Atroxa tumbled, letting a medical laser cutter that a droid was trying to end her life with pass over her. A kick to the head disoriented the mechanical servant, sending it spinning aimlessly around its axis. Then, without much fanfare, she split the enemy into pieces with her lightsaber.
As soon as the second and final inhabitant of the secret Sith lair was reduced to a pile of scrap metal, the Lethan allowed herself to catch her breath.
Unexpectedly nimble droids. Clearly custom-built.
The girl, keeping her weapon ready — you never knew what other surprises lurked here — circled the complex, searching for hidden enemies. But she found none. Well, the Sith didn't seem too concerned about his lair.
Using a standard slicer, the Twi'lek broke through the defenses of Sidious's lair's central computer and began downloading information. She didn't read the contents — her job was different. She needed to find and deliver to her master all the data present here.
While the copy was running, the Hand studied her surroundings with interest. A typical-looking abandoned industrial structure, of which there were a huge number on Mustafar. An abandoned appearance, a complete absence of energy signals — a decent cover for a lair where young Jedi were being brainwashed.
Obviously, her master had sent her precisely for this purpose — to seize Sidious's information on brainwashing the gifted. Undoubtedly to use it for his own ends.
Though her master's policy — taking from others and putting it to his own service — was somewhat monotonous and even simple, the Twi'lek couldn't deny its effectiveness. Slowly but surely, the Emperor was stripping Darth Sidious of his resources. Funny — few Sith of the past had managed to lead another by the nose for so long. Usually, Lords kept a close eye on their territories, servants, ships, and armies. But Sidious either didn't value this laboratory or arrogantly assumed that an outwardly abandoned building would interest no one.
After all, two converted medical droids weren't security. That was a joke.
Glancing at the download indicator, Atroxa smiled at her thoughts and checked the chronometer. It would take more than an hour for the device to absorb all the data from this laboratory. Then she could destroy the complex and move on to the next task.
She couldn't miss the main event. Only ten minutes left until the main action began. She needed to see this.
Approaching the polarized window, which offered a magnificent view of the lifeless planet spewing molten lava from its depths, she smiled slightly, watching the squadron of XS freighters descending near a luxurious structure on the top of one of the cliffs. More than two dozen ships, with a color scheme strange for this part of the galaxy, were preparing to land troops.
Excellent. The first half of the job on Mustafar was complete.
Just a little more.
* * *
"High General Dougan," Admiral Nial Declann approached, reporting the results of the transition. "The fleet has emerged at the calculated point. No losses or stragglers."
Telos — the new flagship of the Blade Squadron, which I had requisitioned for personal use, emerged from hyperspace near Ryloth's orbit.
Since the front was a mess, I had to be in constant motion, showing by deed and personal example how to fight. And the blood had stagnated. A diplomatic job lay ahead.
"Excellent, Admiral," I cast a glance at the black-skinned man. "How long until the arrival of the ships with the troops of General Secura's 327th Star Corps?"
"About an hour and a half behind us," the Admiral recalled the schedule.
"We're being hailed from the Resolute," a voice came from the bridge crew.
"Put them through," I nodded toward the main holoterminal on the bridge, located in its central part. The trip from the viewports to the middle of the command center was a matter of seconds.
"Rear Admiral Makati," I greeted the commander of the Spear Squadron. "Glad to see you in good health."
Aayla had sent Makati at the head of the squadron for permanent basing in Ryloth's orbit — the locals categorically objected to building a base, even an orbital one, in their system. But I wasn't about to leave the planet with my tail between my legs. As they say, "If someone tells you to take a fuck-hike, you don't pack your bags and go, do you?" Same situation here. Thousands of clones didn't die here so the head-foots could do God knows what.
"High General, Admiral Declann," the man who would have been one of Palpatine's doomed baker's dozen of Grand Admirals greeted us.
I winced. Nominally, my position on the High Council granted me this rank in the Grand Army. But the prerequisite was being a Master. So, despite having the largest area of responsibility, I remained, as before, a Senior Jedi General.
"General Keto is on the surface. Overseeing the loading of the last units and the dismantling of the temporary base."
"Is it really that bad?" Makati, despite not having engaged in any serious combat for the past month, looked sleep-deprived. Heavy stubble was the first sign of sleep deprivation.
"How should I put it," he paused for a moment. "We've had several skirmishes with CIS raiders, but otherwise, the only problems are the locals. From the latest reports, I gathered that the General failed to convince the commander of the local militia — they still demand the planet be demilitarized."
"Ah, well, good luck to them with that," I snorted. Makati grinned. No soldier wants to wade through the sewer of politics. And if there's a chance to relieve yourself of even some of that work, it's a blessing. But I'm the one who has to talk to some of the least agreeable beings.
"Remain in orbit until further orders, Admiral Makati," I ordered. "Let the loading of clones and equipment continue — no need to provoke the locals prematurely."
"As you command, sir," the officer saluted and ended the communication session.
"What are your orders, General?" After a couple of minutes of silence, the commander of the Blade Squadron reminded me of his presence.
"Prepare my shuttle," I sighed. How tired I was of proving to the galaxy that I was leading them to a bright future. Every exotic asshole had to be told — don't, mother of alien, saw off the branch you're sitting on.
Touching the comlink activation key, I said:
"Alpha."
"Listening, General."
"In two hours, gather your guys in the main hangar. And tell Balda to bring his people too. As soon as General Secura's corps arrives, we'll take a walk to the surface."
"Will do."
"Commandos, sir?" Nial asked in bewilderment. "Expecting problems?"
"Who knows," I admitted. "Better to have a dozen reliable people at hand than two corps in orbit."
The officer clicked his heels.
"By the way, Admiral," I looked at Declann. "How is your health?"
The officer's quick sideways glance did not escape my notice.
"Don't worry, Admiral, everyone here is trustworthy," I smirked.
The man, smiling guiltily, nodded. Well, he of all people knew that the entire crew were Christophsians who had replaced those poor souls who'd been keeping this veteran alive for the last few years.
"I am immensely grateful to you for insisting I be sent to the Christophsian MedCenter for treatment," I could feel his sincerity in the Force. "I don't even know what would have happened if I hadn't been taken there on the first available flight. Most likely, I'd be a vegetable, drooling, if the doctors there hadn't..."
"It's nothing, Rear Admiral," after all, didn't the man deserve a promotion for saving a strategic world of the Emp... Republic? That's what I think too. "Especially since you were operating at the limit of your abilities."
"I was just doing my duty, General," Nial said, slightly embarrassed.
"Modesty is becoming," I smirked. "Allow me a question."
"Yes, of course," the officer spread his hands. "Especially since we still haven't received permission from the Ryloth authorities to move into orbit."
"What does using Battle Meditation feel like?" I looked into the black-skinned man's eyes.
First, I sensed his confusion in the Force. Then the emotion showed on his face...
"Sorry, I don't understand..."
"Nial," I unceremoniously switched to a first-name basis. "You can be frank with me. Believe me, when I said that my fleet has the best of the best, I wasn't lying. Of course, I know your little secret."
The confusion reigning in the officer's head slowly dissipated, giving way to resolve and cold calculation. Indeed, the surprise of the question had worn off. And he had nothing to fear — here was a Force-sensitive being. They didn't kill you for that. At least, not in this era.
"Did you transfer me under your command solely for this reason?" he inquired. Ah, there was irritation now. Or was it anger?
"No," I shook my head. "Your Force-sensitivity is merely a pleasant bonus to your outstanding qualities. Take my word for it — a great future awaits you. And an innate aptitude for a technique like Battle Meditation is an excellent asset."
"Last time it nearly killed me," the man objected. "I'm not sure further use of this gift will have a positive effect on my health."
"You just didn't have a suitable teacher," I noted. "Natural talents are better developed than buried. You yourself must have noticed how much more effective the troops under your command became when you used what nature gave you."
Nial gave me a long, thoughtful look.
Finally, as if making a decision, he cautiously inquired:
"Can... anyone teach this?"
"Only not the Jedi..."
God, it's all so simple.
Fishing in a pocket on my belt, I handed him a pre-prepared information chip.
The Admiral hesitated for a second, then reached out and took the data storage device. Meeting my gaze, he paused for a moment. Then, shaking his head as if to dispel a spell, he stepped aside awkwardly.
Too late, Admiral.
You're mine now. Lock, stock, and barrel.
* * *
Staring into the officer's arrogant face, he allowed himself a restrained smile.
"We request a meeting with your leaders," he said.
The Falleen broke into a grin, as if he'd heard a funny joke.
"We'll bury you there," snickers came from the fighters behind him.
The officer nodded for the unexpected guests to follow him.
"Stay ready," Maul said to the commando commander standing to his right.
"Already am," the Duros replied just as quietly. Obeying the silent will of the fortress's fighters, Nuodo handed his rifle to one of his men and followed the leader of this mission.
"What the hell is all this for?" he had thought when he first heard the proposal. But the longer the client spoke, the more the head of the private military company liked the idea. And he hadn't asked for more than his usual fee.
However, he really didn't like the client's representative. Too silent, too aggressive. And half a machine, to boot...
Meanwhile, as he walked through the deserted corridors of the fortress, the Duros felt it starting to get hot under his jumpsuit. Mustafar of the Hutts.
Fortunately, the journey was short.
The same officer who had met them on the landing platform escorted them to a massive door. As soon as the heavy armored bulkhead rose, letting them inside, and lowered behind their backs, a long, massive table appeared before the Duros's eyes, clearly made from a single piece of extremely expensive material.
And seated at the far end of that table were those for whose audience their entire motley and heavily armed escort had arrived.
"Why are you here?" the Falleen sitting at the head of the table asked, a threat in his voice. The other four, positioned on either side of the leader, swept their gazes over the newcomers, their eyes full of disinterest.
"We need your army," the client's representative said in a level tone.
"What is he talking about?" a thought burned through the Duros. "The agreement was about something completely different! We're about to get..."
"Fools!" the leader shouted. "We are not mercenaries! Get rid of them!"
He accompanied the last phrase with a sharp, unambiguous gesture of his hand.
"Take their weapons and ships," he added, seeing Nuodo and the client's representative tense up, assuming defensive stances.
"Let me," one of the Falleen sitting to the leader's right half-rose, pointing a finger at the figure next to Rivas, "hand me that lightsaber of yours..."
"A lightsaber? A Jedi weapon? Where did that guy get one? I didn't see anything like that during the whole trip!" a series of thoughts raced through the head of the private military company's leader.
A pair of faceless guards approached them from both sides, training their massive blasters on the uninvited guests.
"Who even told you, Modge, to bring every stray mutt here?" the Black Sun leader was snarling in the officer's face meanwhile.
Rivas waited until the guard was close enough, then delivered a fast, rising punch to the chin — right into the neat gap between the edge of the mask and the top of the chest plate. As always, the move worked flawlessly. The Falleen dropped to the floor like a log.
The client's representative was right behind him. With his bare hands, he snapped the second guard's neck, then, without any visible tools, slightly closing his eyes, he lifted the corpse above his head without touching it, and hurled it with all his might toward the syndicate aristocrats.
"I'm giving you one last chance," he said in that same level voice. "Join me..."
"Silence!" The crime lord rose from the table. "We are the Black Sun!"
Following his example, the other four Falleen got to their feet, threatening expressions on their faces.
"Well, then," the client's representative shrugged indifferently. Rivas shot him a suspicious look. In the Zabrak's hands appeared a long, oblong object, resembling an elongated lightsaber hilt. "As you wish."
The air filled with the hiss of activated energy blades — one from each end of the weapon. Then the Zabrak hurled his weapon toward the galaxy's most influential criminals, turning it into a blurry red haze.
* * *
"So where the hell is he?" Alpha said indignantly, kicking a small pebble in frustration. The latter, caught by the toe of his armored boot, soared into the air, flying off to the far end of the cave.
The fighters of Hurricane Team, like their commander, were bored, waiting for further developments. Hevy, Fives, Echo, Joker. Most of the Domino Squad. They had performed excellently in the battle at the Rishi outpost, during the repulsion of the second attack on Kamino. No wonder Alpha, who had taken command over them during the recent events, had taken them under his wing without hesitation. Even though the guys hadn't trained under the commando program — their potential was already at that level.
The standard size of commando squads was specified by special protocols back on Kamino — four clones and not a single unit more. However, we are the Gent army — we have our own rules. Why split up guys who work so well together? Besides, my "Alphas" have earned the right to have the best of the best under their command.
"Maybe he stopped for a snack?" Balda said, poorly concealing his irritation. Catching the eye of the Twi'lek guard, the commando demonstratively pulled a vibroknife from his chest plate and began examining it with feigned interest.
The Laskovyi May commando squad (thank the heavens, I didn't have to explain why the newly formed squad was given that name) had only just finished its formation.
Besides Gregor, who had proven himself well on Kamino, Alpha-30, known as Sull, had joined the squad. The guy was about to be sent to the planet Gaftikar — to spread democracy and train local partisans on how to hide in the endless forests. However, I managed to pull him over to my side in time, along with other commandos.
Oh, how grateful I am to the Force. It doesn't take much to remember everything I read about the Star Wars universe. Thank Wookieepedia.
So, back to Sull. The kid deserted from the GAR because he increasingly wondered — what would happen to the clones after the war. Regular soldiers were one thing — obedient and docile. Commandos were independent individuals, almost normal sentients (except for the fact that they all looked the same). Since it's hard enough to place a regular soldier, capable only of killing, into civilian life, what do you do with a specially trained saboteur? Driven by such thoughts, Sull, in the events I knew, had simply walked off into the sunset, waving goodbye to everyone. And, as far as I remember, he lived pretty well as a civilian.
The next guy in Yuri Shatun... Balda's group bore the proud name Morda. A perfectly competent comrade, who had been in more than a few scrapes. As far as I remember, this kid became a mercenary after the war and put together his own squad of quite capable "fixers."
Alpha-58, Trantos. I didn't remember much about this guy — only that this clone, along with some Jedi, had raised hell in Count Dooku's research center.
So, just like Alpha's squad, Balda got four men under his command, and every single one of them was a born commando. Maybe it was unfair to the other squads — after all, ARCs were more individual fighters who grouped up as needed. However, I had no intention of going back on my word. I let Balda assemble his squad himself — and how he negotiated with the others didn't particularly concern me.
What was much more notable was the fact that, unlike most other commandos, Alpha's and Balda's squads sported armor that once belonged to members of the Desolation Squad — a Republic commando squad from the time of the Galactic Wars, when the Old Republic was fighting Vitiate's Sith Empire.
Initially, only the ARCs under my command wore such armor — simply because I only had three sets. The next person after the commandos to get the "healthy person's" armor was Nyx, the commander of the legion under me. Then, with the discovery of the New Forge and the start of production for the Empire's stormtroopers, things moved faster. The fighters of the 204th Legion — racially pure, loyal soldiers who had been through fire and water with me — practically immediately, as soon as the new armor appeared in the catalog, got their upgrades. And now, the fighters of units I could trust as much as myself looked strikingly different from other clones, whose armor protected them from blaster fire about as well as foil protects a chocolate bar.
For now, though, most of the commandos, whom I privately called special forces, were still lugging around the Republic Katarn armor — despite the clear advantage of the option I offered in almost every parameter. Oh well. So be it. At least I can always tell who is loyal to me in heart and soul.
"Hey, kid," another clone broke the silence. Clad in the same armor as Alpha and Balda, Korr wore slightly thicker bracers that concealed his expensive prosthetics. The clone commando had lost the hands he was born with in an explosion during a bomb disposal operation. Then he was written off to a headquarters on Coruscant, where the Nulls of Skirata noticed him before they came under my command. "Where's your commander?"
"Indeed," the second clone joined his commander. Like Korr, he was clad in new armor, but completely black, with dark green trim on the elements. "Did Syndulla sit down to take a crap and swallow the rope?"
"Calm down, Necromancer," Korr said placatingly, putting a hand on his subordinate's shoulder. "He's just a guard."
"Judging by how they fought here," the clone threw out contemptuously, "they're lucky my brothers fell here but saved their alien asses from CIS slavery."
The fighter of the local militia, standing at the entrance to the cave where the commander of the Twi'lek rebels, Cham Syndulla, was supposed to have met us three hours ago, looked at the clone defiantly.
"If you knew how to fight, you wouldn't have fallen here," he said proudly. "While we preserved almost all our forces."
"Because you're Hutt cowards," Necromancer stepped forward. "You hid in holes and stayed there until the Republic came back."
Hearing this tirade, I just smirked.
The clone now known as Necromancer was born on Kamino as a regular line infantry clone. Under the command of Captain Kili and General Ima-Gan, he was part of the corps sent here at the very beginning of the war. And he turned out to be the only one who survived from the Republic soldiers. Concussed, with one eye knocked out, having lost several fingers on his hands and feet, he was found by a local woman who nursed him back to health, thanks to his own recommendations. After recovering, the clone medic began waging a guerrilla war. By the time the Republic forces returned to the planet, he had racked up several dozen enemy tanks and up to a company of droids of all types on his account — not every infantryman can boast such results. The cost was the loss of his right foot and arm up to the elbow — he was injured by a close-range rocket explosion from the Separatists.
After evacuation, he was sent for decommissioning — that's what clones called "retirement due to health reasons." However, fortunately for him, he ended up on Christophsis by that time — he was getting prosthetics at the local medical center and was requisitioned for headquarters needs. Then, when Alpha and Balda were convinced of his loyalty to me, the clone received a magnificent gift from the good people of Christophsis — the most advanced prosthetics currently available, the price of which on the official market exceeded more than fifty thousand credits.
So the first fighter appeared in the newly created Inferno commando squad. Korr, who arrived later, took command of this group. "The Cripple Team," as the locals jokingly called them, emphasizing the fact that the fighters of this squad were all invalids who got a second chance thanks to me. Basically, after hearing a couple of stories from Serra about how this team of clones had scattered a crowd of drunk Twi'leks boasting about their exploits in liberating their homeland in a local cantina, I simply couldn't not take these guys — all four of them — with me.
As a result, the meeting that Syndulla agreed to would take place not only in the company of me, my apprentice, Aayla, Racha, with a dozen commandos providing cover. But also under the watchful eye of Inferno. All that remained was to wait for the commander of the local militia himself.
."..Yeah? Well, if you're so brave and courageous," the guard wouldn't let up, raising his voice, "then how the hell did some droids crush you here like bugs?"
"You forget yourself, alien," Morda intervened in the argument. "If it weren't for our brothers, you'd all have been wiped out here."
I wonder, does Palpatine also watch the squabbling and mudslinging in the Senate the same way? Like little children.
"We would have managed..."
"Interesting how?" Hevy grinned. "By eating rocks and stopping tin-can tanks with sticks?"
"What are you babbling about..."
And in the middle of this chaos — four Force-sensitives. Two silently watching the conflict, the Twi'leks, me, and my apprentice. Who, quietly approaching me as I sat at a spacious table, asked softly:
"Teacher, where is Commander Syndulla, anyway?"
"I don't know," I admitted honestly. "He's probably still polishing his dantian in the cave."
"Polishing what?" Oli asked, bewildered. Looking at the girl, I beamed a smile:
"Sure you want to know?"
"Not really," Starstone frowned, pulling back.
Just at that moment, when the argument between the clones and the lone Twi'lek had almost come to blows, the entrance to the cave filled with new characters.
"What's going on here?" a Twi'lek with orange skin asked menacingly.
"Well, well, look who's here," I smirk to myself. Making a gesture to the commandos, I stood up to greet Commander Syndulla.
What can be said about him? An exact copy of the cartoon version — just in sharper "graphics." In the Force, he was seething with confidence and, for some reason, extreme irritation.
"Commander Syndulla," I said with a smile, extending my right hand to the Twi'lek. Looking at the gesture, he raised an eyebrow in bewilderment. "No, are you stupid or something?" — "Glad to meet you."
"I don't share your optimism," he said grimly, sitting down on the other side of the table. Beckoning the guard, he quietly ordered all the Twi'leks to go outside and wait. Following his example, I sent the clones out there too. Yes, the natives outnumbered us by an order of magnitude, but if it came to a fight — I'd bet on my guys. Like the late Alto Stratus, they could easily carve up these long-tails here.
As soon as the extras left the stage and those gathered sat down at the table — the Twi'leks on the left, Oli on the right — Syndulla began the conversation.
"Why did you come? I made it perfectly clear to your representative that the Republic should get off Ryloth. You're not welcome here."
"In all fairness, the Republic isn't welcome in a good half of the galaxy's worlds," I corrected him. "But that doesn't mean we should abandon the task of protecting sentients from potential threats."
"Nothing threatens us," the Twi'lek declared. "The CIS forces are defeated, the front line is far from us."
"The Separatists have more than one army," Racha Sitra shook her head.
"And the front line in this oversector is ten uninhabited systems away from Ryloth," Aayla reminded him of the operational situation. "The presence of Republic troops here is a direct necessity. No one wants a repeat of the occupation from a year ago."
"We won't allow that," Cham stated confidently.
"Really?" I asked with feigned surprise. "I suppose you have a fleet — at least a hundred battleships. You probably have an army too — at least a couple of battle-hardened corps. Or do you have fifty thousand untrained non-combatants who are holding a weapon for the third time in their lives?"
"If you came here to humiliate my people..."
"Don't twist my words, Commander Syndulla," I asked. "If I were a xenophobe or wanted to offend the feelings of the Twi'leks, I would have said so in plain language. However, I don't have anything like that in mind. Instead, I came to negotiate."
"About what? We already made it clear to your generals..."
"Commander Syndulla," I said as politely as possible. "There's a war going on in the galaxy. And Ryloth, having already experienced an occupation once, risks repeating the lesson of history if it remains without reliable protection. Do you want battle droids of the CIS to walk across your planet, rounding up your citizens into concentration camps and using them as living shields?"
"Of course not."
"Then I don't understand the reason for your displeasure. Is it a 'But I don't wanna!' principle? That fundamentally contradicts common sense. Ryloth is not capable of defending itself on its own — I'm not diminishing your achievements in ground battles, but think with your head for just a minute. What will happen to your citizens if CIS ships establish a blockade?"
"Republic ships will break it..."
"As before — at the cost of enormous losses — yes. But I want to ask you — if Ryloth historically imports food, how long will the planet's own reserves last under a blockade to feed one billion citizens? A day? Two? A month? And what happens after that? Famine? Rations cut to the minimum? Hungry children dying from malnutrition? Outbreaks of epidemics?"
"You're exaggerating! Our militia..."
"If the Twi'leks have already learned to fly in a vacuum and smash battleships with their kung-fu — no questions asked, go ahead. If I were in command of the CIS, I wouldn't even bother landing on the planet. I'd just set up an orbital blockade and wait until the ground forces weakened from hunger and disease. Then — landing and capturing strategic points, imprisonment, concentration camps..."
"Stop it!" Syndulla jumped up from his seat. "You're ready to stoop to any low just to place your bases on the planet!"
"I'm ready to stoop to any low," I said, leaning on the edge of the table and slowly rising to meet the head-tail guy, "if it saves the lives of sentients. And for me, there's no difference here — Twi'leks, Gotal, Duros, Humans, Clones, and so on — delete as applicable. I, as the person responsible for this region, am perfectly aware of how quickly strike squadrons can move to help besieged Ryloth, how long it will take to break through and lift the blockade. And off the top of my head, I can say that by the time the first ships with food arrive on the surface, thousands, if not millions, will have died from hunger and disease."
Even though the speech had stopped flowing from my lips, the duel of gazes between me and the orange Twi'lek continued. He was defending his point of view, I — objective and axiomatic truth. And, honestly, I'm so tired of digging into the minds of sentients, tired of convincing them of my good intentions, that if this ram doesn't agree, so help me the Force, I'll make him shit himself for the rest of his life and smile at the rising sun.
I felt my right hand start to tremble treacherously. What the hell? Channeling a stream of the Force through the limb, I made the hand stop its pirouettes.
"What do you propose," the commander finally gave in. Either his head really started working, or it was all just empty pomp to squeeze out more perks.
"We will place full-scale military bases on the planet — near the capital Lessu and other cities — Sal'kassa, Kala'din, and the main spaceport Kala'uun. In total — a corps of line infantry with attached equipment."
"You must guarantee us the maintenance of order and the absence of conflicts with the Twi'leks from your soldiers."
An unsurprising request in light of recent events.
"Absolutely," I smiled. "I guarantee you that. As well as the fact that if conflicts with clones break out on the planet due to the fault of the local population — they will be dealt with by courts-martial. According to all laws of war."
Cham flared with rage in the Force for a moment. Well, of course — the last brawl with the Inferno fighters was provoked by his own men. They got their asses handed to them, certainly. But apparently, not enough. Well, we'll teach them to respect authority.
"In orbit, we will place an orbital fleet base," I continued. "A fleet sufficient for the defense of both Ryloth and the surrounding space will be stationed in the system. Crews and ships will be allowed on the surface — on the same terms as the infantry."
"That's... acceptable," Syndulla forced out. "What about food supplies?"
What's this now? You want us to feed you on our dime too? My face will split lengthwise and heal crosswise.
"Something tells me that's the concern of Ryloth's political leadership," I said, squinting.
"I had an extremely difficult conversation with Senator Orn Free Taa," Cham said. "The senator can't help — after the Techno Union raid, Ryloth..."
."..is bankrupt," I finished for him. The Twi'lek, looking at me from under his brow, nodded silently.
What the hell is wrong with this galaxy?! Everyone is starving, living in poverty, unhappy with each other — but changing anything... no, they haven't heard of it.
So what to do? It's obvious that the food issue has been here since the occupation was lifted — the CIS managed to ship most of the planet's property out. It's clear that no one really returned anything — only what they managed to recapture during the attack on the capital remained.
And it seems to me that if I again approach the Ukio government with an offer to feed another planet at below-market prices — they won't exactly tell me to go to hell in so many words — Pantora is costing them a pretty penny, after all. Fortunately, it's compensated by the fact that the locals live in safety — a whole ground base with a volunteer corps right next door. But they won't fall for it a second time.
And spending huge amounts of money to feed a billion freeloaders — come on, I'm not a philanthropist.
"Commander," he's waiting for an answer now. But I need to stall for time — thoughts are swarming in my head. I just need to gather them into a suitable pile. "Forgive my audacity, but if the senator can't help his own planet — maybe it's time to replace him?"
"We've thought about that already," the Twi'lek admitted. "But, unfortunately, I gave the senator my word that I wouldn't interfere in the planet's political life, retaining only military command."
"General," Sitra cautiously intervened in the dialogue. "Political squabbles are not our business. The Senate didn't authorize us for this..."
"You — no," I objected. "But I am first and foremost a Grand Moff. And the political landscape in my area of responsibility is my concern."
If only I knew what could be done here.
And, really, what the hell difference does it make who replaces that fat fool? The sum won't change from rearranging the terms here — the laws of mathematics are immutable.
Meanwhile, Aayla, sensing my detachment, entered the dialogue, bombarding the commander with questions of medium importance — about the timing of the soldiers' deployment, their relationship with the local defense forces, competence, and spheres of influence. Cham, answering restrainedly and frankly, couldn't stop staring at me.
"Leave Commander Syndulla and me alone," the puzzle finally clicked into place. However, saying something like that in front of witnesses was, to put it mildly, undesirable.
I felt the surprise of everyone present, but Oli and Aayla obeyed without question. A bewildered Racha, after a moment's hesitation, hurried after them.
"I have a feeling that what I'm about to hear won't be pleasant," Syndulla smirked.
"Yes, that's right," I didn't beat around the bush. "The situation is indeed serious. The food issue is not as simple as it seems."
"And yet, your army is provided for beyond measure," the Twi'lek showed off his erudition. Well, well. And who's our snitch?
"General Windu mentioned it," Syndulla clarified, seeing my silent question.
Ah, well, at least that. I was starting to think it was time to introduce some McCarthyism.
"Clones are extremely voracious guys," I reminded him. "So food is purchased with a surplus. But, unfortunately, it goes directly to the army — these are targeted expenses for which the officers, myself included, are responsible. We simply can't just lay out food for a billion sentients — there are hundreds of times fewer of us in the army."
"But you wouldn't have dismissed your subordinates if you didn't have some option to offer me."
"There is one," I nodded. "I hope word has reached your ears that, thanks to me, one of the channels for selling slaves from Ryloth was shut down?"
"You call it slavery," Syndulla shrugged. "We call it the only possible option."
"What do you mean?"
"Most of us agree to such deals voluntarily, or almost voluntarily — just to leave this starving world," Cham admitted. "Those you freed, yes, undoubtedly — they were slaves. They were deceived, promised a life on new planets. Instead, they would most likely have been shoved into the dirtiest holes in the galaxy. So for that, I am ready to thank you. However, the fact that no one has heard anything more about that group makes me wary."
"Oh, believe me, they're doing fine," I smiled. "I made their dream a reality. Now they live where there are arable lands, where the climate is not so harsh, and they don't have to huddle in rocks looking for shelter and build houses from scrap materials."
"Sounds... too good to be true."
"And yet, it is. Actually, I have several proposals for solving the problem on Ryloth."
"And what are they?"
"First — among your people, there are many fighters and those capable of fighting. They could easily volunteer for my army — in that case, they would be put on army rations, pay, and so on."
"And why should we fight for the interests of the Republic?" Cham said distrustfully.
"And who's talking about the Republic or the CIS?" I smiled.
No, I don't need to manipulate this guy. He's a patriot to the bone. And he cares about his people far more than that Orn Free Taa does. He just never had the opportunity to remove that fat idiot.
"I'm not sure I understand you," he said warily. "Ryloth doesn't have the means to purchase colonization ships."
"Such ships will be provided to those who wish to move away from the squabbles of two states that are essentially no different from each other."
"And who will grant us such a favor?"
"The Emperor of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul."
"An Empire? I've never heard of anything like it."
"It's a young state in the Unknown Regions. They have significant capabilities — after all, there are so many worlds in the unexplored areas of the galaxy. But they have problems with population..."
"And how many citizens are they willing to accept?" Cham inquired, with poorly concealed hope.
"All who want to live under the protection of the Eternal Empire's army and fleet. Those who agree to live in a state of harsh but just laws. Where everyone gets what they can achieve."
"You want my people to fight for a state they've never even seen?"
"The Empire has an army and a fleet. And it will never refuse any of its citizens the right to participate in defending its interests."
Cham, meeting my gaze, seemed to ponder what he'd heard. The Force suggested he was at a loss. On one hand — a planet in distress. On the other — alluring but untested prospects. Which could turn out to be a farce. While the Republic — well, it's a cesspit, but a stable one.
"And what is your second proposal?"
"Orn Free Taa isn't the only representative of your people from Ryloth," I recalled.
"Yes, there's also Representative Suuwie," he said. "But Senator Taa has effectively stripped her of any independence."
"But if Ryloth recalled Senator Taa, wouldn't Representative Suuwie take his place?"
"Probably, yes..."
"So what's stopping you from changing the planet's primary representative in the Senate?"
"A planet-wide vote is needed, and I'm not sure..."
"Are you prepared to keep living under Taa's complete negligence? When was the last time he was even on his homeworld?"
Syndulla fell silent.
"The Senator made you promise not to interfere in politics, because you are the face of Ryloth. You were here while he was lounging on Coruscant. And it seems to me, if you call on the people to replace Free Taa, even if it's with yourself..."
"I'm not interested."
."..or with Representative Suuwie — they would support you. Frankly, it would be an ideal combination. You'd be perfect for the position of planetary ruler. While the planet would be represented by Suuwie's representative."
"Perhaps that's true," Cham said, squinting. That's it, kid, that's it. You've thought about this yourself many times during the occupation. And those thoughts haven't left you since. You just don't have enough motivation to break your word.
"But what would that give us? Not many Twi'leks would agree to relocate to other worlds — even if we managed to remove Senator Taa. Maybe the youth..."
"Of which there are about seven hundred million on the planet?"
"Those are uncharted territories," Cham shook his head. "Without any guarantees, no one will want to leave this world."
"They will, if they hear from their own kind that the new place — the Eternal Empire of Zakuul — is a place where the population isn't treated like cattle, whose lot is only to pay taxes and endure."
"And where do you know about this Empire from?" Cham said distrustfully. At the same time, I could feel his true feelings in the Force. Yes, Ryloth isn't dying, and its citizens have no urgent need to flee in search of a corner of their own. But the situation is truly dire. And as a true patriot, Cham is open to any proposals. He's just good at hiding it. Oh, you cunning little fox. Where you studied, I taught. "How do you know Twi'leks live there? And why do you even care about Ryloth? You're only interested in the Republic's victory in this war, and to you, we're nothing more than another strategic world for striking the CIS."
"Frankly, your kin not only live there, but also serve in its army and navy," I admitted. "Specifically among those I freed from slavery."
"That doesn't really clarify how you know about the state of affairs in this new-to-me government," Cham noted. And yet, the Force indicated that he'd already formed suspicions.
"It's simple, Commander Syndulla," my smile came out forced and perfunctory. Just like Palpatine's. "I am the Immortal Emperor of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul. And as it happens, I have the power to save the Twi'leks, with you at their head."
"And what happens if I refuse?" How sweet. He wasn't even alarmed by the obvious contradictions between my Jedi status and this revelation. You're in even greater despair than I thought.
"Believe me, Commander," the Twi'lek recoiled as he saw the irises of my eyes ignite. "The alternative won't please you."
* * *
Standing on the bridge of the Telos, I tried to relax, closing my eyes.
Deep breathing, combined with Jedi meditative techniques — just what the doctor ordered to calm the nerves. Especially after the relatively heated negotiations with the Twi'lek leaders.
Syndulla was confused, broken, disoriented. But he's far from a fool. Yes, it took a long time to form a logical chain in his head regarding my role in liberating Ryloth. And even more so regarding the future of the aliens. I had to fall back on mythical Jedi foresight, but... that wasn't really necessary when your opponents in the war for minds are the Republic, which couldn't care less about anyone or anything, and the CIS, whose last encounter was still fresh in every Twi'lek's memory.
All that remained was to prove my good intentions. And so I'd have to open my wallet after all. The guys on Ukio would be very happy that their products were being bought in massive quantities once again. After the CIS raid, when the planet's stocks had fallen through the floor during the time it was under Separatist control, Ukio was experiencing major difficulties on the galactic exchange — essentially, the planet's securities had become worthless. Luck smiled on them twice. The first time, when an anonymous benefactor, despite the planet being in deep trouble, invested in their economy, snapping up over eighty percent of the available shares — everything on the market. The second, when the 204th Legion kicked the CIS out of the system and established a base on the planet. Shares began to climb again — along with the planet's return to the Republic's fold. And along with them, the income of the holder of the controlling stake.
Need I say that I was that holder? The paltry fifth of the shares held by this world's rulers is merely an illusion of power. They don't get much profit. Let's just say — more money ends up in my accounts. The thing is, that secret account is my personal piggy bank. And I'm not too keen on dipping into it.
But a deal is a deal. The Eternal Empire must demonstrate its benevolent disposition to the people of Ryloth and provide the population with provisions for the next six months. Naturally, at its own expense. Yes, it's expensive, but...
Another world in my collection. And once Suuwie's representative becomes a pocket conduit for Cham's will, who retains full control of the planet, I can rest on my laurels. Several hundred million new citizens — that's significant. Especially considering the desire of an experienced faction of Twi'leks to participate in expanding the Empire's living space — a truly wonderful acquisition. And another world — my fortress in the rear of the explored galaxy. How elegant — setting up my own rear bases at the Republic's expense, so that... Well, we'll see what happens next.
Syndulla's words and my reflections on the planet's fate sparked a number of interesting thoughts. Associative thinking is a funny thing.
I just need to wait for the right moment — or seize the opportunity myself. Time will tell.
Right now, another issue needed resolving.
Those damned fuel refineries, damned Melida/Daan.
So many questions that need answers. And so little time to handle them myself.
To be honest, I'm tired of constantly moving around myself. Solving problems myself. I just want to sit on the Eternal Throne and listen to reports, not race across the galaxy like I'm on fire.
I could have delegated the mess with those refueling stations to one of my underlings. But where's the guarantee it would go smoothly? It has to be done right — not just for the Republic fleet, but the Empire could use fuel stations in this region too.
So I need to be sure I've done everything I could. And that's only possible with personal involvement.
"Approaching the Melida/Daan system," the watch officer reported, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"Excellent. Prepare the ship for battle."
The Telos, followed by the entire Blade Fleet, the escort ships, and the Acclamators with the landing force, materialized in realspace. The view screen filled with the landscape of a dirty-brown planet covered in gray clouds. Given the crimson glow of the nearby space — a vivid impression of a necropolis on a planetary scale.
To think — people live here. And according to the HoloNet report, over half a billion. Some time ago, an ancient feud was finally suppressed here — not without the help of Obi-Wan Kenobi and his now-deceased teacher.
Behind me, the holoprojector came to life, new dots appearing on it every second.
"The fleet is at full strength," the watch officer continued.
"Battle stations across all ships," Nial appeared on the bridge, his expression clearly that of a man who hadn't slept. Approaching, he gave a short nod.
"Grand Moff?" the question clearly had subtext.
"You have command, Admiral," my role here is minor. The chosen ones need to gain experience. It's not for nothing he spent the entire journey from Ryloth to this backwater studying voluminous data on the tactics of the Imperial and Republic fleets. It seems that over the two-day flight through the "back roads" bypassing the main hyperspace routes to avoid prematurely revealing the fleet's movement — he absorbed the chip in full. Funny, will he get to Battle Meditation this time? The instructions for it were also on the chip.
Meanwhile, other Order members participating in the operation appeared on the bridge — both Twi'leks and my apprentice. Following them — Alpha, Balda, Nyx, and Sinilian.
Meanwhile, the tactical hologram filled with markers.
"The star system consists of five planets, only one of which is habitable," the watch officer began the briefing. "The first and fifth are uninhabitable. The second is the inhabited world of Melida/Daan, in whose orbit the enemy's main forces are located — a Lucrehulk-class ship and three Munificents. The third and fourth planets are gas giants," the Christophsian indicated the schematic images of orbital structures. "Here and here — fuel extraction stations. Each is protected by at least a dozen Munificents. Also noted are Trade Federation transport ships — apparently preparing to receive fuel into their holds."
"And what about the ground forces?" Aayla asked.
"We're detecting a large number of landing barges deploying heavy equipment in the capital," the watch officer continued. "It's assumed the enemy has already landed the bulk of their forces. According to intelligence — over two million droids, supported by heavy equipment."
"It's going to get hot," Alpha, standing near the holoterminal without his helmet, ran a hand over his face as if trying to wipe away the mounting tension.
And though no one else spoke, I could feel their resolve in the Force. For some — neutral, like the clones. For others — grim, like Declann and Oli. Both Twi'leks felt something like impatient anticipation. The anticipation of starting quickly, so this nightmare would end sooner.
"Well then," I said, looking around at everyone present. "Every soldier knows his maneuver. To work, ladies and gentlemen."
* * *
Accompanied by four Acclamators, the Telos moved slowly toward its main opponent — the Lucrehulk-class ship bristling with hundreds of fighters. The four CIS ships, lined up in a row, were clearly waiting for us, giving us the right to start this dance of death.
The Valor-class cruiser rapidly approached the Separatist ship.
The Republic ship's hangars were launching fighters every second. Torrents, spreading their wings into combat configuration, prepared to engage the enemy's small craft. And though we were few in number — the clones would still kick the CIS's air force's ass. But first...
The Separatist fighters rushing toward us were unpleasantly surprised by the fact that, despite the absence of Marauders in our group (the bastards are learning), their forward formations were scattered into space dust by dozens of assault missiles, with which my flagship generously gifted them. The few survivors of the carnage were met by Republic fighters, which dispatched the enemy without the slightest mercy.
Meanwhile, the Acclamators, positioned in pairs on either side of the flagship, relentlessly pounded the enemy frigates with concentrated turbolaser and missile fire. Can yesterday's trade vessels withstand the power of a true warship? They can, but not for very long.
Meanwhile, streaks of turbolaser and laser fire reached toward the Republic ships, spreading harmlessly across the deflector shields.
Watching the unfolding battle from the cockpit of my X-wing, I couldn't help but note that the intensity of our fire was devastating — even though the Telos could only engage the enemy from one side (a design limitation), it didn't help the CIS much. Because they had the same problem, only on a larger scale — the firing arcs on Separatist ships were even narrower than on the Valor. Which meant they were having a very, very bad time.
Breaking through the Lucrehulk's deflector shields was no easy task. The bastard was, as they say, thick-skinned. But that ship wasn't our fleet's target.
The Munificents were the first to "suffer," and within ten minutes of the exchange, chunks of their hull plating were flying off. Miniature protuberances kept appearing in the hulls of these starships, indicating damage to the outer compartments.
"Approach carefully," I transmitted the order. "Its entire central section is plastered with Vultures."
"As you say, Teacher," my apprentice responded, following my fighter closely in her own ship. And at a short distance from them — a second pair, though on Deltas — Aayla and Rachi. Our entire small group was escorting two squadrons of ARC-170s, which were to play the role of bombers in the next act of the play.
Meanwhile, the enemy dispatched a squadron of Vultures toward us. The nimble machines rushed to intercept our course. Understandable — the enemy ships had just realized that, by slipping along the unfolding battle between our and their own small craft, we had no intention of interfering.
With a silent, blinding flash after a precise salvo from one of the Acclamators, the Separatist frigate closest to the Lucrehulk disintegrated into pieces. The sea of debris that formed in its place swallowed some of the enemy fighters, but those that remained were more than enough for us.
Throwing my fighter to the side, I dodged the lead droid's burst, slamming a salvo from all four cannons straight into its cockpit. An instant — and where the military starship had been, only debris remained.
The ships following me swept through the enemy squadron like a fiery tornado, depriving the Lucrehulk of another batch of defenders. They were immediately replaced by others.
Throwing my ship from side to side, firing relentlessly from all guns, our strike team fought its way toward its target — the hypertrophied bagel with a ball in the center. Ten out of ten — the enemy commander, judging by the monotonous, unadventurous tactics, was definitely a droid located aboard that very ship. And chewing through this cactus could take a very, very long time — especially considering that all our full line forces had pulled back to fight for the refineries. Locally, we outnumbered the enemy, but getting into a prolonged battle — no, thank you. On screen, it all looks so simple — fire a dozen proton torpedoes at the Lucrehulk, and the enemy is defeated.
In reality, by the time you "take apart" that behemoth, you'll take an incredible amount of damage yourself. And I wasn't about to risk the landing force.
We entered the range of the enemy dreadnought's anti-aircraft artillery after the second CIS frigate fell in glorious death. There wasn't much left, but we'd taken a beating too — two ARCs were shot down, another had its starboard wing torn off, and the pilot, having powered down the ship, could now only hope for his crew's rescue after the operation was over.
The barrage fire was impenetrable. But louder than the drumbeat of the alarm from the deflector field sensors and the roar of the engines, the cabin was tossed around by the turbolaser salvos exchanged by the capital ships. I had to dodge both friendly and enemy fire, relying on the Force. And pray that the audacious plan would work.
The flight, twisted into a cunning spiral through the battle, sometimes passed so close to explosions that the astromech periodically squealed like Peppa Pig seeing a pig-sticker at dawn.
Finally, reaching the point in space we needed, I allowed myself to relax slightly.
"Proceed, boys," I ordered the clones.
"Yes, sir," both squadrons surged forward at maximum thrust, entering the dead zone of the enemy dreadnought's guns.
"Aayla, Rachi — cover them while Oli and I complete our mission."
"We won't last long here," the Jedi archaeologist noted. Yet, a moment later, her fighter turned a pair of enemy small craft into space junk.
"We won't be long," I promised. Casting a final glance at the clones' ships, which were obliterating the communication systems and now-defenseless turbolaser turrets in a total firestorm, I steered my ship "down." The Force indicated Oli was right behind me.
"You still haven't explained how we'll get aboard," the girl reminded me. Hmm, there wasn't a hint of her former cheerfulness in her voice. Was I influencing her that much, or had she grown up too fast?
"I have an idea," a Vulture that had just popped out of the hangar evaporated under a salvo from my guns. "Saw it in a movie."
"What?" the padawan perked up. "You know all movies are fiction, right?"
Oh, if only you knew how wrong you are.
"Don't worry, Masha, I'm Dubrovsky," recalling the classic from memory, I fired two assault missiles at the atmospheric shield generator. The enormous structure — five times larger than a T-65 — couldn't withstand such barbaric treatment and exploded. Simultaneously, the bluish glow that had been keeping the breathable atmosphere inside the "bagel's" hangar (another question — why does a ship run by droids need oxygen? Machines don't breathe) dissipated, instantly ejecting streams of air into the vacuum.
And almost immediately, from the opposite side of the bay door, armored plates slid out to seal the leak, blocking the open maw of the flight deck with every second. Oh, would you look at that — they figured it out. Only took them ten years.
"Faster, Oli!" I commanded, directing my X-wing into the rapidly shrinking gap, clearing a foothold by sweeping the deck of battle droids. The girl followed me at a distance of a few dozen meters, supporting me with her fire.
We made it.
We flew into the enormous hangar, and the guns of both fighters didn't stop for a second. Battle droids kept appearing ahead, suddenly imagining they could stop an X-wing with their pea-shooters. Oh, kids, if you only knew that even a battle station the size of a moon couldn't stop these machines, you'd probably... do the same thing. They're droids, after all.
I remember from the first episode, there were supposed to be CIS landing ships in the depths of the ship on our path. But now...
"Teacher!" Oli's voice sounded in my earpiece. According to the indicator — the padawan was on a secure frequency. Just for the two of us.
"Oh, come on," the missiles I'd fired, supported by blaster cannons, did their job. "So what if they're sealing the bulkheads — big deal."
"Well, they don't have bulkheads now," the girl grinned. "Good machine, the X-wing."
"Yeah," where did a tank come from in the hangar? Have they completely lost their minds? And again — missile and cannon fire.
"Maybe we should buy some for the Ghent army's needs?"
"Wouldn't the Republic crack under that kind of development? Two fighters is one thing, but even a squadron would let them prepare for a hypothetical encounter with our heavy air power."
"Oh," a burst from Oli's guns flashed past my fighter, turning a pair of Droidekas into metallic mincemeat. "How much longer?"
"Actually, that's it," the last section of the hangar ended at the reactor-engine part of the Lucrehulk. The very one that the little brat Anakin Skywalker accidentally blew up eleven years ago.
Both fighters slipped into a spacious section of the hangar, concentrated fire reducing a dozen B-1 droids to dust as they tried to object to the uninvited guests. After that, parking the ships so they covered all the open space of this section with crossfire, Oli and I jumped out of our seats.
"Little brother," the astromech burst into a binary trill. Fortunately, Exar Kun knew it — not perfectly, but well enough to understand what the bucket on wheels was saying. "You're in charge. Destroy all enemy targets, don't let anyone near the fighters. If things get really grim — fight your way to the Telos."
And again — a knowing trill. Well, at least someone doesn't argue about orders.
Straightening my robe, brushing an invisible speck of dust off it, I ruffled my apprentice's hair.
"Teacher!" genuine surprise and offense appeared in her voice. Really — she'd spent almost an hour straightening her curls.
"Chin up, Oli," I smirked, feeling the gloom of the last few days beginning to lift. "The fun's about to start."
"Mm-hmm," the girl grumbled, unclipping her weapon from her belt. "Just the two of us against hundreds of droids on a CIS ship that our own starships are bombarding. Hilarious — I could piss myself laughing."
* * *
"Command bridge ahead!" Oli shouted, deflecting another blaster shot aimed at her face. The crimson energy charge, returning to its owner, punched a hole in the faceplate of a B-1 droid, which crashed noisily to the floor. And in that same instant, it was buried under the hundreds of feet of its comrades, marching relentlessly forward.
"I see it," grabbing the chassis of one of the B2 super battle droids with the Force, I hurled it like a dodgeball into the very center of the enemy formation. It flew like a cannonball through the entire company box of B-1s, tearing a breach in their perfect formation big enough for an X-wing.
Ten minutes after landing in the hangar, we'd broken through to the central part of the ship — the core ship. There weren't that many droids among the crew, of course. But enough.
And now, the entire path from the hangar to the bridge was littered with the metallic remains of all types of CIS droids — from simple B-1s to saboteurs. What the hell brought these hinged mannequins down on us when we decided to sabotage the hyperdrive? We had to work hard — mainly to avoid singeing the edges of my own robe with Lightning. That wouldn't look good.
Now, before us was the last line of defense — droid infantry scraped together from all over. Clearly — the last thing the enemy commander could throw at us.
And his final bastion of calm was inexorably melting away.
Deflecting one shot into the ceiling, I slashed the nearest droid across the chest with my golden blade, simultaneously slamming it into the wall. Then, realizing a pair of droids had gotten to my sides, I ducked, dodging a couple of shots aimed at my chest, and with a circular motion cut across the nearest enemies.
"General," Nial's voice sounded in the comlink. "We've finished destroying the Lucrehulk's escort. The bombers have knocked out its engines. What are your orders?"
"What about the refineries?" my blade passed through the barrel of an advancing droid's blaster carbine, simultaneously severing both its arms at mid-forearm.
"The battle is still ongoing," the admiral acknowledged. "The CIS ships have lured both Hammerhead groups away from the transports and refineries. They understand that if those blow, no one will survive."
"Just make sure you don't blow them up," I requested, not particularly bothering, using the Force to push the last remaining droid onto the padawan's blade. The girl, leaping high with a theatrical swing of her blade from behind her back, split the last droid from its photoreceptors to its rear. "Two more stars in this system would be too beautiful to be true."
An explosion of a large amount of fuel for large starships is almost always a thermonuclear reaction. And if it happens near giants, where most of the latter consist of the same unrefined fuel, then — boom — two supernovae are born at once. And about two dozen melted starships with crews of well-done beings would be floating around the system.
"We're being careful, Grand Moff," Declann's miniature figure allowed itself a smile. "I've already sent commando teams to the refineries — they have deflector fields there. Once we activate them, we can protect the refineries from explosions and act more... boldly."
"Well, that's excellent. Organize small craft cover for the ships and prepare for a landing. Once I'm done here, I'll join you. Aayla, Rachi," I switched to the "Jedi comm channel" the frequency used by Jedi in my army during joint missions.
"All ears," Secura responded.
"I'm listening," Rachi joined.
"Take the gunships and bombers from the Telos and sweep the surface. Any enemy equipment you see — turn it to dust. Any droid units you can hit from the air without endangering the locals — scrap them too."
"It will be done," the blue-skinned Twi'lek reported briskly. And if she says that, then it will be.
"Too bad they ended so quickly," the girl sighed, kicking the head of a defeated B-1 with the toe of her boot.
"Hey," I said, noticing the girl had neatly severed one of the fingers from the sabotaged droid's corpse. "What are you doing?"
"Collecting trophies," Oli said carelessly, shrugging a shoulder. "What, is that not allowed?"
"It's allowed, but... why?"
"Well, you know, teacher, everyone has their own hobby," the girl shrugged again. "Some collect trophies, some collect Twi'leks..."
"Ah, you little pest," I squinted. "I should have spanked you, not brought you along on a matter of galactic importance."
Noticing my student's wide eyes, I caught myself.
"Brought you along on. Slip of the tongue..."
."..just not a Freudian one."
After clearing the space in front of the massive metal bulkhead, I walked right up to it. Naturally, the commander of this whole rust bucket had barricaded himself thoroughly. How many of those bulkheads were there in the first episode? Three, I think.
"Dead end, teacher. We need to blow it up... We shouldn't have come here at all — we could have just blown him to a Hutt and been done with it..."
"Quiet, you little harbinger of the apocalypse," I waved at the girl. "Do you even know how much this ship can carry in one trip? Almost five million metric tons. More than any other transport vessel."
"And what's that to us?"
"You could fit three corps here with all their attached equipment, plus triple the standard supplies. And there'd still be room for reserves. For large-scale military operations, it's indispensable. And as a temporary orbital station, it's a good asset too."
"Oh, you mean that ship that was floating around in orbit over Christophsis? I thought it would rust there until the end of time."
"No," I shook my head. "The locals fixed it up — as much as possible. And I already have plans for it. Same as for this one."
"Well, with this one, we're obviously out of luck," the girl remarked. "We disabled the secondary control systems. But the primary ones —" she waved toward the bridge, " are there. So they'll figure out what's going on and jump to hyperspace..."
"Don't talk nonsense," I grimaced. "The 'Beavers' already worked on its engines. We disabled the hyperdrive — it's all ours."
With that, I activated my second blade and drove both into the central part of the lock. Just like Qui-Gon used to do back in the day.
"Teacher," Oli sighed. "I've read about these ships. The bulkheads are made of durasteel as thick as hangar doors. We need explosives..."
"Science is a wonderful thing," I said, pointing with my eyes at the piece of molten metal. "And material strength is especially hard to fool."
A massive chunk of molten metal, once the lock of the outer bulkhead, flowed in a glowing stream down one of the door panels. Oli, understanding what was happening without words, used the Force to pry the warped door halves apart.
"Two more doors and we're on the bridge," I said, carefully rotating the blades within the thickness of the bulkhead.
"Teacher!" the girl exclaimed, taking a defensive stance. "Droidekas!"
"Are you kidding me?"
Pulling my weapons out of the bridge doors, I looked down the corridor opposite the bridge.
"And you distracted me from picking the locks for this?" I pointed one of the blades at the two metal spheres rolling toward us.
"Um... well, yeah," Oli faltered. "Actually, those are Droidekas, they're dangerous..."
Without taking my eyes off my student, I hurled both blades toward the approaching threat.
"Remember this," I poked a finger at the top of her chest plate. "Problems need to be solved. Not dumped on the shoulders of people who can definitely solve them for you."
"But it's easier for you," the girl pouted. "You could have just used some Dark Side technique or something..."
"And what, I'm supposed to solve your problems for the rest of your life?"
"What's wrong with that? I'm little. And you're supposed to be teaching me, after all."
"I haven't borrowed enough to be THAT indebted," came the screech of cut metal sliding across the shiny corridor floor. Both Droidekas, sliced in half mid-roll, had now added their pieces to the general composition.
"You don't need to be a genius to throw a blade," I said didactically, calling the blades back to my hand. After checking their functionality, I resumed my shady lockpicking work in this galaxy far, far away. "But I think you're right. I've been slacking on your training."
"Well, at least you admit it," the girl said in an offended tone. "I'm all alone, nobody needs me... And I even swore an oath of loyalty..."
I swear — she missed her calling as an actress. Distracted by watching the molten metal spread on the second layer of bulkheads, I heard her sobbing and thought she was actually crying. But no — the little pest was standing there, smiling.
Fine, we'll talk later.
Finally, the defenses fell. With light gestures of both hands, I used the Force to push both pairs of doors open, stepping onto the bridge of the Lucrehulk-class battleship.
Like a distant echo of a Star Destroyer's bridge, there were dozens of workstations for crew here — scattered throughout the command center. And ideally, sentients should be sitting at them... living ones.
"Teacher," Oli touched the body of one of the dead Neimoidians. "All the wounds are from blasters or vibroblades. The bodies are cold..."
"So they didn't die recently," I concluded. Walking up to the command chair, I dumped the corpse of another Trade Federation representative onto the floor. Oli approached, standing beside me, examining the forward section of the bridge. I opened a comm channel to the flagship, reporting that the ship was under our full control.
"Glad to hear it, General," Nial smiled. "Sending a prize crew your way."
"Good. We'll wait for you here. Droids —" I glanced at the activity indicators of the mechanical crew, " there are still a few left. The boys will have something to warm up on."
"The first batch will be on board in ten minutes," the admiral reported.
And in the very next minute, a long staff pierced the central part of the comm screen, crackling with blue-violet lightning. A familiar gadget.
Oli immediately took a defensive stance.
Spinning the command chair toward the direction of the attack, I looked at the uninvited guests who had arrived on the bridge through the bulkheads I had so kindly opened.
"In ten minutes, you'll be dead," I said, meeting Sora Bulq's eyes, whose pupils burned with fire. I realized we wouldn't just walk away. Especially given the dozen MagnaGuards blocking our exit. Interesting — the Dark Side emanating from the Weequay, amplified many times since our last meeting, I only sensed after this little improvisation of his. The old man had gotten good at the Sith arts.
"Stay behind me," I ordered Oli, activating my own weapons. "They've come to kill us."