He was falling into darkness.
A bottomless pit, into which his consciousness plummeted, reached out its grasping claws, enveloping him in an icy touch.
He couldn't scream, call for help, or somehow communicate his dire situation.
Hopeless falling...
And then, when he'd already accepted his nature — a monster given over to the Darkness — Light appeared above the abyss.
So bright that, touching the sticky bonds of Darkness, it evaporated them almost instantly. And when despair and hopelessness had already drowned him, the Light tore him from the depths of the Void.
The return from the depths was painful — his body ached as if burned with red-hot durasteel.
And the Light, upon closer inspection, turned out not to be what he'd wished for. From afar it seemed gentle, bright, immaculate.
But up close...
Light and Darkness, in truth, intertwined in a complex and incomprehensible symbiosis, emanating immense power.
And he touched that power, accepting it with all his heart.
But the deeper he sank into it, the more it hurt. At first he could hold it inside, but as soon as the first wave of pain subsided, the man couldn't restrain himself, letting out a light groan.
Then his world began to tremble, as if an earthquake had struck beneath his feet.
"Wake up!" a passionate female voice invaded his ears. "Wake up!"
Opening his eyes, he realized with relief that it had only been a dream.
"What's wrong?"
"You were groaning in your sleep again," the girl whispered. Her voice held worry and concern.
"The main thing is it was just a dream," he tried to reassure her with a smile. "Just a dream..."
"Three nights in a row?" she asked incredulously.
Yes. Three nights in a row. Ever since he returned.
The same nightmare — the apotheosis of his entire existence. When he was awake, it seemed the fragments of the past were behind him. But the moment he closed his eyes...
"Why are you up so early?" Throwing off the edge of the blanket, he sat up in bed, admiring the slender figure that was deftly removing her outer clothes. She did it so gracefully that he pushed the remnants of the dream from his mind.
"I'm a professional. Or have you already forgotten?"
"Some things are burned into memory forever. Wait," he squinted, recalling his last request. "Did you find out...?"
"Where Janna Zan Arbor is?" she finished his sentence. Receiving an affirmative nod, the girl, left in just her underwear, sighed and bent down to pick up her clothes. Fumbling through the pockets, she tossed a holodisc into his hands. "Here's all the information on her. Her location address down to the apartment number where she actually sleeps."
"Did anyone suspect you?"
The girl, legs apart, hands on her hips, displayed her beauty without a hint of embarrassment, enhanced by her long violet hair.
"I'm a professional, Quinlan Vos, let me remind you again," she said with a smile. "And the role of a double agent forces you to be twice as cautious."
"I readily believe it," he said dryly. Then, catching himself, he pulled a smile onto his face. "You've done well, Khaleen. I'm proud of you."
The girl paused for a moment, frozen in place. But she evidently appreciated the compliment, smiled, and slipped under the blanket, pressing her whole body against him.
"You know," placing her hand on his chest, she tried to meet his eyes. "Ever since Dooku hired me to watch you... When I got to know you better, I wanted to tell you about it. But I was afraid of your reaction."
"Quite justified caution," the Kiffar agreed.
Sighing, he set the holodisc aside. He definitely couldn't review the information it contained right now. The girl demanded attention. By refusing, he might sow seeds of doubt in her, which could have extremely negative consequences in the future.
"If you'd told me this six months ago... I can't even imagine what my reaction would have been."
"You disappeared for so long. Dooku interrogated me several times, thinking I might know the reason for your absence. How good that you came back. And... found out everything. By the way, why don't you tell me how you learned that I was working for Dooku inside your organization?"
"Because my lord told me," Quinlan thought. "And you're not supposed to know that."
"There's no secret," he lied. "After acquiring the holocron on Korriban, I killed another of Dooku's servants. And I set out on a journey to know myself. During... a stop on one of the planets, a revelation came to me. And I learned your innermost secrets."
"It's all... amazing, and frightening," Khaleen said. "As long as I've lived, I've never been able to understand all these Jedi tricks of yours."
"The Force is inscrutable," Quinlan intoned. "Just when you think you've uncovered some of its secrets — in that same instant, it opens new horizons before you."
"It sounds... promising," the spy said languidly. "By the way, don't you want to tell me where you got such luxurious apartments on Nar Shaddaa?"
"This is our new home," he assured her. "A gift from... an influential gentleman. Here we are safe and left to ourselves. No one — not Dooku, not the Jedi — knows about this place. From here we can work without fear of being discovered. Though, we can do more than just work here."
Catching her emotions through the Force, the Kiffar reciprocated, slipping his hands under the blanket.
Even the Emperor's Wrath needed to relax sometimes.
* * *
"Republic destroyer is damaged," the tactical droid reported. "Deflector shields are down, artillery silenced. Engines destroyed. They are completely in our power."
"Send the boarding party," Nax grinned. "And prepare my shuttle. I will personally lead the assault."
"The ship awaits you in the hangar, commander."
Rising from the luxurious chair in the center of the bridge, the servant unhurriedly made his way to the nearest repulsor train.
The dreadnought assigned to him by CIS command impressed not only with its firepower. Unlike the first ship in the series, this one lacked ring-mounted ion cannons. Only artillery surpassing any enemy fleet. Not in quality, but in quantity.
And now the group of Republic Venators felt his wrath.
However, having destroyed more than a dozen Star Destroyers from the Eighth System Army group that had arrived in the Kerkoidia system to respond to the Separatist base being established there, Kirvan still felt that his inner rage was not satisfied.
The trap was perfectly organized. CIS intelligence had spread information that a powerful Separatist defense hub would be established here. And the specific date of the convoy's arrival with the equipment had even reached the Council's ears.
As expected, the Jedi took the bait. And threw all their reserves into eliminating this threat. Only instead of a transport convoy, they were greeted here by the Sovereign, at the head of fifty frigates and light destroyers, surrounding the Republic forces immediately upon their arrival in the system.
Of course, a base would be established here — right after the enemy lost the mobile strike group capable of creating problems in this oversector. Most of the ships the Jedi had were bogged down in battles across the entire zone of responsibility, and couldn't arrive to help. Even if command agreed to it — they would arrive as scattered groups, which wouldn't be hard to destroy.
The global plan to localize and encircle several Republic system armies, developed by General Grievous, would begin to be implemented right here. And then it would sweep through all the neighboring ones with fire and sword. The Republic would blaze in flames and writhe in pain, bleeding from its destroyed fleets. It wasn't for nothing that the Count put him in charge of the operation — gave him a chance to distinguish himself and settle the score.
Revenge... a sweet dish he would serve with his own hands.
Count Dooku had been disappointed by his failure — Grand Master Yoda had survived. Though, the CIS leader had stated he hadn't really counted on it. Still, the greatest of the Jedi was a completely different level. Despite any ancient Force techniques the Count had shared with him, Yoda was still an unattainable goal.
Unlike other members of the Jedi High Council.
And one of them was currently his target.
Master Tiin. The Iktotchi who had irritated him even back when Nax was a member of the Order. This particular Jedi had always disliked him.
And now, when his flagship was a sieve on a stellar scale, a real chance for revenge had appeared.
A lone Venator, drifting helplessly in space, had hundreds of hull breaches from which tongues of flame burst, burning up the remaining oxygen in the punctured compartments. The hangar bay armor doors had been sealed by the crew, but the saboteurs operating aboard the starship had already opened the starboard hangar especially for him.
The pilot droid landed the transport shuttle, lowering the ramp down which the fallen Jedi practically flew. He smelled smoke and caked blood. That and the Jedi's faint stench in the Force made his heart beat faster. His eyes narrowed. And the sight of dozens of dead bodies in snow-white armor only whetted his death thirst.
His lightsaber was ignited before he even saw his enemy with his own eyes, ready to deflect the shots fired at him by the squad of soldiers sent to monitor his landing. The Force guided his hand — no, the Force was his hand. That was how he felt. In moments like this, he was the embodiment of the Dark Side. It flowed through him like expensive wine pouring from a bottle's neck, bringing joy with each sip and promising more and more. His blade traced glowing lines in the air, deflecting blaster shots back at the shooters, cutting short their already short lives.
About a dozen clones, firing as they moved, were descending through the main corridor toward the hangar, sealing the door behind them. Baring his teeth, he ran toward them, eager to attack. Their rifles were nothing compared to the power of the Force. A single Force Push scattered them like dolls. For most, this proved fatal — the Baron felt their deaths in the Force, reinforcing his own power with the enemies' dying agonies.
But there were also those who survived his attack.
One he struck with lightning. A second he choked until he lost consciousness. A third he swept aside into the nearest bulkhead. The rest he elegantly and aggressively dismembered, ignoring their cries of despair and pain. He found only ecstasy in their agony.
Using the Force, after making sure no one was left alive in the hangar, he pulled apart the armored doors.
"All clone squads, maintain the advance," a voice roared over the intercom. "Destroy the boarding party."
The Baron just smirked. Though the Jedi's voice was as low and insinuating as ever, he caught notes of despair in the enemy's tone.
Like an untamed element, he burst into the clone squad he encountered in the adjoining corridor. Their lives ended the moment he willed it.
Worthless enemies. Only wasting his time.
And then he suddenly realized the purpose of all these pathetic attempts to stop him. The Iktotchi was just stalling, hoping to drain his strength before their inevitable meeting. Which would end in his death.
Approaching the turbolift, he reached out to summon the car that would take him directly to the bridge level. But a premonition of relentless danger made him more cautious. And praise the Dark Side — sending several nearby saboteurs into the car, he avoided the fate of dying in such an ignominious way — the repulsor lift, the moment the doors closed, lost centralized power and plummeted like a stone down the shaft.
The voice over the ship's intercom became more alarmed.
"The target is moving toward the bridge! Stop him at any cost!"
Too foolish. Did they really think an adept of the Dark Side could be stopped by something like that?
After confirming the shaft was safe, he cut handholds into the cylindrical tube with a few strokes, using them to climb to the required level, blasting the doors open with the Force.
A pair of clones, foolishly positioned outside, died instantly. What a pity — he would have liked to drink in their suffering.
Like a meteor, he raced through the corridors, paying little attention to the pathetic attempts of the meat droids to stop him. They were nothing against the Force. Dust beneath the feet of the mighty.
Pure and liberating rage blazed within him, pushing all other emotions aside. He grabbed several facing panels from the wall, spun them, and hurled them at the soldiers who tried to block his path to the bridge. The thin durasteel plates sliced through armored bodies with the ease of red-hot iron through butter.
The bulkhead leading to the bridge swung open as soon as he applied the Force.
Vaulting over the threshold, he felt with perverse pleasure the wary doom of the clone troopers in the command center. And only one — Jedi Master Saesee Tiin — paid no attention to the Dark Side adept, standing with closed eyes, muttering something under his breath.
Seeing Nax, the clones immediately opened fire. The flashes of blue blaster bolts stoked within him the basest emotions, which he had been saving for a real battle. Controlling his anger, he deflected all the shots and turned his rage into retribution. He felt no need to hold back. These bastards stood between him and Tiin. But he would definitely solve that problem.
The first clone fell, struck by his own blaster bolt. Two more he cut down with his lightsaber, pushing his speed to the limit. The rest he smeared against the bulkheads with the Force.
Stopping to gather his will like a cloak wrapping around the fiery heart of his anger, he prepared for the duel with the Jedi, whose imperturbable calm he felt through the prism of the Force.
And that Jedi manner absolutely infuriated him.
Saesee Tiin's entire posture radiated confidence and contempt as he surveyed the bridge littered with his soldiers' bodies. A brown cloak hung from his metal pauldrons, which further emphasized his power. Seeing armor elements over the standard Jedi robes, Kirvan just grinned. A pathetic parody of a warrior, which the Iktotchi had never been. Compared to the Baron himself, of course.
"Kirvan?" One imperceptible movement, and an ignited saber was in his hand. "This trap is not on your level of intelligence. After such a brilliant operation, they send you against a member of the High Council? A boy? Dooku is decisively losing his mind."
"You will die here, Master Tiin," he drawled the Jedi's rank mockingly. "The Light is weak. Just like you."
The Jedi looked sadly at the lightsaber in his own hands.
"You have much to learn, Nax, before you say things like that to someone stronger and more experienced than you."
Grim and silent, he assumed a combat stance. So Tiin had figured out that his defeat wasn't just the natural result of battle, but also the outcome of a cunning plan? Well, perhaps the Jedi wasn't as stupid as he seemed. However, he wouldn't get far with that information.
He raised his left hand, and materialized rage flowed from his fingertips toward the Jedi. A blinding Force Lightning capable of incinerating a sentient being in an instant.
Tiin just laughed. He thrust out his weapon's blade, imbuing it with the Force. The lightning, drawn to it, struck the lightsaber, helplessly dispersing across the energy weapon without harming its owner.
Nax broke off his attempt, the haze clearing from his eyes. His anger grew. He felt stung that his attempt had failed. The Sith of the past were literally laughing at him, seeing his helplessness.
No. He would not tolerate any mockery of himself. The Jedi would die here.
And now. He had something to surprise the Iktotchi with.
In his lunge, he felt weightless, like a flying spear. The red blade of his saber, aimed straight at the enemy's throat, split the air. Rapidly spinning through the air like a crimson deathly disk, he inexorably closed in on the Iktotchi...
The Jedi, insultingly, didn't even engage. He simply slid aside, avoiding a deadly rendezvous with the Sith weapon.
Nax, roaring, pulled the saber back into his hand.
To hell with all this playing around! He would gut the Master with his own hands!
Charging forward, he delivered a crushing overhead slash in a leap with considerable force. The Iktotchi parried, letting the crimson blade slide along his own weapon. He didn't block the strike — he redirected it, conserving energy.
Nax exulted! The Iktotchi was actually weakened! He was trying to hold on to make the Baron expend all his physical strength, after which he would go on the offensive. Hilariously pathetic.
As soon as his blade slid off the tip of the Jedi's lightsaber, the latter unexpectedly shot upward, ending up behind the fallen knight. Kirvan was momentarily confused but reacted in time. This time he dodged Tiin's strike, swept his leg, parried a sword blow, and used the Force to push the enemy away.
But the Iktotchi was ready for such a feint, deflecting the blow while delivering his own Push. Right at the moment when Kirvan repeated his Force attack. They were thrown several meters apart when the energy of the two adepts met.
Now more cautious, realizing the Master had plenty of tricks up his sleeve, Kirvan began circling him in a wide arc, like a predator studying its prey before pouncing to sink sharp fangs into the most vulnerable spot.
Rage made him attack. He was insulted to the core. Count Dooku had had a low opinion of the Iktotchi's abilities, instilling the same confidence in the Baron. Now that he knew a direct assault would likely fail, he had to find another way to get closer to his opponent. Or make the Jedi come to him.
Suddenly, the Iktotchi began moving, attacking with astonishing speed and fierce, varied strikes. Kirvan retreated and licked his lips. Green and red energies clashed; he blocked blow after blow. Still the Iktotchi pressed forward, trying to overwhelm him with determination and speed. Kirvan decisively broke the enemy's combo and retreated four steps, then stopped. He swept his blade around himself, forming a Force barrier in a deliberate imitation of the Soresu style used by several other Council members — Obi-Wan Kenobi, Luminara Unduli...
An excellent defensive technique. No one and nothing could break through the Force Barrier as long as Kirvan fed it with his emotions. The Jedi... didn't know much, and had forgotten even more. So the Baron very much hoped that the Iktotchi would recklessly charge at him.
However, the Master proved wiser than commonly thought. Rightly understanding that he couldn't penetrate the defense, the Iktotchi backed off and tried using various slow styles with sudden, swift attacks. But the Baron parried those too, and when the Master's defense seemed to weaken, he began his own attacks. And, wearing down his opponent with his pressure, each time retreated under the Barrier's protection, forcing the Jedi to deliberately lose tempo and expend his internal reserves. A battle of attrition.
Though such maneuvers weren't easy for Kirvan himself, he still counted on being stronger in the Force than any Jedi. Well, except perhaps the Grand Master or Master Windu were above his level.
But they weren't here.
The duel raged across the entire ship's command center, which shook and thundered, with equipment breaking apart around them. The fallen Jedi ignored everything — the sparking machinery, the debris under his feet — to concentrate solely on this fateful battle. Tiin wouldn't have beaten him anyway, but seeing the fight drag on, Nax increasingly wondered: could he actually defeat Master Tiin? He had to. He would rather die with the ship than stop fighting and admit defeat. The Baron knew what fate awaited him if he did that. He wouldn't let Count Dooku torture him a second time.
The Iktotchi was cunning and strong, and had several techniques in reserve that Nax had never encountered before. Even in Count Dooku's execution. But the Count was older and knew practically everything about the dark side of the Force. Including Jedi knowledge. Nax tried attacking a couple of times, obviously hoping to provoke an error or exhaust his opponent. But he was the one who immediately took a return blow. The effects of the tense duel were beginning to show. Soon his cloak was reduced to a smoking rag, and one of his pauldrons was glowing red-hot after meeting the Jedi's green blade.
Kirvan intensified his assault; the feeling of victory and attaining his full power was approaching. Soon the Jedi's lightsaber and his head would belong to him. Then he would truly be worthy of his master's praise!
He caught the Republic general in a choking hold and kept squeezing, even though it partially backfired on him. The general grabbed his throat with one hand while continuing to parry attacks with the other. The apprentice let the fire in his lungs fuel his hunger for triumph. Even from the darkness beyond his field of vision, he sent flying objects at Tiin's legs and face, striking him from all sides.
Distracting the general with the fight, Kirvan desperately searched for a way out of the situation. He couldn't win in a lightsaber duel either. But that was why he was studying Sith teachings, so that... Hutt! Of course!
A fragment of a clone's torso, recently sliced apart by the Baron, struck the general's knees from behind. With a cry of frustration, the defeated Jedi fell; his face took on a purple hue of irritation, his eyes bulging. Nax relaxed slightly, letting them both breathe a little air, but before the Iktotchi could get to his feet, he was on top of him, pressing down on their crossed lightsabers, which hissed millimeters from their faces.
Saesee tried with all his might but couldn't push the red blade away from his face. His eyes were full not of purifying hatred, but regret. Even at the end, the Iktotchi clung to his weak Jedi path.
"Dooku thinks," the Master gasped — the Baron had finally knocked the ground out from under him, "that he turned you... against the Order. There is no power in the Dark Side! I see your future! You will be disappointed..."
The Count's apprentice strained his strength, throwing his full weight onto the weapons, and brought the blades even closer to Tiin's face.
Sweat broke out on the Jedi's face as he lay flat on his back.
"I feel... I feel only..." Shock and confusion showed on his face. "Death? You will die just like Quinlan Vos — alone and consumed by your own rage..."
"Old fool," Nax grinned. "Vos returned to Dooku, stronger than ever and completely submissive to the Dark Side."
Surprise and disappointment wafted from the Iktotchi. Naturally — the entire Order thought him dead. The Kiffar had managed to surprise absolutely everyone.
With a wild laugh, Kirvan, fueling himself with the Dark Side of the Force, unexpectedly grabbed the Jedi's own blade with his left hand, tearing it from the weakened grip. Pulling back slightly from the Jedi's body, Kirvan crossed the green and red blades at the latter's throat, and with joyful rage spread his arms apart, severing the horned head from the slightly stocky body.
Sensing the Force death of the gifted one, Nax froze for a moment, then, realizing his triumph, burst into laughter, filling the empty command center with a triumphant cry.
He had done it.
He. Had Killed. A Master.
Wild euphoria seized him as he gripped the Jedi's lightsaber hilt with all his strength, feeling the faint echoes of the Light Side contained within the crystals inside the weapon. Jedi filth that drove him mad simply by existing.
Drawing in all the Darkness he could reach, Nax channeled his rage through the fallen enemy's weapon, gleefully noting how the internal mechanism of the hilt warped under his power's influence. The crystals resisted the superior Force for a moment, but then, helplessly flickering their dying lights in the Force, shattered into hundreds of tiny fragments.
He had finally destroyed the Jedi. With latent malice, he looked at the mangled hilt, considering which courier company would deliver it fastest to Coruscant, straight into the Grand Master's hands.
The ancient old man would undoubtedly identify who had committed sacrilege against the weapon and learn the name of his companion's killer. And then rumors would spread through the Temple that Nax Kirvan, once a mediocre Jedi, had mastered enormous Force power sufficient to slay a Jedi Master.
Perhaps this would even attract new supporters to their side.
Cooling his momentary triumph, he rose to his feet, pulling a holographic transmitter from his pocket connected to his personal comlink. The contact he intended to call had surely been waiting for the Baron's report.
"Count Dooku," the acolyte bowed his head obsequiously as a holographic figure appeared above the device. "The task is complete. The Jedi strike squadron has been destroyed in orbit of Kerkoidia. The transport convoy can proceed."
"Commendable, Kirvan," satisfaction was evident in the teacher's voice. "Master Tiin?"
In response, Nax pulled the object toward himself with the Force and displayed the severed head, holding it by one of the horns.
"Hmm... doubly commendable," a pleased smile appeared on Dooku's face. "You have done excellent work, my apprentice."
"You have trained me excellently, Master."
"There is a new mission for you. A group of Jedi is departing from Ryloth and Christophsis to Coruscant aboard a Consular-class corvette. You are to intercept them tomorrow near Iktotch, where they will stop to transfer to a Venator, and destroy them all."
"It will be done," Kirvan smiled in anticipation of the slaughter. "May I ask who I will be fighting?"
"Weaklings from the Tenth System Army," the Count snorted. "They are so unremarkable that they were kicked out even where every temple guard counts. Master Simms and his apprentice — this pair is the most dangerous. Knight Malorum — a show-off, dangerous mostly to himself. Salmara and Kay Justice pose no great threat — they are seriously wounded."
"It will be a great honor for me to destroy them all personally. Especially since they are all Dougan's subordinates."
"Do not place your personal revenge above the common cause," the Count said with a threatening edge in his voice. "Follow my instructions precisely, and you will have a chance for a rematch with that Jedi. But first, we must make him suffer by killing those he so rashly sent to the Temple without escort."
"I will savor every moment of their torment, my Lord," Nax promised with a grin. "Especially since I already have a plan."
* * *
"You will know the wrath of my people, despicable one!"
The short humanoid creature with four-fingered limbs, stretched out on an interrogation platform, was pouring streams of curses in several languages into the interrogation room, accompanying the inquisitor's actions.
The clone, with an expression completely disregarding the victim's screams, was slicing the Vagaari's body into narrow strips of skin with a sharply honed surgical instrument. Having marked another limb and seasoned the bleeding wounds with a chemical reagent, the torturer peeled off the skin using clamps — bit by bit. Carefully stacking them in a special container, the clone repeatedly treated the exposed "flesh" with another dose of chemicals, causing indescribable suffering to the patient. And a new stream of curses and threats.
Then it all repeated.
"A tough bastard we got," noted the clone standing next to her. A dead ringer for those she had fought against while siding with the Separatists. But unlike those, this one — like all other Imperial soldiers — looked... less emotional, somehow.
Glancing at the chronometer, the clone grunted.
"Third hour going."
"Estosh is one of the most odious Vagaari leaders," Sev'rance explained, not taking her eyes off the ongoing execution. "A Blood Avenger, as they call such types."
"And in reality — a cold-blooded killer, rare as they come."
"You're absolutely right, Misk," the Chiss agreed. "But he is his people's leader. Break him — and we'll have all the secrets of their race at our disposal."
"That would be nice," the clone agreed. "We've suffered greatly from their soldiers' and weapons' actions on the ground. We should learn everything we can, then finish them off for good."
"I thought, Marshal, that your soldiers were already doing that?" Tann snorted.
"Of course, General. But clearing Vagat Prakat is no quick task. There are over forty million of these two-mouthed bastards here. We have only five corps, and for most of them this is their first battle. Orbital bombardment..."
"We've already discussed this, Misk," Tann sighed. "Our task is not only to exterminate the Vagaari as a species, but also to capture any technology that might be useful to us."
"I thought that besides the gravity shadow generators we captured on this scum's flagship," the clone pointed at the prisoner, "they had nothing else useful."
"Don't act rashly," the Chiss objected. "Your soldiers have already seen that their organic weapons can be far more deadly than a blaster."
"That's true, General," the clone agreed. "But in battle, I'd rather hold my blaster than an oversized beetle."
The Chiss smiled. The thoughts of the commander of the Empire's 4th Assault Corps aligned with her own.
The Vagaari — Grand Admiral Thrawn's first target in the Unknown Regions — had been personally designated by the Emperor. Despite the fact that several hundred star systems lay between the Empire's borders and the space these barbarians inhabited, the order was categorical.
Leave no Vagaari alive. Total extermination.
Genocide...
A measure that didn't even sit well with Thrawn — with his unconventional views on tactics and strategy. Acknowledging the danger the Vagaari posed to the entire region — primarily, considering their possible contacts with the Far Outsiders. And then the alliance between these two threats, which the Emperor spoke of as an accomplished fact...
That was why she was leading the operation.
General of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul... Lady Tann.
The first step on the path to solving this problem — eliminating the most odious Vagaari leader — Estosh. He was the commander-in-chief of all forces of the Dominion's ancient enemy. A most valuable source of information about the resources the enemies might possess, the territories occupied by this people, and secret bases.
"The Fel must be uprooted."
So said the Emperor.
His opinion was an axiom. His desire was law.
Having knelt before him, she herself had agreed to serve and obey. Without question.
Information about the enemy leader's location had come from Nirauan. As had all available intelligence on the Vagaari. Despite the data packet being sent personally by Thrawn, Sev'rance was fully convinced that the source of this data was Csilla. Too detailed. Too meticulous.
Even the best intelligence couldn't achieve such results in such a short time. A different matter if you had been collecting information bit by bit over decades.
The Ruling Families could say whatever they wanted about the Dominion's primary doctrine being defense. Her people's population was not large enough to think of conquest or war for colonies. The Chiss were content with their living space and had no intention of going beyond it. Isolationism — that was the reason the rest of the galaxy had managed to forget about them.
One could speculate for a lifetime about who supplied Thrawn with that intelligence — and still not have enough time. Despite his exile and the formal condemnation of his preemptive strike tactics, both in the military and among the Ruling Families, he still wielded considerable influence. It wouldn't be long before her kin — the Grand Admiral's former comrades-in-arms or his like-minded supporters — began making their way to Nirauan.
And, given the shortage of personnel for command positions, choosing the Vagaari as the Empire's first target was more than a clever move on the Emperor's part.
With one stroke, he killed several beasts at once.
First and foremost, he removed the threat from the Empire's own borders. The Vagaari were conquerors. Upon learning of a rival, they would inevitably attack as soon as they discovered Zakuul's existence. Fighting such a treacherous enemy on one's own territory was wasteful.
The second reason for this choice was securing the loyalty of the Chiss. The Emperor undoubtedly valued Mitth'raw'nuruodo; moreover, he had known of his existence long before he appeared on Zakuul. And he had tactfully used the latter's patriotic desire to protect his homeland from a cruel enemy, placing the Chiss at the head of the expeditionary forces operating in the Unknown Regions. Right where the greatest dangers lay — for both the Empire and the Chiss themselves.
And this move — a preemptive strike against enemies — was exactly what would draw the Dominion's attention to the Empire. The Chiss were accustomed to considering themselves the most organized force in this part of the galaxy. The discovery of a vast militarized state right on their doorstep would first and foremost force them to mobilize all their armed forces — after rumors of the Vagaari's defeat and the destruction of other enemies reached the public, it would be logical to expect an attack on their own territory. As well as gathering intelligence on the Eternal Empire of Zakuul — and its strength. And having a disgraced Chiss at the head of forces destroying the Dominion's enemies would serve as a signal to begin diplomatic relations.
"I do not wish to see the Chiss as my enemies. I do not wish to see them as part of the Empire. But I will not object if the Dominion shows prudence and becomes a full ally of Zakuul."
Such was the Emperor's policy.
In the distant past, the Chiss had been the Sith Empire's only ally. And together, they had had the Republic wherever and however they wanted. Only the intervention of the Jedi, and — as she had learned quite recently — the Emperor's lack of interest in conquering the galaxy, had determined the outcome of the long conflict.
The Emperor was wise, extending a hand of friendship to the Chiss. Because war with the Dominion would be devastating for everyone. And, most objectively, no one needed it.
The two states had nothing to divide. The Chiss were content with the current state of affairs — at least, that was the official position of most of the state's inhabitants. The Empire, on the other hand, wouldn't gain much even if it eventually conquered her kin's territory.
An alliance was the optimal solution for everyone. She understood this, Thrawn knew it, and he had surely conveyed it to Xill. The general hoped with every fiber of her being that the aristocrat would have enough foresight to use the situation to his advantage.
Sev'rance would bet that the Ruling Families were simply waiting for the Empire to clear enemies away from their borders. This would allow them, without revealing their own forces and resources, to analyze the Empire's capabilities and verify its intentions.
Therefore, the extermination of the Vagaari was merely a free demonstration of Zakuul's strength.
And it had to go off without a hitch. Without the slightest problem.
That was why, on board her flagship — the Star Destroyer Chimaera — the Vagaari commander-in-chief was currently being tortured. While the starship's crew members extracted the sentients who had survived the short but fierce battle, whom the Vagaari had used as living shields. The Vagaari ship, huge but poorly armed compared to the Harrower III, had no deflectors — that technology remained unattainable for these savages. They solved the problem of reliable protection for their starships with extremely durable hull plating, which surpassed even that of Imperial ships.
And with thousands of transparisteel bubbles on the outer hull. Inside those transparent domes were sentients — thousands of various beings who were meant to absorb the full force of an attacking starship's strike.
Unfortunately for the Vagaari and hundreds of prisoners, such barbarism did not stop Tann.
Three Harrower IIIs had pinned the Vagaari ship near the latter's secret base. The exchange of fire had lasted just over an hour. During that time, the interceptors had dealt with the enemy's few fighters, silencing its engines and gun emplacements, and had swept away all the base's defensive systems.
Now, on the huge planetoid, riddled with tunnels containing storerooms of loot and slave camps, the soldiers of the 4th Assault Corps under Marshal-clone Skip were in charge. The 3rd Corps had suffered significant losses in the battle aboard the Vagaari ship, so Tann had decided that another unit should undergo its baptism of fire in combat against soldiers of this race. After all, there were far too many battles ahead to pass up such an opportunity.
Just as there was no chance of passing up working specimens of the gravity shadow generators. Thanks to Thrawn, the Dominion had already acquired a functioning sample of this technology — several years ago. Now it was the Empire's turn.
The expeditionary forces were permitted to keep only two of them — as soon as Tann, using her mental connection with the Emperor, informed him of this, he made that very decision. An escort group was to arrive for the rest, as well as for the samples of Vagaari biological weapons sent to Nirauan, which, Tann mused, would deliver them to the Empire's research center. And there, more advanced models would be developed.
The torture had been going on for several hours. Estosh was holding on with his last strength — Sev'rance could feel it through the Force. The interrogator was injecting him with stimulants, simultaneously sharpening his perception of pain and preventing the prisoner from losing consciousness.
Driven to frenzy, the Vagaari muttered incoherent ravings mixed with genuinely useful data. The interrogator didn't particularly engage in conversation with the prisoner — the recording had been running from the moment Estosh was dragged aboard. The main thing now was to make him talk; what exactly he said could be sorted out later. The Twi'leks from the fleet intelligence group would handle that.
"Ma'am, may I ask a question?" Misk broke the silence, trying to meet her eyes.
"Go ahead, Marshal." Tann didn't like the rank system, similar to that used in the Grand Army of the Republic, at all. But who was she to contradict the Emperor's word? "I don't promise to answer — some questions remain a mystery to me as well."
"General," the clone continued, clearing his throat. "The Twi'leks from intelligence said we're clones. We know that ourselves, basically. But the Republic army also uses clones — just like us."
"I don't hear a question, Marshal."
"What makes us different, ma'am? The Empire's clones and the Republic's clones? After all, we all have the same face. One face, one blood, one heart."
"You're wrong, Misk," Tann shook her head. "Yes, the face is the same. But each of you is an individual. Unlike any other. And the biggest difference between you and the Republic's clones is that stormtroopers are full citizens of their state."
"And the Republic's clones?"
"They have no rights — only obligations. To fight for the Republic. To die for the Republic."
"So our brothers there," he waved his hand in the direction where he believed the center of the galaxy to be, "are essentially slaves?"
"Exactly," Sev'rance nodded. "They fight for a state to which they owe nothing. And which owes them nothing. Except, perhaps, food and equipment."
"Really?" the clone was surprised. "Our brothers fight for food?"
"An interesting comparison."
"It turns out that way."
"Ma'am, why don't the Republic's citizens fight themselves?"
"Some do fight. But most believe that the clones owe them everything — including fighting the machine army for them."
The clone stared silently at the prisoner. The Chiss woman didn't miss the fact that he had clenched his fists, noticeably tensing.
"Everything all right, Misk?"
"Perfectly, General. I'm just waiting for the Empire to bring order to that part of the galaxy too. I can't wait to look into the eyes of those who exploit my brothers."
Tann smiled faintly.
Maintaining the right motivation in the minds of subordinates was a commander's direct duty. And she was certainly not the worst at it.
* * *
"Contact!"
The warning over the comlink came barely a couple of seconds late. Cursing under his breath, the clone instantly ducked behind the rocks, hoping the tin can patrol hadn't spotted him. That was hard when you were wearing matte-black armor and the landscape around you was the color of baby poop.
Niner had guessed there'd be something to shoot at here — it was the front line, after all.
But this much...
"A light stroll, yeah," Fi's grim joke went unanswered.
Omega had landed on the planet Sniv over a week ago.
A standard information-gathering mission. A piece of cake for such an experienced commando squad. Especially since, according to intelligence, there was nothing here but a small CIS outpost.
"Looks like it's time to stop joking about the Republic intelligence's mental capacity," Darman muttered, studying the plateau that had opened up before the squad.
"What's the point?" Atin replied. "Every report they make is a reason for a joke."
Listening to his squad's chatter over the secure channel, Niner couldn't agree with their opinion.
The planet, located on the very border of the Gent System Army's area of responsibility — where their squad, along with the rest of Arc Company, had been transferred under Grand Moff Dougan's command — had looked extremely harmless in all the reports. A backwater that the tin cans had noticed only because it was a backwater. No strategic advantage — the nearest hyperspace route was as far away as a bantha. Mineral resources — slightly fewer than the fingers on a failed demolitions expert's hands. Who would even think of setting up an outpost here?
Those had been the special operations squad's thoughts before deploying on the mission. No one had even bothered to reinforce them. Etain, for instance, would have been a great help to the four clones. Even though she was a Jedi, the girl had integrated into the team, never separating her existence from the squad's activities by so much as half a step.
But now she had stayed behind at the base. Something was wrong with her health. Darman had asked about her condition, and upon returning, told his brothers she'd be fine. Old man Skirata had told them the same thing before they took off.
And not trusting the old man wasn't just a mistake. It was an insult that could make you hate yourself for the rest of your life.
"Any ideas?" Fi asked his comrades. "How are we going to proceed?"
"They're jamming communications," Atin reminded him. "So we're on our own on this little planet."
The squad's technical specialist's voice made it clear he was starting to get irritated. The first stage in the short process of a particular commando getting wound up. Next came anger, which grew into rage. And then the kid went berserk. The chances of getting out of here unnoticed melted faster than ice in the sun.
If Atin lost his temper, that was it. Lights out, toss a thermal detonator.
For the mission, the squad had used an old freighter, of which patrol ships from the system army captured in large numbers. Not an hour passed without headquarters receiving a report of a smuggler, privateer, or just pirate ship being detained. War was a time when all the filth of the sentient world raised its head from the cesspool of society where it usually hid.
What could be less conspicuous than a battered, lightly armed freighter that had wandered into a remote system? Maybe a bantha in the sands of Tatooine.
But for the CIS fleet concentrated in orbit around the planet Sniv, the appearance of an unknown ship was a reason to worry. Four hundred Munificents, two dozen Recusants, and a couple of Providence-class carrier-destroyers.
And that was just the screen for over fifty Lucrehulks hanging in low orbit above the planet. And an endless stream of landing barges disappearing into the bellies of those Trade Federation giants. An invasion fleet, no doubt.
An armada that command knew nothing about. What was their objective? Unclear. Were there more ships, or was what the freighter's instruments had managed to record before the crippled ship, plowing a spectacular furrow across the surface with its nose, came to a final stop — was that the entire CIS fleet in this sector?
Just questions, which the four clones now had to find answers to. Along with figuring out a way to get out of here — preferably in one piece.
The landing had been rough, but there were no casualties. Minor bruises didn't count. Omega had managed to leave the landing zone, covering their tracks, before droid patrols on speeder bikes arrived on the scene.
And even though the crashed ship was now far behind them, the smoke from the explosion and the spreading fire still hung at their backs.
The four commandos making up Omega Squad now stood absolutely still, hidden in the shadow of huge stone boulders, studying the scene before them.
A massive droid factory — you couldn't mistake that thing for anything else — rose in the center of the droid base like a mountain peak. Landing barges took off incessantly from the platforms surrounding the assembly line. And they weren't lifting fruits and vegetables into orbit to delight the Republic's citizens.
Hundreds and thousands of droids streamed into space, ready for their mission — to bring ruin and chaos. And now, only four clones could in any way influence the further operation of this enterprise.
CIS soldiers didn't need barracks, rest, or meals. So, besides the giant factory building, the separatist base, enclosed by a three-meter permacrete fence, was mostly open space. A parade ground where freshly assembled droids, tanks, transports, and...
Increasing the magnification on his helmet's visor, Niner cursed quietly.
Bantha poodoo.
Droidekas.
The creations of the Colicoids' dark genius, these deadly machines had given every single clone in the Grand Army of the Republic a hell of a time. And now, thousands of these machines were slowly marching across the parade ground, a thin stream flowing into the holds of dozens of CIS landing craft.
"Not good," Atin said after hearing about the new trouble. "B-1s and B-2s are one thing, but Droidekas..."
"If we get out of here," Darman said grimly, "I'll find the piece of shit who prepared the intel on this planet and beat his face in all the way to his tailbone. This is a setup."
"In that case, we should head to Coruscant," Niner said quietly. "The old man said the intelligence came from the Special Operations Brigade."
Fi whistled in surprise.
The Bureau — that was where they had served from the very beginning of this war. The unification of all clone commandos, from where, receiving their assignments, they were sent across the galaxy to deliver pinpoint strikes against the enemy. The Brigade was headed by General Zey, whom most commandos, along with his current Padawan, respected.
"Could it have been a setup?" Atin shifted restlessly. So, it seemed the second phase had begun.
"Have you completely lost your marbles?" Darman snapped. "Zey wouldn't do that."
Even though Fi remained silent, Niner knew he shared the same opinion.
However, the squad leader himself wasn't inclined to so rashly agree with his brothers. And the reason was something they didn't know.
The convoluted and discretionary nature of the Charter, and the endless amendments and additions the Senate kept making to it, created a dual chain of command for commando squads. On one hand, they were soldiers of the 10th Systems Army, and orders from local commanders were law for them. However, despite being transferred from direct subordination to the Brigade into the active army, commandos were also obligated to carry out the will of the higher-ups on Coruscant. And this despite the fact that they still had several thousand of their own squads in the SOB. When departing for their new posting, Niner, along with Boss, Sarge, and the leaders of other commando squads, had believed they would be performing tactical tasks within the army's area of responsibility. And that's how it turned out — at least now they wouldn't be sent to the other end of the galaxy. But the existence of dual command, neither of which could be refused (a war crime, after all), was causing unhealthy ferment among the clone army's elite. Jango wouldn't have approved of such a mess.
Hutt's Amendment 134-Besh. Less than two weeks old, and a headache for years to come.
Not long ago, a fleet intelligence operation had failed spectacularly. Its objective had been to find and destroy a CIS listening station that was "siphoning" information from army communications. The success of that mission was supposed to be the prelude to a full-scale offensive along the entire border of the oversector in this region of the galaxy.
Upon its creation, the 10th Army had "bitten off" a generous chunk from the 4th Sectoral. And not the most "tasty" one. Sirillia, located at the junction of three sectoral armies' territories, was a bone in the throat. Even though the planet was famous only for being the home of the company that produced the well-known DUM droids, the SOB had established their connection to the CIS by the end of the first year of the war. Even if the production of battle droids there wasn't large, CIS raiders were based in the system — no matter how much the government denied it.
Gindine. The assets of Kuat Drive Yards located there had been captured by the CIS, and since then, Bounty-class frigates had been frequent visitors in this region. Fortunately, a separatist fleet base was established in the system, and the huge deposits of minerals (otherwise the Kuati wouldn't have even bothered) made this system another unpleasant "gift."
Mimban... The catastrophe of the 224th Division had not healed in the clones' memory. Just as Jabiim never would. Muunilinst. Christophsis. And a good dozen other planets in this galaxy. But in other cases, at least someone had been saved. The 224th had fallen in full strength. No one survived. And since then, the droids had only strengthened their position there. According to rumors — because calling the meager trickle of information supplied by Republic intelligence "intelligence data" was impossible — the tin cans had set up something like a headquarters for the entire group there. And to dislodge this infection would require far more forces than the 4th Sectoral had had since its creation. It was no wonder that as soon as this region became the responsibility of Gent, whose soldiers' tenacity was the subject of very encouraging rumors, they were tasked with kicking the separatist scum out of the sector.
Another headache was Emberlene. There seemed to be nothing supernatural about this world. However, after joining the CIS, its inhabitants had gone to war against their neighbors, conquering, looting, or simply annihilating the population of almost all nearby planets. The inhabitants of Zoloris, T'surr, Attahox, Nant'ri, Nixor, and Daalang wouldn't lie. At least, those who had survived.
In particular, on the last one, located at the intersection of hyperspace routes, the Separatists had built their own base. And as the old man suspected, it was a bridgehead for an attack on Hutt Space, with which the Republic had had the misfortune of signing a peace treaty.
Yugokor was the residence of one of the most powerful pirate clans in the nearby space. Convoys traveling through Hutt Space to the 12th and 4th had a very hard time of it. The Azure Spear had made many attempts to neutralize this threat. But the separatists, who had established themselves on Randor, a key world for local hyperspace routes, had nullified all efforts. Breaking through the defenses of an economically developed planet, around which a deeply echeloned space defense was built, with hundreds of warships in orbit, was no easy task. And even less so for the battle-weakened 12th.
And, for dessert — the Draysum system. Unremarkable in many ways, but rich in raw materials.
So, the enemy had dug in across an entire sector, at the intersection of several routes, locking up the space like a mousetrap. Too bad this only became known after the Jedi had lost an entire squadron and most of the 212th Corps there. Of course, the data obtained by the scouts was much fresher than what they had on Coruscant, but the price... was far too high.
Returning to the orders from the SOB, Niner would bet that the higher-ups, if they didn't know for certain, at least suspected that fortified enemy positions had formed in the southeastern part of Gent, as well as in the north.
Because that was the only way to explain sending Delta to the planet Kwenn, near the Hutts — Boss had been quite eloquent on that subject.
Aiwha to Chalacta, Vevat was digging in on Darktil, an agricultural world that had only joined the Republic a year ago, Yayax on Ubrikkia, where, like on Gindine, there were shipbuilding facilities of Kuat Drive Yards.
What was there to say — even the Nulls, whom you'd usually have to force to follow orders, had scattered across space from Bimmisaari and Boz Pity to Lowick and Formos.
If the other three squads — Inferno, Hurricane, and Laskovyi Mai — weren't busy with troop operations, they would have been sent on similar missions.
Estimating the scale of the search operations in his head, considering the known enemy dispositions, Niner could only state one thing.
Coruscant clearly had information about CIS activities in these sectors. If they got out of here, it wasn't out of the question that they'd be transferred to the opposite edge of the Gent army's area of responsibility. Because this looked like either an attempt at encirclement or, at the very least, an attempt to cut off the 10th Systems Army from its nearest neighbors.
Too bad he couldn't talk to the commandos from the 7th and 8th. They probably had similar tasks. And if so, they should prepare for a global poodoo. Fighting while surrounded was the worst thing a soldier could imagine. And it didn't matter if you were pinned down by the enemy in a single city, on a planet, or in a system. Thousands of deaths of brother clones and other sentients were guaranteed.
And that wasn't just "not good." It was...
Niner couldn't find any decent synonyms, so he decided it was best not to show that he knew more than the others.
The squad's situation was dire enough as it was — the four of them on enemy territory. The last thing they needed was to undermine morale by revealing that they'd probably been sent here deliberately.
The captain didn't feel anger upon realizing this fact. He understood perfectly well that regardless of the operation's success, command would figure out that something was wrong here anyway. If even one soldier returned, he would report it personally. If no one returned, there was no point in guessing the reasons for the failure.
But it was too early to sing the traditional Mandalorian funeral song. They'd gotten out of worse scrapes before. Both they and other squads. The hunt for terrorists on Coruscant alone — the last assignment for most commando squads under the Brigade's direct command — was worth something.
Not "brilliant," to say the least.
"Any suggestions?" Niner asked his comrades.
"Blow everything to hell and get out," Atin grumbled. Oh, it looked like he was back to the first phase again. That rare case where regression was for the good of the mission.
"Accepted," the captain agreed. "How? I left my baradium bomb in my other pants."
Muffled chuckles from the soldiers sounded in his helmet's earpiece. They were laughing — that meant they hadn't lost hope. Good.
"Niner," Darman drew his attention with a barely perceptible nod of his head. "Look."
Still hidden in the shadow of the local terrain, the captain adjusted his visor to the point his brother was indicating.
"Interesting," he drawled.
Indeed — the situation was more than interesting.
Initial reconnaissance had shown that the wall surrounding the separatist base was solid. Their speeders jumped over this obstacle when going on patrol. The Vultures didn't need gates at all.
And yet, Omega was now watching a convoy of tin cans moving toward the blank wall. Over two dozen transports on repulsor cushions hovered above the ground, avoiding the unevenness of the local terrain.
"I wonder what they're transporting."
"Multi-service transport," Fi identified immediately. "A roomy thing — you could stuff droids in there until they come out your ears."
"Seen them before?" Niner asked. He himself was seeing these CIS vehicles for the first time. Huge, ungainly... As if someone had chewed up a giant MTT and spat it out due to indigestion.
"Their models were attached to the reports on the battles at Raxus Prime, Ren Var, and Tule," Fi explained. "I browsed through them in my free time."
"Familiar names," Darman drawled. "That's when the Jedi were looking for some ancient thingamajig?"
"Bingo," Niner agreed. Now he remembered too — there was information on these vehicles in the GAR's general database. "Twenty tons of pure cargo..."
"Or droids," Atin reminded him.
"Doesn't matter," the captain cut him off. "This convoy is our chance to get inside without drawing attention."
"They're five kilometers away across almost open terrain," Darman noted. "We'll be spotted from the observation towers."
On the top of each wall of the CIS base stood towering thin spires — at least ten meters high, probably — clearly meant for guard posts. The Separatists' stinginess, as always, defied logic. If this base had even one organic life-form detector, the commandos wouldn't have been saved even by their tricked-out armor.
Meanwhile, the convoy of transports had approached almost flush against the wall, and in the same second, a section of it lowered, giving the freighters a road onto the base's territory. A convenient setup — from a distance, you couldn't really see it. And you couldn't get closer — in broad daylight, four soldiers in matte-black armor would stand out...
Wait.
In broad daylight.
"Fay," the plan was already formed in his head, now he just needed patience. "You and Darman are on first watch. Keep an eye on the convoys — I have a feeling this isn't the only one running. Most likely, they're delivering resources to the assembly line. Otherwise, the Separatists have nowhere to get metal in these quantities. And watch the patrols — we need to figure out their frequency too. A'tin and I will relieve you in two hours."
"And if there aren't any new convoys?" Fay clarified.
"Then we'll wait for dark and get over the wall the old-fashioned way." One of the rock outcroppings formed a fairly spacious hollow underneath, which could easily fit two squads of commandos if needed. Right now, their supply packs and most of their weapons were sitting there. Niner, waving at A'tin, slid down into it, ready to fall asleep right in his armor.
"That's all well and good," Fay grumbled. "But what exactly are we going to do on the base?"
"The usual," the captain put his left hand behind his head. It didn't make his head any softer, but a habit was a persistent thing. "We go in, figure out the capacity of this factory, and blow everything to hell. This plant definitely has a reactor. So we'll give the Separatists a fireworks show."
Hearing the satisfied snorts of his brothers in the comlink and the grunting of A'tin settling down beside him, Niner habitually placed his right hand on his blaster and instantly fell asleep.