The flagship of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul's expeditionary forces — the Harrower II-class Star Destroyer named Chimaera — hung motionless in the endless blackness of space, betraying not the slightest perceptible movement to any hypothetical outside observer. The nozzles of its engines emitted a steady blue-white glow, and the hull and superstructure were dotted with light seeping through the transparisteel of viewports and observation screens. The ship revealed no intention to act in any of its movements — its weapon turrets were frozen in travel position, the missile launch tubes were sealed. The steady flicker of the hangar's atmospheric shields never changed its intensity, directly indicating a lack of activity on the landing decks. No small craft launched from the dreadnought's side, and nothing was attempting to enter its interior.
Yet, despite its external stillness, activity reigned within the destroyer's compartments. Because the starship was actually preparing for battle.
"All systems at combat readiness," the duty officer reported, tearing his gaze away from the control system. "Ready to jump into the system on your first command."
"Sounds promising," responded the blue-skinned humanoid, lounging in a multifunctional chair set on the central platform of the bridge. The presence of such a device in this particular section of the Star Destroyer was not provided for by the design. But that bothered the subordinates little. Nor did the Grand Admiral. "Are the fleet ships in contact?"
"Every single one, sir," the central station confirmed.
"Then..." the Chiss glanced at the onboard chronometer. "We move to phase two. The scouts should be returning any moment now..."
R'Lair, arms folded across his chest, watched the alien's behavior without interruption. And the longer he did, the more he was surprised by his conclusions.
It seemed nothing human was foreign to the Chiss. He could feel emotions, get angry, joke, smile. But he spent most of the day with an inscrutable expression on his face. Like a living statue or a cyborg.
Of all the sentient beings currently on the bridge, he alone showed no emotion. Even though the entire crew — from the hangar deck to the watch officer — was in anticipation of the upcoming bloodshed, the result of subtle strategy and elegant cunning.
And that the highest-ranking alien of the Expansionary Forces turned out to be a remarkably talented strategist. Sophisticated, unceremonious, ruthless... The Twi'lek had become one of the many witnesses to the destruction of the Vagaari race — a swift, bloody, frankly barbaric raid that had concluded not long ago. And one that could rightfully be called the eradication of an entire people. Now, the time allotted to the race with the whistling name "Ssi-ruu" was running out.
Just like last time, the Grand Admiral's brilliant mind had meticulously studied every detail concerning the enemy. Their mindset, the scant but suspiciously detailed information, some art samples carefully preserved in the Grand Admiral's personal vault on Nirauan... All of it had been studied, analyzed, and organized within the Chiss's head. And had found its place in the perfect plan for destroying civilizations that posed a threat to the Eternal Empire.
It had taken Thrawn a week to prepare for the extermination of the Ssi-ruu. Little was known about the lizards, and even flights into their occupied systems in reconnaissance modifications of the Imperial Fleet's primary fighter — the X-wing, modified with enhanced scanning systems — had yielded no particularly valuable information concerning the lizardmen's defenses. Nothing valuable, except for very detailed information about the defense system of the capital planet, which was now blazing in fire beneath the iron foot of the Imperial stormtrooper.
"Something troubling you, R'Lair?" the Grand Admiral inquired quietly.
"Not without reason," acknowledged the commander of the Expansionary Forces' military scouts.
"Let me guess," Thrawn smiled. "You're wondering where your scouts went?"
"Exactly. I thought this area of space was a mystery to us..."
"It remains one," the Chiss agreed. Seeing the Twi'lek's bewilderment, he added with a smile: "For us, of course. But not for the Ssi-ruu."
"I'm not sure I understand," the Twi'lek frowned. What did the Ssi-ruu's knowledge have to do with anything? It still needed to be studied, processed, and systematized. And when would that even happen? General Helnior was taking too long with Lwekk — it wasn't for nothing that Sev'rance Tann had been sent to help him.
"Scouts have made contact," came from the tracking station. "Six responses. Identification confirmed — all ours. Reporting mission failure — the enemy detected them. Very little reconnaissance data — they were forced to engage and withdraw to deliver whatever they could. Requesting permission to transmit data to the flagship."
"Excellent," Thrawn commented. "Authorize their retreat. When they arrive, engage information security systems and notify GEMINI about the receipt of a potentially dangerous data array. Have it ready for any surprises. Ah, yes. And after that, open a communication channel with our scouts."
"It will be done, sir," the clone, with whom the Chiss had been conversing, rushed to execute the order without a moment's hesitation.
"You're not confident in the information our scouts delivered?" R'Lair was taken aback. What a Hutt-spawned alien! Who did he think he was?!
"On the contrary," the Grand Admiral's lips formed a smile. "I am more than confident in it."
"But, I don't understand..."
"Oh, I'll explain," Thrawn smirked. He walked casually to one of the backup consoles, entered his command code, and beckoned the Twi'lek over. "What do you see?"
"Some kind of weird junk," the scout replied, glancing at a small hologram of some object.
"From your perspective — without a doubt," the Chiss agreed. "But for the Ssi-ruu, this is an object of art."
The Twi'lek looked again at the thing, resembling a piece of pipe with slanted lines and an unintelligible pattern, more like the scribbling of a mentally unstable creature. Swift lines intertwining into intricate patterns, tangles, knots... All of it was alien to a sentient's eye. And it caused pain under the skull.
"Some kind of bullcrap," R'Lair said.
"Strangely enough, I completely agree with you," Thrawn remarked unexpectedly. "However, this pattern," he pointed at the intertwining lines, "indicates that the Ssi-ruu pride themselves on their ability to keep their intentions hidden from the enemy until they are certain of victory. See how many thin lines converge into knots, and only one thick one? And only that one emerges. What does that tell you?"
"That these bastards dream of catching us with our pants down and giving it to us good," the Twi'lek snarled. Yes, now he understood the meaning of all those lines. And he didn't like it.
"But to attack, they need to know they are many times stronger than us," Thrawn continued. "To understand that victory won't cost them any serious expenditure, and the benefits gained in the end will exceed all expectations..."
The Twi'lek nodded silently, listening to the Grand Admiral's words. And then... It dawned on him.
"Damn it, Thrawn, you're luring the Ssi-ruu fleet in here?"
"Of course," the Grand Admiral shrugged. "I'm not going to go digging them out of every corner of this part of the galaxy. My time is too valuable to waste hunting down every enemy base. The lizards will do it for me."
"But... how?" the Twi'lek asked, taken aback. "How did you even know that the coordinates you sent the scouts to would lead to something belonging to the Ssi-ruu?"
"Strategy," Thrawn shrugged. "What does a mother country do when it's attacked?"
"It defends itself..."
"And if the enemy is too strong?"
"It calls for help..."
"When we crushed Lwekk's orbital defenses, the Ssi-ruu rulers realized that, despite everything, they couldn't win the fight without outside help. So they sent a distress signal to one of their military bases. We intercepted it. And on Lwekk, no one ever got a response..."
"And you assumed that base had been destroyed," R'Lair said, the realization dawning.
"Precisely. But the Ssi-ruu wouldn't be themselves if they didn't have backup military bases — places where all their military power was stored. For a long time, they purposefully tried to make contact with them... unfortunately, without success."
"And in the meantime, you got the destination coordinates," the scout continued, "sent X-wings there, which 'showed themselves' to the lizards, and even started communicating with us on an open channel?"
"Exactly," Thrawn smiled. "The scouts verified the accuracy of our calculations along the vector of the Ssi-ruu communication systems. Yes, of course, they managed to record something on their equipment before they were forced to retreat. But I'm not sure the Ssi-ruu don't have the ability to interfere with our data. That's why the scouts' files are stored on separate servers. While we wait, our wonderful GEMINI droid will comb through that information, create an abstract, and transmit it to the other ships in the fleet."
"But what if GEMINI can't withstand Ssi-ruu computer viruses — if they have them — and the lizards managed to infect our scouts' data?"
"Then we have a problem," Thrawn shrugged. "We'll have to disconnect GEMINI from the ship's controls and inform our outstanding cyberneticist, Mr. Nikolai Kainsworth, that his updated firewall systems can't withstand the pressure of programs authored by sentient lizards. You see, nothing complicated about it..."
"Sir, the scouts have entered our system," a report came from the central post. "Correction — one more object emerged behind the squadron commander. The scouts will be on board in three minutes. The enemy ship will enter weapons range in four."
"Scan it," Thrawn ordered, returning to his favorite chair.
"It looks like a Ssi-ruu fighter," the operator reported.
"Most likely a reconnaissance model," R'Lair suggested.
"That makes no difference to us," the Chiss smiled. Touching a key on the transmitter, he opened a communications channel. "Main Hangar. In five minutes, launch the alert pair and shoot down the enemy ship. In another ten minutes, launch the entire air wing, except for the shuttles."
"Understood, sir," came the report from the other end.
"I've missed something again," the Twi'lek lamented. "What's going on? Why not just shoot the scout down with the cannons? Or launch the ships right now?"
"What for?" Thrawn looked at him in bewilderment. "To tell the enemy we have more X-wings? To let their command know that the ships that caused a stir at their bases aren't just scouts, but the main unit of our heavy air wing? Or perhaps to sow doubt about our lack of proper discipline for responding promptly to an enemy target's appearance? To show all our cards? No, my dear R'Lair, we won't be doing that."
The Twi'lek, hearing the explanation, was once again amazed at how subtly this alien perceived what was happening. And how perfect his strategy was...
"You want it to scan us," he noted, when the Grand Admiral replied "Don't interfere" to the central post's report about detecting active frequencies on the Chimaera's hull.
"Of course," Thrawn remarked imperturbably. "They need to understand that victory is almost guaranteed for them."
"So that's why all our weapons are powered down," the Twi'lek snorted. The Grand Admiral nodded silently, continuing to stare into the impenetrable blackness of space. Finally, a pair of X-wings flashed past, vaporizing the Ssi-ruu ship in an instant. This still didn't evoke any emotion on the Chiss's face.
For about ten minutes, nothing happened, and then a large starship of a shape extremely unusual for an inhabitant of the explored galaxy appeared on the main screen.
"Watch officer, make a log entry," Thrawn ordered, in a voice any other being would use to ask for a snack. "And... begin the report for the fleet."
"Second target, sir!" the operator reported. "Another... another..."
"Do the vectors for exiting hyperspace match those the X-wings used?" Thrawn inquired lazily.
"Down to the hundredths, sir," came the reply.
"Well, then, I think we should wait for all the 'guests' to arrive," Thrawn concluded. "Watch officer! Begin evasive maneuvers."
The Chimaera's nozzles came to life, leaving ionized particles behind them. The triangular ship with its forked bow slowly but surely began its maneuvers, simultaneously preparing to release swarms of fighters and interceptors from its bowels.
The chase lasted about ten minutes. The Ssi-ruu ships tried to catch the lone vessel, rapidly pouring fire from all their cannons, but they didn't have enough speed compared to the destroyer to catch it and get a turbolaser burst on target, let alone damage any significant systems.
"Grand Admiral," a clone watch officer appeared next to Thrawn's chair. "No enemy ships have emerged from hyperspace in over three minutes. What are your orders?"
"Get me the fleet," the Chiss ordered.
"Aye, sir."
A moment later, the Chiss was looking at holographic figures, one-quarter life-size, standing in a semicircle over the plate of the transmitter built into his chair's armrest.
"Gentlemen, we are beginning the operation. Did everyone receive the encrypted data from the scouts?" Uniform confirmations. "Countdown on your chronometers. Squads, jump to the designated coordinates."
Seeing the identical clones respectfully bow to their commander and vanish from the holocommunicator panel, R'Lair just smiled.
"You are biased towards clones," the Grand Admiral noted.
"They're just test-tube people," the Twi'lek snorted. "How can you treat them with respect or anything else?"
"When Corps Commanders Taka and Alex were nearby, you didn't risk making such speeches," the Chiss noted coldly. Turning in his chair towards his interlocutor, he fixed his gaze with his crimson eyes.
"They know how I feel about them anyway."
"Yes, I see that," Thrawn raised an eyebrow. "But please remember this. If you can't, write it down. There is no difference between those who left a natural womb and a cloning cylinder."
R'Lair tried to object, but meeting the Chiss's cold stare, he swallowed his counterarguments.
Meanwhile, the Ssi-ruu air wing had already caught up with the Chimaera, fleeing at top speed. With machine-like indifference, the nimble alien fighters met the resistance of Imperial interceptors, suddenly finding in them worthy and deadly dangerous competitors. The number of small red dots on the tactical hologram began to dwindle...
"Reports from the Belligerent, the Restless, the Arbiter, the Dogma, the Nemesis, and the Stormhawk," the watch officer reported, approaching the Grand Admiral and handing him a datapad with an encoded message.
Thrawn decrypted it with his code and immersed himself in reading. It didn't take long.
"Everything is just wonderful," a smile appeared on the Chiss's face. "The enemy has thrown all their forces at us, leaving their own planetary bases exposed. Clear as day..."
The Twi'lek didn't bother to ask about the content of the dispatches.
He knew without asking that each of the aforementioned destroyers was the flagship of a task group that included five heavy cruisers of the Dreadnaught class. And, apparently, Thrawn's plan was exactly this — to locate the Ssi-ruu bases, lure out their main forces... only... why? Now, the crews of the enemy ships would receive information about the attack on their bases, turn around and strike at...
"The Precursor, the Death's Head, the Imperious, the Relentless have arrived in the system," the watch officer reported in the same even voice. "The Terminus-class battlecruiser Inflexible has emerged from hyperspace and is requesting a target."
"The time has come," Thrawn rose from his chair and walked right up to the view panels. "Relay to the ships — proceed to phase three."
The flagship banked and took its place at the center of its sister ships' formation. The weapon operators were already aiming their cannons at the enemy starships, firing the first ranging salvos.
And yet, it seemed the Grand Admiral was not particularly concerned with this right now.
His gaze was fixed on a single Terminus-class vessel in the entire fleet under the Chiss's command — the Inflexible, which was positioned above the flagship. This ship — the first of its line — had not previously taken part in battles. So today was its debut.
R'Lair sighed discreetly. So much work would follow the defeat of this people.
No sooner had the battles in Vagaari territory died down than his subordinates had to master the operation of gas filters. Millions of slaves, whom those aliens used as labor and living shields, were now in filtration camps on one of the bases near Nirauan, where appropriate work was being conducted with them. No one wanted to allow individuals onto Imperial territory who could potentially serve other states or cause some other harm.
The Ssi-ruu possessing slaves was also beyond doubt — such practices were widespread in this part of the galaxy. And who, if not the Twi'leks, who had until recently been Hutt 'indentured workers,' could separate infiltrators from genuine victims of circumstance. Compared to the Vagaari, however, the Ssi-ruu didn't keep live slaves for long, converting them into fuel for their machinery.
"Inflexible," Thrawn opened a comm channel. "Target the nearest enemy line ship. Fire when ready."
Several tense minutes passed. The Terminus-class vessel, whose lights dimmed for an instant, seemed to shudder. A brief flash of flame glinted near the bow of the cruiser — a monstrously sized slug headed toward the enemy.
The result of the cruiser's main caliber shot was not long in coming. Both flotillas had closed to medium range, where the distance to the adversaries was so small that the enemy ships were being engaged by all Imperial vessels without exception.
The projectile, made of refractory material, easily pierced the deflector shields of the lizard ship, which were structurally incapable of reflecting a physical attack. Had a turbolaser bolt been in the slug's place, it would inevitably have splattered across the deflectors without causing any damage to the Ssi-ruu starship's hull or skin.
The actual result exceeded all expectations. The cylindrical munition sliced through the hull of the bow section like a hot knife, tearing it apart. The rounded hull swelled from within, opening up like a bizarre flower, beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Tongues of flame, piles of debris of all kinds. Streams of air rushing into the vacuum, bulkheads deformed by kinetic force, twisted metal sheets... it seemed nothing could stop, or even slow, the projectile. But closer to the central part of the vessel, the hull stopped breaking apart. Quantity turned into quality. Multiple internal explosions finished what was started, completely destroying the Ssi-ruu starship, which in an instant turned into a supernova flash.
"Impressive," Thrawn stated in a level tone.
The scout, staring in shock at the debris field that, a minute ago, had been a massive starship, by the most conservative estimates twice the size of a Harrower, felt the tips of his lekku begin to tremble.
"Impressive"? That's all? One shot destroyed an enemy ship in a couple of minutes. And how many fighters had died during the detonation of the reactor and ammunition? This 'battlecruiser' was true doom for enemy starships! And if the Chiss had more than one of these at his disposal, the outcome of the battle could have been decided in just five minutes!
"No," the Grand Admiral replied, as if reading his thoughts. "We don't need any more for now."
"But we could request more Terminus-class ships!" R'Lair said hotly. "With these vessels..."
"Everything in its time," Thrawn cut him off. Now in the minority, the Ssi-ruu starships seemed to panic for a moment. They ceased fire, visibly altering their formation. A clear intention to break the distance and flee was demonstrated by their nozzles, turning away from the Imperial ships.
However, the five Harrowers had a decidedly different opinion on the matter.
Half an hour later, the Ssi-ruu fleet had ceased to exist, and the nimble interceptors from the Imperial dreadnoughts were busy searching for and destroying survivors. The sun was never destined to rise over the Ssi-ruu Empire again.
* * *
"Enemy boarding parties on decks three, seven, ten, and seventeen," one of the operators said, a note of alarm in his voice. "The space marines are putting up a fight on all fronts, but... there are too many droids. We've lost the docking port..."
"Not the best news, sir," Declann said, approaching me with a grim expression. "We're immobilized, surrounded by enemy ships, and the number of boarders is increasing..."
"We have to fight!" the Naboo Senator next to us declared hotly. "There are enough clones on board..."
"Senator, please be quiet," I asked, looking at the holographic schematic of the cruiser, its blue color rapidly being painted over with red. The droids, no matter where on the ship they'd landed — whether through the airlock or via boarding pods — were steadily advancing towards the superstructure. To the place where the most important beings on board had gathered.
."..we can't wait this long," Padmé continued meanwhile, as if she hadn't heard my request. "There are escape pods on board, we need to use them..."
"Will you just shut up?!" I snapped, looking with a face contorted in rage at the girl, who cowered instantly. "You have no authority here, woman!"
"If I may note..." the Zeltron standing nearby began.
"You play furniture too," I growled. "If I need someone to pass the time with, I'll get back to one of you. Until then — both of you go huddle in a corner and quietly suck on a piston from an old ZiS."
"Suck on what?" Eilin didn't understand.
"He's telling us to shut up," Amidala said grimly, carefully taking the red-skinned female from the planet Zeltros by the elbow and leading her aside.
"Really? I thought the key word in his whole tirade was 'suck'..."
As soon as both thorns in my side were out of sight, my thoughts returned to the situation at hand.
Shit situation.
Outright shit.
And the result of my miscalculation.
Yes, I had suspected Hypori was a trap. But intelligence, in the person of the Department of Special Operations — whose representative, in the form of the excellent 'Gray Paladin' Larant Tarak, a green-skinned Twi'lek woman currently trying very hard to avoid my gaze — assured me that there were simply no enemy forces in the nearby space capable of kicking my ass.
"Sir, the information was provided to us by the Bureau of Special Operations..." Larant said. "We didn't know..."
"You can make your excuses later," I said coldly. I had to admit, the girl had 'balls'. She commanded the ships that brought the reinforcements — the second wave of the assault. Several corps and my, as yet militarily untouched, Padawan Pack. Nothing out of the ordinary for taking Hypori.
And woefully inadequate to face Grievous's armada. Which, according to the same intelligence reports, was supposed to be making life difficult for a neighboring system army. The result — the 'Blade' fleet essentially needs to be rebuilt from scratch. Yes, and to avoid a total rout, I had to pull Kreeves's fleet, which was preparing to break the blockade of the planet Enakr, from Ryloth — that is, to strike at Rindellia, to clear a path to Gallia and its Seventh System army. A failure, more like a rockslide, when one tiny pebble falls off a mountain and drags dozens of others with it. And in the end, it all turns into a stone avalanche that crashes down on the heads of the traditionally unsuspecting civilian population. "If we survive..."
But the rage didn't go away. Even though the girl had personally broken through all that mess of starships in orbit around Hypori to get to the Telos in a lone fighter.
Sidious — I'd stake my life he had a hand in this — just fed my gullible subordinates disinformation. And they swallowed it. And I swallowed it. And now General Grievous is coming for our collective asses.
With great effort, I pushed the anger at myself aside. Kreeves, whose fleet had been reinforced by the Thrantas from Christophsis, was now furiously fighting his way to us. He, like Garen Muln's squadron, which was now mercilessly, along with my two charges, grinding the Confederacy's starships into dust, knowing that the landing on Rindellia of the corps commanded by Aayla Secura, Racha Sitra, B'rink Utrilla, Xiaan Amersu (yes, yes, yes — the wet dream — Twi'leks of all colors and shades, all in one place), was already irreparably compromised. Actually... I was almost glad that Kreeves had brought the Acclamators full of troops along. Because, judging by the completely jammed communication channels, things weren't exactly pleasant on the surface either. It was entirely possible that the droids were already finishing off my clones down there, while I...
My hands clenched into fists involuntarily.
Damn, how beautifully I'd been set up!
And thousands of others were paying for my mistake.
Right now, bloody battles were raging on the decks of the Telos. No longer hiding, Lady Simi, Hexid, Khem, and Ak'ghal were leading the counter-boarding parties, trying to at least slow the enemy's advance toward the superstructure. Saying we could push the droids back on our own was out of the question. All that remained was to hope that Kreeves's reinforcements would break through to us, and that we, in turn, would hold out until then.
"Sir," Boroda appeared in my field of vision. His heavily depleted Torrent Company — practically our only strike force, aside from the bridge crew that was currently on hand. The superstructure had been captured by the enemy. The stern hangar, where the Defender was being readied for launch under the control of the Gella sisters, was packed to the brim with secret documents, files, and numerous wounded who had managed to be brought to the evacuation point. The remaining decks, corridors — one continuous battlefield. My subordinates — both gifted and not — were resisting desperately.
Use the escape pods? Yes, not a bad idea, especially since they were just a stone's throw away in the room next to the bridge. But the Separatists had already proven that small craft meant for preserving the crew's lives were just another excuse for them to practice their shooting.
"What?" I asked quietly.
"A message from Lady Hexid. They had to fall back to the stern hangar — the enemy has taken the superstructure and will be here soon," the clone's expression made it clear he wasn't thrilled to be reporting such news. But it was his men dying below. And it was he, according to the GAR regulations, who had to report the results of his unit's actions to me. A unit that was visibly thinning out. However, I had to admit, Boroda was handling his new position well. Of course, most clones don't complain about their fate or the heavy losses of their comrades... but personally, my heart ached whenever I reached out to the Force and felt this whole bacchanalia of death.
"Hmph..." Mara, standing nearby, drawled. "Quite a situation..."
"If you could just not add to the headache," I asked. "It would be better if you..."
I didn't get to finish. From the direction of the turbolift — the main entrance to the bridge — came a metal screech that set my teeth on edge. It sounded more like someone was ripping chunks out of the massive shaft. Someone very, very strong. And angry.
"To arms!" I ordered, tearing my lightsaber from my belt. Opening myself up to the Force, I felt the emotions on the bridge sharpen. From the clones' indifferent acceptance of what was happening, to the quiet panic that, despite her stony expression, Lady Amidala was internally ready to succumb to. Her 'girlfriend' Zeltron, on the other hand, as if wanting to dispel all myths about the pacifism of her race, had already acquired a military blaster from somewhere. There, there, little warrior.
"Stay behind us," I ordered, watching the sparking blade of a cutter shear through the massive locks of the turbolift shaft doors. "Larant and I will engage first. Don't close in; attack only at range. Boroda — you and your men are responsible for the Senator, the Admiral, and the reporter."
"Sir," the cruiser's commander, Bill Darbin, addressed me with a frown. "My men and I can fight too..."
He nodded towards several dozen crew members — Christophsians, whose faces bore a desire to kill. Not because they intended to restore justice and tear apart the droids that had defiled their beautiful ship.
The reason for their hatred of droids lay, covered by a scrap of tarpaulin once used to cover secondary terminals on the ship while it was in the Republic fleet's layup. The First Officer, El Morgan, had commanded the anti-boarding team — Torrent Company — which had been fighting for the main hangar. A young guy, who hadn't even served a year since graduating from the Academy, desperately defending the cruiser's perimeter. But unfortunately, there was little to be done against a numerically superior enemy. Boroda had left more than half his men in that hangar. El had been killed by the manipulators of a sabotage droid, which had pierced his liver and guts with a vibroblade. The officer — essentially still a boy — had been conscious while they dragged him to the bridge. There he lost consciousness and, despite medical aid, died.
Although most of the crew consisted of clones and citizens of Christophsis, in the short time the guy had commanded them, he had earned their respect. And among the surviving crew members, there wasn't one who didn't dream of avenging his death.
"Don't be a hero, Bill," I advised. "There will be enough droids for everyone."
The cutter's flame had almost reached the top. Casting a quick glance around the bridge, I made sure the soldiers and crew members were securely hidden behind the control consoles. Yes, that was much better than standing in the open.
With a disgusting clang, the turbolift doors slid open.
"Dougan!" General Grievous's raspy voice, familiar from Episode III of the saga, boded no ill. And his stooped durasteel figure, striding forward, was approaching me and Tarak, who stood with her knees bent, clutching a pair of blasters.
"Hello, Rusty," I said with a mock bow. "How's life, how's the family?"
The cyborg was taken aback for a moment. Well, yes, you don't often hear such greetings from Jedi on Republic ships. Especially such a brazen reminder of deceased relatives.
"Jedi scum," Grievous hissed. "Your time is short..."
With these words, he took a step aside, releasing the sabotage droids from behind his back. They immediately opened fire with their blaster carbines on the two Jedi they'd spotted before them.
Parrying several crimson bolts with my blade, I redirected them into the nearest saboteurs. The Twi'lek girl, not lagging behind, unleashed a sniper's hurricane from both blasters at the enemy, moving at dizzying speed across the open space to avoid return fire. Hmm, impressive. I admit, I was skeptical about the rumors of 'Gray Paladins' mastery of blasters, but now... I was genuinely impressed. A valuable acquisition, it turns out.
The droids pressed with numbers. They advanced relentlessly — saboteurs, B-1s, and B-2s, literally filling all available space, pushing us back towards the bridge by sheer mass. Fine, nothing terrible.
Meanwhile, the enemy came under concentrated fire from the clones and the Telos's crew as soon as they left the narrow vestibule separating the bridge from the turbolift. Seeing this, Grievous roared and rushed towards me.
Alright, then...
Feeling the Dark Side flood through me, I thrust out my left hand, free of the weapon, in the cyborg's direction. A stream of crackling, branching lightning shot from my fingertips, instantly shorting out a good dozen Confederacy soldiers, causing the next wave of attackers to simply choke.
Somewhere on the edge of my consciousness, I caught a wave of surprise from Amidala. The Senator was clearly stunned by what she saw. Hmph. Looks like some talkative Jedi told her that Force Lightning was a Dark Side attribute.
Didn't matter. The main thing was to deal with Grievous, who was currently rushing towards me.
A few hours earlier.
"Sir," he began, "there's been a breakthrough in the laboratory. We've found a way to stabilize the connection without the risk of rejection."
I studied the schematic, then looked up at him. "How reliable is it?"
"Ninety-seven percent, according to simulations. We're ready for a live test."
I nodded slowly. "Then get it done. I want a full report by end of day."
"Yes, sir." He turned to leave but paused at the door. "One more thing, sir. Lady Hexid's team on Retribution reports that the Ssi-ruuk have started evacuating their capital. They're running."
"Good," I said, allowing a small smile. "Let them run. It'll make them easier to hunt."
Blue and green blades flashed nearby, descending toward my head in a diagonal slash. Breaking off my rage-fueled assault, I performed a backflip, landing on the deck with a thud. At that same instant, two aimed bursts from blasters pierced the cyborg's frame, severely scorching its hull. But most of the marks were on its faceplate and chest plate — where, beneath a layer of melted durasteel, the last organic parts of this monster lay. Larant, who had shifted onto the line of attack during my jump, caught a kick from the cyborg and went flying a good ten meters to the side. I instinctively reached out to her with the Force. Alive, but unconscious.
"Kha-kha-kha," Grievous burst into a coughing fit. "Nice move, Jedi. But all your little tricks don't scare me. After my adventure on Naboo, I made sure my body was impervious to electricity."
"Oh, you walking piece of —" flashed through my mind with anger.
"Excellent," I shrugged. "I'll do it the old-fashioned way, then. Shall we settle our dispute by ancient naval tradition?"
The cyborg, swinging a pair of lightsabers, let out a mocking laugh.
"And what tradition would that be?"
"Simple," I twirled my blade in front of me and took the classic Juyo stance. "Whoever dies first — loses."
"That works for me," the cyborg growled, lunging forward with lightning speed.
Catching him with the Force at the apex, I gave him considerable acceleration, hurling him back into the turbolift. The general, with his far from light bulk, scattered quite a few droids like bowling pins. His swift flight ended in the shaft. However, the general's grasping claws dug into the edges of the doors, preventing a further fall.
"I haven't had this much fun in a long time, Dougan," the enemy commander rumbled. "Your sword will take its place in my collection."
"Then catch," I estimated the angle and hurled my weapon toward the enemy, guiding it with the Force. The energy blade spun furiously forward, decapitating several B-1s along the way, then embedded itself in the shaft wall half a meter above Grievous's head. He assessed the position of my sword and laughed dismissively.
"You missed, Jedi," he chuckled.
"Did I?" One wave of the Force, and the yellow-gold blade jerked sideways, destroying the turbolift's machinery. The lift cabin dropped with a monstrous howl, grinding and crumpling the droid bodies that were unfortunate enough to be inside at that moment.
Calling my weapon back to my hand, I smirked, on autopilot crushing a B-1 that had emerged from somewhere. Behind me, shots rang out intermittently, mixed with the cries of the wounded. But I had achieved my goal.
The elevator shaft was blocked. The droids would have to work hard to clear that obstacle. Too bad this thought came to me a little late. But what could I do — I'd hoped I wouldn't have to damage the ship.
"You think I can't deal with all of you by myself?" Grievous squinted, spinning the blue and green blades in his hands.
"Time will tell," I answered laconically, reaching for the Force out of habit.
But not just the Dark Side. That was clearly not enough to defeat the cyborg. Yes, Obi-Wan, using only Light Side techniques, had managed to carve the general up. But the circumstances had aligned for him.
I needed something more than luck.
Seething rage stoked the flame inside my body. Every muscle, every cell, every nerve — everything was overflowing with unbearable heat. It felt like if I just let it loose, everything around me would blow to hell. As if I had become a nuclear bomb.
And at that same instant, the Light Side, like a stern master, guided the all-encompassing anger into the right channel with a firm controlling hand — to strengthen my body, sharpen my senses...
The Unifying Force, filling me like a whirlwind of energy, showed its favor by lifting the veil on the enemy's first thrust.
Grievous delivered an overhead strike with his blue sword, which I blocked with my own. And in the same moment, the green blade darted toward my chest from below at a sharp angle. I could literally feel the triumphant rage emanating from the general's organic remnants. And the disappointment, mixed with anger, when his little trick failed.
"Guess what," I grinned, blocking his second blade with my own spare. "You're not the only one carrying a whole arsenal."
The cyborg roared, trying to overpower me with the mechanical superiority of his body. But he didn't achieve much success. So, breaking our stalemate, I switched to a strategy of exhausting confrontation.
He was like a thresher, making dozens of movements per second. Feints and real ones, thrusts and parries. Even though he didn't possess the Force, his cybernization significantly eased his fight against a Jedi. No wonder he had chopped so many into salad.
To stand against such a monster required excellent reflexes and power in the Force. You had to applaud Kenobi for even managing to do it in the first place.
I continuously reached for the Force, letting it flow through me like a rapid stream, cooling my muscles that were beginning to hum and fill with fatigue. At the same time, I jumped, somersaulted, approached Grievous from one side, then the other. But the cyborg was devilishly swift.
He parried my strike with a swing from behind his back, then spun like a whirlwind, delivering strikes upward toward my chin. I had to step back, sensing a dangerous movement coming. I wasn't sure that even the cortosis in the alloy my armor was made from would hold up long under such an onslaught. So I didn't risk testing it on my own hide. Better to waltz with the cyborg than to rely on the strength of ancient armor. Especially since it felt... cozy, somehow.
But Grievous didn't let me indulge in nostalgia. His movements were always changing. His next blow nearly hit the emitter of my spare blade — it seemed the enemy had decided to disarm me — and his displeasure with the result was clearly visible in his eyes.
The cyborg's next thrust ended with a predictable block from me. I could feel the growing frenzy in his head. The prolonged fight was getting on his nerves. He was probably trying to figure out how to...
Grievous, pressing down on me with all the force of his artificial muscles, suddenly turned and ran. In a second, he crossed the passageway and found himself inside the bridge, quickly scanning for his next victim.
And ignoring the hurricane of blaster fire, he bounded toward where, from behind the control console, the intricate headdress of a Nabooan woman was visible.
I gave chase, moving quickly after the bastard. But not quickly enough.
The Force warned me to dive aside, and the cyborg, braking sharply, rolled left while simultaneously slashing the air with a double strike from his blades — right where my long-suffering body should have been.
"No luck," I declared. "But you get points for the attempt."
The answer was an enraged roar, accompanied by Grievous's methodical retreat toward the cowering senator and journalist. Too late, ladies, to drink mineral water when your kidneys have given out.
Only a few meters separated us. The cyborg and I — just five. Him and the two women — just two. Simple arithmetic that, like this whole damn day, was not in my favor.
The battle raged behind me — the droids had finally broken through the jammed cabin, flooding the bridge with their bodies. The clones and the crew were locked in a fierce firefight that kept turning into hand-to-hand combat. But right now, that wasn't what interested me.
"Repeating your own dirty tricks is bad form," I reminded Grievous. He had already escaped more than once by taking someone hostage. And now he was getting ready to repeat that "feat."
"I don't care about a Jedi's opinion," the general growled, reaching the console in one long stride. Lightning-fast thrusts of his blades — and the women's weapons fell to the bridge floor, cut in half and completely useless. Grievous laughed triumphantly, gurgling through his cybernetic throat. His arms split — one pair still gripped the blades, the other held both women by the scruff of the neck like little kittens. "I will kill them without hesitation if you don't get out of my way."
Hmm, that was true — I stood between him and the only exit from the bridge. On the other side, the battle raged, and for some reason, the Butcher of the Outer Rim wasn't eager to break through it. Oh, right — Larant was there...
The Twi'lek had already come to, and, finding herself in the thick of the fight, was mowing down droids with sniper shots, trying to break through toward me. But apparently, Grievous didn't want another encounter with her, so he thought it better to escape the bridge, taking hostages with him. But if I was his target, why such strange behavior?
I didn't have time to develop the thought — the cyborg lunged. This time he just charged straight ahead, continuously swinging his blades, using the girls as living shields where I could reach him.
I, in turn, to avoid accidentally putting both through a "limb amputation" program, had to act defensively, slowly backing up. And at the same time — watch my rear, where CIS droids kept trying to distinguish themselves. I had to fight them off, blindly wielding my second blade behind my back. Thankfully, the Force wasn't about to screw me over and reliably warned me of dangers.
Meanwhile, Grievous circled around me, probing my defenses, looking for gaps. I had to temper my fervor, switching from aggressive Juyo to the more situation-appropriate Niman. But even so, deadly energy blades raged between us — one touch would be enough to seriously harm either of the women, whom the general was now holding by the throats.
"You fight well, Dougan," the cyborg assessed. "After Bothawui, I considered you the same kind of scum as Skywalker and Kenobi..."
"Not the best comparison," I blocked a swift strike from the green blade, sending it flying and carving a deep furrow in the bulkhead. "Your blind rage is your mistake. And it will be the cause of your death."
"I... do not... make... mistakes," the cyborg spat out the words, striking my blade again and again. It was... tough. Especially when I had to simultaneously dodge two lightsabers and a sabotage droid that had appeared from nowhere, swinging its huge vibroblade behind my back, deliberately aiming for my spine. Screw that. This might not be the most comfortable position I'd ever held in the company of two lovely ladies, but to kill me — they'd have to try harder.
The intensity of the fight didn't allow me even a moment to look away, to clear a path by shorting out the droids with Force Lightning.
Damn.
If only I could have one second of respite!
On one hand, what was stopping me from just letting Grievous go with both hostages? Nothing at all. Couldn't I just put on a pitiful face for the Council, telling them how I did everything I could but couldn't stand against the cyborg? Nothing at all.
But Grievous wasn't trying to break out for nothing. With hostages on board his ship, he could demand a safe corridor out of the system — and no one would dare contradict him. Kreeves was a good guy, but he would never go so far as to kill the general at the cost of his own career. And they'd strip him of his rank and kick him out of the fleet for failing to save a senator and a veteran journalist — as sure as I'm standing here.
The Force suggested that while Grievous was on board the Telos, the droids wouldn't risk finishing us off. He was, after all, one of the leaders of the Separatist war machine. I doubted that even super-tactical droids, known for eliminating organic commanders whose actions compromised mission success, would dare do anything against the four-armed one.
I deflected a blow meant to separate my hand from the rest of my arm, spun, and unleashed a hail of strikes on the cyborg, forcing him to go on the defensive for a moment. Perfect.
My own signature Force Wave set a record for quickly dismantling CIS soldiers into spare parts, strewing the turbolift hall floor with their mangled and twisted pieces.
So, I'd bought myself a minute, maybe two, of breathing room.
"Nice trick, Jedi," Grievous wheezed, realizing he had temporarily lost the factor that had been distracting me. Of the two components of his success — physical superiority and tactics — he had lost the latter. Temporarily, but still... He blocked an overhead strike, deflected a sliding blow aimed at his legs, and went back on the offensive.
"Yeah, I still have some tricks up my sleeve," I smirked, parrying the cyborg's thrust. He took a few steps back, staying on the defensive, waiting for an opportunity to attack. But screw you and your smooth mask.
Now it was my turn to attack. A pair of yellow blades wove an impenetrable protective cocoon in front of me that, every now and then, fired precise stabs into the Separatist's frame. But he held his own. He parried and attacked, constantly shoving one body or the other under my blows. Trying to make me kill the annoying journalist or the senator. Yeah, that would be a laugh for the whole HoloNet. The entire Confederacy would be howling if I killed or maimed either one of them.
"You don't value the life of the precious Senator Amidala?" Grievous laughed after nearly catching me off guard by shoving the designated body — her face clearly turning blue — under my next combo. Cursing that my deadly blade had sliced a piece of metal headdress and a lock of hair from the senator's head, I was forced to break off my combination. Grievous took advantage of this, launching a furious assault with a wide, brutal swing aimed at my legs.
I had to jump, performing a backflip. Grievous, anticipating this, deliberately thrust the green blade toward my chest. I only managed to dodge at the last moment. A furrow of melted metal remained on my chest plate. And I could feel through my skin that my fabric armor had also given in places. Not fatal, but extremely unpleasant.
"There are thousands like her in the Senate," I had to remind him. "One more, one less..."
For the first time, besides her useless attempts to break free, a choked gasp of surprise came from Amidala's direction. Mother, why are your eyes so big? I'm not Skywalker — I'm not going to tear my ass open for your sake.
"Kha-kha," the cyborg's laughter mixed with a gurgling cough, and he lost control of the fight for a moment. I took advantage of it, wedging one of my blades between his right arms. A light downward motion — and the durasteel claw that had been gripping the Zeltron by the throat clattered to the floor. The girl, coughing and gasping for air, collapsed, filling the passageway with wheezes.
Grievous roared, spinning his blade and intending to pin the girl to the floor. But with a narrow Force Push, I sent the Zeltron sliding away, ending up back inside the bridge. Well, one less hostage.
With a huge leap, the cyborg unexpectedly launched an attack. His ferocious blows rained down like hail. At the same time, he pulled the claw holding Padmé behind his back, clearly intending to avoid repeating his mistake.
He swung his lightsabers in continuous combinations, attacking his opponent from all sides. Towering over me, he drove me back with the persistence of a tank. Right toward where I could hear the sounds of droids rising up the turbolift.
Well, there went the easy part.
Grievous's attacks, which at first seemed chaotic, had a clear goal — to distract me and pin me against the turbolift. Where, before you know it, they'd shoot me. Or sit me down on a chair made of sharpened vibroblades. Grim prospects.
But, as they say, real heroes always go the long way around.
Ducking, I let the cyborg's blades pass over me, then, accelerating with the Force, ran a few steps along the passageway bulkhead, twisted to avoid the enemy's blue blade, and plummeted headfirst between Grievous's right and left arms, severing the last left claw with one of my blades — a small compensation for the cut-off lower part of my cloak, which had fallen victim to the enemy's sword during my little wall run.
Meanwhile, the cyborg didn't lose his composure, pinned me to the floor with his foot, grabbed my chest plate, and delivered a terrifyingly powerful upward thrust, intending to pierce my armor at the heart.
I raised my blades, blocking the strike with crossed swords, deflecting the blue blade aside. At the same time, the tip of one of my swords sliced part of the durasteel off the enemy's leg, exposing the "skeleton." Sparks from a short circuit flared blindingly, and then the leg holding me gave way, and the cyborg crashed down beside me, roaring with rage.
Driving my elbow into his faceplate, leaving a good dent in it, I rolled aside, avoiding another sword strike. And found myself face to face with a B-2 droid that was too slowly aiming its built-in weapon manipulator at me. The next second, it paid for it, falling to the floor, cut in two. The same fate befell the two droids that appeared behind it.
Glancing into the turbolift shaft, I noted that the enemy had cut through the floor and ceiling of the stuck cabin. The droids could ascend from the lower decks almost unimpeded. But I certainly couldn't allow that.
Gathering a ball of pure Force in my hands, which became like a murky sphere with sparkling, continuously moving particles crackling inside it, I slammed the projectile into the shaft and the remains of the cabin. The interaction of the Force with physical objects produced the effect of a bomb going off, which destroyed the turbolift shaft, warping its walls so badly that there was no longer any thought of using this escape route.
Little things make a difference.
"Well, then," I turned to Grievous, who had already gotten to his feet. "Nowhere to run."
And indeed. On one side, my battered but still energetic body. Behind me — the remnants of the clones and crew, who at the cost of heavy losses, were finishing off those droids that had managed to break through. From the sound of it, there were just over a dozen left — a few more minutes, and this threat would be eliminated.
Grievous realized this too. Even though he had lost all limbs from his left side and the hostage, and his left leg barely bent, he still looked at me with all the ferocity he could muster. Clearly planning another nasty trick.
And I was right.
The blue blade rose into the air, hovering at the throat of Amidala, who now looked more like a worn-out, disheveled doll.
"You will let me go," he said with clear menace. "Or this senator's head will remain on board your flagship."
"Well, go ahead," I snorted, seeing the terror in Amidala's eyes. "If she dies, you definitely won't get out."
"It will all end here one way or another!" the cyborg rasped, pressing his back against the opposite wall, shuffling in small steps toward the escape pod compartment. "I will leave, and we will meet again..."
"'We will meet again,
Though the candles have burned
And the ball has ended.
We will meet again,'" I quietly hummed a bit of the chorus from a childhood hit. Who would have thought, "The Little Prince," that your lyrics would come in handy in a situation like this?
"I will wipe that smirk off your face, Jedi," the cyborg warned.
"So why, then, do you, a renowned warrior, a hero of your people, hide behind the skin of a weak woman?" I asked.
Honestly, I didn't care about the answer. But talking helped me see the overall situation. And try to find a solution.
Rushing at Grievous now would guarantee Amidala's decapitation. Not that I'd sleep any worse at night because of it, but... well, let's keep that as an emergency option.
So what then? Snatch the blade from his claws — not possible. The bastard was holding the hilt in a very intricate and tight grip.
"That's right, Jedi," Grievous said triumphantly. "I know what you're thinking. The situation is hopeless — and you will let me go."
"You going to run crying to Dooku and Sidious that you screwed up again?" I clarified. "Watch out, they'll put you in the corner."
"You still think you've won?" the cyborg laughed with his disgusting, more metal-scraping than voice. "Look around — your flagship is only fit for scrap and is surrounded by my destroyers. Your fleet is destroyed. Like all Jedi, you have lost..."
"Oh, really?" I returned the smirk. Too bad the mask made my voice sound muffled, and the sarcastic tone was lost. "Note — we're still in orbit, and my ground forces are on the planet. Plus, a new fleet has arrived — so I'll smear you across the entire orbit like stardust."
"Maybe I have lost this battle with you," Grievous said with menace in his voice. The passage leading to the escape pods was behind him. And now, the hunched cyborg was slowly retreating toward them, still holding the girl by the throat.
Amidala looked terrified. Apparently, she was recalling her past encounters with this monster. And she clearly understood that if they were left alone, the cyborg certainly wouldn't be having tea with her.
And more likely, he would methodically, drawing out the pleasure, peel her skin in thin, narrow strips, winding muscle fibers and tendons around his fingers. Or come up with something else interesting. Grievous was a guy with imagination. So you didn't need a fortune teller to know. If the senator remained in the monster's hands, her life would end swiftly and in short order.
"Plotting another dirty trick?" I asked, not really expecting an answer.
"Only Jedi and other Republic scum can pull dirty tricks," the general nearly spat on the floor, but alas, his physiology wouldn't allow it. "I am implementing my strategy!"
"So, you knew from the start that I'd turn you into an armless and legless stump?" A smile naturally appeared on my lips. Well really, his words were nothing more than empty bluster. He flew to the ship. Thought he'd quickly kill another Jedi, but screwed up. And now — he was hysterically trying to figure out how to fix the situation.
Oh, how I understood him.
"You are a dead man, Dougan," Grievous growled, looking somewhere toward the view screen, while simultaneously tilting his head in a particular way and spreading his legs wide. "For more stability," I automatically realized. "You just don't know it yet..."
Something in his voice, and especially in his actions, seriously bothered me. And then I intuitively focused on what was happening outside the bridge.
The very next second, my hair stood on end in all the immodest places.
Shaking the Telos from keel to superstructure, one of the Recusants slammed into the cruiser's wounded hull at full speed.
Physics is a cruel science. Especially when it plays its tricks underhandedly at the most inconvenient time.
The force of the impact was so great that I was blown from where I stood in an instant, painfully slamming my whole body into the remains of the turbolift shaft. Instinctively releasing my grip, I grabbed the edges of the doorway to keep from falling down, and noted regretfully that both blades, clinking merrily, had fallen down, disappearing into the deformed mess.
The deck was slipping from under my feet. The ship listed noticeably, and all the debris that had been lying motionless on the deck slid with a screech toward the side opposite the impact.
With heart-wrenching screams, the Zeltron, who had just gotten to her feet, slid toward me across the deck. At the edge of my perception, I felt shocked surprise from the clones' side.
Hutt!
Yanking myself upward, I nearly leaped out of the elevator shaft, vaulting over its walls. Landing, I stayed on my feet despite the tilting deck, and glanced toward the cyborg.
The bastard, chuckling contentedly, still dragging his limp captive, was fleeing in giant bounds and had already opened the hatch of the nearest escape pod, ready to jump in and leave our warm company. Oh no, that won't do.
An image from a scene in a novel about the Sith's Revenge flashed through my mind.
Concentrating, I reached out with the Force to the cyborg, feeling for his internal structure.
It wasn't easy with all sorts of metal junk of various sizes raining down on my head. Still, I repeated Obi-Wan's trick on the CIS general — changing the polarity of the servomotors in the cybernetic prosthetics.
Grievous's claws unclenched, releasing their grip on the senator, whom I caught with the Force at the same instant and pulled sharply toward me. I just didn't account for her trajectory intersecting with the Zeltron's tumble.
The girls collided in midair. The crack of their heads hitting each other hit my ears, coinciding with the clang of the escape pod's entry hatch, behind which Grievous had disappeared. Almost immediately, the launch thrusters fired, and the miniature ship instantly picked up speed, breaking free of its mounts and shooting out beyond the vessel.
Son of a bitch!
He'd escaped, the bastard.
The ship's hull shuddered like a good girl at a rock festival. And the fiery glow flooding the bridge's view screens made it clear what Grievous had been talking about.
The Telos, stripped of its engines before the boarding action, was in high orbit above Hypori. The ram had given it momentum toward the planet, and now the once-proud and most powerful cruiser in the entire 10th System Army was slowly, but with every second faster, picking up speed as it entered Hypori's atmosphere.
Shit.
Touching both women with the Force — women who steadily brought misfortune to everyone around them — he confirmed they were alive. Letting out a disappointed sigh, he used telekinesis to pull them out of the pile of metal debris and carried them to the escape pod section, where the wreckage didn't clog all the free space.
"Sir!" Beard appeared beside him, elegantly gliding across the tilted floor. "We were shot down from orbit!"
"I can see," I said grimly, watching two more clones, half a dozen crew members with injuries of varying severity, and Larant "descend" from the main part of the bridge in a similar manner. "Is that everyone? Where's the captain?"
"Dead," the "gray paladin" said through clenched teeth. I noticed several blaster burns on her tunic — her right shoulder and collarbone had been shot through. "When we were rammed, he fell. The sabotage droid was faster."
"Yo-ho-ho," I said wearily. My head was pounding.
Opening myself to the Force, I expanded my perception across the entire ship. There weren't many living beings onboard. Sparks of life were only noted in the aft hangar and here, on the bridge, in my immediate vicinity. But droids onboard? More than you could shake a stick at. Focusing, I touched Darth Hexid's mind and relayed my order. "Everyone into the escape pods."
"Are we abandoning the Telos?" the middle-aged Christophsian with the insignia of second officer asked me in surprise.
"Yes," I said irritably, watching the clones and Larant rush toward the "cradles," hastily shoving the unconscious senator and reporter woman into them.
"Sir, I request permission to remain aboard the cruiser," the officer said, snapping to attention. "My duty as the senior officer among the crew is to take all measures to save the ship. I'll go down seven decks, activate the emergency generators and the starter eng—"
His words were drowned out by the crack as my fist slammed into his jaw. Already unsteady on the flat surface, the man crumpled like he was shot, right in front of his few subordinates. Looking at them, I nodded toward their immediate commander, then toward the escape pod where the clones were already waving at us.
"Your new commander got concussed by a piece of debris," I announced, watching their bewildered but completely agreeing nods. "Carry him to the escape pod and launch immediately."
"And you, sir?" one of the junior officers asked quietly, hefting the second officer's body onto his shoulders.
"Right behind you," I said grimly.
It took the beings a few seconds to reach the pods and abandon the doomed ship.
I, meanwhile, leaned over the breach in the turbolift shaft, spending a few seconds retrieving my swords. Hooking them onto my belt, I looked sadly at the dying ship, engulfed in monstrous flames.
"This is all sad," the words slipped from my lips on their own.
Then, reaching the last remaining escape pod, the highest-ranking official aboard the flagship cruiser Telos, as prescribed by the Grand Army of the Republic's Code of Conduct (and likewise by the Armed Forces Regulations of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul), was the last to abandon the starship destined for an inglorious end.