Marshal Commander Riviriv watched the last batches of cargo that the cargo gunships were delivering to the planet's surface.
Arms crossed, brow furrowed, he surveyed the landscape before him with an unblinking gaze.
Geonosis.
A cursed planet with a scorching sun. It felt like the very air burned his lungs. He had to fight for every mountain ridge, for every seemingly harmless hole in the ground.
The locals simply wouldn't settle down. Even after two large-scale purges — they still had a huge number of droids, armored vehicles, and weapons to resist.
The clone ran a hand over the two short strips of hair on his head. By the Hutts, even his hair was full of sand! A little more, and it would pour out of every crevice when he moved.
With a heavy clatter of walking legs, AT-TEs marched down the massive ramp from the transport ships' holds. Huge machines, the core of the armored fist that would be directed against the next enemy fortification.
The Geonosians had holed up in a hollow mountain visible on the horizon. Continuously pouring fire from thousands of blasters at the advancing troops, the bugs felt safe. Understandable — as soon as heavy equipment approached the fortification, the entire area around it turned into a hellish inferno, if you could call it that — the massive missile barrage with which the locals met every assault attempt.
How many men had already died? Two, three thousand? Unburied bodies gleamed white in the planet's rusty landscape, reminding the attackers of their predecessors' fate.
"Riviriv," he heard his name.
"General Wezz," he greeted the Jedi woman. "Assaulting again?"
"Yes." Well, needs must. That was what Jedi were placed at the head of armies for — to lead a military campaign. "But not right now."
"Agreed. The tanks are still unloading."
"That's not the issue," Sia-Lan objected, squinting at the damned Geonosian fortress. "Headquarters sent reinforcements."
"Really?" the clone was surprised. "I thought we were the reinforcements."
"Turns out there's someone else besides us," she smiled. Searching the crowd with her eyes, she nodded toward a group of clones in Katarn-class armor.
"Commandos."
"I've heard of them." In truth, stories of the commandos' exploits spread throughout the Grand Army, passed from one clone to another. Soldier's radio, as someone had dubbed it. "If they're really what I've heard they are, they could win the war on their own."
"I see you're not too happy about them," the Jedi noted.
"Don't get me wrong, General," the marshal commander hesitated. "They're the same as us, but for some reason they're the elite. And we're just dirt underfoot, expendable."
"That's where you're wrong, Riviriv," the woman shook her head. "Every life is valuable. To us, it makes no difference who stands before us — clone, alien, or sentient."
"Even the lives of Geonosians are valuable, ma'am?" the clone frowned.
"Yes." The clone's eyebrows rose. "But to me, they're less valuable than the soldiers under my command."
"Good to hear, General." By the Hutts, it really was pleasant when your commander said you weren't just a test-tube soldier bred to die for the interests of a state you'd never lived in. In an army where every face was the same, it was hard to find your own scrap of individuality.
The marshal had heard from clones in other units many times that most Jedi, even if they talked about striving to keep peace, actually cared little about saving their subordinates' lives. The commandos could confirm that — in the first battle of Geonosis, barely half of ten thousand survived. The Jedi had thrown them into battle like ordinary infantry, never once considering the difference between clones. It wasn't for nothing that they'd all been trained under different programs — infantry separate from scouts, troopers separate from heavies, flamethrowers separate from engineers. And, of course, commandos under a completely special program.
"So what's their objective, General?" he asked.
"While we build up our forces outside the Geonosian fortifications' kill zone, the commandos will infiltrate the defenders' positions and take out their artillery and shield generators. In short — standard work for them."
"Probably so." The clone leaned away from the Jedi, running his hand through his hair with force to let the sand fall out. "Too bad they weren't sent sooner. Could have saved so many lives."
"Unfortunately," Sia-Lan acknowledged with sadness. "We don't have many commandos in our army compared to other system armies. After all, sector command prefers to assign them their own tasks. Having nearly ten commando squads is all we can afford at the moment. Unfortunately, that's not enough to have even one squad present on planets during an invasion. We're fighting too many battles…"
"General," the clone lowered his voice. "May I ask a question?"
"Yes, of course."
"Rumor has it the Kaminoans will soon stop supplying clones to the Grand Army of the Republic. But if we're taking such losses…" He waved toward the plain, piled high with a mountain of corpses that had once been soldiers of the 89th Corps. "…how will we win this war?"
"I wish I knew, Riviriv," the Jedi admitted. "But even the number of clones in the Grand Army isn't enough to fight a full-scale war. Just for Geonosis alone, we needed two corps of line infantry. And how many such planets are in our sector? In the oversector? In the region?"
"I see the principle, ma'am," the clone cut in. "But then why are there so few clones?"
"If I knew, Riviriv. Maybe when Master Sifo-Dyas placed the order on Kamino, he thought that soldiers who outmatched droids two or three to one would manage in the numbers he ordered. What was it — fifteen million clones ordered on Kamino?"
"Counting line infantry, the Coruscant Guard, special units, and technical personnel for ground vehicles and gunships — then yes," Riviriv calculated. "Honestly, nobody knows how many of us there are total. After all, our brothers fight in space too — and the crew of one Venator alone is several thousand clones. You could calculate it, I suppose, if you knew how many ships the Republic has…"
"You think anyone's counting?" the Jedi smiled. "Sometimes I feel like we're all in some wheel, running forward, spinning and spinning in it, but we can never get out."
"At least you Jedi have somewhere to return to after the war," the clone sighed bitterly. "The soldiers sometimes ask me what will happen to us after victory. And I don't know what to tell them."
"And none of you think about what happens if we lose?" Wezz was surprised.
"What's there to think about?" the clone spread his hands. "If the Separatists win, we all die. That's obvious without any extra words."
"Yes, likely so… Then we need to try very hard to survive," at the end of the phrase, the girl tried to smile, but it came out awkward.
"You know, before me, the corps was commanded by Marshal Commander Flash," the clone said after a few seconds of silence. "He lost a leg and his left arm up to the elbow during a skirmish on Arbra. As a soldier, he was no longer fit for anything, so they discharged him. At first they wanted to send him to headquarters for clerical work, but then command decided he'd already fought his fill. They discharged him to civilian life, sent him to a medical center on Coruscant. Patched him up, stitched him together. Gave him some simple prosthetics, the cheapest — who's going to spend money on a clone? Assigned him a disability pension, and forgot about him. Some of the guys still keep in touch with him over the HoloNet. He says he can barely make ends meet. As you know, our metabolism is fast, so almost his entire pension goes to food. He pays for the room he lives in, and he's left with nothing. The guys and I sometimes send him packages — rations left over from…" Riviriv fell silent, realizing he'd said too much. Glancing at the Jedi, he understood she'd grasped everything perfectly.
"You send him the rations of those who died?" she clarified.
"Yes, ma'am," the clone swallowed thickly and confessed. "I know it's a crime, since it's Republic property. But you have to understand — they're all good guys! We grew up together, ate the same food, fought and died shoulder to shoulder… We just can't refuse to help them! It's hard to know that when you've outlived your usefulness, you'll be left with no one who needs you."
"They…" the Jedi began.
"Sorry, what, ma'am?" the clone didn't catch it.
"You were telling me about one clone, but then you said your guys help several clones."
"Uh… I misspoke, General."
"Riviriv," the Jedi's face grew stern. "How many?"
"Ma'am," the clone panicked. "I'll answer for the ration theft, just please…"
The Jedi's eyes went wide.
"What does this have to do with rations?" she was surprised.
"Well, you're asking me how many clones we send rations to, to find out how much we've wasted," the marshal commander clarified.
"What nonsense!" the Jedi waved at him. "Don't talk nonsense. Mutual aid in the army is one of the foundations that should become an ironclad rule for everyone. So I wasn't even planning to accuse you of anything or report this anywhere."
"Thank you, General." The clone felt a weight lift from him. By the Hutts, why had he even started this conversation in the first place? Because she seemed to care about her subordinates, unlike that general who'd sent them into a frontal assault against a CIS mechanized unit on Arbra? What had he been thinking? They were all Jedi — cut from the same cloth.
Most likely, she'd just forbid him from continuing to help his disabled brothers. And that was depressing. It stung to ruin something that had worked for a whole year just because of your own big mouth. How would the brothers survive now?!
"So how many?" the general repeated her question. There was no point in clarifying what she meant.
"Five hundred and seventeen, ma'am," he said. "But we did it with the best intentions. You have to understand — they don't know anything besides war. We can handle any kind of weapon, operate any machinery, but we're completely unsuited for civilian life. Some, sure, managed to find work — as dishwashers or cleaners — but most employers don't want to deal with clones who not only age before your eyes but also don't have arms and legs."
"It's hard," she agreed. "I imagine it's not just in your corps that crippled clones have trouble with civilian life."
"May I speak frankly, ma'am?" the clone tensed.
"Of course."
"The Republic doesn't care about us once we stop being useful in the war," he blurted out what the soldiers had discussed many times in the barracks while reading the latest messages from their brothers in civilian life. "We understand that providing millions of disabled soldiers with decent housing and work is beyond the state's capacity, but none of the officials even try!"
"I understand your indignation, Riviriv," the girl assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "But you'll be surprised to learn there's a way out of this situation."
"Really, ma'am?"
"Yes." This time an encouraging smile appeared on her face. "You know, when I was in the hospital on Christophsis, I noticed how many clones with prosthetics there were on the planet. They're still in the army — some at headquarters, helping plan operations, some training volunteers. Some serve guarding warehouses on bases."
"Really, General?" the clone's eyebrows rose. "Of course, my guys and I were in the hospital on Christophsis too." The clone scratched the healed scar on the right side of his head. "But we never ran into our brothers there. Prosthetics that could get us back in the fight cost a lot of credits. I didn't know anyone cared about us after we couldn't hold a weapon anymore. I never even thought about it…"
"Neither did I," the Jedi admitted. "But after talking with a Grand Moff, I saw many things from a different angle. So I have no doubt that if we asked him for help with crippled clones, he'd definitely help."
"Sounds like a fairy tale, ma'am," the clone scratched the back of his head. "What does a Jedi — let alone a Grand Moff — care about the fate of clones who've lost their value in battle?"
The Jedi smiled.
"Trust me — this Jedi is very different from the others you've dealt with. And he won't abandon any of his soldiers in trouble. Every fighter in the 13th Sectoral knows that."
"I hope so," the clone agreed. "General, may I ask one more question?"
"There's no need to ask my permission every time," she warned. "I'm always open to dialogue."
"Why doesn't General Dougan — if he's such a caring leader — run for a position in the government? Or at least in sector command? If he genuinely cares about the fate of the common soldier, and if we had the right to vote in elections, he'd have the support of the entire Grand Army of the Republic. When soldiers know their commander will look after them even if they stop being useful on the battlefield — they'll follow that general into the very fires of hell. Not to mention supporting him in elections or carrying out his orders."
Sia-Lan laughed softly. Riviriv faltered, thinking he'd said something stupid.
"Sorry if I said something wrong," he said. "I just thought, since we're having such a frank conversation, why not be frank all the way?"
"Frankness for frankness," Wezz said. "I don't think he needs that. He has… extremely radical views on the state of things in the Republic. I'd venture to guess that one day he'll get tired of all this existing chaos and reshape the galaxy to his liking."
"If that's the case, ma'am," noticing that the flow of tanks had already stopped, the clone put his helmet back on, "you can tell him that if he ever needs help bringing order — me and my guys are in."
Riviriv noted how the Jedi's expression changed. He wondered what thoughts had made her cheerful mood evaporate.
"I'm afraid, Marshal Commander," she said quietly, "that time may come sooner than any of us think."
"In that case," the clone adjusted his grip on his rifle, "just call."
* * *
The glowing crystal in the transparent container drew all eyes toward it. The size of an infant's head, it radiated truly transcendent Force even through its casing.
No wonder even Alpha and Balda — not Force-sensitive in the slightest — couldn't tear their gazes away.
"A Kyber crystal, Emperor," Kira quietly introduced this wonder of the universe.
"It's beautiful," Oli whispered. The girl stared at the source of the Force with wide eyes, like a predator starved for a week eyeing a tired, meaty prey at a watering hole.
There was some truth in her words. Even at first glance, the crystal could be considered a work of art. The galaxy held many wonders, and if the compiler of that list knew about this object, he'd inevitably add it.
He wouldn't. The crystal would never leave this hall again.
As a famous character once said — "My preciouus."
"You've done well, Kira," I praised my subordinate. The girl smiled for a moment, then bowed. "Any trouble acquiring it?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle," the former lover of the Hero of Tython replied in a neutral tone.
I decisively did not like her tone.
Kira Carsen — a ray of light in the darkness — seemed broken. From cheerful and kind, she'd turned cold and gloomy. Even Atroxa standing next to her didn't radiate as much Dark Side of the Force as the former Jedi. I couldn't allow this. Among all the Hands, Kira held a special position.
And it wasn't even that this character was my favorite among all the secondary ones in the game. The girl genuinely possessed a certain magnetism — which was why I'd never decided, despite everything, to turn her into one of my tools. But now this petite, slender beauty with a chestnut bob — not even spoiled by the thin scar on her face — seemed repellent and ruthless to me.
Looking at her, I understood what powerful Jedi who fell to the Dark Side turned into. They reveled in new abilities, took pleasure in others' torment and suffering. Like children who'd gotten unlimited access to sweets.
And that was frightening.
The concept of balance in the unified Force was supposed to become an integral part of the new Empire. Every Force-sensitive in service was to adhere to it. And even more so — my Hands, conduits of my will.
The Gella sisters had reported that the girl had changed drastically after her visit to the stronghold on Nar Shaddaa, but I hadn't thought it was this much. She had literally fallen into the Darkness and was savoring this flight into the abyss. How long before she turned into a raging monster that the others couldn't stop?
The history of this galaxy showed that adepts of the Force who delved too deeply into one of its sides turned their blessed impulses into consequences terrifying for the galaxy.
The many Schisms among the Jedi always resulted in endless bloodshed and subsequent calamities for the galaxy.
Darth Malak, proclaiming himself Sith Lord, destroyed Taris to eliminate Bastila Shan — billions killed and wounded.
Darth Nihilus devastated Katarr to sate his insatiable thirst for the Force, without which he simply couldn't exist.
Darth Sidious drowned the galaxy in blood the moment he eliminated his opponents — the Jedi.
Darth Vader, in a fit of renouncing his old life, drowned the Jedi Temple in blood, not even sparing the younglings. And for more than twenty years he broke the galaxy's spine, imposing his perverted — and in his opinion, effective — peace and order.
Jacen Solo, accepting the Dark Side as the dominant teaching about the Force, repeated his ancestor's path, killing Luke Skywalker's wife and drowning the galaxy in blood once more.
Darth Krayt, in pursuit of power, raised by XoXaan, having survived the Yuuzhan Vong's torture, turned into a beast that mercilessly exterminated everything in its path.
What would Kira become? A Jedi with four thousand years of experience, fallen into Darkness? I was afraid to even imagine.
And I would certainly never allow it. My favorite would not become a monster. Not while I was alive.
"Did your mission to capture the ark succeed?" I asked. Though I knew the results of each of the Hands' missions, I still enjoyed hearing them report to me. The privilege of supreme power — you could get everything you wanted.
"Yes, my lord," the girl said without a trace of emotion. "The ark and its contents have been delivered to Zakuul and await you in the Citadel."
"And you don't want to tell me about that bloody massacre you caused on that planet?" I asked. I didn't know the details. But being in the Temple, I couldn't have missed the news about the heap of corpses on Jebble. Given that they'd been found after Carsen reported the successful completion of her mission, putting two and two together wasn't difficult.
"I merely removed obstacles to completing the mission assigned to me," Kira answered simply.
Right. While orchestrating a galactic coup on the eve of global bloodshed, I was reprimanding a girl for killing some workers. A galaxy-scale irony.
But despite the superficial similarity, every killing should have a solid justification. Killing a gang preparing a terrorist attack was one thing. But wiping out miners who were hardly a threat was another.
Having heard my thoughts, Kira replied with the same impenetrable expression:
"Every one of them witnessed what I took — the ark and its contents. Leaving such a loose end for whoever might come looking was dangerous."
Yes, there was more than enough logic in her words. Witnesses were unpredictable. You never knew how quickly they'd stab you in the back.
"I categorically don't like your approach, Kira," I shook my head. "Go to your quarters. We'll talk later."
"As you command, my lord." The girl performed a curtsy, turned smartly over her left shoulder, and quickly left the Throne Hall.
"Teacher," Oli called quietly. "You said Kira was a former Jedi…"
"Yet one of the best," I said thoughtfully. "She was a loyal comrade to one of the best Jedi of the past…"
"Revan?"
"The Hero of Tython," I had to fill a gap in my student's education. "What you're seeing is the result of serious emotional trauma. It won't lead to anything good."
"So she's on the Dark Side?" Starstone pressed on.
"It seems so," I nodded. "She'll stay on Zakuul — until I decide what to do with her."
"Can that even be changed?" the student was surprised. Ashara, hearing such nonsense, snorted with laughter. And fell silent instantly the moment she looked up at me.
"History shows that Force adepts change their allegiance to the sides of the Force like they're riding a turboshaft," I recalled the historical flip-flopping of Jedi and Sith in midair. "But returning her to the Light definitely isn't the way. Restoring Balance, however…"
I didn't finish, looking again at the crystal standing at the base of the throne.
I'd had big plans for it, but in light of recent events, I'd had to change them.
"Oli," I called to my student. "Touch the crystal."
"What?!" Looking at the girl, I saw her eyes go wide. And not just the Padawan's — Atroxa and Ashara looked no less stunned.
"Am I not speaking loudly enough?" I asked the young apprentice sternly.
"No, of course, I mean yes, I mean…" The girl looked at me with a pleading expression.
She was afraid. For the first time in her life, she was witnessing such a concentration of the Force. No wonder she prudently didn't want to get involved with it. Unlike me, she didn't know the consequences.
"Don't you trust me?" I had to ask directly. "Are you afraid the crystal will harm you?"
"I…" The girl instantly faltered, hanging her head to her chest. She was afraid of the Force source. And even more, she was terrified to admit it, thinking that weaklings weren't kept around here.
She was partly right.
But weaknesses existed precisely to be overcome, to become stronger.
What was the point of being an all-powerful Emperor if your own student didn't even come close in power? Comparing our energies, I'd concluded the girl would likely never become a fine adept of the unified Force. She simply lacked the personal resources. And she reacted quite aggressively to any attacks on Jedi dogmas in her head — no matter how hard I tried to pound them out of her.
Ironically.
"Dad used to beat the craziness out of me, but I always knew where to find more."
"Let it be," I decided. Maybe it wasn't the right time to make her stronger. Power had to be earned, accepted, and one had to be ready to learn the new. But forcing something new against someone's will wasn't our way.
In complete silence, I rose from the throne and slowly descended to the base of the pedestal on which it stood.
The container with the crystal lay at my feet. I only had to reach out…
Kneeling on one knee before the source of the Force, I quickly removed the armored gauntlet from my right hand. Looking at the ugly knuckle, covered in muscle and epidermal adhesions, I placed my palm on the crystal.
"It really is warm." My voice sounded hollow… and as if it didn't belong to me. Or rather, not only to me.
"Teacher, have you lost your mind?!" Oli rushed toward me. But she braked sharply, stopping about a meter away. "Wh-what's happening?"
Her voice reached me as if through a ton of cotton wool in my ears.
Reality distorted, taking on red hues.
Now the crystal, which had seemed snow-white, appeared before me in a blood-red color. As if streams of arterial blood, waves of energy emanated from it, passing through my body.
A pounding started in my head, as if millions of laborers had turned on jackhammers. The noise grew, along with the intensity of the energy pulsations from the crystal's depths. Every second, it happened faster and faster, until a bloody haze appeared before my eyes, shrouding everything around.
And with it — a feeling of extraordinary power.
Even before, I hadn't considered myself weak, but now…
As if someone had opened a dam from which a Niagara Falls of energy roared forth. Like a herd of wild animals suddenly breaking loose all at once, racing into the distance across an endless grassy meadow. And all this strength, this power, raged within me, swelled from the inside, strove to break free, to spread around.
The Force wanted to rage and destroy. To crush everything in its path and turn everything to dust. The Force wanted to destroy…
And then, when the countless herd of Force finally reached the boundaries of its habitat, the field ended. I erected walls in the path of this unstoppable power, which in an instant encircled the maddened animals. The Force cried out, demanding release.
I didn't submit. On the contrary, I began to squeeze those walls, gritting my teeth until it hurt.
This Force was mine alone. And I alone would be its master.
The walls moved toward the flow, threateningly shrinking its habitat.
The herd of wild energy howled again, demanding freedom. I remained deaf to its calls.
"I command you," I began repeating to myself like a mantra.
The Force refused. It didn't want to obey.
So I shifted the boundaries of my consciousness so that the demons simply had no room to move. The walls pressed them from all sides, forcing them closer and closer together.
The Force erupted with a wild roar and hurled itself at the walls. Monstrous impacts shattered the material from which I'd built the walls, striking sparks and debris from the barrier.
It couldn't break free. The Force was trapped. And the more it tried to find an escape, the less room to maneuver this untamed element had.
Again and again, the Force threw itself at the fence, striking in a single direction — it sought to breach at least a crack, through which it could slip and tear its shackles from within.
My will proved stronger.
The Force, like a raging ocean, merged into one, surging against the walls, trying to leap over them. Not a chance. The moment I understood what the energy trapped in the crystal was planning, I covered its prison with a dome, fusing it with the walls. Now there was no way to escape the trap.
And the Force understood that. It calmed down, turning into a serene ocean surface.
The Force began to bargain. To ask, to beg, to demand that at least a part of it be released. In return, it promised to leave a piece of itself with me, to make me stronger.
The Force whispered that I wasn't ready for such power. The Force mocked my past and snidely insisted that it wasn't for someone like me to command it.
And with that, the Force signed its own death warrant.
The trap snapped shut, grinding the particles of that energy into dust with its impregnable walls. The Will tore at the unruly force, ripping pieces from it again and again and absorbing them. And with every such intake, the walls grew harder, and the space within them grew smaller.
And when only tiny crumbs remained of that unbridled Force, it begged for mercy. It appealed to my compassion, my kindness, and everything most bright within me, asking to preserve at least a tiny part of itself.
I remained deaf to its pleas.
The Will enslaved that Force entirely. Transformed it into a part of itself, destroying its individuality.
Opening my eyes, the first thing I noticed was that the crystal had stopped glowing. Now it was just a red piece of precious stone that, indeed, very remotely resembled a small skull.
An empty and cold skull.
"Master," Atroxa appeared beside me. Ashara approached at the same instant, helping me to my feet. "Are you all right?"
"Almost," despite the victory, jackhammers were still pounding in my head. And inside me, an electric current seemed to flow through my veins. Even the hair on the back of my neck was standing on end.
"You know," freeing myself from the grip of her arms, I put the armored gauntlet back in place and looked at my apprentice. "You were right not to want to touch the crystal."
"Yes?" the girl asked with hidden admiration. "You... you glowed for so long that I started to worry."
"No, of course not," I waved my hand, slowly climbing the steps. "If a person glows, that's normal. That's how evolution intended it."
Collapsing into the chair, I channeled a relaxing wave through myself. It eased a bit, and the hammers began to beat more softly.
"Lady Atroxa," I addressed the Lethan. "You did excellent work on Kuat."
"Thank you, Emperor," the woman bowed low.
"I've already received the first results from Admiral Jerjerrod," I shared the news. "They are... intriguing."
The Lethan stood with her head tilted, awaiting my further words.
"You should have a talk with Cad Bane," I said after a few minutes of silence. "He has information regarding our enemy's laboratory on Mustafar. I want you to extract that data from him."
"With pleasure, Master," I felt the girl smile. Violence for the true adherents of the Dark Side was quite a treat. "After that, go to that refuge and obtain all the information located there. Then, head to the ancient Jedi enclave on the planet — I'll send you its coordinates later."
"What am I to do there?"
"These ruins are inhabited by Dark Side adepts who once broke away from the Brotherhood of Darkness of Lord Kaan," I explained. "They call themselves the Dark Guard. Recruit them, or destroy them. I authorize you to take the Sevastopol and the necessary contingent of ground forces."
"As you command, my Master," the girl straightened up. A smile was indeed wandering across her face.
"And one last thing, Lady Atroxa," the headache had faded as soon as I channeled the Force through my body. "The Dark Guard possesses vast knowledge concerning the Dark Side. That information must fall into my hands, whatever the outcome."
"Consider it already in your hands," the girl smiled predatorily.
"In that case, I won't keep you any longer, Lady Atroxa," with a gesture, I indicated that the Lethan was free to go.
* * *
He detected the Jedi ship as soon as it came out of hyperspace. Just a small sensor array in orbit of Rugosa, and yet how many problems it would cause the Jedi. And how much it promised the Separatists.
"Jump to hyperspace," he commanded the holographic projection of the ship's commander. The B-1 droid, an obedient puppet, replied "Got it, got it," and somewhere out there, in the bottomless void of space, the CIS frigate tore from its position, rending space and time.
Kirvan, gazing at the holographic model of the Consular-class corvette, smiled. The grand master, the "teacher of teachers," didn't stand a chance.
Yoda could preach into the Jedi's ears as much as he liked that the Dark Side offered no advantage over the Light. He was wrong. The teachings of the Sith — that was where true power, true authority lay.
Everyone in this galaxy sought power. And those who didn't want it were merely weaklings and failures. He himself had been like that when he was in the Order. But now, having opened himself to the teachings of Count Dooku, he was a hundred times better than any Jedi.
And the greatest of them all was about to learn that lesson firsthand.
Above the orbit of Rugosa, the moon over which Toydaria held a protectorate, space-time began to thin; swelled into a bubble; tore. Nax had no need to see it with his own eyes — immersed in the Force, he could observe it even from the moon's surface.
Like a drop of water condensing on cold glass, the first Separatist ship emerged through the gap into normal space. As always, it was the workhorse of the Confederacy fleet — the Munificent-class frigate. Following it, another.
And finally, tearing through the icy vacuum with its mighty hull, filling the planet's orbit with endless streams of turbolaser fire, the Subjugator slipped into space.
An almost exact copy of the infamous Malevolence, destroyed under the command of General Grievous, the Subjugator was its full twin, with one significant difference.
Kirvan's flagship had no ion cannons, which had so generously thinned the Republic fleet. Instead of that apparently extremely vulnerable weapon, the dreadnought's powerful reactors fed numerous turbolaser batteries, of which the Subjugator-class ship carried twice as many as its predecessor from the Free Dac Volunteer Engineering Corps.
The corvette, caught in a trap, began to maneuver frantically, trying to avoid a direct hit that threatened not just a hull breach — the entire ship could vaporize. Nax met the report from the droid acting as commander with a smile.
"The enemy is surrounded. We are firing, but the target is evading."
"Never mind," the fallen Jedi decided. After all, where could Yoda go in this situation? Only by merging with the Force.
He carefully reached out to the corvette with the Force, enveloping it in his mental embrace, like a Twi'lek concubine.
The Baron smiled, touching the pilot's mind. Even though he was a clone, a copy of a human created only for war, he still felt emotions. At this moment — fear. No, even terror: the frigates had launched Vulture droid starfighters to drive the prey even faster.
Kirvan laughed out loud, feeling how a glancing turbolaser shot on the corvette's hull licked off one of its three engines like a bantha's tongue.
The Consular-class ship, like a beaten nexu, began to spin, spewing clouds of smoke and chunks of red hull into space.
What a drama — who would have thought.
Jedi Master Yoda, the best of the Order's members, a calculating and far-sighted politician and leader, had fallen into a trap set by his former pupil.
The Baron smiled, literally sensing how grateful Count Dooku would be when the CIS ships destroyed the grand master.
Yoda was hurrying to meet with the King of Toydaria to discuss the construction of a Republic base on the planet. The only world located in Hutt Space but not controlled by those fat slugs. At least, not directly.
Toydaria had maintained neutrality since the start of the conflict, while not forgetting to help the Republic. For instance, as it had done by providing its planet as a staging ground for sending humanitarian aid to the besieged Ryloth. Count Dooku was greatly displeased that such a scheme by Senator Bail Organa and that clown who, by some misunderstanding, called himself the representative from Naboo, Jar Jar Binks, had succeeded.
Since then, the Jedi Order Council had not missed a chance to sway the Toydarians to their side. King Katuunko, who ruled Toydaria, had finally, almost a year after his participation in the Alderaanian and Gungan's scheme, decided on an open meeting. Spies at his court claimed the king had already made his decision — to join the Republic.
This would make the situation in the nearby sectors significantly less favorable for the Separatists. Republic transport routes through Hutt Space could converge on Toydaria, possibly meaning the deployment of an entire fleet there. A fleet that would create problems for Count Dooku's plans in the neighboring systems.
Kirvan had been sent by the ruler of Serenno with a single purpose — to bring Katuunko over to the CIS side. If the king turned out to be too stupid to understand the obvious — that the Confederacy would win this war, sooner or later — then the Baron had carte blanche for negotiations with the king's successor. Fortunately, the one who would succeed him in the event of the ruler of Toydaria's death was not as far-sighted as his king. But wasn't that even better?
The Force slashed through his nerves.
In a furious burst, Nax tore the monocular from his belt and aimed it at the orbit, just as the Republic corvette shattered into millions of tiny fragments.
MAGNIFICENT!!!!
The Baron, not believing his eyes, lowered the device from his face and looked at the droid's hologram.
"You destroyed the ship," he stated, barely containing his joy.
"Yes, my lord," the B-1 said in a grating voice. "Only..."
The fallen Jedi's joyful mood immediately vanished. Had those metal imbeciles messed up again?
"Speak!" he snarled.
"An escape pod managed to depart from the ship," but those words were already meaningless. Kirvan could see without the droid's prompt: leaving a trail of smoke from the hull superheated upon entering the moon's atmosphere, an escape pod was racing toward the ground, hundreds of kilometers from his position. From here, it looked more like a burning meteor that would shatter on impact with the soil. But unfortunately, that wouldn't happen in reality.
The Force told the Baron that the pod's passengers would certainly survive.
In a burst of sudden, uncontrollable rage, he destroyed the holo-transmitter with a Force Lightning. Hutt-forsaken incompetents. He had to do everything himself.
The Baron was always struck by how unnoticeable death was in space. No air, so you couldn't hear the roar of an explosion or the screams of the dying. Even in the Force, the end of a wretched life was barely reflected: the pilots and crew of the corvette had died quietly, without cries. Their images in the Force flickered and went out like candles in the wind.
Jumping into the cockpit of his starfighter, the fallen Jedi lifted the machine into the air, aiming its nose toward the direction from which the smoke was coming — the pod with Master Yoda had landed. Now he had to finish the job — otherwise, the Count's tortures would be even worse than the last time he failed a mission on Kamino.
Yoda's escort knew their business well. As soon as the former temple guardian's ship, identical in every way to General Grievous's favored starfighter, materialized over the landing zone, it was already expected. They instantly read the situation and opened fire with every weapon at their disposal. Kirvan threw his ship to the side, avoiding a pair of missiles. Blaster bolts rattled against the hull — too weak to even scratch the paint.
Kirvan shot upward, tumbling between sharp streams of deadly light coming from the ground. Hutt, so those little figures on the ground had not only handheld weapons — but heavy repeaters too. A damaged stabilizer spoke for itself. This complicated the task.
The starfighter instantly jerked sideways and turned, letting another pair of missiles fly past, which dissolved into the dirty air. Looked like standard infantry launch tubes. They were ineffective against an aerial target — but if they had had homing warheads, he would have had to work hard to shake off the persistent projectiles.
On a lucky day, Kirvan could destroy a legion of meat-droids without breaking a sweat. But now, pouring fire from his cannons onto the escape pod's landing site, he felt a trickle of sweat running down his back.
No, he wouldn't lose today. Any day that offered a chance to deliver a roasted green head of Yoda to his master was, without a doubt, a lucky one.
Diving down, he noticed a tiny figure in white armor spraying his starfighter with rapid-fire weapons. A clone! Baring his teeth, the Baron aimed his weapons at the source of danger.
Another light flickered and went out.
Yoda must have felt that too.
There he was, a huge ball of energy shining in the Force, which, like a small sun, could blind anyone who looked at it for too long. The Baron adjusted the nose of his starfighter and pressed the trigger. To hell with it — the constant reliance on the Force was exhausting. He would deal with the Confederacy's enemies the old-fashioned way.
Yes, the grand master couldn't do without acrobatics. Kirvan ground his teeth, seeing the green dwarf start jumping through the branches of the local plants.
Soaring into the air, he made several loops, then dove again, pouring fire onto the massive sandy-colored bushes.
Suddenly, the gleam of a green lightsaber caught his eye near the escape pod. Kirvan felt the Force emanating from the saber's owner. Excellent!
Shifting his fire to the pod, Kirvan watched with satisfaction as it turned into a ball of fire and debris. The light of the Force went out, which drew a victorious cry from the fallen Jedi.
Banking into a turn, he led his starfighter toward the point where King Katuunko was waiting to meet with Master Yoda.
Time to inform the king that the rendezvous was off.
* * *
"Lady Zavros," the Togruta perked up, hearing her name after several minutes of silence. "How are things on Tython?"
The Togruta smoothed her lekku with her hand, then spoke.
"I have fully restored the Jedi Temple, turning it into the Academy's headquarters. The local life forms — the Flesh Eaters — are under my complete control. There were attempts at rebellion, and my students suppressed them brilliantly."
"Any complications with your students?"
"A few," the girl tilted her head to one side. "There were some particularly zealous adherents of the Light, but I corrected that flaw."
"Is that so? Someone from the Jensaarai or from the latest batch?"
"One from each group."
"Even so... How did the others react?"
"They eagerly embrace the precepts of their distant Je'daii ancestors," the girl reported. "And their striving for something new is generously rewarded."
"How are things with the Great Temples?"
"We have discovered all their ruins and practically restored them to their original state. It won't be long before they are ready to receive students."
"Teacher," Oli interrupted the conversation. "What are the Great Temples?"
I noticed the Togruta smile discreetly. It seemed the question was more than relevant for her.
"Lady Zavros, wouldn't you like to enlighten a young and inquisitive mind?"
"With the greatest pleasure, my Master," Ashara bowed respectfully. Then, meeting my apprentice's eyes, she began her story.
"The Je'daii Order formed over thirty-six thousand years ago on the planet Tython, where the Emperor commanded the Academy of the new Order to be founded. The Je'daii divided the Force into two aspects — the Light Side and the Dark Side, considering it necessary to maintain a balance of these two principles within themselves. If a Je'daii broke the balance and was inclined toward the dark side, they were sent to Ashla, one of Tython's moons, to meditate until they restored the balance within themselves. Similarly, to Bogan, the other moon, were exiled those who favored the Light Side. The foundation of the Je'daii educational process was the Great Journey, which took two years. During this time, every student had to visit all nine Great Temples erected on the planet."
"But why so many?"
"Each of the temples had its own unique specialization. For example, the Mahara Kesh Temple, located on the surface of one of the oceans, specialized in teaching healing. On the continent of Masara stands the Bodhi Temple, where students learned the Force through literature, music, painting, sculpture, and other forms of art. Within the walls of the Qigong Kesh Temple, the Je'daii honed their Force skills and expanded the boundaries of their knowledge about it. Part of the training took place on repulsor platforms hovering between the spires, and part outside the temple walls, in the Desert of Silence — whose sands absorb all sounds. The Combat Temple, also known as Stav Kesh, was used by the Je'daii to study and refine combat skills; it also closely interacted with the forge-temple, Vur Tepe, where students learned the physical aspects of the Force and crafted their own weapons."
"Are lightsabers that ancient?" Oli whistled. This drew another bout of chuckles from the Togruta.
"Master, would you permit me to return to Tython with this restless young lady?" Ashara addressed me. "I assure you that within a year, she will astound you with her progress."
"Sorry, my dear," I smiled ruefully, looking at the Togruta. "But this," a nod toward Starstone, "is not your fight."
"I understand," the girl smiled, then continued. "Above one of the most mysterious places on Tython — the Abyss — lies the Anil Kesh Temple, where the Je'daii learned science and alchemy, accumulating a theoretical base and achieving practical results. And finally, the last of the temples we discovered and restored — Kaleth, or the Temple of Knowledge. Here, the ancient Je'daii accumulated all their knowledge, gathered over thousands of years. Unfortunately, we could not find two more temples, and we don't even suspect their purpose, but we won't abandon our work."
"How much time would it take to visit each of the temples and learn at least something there?" Oli said enthusiastically. "That's such a huge effort… In the Jedi Temple, we study for nearly our entire lives."
"But for the Je'daii, the entire journey took about two years," Ashara smiled.
"Two years!?" the girl exclaimed. "What can you possibly learn in that time?"
"You'd be surprised, little one," Ashara snorted, "but even now, when training is conducted only at the Academy headquarters, many of the students know and can do more than many Jedi."
"Nonsense!" the girl declared smugly. Oh, really? It seemed someone really did need to go to Tython.
"The last student who said something like that to me," Ashara replied simply, "I first made dig his own grave, and then sent his corpse into it."
The Padawan fell silent instantly, apparently realizing it wasn't wise to argue with someone your own teacher had placed in charge of a new Order's education.
And to confirm her words, Ashara casually surrounded herself with a Cocoon, on whose surface miniature lightning bolts kept flashing.
"This is a combination of several well-known Force Techniques," she explained. "The sphere protects me from any external influence, and the lightning can attack anyone in close proximity. An excellent way to break through enemy lines."
"Wow," Oli said admiringly. "Teacher, can you do that?"
"You haven't seen a fraction of what the Emperor is capable of," I said instructively. "Recall — can any of the Jedi do something like this?"
"N-no, I don't think so," Oli stammered, admiring the writhing lightning dancing over my wrist. "But, lightning is an attribute of only the Dark Side of the Force. What about the Balance?"
"We resort to one side of the Force or the other depending on the situation we're in," Ashara shook her head. "That doesn't mean we have fallen to one side or the other. On the contrary, as soon as the need for such measures is gone, we continue to hold our abilities within our bodies, without disturbing our inner harmony."
"Are any of the students ready for graduation?" I inquired.
"A few," Ashara replied candidly. "I brought two dozen of the most outstanding students with me to demonstrate them to you. The rest... All without exception understand the reason for controlling their powers, but no more than a dozen of the remaining students truly understand it and apply it in practice. We severely lack specialized masters in the areas of martial arts, Dark arts, Force Forging... The Fount of Rajivari is, without a doubt, a treasure trove that gives students, in a short time, the knowledge they could not gain even in ten years. However, mere theory is not enough. We need practitioners capable of fully demonstrating and explaining areas where my own knowledge is not as strong as I would like."
"And what is the Fount...?" Oli's voice once again echoed through the Throne Room with her question.
Exchanging glances with the Togruta, I signaled to her that it was time for another lecture.
"Master Rajivari, one of the first Jedi, one of the four founders of the Jedi Order," she explained. "Unfortunately, after the Je'daii rejected the concept of Balance, they focused their research in favor of the Light Side. Rajivari was radically inclined. He created his own database of Je'daii knowledge. And it was so optimal. And effective — it could, in a short period, teach a student what they would have learned over years under a standard curriculum, like the Jedi one. Or the Sith one."
"I thought the Jedi had destroyed the Fount," to say I was beyond surprised to hear of this object's preservation was an understatement.
"No, Master, they only blocked access to it," Ashara shook her head negatively. "If I may, I would like to voice a request."
"I'm listening attentively," I nodded.
"Among my students, there has been talk of the Zeison Sha and the Matukai you mentioned. The former are unequaled masters in the physical manifestation of the Force, the latter in martial arts. Even a single representative from each of these teachings would make an invaluable contribution to the Academy's development," Zavros said.
"Well, if they join us, they'll all end up on Tython," I promised. "If not, then..."
"And yet, they are not the only ones who could enrich the educational process," the Togruta continued.
"Meaning?"
"During my youth, my teacher — the Emperor's Wrath — visited the planet Voss," the girl recalled. "The Voss Mystics are some of the best seers and philosophers in the galaxy. And they do not hold any radical views on the Force."
"They haven't contacted the rest of the galaxy for a long time, preferring isolationism," I remembered. "But I hear you. As soon as the opportunity arises, I'll send an emissary to them. Any other wishes from the head of the Academy?"
"The Selkath," she said instead of answering. "Revan managed to secure their support during his bloody campaign against the Emperor. They had their own Order that made great strides in the field of healing. That would also be a huge boon for us."
"My answer is the same as the previous one," what else could I say? The Republic was circling Manaan like a cat around a leaking carton of sour cream. The Selkath homeworld was the sole supplier of the second most valuable medical preparation after bacta — kolto. And any dialogue with them had to be conducted very carefully. "It seems you have more to suggest?"
"Yes," Ashara added without hesitation. "During the First Great Schism among the Jedi, the so-called Legions of Lettow used the martial art of Teras Kasi, which, like the similar training of the Matukai, helped Force adepts to oppose their opponents — specifically, Jedi — even without the aid of weapons. But, in addition, the Legions united the philosophy of many other teachings about the Force — the Guardians of Breath, the Followers of Palawa, the Order of Dai Bendu, Baran-Do, the Chatos Academy, and many others. In each of these teachings, there is something that could enrich our own educational process, and therefore — qualitatively strengthen my charges for better service to the Empire. If I may speak openly, I would like to thoroughly investigate which of these teachings about the Force are still active, and incorporate the necessary practices from their arsenal into the curriculum."
"The thought is interesting," no, without sarcasm — genuinely interesting. Every teaching about the Force in the galaxy had its own unique flavor, distinguishing it from the rest. Jacen Solo had, in his time, spent a long time wandering the galaxy, learning lessons from various Force schools. And he became one of the most powerful Jedi of his time, whose abilities far exceeded those of other Jedi. Therefore, I should think hard and seize the opportunity, enriching my own teaching, based solely on the views of the Je'daii. As long as it wasn't to the detriment of my own interests. After all, the aforementioned First Schism occurred precisely because some Jedi wanted to attain greater knowledge about the Force. As a result — of all the members of the Legions of Lettow, only Arden Lin survived, whom Darth Vader would discover in the far future of the Expanded Universe and bring into the service of the Dark Side. "I need time to think this over and make a decision. Tomorrow at dawn, I would like to meet your students and test them in action. If they are as good as you say, I'll find a use for them."
"As my Master wishes," the Togruta bowed restrainedly. Receiving the signal that the audience was over, the girl cast a final glance at Starstone and quietly withdrew, leaving me to my thoughts.