The road ran parallel to the main street of the capital of Agamar. And, despite only a short time having passed since the landing, the native of Tatooine had already come to hate the planet with all his heart.
Once loyal to the Republic, this large, economically prosperous world had defected to the CIS. Favorably located at the intersection of two hyperspace routes, Agamar proved to be a very wealthy world. It was no wonder that Count Dooku had placed one of his mechanical soldiers' bases here.
Kenobi and Cody, with a group of soldiers, were conducting heavy reconnaissance by fire, drawing the enemy's attention away from Skywalker's and his apprentice's flanking maneuver. While Obi-Wan engaged the enemy in battle, two squads could flank them and throw the droid positions into confusion.
The ruins concealed them from the advancing droids. Rex couldn't see them, but he felt the ground shaking beneath his boots. Clouds of gray smoke rose into the air.
Anakin leaped over a destroyed fountain that was still spewing water from a broken conduit. In peacetime, this probably used to be a picturesque spot. The Jedi tried to recall his recent impressions of the city, which had captured his imagination during the first phase of the landing operation. But as soon as the ships under Kenobi's command drove back the enemy and the Republic forces landed on the surface, the illusion of outward polish vanished. Despite the proud name of the capital, this settlement, which paled in comparison to most cities he had visited, was just another dirty hole. Of course, the droids had contributed their share to the destruction of Agamar's settlements, but after the Separatist air raids, the Tatooinian could say that the carpet bombings had only improved the overall appearance. At least, they hadn't made it worse.
Anakin, crossing the space between two buildings, cast a quick glance at the advancing enemy. The ranks of B-1s kept their steady march, making the very earth seem to tremble in an epileptic fit. He had trembled like that when he strained every sinew to save Padmé, falling from the Senate building. And all he got was a few words of grudging gratitude that shattered his heart.
It seemed to have happened in a past life. The one that caused pain.
Thanks to the Chancellor's advice, he had found the strength to endure it all. At least Obi-Wan had finished his business with the Mandalorian duchess, and now they could focus on their primary task.
War.
It took about ten minutes to circle around the droid positions. They had to advance under the cover of high vertical walls to avoid detection from the air.
Skywalker lunged forward. When the clones burst into the building through the doors, he was already on the roof of one of the tallest buildings in the area, topped with an energy sphere. The squad crept up to the parapet surrounding the sphere. Anakin watched as the roof filled with soldiers. Clearly, Rex had brought more than one platoon. That was even better. The soldiers chose their positions and readied their weapons—everything available, from carbines to missile launchers.
"Aubrie," the Jedi touched his comlink's key. "Is everything according to plan?"
"Naturally, Master," Wyn said in an imperturbable tone. "Everything exactly as you ordered."
Anakin felt a moment of pride. What a talented, and most importantly, attentive apprentice. She didn't nag him with comments, didn't get underfoot… Decidedly, the Chancellor was right. As always.
According to his plan, the apprentice's squad was to take positions in the buildings opposite, which would help trap the droid vanguard from three sides and wipe them out with minimal losses. And how nice that for once everything went according to plan. With Ahsoka, that rarely happened.
Skywalker, standing on the windswept roof, estimated the length of his next jump. Ten floors below, with their staccato, three-legged march, three Octuptarra droids paraded, spewing streams of cannon fire—each was a sphere on thin, curved legs. A very dangerous, though seemingly flimsy, construction. Thanks to their height, such droids could fire from long range and smash not only the Republic's front lines. All that remained was to deal with them—without heavy cover, the B-1s were just metal toys.
"How do we proceed, sir?" Rex asked, as if he didn't know. The tactic the general used was exactly the same as the one he had pulled off at Christophsis.
There was only one sure way to take out such a droid. But their small spherical bodies were hard targets. For ground units, certainly. And the droids tried to shoot down gunships on approach—no wonder only a few remained.
Anakin opened himself to the Great Force. Letting the surging stream of energy flow through him, he felt capable of carrying out any plan. He only needed to want it, and he would win. And when the war ended, he would surely become its hero. A true hero without fear. Because once this carnage ended, fear would recede. The dragon that shook the walls of its prison inside Anakin would fall. Through victory, Anakin could overcome his shackles of fear. Perhaps then Padmé would return.
Feeling his apprentice's energy in the Force, Skywalker paused for a moment.
"Is it really necessary to return to what weakens you, my boy?" the Chancellor had asked him after he saved them all from the Malastare monster. An old, good friend who always saw to the root of the problem.
Indeed. Did he really need Padmé, whose idealism only slowed his drive to save the galaxy?
"Follow me."
"Yes, sir."
Rex secured a rope to the edge of the roof and signaled those behind. Skywalker had no need for such clever methods. He simply jumped.
Anakin landed on the sphere-back of his chosen droid, hard enough that both of them could balance on the flat upper panel of its spherical body without tipping over. Now the fun would begin.
The droid was in a helpless position. It spun futilely on its axis, thrashed and flailed, as Anakin drove his lightsaber deep into its upper panel. Judging by the acrid smoke that immediately rose from the hole, he had reached the vital components. Excellent.
Tilting the blade slightly in the hole, the Jedi began to increase the damage area. The enemy's hysterical trill in binary made the Knight stop his act of military vandalism and prepare to repel a new attack.
One of the fallen droid's companions swung its cannon and fired. Well, he had asked for it. They were about twenty meters apart—a trifle for such an excellent warrior as himself. Pushing off the spherical center of the toppling droid, Anakin deflected the second one's shots with his lightsaber while simultaneously rocketing upward. Only to land on a new enemy and begin its destruction.
Meanwhile, the clone soldiers led by Rex were already rushing to his aid. Opening fire, they took care of two nearest super battle droids that had somehow ended up in the middle of a sea of B-1s. The dust from the first Octuptarra's fall had barely settled when the soldiers managed to punch a sizable hole in the enemy formation.
Then they ran through the ruins to attack the rear rank of battle droids, which by then had realized they were facing a rearguard action. Trying to hit their targets, the hellish creatures scattered debris through the air and emitted deadly fluids within a radius of several meters around themselves.
Anakin knew he was taking risks. As always happened in such moments, his consciousness seemed to split in two. One half insisted he must act this way, while the other seemed to watch from the sidelines, simultaneously fascinated and horrified. His body seemed to have its own superpower, independent of higher brain function. He instinctively sensed the location of every droid and every clone trooper. He easily spotted the blade of Kenobi's lightsaber, pulsing with blue light through the smoke of battle in the thick of the battle droids—even though several hundred meters separated them.
He pinpointed the moment Aubrie's squad joined the battle. The deafening noise—piercing screams, the screech of cut metal, explosions so powerful it felt like his chest would burst—he heard none of it. The thoughts tormenting him at that moment were stronger than what was happening around him, stronger than fear and pain. Images flashed brightly and vanished before his eyes like film frames. Bringing down his lightsaber, he seemed to see again the Tusken raiders killing his mother. Time for reckoning. In that second, he didn't realize whether they were droids or Sand People before him. Like a krayt dragon, he plunged down from the last fallen heavy droid and, hitting the ground, simply crashed into the enemy ranks, furiously cutting and slashing them.
White-hot metal shards flew past his face again and again. Some should have hit him directly, but under the onslaught of the immense Force, they suddenly changed trajectory. At one moment, Skywalker would leap onto a vaguely visible silhouette of a super battle droid in the smoke and drive his lightsaber into its chest; at another, filled with the Force, he would grab a battle droid in a death grip and tear off its head.
How simple it all was. Ever since he had confided in the Chancellor about what happened on Tatooine and received his advice to use that persistent image in battle, the war had become personal for him.
Anakin could still see the hated Tusken out of the corner of his eye: they tried in vain to escape, hiding among the falling droids. Soldiers in armor swiftly attacked them, striking with fire and vibroknives. He chased after one, but Rex inadvertently blocked his path: bringing the stock of his DC-15 down on the fragile neck of a battle droid desperately trying to get up, he blocked the way. Pounding the droid with his right hand, he reached for his bandolier with his left to reload his rifle. Almost without pause, he inserted a new magazine and opened fire again. Just then, another droid turned toward him—perhaps rushing to help the first—and was shot point-blank by a tracer from his blaster.
"This is not the Dark. I am not in the Dark. This is not anger."
It was all right—he had always been told so. He fought to save his people, and if he did terrible things out of compassion and love, he remained on the Light side. Such was the Jedi way.
"For my mother. For my soldiers. For…"
He used to add For Padmé. But not now. At this particular moment, splitting another enemy in two, he clearly understood that he could no longer fight in her name. Not when he had been rejected by her and would hardly ever be able to restore his marriage.
The blade cut through metal effortlessly, as if Skywalker were mowing grass. The clone soldiers under Rex's command were as pumped with adrenaline as he was, fighting just as selflessly—too fiercely to feel natural fear. And yet at that moment, filled with a single Force, they felt different—free from this wild frenzy that had seized Skywalker, this choking rage.
"I am not becoming dark," he mentally retorted to all those who spoke of his inclination toward the Dark Side.
"I must do this," he argued also to those who accused him of excessive cruelty.
"Don't stop and don't think—it will kill you," he repeated the Chancellor's instructions like a mantra. Though it didn't work out well.
Anakin shook off his doubts. Death did not scare him. Passing Rex, he launched an attack on the next rank of droids, almost choking in the clouds of smoke and billowing dust.
A detached, cold madness, uncontrollable and wild in its power, now literally consumed him. Just as when, avenging his mother's death, he had wiped a Tusken village off the face of the earth.
He craved to kill. To crush the enemy by his mere presence. To pour out everything that had accumulated in his soul. Somehow it didn't matter that this time it was droids falling under his lightsaber strikes. He didn't care. He lunged from one B-1 to another, plunging the blade into each one's chassis. He felt he could go on like this forever, and this feeling would not leave him…
Not rage. No, not rage.
Whatever it was, he had to let it out.
Deprived of maneuverability, the droids collided with each other. The clones from Aubrie's squad pressed the enemy, shooting them at point-blank range in vulnerable spots. Shrapnel clattered onto the soldiers' armor.
"Anakin!!" Obi-Wan screamed piercingly. He spun his lightsaber around his head and with one strike felled two droids, cutting them in half. "Let's go!"
At his signal, the clones activated the minefields that had been pre-laid on the path of the machines' probable attack direction. What luck that all the calculations matched.
Piles of metal, the smell of smoke and acrid fumes, craters from explosions… That was what the battlefield looked like now, where only a short time ago the impeccable ranks of a countless armada had marched. The cacophony of battle had died down. Skywalker stood face to face with Kenobi, near the disfigured, fallen droids piled up all around. A sudden silence fell over the battlefield, making Anakin's ears ring.
"Are you all right?" Kenobi stared intently at his face, as if he saw something special there.
Anakin caught his breath. For a moment, the Tuskens, the image of his dead mother and the massacre at the Sand People camp, as well as the fallen droids, left his consciousness.
"Yes, Master."
"Anakin," Obi-Wan smiled into his beard, "you know you haven't had to call me that for a long time."
Skywalker turned around to count the wounded.
He caught sight of Aubrie, standing about a meter from the two Jedi. How had she gotten there? Looking at her calm face, the Tatooinian thought she had undoubtedly heard his brief conversation with his former mentor. If Ahsoka had been in her place, some sharp joke would have been made by now.
"Rex! We need to evacuate as many men as possible, while…"
It was only the calm before the storm. Clang-clang-clang—the sound came again from afar. A new wave of droids.
"We need reinforcements. Urgently," Anakin said.
Kenobi tilted his head back, as if expecting to see a starship arriving in response to their call: "I still can't contact the admiral. The cause must be the weather conditions."
"In any case, let's get these boys out of here," Rex said tiredly, pointing at the dozens of clones who had been injured in the battle.
One of the soldiers was calling for help. Two men were already making their way to the wounded through piles of mangled droid remains. A jumble of debris was all Anakin could see around him. But there were losses among their own as well. At least a dozen soldiers had been wounded.
"I said let's get the boys out! Move it!" he barked at the captain.
The clones were outnumbered by the droids, but they were men—mobile, resourceful, determined. The droids were just machines. They fell victim to their own inflexibility in every respect. Put them in a confined space, and not only could they not get out of the line of fire, but even moving would be a problem for them. To fight, they needed a lot of space—that was how they were programmed. They couldn't, like Rex, use a blaster stock as a club, or throw a grenade into a hatch and jump, like Lieutenant Bobson, who unhesitatingly led his unit into this battle first, or fight selflessly to protect the lives of their comrades, or even think. They were machines. Just stupid machines.
"I only disabled machines. I didn't kill anyone."
Anakin felt as if he were sobering up after a binge, though he hadn't been drinking. Confused, embarrassed by this incomprehensible feeling, he hastened to push it away. The droids were advancing again, and the wounded needed evac. Together with Kenobi, his apprentice, and Rex, he rushed to help carry off the battlefield those who couldn't move on their own.
Clang-clang-clang.
"Hold on, you bullies," Rex muttered, grabbing a soldier under the shoulders and dragging him into the shelter of a portico. "I'm not saying goodbye to you."
The captain cast a hate-filled glare at the advancing enemy ranks.
Anakin helped carry, holding the wounded man by the legs.
Suddenly the metallic sounds of marching stopped. Skywalker listened intently. What was that? Had the nearby explosions damaged his hearing? No, his hearing was fine. Something was wrong on the field. For some reason, the droid advance had halted. Looking closer, he saw clearly: the ranks of metal statues had frozen, as if awaiting further orders.
"I hope this doesn't mean they're preparing to use long-range artillery," Kenobi said. He wiped droid dust and oil from his beard with the back of his glove. "That would be beyond our strength."
Indeed, unfortunately, the Jedi had nothing to counter the Separatist proton cannons. Their own AV-7s were coming in the second wave of reinforcements – the very same wave that still had to be picked up on Ord Mantell.
Anakin heard it before he felt it. The sound was quite distinct, and seemed like music to them. He and Rex looked up at the same time, and what met their eyes was even more astonishing than the sound. The sight was so incredible that Anakin barely noticed how the droids suddenly, as one, turned around and retreated.
A Republic military starship – a Nu-class assault shuttle – made a sharp bank over the street and turned toward the central square. Its escorting LAAT/i gunships, like predators in search of prey, rushed toward the retreating droids, raining rocket and blaster fire on them as they went.
"There!" Rex grumbled. He handed the wounded man over to the medics with relief, and at the same time tiredly shrugged his shoulders. "They clearly don't like facing superior forces."
Anakin turned to Kenobi, trying to look impassive, though in reality he was barely holding back a joyful exclamation: it was not customary for Jedi to give in to emotions. In this, of course, he could take an example from his Padawan, who felt in the Force like a block of ice. But why should he? After all, he was the "Knight Without Fear"!
"Obi-Wan, they're retreating! Looks like the reinforcements that arrived cooled their ardor. Come on, Rex, let's give our comrades a proper welcome!"
"But where is the ship itself?" Rex tapped his finger on his helmet, indicating communication problems. "I can't pick up a signal within the landing radius."
"It will be here soon," Kenobi said. "Time to meet the reinforcements, ammunition – and perhaps we'll finish the battle here soon. After all, the Council promised to send me a new Padawan."
He seemed to glow from within. It was felt that the battle had inspired and energized him. Kenobi clipped his lightsaber to his belt and ran toward the square that served as the landing site for spacecraft.
"Interesting," Anakin thought. "Does this obsession, the thirst to kill, overtake him in battle?"
Then he thought about the new Padawan, and his stomach tightened. Again that unexplained anxiety that gave him no peace and distracted him from the struggle with the Darkness. Though, it seemed, he knew what was going on.
"This is neither the time nor the place to train a Padawan, Master. It's a burden," he said, walking alongside Obi-Wan.
"Well, I don't know." Kenobi quickened his pace, then broke into a steady jog and pulled ahead. "You weren't a burden. For the most part – you weren't."
"For the most part?"
"After all, knowledge is best gained through practice. You've already been given that honor," he nodded toward the silent Aubrie. "You can teach her a lot. I'm sure you need it."
Anakin exchanged glances with Rex behind Kenobi's back and raised his eyebrows in bewilderment. The captain only shrugged in response.
Anakin could have sworn the clone was amused by this conversation. He couldn't see his face under the T-shaped visor of his helmet, but he noticed a slight tilt of his chin and, thanks to the Force that bound them together, unmistakably sensed his mood.
Rex surreptitiously gave Anakin a thumbs-up in approval. He winked back. Thanks, Captain.
Meanwhile, the shuttle landed between two artillery emplacements and smoothly lowered its ramp.
But from the boarding ramp of the aircraft came not clone troopers nor even supply droids loaded to the brim with containers and crates of ammunition.
Instead, a young Arkanian in Jedi robes stepped onto the square. Still just a girl. A child.
Kenobi was stunned.
"What is a child doing here? Where is the ship?! What is going on?!"
Anakin, seeing his former master's confusion, allowed himself a smile. It seemed the Council had played the same joke on him as they had on Skywalker himself at Christophsis.
The little girl straightened herself to her full, small height and craned her neck, looking up at Kenobi:
"Hello, Master Kenobi. My name is Hanna Ding," she bowed politely. "Grand Master Yoda sent me to become your Padawan."
"Sent you?" Kenobi repeated. "But where is the ship? Where are our reinforcements? The reserve forces?"
"Admiral Yularen is in orbit, engaging Separatist reserves," she explained. "An emergency situation arose."
"Funny, we have one too. Maybe you didn't notice..." Anakin nodded over his shoulder at the still-rising clouds of smoke.
He tried not to look at Rex, afraid that the Force would transmit to the captain the despair rising in his throat. Having just experienced blissful relief after the droids' retreat, to again realize the full horror of their siege situation – it was a heavy blow. No reinforcements, no chance to rest from endless battles... Complete hopelessness.
"Didn't they receive our distress signals?" Kenobi asked. "We simply need reinforcements here."
"Apparently so. Perhaps we can send the information with the ship that brought me."
"Smart and quiet," Anakin thought. Well, it seemed his former master would finally be allowed to train a Padawan worthy of himself.
Kenobi bowed politely, glad that at least some opportunity to benefit from the situation had appeared.
And Skywalker once again praised the Chancellor's advice, thanks to which he had been able to choose his own Padawan.
* * *
"Your hand is trembling," Yoda observed.
"Yes." Kirvan frowned at the disobedient limb. "The price for the power I possess."
Yoda smiled: "It is fear."
"I don't think so..."
Nax thought with irritation that everything was over.
A beautiful plan had gone to dust.
First, he messed up, thinking he had managed to kill Yoda. Naive fool. Could the greatest living adept of the Light Side perish from a fighter's fire?
"Who died in your place?" he inquired.
"A Jedi," he answered modestly. "One whom you, Baron, could never equal."
"You are right about that, Teacher of Teachers," Nax grinned. "I will not leave this planet in a body bag."
The Toydarian king, who barely a moment ago had nearly died from a crimson blade, silently hovered a few meters from the pair of Jedi, surrounded by a squad of clones.
Nax didn't particularly know who among the meat droids stood before him, but judging by the armor, different from that of the regular troops – the surviving trio were clearly not ordinary infantry.
They had managed to overcome everything – the traps Nax had set for them, the droid ambushes, the chase, clashes with half a dozen battle squads. And from every such skirmish they emerged victorious. All he had achieved was killing one clone and one Jedi unknown to him.
"Jay Maruk was his name," Yoda said, as if reading his thoughts. "A good Jedi he was."
"Now he's just a piece of meat," Nax sneered contemptuously. "As you will remain here as well."
"Arrogance in you I see," the green master shook his head. "Selfishness has brought you to no good."
Yoda's face expressed serenity. It was just Yoda, good old Yoda, mentor and caring teacher.
The Baron shook his head, shaking off the illusion. To hell with the Jedi. He would end the threat to the Separatist movement here and now.
Behind him stood a squad of droids, motionless. The fallen Jedi rightly believed that the forces remaining on the surface would be insufficient to defeat the Grand Master.
"I lured you here by trickery," Nax said. "This is a trap."
Yoda replied immediately: "A trap? Oh yes, a trap it is. But will it work?"
"Oh, absolutely," grinned Dooku's apprentice.
He should have just bombed this planet with his flagship's artillery. True, then the whole plan would go to the bantha. Yes, he had lost the first two rounds – he couldn't kill Yoda and allowed his meeting with King Katuunko. The latter, of course, intended to join the Republic – it was obvious from his ugly face. Only one thing remained – to kill him, to clear the way for the CIS's puppet.
But how to do it when Yoda himself stood before him? Orbital bombardment would nullify all efforts – proving that the Confederacy had killed the king would be easy in that case – since there were simply no other ships in the nearby space.
Nax bided his time, hoping that chance would give him an opportunity.
"To the dark side, I suppose, you should not have turned," Yoda said, as if speaking to himself. "Do I feel its pull? Of course! But a secret let me reveal to you, apprentice."
"I am not your apprentice," Nax said. Yoda paid no attention.
"Yoda carries darkness within himself," the old teacher continued, "and Kirvan carries light. After so many years! Across vast oceans of space! Despite all those corpses you tried to pile between us. He calls out to me, this little baron! Strives for the true Force, like iron to a magnet." Yoda chuckled. "Even a blind seed sprouts, reaching for the light. Can mighty Kirvan not achieve what an ordinary plant can?"
"What nonsense is he talking?" Kirvan thought. Yoda was clearly out of his mind. And that was why the Jedi had strayed from the true path, turning into the lapdogs of the rotten Republic. Dooku had seen it – that's why he left. And Nax saw it too.
After a pause, he said: "I have gone too far down the dark path to return."
"Pfeh." Yoda snapped his fingers. "The empty universe – where is it now? You are alone, and no one is your master. Not even Dooku. Every moment the universe destroys itself and begins anew." He jabbed the man hard in the chest with his staff. "Choose and begin again!"
"I have already made my choice," Nax sneered. "I have become stronger than any Jedi."
"Only your own conceit you have cultivated, nothing more," Yoda noted sadly.
"This," the blade in Kirvan's hand came to life, tracing an intricate pattern before him – "we will now test."
With a wave of his palm, he lifted one of the clones into the air and threw him down from the cliff. Yoda's eyes widened in horror.
"Want to help him?" Nax inquired solicitously, signaling to the droids. The air filled with crimson flashes. Caught off guard, the king's guards fell to the ground and never moved again. But the clones, living up to their reputation, instantly took cover behind the nearest boulders, from where they began pouring fire on the droids advancing toward them.
With a single leap, Yoda reached the cliff edge. Nax had no need to reach for the Force to understand what was happening. The soldier was flying through the darkness toward the rocky cliffs, screaming and waving his arms. Squinting, Yoda reached out with the Force and caught him in midair at a height of just under three meters above the ground. Then he carefully set him on his feet.
In the same instant, he himself soared into the air and managed to dodge a powerful Force Push, reinforced by the fallen Jedi's rage.
Nax's crimson sword blade split the air like lightning: leaving a burning line on Yoda's clothing, it cut his favorite cane in half.
Yoda drew his own blade, simultaneously landing softly on the ground behind Dooku's servant himself.
"I do not wish to cause you pain!"
"Strange," the other noted. "I, on the other hand, would gladly kill you."
At the moment Yoda lost sight of the threat from the droids, they, obeying the former Jedi's signal, began showering the small opponent with blaster fire. The Master, leaving the clones to deal with the enemy on their own, rushed toward Kirvan. He was gathering energy to unleash his rage on the clones and the king, who was rapidly retreating down the mountain slope. Turning, he swung his blade in a sweeping arc from bottom to top. Yoda was forced to parry his former apprentice's thrust.
However, how can even the strongest Jedi withstand the power of the Dark Side?
The tip of the crimson blade burned a blazing line along the old master's shoulder. The baron's strike was as fast as a snake's lunge. And Yoda seemed not even to notice the burn.
"I have wounded you!" Kirvan exclaimed triumphantly.
"And not for the first time," Yoda replied, parrying another combination.
The Sith apprentice, sinking into the Force, felt Yoda exerting effort to distance himself from the pain. Really, it was almost amusing.
The Jedi's blade flared with the same fierce green flame that burned in his eyes, half-hidden under heavy lids.
"But kill me you did not, a chance you once had. A mistake it was. More than eight hundred years Yoda is, dangers he has survived the likes of which you have never dreamed."
"I now know how to kill," Kirvan hissed.
Yoda's eyes flew wide open – a strip of green flame was pressed almost against his face.
"Yes – but Yoda knows how to survive!"
Their blades clashed, weaving a web of green and red fire. But the green burned hotter. Faster. Under other circumstances, Kirvan might have thought the aged Grand Master was using the Dark Side – so fierce were his attacks. Slowly, step by step, the baron retreated; and in the cool, stupefying air of Rugosa, Yoda was terrifying to behold.
"Yes," Kirvan whispered, lowering his weapon toward the small master. "Feel me. Feel my treachery. So many years you taught me, raised me. Trusted me. And now I, your beloved son, kill Jedi, one after another. Hate me, Yoda. That is what you want."
The baron struck fiercely with his blade. Yoda quickly stepped back: the red blade hotly sliced the air mere centimeters from his robes. Yoda jumped, spun, and in midair landed a strong kick to the opponent's back. Swearing, the man tumbled through the thick grass. At the last moment he dodged and avoided the Master's penetrating thrust. He lashed out at the spot where Yoda had been a second ago. They again stood face to face. The blades clashed, frozen in equilibrium.
"Skilled you are," Yoda said, breathing heavily.
"I had excellent teachers," Kirvan said proudly.
Yoda dropped and rolled sideways, aiming at his ankles. The baron jumped, did a backflip, and landed lightly on his feet, facing Yoda. Springing back up, the old Jedi turned and struck; his green blade slammed into the opponent's blade, forcing him back. Dooku's apprentice attacked recklessly, forgetting everything but his rage, sinking deeper into the Dark Side with every move. The blades hummed, hissing and showering sparks.
He brought a strike down on the small master's head. Yoda parried; Kirvan's blade met his weapon. Yoda took a deep breath, calming himself.
"And yet, even here... I love you enough to destroy you."
He began to press Nax again. The lightsabers flashed like fiery bursts – blood-red and sea-green.
The baron deflected Yoda's swift strikes; rivulets of sweat ran down his face, his lips were white with strain. Around them, the battle raged: clones were smashing the battle droids that advanced wave after wave.
Yoda lifted his head: "A choice have you made, Baron? Are you certain of it?"
"I want to point out once again that I am no longer your apprentice," Dooku's apprentice said insistently, breathing heavily. "Of course, there was always a possibility that you might overcome me."
Yoda attacked; Dooku's follower parried the strike.
"That is why I ordered my dreadnought," Kirvan began to carefully retreat toward the open window, "to carry out an orbital strike immediately after my life ends." The baron paused to catch his breath. "King Katuunko, your precious clones – all of them will die when the 'Sovereign' opens fire. So decide: what is more important to you, Master Yoda? To save their lives or to take mine?"
For a moment, the duel stopped. The Grand Master, immersed in the Force, could sense the truthfulness of his opponent's words. And, quite unexpectedly for the count, he extinguished his blade.
"Consider this duel won by you, Kirvan," he said. "By dishonor and threat to the innocent."
"These ones?" the fallen Jedi pointed toward the two clones, who, despite their victory over the droids, were not exactly eager to leave their cover. "Or him," a new wave of his hand was directed at the Toydarian. "You are all guilty, Grand Master. Your blindness has brought the Order to a boiling point. Was it not enough that a thousand of your students left the Temple the moment you chose to join a war between bureaucrats? Were all the sacrifices the Jedi had already made insufficient? No, Grand Master. Admit it – you broke the will of the Jedi with your ignorance, turning them into obedient weapons."
"Wrong you are," Yoda said quietly. "Strong we are as never before!"
"Maybe a dozen," Kirvan snorted. "Windu, Kenobi, your new pet Skywalker. And that scum Dougan. The rest are children compared to us."
Hearing his ship breaking through the atmosphere, the baron extinguished his blade and returned it to his belt.
"A little more time will pass, Master Yoda," he said, "and the Jedi will understand that they are fighting on the wrong side. We are not the villains – you are."
"Think as you must," the Grand Master said indifferently, "victory will be ours. And each of you we will bring to justice."
"Well, we shall see," the fallen Jedi snorted, climbing the ramp onto the yacht. "Until then – farewell, old teacher. And pray that at our next meeting, my aristocratic courtesy allows you to keep your life."
Trying not to meet the green Jedi's gaze, the baron walked into the yacht's salon and flopped onto a seat. To hell with it. Let Dooku be displeased with the failed mission. But he will be extremely pleased with what Kirvan has to tell him.
Yoda is weak. And even in a moment of extreme need, he will not be able to sacrifice himself, even to stop the Sith.
And if that is so, then the Confederacy of Independent Systems is destined for success.
* * *
Not finding a better moment, a sudden revelation came to Kaili as she was taking a shower before heading to the medical center. She reached for a towel to wipe the moisture from her face and hands – she preferred water washing to ultrasonic, even when the latter was working. And when she glanced at her wet reflection in the mirror above the small sink – it suddenly came to her...
The answer lies in the Force.
It shouldn't have been a revelation. She had spoken those words a thousand times, at least; a litany to which every Jedi apprentice grew up: "When in doubt, trust the Force. You may not always interpret it correctly, but the Force never lies."
She knew this. She had learned it in childhood and grew up understanding the meaning of these words better and better, believing in them with all her soul. "The Force will not let you err – it is eternal, boundless, and omnipresent. If you know what to ask, where to look, and how to understand it – it always holds the answer you need."
After all, how many times had Master Yoda and Vokara Che repeated these words to her – gently, but with the calm that comes from absolute certainty.
"Use the Force, Kaili."
Don't think, don't worry, don't get distracted by small details, by nagging concerns. Just use the Force, trust it, rely on it. Because that is the life of a Jedi. Not in the past, not in the future, but in this eternal moment of joyful understanding, this ever-present now. Don't let the fear of error make you miss your chance.
The Jedi healer dried herself, hung the towel, and looked into the mirror. Her face reflected there, much calmer and more peaceful than before. Yes, of course. It was so simple! A perfect example of those peculiar riddles that Master Yoda liked to pose to help your mind break free from narrow thoughts and concepts.
The question was this: how to determine whether to use bacta again to strengthen her connection to the Force? Answer: ask the Force.
And what was the strongest, most powerful and best connection between her and the Force?
Meditation.
Not the simple kind she had used until now.
The girl tried to concentrate, opening her mind to the Force.
But she couldn't.
Not after what she had done.
If someone had told her that she would plunge into this ocean of passions, of emotions, she would hardly have believed it. After all, she had always been proud that she could keep her mind closed to the encroachments of the Dark Side.
And instead, she had allowed the Darkness to penetrate her.
Now she did not regret that she had succumbed to Dougan's words and shared his bed. After all – she was a woman, even if a Jedi – and nothing human was alien to her.
However, afterward, when the Jedi Knight, her friend, revealed the role intended for her in their master's Plan... the girl realized she had to do something, expose his conspiracy. Unlike most Jedi, she knew how to resist mental techniques. And that made it all the more bitter – the realization that her hero, the man without fear, an icon for the Order, was in fact nothing but a traitor.
The pretense was uncovered faster than she could send an encoded signal to the Temple. Aayla captured her, easily disarming her and imprisoning her in the guest quarters of the Citadel – a place of concentrated Force and power belonging to Dougan.
And, to be honest, she felt for the first time that her one-sided gift – healing – had become more of a burden than a means of serving the Force.
But now...
She felt crushed, humiliated... and angry.
As if the first experience had somehow tuned her, properly opened her feelings, but this time it washed over her almost instantly. An amazing feeling of intimacy, combined with awe, wonder and novelty, an astonishing, breathtaking feeling, its width and depth stretching into infinity...
The Unifying Force.
She thought she was ready for this, but she was wrong. It was simply too... vast. She didn't know how to accept it, to fully realize it, to comprehend it. It did not fit into her limited understanding – like trying to depict the brilliant, multifaceted splendor of a firegem in a flat two-dimensional image. Her senses, constrained by just three dimensions, could not even remotely describe it. But she didn't need to describe it, she realized. She only needed to accept it, to unite with it. It was majestic, sublime, and terrifying all at once.
The fear that it was all just an illusion disappeared. Someone might say this was not a genuine connection to the Force, since it was caused by something external, not achieved through inner balance and meditation. She herself might say that – but not now. This universal union could not be anything but true – she felt it with the very essence of her being.
It didn't matter how she had arrived here. Being here – that was what mattered.
It was... as if she had been starving, and, having fully experienced hunger, found herself before a boundless table laden with every conceivable delicacy. It was hard to distinguish one dish from another, but still, on another level, she knew she could.
Suddenly, the "table" shuddered and distorted, blurring into a motley of colors, like tangled threads of a spore silk-spider. It became a giant canvas the width of the entire galaxy, a tapestry woven so intricately and confusingly that it made the eyes water to look at it. A magnificent artifact of art, of indescribable beauty, of the unimaginable...
But wait. Yes, there was perfection here, but there was also something else. She sensed flaws in the pattern; tiny, almost indistinguishable defects scattered across the immeasurable expanse. It all looked as if someone, not the author of this work, had woven their own patterns into it. Kaili intuitively knew that these tiny errors were needed for something, that they were seams in the fabric of the universe – unpleasant, but nevertheless necessary. Without them, the tapestry would not be whole.
After all, the ideal is unattainable.
She reached out with her mind to one of those tiny rough stitches, saw it grow and change, becoming readable, like...
What was revealed to her was not words or images, not smells, tastes, sounds, or touches. Instead, there was an amazing fusion of everything, as well as feelings that beings of flesh do not possess...
At that moment, the girl, herself part of the great pattern, understood the flaws in this tapestry...
The galaxy is in danger.
The stitches were just the tips of icebergs, hiding great calamities and misfortunes beneath them. Just as Aayla had said.
For a tiny span of time, for a fraction of a moment, she knew more, knew how, who, where, and when had done this – but the feeling disappeared, swept away by a whirlwind of energy she could not control. She could not remember the details.
Kaili tried to reach out for them again, understanding how important it was. But something blocked her path...
Suddenly, she realized she was floundering, as if caught in a raging river. She thrashed helplessly in it, like a twig swept away by the current – at its will, not her own.
"It's all about the flaws," she thought. She saw one of them, reached out to it, but she had neither the strength nor the skill, nothing needed to properly influence events. And now, with her attempt, she had somehow disrupted the flow of the Force. She had lost her footing, that feeling of solid ground beneath her feet that had given her calm. Now confusion overwhelmed her and she was carried away by the current...
No. She had power. Immense power. She would use it.
She tried to stop herself, but there was nothing to grab onto, nothing solid within reach. She was swept up by a current, a storm, an avalanche that spun and disoriented her. Deep down, she knew she was desperately searching for metaphors for something indescribable, grasping for some mental analogy that would let her separate herself from the chaos. She fought for calm, struggled to concentrate, but got nowhere. It seemed to pour down her throat like a flood, threatening to drown her; like a storm, it carried her in every direction, squeezing the very breath from her lungs; like an avalanche, it threatened to break her. It was all of these at once — and none of them at all.
Then she thought she heard someone speak in a quiet, familiar voice whose source she couldn't place.
"Let her go," he said. "Don't fight. Take a breath and dive in."
"No! I can control her, I can use her, channel her..."
"Otherwise you'll die."
Kaili felt care and concern in that voice, and somewhere deep down she knew he was right. She took a breath, relaxed into the mighty current — and recognized the speaker.
The Jedi Healer found herself sitting on the bed, blinking as if she'd just woken from a deep sleep. She didn't need to look at a chronometer to know how much time had passed. She'd left the refresher at noon. Now she sat in darkness.
She stood, walked to the window, wiped it clean, and peered outside. The faint glow of the lights wasn't enough to hide the stars in the clear night sky above. The constellations had traveled halfway through their nightly journey — it was around midnight. She had been... gone... for twelve hours at least.
Gone to a place she'd never been. Where, she suspected, few had ever gone. If anyone had.
Kaili turned from the window. She felt refreshed, as if she'd slept well, and she felt neither hunger nor thirst. She smiled. The memory of the sensations was still vivid, imprinted on her mind in a splendor of light, sounds, smells, tastes, and touches...
This is what a connection to the Force could be like. This is what it should always be like...
The girl realized with a shudder that she had allowed the Dark Side to take part in her life for the first time. To touch her very essence.
She frowned, sensing a tiny splinter in her memory. A flaw. A catastrophe looming over the galaxy. Compared to the cosmic grandeur of what she had just experienced, it was nothing, an imperceptible trifle before an enormous whole; but still it existed — like countless other flaws. And although she knew that overall they were necessary and couldn't be entirely eliminated — in some cases, individual gaps in the fabric of the universe could and should be mended.
She had been shown this for a compelling reason — she knew that. Just as she knew she had to do something.
The girl felt tears streaming down her cheeks.
Did the Force itself want her to take in the teachings of the Dark Side, mixing them with her immaculate Light? What would she become then?
And yet, the girl heard a whisper in her head.
"But the Darkness let you see the flaws. Foresee the dangers..."
True.
Many Jedi had Force visions. Just not Kaili.
Her gift was immensely one-sided — besides healing and mediocre skill with telekinesis and precognition, she could do nothing else. She even wore a lightsaber only as a nod to tradition.
Vokara Che had said that most healers were weak in other disciplines. And that had comforted her.
But now... The girl had experienced a power beyond description. Could any Jedi possibly compare to her?
"And since you've become stronger, why not continue? You know who can open the boundaries of your perception."
Kaili, thinking for a moment, concluded that the whisper was right. Throwing her suit on over her underwear, she activated the holocomm.
"Aayla? We need to talk."
* * *
Sipping whiskey, Mara watched the goings-on on stage with interest.
The cantina, wildly popular on Christophsis, had opened only a few weeks ago. But tonight, the establishment was overflowing with patrons. After all, it was the weekend. And the lion's share of both off-duty officers and locals hadn't missed the chance to check out the spacious venue with its vibrant, unique atmosphere unlike anything they'd seen before.
No, the menu and drink selection at the bar weren't much different from the best restaurants on Coruscant — during her time at the academy, Cross had been to a couple of those. Fortunately, she'd been having an affair with a senator's son back then.
Truth be told, the repertoire of the band, which was resting after another song, wasn't all that fresh either — just like in most such establishments across the galaxy.
The "Rabid Ewok" drew crowds with its concert program. The highlight of which fell on the weekends.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen," the evening's host appeared on stage, a smiling Twi'lek in elegant clothes. "Step right up for our stand-up comedian, Lana Breeze. Let's give her a round of applause."
The hall erupted in applause.
Mara, glancing at her table companion, listlessly sucked her drink through a straw.
"Is this supposed to be funny?" she asked wearily.
"Trust me," Siri smiled. "I've been here three times already — and I've been satisfied so far."
"Whatever you say, General," Mara muttered quietly. Why had she even agreed? She could be at her apartment right now, peacefully sipping cocoa. Go to bed early. Maybe she'd finally get some sleep.
No, a Hutt had made her agree to the Jedi's proposal — she'd grown close with the Jedi over filling out the corps. And it seemed rude to refuse a superior officer — especially since she was shipping out to the front tomorrow.
So she'd had to recall the years of her wild youth, swap her uniform for a tight dress, and pay nearly thirty credits at the local salon for a fashionable hairstyle. Of course, her salary allowed it. Especially since the Jedi had bought the expensive front-row tickets herself.
Meanwhile, a young Zeltron appeared on stage, clad in a form-fitting outfit that flattered her figure. Mara gritted her teeth, remembering the last number on her scale. Some people sure knew how to stay in shape!
"Hi there!" the comedy star greeted the audience cheerfully. "As usual, no preamble, let's get straight to a story from life. I got a really cool offer recently. So this being messages me on the HoloNet. 'Lana, I'd like to invite you to secret meetings at the casino hotel complex, the Outlander,'" the girl wiggled her eyebrows. Then, with a conspiratorial look, she continued. "And I'm thinking to myself: 'Wow, the most famous hotel complex for the elite. And so far away, too. Holy crap, your wife must have quite a view from that balcony!'" sly chuckles rippled through the hall. Mara took a sip of her cocktail. What was wrong with that? Nice luxury apartments. Checked by personal experience. "No," the Zeltron shook her head. "I won't tell you his name. Let's just say he's well-known in the Senate and the royal house of Alderaan." The girl heard a stifled laugh from the Jedi. Yeah, she didn't want to name names.
"Oh, folks," the Zeltron rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "What kind of moron is that, seriously? He invites me to the most respectable hotel practically in the city center and expects it to be a secret? Any girl would brag about going there!" the comedian grinned. "I'd be the first to post a story and burn the place down."
Mara felt a smile spreading across her face. She had that sin too. Galactagram was quite a swamp, sucking in sentients. Every day — photos of someone's butt, boobs, painted nails, personal trainers, and fitness food. Like everyone using that app had had half their brain removed and replaced with repulsor coolant.
"So I tell him: 'Honey, if you want secret meetings, take me to Tatooine,'" the Zeltron squinted. "Because if someone takes you to Tatooine to screw, you will never, ever tell a soul about it! You'll even slip him some credits in the morning so he keeps his mouth shut too!" Applause and cheerful laughter filled the hall. The redhead caught a knowing look from the Jedi. Yeah, girls will be girls. Tatooine isn't a hotel complex on Manaan. You wouldn't blab about a trip like that to your girlfriends over a bottle of semi-sweet wine.
"And honestly, it's weird that he even messaged me about it," the comedian shrugged. "I mean, I'm thirty-five, and sugar daddies like their meat young. He'd see me once at the Outlander without shapewear and be like: 'Ew, do you only eat Bantha chow?' I don't need that kind of happiness," she waved her hand dismissively. "Actually, a lot of kids have been inside me," she said thoughtfully. "Every ex after the breakup felt it was his duty to reproach me: 'I gave you so many children.' Well, I'm a sentient with no hang-ups. So I tell them: 'Calm down, I swallowed every single one.'"
The risqué jokes sparked a roar of laughter.
"Girls," she addressed the female part of the audience. "Clap if you've ever been given expensive gifts!"
A thin trickle of applause rippled through the hall. Mara, forgetting her fatigue, complied with the comedian's request.
"Damn," the Zeltron marveled. "Okay, let me clarify. 'Expensive' means no cheaper than a bottle of Corellian whiskey."
The applause repeated, but much quieter this time. Cross kept clapping.
"Really?" Lana stopped in front of their table. "So young, and already guys are giving you something worthwhile?"
"Of course," Mara smirked. She preferred not to discuss her affairs — except for posting the "locations" her flings took her to on Galactagram.
"And what did your last suitor give you?" Breeze asked with disbelief.
"A speeder," Mara shrugged, adding the name of a well-known sports model.
"Not bad," the Zeltron mused. "And how old are you?"
Mara, slightly embarrassed, gave her age.
"Damn," the stand-up comedian admired. "What do you do at twenty-three that I don't have at thirty-five, to get a car worth one and a half million?"
The Zeltron returned to center stage, eyes wide.
"Hey," she turned toward the girl. "Where do you even find your rich guys? Actually, wait, let me guess. You walk into a cantina, spot some guy with a hookah shaped like a black melon, and you're like," the Zeltron slapped her thighs. "Bingo! Smells like money in here! I'll just plant my ass right here and coo!"
The audience burst into frantic laughter. Mara felt the blood rush to her face. Siri, after finishing laughing, put a hand on her shoulder — like, don't stress, it's just humor. The girl was grateful for her decision to change clothes and put on her "combat" makeup, which in her youth she'd used precisely for the "hunt" scenario the comedian had described.
"Don't take it personally, hon," the Zeltron waved at her. "That's just girl envy talking. Actually," she turned her gaze back to the audience, "there are a lot of women on Coruscant who live off sponsors. One friend of mine got a bag made of Nexu skin from her sugar daddy — two hundred thousand credits. And he spends nearly two million on her a month. I shouldn't count other people's money, but just imagine what kind of family income they must have for him to funnel two million from the household budget into a legs-spreader, and his wife doesn't even notice!? In my circles, the most a guy can give his mistress is a chocolate bar. And even then, the wife instantly sniffs it out. Not because he took five credits off the nightstand, but because he leaves the house too damn happy. And she's immediately like: 'Hey, where do you think you're going, all cleaned, ironed, washed, and smug? Give that candy bar back to the kid!'"
Mara, unashamed, burst into ringing laughter.
"That's nothing," the Zeltron continued. "She's gone completely insane. I once overheard her talking to her sponsor. He goes: 'I want sex in the Senate loge!' and she goes: 'Senator, you cad! I'm not that trashy!' Well, the guy's not the timid type, so he says: 'Okay, what if I give you a planet!?' And what do you think she answered? 'Keep going!'"
The hall exploded with laughter, slowly turning hysterical. Mara and Siri, barely holding back, laughed wholeheartedly. There really was a certain charm in this kind of pastime.
"You know, sometimes I envy those women," the Zeltron confessed. "For me to look this damn good," she gestured at her figure, "I have to do squats constantly." On the huge monitor behind the stage appeared a photo of the performer in tight leggings and a sports top. Mara, despite her principles, had to admit the host had an amazing body.
"But," the image changed. Now the same Lana was looking from the screen, but with a belly characteristic of the last month of pregnancy. "The moment I bent over once..."
Mara and Siri exchanged glances and laughed out loud without any restraint.
* * *
Having confirmed that no one was watching his actions, TX-65 sealed the backup communications center of the Lucrehulk. He had, as always, no more than three minutes before the tracking systems detected the transmission.
Approaching the holoterminal, he dialed the address of a familiar subscriber.
"TX-65," Count Dooku spoke as soon as his hologram appeared above the panel. "You're late with your report."
"I needed the right moment, Count Dooku," the droid said.
"Report," the CIS leader demanded.
"The first phase is complete," the droid reported. "As you commanded, I have infiltrated the Christophsis defense network. The Jedi suspect nothing."
"And yet, your efforts went to waste," the Count reminded him. "The Resistance you organized has been destroyed, the sabotage of the defense platforms as well."
"This allowed me to identify the Jedi Dougan's accomplices," the droid countered. "I am transmitting their holographic images to you now."
The former Jedi fell silent for a moment, examining the contents of the received files.
"Two droids, a Rutian Twi'lek, a Mandalorian, a Lethan Twi'lek, a Sarkhai, and a human woman," the Count listed. "And what of it?"
"I have identified the last two as Jedi," the droid noted. "They participated in the capture of General Loathsom. They use lightsabers."
"Strange," the Count stroked his beard. "Sarkhai have not trained in the Order for over three thousand years. Force sensitivity for them is more a rare mutation anomaly than the rule. However, I do not recall any of them in the Order. Not that it matters — Jedi are thicker than Banthas across the galaxy. But the Mandalorian..."
The expression on the Count's face showed he was puzzled. TX-65 felt the need for additional information. But protocols did not allow him to demand anything from his direct commander.
"I wouldn't be wrong to say she led the attack on the Jedi Temple," the Count smirked. "At least, the files I have show one of the raiders in this exact armor."
"I have found information on both droids," the tactician reported. "The first is an assault droid from the planet Iokath, destroyed during the Second Great Galactic War. The latter is an HK-series translator droid, discontinued over three thousand years ago. Czerka Corporation created such droids as secret assassins. I believe this particular model is one such product."
"What leads you to that conclusion?"
"He and the Rutian single-handedly destroyed all of Jo Ptar's resistance."
"Ah, I wondered why that pompous alcoholic hadn't been in touch," the former Jedi chuckled. "So, our Grand Moff is playing his own game. Interesting. What about the fleet Christophsis is building at Rendili?"
"The order has been fulfilled in full," the droid said, checking his data. "The last ships will arrive at Christophsis within two months. The total count is seven hundred units."
"Have you traced the source of funding?"
"Yes. Rendili StarDrive has a numbered account opened more than three and a half thousand years ago. Until the liberation of Christophsis, this account was never used or mentioned."
"Is that so? And who opened it?"
"I used Elder Aisel's access codes and identified the being. The account was opened by the female Jedi I mentioned."
"Unexpected," a mixture of emotions flickered across Dooku's face, which TX-65 could only interpret as confusion and doubt. "So this female Jedi — and possibly all the others under his command — are over three thousand years old. They've held up well."
"The use of stasis or carbonite technology can halt life processes in organic bodies," the tactician reminded him. "It's possible one of these methods was used."
"Perhaps," Dooku squinted. "That doesn't change the fact that our Jedi is an extremely interesting individual. Where is he now?"
"Officially, he is on leave for the next two days. His actual location is unknown. He departed on his new flagship — a Valor-class heavy cruiser — ten days ago in an unknown direction. According to the information I have, he has not appeared anywhere in the territory of the Tenth System Army."
"Another ancient relic," the Count snorted, referring to the Jedi's starship. "Well then, we should deal with him directly. Have you determined why Elder Aisel departed for Rendili?"
"He is negotiating the purchase of three hundred Dreadnaught-class cruisers from reserve stocks," the droid reported.
"And what is the point?"
"Christophsis has refused deliveries of the Thranta-class corvettes in favor of increasing production of Hammerhead-class ships. But they continue to purchase vessels in good technical condition."
"Which, as always, will be transferred to Dougan's use," Dooku understood.
"Precisely."
"Good. What about the formation of volunteer corps?"
"The mercenaries continue to train new recruits," the droid reported. "I note that nearly all Christophsians who completed the 'fleet' training program, as well as a significant portion of infantry corps, have been sent in an unknown direction aboard passenger liners with droid pilots."
"And you couldn't determine their course?"
"It was not possible."
"Well, as always, I can't expect any good news from you," the Count smirked. "Continue your work, report strictly according to schedule."
"It will be done, Count Dooku," the droid clipped. Then he added, "Permission to ask a question?"
"Initiative, TX-65?" the hereditary aristocrat of Serenno was surprised. "Very well, I may satisfy your curiosity. Ask away."
"Why did you order me and the other tactical droids on the planet to surrender personally to Dougan and ingratiate ourselves into his trust?"
"Because, my metallic friend, this Jedi is not your average one," the Count graciously explained. "What he pulled off on Geonosis, his Force... none of it fits the simpleton image he tries to project. I need a loyal servant close to him to understand who he is. And, as you can see, your work for the cause of the Confederacy of Independent Systems will not be forgotten. When the super tactical droid project is complete, you will have the opportunity to become one of them."
"I am glad to serve the cause of the CIS," the droid replied as programmed. "However, I must remind you that Dougan showed no surprise when I relayed your false information — that Supreme Chancellor Palpatine is the Sith Lord Darth Sidious. Logical algorithms indicate that the Jedi considers this an indisputable fact with 80% probability."
"I remember your first report perfectly, TX-65," Dooku replied sharply. "The Jedi can believe whatever he wants. When the time comes, Darth Sidious will dispose of him too. Continue your work, droid."
"Order understood, Count Dooku," TX-65 clipped, ending the communication session.