The blackness of endless space felt... oppressive.
No sunlight, no fresh natural breeze... No solid ground underfoot.
Sometimes it seemed he had completely agreed in vain to become the commandant of the "Maw Installation." To be in total isolation, without the ability to freely communicate with any of his old acquaintances. He couldn't even get drunk in a cantina and raise hell, as he had in his youth and young adulthood.
And not because Moff Jerjerrod was being watched by all the few sentients on the station.
Simply, there was no one to do it with.
The small staff of scientists the Emperor had sent to the station spent most of their time in their laboratories, tirelessly working on their projects. Surprisingly, they had quite easily accepted the fact that most of their inventions could, and most likely would, be used against the Republic and the CIS. At first, he feared there might be unrest and the "skybies" would have to explain "party policy" to the uncomprehending.
But, as it turned out, large salaries (and by Republic and Confederacy standards, simply enormous ones), coupled with a disdain for bureaucracy and the decaying flower of the galactic superpowers, were very fertile ground for the scientific intelligentsia of the Empire. Regardless of which side of the barricades that intelligentsia had previously worked on.
"When did you wake up?" thin fingers adorned with intricate patterns over a perfect manicure landed on his shoulders, gently massaging his neck.
"About two hours ago," the Moff replied, turning his head and kissing his lover's hand. "Today is an important day. I need to prepare a report for the Emperor."
"Has Wessex finally finished the blueprints?" Jenna Zan Arbor purred into his ear, nibbling his earlobe. Jerjerrod, chuckling, kissed the blonde on the lips, simultaneously inhaling the delicate scent of her hair.
"As you can see," he nodded toward the monitor of his work terminal. "Despite having to make a ton of revisions, she really does work fast. The Sith meditation sphere arrived from Ziost only a couple of days ago, and Lira has already integrated it into the ship's systems. As well as the gravity shadow generator..."
"A big ship," Jenna appraised, pointing at the model of the Emperor's flagship. "Vaguely resembles the ships of the squadron guarding our station."
"Just over thirteen kilometers in length," Jerjerrod shook his head. Yes, the "Sovereign," as this project was majestically and threateningly called, did vaguely resemble the "Ravagers," a squadron of which had arrived a couple of months ago to guard the Empire's vital facility. A huge monster... But, thanks to Lira's efforts, quite maneuverable and fast. Not to mention that its armament included all the most advanced and deadly technologies available on the weapons market. Its construction at an ordinary shipyard could have taken years and billions of credits. However, Zakuul possessed the New Forge, for which creating the "Executor" was merely a matter of time. Two months, to be precise.
"Sovereign" was the result of Lira Wessex's work on the technical specifications she had received from the Emperor. The "Executor" Project was a compilation of the Zakuul ruler's requirements for his own flagship. Unfortunately, preserving his original criteria proved impossible — adequately powering a nineteen-kilometer monster with enough energy for the required number of turbolasers, anti-aircraft artillery, and other systems turned out to be an insurmountable task. Sienar had spent over a month without sleep, endlessly optimizing and improving his own solar ionization reactors, squeezing every last drop of performance out of them. He couldn't leap beyond his limits, so a new project was proposed to the Emperor. After some holodiscussions, it was approved. And today, it had finally taken the form of a finished embodiment. All that remained was to transmit the data on this ship, along with the other completed projects of the "Maw Installation," to the Emperor. And another month of work for the secret research base of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul could be considered successfully concluded.
"You know the joke about men with big toys, don't you?" Jenna said with a smirk. However, the Moff didn't share her levity.
"I wouldn't advise joking like that," he said dryly. "The Emperor isn't the kind of person who understands and forgives. Trust me — I've spoken with him personally. And I'm sure that if I didn't share his views... Well, you shouldn't tug on a predator's tail. If he wants a flagship that surpasses an entire strike force in power, that's his business. My job is to realize his plans."
"Why are you so tense?" Jenna frowned. "He's not here..."
"The entire 'Installation' is a station built from blueprints he provided. I'm sure there are plenty of listening devices here..."
"And where are they hidden?" Zan-Arbor smiled. No answer came. Because Jerjerrod himself didn't know. And frankly, he wasn't particularly interested in finding out.
Turning his chair away from the work table, he swept the young woman with a warm glance from head to toe, smiling. For her age, she looked impeccable — slim, fit, with wonderful curves and unfading beauty. Once in the cafeteria, he'd overheard talk that Arbor used some chemical reagents of her own making to preserve her youth. But the details didn't interest him. It was enough that he possessed this beautiful woman, who dispelled the boredom of his routine.
Of course, it had taken some effort — kidnapping a prominent geneticist who had made waves across the galaxy was far simpler than securing her loyalty. After she was brought to the Maw and told that she was now a loyal subject of the Eternal Empire and had work to do, Jenna had resisted for quite a while. She had clung to the belief that the CIS would find and rescue her. Of course — the Separatists' leading scientist had disappeared.
But the longer she spent on the station, the more she grew convinced that she had been "written off as a loss." Like spent material. That was the calculation — Jenna was too proud and selfish to accept that Dooku would simply give up and stop searching for her.
Honestly, Jerjerrod himself was surprised that the Confederacy's command hadn't even tried to investigate Jenna's disappearance. Or the death of their other geneticist, Zeta Magnus. As if, in the Confederacy's assets, they were just cogs in one big machine. Replaceable as needed.
That became the motivation for this unique geneticist, who took the position of project director for "Project Alpha-Red." The desire for revenge against the Confederacy of Independent Systems, which had laid its grasping hands on all of Arbor's achievements left behind in the Separatists' possession after her disappearance. Including the so-called "stone mites" parasites capable of devouring any structure on any planet in a short time.
The Emperor had promised her revenge — if she would work for the Empire. And Jenna agreed.
It irritated her, though, that instead of the sophisticated biological weapon she had wanted to create to fight her former employers, she had to pore over samples of Vagaari organic technology and pollen from the baffor trees of Ithor. And the arguments that her work was preparation for a preemptive strike against aliens from outside the galaxy did nothing to inspire her.
"Fine, if you don't want to answer — that's your right," the geneticist finally said, ceasing to bore him with her penetrating gaze. Paying no attention to her own nakedness, she stretched languidly, once again displaying the charms of her body.
"The morning briefing is in half an hour," the Moff informed her, checking his chronometer. "You're going like that?"
"What about it?" She ran her hands along the curves of her body. "Afraid that Nikolai's courtship might succeed?"
"Afraid you'll catch a cold," he replied with a smile. Jenna graced him with her lovely, cunning smile and headed toward the bed, where her clothes lay scattered in disarray — traces of the previous evening's delightful start.
Jerjerrod turned to the terminal and closed the file with the data on "Sovereign." Attaching it to the general report file, he moved on to studying another document.
The young cyberneticist really had been paying attention to the geneticist. Without success, it must be said. Still, the guy didn't give up. And, admittedly, his infatuation with the beautiful girl added motivation to his work.
How else to explain the fact that before Arbor's arrival at the "Installation," he had been sluggishly and unproductively tinkering with the encryption software of the "Gemini" droids? But as soon as the beautiful blonde appeared on the horizon, work took off. The result was that, in less than a month, he had practically from scratch developed new defense systems and algorithms for the "Gemini," improving the efficiency of already perfectly functioning droids. Although Jenna had several times vehemently attempted to resolve their misunderstanding categorically, the Moff, reluctant (what sane man would like the fact that another man was chasing after his woman, even if she was just a mistress?), forbade her such actions. Nikolai Kynesworthy, like all the other scientists — the "Brains Trust," as Jerjerrod himself called them — was too valuable to the Empire to let his genius languish. Especially since, quite recently, the cyberneticist had announced that he had begun work on a new model of "Gemini" perfect in every sense. Even if all these games with feelings ultimately worked against the scientist himself, the Moff was aware that without the genius of cybernetics, most of the "Maw Installation" projects would simply hang in limbo. First and foremost, the protection of the Empire's own information streams.
Engineer Umak Leth's project — the "World Devastator" directly depended on Kynesworthy. Because, by entrusting Leth with the creation of a specialized ship capable of processing scrap metal and old junk in its depths and producing military equipment necessary for the Empire — fighters, weapons, armor, droids, and so on — the Emperor had unequivocally hinted that such technology in the wrong hands could become a weapon of mass destruction, capable of sterilizing entire worlds. And the computer security and defense of the "World Devastators" against digital attacks was one of the priority tasks.
The Emperor had a similar opinion regarding another project by Leth, which he was developing together with Bevel Lemelisk — a staunch proponent of creating the most destructive, and at the same time the most defenseless, weapon in the galaxy.
The "Galaxy Gun." A platform capable of firing projectiles equipped with hyperdrive engines. The concept — firing from a platform at one end of the galaxy to hit targets at the other — was, in essence, incredibly brilliant. Especially considering the fact that the target could be absolutely anything — a ship, a planet, an asteroid... The projectile, receiving targeting data, would inevitably overtake the target. And destroy it.
Kynesworthy was involved here as well — for the same reasons as in the other projects. Having such a weapon in its hands, the Empire could not allow the possibility that malefactors might alter the final coordinates. The Emperor could not allow the fact that someone — a hostile saboteur or a computer virus — might interfere with the operation of such a devastating weapon. One only had to imagine for a moment that instead of an enemy fleet, the projectile would strike an ally — a starship or an entire planet — and all the baseness that Jerjerrod had to stoop to in the name of Nikolai's successful work paled in comparison to the possible consequences. Victory was worth the sacrifice. And even if that sacrifice was the tender emotional constitution of a cyberneticist — on a galactic scale, that was such a trifle.
The Moff, thanks to his access codes, had files on all his subordinates. And the department where Frap Radicon worked was no exception.
"Another starship?" Arbor's voice sounded from behind.
"Still just a project," Jerjerrod lamented. "Lira and Frap are working on a new combat ship concept."
"The 'Immobilizer' project?" Arbor showed off her awareness. The man shook his head ruefully. Yes, the scientists had a big problem with secrecy. He'd have to put another "cork" in them, to keep them from blabbing about their work to every colleague who crossed their path.
"That's the one. A brilliant idea — using gravity well technology, which is the operating principle behind the Vagaari's gravity shadow generators, to pull enemy ships out of hyperspace, catch smuggler vessels, or block enemy starships from escaping the battlefield..."
"It's astonishing how many valuable things there are in the galaxy. Doesn't it bother you that only the Emperor knows where to find them?" Jenna inquired.
"Not at all," Jerjerrod smiled. "He's building his own state right under the noses of the Republic and the Confederacy, and he's poaching their best specialists right from under their feet... Sometimes I think he really does know everything."
"You think so?" the geneticist smirked. "If that's the case, then why haven't I been delivered live samples for testing the virus prototypes yet?"
"I know no more than you do," the man shrugged. "Maybe these 'Far Outsiders' haven't arrived in the galaxy yet. Or maybe the Emperor doesn't yet consider it necessary to attack them — not until Zakuul is fully deployed. There are a great many possibilities, and only he himself might know the answer."
"I don't particularly like all this ambiguity," the girl admitted. "Especially when you're dealing with Force-sensitives..."
Jerjerrod smiled furtively. He had heard about Jenna's attempts to study the Force by capturing a couple of Jedi. More than ten years had passed since then. Her interest in how the interaction of beings with this semi-mythical, ephemeral substance — long considered accessible only to Jedi — had never waned. However, the longer this conflict dragged on, the clearer it became that the so-called Order wasn't the only one in the galaxy that knew how to control the Force. There were dozens of them — and almost every such organization was striving to seize power in the galaxy.
And the more Jerjerrod's conviction grew in the truth of the Emperor's words — that Force-sensitives had been the cause of conflicts in the Unknown Regions since time immemorial. Even the current war, raging across all worlds, was the fruit of the skillful intrigues of the Jedi's ancient enemies. The suffering of billions of beings, all so that one group could settle old scores with another.
Vile — to realize oneself a pawn in someone else's game.
"Regardless, I trust the Emperor unconditionally," Jerjerrod said, rising from his desk and buttoning his uniform jacket. Rest time was over; it was time to get to work. "You don't have to believe me — but have a personal talk with him, and you'll change your mind about Force-sensitives. Not all of them, of course..."
"I can't wait for that rendezvous," Jenna smiled, adjusting his collar.
Putting an arm around the girl, the Moff left his quarters with her, heading for the briefing hall where the other scientists were supposed to have gathered. For the most part, they had already submitted their activity reports, but Rebus — the engineer who had been tasked with updating the small arms for the army of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul (they couldn't keep using the BlasTech knockoffs copied at New Forge, which served the Grand Army of the Republic, forever) — although he had made significant progress on the matter, had, in his usual absentmindedness, forgotten to send the relevant files.
Exchanging minor trivialities with the girl, the Moff unhurriedly walked through the spacious corridors toward his destination. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the lush crowns of ch'ala trees, shimmering with all the colors of the rainbow thanks to the peculiarities of their structure. Reacting to every sound, the trees blazed with various colors. Beautiful, but from the standpoint of the ergonomics of a space station's interior spaces — a tremendous waste to plant them in nearly every hall of the "Maw Installation." Although, according to rumors, such trees were a personal quirk of the Emperor, who had ordered them planted even in his own Citadels and all government buildings. And the public spaces on Zakuul were also dotted with such flora.
Still, Jerjerrod acknowledged that the presence of at least some non-uniform vegetation on the station, surrounded by the impenetrable void of space, allowed the personnel to escape the gray and dreary interiors. Though, if he were in charge of the interior design, he would have planted fruit trees. What difference did it make to the droids which plants they tended? That way, the staff would have fresh fruit within walking distance.
Unfortunately, the ch'ala trees couldn't boast any worthwhile utility beyond their appearance. What could the Emperor possibly see in them?
* * *
Breaking through the battle formations of the Republic's meat droids — what could be simpler?
Nax Kirvan didn't even pay attention to the clones' pathetic attempts to slow his advance. A pitiful imitation of people, not even worthy of notice.
The Baron surged toward his goal, a hurricane of death sweeping everything around him. Clones, crew members, dockworkers — just dust beneath his feet. The crimson blade of the dark follower flitted like a deadly stinger, cutting through bodies, severing limbs, piercing vital organs. With every step, he absorbed the bitterness of the beings' deaths, seasoning his heart's blazing fire of rage with those feelings.
Was he angry that, instead of attacking the pathetic remnants of the Republic's fleet and army on Enarka, he was forced to attack the shipyards of Allantine Six? Yes. But only until Lord Tyranus informed him of the true nature of his mission.
The shipyards were nothing. The Republic had enough slipways. And the defenses there were substantial — even the "Eclipse" had suffered severe damage when it encountered the fleet of Master Adi Gallia. Not to mention that most of his strike fleet was just scrap metal. He fairly conceded the space battle to the Republicans. And at the same time, he chuckled slyly, watching the remnants of the Republic's fleet give chase to the "fleeing" "Eclipse." Naive fools, they thought his flagship was actually damaged. No. In truth, the dreadnought was drawing a mixed force of "Venators," "Hammerheads," and "Acclamators" away from the shipyards. Meanwhile, Kirvan himself, commanding a force of two dozen light "Rebel"-class destroyers, made a lightning dash to the slipways, inflicting critical damage, burning out all life, turning the Republic's laid-down starships into space debris, and finishing off with furious turbolaser salvos the few Gallia's space vessels that had survived the clash with his vanguard forces.
And while Dooku hadn't set him the task of destroying the shipbuilding capacity of this planet, the Baron couldn't deny himself the pleasure of causing as much harm as possible. Because he was frankly enjoying this mission.
And it wasn't about his audacious gambit — a maneuver to divert the Republic's attention from Hypori and allow Grievous to escape. Again.
This plan was the perfect embodiment of Sith philosophy. Deception concealed within deception. Because while the "Eclipse" was finishing off one part of Gallia's fleet, the "Rebels" were smashing unfinished starships on the slipways, he himself, at the head of the landing force, was sweeping everything in his path, moving toward his true goal.
The bright spark of the Force burning in the administrative center of the Allantine Six shipyards. Master Adi Gallia.
He shared a common past with the Tholothian woman. Once, still young Padawans, they had been fond of each other. However, their knighthood had severed their bond and struck him hard. Because the initiator of the breakup was Adi herself — the woman he had loved.
"The Code is above all else," she had said. Hoping he would understand. Oh, he understood. Right after he left the Order. And now he was rushing toward his prey to tell her that.
Frying a couple of clones that appeared in his path, he smiled, savoring their agony. Although the Republic's soldiers weren't fully human and emitted practically no emotions in battle, some of them, before death, allowed the Dark Side adept to feast on their suffering, increasing his already immense power.
That power, channeled into Telekinesis, he used to blast open the heavy armored door leading to the administrative center. The multi-ton twisted metal plate instantly killed over a dozen beings inside. The rest — more than a hundred — would be the rightful prey of the company of saboteur droids that had come with him.
"You've never lacked for audacity, Kirvan," the Tholothian said, stepping in front of the Baron to block the passage to the central shipyard control console.
"Do you ever get tired of your pompous little phrases?" the aristocrat inquired, glancing the girl over from head to toe. Light armor, a traditional cloak... Nothing remarkable. He'd killed Masters tougher than her.
"I rarely get tired at all," the young woman parried, activating her lightsaber. "We can settle this amicably, Nax..."
"Too simple for me to fall for that," the former Jedi laughed. "I prefer bloodshed and chaos."
"So be it," the young woman said regretfully, shaking her head. What was that? Sorrow on her face? At having to cross blades with someone once close? Oh, the Force, how faded.
Kirvan felt a burning disgust for his former friend. In the time they had been on opposite sides of the barricades, she hadn't bothered to evolve. The Jedi dogmas were firmly lodged in her head, making her weak.
The Light Side of the Force would never provide enough power to learn to think for oneself. Nax remembered himself in the Order — pathetic, obedient. Even his meeting with Yoda — the good old Master, Kirvan's first mentor as a youngling — had shaken the Baron. For a second, it had clouded his lust for power. But the old tricks — meaningful speeches and tedious droning about the lofty — hadn't helped Yoda. And after studying Darth Andeddu's holocron, Kirvan had finally broken his chains. Now he was the true embodiment of power, free from all shackles...
At his command, the saboteur droids surged forward like a metallic wave, killing everyone in the room. Except the Jedi. Adi was his.
Meanwhile, the Tholothian, without hesitation, launched an attack, nearly cutting him in half. Kirvan, taken aback by the ferocity of her assault, leaped back, lost his balance for a moment, but quickly regained focus. Hmm, Gallia had actually managed to surprise him. He'd never expected such pressure from her before. Now, though... It seemed not all members of the High Council were idly resting on their past laurels.
Sweeping his lightsaber, he clashed his crimson blade hard against her blue one. Adi caught his thrust in a rigid block, the kinetic energy of the impact rippling through her entire body. Her discomfort was evident from the wince on her face. And there's more to come...
Without stopping, the Baron launched himself from his position, appearing beside the Jedi, raining a series of furious blows upon her. Gallia was right-handed. And as far as he remembered, it was her left side she guarded the least. However, the woman, unimpressed by his move, struck him with a telekinetic blast, which he easily dispersed by raising a Barrier.
Well, well... this was getting more interesting.
He sent a wave of lightning straight into the opponent's face, but she skillfully defended with her weapon, absorbing the deadly Dark Side technique. Kirvan, feeding his inner rage, began to increase his Force pressure, clearly noticing that the stubborn girl, unwilling to weaken the only counter she knew to the traditional Sith attack, planted her feet firmly on the floor to stop herself from sliding. How foolish...
Kirvan cut off the stream of lightning, then lunged forward. His first strike came at the girl's head and, at an angle, was meant to sever her left arm. With his second, he intended to damage the muscles of her left leg, thereby immobilizing her. But here, too, Adi managed to surprise him.
Seeing his approach, she leaped backward, performing a reverse somersault. While in the air, she hit him with a Force Push, something he hadn't expected at all. The Baron tumbled backward, colliding with the ongoing background battle between Republicans and saboteur droids. Without looking, he slashed the nearest opponent with his blade, ending his life, and looked at his opponent with a smile — a new one this time.
"Your abilities have grown considerably," he said with a note of approval.
The Tholothian, wasting no time, had turned a couple of his fighters into scrap metal. Now she stood in the center of the room, periodically deflecting random blaster bolts.
"What are you talking about?" she inquired calmly. And although she looked calm and focused, the Baron could feel her agitation in the Force.
"I don't know any Jedi who actively uses the Force while simultaneously fencing so effectively," he smirked. "It's somewhat reminiscent of Master Dougan's style. I had the pleasure of crossing blades with him..."
"Too bad he didn't kill you," Adi answered simply.
"A Jedi regretting that her enemy isn't dead?" Kirvan laughed. Noticing one of the shipyard workers aiming a blaster at him, he threw his blade, which decapitated the threat, then returned to the dark follower's hand. "It seems Yoda and Windu themselves don't realize how far into darkness their Order has fallen."
"No further than you," Gallia said coldly. Kirvan, still laughing, went on the offensive.
The Order and all its ideals were corroded from within — Master Gallia was clear proof of that. If a member of the High Council strayed from the norms of ordinary, proper dueling decorum and contemplated fatalism, then he was right. Yoda was the last of the blind men, believing the Jedi were still peacekeepers.
No. They were war dogs — insufficiently educated, insufficiently resistant to the temptations of the Dark Side. His former lover's behavior was direct proof of that.
As he crossed blades with the Master, Nax thought for a moment — what if he could turn Adi to the Dark Side? Not defeat her, capture her, and make the Council dance to his tune, but actually bring her over to his side. Make her his apprentice.
The seeds of the Dark Side were already in her — he could tell from the bursts of emotion she radiated every time his strength and power forced her onto the defensive. She felt that the Dark Side had made Kirvan stronger, that he had surpassed any Jedi. And that made her doubt her own worldview, instilled over decades of service to the Order. The impervious dome of the Order's dogmas was cracking, and with every minute of this confrontation, Gallia was moving further from her ideals.
And closer to the Dark Side.
Nax blocked an extremely treacherous thrust from her, pushed the blue blade away from himself, and punched the girl in the face with all his might. Taken aback by such a disrespectful treatment of the weaker sex, she recoiled but maintained her combat focus.
"That was... low," she said, spitting a mix of saliva and blood onto the floor.
"Cunning is the Sith way," Nax said triumphantly, glancing around furtively.
Yes, the peripheral battle was already over. That was to be expected — the saboteur droids had killed all the Republic fighters, and now, holding a defensive perimeter at the entrance, were firing at another squad of clones that had rushed to the rescue. Wonderful. Noticing that one of the droids was standing opposite the central control console, the Baron laughed triumphantly again.
The Force, how simple it all was. Leading the Jedi by the nose. Deception within deception. And so on, ad infinitum. Truly, Dooku hadn't made a mistake in making him one of the senior commanders of the CIS army. And he had expected such success — that was the only way this operation could have ended. Whatever the outcome of the current confrontation between two former... friends.
Yellow sparks hissed and flickered in the room. Both Force-users, circling each other, had disabled most of the control equipment. Backup systems groaned, struggling to restore functionality to the damaged systems. Soon the central shipyard control post would be useless. It would be a long time before the Republic could fix the chaos he had wrought — both inside and out. After all, besides his squad, dozens of others were operating in the shipyards. Their task was to plant multiple demolition charges that would destroy key shipyard elements, halting their operations. Count Dooku hadn't ordered it, but improvisation was one of the traits Kirvan had developed since turning to the Dark Side.
The former Jedi lunged forward when the Master was distracted for a moment — one of the saboteurs had fired a blaster at her. The girl, barely bothering, deflected the bolt back at the shooter with a sharp motion, ending his period of activity.
"Don't interfere!" Kirvan growled. "She's mine!"
His blade left a superficial cut on her left forearm before the girl could parry the sudden attack. The girl hissed — the crimson blade had evidently seared through her golden armor. It seemed not to affect her fighting style, but with a trained eye Kirvan saw the Tholothian was slowing her movements, no longer committing to risky attacks, focusing more on defense.
She was biding her time. A large group of clones was apparently heading this way — a few seconds later, the Dark follower sensed a change in the number of living organisms in the immediate vicinity of the central control post. Hmph, he'd have to speed things up.
Nax pressed forward, breaking through the young Master's defenses time and again, damaging her armor. He felt flashes of pain emanating from her, triumphantly noting that with each successful strike, she grew more enraged, like a fury ready to pounce on her prey. The moment of his triumph was approaching...
Not bothering to continue the lightsaber duel, he summoned all the Dark Side power available to him and unleashed a stream of Force Lightning at the Tholothian. She tried to block it as she had before, but the fallen Jedi's might was too great. The blue-bladed lightsaber was simply torn from the girl's hands, and crackling blue streams of electricity pierced her body, deafening Kirvan with a heart-rending scream of pain.
Without interrupting his moment of triumph, he laughed as he continued to electrocute her, forcing the woman who had fallen to the floor to writhe and twist in agony at each contact of the electrical discharge with the Jedi's body. Reveling in her desperate screams, the Baron approached his defeated opponent. Only when the soles of his boots were next to the face of the Jedi Master, exhausted by the Dark Side attack, did the Baron allow himself to stop the torture.
He had achieved victory over one of the twelve Jedi who ruled over the others. Alone, without any help. And not even at the limit of his abilities. Gallia, trembling in convulsions, had certainly fought more elegantly than Tiin, whom he had slain earlier. But her Force was not flawless. The Iktotchi had maintained faith in the Light Side until the very end, while the Tholothian had broken time and again, opening herself to the darkness.
"Now you see how strong the Dark Side is," he said softly, squatting down and stroking her beautiful face with the back of his hand. "Your pathetic Light is nothing compared to the philosophy of the Sith. Yes, you've realized that yourself — I can see how emotions are tearing you apart. I have opened the path to the art of the Dark Side for you, and now you can stand beside me. I have mastered many ancient Sith teachings, become stronger than any Force-user in the galaxy..."
"I... know someone better," the girl's teeth barely chattered. Her gaze blazed with fury, but to Nax's disappointment, the irises of her eyes did not turn the desired amber color. "Better kill me, because when Dougan comes for me..."
"Stupid Jedi bitch," Nax's face twisted with rage as he delivered a resounding slap. "That's the whole plan! I don't give a damn about your shipyards — between the sabotage and the computer virus that the saboteur droid is now uploading into the information system, they'll be out of commission for months! No matter how many ships Dougan sends you — I've destroyed them all! No, you stupid bitch," grabbing the Jedi's head with his hand, he lifted her and slammed her face into the floor, knocking the defeated opponent unconscious. "Your capture is just an excuse for Dougan to stop searching for Grievous and rush here to save you. And I'll find a way to greet him."
* * *
A strike.
A strike.
Another strike.
Shea delivered precise and extremely painful movements with her hands, clad in special combat gloves designed solely to crush an opponent's bones. Despite being manufactured over three and a half thousand years ago, they functioned perfectly. Especially compared to modern analogs, whose effectiveness was barely above zero.
But here... Just three strikes — two broken collarbones and a shattered shoulder. Nothing life-threatening, but incredibly painful.
"I don't hear an answer," she commented on the prisoner's silence as he sat tied to a chair. His arms were pulled back and securely fastened. His head hung on his chest. Thin trickles of blood mixed with saliva ran down his bare body from lips split by a simple slap.
Yet, despite the injuries, the prisoner remained silent.
There wasn't much point in torturing him, really. His underlings had told everything they knew. About their leader's desire to capture her. About the secret passages they used to sneak into her residence in Keldabe unnoticed. About weapons caches, the locations of training camps... the young whelps had told quite a lot. And rightly so — you don't keep quiet when Mandalore the Avenger himself is about to cut you into leather straps. They called themselves "supercommandos" in words. But in reality — they were all faded mandos.
In better times, such troops wouldn't even be sent to guard the kitchen. Not under her command, that's for sure.
"Maybe he can't hear?" Boba inquired casually, playing with a vibroblade. The kid wasn't at the interrogation just as a spectator. He was quite adept at asking the right questions. With the right setting. And the right approach. "I did crush his eardrums after all..."
"That doesn't affect the hearing aid," Shea Vizla automatically objected. The Mandalore took the opponent's chin with her fingers and lifted his head. "He's just counting on something else."
"My employers will get to you," Spar rasped. His defiant glare was meant to irritate the red-haired beauty, but instead she maintained her natural composure. "And then we'll switch places..."
A strike with the edge of her palm to his larynx made him stop and start coughing. The good old way to silence a talker. Always works.
"I want to hear names," Vizla said in a flat tone. "Who hired you, bastard?"
"You... kha-kha-kha... won't get anything... kha-kha... out of me," the self-proclaimed Mandalore wheezed. "You can... kha-kha... kill me, but..."
"Wrong answer," the girl slapped the prisoner. In the silence of the residence basement, which had served as the home of Mandalore since ancient times, the crunch of a broken cheekbone accompanied the sound of the blow. "Next will be the upper jaw. Names."
"Bitch!" Spar spat at her, showing his contempt. The bloody spittle ran down her chestplate, but Shea had stopped paying attention to such trifles over three thousand years ago. As if there had never been foreign entrails, blood, or shit on her beskar'gam. Blood and saliva weren't the worst things she'd washed off her armor.
But she couldn't forgive such treatment either.
Pressing hard with her index finger on one of the teeth in the upper row on the right, she clenched her hand into a fist with a short motion, delivering one of the simplest but most painful strikes from her arsenal to the man's skull. And again — the crunch of bones. And the wailing of the clone.
"I can do this all day," she warned. "There's no particular rush."
"Good luck," Spar grunted. "I was trained by Jango himself. Torture is nothing to me."
"Well, we'll see," Shea said indifferently. Nodding to young Fett, Mandalore the Avenger stepped back.
She wasn't lying. Really — rushing is only necessary when having sex with a married man whose jealous wife is waiting at home. But Mandalore the Avenger — a hero of the nation. The liberator of her people from the oppression of criminal clans could afford one small thing — to torture a man who had attempted the most heinous crime on Mandalore — to deprive the people of their leader.
Rooting out the criminal filth from her home planet had been a struggle. She had to fight for every city, using every weapon that MandalMotors could supply to the people's army. The casualties among her fighters numbered in the tens of thousands — killed, seriously wounded, maimed. Civilian losses (even saying that term was disgusting to Shea) had already exceeded a hundred thousand. And the counting continued.
The criminals fought desperately — especially after a small fleet of united Mandalorian clans struck the motley criminal squadron that held control of the orbit. Deprived of support and any chance of evacuation, the fighters of the Black Sun and the Pyke Syndicate fought like trapped animals, mercilessly slaughtering anyone who crossed their path.
In times past, Shea couldn't have imagined using dirty tricks as a necessary evil for her people. But the experience of initially forming the militia had proven — Mandalorians, who hadn't waged war for decades, had grown soft, turning into obedient cattle lacking their own backbone. If she wanted to maintain her power and return her subjects to their lost traditions, she had to shake them up. The harder, the better.
Mass murders of civilians by criminals — just what was needed. Now there was no shortage of volunteers wanting to join the army. Beskar filled the streets again — the mines on Concordia were operating at full capacity, but no longer to supply the precious metal to the wretched scum of the Death Watch with their perverted ideas about Mandalorian heritage. But for real work.
The Mandalore system was liberated from the bastards. But hundreds of worlds in the sector remained under enemy control. And they would have to be rooted out long and hard. That was why loyal war masters were now training recruits, and the brat from the Beroia clan was able to fully recommission all production facilities of his company for the first time in his life. Over a hundred Crusaders were already hanging in orbit of Mandalore — small, but nimble and deadly corvettes that were to become the backbone of the Mandalorian Sector fleet for some time.
Mandalore was beginning to breathe freely again. Gaining strength. Already, half a million fighters of his army were ready to bring down their wrath like a punishing sword on their recent oppressors. But they shouldn't act so bluntly. An independent Mandalore — it was a symbol world, a beacon of hope burning in the galaxy, calling home the thousands who had become bounty hunters.
And though this was only the beginning, the powers that be in the galaxy had already sensed the change in the wind blowing from the once-humiliated people.
Chancellor Palpatine had sent his plenipotentiary representative to discuss the issue of Mandalore joining the Republic. Yesterday, that idiot senator had left for Coruscant, without the slightest chance of returning to the Senate a triumphant — one who had managed to annex the sector to the decaying state.
The trusted representative from the Separatist Congress had also failed.
And although the proposals of each side differed radically, the envoys would bring the same answer to their masters. "The Mandalorian Sector — a small but proud state. It makes friends with whomever it wants." An opaque hint that neither proposal suited the Mandalorian leader.
A simple "publicity game." Because Mandalore had long since chosen its ally. One that had been steadily pouring billions of credits into the shattered economy of a world tormented by the failed policies of pacifists and the occupation of criminals. Mandalore built "its own" fleet at Zakuul's expense. "Its own" army — too. Even food supplies from Illodia were paid for from the Empire's accounts. Though all these financial flows were carefully disguised as harmless deals — so as not to attract the attention of Republic officials — the fact remained.
Dougan had kept his word — Mandalore had become an independent state under her leadership. However, the economic noose with which the Empire had mercilessly tied the homeland of the galaxy's most famous warriors to itself was more reliable than any paperwork.
Primarily because the moment the Imperial Central Bank said "No," the credits flowing into Mandalore's accounts through the offshore accounts of the InterGalactic Banking Clan would dry up. And the multi-million population would be left hungry amid the ruins of former greatness. Not to mention that the production workshops would stop without the supply of materials coming directly from the Empire in a thin but inexhaustible stream of smuggling shipments, headed by Car'das.
The longer Shea thought about Dougan's actions, the more she realized that the boy, for whom she had felt no respect since their first meeting, had learned a lot from Vitiate. In particular, he had very skillfully exchanged his credits for a lion's share of MandalMotors shares. In fact, despite the fact that most of the company's shares on paper belonged to various companies and organizations, in reality, the latter were just a cover for Zakuul. Effectively owning a controlling stake in the company, Dougan, on one hand, gave money to boost the Mandalorians' defense capability — equipment purchases were made with his credits. And at the same time, on the other hand, as a shareholder, he received profit from spending his own money. And it all went toward Zakuul purchasing Mandalorian equipment for its own army and fleet. Equipment not inferior in quality to the products of renowned galactic concerns, but significantly cheaper in production cost.
And so, very soon, Crusaders would appear in the Zakuul fleet, unequaled in the entire galaxy in terms of small craft extermination and anti-missile defense. Even Sienar's Marauders were less suitable for such tasks. Now... everything would be different.
Listening to Spar's screams, which Boba was virtuosically carving into mincemeat, Shea appraised the kid. Yes, he definitely had talent. With proper handling, he would make a suitable tactical commander of the Mandalorian army. In a few years.
Meanwhile, she needed such a person right now. Kal Skirata had proven himself well in that field. But he had been forced to return to Christophsis hastily — during the older Mandalorian's absence, his Republic subordinates had managed to screw up royally. Dougan had ended up trapped and barely escaped with his life. An astonishing ability to create problems for himself and heroically deal with them. But judging those on whom you depend almost entirely was a bad habit. Harmful to health and business relationships.
However, she needed to find worthy commanders. She could easily plan and execute an assault on one planet at a time. But many hundreds of worlds looked to Mandalore, a significant part of which were currently under occupation. And liberating them one by one was a bad idea. She needed to strike all planets at once to eliminate the enemy's ability to rotate their forces.
On one hand, she had quite a few Mandalorians under her command who were skilled and well-versed in tactical mastery. However, most of them were currently busy training the youth, who had yet to undergo the test of battle. Ruthless and bloodthirsty — fortunately, the same Emperor had "helped" with the choice of target. But, as was fitting for Mandalore, she would personally lead the youngsters into battle. All that remained was to think through the process itself — they needed to hide from the public and enemy spies that over two hundred thousand Mandalorians had suddenly left their homeworld and disappeared in an unknown direction. And the place where they would "emerge" would be far enough from the known galaxy that their actions would go unnoticed.
The calculation was simple. No one could ever guarantee stunning success when young warriors went into battle. Especially against an enemy who, no less than the Mandalorians themselves, adhered to personal canons of honor.
Using the youth to liberate the sector's worlds meant giving an extra reason for information leaks to the HoloNet. If the CIS or the Republic learned of heavy losses among the youngsters in the first battles, they could safely start counting the hours until occupation forces appeared within their borders. But this way, if the youngsters did traditionally suffer heavy losses, it wouldn't become known. At least for the first while, until the talkative tongues of modern Mandalorians found "grateful" listeners.
However, the question of how long the Mandalorians would continue to "dance" to someone else's tune remained open. Shea had already received a comprehensive report from Caleb Daark, who now held the post of Prime Minister of the Sector, on the state of the Mandalorian heritage economy.
Complete devastation. The pacifists' isolationism had led to Mandalore's traditional export items — military equipment and suffering — being unclaimed on a galactic scale. Military campaigns followed by the plundering of rich planets were a thing of the past. MandalMotors, whose military product segment Duchess Kryze had left idle, had tried to enter the galactic market of swoops, speeders, and other civilian consumer goods, but couldn't compete with the industrial giants. Who, one might ask, needed simple but effective vehicles when the market offered models with flashy, striking bodies? The galaxy she had awakened in had changed radically. Ostentation and showing off were the meaning of life for the middle class. In this regard, Dougan's offer to export this segment of MandalMotors' products to Zakuul's markets turned out to be more timely than ever. A rescue capsule that had appeared on board a dying starship at just the right time.
Of course, Incom had already firmly established itself in the Empire's market, but their civilian products didn't have a wide range and weren't sold on the necessary scale. Therefore, the engineers from Fresia devoted more time to military orders, supplying the army and fleet with T-65 heavy starfighters, Headhunter interceptors for planetary defense forces, and, with difficulty, building civilian transports and support vessels for the fleet.
MandalMotors could offer much to the Empire's army and fleet in the field of ground vehicles. However, this budget item of the young state was already occupied by the state corporation Haor Chall Engineering, which produced a wide range of military equipment to meet any need. Yet, the Mandalorian-made Canderous assault tanks had found a response in the Emperor's soul. As had the mass driver technologies, widely proven in the fleet. And although the Mandalorian company didn't produce these installations — after all, the fleet was built at New Forge, where access for ordinary engineers was strictly prohibited — Zakuul had taken the path of acquiring rights for independent production of the technologies they were interested in, paying hefty percentages for using others' developments. The result — considerable funds dripped into Mandalore, while their own factories could avoid being distracted by producing third-party equipment.
Still, such income was clearly insufficient for the proud and warlike people to feel economically independent. The main market — the Eternal Empire — could at any moment refuse a supplier located deep in the Republic's rear. And then the sector in general and the Mandalorian capital planet in particular would face another economic collapse.
At present, the Emperor clearly positioned Mandalore as a sovereign state, but one firmly bound to Zakuul hand and foot. A cold and pragmatic calculation that allowed Dougan to dictate his terms to Mandalore the Avenger. Extremely clearly and plainly.
This wasn't the fate she had wanted when she agreed to follow Vitiate. The bastard, like his student, had once again proven capable of calculating the situation far ahead. There was no doubt that when he promised Shea Vizla the rule of Mandalore in gratitude for her services, the former Sith Emperor had planned just such a "sovereignty" for the proud people. Dougan was merely another pawn, playing the cards dealt to him by his teacher.
Was it humiliating? Yes, it stung the pride and made the blood boil with rage.
Was it fraught with consequences? Without a doubt. The planet and sector were now bound to the Empire. Breaking the relationship would, at best, mean stagnation and a meager existence. At worst — nothing would stop Dougan from sending a fleet into the Mandalorian Sector and wiping everything out at the root.
However, the situation wasn't so bad if viewed from another angle. Only Shea knew the true state of affairs. Even her closest allies were in the dark. And as long as that remained the case, the situation on Mandalore was stable. Money was coming in; the economy was slowly but surely recovering from the knockdown. And the future... after all, what prevented her, as the ruler of an entire sector, from creating reserve funds where surplus profits could accumulate? That financial cushion would allow her to stay afloat for some time if relations with Dougan soured.
She just needed to continue playing by the Emperor's rules. While not forgetting to set aside trump cards for when they were needed.
"Mandalore," young Fett addressed her with respect. The boy was diligently wiping drops of blood from his vibroblade. "There's some progress."
"I never doubted you, Boba," she said sincerely. "Did you find out the client's name?"
"Yes," the kid nodded, grinning. "Without balls and a cock, anyone breaks. Alphas are no exception."
Vizla raised an eyebrow questioningly. Yes, Mandalorians didn't stand on ceremony with enemies. But depriving them of their gender... Dishonoring the enemy was the key to victory. But this thesis hadn't been applied to torture since the Taungs colonized Mandalore. It seemed the boy truly didn't give a damn about all written and unwritten rules. A problem was emerging. Traditionally — where it was least expected.
"Who hired him?"
"Does the name — Lord Tyranus — mean anything to you?"
Not allowing a single emotion to appear on her face, Shea mentally swore. The matter was taking an extremely ugly turn. A second Sith in the galaxy was officially extending a hand, publicly declaring offers of alliance. And at the same time, he was planning to decapitate the Mandalorians with a single blow. Crudely, but it could have worked.
"The reasons for his interest in my person?" she asked.
"Spar doesn't know the details. But Dooku asked him to interrogate you after capture using any available means."
"What did he want to know from me, you dumb animal?" Shea Vizla approached the bleeding Spar, grabbing him by the hair, tilting back his face, disfigured by the vibroblade.
"Tyranus was interested in your relationship with Grand Moff Dougan," Spar looked extremely dejected, glancing repeatedly at parts of his scrotum that had once belonged to him.
"Where did he get such information?" the red-haired beauty asked, clenching a lock of hair in her hand.
A miscalculation — obvious. But where was the leak of data that constituted one of the biggest secrets?
Making a sign for Boba to leave, the girl waited until he left the torture chamber, then, approaching the exhausted clone, she shattered his right kneecap without warning, calling for a frank dialogue. Waiting until the doomed man's screams subsided, she shattered the second...
Only after Jango's clone's ribs began turning into unpleasant shards for a man's rich inner world did Spar start talking. He spoke for a long time, disjointedly, mixing his assumptions with obvious facts. But they were too detailed and at the same time — not public knowledge for a simple mercenary to have heard somewhere. Especially considering the fact that he hadn't left Mandalore since the beginning of the war.
Finally, when he finished, a nasty grin appeared on his face.
"Tyranus knows a lot about your master, you filthy bitch," the clone laughed. "Your schemes..."
He didn't get to finish.
With a precise and powerful strike, Shea crushed his larynx. Ignoring the corpse's convulsions, silently, under young Fett's surprised gaze, she proceeded to the exit of the torture chamber, pulling out her personal holocommunicator on the way.
The Emperor would definitely not like this news.
* * *
The sunset on Hypori was dying in a crimson blaze, in which the giant structures of industrial facilities were drowning. The system's star was skirting the orbit of the Separatist world, carrying its light to another part of the globe. To where the gallant soldiers of the Republic were relentlessly crushing the enemy with a sea of blaster fire.
However, an experienced military observer, given the opportunity to survey the battlefield from a bird's-eye view, would note that the conflict was entering its final stage. Republican soldiers moved inexorably through the disfigured ruins of industrial facilities painstakingly built in the past by the Techno Union, leaving thousands of destroyed battle droids in their wake. There was no force capable of stopping the clones in their determined advance.
Because every attempt by the droid army to launch a counteroffensive, or even slow the advance of their organic opponents, was ruthlessly suppressed by airstrikes. The CIS's anti-orbital defenses had long since become a distant memory, allowing Republic starships to descend into the atmosphere to acceptable altitudes and, with precision bombing, incinerate everything the enemy could field against the advancing forces.
These unceremonious actions by Grand Moff Dougan clearly demonstrated his own principles, which were viewed ambiguously by the high command but met with approval among those who were forging the Republic's victory with weapons in hand.
As soon as the clones and the numerous Jedi who had arrived with reinforcements managed to establish a foothold, securing a vast bridgehead in the heart of enemy industry, commando and recon units, with surgical strikes, silenced the anti-aircraft and deflector dome systems deployed by Grievous's droids. Then, streams of coherent fire and bombs rained from the sky, literally incinerating droid units of any size.
Casualties among the fighters of the Tenth Systems Army dropped dramatically, while the area of occupied territory grew exponentially. All that remained now was to finish the assault on the main Separatist stronghold on Hypori: General Grievous's base — one of the secondary production centers for B-2 super battle droids. The only place on the planet where unprecedented security measures prevented the destruction of the force fields. A division of J-type proton cannons held off the air force and starships of the Gent, keeping them out of effective firing range.
And so, the clone forces settled into a methodical siege. Yes, it could last more than a day, but the outcome was predetermined. Orbit was under Republic control. On the surface, there were over half a million fighters — clones and militia. And while the former pounded the droid fortifications, the latter, with enviable thoroughness, were clearing the controlled territories, destroying the miraculously surviving battle droid units and securing the remaining equipment.
This was precisely what Grand Moff Dougan reported to the Jedi Council in his evening briefing. The communication session with Coruscant was unscheduled, but the Jedi could not ignore a summons from the Council and the Chancellor. Especially in light of the uproar that had erupted in the HoloNet after his latest "interview."
"You are literally destroying the Techno Union's industry," the Chancellor remarked, his holographic figure studying the imperturbable Grand Moff standing on the other side of the holoterminal with a searching gaze.
"As I've said before, it's simpler and more effective to bomb everything here than to sacrifice several corps for the sake of Separatist factories that hold no significant value for the Republic," Dougan noted politely. "All these industrial complexes are designed for producing battle droids. And unless the Council and Senate are planning to create their own B-2s, it's pointless to waste human lives for the sake..."
"Such actions could provoke retaliatory measures from the CIS," remarked Mace Windu's hologram. He, along with Grand Master Yoda, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Luminara Unduli, and the ever-resilient Kit Fisto, was present at the meeting. Mara noted that the Mirialan, like Dougan, looked sleep-deprived and tired. The others, including the Chancellor himself, were alert and fresh. Well, of course — they didn't have to sleep just a few hours a day while directing one of the most ambitious operations in the entire Grand Army of the Republic.
"Until now, there has been an unspoken rule between us and the Separatists — not to cause major damage to each other's economies," the Nautolan reminded them. "It's terrifying to imagine what Count Dooku's response will be."
"Honestly, I thought we were fighting a war, not playing at 'letting the other guy win,'" Dougan chuckled. "Though... how would you know about that, Master Fisto? Sitting in the rear..."
"For your information," Kit retorted, a note of reproach in his voice, "I am heading to Naboo. As before, we want to secure the support of the Grand Gungan Army for military operations in the Mon Calamari sector."
"Let me guess," the Grand Moff's face was invisible behind his mask, but Mara, who had recently taken up the post of his adjutant, would bet that he was smiling. Even when he used the mask, his voice betrayed his emotions. "You need Senator Amidala's support."
"Precisely," said Obi-Wan Kenobi. "Your actions — having her arrested and confined to quarters... are excessive and insulting to the Senate."
"In that case, the Senate should keep a shorter leash on such eccentric individuals than it currently does," Dougan retorted. "Diplomatic immunity and the innate feeble-mindedness of the former Queen of Naboo already served as the pretext for starting this war. Breaking onto the territory of a planet that had seceded from the Republic... Though, why am I telling you this, Master Kenobi? You yourself did practically the exact same thing."
"The Senate long ago rendered its judgment on the actions of Jedi Kenobi, Skywalker, and Senator Amidala," the Chancellor intervened, smiling politely at those present. "Given that the Republic does not recognize the legitimacy of the Separatist movement, and consequently — at the time of those events, the senator and the Jedi were covered by diplomatic immunity. Their actions cannot in any way be construed as detrimental to the interests of the Republic. The same cannot be said for your recent activities. Techno Union shares have fallen on the market by more than twenty points. You must understand that a loss of profit and prestige could force the Techno Union into a radical response. Including personal vengeance against you. Because it is precisely your actions that have struck the CIS where it hurts most — their finances."
"The CIS has already delivered their retaliatory strike," Windu noted. "Less than an hour ago, a holorecording arrived at the Temple from Allantin VI. The shipyards are damaged, the fleet is completely destroyed. Baron Kirvan has taken Master Gallia captive."
"How could this happen?" Luminara exclaimed in horror. "Adi is an excellent fighter and..."
"The recording of the battle proves that Kirvan has grown strong," Yoda shook his head. "Sith teachings he is mastering..."
"What matters is not how he did it, but why," the Chancellor shook his head. "Intelligence has provided me with a copy of that recording. Baron Kirvan demands that you, Grand Moff, meet him in personal combat and answer for your barbaric actions on Hypori."
"Oh, is that so," Dougan said in a level voice. "The vermin crawls out... And why exactly should I interrupt an operation that is about to conclude with the death or capture of General Grievous — something I was prevented from finishing by one restless senator and an accredited journalist," he nodded towards Palpatine, "who, for the sake of virtual fame, was ready to drag through the mud the achievements of my soldiers and the sacrifices they made."
"You're hardly one to complain about fame," Fisto snapped. "The public has become quite enthusiastic about your figure after that interview. But that will all change the moment you finish with Hypori and the citizens learn what methods you use to achieve your victories."
"Especially," Windu continued, "in the context of the holorecordings now being broadcast by Kirvan on the CIS Shadowfeed, accusing you of forcing him to attack our shipyards at Allantin."
"Our losses at Allantin are on your conscience, Master Dougan," Kenobi stated. "Adi Gallia is a prisoner because of you..."
"Forgive me, Masters," Unduli interjected. "But am I the only one who sees that you are stretching a gizka onto a bantha?"
"Be that as it may," Palpatine folded his arms across his chest. "The government cannot allow the Separatists to continue in the same vein. Kirvan has promised to execute Master Gallia and the captured shipyard workers if you do not arrive to meet him within fifteen hours."
"Fifteen hours... Clever. So I should have left an hour ago? Because such a journey will take exactly fifteen hours — if I drop everything right now," a note of suspicion crept into the Jedi's tone.
"A trap this is," Yoda grumbled. "Lure and kill Master Dougan, Kirvan wants. A hunt on members of the Order's High Council he has opened..."
"Perhaps that is so," Palpatine agreed. "But the Grand Moff is under my command. I am compelled to give you the order — to proceed to the coordinates attached by Kirvan to his message," the holoterminal beeped, signaling receipt of the message, "and do everything in your power to save as many lives as possible. Neither the Republic nor the Jedi Order would survive such a blow to their reputation if this operation fails."
"You know," a weary sigh came from behind the mask. "I hope I'm wrong, but no one wants to play for a coach who's started the wrong game."
"What is it you speak of, Master Dougan?" the little Grand Master perked up.
"Teacher Abhira used to say that playing dangerous games is like sleeping with your sister — even if the sister is a beauty and her rack is killer, it's still against the law..."
Mara listened with her mouth open. Seeing something like this with your own eyes... was priceless. Especially if you noticed the cold expression on the Chancellor's face, silently listening to this stream of consciousness as if it held deep meaning. The bewildered looks of the Jedi exchanging glances spoke for themselves. Dougan had long been known as the author of many pearls of wisdom. Apparently, the Jedi was once again disgorging something the public would love and would spread as quotes.
"Where are you going with this, Dougan?" Windu asked sharply. Annoyance was breaking through the Korun's face, piercing his usual Jedi composure.
."..and then all this incest starts," Dougan continued, ignoring the Master's remark, staring directly at Palpatine. "Children with no teeth, who can only play the banjo, drink apple juice through a straw, and screw the livestock on the farms..."
"Enough, Master Dougan!" Windu barked. The Master was frankly enraged.
"I think you understood my hint," Dougan said coldly. "I just wanted to say that you aren't being completely honest with me."
Mara didn't miss the slight smile that appeared on Palpatine's lips. The Jedi and the Chancellor stared at each other without breaking eye contact, as if trying to examine every detail of their opponent's clothing. For a moment, it seemed the temperature had dropped in the room being used as a communications center on Hypori. Mara felt a chill run down her spine.
"Your behavior..." Kenobi said, stroking his beard with his fingers, "is inexcusable and could have far-reaching consequences."
"Report it to the Heavenly Chancellery," Dougan requested. "And now, if you don't mind, I need to leave for Allantin, even though it is separated from my area of responsibility by Separatist territory."
"Master Dougan, the Council objects to this kind of behavior..." Kit Fisto leaned forward.
"Well, shove those objections up your ass," Dougan advised. "Check your prostate while you're at it. Though judging by your behavior, it's plain to see you do that regularly and with pleasure."
"Why you..." the Grand Moff's hand touched the key to turn off the holoprojector. The blue figures of light dissolved into the air.
For a moment, the Jedi stood in silence. Then, turning to Mara, he abruptly approached her, simultaneously pulling off his mask. Pulling the girl to him, he pressed his lips to hers, bestowing upon the stunned beauty the most sensual and passionate kiss she had ever experienced in her life.
"What the...?" she demanded indignantly when the Jedi broke the kiss. Emotionless brute, he could have held it for another couple of minutes...
"For luck," he smirked. "If I don't come back — consider me... No, forget it. Time to quit this Marxism-Jediism..."
With these words, the armored figure of the Grand Moff left the communications center, leaving the Alderaanian aristocrat completely bewildered.