"We're ready, sir," Matthew stood to the admiral's right. "All ships have reported readiness for the jump."
"You know you don't have to act as my assistant, Mantrell?" Shirano reminded him.
The man didn't answer. What difference did it make? He and Erwin were the two senior officers aboard the fleet's ships. Nothing would change just because the corps commander had relayed the first officer's words to the admiral while the latter was busy with final jump preparations.
"Well," realizing he wouldn't get an answer, the Rendilian sighed, "let's be off, then. Is the Unconquered ready for departure?"
"It will jump into hyperspace right behind us," Mantrell recalled from the report.
"Excellent, I suppose," Erwin spread his hands. "At least we won't look pale before the Emperor when we meet. We're late as it is."
He hadn't volunteered for this flight. Neither had any of his people. But they had been chosen. Among all the corps on Christophsis, they were the most battle-hardened. The most prepared. The best of the best. Small wonder that they would form the backbone of the Empire's new army.
Looking back, Matthew had compared his life before and after the CIS occupation of Christophsis more than once.
A cheerful joker, one of the production leaders at the asteroid mines, he had valued two things above all in life: his family and his world's independence from the Republic. A prospering world, though not the most fertile, Christophsis had always stood apart in its sector. The locals lived — if not richly — relatively peacefully. There were poor people, but compared to the rest of the galaxy, not that many. And their lot was not so dire.
The Separatist invasion changed everything.
The aristocrats, previously revered by every inhabitant without exception, fled, leaving the planet to be ravaged by the occupiers. The terror and oppression imposed by the latter spurred the creation of a militia composed of the planet's most ardent patriots. Matthew was one of those who followed Zho Ptar.
And he regretted it a hundred times over.
The Separatists punished disobedience harshly. Matthew's patriotism cost him his family — executed by droids because of his decision to fight the machine army. That was when he stopped smiling.
The arrival of the Jedi — "guardians of peace" changed little. They destroyed what had remained intact even after the Separatists took the planet. This finally undermined the population's faith in the Order.
Until a single Jedi showed them that not all was lost. That it was too soon to give up and hide.
Dougan. He opened their eyes, forcing many against their will to accept a simple truth: the war would not end as long as a single droid factory remained standing. And even after the Republic's victory, no good future was to be expected.
The Republic would never accept a thriving independent world on its fringes, one capable of acquiring fleets and building its own army. One didn't need to be a genius to understand: if the CIS won this war, slavery awaited them all. If the Republic won, slavery would be codified in law behind pretty words. A predator that had tasted its prey's blood would never let go. Neither the Republic nor the CIS, having learned of their sector's wealth, would back down until they had complete control over it.
It was hard not to believe a man who had done what his other Temple brothers had not — or would not — do.
He had done it. He had forced the last aristocrats to open their "piggy banks" and put the money toward rebuilding Christophsis. Toward building its own army and fleet. The Jedi had made the government work for the people, not the other way around, as it had for centuries.
It seemed like nothing could change? It turned out everything could. It turned out you didn't need to wait years for roads to be repaired, new housing built, destruction restored, and jobs given to all in need. For everything to work as it should, you only needed a strong hand at the top.
That was why the population had followed the Jedi. Followed him alone — not the Order. Volunteers had taken up arms, boarded starships. There was no family on the planet untouched by the actions of the Separatists or the Grand Army of the Republic. And so there was no one who didn't wish, in one way or another, to serve the cause of victory in this war.
But no one wanted a victory for the Republic or the CIS. Neither force had done anything good for the planet. The Christophsians wanted Dougan's victory.
The Jedi who had saved them. The Jedi they believed in. The Jedi his own brethren did not believe in.
Even if he wanted to, Matthew could not forget the time when members of the Order appeared on the planet, convinced that Dougan had bent the inhabitants of Christophsis to his will. And the longer they looked for proof of this, the less they wanted to admit that all their accusations were groundless. The height of foolishness — to think you could turn an entire planet's population against someone. Especially when that very population had been shown, in no uncertain terms, what fate awaited them if either side won.
And from that, everything became as clear as day.
Republic or CIS — it didn't matter what the occupier called itself. Someday this war would end, and not much time would pass before the victor subjugated this rich, independent world. And that was already at odds with the wishes of Christophsis's own inhabitants.
And so they served under Grand Moff Dougan.
A man who not only spoke of peace — he delivered it. Through real actions, not words.
And so it was no wonder that he enjoyed support across all strata of the population. That was why recruiting stations were overflowing with volunteers. And it would continue that way until Dougan won.
Yes, Matthew, like most of the significant people on the planet, knew that somewhere out there, beyond the known galaxy, a just state was being created. The Eternal Empire of Zakuul, whose ideals had proven close to all of Christophsis's inhabitants. And so Christophsis was no longer fighting on the Republic's side against the CIS. The Christophsians were fighting the Separatists, waiting for the order to begin a war against the second enemy as well. The one that permitted slavery, the one that allowed private companies to have their own armies and armadas of ships, to blockade peaceful planets. The one that couldn't fulfill its duties. The one that, in a difficult hour, sheltered behind an army of slaves instead of taking up arms and defending its own borders.
Christophsis was biding its time, waiting to repay the Republic. To bring its citizens pain and grief. To make them experience what the locals themselves had suffered because of those who tried to reshape the galaxy in their own image.
And the Grand Moff had promised to give them that chance. That was enough — they would not miss their opportunity.
Every commander in the army, every volunteer knew — the moment would come when they could repay their enemies a hundredfold. They didn't need what belonged to others — their own world was so rich that its natural resources would suffice for dozens of generations of their descendants. But they had to grow up in a state that wasn't falling apart at the seams. A state that guaranteed its citizens a better future.
For this they lived. For this they fought. For this they died.
And because of this, no Christophsian would ever betray his ruler. Not the elder who merely symbolized power on the planet. But the one who had opened their eyes.
The commander of the First Volunteer Corps did not idealize Dougan.
No one was perfect, and likely no one ever would be. However, the desire to put an end to a decrepit order that allowed some to oppress others deserved respect. For a chance at a bright future, it was worth trying. It certainly couldn't get any worse.
A week ago, when Grand Moff Dougan arrived on Christophsis and gathered all his loyal people in the Citadel — the future Imperial Residence in this oversector — he had set a new task before Mantrell, Shirano, and his people.
To take control of the Katana Fleet, long lost by the Republic. Matthew was hardly surprised that the Jedi knew the location of these ships. He had long since proven that he achieved success where the Republicans failed.
And now, the first graduating class of fleet commanders from among the Christophsian volunteers was preparing for a hyperspace jump into Wild Space — to where Zakuul, the capital of the new state, lay hidden in the darkness of space. The "Dark Forces" were to become part of the Empire's fleet. To receive their baptism of fire and expand the state's borders where no Republic citizen had ever set foot.
And the First Volunteer Corps, along with a dozen others, had been granted a great honor — to become the tip of the blade that would eliminate threats in Wild Space for the Empire's future citizens. And by the Hutt, they would accomplish this task.
Matthew knew this not only because his people were among the best.
Forty years ago, Jedi had visited his parents. As always, they were looking for Force-sensitive children to take to Coruscant and make part of their Order. His parents refused, and the Jedi left empty-handed — in the Republic, they could take any children, even against their parents' will. On Christophsis, then neutral, its own laws applied. And the Jedi were out of luck that time.
Matthew couldn't say that he was particularly different from ordinary people. No, no great differences between him and his peers had ever been observed. Only occasionally, in moments of the most severe crisis, could he intuitively sense what to do. As if someone from outside was telling him.
Kaili Omas, the Jedi who had recently headed the Christophsis Medical Center and was treating him for a shrapnel wound in his lung, said his level of Force sensitivity only slightly exceeded that of ordinary beings. It was enough to interest the Jedi. But to become one of them — no.
He had never strived for that anyway. It was enough that the Force — as Kaili called his intuitive decisions — helped him survive in battle. And not sacrifice his people needlessly. A nice girl. She definitely could have interested him, if not for the image of his family killed by Separatists that stood before his eyes. Perhaps sometime later, when he had avenged them and everyone responsible for his people's suffering had paid, Matthew would start his life from a clean slate. Especially since Kaili was one of those who shared the Emperor's views on the postwar order of the galaxy. That meant when the war ended, they would remain on the same side.
But until then, only war lived in his heart.
Matthew caught himself clenching his hands into fists as the memories of the past overtook him. Taking control of himself, he forced them to unclench. This was neither the time nor the place to show his anger. Soon they would arrive at Zakuul, and the Emperor would set a new task before them — and then the sun-gleaming armor of the Christophsians, worn over matte-black jumpsuits, would once again appear in the thick of another bloodbath.
A bloodbath for the Empire!
* * *
Skywalker literally snatched Aubrie Wyn from right under my nose — a Padawan who had survived the Jabiim massacre and was teetering on the edge of the Dark Side (one push and she would fall — and then you could mold her into anything you wanted) — and on top of that, of the hundred Jedi and Padawans I had requested, not only did they not send everyone I asked, but they also didn't send quite the right ones. And she had been on that list I gave Yoda — a new group of Padawans meant to be kept with my army, away from Coruscant. I won't say that those they did entrust to me are any worse or better than that girl. But I'm sure that with Aubrie, I would have had far fewer problems turning her to my side than with Whie Malreaux, Bene, Tallisibeth Enwandung-Esterhazy, and Zett Jukassa, whom the Council foisted on me. And of all of them, I only asked for Esterhazy — despite her low Force sensitivity, according to the Jedi, the girl possessed remarkable willpower. And according to Vitiate's viewpoint, which I obviously agreed with, it was will that formed the foundation for comprehending the Force and gaining control over it. I knew very little about Malreaux. And the remaining two were outright Troll's apprentices — and definitely spies.
I had no doubt that I could turn them to my side. After all, they hadn't yet undergone full training. Only Esterhazy might pose a problem, but as they say, water wears away stone.
After that memorable meeting in the Senate, I spent two weeks wrapping up necessary business on Coruscant. I cleaned out my residence, verified that all ordered ships and equipment had entered the army's service. I paid several visits to extremely interesting senators, concluding that they weren't ready to join my endeavor. Not yet. I paid the mercenaries who had engineered the crisis of power on Pantor. I secured Papanoidea's support — not without Jabba's help, with whom he had shared and extremely interesting connections. And he was very pleased with the rescue of his daughters. As well as the lifting of the blockade, which my student Oli had achieved, working in tandem with Senator Chuchi. The latter especially noted the Padawan's efforts during negotiations with the Neimoidians regarding the installment plan for repaying the planet's debt to the Trade Federation. Despite the fact that, having appropriated the Republic's two-year budget, I could have done this, it wasn't worth taking Pantor off the "hook." Thanks to the "slicer" Kenny had created, the Zakuul Empire not only enriched itself by a truly enormous sum — funneled by a droid into Hutt Space, where Jabba, for not exactly a small percentage, helped "launder" the money — but also saved itself from a budget crisis. And secured its continued existence for at least the next few years — until our own industry reached its proper level.
It's easy to say you're rich when your accounts and precious metal bullion have been obtained by someone else whose will you carry out. However, no matter how large those accounts are, they have a tendency to run out. Huge orders on Corellia and at Rendili had almost completely drained the numbered accounts there. Things were a bit better with Sienar — the numbered accounts funded the construction of Marauders for the Empire, while the system army's money built identical ships for Grand Moff Dougan. And a certain percentage of the profit from the latter orders went into my numbered account, thereby increasing the number of corvettes produced for Zakuul. Something you could call "the circulation of money within the company." More or less.
Under the same legend of a numbered account belonging to the government of Christophsis, Elder Aisel procured military equipment on Kuat, similar to what I, as Grand Admiral, purchased for the Systems Army. So far, no one looked askance at such a buildup of power by a single system. But one day it will happen. It cannot not happen.
Part of the funds obtained on Scipio went to the management of MandalMotors as an advance for a truly indecently large batch of Canderous-class assault tanks, which at the moment existed only as projects and test samples. However, in all characteristics they were head and shoulders above similar Kuat equipment. And combined with the fact that the Mandalorians had the capacity for rapid production of a huge number of tanks, there was no doubt that when the moment came, the Empire's army would have the most modern weapons.
It was with these thoughts that I returned to Christophsis, swayed by Aisel's assurances that the Citadel was complete. One of three currently in existence in the galaxy. The original, heavily destroyed one—on Dromund Kaas. The second—on Zakuul. The Christophsis one was the third, and currently the last.
Built as an exact copy of Vitiate's Imperial Citadel on Dromund Kaas (fortunately, the blueprints were available at the Imperial Station), it seemed alien amid the landscape of the Crystal City. But constructed from local materials and painted in the familiar green color, it didn't evoke an oppressive sense of danger at first glance.
Until the time came to step out of the shadows, the Citadel was merely the headquarters of the Tenth Systems Army, with proper staff, command, and operations centers equipped with state-of-the-art technology. But that was only its outer part.
The inner part, however, was my personal space, protected by the most modern security systems, including those sold on the black market to criminal syndicates for protection against the Jedi.
The Jedi...
At the mere thought of the Council, rage boiled inside me.
What the hell? I thought I had managed to deflect all suspicion into obscurity. But apparently, the masters decided not to trust me completely.
Otherwise, how to understand their antics with the replenishment of my army with Jedi?
Instead of a hundred knights and masters and a dozen padawans, they sent me barely half. And by no means the ones I asked for—for the most part, these were little-known or even completely unknown Jedi to me.
And, to be honest, I was not prepared for this turn of events.
Even in this century, among the Jedi and ordinary beings, there were individuals who could significantly strengthen the Eternal Empire's position when the time came to emerge from the shadows. Losing them on Palpatine's whim was categorically not in my plans. That's why I tried to recruit into my army those who, in my opinion, deserved attention.
For the same reason, people appeared in the army and fleet who qualitatively contributed to the formation of the Galactic Empire. Or the Alliance to Restore the Republic. No matter how events unfold in the future, strengthening Palpatine and his clique is not the best idea. Nor is the possible resistance.
Yes, such transfers might look suspicious, especially against the backdrop of other Systems Armies that don't bother with transferring their officers or purchasing new weapon samples. But what difference does it make if all this mess has very little time left?
However, I wasn't thinking about the loyalty of the officers transferred under my command first, though not last. Unlike the Jedi, their wishes and thoughts were as clear as a child's tear. Give them what they need and give them a slight push with the Force, and they'll make the right decision. Proven.
But the Force-sensitive...
That's a different story.
They can be subjugated, enslaved, but there won't be much benefit from it. The Force always finds a way to free a being from what is imposed against its will. Darth Malgus is direct proof of that. Even under the influence of Sith magic, repeatedly broken, he demonstrated his disobedience exactly until I resorted to extreme measures. But even then, I'm not entirely sure that the Dark Side won't eventually take over and free his mind.
Valkorion programmed the Hands on the same principle as his own daughter, Vaylin. In the end, she still broke the mental shackles, and the Sith couldn't do anything about it.
When I recruited Luminara to my side, having to literally break through her mental blocks, causing injuries of varying degrees, I later concluded that Sith magic is not the most reliable tool in such matters. In particular, Unduli's current state, floating in a bacta tank, is partly due to the fact that I literally invaded her mind by force. That has consequences—according to Kylie, not the best ones. Bacta can heal physical wounds, but returning a person to their past life, as if you hadn't put their brain through a blender—no. That required a far more advanced healing power than the girl possessed. Perhaps Barriss Offee, who returned with me to Christophsis, could help with that. While her master is undergoing treatment, the Council, gritting their teeth, allowed me to take the girl under my wing. So, leaving the planet, I hoped the girls could hold out until my return.
On Zakuul, there was a means to heal Luminara's mind. All that remained was to take it and use it.
And at the same time, I should qualitatively rethink my policy towards the arriving Jedi. They are not what or whom I wanted to see in my army. But Windu made it clear—there would be no others. The Separatists intensified their pressure on the territories of most Systems Armies, and almost all free Jedi and padawans were there. We, despite our huge area of responsibility, took what was available. More precisely, I wasn't sent the best, of course, but not total train wrecks either.
And that's where the snag lay.
The Force persuasion I used on Christophsis, as well as with Admirals Jerjerrod and Block, only reinforced in people's minds what they had already come to themselves, one way or another. And when the Dark Side dissipated, their minds remained undamaged. Only their way of thinking was adjusted. Some priorities rose, others fell. It's easy to kindle a fire when there's at least a spark. But what to do with Jedi who have no such spark? What to do with those who faithfully serve the Light Side and are unlikely to perceive my ideas as a blessing, rather than another way of seizing power by a dark Jedi?
That's why I spent a lot of time selecting candidates among those Jedi who either went over to Palpatine's side after Order 66, or left the Order shortly before, considering the Jedi position wrong.
But when I saw completely unfamiliar temple guards before me, among whom only a good dozen faces vaguely reminded me that I had once been interested in their personas on the Internet, the realization of the collapse of my plan crept up on me.
I could subdue them with the Force, breaking their mental blocks like I did with Unduli. But what would be the result? She was not herself. My crude work caused certain harm, which affected her combat abilities and consequently led to her injury and deep coma.
Why, I ask, would I need an army of gifted slaves who can only carry out my will?
Exar Kun, from whose arsenal I borrowed this technique, didn't stand on ceremony with the Jedi. He simply freed the souls of the Sith, which then seized the Jedi bodies. And he got his own army of the gifted. And when he needed servants, he used Sith magic to subjugate the Massassi.
Even when Vitiate strongly advised me to subdue all the Hands to my will, I refused, deciding to earn their respect through my actions, not through mind suppression. And now I'm back where I started. The Jedi.
John Antilles.
Former padawan of Kuro, who chose the path of a wandering Jedi. A peculiar hybrid of a vagabond and a knight of the road—going I don't know where, the Force will lead. I knew little about him—only that he was supposed to die at the beginning of the Clone Wars during an operation to retrieve an antidote to some potent plague developed by the CIS. He and several other Jedi were torn to pieces by Ventress and a Gendai mercenary, Durge—only Kenobi survived, who delivered the cure to the Republic.
So, something went wrong. Either he didn't participate in that mission, or he managed to survive—unclear. But asking "Dude, why are you still alive?" was also out of place.
Oh, and by the way... among those who were supposed to die there was also Fay.
A Sith Jedi Master, who was also a wanderer, roaming the galaxy in hope that the Force would tell her where she could do a good deed. Legends of her exploits circulated in the Temple—the memory of the original Dougan suggested that as a youngling, like many others, he listened to stories about the legendary master. And all his childhood he dreamed of being like her. Oh, boy, if you knew where this was going, you'd think a bit more practically.
So, why did I remember Fay? Along with other Jedi, she was now languishing in the cargo hold, frozen in a carbonite slab. And most notably, I didn't ask the Council for her transfer to my army. And she wasn't on the list of those the Order sent to the Gent. A curious fact? More than that. Especially in light of recent events, when everything is going awry.
And as a result, I had half a hundred Jedi and padawans frozen in carbonite—not at all the ones I intended to acquire.
Take, for example, this Rii'ke En. A perfectly average Jedi knight, without any special merits or beliefs. No one present could say anything remarkable about him. He stood out for nothing, was remembered for nothing. I don't know what he is or what he's good for, but all I remember about this guy is that he died during the operation on Honoghr, when he tried to retrieve information from a crashed Separatist ship. I think that crash was what finished off the planet's ecosystem, after which Darth Vader was able to recruit the Noghri into his service, promising to restore the fauna of their homeworld. As usual with the Sith—he cheated the commoners cheaply. And the revelation that the Imperials didn't restore Honoghr but merely maintained it as a lifeless desert led to the death of Grand Admiral Thrawn, in whose service some of the Noghri were at that point. The circle closed. One Skywalker recruited the Noghri, another freed them.
Hmm... let's assume that the appearance of this Jedi at least reminded me of the existence of the Noghri. To be honest, I had forgotten about these guys while solving current tasks. And that's not the most forgivable mistake—the Expanded Universe of Star Wars knew no better scouts, saboteurs, assassins, and bodyguards all in one. And only a lucky coincidence in the form of obstacles from the Council prevented me from missing such a detail. I should think about that...
Mo. Apart from the fact that this guy was a little off his rocker and was Jerec's servant, I couldn't remember anything else. So, Kuro, under whose patronage this kid appeared in my army, will have to clarify the situation. For the same reasons, I remembered very little about the Jedi researcher Ku Ran—I think he was the one who discovered the Valley of the Jedi on Ruusan. But about his pretty colleague—the purple-skinned Twi'lek, Racha Sitra—I heard for the first time. Same for Garen Muln—only that he was a Jedi ace, like Jaizen Suel. Yeah, Siri said she was somehow acquainted with the guy.
In the same category fall Larant Tarak, Sian Jeisel, Kay Justice, Salmar, Saydem Fort and his student Deran Naluan, Master Simms and her padawan Noira Na, Dass Jennir and Mander Zum.
B'ink Utrila and her padawan Rennax Omani. Now this was a bit better. I had read about this pair in my time. The girls were tasked with taking care of a Dark Side artifact. And as soon as Utrila accidentally touched it, she experienced an emotional shock that led to her padawan leaving the Order. And the finale of the Twi'lek's life was that she and a number of other masters were shredded by the infamous General Grievous during his attack on Coruscant.
Xiaan Amersu. That name surfaced in my memory through an association with another Jedi.
A'Sharad Hett.
Now that was unexpected. A Jedi knight raised by Tusken Raiders. Like some Jedi, Hett had a fondness for the Rutian Twi'lek Amersu, who died near Selucami at the end of the war. Later, this guy survived Order 66 and the subsequent repressions by Vader and the Inquisitorius. And he became so angry at Palpatine that he planned to kill him. To do so, he found himself a teacher—the ghost of Xsoksuan, one of the first Sith Lords. And like a local Ilya Muromets, he spent twenty years studying the wisdom of the dark side. And when he crawled out of his lair, it turned out that Palpatine and Vader were already gone. The guy was sad. Just then the war with the Yuuzhan Vong began, during which the invaders tortured him and finally knocked his noggin loose. So badly that about a hundred years after the Battle of Yavin, he declared himself Darth Krayt and started another massacre in the galaxy. Sweetness, damn it. With such an ally, you don't need enemies.
And finally, Malorum. This guy was even prettier. Only recently had he become a knight. As the history of the Galaxy Far, Far Away shows, he survived the Order. And so epically that he became the first Inquisitor of the eponymous service, created by Palpatine after the proclamation of the Empire to hunt Jedi and various Force-user goodies.
Simply magnificent. The guys are perfect selections—one prettier than the other. Hmm, sometimes it seems to me that in this galaxy only girls should be Jedi—they don't change their perspective on the Force as often. Although, it would seem—I have a whole harem of opposite examples.
Yeah, and this is only the beginning of the list...
My attention was caught by a barely audible rustle coming from the ventilation.
The salon I occupied on my flagship was huge—no smaller than a bridge in size, and there's plenty of room there. They knew how to build in the old days.
The salon could be conditionally divided into three parts relative to the entrance. To the right was a bedroom, separated from the rest of the room by very thick walls. To the left was a spacious office, equipped with everything necessary for productive work.
And in the central part—a kind of reception area, furnished with the latest fashion—soft sofas and armchairs built into the floor, a bar counter with a spacious cooler for alcohol. Yes, this was the perfect place to throw parties—a hundred people could sit comfortably.
The ventilation ran along the ceiling, surrounding the central part of the living room, and also exited through grated vents into the office where I was now, and into the bedroom.
The rustle repeated.
Now that was definitely not a coincidence.
Plunging into the Force, I directed it toward the sound. Nothing. But if the ventilation was empty, then...
The next second, instantly summoning anger and melting it into rage, I released a stream of Force Lightning, which blasted through the radiator grilles and surged inside. The next moment, a body in black clothing appeared in the darkness of the ventilation, convulsing.
The air smelled of ozone and burnt human hair.
Okay, that should be enough.
Lifting the body with the Force, I unceremoniously moved it to the sofa in the living room. Now what the hell is this? Hmm, seems to be breathing. That's good, I need to ask her a couple of questions.
And almost immediately, the door to my quarters swung open, and inside, with blades drawn, slipped two girls of the same age but different species.
"Teacher," Oli exclaimed. "We heard a crash—"
"Oh really?" I was surprised. Then I remembered that I had allowed them to settle in the cabin next door. Since this was an "inspection trip," I should take my padawan with me.
And Commander Ahsoka Tano, who was hired almost immediately after my return to Christophsis. Why not, it's quite respectable—the girl is constantly busy and won't bump into unnecessary trouble on her life path. Especially since she had joined our tight little circle.
Only a week of leave remained, after which I would have to return to duty. Currently, Aayla was in charge, and she was handling it—while the staff was settling into the new location, fierce battles were raging on the controlled territory, and the army's resources, even the volunteer ones, were melting away not by days, but by minutes. Too large a territory to fully defend. But nothing to be done—we have to improvise as best we can.
That's why, despite a burning desire to take a few more Jedi along to keep busy on the way, I later abandoned the idea.
Who knows what might happen. I wouldn't want to lose a potential recruit due to some surprise. Like the one now lying on my sofa.
"Ahem... Sir," Ahsoka had a hard time breaking the previous form of address. "Who is she?"
"I don't know," I had to admit. "But we'll find out."
She looked about thirteen to fifteen. Blonde, with long, straight hair. Cute for a child. People say she'll grow up attractive.
She wore a black jumpsuit—my eye immediately recognized fabric armor. So, she's not a simple thief or stowaway. Such gear would cost more than a petty thief could afford.
"Girls," I turned my head to Oli and Ahsoka, nodding at the unconscious body.
How nice to be understood without words. Stepping aside so as not to interfere or stare at what was about to happen, I began to whistle an annoying parody song from my past life. "Despite the cute face, chest is a one, chest is a one. Ass may be great, but chest is a one..."
And no, I wasn't peeking. It's easy to tell by a practiced eye when you're looking at a "board." But what else to expect from kids that age?
My thoughts immediately raced, presenting before my eyes a sleepy Oli. And Ahsoka, though she had exchanged her rags for proper human clothing, also seemed to be leaning on the local cabbage equivalent.
Oh, damn it, they grow up so fast! Shame to be like that. All childhood wasted.
"Teacher," Starstone called out to me. "There's a thing..."
"What? Haven't seen girls in their underwear?"
"She's a Jedi!" Ahsoka blurted out.
"What?" I turned to the girls just as a blue blade ignited in Ahsoka's hand. At first glance, it was clear that the weapon didn't belong to either of the two awake girls. "What the hell?"
"That's not all," the Togruta turned the uninvited guest onto her side, revealing a view of the girl's thin back, completely covered with old and barely healed scars.
"How horrible," Oli covered her mouth with her hand.
Yeah, the picture wasn't pleasant.
Whoever this Nth girl was, she clearly hadn't had an easy life. Not only was she skinny, with every rib countable, but she had also clearly been subjected to violence. Moreover, judging by the fact that many scars had healed, it had been going on for quite a while.
"Look," Ahsoka turned the girl onto her stomach, showing us a tattoo on her right shoulder blade. "What's that?"
"Trouble," I said, examining the black triangle with three eyes at its vertices. "Big trouble."
* * *
"I will not allow the Separatists to enslave my people!" rotating on his forelegs, announced Doge Urso. The Malastar ruler looked worried. And for good reason.
The droid army stood in direct line of sight from his residence. From their position to the palace—two hours of marching. And a small detachment of Republic clones stood in the path of this formidable force.
"I assure you, Doge Uros," a approving smile appeared on the hologram of the Chancellor. "That won't happen..."
Anakin wasn't listening. Perhaps for the first time in his life.
His thoughts were far, far away.
"How can she?" he thought. "We are husband and wife! And for three weeks we haven't even spoken!"
The separation brought him pain, turning his wounded heart into a bleeding wound. And he would have to deal with his emotional torment alone.
Back in the Senate, the Supreme Chancellor had asked him to participate in this battle. Supremacy in space remained with the Republic, but so many droids remained on the planet that one could say the world now belonged to them.
As if.
Not on his watch.
These huge "boxes" of droids would soon meet their end—as soon as they got close enough to use a squadron of bombers without collateral damage. The test of a new weapon—the electron-proton bomb—would happen here and now.
."..claims that the bomb's electronic field is dangerous only for droids," the Chancellor's voice reached him.
Actually, he was somewhat wrong.
This new weapon worked against any electronics—so when it detonated, not only the droids would suffer, but also the equipment, armor, and weapons of the Republic soldiers within the blast zone. However, looking at the situation from the outside—it was better to sacrifice a small number of soldiers, letting the enemy get close, luring them into a trap, than to do all this and end up with nothing.
"The clones and your warriors are in no danger," the scientist explained. "We've tried to account for all possible problems."
"There is still a threat," said Mace Windu. "And that worries me. There must be another way."
The master looked expectantly at the Chancellor's hologram, as if seeking support. But the latter chose to look away.
"Alas, no," he objected. "Only this bomb gives us a chance for victory."
"Master," the student quietly called out to Anakin. "The droids are attacking."
The noise of the Separatist army's footsteps reached his ears even at this distance.
Anakin cast a brief glance at Master Windu. He should be in the thick of battle, not here in the rear! Why is it that whenever Windu commands, he is kept away from the fight?
Not like Obi-Wan. He doesn't shy away from the front lines, and never held Anakin back from it. He wished his mission on Mandalore would finish soon! The "Knight Without Fear" was getting tired of dealing with Master Windu's heavy temperament. But Anakin understood the necessity of his presence here.
The Republic was fighting bloody battles in the Mid Rim. And Malastar, with its fuel reserves, was the necessary bridgehead to develop the offensive without slowing down. But the Dugs were delaying the signing of the treaty. First, they demanded that the CIS blockade of their planet be lifted.
The Republic did that. At the cost of huge losses, but still.
Now, there was very little left—to defeat the enemy ground forces. Fortunately, the Separatists were commanded by a droid tactician, according to intelligence reports. And the favorite strategy of these machines was a general battle that decided the fate of a planet or sector.
And so, the small forces of the 501st Legion were now preparing to do battle with a numerically superior enemy, whose arsenal included all possible types of weaponry—from B-1 and B-2 droids to crab droids and AAT repulsor tanks. And against them, the Republic could only field a battle-worn legion, generously supplied with gunships and AT-TE walkers.
True, the Jedi had an ace up their sleeve that the tactician could not know about.
A bomb that awaited its hour under the fuselage of a bomber, ready to take off with the entire squadron and deliver its deadly payload straight into the center of the enemy army.
And for that, they had to sacrifice the lives of clones and wait. Sit here and watch as the crimson streaks of Separatist blasters, like ocean waves, flood the front lines of the 501st...
Together with Aubrie, they could do a lot out there, but not here! Anakin clenched the fingers of his artificial hand until his elbow ached. This had become a habit of late.
Skywalker slowly exhaled, trying to regain his calm. But what calm, by the Hutt, when such things are happening around? And he wasn't thinking about the war.
Padmé had suggested they separate. Yes, she said it in anger during his fight with Clovis, but he hadn't taken it seriously. It had happened before—he would blow up, she would be moody. Eventually, things would return to normal.
And yet, their marriage had cracked.
She hadn't called him as she promised in the Senate. Anakin found her himself, coming to their house at night like a thief. But the former senator from Naboo refused to speak with him, saying she needed a break in the relationship.
A break!
How can you say such things in marriage, after swearing eternal love to each other?
It's incomprehensible!
It's outrageous!
Anakin felt himself getting irritated.
"Don't touch me!" Padmé had said after his clash with Clovis. Said to him, her husband, in THEIR house!
She went against her husband! After everything they had been through together!
And she dared to cover up her affair with Clovis as a mission for the Chancellor!
She told him she didn't feel safe! Said their relationship was built on lies and deception! And that their marriage meant nothing if they couldn't trust each other! Padmé didn't believe him! Him! The one who saved her people from the Trade Federation's occupation! Who had saved her life more than once! Him, a knight without fear!
"Other married couples have everything we don't and never will!"
Anakin felt bitterness filling his soul. Thank the Chancellor, who had supported him with a friendly conversation, secretly telling him that he, like Anakin, didn't trust Rush Clovis. The realization that he wasn't the only one who thought so. And if Padmé couldn't see what was happening right under her nose, then he, Anakin, and Chancellor Palpatine could. And Anakin would expose the new manager of the InterGalactic Banking Clan for what he was!
He could survive any battle — on the ground or in space.
But on the romantic front, he was suffering defeat.
"Master," his Padawan touched his elbow. "Are you all right?"
"What?" Anakin was taken aback. Were his emotions written all over his face? The girl looked extremely worried and, thank the Force, was speaking in a whisper. "What do you mean?"
"I felt that you were sad," Wyn faltered. "I don't know why I thought so, but..."
"You're right," Anakin said, growing serious. "I really am uneasy."
Meanwhile, on the horizon, in the very center of the enemy formation, a blindingly bright flame flared up, somewhat reminiscent of ancient nuclear warhead explosions. And a second later, a huge, translucent blue sphere formed at the site of the explosion, with lightning raging inside it. Anakin went cold. How similar this was to the Force Lightning that Count Dooku had used against him. A power both impressive and terrifying. Destructive and... beautiful.
The sphere grew steadily, striking Separatist equipment with its branching bolts of lightning. Burned-out mechanisms stopped in their tracks, incapable of any further action. However, almost immediately, the sphere spread to the Republic army. Anakin, stunned, watched as tanks froze, struck by their own weapons.
"What is this? What's happening? I'm losing the connection!" the Chancellor worried as the sphere touched the Doge's castle. The holoterminal sparked and shut down. The hologram disappeared. Anakin felt the prosthetic on his right arm short-circuit. His fingers began clenching and unclenching randomly until they stopped moving altogether. With his left, his own hand, the Jedi opened the panel on the prosthetic and removed the power cell. Yes, just as he thought — it had melted. The rest of the mechanism seemed intact.
"Well, Doc," Anakin said with a smile, looking at the creator of this wonder-weapon. "Looks like it worked."
A joyful smile appeared on the face of Sionver Boll, the scientist who had developed the bomb just used on the Separatist forces. It vanished instantly when a monstrous roar sounded in the air.
And then the ground cracked...
* * *
Gazing from the height of the Chairman of the InterGalactic Banking Clan's tower at the snow-covered plains of Scipio, Rush Clovis felt deep satisfaction.
He had achieved what he wanted. He had taken charge of the banks, stopped the corruption and the unscrupulous Muuns.
Restored stability to the banking system.
And all of it was him. An ordinary man.
Behind him, a holographic terminal came to life.
"So, Clovis, like the new office?" Using the fact that the Count couldn't see him from behind the chair's back, Rush started recording the conversation.
"Dooku," he stated, turning to face the hologram. "What do you want?"
"I must say, you look good behind that desk," the former Jedi flattered. "Old friend, did you really think I wouldn't stop by on such an important day to wish you luck?"
"We're not friends, Count," Clovis frowned. "But, nonetheless, thank you. Luck has nothing to do with it. The transfer of power went without a hitch. You needn't worry about the Confederacy's deposits."
"Naturally," Dooku beamed. "The Separatists are entirely on your side."
"And what does that mean?" Clovis raised an eyebrow. "I am a neutral party. No one from the Republic or the CIS is on my side."
"But we were the ones who put you in this position!" Count Dooku said with emphasis.
"I am grateful for your support of my candidacy in the appointment procedure, Count," Clovis spread his hands. "But my position means I must not favor either the Republic or the Confederacy."
Dooku's holograph broke into restrained laughter.
"Is that so? And when did you become such a staunch idealist?" the former Jedi's smile turned into a predatory grin.
"What's the point of this conversation, Dooku?" Clovis squinted.
"I want to cash in on my investment," the Separatist leader declared triumphantly. "What do you think will happen if the Republic finds out that it was I who provided you with the information about the Muuns' secret accounts?"
Without waiting for an answer from the silent banker, the Count continued.
"You can't tell the Republic that I gave you that information, or you'll lose your position. I gave you power, Clovis! And you belong to me, lock, stock, and barrel! And if you want to stay at the helm, you'll do as I command!"
"That will never happen," Rush cut the air with his hand. "The banks will act impartially."
"In that case," the Count folded his arms, "the Separatists won't be able to pay interest on their loans."
"And that would put the banking system in an awkward position," Clovis finished for him. "The banks would collapse..."
The man, gasping from the realization of what was happening, jerked up from his seat and paced the office. Stopping in front of the wall where a painting hung — a portrait of the first Chairman of the InterGalactic Banking Clan — the man looked into the painted eyes of the ancient Muun.
"No, Clovis," Dooku beamed. "You can stabilize the situation if you raise the interest rate on the Republic's credit lines."
Clovis felt his lips spreading into a smile.
Dougan had been remarkably right. The leader of the Confederacy intended to use his gullibility to get him appointed head of the banks. And then — to manipulate finances through him. Cunning on his part, especially considering that, unlike the Republic, the CIS hadn't paid a single credit on its loans, which exceeded the Republic's by three times.
"So that's the price of your help, Count," he turned to face the hologram and slowly walked to the table, settling into his chair. "You want to use my hands to turn the Republic against the Banking Clan. I wonder why you need that."
"As always," Dooku shrugged. "To win the war."
"Yes, I thought as much," the banker grinned, pulling an information chip from the desk drawer. "Recognize this?"
"That's the chip I recorded the data on for you — the accounts the Muuns used to siphon the Republic's money," Dooku replied.
"Exactly," Rush casually tossed the piece of plastic onto the table. "You know, if I had used it, the banks, the Republic, and I would have faced unpleasant consequences."
"And you did use it," Dooku snorted. But the next second, he grew wary, seeing the banker's smile.
"To your regret — I never even touched it," Rush steepled his fingers on his chest. "The information I used to expose the criminals came to me through a completely different channel. And any forensic examination will prove that this disk has never been opened since it was recorded," leaning over the tabletop, the banker tapped the chip with his index finger. "Your blackmail has failed, Dooku."
"I see you're not above accepting help from outside," Dooku's mustache twitched in an irritated gesture. "But it won't help you. Either you help us voluntarily, or the Separatist armada will leave this star system in ruins."
"Are you sure?" Clovis raised an eyebrow. "As I recall, the Banking Clan has an impressive fleet at its disposal, which, through a misunderstanding, ended up in your hands. But even if you don't want to return it — and I'm absolutely certain you won't — the IGBC has enough funds to hire entire armadas that will stop any invasion. And if that's not enough, the Republic will gladly establish its own base in the system and bring an entire sector fleet here, just to keep the banks out of CIS hands."
"It's good that you're so confident in your abilities, Clovis," the Separatist raised an eyebrow. "Frankly, I was sure you'd become spineless long ago. Right after your girlfriend — Senator Amidala — dumped you."
Clovis smirked discreetly. Yes, the Lord had been remarkably accurate. Few banking analysts could boast such analytical abilities.
"Blackmail won't work, Dooku," he said. "But since you insist — I'll contact the Chancellor, ask him to ensure the Senator's safety. And I'll send him a copy of our conversation."
"You're starting a dangerous game, Clovis," the Count squinted. "Be careful. In that vacuum you're floating in, there are asteroids much bigger than you. Collide with one, and you'll be ground to dust."
"Excellent idiom, Count," Clovis praised. "I think I'll write that down. And, yes, thank you for the wonderful idea."
"Which one?"
"Raising the interest rates," Clovis said, surprised. Was the Count so old that he didn't even remember what they'd talked about just a few minutes ago?
"I'm glad you've come to your senses, Clovis."
"Don't celebrate too soon, Count," Rush ran his fingers over the keyboard connected to the holoprojector. "I've sent you, as the official leader of the CIS, a notice of default on previously issued loans."
"As I already said," the Count declared, "the Separatists are unable to pay interest on the loans."
"Well, in that case, I will simply be forced to inform the Security and Collections Department about the gross violations of previously concluded agreements. Fortunately, part of your loans have solid collateral," Rush smiled. "I advise you to repay everything down to the last credit, Dooku, before your planets and your property go under the hammer. I'll give you a month to think it over."
"You have a week, Clovis, to accept our offer," Dooku countered. "Refuse, and Scipio, the world you love so dearly, will burn. As you recall, General Grievous is completely unconcerned with collateral damage."
The Count disconnected, leaving Rush Clovis alone to contemplate the scrolling ticker of precious metal prices.
How interesting it had all turned out. He needed to prepare a report for the Lord. And the sooner, the better.
* * *
Contrary to expectations, the Throne Hall of the Spire was, one might say, nearly empty.
"Doesn't look like a celebration's planned here," Vette said quietly. Yet everyone heard her without exception.
Inside the huge transparisteel sphere that crowned the tallest tower of the Spire, even speaking in a whisper could produce a tremendous echo. Thanks to the excellent acoustics, no conversation in this room could remain entirely confidential.
The interior decoration consisted of four massive beams connected at a central platform, on the upper part of which, on a dais, stood the Eternal Throne. Yes, it wasn't the device that controlled the Eternal Fleet. But it looked exactly like the one that had been lost. And its function remained the same — to command an armada of ships. The difference was that, unlike the numerous but frankly weak ships, this throne now commanded an entire fleet of Harrowers, which, like the dreadnoughts from the Katana Fleet, were positioned in the system, awaiting orders. And those orders would undoubtedly come — Dougan hadn't called this meeting here and demanded the presence of all the Hands without exception for nothing.
But besides them, there were other beings here.
Stormtrooper Corps soldiers in full combat gear stood on either side of the main platform, forming an honor guard. They wore the same armor as Alpha and Balda, except that the commandos' armor still bore Republic insignia and coloration.
The stormtroopers, on the other hand, though dressed like their biological predecessors in the armor of the elite "Desolation Squad," had their armor painted in the colors of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul — black with silver. And so, despite all their similarity to each other, Alpha and Balda, standing on either side of the Eternal Throne, were strikingly different from the other clones. But, like their younger "colleagues," they hadn't uttered a single word since taking their posts.
Every single one of them was an exact copy of the donor and was intended for the Republic army. But they served only their Lord — the Emperor. It was no wonder that the Stormtrooper Corps soldiers were currently the foundation of law and order on Zakuul, where, thanks to the efforts of numerous allies, the population was growing like wildfire.
It all started with Twi'lek refugees Dougan had saved from the clutches of slavers. Then, new citizens of the Empire began appearing on the planet more and more often. Now the population of the Capital was just over a hundred thousand, mostly workers at industrial plants in the Old City. Despite the favorable crime situation, several Stormtrooper Corps units were stationed on the planet. So, the stormtrooper patrols roaming the planet's territory gradually reminded the locals that law enforcement existed on the planet. They also guarded particularly important facilities, such as the vehicle production plants, the Imperial Citadel located at the base of the tower crowned by the sphere they were all inside, the power station that supplied the entire planet from a single solar generator the size of a battleship, or the military garrison territory occupying a huge space in the center of the capital city.
Through the transparent walls of the sphere, each of those present noticed a huge Republic ship. With the smooth lines typical of Old Republic starships, a huge engine "fin," it, like a giant animal, having reached orbit, began a leisurely maneuvering between the Empire's fleet ships suspended in the vacuum.
"Valor-class," Darth Malgus identified on the move.
"An antique, if ever there was one," Vizla snorted from under her helmet. "Amazing it's still running."
Seeing that no one seemed inclined to continue her topic of conversation, Shea Vizla resumed pacing the central part of the Throne Hall.
Kira, glancing briefly at those present, noted that the Hands, as before, tried to keep their distance from each other. Only she and Nadia, and Atroxa with Vette, stood together. Ashara, Shea, and Malgus preferred to await the "main event" in proud solitude.
Unlike the rest of the fleet ships, the Valor entered the upper atmosphere, releasing a shuttle from its depths mid-flight, which set a course for the Throne Hall's docking port.
There were only two ways to get here. The first was by docking at the hangar, from which a direct path led to the entrance doors.
The second was via a spacious turbolift at the base of the tower, at the top of which sat the sphere gleaming in the rays of the local sun.
And, apparently, the Emperor hadn't kept them waiting long — his shuttle disappeared into the hangar's depths.
"Well, it seems that for the first time in the past year, we've all gathered here together," Kira said quietly. And despite her words being meant only for Nadia, everyone heard them. The acoustics in this place left not a shadow of a chance for conversational privacy.
"Right, that's true," Vette perked up. "Ah, so much has happened in this time..."
"Critical observation. Hope the master doesn't freeze you, meatbags," came a sarcastic voice from the entrance doors, where the insufferable assassin droid was loitering.
"What did you see in him," the Mandalorian's voice was cold, "that made you decide to restore this collection of microchips."
"HK is a unique machine in its kind," Malgus said. "As an assassin, he has simply no equal. He's like a Sephi ballerina who cuts throats and takes scalps."
"Delight. Truly an apt description of my extraordinary abilities, meatbag," despite the distance separating them, Kira could see the droid's optical sensors gleam. "You've earned the right to live a little longer."
Kira felt irritation emanating from the Sith. But the comedy ended the moment the massive doors of the hall's only entrance slid apart, admitting a figure in metallic-gleaming armor and a robe so dark it seemed to absorb light. Flanking him walked two girls, the first of whom was of the same race as Zavros, while the second was apparently human.
"Ceremonial announcement," HK announced, turning the volume to maximum. "Prepare for exterminatus, meatbags. The Emperor has arrived."