The crackling accompanying the flickering holograms made it clear to everyone present that the recent attack had damaged the communication systems as well. Watching the holograms of the Chancellor and the Grand Master, who were listening to Shaak Ti's report on the battle's outcome, my mind was somewhere else entirely.
The "Hurricane" team was a pretty poor excuse for a squad. Out of the seven Jedi who took part in repelling the attack, four were in the medbay. Two had sat out in the rear – and while I had no questions for Omas, since I hadn't brought her along to swing a sword, I had plenty for the Togruta.
And the first one – what the hell was she doing nearly losing the command center of Tipoca City?!
Looking at the equipment shattered by the droids' rapid-fire blasters, which clone engineer teams were now hastily repairing, I could only marvel that no one had died here. Of course, not counting those three poor clone operators whose bodies had been carried out when Siri Tachi and I arrived after finishing off the last droids.
Truly, the ways of the Force are inscrutable. I'd understand if Ti had been fighting off a battalion of droids – then no questions. Like, yeah, they trashed a couple million credits' worth of equipment, but say "thank you for being alive." But there were barely a dozen B2s chopped to pieces in the corridor. It raised more questions – what the hell was she doing on the Council anyway. She wasn't the best combatant. The defense of the command center – the heart of Tipoca City – was piss-poorly organized, meaning it was completely absent. So she wasn't exactly shining with the famed wisdom either.
If I didn't know the stuffiness of the Order's members, I'd definitely think she was sleeping with someone.
."..and thus, irreplaceable losses among clones of the third, fourth, and fifth generations amount to no less than six hundred thousand," Prime Minister Lama Su blinked several times, then added. "Nearly five hundred thousand are embryos from the fifth generation."
"Along with the number of starships and clones we lost in the space battle, our losses are so enormous that I can't even imagine the Senate's reaction to such news," Palpatine threw up his hands, rolling his eyes to the sky.
He should be performing in the Opera himself. Such shows were at least an Oscar for Best Leading Role. I mentally applauded the Sith.
"How are the injured Jedi feeling?" Yoda asked a more pressing question.
"Almost all of them have serious damage to the musculoskeletal system," Kaili replied, checking her datapad. "We've put them in bacta, along with all the wounded, but that's only a half-measure. Aayla Secura is recovering – I think she'll be able to walk in a couple of days; her broken ribs and femur will heal. Padawan Starstone is still unconscious and her condition is stable but serious – the armor saved her from fractures, but Force Lightning severely damaged her nerve endings and muscles. The Masters... unfortunately, I cannot guarantee their recovery under current conditions."
"Why not?" Yoda frowned.
"Kamino lacks the equipment to treat such severe internal injuries," the Prime Minister interjected. "Masters Unduli and Gallia have a number of serious brain injuries – cranial and spinal, respectively. We are keeping them alive with bacta, but atomic-level restoration is required here. Unfortunately, we are powerless – we never purchased such equipment."
"They must be delivered to the Temple immediately," Yoda said sternly. But Kaili immediately protested.
"Master, a long flight would certainly kill them," the girl whispered. "Without urgent intervention, they won't last three hours!"
"We cannot abandon them in their time of need!"
"Perhaps we won't have to," I interjected. Seeing the gazes of those assembled turn to me, I explained:
"The medical center on Christophsis is equipped with the latest technology. During Admiral Trench's second attack on that system, there were a large number of wounded who received such care. If they can survive such a short flight, I'm confident the Masters will live."
Kaili, catching the Grand Master's gaze, thought for a moment.
"I think it's possible," she said. "But it will require an extremely fast ship..."
"I have one," I said decisively, referring to my corvette.
"Then it's decided," Yoda even brightened. Understandable – who would want to lose two Masters in one day. "You must negotiate with the government of Christophsis, Master Dougan."
"I'll see to it right after the briefing," I nodded, hiding my own elation.
As it happened, the fate of both comatose women was not indifferent to me. Unduli was my supporter by her own will. Gallia... I wasn't entirely sure about her, but we hadn't spent the travel time from Coruscant to Kamino only satisfying her carnal hunger. During the pleasure and subsequent sleep, Jedi are so vulnerable to Sith magic. And their minds are open to subtle suggestion.
I had already pulled similar tricks with Vette and Atroxa during our intimacy on Christophsis. Vitiate's implants in them were good, of course. But they didn't guarantee they wouldn't turn against me, unfortunately.
Sith magic is an extremely complex thing, and thank Exar Kun for learning well from his master. His knowledge proved very useful.
The first subjects for experimentation were the Twi'leks Jabba had given me. Submissive by nature, they quite gently accepted mental implants into their minds to remain loyal only to me and serve my will under any circumstances. As a result, thanks to them, I had a relatively secret lair on Nar Shaddaa, for which I had long-term plans. As well as for the remaining untouched "strongholds."
Progress in subjugating sentients to my will required continued experiments on beings who already had their own will and were not dependent on me in any way. Admirals Block and Jerjerrod were excellent examples. I wouldn't say they were very talented officers, and under other circumstances I probably wouldn't have tried to recruit them to my Empire. But Zakuul desperately needed specialists – including commanders. So I decided to test my theory of subjugating sentients with Sith magic alone, without Vitiate's help, on them. If it worked – good. If it didn't – well, no great loss.
Pleased with my success with the officers, I used my connection with the Tholothian to reinforce the result. After all, besides an army and admirals, I also needed Force adepts loyal to my cause.
Kun's memory told me that the greatest success could be achieved by weakening the victim's mind before manipulation. Exhaust, distract, cloud. Mental blocks would crack at the seams under such circumstances, and penetrating another being's mind became much easier.
I had no absolute certainty that I had succeeded in subjugating Adi to my control. But after all the manipulations, I sensed through the Force a well-hidden sympathy from her. Kira and Nadia had similar feelings toward me – but they were both Hands, specifically broken by Vitiate for that purpose. Their obedience to my orders could have roots in the earlier violence against their minds perpetrated by the Emperor.
Unfortunately, I didn't have the opportunity to continuously experiment on Jedi. So I had to improvise as the occasion arose. Gallia's sympathy came in very handy.
All that remained was to save her and observe the reaction to loyalty. If everything went well, I could continue my work on those Jedi who had been promised to me as reinforcements for the 13th Sectoral.
Of course, the tactic of enchanting a Jedi's mind after fruitful coitus was certainly pleasant – especially the first part. But it wasn't suitable for every Jedi I wanted under my banner. If only because some of them were the same gender as me.
So even if the plan with Adi Gallia worked, I needed to think about how to implement it in a more decent form. My conscience and orientation simply wouldn't allow me to hit on Rahm Kota, and I would very much like to acquire that character for the future Order.
"We should discuss the Republic's payments to compensate for the damage incurred," the Prime Minister blinked again, looking at the Chancellor.
Palpatine, with a perfunctory smile, replied: "I understand your concern, Prime Minister Su, but I'm afraid this is an untimely question now. A meeting with your senator is scheduled for next week – we'll discuss this issue as well."
"As you wish, Supreme Chancellor," the Prime Minister bowed his head respectfully and slowly headed for the exit.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Palpatine perked up.
"This attack is an extremely low and treacherous act on the part of Count Dooku," he furrowed his brows, as if angry. As if. "General Grievous and his associates nearly deprived us of our army."
"Even individually, each of them – General Grievous, Savage Opress, Baron Kirvan – poses a huge threat," Shaak Ti said.
Interesting, how would she know? She hadn't even been within a square kilometer of them. Yet she acted so confidently, as if she had personally broken a rib from each of them.
"It is regrettable that Nax Kirvan has also sided with the Separatists," Yoda sighed sadly.
"I remember him," Ti nodded. "He is a very gifted swordsman and has a strong connection to the Force. In his time, he was the best of Master Drallig's students..."
"Ahem-ahem," I cleared my throat, drawing attention. "Forgive me for interrupting your enumeration of the enemy's virtues – the one who nearly killed my Padawan, Master Gallia, and Knight Tachi – but perhaps it would be better to discuss measures to capture this murderer. If I'm not mistaken, he boasted of causing the deaths of eight Jedi on Rullag. So underestimating him is not advisable..."
"Sixteen Jedi he killed on that planet," Yoda rasped. "All Padawans also fell by his hand. No one survived that battle. A legion of clones we lost as well."
"Forgive me, but I've never heard of the battle on Rullag," Kaili reminded us. "What happened there?"
And at that moment, I was gladder for her question than ever. Because I had never heard of that battle either. Nor of the fallen Jedi himself.
The Force allowed me to extract any information from my memory that I had once studied about the Star Wars universe. And I would bet my hand that I had never once encountered a mention of Baron Nax Kirvan and his atrocities during the Clone Wars.
"We suffered a defeat," Yoda admitted. "A legion of clones and eight Jedi with their students were sent there to destroy a droid factory. No one survived, and we did not stop the droid production. They are still being manufactured, and we are powerless to prevent it – that planet is now deep in Separatist territory."
"Still, a certain amount of luck was with us today," Palpatine said thoughtfully. "Savage Opress posed no less a threat to the Republic. Thanks to Moff Dougan, that danger has been eliminated. I thank you, Master Jedi, on behalf of the Republic."
Oh my goodness, what pleasantries directed at me. I'm about to piss myself with joy.
"It is my duty, Supreme Chancellor," I said, bowing while smiling under my mask. "Eliminating threats to the galaxy is a matter of honor for every Jedi."
Especially for one who might be hindered by such beasts. Fortunately, the Zabrak, hopped up on Mother Talzin's Dathomirian magic (ah, potent stuff, if it turned such a wreck as Savage into such a hardened Jedi killer), would definitely not be appearing on the galactic horizon now.
"With your permission, Grand Master, I would like to remain with the army," I said. I just didn't feel like going back to Coruscant, even if you killed me. "Until Master Unduli recovers, the 'Iron Spear' is effectively without command. That's dangerous in the current situation, when our forces are so small and Master Unduli is unconscious."
"Lack of command will bring chaos, I agree with that," Yoda replied. "But you should return to the Temple. Your healing is not complete."
"With all due respect, Master Yoda," Palpatine interjected. "Of course, I am far from the subtleties of Jedi art, but it seems to me that during the last battle, the Master proved he is in excellent form."
"Wounds of the soul are not so easily healed as physical ones, hmm," Yoda grumbled, glancing at the Chancellor. The latter, frowning in displeasure, folded his hands on his chest.
"I do not presume to interfere in Jedi affairs," he hastened to assure. Yeah, right. "But the situation is now extremely serious. We have practically lost the entire military contingent of the 14th Sectoral Army. The position of the 13th is also not easy. I would recommend leaving Master Dougan in command of the 'Iron Spear.' Especially since one of your healers is with him and can always help."
"Aayla Secura will replace him during his absence," the Grand Master said decisively. "The Council has urgent business for Master Dougan. You must be at the Temple as soon as possible."
"In that case," Palpatine's tone made it clear that Yoda's answer displeased him. After all, what head of state would appreciate having his officer pulled to headquarters while his army was in dire straits, with one of his flagships smashed to pieces and enemy squads swarming around it like it was their own backyard? But for now, the Chancellor, though wielding considerable authority, still could not — or perhaps did not want to — provoke a conflict with the Jedi by dictating his will to them. Ironic, considering how their last meeting would unfold. "I must take my leave. The cares of the Republic require my attention elsewhere. Moff Dougan, it would be desirable if you paid a visit to my office after your return."
"Without fail, Chancellor."
The moment Palpatine's hologram faded, I felt a chill. Goosebumps ran down my spine, and the temperature beneath my mask seemed to drop several degrees. Almost immediately, I sensed someone's presence.
Massive, icy, alien. Like a battering ram crashing against the gates of a medieval fortress, some powerful Dark Side adept tried to brute-force his way through all the invisible layers of mental armor I had erected around my mind over the past year. Using techniques from both the Light and Dark Sides, I had achieved truly impenetrable defenses — no Jedi from outside could simply break through.
But the unknown assailant had no intention of being delicate. He pressed against my mind as if he wasn't even trying to find a workaround.
And judging by the fact that Kaili and Shaak standing nearby didn't react at all, continuing their conversation with the Grand Master, this Force attack was aimed specifically at me. Strange that staunch adherents of the Light, barely a meter away, couldn't sense a Dark Side attack.
I wasn't about to tolerate such an affront. I had almost succeeded once before, and since then I'd gained some skill.
Taking advantage of the fact that under my cloaking I could accumulate a sufficient amount of Force, like a snake catcher I "grabbed" the stream of the Dark Side probing my mind, and while holding it, sent my own charge back toward the sender.
No, I wasn't planning to kill that unknown person who had taken an interest in me for the second time. I had a completely different idea.
I felt the Force crossing the galaxy, heading toward its edge. A place I had never been, yet knew enough about to form a hypothesis about the reasons for both attempts.
As soon as my countermeasures reached their target, I used all my strength to sever the Dark Side channel that was still battering at my mind.
My suspicions were confirmed. I didn't know if it was good or bad — in the Expanded Universe of Star Wars, after something like this, a merry cataclysm began that the galaxy couldn't recover from for a long time. Though, they didn't know for a long time what was causing their troubles.
I, however, understood the prospects perfectly. And I knew exactly where we would meet. And then…
No point in planning too far ahead yet. First, I needed to deal with Yoda's overprotectiveness.
"Master Dougan," the words reached me as if passing through streams of water. "Are you all right?"
I turned, looking into Kaili Omas's face. The girl looked extremely concerned — apparently, this wasn't the first time she'd called out to me.
"Yes, everything's fine," I lied. In truth — who the hell knows how it'll all turn out.
"We felt you focusing the Force," Shaak Ti clarified. "And it was as if you fell out of reality…"
"Sorry, I think I had a vision." No one could verify that.
"And what did the Force reveal to you?" Yoda asked with interest.
"I saw Toydaria, Grand Master." The words slipped from my lips as, seeing the short master, the very first episode of the animated series I'd watched came to mind. "I think the king is in danger. I saw droid squads on the planet…"
"Clouded the future is by the Dark Side," the Grand Master commented with a sigh. "King Katuunko rendered great aid, allowing Toydaria to be used for shipping humanitarian aid to Ryloth. As quickly as possible you should return to the Temple — a threat to it I sense. Study your vision we must."
"I'll arrive as soon as I deliver the masters to Christophsis." Bowing respectfully to the master, I headed for the exit of the command center. There was much to do before I could leave this planet.
But first, I should talk to Jabba.
* * *
With an elusive blade stroke, Kira pierced the chest of the last clone.
The yellow blade passed easily through the once-pristine white armor, now scarred and streaked with grime, splitting the human heart in two. Hearing the death rattle from under the helmet, the girl used the Force to shove the corpse aside. Like a slab of meat, the body fell with a squelch into the mire that the recent rain had turned the ground into. The final piece in the mosaic of dead Republic soldiers now lying at her feet.
"You shouldn't have set up camp here," the girl said with a hint of sympathy, stepping over the bodies frozen at her feet.
Who ordered the soldiers to bivouac near an ancient structure would remain a mystery. But Carsen couldn't allow a company of soldiers to disrupt her mission.
The battle in the dark had lasted no more than ten minutes. Sentients, even in large numbers, cannot stop a born killer empowered by the Force.
Sharpening her senses, the girl tried to encompass the entire structure to find the path to her coveted goal.
The energy emanating from the object, like a beacon in the dark, both pointed the way and beckoned like an oasis in the desert to a weary traveler.
Glancing once more at the field of the recent battle, the girl stepped indifferently under the arches of the ancient building.
If someone had told her during her travels with the Hero of Tython that almost four thousand years later she would become a docile servant of the Emperor, she would never have believed it.
Like many others, she had been trained from infancy to become one of the Emperor's Children.
Vitiate never missed an opportunity to control not only his followers but also his enemies. It was for this purpose — to carry out the Emperor's will — that his "Children" were created. Of course, none of them were ever biologically related to that monster. Until the Eternal Empire revealed itself, Kira could have sworn that the monster the Emperor had become over millennia would never produce offspring.
Each of the Children was a sleeper agent, embedded in the most diverse layers of Republic society — even the Jedi Order. No scrutiny, no matter how thorough, could uncover their hidden motives — the Imperial Guards, under whose vigilant supervision the group learned the subtleties of their future profession, were true aces at their craft.
They were never only humans or Sith — the Empire's well-known attitude toward aliens allowed agents to operate without fear of exposure. The Republic never fully grasped the essence of Vitiate's plan. Having dealt with the First Son, the Order preferred to consider each of the Children a victim, into whose consciousness a secret personality was implanted that remained dormant until the final moment. Barsen'thor's investigation provided the Council with completely different information, in places contradicting what Kira had told them.
The Jedi Consular reported that in their inactive state, the Emperor's Children behaved without arousing suspicion. Most of them concealed their Force sensitivity, just as Chancellor Palpatine was doing now, breaking his cover only to transmit particularly important information directly to the Emperor. Only the First Son could "activate" the sleeper agents, and then the hidden personas would take over their hosts' bodies. No matter how Kira tried to convince the Council, no one listened to her. Despite her disappointment, she understood the Council's motives — what faith could be placed in a former Sith? Even the Hero of Tython's intercession couldn't add weight to her words. Kira had no doubt that despite Vitiate's presumed death, his hidden agents continued to operate within the Republic.
The Children were the Emperor's eyes and ears in the enemy camp, capable of picking up his thoughts and even housing his consciousness within their own minds — as had already happened aboard Darth Angral's dreadnought. Recalling the details of that duel with her master, Kira could only conclude that by fleeing the Sith as a child, she had never learned that by taking control of his Children's bodies, Vitiate, through a nearly unbreakable mental bond, could channel his immense power through his servants.
It was entirely possible that those Emperor's Voices he used to govern the Sith state underwent the same training as Kira and her fellow operatives. And Dougan's actions only confirmed that eventually, each of the Hands had experienced something similar — of course, so far he had only taken control of Atroxa, but that didn't rule out the possibility of Vitiate's apprentice invading any of their minds at any moment. Perhaps only Vette and Vizsla had escaped that fate — the girl had never heard of a mental bond between a Force adept and a non-sensitive being.
The girl caught herself thinking that before what happened on Nar Shaddaa, she would hardly have accepted her destiny — to serve the plans of galactic conquest that Dougan and Vitiate were nurturing. But now it didn't matter.
She had accepted the Dark Side as part of herself — for the first time in almost four thousand years. Vitiate's magic had finally worked.
Kira Carsen had become her Emperor's handmaiden. But she did not belong to the Sith.
Wandering through the corridors of the ancient structure, the girl came across a stone wall blocking the passage. It seemed her instincts had led her into a dead end.
Reaching out to the Force, she noted with a smile that in the labyrinth of underground passages she had made a few wrong turns and ended up against a dead end — a massive stone wall that was part of the chamber where the crystal was stored.
Analyzing the structure's strength, the Emperor's Hand made several quick cuts in the wall, using the Force to pull out a massive block.
Slipping inside, without relaxing her concentration, she crushed several hidden traps — so old that they probably wouldn't have worked anyway. But she wasn't going to take risks.
Lifting the crystal with the Force, she carefully placed it into a container designed thousands of years ago to shield such objects. As if entering stasis, they continued to store their energy while becoming invisible to those around them.
Sealing the container, she quickly exited and made her way to the ramp of her Fury.
Angular, looking extremely aggressive, the interceptor belonged to a new series developed by one of Dougan's servants. Retaining its former lethality, the ship had become even more dangerous, faster, equipped with modern technology. A wonderful gift that Vitiate's apprentice had given to each of his new underlings.
The problem of covert transport had finally been solved. Each Hand now possessed their own ship, which sharply increased their individual mobility. And there was no need to work in a team. Given that she had only struck up friendly relations with Nadia, this arrangement suited her more than the potential of being sent on the same mission with Atroxa or any of the other servants.
She took Nadia's words about Dougan's sympathy for her neutrally. Because she had known about it almost from the moment of their first meeting. No, she wasn't jealous of the Emperor for his other paramours. Not even of the Sarkhai, who didn't hide her physical favor toward the Jedi of the present day. Unlike that Letan whore, she felt a certain elevated tenderness emanating from the man toward her — the kind that forms between a master and a favored servant. It wasn't love, in any of its manifestations.
Love is when good people feel bad.
Her current situation suited her completely. A clear demarcation: he was the master, she was his servant. Often this grows into something more, but having experienced the strongest betrayal of her life, the girl considered herself no longer capable of such elevated feelings. For herself, Kira, upon leaving Nar Shaddaa, had decided that she would fulfill any will of the new Eternal Emperor. He only had to ask, and she would be whatever he wanted.
The girl boarded her ship in complete silence, initiating pre-launch from her wrist console. Proceeding to the cargo hold, where a storage area for valuables was set up, she placed the container under lock in a massive safe that, if necessary, could survive a shot from a light turbolaser.
Already on her way out, her gaze touched the oblong sarcophagus — the target of her previous mission. Resembling a high-tech coffin, she had secured it firmly to the deck to prevent it from shifting during sharp flight maneuvers.
Approaching it closely, the girl ran her hand over the viewing window, smearing a thin layer of frost.
The attractive black-haired woman with lush black hair lying inside the stasis pod looked serene. As if she wasn't carrying an ancient Sith artifact capable of turning all nearby sentients into monsters in an instant.
Without a doubt, Kira knew the one lying inside this technological tomb.
Celeste Morne. A Force-sensitive woman born almost four thousand years ago. A master who had dedicated her life to serving the Jedi Covenant — a deeply secret organization within the Order itself. Created with a single purpose — to seek out and destroy Dark Side artifacts, this group intended to prevent the further spread of Sith teachings and avert another Jedi extinction like the one that had happened before. From the height of her experience, Kira could only note with sadness that despite hundreds of attempts to prevent the inevitable, the Jedi had never succeeded. Like the rakghoul plague, the Sith continued to live and nurture plans for their triumphant revenge.
During her time as a Sith, Carsen had heard stories about this remarkable individual. The Empire spent incredible resources verifying ancient rumors and legends in an attempt to find artifacts of the past or long-forgotten superweapons that could turn the tide of the war with the Republic. The Muur Talisman, a Dark Side artifact that Celeste kept with her, could turn any sentient into a bloodthirsty rakghoul. A perfect way to break enemy resistance — turn all the inhabitants of Coruscant into those creatures.
While training in the Order, Kira had also encountered the fact that the Jedi were searching for the same amulet. But with the goal of destroying it — the Council was fully aware of the danger posed by the ancient Sith invention.
But neither side had succeeded. Instead, a follower of Dougan — she — had discovered the Covenant's agent.
Most likely, he would be pleased with her successes.
A thought flickered through her mind. What did the Emperor intend to do with the objects she had obtained for him? But she immediately dismissed it.
She was a servant. She didn't ask questions.
She carried out her master's will.
* * *
"This… is incredible!" exclaimed Umak Leth, pointing at the structure that had appeared before his eyes as soon as both dreadnoughts had arrived. "To think, creating something like this, in such a place…"
Malgus, his eyes wide, looked with irritation at the short, fat engineer. Perhaps he really was a talented scientist, but his appearance was truly that of an Ugnaught. All that was missing was the vegetation and fangs sticking out everywhere.
He hated the mental communication sessions with his master, but he flew into an even greater rage when he was interrupted in the most unceremonious manner.
The Sith carefully concealed his irritation with the current mission. Gather every single Imperial recruit aboard his flagship and deliver them to the facility, where, in complete isolation, under the protection of "Sevastopol," they would create superweapons for their new master.
"I don't recognize the station's design," said the gray-haired scientist with a cybernetic eye implant distrustfully. Bevel Lemelisk.
He and the female scientist Atroxa had been transferred aboard the Striking Hand in an intermediate neutral system in Hutt Space, after which she had disappeared, having received a new assignment. Leaving this "genius" on his conscience.
A man who had already driven him to the boiling point by discussing with the Sith his plans for creating a huge battle station, a single shot of which would be enough to blow up planets. A complete idiot! How could anyone even consider such a project?!
Malgus wasn't going to evaluate the scientist's ideas from a scientific standpoint. But as the ruler of the New Empire, as a military commander, he would never in a million years use such a "foolish contraption." Not only was such a project ruinous for any state's treasury. Of course, it could be built in relative secrecy — there were plenty of remote and little-studied worlds in the galaxy. But how much labor, materials, and equipment would it require? Not to mention that maintaining such a station would need a contingent of several million people — both technical and military. And just preparing for a hyperspace jump would take such an object nearly an entire day! And why create a device for blowing up planets when there were hordes of Skywalkers and clones that would sweep away any resistance?! Worlds needed to be captured, subjugated to one's will, their riches and slaves enjoyed. Destroying potential resources was the greatest stupidity the human mind could devise.
However, it wasn't his decision.
The Emperor had to evaluate the project, and the Sith would do everything in his power to ensure Dougan didn't approve the creation of this monstrosity. Of course, the New Forge could be used for construction, but in that case, it would be occupied for months, if not years, solely with this project — and new dreadnoughts, which the master called "Star Destroyers," would have to wait a very, very long time.
Meanwhile, new ships were needed right now.
Yes, he had subjugated almost all the worlds of Sith Space, but there was a huge difference between conquering and holding what was captured. To protect hundreds of worlds from occupation, even a dozen of the most powerful destroyers weren't enough. A fleet was needed — and the more Harrowers under his command, the faster he could proceed to the second phase of occupying the once-native worlds.
To conquer the galaxy, only three things were needed.
An army.
A fleet.
And money.
Valkorion had provided Dougan with enormous funds — the very fact that thousands of ships were being built at Rendili on the latter's orders (Malgus nearly exploded when he learned that the master had decided to build Republic Hammerhead-class cruisers) gave them a chance to inflict significant damage on the Republic.
But to conquer the galaxy, a thousand ships weren't enough.
Tens of thousands were needed, and preferably, they should be Harrowers.
The New Forge could build any number of ships and equipment — fortunately, Dougan had limited its production range to creating Skywalkers, stormtrooper gear, and small arms. The third section of the Forge, recently brought online, was focused on creating copies of the Imperial station that currently protected Odessen — the secret headquarters. But the more Zakuul grew with new territories, the clearer, at least to Malgus, the acute shortage of production capacity became.
The New Forge alone couldn't meet all their needs — even Revan hadn't been able to make the Star Forge create a fleet in a short time that would crush the remnants of the Republic's.
They needed dozens of enterprises for every branch of military production.
If they switched the New Forge solely to creating Skywalkers, they would get a huge army, but nothing to arm it with. And so on in every possible situation. Distributing production only slowed the pace. The Empire was growing, but couldn't keep up with closing the gaps in its borders.
Malgus tried to convey this to his master, once again asking permission to conquer the Dromund system. And first and foremost, the Empire vitally needed the orbital shipyards of Dromund Kalakar, once belonging to the Imperial company Taerab Starship Manufacturing, which had created the Harrowers. In fact, most of the Imperial fleet had emerged from the depths of those giant orbital docks.
In his time, the Sith had visited Kuat, where under a secret identity he had acquired a certain percentage of the company's shares. Looking at the massive ring encircling the planet, he only smirked. In the toxic atmosphere of the gas giant Dromund Kalakar, there were three such rings. One — for launching dreadnoughts, the second — for manufacturing support ships. And the third endlessly produced fighters, interceptors, bombers.
He had put considerable effort into thoroughly surveying Kalakar's orbit and confirming that, although the "rings" had suffered from the effects of time, restoring them was fairly simple. Only a few thousand slaves and complete control over the system were needed.
Previously, there had been four such rings in Dromund Kalakar's orbit. It encircled the gas giant just as Kuat was encircled by its single ring. Here were located all the administrative facilities, as well as endless scientific laboratories, testing grounds, and housing for slaves and personnel. The enemy had destroyed this ring during combat operations against the Eternal Empire. Arcann had been too hasty in killing his father, not extracting all his secrets, and had failed to paralyze the entire shipbuilding program of the Sith Empire. The remaining three, hidden in the depths of the atmosphere, the hostile side had never discovered — and here the paranoid nature of the shipbuilding company's management, which had hidden most of its capacity in the impenetrable-to-scanning regions of Kalakar, paid off, giving enormous chances for the swift restoration of the entire shipbuilding capacity of the Dromund system.
Yes, the master had refused the request — to conduct a punitive raid and return to the Empire what was rightfully its, fearing to prematurely attract Palpatine's attention to the death of his servants — the Prophets of the Dark Side. But no one had forbidden sending repair droids there.
After the defeat of Eeth Koth's army, Malgus had taken advantage of the temporary lull and sent both remaining Harrowers at his disposal, equipped with cloaking systems, to deliver mechanical servants to the rings. The Force couldn't track the interference of non-living organisms, so the Prophets would never know that an army of droids was working right under their noses, returning to the Empire perhaps its largest strategic reserve.
At the height of the Cold War, the Empire, in complete secrecy, had achieved truly incredible rates of warship construction. Every week, one new Harrower and several Terminus-class destroyers came off the slips. This was what ultimately helped reclaim its share of the galactic pie.
Of course, when Dougan found out about his little liberty, he wouldn't be particularly pleased. But the Sith wouldn't be himself if he didn't cover his tracks. The master sought ancient knowledge and greater power — Malgus was ready to provide him with both.
"I think similar ones were manufactured during the First Galactic War," said the only girl among the entire group.
Malgus, surreptitiously — fortunately, the hood on his head concealed the movement of his eyes — lingered his gaze on Lira Blisstex.
She was the smallest of all the recruits. Looking at her, thoughts of complete defensiveness swirled in his head, but Malgus reminded himself in time that it was she who had created the Republic's main combat ship at present. The Venator, some of which his fleet had already clashed with.
"You are absolutely correct," he said, noticing that at the sound of his voice, the girl flinched. "But this facility is better protected than any other in the galaxy."
"Well, since you're so freely using optical cloaking technology," the girl retorted, hinting at the masking screen that had hidden the station from visual observation until Malgus's ships had approached close enough for reliable perception. "Then security must be top-notch."
"The master values each of you," Malgus swept his eyes over the entire group of scientists. "That's why he doesn't skimp on protecting this facility."
"Isn't it excessive?" spoke up a tall man in the black uniform of an admiral of the Zakuul Empire. Malgus hadn't had time to get acquainted with him, but he knew perfectly well that the man had once been a Republic military officer. Fortunately for him — they had never met in battle. "Cloaking could provide us with reliable protection. Especially since there are surely light ships aboard the station…"
"I do not discuss the master's orders," the Sith said in a threatening tone. "And I advise you not to either, Moff Jerjerrod."
The institution of Moffs — the highest officials in the Sith Empire — Palpatine used extensively in his state. Dougan had done absolutely correctly in borrowing a significant portion of his innovations for the Zakuul Empire precisely from the Sith state, not from the thoroughly rotten democracy.
Jerjerrod had become the first Moff in the Zakuul Empire. And he had received such a responsible appointment — to become the administrator of the facility — not for his desire to maintain his appearance in exemplary order. Dougan never attracted those who were useless for his Plan. And consequently, this man too would succeed in the post to which he had been appointed.
"We are ready to unload, Darth Malgus," a clone, who was the commander of his flagship, addressed him.
"Proceed," he ordered. Then, turning to the scientists, he said, "I advise you to quickly gather your things and move to the station — the Smiting Hand won't be staying here long."
Watching the scientists scurry toward the exit, he vowed to discuss the baseness of such missions with the Emperor.
After the station was manufactured by the New Forge, it was moved here — deep into the anomalous zone, where no sane sentient would ever venture. Of course, it had taken considerable effort — Malgus hadn't charted a path through space for a long time, relying solely on the Force. But there was no other way. The beaten path was now marked with navigation beacons, and any ship of the Zakuul Empire could reach the object — if they knew its location.
The station's operations were meant to be conducted in deep secrecy; consequently, the scientists simply needed a supply of food, equipment, and consumables — all of which, despite what was already in the station's own stores, Malgus had brought in addition. And now hundreds of loaders were filling the cargo ships' holds to transport everything to its destination, emptying the holds of both Cleavers. The Borodino and its entire mechanical crew would remain here to guard the station and its personnel.
A truly enormous contingent of Skywalkers was meant to protect the station in case of a sudden breach of the defensive perimeter.
"She does care about you, Darth Malgus." Jerjerrod approached close enough for the Sith to smell his cologne. The man indicated with his eyes alone the one who had left the bridge among the last — Lira Blisstex.
The petite woman had given him an interested look before disappearing into the turbolift cabin.
"It doesn't matter," Malgus said darkly. Infatuation was a dangerous feeling for a Sith. It made you weaker. Since the death of his Twi'lek slave-girl, the Sith had not sought to establish close relationships on the principles the ancestors preached. There was no need for that, so the Sith used the services of those representatives of the fairer sex for whose affection one had to pay upfront. It was actually cheaper that way.
Now, for him, falling in love was like soiling himself in public. Everyone around could see something was wrong with you, but only you alone felt that pleasantly warm mass in your pants.
Still, he wasn't about to deny that the petite girl with sharp features and a slightly large nose appealed to him as a woman. Perhaps if they spent time together often, he could sway her toward an informal relationship — if the Emperor didn't limit himself in the number of mistresses, why should he deny himself natural desires?
"Your business, Darth Malgus," Jerjerrod shrugged. "But in your place, I wouldn't waste time and would take the bantha by the horns."
"You're not in my place, Moff," Malgus snapped coldly. "Attend to your work so I don't have to linger here forever."
"Don't worry about me so much," the man said with a sly smile. "You can tell the Master that the Maw Installation object is running on schedule."
* * *
"Don't worry about compensation, Prime Minister," a hologram in a cloak said in a grating voice. "You will receive the full amount immediately."
"Thank you, Darth Sidious," the Kaminoan said with a grateful bow. "You and Darth Tyranus are our most generous clients."
"Keep to our agreement going forward." The hologram dissolved, leaving the Prime Minister alone.
Well, almost.
"At times like this, I begin to wonder whose side you're actually on, Lama Su." A dark figure in the far corner of the office stirred, reminding him that it was not a statue at all. "You're a skilled liar. Deceiving both employers in favor of a third... and getting triple compensation... Yes, that takes skill."
"Should I consider that a compliment, Emperor Dougan?" the Kaminoan inquired with a hint of respect.
"In a way, yes." The Jedi stepped forward, lowering himself into the prepared chair. "So, where were we when Darth Sidious interrupted us?"
"I was just explaining to you that four hundred thousand embryos with replaced inhibitor chips were shipped off Kamino a week before the attack," the Prime Minister reminded him. "As were the remaining nineteen thousand Spaarti cloning cylinders. The bulk carrier carrying the cargo has already rendezvoused with the escort dreadnought and arrived at Odessen. I only don't understand why set up a new clone-production lab? What's wrong with Yavin's moon, if I may ask?"
"You know, Prime Minister, your planet has wonderful creatures — aiwhas. And they have one peculiarity: they never lay just one clutch of eggs," Dougan said meaningfully.
Lama Su felt a soothing warmth emanating from this strange Jedi. He hadn't felt anything like it since he was born. Unusual sensations, but he was glad to have met this man. Interacting with him brought a disproportionate calm.
The aura of strength and confidence that radiated from the Jedi calmed the Prime Minister's conscience and anxieties.
Unlike the other two clients of Kamino, the Kaminoan — calculating and pragmatic by nature — trusted only the one who had approached him last.
Darth Sidious and his assistant, Lord Tyranus, offered no guarantees of a secure future. They merely paid — and a lot at that — for an army to be bred in secret from the second client. Its goals didn't concern anyone on Kamino — such interests were bad for business. But the longer the war dragged on, the more often Lama wondered: what would happen after one side won? In the past, Kaminoan cloners had always maintained their neutrality, avoiding involvement in the conflicts that had swept the galaxy for millennia. Thanks to that, they had preserved their civilization and prospered. The risky venture of creating a vast army, which had forced them to join one side of the conflict, erased that previous path and made the future unclear.
The Republic couldn't offer anything at all except payment for the clones they so desperately needed and a seat in the Senate — a cumbersome machine that had long lost the ability to control the situation. But Lama Su strongly doubted that, in the event of a Republic victory over the CIS, the Senate would allow Kamino to continue its work. The experience of creating a vast clone army was undoubtedly a brilliant line on a galactic resume. But it could also be the cause of the Kaminoans' destruction — anyone understood that only the enormous production volume of clones for the Grand Army of the Republic prevented Kamino from taking on outside orders. And when the need to replenish the army passed, how long would it be before powerful criminal clans approached them to create their own armies? Would the Republic really leave unguarded a planet whose resources could harm the galaxy? No, you'd have to be a complete idiot for that. And Supreme Chancellor Palpatine was not one.
And finally, the third option. The Jedi Dougan. However, based on what the Prime Minister now knew about the Order, this representative was fundamentally different from them. Of course, he could simply hire bounty hunters to get rid of him, thereby avoiding the danger of exposing the double game — with the Republic and Sidious. But the Jedi, unlike the other two clients, had clear plans for Kamino after the planet joined his state — the Eternal Empire of Zakuul. Fulfilling permanent state contracts for the creation and maintenance of the Empire's clone army. That was a very, very large sum of money, especially considering that Dougan, generally speaking, had no objection to Kamino continuing its work on creating other models for outside clients after joining the Empire, alongside clones for the army. Any contracts except the production of military models.
But it wasn't just this that drew attention to Dougan. Yes, he paid generously for the Republic's army to depart Kamino without inhibitor chips. That was a difficult and tense task, given that biological chips were implanted in embryos at an early stage of development. Lama Su was taking a great risk by receiving payment for the same army from three different sources. The Republic demanded clones. Sidious insisted on using chips capable of fully controlling the army through Executive Orders. From Lama's perspective, this was pointless — clones themselves, during training, received conditioning for loyalty to their master. It could be overcome, and quite easily. It was enough to find an equivalent object for loyalty. Complex human psychology, which the Kaminoans, unfortunately, had never fully learned to understand.
Zakuul, however, demanded and paid for the removal of inhibitors from the heads of already adult clones and the implantation of modified chips into younger versions. Moreover, Dougan made payments for this work regularly and without delay, unlike the Republic. And he paid for Kamino's services at the same rates as the Jedi. In total, the cloners received not a thousand credits per clone, but three. Which was much more profitable for business. Especially considering that in the first phase, two hundred thousand clone units each had been prepared for the Republic. The second generation, given the Republic's massive losses in the first six months of the war, already numbered a million units. Small manipulations with the under-strength of large formations had allowed the Kaminoan treasury to grow even richer.
The third generation, which had just begun to enter the army, was certainly inferior in number to the previous batch — only five million clones. And even those funds the Republic had raised with great difficulty. The Kaminoan representative in the Senate had given a detailed account of the squabbling among the Republicans during the debate on the Banking Deregulation Act. But one way or another, the Chancellor had still found the necessary credits, and the new clones were being dispatched to the Grand Army of the Republic. True, there was a major caveat... which he had no intention of telling the Jedi about.
The physiology and genetic enhancement of the Kaminoans had, over millennia of directed evolution, made them immune to most mental Force techniques. A small natural anomaly they had obtained from the Hutt gene code.
"Were you able to extract the inhibitor chips from the third-generation clones?" the Jedi inquired.
"As agreed," the Kaminoan blinked. "For you, we have prepared three hundred thousand third-generation clones with chips of compliance for you and are ready to ship them immediately."
"Commandos?"
"Them included," the Prime Minister attempted a smile. The facial expressions of his people had lost their purpose over the years. Which sometimes left many races bewildered when communicating with those from the planet of the cloners. "By your order — we will load them onto the ships."
"That's good news. And what about the fourth-generation cadets?"
"The attack will allow us to tighten medical control over the clones," Su reported. "Last time we extracted and implanted the chips at the stage just before releasing the product to the client. Now we can begin wholesale 'examinations to rule out the possibility of biological contamination' and operate under the cover of that legend."
"What about the new equipment training programs? Did you include them in the 'flash memory' database?"
"Absolutely."
Unlike the Kaminoan cloning process, the analogous Spaarti technology allowed a fully healthy clone to be grown not in ten years, but in one. True, the Jedi Master, according to Ko Sai's encrypted reports, had discovered a method by which clones were grown in truly record time — in half the standard period. Lama Su had studied the technical features of the Spaarti equipment and was firmly convinced that the reason was not in the equipment itself. Ko Sai reported that the Jedi's subordinates used some kind of creatures located near the cloning equipment. He unfortunately could not identify their species, which was regrettable — otherwise, the Kaminoans could have solved the problem of the dangerous side effect of fast product growth — clone insanity. However, Dougan had promised to share that secret later. As well as the Jedi's knowledge in the field of cloning — it was no secret to the Prime Minister that the man's servants had visited the ruins of the old Jedi Temple on Dantooine, where almost four thousand years ago the Order had conducted cloning experiments. The Kaminoans, who even then had a certain reputation in narrow circles, had provided methodological assistance to the Jedi, and the progress of the work had been promising. But the results of the experiments were never obtained — one of the Jedi had destroyed the enclave with an orbital bombardment. Kamino believed the laboratory was also destroyed, but Ko Sai assured him that ancient Kaminoan equipment had been delivered to Yavin IV — and Dantooine was the only place it had ever been supplied to throughout the planet's existence.
Another advantage of Kaminoan technology over the Spaarti cylinders was that on Kamino, clones during growth came to perceive themselves as separate individuals and acquired skills through a long period of training. Spaarti, on the other hand, instantly implanted the necessary volume of information into the clones' brains, allowing the product to reach the customer in an absurdly short time. And reducing the time for production and training of products always led to an increase in orders and payment for them.
Unfortunately, they had never managed to achieve stable operation of the Spaarti cloning cylinders on Kamino. Therefore, Lama Su had not undersold; for a truly indecent sum, he sold all the cylinders to the Jedi, along with the "flash memory" programs. Of course, they had needed to be updated, incorporating not only Republic technology but also new information packages — Lama didn't know the details, but suspected they related to the technology of the Zakuul Empire.
"Master Dougan," the Prime Minister addressed the Jedi. "Given the situation, should I be concerned about Kamino's security?"
"You mean the losses my army has suffered?"
"Precisely. Before, we were protected by a powerful fleet; now, however..."
"In the near future, a large number of ships will be joining my army," Dougan waved dismissively. "And I will transfer part of them to protect your system. Naturally, they will be crewed by clones loyal to me."
"Can you guarantee that there will be no more attacks?"
"Not even the Banking Clan could give you that," Dougan chuckled. "And besides, what is there to fear? Any damage to you is compensated threefold."
"That is true. But I would prefer that Kamino's cities not be attacked in the future. It's bad for business."
"I will do everything in my power to secure the planet. Speaking of security, that object your commandos delivered to me — is it in stasis?"
"Of course," Lama Su blinked. "We loaded it onto your commandos' ship and will transport it out on the first available transport as soon as you specify the destination."
"Here." The Jedi extended a one-time credit chip. "Payment for this small service. My people will handle the rest."
"As you command, Emperor," the Prime Minister tried to put a benevolent expression on his face.
* * *
"Your pardon, Hunter." A hologram of a client in a long robe with a hood pulled over his face watched a Duros admiring the view from the window of a secret apartment on Coruscant. "I require your services."
"I'm listening." The call came on the same frequency the previous major client had used, the one who had arranged the contract to kill a Jedi. Later amended to an attempt on the Chancellor. Therefore, the communication session promised to turn into a major payday.
"I need a Jedi holocron," the potential client stated as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The ease with which some clients proposed taking on completely impossible jobs sometimes irritated Bane.
"For that, I would have to infiltrate their Temple," he began listing the obstacles in the mission's path. Not at all to refuse the job. On the contrary — he never saw any goal as impossible for himself. He just wanted to drive up his price. "Which is impossible. I might add — lethal!"
"Perhaps your reputation is slightly exaggerated," the robed sentient said with a smug smirk.
"Not in the slightest," Bane snapped. It seemed the client wasn't a simple one; he'd have to haggle for a good fee. "I'll need a starfighter with advanced weaponry and stealth capabilities. Oh, and yes." The mercenary lounged back into a chair opposite the holoprojector. "Triple the reward."
"The price doesn't concern me," the client replied with barely concealed contempt. That was a different matter — he liked these kinds of orders. A stingy client was a sign of trouble. A generous one — a sign of good pay. And big problems in the future. "I will also give you something that will help you get into the Temple."
Bane sensed something was wrong. Orders were never this simple. He needed to be on guard.
"Then it's a deal," he said, though in reality he was beaming with a smile, not wanting to reveal his concerns.
* * *
The morning sky of Tython darkened with storm clouds. Thunder could be heard rolling across the hills surrounding the Temple's perimeter. Lightning flashed here and there, but Ashara, standing frozen on the platform before the Academy's main entrance, seemed not to notice the weather. The Force warmed her from within and kept her clothes from getting wet.
Students were gathering on the training field spread out before the Temple's facade. Some of them cast disapproving glances at the clouds and the unyielding Togruta. No doubt, the prospect of training under a sky open to the elements did not appeal to them. But in their time here, they should have understood that the learning process did not stop for the whims of the weather. Just as it didn't stop for the students' health conditions. The elements were nothing compared to the power of the Force. And those too stupid to heed its wisdom had to learn the hard way not to do so again. The diligent students, who were the majority, did not fail to protect themselves, just like their mentor, with a Protective Bubble.
The Togruta made sure every student had gathered on the training field.
Her attention was drawn to a group that had arrived on Tython not long ago. Nadia had brought them, leaving the planet immediately after telling the Togruta that these were new recruits, former Jedi. They kept apart from the others, who eyed the former Jensaarai suspiciously. In other lessons, they had stood out little from the general mass, but now their separateness was obvious.
The Togruta allowed herself a smile.
The dogmas of the old Order still reigned in their minds; therefore, their faith in the Unifying Force was not strong. Perhaps now they were disappointed that they had agreed to join. She would have bet that today's training would end with a very instructive lesson.
Commanding the start of the session, she watched as the students split into pairs, assuming stances characteristic of their chosen fencing styles. No, they weren't younglings; they didn't need training sabers, so the air filled with the crackle of crossing lightsaber blades.
Perhaps someone might condemn her teaching methods, but the first — and last — volunteer, a whiner from Rodia, now rested in a grave specially dug for him, where other students had carried him after Ashara had shattered all his bones and vaporized his blood with Force Lightning. Those who doubted the power of the Unifying Force should experience its full might firsthand. So others would not dare.
The downpour began. At first, slowly: massive drops fell to the ground and the permacrete of the training field so infrequently that the sound of each individual one could be clearly heard. But half an hour later, the clouds unleashed a true watery abyss upon the earth, and the rain poured down in a veritable torrent.
Zavros paid it no attention. She turned inward to observe what was happening from the outside.
Long ago, it seemed, in another life, she had betrayed the ideals of the Jedi Order, taking the path of the Sith. Idealistically counting on the two teachings to coexist. And now, thousands of years later, she was finally closer than ever to realizing her dream.
The New Empire of Zakuul would combine the most progressive views on the life of society and the Force. A comprehensive study of this, still mysterious, energy. A return to the origins, when the Force was not divided into schools, and its adepts did not flood the galaxy with blood, striving to eliminate competitors.
Would that disciple of Vitiate be able to do this? She certainly hoped so. It could not be otherwise. It must not be otherwise.
Wars and conflicts drove progress. But had the galaxy taken even a single step forward since the time she had participated in battles on one side or the other?
No, it had not. Even four thousand years later, sentients traveled the galaxy on hyperdrives whose class hardly differed from those she had been accustomed to at the height of the Empire-Republic conflict. Was poverty conquered? Hunger? Slavery? Xenophobia?
No. As before, the galaxy blazed with the fire of conflicts, prejudices, and mistrust. The Republic, which had been the hegemon of the galaxy for millennia, continued to absorb new worlds. But this conglomerate of civilizations had never stepped beyond the Celestial River. It had never overcome the gravitational barriers surrounding the galaxy. Despite millions of planets rich in all kinds of natural resources, the galaxy, not only was it not properly explored, but it also continued to wallow in poverty. The rich grew richer, the poor even poorer.
The Emperor understood this. He wanted happiness for everyone, under the protection of an immortal and infinitely wise ruler. She had no doubt that in the end, Vitiate would still reveal the secret of immortality to him. The constant change of leaders, each seeing the future through the prism of their own views — that was a vicious practice that bred conflict. It had to end once and for all.
"You're already dead, acolyte," she said in a calm tone, stopping beside one of the Jedi who had recently joined the Academy.
A young human male — actually, almost a boy — gripping a simple lightsaber hilt with a blue blade, was diligently practicing parrying attacks from his partner, a Nautolan. And if the battle had been at high speed, and the alien had possessed at least a minimal education in anything besides Shii-Cho, the human would now be lying at her feet, choking on his own blood from a lightsaber-damaged liver.
"I fight excellently!" the human challenged, shaking his not-at-all-short dark brown hair, through which a whitish strand cut. "And I am perfectly capable of deflecting any..."
He didn't finish the sentence, caught by the Force. Atroxa, without much concentration, delivered a powerful Push to him, flinging him several meters off the training ground. To give him credit — he was on his feet almost immediately, assuming a defensive Soresu stance.
"You boast of knowing what you yourself know," the Togruta said instructively. "But you have no idea what your opponent has been trained in. His apparent weakness may be a trick that will cost you your life."
"You acted dishonorably!" he shouted, cautiously approaching her. "There's no honor in that!"
"I hope when you are mortally wounded from ambush, dying in a puddle of your own urine and filth, coughing up blood, you will be satisfied that your opponent is a dishonorable man."
"Jedi don't act that way!" the youth flared up.
"And that is why they were nearly exterminated several times throughout the Order's history," the mentor replied without batting an eye.
"But they survived every time! And grew stronger!"
"Did they really?" Ashara raised an eyebrow. "I was a Jedi more than three thousand years ago. So why can I protect myself from the weather, while you stand there soaked down to your shorts?"
"Well, I..." The human was at a loss for words.
"All of you." The girl gave a sign, calling for the sparring to pause — which hadn't stopped for a moment while she spoke with the former Jedi. "Which of you considers yourself powerful enough to challenge me?"
The crowd of students was silent. The memory of what had happened to the Rodian was still fresh, like the morning caf.
"Maybe you?" She looked at the Nautolan. He shook his head negatively.
"Or you," she pointed a finger at the dark-haired girl from among the former Jedi.
"No, Teacher Zavros," the girl bowed obsequiously, demonstrating her humility.
"I am ready!" Well, who else would it be.
Ashara commanded everyone to clear the field, simultaneously shedding her robe. Left in just a form-fitting top and leggings, the girl took both her blades in hand.
"Well then, begin," she smirked, noticing that the former member of the Order couldn't take his eyes off the curves of her body. But the moment she spun the blades in her hands, he returned his attention to the fight.
The human moved with calm and confidence. Typical Jedi dogma for combat. How many had it led to their deaths? How many more would it lead to?
From the very beginning of her training, she had considered the mantra about the unshakability of peace to be unsound. By following the Code, a Jedi turned himself into something like an unfeeling droid. But was that how a living organism should behave? Why deny the very essence of one's own existence? Sentients differed from machines precisely in that they were capable of feeling and experiencing emotions.
On the opposite side of the ring, the human took his stance. His face, polished by the rain, seemed to glow in the flashes of lightning that pierced the cloud-covered sky. A magnificent backdrop for a lesson.
He lunged forward, opening the duel with a series of aggressive, complex attacks. He moved fast... but not fast enough to catch her off guard. From the crowd of students, gasps of astonishment answered the undeniable and unexpected skill as the Togruta deflected the assault easily, simply sidestepping.
In response to the inevitable counterattack, the man staggered back. For a split second, Ashara saw that her opponent had overextended and left his right arm vulnerable to a strike that would end the contest and cripple him. Fighting her perfectly honed killer instincts, the girl barely held back. An easy victory wouldn't teach the fool a lesson, nor would it impart what she was trying to teach in this duel.
The fight continued in a familiar combat rhythm, offense and defense shifting rapidly. Ashara made her attacks effective but crude. She did the same with the Rodian — judging by the barely audible murmur among the students, they realized it was just a trick. But no one was in a hurry to tip off the former Padawan. Good. They wanted him to figure out the lesson himself.
With this simple trick, she tried to convince the student that she was a dangerous but less skilled opponent. Every time she deflected one of the man's attacks, she embellished her own defensive maneuvers, turning quick parries into long, clumsy overhand strikes that supposedly kept the blue blade away from her body only through blind luck.
With each sliding wave of exchanged blows, the Jedi gently touched the Force, probing his opponent and looking for a weakness he could exploit. Wonderful, he wasn't as stupid as he first seemed. It only took a few minutes for the boy to grasp the previous lesson. He got it on the second try. Smart one.
Despite all his training, the Jedi — and frankly, none of the students — had any real experience in long, drawn-out battles. None of them had ever been to war, where you had to break through enemy lines for hours, destroying one squad after another.
Imperceptibly, as the Jedi grew tired, his strikes became less precise, his parries less careful, and his transitions less elegant. A thick fog of exhaustion slowly clouded his mind, and Ashara knew that soon he would make a critical, fatal miscalculation.
Though she was fighting the man, the real battle raged inside her. Despite the crudeness of his technique, the boy wasn't stupid at all. Behind his swagger and pomp lay a decent mind, capable of calculating the situation ahead. That meant he had potential — she just needed to beat the Jedi heresy out of him without killing him. And that was proving much harder.
Despite all the Lord's compliments, she remained a fighter, a killer, a Hand. Time and again, she had to pull back, refraining from striking at the openings presented more and more frequently by the enemy's desperate attacks. Ashara understood that only a crushing victory, the kind she was aiming for, would have the desired effect. It would help tear the blinders off this talented boy's eyes.
And in the end, her patience was rewarded. The man became more and more broken, continuously and unsuccessfully trying to gain the upper hand over his "clumsy" and "inept" opponent. As the prolonged physical strain began to take its toll, his swings became wild and reckless, until he abandoned all pretense of defense in an attempt to end the duel that he felt was slipping away from him.
When the Padawan's recklessness turned to desperation, every impulse in Zavros screamed to act and finish the fight. But instead, she let the tantalizing nearness of the man's defeat satisfy his thirst for revenge. He understood perfectly that he was being toyed with, like a gizka. And gradually, through the prism of Jedi teaching, he turned to his own anger. The thirst for rage grew with every second, until it became a physical pain tearing through his entire being. The dark side filled the man, and she felt that the rage was about to tear him apart, splitting his skin and gushing out in a fountain of blood. Perfect. The boy wasn't just capable. He was talented. And he would become a fine adept of the new Order.
She waited until the very last second before releasing the pent-up energy inside her in a terrifying surge of the Force. She channeled it through her muscles and limbs, moving so fast that time seemed to stop for the rest of the world. The Jedi charged at her, radiating streams of the dark side, acting on instinct, surrendering to his rage.
A mistake many make. This needed to be nipped in the bud before he drew the wrong conclusions that would take root in his subconscious and limit his own power. Physical limitations are easy to overcome — but the prohibitions of one's own mind can sometimes become the strongest prison.
In the blink of an eye, she delivered a lightning-fast strike from below at an angle, slicing off the top of the lightsaber hilt. And before he realized what had happened, she spun and landed a powerful kick to the side of his head. Like a downed starship, he crashed onto the permacrete platform. His attempt to get up was instantly cut short by a sweeping kick from her other foot to his face. The platform was sprayed with blood and a few knocked-out teeth. The distinct crack of his lower jaw signaled total defeat.
For a moment, none of the onlookers even understood what had happened. Their minds needed time to detect and track the blurred motion, faster than their eyes could see.
The crippled man lay on the ground, writhing in agony and spitting clots of blood onto the platform. The streams of rain instantly swept them away, carrying them out of sight. But new blood replaced what had vanished.
The girl deactivated the yellow blades and returned the hilts to her belt. Turning to face the students, she swept her calm gaze across their ranks. The Force that had raged inside her all this time subsided, like a tame voncstr stopping its growl at its master's command.
"Lesson over!" she shouted. "You have all witnessed how underestimating an opponent will lead to your death. Even turning to the dark side, you will not defeat a skilled, calculating, and experienced opponent. Your task is to control the Force, not obey it. Forget the Jedi dogmas! You are the masters of the Force, its lords and users. Subdue it, and you will be invincible. Lose control — and you are dead. No opponent will leave you alive." Sensing that the Padawan had risen behind her, blazing with anger, the girl shifted slightly to the side, letting a strike aimed at her head pass by.
The moment the enemy's hand appeared over her shoulder, she grabbed his forearm with lightning speed, twisted it in the joint socket, and snapped it at the elbow with a jerk.
Under the impenetrable downpour, a terrible cry of pain rang out, and the injured youth fell to the platform, wracked with sobs of agony.
None of the students rushed to help him, silently watching his suffering. Yes, they had learned the lesson of controlling the situation, but they had failed another.
"Leaving your comrade on the battlefield," she said, "you doom him to death for certain. But if he survives, he will become your enemy for life. And at the first opportunity, he will stab you in the back. Each of you is part of a collective, bound by brotherly ties. Betray one — and others will betray you."
The quickest ones immediately rushed to the injured boy, carefully lifting him to his feet. Glancing at the victim, she noted that the man's eyes had rolled back, and the torrential rain was washing streams of blood from his face.
"You have witnessed a practical lesson today," she announced to the gathered crowd, trying to shout over the noise of the rain. "Victory is the result not only of skill, but of strategy. Be patient and careful. Victory is worth nothing if you let your opponent escape. Your enemy must be destroyed. Achieve this not because you are better or stronger than your opponent. Be smarter and more calculating."
The girl approached the injured boy and took his chin in her hand, peering into his eyes. Shock had already set in, but he was still holding himself conscious, fighting the oblivion.
"Let this be a lesson to all of you," she concluded. "Secrecy can be your greatest weapon. Hide your true strength in secret, until you are ready to deliver the decisive blow."
"And now, it's time for all of you to get to theoretical classes," she commanded. Turning to the pair of former Jensaarai holding the unconscious youth, she noticed that the Nautolan he had been sparring with was nearby.
"What's his name?" she asked. He answered. "Take him to the med-center, then I expect everyone in class."
Standing in the pouring rain, she watched as three students carried the fourth under the Academy's arches.
Ferus Olin, then. It wasn't in her nature to pick favorites, but this boy intrigued her. She would need to keep a close eye on him — if he learned the lesson, he would likely leave Tython much faster than most of those who had arrived before him.