Chapter 78 - Chapter 18

A pair of X-wings rounded the massive hull of the Telos, synchronously dodging a stray crimson bolt. For a moment, a flash of light blinded her. Ahsoka instinctively squeezed her eyes shut, and when she opened them, the astromech droid had already dimmed the starfighter's canopy. It became significantly more comfortable.

"Thanks, R2," she thanked the little guy sitting in the special socket behind her cockpit.

In response, lines of a reply message flickered across the control panel. "It's my job," the Togruta read, smiling. Yes, 'bucket of bolts,' as the Emperor called astromechs, in his usual manner. Even though she couldn't hear the chirps of his binary language, she could sense from the tone of the phrase that the droid... wasn't very pleased.

The headstrong astromech, who had once accompanied her former master everywhere, had taken the place of his less fortunate comrade, who had been damaged, along with Ahsoka's starfighter, during Oli's rampage in the hangar. Though, a lot of things had been damaged back then. Of the three X-wings that had flown into that battle, only two had returned intact. Even so, Oli had managed to dent them considerably. And kill two mechanics — hers and Ahsoka's. Dougan's little brother seemed to be a guy with a hard luck story, considering he'd managed to hide inside his master's starfighter when he saw the raging girl. The other two droids, who had left their sockets, remained on the hangar floor. And partially on the wall. Senator Amidala, who least of all wanted to find herself in General Grievous's company again, had suggested with unprecedented speed and initiative that Ahsoka use her astromech. Whether there was any ulterior motive behind it, no one knew. So, Rick had pretended the Senator's words were simply a wonderful offer from a pure heart. Not an attempt to attach herself by any means to the glory of Grievous's destroyers.

Either way, the Togruta and the Emperor's apprentice had now joined the space battle, flaring up with renewed intensity. Ahsoka in her hastily repaired X-wing with R2, Oli in her master's starfighter. With the noticeably nervous Little Brother behind her.

Unfortunately, there were only three exclusive starfighters on board the Telos — and one of them was already beyond repair. Thanks to Starstone.

Otherwise, they'd be circling the battlefield in a trio right now. Instead, Dougan had to stay on the Telos. And it fell to the Togruta to lead their not-quite-balanced friend into battle — even though Oli had pulled herself together, Ahsoka didn't exactly believe in her stability.

Instead of breaking radio silence, Tano opened herself to battle meditation. Reluctantly, with obvious laziness, as if doing her a favor, Starstone followed her example.

Indescribable sensations, first experienced on Yavin. Knowing a battle comrade is beside you is one thing. But FEELING it... that's completely different. Sometimes they heard each other's thoughts in the meditation, but usually they just knew what the other was thinking... or doing. But now Dougan wasn't with them, and the meditation felt somehow... wrong. There was no steady, stable channel for exchanging thoughts and feelings. No stability...

Ahsoka suspected the fault was her own immaturity with this technique. If Oli had initiated the meditation, it might have been much easier. But for some reason, she didn't want to share her mind with the Togruta — it became clear because the girl didn't sense any emotions from her friend except those directly related to the battle.

Fine.

The Togruta used light meditation to clear her mind of doubt, fully concentrating on her upcoming participation in the fight.

The girls faced a remarkably straightforward task — just disable the enemy flagship. A light Rebel-class destroyer, surrounded by a swarm of Vultures and a dozen Munificent-class frigates. No other squadron could have broken through such a screen. But this pair had decent chances. No wonder the Grand Moff had sent them.

Ahsoka felt displeasure and understood that Oli would prefer to use force so the Separatists wouldn't harbor any illusions about their prospects in this battle. Like last time, she was burning with the desire to throw herself into the thick of enemy fighters and give them a local branch of hell. The Togruta herself thought otherwise.

There were thousands of Vultures here — you couldn't kill them all, even if you were the best pilot in the galaxy. It would be far more effective to disable the command ship and turn the tide of battle, as they'd done in orbit of this planet last time. Plus, that was exactly what their orders said. She wasn't going to disobey them — Dougan's mood was terrible. If she gave in to Oli and helped the clone pilots, the Emperor probably wouldn't just spank her.

The girls' fighters reached the space between the opposing fleets.

The Republic had deployed every single Hammerhead as a vanguard, arrayed in three parallel lines before the corridor through the minefields, which had been opened with great difficulty by the ramships. These ships, having meekly endured everything the Separatists could throw at them in the previous battle, were now living out their last hours. To make it harder for the enemy to break through to Hypori's orbit, the Grand Moff had ordered the decommissioned ramships sent into the passage among the mines, so that the vessels, stripped of ammunition and crews, would at least partially slow the enemy's advance toward the main force. It helped somewhat — instead of piling onto Declann's battered ships in a continuous stream, the Separatists were forced to maneuver in a narrow space, carefully avoiding both mines and the numerous drifting wreckage of what had been ramships just hours ago. And at the exit, the sparse trickle of enemy starships met the concentrated fire of every fleet vessel. Except perhaps the Telos, positioned in the rear of the main force alongside the landing-order ships that had finished deploying the ground contingent, serving with them as rotation carriers. Returning fighters and bombers to their own ships, engaged in fierce exchanges of fire, was extremely dangerous — primarily for the cruisers and corvettes themselves. If you inadvertently lowered a shield over the hangar to recover your fighters, any Vulture could cause irreparable harm to the starships.

Marauders, continuously patrolling the space between the flagship and the vanguard at the limit of human endurance and mechanical capability, ceaselessly shot down the tirelessly swarming enemy fighters. However, the assault missiles, which had proven very effective against Separatist fighters and starships, had been used up in the previous battle. Unfortunately, there was no transport ship with the necessary spare ammunition in the fleet. And the longer the battle dragged on, the clearer it became to both sides that the Republic couldn't win this fight with conventional means.

Even the fact that a detachment of Acclamators — the second wave of ground troops — was positioned in the Separatists' rear didn't significantly affect the situation. Because the enemy had far more starships. They could afford a two-front battle — even if it slowed down their overall plan of destroying the Blade Fleet.

An unexpected and lightning-fast strike was needed — one that could disrupt the CIS fleet commander's plans and give the Republic time to regroup. Killing General Grievous was precisely that option.

"Most likely, we won't kill him — he's too lucky at keeping his skin intact. But we have to try. At the very least, if you can disable the flagship, that's already something. We need to buy time."

The Emperor's words, like the Jedi Code, were etched into her subconscious. And now, fortunately, the Separatist butcher wasn't trying to sit out in the rear, giving two extremely lucky girls a chance to delay the inevitable.

Grievous had clearly decided on a swift strike, forming a vanguard force of over sixty Munificent-class ships. They were rolling toward the Republic's positions, exchanging blows, some powerful enough to tear chunks of hull from the starships. Clearing the Hammerhead formation, Ahsoka automatically noted that the Republic ships, while holding up well against the enemy's fire, were clearly outmatched by the numerically superior CIS fleet. Due to their relatively modest size and number of guns. If Gent intended to continue existing, it would either have to increase the number of cruisers in its fleets or... change the ships themselves.

Ahsoka barely had time to formulate her plan to intercept a pair of Vultures that had broken off from the main mass of fighters guarding the nearest Separatist Rebel when Oli surged ahead, mercilessly pushing her X-wing's engines and opening rapid fire from all guns.

A second later, the leading enemy fighter exploded into pieces, struck by four simultaneous shots. The wingman slowed for an instant, then met the same fate. And with that, the Republic fighters veered off their intended course.

"Oli," Tano winced. "You didn't have to..."

"Should I do nothing at all except fire a salvo at the flagship's bridge?" the girl asked with slight offense. "They were practically begging to be in my sights..."

Pointless to argue with that logic.

"Back on course," the Togruta's voice turned metallic. And the Vultures already had someone to deal with — a squadron of Headhunters flashed by, eagerly tearing into the droids. Another followed... Yes. The droids had their hands full now.

Throwing her X-wing to the side, she dodged a wild burst, sending her own volley into a CIS fighter that had flashed past her nose. Then, banking her ship, she dove it toward the enemy destroyer's hull. Mere tens of meters from the metal, she pulled up the X-wing's nose, directing the craft along the starship's body. Starstone mirrored her maneuver synchronously, and the two nimble craft reached the Rebel's stern in seconds. A mischievous thought flickered...

Flicking the weapon selector, Tano switched to assault missiles and fired a pair into one of the main engines. A small thing, but satisfying.

Sensing a mix of surprise and anticipation from her friend in the Force, she noted that the other girl, without stinting, unloaded half her missiles into the damaged mechanism, finishing it off with a point-blank burst that tore the nozzles into hundreds of fragments.

The enemy's front line was breached. Ahead, a vast space opened up between the enemy formations.

Completely filled with fighter droids hurrying to the front line to support their brethren. Obviously returning from rotation. Well, then...

Opening fire with her cannons, Ahsoka simultaneously pulled her ship out of the enemy's line of fire, seeing a safe corridor in the Force. Oli, as if glued to her, followed, supporting the Togruta with fire from all guns. An instant later, they'd cleared the enemy fighter formation. A steep dive with a half-roll through the left wing, a sharp deceleration, a slight course correction — and the Vultures chasing them turned into tiny sparks of explosions, caught in the fire of the Force-users' flawless aim.

Several nearby squadrons reacted to the monstrous injustice, but Ahsoka, communicating her thought to her wingman, hit full speed and dashed toward Grievous's flagship. Starstone, radiating poorly concealed displeasure — what a sore loser, she wasn't allowed to play with the new old toys — stayed right with her. Together, tracing insane pirouettes in space, the girls repeated their trick of flying along the ship's hull, then, ending up behind the nozzles, began to describe an arc to get behind the destroyer's superstructure while staying in the dead zone of the anti-aircraft batteries. Reckless? Possibly. But they'd have to be complete fools to attack the main ship of the enemy armada with a dozen 'admirers' on their tail who...

"Missiles!" Oli shouted, veering to the side. Ahsoka, also noticing the bluish trails of homing projectiles, threw her ship into a wingover. The projectiles mirrored her maneuver identically.

Now this was unpleasant.

"They have homing heads," she hissed, leading her ship under the belly of the enemy vessel.

"Big deal," the girl replied indifferently. Out of the corner of her eye, Tano saw her starfighter on the other side of the Rebel, pulling away from the persistent projectiles on afterburners. "Just like the textbook..."

The girl, dangerously close to the starship's side, began spinning her fighter around its axis, forcing the following missiles to repeat this deadly trick and...

At the very last moment, Oli yanked the X-wing's nose aside, allowing the missiles to slam at full speed into the massive turrets of a turbolaser battery, blasting them to pieces.

"Impressive," Ahsoka noted, slicing her cannons across a Vulture that had wandered into her sights. It withstood exactly two pairs of hits before smoking, losing control and the ability to fly straight. Tumbling over its front section, it ended up behind the X-wing, absorbing several shots that instantly traded CIS corporation products for myriads of fragments.

"Need help?" Oli asked lazily.

"M... might as well," the Togruta repeated her friend's maneuver but only managed to shake off most of the missiles. Three projectiles continued trailing her, meter by meter closing dangerously on her X-wing.

They didn't get a chance to harm Tano — Starstone's ruthlessly accurate fire turned them, along with a pair of fighters that had appeared from nowhere, into scrap metal.

"Done, Lolita."

"Back on course," Ahsoka sighed.

Fleeing the missiles, they'd deviated from their target again, but not critically.

They'd just climbed under the Rebel adjacent to the flagship...

"Something's wrong here," Oli's voice was tense. "Just now, the CIS second line had only two Rebels..."

"Now there's a dozen," the Togruta also reacted to the changing situation. No, during the missile chase, they'd clearly gotten carried away. More than necessary.

Because the Rebel they'd damaged was now smoking engines somewhere behind them, while General Grievous's flagship, surrounded on all sides by ships of the same class and a swarm of Vultures, was moving at tremendous speed toward its vanguard detachment, having significantly broken away from the main force...

What was he up to?

R2 changed the scale on the tactical display, and immediately friendly dots began flashing across the screen — dozens of Republic ships. They were emerging from hyperspace at the outer edge of the minefield, immediately joining the battle. Hammerheads, Marauders, Venators, Acclamators...

"So that's what we needed to buy time for," Ahsoka chuckled, feeling a wave of understanding from her friend. The dark-haired girl seemed to get it too.

It looked like the trap meant for the Grand Moff (otherwise, such an operational arrival of the CIS fleet, in this composition, was hard to explain) had actually turned out to be a trap for General Grievous. He was caught between two fires — on one side, a battered but still combat-capable detachment holding the defense at the 'bottleneck,' the narrowest point in open space through the minefields. On the other, an ever-increasing number of fresh reinforcements, with full magazines and air wings. Which would definitely not let the General escape from here.

The Togruta briefly reached out with the Force toward the reinforcements. As soon as she caught the characteristic emanations, a sly smile appeared on her lips. The reinforcements had brought Jedi. Many Jedi.

Too bad none of the bright lights in the Force, identifying the Force-users, were moving swiftly — then she could have hoped that Galen Muln and his Jedi Aces were among the arrivals. But apparently, this unit had better things to do than hunt the bloodthirstiest and most talented commander of the Confederacy of Independent Systems.

"Oh, Grievous must be furious right now," Oli giggled over the comm. Ahsoka felt her triumphant mood. And shared it.

"So let's ruin his mood even more," the Togruta suggested.

The euphoria from the sudden shift in the situation was gradually fading. And Tano felt a worm of doubt beginning to gnaw at her.

Why had Grievous kicked in the afterburners? Especially by taking... every Rebel that still remained combat-ready...

A guess, scalding as boiling water, made her feel uneasy. Without thinking, she hit the afterburners.

Space resembled a tangle of blue jet trails, dashes of multi-colored turbolaser bolts, and dagger-shaped exhaust plumes from countless starships.

Ahsoka tried to slip through a cloud of fighter droids that had appeared from the side, but it was like stepping into a downpour and trying not to get wet. Within two seconds, her shield had absorbed an impossible number of crimson blaster shots, thinning to its limit.

It seemed General Grievous had made sure his ship had reliable protection.

The canopy darkened again from a nearby explosion, and Ahsoka, as soon as the polarization dissipated even slightly, saw three Vultures bearing down on her, hosing her with a torrent of cannon fire. Executing a half-roll, she evaded the fire, catching two shots on her forward shield, and launched her first missile.

The droids reacted almost instantly, training their cannons on her little ship, rightly concluding that the leader of the "pair" was a more valuable trophy. The forward shields flared into a white wall of light and heat, while a strained siren wail filled the cockpit, signaling shield overload. Ahsoka, noting that one of the droids would never return to its matelot for rotation, fired a second missile and broke left. More and more Vultures were shooting at her — their number increasing exponentially as she and Oli clawed their way toward the flagship. Every now and then, the tactical monitor reported that from various directions, trying to break through the cloud of enemy fighters surrounding the Recusant group, one Republic squadron or another was attempting to punch through, but so far without much success. The guys were confined to wiping out Separatist starfighters under what were practically range conditions. A barrage of red fire merely grazed the X-wing, but that was enough for the battered shields to treacherously screech and fail. The air suddenly reeked of burnt wiring, and warning messages scrolled across the control screen — messages Ahsoka couldn't read through the smoke and the constant rolls she had to perform to avoid becoming space debris.

"R2, the main thing — watch the engines," the Togruta ordered her droid, pulling her ship into a dizzying series of reverse barrels. "If we lose power out here in plain sight of these guys, then we're really in trouble."

The droid rattled off a cynical tirade in response. Ahsoka glanced at the screen and smiled.

"You're no Anakin, sure, but I'll do everything I can to keep us from getting scrapped. It'll be hard, but I'll manage." A real comedian.

Ahsoka kept maneuvering until the barrage of cannon fire stopped for a second. She knew the Separatist fighters wouldn't just leave her alone. Or Oli, either. Their algorithms had long since calculated the threat that a pair of heavy, unknown-class starfighters could pose. And they were doing everything their digital imaginations could muster to keep them from reaching the flagship. Ahsoka pulled the control yoke up and left, nimbly popping out of the tangle of Separatist ships straight toward the stars to shake several pursuers on her tail. Oli, continuously tracing aerobatic patterns, stayed close. But she'd also picked up a couple of "admirers."

Through the haze in the cockpit, the Togruta spotted a couple of bright dots and leaned toward the tactical display. Grievous's destroyer remained out of reach, rapidly pulling away from the pair of fighters. Though Republic warships were hammering it and its escort nonstop from every gun, the Recusant moved fast. It had no visible damage and had nearly reached the line of its own vanguard. Only a very short distance separated it from the Republic warships… And the increased density of Separatist fire was already paying off. Several Hammerheads flared with thermonuclear fire; a couple more helplessly lived out their last hours, spewing hull fragments and streams of smoke into space. The climax was fast approaching. And Ahsoka liked what she sensed less and less.

Soon, the Recusant strike force would surge forward, and then nothing could stop them. A perfect plan… crumbling like a house of cards. They wouldn't reach the flagship — the Vultures wouldn't allow it.

"Ahsoka!" Starstone shouted. "Do you see that?"

She saw it. She saw the enormous mass of the vanguard, merging with Grievous's force, surging forward at full speed.

"I see it," the girl ground out.

They'd screwed up. An unforgivable mistake, one that couldn't be fixed now — the enemy had raised additional fighter cover, which was pinning down the Republic fighters and bombers concentrated in this patch of space. It seemed that on the Telos, they'd already figured out the enemy commander's maneuver. And, unfortunately, they could do little in response. The flagship, pushing its own engines to the limit, was shifting, exposing its broadside to the advancing Separatist ships, pouring fire from every gun. But even though local supernovae kept flaring in the enemy formation — now one, now another Munificent-class frigate ceasing to exist — it wasn't enough.

A crimson burst grazed the barely restored rear deflector. Ahsoka, reading the astromech's warning, pulled into a reverse bank, catching one of the Vultures in her sights at the apex and turning it into scrap metal with a precise salvo. A moment later, rolling over the left wingplanes, she destroyed two more, finishing off by slamming missiles into Oli's pursuers.

Through the canopy, she could clearly see Republic hulls already flickering in the corridor among the minefield. They were continuously attacking damaged ships trailing the Separatist fleet — ships that, like the Republic fireships before them, were playing the simplest role: holding the enemy back while the forward elements destroyed their targets. General Grievous was using their own tactics against them.

And, unlike the Blade Fleet, he had enough ships not only to crush Admiral Declann's forces but also to methodically, taking his position, deal with the reinforcements trickling in a thin stream under the minefield sphere.

A bitter miscalculation. They'd been outplayed.

The Republic reinforcements' fighters swarmed the enemy Vultures like a cloud of mosquitoes, reaching open space. The space around filled with countless sparks of explosions…

But everything dimmed before what happened in the next second.

A wave of pain, death, and terror washed over the Force. In an instant, thousands of beings perished. Ahsoka, executing another aerobatic maneuver, saw with a pang in her heart how the enemy ships, with no tactical finesse whatsoever, simply rammed the Republic warships, vanishing along with them in thermonuclear fire. The already thin screen of Hammerheads and Marauders halved in minutes. Yes, the Separatists' Munificent-class frigates had also dropped to an indecently low number, but their Recusant group, as if charmed, continued its triumphant advance toward the Republic flagship. Concentrated turbolaser fire licked away deflector fields, burned through hull plating in hundreds of places at once, triggering dozens of low-yield internal explosions, making it seem as if the Telos was shuddering along its entire hull.

But the ship lived. It methodically, ignoring its own breaches, turned Confederacy destroyers into scrap metal, yet with each minute its fire weakened further. The lower "pylon," where the engines were located, was already ablaze with fire and smoke — the enemy was deliberately immobilizing its prey.

"They're going to board the ship," Starstone gasped.

"Got it," Ahsoka said, barely keeping the tremor out of her voice. Yes, Grievous had a fixation — he preferred to deal with Jedi commanders personally. And judging by the way his flagship was closing at full speed with the now-silent Telos, that was exactly what the cyborg intended to do. While the girls were taking out Vultures that crossed their sights, Grievous's ship had already docked with the Republic flagship.

"We have to help!" the Emperor's apprentice declared resolutely.

"We will," Ahsoka assured her. "Just here, not there."

"But that's Grievous!" Starstone insisted.

"Too bad for him," Ahsoka noted reasonably. "The Emperor is there."

The former Jedi tactfully didn't remind her that besides Dougan, a group of four-thousand-year-old Dark Side adepts was also on board.

* * *

Low, insinuating music diluted the ceaseless hum of conversations and the clatter of tableware with its melody.

A cozy atmosphere, a pleasant interior with expensive finishes, and the presence of live waiters instead of the usual droids had long made the Kraggert one of the most fashionable restaurants on Coruscant.

And exorbitantly expensive.

Staring at the prices listed on the menu, Billy could barely suppress the scream of indignation tearing at him. For the cheapest dish, a patron had to pay an outright indecent sum.

And the chef's specialties went for a price tag large enough to buy a decent landspeeder.

"Mother of me in repulsorboots two sizes too small," he muttered quietly, glancing at the wine list. "That kind of money…"

"Kid," the familiar raspy voice of the Duros sounded in his earpiece. "Shout a little louder, and everything's sure to fall apart. Don't forget your cover, vibroaxe up your…"

"Yeah, yeah, I remember," the young bounty hunter hastened to assure his mentor. It's just… there are so many people suffering in the galaxy, and here you could blow a sector's budget on one party…

"I've been to pricier places," the Duros recalled.

"Where was that?"

"Nowhere anymore," Cad Bane cut him off. "After the nergon smoothie with baradium cookies, even the foundation was gone."

"Yeah, fun job," the young man sighed. "Never thought I'd have to… operate like this."

"Irritation," the mechanical voice of the assassin droid cut into the conversation. "Shut your vocabulator, meatbag, before I perform a cavity search on your cerebellum."

"Thanks," Kidd grunted. "You already fixed my teeth. Still hurts all over."

"Poorly concealed joy. Ready to work in free medicine year-round. Statement of fact. Nothing kills meatbags as effectively as government medical facilities."

He wanted to say something caustic and insulting to the droid… But Billy held back.

Memories of the time he'd laughed at the rust on the ancient droid's chassis flooded back at just the right moment. Who knew he was so touchy. And what kind of assassin robot carries dental equipment around with him? Besides, treating teeth without a license, and without anesthesia, is a real pleasure.

Especially when the ancient assassin robot, optical sensors glowing, leans over you — tied up and helpless — and mutters, "Grumbling complaint. What's this, meatbag, didn't brush your teeth before bed? Warning. It will hurt, but you'll live. Sarcastic correction. Probably."

But despite seven hours of unbearable pain, a couple of utterly soaked undershorts and trousers, a couple of broken ribs ("Indignation. Don't move, meatbag, until I remove your spinal cord instead of the nerve"), complete unsanitary conditions, and HK-47's triumphant commentary every time he used a plasma cutter the size of a heavy repeater to remove tartar and cavities — the assassin was an excellent orthodontist. The only thing that bothered him was that as a doctor, he advised keeping his mouth shut more often, explaining that in polite society, in response to the sounds coming from the young hunter's oral cavity, his recently repaired teeth might end up back in his mouth. Because Kidd's jokes weren't really funny, and it was generally amazing he'd managed to live this long and still keep his teeth — even if not in the best shape, at least without any missing.

Right now, Billy was flashing a white-toothed smile and the gloss of an expensive suit. All of it was accented by a fashionable haircut and luxurious accessories. Just what was needed to attract attention. And create the right impression.

"Mr. Kidd?" He heard a melodious voice behind him.

"Oh, you Hutt belch!" Billy jumped like he'd been scalded, reacting to the sudden intrusion into his thoughts. But before he could pull the blaster from his belt, his eyes were already busily taking in the guest standing before him.

She was short, sweet-faced. Her shapely figure was flatteringly accentuated by an evening gown that clung to all the charms of her young body, with a rather revealing neckline where an inquisitive gaze could spot two juicy and firm-looking hemispheres…

"Eyes up, pup," the Duros hissed in his ear. "And straighten up — you're standing all hunched over like a Twi'lek at a casting!"

Following his mentor's advice on autopilot, Billy reluctantly tore his gaze from the girl's charms and looked her in the face. Why couldn't all the good stuff on the female form be in one place? Why is nature so cruel to male self-control? His neck would start hurting from all this looking down and up.

Though, who decided that a man should look a woman in the eye while talking? Some kind of discrimination! What's beautiful about two eyeballs? Now a chest and a butt…

"Pleased to see you, Senator Chuchi," he said, putting a friendly smile on his face and gallantly kissing the tips of the girl's fingers, while out of the corner of his eye he kept watching her chest rise and fall in a steady, enchanting rhythm.

"Irritation. Is this meatbag going to keep staring at another meatbag's chest for a second minute while pretending to kiss her hand?" HK-47's voice creaked indignantly in the earpiece.

"If this lasts another minute, I'll fire a rocket at their table," Kenny the drone cut in. "It can't get any worse."

Billy, realizing he'd dragged out the traditional greeting far too long, straightened up with a guilty smile, catching a few appraising glances from nearby fat cats. One of them — a plump Twi'lek with blue-tinged skin and four head-tails — gave the human and his companion a contemptuously appraising once-over from head to toe. Even though he himself was surrounded by a good dozen members of the fair sex, and judging by their manners and attire, quite possibly of the oldest profession, his gaze snagged on Kidd's guest's back. As if he recognized her.

Billy tensed, habitually reaching behind his back, ready at any second to draw his blaster and empty the entire battery into the alien.

"Your first words wouldn't suggest that," the girl said with a dazzling smile, fluttering her thick eyelashes as she watched Billy take his seat at the table. She seemed to be waiting for something, not sitting down across from him… But what?

"Idiot!" Bane's voice breathed in his ear. "You seat her first!"

"Insistent request. May I shoot him in the hand?"

Spotting the barely perceptible dot of a laser sight on the sleeve of his jacket, Billy shot to his feet as if scalded, shoving the heavy solid-wood table with a terrible screech. The crash of breaking glasses and dishes scattering from the tabletop drew unwanted attention to their table, caused an expression of extreme bewilderment on the guest's face, and a resigned sigh in the earpiece microphones.

"P-please forgive me," he said in a rush, gallantly pulling out the chair for the guest and allowing her to settle onto the soft seat. Swallowing the saliva that had involuntarily formed in his mouth at the sight of the girl's upper body from his standing height, the young hunter pushed the chair in. "Looks like I overdid it," flashed through the man's mind as the screech of the table repeated, coinciding with the girl's soft "eep" as her wasp waist got pinched between the back of the chair and the edge of the table.

"Is this some kind of…" Billy didn't hear the rest of Cad's sentence because he was distracted by a conversation with the administrator, who was beaming a smile and politely reminding the guest that the check would include the cost of the broken dishes. Nodding mechanically to the restaurant employee, Billy waited for the fragments of the far-from-cheap tableware to be cleared away, then took his seat at the table, habitually dropping his gaze to the guest's neckline.

"You seem unusually distracted today," the girl stated diplomatically, casually folding her hands on the table, blocking the wonderful view for Kidd. Letting out a heavy sigh, the man looked her straight in the eyes.

"Yes, you're right, Senator. It's been a… tough day."

"As for all of us," she parried.

"I wouldn't dare doubt your words," he noted sadly. Oh, if only you knew, sweet beauty from a distant planet, how many nerves it cost a young guy from Tatooine to even partially learn the norms of etiquette. And for cover, he'd had to hustle around Coruscant quite a bit. All of it — for this one conversation.

On which an awful lot depended. Primarily — for Bane's employer, whom Billy had never met. But, according to HK-47's assurances, if he screwed up, the torments of dentistry would seem like a heavenly bliss compared to the wrath of the being their little group called only "the Emperor." What creature lurked behind that alias, Billy didn't know. But he guessed the being had no problem with imagination.

"You have a rather extravagant way of greeting guests," the girl said with a smile, hinting at his panicked reaction. Billy felt his face flush.

"You came up so unexpectedly… and I was thinking… reaction, you know. I have the fastest, most trained hand in the entire Outer Rim…"

The girl, quite against the rules of etiquette, burst out laughing. The man frowned. What was she laughing at?

"Please forgive me," waving her hand as if she couldn't get enough air, the Senator used neat finger movements to check if her mascara was running. "But you said it so… and that habit of yours of keeping your hands in your trouser pockets…"

Well, a habit's a habit. Where else are you supposed to put your hands during a conversation? What's so funny? Even Bane in the earpiece was starting to laugh.

"How was your day, Senator?" Kidd inquired in a neutral tone, trying to change the subject. He didn't like it when people laughed at something he didn't understand.

The girl, laughing softly a few more times, put a serious face back on. It seemed she realized she'd stepped outside the bounds of a business dinner, so to hide her own embarrassment, she reached for a glass of reddish liquid.

"Mocking remark. You might as well ask what shampoo she uses to wash her hair," HK-47 sneered. Billy gritted his teeth. Easy for those three loafers. Sitting in an airspeeder in the parking lot, watching through hidden cameras, and commenting. He was the one who had to take the heat.

"It's been better, you know," Riyo noted sadly, elegantly taking a sip of wine. Billy mentally noted that about a hundred credits had just flowed down the girl's throat. "The Senate isn't a place for rest."

"Yes, I understand you," he practically swallowed a mollusk from his plate without chewing. "Especially with all these protests happening on the planet…"

Public sentiment was seething across the galaxy. But in the ecumenopolis that was Coruscant, it was more apparent than ever before. The Republic's military failures, the growing number of worlds joining the CIS, reports of numerous Separatist atrocities on peaceful planets — all of this was causing what Cad aptly described as "a shitstorm." Although, the Duros almost immediately admitted that he wasn't the author of that phrase.

But it described the situation on Coruscant and in the Republic as a whole perfectly. Because no one could remember such a wave of inhuman hatred washing over the Republic's capital. Even though the planet's streets were flooded with ruthless and unceremonious clone patrols, the inhabitants of the upper, lower, and middle levels were openly expressing their dissatisfaction with the current situation. In particular, out of some bizarre confusion, the population of Coruscant — mostly humans — began demanding the government deport all representatives of races that supported the CIS, or at least had seceded from the Republic, beyond the star system. Even though the Chancellor publicly declared the need for tolerance and the non-involvement of the majority of aliens in the atrocities of their distant kin, his opinion mattered little to anyone. The people demanded. And the Government complied. With a certain reluctance. And this despite the fact that the Senate had passed legislative acts with great fanfare that legalized the work of fanatical pro-human organizations.

"You're right about that," Riyo agreed. "The times are turbulent… Though you know that yourself."

"She smiles nicely," Billy thought. "And what straight white teeth… Did HK do them for her too?"

The circumstances of their acquaintance seemed extremely… plausible to the Senator. If only they weren't staged.

"Oh, come now," Billy said sheepishly. "I was just passing by. Any decent man would step in to defend a beautiful girl from vile bandits."

"I'll shoot you in the knee," Cad promised. "Found a 'vile' one here."

"Yes… War changes people," the Pantoran darkened. "To think that bandits could attack a Senator on the upper levels, in broad daylight."

"You never found out who it could have been?" Billy asked diplomatically.

"Unfortunately, the Senate investigative commission admitted its helplessness. Whoever the attacker was, he chose practically the only place and time where neither video surveillance nor passersby would notice anything. But everyone is sure of one thing — it was a Duros. Though who and why is unclear."

"Perhaps you should get some security?" Billy suggested.

"The Senate has the Crimson Guard," Riyo reminded him. "They'll protect me from any danger."

"Well, if they attacked in the middle of the day, they might try to do it there too," Billy recalled one of his key phrases prepared for this conversation.

"I don't think so," the girl objected. "The investigators said there's only one bandit in the entire galaxy who could pull something like that. Cad Bane…"

"Fame precedes me," a note of pride appeared in the Duros's voice.

"… but they say he's disappeared, and no one's seen him anywhere on Coruscant."

"Well, you just got spooked," the Duros snorted. A heavy sigh sounded in the earpiece. "Kid, you sure this babe is the one you need? She's dumb as a post. Can't figure out that I could be the very Duros who attacked her…"

"Sardonic observation. This meatbag's intelligence is even lower than Kidd's. Forecast. If they ever produce smaller meatbags, they'll be the stupidest beings in the galaxy. May the master forgive me for using the word 'beings.'"

"Hey," Billy objected. "Actually…"

"What, I'm sorry?" the girl looked curiously at the man sitting across from her, who had nearly jumped up from the table again.

"Oh… I…" Kidd felt a trickle of sweat run down his back. He'd almost started talking to his mentor. In front of the guest. That would've been a trick. "But don't you spend the whole day in the Senate? You need protection outside of it too…"

"Well, look at that," Bane whistled. "He's not hopeless…"

"Yes, I've thought about that," the Pantoran said with a sad smile. "However, my planet isn't rich enough to afford such a luxury as round-the-clock security for its Senator…"

"Kid, don't crap the bed…"

"Riyo," the girl smiled dazzlingly, propping her head up with her hands and opening up a wonderful view for the young mercenary. Billy suppressed the predatory urge to lock his gaze onto a certain part of her body through sheer force of will. "I don't think I can allow a lonely and immensely beautiful girl to wander around alone. Especially after she's been attacked… Just for a moment, imagine that some dirty, vile bandits reach out for you again, tarnishing your unfading beauty…"

"Kid, are you drooling?" Bane asked skeptically. "Stick to the script!"

"You're a master of compliments, Mr. Kidd," Riyo smiled. "You know, it's been a while since anyone said such wonderful words to me…"

"Don't get your hopes up, boy!" the Duros growled at the blushing Billy. "Just because she's soaking up your compliments doesn't mean she's going to spread her legs for you at the first whistle!"

"I don't care," the young hunter smiled back. The girl's smile made his heart beat faster, his blood race. Could such a beautiful creature be one of those implementing Republic policy? No, of course not. She has nothing to do with it. She's for justice and harmony. For there to be no more war…

"Billy?" He shook off the delusion, starting. "Were you thinking about something?"

"Yes," the guy confessed, embarrassed but frank. "It's just that when I look at you, I don't want to think about anything else at all, and…"

"I'll pull every DNA strand out of you, you twerp!" Bane snarled. "Do you even have balls? Pull yourself together, you wimp!"

"That's so sweet," the girl said, beaming a smile and fluttering her eyes. "Truly, I've never met such a gallant and frank man as you, Billy. It seems fate itself has brought us together…"

"Bane, looks like this couple has found each other," Kenny commented. "Dumb and Dumber…"

"Shut up, tin can," the Duros growled. "HK, if they keep slobbering over each other with verbal diarrhea, shoot this idiot in the head!"

"Poorly concealed joy. The anticipation of Billy-the-idiot's brains splattering all over is making my processor heat up!" HK cooed.

The young hunter had no doubt that the homicidal droid was currently aiming his favorite sniper rifle at him. Oh, what heartless beings! Couldn't they see that he and Riyo had fallen in love at first sight?!

"You know," throwing all conventions to the wind in a rush of tenderness, the young man took the girl's hand in his, "I feel like I've been looking for you my whole life…"

"I don't know why," the Pantoran blushed, "but I feel the same…"

"For the love of…!" the Duros roared in his ear. "Since when does this crap work? Does she only have two brain cells to rub together?"

"… therefore I simply cannot allow you to remain without protection while I'm not around," swallowing the lump that had risen to his throat, Kidd painstakingly recalled the main points he was supposed to convey to the girl at today's meeting. "I may not be the richest man on Coruscant, but let me provide you with security. Such senato… girls like you simply cannot be left unprotected. After all, you mean so much to us… to me," he corrected himself hastily, feverishly wondering if the girl had noticed his slip. But judging by her sweet smile — no. All the better. "Unfortunately, business requires me to spend a lot of time in the Outer Rim. But I'll be calmer knowing my people are guarding you.""

The moment he said it, the laser sight point on the girl's temple vanished.

Hutt Space.

"Oh, Billy," a look of delighted surprise appeared on the senator's face. "You're so gallant… We've only met twice, and you're already so kind to me… Forgive my curiosity, but what do you do that keeps you out there during the war?"

"Kill people," Kidd nearly blurted out, but bit his tongue in time. He couldn't break character. Though deceiving a girl, especially this one, went beyond his own code of honor. However… the job demanded exactly that of him. And he had to stifle his conscience. The only consolation was that he was doing it for a good cause. For the common good. And primarily, for her.

"I have a small but profitable transport company," this wasn't a lie. The company did exist. And it did bring in good money. But until recently, it had belonged to a completely different person. Most of its fleet had been taken by pirates operating in the Outer Rim. The girl obviously didn't need to know that. "I handle cargo shipping."

"That sounds… nice," a cautious smile appeared on the girl's face. "But isn't it dangerous?"

"It is," he tried his best to put on a sorrowful expression for the girl. "Not long ago, we lost over ten of our ships with all crew and passengers."

"Passengers?" she asked in surprise. "I thought your people transported cargo…"

"Until recently, yes," how ashamed he was for lying so brazenly to the girl. "But when all those riots started on Coruscant and in other Core Worlds… well, I couldn't stay on the sidelines."

"You mean the persecution of non-humans," the girl's face darkened as she carefully withdrew her hand from his gentle grip. "Dark days have come to the Republic. COMPNOR and its younger version — the Young Group — though they claim to act for the good of the entire population, in reality… they're just turning the human population against other species. Thousands of loyal Republic citizens are essentially forced to abandon their homes, jobs, and flee the Core Worlds to wherever their eyes lead them."

"Yes, I've noticed that too…" Kidd swallowed the lump rising in his throat once more. "In a way, I'm trying to help those I can…"

"How?" a look of bewilderment appeared on the Pantoran's face.

"Kid… I swear, don't screw this up…"

"Can I trust you, Rayo?" he asked with the utmost seriousness possible.

"Yes, of course…"

"Please, don't tell anyone about this, but…" He tried his best to feign internal struggle. "Well, there is a small but prosperous state in the Unknown Regions. There's no xenophobia there; their laws are strict but fair. I can't say it's paradise — the state is young. Founded by a person who simply cannot watch what's happening in the galaxy indifferently. So he organized a new state. He has great resources and enough strength to protect his people from any threats."

"You're describing almost an ideal ruler," Rayo added with a smile.

"Maybe so," Billy shook his head. "But can you criticize someone who offers any unjustly oppressed person the chance to start a new life where no war will touch them?"

"So that's what you do," the girl smiled. "You transport those who lost their homes here, in the Core Worlds, to where it's safe?"

"To where they're welcome, and where there's no lawlessness," the young hunter recalled his cheat sheet.

"That's… amazing," the girl beamed. "I didn't expect there were still people in the galaxy capable of selfless acts…"

"Kid, this is the turning point," Bane said quietly. "Pull this off, and the employer will shower you with credits…"

"That's right," Billy agreed. "But, as I said, we have some problems. Pirates keep attacking my transport ships…"

"Yes, there are still things like that in the galaxy. Sad, of course," the girl frowned. "Why don't you approach the military? They could provide your ships with protection to their destination…"

"That's exactly what we can't do," Billy said hotly. "Imagine what would happen if the Senate found out that somewhere out there, where they haven't paid attention for millennia, a whole developed civilization exists, with resource reserves so vast they could last thousands of generations?"

"I think the Republic would send diplomats to them…"

"The ruler doesn't think so. He's observed what's happening in the galaxy long enough and is certain that his state would be dragged into a war as soon as the CIS or corrupt Republic senators learn about the wealth of these worlds. So he calls only those who are ready to fully join his state. Accept a single citizenship, and if necessary — defend their new homeland with weapons in hand. Of course, that's the job of the army and fleet, and he has them. But you understand that starships don't shoot themselves…"

"So you think the Republic might attack this state to seize its resources?"

"I'm sure of it," Billy nodded. "Wasn't that the case on Jabiim? Wasn't the blockade of Naboo by the Trade Federation organized because of injustice? Can any sane person allow a private corporation to own a huge fleet of warships? And all the credits of the Galactic Republic were stored and held by the InterGalactic Banking Clan? It seems to me that even though such traditions have been established for years before us, they aren't the most correct. Just think — is it easier for the Republic to pay every unemployed person than to take measures to employ them?"

"Well… it's not that simple," the girl said, embarrassed. "On my home planet, for example, there's a huge number of unemployed — because our industry isn't developed."

"And why is it in that state?"

"We don't have a very large budget and…"

"But the budget includes taxes and other revenues from industry! You pay huge taxes to the Republic's treasury, but has it done anything to help you solve the problem of economic collapse?"

"No," the girl said in a choked voice, staring at a fixed point on the table. From her expression, one could guess she had lost interest in both this conversation and her interlocutor.

However, though Billy understood he had gotten carried away, he could no longer leave things as they were. Yes, sometimes he got carried away, and some of his monologues he delivered with great thoughtlessness, not caring that his actions might harm the listener. And it hadn't bothered him much. Until now.

"Rayo… I'm sorry, please," he frantically tried to figure out how to get out of the situation. "Sometimes I get carried away, and I…"

"It's not your fault," she shook her head. "Just your words… I've heard something similar from… an acquaintance of mine. He did a lot for our people to pull us out of the debt pit. But we all understand it's temporary."

"Why is that?"

"He's a military man. A Grand Moff, to be precise. Having learned about my planet's debts to the Trade Federation, he expressed a desire to help us. And many citizens of Pantora responded to his call. But all this work… it's only connected to the military industry. And we can't help but understand that as soon as the war ends, everything will return to normal."

"The Republic will forget about you again," Billy stated. Cad hadn't written this for him. Though the young hunter wasn't the sharpest person in the galaxy, sometimes smart thoughts did catch up to him. And he wasn't always faster than them. "And unemployment again…"

"Exactly," the girl agreed. "I've already negotiated with the Chancellor about aid for Pantora. But he says all budget funds go to the war. When passing the current budget, senators had to significantly cut the social support sector, and that's almost a catastrophe… It seems that after the war ends, Pantora faces bankruptcy and external administration, if…"

"If — what?"

"You said that this state, in the Unknown Regions, takes care of its citizens, right?"

Seeing the spark in the girl's eyes, Billy felt his heart break. He had just tricked the girl of his dreams into making a decision, manipulating her from the very first day they met.

It was vile.

Bane might say it was all for saving lives. But achieving good goals through foul means… It was wrong. And Billy deeply regretted ever getting involved with the Duros and his droid-maniacs on Tatooine.

"Kid, you're practically rich," Cad Bane said. But those words didn't warm his soul. The young hunter would trade all the credits in the galaxy for the chance to be honest with this wonderful Pantoran. But he understood that if he said something wrong, the droid-maniac would blow off both her head and his.

"Yes," he barely suppressed the spasm in his throat that prevented him from speaking. "Work for everyone, quite high salaries… There are definitely no starving or unemployed people there."

"Maybe because the population of this planet isn't very large?"

Billy shook his head negatively.

"It's not a planet, Rayo. It's hundreds of star systems in different parts of the galaxy."

"Such a huge state?" indescribable surprise appeared in the girl's eyes. "And the Republic knows nothing about it?"

"It doesn't," Billy confirmed. "It's… relatively young. And continuously growing."

For a moment, the girl fell silent, her gaze fixed on the salad plate. Though she didn't voice her thoughts, Kidd guessed what she was thinking. He had led her to these thoughts himself. And he simply hated himself for it. But he could do nothing anymore. He just didn't see a way out of the situation where everyone would survive.

"Billy," the girl looked at him seriously. "Tell me, could you talk to the ruler of this state? Is there room in their composition for… another planet… that desperately needs help…"

"Kid, I take back my words," a rumbling laugh from the Duros sounded from the device. "You may be a fool through and through sometimes, but when it comes to deceiving naive little fools — you have no equal."

"I think," Billy reached for the bottle of Corellian whiskey, "that's not as difficult to accomplish as it sounds."

Catching the girl's admiring looks, he downed the barely poured glass in one gulp.

* * *

"Archaeologists?" The young man's voice hadn't yet deepened with age and therefore grated on the ears with shrill notes. Which annoyed even more. More than the blizzard that had kicked up, constantly throwing prickly snowflakes in his face. More than the bitter cold that seeped into his bones.

More than the realization that everything had gone off plan.

The task was simple — fly in, land, retrieve, fly out. Nothing foreshadowed trouble — the Force remained silent, but as soon as their corvette landed and the hatch opened, a teenager literally appeared out of thin air in their path. A Jedi boy, emanating extreme suspicion in all directions, barely concealed with the Force. "An apprentice," Atroxa realized. Doesn't know much. But masking himself in the Force — definitely.

The question was, what did such a gifted young man (by modern Jedi Order standards) need here? In this godforsaken place.

More precisely, it was obvious what he needed. The same thing they did. But what in the name of Hutt was anyone doing here at all?

"Do you have a hearing problem, Padawan?" Kira approached the boy almost nose to nose. The boy recoiled involuntarily. That was understandable — in this mood, it was better not to approach the former Jedi Knight at all. She radiated an aura of displeasure and irritation. Understandable — the girl was dressed lighter than anyone. No one thought they'd have to stand out in the cold this long. By the way, how much time had passed already?

"We've been waiting here for ages," Celeste spoke up. "And what are we waiting for? Until we all freeze to death?"

"Patience," Nadia's voice, muffled in fur clothing, was almost lost in another gust of snow. "I think our young friend was waiting for that Jedi over there…"

Following the direction the Sarkhai was looking, Atroxa saw a tall figure striding with long strides through the half-meter snowdrifts on the building's roof. But unlike the boy, a fully trained Jedi was approaching them now. No, even more — an excellently trained one.

The Force around him seemed unchanged. He skillfully masked his presence with three Force techniques at once. And it was clear he did it effortlessly. No need to sugarcoat it — he wasn't even straining.

"Well, well," Celeste whispered to her. "And you said 'the Jedi have degenerated.' This one is a fine specimen."

"Most likely even a custom order," Atroxa remarked darkly. "I'll give the entire crew of the Liberator if this isn't a Shadow."

"I won't take that bet," Morn shook her head almost imperceptibly. "That's him. Be on your guard."

Meanwhile, the Jedi approached, drawing level with his Padawan. The boy said something quietly to his senior comrade, after which the Shadow gave them a heavy look.

"Archaeologists practicing Force Cloaking?" he snorted. His face was hard to discern through the gusts of wind raising clouds of snow. But the Lethan could swear this Jedi loved his beard very much. Because she rarely saw such well-groomed facial hair on a Jedi. "Either I haven't been to the Temple in a long time, or you're not who you claim to be."

"Maybe we should go into the airlock and talk without the snow?" Kira suggested. "If we freeze to death, the High Council won't be pleased."

"Fine, let's go," the Jedi snorted again, turning his back to them. Exchanging glances with the other Hands, Atroxa just shrugged. Yes, everything wasn't going to plan, but there was no point in shouting that all was lost. Perhaps the Lord simply didn't know that the Telosian Jedi Academy had 'watchmen.'

The Academy on Telos IV had been secretly created by the Order a little over three and a half thousand years ago, after the so-called Jedi Civil War. During it, Revan and his apprentice Malak, former Jedi who had served Emperor Vitiate, rebelled against their 'guild' colleagues. Malak betrayed Revan, and thinking him dead, began rampaging across the galaxy. One of his goals was to destroy the Jedi Enclave on the planet Dantooine. It seemed like an irreparable loss, since at that time the Dantooine Enclave had great influence on the Order itself. However, it turned out the Jedi had, so to speak, prepared for the worst. The memories of the Great Hyperspace War were still fresh, and fearing that one day the Sith would return and start slaughtering Jedi and destroying their legacy, the Order secretly created a hidden academy on the planet Telos IV — the only habitable world in the entire system of the same name. Here, over millennia, the Jedi gathered and stored their secrets, holocrons, and relics. But, following old Jedi tradition, they didn't shy away from preserving Sith heritage either.

After Malak's fall, the galaxy was long torn by various conflicts. The Jedi were almost destroyed, but like any weed, they made themselves known again. And continued to accumulate their knowledge. Some of it they still kept in the Temple on Coruscant — the principle of division wasn't entirely clear. Even the Lord didn't know. But the fact remained.

After the spectacular looting of the Temple by Shea and her Mandalorians, the Jedi had to somehow replenish their lost valuables. They didn't particularly go looking for the looters, so obviously — since someone from the Order was here — they decided to check the old storage depots.

A pity the paths of two groups crossed.

"Leave your clothes here," the tall Jedi said as soon as the entrance gates closed. Without much ceremony, he shed his heavy fur clothing, carelessly hanging it on the nearest corner of the wardrobe. The girls following him, each taking a spot by a chosen locker, began removing their fur coats and cloaks. Atroxa, watching the senior Jedi, mechanically took off her heavy jacket, silently assessing the man standing before her.

She paid no attention to the boy — a scrawny kid who had barely learned to shave. No problem with him if it came down to it.

But the senior Jedi after him — that was another matter. He was tall — over two meters. Athletically built — muscles practically burst from his clothes. He looked about forty, but his gaze held the wisdom of great age. His skull was hairless, but his face bore a wedge-shaped black beard flecked with gray.

At his belt hung two lightsabers. The Lethan, squinting, noticed that the color of the hilts indicated an admixture of cortosis in the metal. The same color was on the heavy armor covering every vulnerable spot in human physiology without exception. This man was definitely a fighter — and judging by the ease of his movements, not an ordinary mid-tier one.

There would definitely be problems with him. Because he stood blocking the only exit from the room, arms crossed, scrutinizing his guests critically. He clearly suspected something — otherwise how to explain that he made his Padawan disappear into the corridor with a nod of his head? The boy, barely out of the room, vanished almost instantly, using Cloaking.

Something was clearly happening here, but… what?!

"Interesting ship you have," the man remarked, hands on his hips.

"We like it ourselves," Celeste said in a neutral tone, removing the heavy boots worn over lightweight shoes.

"Could you tell me where to get one like it?" he said with mockery. Atroxa, glancing at her colleagues, felt the wrongness of the situation. A sense of danger, of death… The Force shone with revelation. "As I recall, there's only one like it — owned by a member of the High Council. What's his name… Master Dougan, correct?"

"Given for exemplary service," Kira squinted, as if casually placing her hand on her own light pike.

"To which master?" the Jedi chuckled, meeting the Lethan's gaze. "Though, don't answer. I can vouch — Dougan is the very Sith Lord the entire Council is looking for. He's risen high. Well, all the more pleasant it will be to kill him."

He was clearly enjoying himself. And apparently, he knew perfectly well who they were. And what's worse — he had extremely dangerous suspicions, the correctness of which he had already convinced himself of.

"We can do this the easy way," Celeste said. "No one wants bloodshed."

"You're wrong," the Jedi said with a smirk, removing his sabers from his belt. "I want it. And none of you are leaving here alive. You," he pointed a finger at Grell, standing behind everyone else. "Especially."

"Personal grudge?" Atroxa asked in surprise, throwing a sideways glance at the Sarkhai. "When did you manage to get on his bad side?"

The girl stood with a furrowed brow.

"The secret Jedi prison," she said quietly. "You were the warden there."

"And you — a Sith lackey — tricked me by taking an important witness," yes, these two clearly shared a history. "I suppose I don't need to ask if he's alive?"

"No need," Nadia said calmly. "You won't be able to reassemble him in hyperspace anyway."

"Bloodthirsty," the man snorted. Immediately after his words, something thundered behind the entrance door. Like a piece of rock collapsing. "Don't mind that. A little precaution to ensure you don't leave our event early."

"You were expecting us?" Atroxa asked in surprise.

"After your underlings looted the Temple?" he clarified. "Naturally. It was clear to everyone that the Sith were looking for ancient knowledge. So the Council… took precautions. To be honest, when Windu told me, 'Master Albert, you have a chance to kill a Sith,' I didn't hesitate for a second. And I'm a thousand times more glad that the Sarkhai didn't come alone. She brought her friends along."

"There's nothing here, is there?" Kira asked, and received an affirmative nod in response.

"Nothing but us," came a voice from behind the giant Jedi. Atroxa, snorting, saw the corridor behind Grell's acquaintance filling with Jedi dropping their Cloaking.

There were about ten of them. All as if chosen — tall, powerfully built, clad in armor with cortosis coating. Their faces, hidden behind the impenetrable masks of Temple Guards, clearly indicated that these were no random people. For once, the Jedi had managed to do something beyond their usual passivity — they had set a trap that had caught almost all the Emperor's Hands. Even Sariss's apprentice had been caught in the ambush. Now she, carefully fueling herself with anger, stood by Morn, clenching her lightsaber impatiently.

"I suggest we don't defile the walls of this ancient enclave," Celeste spoke up. "We are not Sith, and I think we can come to an agreement…"

"No negotiations," Master Albert shook his head negatively. "Only death."

"Mind you," Kira closed her eyes for a moment. When her eyelids opened, the woman's irises blazed with incandescent gold. "We didn't say that."

And before anyone could react, she thrust her hands forward, sending the Jedi flying out of the room with a powerful Push, simultaneously knocking over two more with his body.

"No mercy!" she roared, flying out the door first.

"How wrong this all is," Celeste sighed, activating her own lightsaber. The other Hands, igniting their weapons, rushed after Carsen.

"May the Force be with you all," one of the guards shouted to his comrades, and activated his lightsaber. Moments later, the rest ignited their two-handed light pikes.

"Stay close to me," Celeste said over her shoulder to Sariss. "Watch my back, and don't rush into danger."

"Okay," she said, licking her dry lips.

Both sides clashed. The Force roared like a spectator at a bloody slaughter demanding more blood.

The yellow lines of Jedi blades flashed through the air. They clashed with the motley color range of the Hands' swords, striking sparks and filling the room with the roar of battle.

Atroxa opened herself to the all-consuming rage boiling within her and charged forward. Emotions fueled her power, and she felt the might of the dark side envelop her body and grow within her.

Carsen blazed with white-hot fury, unleashing a barrage of strikes on the pair of Jedi nearest her. And in the blink of an eye, one of them fell dead with a smoking line of severed metal across his face.

Nadia appeared beside her. Outwardly calm, she moved smoothly through the battle without exaggeration, as if dancing, blocking the thrusts of her pressing enemies again and again, not allowing herself to be separated from the group of comrades. A very sound decision. While the girls were outnumbered — if any of them found themselves alone, the Jedi would easily kill her, overwhelming her with numbers.

Celeste, like an unshakable statue, casually, almost lazily, parried attacks without attempting any counterstrikes. The same could not be said for Sariss, who, like a nimble womp gerbil, spun in the vortex of her blue blade, smashing and cutting everything and everyone with it.

Here, inside a temple long forgotten by the galaxy, irreconcilable enemies met: proponents of the Unified Force, easily shifting from one side to the other, against outwardly calm Jedi whose Light was so bright it seemed it could blind. Here, an age-old dispute was to be settled: the one who understood the Force better would survive, and his opponent must die.

For the first time in millennia, a theoretical dispute had turned practical.

Atroxa wanted to fight Master Albert, but in the chaos she couldn't spot him among the crowd of flickering faces, dust, and flashing blades. So she chose an opponent at random. The Jedi was a human — a man — with a young, emotionless face, who had given himself entirely to the fight, personally turning himself into a biological combat droid. One that would never stop if his opponent survived.

Unfortunately for Atroxa, as for any other Hand, losing here meant the collapse of everything. First and foremost — if they died, they would fail the Emperor, who might perish without ever learning he'd been discovered. And, unfortunately, the Lethan had no time to send him a mental message.

The air filled with intertwining energy waves of the Force emanating from the Jedi and Hands locked in combat. Everything around mixed into a chaotic, roaring tangle of bodies, lightsabers, and furious cries.

This chaos was disrupted when the quiet Grell, catching one of her opponents off guard, severed both his hands, then in a fraction of a second ended his suffering with a Force Lightning, turning her enemy into a charred stump. Then, as if nothing had happened, she stepped over his body and continued fighting.

Atroxa let one of the enemy's blades pass over her, gripped the hilt with both hands, and jabbed the tip into his armpit — but all she achieved was her weapon flickering and deactivating. Damn bastards! Did they eat that Cortosis for breakfast or something?

Seeing the satisfied expression on the enemy's face, she answered with a smirk and slammed a Force Push into him. He surrounded himself with a Barrier, absorbing the Force of her attack, then dropped the protection and continued his advance. The Lethan pressed the activation button continuously, but the weapon stubbornly stayed silent. She had to improvise. Gripping the sword hilt with both hands and winding up, the Jedi struck from above to cleave his opponent in half. Atroxa dodged and drove her boot into the Jedi's head, sending him into a deep sleep from which he was unlikely to wake — a shattered temple would certainly see to that.

Kira, whom three Jedi had inexplicably dogpiled, parried a threat from behind at the last moment and immediately snapped a kick into the treacherous Jedi's stomach. The blow folded him in half, and he staggered back about five paces. Executing a backflip, Carsen somersaulted through the air, landed behind him, aimed her blade at the unprotected space of his exposed lower back, and inserted one of her swords at an angle almost lovingly, piercing most of the Jedi's internal organs. With a howl of pain, he crashed face-first to the floor. Kira twirled her blade victoriously in front of her and beckoned the pair of stunned opponents with her free hand.

Meanwhile, a pair of blue blades flared back to life. Atroxa, having finally ignited her own sword, carelessly parried a lunge from some Guardian. He awkwardly held his blade with both hands and raised it above his head. Weary, the Lethan sighed and delivered a telekinetic blow to the fool; he flew sideways, slamming with terrible force into one of the tall stone walls, where he lay motionless, blood streaming from his face mask.

The fight seemed to be growing even more chaotic. Jedi and Hands ran, jumped, rolled, and everywhere the hissing hum of clashing blades — red, blue, and yellow — filled the air. Telekinetic strikes hurled bodies into the air, smashed them against walls, and scattered stone debris across the floor, which embedded itself in the fighters. The corridor was a cacophony of sounds: the roar of victors, the groans of the defeated, the hum of lightsabers. Lady Atroxa stood in the thick of battle and reveled in it.

She paid no mind to the Jedi and padawans who began emerging from the inner chambers of the temple and joining the fight. They didn't even come close to matching the strike force that had met them. So... not everything was as absolute as Master Albert had said. It seemed the Hands had arrived just in time.

He saw Nadia leap high, dodging the blades of a bald bearded man, vaulting over him in a high arc and landing behind a group of young Jedi in traditional tunics and cloaks who had just run into the battle. The moment her feet touched the floor, the girl released a powerful Force burst whose energy scattered the brats away like dry leaves, smearing them against the walls like paste.

"I'll kill you!" the bearded man roared, charging at the girl. She hit him with a Lightning strike while simultaneously crouching and flipping a scrawny padawan who'd appeared from nowhere and who had met them earlier over her head. The kid, it seemed, had intended to take down a hardened Force-user, but he'd miscalculated. Sarkhai, ignoring his pleading shrieks, drove one of her staff blades into his eye, pinning the boy to the floor. And all the while, she kept sending forked, crackling streams of energy into the persistent Jedi.

He blocked them easily with his blades, steadily approaching the girl, his face twisted with rage.

Atroxa, not to be outdone, singled out a female Jedi from the general chaos. Pretty in appearance, and under other circumstances... But locking eyes with her, the Lethan smirked, thrust her left hand forward, and blue-violet lightning erupted from her fingertips. The energy lines writhed and flew forward, shoving aside two idiot padawans who'd appeared from nowhere and slamming into the Jedi Knight, knocking her off her feet.

She screamed in pain as the lightning tore through her body, which had turned momentarily translucent from the dark power passing through her. Atroxa savored her agony until she died, along with the padawans caught in the blast.

She caught Celeste's wary, concerned gaze and saluted her with a smirk, raising her lightsaber. Sariss at that moment sidestepped out of the attack path of her young opponent — another padawan — while simultaneously tripping him. Then, amplifying her momentum with the Force, she kicked him square in the torso, making him shriek wildly. Through the Force, Atroxa felt his ribs shatter into dozens of fragments that pierced his internal organs, causing massive internal bleeding.

With a feint, she forced her new opponent — a typical, unremarkable Jedi — to miscalculate, and the Twi'lek severed his right hand at the elbow, the one gripping his lightsaber hilt. Then, stepping behind him, she switched to a reverse grip and ran him through.

Nearby, a Zabrak Jedi collapsed, half his skull sheared off from the impact with the floor. Kira calmly stepped onto the severed head; it crunched under her weight before she clashed with one of the Guardians, who had somehow survived.

There was no point even looking back to assess the situation. Atroxa knew they were winning the fight, and that it would be over soon. The corridor was carpeted with the bodies of Jedi — padawans, knights, guardians, men, women, and very young children... A picture of bloody carnage that four young women and one white-haired little brat had inflicted on over three dozen Jedi, it was nauseating. But in her long life, the Lethan had taken part in such scenes too often to allow herself an emotional reaction.

She looked around, searching for the last member of the Jedi strike group. Albert, like an untiring robot, struck with both blades, forcing Nadia to retreat into a purely defensive stance. Sarkhai, showing absolutely no emotion, didn't even try to display any interest in what was happening. She habitually redirected the Jedi's monstrously powerful strikes into smooth, sliding movements, avoiding the hard blocks that would inevitably shatter her defensive style. Despite the absurdity of the situation, the Sarkhai showed no panic or sense of danger in the Force regarding the development of the conflict.

That part was clear.

A massive projectile flashed before her eyes, racing at dizzying speed to the far end of the corridor, knocking a pair of Jedi off their feet who had appeared around the corner seconds earlier.

"Bullseye," Sariss commented with a laugh. Celeste, standing nearby, shook her head disapprovingly. Kira rewarded the young beast with an approving smile.

"Looks like this area's handled," Atroxa smirked.

"And Nadia?" Morne asked in surprise, nodding toward the fighters.

"She's got it handled," the Lethan sighed. "She's wearing the fool down, and then..."

Suddenly, the corridor filled with a woman's scream of pain. The female death squad instantly turned to see Sarkhai, having lost her blade cut in half, kneeling on the floor, surrounded by a Protective Bubble, against which the giant, with mad, triumphant laughter, was hammering with his blades. Atroxa didn't miss that Nadia was clutching her stomach with her right hand, where the edges of a diagonal cut were visible in her armored breastplate.

"Bitch," Kira cursed. "He got her after all! Don't interfere, I'll be quick!"

And before anyone could object, the girl launched from her spot, releasing a Lightning bolt at her opponent mid-stride.

He was forced, willy-nilly, to stop harassing the exhausted Sarkhai and switch his focus to the former Jedi, who had transformed in an instant from a calm beauty into a raging fury.

Pummeling him with a furious barrage of strikes — seemingly impossible from a logical standpoint — Carsen forced the giant onto the defensive, slowly but surely pushing him away from her wounded friend. She alternated fencing combinations with Force techniques, constantly throwing the enemy off his rhythm and combat concentration.

Atroxa and Celeste, now beside Sarkhai, carefully took her by the arms and slowly dragged her away from the raging battle.

"Lady Grell, are you all right?" Sariss inquired anxiously, hovering in front of her face.

"I won't die today," she said, grimacing in pain. "But wearing a bikini is going to be embarrassing now..."

Hearing a chuckle from Celeste, Atroxa helped seat the wounded girl near a doorway leading to the changing rooms. The former Jedi Shadow, without any ceremony, got rid of Sarkhai's now-useless breastplate, unceremoniously tore the fabric of her blouse, exposing her snow-white flat stomach, which was crossed by an ugly diagonal scar — the mark of a lightsaber tip.

"A couple of centimeters deeper, and the Emperor would never be squeezing your buns again," the Lethan attempted to joke. Receiving a disapproving look from Morne, accompanied by Grell's continuing hisses and quiet curses in Huttese, the Lethan chose to silently watch the duel between the two Jedi.

She didn't even consider joining the fight. Not only because Kira hadn't asked, but mainly because in all these millennia, Atroxa had never fought side by side with her. Battle compatibility — the ability to sense a colleague's strengths and weaknesses and use them to advantage in combat — was a science that needed to be learned. The Force wasn't much help there, except maybe Battle Meditation could smooth over the flaws.

But none of the ladies present possessed that skill. So sticking her nose into Carsen's fight would mean forcing her to split her attention between fighting the Jedi and not killing her ally. No way — let her fight alone, since she wanted to so badly. Besides, if the big guy finished her off, the Lethan certainly wouldn't cry.

Just then, Kira leaped high, dodging the man's cross strike, landed behind him, and delivered a sliding upward blow that the Jedi parried with one of his lightsabers. The girl gracefully broke the distance, simultaneously blasting the Jedi with a short Lightning discharge, forcing him to defend instead of pursuing.

However, the moment he laid eyes on his opponent again, he roared like a wild beast. He was filled with battle lust. A drive to take another's life. It was so strong that he was ready to kill everyone indiscriminately, including his own warriors, if any of them got in his way. He wanted to kill, he needed to kill, to do it with his own hands. It didn't matter who.

For the Jedi's own good, they had run out just before their rapidly dark-side-falling colleague got a chance to drink Jedi blood.

Kira ducked under the sword of the male Jedi making a swift thrust, lunged forward, and, diving under his slashing attack with his second blade, deflected the blue blade with one of her own. She straightened to her full height, jumped, and headbutted the man in the face. The momentarily stunned Jedi howled and stumbled back, wiping the rapidly flowing blood from his eyes with his hand. He didn't forget about Carsen, awkwardly but effectively blocking her thrust.

The girl crouched, deactivated one of her blades, and with the remaining one, slashed at Albert's knees. But he managed to jump and answered with an energy blast that sent the girl skidding on her back across the entire hall.

"I'll gut you like a bantha!" he shouted, approaching the girl in swift bounds. He swung his arm to the side, and his second blade appeared in it, which he drove into Kira like two spears at the end of his leaps.

But instead, he pierced the floor covering with such force that the blue blades sank into the permacrete up to the hilts. The man roared, deactivating his weapons — a much simpler method than pulling them out of the rapidly destabilizing building material.

And at that same second, he got a knee in the face from Kira, who was right nearby. The armored elements of her suit crunched juicily as they shattered the Jedi's lower jaw. The force of the blow was such that he was literally lifted and flipped in the air.

"Awesome," Sariss gasped in admiration. "Mentor Morne, will you teach me to do that?"

"I'll teach you to kill without a show," Celeste promised grimly. "Just be quiet — I need to patch Nadia up a bit..."

Out of the corner of her eye, the Lethan saw the ancient Jedi placing her palms on the wound, earnestly calling on the Light Side, making her hands glow with a soft yellow healing light. Understandable — you don't walk far with cut abdominal muscles.

Meanwhile, Kira, without much ceremony, drove her blade into the chest of the Jedi lying on the floor. It took her a second to realize why, instead of a gaping wound in the Jedi's torso, her sword simply deactivated. That was enough time for Albert to land a monstrous blow with his fist to the girl's face.

Kira flew sideways. Staggering and rubbing the bruised spot, the girl spat several teeth onto the floor and sent the man, who had barely gotten to his feet, flying with a powerful shove, slamming him into the opposite wall.

The girl took a few steps toward the battered Jedi and stopped halfway. His rage had temporarily subsided. She met eyes with Albert, who, coughing hoarsely, wearily assumed a combat stance.

"You're dead," the girl promised, reigniting the deactivated blade.

"Come and get it, Sith whore," the Jedi spat blood onto the floor, twirling his swords with his wrists.

Rage filled the girl again, increasing her power in the Force. A cry of spite and hatred tore from her throat. Mighty energy of the Dark Side burst forth, scattering pieces of Jedi bodies and gear in all directions.

She lunged at the man again. Her fury and power rushed before her like a tangible wave. Albert charged toward her in turn. They closed in. For a moment, the opponents stood a meter apart, studying each other.

For them, no one else existed — only the two of them — Carsen with her malice and rage, and Albert with his calm and composure. His own anger had evaporated, and now the Shadow blazed in the Force with the purest Light Side.

Their blades met with a hiss. Each of them added the Force to the tension of their muscles, but neither had an obvious advantage. Kira snarled furiously in the man's face. Only his furrowed brow and firmly pressed lips betrayed the strain the outwardly completely calm Jedi was enduring.

He suddenly sidestepped, bringing his blades down on the girl's side, forcing her to retreat and break the distance. She answered, delivering several powerful sword strikes from different angles. Albert fell back, defending himself, unable to counter with his own blows. It was as if, with the abandonment of his rage, his physical strength was slowly draining away. He was clearly exhausted — it was visible to the naked eye. While Kira, experiencing the same fatigue, channeled the Unified Force through herself, shaking off the weariness while simultaneously fueling herself with rage and adrenaline.

She tried to cut off the Jedi's head, but he managed to block her strikes again and again. And with each time, his movements grew slower...

Kira ducked under his sweeping blue sword strikes and, spinning, kicked her opponent in the chest, amplifying it with the Force. The Jedi was thrown back about five meters. He flipped through the air and landed on his feet, crouching beside the bodies of a couple of padawans.

But before he could grieve at the realization of his colleagues' deaths, Kira was beside him again, lightning-fast, slicing off the upper part of one of his swords — along with a couple of fingers. Albert barely managed to roll aside at the last moment, and then, lunging toward the former Jedi, delivered a series of quick strikes and sharp thrusts with his sword. Carsen parried one blow after another with difficulty but couldn't find a moment to counterattack. The Jedi's exhaustion was palpable in the Force. He was gathering his strength with a single thought — to finish off the dangerous opponent. To kill at least one. Consequences no longer interested him.

Closing in almost to point-blank range, Albert slashed crosswise with his sword. Kira managed to parry, and the man simultaneously struck the previously injured part of the girl's face with the hilt of his lightsaber, leaving a long curved wound.

Kira broke the distance again, touching the wound with her fingertips. Seeing blood on her hands, she snorted and spun her weapon again to continue the attack.

Albert, staggering, stepped forward and prepared to slash the girl's throat with a horizontal sword strike.

Unfortunately for him, she clearly saw his every move.

She crouched, blocking one of the enemy's blue blades with one of her own, parried the strike, freed her weapon with a circular motion, severing the enemy's limb in the process, and then, with a sharp motion, cut him in half.

Atroxa rolled her eyes as she saw the tip of a golden blade flash through at waist level. Then the upper half of the man's torso toppled backward, finally symbolizing his death.

"All done?" the Lethan asked impatiently, demonstratively tapping her finger on the chronometer dial. "We do have other business, you know."

Kira shrugged indifferently. With a gesture, she used Telekinesis to rip the man's breastplate off, crushing it into a mangled piece of metal. The girl lowered her weapon, blade down, gripping it by the opposite end where the deadly energy no longer glowed. Without looking at the defeated but still living opponent, who was raving in delirium, she set the blade tip in the middle of his torso and drove it to the hilt into his mangled flesh, then deliberately slowly divided the upper half of his body into two roughly equal halves.

"Now it's done," she assured them in a tone that sent a chill down Atroxa's spine.