"You know, Colonel, what's the most depressing thing about being a Grand Moff?"
"No, Your Excellency."
Though the conversation was taking place in an informal setting, I could feel the recently promoted officer, sitting in the chair on the opposite side of my desk, practically radiating unease. I could understand him — the personnel and logistics department he headed was a cesspool even in the best of times. And during a period of active hostilities... But, to be fair, I should note that Ronett Dialo kept his subordinates on a tight leash. And the chips lying before me, with reports on the condition of materiel for the Gent System Army, represented a titanic effort by a well-coordinated team. Not because the reports were voluminous. But because they were comprehensible. And reading the lines in Aurebesh, I was all too aware of just how bad things were. That was the source of my anger, really.
The more Jedi that came under my command, the worse the situation got. Geonosis was a glaring example of that. Antana had lost up to two-thirds of her corps in casualties alone. Thankfully, Aayla sent her reinforcements in my absence — otherwise, we'd be facing a third operation to force Geonosis into submission. But for crying out loud, three corps to pacify a single planet?! Isn't that a bit much?
Yes, I asked that the planet's production facilities be preserved as much as possible. But not at the expense of our own forces, for heaven's sake!
"I sincerely regret that I can't execute the talentless commanders who so needlessly make clones 'take the dirt nap,'" I had to confess. The officer didn't even bat an eye at my phrasing. The Jedi style of command, which had become synonymous with the phrase "unjustified casualties," had long since become a running joke in the Grand Army of the Republic. The clones, okay, they'd whisper among themselves. But the sentient officers...
You couldn't exactly shut them up — the GAR regulations, or rather, the set of rules made up by some schizophrenic fever dream, interpreted matters of subordination and disciplinary action quite broadly. So sentients could gossip about the generals all they wanted, as long as it wasn't to their faces. The rest hardly mattered.
In that regard, I liked the strictly categorical and unyieldingly harsh regulations of the Sith Empire's armed forces much more. Fortunately, the vast memory banks of the Imperial station had plenty of that sort of thing. On my way back to Christophsis, I'd stopped at Odessen and visited the station, picking up a small amount of useful materials. Including manuals on commanding ground and space forces. So far, I'd managed to win through meta-knowledge and logical thinking. But as the saying goes, the deeper you go into the woods, the better fed and more unflappable the partisans become. Besides, Otto von Bismarck himself once said: "Give me a company of the best soldiers on the planet, and we'll make a light airy risotto with salmon, little pieces of ginger, and light notes of pineapple under a tartar sauce with a garlicky tang, according to my grandmother the witch's recipes."
The war was escalating. I didn't think things would keep going smoothly for the army in the future — especially if we kept commanding without at least some theoretical knowledge. It's one thing to fight a bunch of upstart traders. It's quite another to fight the same traders, but ones who've gained experience in war. You can't win much with just "concentrate fire on one target," "evasive maneuver," and so on.
Even though my position was a staff one and didn't involve appearing on the front lines at the head of troops, I shouldn't forget that the clone army was built on the Mandalorian model. And in that culture, personal courage and valor meant practically everything. So it wouldn't be long before the 204th Legion had to return to active combat operations. Because I couldn't really rely on the generals under my command.
Despite the fourteen months of war that had passed, the "throw meat at it" tactic was still in use. Just a few days after returning to Christophsis, I'd already heard several anecdotes on the subject. It would be funny if it weren't so sad.
From the perspective of someone from a planet where wars — from large-scale to local — happened regularly and with gusto, I could talk endlessly about the ossification of the modern military in the Unknown Regions. That galaxy far, far away was following the same evolutionary path of military science as Earth did — you didn't need to be a genius or graduate from a specialized university to understand that. The picture, as they say, was clear as day — understandable even to the average layperson.
With one difference: there (funny to think of my home planet as some distant, unreachable place) war never ended, so military science had been refined from generation to generation.
Here... a thousand years without any major military engagements had led to significant... I don't even know how to put it politely.
Okay, the CIS used the "zerg rush" they replenished their losses extremely quickly. Why skimp when you don't have to feed, water, or pay your own soldiers? Just go ahead and churn out droids. Even if they're made from crap and sticks — their lifespan is short anyway. Besides, according to the analytical notes from sector command, CIS soldiers weren't Terminators at all — a much cheaper analogy not designed for long-term "life." A classic case of extreme standardization and total economy taken to the absolute — cheap hulls, weapons, software. Quality sacrificed for quantity.
But the logic of the Republic generals, most of whom continued to send soldiers to the slaughter... Here, they could use a lesson in my homeland's history — even an abridged version. That would be something. Though it would look a bit weird if I, like a seasoned political officer, started giving classes to subordinates on "How to command clones properly so you don't get yourself killed in the first battle." I'm one of them, after all — I shouldn't know more than necessary. Still, it's a good idea — I should think it over.
And what's noteworthy, I worried less about the regular sentients — ship captains, admirals. Yes, I tried to gather under my command those I remembered best from the Expanded Universe. And frankly, I didn't regret it. Pellaeon, even without Thrawn's mentorship, was a perfectly capable specimen of Homo Militaris. Same as the other future grand admirals and warlords now serving in the tenth system army.
On Earth, the "zerg rush" military tactic took its most expressive form sometime during the First World War. Before that, even in the age of firearms, my fellow Earthlings used close-order formations and threw their soldiers' bodies at the enemy army. As one prominent military figure said, "No problem. Women will bear more." But it was the First World War that proved the utter futility of sending military units against enemy fortifications bristling with rifle, machine-gun, and even cannon fire.
Also noteworthy was the fact that, despite advances in science and technology, certain countries were still fighting in the 20th century according to the "How to reduce the number of your own taxpayers using enemy machine guns and artillery" playbook. The landing on one of the beaches in Normandy, depicted in the feature film Saving Private Ryan, was a typical example of a zerg rush from that era. Of course, you could argue long and passionately that there was no other way to open the second front, karma wouldn't allow it, and all that. But the fact remains. The Allies liberally fertilized the Normandy coast with the blood and flesh of their loyal sons, not with shells and bombs in assorted varieties. And yet, what would it have cost to turn the picturesque surroundings into a lunar landscape across the entire landing zone, not just two out of three places?
An even larger-scale case of mass transition to the afterlife via zerg rush was the battle between the brave warriors of the Jihad and the racially pure (at that time, still loyal) British colonizers. To keep the aggressively sharp-object-waving crowds at a safe distance, the Anglo-Saxons (besides the traditional cannons and rifles) used newly invented machines for thinning enemy ranks, AKA machine guns. As a result, out of 40,000 attackers, the infamous "over-a-whole-bunch" of crescent-adorned comrades became "heroes," not counting an even larger pile of wounded. The particular piquancy of this event is given by the well-known fact that, as is known, 72 virgins await every martyr for the faith in paradise. Everyone can independently calculate the epic scale of the hypothetically unfolding event in the Islamic abode of virginal spirituality by simply multiplying the aforementioned numbers...
By the way, I always wondered — where do the faithful get so many virgins in heaven? They can't possibly be sending young female volunteers in the prime of their lives to the afterlife for the sake of Jihad, can they? Or can they? Oh, the East is a delicate matter... And a dark one.
However, in fairness, it's worth noting that the zerg rush isn't as bad as hack artists make it out to be. The problem is only in distinguishing the fine line between "close formation" and "wave attack of advancing chains." Also important is the fact that the Galaxy Far, Far Away is going through all the same stages of military science development, but on a cosmic scale. Already, sector command keeps sending brochures on "How to reduce losses by activating gray matter (and not just bone marrow)." Of course, the very fact that learning about the mystery of dispersed formation comes through the mass relocation of sentients to a better world is sad in its essence. From the point of view of ordinary human morality.
Undoubtedly, the Jedi, the grunts, and other faces unmarred by intelligence had been using the stupid "CHAAARGE!" from the very beginning of the war, throwing clones at CIS battle formations almost at full height and at a leisurely pace. No, I understand that no one is immune to mistakes — but the sheer audacity! Even droids learn from their mistakes! However, the Jedi are astonishing possessors of mental armor made of three packs of margarine. Despite huge losses and thousands of failed operations, they continued to use the tactic that cost the Grand Army of the Republic half of its commando and infantry clone personnel during the first battle of Geonosis, the total loss of the expeditionary corps on Jabiim, on Ryloth, Mimban... This list could go on forever — but what's the point?
It's a great pity that the GAR regulations forbade putting such people against the wall. The district therapist (read: Grand Master) categorically declared contraindications for saturating the bodies of short-sighted temple guards with tibanna gas.
But regular sentients could be judged left and right — as long as they were people. And there would always be a reason to execute them.
"In fairness, sir," the logistics officer remarked, "equipment losses have been cut in half."
"Yeah, right," I snorted. "Because a clone is cheaper than an AT-TE. Why waste one of those?!"
The colonel remained silent, realizing the question was purely rhetorical.
And incredibly painful.
The 89th Corps essentially needed to be pulled back to the rear for reformation. Its losses were simply catastrophic. In the ranks were only the concussed and lightly wounded. And twenty thousand dead. But this Jedi bi... had the nerve to file a report claiming that up to seventy percent of the corps' attached equipment had been preserved.
"To hell with this metal!" Surprise flickered across the officers' faces. "Warehouses are full of it — and there'll be more, even though it's high time to visit Rothana. But people... Where are we going to get new soldiers if Kamino is about to stop supplying clones?"
"The losses are dire," General Jin agreed. "But fortunately, command has promised to make up for our constant personnel shortage with new batches of Arkanian-produced clones. They're better than the Kaminoan ones — and it's expected there will be hundreds of times more of them than we have at the moment. We just need to hold out..."
"A brain-teaser: 'How not to lose three oversectors while we're waiting for reinforcements,'" I snorted.
The old man, who'd become the chief of staff for my system army about a month ago, gave me a sly look. In the Force, he radiated waves of calm and mild amusement — I thought for a moment the old geezer was high, but remembering how he'd behaved at our previous meetings, I realized the general (a real one, not some Jedi-poser rabble) was permanently a bit tipsy.
Only a month had passed since the creation of the system armies. And, as was proper, based on the results of the worked period — for both the Gent and the three sector armies under my command — bureaucratic procedures had to be carried out. Moreover, according to command circulars, these had to be done in two stages. First, a meeting in the highest circles to identify shortcomings and develop ways and methods to eliminate them. Then, a board meeting with the participation of all command staff representatives, who needed to be informed of the essence of the polar furry creature happening in our area of responsibility.
I immediately recalled an anecdote about the child of the head of the Investigative Committee of the Russian Federation's investigation department, who attended the agency's kindergarten. On the first day, they had a meeting where they all sat on their potties and did their business while the teacher told them horrifying stories about their future fate. That was called a meeting. Well, on the second day, the teacher held a board meeting — outwardly the same as the meeting, only at the end the children poured the contents of their potties onto the head of the biggest troublemaker in the group.
Just the thought of having to gather all my subordinates — the senior command staff — in the large tactical hall of the Citadel sent shivers down my spine. The main thing was to hold back and not wipe the floor with those who annoyed me the most. That wouldn't be very Jedi-like. Can't ruin the legend.
I decided to hold the meeting in an extremely narrow circle — I only called in the chief of staff and the personnel/logistics officer. The rest limited themselves to submitting reports, which I still had to study in order to uphold the tradition of all board meetings: "reward the uninvolved, punish the innocent." Brr, I mean the other way around. At least in my army — definitely the other way around. And I should start with the clones — those on whose shoulders all the Republic's efforts to establish order (ha ha ha) in the Unknown Regions rested. Fortunately, the Senate had finally given birth to a bill allowing the command of system armies to award shiny trinkets not only to those born from a uterine ghetto, but also to those grown in a "glass mother."
And, in light of recent events, it seemed these would be the first and last awards for Kaminoan clones.
The sector command directive to stop purchasing Kaminoan clones wasn't exactly news to me — I remembered that at some point during the war, the Republic would turn to another supplier of cannon fodder. But so soon...
"Arkanian clones should be better than what we have now," Dialo said.
"That's if you believe the brochure," I objected. "In practice, we have no idea what we'll get. As the person responsible for logistics, you should understand what it means to have two completely different clone models under your command. I seriously doubt they'll wear uniforms the same size as the Kaminoans. And if that's the case, that's already millions in costs. How much will we spend to maintain the combat effectiveness of both types of clones?"
"I'm entirely on your side on this issue, sir," the officer spread his hands. "But an order is an order. You can't go against it."
No kidding. Especially if it's Order 66.
"I don't really like this whole new clone business, Colonel," I admitted. "What will happen to the clones currently under our command?"
"I'm afraid they'll be pensioned off, sir. As soon as they're replaced with the new models. Sector command is quite clear on this. According to their explanation, the influx of new clones will be so massive that within a few months, all armies will replace Jango Fett's clones with the new models. A complete standardization of personnel, except for volunteers."
"Several million people who know nothing in life but fighting and killing — retired?" I whistled. "That idea reeks of unpleasant consequences."
It felt like someone wanted to get their greedy hands on the state budget. Again. Otherwise, why the hell demand that commanders of system armies, upon receiving new Arkanian-produced clones, standardize their units? And fine, if there were some caveats, but no. Everything was perfectly clear.
Standardize — meaning to bring into a certain conformity established by command. And, since Jango Fett's clones would soon become unavailable as reinforcements, you didn't need to be a genius to understand that command was implicitly demanding that Fett's clones be phased out in favor of new ones.
I was plagued by vague suspicions. What the hell was going on, especially after I'd carried out measures to free the clones from their inhibitor chips!? There was nothing like this in the events I knew, even if it was a sin to scream about the "canonicity" of events after everything that had happened.
And the question was, what's the point? The current soldiers fought well enough — they just needed smarter commanders. It was still unknown how the new soldiers would perform. Was command rushing the replacement? Or was someone just itching to line their own pockets?
Yes, on one hand, you could understand them — the supply of Kaminoan clones would soon dry up, and then they'd have to wait ten years for new ones. Given the number of losses even in my army, where they cared about the ordinary soldier, the number of KIAs was growing every day, and without urgent reinforcements, there would simply be no one left to fight.
The Arkanians, apparently, were much faster — unfortunately, there was no publicly available information on the speed of clone production on Arkania. Trade secrets, damn it... But if command was giving only three months for standardization, then the pointy-ears were working many times faster than the long-necks.
So many questions, so few answers... In the universe I knew, Fett's clones even managed to serve the Empire. Here, not even a year and a half had passed since their debut in the galaxy, and they were already being written off. I think so because the command's imperative orders to "take measures to reduce the number of clones falling under the pension program" spoke for themselves. Commanders were being unambiguously hinted: we're giving you new clones, better than the old ones. Make sure as few of the old clones remain as possible. The Republic Pension Fund's concern for rapidly aging soldiers stabbed me with memories of home. Hmm, I was getting too sentimental.
I needed to push all this out of my system. There would be no return to Earth, so the only thing I should remember was the Eternal Empire.
And now the Republic was threatening to derail my plans by introducing new clones so untimely.
Well, it seemed the next three months, like the fourteen before them, would pass in the Grand Army of the Republic under the sign of StarCraft. The number of zerg rushes had tripled. Which meant the more Fett clones died on the battlefields, the fewer clones without chips compelling them to execute Emergency Orders would remain near the Jedi when the fateful words were spoken: "Well, the time has come, Commander Cody. Execute Order 66."
"Gentlemen," I leaned back in my chair, stroking my chin with my hand. After the restoration of my appearance, there was no need to wear closed armor. So, without further ado, I chose Jedi armor without a helmet. Gray-green armored plates harmonized with a black-and-silver cloak. Now at least I didn't look different from my Padawan, who, without a second thought, upon seeing my change of appearance, instantly changed the color of her own armor. But those were details. "I won't say I like the idea of replacing the current clones. We've already exchanged equipment and soldiers with other sector armies more than once. I think we should repeat this experience, and on a much larger scale. How many clones are we entitled to under the new standards?"
"Forty million for each of the system armies," Jin replied immediately. "However, it's highly doubtful we'll get that many soldiers."
"We will," I smirked. "Start negotiations with other system armies — we'll exchange our new clones for the Kaminoan products they have."
"Large expenses for our budget," Dialo reminded me cautiously.
"Nothing to be done," I spread my hands. "This is the Way."
* * *
Even through his respirator, the air the Sith breathed seemed thick, like fruit jelly. But its taste was far from sweet.
"It gives me the shivers," the girl sitting next to him complained plaintively. Casting a contemptuous glance at her, the Sith smirked, noticing she'd flinched when her Force-sense brushed the aura of the Dark Side surrounding the planet. Malgus savoringly felt the girl instinctively try to shield herself using Jedi techniques. It wouldn't help her here.
"Stop trembling," he demanded. The girl shot him a look full of anger. "Jedi dogmas won't help you here. Learn to use the Dark Side of the Force when it's truly needed."
"When I agreed to join the Empire, I didn't expect to be dragged into a den of evil," she hissed through clenched teeth.
"And what were you hoping for?" the Sith asked in surprise. "That they'd coddle you like in the Temple?"
"Basic training, at least!" the girl protested quietly. "How am I supposed to master the art of the Sith if I don't know how to..."
Her complaints were cut short by the Sith's loud laughter. Naive little Jedi girl.
"That's why your teachings are doomed," he pronounced, looking the Falleen straight in the eyes. "You can't achieve true greatness, true power, if you expect it all to be handed to you on a silver platter."
Malgus leaned forward, invading his charge's personal space:
"You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?"
"I didn't expect to be apprenticed to an ancient maniac," the girl recoiled. "The slaughter you caused in the Temple... You should have been tried."
"Just as I didn't expect to get a crybaby for an apprentice," Malgus said contemptuously. "Learn as you go. And maybe, one day," he smirked, "you'll be able to challenge me."
"I would very much like that," Zule said darkly, instinctively gripping her lightsaber hilt.
"I hope it happens before I grow old," the Sith chuckled.
The girl was about to reply, but the pilot's voice sounded in the shuttle's cabin.
"Approaching the target, Darth Malgus."
Malgus clenched his fists so hard his fingers ached. Breath escaped his chest with a wheeze like a saw cutting wood.
Finally.
Malgus's personal shuttle roared low over the scorched earth. Below, moving through the ruins of Kaas City, were droid troopers, reinforced by battle droids and squads of Imperial stormtroopers. Malgus was indifferent to the fact that all the clones wore the armor of the "Desolation" squad — an ancient Republic unit that had caused the Sith Empire no end of trouble.
In the end, it wasn't that important — what mattered was they served the Empire's purpose.
Imperial interceptors flashed past, providing escort.
Malgus looked out the window but saw nothing but charred ancient ruins, destroyed buildings, and machines broken down under the weight of time. However, a few minutes later, the ruins of the capital, overgrown with lush vegetation, were left behind. And the shuttle, along with the dozen following it, continued toward its intended target.
An ancient temple, occupied by yet another sect perverting the very essence of the Dark Side of the Force.
When the shuttle reached a spacious clearing before the dilapidated structure and braked, the Sith rose and hit a key that opened the side hatch. A gust of wind billowed his black cloak. The Force informed him that his apprentice had risen to follow.
Malgus allowed himself a smile. He had chosen her himself from among the possible new acolytes, thinking it would be amusing to guide a former Jedi along the paths of the Dark Side. And he hadn't been wrong. Besides her prickly and unyielding nature, the girl had a strong connection to the Force. And she channeled her anger intuitively, and quite well. Yes, an unpolished stone, but with proper diligence, she would become a fine warrior.
"What's the plan of action?" Ksiss asked restrainedly, adding with effort, "Master?"
"Stay close to me," Malgus commanded, instinctively kindling the fire of rage within himself. "Use your own emotions to immerse yourself in the Force."
"Why the Dark Side?" the Falleen girl said with a quiet groan.
"Only emotions will give you the necessary strength," the Sith said didactically. "Draw upon the Darkness to defeat your enemies. And bring your inner world into balance once the deed is done. That is what the Emperor does. That is what we all do — the militants of the Unified Force. I trust I don't need to lecture you on Jedi meditations?"
"I can manage on my own," the girl muttered, drawing level with him in the boarding ramp.
"In that case," Malgus seized the girl ruthlessly by the back of the head and shoved her hard out of the shuttle, "see you on the ground."
Malgus gripped his lightsaber hilt and sank into the Force. The ruins of Kaas City stood before his eyes like rotten teeth — crooked and black.
He reached out through the Force, trying to find that spark of the Dark Side he had sensed before.
The Prophets. How wise of them to hide here, in the midst of former power.
At first he found nothing and thought he had been mistaken. Or perhaps the adepts of the Prophets of the Dark Side's teachings had, in turn, sensed his presence and closed themselves off. But a moment later...
There.
Malgus allowed himself a smile beneath his mask.
Hutt-spawned weaklings. Can't even set up a proper cloaking.
Malgus felt boiling metal spreading through his veins, which only violence could purge. He threw off his cloak and stepped to the edge of the landing ramp compartment. The wind hit his face. Wrath flared with renewed strength, giving him wings. Rage demanded a bloody sacrifice.
Malgus jumped down.
The Force softened his landing, sending waves of dust shaken from the surrounding plants scattering in all directions.
"Very Sith-like," Zule commented, watching her master.
"You catch on fast," Malgus parried.
He ignited his blade; a golden lightsaber blazed in the twilight of Dromund Kaas.
Ignoring the unspoken question in his apprentice's eyes, he strode toward the central gates of the Temple.
Behind him, units of assault droids marched in lockstep, weapons held ready. He had decided not to bring organics to storm the Prophets' citadel — the Dark Side held many surprises, unpleasant for sentient minds. But machines... they were meant for exactly that — to replace people on the hottest fronts.
"And what, we'll just walk inside and demand surrender?" the apprentice asked skeptically, as the pair approached the massive gates.
"That wouldn't be as fun," the Sith rejected the notion, releasing streams of the Dark Side.
A giant telekinetic sphere, wreathed in tiny Lightning bolts, dug into the heavy doors, pressing them inward into the structure. An instant — and the massive panels were ripped from their hinges, thrown back several dozen meters.
"Take everyone alive," the Sith transmitted his order into the comlink. The droids, without breaking silence, rushed inside at a run.
The Sith let them get ahead, then leisurely stepped under the roof.
"Why do we need them alive?" Xiss persisted. "Wouldn't it be easier to just kill them all?"
"Normal heroes always go the long way around," Malgus said meaningfully. Then, restraining his irritation, he explained: "The Emperor has plans for them."
"Pffft," the girl rolled her eyes. "Then what fun are we talking about?"
He who had been named Veradun at birth merely waited in silence. The Force around him flowed like a monstrous hurricane, expanding his horizons of perception. He felt every living creature that was here. And he did not intend to let a single one escape.
"I am here, Prophet!" Malgus shouted. His voice echoed hollowly under the vaults of the vestibule. A moment later, a tall figure in a long cloak appeared at the opposite end. Even in the darkness, it was easy to make out his ridiculous beard reaching to mid-chest.
"You will pay for what you are doing," the unknown hissed, releasing branching Lightning from both hands. Malgus automatically took several steps forward, not letting the collapsed entrance crush him.
"Beg for mercy," the stranger demanded. "You are trapped here with us."
At a gesture of his hand, another pair of Prophets emerged from behind the columns. Like their leader, they greeted the enemy with the traditional Makashi salute.
How boring.
Not letting the enemy use defensive skills, the Sith ripped the nearest Prophet from his spot, simultaneously pulling him closer and frying his gaunt body with Lightning.
"You are mistaken," Malgus said grimly. "YOU are trapped here with me."
Crimson blades appeared before his eyes in the half-darkness.
"You will die here, Jedi," an unknown Prophet said to him.
Malgus didn't know his name, but he didn't care. This scum was merely a focal point for his anger, a convenient target for his rage. In the Force, he sensed a faint mockery emanating from Zule Xiss. It seemed the girl was amused by their enemy's mistake.
"Shouldn't we take them alive?" she asked, activating her own weapon.
"The Emperor doesn't need to know about every single one," Malgus snorted.
The Sith plunged deeper into the Force and raced across the vestibule; wrath lent strength to his legs.
Not one of the Prophets stirred. When about twenty meters separated them, the first one raised his blade upward and brought it down in an intricate motion, drawing a sequence. The others followed his example.
Worthless wasters of the Force. An insult to the Sith legacy.
One of the Prophets tried to collapse the nearest column onto Malgus's head with telekinesis. But the Sith, accelerating to his limit, slipped under the pile of rubble. Like a whirlwind, he descended upon the bearded bastard. The man blocked the powerful strike — capable of splitting him in two — with passable skill. Then slipped out from under a series of quick feints, keeping his limbs intact. Malgus thought with satisfaction that the fight was going to be interesting.
He had dreamed of this for months. And he hadn't been wrong.
Another golden blade flared beside him — his apprentice had joined the battle, fending off the attacks of two other Prophets. Malgus was distracted for a split second, noticing that the girl was wielding her lightsaber quite well, holding her own against two opponents at once. Though these ignoramuses were no match even for a Jedi apprentice. A fine first experience for learning the Dark Side.
The distraction nearly cost him a wound — only the Force helped the Sith dodge a thrust aimed at his chest, which his opponent had deftly attempted. How pathetic.
He was clumsy, forgotten everything except his thirst for revenge, and had failed to correctly assess his enemy's strength. He had subjected his reason to bloodlust. It wouldn't happen again.
Malgus reined in his wrath through force of will, brought it under control, turned it into a whetstone on which to sharpen his power. He shouldn't forget that the Prophets were adepts of the Dark Side. Unlike the Jedi, they hadn't degraded all this time. But they hadn't particularly developed either.
Using the Force, he shoved the attacker away, far from himself. A Force-augmented leap carried him above the floor. The Prophet's eyes widened in horror as Malgus jumped practically onto his head. The Sith bared his teeth and lunged at him.
He quickly broke through the Prophet's defensive sequences, forcing him to retreat again and again. The crimson blade of his sword moved so fast it became a blur. And yet, Malgus was faster.
The Prophet parried blow after blow; the hiss of clashing blades echoed off the surviving walls. Malgus's attack — a storm of slashing, cutting, and thrusting strikes — left the Prophet no chance for a counter. He backed away, frantically blocking Malgus's blows.
Malgus could have killed him by any method from his arsenal, but craved the satisfaction of killing with a lightsaber. His entire being cried out to feed on the suffering of one of his enemies. To keep his destructive impulse from finishing off all the others.
Malgus's sword traced fiery arcs in the air. He spun, slashed, thrust, driving the Prophet back. But the man parried every strike. It seemed the enemy was stalling for time.
Leading him into a trap, Malgus realized. Pretending to be weak. Or...?
Malgus stopped his attack, stepped back a few paces, and looked around.
Exactly. The other two, taking advantage of his departure from the battlefield, had gone on the offensive, pushing Zule toward a corner of the vestibule. They decided to deal with the weak one first, then finish off the strong one together.
With a roar, the Sith landed in a single giant leap behind the two Prophets, who were too absorbed in their prey to notice the new danger. But Zule, who had been silently holding them off, brightened.
Without much ceremony, Malgus grabbed one of the Prophets with the Force, pouring all his rage onto the flailing enemy. The moment his mental armor gave way, the man's heart-rending scream filled the vestibule, momentarily distracting the other Prophet — who was fighting and rushing toward the fray — from his task.
At the same time as the long figure in the robe, with the crunch of breaking bones, compressed to the size of a small ball, Zule, without needing to be asked twice, disarmed her opponent in a lightning-fast motion, simultaneously depriving him of both arms below the elbow. A piercing shriek filled the vestibule, drowning out the wet sound of the remains of the first victim hitting the polished floor.
"Finish him," Malgus ordered, returning to his first enemy. Contrary to the Sith's expectation, Zule did not kill the wounded man. Approaching the kneeling cripple, she grabbed his head with both hands and, with all the strength a fragile girl could muster, drove her knee into his face. The unconscious body flopped onto its back and collapsed motionless to the floor. This prophet still registered in the Force, but was no longer a threat.
"Care to introduce yourself before I finish you?" the Sith inquired, gesturing toward the last of the trio, who had stopped a couple dozen meters from Malgus and his apprentice.
"Supreme Prophet Kadann," the man said, seemingly unfazed by what had happened. "You are not Jedi. The Dark Side is strong in you..."
"Finally caught on," Zule snorted, circling him in a wide arc.
"We have powerful allies," the Prophet warned.
"What a coincidence," Malgus said, pulling the lightsaber of one of the dead to himself. Hanging the trophy on his belt, he returned his attention to the leader and his target. "But that won't save you and your whelps. Surrender — and you'll live."
"I have a similar offer," Kadann's voice from beneath his hood sounded conspiratorial. "My master would be glad to have helpers like you."
"We've already chosen a side," Xiss countered. "You have nothing to interest us..."
"You're mistaken to think that, girl," the Supreme Prophet said contemptuously. "Our agents span the entire galaxy, our wealth is indescribable, our followers..."
"Enough, Kadann," Malgus said wearily. "Everything you've listed is already ours. The droids have already reached the Temple's dungeons. And your entire agent network, all your accounts and treasures, now belong to a new master."
"Is that so," the man chuckled. "Then you will die."
Malgus managed to react, shielding himself in the Force from the torrent of Force Lightning that Kadann unleashed at him. The Prophet hadn't started his final dialogue for nothing — he had used it to accumulate Dark Side power and end the battle in his favor. Only, just as the overconfident Sith had before, now Prophet Kadann himself had underestimated his opponent.
Though with difficulty, Darth Malgus advanced, maintaining a Force Bubble around himself. Through the flashes of bluish-violet lightning, he noted with satisfaction that Zule, as befitted a diligent apprentice, had reacted to the threat in the simplest way — she had moved out of the line of fire, hiding behind a column. Kadann tried to destroy this obstacle, but noticing that Malgus was moving toward him, rightly judged that the Sith posed a much greater threat than the half-trained Jedi.
He unleashed oceans of the Dark Side upon Malgus, trying to incinerate him. To the very end, he never realized that the Sith was absorbing his energy, strengthening his own defenses.
Finally, when no more than a couple of meters remained between them, Kadann realized his tactic was ineffective. Returning the crimson blade to his hands, he prepared to continue the sparring.
Malgus unleashed a series of furious overhead strikes on his opponent, forcing the weakened enemy to retreat quickly. Dodging sideways from Kadann's thrust, he delivered a Force-augmented spinning kick, catching him in the ribs. The man rolled like a wheel toward the nearest column. At the same time, Zule, slipping out of her hiding place, joined the battle, continuing to wear down the Supreme Prophet with series of fast strikes from the Ataru arsenal.
Malgus, seeing how easily the girl turned her rage into fuel for combat, smiled with his scarred lips beneath his respirator mask. Excellent. She could become a superb warrior.
Sensing a flash of the Prophet's anger, he preemptively grabbed him with the Force and yanked him toward himself. Another column, which the man had intended to collapse, shattered uselessly into rubble, causing no harm to the Sith's protégé. Zule leaped over the debris and rushed toward him.
Malgus waited for Kadann to get to his feet, recovering from the rather rough collision with another column that the Sith had arranged for him. Zule, coming up beside her teacher, smiled crookedly. It seemed the girl was starting to enjoy this.
The Supreme Prophet spat a glob of blood onto the floor and pulled his fallen lightsaber—knocked from his trembling hand—back to himself. Throwing a venomous glare at the Sith, he leaped toward his enemies with a furious roar.
When about ten meters separated them, Malgus extended his free hand and released a blue, branching Force Lightning bolt. It struck the flying opponent, pierced through his defenses, enveloped him in a cocoon, and began scorching his flesh.
Screaming in pain, the man dropped his weapon, freezing at the apex of his jump. Parts of his body convulsed, his clothes smoldered, sticking to his skin in a few places, filling the air with the smell of ozone mixed with burnt hair and flesh.
Kadann writhed and howled, as if complaining to the heavens about the unbearable torment. Only after several minutes of torture did he finally lose consciousness.
Malgus stopped his attack. The Prophet, severely wounded, fell to the floor and, like a limp ragdoll, rolled across the shiny permacrete.
He wheezed even more laboredly than Malgus.
The Sith, gesturing for his padawan to follow, approached the defeated enemy.
"We shouldn't leave him alive," the girl said, molten aurodium shimmering in her eyes. "After all, the troopers report that they've captured everyone else, including the children."
"And what did these scum need younglings for?" Malgus tensed, kicking Kadann's burned body with all his might. The man didn't wake up.
He didn't care about the fate of the small fry. But he wanted to unravel another mystery, one that was clearly valuable.
"I don't think we'll like the answer," the girl said, igniting her lightsaber. "I can only think of two reasons why elderly hermits would need two dozen teenagers. Neither of them can be pleasant."
"Stand down," Malgus squeezed the girl's hand gripping the weapon tightly. "Believe me, he and all the other Prophets face a fate far worse than death."
"Really?" The girl deactivated her weapon. Satisfaction flickered through the Force from her. And peace. Malgus watched with pleasure as the Falleen calmed down, flooding herself with the Light Side. The amber gleam in her irises dissolved, as if it had never been there.
He found that he liked the former padawan's character.
The Sith lifted the unconscious body with the Force, moving it toward the exit, where the forward units of assault droids were already appearing, having finished clearing the Temple. Without much ceremony, the white droids smashed a passage through the Temple wall, not bothering to clear the blocked entrance. The girl followed him, not falling a step behind, silently matching her teacher's long stride.
"Place him in stasis," he ordered the commander of the Skywalkers. "This bastard must serve the Empire."
"Master?" Xiss looked at him uncomprehendingly.
The question swimming in her eyes was the very one he had asked himself countless times, and to which his father had tried to help him find an answer many thousands of years ago.
That answer had never fully satisfied him — neither as a child nor as an adult — but Malgus suspected that was the point.
"Sometimes an empty cage is just an empty cage," he pronounced, stepping outside. Zule looked at him with a puzzled expression but remained silent, wrapping herself in the folds of her cloak.
Another storm had broken outside.
The Sith felt the first droplets of rain fall on his face. Closing his eyes, he allowed the anger to leave his body, restoring the Balance of the Force within himself.
And as soon as his emotions returned to normal, he pulled his hood over his head, striding toward the landed shuttle through the dense curtain of the pouring rain.
Dromund Kaas had become part of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul.
He needed to inform the Emperor.
* * *
When the commander of the First Volunteer Corps of Christophsis, Matthew Mantrell, arrived, the other meeting participants were already seated in the conference room of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul's expeditionary forces headquarters.
"My apologies, Admiral," he said, circling the table and heading for the empty chair to the right of Grand Admiral Thrawn, who sat at the head of the table. "A message came in from the scouts. I considered it important for our meeting."
"Care to share?" the Chiss asked, not looking up from reading his datapad's screen. It seemed this alien didn't even notice what was happening around him, but in fact, it turned out to be the complete opposite.
"Yes," the man replied, taking his seat. "A patrol corvette encountered a group of smugglers. Two ships destroyed, one boarded. They're being interrogated on the Chimaera now. So far we've learned they have no connection to the Republic or the galaxy we know. Technicians are extracting data from the navigation computer to expand our understanding of this region."
"And in your opinion, this waste of resources will bear fruit?" R'Lair, sitting across from him, smirked. The green-skinned Twi'lek, who commanded a regiment of his kin — among the first citizens of Zakuul — did not part with his weapon even at a meeting held in the depths of a massive fortress made of black stone that absorbed any type of energy. The heavy blaster pistol, secured in a chest holster, was some rare model that Matthew didn't even recognize. The weapon's power was undeniable — a single shot could burn straight through the armor used by Imperial stormtroopers.
"What Captain R'Lair meant to ask," the commander of the Empire's 1st Assault Corps, Marshal Taka, said in a more courteous tone, sitting beside him, "is whether raids in nearby space will help, especially when there are many other ways to obtain information."
"A negative result is still a result," Thrawn said calmly, fixing his blazing red eyes on the clone. "Furthermore, after each operation, we leave observation drones in the systems to help us track traffic in every system. By the time we decide on a further strategy, we'll have information on hundreds of ships operating in this sector."
R'Lair gave a hoarse snort.
"We know the map of this sector." The Twi'lek tapped the tabletop decisively with a clawed finger. "Won't your kinfolk share their known information about the Unknown Regions with us?"
"Captain," Thrawn said in a silky tone, looking up from the screen. "You are discussing matters far beyond your competence far too much. Unless my memory fails me, your regiment belongs to army intelligence. Not counterintelligence. Kindly carry out the orders you've been given, rather than debate them."
"I just don't want to rot away in this godforsaken world for my entire life," the Twi'lek growled. "Especially when the trouble in the Republic starts. You know, I don't want to miss the show."
"It is not for you to decide where the forces under your command will operate," Alex, the commander of the 2nd Assault Corps, said from the other end of the table. "We all serve the Empire and the Emperor. And in this case, the Grand Admiral is the conduit of his will."
"Agreed, Commander," Thrawn said. "Unfortunately, I will not dwell on this incident," he cast a cold glance from his piercing eyes at the Twi'lek. "There are other matters requiring my attention. There are other forces threatening both this region and all who have joined the Empire of Zakuul."
"The Admiral is right," Matthew interjected. "I can name at least ten such threats right now, and there will be more in the future."
"Then deal with them," R'Lair said firmly. "My scouts are ready to infiltrate any hole in the vicinity and bring back the head of anyone you name."
Thrawn shook his head disapprovingly.
Despite the unforgivably short time they had known each other, Matthew had already figured out that the Chiss was not a fan of hasty decisions. Where the same scout would charge into battle with unknown results screaming, the Grand Admiral would prefer to understand the enemy and destroy him for certain. That small pirate clan that had claimed a mineral-rich asteroid belt in a neighboring star system could attest to that. Though they possessed nearly an entire fleet, masterfully hidden among the space boulders, Thrawn needed only his own flagship and two corvettes to wipe them all out. The few survivors were now being interrogated in the dungeons of Nirauan, extracting all their information. Its usefulness would be judged later. For now, the important thing was to get it.
The pirates' navigation database had become the starting point for fleet intelligence raids in the vicinity — the Empire's expeditionary forces were deploying their network of eyes and ears, searching for enemies and allies. Too bad the Twi'lek didn't understand the necessity of this step.
"What do you know about the Quesoth, Captain?" Thrawn quietly inquired. The scout, furrowing his brow, spent a full minute acknowledging his ignorance.
"And the Stromm?"
Again silence.
"The Jerunah? The Vagaari? The Ssi-ruvi? The Tof? The Rakata? The Killik? The Nagai? The Shikitari? The Shi'ido?"
Receiving a negative answer to each question, Thrawn set his datapad aside and steepled his fingers.
"We've faced dangerous and numerous enemies before," the Twi'lek cut in. "These will fall too, like all the previous ones."
"But at what cost?" the Grand Admiral asked. "Are you willing to accept the loss of all your kin?"
"Of course not!" the Twi'lek protested.
"I do not accept any senseless losses, Captain," Thrawn said with a impassive expression on his blue face. "Our duty as civilized beings is to try to minimize suffering," the Chiss drawled. If he was bothered by his interlocutor's obvious lack of compassion, it was impossible to tell from his voice. "This applies to our allies as well as our enemies."
"Under your command are the strongest ships in this region," the Twi'lek's voice no longer sounded so belligerent. "Can't we simply force the peoples to join us?"
"And how soon would I have to send troops — whose contingent is already limited — to put down uprisings?" Thrawn raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Conquest through violence is not our way."
"Then," the scout persisted, "perhaps you could explain why you sent half of our 'Cleaver' fleet to Vagaari worlds with orders to wipe them all out?"
"My people have known the Vagaari for many years," the Grand Admiral said. "They are warlike, stubborn, bloodthirsty. They protect their ships with special capsules containing prisoners — no sane military commander would fire on such a vessel."
"Savages," the Twi'lek growled. "Barbarians..."
"And yet," Thrawn continued, ignoring the unrestrained alien, "the Vagaari have ambitions to conquer every people they encounter. The Jerunah race, used by the Vagaari as a source of slaves for several decades, would confirm my words. If even a single one of their representatives remained alive."
"What bastards," R'Lair whispered.
"Do you still think the Vagaari can be negotiated with?" the Grand Admiral asked with barely perceptible mockery.
"No, sir," the Twi'lek straightened up. "But perhaps it was worth sending more than one corps to conquer their territories?"
"Doubting me again, Captain?" Thrawn remarked coldly. Seeing the man shake his head negatively, the Chiss continued. "I do not risk MY fleet and MY people needlessly. I advise you to remember that."
Those assembled noticed a blinking light on the Chiss's comlink. Glancing at it briefly, he said:
"Circumstances force me to interrupt the meeting. We'll reconvene here in two hours."
In complete silence, the clones, the Twi'lek, and the man rose from their seats, proceeding to the only exit from the conference room.
Matthew, leaving last, noticed that Thrawn's face showed a complete absence of emotion. And his burning eyes, as if in a mirror, stared at an identical face looming above the comlink projector.
"I am glad for your response, Aristocra..."
The Christophsian could not hear the rest of the conversation — the door panels closing behind him cut off the Grand Admiral's voice.
* * *
Striding calmly through a sea of grass, in some places reaching her waist, Celeste felt a faint echo of the Force emanating from the structure before her. Once inhabited by many Jedi, this building, surrounded by dense forests, now remained only a reminder of the former grandeur of the True Covenant.
"A strange feeling," the girl accompanying her shivered. "As if we're walking through a cemetery."
"In a way, that's exactly what it is, Sariss," Celeste admitted. "In my youth, dozens of powerful Jedi lived here. The Covenant Temple was saturated with their Force. But over the years, everything here has decayed, faded away..."
"On Dromund Kaas, it's different," the blonde said quietly. "There, the Darkness is everywhere..."
"The Dark Side has a remarkable ability to leave its stinking aftertaste on everything it touches," Celeste quoted the words of one of the Covenant's members. "That planet was a haven for Sith for millennia — the most repulsive and the most terrible. It's no wonder the corresponding aura remained there. And it will most likely continue to exist even after our death."
"I understand," the girl said shortly.
Celeste didn't need to look at her charge. Through the Force, she knew perfectly well what she was thinking. Despite being raised among the Sith, the girl didn't hide her emotions well enough. At least, not for her.
"Do you think we can find anything here?" Sariss asked a new question.
"At least we'll try to find out," Celeste admitted frankly. "The Emperor has his sights set on this moon. And our task is to do everything so that the artifacts of the past end up in his treasury, and not in the hands of even ordinary soldiers. Not to mention the locals."
"Do you think they care about anything?" the apprentice wondered. "There are so few of them — just a couple of settlements. It seems to me that if they cared about this ancient structure, they would have long ago..."
"And yet, we must explore this Temple," the former Jedi Shadow said with slight impatience. No. Inquisitor. That is what she and those who had joined this division of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul were now called.
Inquisitors.
Punishers. Hunters. Killers.
And, as if that weren't enough — also archaeologists, hunters of antiquities.
"You are one of the few who will understand the importance of this," the Emperor had instructed her. "We must not allow ancient Sith, or Jedi, or any other dangerous things and knowledge to fall into the hands of... not only enemies. In general — into anyone's hands but ours."
And... she couldn't disagree. After what she had seen in the Throne Room, any doubts had vanished. The Unified Force — a power it was useless to argue with. Neither Sith nor Jedi were a match for the might that the Emperor radiated and carefully concealed from everyone.
Perhaps, over four thousand years, the ghost of Karness Muur had managed to erode her dogmatic foundations. Because now Celeste, for the first time in her life, craved greater power. Significantly greater than what she possessed herself.
It was no surprise that among those who had joined the Empire before her eyes, she had chosen Sariss. A girl raised by Sith in all their sophisticated notions of reality. A girl whom, with her experience, she could make into something far more than a simple bed warmer for perverts...
And who, in turn, could help her in comprehending the Dark Side of the Force. As an agent of the Covenant, Morne could sense the Darkness even in the most insignificant or carefully hidden manifestation. She knew all the paths of the Dark Side known to the Jedi — in theory. She had no doubt that she could open herself to it when necessary. And that she could restore her spiritual Balance with the help of the Light Side.
But, for a full understanding of the Darkness, a living source of knowledge was necessary. One weak enough not to push her into the abyss of madness. After all, to begin the journey, only a confident step was enough. The rest could always be obtained later — the Emperor was unlikely to refuse her request to study one or several Sith holocrons. After all, an Inquisitor must possess deep knowledge in the area they are to fight against.
And judging by what the only Jedi among all those she had observed in the Throne Room had demonstrated, in the practices of the Light Side she could outshine most of the current members of the Jedi Order.
Lost in thought, she didn't notice how they approached the dilapidated stone steps of the Temple. Looking at the numerous chipped pieces of stone and cracks, Celeste thought with some amusement that Jedi structures didn't stand the test of time. Unlike the same Sith temples she had studied in her youth on Korriban.
"There are surely deadly traps here," Sariss shuddered. The proximity to the Light Side, even so insignificant, caused her discomfort. "Maybe we should have just let the stormtroopers dismantle this Temple stone by stone?"
"A Sith who fears the unknown?" Celeste asked reproachfully, looking into the girl's eyes. The latter, lowering her gaze, impatiently unclipped the hilt of her lightsaber from her belt.
"I'm not afraid of anything!" she said decisively.
"How sweet," Celeste grinned. "And foolish."
Overhead, howling with ion engines, a pair of interceptors streaked past.
A patrol, controlling the planet's airspace. A Star Destroyer, from whose deck cargo and transport shuttles continued to rise, delivering construction materials for creating a base and the contingent of the Empire's 10th Assault Corps under the command of Clone Marshal Dyato, hung in low orbit. Given the remoteness of Dray-2 from the main hyperspace routes and conflict zones, this force was more than enough to establish complete control over the Empire's property. Yes, the Emperor could call this world his own with a clear conscience — a billion credits paid to the descendants of the Dree family for the right to own this remote world spoke for itself.
Celeste, throwing open the gates of the Temple, thought bitterly that the glorious beginnings of the True Covenant had been trampled by the very descendants of the Dree family. Not Force-sensitive, they had used the planet as a tourist spot — fortunately, the moderate climate was conducive to that. However, the number of those wishing to cross the galaxy to get here grew smaller with each passing year. And over the last three thousand years, this moon, despite active attempts to sell it, had never found a new owner. And for more than a thousand years, there hadn't been a single tourist here. Once profitable real estate had become a burden that no sensible being wanted to deal with.
Because they didn't understand that the true value of Dray-2 wasn't in its welcoming flora and fauna. But in the hard-to-reach ancient structure, the path to which only Inquisitor Morne knew. Therefore, it wasn't difficult for Celeste to use the HoloNet to identify the last heir of the Dree family who owned this planet and buy out from him the rights to the True Covenant's Shield World. Two days of travel aboard her interceptor "Fury," provided by the Emperor.
Now, settling into the once-luxurious tourist complex, Dyato's stormtroopers were very clearly explaining to the descendants of those who had arrived here illegally, or who were descendants of long-ago settlers, that times had changed. And from now on — they were citizens of a completely different state. One that would give them work and take care of prosperity.
After all, once the Temple was cleansed and a full-fledged military base was established on the planet, why shouldn't the Emperor's plan come to life? What was once a tourist complex would turn into a luxurious sanatorium for the army and fleet.
After all, the Empire's soldiers also need a place to rest.
Considering how much still needs to be done.
"The entrance is sealed with the Force," Celeste explained, tearing herself away from her thoughts. "Even shipboard weapons aren't enough to break through inside."
"So what do we do?" Sariss asked, surveying the towering gates of mandalorian iron, equipped with dozens of intricate mechanisms. "Go back?"
"Not a chance!" Celeste remarked caustically. "Fortunately for us, I know how to open this door. But, I beg you by the Force — don't touch anything inside. The last thing we need is to awaken the guardians..."