"Excellent!" Maul laughed when Obi-Wan blocked the Zabrak's furious onslaught and delivered a series of counter-strikes himself. "Open yourself to the Dark Side, Kenobi! KILL ME! TAKE REVENGE! For Satine! For your master!"
The Zabrak accompanied each word with lightning-fast lunges, which Kenobi, though not easily, still blocked. However, with each time it became harder and harder.
The Jedi managed to hide this from his opponent, but… the longer the duel lasted, the more grief undermined his seemingly unshakable foundation of faith. In himself, in his own views, in the Order…
As if he, like many years ago, was that youth who, out of inexperience, fell in love with the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in the entire Temple. And feelings took over. He was almost ready to leave the Order, if only…
If only she had asked him. But Siri condemned Kenobi's intention to leave the Temple and achieve ordinary human happiness.
Love died. One could blame anyone – from Master Jinn to Grand Master Yoda, but the fact remained.
As did the fact that the only woman in the entire galaxy who truly loved him now lay on the permacrete floor of the palace. Dead.
From the very beginning, Kenobi understood that his entire unsanctioned operation to rescue Satine from Maul's captivity – was the height of recklessness. Because opposing the entire criminal world of the galaxy, gathered on Mandalore, alone… there are less ambitious forms of suicide.
But, meanwhile, something pushed him to this madness – abandoning the system army, rushing to Mandalore on a battered freighter, breaking into a heavily guarded prison to save Satine…
Only to see with his own eyes how the support squad of Mandalorians, which Bo-Katan had brought to free her sister, perished in its entirety. How Maul's thugs mercilessly and without compassion gunned down Mandalorian warriors with heavy repeaters and disintegrators. How the three of them – Kenobi and both sisters, like stubborn banthas, were dragged into the throne hall of the palace, where his longtime enemy – Darth Maul, killed Satine.
Pierced her heart with his blade, burning with rage at the Jedi, provoking the latter into an emotional breakdown. Hatred, despair…
All this seized Kenobi, who used the Force to shed his shackles, retrieved his traditional weapon, and rushed at the Zabrak.
He didn't manage a direct hit. Repeating his success on Naboo… became almost impossible.
It turned out that over the years, not only the Jedi had developed his abilities. The Zabrak hadn't stood still either. His rage was now beyond assessment. It seethed around, like a lava fountain, scorching Kenobi every time he tried to break through the impenetrable veil of the Force and crimson blades.
At the cost of incredible effort, he forced Maul to retreat under the fury of his attack. Inside the young Master, two principles fought – grief over the loss endured and the mantras of the Jedi worldview. And… from the realization that this mixture gave him strength sufficient to withstand Maul's onslaught, Kenobi felt uneasy.
Because it contradicted everything he knew, could do, what he had been taught. But he couldn't discard this power. Had no right. Only this way could he end the drawn-out confrontation. No one but him had the right to end this Zabrak's life.
For now Obi-Wan was trying to correct his mistake of a decade ago. A mistake that cost his beloved her life. A mistake that brought troubles, misfortunes, and death to thousands of families in the Mandalorian sector.
Suddenly the Zabrak jumped high, spinning and twisting, to crash down on Kenobi, flying over his head. The Jedi prepared, transitioning from offense to defense so smoothly it looked like a single motion. He deflected both blades of Maul's saber-staff, simultaneously diving to the side and rolling unhindered to a safe distance.
Though… could one say anywhere was safe in the spacious throne hall, cordoned off around the perimeter by a dozen thugs aiming at him and Bo-Katan?
The greatest threat now stood before the Jedi. And, baring its teeth, delivered strikes with both blades of the lightsaber pike. Each stronger than the last. It seemed the Dark Side and the seething rage and anticipation of the Jedi's death within him gave Maul new strength.
With each strike, Obi-Wan retreated. Such was his path. Though emotions fought with a sense of duty inside him, the weakness at the start of the battle gradually passed. Kenobi's usual composure was returning. And with its help, the Jedi had already found a way out. He just needed to let Bo-Katan understand what and when to do.
And until then, led by the Light Side of the Force, relentlessly repeating lines from the Jedi Code, he retreated.
The blades of lightsabers flashed like lightning. Red and blue. They clashed at furious speeds, bounced off each other, rushed to meet again. Each had only one goal – to strike the opponent in a vulnerable spot. With one short lunge to end the more than decade-long confrontation between Obi-Wan Kenobi and Darth Maul.
Obi-Wan barely managed to parry the opponent's risky moves. Expelling from his mind the human emotions alien to every Jedi, he increasingly turned himself into a machine. Not for killing Maul. For ending criminal tyranny.
If after Satine's death he desired to kill the Zabrak, now… Kenobi didn't entertain thoughts of capturing the monster. That would require an army. Now all his efforts were concentrated on surviving.
And escaping.
Preserving Bo-Katan's life. The sister of the fallen Duchess. Heir to the throne. The only one who could claim the throne legally.
And for this, Kenobi retreated. Anything, just to distract Maul, not allow the execution of the second Kryze.
"Don't make me disappointed in you even more, Obi-Wan, - Maul hissed through clenched teeth. His voice sounded triumphant: without a doubt, the Sith was confident in his superiority over his longtime enemy. - You cannot handle the power of the Dark Side."
"I've heard that before, - Kenobi hissed through his teeth, - but, as you see, I'm still alive."
"That's easily fixed, - the Zabrak smirked, performing a feint, pretending to attack the Jedi's legs. The latter, seeing such a combination of movements for the first time, reacted mechanically, protecting his limbs, and realized too late he had been tricked like a youngling."
The Force sent him flying across the hall and slammed Obi-Wan into the transparisteel wall of the palace so hard there was no air left in his lungs. Stunned, the Jedi slid to the floor but rose to his feet in the same moment, staggering. Maul stepped over Satine's dead body and with a roar rushed at him, raising his saber for a strike.
As always, Kenobi had a trick in reserve, from among those that don't work twice...
But this was a very good trick.
Gathering all the Force he possessed at that moment, he released it from himself as a powerful telekinetic mass, which, like a sandcrawler from Blendjil, churned up the hall's facing tiles, raining them down on the rapidly approaching Zabrak.
As it turned out, it didn't work particularly well.
Maul surrounded himself with a protective field, causing all the projectiles aimed at him to miss their target. But it made him stop.
And Obi-Wan wasn't about to give him another chance.
Obi-Wan cast everything aside.
Everything at all.
Hopes. Fears. Obligations to the Order.
Massive chandeliers in the throne hall rained down on Maul's head along with structural elements. Though Kenobi understood this wouldn't harm the Sith, it would at least delay him. Distract his attention.
Therefore, letting the currents of the Light Side flow through him, he reflexively parried several blaster bolts fired at him by the Zabrak's soldiers. Then, seeing a grenadier positioning himself behind Satine's throne, he decapitated the dangerous foe with a throw of his sword.
Along with him, he also took out two of the thugs standing next to Bo-Katan. A moment later, he was beside her, cutting her bonds.
"We need to leave," he said, deflecting an increasing number of shots.
"Really?" she snorted, grabbing the weapons of the slain enemies. "I thought you were going to kill the bastard."
"I will," Obi-Wan shot back, fully aware that he had just made a promise. One he... would definitely keep. "But not now. I can't take him alone. We need to run..."
With a quick burst, Bo-Katan sent several more criminals to the land of eternal hunting, then hoisted her dead sister's body onto her shoulder, blew a hole in the wall with a rocket from her jetpack, and darted through the opening.
Obi-Wan, realizing her escape plan, just smiled. Yes, if Maul had smarter soldiers, they would have stripped them of their Mandalorian armor. Kenobi had worn one suit to get into the prison. And now he was counting on the jetpack on his back having survived Maul's last stunt without any problems.
"Stay with me," Kryze shouted, jumping down. Almost instantly, two jets of flame erupted behind her back. And even though the girl was struggling, carrying a corpse, her determination to take the body with her to protect it from possible desecration impressed the Jedi.
Hearing a crash behind him, Kenobi saw from the corner of his eye that the pile of construction debris covering Maul was starting to shift—the Sith was using the Force to throw off his restraints. A sign they needed to hurry.
Taking a running start, he leaped out of the hole in the wall, activating the pack's ignition system on the fly.
It only kicked in on the third try, when only a few meters remained until the paved walking area of the palace park. Silently thanking the Force for his luck, Kenobi sped off after the retreating Mandalorian.
"Any ideas on how we get off this planet?" he shouted, pulling up beside the red-haired warrior.
"Yes," she replied at the same raised volume. "I know a local smuggler running weapons for the militia. For a good price, he'll take us wherever we say."
"Need I remind you I don't have a credit to my name?" Kenobi asked. Glancing back, he saw several dots following them through the air. The traitors from Death Watch who'd sided with Maul were giving chase. Well, their head start was pretty slim.
"If I were only counting on you, Kenobi," Bo-Katan shouted irritably, "I'd barely be warmer than Satine."
"I did everything I could," the Jedi tried to defend himself. But he knew that excuse was a Gizka's laugh.
"But less than was necessary," replied the sister of his deceased beloved. "If we get out of this, Kenobi, I'm going to beat the shit out of you."
"I understand your feelings," he replied. Just then, the pair began zigzagging wildly between buildings, trying to lose their pursuers with constant course changes. "But this isn't my fault..."
"Yes, it is!" the Mandalorian growled. "Did you lose your mind in that Temple of yours? All of this—the takeover of Mandalore, Satine's murder—it was all done just to settle a score with you!"
Obi-Wan opened his mouth to argue, but meeting the girl's fury-filled gaze, he stopped short. And remained silent.
Because he realized she was right.
Darth Maul had captured Satine—the only one his old enemy loved. To lure out Kenobi. Knowing full well he couldn't bring an army with him.
And even Satine's execution—politically senseless—had happened only so that he, Obi-Wan Kenobi, would experience heartbreak. To feel, firsthand, what loss, emptiness, and hatred were...
And no matter how hard he tried to hide it from others, the Jedi had indeed crossed a line. He had opened himself to his feelings. Allowed the Dark Side to guide him in battle. Fighting for revenge, for murder...
It was doubly sad to admit he had been one step away from ending a conflict that had started over ten years ago. He should have simply... stopped being a Jedi. Then there would be less pain and suffering in the galaxy.
They wandered through the labyrinthine streets of Sundari for several hours before they were sure the enemy had completely lost sight of them. Ditching the armor at a nearby Death Watch commander's cache took half an hour. Putting on new clothes to blend in with the locals took another half hour. Using a speeder, in the secret compartment of which Satine's body was safely hidden, to get out of the city took a little over an hour.
After that, their journey to Keldabe began.
During all this time, they hadn't exchanged a single word. Just two strangers to each other, each mourning a third. And each in their own way...
"She's my sister!" Bo-Katan said, clear and loud. The Jedi stirred, realizing he had fallen asleep on the road. Looking around, he saw their speeder was already on the outskirts of Keldabe, parked near a half-ruined residential building.
And nearby, lined up as if for a parade, were over a dozen identical Corellian XS-class freighters. Obi-Wan strained his memory, recalling one of the Council reports. Someone from Jedi Intelligence had reported that a fairly large transport company was operating across the galaxy, its fleet consisting of just such ships. They were supposedly affiliated with Hutt Space and had been periodically used to transport army cargo in the first year of the war, when the Grand Army's logistics were literally choking on their own incompetence.
The second thing that caught his eye was a middle-aged man talking to Kryze at the foot of one of the freighters. A slightly gaunt face, a somewhat stocky build, a couple of blasters on his belt. A typical Corellian smuggler. Not the worst company Kenobi had ever kept.
"Bo-Katan," the Corellian addressed her wearily, "my condolences. Honestly. I don't know what kind of person your sister was, but losing loved ones always hurts. But still, I'll say it again. I won't take your job. That's a direct order from Mandalore."
"Since when do you listen to that red-haired bitch?" Kryze's voice was angry. "Have some decency, Car'das."
"I had some," the man nodded. "No pleasure in this. I value my own hide too much. It's seen too many adventures this past year as it is. So either go negotiate with Shea, or find yourself another pilot."
"I can be your pilot," a child's voice came from somewhere down the alley. Kenobi, along with the other two, stared in that direction. His surprise was considerable when a boy of about eight or ten appeared before him, dressed in dark pants and massive boots. Over a light white blouse, he wore a dark jacket, and a hefty blaster hung at his belt. Meeting the boy's eyes, Obi-Wan noted with surprise that they held a look that was unchildlike in its thoughtfulness. Hard, sharp, tenacious.
With a slow, almost languid gait, he approached them. Following a few meters behind was a tall Wookiee, its fur strewn with gray patches. It carried a monstrous-looking blaster rifle, and bandoliers of power cells were crossed over its chest. The alien's expression was unfriendly.
"And who the hell are you?" Bo-Katan asked in surprise as the boy came up close to them.
"A stray," Jorj grimaced as if from a toothache. "Showed up in our company not long ago. Kid, may your friends never charge your hyperdrive, what the hell are you doing here anyway? You were supposed to leave with Dewlanna this morning."
"Mind your own business, Car'das," the boy said coldly, with a crooked smirk, stepping closer. "Unlike you, I've got enough metal in my balls to take a risk for a good price."
"You?" the Force told Obi-Wan that Kryze was absolutely stunned. "How old are you anyway, kid? Six?"
"Eight," the boy said gravely, and Kenobi felt there was something remarkable about him. As if the very Force wanted him to pay attention to this kid. "But don't worry, auntie, you're not my type. If you were about thirty years younger..."
"I'll cut off your ears and shove them up your ass, you crazy little whelp," Bo-Katan snarled, taking a step toward the boy. But she immediately stopped short, seeing the blaster the kid was holding, pointed her way quite professionally. Held close to his body, giving the enemy minimal chance to knock the weapon from his child's hand.
"Wouldn't advise it, auntie," he said. "I have an iron rule—shoot first. So, you coming with me or what?"
"Go to hell..."
"We're coming," Obi-Wan interrupted, deciding it was time to stop pretending to be asleep. Jumping out of the speeder, he approached the group, showing the tense boy he had no weapons. "Of course, if you have a ship..."
"He's got a tub," Car'das said with a hint of envy. "The whole company wonders where he got a relatively new freighter—it's maybe forty years old, if not less, and loaded with a bunch of non-standard, very expensive upgrades."
"That one," the boy pointed proudly to a snow-white ship standing a little apart from the others. Like a squat saucer, it rested on several landing struts, its boarding ramp lowered hospitably.
Shaped like a flattened disc, it had a side gondola with glazing—the pilot's cockpit. And although it outwardly carried Corellian shipbuilding traditions, the Jedi still couldn't immediately identify the ship type. Especially given the fact that he, to his shame, hadn't even noticed the ship standing a hundred meters behind him.
"And you know how to fly it?" Kenobi asked in surprise, looking at the boy with a mix of distrust and admiration.
"I'm a Corellian, sir," the boy said proudly. "I absorbed the art of piloting small ships with my mother's milk, wherever that bitch is wandering."
"Aren't you a bit small for a pilot?" Kryze doubted. "Can your feet reach the pedals?"
"That's what Dewlanna's for," the boy nodded toward the approaching Wookiee. "In case anyone's interested, she's one of the smartest Wookiees I've ever met. Together, we handle our ship."
"Well, well," Bo-Katan snorted. "So you're that confident in yourself that you'll go against the Mandalore's opinion and offer me your ship?"
"Mandalore the Avenger doesn't give me orders," the kid snorted. "I'm a freelance shooter. I don't owe anyone anything."
Hearing that, Jorj Car'das spat on the ground and quickly boarded his own ship. Apparently, the kid got on his nerves.
"Is that so," Obi-Wan grinned. "Well..."
"Bend the hyperdrive," the boy interrupted him. "Are we jawing, or are we flying?"
"We're flying," Kenobi said. "But we have a cash flow problem..."
"No problem," the boy snorted. "I'll take your speeder as payment. It's probably worth about fifteen thousand. That'll be enough to cover transport for the two of you. And no questions asked."
"Thirty," Bo-Katan said coldly. "It's only six months old..."
"Then," the kid flashed a charming smile, "consider you'll even get a hot meal on the trip. Where to, by the way?"
"Coruscant," Kenobi answered quickly. He'd been bracing himself to haggle with the boy—he'd named a price for the flight without even knowing the destination. And upon learning they needed to go to the capital, he could jack it up.
"Even if it's parading down the Kessel Run," the boy shrugged. "If we're done here, grab your crap from my speeder and head aboard with Dewlanna. I'll be back in half an hour—just gotta sell this thing to a local fence," he patted the transport they'd arrived in.
"About the cargo," Kenobi hesitated. "The thing is, we have..."
"Take the corpse to the second refrigerator," the boy said casually, already having opened the cargo compartment. "Dewlanna will show you how to turn on the stasis system. I don't want my ship smelling like a dead body."
With that, he easily plopped down into the driver's seat. Waiting for the pair—the Jedi and the Mandalorian—to pull Satine's body, carefully wrapped in a thick burial shroud, out of the speeder, he started the engine.
"Listen," Kenobi approached the driver's side of the vehicle. Seeing Bo-Katan and the Wookiee heading toward the ship, he asked the question that was bothering him. "No offense, but your ship doesn't look like it could break through a blockade of criminal vessels..."
"Don't worry, old man," the boy snorted. "I've got the fastest tub on Mandalore. I'll get you to Coruscant faster than you can imagine."
"I don't like your bragging, son," Kenobi pursed his lips. His life experience proved that the more a being talked about their capabilities, the worse they performed.
"Remember this, old man," the kid said without a smile. "I stand by my words. I don't say what I can't do. My former... employer taught me to think forty times before acting. So don't sweat it, we'll make it through that blockade."
"I'll try not to forget your words," Obi-Wan grinned, stepping away from the speeder. "What's your name, young captain?"
"Solo," the boy drawled. "Han Solo."
* * *
The rear section of the Telos's bridge had been stripped of everything unnecessary by the designers. Now, separated from the rest of the superstructure by thick armored plates, the spacious room served as an operations center where all the senior officers had gathered—in person or as holograms.
"Gentlemen," Dougan said, carefully ignoring the fact that there were at least two ladies present—the Togruta and his own apprentice. "Three hours until we reach our destination. So, nothing prevents me from revealing the mission's objective to you."
In the center of the operations center sat a large holoterminal, around which, with hands behind their backs, stood the commanders of four corps attached to the Grand Moff. Besides the two Jedi, the Fleet Commander—Admiral Declann—was also present. As were several holograms of Jedi from the Order's Council.
Mara, patiently restraining her curiosity, stood in the back rows—in the same place as a good dozen various specialists from among the Christophsis volunteers who crewed the fleet's ships. Well, that was understandable—only the main players were invited to the "table." She was just a simple operations officer from headquarters who had practically begged to participate in this event at the very last moment.
Headquarters work had already... royally pissed her off.
Every single day, she compiled frontline summaries, drafted reports for various authorities, held endless negotiations with field commanders to clarify the situation. All this just so she could visit the Grand Moff's office twice a day—before dawn and after sunset—to drop a datapad with updated information on his desk.
It was enough to drive anyone crazy.
So, seizing the opportunity during her morning briefing, she had asked Dougan to let her take part in the upcoming operation. Even as a gunner. Anything to get out of this administrative hell, even for a while.
"And what about the summaries?" the Jedi asked with a cheerful smile. "How will the army survive even a week without your concise and succinct reports?"
"If you only knew how much time I spend straining out the valuable tidbits from all the crap your fellow Jedi send instead of reports", the girl thought then. But she said something entirely different aloud.
"Sir, my job doesn't require me to be at my workstation constantly. All the information comes to me via communication channels anyway, so I can go with you without compromising my duties."
"Want to escape the office, Cross?"
"Yes, sir," lying to a superior who saw right through you wasn't the best career move. "Permission to speak freely?"
"Go ahead."
"Sir, if I don't change my surroundings, even for a little while, I will definitely go crazy," she explained quietly.
"Ever tried taking a vacation? Even General Jinn takes time off."
"No, sir. Vacation is an unaffordable luxury during wartime. I just need a change of scenery, nothing more."
"Or to find a man," the Grand Moff added quietly, causing genuine surprise on the girl's face.
"Excuse me..."
"I said, I'll be expecting you on board, Captain," the Grand Moff had replied with a dry smile.
And now she was among these "big bosses" discussing the invasion plan for...
"Hypori?!" Master Ti's voice was extremely doubtful. Well, no wonder: after the first attack on this planet—a strategic center of the CIS, from which endless streams of droids moved across the entire Outer Rim—had failed, command had preferred not to risk new assaults. And for almost a year, Hypori had remained behind GAR lines, bristling with minefields and a not-insignificant defense fleet, where Munificents alone numbered over fifty. Not to mention two dozen Recusants and regular runs by Lucrehulks transporting the mechanical army to their posts.
"A serious target, this is," Grand Master Yoda said. "Strongly defended it is."
"Not to mention that Hypori wasn't in your plans at all," Master Windu noted grimly.
"That's true," Dougan shrugged. "I thought it went without saying—eliminate problems in the rear to be safe during the operation on the Corellian Run. I don't want someone twisting a knife in my back in the middle of the main offensive."
"What's your plan?" Master Fisto inquired.
"Well," Dougan looked around. "Captain Cross, first, brief us on the planet."
Feeling dozens of eyes on her, Mara approached the holoprojector.
"Planet Hypori, located in the eponymous system of the Ferra sector. According to intelligence, the planet houses several Geonosian hives, evacuated from their homeworld before the war with the CIS began." A hologram of the planet in question appeared on the tactical terminal, with numerous marks. "The main production facilities of the Techno Union are located in the equatorial zone and are manufacturing B-2 super battle droids. Also, the planet produces guided space mines—the front line of defense for Hypori, Neimoidia, and several other major CIS planets..."
"Master Dougan," the Korunnai unceremoniously interrupted the red-haired officer's briefing. "Last time, our fleet suffered huge losses precisely because of those mines. How do you intend to overcome this obstacle in the planned attack?"
"Um..." the indicated Jedi gave a meaningful look to those present. "Honestly, I thought the questions would come after Captain Cross's report."
"The Council will not give its consent to this operation if the chance of failure is too great," Shaak Ti shook her head.
"Yeah, well, look who's talking..." the Grand Moff muttered. Then, exhaling noisily, he addressed the holograms of his Order colleagues. "The mines won't be a problem."
"How so?" Master Yoda asked perplexedly.
"The minefields are controlled from the surface," Dougan explained. He glanced at Mara, nodding for her to take her place. The girl, not needing to be asked twice, slipped away to one of the work terminals, eager to get away from the high command. "A few days before the attack, I sent a sabotage group to Hypori. They'll destroy several space mine control centers on the planet. That will allow us to avoid unjustified losses during the assault."
"You aren't considering the possibility that the Separatists have redundant systems?" Shaak Ti frowned.
"Most likely, that's the case," the Jedi shrugged. "For that, we have another ace up our sleeve. Admiral Declann..."
"Honored Council," the dark-skinned officer commanding the fleet drew attention to himself, adding several more marks to the hologram. "The attack will begin half an hour before the main fleet enters the system. Fire-ships will arrive with the vanguard, from which the signal to begin the operation will be transmitted to the saboteurs on the surface. They will blow up the defense centers, which will either deprive the Separatists of control and simplify the main part of the operation, or force them to use reserve centers, which will be detected by the saboteurs and destroyed during the breakthrough of the fire-ship squadron to the surface..."
"What kind of ships?" Windu asked in surprise.
"Fire-ships," the admiral repeated patiently. "We've equipped over a dozen Acclamators with varying degrees of damage with additional deflectors and particle shields. They will push through the minefield, forcing it to detonate before the main forces arrive. Based on the intelligence received, we know the minefield is only one line deep, with a depth of three to five ship hulls. Given the size of our detachment, that will be more than enough to create a suitable corridor for the invasion force."
"Wouldn't it be more reasonable to use the Lucrehulk-class ships we have for this?" Dougan's apprentice, Oli Starstone, suddenly asked. Her mentor gave her a sharp look but remained silent. An awkward pause hung in the air.
"Padawan Starstone's idea deserves consideration," Shaak Ti said. "Those ships are massive, have good shields, and a strong hull..."
"Unfortunately, to use both Lucrehulks, we'd have to spend several days."
"For what reason?" Windu frowned.
"The skin and shield generators from those ships," the young Togruta chimed in, leaning forward, "were used to reinforce the defense of the fire-ship squadron..."
"Ahsoka?" Shaak Ti asked with undisguised surprise. "How..."
"A surprise meeting this is," Yoda added.
"Master Dougan," Windu said insistently. "For what reason is the former Padawan Tano present at this briefing?"
"She was expelled from the Jedi Order, after all," the Nautolan Fisto recalled.
"And?" Dougan raised an eyebrow.
"Unclear your decision is, Master," Yoda squinted. "Explain yourself you must..."
"And what's there to explain?" the Jedi shrugged. "Ahsoka Tano is a citizen of the Republic, a skilled pilot, and not the worst commander, even by Jedi Order standards. Membership in the Order is not the only basis upon which a Republic citizen can be hired into the Grand Army. My authority allows me to select whatever beings I deem necessary. Is the matter settled, or..."
"And you are ready to entrust command to the one who caused so much grief for the Council and the Order?" Kit Fisto snorted.
Mara watched with curiosity as Dougan and the young Togruta exchanged glances. How smirks appeared on both their faces.
"No need to worry about me, Master Fisto," the Grand Moff declared cheerfully. "It's better for you—the farther Ahsoka is from Coruscant, the safer the Temple is."
"Well, thanks," the Togruta muttered, crossing her arms.
"No offense," the man said conciliatorily. "Shall we return to discussing the operation?"
"Yes, that is what we should do," the short Jedi decided.
"As Commander Tano already said, we used spare parts from those ships to reinforce the fire-ships' structure," the Jedi continued. "Fifteen starships are a lot more than just two, even if they are very big ones. In total mass, the detachment will create a much larger corridor in the minefield than two Lucrehulks."
"According to our information, there's a huge fleet in orbit of Hypori," Shaak Ti recalled. "What forces are you using to assault the planet?"
"The forces of the strike fleet under Admiral Declann's command," the Grand Moff declared. "Thirty Hammerheads, twenty Marauders. Four corps of line infantry in the first wave will land on the surface, establish a beachhead, after which another five corps of volunteers will arrive in the system to handle the army's rear on the surface. Along with them, the Padawans placed under my command will also land."
"You must not forget the younglings flying to you either," Master Yoda said. "Personally you must oversee the entire process of their stay in your army."
"Don't worry, Grand Master," Dougan bowed slightly. "We won't linger on Hypori for long. I will suppress any resistance quickly, harshly, and without any ceremony."
"And what about civilian casualties?" Shaak Ti's eyes widened.
"I already understood, Master Ti, that you weren't prepared at all for the first landing on the planet," Dougan smirked. "For your information, Hypori has no indigenous or any other peaceful population. The planet is lifeless, and the only ones who inhabit it are the technical crews of the Techno Union and the Geonosians running the droid production lines, who at the slightest opportunity will pull their blasters from their hiding places and shoot us in the back. Without hesitating over who stands before them — a Jedi, a clone, a volunteer, or just a conscious citizen. I'm not going to sacrifice thousands of clones just so that a few Skakoans or Geonosians can be taken prisoner. So the treatment of them will be corresponding — anyone on that planet holding a weapon is a combatant. Anyone who wounds, or heaven forbid kills, one of my soldiers will be killed in return. And with such individuals, the conversation is short — if someone didn't surrender, it's not my fault. There will be no wounded."
"Outrageous," Kit Fisto exhaled. "Clones were created precisely to fight for the Republic and to clearly carry out the tasks assigned to them! You, with such actions, are dooming innocent beings in advance..."
"Listen, Juan Morzhovy," the Jedi Master wearily addressed the Nautolan. "The fact that you're a textbook coprophiliac, I knew even before this. But that you're also shell-shocked in the head — that's a revelation for me. Do what you want in your own army — that's your business, and the responsibility for the deaths of your subordinates is on your conscience. I have absolutely no pity for those who sit at the conveyor controls and produce droids that then shoot not only my soldiers but also civilians, all across the galaxy. I set tasks for my subordinates so that with a minimum of losses, we get maximum benefit. And if your tentacle-like head lacks enough convolutions to figure that out with your own brain, watch and absorb while I'm still alive."
Mara, stunned by such a conversation between Jedi, looked around in surprise to gauge the reactions of those present. But... to her amazement, she saw that on the faces of the clones' holograms, though they appeared imperturbable, there was... approval. Implicitly, perhaps, but these stern men regarded their commander with understanding and respect. Despite the fact that he had essentially cursed out another officer, no less high-ranking than himself, right in front of them, and violated every possible truism in the Charter.
"Master Dougan, Master Fisto," Mace Windu said sternly. "Stop this immediately!"
"As you say, Master Windu," the Nautolan bowed low, bestowing his perpetual smile on everyone.
"Wasn't that eager anyway," the Grand Moff shrugged. "Any more questions for me, Masters?"
"Yes, Master Dougan," Shaak Ti drew attention to herself. "As for the other operations you had planned..."
"Master Ti!" the man walked right up to the holoprojector, raising his voice for no apparent reason. "Master Ti! The connection is breaking up... Repeat, I can't hear you!"
"We have a stable communication channel on our side," the Korun frowned. "I don't understand what's happening..."
.".. we... breaking up... proceeding..." Dougan said in clipped tones, then touched the holoterminal's keyboard. At that same moment, the holograms of the Jedi Council members vanished.
An awkward silence fell over the operations room. Master Dougan, chewing his lip, looked into the eyes of everyone present, one by one.
"Any questions?" he asked quietly.
"No, sir," responded Marshal Nyx — the only one of the four corps commanders present at the briefing in person.
"If I may," Marshal Ded interjected. "It was said harshly, but... fairly."
"We are all grateful to you, Commander, for caring about preserving the lives of our brothers," Marshal Master joined the previous speakers.
Only one remained silent. The commander of the 7th Air Corps.
"Any problems, Marshal Cody?" Admiral Declann inquired.
"None, sir," the clone snapped to attention. "It's just... a little unusual to hear such things... from a Jedi. After all, we are..."
.".. just as sentient as the rest of us," Dougan finished for him. "And I hope you, each of you," he looked at each marshal in turn, "will convey this to your soldiers. I don't throw my fighters into the inferno or suicide missions. Our motto is speed and efficiency. Fewer deaths — more dead tin cans. I won't tolerate anything else."
"Yes, sir! Yes, sir!" the clones barked in unison, snapping to attention, standing rigid with right palms raised to their temples.
"At ease, troopers," Dougan waved his hand. "Get the boys ready. The landing force will go in the rearguard of the main forces, under the protection of several corvettes. As soon as we break through to the surface and clear a beachhead from orbit, be ready for an emergency drop."
"Will be done, sir!" One by one, the clone figures faded. Nyx, saluting the Grand Moff, quickly left the compartment. Declann followed him. The fleet specialists, left alone surrounded by command, practically vanished at once, returning to their posts according to the combat schedule on the bridge.
Mara, continuing her work at her terminal, was at a loss. For the first time, she was thrown off balance, not understanding where she should run or what to do. And, honestly, she really didn't like this state of affairs. Because Dougan had kept his promise, taking her with him. But he hadn't assigned her to any of the squadron's services.
"Now you," cracking his knuckles, the Jedi appeared next to his Padawan, grabbing her by the ear with his fingers without any pity and twisting it slightly. "What the Hutt do you think you're doing, you little wretch? Who told you to speak at all?"
"And who told you two to do it?" the girl cried out with bitterness and tears in her eyes. "Ahsoka! You were like a sister to me! Master, I idolized you, and you... with my best friend!"
"How did she find out?" the Togruta asked in a stunned voice, her eyes wide.
"The Force Bond!" the girl shouted, as the man stopped twisting her ear. Bursting into tears, she looked at the human and the Togruta, pointing an accusing finger at them. "You're both traitors! Especially you, Master. You told me you don't sleep with young girls, you promised you'd wait for my sixteenth birthday, and then you immediately dragged Ahsoka into bed! Who is the same age as me. You're a liar and a hypocrite!"
"I didn't lie to you," the man said coldly. "And you're wrong about Ahsoka's age. Togruta are legally older than humans for the time they spend in the womb. Strange that you don't know that, even though you were Jocasta's Padawan..."
"That's no excuse!" the girl said bitterly, sobbing. "I... I saved your life, and you even..."
Without finishing, the Padawan ran out of the operations room. The Togruta stared at the Jedi in complete silence.
"Rick, I thought you..."
"It seems our bond is much deeper than I assumed," he said grimly. "Or I didn't block her well enough last night."
"Well, well..." the Togruta drawled. "Quite a situation... Maybe I should talk to her?"
"Don't," the Grand Moff shook his head negatively. "She needs time to be alone. And I need time to think about how to resolve this."
"So maybe we should just invite her to the cabin?" the Togruta suggested innocently. "And give her what she wants... Her mind is literally melting..."
"It is melting," the man agreed. "But... in short, I need to 'push' her a little more, and she'll be ready to open up to the Unified Force. If I do it now... I'm afraid Oli will think she got her way through tantrums, not through her own merits. And instead of a full-fledged apprentice, I'll get a little hysteric."
"Wouldn't it be simpler to tell her the truth?" The Togruta approached the Jedi, pressing herself tenderly against him. "She's not stupid; she'll understand that you're stimulating her... Maybe she'll open herself to the emotions herself, realizing what you want from her..."
"Not after the events of last night," the man objected. "Right now she's wounded, and I'm practically an enemy to her. Alright," he turned and kissed the Togruta on the lips. "I'll act according to the situation. Once she calms down, I'll talk to her."
"Trust my advice," Commander Tano said with sympathy in her mind. "The simplest resolution to this situation is to stop pitting her against her own demons."
"Noted," the man replied dryly. "But for now, I'd like to be alone."
"As you wish, Emperor," the girl made a playful curtsy, then turned and silently walked out the door.
Silence reigned in the room for a while. Mara, licking her dry lips, prayed to all the gods that the Grand Moff wouldn't notice her. An incredibly awkward situation and...
"Don't bother, Captain Cross," Dougan said, still staring at one point on the surface of the holoterminal. "With that hair of yours, you can't hide even behind a terminal."
"Sorry, sir," the girl tried to put regret into her voice. But her mind was far from that. Standing up from her chair, she straightened her tunic, looking at her commander. "I... didn't manage to get out of here."
"Ah, come on," the Jedi waved his hand. "It can't get any worse."
He's right about that.
What could be worse than what she'd heard?
So, it seemed the Jedi apprentice was desperately trying to get into his pants, while he was fending her off for various reasons. Interesting. Considering Mara herself had heard that Jedi abstain from sexual relations.
But, according to the same Commander Tano, Rick Dougan was certainly not a proponent of that rule. And had managed to get into the young Togruta's panties. She had to admit, the girl looked... appetizing, despite her young age. From her well-formed figure, you'd never guess she was only sixteen...
Still, what had happened brought up certain thoughts.
If Dougan didn't observe celibacy, then...
The girl licked her lips furtively.
No, well, why not? He was a handsome, intelligent man. So why not...
"And you too, Captain," Dougan said wearily, hanging his head.
"Sorry, sir," the girl blushed. "But those are my thoughts. You can't just read them like that..."
"I wasn't reading anything," he grimaced. "It's written all over your face. And it's obvious from the uniform..."
"What's wrong with it?" the redhead batted her eyelashes, automatically running her hands along her sides and hips, smoothing any possible wrinkles.
"The fact that it's been taken in a little more than regulations allow," the man sighed. "Specifically to make it fit your figure more advantageously. Isn't that so?"
She wanted to protest, but meeting the man's tired gaze, she just silently nodded.
What was so wrong with that, anyway? She was a young, pretty girl, and in uniform to boot. Why not take the chance and find herself a man? Especially since in the "Blade" fleet, they weren't all clones. And, according to rumors, there were no poor people among the Christophsians.
"You're right, sir," she licked her dry lips, tasting lipstick in her mouth. Yet another element of female cosmetics that, strictly speaking, shouldn't be on an officer's face according to regulations. But recent events showed her that the regulations in this system army were... well, a lot simpler than they seemed. "But you're no saint either, as I understand it. Forgive my boldness," the man raised a heavy gaze to her, "but, as I understand it, you have the same problems with women as I do with men."
"What?" Dougan didn't understand.
"Well," talking about such things with a superior officer was... somewhat burdensome from a moral standpoint. "As I understand it, many people want to sleep with you too, but you 'give in' only to those who deserve it..."
"An engaging and succinct description of my life's creed," the man smirked, looking at her with an interested, appraising gaze. The girl, who wasn't facing such an 'inspection' for the first time, didn't utter a word until the Grand Moff had satisfied his curiosity.
There was, of course, something beastly about it. Because she was being evaluated like a domestic animal. But... If you could just imagine for a moment the position of the one doing it, and the prospects that opened up...
Unfortunately, in the galaxy, without a pretty face and spreading legs, a girl from a bankrupt aristocratic family from one of the not-unknown-in-the-Galactic-Senate planets of the Mid Rim couldn't even dream of taking a place befitting her talents through her brains alone. "'You always have to bend for someone, daughter,'" her father used to tell her. That was just before their modest business was ruined and then absorbed by an influential aristocratic family that had subjugated all political power and the planet's economy, and her father committed suicide, unable to bear the shame and beggarly fate.
She could endure, shoving her pride somewhere far away. But to achieve more, so that...
"Mara," the man said with a sigh, pulling her from her memories. "You're a young, beautiful girl. With a stunning appearance. You've got a good head on your shoulders. What's missing in your life that you're ready to become a mistress?"
"Well, I like you and..." she lowered her eyes, babbling, mentally cursing herself.
"Mara," the man muttered wearily. "I'm Force-sensitive. And the Force is telling me right now that you're trying to feed me a line. And in the most brazen, blatant way possible. Considering you know my secret, it's only logical that I'll keep yours too."
"Is that so," the girl snorted, shedding her feigned simpleton persona. "So you're calling for me to keep quiet about your little affairs on the side?"
"Now I recognize the Mara Cross written about in your code cylinder," the man smirked. "And, yes, I wouldn't mind you keeping your tongue behind your teeth."
"Everything has its price," the girl said uncompromisingly. She noticed a flicker of surprise in the man's eyes. Never mind. Jedi were rich. And if so, then he could afford to pay for her silence.
Jedi without their Order were nothing. They weren't adapted for life in ordinary society; they had neither money nor a home. And Dougan must understand that the moment she told anyone about what happened here, he'd be kicked out immediately. And he'd lose everything he had.
So he'd be a good boy and do what she demanded.
Good thing she didn't have to play the idiot for another year for this. And she didn't have to waste time looking for a more or less rich and influential lover. Wonderful that everything could be done without all that filth she'd had to go through to find money to continue her education at the Academy.
So, Mr. Jedi...
However, what surprised her most was that Dougan was smiling. He looked at her like a cat that had eaten the cream. And stretched his lips into a grin...
"And how can I help the most dazzlingly cunning and dangerous bitch I've seen in recent years?"
"I'll take that as a compliment, which will cost you a little more," she said coldly. Let him think whatever he wanted. She was an aristocrat by birthright. And you could never beat the pedigree out of her. Including the contemptuous look, proud posture, and habit of manipulating everyone around her as she saw fit. "I need money. A lot."
"Two questions," the Jedi nodded. "Why do you think I have it? And — what do you need it for?"
"You have it," the girl snorted. "I spent a lot of time talking to Christophsian military and politicians, visiting their vomit-inducing dive bar with its ridiculous comedians, to find out that the government of Christophsis has nothing to do with the accounts from which ships are purchased. And considering that this started after you showed up in their lives — I think you're rich enough to satisfy my little whims and make the rest of my life comfortable."
"Well, let's say," the Jedi grinned. "You answered the first question. What about the second?"
"None of your business," Mara shrugged.
"Pity. I was counting on a detailed, tearful story of your fall into the abyss of debauchery," the man sighed. "Well, if there's no story — there's no money either," he demonstratively turned away from her, activating the holoterminal in tactical mode. "And yes, you can go squeal to the Jedi, the Senate, whoever you want — I doubt it'll work out..."
'Bastard,' Mara thought. It seemed he wasn't that simple. Though, what did she expect from a man who had been leading half the galaxy by the nose? That he'd fall for a scheme honed over years for fleecing rich little brats?
"I need the money to get revenge," she said.
"Now that's more interesting," the man replied without looking up from his work. "What happened?"
Mara ground her teeth. She didn't want to tell the story of her family's fall to a man she barely knew. And she didn't want to feel like a fool if it helped, but she didn't do it. Not to mention how much she didn't want to endure the humiliation of him listening to her and then refusing.
"I come from an ancient aristocratic family," she thought, "to hell with it! Better to do it and regret it than to torture yourself with thoughts of what might have been if you hadn't." "My ancestors lived for generations to care for our planet, influenced politics, however, after the Galactic Wars, they stepped back from that — not without help from competitors — and concentrated on business. Our family was never large, but we raised our children carefully, giving them the best education. And we considered it our duty to devote most of our lives to service in military organizations, to build character. Unlike other pampered aristocrats. About eleven years ago, my father entered the struggle for political power, having many supporters. And, to secure victory, he made a deal with another aristocratic family — our long-time opponents."
"Let me guess — you were betrayed?"
"Exactly. We were betrayed, ruined, plunged into poverty, and exiled from our home planet," Mara said with anger, shaking her curls. "My father committed suicide to avoid shame. My mother gave her last to ensure I survived and entered the Academy of the Justice Corps. But she didn't live long either. I am the last of my line. I had to change my surname, go into hiding so the assassins wouldn't find me."
"How interesting," the Jedi turned to her. And, apparently, he wasn't lying — he was genuinely interested in what she was saying. "As I understand it, you want to kill the one who did all this to you?"
"More than anything in the world," she said defiantly. "You, as a Jedi, can't understand what revenge is. But for me, it's the meaning of all existence. To overthrow the murderer pretending to be a kind and fuzzy pacifist. To avenge the deaths of my parents, for everything I've had to do to get what I have now..."
"And you think I can help you with this?"
"More than sure," Mara said casually. "You have money. And you're not that simple, given that your willing concubines call you 'Emperor.' So you have resources."
"I do," the man agreed. "Even more than you can imagine."
"Then you'll share," Mara stated decisively. "So what if you lose a couple of extra ships — no big deal."
"Probably so," the man agreed. "The story... moved me, I won't lie. I'll help," Mara smiled with satisfaction. "But, of course, not because you're blackmailing me."
"And what would make you take my side?" the girl snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm definitely not sleeping with you. You're nice enough, but not my type."
"If I got a clone for every time I've heard that, I'd have an army by now," the Jedi chuckled. "No, I have my own reasons. Let's say... what will happen if I help you seize power on your planet?"
"I'll rule it," the girl shrugged. "Harshly, but fairly."
"Good words," Dougan praised. "The planet is a member of the Republic?"
"For now, yes," the girl smiled unpleasantly. "But I have no desire to leave my people in a state that helped a usurper destroy my father. Especially since one of your own was involved."
"A Jedi helped seize power?" the man was surprised.
"Something like that," the girl hissed. "He helped cover up the scandal, hush it up, conveniently shifting public attention to a political crisis."
"Do I know this Jedi?"
"How would I know..." the girl was surprised. "His name is Jorus C'Baoth."
At the mention of this name, the Jedi tensed. Frowning, he seemed to think, digging through his memory.
"Wait a minute... If my memory serves me right, Jorus was involved in only one political crisis of that scale... Mara," he shifted his gaze to the girl. "What's your real name?"
"Mara Cross Ulgo," the girl said quietly. "Of House Ulgo. I had to erase some data to throw the assassins off my trail..."
"That can't be," the Jedi looked at her, stunned. "You're an aristocrat from Alderaan?"
"Yes," the girl said coldly. "Does that change anything?"
"And the one you plan to kill, as I understand it..."
.".. Bail Prestor Organa, Viceroy of Alderaan," the girl stated dryly. "Is it really so hard to rid a democratic state of one of the leaders of the political opposition?"
* * *
Plowing through the icy vacuum with its hull, the Retvizan burst from the embrace of hyperspace. A moment later, two more Harrowers materialized beside it — the Tsesarevich and the Eagle.
"Hyperspace jump complete," commented Admiral Modus, who was aboard the flagship dreadnought.
"Excellent," Lady Grell nodded to the officer — a middle-aged man who had once held a position in the Justice Corps and the Republic fleet. A good acquaintance of Admiral Jerjerrod, he had followed his older comrade, joining the Zakuul Empire. And now, like several other officers loyal to Dougan who had defected following their disgraced admirals — Block and Jerjerrod — he commanded a formation of Star Destroyers. But Modus was the luckiest of all — by the Emperor's decision, he had been placed in command of the ships of his personal squadron — the Emperor's Ghost.
For the first time ever, this strike force had finally assembled.
Hovering in suborbital orbit above the most valuable planet in the Core, they waited for the last trio. So that after they got rid of their precious cargo, they could depart to their station, awaiting new orders.
"So this was the goal of our journey," the man standing next to Nadia said quietly.
"Yes," she agreed. "Tython."
"We've heard legends about this planet," he continued. "The birthplace of Jedi teachings. A world in balance with the Force."
"Exactly so, Shegren," she said, addressing the leader of the Matukai. "The place where it all began tens of thousands of years ago. And from which it will continue, thanks in part to your help."
She looked around at the other men standing on the bridge.
"The help of all of you," she clarified.
Gathered to gawk at the final destination of their long journey were the leaders of all the teachings who had been prudent enough to accept the offer to join the Imperial Knights.
Red Roberts — leader of the Zeison Sha — had remained silent the entire way.
Ikeru — a former apprentice, now the leader of the Black Guard.
And several others, whose joining had been less bloodless.
The Dathomirian witches, whom they had only managed to subdue by completely exterminating the Night Sisters clan. A lightning-fast attack by Asajj Ventress, who led the landing contingent of Skywalkers and the first graduates of the Imperial Knights, literally drowned the rebel clan in blood. No one was left alive — and it wasn't even that most of them had been killed during the attack. That hundred witches captured and brought to the New Forge... yes, that fate was worse than death. To spend the rest of your life as a 'battery'... That was terrifying. But necessary.
The Selkath from the Order of Shaza on Manaan. The smallest of the factions that had joined. A coup d'état had to be staged to recruit them.
The Jal Shey, whose search had dragged on due to their nomadic lifestyle. And several Force-sensitives from both sides had to perish before this ancient order of negotiators agreed to follow Zakuul's path.
The Typho Paladins, whose skill with blasters had thinned out the mechanical recruiting contingent considerably.
The Followers of Palawa, for whom their homeworld of Bundukai had to be annexed to the Empire.
Several representatives of the Breath Guards, tracked down with great difficulty across the entire galaxy through the efforts of Cad Bane.
The Fallanassi — an organization of Force-sensitive women who had made it their life's purpose to study the ability to create illusions. A gift rarely used even in Grell's younger days. And in the current times, dark for all the Force-sensitive, meeting it was downright impossible. Except perhaps Darth Xarion had demonstrated his mastery on Yavin 4. But that hadn't saved him from death.
"So, this is where we'll be training?" Shegren asked again.
"To learn new things ourselves and to teach what you know to others," Nadia corrected him. "There are a vast number of Force-sensitives in the galaxy whose potential is too small to become a high-level master of the Force or the sword. But the Matukai art can ignite a bright flame in each of them..."
.".. turning children into weapons," Red Roberts remarked. "One way or another, they'll all become warriors."
"There's no other way," Nadia sighed. "If we don't take up their proper," she emphasized the last word, "upbringing, if we don't open the eyes of the Force-sensitives to the Unified Force, the bloodshed between the Sith, the Jedi, and their followers will continue forever."
"Your followers gave Darth Glovok's followers no such chance," remarked Evgum, the Furious of the Black Guard. "Your Imperial Guards cut them all down to the last."
"And they were the same adepts of the Dark Side that we were," Ikeru agreed with his "colleague." "What was your choice based on?"
"The Storm Children received the same offer you all did. But they rejected it," Nadia sighed. The bloody battle with the followers of the ancient Sith Lord Darth Glovok, who had survived millennia thanks to the technology of a Sith sarcophagus, had been the first major test for the Emperor's personal guard. The gifted — selected and personally enhanced by Dougan from among the best graduates of the Academy on Tython, led into battle by their commanders Logan, Saber, and Adkar — were not stopped by the thousands of believers in Glovak's power, who hadn't left his crypt in centuries. Nor by the sheer number of ungifted fanatics. Nor by the power of the gifted, who could rival any Sith warrior or sorcerer from the time of the Galactic Wars.
In truth, this was only half the truth.
The Guards, acting on the Emperor's direct orders, had managed to capture many of the Storm Children alive, along with their peacefully slumbering leader. The strongest and most capable among them were separated from the main mass, which was sent by a routine transport to the Lehon system.
Nadia thought sadly about how several hundred gifted individuals were now gathered at the station. Perhaps the most abundant "feast" for the New Forge in the last thousand years.
One way or another, the Emperor's enemies would serve him.
As would those who possessed enormous potential in the Force but had rejected the offer to join voluntarily.
A few of the Storm Children — a couple of dozen, no more.
A dozen of the Sinister — cultists from Prakith who guarded the secrets of Darth Andeddu.
In the strictest secrecy, they were all delivered to the Imperial Citadel on Zakuul, where they languished in dungeons, stripped of their powers, awaiting the Emperor's decision. And honestly, Nadia thought that compared to them, those who ended up at the New Forge were incredibly lucky.
Dougan didn't stand on ceremony with those who might be useful to him personally. So it wouldn't be surprising if, after a while, the composition of the Imperial Guard was replenished.
And... really, who knew who else had ended up on those lists? It couldn't be for nothing that Atroxa had gone underground, handing over the recruited members of the Black Guard to her care. Nor was there any word from Celeste Morne and her apprentice Sariss.
Of course, she understood that she had no right to inquire about the work of the other Hands.
But... sometimes she began to think that the more Dougan wanted to bring order to the galaxy, the more he became like his teacher. And soon, there would be no one left in the galaxy who could rival him.
Even if it was through the hands of his apprentice, Vitiate would achieve his goal — he would gain power over a submissive galaxy. What would follow that was unclear. But now, watching the events unfolding in the Unknown Regions, she was beginning to doubt that the peace Dougan had promised would ever come.
Fortunately, the resolution of this issue was beyond her competence. She had made her choice long ago.
And she served her master. With faith and truth.
Like all those two thousand gifted she had delivered to Tython.
"There's no point in delaying," she said. "Your training must begin immediately. We mustn't keep Lady Zavros waiting. In her anger, she can be murderously charming."