The doors of the Throne Hall swung open, admitting a new visitor.
The last one I intended to receive before returning to the Republic's worlds.
And perhaps the most important of all who had been here.
His build and appearance were notably similar to human. In fact, his race was considered a descendant of ancient human settlers — according to one hypothesis about the origin of this remarkable species.
The guest was dressed in a simple officer's uniform with no insignia. He carried himself modestly but with dignity. Despite barely noticing the surroundings, I would bet that his brilliant mind and natural genius were constantly analyzing everything.
The guest walked between two rows of guards, and yet radiated an aura of almost royal composure and self-confidence. How charming — even in a situation where his position wasn't entirely clear, he didn't lose face. They say about such people that they have "white bone."
It wouldn't be easy to surprise this fellow to capture his attention.
Though… I had an idea.
The guest stopped directly opposite the Eternal Throne and looked me in the eyes without any fear or false reverence.
"Welcome to Zakuul, capital of the Eternal Empire." The non-human, upon hearing his native language, didn't even blink to show surprise. I doubted he often heard such things in this part of the galaxy. Yet — he kept his composure. "Or perhaps you would prefer to continue in Galactic Basic, Commodore Mitth'raw'nuruodo?"
For a few moments, the non-human was silent, seemingly studying someone who not only spoke his native language — Cheunh — but also knew enough about the Chiss himself.
"Your pronunciation… is incorrect," he finally said in Galactic Basic.
"Unlike yours," I noted, observing the Chiss's nearly perfect Galactic Basic. Yes, his words had a certain accent, which, by the way, gave them charm, but didn't betray him as a resident of worlds outside the Republic.
"I had time to learn," Thrawn said.
The Chiss slowly looked around. Not like a savage who had just discovered fire, amazed by the size and grandeur of the luxurious place he found himself in. But like a military man assessing the Throne Hall's vulnerabilities to an attack by a hypothetical enemy.
"Luxurious," he said. "But… vulnerable."
"Vulnerable," I automatically corrected his mistake. "At first glance, yes. That's the point."
Thrawn looked at me, squinting. Then, after a few seconds, he raised his eyes to the ceiling again. Following his gaze, I grinned, noticing with what interest he examined the underside of the "Harrower" gliding over our heads.
"You are the Emperor," he said, meeting my gaze. "Car'das said you were the one who assigned him to be my teacher."
"Jorj is a very interesting man," I said. "Sometimes he is too… frank. As someone once said, 'The ability to speak does not make you intelligent.'"
The Chiss fearlessly looked at the guards standing behind him.
"What do you want from me?" Mitth'raw'nuruodo asked directly.
Huh. I thought I was the only one asking questions in my palace.
"What do you want from us?" I had to parry his question. "According to Car'das's records, you helped him repair his ship, attack a raider, and escape. What did you want to achieve?"
"If you are going to kill me, I ask that it be done quickly," Mitth'raw'nuruodo said, ignoring the question.
"Someone with your intellect understands perfectly that no ruler would first teach someone and then execute them," I smirked.
Ever since Vette — who now ran the entire vast transport network of the Empire — reported that one of the traders had brought a blue-skinned alien with red eyes to Zakuul, I had wanted to meet him.
And even more so — to recruit him into my service. That's why Car'das had not only continued his old linguistics lessons with the Chiss, but also passed on many documents that, in my opinion, Thrawn should have studied before our meeting.
"You have given me much," Thrawn admitted. "Information on the Republic and Confederacy ships, political data. You allowed me to study achievements in science, technology, military forces. I would repeat my question. Though I believe I already have an answer."
"Indeed?" I smiled. "I'd like to hear it."
"Recruitment."
"Commendable. And what is your answer?"
The Chiss fell silent again, raising his eyes to the ceiling.
"I must decline," he said. "Do not take it as an insult, but many years ago I already received a suitable offer…"
"From Darth Sidious," I had to finish for him. And, I must admit, I managed to surprise him. The Chiss's right eyebrow rose. Slightly. Damn, he even controlled his facial expressions better than my Hands!
"From this moment, I am even intrigued," the Chiss said.
"Mitth'raw'nuruodo." I tried to pronounce his name without mistakes. It seemed I succeeded. "I am aware that several years ago you destroyed the fleet of a man named Kinman Doriana, who acted on Darth Sidious's orders. I also know that you tried to dissuade the Jedi from continuing their expedition to prevent them from falling into the hands of the Far Outsiders…"
At the last words, the Chiss raised his eyebrow even higher.
"And finally, I know that Darth Sidious promised to help you fight this enemy, which your people have already encountered," I concluded. "As you can see, the Empire has a great deal of information about you personally, and about the Chiss Dominion in particular."
"What is the purpose behind gathering such intriguing data?" Thrawn asked in an even voice.
"The Eternal Empire was created by me as the only bastion in the galaxy, whose goal is peace and order. And, as you can understand, I am not at all pleased by the proximity of such threats as the Vagaari, the Ssi-ruvi, the Ebryche — and these are only the ones that are known. I am not even mentioning the Yuuzhan Vong, who are known to you as the Far Outsiders. Yes, Darth Sidious promised you help in solving this issue — but years pass, while you wait for your hour on a backwater planet, instead of standing on the bridge of a fleet flagship, cleansing the galaxy of threats and conducting reconnaissance into new territories, thereby delivering preemptive strikes against enemies not only of the galaxy but also of your homeworld. You will surely agree that even a part of the threats I have listed is enough for you to want to return to your people?"
"I do want to," Thrawn replied simply.
"However, you cannot do this openly," I continued. "After all, you were exiled — for using the tactic of a preemptive strike. Which your people do not welcome."
"I am amazed at how much you know," the Chiss sighed. "Especially — considering the seclusion of our race."
"Information is just as much a weapon as a proton torpedo or a blaster," I explained. "You surely know this."
The Chiss was silent. He seemed to be thinking about something of his own. And, I confess, I did not want to interrupt him.
In my own world, when reading a book about Thrawn, I felt a purely childish, puppy-like delight in this character. His intelligence, his tactics, his ability to be several steps ahead of all his enemies... All of this inspired admiration for a book character.
And now, this very being in the flesh stood before me. And, I confess, my feelings were contradictory. From admiration to the realization of the need to kill him if he refused.
"You are surely interested in whether the Eternal Empire is a threat to the Ascendancy," I voiced the question that hung in the air.
The alien did not even flinch.
"I have thought about it," he admitted.
"And what conclusion did you come to?"
"My people will never accept the concept of a preemptive strike," he sighed. "I am the only one prepared to consider such a tactic as not exceeding the bounds of acceptable rules of engagement."
"Don't you want to convince your people of the need to adopt such a strategy?"
"I am not even going to," Mitth'raw'nuruodo said calmly. "I do not need their permission to fight on their behalf."
"Even if you have to fight alone?" I inquired.
Mitth'raw'nuruodo raised his eyes to me, and I was ready to swear that I saw a contemptuous expression on the alien's face. God, how good he was in his polished and genuine magnificence. Such officers are oh so needed by the Empire.
Such officers are needed by any empire, and in any number.
How much time will pass before the other officers of the Ghent reach at least a close level?
"If necessary," Thrawn noted coldly, "then I will fight alone."
"A very brave aspiration," I remarked. "And at the same time foolish. And also potentially wasteful."
"Are you ready to offer an alternative?" the non-human inquired.
A slight smile appeared on my face. Rising from the Eternal Throne, I proceeded down the steps, stopping a couple of meters in front of the Chiss.
"You are still studying us, aren't you?" I inquired. "Even now, being my prisoner with a ghostly hope of salvation, you are still studying us."
"Naturally," the alien said indifferently. "You yourself made it clear: you are a potential threat. Your ships are more advanced than those at the disposal of the Ascendancy. Your army surpasses ours in numbers and saturation of military equipment. If you so desire, my homeworld will be drawn into a bloody war with the Jedi. Which I categorically do not want."
"You are mistaken, Thrawn," the alien ignored the fact that I had switched to his middle name without permission. "The Eternal Empire of Zakuul is not an enemy of the Ascendancy. Rather — a potential ally."
"Indeed?" the Chiss doused me with cold indifference. "I was warned about Jedi treachery. Just trust you — and you will stab in the back."
"That is your second mistake," I shook my head. "Me and my people are not Jedi. And the fact that we use the Force and lightsabers is not an indicator. Like information, it is only a means to achieve a goal — peace and tranquility in the galaxy. My guards," I pointed to the faceless warriors, "are just another type of soldier, ready to sacrifice their lives for the well-being of the entire galaxy. And believe me, they will shed blood equally for me, for you, for my people, for yours. The threats lurking in the Unknown Regions and Wild Space are too dangerous to allow postponing the question of their destruction until better times."
"Why?"
"The Far Outsiders have been here for more than four thousand years. Their scouts are already in the worlds of the galaxy and are only waiting for a convenient chance to strike. And their fleet — how many years will pass before it arrives in our galaxy? Ten? Twenty? Forty? Would it not be better to spend the remaining time preparing the galaxy for an inevitable bloody battle, than to wait until Darth Sidious finally sates his petty revenge by destroying the Jedi — his long-time enemies — and begins to do what I am already doing? On the other hand, how better to neutralize a potential threat than from within?"
Thrawn did not betray the emotions raging inside him with even a hint of expression. But in the Force... Hutt, even so he was calm. Terrifyingly calm.
Psychologists say that there are no pure temperaments — sanguine, choleric, melancholic or phlegmatic. In each of us, these qualities are mixed in different proportions. But I can confidently say that the being standing before me is a phlegmatic from head to toe. He will not give in to momentary irritation, will not shed tears over his failures. And will not burst into ringing laughter at some joke. This creature is an organic machine, existing with one purpose — to neutralize threats to those he cares about.
"What do you propose, Emperor?" he inquired in an even tone.
"A position in the fleet of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul," putting my hands behind my back, I slowly began to walk away from him.
Not the slightest hint of surprise slipped through in the Force, even the emotional background did not change. Perhaps he was too shocked to show such reactions. Although, more likely, he had already foreseen this turn. Perhaps he even deliberately tried to steer the conversation in this direction. I will be very disappointed if that is not the case.
"The Empire has many enemies," I continued. "Already the galaxy is burning in fire — the Republic is fighting the Confederacy for the right to dictate terms to the sentient world. Some bureaucrats and corrupt officials fight others, weave intrigues and build conspiracies. And all only so that a new power establishes itself in the galaxy, under the cover of external stability, which will be as ugly and repulsive as it is now. Such is Darth Sidious's plan."
"But not yours," the Chiss noted.
"Unlike the Jedi and the Sith," I turned to face Thrawn to allow him to read my own expression, "my state is effective, not flashy. Unified laws, unified order. Army and fleet on guard of legality. Zakuul is a state where citizens will live and firmly know that they will not become objects of arbitrariness from corruption, pirates, slavers, or bloated officials. A military leader with qualities inherent in Mitth'raw'nuruodo would be a good asset for us."
"Your benefit is obvious," Mitth'raw'nuruodo noted. "What about mine?"
"To begin with, you have already gained access to all Imperial documents concerning alien races, here, in the Outer Territories and the galaxy as a whole," I said. "I will give you the opportunity to identify and neutralize any possible threats to the Chiss Ascendancy within the borders of the Empire. You will get a chance to use your skills to identify and neutralize any threats to your people within the Empire's borders."
"And that's it? What you call the Unknown Regions and Wild Space — a territory equal to a third of the galaxy. And in each of these corners, danger may await my people, who are not part of the Zakuul Empire," the Chiss noted.
"Come to think of it, any threat to the Ascendancy is also a threat to the Empire," I continued my thought. "It is foolish to stop halfway just because the border of our state will be a hundred sectors away from the current territories. The Empire will not stop its machine until it cleanses the galaxy of threats."
"What guarantees can there be then that one day you will not consider the Ascendancy a threat to Zakuul?"
"States fight for territories, resources. What do our powers have to divide? As far as I know, the Chiss greatly value isolation and do not seek to expand their living space through extremely aggressive methods. I think, if our diplomats had the chance to meet and negotiate, we would find good allies in each other. But, if it comes to that, I give you my PERSONAL word — the Empire will not take a single aggressive action against the Ascendancy. My word will be enough for you, I hope?"
Mitth'raw'nuruodo's eyes flashed, glancing at the guards behind him.
"And if your people do not accept me?"
"Xenophobia is not the way of the Zakuul Empire," I smirked. "I think, during the weeks you have spent as our guest, you have already encountered the settlement of Twi'leks and other non-humans who live here."
"What will happen if I want to leave the Empire's service?"
"In that case, I do not recommend trying to take anything from Zakuul's property with you," I replied coldly. "It is hazardous to health."
"Deadly hazardous, I understand?" for the first time, something like a smile appeared on the Chiss's face. Now his face looked more like the grin of a skull.
"So have we reached an agreement?"
What is the point of answering his rhetorical question? He is the smartest being of all I was to recruit. He understands everything himself.
"The risk is worth taking," Mitth'raw'nuruodo said. "I am ready to come under the command of a worthy staff officer of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul."
"I don't recall mentioning anything like that in my speech," I objected coldly. "It seems to me that placing you under someone else's command would only limit your strategic genius."
"You would unconditionally trust me with an armed unit?"
And again that slight raising of an eyebrow. Ah, my dear alien, don't you think it's all that simple?
"I am accustomed to trusting my officers, Mitth'raw'nuruodo. But you are right. You will not go to the Unknown Regions alone. I will give you a fleet and all necessary resources. Have you had time to get acquainted with Zakuul's starships?"
"Yes. Car'das was generous with information."
"In that case, Mitth'raw'nuruodo, your new flagship — the Star Destroyer Admonitor awaits you."
"One ship?" Thrawn allowed himself a smile.
"Death's Head, Arbiter, Imperious, Relentless, Inflexible, Stormhawk, Bellicose, Nemesis, Chimaera — all these Ravager-2-class battleship-dreadnoughts are only the core of your new fleet. Ten Terminus-class battle cruisers and a hundred Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers await you in orbit," I explained. "The Empire is ready to provide you with ten corps of elite stormtrooper soldiers and any necessary equipment. Your companion for the upcoming campaign is already waiting on the flagship. I think you will work well together."
"As you command, ... Emperor," Thrawn gave a slight bow. No servility or sycophancy. A dignified movement with which good soldiers greet the initiative of their commander. "May I, on your behalf, recruit ... other beings into the Empire's service?"
"I am inclined to think that this would be the most logical initiative. Especially since even among the officers of the Ascendancy, there are those who share your views."
"Yes, that is so," Thrawn noted coldly.
"I advise starting with them," I looked into the Chiss's eyes, scanning him with the Force. Satisfied with what I could sense, I continued: "You will need an operational base in the Unknown Regions. Do you have a suitable planet in mind?"
A holographic map of the galaxy appeared in the air above our heads. The Chiss, lifting his face slightly upward, instantly oriented himself and pointed to a star cluster known to me.
"As I see, Zakuul knows about the Niruan system," he noted.
"Certainly," I smirked. "Supply ships are already in place."
"In that case, I should be going," the Chiss said, looking me in the eyes.
"Quite right, Mitth'raw'nuruodo."
Sensing that the audience was over, he turned sharply on his heels and took a few steps toward the exit.
"One more thing, Thrawn," I said, without looking away from the galaxy map. The Chiss froze, turning his face toward me. "Get your uniform into proper shape. White suits you better."
"As you wish, Emperor," the officer bowed once more lightly.
"Go, Grand Admiral," I said. "Bring peace and tranquility to our Empire."
* * *
"Enough polishing, sir," Lieutenant Blade grumbled jokingly, checking the level in the canister of hemostatic fluid. "A bit more buffing and the cans will spot you from orbit without equipment."
The hand of clone-Captain Zachary froze mid-swing, with a razor clamped between the pads of his thumb and index finger. Turning his head, he measured the scout with a gloomy look.
Blade, pretending to be interested in the volcanic dust settled on his boots, hastened to avoid the commander's gaze.
Zachary returned to the interrupted procedure. Feeling his head, bare as a kneecap, with his hand, he was satisfied with the result. Now the only thing left was to deal with the grown stubble on his face...
The 611th Landing Corps was having a field day on the expanses of the former 15th Sector Army. For example, Aurek Company, which had been deployed on Marix Minor less than a week ago, was busy punishing the Separatists for their reckless placement of resource extraction facilities near the front line.
A small — only about five thousand square meters in area — CIS enterprise, located on a volcanic planet where landscapes of dreary rocks were replaced by an annoying cacophony of volcanic eruptions and the sharp whistle of thermal geysers, was procuring raw materials for the Separatists, drawing them directly from the planet's depths. And every day, hundreds of thousands of tons of molten metal were purified and, in the holds of huge cargo ships, delivered to droid factories. To gain life in the form of the Separatists' deadly war machines.
For once, intelligence didn't screw up, accurately determining the military contingent on the planet — a battalion of B-1s, and a hundred sentient personnel. For the battle-hardened corps fighters, a matter of a couple of hours. Which, basically, is what happened. The only surprising thing was why they were even assigned a couple of Jedi. Zachary could have handled it with his own forces. No, for some reason they had to put on this circus with acrobatics and waving lightsabers.
Good thing the Jedi survived. Last time, when they were commanded by a Jedi, he didn't last an hour. Why, one might ask, rush to the front lines when the only armor you have is faith in the Great Force? Missiles don't care what god you worship, and shrapnel is merciless to everyone.
What it was, Zachary didn't know, nor was he particularly interested. Well, certain beings believe that some higher Force exists around them, and hutt with them. As long as it doesn't do harm.
He ran his free palm over his mirror-polished skull, checking if any hair remained. He hissed slightly, feeling that he had once again grazed the scar on the right side of his head with the razor. Hutt's medics, couldn't they have made it neater? Yes, of course, it's good when command shows care for its fighters — feeds them well, lets them recover after battles, monitors their health. But what about these mass brain scans? The medics said it was prophylaxis against biological weapons, which the Separatists had lately used repeatedly on Republic planets. Yes, such a theory had a right to exist — especially after the news via "soldier radio" that during the second attack on Kamino, the Separatists tried to obtain genetic samples of their creator — Jango Fett.
Zachary ran the razor over his chin, removing excess growth. When it grew back, the stubble itched under his helmet, and it annoyed him. Shaving was not only a mandatory daily procedure for him but also entertained him in his free time. And it was even a kind of calming ritual. Especially now, when his head was buzzing with fatigue.
The unbearable heat on the planet made many clones itch in the most immodest places. That's why hygiene, already exemplary in his company, came to the forefront during their stay on this Hutt-forsaken planet.
Finding a missed patch of short prickly hairs on his chin, he continued shaving them off with precise light movements. Fortunately, the Confederates had prudently equipped the complex on Marix Minor with compartments for living personnel. Now, in this slight coolness, the clones off duty were huddled.
A couple of squads continuously patrolled the perimeter and monitored the surrounding space — after their corvette had been damaged in an orbital skirmish, the Republic, having convoyed the captured Trade Federation Lucrehulk-class transports with holds full of metal supplies, had not yet sent orbital cover. And the second Marauder, which was on duty in orbit, while an impressive ship, was too weak a defense against an inevitable counterattack.
General B'ink Utrila said that the system army command planned to station a full corps of volunteers and an orbital station with a small escort fleet here. Considering that the Ghent had suffered significant losses in regular skirmishes, a large amount of resources was required to repair damaged starships. So, this world definitely had to remain under the control of the system army. And that meant it would have to be fought for.
"If the technicians don't fix the communication system" during the battle, one of the clones had accidentally thrown a thermal detonator into the command center, and as a result, most of the equipment was reduced to a state close to scrap metal — "you'll be using my head as a reflector for directed signals. Lieutenant Griff will be puzzled."
Blade laughed.
The young commander of the Marauder was liked by all the clones of his company without exception. Open, polite, competent, he was not shy about communicating with them without any prejudice — a trait that, it must be said, prevailed among the officers of the Tenth Systems Army. Zachary recalled that the Grand Moff had peremptorily removed several officers from the bridges of starships when it became known that they spoke extremely arrogantly and negatively about their clone subordinates.
Despite the fact that the Grand Moff was a Jedi, he was loved in the army. He was one of the first temple guards to prove that for him, clones were not cannon fodder. The same General Krell, with whom Zachary had fought on the expanses of the 15th Sectoral, did not hesitate to send clones into the most insane attacks, even when there was an opportunity not to storm the droid fortifications but to bypass them. The captain would never have admitted this to anyone else, but upon learning that the Jedi had survived a close burst of a Separatist missile, he felt indifference.
Clones do not discuss orders. Even after on Svivren, General Krell before the retreat ordered the bodies of all the dead to be laid out on the square and ordered AT-TEs to drive over the corpses, turning them into bloody pulp. "So the Separatists won't know the number of our losses," he explained his reasoning. After which he commanded the tank drivers: "Box formation! Bury the boys!"
However, after coming under the command of General Dougan, and passing all those tests and examinations at the medical center on Christophsis, the clone, replaying this situation in his head, came to a conclusion that initially shocked him. He regretted that General Krell had survived. This Jedi was a butcher. And he had no place in a command position. It was good that he was somewhere else now. Otherwise, who knows — would the assault on the complex have cost only a dozen wounded soldiers? Or would Aurek Company have found its grave on Marix Minor?
For the first time in many days, there was a short respite. They had completed their mission: captured the complex. And now, despite the planet's immense heat, the clones could rest a little. Even if not in the most comfortable conditions.
"How are your guys?" Zachary inquired, putting his helmet on his head. He had to make a round, but without a sealed armor system, it was sheer torture. In armor, the temperature at least rose not so quickly.
During the last patrol, Blade's squad had fallen into the epicenter of a geyser eruption. There were no fatalities, but most of the clones suffered from thermal effects. And they were now recovering in the medical center. A pity only that the Separatists hadn't stocked a large supply of bacta at their facility, so getting the soldiers back on their feet in a short time wasn't possible. Now, wrapped in bacta bandages, they looked more like ancient mummies than living people.
The plastoid armor supplied to them by the Kaminoans, while not properly stopping blaster shots, was still a better solution than fighting without armor at all. And even though this armor wasn't comfortable, there were rumors that new armor was being developed for clones.
Although, hutt damn it, they could have supplied them with armor like that sported by some commandos and fighters of the 204th Legion. Now that was proper protection. Heavy armor capable of withstanding several shots from small arms, equipped even better than the Katarn-class armor of the commandos. But unfortunately, it arrived in not very large batches and was primarily intended for veterans of the 13th Sector Army. Zachary smirked, thinking that those guys were just different altogether. They even had their own flags and emblems. Not just daubings with which many units decorated their gunships or fighters. But made by professional specialists and approved by command.
No one really knew under what circumstances units earned the right to their own insignia. But it could be said unequivocally that all these guys had been through hell, literally earning the right to distinctive marks with blood.
Zachary felt the audio pulses from the sensors embedded in his helmet. He tore off his helmet to adjust the volume. Having endured several months of continuous use, the armor's electronics needed tuning. If you didn't perform timely maintenance, that was it — you might as well be walking around in an expensive, useless shell. At the same second, a crash sounded behind them. And a moment later, he felt the shockwave.
The earth was shaken by a powerful explosion, then a second.
Blade instantly rose from the bed, putting his helmet back on while moving and checking the charge of the cartridge in his carbine.
Through the metallic roar of falling shards of debris, a cry broke through:
"Alert!"
Thanks, we noticed, Zachary thought grimly. No, it was clear the Separatists had returned — they simply couldn't leave them alone. But how the hell did the duty shift miss the arrival near the planet of something capable of artillery fire?
"I'm going to the CP," he explained to the lieutenant once in the corridor. "Get to the front line and find out what's what. I'll try to contact Lieutenant Griff."
Blade silently saluted and ran off in the opposite direction.
Hutt, this day was so good!
* * *
Without looking back anymore either at the pile of mangled bodies or at the single wounded soldier whose right side had been largely torn away by a shrapnel charge, Micky grabbed the rifle of one of the fallen brothers and peered out from cover. Both Jedi generals — Tholme and S'a'a — were already outside the position and now maneuvering in full view of the enemy, trying to divert the attention of the advancing enemy from the bustling clones. Stupid, of course. But this pair had already shown they could survive any situation. Just remember how they single-handedly cleared an enemy artillery battery that was hindering the landing.
The clone, using quick dashes, reached the smoking wreck of an AT-TE, and crouching behind it, caught his breath. No big deal. So what if there were two shrapnel fragments in his side and a couple of broken ribs. They had dealt with worse.
Sticking his head out from behind the walking support of the tank, he saw droids, rank after rank advancing on them like a wall, moving with some kind of eerie, supernatural synchronism. It wasn't like a well-drilled human army. Their precision was cold, mindless, relentless — it seemed the tin soldiers, sweeping everything in their path, would march right over you too. Yes, there were many of them — indecently many. But still — they were B-1s.
"The cans don't respect us," Ogre plopped down beside him. Micky remembered with a smirk how on Geonosis they had also found themselves at the tip of a Separatist attack. Just the two of them, with no chance of rescue. Good thing now there was a whole legion behind them. His native 306th, consisting entirely of veterans. "We've only counted half a division."
"Only half," Micky grunted. "A couple of tin cans are enough to keep us from seeing the sunset."
"You offend me, commander," Ogre took off his helmet. "Soon the AV-7s will deploy — and bolts will be flying everywhere from them."
"Just don't hit the generals," the marshal advised. "We'll have no end of trouble later..."
"You offend me," the commander repeated. "General Tholme himself ordered careful aiming."
"Come on, everyone wants to live," the corps commander snorted.
Micky aimed his blaster and took aim. A shot — and the B-1, which had somehow appeared in the opening of the base's destroyed gate, crashed face-first into the damp ground.
After the bloody slaughter in orbit, the landing units of the 77th Reconnaissance Corps were hastily deploying to the planet. Every patch of ground on this vegetation-covered world had to be paid for with sleepless nights, double vigilance, or their own blood. The tropics covering the planet hindered the deployment of heavy equipment, affecting both the Republic forces and their opponents equally. The droids couldn't get close to the clone base built deep in the impenetrable thicket, but the soldiers of the Grand Army of the Republic also lacked the opportunity to break out into operational space with all their forces.
A positional stalemate. That was what the senior Jedi General Dark Woman had dubbed the current situation. It was she, together with General Mo, who took a mechanized group and set off on a raid behind enemy lines — a legion loaded onto Juggernauts was a force the tin cans would have to reckon with. Especially when orbit belonged to the Republic.
With the tin-can fleet having fled, over seven hundred thousand droids of all types were pinned down on the planet. Fortunately, Vice Admiral Pellaeon did everything he could to support the ground forces, conducting regular bombing raids on identified enemy positions. This had cost the Separatists more than half of all their available forces. Now, taking a cue from the clones, they had pulled their forces into two large camps deep in the jungle, using the enormous tree canopies for cover. Yes, there was also a third CIS camp, the main one.
Following their favorite tactic, the Separatists had captured the planet's capital, bristling with proton cannons and the remnants of their air force. By holding the locals hostage, the CIS mercenaries had practically secured a living shield. Their artillery prevented them from targeting Republic supply ships, while the pesky Vultures or Hyenas were zealously chased off by Headhunters or Torrents. There were enough food and medical supplies in the capital for several months. However, Dark Woman wasn't planning to stick around here.
Micky had caught himself more than once unable to address the Jedi without an inward smirk. "General Dark Woman, ma'am, permission to report!" "General Dark Woman, permission to speak!?" Who the hell told her that kind of pseudonym wouldn't cause awkward situations?
Nevertheless, one way or another, Dark Woman had performed excellently in military operations. Speeder bikes and Juggernauts conducted non-stop raids, striking at the supply lines between the enemy's main and forward bases. Each such sortie was accompanied by noisy firefights and a large number of destroyed droids. Of course, the clones took losses too.
After every raid, graves had to be dug for fallen brothers — a process that, over more than a year of war, had become ingrained and routine. Something else was new.
Grand Moff Dougan's directive required every unit commander to keep a record of where their comrades had fallen. Later, when the territory came under Republic control, burial teams would be sent there to erect monuments at the sites of clone deaths, to immortalize their military feats. Frankly, Micky himself didn't see the necessity. What difference did it make to future generations what test-tube soldiers had done? But the army's high command apparently had their own thoughts on the matter. And judging by the fact that many clones considered this practice right, it meant the command's actions could be deemed correct as well. At the very least, it ensured authority among the fighters of the Tenth Systems Army and a bit of envy from brothers in other units of the Grand Army of the Republic.
Micky, ejecting an empty power pack, noted that both Jedi generals, having stopped holding the advancing droids at a distance from the destroyed gate, were slowly retreating under the cover of blaster fire from clones who had climbed onto the fortifications.
From the height of a fighter's flight, the base appeared as a regular hexagon, protected along the perimeter by high permacrete walls topped with gun towers and embrasures for repelling attacks. In the center stood the control tower, which handled most of the base's sections. Here were the communications center, the operations center, and indeed most of the main control systems. The backup command center, on Dark Woman's orders, was located deep inside one of the Juggernauts modified with additional armored plating. If you drew imaginary lines from the base's corners to the control tower, you'd get six zones. The first was the landing pad for transport starships, which with enviable regularity delivered new equipment to replace what was destroyed, along with food, medicine, and ammunition.
The second zone consisted of revetments housing several squadrons of cover fighters, which were based on the surface and prevented the remnants of the enemy's air force from bombing the Republic base.
The third and fourth sections were occupied by warehouses and repair shops, where work continued day and night.
Finally, the last two zones were given over to barracks and various support structures, so necessary for sustaining such a huge garrison.
Micky noted that heavy repeating blasters had opened fire from the top of the fortified walls. Excellent. So the crews were in place, and the droid attack would soon peter out. They just needed to hold the base gate and prevent the enemy from breaking through. However, spotting the clanking walkers advancing toward the destroyed gate, Micky concluded the enemy wasn't destined to break through.
"Now the fun begins," Ogre grinned, readying himself to dash to the next cover.
* * *
The marshal fired a series of shots at the droid vanguard. At best, it would only slow their advance. That had been proven. The game here was one of numerical superiority, and the droids had it overwhelmingly.
The clone soldiers, who had been catching a brief nap or eating dry rations, were caught off guard and were now rushing to take up defensive positions.
Commander Naluan appeared beside him. General Fort followed closely behind.
"Where the hell did they come from?" the girl said, not mincing words. Her teacher winced upon hearing her.
Apparently, the senior Jedi wasn't too pleased with his young colleague.
"I told you, they hit us too suddenly," he said, bending his lightsaber into an arc to deflect a hail of blaster bolts. His words were drowned out by the roar of automatic fire. "Victory, Deran..."
"Victory, General?" Mifispi was surprised. "It looks to me like they're about to tear us to pieces."
"Patience, Marshal Commander," the Jedi said conciliatorily. "We're holding for now. And you, my young apprentice, shouldn't give in to panic. There aren't that many droids."
The clone, peeking around the corner of a building, cast a disapproving look at the advancing ranks of droids, behind which Octuptarra combat tri-droids were moving, shifting their massive legs. Not that many?
"Tell me you're joking, General," the clone said. "There are thousands of them! If we had at least a squadron of bombers..."
"It wasn't I who ordered the fleet to retreat," General Saydem Fort said firmly, gripping his lightsaber with both hands.
"The generals Shryne and Marek shouldn't have been allowed to chase after the droids," the clone said through clenched teeth. "Admiral Tigellinus is trapped now and won't hold out long."
"We're all good at this, and let it be a lesson to us. The second wave is coming. Weapons ready!"
Mifispi shook his head disapprovingly, meeting the Jedi apprentice's gaze. She, with pursed lips, stared sharply at her mentor, who was leading the attack on Exxarg. A failed attack.
At the cost of enormous losses, the fleet had managed to punch a corridor for landing troops on the surface. In the chaos of the landing, the gunship carrying Generals Salmara and Fort was shot down, and command passed to General Marek. It was on his orders that the remnants of the fleet gave chase to the Trade Federation battleships fleeing at full thrust. And as soon as they pulled away from orbit, new Separatist forces jumped to the planet from seemingly nowhere. As a result, the battered squadron of Admiral Tigellinus and its attached Arrow units were surrounded. At least the clones and the Christophsian volunteers had managed to land on the planet with their gear. An Acclamator transport lifting off from the planet was shot down by the enemy and was now burning out somewhere to the west. General Salmara, having made it to the corps' position with the survivors of her transport's crash, set out there at the head of several regiments to save the survivors. But she fell into an ambush set by the Separatist command. Two hours of battle, and the 305th lost two regiments. The Jedi's fate was still unknown.
Generals Marek and Shryne had chased after the retreating droids, believing they had taken their comrade prisoner. And, as luck would have it — they were surrounded near one of the processing plants.
Just think — less than a week had passed. And an entire legion's worth of dead and severely wounded could already be counted. How many more would there be during the cleanup of the planet from enemy forces?
Having barely secured a foothold in the capital, the 305th Corps began expanding its sphere of influence, ran into large enemy forces on the approaches to the capital, and was forced to fall back. Fortunately, the engineers had managed to erect some semblance of a decent defensive line, and now the tin cans were forced to slow the pace of their counterattack. Otherwise, the streets would already be strewn with the bodies of clones and volunteers.
The droids intended to win by numbers — they just kept coming. They were slow and could only fight well on level ground and open spaces, which undoubtedly gave an advantage to the clones dug in among the dense urban architecture of the metropolis. But there were too many tin cans.
Mifispi signaled the forward units to fall back to the hastily built second line of defense and disappear into the deserted streets and alleys of Exxarg City. Then he transmitted the target coordinates via the transmitter built into his helmet. This level of communications tech meant Mifispi didn't need to use hand signals, but he did so purely out of instinct. And if the instrument panel ever went down, everyone would have to remember the old galactic ways of military art.
From somewhere in the central part of the city, gunships swooped in at treetop level, mercilessly hosing the advancing enemy with fire. Missiles and turrets literally mixed the mechanical army with the ground, but even this swift strike wasn't enough to even slow the enemy down. Hutt!
Clank-clank-clank. The battle droids marched like a single, synchronized mechanism. The Marshal hated that incessant noise.
The enemy, quickly recovering from the confusion of the sudden attack, took countermeasures. Missiles whistled through the air. One of the LAAT/is, failing to exit the kill zone, crashed ten meters from the clone's and Jedi's position.
Mifispi dashed across the street, firing indiscriminately toward the enemy. The calculation was stubborn. Distance to friendlies: ten meters. From the downed gunship to the enemy: two hundred. The droids were advancing at one meter per second. Three minutes to take measures to rescue possible survivors.
Peering into the smashed canopy of the gunship, the marshal saw that one of the pilots was still alive. Good news. The bad news was that after the crash, the gunship had landed on its side, blocking access to the interior through the troop compartment.
"Move aside," he heard an order. Turning, he was surprised to see that the Togruta Padawan had been following him. And now, activating her weapon, she was eyeing the nose section of the damaged machine.
"As you say, Commander," he said. He liked working with this young Jedi. Unlike the prim knights and masters, the girl didn't shy away from sharing all the hardships of army life with the clones, was one of the first to volunteer for raids, and ended up on the front lines. It was no wonder she was valued and respected in the corps. "I'll cover you."
Crouching by the nose of the gunship, the clone raised his rifle and began firing rare but well-aimed shots at the droids. Yes, trying to stop an army alone was stupid. But the more he could destroy now, the easier it would be later.
"Marshal!" the comlink chirped in his helmet.
"Listening, Climber," Mifispi ducked back behind his cover as soon as the B-1s started hosing his position with fire.
"Remind me, friend — we weren't told to keep the city intact, were we?" the commander of the Ion Group clarified.
"Are you kidding me?" the marshal growled, noticing the Togruta deftly slicing off the cockpit canopy and, using her Jedi tricks, extracting both pilots from the cabin. The clone mentally thanked providence for making him give up using the side turrets. Otherwise, he'd be lying in a pool of his comrade's blood right now, crushed when the gunship fell. "Only two orders — preserve the planet's industry and protect the locals."
"Oh, well that makes it even simpler," the commando chuckled. "You might want to get away from that gunship. Might get hit..."
"I don't like your tone," the clone rasped. Seeing that the Togruta was satisfied there were no life signs from the first pilot, he ran over to her.
"This one's alive, but unconscious," she said, pointing to the navigator, whose helmet she had already removed. Mifispi shook his head, seeing that his brother's face was embedded with many small fragments. May the Hutts take these tin cans for switching to shrapnel warheads on their missiles.
"We need to leave, Commander." Hoisting his comrade onto his shoulder, he marked the nearest path to cover on the opposite side of the street.
"I'll cover you," the Togruta volunteered readily, ignoring her teacher's unambiguous gestures calling them back. Right, straight through a solid curtain of enemy blaster bolts.
"Thank you, Commander," the clone said. Noticing the girl purse her lips, deliberately ignoring the flashing light on her comlink, the clone put his hand on her shoulder. "Are you going to have problems?"
"You have no idea," she nodded. "The Teacher absolutely can't stand it when I act against his plans."
"Despite the fact that otherwise we might not survive?" the clone asked in surprise, pointing out that the fire intensity from the gunship's nose section was much lower than from the opposite side, where droids were trying to flush out an entire platoon with heavy weapons.
"Sometimes I'm surprised at his stubbornness myself," the Togruta sighed. "Ready to go?"
Mifispi, putting all his strength into his run, dashed across the street cluttered with trash and debris, inwardly flinching at every near miss. Just make it, just make it in time...
Finally, as soon as he and the Jedi apprentice were around the corner of a massive skyscraper, the clone allowed himself to exhale. Heads of other clones lying in ambush appeared from the broken windows. They, along with another squad on the opposite side of the street, were supposed to strike the enemy's flank as soon as they advanced through the second line of defense.
"If I were you, I'd take cover," the comlink crackled to life again.
Damn commandos! Why did they act on their own, not even obeying the Jedi?!
"Troopers, everyone take cover!" the marshal ordered. The clones exchanged glances and, taking the wounded man, hurried deeper into the building.
"And you, Marshal?" the Togruta asked, seeing that the clone intended to take up position under the protection of the building's facade.
"I'll stay here," Mifispi shrugged. "I want to see what those..."
The next minute, it seemed to the clone as if the very air began to roar.
The monstrous rumble coming from the direction of the advancing enemy column was so loud that even the suit's electronics offered no protection. The Padawan, grimacing, fell to her knees, clamping her hands over her ears.
Only a second later did the clone realize the noise was a series of continuous explosions, which, though with less intensity, were still sounding even now.
Leaping over the edge of the window frame, he climbed out of the building and peered around the corner.
That part of the main street where the droids had been marching ceased to exist. The tall skyscrapers of the capital, which had long since lost their inhabitants, were collapsing into chunks, settling in an avalanche of rubble onto the roadway, turning the droid army into a field of scrap metal buried under the debris of destroyed buildings.
"Hutt-spawn!" the marshal swore. Apparently, this was what Climber had been warning him about.
"Have you completely lost your minds?" he called the commando commander. "You destroyed half the street!"
"Us?" the clone said in surprise. "Not at all. The droids decided to check out our hidden stash of supplies."
"And destroyed part of the city? What did you have in that stash?"
"Nothing supernatural," the commando replied indifferently. "A couple of captured proton charges, and a lot of explosives."
"Who are you feeding this Tibanna to?" the commander snarled. "Did you set up the whole army's ammo dump in there?"
"No, of course not," Climber said smugly. "We just didn't realize right away that our cozy little hideout was actually the local gas distribution hub."
Mifispi closed his eyes in resignation.
The locals used some kind of particularly dangerous gas for domestic needs, which was mined in mines — one for each district of the city. For this reason, the clones tried to limit the use of heavy artillery in districts where the gas supply couldn't be shut off. The gas sources on which the city was built were literally time bombs. The architects, to prevent a collapse, had set up dozens of closed systems, limiting the effect of one gas source to the boundaries of one district. So that, in case of danger, the whole city wouldn't blow up. Judging by the fact that a good tenth of the city had turned into a mangled layer of earth, burying several thousand droids — the core of the enemy army — the commandos had clearly broken the seal on a source and detonated it, thereby turning that entire part of the city into a deadly trap for the droids.
Only now did the marshal notice that the building he was hiding in was one of the first in the new district. That's why it had survived.
"You're sick bastards," he hissed into the comlink.
"These bastards just saved you and your men," Climber said in an icy tone. "Show a little respect, Marshal. After all, now that most of the droid army is under this rubble, we can finally finish off the rest. You hear how quiet it is in the city?"
And indeed it was. The planet's capital, as soon as the last rumbles of the explosions had died down, seemed to have died. Animals had long since left this area — as soon as the firefights started. Now only clones remained — the locals had long settled in the northern part of the city, bordering impassable swamps, which saved them from the tin cans' attacks.
"Yeah," Mifispi took off his helmet and wiped his brow. "All that's left after us is silence."
"A fine motto for your corps, Marshal," the commando chuckled in the comlink. "Alright, you rest here for now, and we'll go after the Jedi. Someone has to save them."
* * *
"It's good that the situation with the Republic invasion was resolved," Padmé said, taking a sip of her drink. "It's frightening to think what would have happened if you and General Kenobi hadn't recognized the forgery in the recording."
The Duchess, in whose diplomatic mission quarters the senators were now sitting, merely smiled politely. Through the veneer of courteous pleasantries, Padmé regretfully noted the weariness on the Mandalorian ruler's face.
"And at the same time," Senator Bana Breemu took the floor, "the question of who needed to falsify the recording remains unclear."
Amidala nodded in agreement. The question was more than pressing. Certain forces, wanting to force the Republic to invade Mandalorian space, had not hesitated to falsify a holo-recording, which was then passed to the Chancellor. One could only hope for Palpatine's promise to identify who this traitor was.
"Death Watch, no one else needs it," Duchess Satine said with conviction. "They failed to kill me and General Kenobi on Concordia, and they couldn't get me on Coruscant either. So their only way to seize power is to try to provoke an intervention, during which Death Watch could appear as liberators, not terrorists."
"A risky move," Breemu admitted. "Your terrorists are surely working with the Separatists."
"I hold the same view," Satine sighed. "I still wonder why the Order hasn't reined in its former member and allows him to commit such outrages."
"I sometimes wonder the same thing," Bana admitted. "After the occupation of my sector and the Republic's unwillingness to continue attempts to liberate it, I've increasingly thought that the Republic is no longer what it used to be."
"What are you saying," Padmé said with a hint of irritation. "Right now we are stronger than ever..."
"We?" the senator from the Himbarin sector said in surprise. "Or Chancellor Palpatine?"
"The Chancellor is the face of the Republic," the former Queen of Naboo stubbornly continued. "Even if I disagree with some of his decisions..."
"It's funny to hear that from you, Padmé," Bana shook her head. "After all, it's to you and Representative Bings that Palpatine owes what is happening in the Senate now."
"Excuse me?" the Nabooan nearly choked on her drink. Dabbing her lips with a napkin, she set her cup down on the table and looked at the senator suspiciously. "What do you mean?"
"Do you know what it's like to give your whole life to serving the Senate, and then, after the Republic stops trying to liberate your homeland from occupation, you start rethinking what's happening?" Breemu said distantly. "I'm not complaining that, on the Chancellor's recommendation, the Senate stripped me of my powers, effectively throwing me off the political stage. Don't think it's resentment. It's just that the blinders have finally fallen from my eyes."
"Interesting," the Duchess cut in, interrupting the Nabooan who had opened her mouth. "Please, continue."
"Let's look at what's happening from the outside?" Bana suggested. "Over eleven years ago, you, Padmé, in order to save your planet, initiated a vote of no confidence in Chancellor Valorum before the Senate. Don't get me wrong, I supported you in that — it should have been done long ago, we were too bogged down in bureaucracy. Palpatine wins, and what has changed over these years? Everything has only gotten worse. Representative Bings initiated the first wave of granting him emergency powers. And since then, Palpatine hasn't lived a month without acquiring new ones. He's getting more and more power — it won't be long before he becomes more powerful than any of his predecessors in the last thousand years. And what does the Republic gain from this?"
"Palpatine is trying to restore order," Padmé muttered. She didn't like the tone in which her former ally was criticizing what was happening.
"Good intentions alone aren't enough, my dear," Bana smiled sadly. "In fact, it was under Palpatine that the Separatists raised their heads — and he did nothing to stop the Republic from unraveling at the seams. He doesn't negotiate to stop the bloodshed, he vetoes senators' initiatives to strike at CIS strategic worlds — not their political centers, but their industrial base. The Separatists don't suffer from such scrupulousness — the two attacks on Kamino are proof of that. In fact, the Senate has now become an even more cumbersome machine, incapable of solving simple questions. Even I was stripped of my powers a year after my sector was conquered."
"Palpatine doesn't feel threatened by anyone," Satine said. "All his potential political opponents have either gone over to his side or lost any serious support."
"Or are already dead," Breemu added. "Don't you have any suspicions, Padmé, that Valorum's death wasn't an accident?"
"It was a ship explosion," the Nabooan recalled. "There's no criminal background to it."
The death of the former Chancellor, who, after long negotiations, had agreed to become the face of the opposition to Palpatine's growing influence in the Senate, had been a major blow to all opponents of the current Chancellor. However, the investigation had been unable to find any evidence of violent death. And where would it come from, if the vessel the Chancellor had been traveling on was atomized?
"Really?" Bana said in surprise. "The former Chancellor, who had lived a quiet life for over a decade, dies immediately after openly joining Palpatine's opponents?"
Padmé flinched as if struck. No, of course, such theories had been voiced among the senators, but there was no solid evidence. And speculation...
"Without solid evidence, none of the senators will dare to bring a vote of no confidence in Palpatine," she said after a pause.
"Funny," the former senator smiled wryly. "Last time, that didn't stop you..."
"Look," Padmé began to get heated. "Valorum..."
"Ladies," Satine said conciliatorily, raising her hands. "We should all calm down. Shouting won't achieve anything. And what will Senator Chuchi think of us?"
Trying to keep a mask of composure on her face, Amidala mentally cursed. How could she have forgotten about Riyo, whom she herself had invited to this meeting?!
The Pantoran, quietly sitting in the office, silently enjoyed her caf, not forgetting to help herself to the pastries. The former queen thought with mild envy that her blue-skinned friend could eat anything without worrying about keeping her figure. A fast metabolism was one of the natural traits of those from Pantora.
"Riyo," the Duchess gently distracted the girl from eating sweets. "I heard that the Jedi intervened in your planet's problem…"
"Not exactly," the young senator said, wiping her lips with a napkin and setting aside the delicacies. Amazing, Padmé thought. "Despite the fact that she had recently witnessed the rage of the rampaging ancient beast from Malastare, Riyo was behaving as if nothing had happened. Well, I'm not panicking much either. Anakin did manage to stop that beast. Though it didn't bring any significant warmth back to our broken marriage." The Naboo native tried to push thoughts of her still-husband out of her mind. No feat could fix the fact that he became more aggressive each time, infringing on her freedom and her right to personal space. "The Order chose to stay out of it. Grand Moff Dougan intervened. I, along with his apprentice, infiltrated a Trade Federation ship and found one of Chairman Papanoidea's daughters. After lengthy discussions with the participation of Master Dougan's apprentice, we managed to negotiate with the Trade Federation leadership to lift the blockade of our planet and establish a payment plan for the debt."
"Interesting," Bana said, thoughtfully stroking the armrest of her chair. "But you haven't solved the food crisis on the planet, have you?"
"Partly true," the Pantoran said, batting her eyes. "Master Dougan negotiated with the Ukio government to supply food to our planet at prices slightly above cost."
Padmé felt another pang of jealousy. There was only a small age difference between them, yet the senator looked almost younger than the former queen herself. It must be said, Master Dougan made a good choice in favor of his favorite. Although Chuchi tried to pretend she didn't understand the hints, Padmé was still confident in her assumptions. Really, would a Jedi, and a Grand Moff at that, go to such trouble for a single backwater planet? Very doubtful, unless his lover, who also happened to be that planet's senator, had asked him. For instance, despite everything that had happened, Padmé was willing to bet her hand that this Jedi would certainly not show any concern for Naboo. The relationship between them was not at that temperature.
"Unprecedented," Kryze remarked. "The Jedi, of course, strive to maintain peace in the galaxy, but to act in such a way… It doesn't resemble any of the Jedi I know."
"Oh, who are you telling," Padmé thought irritably. "As if no one understood the reason why Obi-Wan Kenobi tried so hard to save your life and expose the traitors." Outwardly showing nothing, she only thought to herself that the Jedi seemed to be following a certain trend. Forbidden to love openly? Find yourself a lover who certainly won't gossip to her friends about your affair. I wonder, does Senator Breemu also have her own personal Jedi?
"And yet, it is so," Chuchi said, spreading her hands. "After the death of the Assembly, the Chairman led the newly formed government of Pantora."
"I heard that you passed a number of new laws in record time," Padmé recalled.
"That's true," Riyo agreed. "The Chairman has consolidated his power and has now effectively become the most powerful person on the planet."
"Pulling a Palpatine move?" Bama squinted.
"No, not at all," the young senator waved her off. "The Chairman is truly reforming our society. He introduced luxury taxes, which helped us adjust taxation and achieve a budget surplus. I couldn't even imagine that more than a quarter of the planet's population were oligarchs! And not all of them were honest. By seizing their property and accounts, Pantora was able to pay off more than a tenth of its debt to the Trade Federation in less than a month."
"A funny situation," Bama chuckled. "So corruption flourished in your world too?"
"I am no less shocked than you, Senators," Riyo shook her head. "Our planet never had anything like this, and now this. I don't even know how to thank Master Dougan."
"And what does he have to do with it?" Kryze frowned.
"The Jedi Master eloquently convinced the senator and the chairman that there was indeed corruption on their planet," Padmé recalled. "It's just that the Pantorans didn't notice it."
"An interesting character, this Jedi," Breemu concluded. "If only there were more like him in the Order—perhaps the sectors wouldn't have to endure the horrors of this war for so long."
"Indeed," Riyo shook her head. "Since work began on a fleet base for the Tenth Sector Army in our system, even CIS ships have stopped appearing in neighboring regions. Not to mention that the supply line from Ukio is never interrupted."
"And why does Dougan need a base on your planet?" Kryze asked in surprise. "Isn't what's already there enough?"
"The front line was recently passing just a few light-years from our borders," Chuchi explained. "Now, the fleet of the Ghent Army has managed to push the Separatists back by nearly a quarter of the sector in our region. And placing a Republic base on the planet fully aligns with the Chairman's plans to ensure our people's security from a sudden Separatist invasion."
Padmé looked at her friend suspiciously. Really? She thought placing a military installation on the planet was a good thing? The Separatists had not respected Naboo's non-participation in the escalating conflict, even though there was not a single Republic soldier on the planet. What then would be the horrors that would befall Pantora once Count Dooku learned of the construction of an entire base?
"Bana," the leader of Mandalore turned to the former senator. "And what do you plan to do after losing your position?"
"Fight for the fate of my world," the woman replied unexpectedly briskly.
Padmé looked at her with a hint of disbelief.
"By what means?" the Naboo woman asked in surprise. "The Himbarin sector is completely under the Confederation's control…"
"There are many systems and sectors in the galaxy that have suffered from the actions of both sides," the former senator said vaguely. "So, since the Republic does not intend to participate in restoring peace and order in my sector, I will have to turn to other parties for help."
"The Confederation?" Riyo Chuchi's eyes widened. "But it was Count Dooku and General Grievous who were behind the orbital bombardment of your world…"
"Oh no, my dear," Bana smiled. "Both the Republic and the Confederation are two states that differ only on the surface. No, I have in mind an offer from a completely third-party force."
"And what force?" Padmé inquired. And judging by the animation on Satine's and Riyo's faces, they were interested in the same question.
The former senator, casting a sly glance around the group, sighed languidly and took a sip of her drink.
"I'm sorry, my friends"Padmé felt disappointment at this outcome—"but my benefactor asked me to keep this information secret. However, I can assure you—soon the Separatist army will be expelled from the Himbarin sector."
"That sounds great!" Riyo exclaimed, clapping her hands. "I hope that after this, the Senate will vote to reinstate you."
"I'm afraid I won't make that mistake again," Breemu shook her head. "After my ally returns to the people of Himbarin their lawful right to control their own industry and lives, nothing will force us to join the Republic. And," seeing the silent question in the Pantoran's eyes, the woman added, "certainly not the Confederation."
"Is there a power in the galaxy capable of giving you protection from the CIS's anger?"
Padmé preferred not to think about the fact that the Republic might also not forgive the secession of one of its important and most powerful economic and industrial centers.
Bana smiled reservedly. "Believe me, ladies, there is. And I'm not sure that even the combined strength of the Republic and the Confederation would be enough to defeat my new patron."
Anakin rushed toward the entrance of an abandoned office building. Rex followed close behind, aiming to slip through the city's rubble, tunnels, and crossings to infiltrate the enemy's position from the rear. A platoon of clones, jogging silently behind, kept pace without a step's delay.