"So," Maul dropped the decapitated corpse of the lead Falleen from the chair. Noticing that the top of the backrest had been cut off by his weapon, the Zabrak chose to ignore this fact. What difference did it make that a beautiful chair was damaged and had lost its value? It was just a chair. "What will your answer to my question be?"
Ziton, glancing at the corpses that the Zabrak's fighters were carrying out of the room, looked away. Why should he decide? He was just a captain of the guard... Had been.
Now, after the death of five aristocrats, he was the only one in the entire organization whose authority was higher than the remaining commanders. Even that upstart Xizor, though a hereditary aristocrat with a great future predicted for him, was no more than a lieutenant in the current reality. Yes, he had many allies, but if Ziton declared himself head of the syndicate right now, the majority would follow him. Such was the order.
"I think," the Falleen licked his dry lips, "Black Sun will gain a lot by acquiring an ally like you."
"Not an ally," the Zabrak raised a glass of expensive wine standing on the table. "A master. And a patron."
"As you say," the captain bowed low as a sign of respect. Hutt! This bastard was going to make him merely a nominal head of the organization. And make him dance to his tune. "What are your orders... master?"
Maul brought the glass to his lips and took a sip. Savoring the drink, he regretfully set it back down.
"Carry out a mobilization of Black Sun's forces and resources. I want to know what forces I now command. All dissenters must be silenced."
"That's easily arranged," the newly minted aristocrat smiled. "We should immediately begin eliminating the organization's commanders in the Mid Rim and the capital. I can only vouch for the loyalty of that part of the organization located in the Outer Rim."
"Why can't we count on the Core Worlds?" the Zabrak inquired lazily.
"The organization is divided into parts managed by the aristocrats and their trusted associates," the former guard captain explained. "In the Core Worlds regions, Lieutenant Xizor has far more power and influence, so I'm not sure the local branches of the organization will obey us unquestioningly. I'm more than certain that the commanders from the Mid Rim will side with whoever Xizor supports — after all, he is the last of the organization's aristocrats, albeit of low rank."
"Then let's find out right now," there was no request in the Zabrak's voice.
Modj, keeping his gaze fixed on the Duros who had taken a seat to the Zabrak's right, approached the table from the opposite side. Activating the holoterminal embedded in the tabletop, he sent a signal to Coruscant. Straight to Xizor's palace, built not far from the presidential palace of the Chancellor of the Republic.
The hologram of another Falleen appeared after several minutes of tense waiting.
"What do you want, Modj?" Xizor drawled casually. "And why are you using the aristocrats' communication system?"
"Black Sun now answers to me, Xizor," the captain snapped. "The aristocrats are dead."
"Is that so?" the interlocutor chuckled. "And what happened?"
"That doesn't concern you," Ziton cut him off. "Send your people and ships to the system..."
"Why should I do that?" Xizor inquired lazily. "I am an Aristocrat by right of birth, and if the others have died, then I should be the one to take the head of the organization."
"Do you dare challenge me?" the former guard bared his teeth. "I have ten times more people and ships under my command than you do."
"So what?" the Falleen smirked. "Will you drop everything and fly to Coruscant to settle scores? That's not even funny, Modj. You're wasting my time."
"And you," Maul leaned forward so his face came into Xizor's field of view, "are testing my patience."
"And who are you?" the Falleen was surprised.
"The one who destroyed your most influential leaders. Twelve years ago, Alexi Garyn fell by my hand. Now — your entire Ruling Council."
"Is that so," Xizor squinted. "I knew that weakling Modj couldn't have gotten rid of Xomit and his sycophants."
Ziton felt the urge to strangle the upstart with his own hands.
"Submit to me," Maul commanded.
"What will I get in return for agreeing to join you?" Xizor inquired after a pause.
"Your life," the Zabrak breathed a threat. "And the opportunity to become significantly richer."
"A more than worthy offer," Xizor grinned. "But playing second fiddle doesn't suit me. I don't know what Ziton told you there, but over the past few years, I've strengthened my power in Black Sun. All he can offer you is a few sectors. I can offer you the rest of the galaxy."
"That suits me," Maul bared his teeth. "Your ships and people must arrive in the Oba Diah system within a week."
"Are we going to war with the Pyke Syndicate?" Xizor inquired.
"We will subjugate the entire criminal structure of the galaxy," Maul promised. "And the Pykes will be the first to know my power."
Xizor smiled theatrically.
"In that case, we shouldn't waste tibanna on them. The Pykes are cautious and calculating; they would never engage in open confrontation with Black Sun. I'll negotiate with Lom Pyke — and you'll see, they'll join us."
Ziton, swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat, felt the power over the organization that had belonged to him just five minutes ago slipping through his fingers. Xizor was famous for his connections. And if his approach appealed to the new boss... Then, despite the fact that a significant portion of the syndicate's combat strength and resource organizations were concentrated in the Outer Territories, he would never see power over all of Black Sun.
"Don't promise what you can't deliver, Xizor," Maul said threateningly.
"Never," the lieutenant grinned. "Lom Pyke will personally kneel before you."
With these words, the connection with Coruscant was severed. A heavy silence hung in the air.
"An interesting situation arises," the Zabrak said. "You control the majority of the syndicate's fighters and ships..."
"Loyal commanders can field over three thousand starships and up to a million excellently trained fighters," the Falleen hastened to report. "And all the resources of the Outer Rim are also under my control. If necessary, they can be used to hire another ten million soldiers and twice as many ships. Just give the order..."
"This second one is more influential," the Duros spoke up. "I've heard of him. He built his palace in the most elite district of Coruscant — and for that, you need good connections at the very top. Especially since the main part of the syndicate's profitable enterprises is in the Core Worlds and Mid Rim planets. Here, there are only military resources — away from the eyes of the Jedi."
"Can you kill Xizor and surpass him?" the Zabrak asked, placing his hand on his lightsaber.
The former guard swallowed convulsively. A question whose answer lay on the surface.
"No," he admitted frankly. "I am a soldier. But not a politician."
"Do you admit that you lack the cunning to bribe those we need?"
"I'm afraid so."
Maul stood up, now looking at the Falleen with a completely different gaze. An interested one.
"You have just earned your life," Maul said imperiously. "Prepare your people."
"Are we heading to Oba Diah?"
"No," the Zabrak said, stroking his chin. "We need to send ships and combat units to protect interests on Jabiim and in the Himbarin sector. Black Sun identification markings should be removed."
"But... those territories are under CIS control," the Falleen recalled. "Is it wise to interfere in an open confrontation?"
"Do you dare to dispute my decision?" Maul raised an eyebrow.
"No, my lord," the captain paled. "But I dare to note that we will need many ships and manpower to confront CIS combat units."
"So what's the problem?" the Duros grinned. "You said there were funds to hire mercenaries."
"That's true, but..."
"See to it, Ziton," the Zabrak said coldly. "Before I regret my decision to spare your life."
The Falleen, swallowing the direct and undisguised threat, bowed silently and left the hall.
* * *
"I don't trust him," the Duros said, looking after the captain.
"That's why you will go with him to Himbarin," Maul said, squinting. "This entire sector must come under the lord's control."
"My people report that there are so many droids there you could chew them with your montrals," Nuodo lamented. "It won't be so easy to smoke them out of there."
"That's why you were hired," Maul noted. "You served the master well, training his army."
"Earn a mountain of credits without risking my own hide?" the PMC commander chuckled. "I can, I know how, I practice. But sticking my head into a krayt dragon's mouth... That's going to cost the Jedi a lot of money."
"Funds are not important," Maul cooled his comrade's ardor. "The master has enough of them. Do your job properly — and by the time we're done with our enemies, you'll be swimming in aurodium on your own planet."
"I'd like to believe that," the Duros smiled. After a pause, he asked:
"Maul, aren't you afraid?"
"Why should I feel fear?" the Zabrak inquired.
"Well, the Jedi... they're the keepers of peace. All so airy, good-natured, like nunas, completely soft in the head. And then this — first they created an army in secret, now Dougan is subjugating crime, and with their help, gaining control over entire sectors in different parts of the galaxy. If all Jedi have become so... cunning... sly... treacherous... I don't know about you, but that prospect scares the shit out of me."
Hearing this revelation, Maul merely grinned.
"You know exactly what you're supposed to know, Nuodo," he said. "You get paid — and you do what you're told. Or are you afraid of consequences from the Republic?"
"Dougan promised to handle all the problems," the Duros recalled. "And, in light of the fact that he directly suggested I go against the Republic... I'm inclined to believe he has aces up his sleeve — even if he's caught red-handed, he'll be able to wriggle out of trouble."
"Take my word for it. If anyone suspects the Lord of anything, that 'anyone' won't live long."
"Oh, my grandmother told me — don't work with Jedi," the Duros grumbled, rising from the table. "I didn't listen. And now..."
"Regret it?"
"I've participated in a dozen local conflicts across the galaxy," the Duros admitted. "My boys have seen no less shit. And if this Jedi promises to bring order to this pile of poodoo called the Republic — well, I'll lend a hand. I don't want my children growing up in a society run by a few thousand brainless sentients. The ones the media call senators. Let them better serve the Empire — at least it pays decently. Even the CIS never offered us that much."
"Money is dust compared to peace in the galaxy," Maul remarked philosophically.
"And what, in your opinion, deserves attention?"
"Power," the Zabrak answered without hesitation. "I already served a man who promised to make the galaxy better."
"And what happened, why did you leave him?"
"I was cut in half and left to die," Maul replied without a trace of emotion.
"So for you, this is a chance to settle scores?" the Duros clarified. "To take revenge on your former... uh... employer?"
"No," the Zabrak shook his head. "My former master is nothing compared to Dougan. Before, I worshipped Sidious. Believed him. And didn't notice that he had turned me into a mere weapon — a blade in his own hands. A tool that could easily be replaced, which he did."
"Well, and Dougan? How did he help you? If you lost when you were entirely made of flesh, didn't being cut in half make you weaker?"
"It did," Maul agreed. "But the lord made me stronger than I have ever been."
"Jedi tricks?" the Duros clarified.
"Something like that," Maul said quietly, closing his eyes and sinking into his own memories.
A gloomy chamber in the depths of the Imperial Citadel on Zakuul. Hundreds of devices that, even in appearance, exuded hoary antiquity.
They reeked of the Dark Side. So strong that it seemed they themselves were its spawn, not an invention of sentient hands.
The room where he had come to his senses after the battle in the Throne Room resembled a medical laboratory. Equipment arranged along the walls. Several circular platforms, in the center of which were vertically mounted medical tables. On one of them, secured in durasteel clamps — the former Jedi. Quinlan Vos. Dozens of wires and plastic tubes extended from his body. The wires connected to generators and other mechanisms that surrounded each platform. Several metal racks with reservoirs for multi-colored liquids inside each. And through transparent flexible tubes, these preparations were introduced into the former Jedi's body.
"Use the Light Side," the man said. Vos, closing his eyes, began to concentrate. With a hint of disgust, the Zabrak felt the Jedi fill with a substance unnatural for a Sith Lord. Peace, calm, absence of emotion — Vos did it so simply and naturally that one could only envy his strong connection to the Force. The former student of Sidious himself, to touch the Force, needed a bit more time — exactly as much as it took to kindle the constantly smoldering embers of emotion within himself.
"Open yourself to the Dark Side," the Emperor said, and Maul felt the air around him become saturated with energy. He felt the anger emanating from Vos, which almost immediately grew into white-hot rage. The former Jedi seemed to revel in his immersion into the Darkness.
And that, too, was astonishing. The Zabrak already knew that the Kiffar had only recently set foot on the path of Darkness. And it was unlikely anyone had taught him the way Sidious had taught Maul. The latter felt envy toward the more fortunate Force user.
"Control yourself, Vos," the Emperor continued, just as quietly. "Balance the bloodlust with the power of your mind. You are not a wild beast. You are not a pathetic shell for the will of the Light. You are the very embodiment of the Force."
Almost immediately after these words, dozens of lightning bolts from the mechanisms began piercing the Jedi's body. A grimace of pain froze on his face, but Vos didn't utter a single word. He clenched his teeth so hard that the grinding of his teeth and the cracking of enamel could be heard through the crackling electricity.
Mesmerized, Maul watched the ritual, whose mystery was an enigma to him. But the Force...
Through its prism, the Zabrak watched as a vortex of ancient energy swirled inside Quinlan, penetrating every cell of his body. There was no Darkness or Light as such here. Only wild, primordial, untamed Force was present, which little by little filled every microscopic particle of the Kiffar's body.
And, what was even more surprising — through the Force, Darth Maul watched as the outwardly motionless Emperor extended thousands of the finest Force tendrils toward Vos's aura, which dug into his mind, writhing like an infernal monster in the Abyss.
"Feel your inadequacy one last time," the Emperor said. The Jedi's body arched like a bow, and sparkling streams of energy appeared under the skin of his bare body. It seemed that for a moment Quinlan had become just an empty shell, inside which only the brightest flash of energy was concentrated, in which both aspects of the Force were concentrated in equal proportions.
Maul watched as the unbearable energy literally tore the Kiffar apart, burning him from the inside. But he held on, though it was clear it was with his last strength.
Finally, after a long time, when the Emperor had finished with the Kiffar, he freed Quinlan from the durasteel restraints with a wave of his hand. At that same instant, the generators fell silent, and the tubes, as if on command, withdrew from the man's body, hanging in the air, held by the Force of the master of this establishment.
The exhausted body crashed to the floor. Maul, as if spellbound, watched the lifeless body from which streams of sweat poured in rivulets.
It seemed at least an hour passed before Vos stirred. With a barely audible groan, he curled up on the floor at his master's feet.
"The ritual is complete," Dougan declared. "It cannot be reversed."
The Kiffar's body was wracked with tremors. Maul heard his teeth chattering against each other.
"You asked for a reward, Vos," the Emperor said quietly. "You got what you wanted. Like the guards," two snow-white figures of guards emerged from the darkness, who grabbed the unconscious body under the arms and dragged it aside — "you are bound to me. From now and forever — my will is law for you. My voice — in your head. You are an extension of my will."
"How... long... will... these... torments... continue?" the Kiffar asked, clenching his jaw. Each word slipped from his mouth after a long silence. From the grimaces of pain, it became clear that even this small effort caused him indescribable agony.
"In time, you will regain control of your body," the Emperor promised. "You will learn to suppress the pain and control your emotions using your own mind and the techniques of the Light Side. Weeks will pass before you can get used to your condition, and then your potential will unfold. Months will pass, and you will get used to it, and will be able to fully perform your duties. In the end, you will stop dividing the Force into Dark and Light sides altogether. And only then will you achieve enough power to crush the enemies of the Eternal Empire."
"That's... impossible..." the Kiffar exhaled, dropping his head onto his chest. Listening to the Force, Maul noted that he had lost consciousness.
"On the contrary," the Emperor smiled, lifting the former Jedi's face, peering into his serene features. Apparently, he was in a deep oblivion — where his body and mind were not tormented by the consequences of the terrible ritual. "Each of my Hands went through this. Every guardsman. You are no exception."
"Take him away," the Emperor ordered his guards.
As soon as they dissolved into the darkness with the Kiffar's body, Dougan looked at the Zabrak.
"Now — it's your turn."
The Zabrak felt a shudder of anticipation. But, opening himself to the Dark Side, he suppressed his fear, threw off his tunic, and stepped onto the vacated platform.
At the Force's command, ice-cold restraints clamped around him, and dozens of needles pierced his body. The Zabrak, feeling the pain in his body, only smiled — this was nothing compared to Darth Sidious's training methods.
"I am ready to become one of your Hands, Emperor," he said proudly.
The man standing before him only laughed quietly.
"Don't overestimate your importance, Maul. Something entirely different is in store for you."
And after these words, before the Zabrak could say anything, his body exploded with pain the likes of which he had never experienced. Not even in those moments when Darth Sidious was extremely displeased with him.
A few seconds later, he lost consciousness.
A sharp slap to the face brought him back to reality.
"Pull yourself together, you wimp," Dougan threw at him contemptuously.
The Zabrak opened his mouth to answer the man, but at that same instant, his consciousness was flooded with pain that took his breath away. He couldn't even inhale, collapsing to the floor. The cold floor was met by him as a welcome redemption. His nerves burned with fire, and his body was torn apart in a relentless convulsion. Dizziness, which came simultaneously with nausea, finally disoriented the Sith.
"You are pathetic, Maul," the Emperor's voice reached him. "Even the Jedi endured the procedure to the end. A disgusting sight. Wasted resources. Throw him in the incinerator."
The soles of the man's boots disappeared from the former Sith Lord's field of vision — he had clearly stepped aside. Maul tried to reach out to the Force, to assess the situation if not with his senses, then at least that way. And with horror, he realized that he couldn't even catch a spark of the unceasing fire inside him.
Tormented by inhuman agony, the Zabrak realized with horror the essence of his master's words. The ritual was complete, but the heat continued to consume him from within, tearing his insides apart.
They were going to get rid of him. Again.
Just like Sidious, who had abandoned him to his fate, so too would Dougan, having played with him, throw him on the scrap heap. Where pain, suffering, humiliation awaited him again...
A pair of strong hands, shoved under his armpits, jerked him to his feet. His lowered head hit his chin against his chest. The lower part of a torso came into view.
Instead of those simple prosthetics that had been installed on him on Zakuul to replace the crude, makeshift ones assembled from garbage on the scrap heap, he now had matte-black prosthetics below the waist, covered with white lacquered armor. Vaguely resembling human ones, they were clearly custom-made.
Gathering his will, he managed to calm the convulsions shaking his body. Lunging forward, he slipped out of the guards' hands with unexpected ease, crashing face-down onto the floor.
Forcing himself, he got to his knees, though every movement was accompanied by all-consuming pain. Trembling all over, he rose to his feet and, with a wandering gaze, found the figure in the white-black-gold attire.
"How interesting," a sly smirk appeared on the man's lips. "The stump is trying to prove he's worth something."
"I am not a pawn in anyone's hands," finally, he managed to call upon the Dark Side. With extraordinary ease, rage filled him, spread throughout his body, grinding the pain and suffering of the organism into life-giving energy. "I... am a Sith Lord!"
At that same instant, the Force, incomparably greater than what he possessed, pressed him to the floor. And continued to press, destroying the hastily erected barriers. An instant — and his skeleton began to crack, ready at any second to crumble to dust.
"You are my property, Maul," the Emperor said. "I gave you power so you could become an extension of my plans. But with the same ease, I will smear you across this floor if I ever feel you are trying to play your own game. And then this suffering you are experiencing now will seem like a mere warm-up to you. I hope you have learned that in this galaxy, there is no longer your opinion or your desire?"
"Y-yes, master," the Zabrak exhaled with difficulty. The monstrous pressure disappeared.
"Good boy," the man praised him like a pet. "Finally learned the rhyme after the tenth time."
The Zabrak swallowed the saliva that had pooled in his mouth. His body burned with unbearable pain, but it no longer seemed so all-consuming. As if he was getting used to it...
"Very soon, you will stop paying attention to your own suffering," the Emperor continued insinuatingly. "Your nerve endings will go numb, and you will stop feeling anything at all. An empty shell, fit only for carrying out the tasks set before you."
"But why?" Maul let out something between a sob and a groan.
"Everything has its price," the Emperor explained. "This is your payment for the chance to get even with Kenobi."
At the mention of the name of the one who had taken everything from him, the Zabrak felt a new surge of rage. With one jerk, he rose from the floor again. But this time, he didn't even try to get to his feet. He knelt before the man, bowing his head in true reverence before his tormentor.
He had been pulled from the filth of the galactic scrap heap, his ability to think restored. And given a chance to settle scores with an old enemy. What more could he, half a being, wish for? A family? Children? Ridiculous. He was a weapon. One that had been allowed to fulfill its most cherished dream.
"I am ready to bring you his head immediately," the Zabrak whispered, reveling in his own rage.
"Not yet, Maul," Dougan objected. "First — you will serve me. And as soon as you have done everything for which you were pulled from that dump where you spent the last few years, I will give you a chance for revenge."
"As you wish, my master," the Zabrak said in anticipation. Serve the Emperor? For the sake of once again meeting Kenobi in battle and making him suffer? He was ready to do whatever his master desired.
"It couldn't be any other way, Maul," the Emperor chuckled. "You will immediately depart for the Mustafar system. My people will be waiting for you there. With their help, you will bring me power over the criminal underworld of the galaxy. Anyone who stands in your way is to be destroyed."
"Consider it done," the Zabrak grinned in anticipation of the coming bloodshed. He was being allowed to kill again. This day couldn't have ended better.
* * *
"You're looking excellent, General," Gree said dryly, as soon as the bulkhead separating the side of the Venator and the orbital station of Christophsis slid apart, letting Luminara Unduli and Barriss Offee, following her like a silent shadow, into the ship.
"And you are, as always, the epitome of courtesy, Commander," she smiled.
The clone, catching the sarcasm in her words, instinctively smoothed his hair — two strips of a short crew cut.
"Tact isn't in the regulations, ma'am," he recalled.
"But it is customary among sentient beings," Luminara countered. "You do still take an interest in other races, don't you?"
The bulkhead closed behind the Jedi. Both headed down the corridor toward the bridge. Gree tried to keep up.
"Of course," he confirmed. "After all, my subordinates' specialization is combat in non-human worlds. Knowing their culture is the key to successfully establishing contact with the locals."
"You're clearly in for a failure on Mirial," the Jedi snorted.
Staring at her with a confused look, the clone expected an explanation but didn't get one.
"Care to share the news?" the Mirialan asked.
"There isn't very much of it, ma'am," Gree said. "At least, not the pleasant kind."
"You'll have to hear it all," the Jedi shrugged.
"Master Ti has set up the system army headquarters on Lantilles. A bustling and extremely friendly planet. Grand Moff Dougan's 'Gent' has carved off some of our southern territories, but the main intensity of the fighting is in the southeastern part of the former 12th Sectoral. We're fighting for every planet — there are no particularly Republic-loyal worlds there, but the Separatists have dug in so deep you can't pry them out without full-scale sieges. The droids are testing our strength, continuously attacking with small units. Currently, we have over a dozen 'hot spots.' Master Ti is currently bogged down with the rest of the 41st Assault Corps on Aargonar, from where the Separatists are striking across the entire Parlemian Trade Route in our area of responsibility. Their raiders have even reached Lantilles itself on occasion. With the arrival of starship reinforcements to the army, we taught them not to be so bold."
"So I take it those were the unpleasant news?"
"Exactly right, General."
"Any good news?"
"Of course. We're still alive."
A cheerful chuckle came from behind the Jedi. Gree looked with bewilderment toward the source of the sound and was surprised to notice that its author was the general's apprentice. The very one who, in his memory — and his legion had been under this particular Jedi's command since the very beginning of the war — always calm, even prim Barriss Offee had never allowed herself even a smile when the conversation turned to battle or war in general. But now...
"I see nothing funny about that, young Padawan," the General noted coolly. "In our time, not everyone even gets that much."
"Forgive me, Master," the girl's face resumed its former humble expression.
The clone, taking a noisy breath, thought to himself that the Jedi would forever remain an unfathomable mystery to him.
At least — most of them.
"Ma'am, may I ask a personal question?"
"Of course, Gree."
"You fought alongside Grand Moff Dougan, didn't you?"
The commander of the elite legion's keen gaze did not miss the shadow that passed over the commander's face. As if she were reliving some unpleasant moments again.
"That's right."
"Is it true that he's one of the most competent commanders among the Jedi?"
"I'm starting to get jealous, Gree," despite the even, emotionless voice, the Jedi's face showed something quite different. But what exactly, the clone couldn't tell. The general's race was still a mystery to him. "Thinking of moving under his wing?"
"Negative, ma'am. It's just that there's a rumor among the troops that this general doesn't write off wounded clones but, on the contrary, returns them to service. And in general, whatever operation he undertakes, he invariably achieves success."
"Perhaps that's true," the Jedi remarked. "I haven't heard anything like that. And it's not like we were closely acquainted — we completed a few missions in the 13th Sectoral. Nothing that any other Jedi wouldn't have done."
"'Well, don't say that,'" flashed through the commander's mind. "'After Uba-4 and Dinlo, you can only dream of getting under the command of a competent Jedi. I'm getting sick of digging hundreds of graves after every routine operation.'"
"And how did you find out about Dougan in the first place?" Unduli suddenly asked.
"Soldier's radio, General," the commander didn't hide his source of information. "The troops chat about this and that. It's my job as commander to know what my boys are living with."
"Hmm," was all the Mirialan said. "Then share with me too, what rumors are circulating about our neighbor to the south."
"I can't vouch for their truthfulness, ma'am," the clone conscientiously warned. "But they say he has a very harsh temper. When they were about to foist a battered legion on him on Kamino, he practically wiped the floor with the Kaminoans..."
* * *
Reaching the first cabin I came across, I, without much ceremony, blew the door open with the Force. Pain echoed like a hammer in the back of my head.
"Damn," I hissed, barely making out the surroundings. "What the hell?"
The "withdrawal," as I called the consequences that had been haunting me since the battle with Bulq, which had thoroughly exhausted me, manifested almost immediately as soon as I let go of the Dark Side.
Millions of needles piercing my head. Dancing dots before my eyes. Dizziness. Tremor spreading throughout my body.
And a huge desire to breathe even more often than my organism was capable of.
The feeling that foreign objects had settled in my chest and head, trying to replace the contents of my carcass.
And barely suppressed stomach spasms.
I've never done this before, but it seems to me that this is exactly what people feel when they drink vodka bought from a shady-looking seller somewhere in a piss-soaked alley.
Because it just doesn't get this bad. Better not show myself to anyone until it gets better. The last thing I need is to throw up in front of my troops.
"Interesting," the disorientation deprived me of the ability to even feel the familiar sensation of Vitiate's imminent appearance. "A rather familiar side effect."
"And greetings to you too, teacher," I said with effort. "What's happening to me?"
"Greed never leads to anything good," Valkorion remarked. "The outcome is always the same. And now you are merely experiencing the consequences of thoughtless actions firsthand."
"What kind exactly? I've screwed up quite a lot in my life — especially in the last year."
"Pride and arrogance — that's what leads to mistakes and ruin, even for the great," a moral lesson? From a Sith? When did he learn this wisdom? When his Jedi chopped him up in his own capital? Or after his own son killed and overthrew him?
"Not sure I'm ready for a full discussion," my head literally exploded with a new wave of pain, simultaneously with which my stomach tied itself in a knot. "I wouldn't say no to some help."
"Do you even need advice?" mockery sounded in Vitiate's voice. "Like an unreasonable child given a new toy, you don't tear yourself away from it until you break it. What you are experiencing now is the consequence of greed and thoughtless actions."
Pain shot along my spine, literally buckling my knees. Crashing to my knees, I flailed my arms convulsively, trying to grab onto something. Fortunately, my hand caught the edge of... a bed? Well, at least I didn't smash my face into the floor.
"The ghosts," I exhaled. "Too much power..."
"Precisely," the ghost noted. "I helped you with the first one, and in your simple-mindedness, you decided you could neglect the procedure itself, absorbing them like cheap dishes in a dirty diner. Indiscriminately, without 'digesting.' Your suffering is solely your own failure. Greed clouded your mind, you forgot caution. And now you are one big Force reactor from which all the safety valves have been blown."
"How... do I... stop this?"
"Think," the Sith said with a mocking chuckle. "An Eternal Emperor incapable of controlling his own desires — that's a disgrace. A cancerous tumor in the galaxy. A voracious monster striving for more 'food.' Until it turns into a mania that becomes a necessity. Because only that way, in the end, can you sustain life within yourself. Does your torment remind you of anyone?"
"Darth... Nihilus..."
"You never cease to disappoint me, apprentice," Valkorion said with disgust. "Nihilus absorbed the Force as the only possible way to prolong his existence. But the root cause of his hunger is completely different from yours. Any other ideas?"
Another urge from the depths of my body nearly turned me inside out. Fortunately, I hadn't had time to eat before the flight — and now I wasn't decorating the cabin floor with my lunch. However, instead of that, I felt something sticky and hot appear on my face. Running my hand over my face, I realized two thin trickles of blood were flowing from my nose. Expanding the circle of tactile search, I noted that my ears had suffered the same fate as my nose. It seemed that the blood categorically did not want to stay inside me.
Seeing that I was in no mood for a guessing game, the Sith continued his triumphant-humiliating speech.
"While I was busy solving my own problems with the Hero of Tython, the Dark Council of the Empire renewed its composition once again. Darth Nox joined its ranks. Does that name sound familiar to you?"
I tried to answer, but instead of words, only a clot of blood escaped my chest.
"An excellent Sith," the Emperor said with a hint of admiration. "Ruthless, cunning, mighty in the Force. Even the fact that he began his long journey as a powerless slave did not break him in the slightest. On the contrary — it spurred him to action. The wounded pride of a scion of the once-great Kallig family drove him to weave intrigues, seek power, court allies — and mercilessly destroy enemies. It was curious to watch his ascent — from the depths of the dregs, he rose even above those who were above him by birthright."
Spitting out another portion of blood, I finally got a chance to breathe.
"He was your protégé?"
"Partially," Vitiate admitted. "My agents found him on a backwater planet. Freed him from slavery and sent him to Korriban. It's always amusing to watch the rabble strive to rise. They think that the power and wealth gained at the end of such a triumphant ascent will erase from everyone's memory what they were at the very beginning. Hilarious."
"Indeed," I said. A familiar concept. Painfully familiar.
"When you leave an Empire in the care of a dozen powerful but greedy beings, you need to refresh their composition from time to time and remind them that indulging in idleness is the lot of those who should step aside and make way for more ambitious talents. So it was with Kallig and the Wrath. The first rid the Empire of many worthless Sith. The second reminded everyone — from simple instructors at the Academy to members of the Dark Council — who truly dictates the will in the Empire. Those were glorious times. But, let's return to Kallig."
A new attack of pain was so terrible that I began to feel like my eyes would burst and my skull would shatter into a million fragments.
"This family possessed a unique innate ability," the Sith continued, ignoring my suffering. "They were literally predisposed to a rare gift — the absorption of the Force. Literally on a natural level, almost instinctively. Drawing power from others, Kallig was able to gain weight among other low-ranking Sith quite quickly. And when his turn came to rise higher, he decided to follow the advice of his ancient ancestor. To gain power by taking it from long-dead Sith and Jedi. And in time, he faced the same problem you have now. Too much Force for the body of an ordinary mortal."
"How...?"
"How did he cope?" Vitiate clarified delicately. "He found a way. First, he used an ancient Rakata machine to change his genetic structure, to expand his own potential for wielding the Force. And after he succeeded, he completed his deliverance by trusting the Mystics of Voss."
'Unexpected.'
"Did it help?"
"More than that. He stopped the degradation of his own body's tissues and over several years managed to get rid of the adverse consequences of his thoughtless decision — to uncontrollably absorb and exploit another's Force."
"So... I need..."
"You should listen to the one who is millennia ahead of the rest of the galaxy in matters of understanding the Force," Vitiate said with irritation in his voice. "Now, look at yourself..."
"I'd love to," coughing up another clot of blood, I strained to get upright. Like hell — as soon as I straightened up, my head went off on its own journey, snickering at my vestibular apparatus. "My eyesight is failing."
"Conceit has blinded you," the Sith said didactically. "Your body, despite millennia of artificial selection by your ancestors, is merely weak flesh, incapable of holding such power."
"But how...?"
"I suppose you're wondering how I managed to absorb the Force of an entire planet?" the Sith inquired politely. I wanted to answer him, but my throat was seized by another spasm. "I had a powerful ally. Zildrog — an ancient computer, whose instructions helped me 'digest' the souls of Nathema's population. It told me how to absorb that entire ocean of energy without damaging my mind and preserving my body."
I could argue about the mind part, of course.
"Help me..."
"You're asking me for help?" the Sith laughed. "Really? After all, you are the Immortal Emperor. Aren't you the one who strokes your own ego with cheap tricks, demonstrating your superiority to the locals? A pathetic spectacle," he added with undisguised contempt. "It's unpleasant to realize that I made a mistake choosing such a worthless, life-resentful creature as my assistant. Feeling power, you imagined yourself great? Everything you have — you owe to me. Your allies, your resources, your ascension. Where would you be if I hadn't shown leniency, giving you a second chance?"
What a bitch. And he's mocking me too.
"Let me explain something to you, 'Emperor,'" the icy presence accompanying Valkorion was very close. There was no need to even strain my completely unfocused vision to understand — the ghost was standing right next to me. "You were chosen for this mission only because you were a nobody. Less than zero. A downtrodden, pathetic, embittered boy, craving approval, attention, glory. Ready to do anything, just to get recognition. And you got it," a powerful gust of Force literally slammed me into the wall, throwing me over the bed.
Colliding with the wall, I felt that now I was not only being torn apart from the inside but also crushed from the outside.
"What did your showing off before those even lower than you give you?" Valkorion's voice burst into my ears like the roar of a hurricane. "Wasting time fussing with these... weaklings. Using my developments, my rituals, to make those who aren't even worthy of attention stronger! Mediocrity!"
A new gust hurled me into the other wall like a ragdoll.
Valkorion was venting his revenge, taking advantage of the fact that he couldn't get any payback. And why lie — I'm no match for him. Even if I 'drink' hundreds of ghosts — of course, if I manage it.
"You dare lecture others on lessons you haven't learned yourself!" I don't even know which hurts more: knowing I'm being torn apart from the inside, or getting my ass kicked by a four-thousand-year-old ghost. "You can't act recklessly and flashily. You must be efficient! Foolish boy!"
This time I smashed something fragile with my body. Though I realized the sharp pieces were cutting into my face, I couldn't even feel the pain from those wounds. My consciousness was flooded with the sensation of my body falling apart.
"Four thousand years of preparation! Selection! Implanting the necessary gene code fragments into my descendants! Do you think you're absorbing the Force because you're worth something?! I gave you this! I took the best from my enemies to give to you — my apprentice! My descendant!"
Weight didn't matter here. The old man wasn't even straining as he threw my nearly hundred-kilogram body (with heavy armor included) around the cabin. I'd have liked to say something back, but I had no strength — not even to move. The pain had exhausted me so much that I simply surrendered to the will of the stronger. Just like with my stepfather, you shouldn't contradict Valkorion when he was angry — it could end in simple death. For me, naturally.
"I gave you the ability to influence sentients by establishing bonds with them, taking it from the Exile's body! I strengthened your connection to the Force, using what I learned from Revan's mind! Do you think sentients agree to follow you just because you got into their heads or laid them in your bed? No, ignoramus! This is all gifts from the past, which I gathered bit by bit, implanting into my own descendants! Darth Nox would be turning in his grave, if he deserved a burial, seeing how talentlessly you use his family's legacy! Within you are gathered the genetic distinctions of all the greatest Jedi and Sith whose bodies my servants could obtain! And instead of moving forward, bringing closer the moment of peace in the galaxy, you're fiddling with this scum! Decided to compete with me!? Do you think that what I gifted you, what you got from holocrons and the station's archives, gives you the right to consider yourself even remotely equal to me? Talentless fool!"
After yet another collision, this time with the ceiling, I felt several bones crack. But I didn't care. I had to endure and wait.
"Unbridled greed has led to this body falling apart," Valkorion said, somewhat calmer. "You weren't satisfied with a talentless death in your own universe, and you decided it would be amusing to die even more stupidly here? Make all my plans go to bantha waste? Truly, my biggest mistake was using such a worthless being as you, expecting unquestioning obedience for all I've done for you. I presented every possible means of conquering the galaxy, and how did you use them?"
The ghost dropped me to the floor.
Completely without strength or desire not just to resist, but even to move. Lovely. I felt no pain again. It was nothing compared to what I'd already been through. I'll hope the end is near. It must be near. I pray this ends soon.
"Hope to die," my teacher stated with cold disdain. "Not so fast. I'd gladly get rid of you, continuing my strategy with another candidate. But you... you managed to flip the table with the cards, when you should have been following a pre-planned game."
Vitiate paused for a moment. Without a doubt — contemplating what to do next.
"As much as I hate to admit it," he finally said, "you've done much to implement my plan. Too much to simply remove you from the board and replace with someone new. You've fused with this body... Disgusting."
God, would you stop talking nonsense already... Wait a minute. Why are you so emotional, kid? Hit a nerve? "Didn't go according to plan?" I mentally smirked. Depends on whose plan.
"I will give you a chance to save your worthless life," Valkorion continued. "Go to the planet Belsavis. There you will find the remains of an ancient Rakatan prison complex. Inside is the very machine with which Darth Nox was able to tame his ghosts. Repeating that ritual should help stop the destruction of your body — after all, you already have within you Kallig's genes altered by that device, so you'll last some time. Do you understand me?"
"Yes... teacher," I whispered barely audibly, struggling to feel my body.
"Besides what you took from the station's archives, there is a description of the Voss ritual that Nox used," Vitiate continued. "File 45619-Zez. I suggest you use it immediately — it will help you maintain control over your body until you use the machine. You have seven days, apprentice," Vitiate emphasized the last word with outright contempt. "If you do it your way again — I will make sure your spirit falls into the Void. And there you will answer to me for every grain of the precious energy I have to expend to once again tear the veil between worlds and witness your worthlessness."
With these words, the sensation of icy cold that accompanied the aura of Vitiate's presence vanished.
Along with some of the pain tormenting me.
"Just prefect," I muttered, lying on the cold floor, barely moving my lips. "A Jew's gambit, damn it."
* * *
Through the tangled corridors of the Trade Federation battleship, Oli moved more by instinct than by any real sense of where she was going.
Orders had been given — the boarding party had already secured control of the Lucrehulk, and now engineers and technicians were diligently restoring the functionality of systems damaged during the battle — both in space and aboard the ship. She'd been assured that in a few hours the ship would be operational. It wasn't just about fixing the damage; they also had to sweep the massive vessel for any surprises left by the Separatists. The Republic still lacked detailed intelligence on CIS ships. No one could guarantee there wasn't a self-destruct device or sabotage droids lurking, waiting for the right moment.
Hacking the central computer should yield plenty of useful information. Since the forces at Christophsis managed to capture a similar ship, the CIS war machine had advanced by leaps and bounds. And by capturing a fully intact data array, the army could, so to speak, learn more about their enemy.
According to Admiral Declann's report, the battle on the surface was going with mixed success. Clones were taking casualties — oddly enough — within acceptable numbers. But the CIS army was shrinking far too slowly.
Surrounded, boxed into the northern part of the city, the droids were making desperate attempts to break out, to breach the Republic's defenses, which in turn were brutally suppressing them with all types of weapons.
A lull had now set in. The Separatist commander, realizing that only the presence of local civilians on the territory he controlled saved him from orbital bombardment or air strikes, was using this tactic to the fullest. By means unknown to the Republic, he had two of the planet's three rulers and over a hundred thousand local civilians as hostages. The promise to execute them in case of a new offensive had cooled the ardor of the ground operation commander, Aayla Secura. The clones were building fortifications, trying to keep the enemy within the territory they'd seized. And this situation would continue until a new strategy was developed. Which no one had yet bothered to devise.
The battle for the fuel refineries was in full swing. Both commando groups had managed to board these spaceborne structures. The troopers who followed had pressed the attack, cutting off the garrisons of both platforms from the fuel and raw material reservoirs — to prevent sabotage.
The fleet formations had achieved some success — pushing the CIS ships away from strategic objects. Unfortunately, the enemy transports with their massive fuel reserves had managed to leave the system. No one risked attacking them — the consequences of a possible detonation would please absolutely no one. It was bad enough that the explosion of one transport had destroyed three Hammerheads. Thousands of lives vanished in an instant in a blinding flash.
Now the battle — which the freed-up Acclamators were soon to join — was taking place at the system's borders. Both sides had heavy damage, so the intense confrontation, which had ended with the loss of two more Republic ships and twice the losses for the Separatists, had shifted into a phase of sluggish exchange of fire, more resembling positional ground combat.
At this point, the outcome of the battle could only be decided by fresh forces — whoever received reinforcements would claim the entire system and its resources.
Fortunately for the Republic, Captain Sagoro Autem's detachment was already on approach. Even though they weren't many, and the battle in the Vergesso system hadn't gone their way — practically all ships were damaged, and the missile ordnance was at zero. All that remained was to hope that numerical superiority would force the enemy to retreat.
However, Oli had little faith in that scenario. The droids would have left the system long ago if they followed logic — fighting a numerically inferior but qualitatively superior force was hardly enjoyable. It was at the very least illogical. Admiral Declann was firmly convinced that the CIS was waiting for reinforcements. It was unlikely they had any sizable formations in this sector — at most half a dozen ships. But he didn't want to drag out resolving this problem either, preferring to crush the enemy piecemeal — much better odds of victory than fighting all the CIS forces they could muster here. The man was just waiting for the undamaged Acclamators to arrive — with no significant losses in small craft.
Though he hadn't said it, Oli clearly understood — the detachment that had been involved in the orbital skirmish with CIS forces was meant to be the core of the final strike. Well, that was a fleet competence issue — with her knowledge (or rather, lack thereof) of space battles of this scale, she preferred to leave it to the admiral.
For now, she was heading where she thought the teacher had gone. Even though it was a bit frightening — the man had completely severed all mental connection with her, and his condition after the duel was... not the most pleasant, even to look at. Still, after getting through the first moments of shock, she decided he shouldn't be left alone.
And, after all, she was supposedly his apprentice. She had knelt, expressing her complete submission to him. In her mind, followers shouldn't abandon their leader.
Though she knew precious few historical examples on this subject. So she decided that Jedi wisdom was more apt than ever. A padawan should always be by the teacher's side. True, the rest of the code went on about passing on experience and attaining wisdom. That part of the Order's postulate her mentor had thoroughly neglected. If at first he'd at least tried to train her a bit, bringing her up to speed in theory and practice here and there. But now...
Convenient, the way he'd set things up. At this rate, any other padawan would surpass her and become a knight.
"He-e-ey," came a weak but familiar voice from slightly behind her. Starting, the girl looked around. The sound came from a cabin whose entry panel had been torn from its tracks. "Don't walk past!"
Cautiously peering inside, the girl felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
Judging by everything, this used to be one of the cabins for senior crew members. Supporting this conclusion were the once-refined interior features, now turned to ruins. It looked as though a storm had raged in the cabin, destroying absolutely everything — leaving only the bulkheads in place. And even those bore concave dents, strikingly matching the parameters of a human body lying on the floor.
"What... what happened here?" Without thinking, the girl rushed to the man. His face was covered with cuts and bruises. Drops and trickles of blood, dried on his skin, indicated the wounds were inflicted quite some time ago.
"I had a... very substantive conversation with my teacher."
The girl helped the man sit up.
"And... how did it go?" At the mere thought that the master had been talking with the ghost of the Sith Emperor, who was over four thousand years old, she felt a chill inside.
"We talked," a wheeze escaped the man's chest on each exhale. "Rather loudly..."
"So this," she gestured around the cabin, indicating the wreckage, "was his doing?"
"Yes... the old man was a bit displeased," the man coughed, spitting clots of blood onto the floor.
"If this is a bit, I'm afraid to imagine what happens when he's really angry," the girl shuddered.
"Well... usually in such cases, all life on planets vanishes," the teacher said, wincing.
"That's happened before?" Oli's eyes widened.
"Yes, a couple of times. At least — I only know of two."
"Teacher, you have to stop him," Starstone whispered. "He's... a monster."
"And I'm not?"
A semblance of a smile appeared on the man's face. Forced through the pain.
"A little... but compared to him... entire planets..."
"Thanks for the kind words," the man groaned, trying to get up. "But... for now, he's useful."
"How?! Do you want to learn to destroy planets too? You should have seen yourself, what you looked like after Master Bulq's death! And it's all because you follow that ghost's words! Your eyes were black as night!" she said breathlessly. "Good thing at least now it's back to normal."
"G-goodness... do you nurse on that with your mother's milk?" the man asked, leaning on the girl.
"Nurse on what?"
"The 'Nagging the Man' achievement."
"Uh... I don't know what you're talking about."
"That's what they all say," Oli draped the master's arm over her shoulder, helping him walk toward the exit. "And, getting back to my relationship with Vitiate... The bastard is extremely useful, at least for now."
"Useful?" the girl repeated. "How?!"
"He's invested too much in his Plan, of which I'm the executor," the man began to explain, limping on one leg. "And as much as it irritates him, he can't write me off..."
"What does that last phrase mean?"
"Oh, the times, the manners. 'Write off as a loss.' Is that clearer?"
"Now you're talking like a sensible person. Not when you start using your fancy words..."
"Oli, even though I look like a half-corpse, I can still kick your ass."
"I don't doubt it," the girl agreed. "In fact, I'll even say — I wouldn't mind. You're the one who keeps going on about age-age..."
"I'll smack you with an anchor!" the man pleaded. "Is that all you think about?"
"You know, actually, it says on every other website on the HoloNet that men have only one thing on their minds..."
"And women have only one thing on their minds — that men have only one thing on their minds."
"There you go again!" the girl bristled. "We may not have known each other long, but I'm sure the Emperor beat you up precisely because you keep saying these strange things. And no — I don't just think about that! When I was coming here, I was thinking about how you've completely stopped teaching me. At least for decency's sake, you could think about acting like regular teacher and student. Otherwise, when they start asking questions at the Temple, like 'what does Master Dougan teach you,' what am I supposed to say? And what if Master Windu asks?"
"Oli... what nickname did I give you?"
"I don't remember," the girl said quickly. At that same moment, she mentally cursed herself. Too fast. "And anyway, did you even give me one? What I don't remember — didn't happen."
"Well, then from now on you're 'Level 80 Nag,'" the man sighed. Reaching the doorway, he pointed to the part of the corridor she'd nearly walked down. "I'll tell everyone in the army that's your callsign now."
"Teacher!" Oli protested. "You're a brute! You should be thinking about how to take advantage of your young and beautiful apprentice... Instead, you're wounding me in my best feelings. I don't know how 'nag' relates to 'woman,' but I'm offended in advance. There."
"'Women complain that men have only one thing on their minds, but when men stop thinking about it, women feel insulted,'" the man recited.
The girl, frowning sternly, pursed her lips.
"I'll complain about you to Knight Secura."
"Even to the Heavenly Chancellery, go ahead," the teacher allowed, only confusing her further.
Oli opened her mouth to make another barb, but decided not to worsen the situation. It seemed the Emperor had accidentally crushed the reservoir of humor dormant in her mentor.
"Will you tell me where we're going?"
"Yes. To the hangars."
"And why?"
"I... slightly overdid it with enhancing my power," the man admitted. "And all the energy now inside me should have been absorbed gradually, with long breaks. Instead, it's literally bursting out of me."
"You have Force indigestion?"
The man looked at the girl with bewilderment. Chuckling, he continued, leaning on her and limping onward.
"You're learning from me."
"Well, you know, yes."
"In general, you're right, Oli. I need help so the Force doesn't destroy me."
"And why didn't you think of this earlier?"
"I was afraid of missing the moment. After absorbing Muur's ghost, I felt great — fortunately, I'd prepared with the crystal in advance. But Darth Marr's ghost... I simply seized the opportunity. Who knew if he'd appear again. In short, I miscalculated my strength. The first ghost I acquired took a long time to 'digest.' And here... well, I overdid it."
"And how did you figure that out?"
"Usually my hands don't shake for no reason," the man admitted. "So as soon as this nonsense started, I had to dig through the Emperor's files. He stores his secrets quite effectively. Though I found information on the Voss technique used by a member of the Empire's Dark Council who'd ended up in the same situation, the name of the planet where he underwent the genetic restructuring that saved him from it — wasn't there. So, even though I suppressed my condition through meditation, it was a temporary solution. And during the fight with Bulq, I just let go of control over it."
"And what for? That nearly killed you."
"But the Emperor took the bait," the man smirked. "He rushed to save his asset so fast his hair blew back."
"And... did he help?"
"Naturally," the man smirked. "The old man was in such a rage that he said a lot of what I'd wanted to hear from the very beginning of this whole comedy. But what's more important now is that I finally know the name of the planet and the place where I should seek help."
"So that's why we're going to the hangar?" the girl understood.
"Exactly," the man chuckled. "And as a bonus, I figured out why the Emperor only appears when I'm in danger."
"And why?"
"The bastard is conserving energy," the teacher said, darkening. "I'd still like to know — where and for what."
"Suppose you find out," the girl conceded. "And then what?"
"Don't get ahead of yourself," from the tone of his voice, Oli understood the man wanted to change the subject. Well, fine, his prerogative. Okay, let's change it.
"Teacher, tell me, please" he was limping, after all. So he definitely couldn't run away from her. "Have you ever thought about organizing a harem?"
The empty corridor filled with an inhuman roar of despair.