. "They have the highest complement of ships and crews — I think that will be enough to counterattack the enemy and push them back from Rodia."
"We'll take care of it as soon as the reinforcements arrive," Pellaeon assured me.
"Excellent," I praised. "Take command of the squadrons yourself, Gilad." The middle-aged commodore looked at me in surprise. Incidentally, that was his first display of emotion during the entire conversation. Kreeves and the two future grand admirals diplomatically remained silent. No one dared to object — this officer had undeniable experience in command and battle. And in terms of years of service, he surpassed Kreeves...
"As you command, sir," Pellaeon touched the visor of his uniform cap with his fingers.
"Rodia is counting on you, Commodore," I said goodbye to the officers, ending the communication session.
With the arrival of reinforcements, Pellaeon and Kreeves could rest, withdraw from the front line, repair damage, catch their breath, and jointly throw the enemy out of the system. Or at least — erase them from orbit, ridding the planet of the periodic bombardments that kept falling on the heads of the Rodians. And appointing Pellaeon as commander of a formally entire fleet... a forced decision — I simply have no one else to appoint to such posts. So, I will promote up the career ladder the personalities I already know. And strain my memory and recruit into my army more and more future aces, naval and army 'luminaries' of military science. If, of course, we survive this battle.
But, let's return to more pressing matters. Namely — the second battle for Christophsis.
Since my previous visit to the system, Christophsis had transformed. Its orbit was dotted with dozens of 'Golan' defense platforms, whose work was coordinated from aboard a captured 'Lucrehulk' that hung over the planet's north pole, simultaneously serving as the headquarters of the Defense Fleet. In the equatorial region, a 'Valor'-class space station drifted under the protection of its own shields and weapons — similar to the one that guarded the geostationary orbit of Ord Pardron and Carida. As a bonus to all this splendor — the 'Thranta' fleet and repaired 'Hammerheads', dumped in the Christoph system as 'dead weight'. It's nice that the Christophsis self-defense forces did not send the cruisers left to them to the scrap heap and breathed another life into them.
* * *
Trench, when planning the attack, could not help but know what and who he was up against.
And so, the Separatists struck without any reconnaissance, materializing from hyperspace with their entire mass, which was almost a suicidal maneuver for such a large flotilla. Before the alarm could sound, the ships of the Defense Fleet drifting in orbit found themselves under fire from three 'Lucrehulks', two dozen 'Recusants', and a similar number of 'Munificents'. And this entire armada spilled into space with myriads of droid starfighters. At the head of the attack was Admiral Trench's flagship, the 'Providence'-class destroyer 'Invincible'.
The Harch directed the offensive from the bridge of his destroyer, pulsating with light and sound: glowing monitors and flashing screens continuously signaled, warning of the constantly changing situation in different parts of the grand slaughter.
But the Separatist admiral didn't even pay attention to the information provided by the electronic devices. He knew the location of all his ships and the enemy starships involved in the confrontation. This was his plan, lethally pragmatic and flawless.
The invasion was his symphony, his creation, where each episode was a separate, meticulously calculated act.
Even the arrival of a small Republic squadron in the system was not a surprise to him. Unlike Grievous and the CIS leadership, the admiral perfectly understood that the attack on Bothawui should not be treated like an evening stroll. The priority should have been a systematic siege, not a dashing raid, which the cyborg advocated. Such tactics would have worked if the target were some backwater planet of the Outer Rim, but the Bothans...
Therefore, the Harch was not surprised by the report of the cyborg's flight to Mimban.
And so, he admired his creation of death.
He didn't make plans for the Trade Federation fleet that was now pounding Rodia. And Grievous's underestimation of the cunning of the new commander of the 13th Sectoral... Trench had experience fighting such a cunning enemy as the Jedi Dougan. The first battle at Christophsis added food for thought — in particular, where the enemy got 'invisible' ships, about which CIS intelligence knew absolutely nothing.
Dougan's methods of waging battle also deserved attention. He and his associates, both in space and on the planet, showed extraordinary talent in battles. Such talent cannot be obtained by indulging in idle meditations, as the Jedi like to do. But all past conflicts of the last decades were covered in detail on the HoloNet, and CIS intelligence had gathered a solid amount of information over the past ten years about all Republic commanders worthy of attention, and especially the Jedi.
The Harch held a high position in his nest and in the CIS command precisely because his strategic mindset allowed him to notice small details. Whatever Count Dooku claimed, the states within the CIS had long set a course for war with the Republic — otherwise, all this intelligence would simply be meaningless. The Confederacy is an association of industrialists who would not spend huge sums just to accumulate information that had no importance for them in the foreseeable future.
But, one way or another, the dossier of the now Jedi Master Dougan had an extremely meager set of information. And there were absolutely no marks about his military talents and merits. Until the Battle of Geonosis...
The Republic fleet — for him there was no distinction between the fleet of the Christoph system and truly Republic starships — was in complete disarray. All the 'Hammerheads' of Christophsis, which tried to delay the armada as a strike group, were swept away by concentrated fire in the blink of an eye.
Next came the turn of the 'Golan' orbital platforms.
By themselves, the structures were a remarkable element of defense. And even more so when united into a network controlled from the captured 'Lucrehulk', they created a strong defense that few could penetrate.
But the admiral was never an ordinary sentient. Painful defeats help to take a step back and look around, draw conclusions. Unfortunately for the enemy, Admiral Trench had done his 'analysis'.
While the enemy was recovering, struggling to organize a defense, the Separatist forces managed to breach the orbital defense, 'prying off' a couple of 'Golans' that offered surprisingly weak resistance. The exposed bare section of the front instantly absorbed hundreds of bombers, carrying their deadly cargo to the planet's cities.
Trench did not aim to capture the system — in modern realities, that was simply the height of optimism. The task was to inflict as much damage as possible on the planet, undermine its faith in the Republic, which would split society in two, drive a wedge between the supporters of the Jedi, and make sentients worry about their safety.
A secondary goal was the destruction of the system's economy. If Christophsis lost its profit for even a month, it would cause grumbling among the population, disruptions in the supply of raw materials to the army...
But, unfortunately, he couldn't reach the metal-rich asteroid mines — the defensive systems and starships had him pinned to geostationary orbit, preventing him from detaching a unit to destroy the mining platforms. Well, perhaps the civilian casualties would serve their purpose.
Two 'Thranta'-class corvettes, which were closest to the breach point, tried to prevent the enemy bombers from breaking through, mowing down hordes of nimble droids with their numerous firing points.
Redirecting their heavy guns, the bulky Republic ships relied on other ships and support forces to create defensive lines to hold back the enemy. Without these lines, they were practically defenseless against the faster and more agile 'Vultures'. The Separatist ships, on the other hand, laid in on a vector that reduced the number of guns the 'Thrantas' could aim at them. They wanted to go around them, pouring fire from all cannons. If the 'Thrantas' tried to change direction to bring more guns to bear, the 'Vultures' would turn and come from another vector, inflicting even more damage. This ruthless maneuver was known as 'deck cutting', and without fighter or battleship support, the Republic corvettes could not withstand it for long.
And so it happened. The ground-based anti-aircraft defense posts reacted too slowly. As soon as the 'Thrantas' shifted fire to the line ships, and the ground guns didn't have time to switch to shooting down enemy small craft, the 'Vultures' destroyed the ships with concentrated fire, which crashed onto the surface of Christophsis as a pile of smoking wreckage.
Help from the Republic ships, however, was not forthcoming. The 'Venator' that stood guard was already charred, staying close to the captured 'Lucrehulk'. It used the numerous guns of the former Trade Federation ship to hold back the pressing 'Vultures'. The 'Venator' itself was stripping the deflector shield power from one of the 'Recusants' with precise salvos. However, it didn't have much time left — under the pressing enemy forces, pieces of hull were already flying off the captured ship, particularly its 'core', as a result of successful 'Vulture' raids.
The Harch could swear that panic had begun among the enemy soldiers. The self-defense fleet ships, hastily pulled from other points in the system, did not risk getting closer to the battle site, limiting their participation to long-range exchanges with the attackers and launching fighters.
Trench's attack was a pure insult; the strategy inflicted maximum damage on the enemy but left his own ships unprotected and vulnerable to a well-organized counterattack. But nothing of the sort was forthcoming from the enemy. The Republic captains were unable to coordinate their efforts, unable to create defensive lines. They couldn't even manage a decent retreat... escape was simply impossible. Victory was in his hands!
And then one of the 'Lucrehulks' suddenly stopped firing, struck by an energy charge released from the spherical section of the 'Lucrehulk' previously captured by the Republic. The next minute, crushed by the concentrated fire of the 'Thrantas' that had rushed into battle, the Separatist 'Lucrehulk' ceased to exist: the explosion tore the ship apart. It all happened so fast that the Harch didn't even have time to be surprised when the second ship — the sister ship of the first victim — exploded.
The Republic 'Hammerheads' laid in on evasive vectors, unbelievably aiming at the trajectory of the last 'Lucrehulk'. Trench clicked, finally figuring out the enemy's tactics.
The first two ships were destroyed, hit by an ion cannon mounted aboard the Republic 'Lucrehulk'. The enemy had saved their trump card for last — the cannon was only used when Trench's ships were left without fighter cover and, immobilized, became easy targets for Republic fire.
The Republic cruisers, meanwhile, were firing turbolaser cannons, while the nimble corvettes launched missile strikes at the distracted enemy, causing a massive detonation that instantly destroyed the enemy battleships. This, the Harch had to admit, was a brilliant maneuver: under a relentless attack, two classes of ships perfectly coordinated their efforts to destroy a common enemy. Such a thing seemed simply impossible.
"Curious," the Harch uttered. "Scan those ships," he ordered the droids. The admiral's limb unequivocally pointed at the unknown corvettes spewing missile salvos.
As soon as he was informed that the reconnaissance was complete, the admiral, contemplating the picture of destruction — almost all the 'Golan' defense platforms, a dozen 'Thrantas' had already been turned into scrap metal. The 'Vultures' had razed one of the cities on the planet to the ground, while the belatedly awakened planetary defense remembered its anti-aircraft artillery and began methodically shooting down the Separatist small craft.
Trench ordered the 'Invincible' to take evasive action; the CIS ships received orders to withdraw. There was no point in continuing the attack when the Republic's ion cannon could disable an entire ship. The 'Vultures' would remain in the system after the retreat, preventing the enemy from starting rescue operations for some time. And the conflagrations raging in the cities and on the surface confirmed the achievement of the raid's main objective.
The destroyers and frigates that were advancing on the damaged Republic ships also had to suddenly retreat. From the hangars of their supposedly defenseless prey — the cruiser 'Salvation' four full flights of fighters launched. Even under ideal conditions, it would have been difficult to bring fighters into battle so quickly; in this situation, it was simply unthinkable.
But still, the scanners identified them: about fifty 'W-wings' flying in tight formation, fiercely attacking the CIS ships. They were creating a defensive line!
Clicking contemptuously, Trench, with a slight smile, fixed his gaze on the hyperspace metrics as the 'Invincible' made the hyperspace jump.
Even without seeing the enemy, he could guess who commanded the counterattack. Well, the Jedi Dougan had given him new food for thought. This confrontation was becoming even more interesting.
* * *
Remember the large conference room aboard the 'Lucrehulk' from the first episode? The one where they tried to kill Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan.
And now I was sitting at the head of the table in just such a conference room aboard the captured 'Lucrehulk', which the locals called 'The Hive'.
"Disappointing results, I must admit," I said, looking up from the news summary. Looking over the assembled people across the deck, I rolled my eyes, taking advantage of the fact that my face was hidden by a mask. "Effectively — we are defeated."
"The Christophsis Defense Fleet has lost up to 90% of its strength," Admiral Shirano summarized. "No matter how much we trained, the invasion turned out to be for us..."
"No need for lyricism, Admiral," I interrupted the Rendili. "What's done is done, the dead cannot be brought back."
Sitting at the head of the table, without raising my eyes, I sensed those who were in the room. Behind me, like silent monoliths, stood Alpha, Kenny, and Balda — the trio who had arrived in the system on the 'Defender' at the end of the slaughter.
To my right sat the commander of the remnants of the 'Shield' squadron, Oswald Teshik. Next to him was Captain Zsinj, whose unit had only two ships left, battered to the state of drifting debris. Both military men were in slight confusion — after the slaughter at Bothawui, they had thrown themselves into the thick of the battle at Christophsis without proper rest. Which ended for us in virtual defeat.
Similar feelings were experienced by those sitting to my left: Oli, Vizsla, and Shirano. While I was dealing with the chaos reigning in the center of the defense, she was leading one of the squadrons shooting down enemy bombers. The girl had not only been in the front lines of the battle but had also witnessed the total destruction of the Southern metropolis. The clearing of rubble and the search for the wounded were still ongoing... But even now, by the most conservative estimates, Christophsis had lost over a million civilians, killed under CIS bombs.
Shirano, who commanded the defensive fleet, felt the same — the bitterness of defeat. Many of his people had died in the fight. And it would have been a justified loss if the enemy hadn't reached the surface... but now... No one knew what consequences such massive losses would lead to. But that they would be unpleasant — that was certain.
Vizsla remained stubbornly silent. Of course, the ground forces had also not performed at their best, but still, it could be credited to them that most of the enemy's small craft were shot down by the planetary defense forces. However, in the Force, I felt her indifference. Understandable — this wasn't Mandalore, what difference did it make how many died here.
"We should request help from the Republic," Teshik finally spoke up. "The self-defense forces couldn't handle it..."
"Hold your tongue, Commodore," Shea said in a level tone. "While it's still with you..."
"Don't you dare shut me up, Mandalorian," Teshik barked. "If it weren't for my ships, your system would already be burning..."
"Your ships were hiding behind our backs," Ermus flared up, half-rising. "Our fleet did everything possible to hold back the Separatists! Thousands of my people died!"
"And millions of civilians," Zsinj added, taking his friend's side. "My unit practically ceased to exist because of the gaps in your defense! Your 'Golans' didn't last half an hour, even though they were designed for several days of autonomous defense!"
The meeting threatened to turn into a squabble. And no matter how right both sides were in their mutual accusations, I did not intend to allow a quarrel.
"Stop it," I reinforced my voice with the Force, sharply reining in the shouters. Oli looked at me in bewilderment, sensing the emanations, but remained silent. "We gathered here not to blame each other with mutual reproaches! The enemy was more cunning than us, that should be a lesson for the future, but not a reason for accusations!"
"But sir," Teshik began, but I interrupted him by raising my hand.
"Enough, Commodore," the officer sighed heavily, staring at the tabletop. "There are no right or wrong here. Civilians have suffered, an entire city has been destroyed. Does anyone want to say that in the midst of this, they acted worthily?" I looked around at those present. There were no takers. A bad idea — to hold a meeting among people who were blaming each other. "Let's end the mutual squabbling there. Our task is to prevent this from happening again. The sector army forces are already scattered and bloodied enough to deploy even a part of them to the Christophsis system. Commodore Teshik, Captain Zsinj. Go to your ships, oversee the rescue and repair operations. Admiral Shirano — I count on your full cooperation in this matter."
"Of course, Jedi Master," Ermin nodded briefly. The Rendili stood up, straightened his uniform, and left the room without a word. The Republic officers followed him.
"Oli," the girl started, as if my voice had roused her from a daze. "Take care of the wounded. The Christophsis medics are under your full command."
"Yes, Master," just as quietly as she'd answered, the girl left the briefing hall.
Only those I could fully trust remained. It was time for a more candid heart-to-heart.
"Shea," I looked at the red-haired Mandalorian woman, who was intently studying her helmet resting on the polished tabletop. "What the hell happened?"
"We weren't ready," the girl said without looking up from her task. "We gave all the reasonably combat-ready reserves to the army. The current self-defense forces are yesterday's farmers, miners holding a weapon for the first time. We had to dilute the Rendili officers with new blood too—more than half of them, along with trained cadets, shipped out to retrieve the Katana fleet. The CIS caught us at our most vulnerable moment."
"Surely TX-65 didn't foresee this?" I doubted.
The tactical droid, who had surrendered the Northern metropolis during the conquest of Christophsis, should, in my opinion, have been the key to a solid defense for the system. But something went wrong. Trench easily cracked the defensive perimeter and caused a bloodbath.
"Ask him yourself," the girl touched her wrist computer, and a few minutes later, the defected TX marched into the room.
"Jedi Master Dougan," he greeted me with a synthesized voice, sweeping his optical sensor's gaze over those present.
Even without turning around, I felt the tension from the clones. Well, old habits die hard. Especially considering how many clones had fallen to this droid's actions during the assault on the Northern metropolis.
"TX-65," I addressed the newcomer. "The Separatists managed to breach our defenses and gave our forces a good mauling. Heavy civilian casualties."
"I am aware of the results of Admiral Trench's attack," the droid replied. I winced at the name. That damn Harch—finding out he was back in action "displeased" me immensely. "We have won, but there are significant civilian casualties."
"That's an understatement," Balda remarked. "Whose side are you on anyway, tin can?"
The droid "froze" for a moment, then continued.
"I am loyal to Jedi Master Rick Dougan," he reported. "I accomplished the objective of preserving his control over the Christoph system."
"But at what cost?" I asked rhetorically. "We have a huge number of dead civilians, the defense fleet is destroyed..."
"The system remains under your control," the tactical droid stubbornly insisted. "War without losses is impossible."
"With losses like these, the planet will slip out of our control," Shea noted.
"Answer negative," TX countered. He approached a holoterminal built into the panel and activated it. A map of the system appeared before our eyes.
"Admiral Trench's actions were not aimed at capturing the system," the tactician explained. "The main part of the defensive system was focused on maintaining control of the resource-extraction facilities. They were not damaged. Christophsis remains ready to supply raw materials to the Republic. The battle's outcome proved the inadequacy of Golan-type defense platforms and Thranta-class corvettes for repelling a full-scale invasion. Their effectiveness did not exceed half of what was planned..."
"People died," Alpha noted. "And you're still talking about effectiveness."
"This will cause unrest among the planet's population and in the Republic," I continued. "The Senate may insist on introducing Republic troops into the system."
"Negative," the droid stared at me like a terminator. "The system's government is under your complete control. The population, having suffered heavy losses, will only grow more sympathetic to you, since you brought support and managed to repel the attack. Minor unrest is possible, but it has only a 0.56% chance of developing successfully into a popular uprising. I recommend purging unreliable elements should such a crisis arise."
"I like him," Kenny declared. "Thinks straight and is all for mass bloodshed. We'll get along..."
"Shut your trap, you rusty bucket," Shea requested. "The fact that we can prevent an uprising is acceptable. But the occupation question is more relevant than ever..."
The tactical droid shifted his gaze to the Mandalorian woman.
"Republic legislation does not provide for the occupation of a planet without a direct request for help from the planet's representative in the Senate. Christophsis has defense forces, including resources for its own defense. Introducing an occupation contingent would mean violating 70 Republic laws, which could serve as grounds for a vote of no confidence in the chancellor supporting such an initiative..."
"Speaking of which," Shea was distracted by an incoming message. "Elder Eisel has arrived on board and wishes to meet with you, Jedi Master..."
* * *
Old man Eisel, this time without makeup but in a luxurious business suit, bowed ceremoniously to me the moment he crossed the threshold.
The Senator following him, Fren, with a slightly arrogant expression on his face, honored me with only a nod of his head. While the relatives were making their way from the hangar to the briefing room, Shea told me that the young politician had already built up connections in the Senate, which had gone slightly to his head.
Well, I felt it was time to remind someone who was in charge here.
Kenny moved to the far corner of the room, positioning himself behind a bulkhead so that prying eyes couldn't see him. TX-65 returned to the bridge—the natives didn't need to know of his existence at all.
And both clones, as if by chance, took up positions by the transparent bulkhead bordering the opposite side of the huge table.
"Glad to welcome you, Elder, Senator," I gestured for both to take seats at the far end of the table. "To what do I owe your appearance?"
"First of all, we wanted to congratulate you on your promotion," the old man put on a smile, smoothing his crew cut of gray hair with his hand. "The people of Christophsis happily welcomed both your elevation to the rank of Jedi Master and your appointment to command a sector army."
"Thank you," I smirked beneath my mask. In the Force, I could feel the old man's fawning—a seasoned schemer and politician before the one who had granted him power. The Senator, meanwhile, was practically radiating disdain and almost bursting with his own self-importance. "The goodwill of the Christophsis people is important to me."
"If that's the case," the Elder barely opened his mouth before his nephew interrupted him. "Then why is our defense being commanded by incompetents who allowed an outrageous bombing..."
"Shut your mouth," Shea, with little ceremony, moved to put the insolent youth in his place.
"What?" The latter squeaked. "How dare you, you filthy mercenary? I am a Senator..."
"Are you deaf or something?" Balda barked, forcefully placing his hand on the man's shoulder.
"I... I am outraged!" Fren winced in pain as the clone squeezed his collarbone. "I will complain!"
"Fren, stop it," the Elder hissed. "Don't disgrace yourself!"
Watching this scene, I couldn't help but smirk. As soon as the Senator started rubbing shoulders in high circles, he forgot who brought his family to power over the system. To give credit where it's due, his uncle hadn't forgotten WHO he owed his position and wealth to.
"I find your behavior, Senator Eisel," I began, "inappropriate for the circumstances."
"You... you are pressuring a representative of the Senate..." the young politician gasped in pain as the clone increased his pressure.
"And you seem to have forgotten who made you a Senator," Shea chimed in.
"Perhaps it's worth reminding the Elder," I suggested, "who Christophsis truly answers to?"
"To you, my lord," the old man bowed, nearly touching his forehead to the tabletop. "I ask you to forgive my nephew—his prolonged stay on Coruscant has not done him any good."
"That's obvious," I gestured for Balda to release the politician. "Do you have any more complaints, Senator?"
"N...no... my lord," wincing in pain, young Eisel also bowed. "I offer my apologies for my insolent words..."
A barely audible snicker came from the Mandalorian woman.
"And yet, you leveled a complaint against me and my people," I reminded him. "That it was because of us that Christophsis suffered such enormous losses..."
"But truly, there are many dead and wounded among the civilians," the politician said.
"As regrettable as it is," I confirmed, "that is the price of war. People die. And not from our bombs. Admiral Trench bombarded the Southern metropolis."
"My nephew spoke without thinking," the Elder intervened. "I once again ask you to forgive him. He, unfortunately, knows so little of the art of war..."
"I trust the Senator will no longer speak of things he does not understand," I said with emphasis. "Or else, Elder, the system's representative in the Senate should be replaced."
"I understand you, my lord," the elder Eisel echoed me. "It will not happen again."
"So," I concluded, "let us move on to the purpose of your visit."
The Elder, glancing at his nephew, shook his head, then looked at me.
"I came to assure you that, despite this difficult time for us, the people of Christophsis are entirely devoted to you, ready to continue providing full support for your endeavor."
"That is welcome news," I assessed. "I am told that a large number of volunteers are already taking part in implementing my plans."
"Without a doubt, that is so, my lord," the Elder noted. "We are doing enormous work training personnel for the fleet and army. Ideological indoctrination leaves no doubt about our fighters—each one is loyal to you."
"My analysts claim that, given the invasion, ferment is possible on the planet, even the creation of opposition cells," I recalled TX-65's report. "What have you to say about that?"
Upon hearing this, the Elder grimaced as if he had eaten the equivalent of a lemon.
"Jo Ptar," he spat out a familiar but half-forgotten name. "These are his machinations."
"The former guardsman?" I clarified. There were probably plenty of those on the planet. "Wasn't he being held in the dungeons?"
"We released him as a gesture of goodwill," the Senator broke his silence. "The amnesty for Jo Ptar and his former associates became an act of forgiveness for many. After the most trained cadets and ship crews left on your assignment, we had to find reserves. I advised my uncle to release Ptar and his guards—acts of amnesty add political weight to the ruling party. Most of them subsequently enlisted as volunteers and are serving in ground forces, the fleet, on defense stations..."
The Force, like a lone wolf, howled. A grinding of teeth came from beneath my mask.
The Senator fell silent, seeing how sharply Shea tensed after hearing this. If it were up to me, I would have facepalmed. Or thrown him out into space...
"Elder, did you know about this?" I asked quietly. "The commander of the self-defense forces, apparently, did not."
The elder Eisel stared at his nephew with an expression full of horror. It seemed the politician had realized which way the wind was blowing and the reason for the Separatists' swift invasion. Jo Ptar and his supporters had sabotaged the defense systems... And that bastard, apparently, was on the planet.
"I signed the amnesty papers," he admitted. "Fren convinced me it would be..."
"Enough," I raised my hand, signaling the politician to be silent. Without any further hesitation, I said:
"Alpha, Balda, Kenny—escort the Senator to the interrogation room—Commander Vizla has a conversation planned with him."
Ignoring the politician's screams as he was unceremoniously dragged out of the meeting room by two burly clones, accompanied by the Iokath droid, I rose from the table just as the door closed.
Slowly, savoring the mix of fear and confusion emanating from the politician, I approached him. But I stopped in front of the transparent bulkhead, admiring the cosmos.
Hundreds of wrecks of various sizes drifted in space, periodically docking with rescue ships searching for survivors. Tens of thousands of beings had found their graves in this battle... because of one idiot... Though, whether he was an idiot or a conspirator—that was yet to be determined.
"Your shortsightedness troubles me, Elder," I finally said. The rage seething within me was under control, but I knew it needed to be released. Absolutely. To the last drop. Otherwise, it would consume me from within.
"Forgive me, my lord," the old man threw himself to his knees, his hands folded in a characteristic pleading gesture. "I never imagined something like this could happen..."
"And here is the result," I pointed at the field of debris the tugboats were forming. Clearing the orbit, they would send the wreckage for processing, giving the shapeless chunks of metal new life. "Citizens of Christophsis have died. I don't think the traitors sacrificed themselves. But the fact remains. Because of mercy shown to some, we have the deaths of a huge number of people. This is an unforgivable mistake..."
"I beg you..."
."..for which the Senator will pay. You have proven your usefulness, Elder. But next time—I will throw you into space. Is that clear?"
"Yes, yes, yes, my lord," the old man bowed obsequiously.
"You have one week to find Jo Ptar and all his rebels," I stated my condition. "Shea Vizla will lead and oversee his capture," the Mandalorian woman nodded in agreement. "No mercy for the rebels. Announce throughout the system that he and his supporters are responsible for the destruction of the fleet and the Southern metropolis. Impose a curfew if necessary!"
"My lord," Shea interrupted my monologue. I turned to look at her. "There is a more effective and productive proposal."
"I'm all ears," I said indifferently.
"We'll put a bounty on his head," the Mandalorian rose from her seat and approached me. "And on each of his henchmen and supporters. We'll block any departures from the system, except for cargo ships, which will be searched."
"An abundance of assorted mercenaries could cause discontent on the planet," I noted. "No one likes bounty hunters..."
Eisel nodded in agreement. The Christophsis inhabitants' disdain for mercenary services was well known. They weren't liked, they weren't trusted, and no one wanted anything to do with them. The appearance of gangs of thugs could only complicate the situation—and the former Mandalore the Avenger couldn't be unaware of that.
The girl smirked, as if reading my thoughts, and with both hands, pushed her hair back, securing it with a clip. A typical gesture for a girl preparing to put on a battle helmet.
"Nobody's talking about bounty hunters," a smile played on her lips. "We can find perfectly trained allies elsewhere... But it will cost us a fair amount..."
"And what do you suggest?" I asked, more for formality's sake. The answer was practically writing itself. "Credit is not an issue."
The Mandalorian said just one word.
At that, Elder Eisel's eyes went wide as he gasped for air. Her answer didn't surprise me in the least...
"Leave immediately," I ordered. I liked her idea, but we had to cross the entire galaxy to get there...
"As you command, my lord," Shea smiled mockingly at the Elder, then, grabbing her helmet, left the meeting room.
Looking at the kneeling Elder, I smirked.
"Don't be afraid, Eisel. You and your dear nephew are the only ones to blame for all that's happened. Now, we'll restore order on Christophsis."
* * *
Staring at the heavy cumulus clouds blanketing the planet's atmosphere, Nadia couldn't help but admit—the view from the top of the Spire was truly magnificent.
Unfathomably, unlike most of the Spire's skyscrapers—the capital of Zakuul—the Imperial Tower had survived with minimal damage.
Crowned by a huge transparent sphere, dotted with dozens of boarding ramps, it loomed over the ruins of what was once a magnificent city like a milestone of the past.
During the Zakuul Empire's heyday, its sparse population thrived, surrounded on one side by the care of countless machines that cleaned, cooked, serviced, repaired, and built. On the other side, the countless armadas of the Eternal Fleet and armies of Skywalkers stood guard over the Empire's security.
And all of it was controlled from here—from Emperor Valkorion's throne room. A transparent bubble of transparisteel that looked so fragile; it seemed like a few torpedoes and it would be all over...
Though, it wasn't that simple. Valkorion's residence was surrounded by hundreds of skyscrapers, the tops of which were actually studded with anti-aircraft and missile emplacements—if activated, any invading fleet would be reduced to nothing but wreckage.
Nadia, with a slight smile, looked at the pedestal where the Eternal Throne once stood—the invention with which Valkorion, and later his children—Arcann, Vaylin—controlled the Eternal Fleet, directing their countless armadas to ravage and subjugate the worlds of the Republic and the Empire.
After the Alliance was formed, the throne was moved to Odessen, where it, along with the entire Eternal Fleet, was destroyed during the sabotage by members of the Zildrog order...
Well, maybe that was for the best for the galaxy—absolute power threatens tyranny and the oppression of the innocent.
The Spire was the first structure on Zakuul restored by the forces of xi char and the Haor Chall Engineering corporation. It turned out not to be that difficult, however. After clearing the central part of the Spire of radiation, the aliens managed to repair and start up the solar generator, marveling at the elegance, simplicity, and reliability of its design.
With a practically inexhaustible energy source, things went much better. Sector by sector, neutralizing radiation contamination, the xi char cleansed the enormous city for inhabitants who weren't yet in sight...
The droid factory located in the Old World—the first city on the planet—despite enormous damage, was deemed by the xi char a suitable place for their headquarters.
The assault squads of Skywalkers swept through the metropolis, built at the dawn of the Eternal Empire's creation, like a punishing sword and cleansing fire. The flora and fauna that had reigned on the planet for millennia were mercilessly exterminated; structures deemed superfluous by the aliens were sent to the recyclers... Slowly but surely, the Old World and the Endless Marshes were turning into proving grounds and assembly shops for the Haor Chall Engineering Corporation.
Nadia did not interfere in the xi char's activities, fully understanding that her task was simply to ensure the planet's safety, protect the beings obsessed with technological perfection, and wait for new orders...
Every day, the planet's entire northern hemisphere looked less and less like the former Zakuul. Even under Valkorion's shadow, the planet hadn't looked this decent. Hundreds of thousands of construction droids, day after day, following the master architectural plan, were bringing the Spire to exemplary splendor, ready to receive its population. The planet's defensive fortifications were being restored; the Skywalker contingent assigned to her for the mission had grown a thousandfold.
Day by day, the planet was shedding its feeling of grim neglect.
Nearly all of her master's instructions had been carried out. The planet was secure; the corporation's production facilities were deployed.
The planet's automated factories, which once only produced droids, were now engaged in recycling millennia of garbage, turning it into raw material for future construction.
And as for the planet being built up much more densely, as was happening now, Nadia understood as she watched more and more "guests" arriving on the planet.
First—a few thousand Twi'leks, followed by dozens of huge Incom cargo haulers appearing in Zakuul's space. Construction began on the planet once again. The enormous Haor Chall complexes literally swallowed the disassembled Incom equipment, after which the doors of the production shops closed, and more than lively work began inside...
The Twi'lek colony, by their own desire, was settled in the planet's southern hemisphere, near a vast ocean. In a short time, not without the help of construction droids of course, a settlement and vast farmland emerged there, cultivated by the labor of the unexpectedly hardworking natives of Ryloth...
Gazing at the fruits of her labor from stratospheric heights, Nadia could be proud of herself. The task set before her had been accomplished and even exceeded. Zakuul, the ancient capital of the Eternal Empire, had been reborn and was more ready than ever to receive its inhabitants. The former Jedi, beloved of the Barsen'thor, had no doubt—Zakuul was destined to don the mantle of the capital of a future empire, eclipsing everything that had been created before.
Frozen in a meditation pose, Nadia let the currents of the Force flow through her, reaching out across parsecs of icy space to the mind of her master. The future emperor needed to know that Zakuul was ready for his visit.
* * *
After the famed Jango Fett laid down his wild and restless head in the Petranaki arena on Geonosis, there were no beings left in the galaxy capable of rivaling Cad Bane in the art of bounty hunting.
Over his long life, the Duros had changed thousands of clients, appearing in various guises—from a bounty hunter to an elite assassin. Among his clients were Senators, planetary rulers, heads of corporations, leaders of the underworld... He saw no particular difference in them, and frankly, he didn't try to remember his contracts. Or his clients. In his professional circles, that wasn't encouraged—and in most cases, it was even punishable by death. Knowing more about your employer than they wished to reveal was bad for your health.
Despite all the multitude of contracts Bane had completed, he had never broken his own rule—always take the highest-paying job. It wasn't that the mercenary was chasing money—he always had enough credits, both for living and for leisure.
But practice had shown that the most expensive contracts were the most interesting. And the most difficult. Which, to a certain extent, challenged his professional skill.
Another habit he couldn't shake since childhood was his desire to spend his downtime on Coruscant's lower levels. Where sunlight was replaced by artificial lighting panels, and the air was so heavy it settled in the lungs like a viscous liquid...
Since the start of the Clone Wars, Siun Tarr's dive had been the Duros's favorite haunt. The elderly Toydarian had saved the young and cocky Duros's skin more than once when he inevitably went looking for trouble on the lower levels. Sometimes, he'd toss him a contract—mostly small fry that Cad disdainfully passed to any of his associates.
But sometimes, truly interesting contracts came along. Like this one, for example.
The client—a human, average height, with perceptive green eyes, short hair with a receding hairline. An aura of power emanated from his entire figure, which he masterfully hid with awkward movements. The theater he was putting on for a single audience member, as well as random bystanders, was meant to create an impression radically different from what the mercenary had formed of him.
The establishment was full of patrons today. The rabble from the lower levels were having a grand time, celebrating the Republic army's successes. The comely Zeltron Tyrell was briskly recounting how the brave clones and their father-commanders from the 13th Sector Army had dealt a sensitive blow to General Grievous's fleet, thwarting his victorious advance. Licking her sensitive lips, which sent most of the crowd into ecstasy, the hostess emphasized that the defense of Bothawui was personally commanded by the acting Moff—Jedi Master Rick Dougan, previously famed for his victorious battles within the same 13th Sector. Then, putting on a sad little face, the girl spoke of the CIS's treachery in breaking through to Rodia but being stopped by the "Iron Spear" forces. Of Trench's merciless slaughter in orbit of Geonosis and Christophsis. True, so the audience wouldn't fall into despair, the girl added that Jedi Master Dougan had once again come to Christophsis's rescue and driven off the insolent Harch with heavy losses. For whom they were heavy, as usual, Republic propaganda did not specify. But, like a cherry on top, she told of a successful Republic fleet attack on CIS ship groups at Dressel, Nexus Ortai, the Monastery... Not without pride, the hostess also spoke of the successes of the people's hero—Anakin Skywalker, who had taken the reins of the Republic armada at Muunilinst... As usual—the Republic was winning, but the war dragged on. And the Jedi, good soldiers. Cad smiled at his own thought.
The man, in a faltering but well-trained tone, slightly stammering, was telling Cad a story. One the mercenary listened to carefully, but didn't hear. He didn't give a damn about some "minor official" from the Senate wanting to remove another being from his path. The Duros had never been interested in a contract's motives and reasons. Only the payment mattered.
"How much?" the hunter finally asked in a hoarse voice, shifting the toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other.
"Fi-fifty thousand," the man exhaled.
"A respectable sum," Cad assessed. "But clearly not enough to interest me."
"B-but, I was assured..."
"You were misled. For less than a hundred thousand, I wouldn't even bother lifting my ass off this chair."
"That's truly a huge amount of money!" the man noted.
"Credit is no object," Bane replied with a crooked grin, rising from his seat. "But this is my price. Take it or leave it."
The human hesitated, but after a moment, nodded.
"Deal," Bane said, turning toward the exit. "I'll be in touch when the job is done."
Leaving the dive, the Duros felt eyes on his back. Potential rivals, informants, or just curious onlookers—it didn't matter. On Coruscant's lower levels, he was a celebrity, of sorts. A living legend of the bounty hunting world.
But the work had to be done. The client was willing to pay, and the target... well, the target was just another head to collect.
Bane pulled out his communicator and typed in a frequency he knew by heart.
"Todo, get the ship ready. We're taking a job."
"You are observant," the mercenary smirked. "So, let's start the conversation at one hundred and fifty thousand."
"But, you just said—"
"You're persuasive—two hundred."
"That's the price of a whole—"
"Three hundred..."
"Fine," the man said, his eyes flashing angrily at him. But Cad merely smiled. No matter how good an actor this man thought himself, his comedy could only fool someone who hadn't dealt with people and learned their facial expressions inside and out.
"So," the Duros said, beaming. "Now let's talk about the target. Who is he and where can he be found?"
"He'll be arriving on Coruscant soon," the man said, the stammer gone from his rapid speech. The Duros inwardly rejoiced at such a quick recovery. "In about a week. He needs to be shot, without hitting anyone in his entourage."
"Blowing him up is always more reliable," Cad noted.
"Unacceptable," the client rejected. "His death must be exemplary, but no one in his entourage may be harmed. And he must be shot under very specific circumstances..."
Hearing that last part, the mercenary mentally steeled himself. On one hand, the multitude of restrictions only whetted his professional appetite. On the other, such contracts often turned out to be empty or a setup for the killer himself.
"What other circumstances?" the mercenary grated out.
"He must be killed on the steps of the Opera House," the man said, baring his teeth. "But I remind you—no one else may be hurt. I'll inform you of the time to visit the Opera later on this comlink," he said, handing the mercenary the device.
"Why not kill him at another time, in another place?"
"He's extremely cautious," the man said, squinting. "Armed, and always wears armor. Besides, under normal circumstances, he always has a large retinue—several bodyguards, battle droids, a Padawan..."
The last word cut through the Duros's auditory canals. With anticipation, he asked in a silky tone.
"So my target is a Jedi?"
The man, who had apparently said too much, silently nodded.
"Excellent," Bane said, breaking into a wide grin. "You've come to the right place. But the price just went up to one million. And payment up front—as usual, in untraceable bearer chips..."
The man nodded in agreement without blinking. The Duros clearly understood that the client was prepared to pay many times more, but he shouldn't overinflate his price too much either. Otherwise, the man might "snap."
However, there weren't that many beings among the Order members for whom someone was willing to pay the cost of a whole cruiser...
"And who is my target?" the mercenary asked, more for formality's sake and professional courtesy.
The man was silent for a moment, then, drawn by the ether broadcast, glanced briefly at a galactic news report that was repeating an older broadcast about the liberation of Christophsis from CIS occupation.
The client stared at the monitor until the image of a figure in sealed armor appeared on screen, with a mask on its face and a black-and-silver cape. Then the image changed to newer footage—the same figure, silently staring at the wreckage of CIS ships in orbit over Bothawui. At the bottom of the screen, an explanatory caption appeared for the viewers...
"Unexpected," Bane admitted. He thought for a moment, then declared. "Three million."
With an audible chuckle, the client slid three credit chips of the highest denomination across the table toward the Duros.
"I'll contact you as soon as he arrives on Coruscant," the client said, standing up and tapping a finger on the comlink he'd left behind, then silently left the establishment.
"I can hardly wait," the mercenary rasped, tucking the payment into his inner pockets. Well, a Jedi, then. A Jedi it is. After all, he, Cad Bane, was the best Jedi hunter. Not counting, of course, the late Jango Fett—may the sarlacc devour his progeny.
Downing a glass of Corellian brandy, the mercenary tossed some change on the table and hurried out of the establishment.