"Impressive," Xizor said with a smirk on his face, observing the panorama unfolding before him from the bridge of the flagship Gozanti. "Radiation certainly doesn't scare us..."
"Trifles compared to the losses we would have suffered in a direct assault," Maul replied indifferently. What did he care how many criminals or inhabitants of Emberlene died as a result of the bombardment and subsequent radioactive contamination?
"I'll agree with that," the Falleen said. "Our losses on Mandalore..."
"Don't concern me," the Zabrak interrupted. "Consider it a purge of the ranks. Those who cannot hold what I have conquered do not deserve to continue living."
"Not the most popular viewpoint among the fighters," Xizor grimaced. "Few want to fight for an organization that is not only outlawed but also doesn't stick by its people..."
"What difference does it make?" Maul grumbled. "Scouts report that the loot on Emberlene is so vast that we'll have enough credits to buy half of Hutt Space and make the slugs themselves brew our caf in the morning. I don't care about the dying rabble — I can always hire new ones. On any planet, you can recruit an entire army of starving wretches who, for a couple of credits, will happily go out and commit mass slaughter."
"Do we have any other targets for plunder in mind?" the Falleen licked his lips in anticipation of further riches.
"Everything in its time, Xizor," Maul shook his head. "You don't think I'm stupid enough to blurt out my plans, do you? I rule the Shadow Collective, and I advise you to remember — any attempt to overthrow me will result in the total annihilation of you and your clan."
"I never even contemplated such a thing," the prince shrugged. Yet, through the Force, he radiated disappointment. He was dismayed that his "subtle" manipulation had been exposed. And so easily at that.
But none of that mattered. The main thing was that Maul had practically fulfilled his master's assignment.
The Mistryl had fallen victim to their own tactics. Before attacking a planet, they would send in assassins to wipe out the entire top command of their victims' armies. This time, the skilled mercenaries of the Collective had completely exterminated all significant figures of the Emberlene armed forces, destroyed equipment depots, shield generators, and anti-aircraft artillery. The planet had become a defenseless, tasty morsel overnight.
The Shadow Collective fleet had suffered heavy losses — more than a hundred cruisers were now nothing but floating space debris. However, their cost was nothing compared to the wealth that would fall into Maul's hands after Emberlene was plundered.
The planet was now being methodically pounded by the criminals' ships using a nuclear arsenal borrowed from Mandalore's long-term storage depots. Was it ruthless? Without a doubt. And it made his chest feel warmer, because feeling the mass deaths of beings and absorbing the terror of their final moments was a great pleasure the Zabrak had never experienced before. Even in the service of Darth Sidious, he couldn't boast of bringing death to millions. Now, however, was a different matter.
Maul was not stupid. And what he was doing for the Emperor was not a secret to him. Though he never said it openly, the Zabrak felt that behind all the Emperor's actions lay something greater. Mandalore had demonstrated that clearly.
The destruction of the incapable government gave the locals a reason to remember their warlike roots and seize power. And you could bet your own limbs that the new leader of Mandalore was firmly tied to the Eternal Empire of Zakuul.
Obviously, the Immortal Emperor had similar thoughts regarding Emberlene. The Mistryl had done a tremendous job of enriching themselves. Their arrogance had blinded the ruling elite. And the evil fate in the form of Maul's mercenaries was the supreme punishment meant to break the spine of the natives' pride. Their world had been cast back into the backwaters of progress. Their wealth would pass into the treasury of the Shadow Collective. Poverty, hunger, radiation, ruin... All of this would make the locals excellent prey for those who would come here after Maul. And the Zabrak had no doubt that the next step would be the recruitment of the surviving Mistryl and the remnants of their army.
Born spies, assassins, saboteurs, impeccably trained and capable of infiltrating anywhere a client wished, possessing unmatched disguise skills... Even Maul himself wouldn't turn down agents like that.
But that wasn't the task set before him.
He had to be extremely precise in executing the Emperor's will.
"We're done with the bombardment," the commander of the flagship noted. "What are the next orders?"
"Send in the landing force to the surface," Maul bared his teeth. "It's time to reap the bloody harvest."
"What are your instructions regarding prisoners and hostages?" Xizor frowned. Maul knew that the Falleen was already aware of who they would actually be dealing with on the surface. He was worried about the consequences. The Mistryl could become extremely dangerous enemies. The more victims among the local population, the harder the retaliatory strike would be. What he didn't know was the simple truth — the more pain and suffering the people of Emberlene experienced now, the more compliant they would be later.
"No prisoners, no hostages," the Zabrak said indifferently. "Everyone who stands between us and the loot is to be exterminated."
"Genocide?" Xizor was taken aback. His eyes widened, and through the Force, he radiated extreme shock. It would be up to him to lead the ground forces. His face would be the one those dying at the hands of the Collective's fighters would see. And he would be the primary target for the Mistryl's vengeance.
Oh yes, you're already calculating how many credits you'll have to spend on hiring new bodyguards. You'd fight to the last for your own hide and spend any amount of money. Typical behavior of a cowardly non-Force-user.
"By no means," Maul shook his head. "We don't want the CIS or Republic fleet on our trail, do we? Anyone who runs — don't pursue. At least someone from this wonderful race has to survive."
"As you command... Lord Maul."
"Don't delay, Xizor," the Zabrak advised. "We're only interested in the planet's wealth here. We know the coordinates of the vaults. There's no need to linger here longer than necessary."
* * *
"Senator, have you lost your mind!" Ion Grettcher exclaimed in a fit of emotion, jumping up from behind his desk. "Do you have any idea what penalties Rendili StarDrive will have to pay if we cancel this order? Not to mention that my career will be ruined!.."
The man cut off his angry tirade, attention drawn to the beep of the holocommunicator built into the desktop. Shifting his gaze to the monitor screen, positioned so that his interlocutor couldn't see what was written on it, he immersed himself in reading, leaving the Alderaanian alone with his thoughts.
Bail grimaced in displeasure. It was always like this. Young people who rocketed to the top of the corporate food pyramid were never going to take risks for a noble cause. Profit ruled these corporations. And considering the budget for building new ships for Christophsis, it was an unimaginable amount of capital.
However, the senator had an ace up his sleeve. The young Rendilian, who had risen in less than a year from the position of a top-level but still ordinary manager to vice-president of the company for wholesale orders — the last link in the chain of beings the Alderaanian was negotiating with. The boy didn't realize how little actually depended on him. And he was trying with all his might to prove his importance.
Mon Mothma's "contact" had proven remarkably useful. Not only was she a very attractive young Mirialan, well-versed in the intricacies of Rendili StarDrive's politics, but she also knew perfectly well how to brighten the leisure time of a middle-aged senator. Furthermore, it turned out she was the one who had handled the first Christophsis order — the modernization of ships purchased from the Order.
And how interesting it was that the client for that refit was none other than... Master Dougan. Yes, even though he was little known at the time — in the dawn of his fame, he wore a mask that erased his appearance from memory for a long time. However, those few moments when he showed his healed face were enough for the media to capture it. And Mon's contact hadn't hesitated to inform her of this.
Therefore, the whole story of building a fleet for Christophsis after the visit to Rendili took on new colors.
Dougan himself had ordered the fleet for Christophsis, which was subsequently presented by Elder Aisel as the property of the Christoph system. A deception? Undoubtedly. But what was it meant to cover? Surely the fact that a single Jedi had enough funds to purchase an entire fleet. An uncomplicated multi-move combination with the Christophsis government — and these ships were supposedly transferred to Dougan's unlimited ownership free of charge.
Like thousands before them.
Like thousands to come.
Was there any doubt that it was Dougan who actually owned the fleet, built the Hammerheads at his own expense, and legalized them through Christophsis, consolidating them under his command? No, there wasn't. He had worked out this scheme from the very beginning and was using it without hesitation even now.
But what for? He had achieved enormous success, enjoyed popularity in society and the Senate. Palpatine favored him and...
Bail felt his mouth go dry.
Palpatine.
That was who was behind all of this. Dougan was his close associate and trusted confidant, who had ascended the vertical of power so quickly that only someone unaware of his friendship with Palpatine could be surprised by it. And if he followed that thought further...
"I have spoken with your government," Bail remarked wearily, seeing that the young man had finished reading his mail. A sly smile appeared on his face. "You are the last one clinging to this order. Given that your government leans toward the Confederacy... it's extremely dangerous to entrust them with building starships for the Republic."
"Meanwhile, Elder Aisel doesn't think so," the vice-president noted coldly. "The order has not been canceled. And the first hundred ships will be ready on time. But thank you for once again emphasizing that it is precisely because of our short-sighted government that the number of slipways for fulfilling this order has been reduced. And as a result, we are missing delivery deadlines and will be forced to pay enormous penalties."
"You mean those very same Hammerheads being upgraded based on the latest Predator-class starship designs?" Bail squinted. "Believe me, the question of Rendili joining the CIS is being discussed in the highest circles of your planet almost as a foregone conclusion. Now imagine what legal costs and fines will be imposed on you if our latest weapons developments fall into the hands of the CIS?"
"A cunning speech," Ion smirked. "And as always, well-put. You ask us to break the contract with Christophsis, claiming that since we won't finish these ships on time, they'll end up with the CIS. And you very transparently hint that the Republic will hit us with sanctions because of it. Could you tell me where you studied oratory and diplomacy?"
"Alderaan University," Bail shared the information. "I merely outlined the obvious options for you. You don't think the Republic will stand idly by when the CIS captures a world so important to it, do you? No, I am more than certain that the day after you side with the CIS, this place will be swarming with the Republic fleet, which, I must admit, isn't the most careful when it comes to preserving infrastructure. Have you seen the latest CIS news? Master Dougan literally razed the Techno Union's industry on Hypori to the ground. It seems nothing will ever be built there again, and after the fleet leaves, only scorched earth will remain."
"Yes, I saw the Shadowfeed news," Ion agreed. "I even watched the stock market reports. You know, I find them extremely interesting."
"I don't follow stock market analysis," Bail admitted.
"And that's a great pity," the young Rendilian smiled. "You're trying to scare me with the idea that our government will join the CIS. Well, I'll grant that — Rendili StarDrive has always followed its own establishment's lead. Under other circumstances, I'd punch you in the face for hinting at Rendili being ravaged by Republic forces, but I was raised in a decent family and won't do that. I'm used to achieving everything with my intellect, so I'll share a few interesting facts your insider whore apparently didn't tell you."
"Excuse me, but..."
"I advise you to take her off Rendili after we finish our conversation," Grettcher said coldly. "I've already ordered her dismissal for violating corporate ethics. But that has little to do with our topic. So, you cited the example of Hypori, that the entire economy there was completely wiped out..."
"Several hours ago, the orbital bombardment of the CIS's last fortified line ended," Bail Organa recalled the fresh news, ignoring the presumptuous youth. From the height of his experience, he knew that sometimes you had to let your impulsive opponent say more than he should. Such hasty phrases often let a great deal of interesting information slip. "The Techno Union has already lost over fifty points on their shares… Very soon they'll put the planet up for auction — it's not profitable for the Separatists to rebuild anything on territory occupied by the Republic. And the Republic doesn't need that planet, for the same reasons. So we'll see it at auction soon enough…"
"You won't," Ion said confidently.
"And why is that?"
"Hypori no longer belongs to the Techno Union." The vice president walked to the surface of his desk and activated a holoprojector, unfolding stock market reports. "Have you heard anything about the company 'Haor Chall Engineering'?" Seeing the man shake his head negatively, Grettcher continued: "A mid-tier company that worked for the CIS. The Republic destroyed their production facilities; the CIS seized all the intellectual developments and patents. In essence, those insectoids were left with nothing."
"Where are you going with this?"
"Oh, I'm being perfectly clear. You simply lack the financial literacy to understand. But let's continue. You do remember that battles took place on Geonosis not long ago, don't you? I believe Master Dougan's units led them," the young man squinted.
"Yes, that's true, but…"
"The factories on that planet were owned in equal shares by 'Geonosian Industries' and the Techno Union. The latter also owned Hypori…"
"I think I'm beginning to see…"
"The Techno Union may be at war with the Republic, but they're excellent financiers. And they managed to sell the devastated planets to the aforementioned Haor Chall Engineering. Don't you find the irony in all this? The metal on Hypori hasn't even cooled yet from the orbital bombardments on General Grievous's base, and the planet already has a new owner. Who, as in the case of Geonosis, allows the Republic to keep its garrison on the surface — Christophsian volunteers who will ensure that the CIS's weapons factories don't reopen on the planets. Convenient, isn't it?"
"The question arises — where did Haor Chall Engineering, a ruined company, get so much money to buy two whole planets?" Organa frowned, though he had some guesses.
"Honestly, I don't care," the man shrugged. "But the fact remains — even if the Republic fleet arrives here, there will always be someone who will acquire a large shipbuilding company with a thousand-year history. And since I'm part of the company's upper circles of power, a certain percentage of that deal will come to me as well. So you can't scare me with possible sanctions — I'll end up on a bantha no matter what."
"But think about your employees." Organa felt that the tone of his interlocutor had changed. If at the beginning of the conversation he was practically hysterical, now he seemed to have found a second wind. "The CIS's seizure of your slipways, as well as the subsequent invasion of the Republic fleet — and believe me, it will definitely happen — will ultimately lead to mass unemployment."
"Yes, there's a grain of common sense in your words," the young man smirked. "But, as I already said, you're not following what's happening on the exchange."
"But I know the mood of your people! Ordinary citizens are extremely unhappy that your government is flirting with the CIS…"
"But they're even less happy with the Republic's position, which abandoned its loyal supplier that provided you with military starships for millennia," Ion noted. "And your words about possible economic sanctions pale in comparison to how events will actually unfold under the scenario you yourself described."
"Then enlighten me," Bail smirked. "Your shares dropped in price as soon as it became known that Count Dooku's emissary — former Jedi Quinlan Vos — had arrived here. I was told that he and your leaders have been discussing the issue of Rendili joining the CIS for twenty-four hours now. Knowing the mood of your politicians, this is inevitable. The Separatists will occupy Rendili, seize the newest equipment of the Republic's armed forces — because of you. That's multi-billion-credit losses. Which will become even greater after the planet returns to the Republic…"
"If it returns," Ion emphasized the first word with a chuckle, which gave Bail an unpleasant feeling.
"What do you mean?"
"It's simple," Ion shrugged. "As you expected, our government expressed a desire to join the Confederacy of Independent Systems. As did the top officials of the company 'Rendili StarDrive.' The CIS fleet arrived in orbit two hours ago to take control of our defense systems and defense fleet…"
"Exactly what I warned you about!" Bail exclaimed. How terribly inopportune! Almost everyone on Rendili knows that a Republic Senator is here. If Organa falls into Vos's captivity, it will be a severe blow to the reputation of their political coalition. "You must immediately destroy all developments on Republic ships, while…"
"Calm down, Senator Organa," Ion ordered him coldly but authoritatively. "The traitors of the Rendili people, the so-called 'Independent Provisional Government of Rendili,' have been arrested by our planet's military under the leadership of Admiral Jace Dallin. Rendili's new government is imposing a military dictatorship on the planet, and this also applies to the property of the nationalized company 'Rendili StarDrive.'"
"A coup d'état?!" Bail was horrified. "Have you lost your mind?! This is a civil war!"
"Only a shortsighted Alderaanian senator could think that the people of Rendili, who survived betrayal by the Republic and also found themselves on the brink of occupation by the Confederacy, would be as short-sighted as those in power," Ion laughed. "No, Senator. There is no civil war and there won't be one. The people of Rendili have rallied around their true leaders — Admiral Dallin and the new director of 'Rendili StarDrive,' namely me…"
"What? How?" Bail was stunned. "So while I was waiting for your reception for several hours, you were pulling all this off? Taking over the company?"
"Exactly, Senator," Ion smirked. "You see, as I said — I achieve everything through my intellect. I know how to assess the risks and benefits of any given action. And I haven't regretted for a single moment agreeing to cooperate with an extremely influential person."
"Who are you talking about?"
"I'm not authorized to discuss that," Ion shrugged. "But all of his warnings came true. Our shortsighted politicians decided to plunge us into chaos, forced us to humiliate ourselves while saving face before the Republic, which had defected to our competitors — Kuat. And they even decided that an alliance with the CIS would be the best choice… No, our people are united in their opinion — neither the Republic nor the CIS suits us."
"You're seceding from the Republic?" Bail was taken aback.
"Exactly," Ion agreed. "The defense fleet is engaging the CIS ships, and soon everything will be decided in our favor — you can be sure of that. At this very moment, our Senator is showing a video recording of our conversation in the Senate as proof of the subversive activities of certain Republic representatives against our economic interests." Bail paled, looking toward the direction indicated by the newly-appointed head of 'Rendili StarDrive.' A massive statue standing in the corner of the office was gleaming with optical lenses installed in place of its eye sockets. Not the most conspicuous hidden surveillance system. Accustomed to luxury, Bail hadn't even noticed the modest interior. And now he was paying for it. How else could he explain that against the red background of the statue, he hadn't noticed the crimson light of the video recording?
"I don't think any entrepreneur in the Republic will have any doubts left about the rottenness of your political system," Ion concluded. Then, touching one of the keys on his desk, he turned off the video recording system. "I'll relay the words of Admiral Dallin. You have one hour to leave the territory of our system. Otherwise, you will be detained by our security forces. This concludes our meeting. Goodbye, Senator." The mocking smile on the young Rendilian's face was frankly irritating, but Bail was smart enough to understand when the game wasn't worth the candle. Him telling the upstart everything he thought of him wouldn't change anything. But there was no guarantee there wasn't another surveillance system in the office that could further undermine his already low-falling authority in the Senate.
The Senator, taking his leave of the man respectfully, silently left the office.
He needed to get to his ship as quickly as possible and contact Mon Mothma to inform her of what was happening. He shouldn't put this off until arriving on Coruscant.
The aerospeder delivered him to the landing pad where his Tantive IV was located. Measuring the technical crew fiddling around the landing struts with a glance, the Senator quickly reached the lift that took him to the deck. Meeting Captain Antilles's eyes, he angrily cut off his report and headed for the long-range communications room.
"Mon," the Senator from Chandrila answered the outgoing call almost immediately. "How…"
"Bail!? Are you out of your mind?!" the red-haired woman exclaimed. "You practically threatened the head of a corporation! The Senate is furious, Palpatine has initiated an official inquiry! Our positions were already shaky after Amidala's stunt!"
"Mon, I was misled," Organa said with a sigh. Yes, he understood how badly he'd screwed up in that meeting without any help. He didn't need a lecture on top of it! "Wait, what did Padmé do?"
"Haven't you been following the HoloNet at all?" Mothma was taken aback.
"No, Rendili was under a state of emergency; the population was confined to their homes except for shipyard workers," Bail recalled. "I was told it was a preparatory measure to suppress potential uprisings in their infancy…"
"Like a bald Hutt's hair!" he had never seen the woman so furious. "First, Amidala, without Senate authorization, charges right into the thick of it — onto Hypori — and Dougan's Punishers detain her…"
"What did she need there?" Organa was surprised. "There's active combat!"
"Ask her!" Mon growled. "The Senate is hysterical. The public has already pelted our faction's speeders with rotten fruit — right in the Senate parking lot! Because that idiot flew into the middle of combat operations with a journalist and ruined Dougan's capture of Grievous! Do you understand what we have to clean up after? Because of members of our faction, the commander-in-chief of the CIS wasn't captured first! And now your threats to 'Rendili StarDrive'! Do you have any idea what a bucket of shit has been dumped on us? Rendili has seceded from the Republic, declaring its independence! And this at a time when the Senate was discussing the agenda of involving 'Rendili StarDrive' in the construction of new destroyers! Palpatine's supporters have set all their dogs on us! Saying it's us, not them, who are constantly trying to throw a wrench in the works of democracy!"
"Listen, Mon," Bail said wearily. In his head, he was already clearly picturing the subsequent events. The reputation of the opposition, as well as their personal reputations — his, Amidala's, Mothma's — would fall lower than any possible mark. Palpatine's lobbyists had already shown they wouldn't ignore this fact. Just placing the blame for Dougan's failure on them… "But we can play on this! I found out about it just before the restrictive measures were imposed. Dougan carried out the orbital bombardment of Hypori in violation of all rules of war…"
"Yes, and that's also being held against us!" Mothma reported. "'The only way to destroy the bloodthirsty Grievous,' as he stated on the network. And he particularly emphasized that he would have done it even sooner if Amidala hadn't gotten in his way!"
"This is some kind of conspiracy," Bail shook his head. "It can't all happen at once like this…"
"And yet it has!" Mon declared. "The HoloNet is literally exploding with discontent toward us and approval of his actions. The electorate is already creating petitions to lift the moratorium on the 'Base Delta Zero' order! Over ten million approvals in the half-hour since your 'negotiations' were broadcast."
"Too fast…"
"Considering that the author of this petition on the HoloNet is Elin Tyrell, sent by the Chancellor to cover Grand Moff Dougan's activities… Hutt, and we had to run into that journalist-slut!"
"It's Palpatine," Bail said darkly. "He planned all of this…"
"I hope so," Mon said quietly. Her face showed she was tired. "Do you have proof?"
"Yes," Bail smiled. "Your contact on Rendili told me a lot of details… Very juicy ones. She got fired for it, by the way."
"Can you tell me?" The Chandrilan's eyes lit up. "This channel is encrypted, right?"
"Yes, of course. Your friend said that the first ships — the very ones that gave Trench a beating during the First Battle of Christophsis — were purchased from the Order by Dougan. Through proxies, of course, but it was he who negotiated with her about carrying out the modernization work. He also paid for everything from a numbered account, which the Christophsians are now using, passing it off as their own."
"Dougan?" Mon was taken aback. "A Jedi went in for such manipulations? Unbelievable…"
"Don't forget that it was the Order that created the clone army and an entire fleet," Organa reminded her. "However, it was something else that caught my attention here."
"For example?"
"I'm becoming more and more convinced that Palpatine is behind all of this," he said, lowering his voice as if afraid someone might overhear him. "The Jedi are wealthy, that's beyond doubt. But just imagine. Palpatine has always been popular with many of them. His friendship with Skywalker is no secret to anyone. Dougan is also at the height of his fame. And what's more — he distinguished himself in several battles, exposed a corrupt Moff, and immediately took his place. A little more time, and he's already commanding a sector army. He hadn't really done anything in that position — and now, under his command is a system army — the largest of the ten."
"There's a grain of truth in that," the Chandrilan said slowly. "Palpatine is pushing his supporters among the Jedi to the forefront of the media. And he doesn't hesitate to tear Windu apart during the next war reports. He can easily present any of their successes to the public as his own — after all, it was he who noticed such talents and promoted them. Especially Dougan — now half of the Outer Rim is under his power, three system armies…"
"Just imagine for a minute that Palpatine is connected to all these Christophsian fleets," Bail continued. "Where does Dougan get such funds? That's billions! Most likely, Palpatine is sponsoring him. And he's acquiring ships for himself, hiding behind the loyal Christophsians. Those, in turn, provide Palpatine with resources — ships, an army — that he can use for a forcible seizure of power."
"Bail, you're talking about a forcible seizure of power," Mon gasped. "You don't think that… No, even Palpatine isn't terrible enough to hold power in his hands that way…"
"But it would explain a lot," Organa countered. "Besides what I've already said — and the concentration of all Kaminoan clones in Dougan's hands. The reserves of Kamino and Rothana — the secret planet of 'Kuat Drive Yards'… I don't know about you, but I believe that Palpatine, through Dougan, is concentrating enormous military and production capabilities in the hands of one Jedi, whose loyalty he has already secured. And if anything happens — this entire armada will be at Coruscant in no time. No other army has the reserves that 'Gent' has. And if you add the two neighboring ones…"
"Bail, all of this is too much," but Mothma's face showed that the same conclusions were troubling her. "The army and fleet are under the direct control of the Jedi… and not all of them are Palpatine's supporters…"
"Not all, but many, Mon," the Alderaanian noted grimly. "I wouldn't be surprised if it turns out that the whole venture with the clones and the fleet that was built in secret on Kuat for these soldiers was Palpatine's initiative."
"This all stinks, Bail," Mon shook her head. "Get back to Coruscant quickly; we need to discuss all of this very thoroughly."
"I'm already taking off, Mon. There's nothing else for me to do here anyway," Bail sighed, ending the communication session.
After sitting in silence for a few minutes, he used the breathing exercise that Obi-Wan had shown him during their misadventures on Zigoola to try to clear his mind of negativity. Only then did he leave the room…
… and came face to face with a pair of beings in technical jumpsuits.
The collision with a young guy carrying a rather massive mechanical part on his shoulder sent the latter crashing onto the polished-to-a-mirror-finish corridor floor.
"What the Hutt?!" the usually restrained Senator swore. "Who are you?"
"Well, you see," a Duros in a technician's jumpsuit scratched his large nose. "We're repairing your hyperdrive…"
"Is something wrong with it?" Bail became alert.
"Actually, yes," the young human guy, with a toothy smile, said as he hoisted the part back onto his shoulder. "Captain Antilles noticed several malfunctions in the systems and called us. Our friends are fixing the landing strut hydraulics, and I calibrated your hyperdrive and replaced one of the motivators."
"That's strange, he didn't say anything to me," Bail grew suspicious.
"Well, communications aren't working," the Duros spread his hands, slowly chewing on a toothpick. "Those bureaucrats are up to something again…"
"I need to leave Rendili as quickly as possible," the Senator declared.
"Don't you worry about a thing," the man smirked. "Everything's working perfectly. I have the most skilled and fastest hands in the entire Outer Rim."
* * *
"Been waiting long?" Bo-Katan's voice pulled Obi-Wan from his thoughts as she approached him from behind. The girl, who continued to wear her set of Mandalorian armor (though with the 'Death Watch' marks washed off) even on Coruscant — where natives of Mandalore had been disliked by many for thousands of years — sat down at the table opposite him, taking off her helmet and placing it beside her.
"A couple of hours," Kenobi looked up from the datapad screen, shifting his gaze to his companion. "Mere trifles."
"You're as gallant as ever, Jedi," the last of the Kryze line snorted. Obi-Wan felt a pang of guilt — he had heard that phrase once before. From the lips of another representative of the same Mandalorian clan. Under similar circumstances. "What did you call me for?"
"There's some information," he said, lowering his voice.
"Spit it out," Bo-Katan perked up.
"Not so fast," he shook his head. "I don't have the information."
"Stop speaking in riddles," the Mandalorian growled. "I don't care about your manners and pretty eyes — I'll break your jaw."
"Oh, so I have pretty eyes?" Kenobi smirked. But he almost immediately reined himself in. "'What are you doing, Obi? You were in love with her sister!'" However, it was too late to back down.
The young woman smiled at him. Her gaze warmed by a few degrees, making the Jedi's heart, which had clenched a moment before, start beating again as before.
"Will you be ordering anything, lovebirds?" a waiter droid rolled up to their table. Kenobi smirked at such an address. This same droid had served him here a little over a year ago — when he'd come to Dex for information.
"Call me that again and I'll rip out your motivator," Bo-Katan promised. The droid, blinking its photoreceptor, immediately backed off.
"Call Dex," Obi-Wan requested. The droid spun around and announced to the entire establishment:
"Lovebirds! Customers for you. Looks like a Jedi and his rude girlfriend."
Obi-Wan felt that they had instantly become the object of everyone's attention. But as soon as Bo-Katan favored the few patrons with her heavy gaze, the onlookers immediately hastened to mind their own business. Convenient.
"Obi!" The massive Besalisk, squeezing his bulky body between the tables with monstrous agility, nearly jumped out of the kitchen into the dining area. The enormous face of his alien friend was the picture of pure joy at their meeting.
Grabbing the Jedi in a bear hug, the four-armed monster lifted him off the ground a few times before putting him back down.
"Long time no see," the Besalisk grinned. "Man, you've lost weight!"
"You could say that, Dex," the Jedi answered evasively. "War, I've had to spend some time in the hospital a few times…"
"So you're on Coruscant now?" the Besalisk clarified. Receiving an affirmative nod in response, he scratched the top of his head with his clawed fingers. "How long?"
"Just under a month," the Jedi admitted.
"And you only came now?" The restaurant owner's eyes widened. "No, friend, that won't do. Drop by every day — at least let me fatten you up…"
"Can we cut the pleasantries?" Kryze inquired impatiently, poorly hiding her irritation. "My time is valuable…"
"Your girlfriend, Kenobi?" the Besalisk teased his friend.
"No, an acquaintance," the Jedi cautiously corrected.
"Too bad," the alien grinned with a sharp-toothed smile. "You need just that kind — a woman with fire…"
His enthusiastic speech was cut short by a short blast from the flamethrower built into the Mandalorian's armor gauntlet. She, having endured Dex's reproachful look as he waved all four hands to disperse the unpleasant smell of the burned fuel mixture, demonstratively tapped her index finger on the table.
"Kenobi dragged me here for some information related to Mandalore," she said. "Start talking, big guy. Before I burn your joint to the Hutt."
"Wow…" Dex laughed. At that moment, a waitress droid rolled up to the table carrying a tray with a business lunch. Efficiently setting the food in front of the trio — Kenobi had to make room for Dex to sit on the same booth bench — the droid, glancing its optical sensors at Kryze, efficiently wheeled back to the kitchen. "Eat and listen."
Obi-Wan silently began cutting the syrup-drenched waffles into pieces. Bo-Katan, measuring the Besalisk with a sullen look, demonstratively began twirling a dessert knife in her hands.
"Eat, don't be afraid," the establishment owner smiled. "Minimum calories with maximum flavor. Besides, with your lifestyle, Mandalorian, you're not in danger of gaining weight."
"Like you'd know, monster," she replied without emotion, cutting off and putting a small piece of the sweet into her mouth. "I'm waiting."
"Alright then," the four-armed humanoid leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "I've heard through the grapevine that a cantina has appeared on the lower levels, owned by Mandalorians."
"Well… that happens," the Jedi noted. "Not all of them can be mercenaries and killers. Ow!" he cried out softly, using the Force to dull the pain under his left kneecap. Kryze, who had hissed at him, silently and very eloquently hinted that the next blow from her armored boot could land in a much more delicate spot.
"It's not that simple, Obi," Dex continued. "How many respectable establishments do you know where the owner takes in entire groups of Mandalorians? And even closes the place for that? Believe me — on the lower levels, that doesn't happen."
"I still don't see the point," Kenobi admitted. "What's unusual about these Mandalorians?"
"The fact that everything changed in that establishment after a few Mandalorians who trained your clones on Kamino gathered there," the Besalisk reported. "And later, that very Mandalorian woman who's currently running things on your homeworld came to see them." He jabbed a finger in Kryze's direction. "And she had a very aggressive conversation with them — so much so that the cantina owner went broke on repairs. And, as the icing on the cake — after that meeting, as I heard, there was no one left to train your commandos. And problems started on Mandalore…"
"So they have a base there?" Bo-Katan's teeth grinding was audible almost throughout the entire diner. "What good is that to me if I care about Maul?"
"Hold on," the giant waved his hands. "I haven't told you everything. According to my information, these same Mandalorians took part in the raid on the Jedi Temple…"
"How do you…" Kenobi started, but then stopped himself.
"Only the blind and deaf don't know that you were cleaned out, Kenobi," Dex shook his head. "If I were allowed to bet, I'd put money on that very lady who was throwing Mandalorians around that joint being behind the attack on your Temple…"
"I don't care about the Temple," Bo-Katan said. Looking reproachfully at the Jedi, she said in frustration: "And you called me all the way here for this nonsense?"
"She's impatient, your friend," Dex chuckled. Having had his laugh, he looked at the tight-lipped red-haired woman. "Don't glare at me like that, Mandalorian. As for your Maul…"
Kenobi tensed at the concrete mention of the familiar name.
Actually, he had asked Dex primarily to search for information about that Sith survivor, while secondarily probing his spy network about the state of affairs on Mandalore. He hadn't been able to save Satine, but maybe he could somehow repay Bo-Katan by restoring her power on their homeworld. After all, she was Satine's heir…
"Did you find him?" Obi-Wan asked quietly.
"Espionage isn't an exact science, Obi-Wan," the Besalisk shook his head. "If you need guarantees, you've come to the wrong place…"
"Talk," Bo-Katan hissed, gripping the knife in her hand. Her entire demeanor said that she would get the location of her sister's killer no matter what.
"He's on Emberlene right now," the establishment owner replied. "My people say it's pure chaos there. Nuclear bombardment, planetary looting, a Hutt of a mess… And it looks like he's at the center of it all."
"Nuclear weapons?" Kenobi gasped. "That's barbaric... They're forbidden, they haven't been produced..." He frowned as he saw the girl deliberately avoiding his gaze. "Bo-Katan, don't tell me nuclear warheads were on Mandalore..."
"I won't," she said. "You said it yourself. Pre Vizsla stockpiled them years ago and stored them on Concordia. Just in case..."
"This is... just..." Kenobi ran his hand over his face. Things were going from bad to worse. An enraged Zabrak wasn't enough — now he had nuclear weapons in his hands. "Why did you stay silent?"
"You weren't exactly forthcoming about the affair with my sister either," Bo-Katan squinted. The stunned Obi-Wan pulled back from the table, not understanding the storm of emotion boiling inside the girl. She stood up, put on her helmet, and turning to Dexter, repeated slowly: "Emberlene, you said...?"
"Yes, it's in the Mid Rim," he said. Having received confirmation, the girl strode swiftly toward the exit, after throwing a few credits on the table.
Both men, turning over the backs of their chairs, watched her go. As the girl's figure — quite attractive even in armor — left the establishment, the Besalisk playfully nudged his friend with a fist.
"What a woman, Obi-Wan!" he said with enthusiasm. "What energy, what femininity..."
"Dex, she was about to burn down your diner," the Jedi reminded him. "I don't think someone like her..."
"She's exactly what you need, Obi," the owner of the establishment noted reproachfully. "Strong-willed, decisive, charismatic. Otherwise you'll spend your whole life chasing your ideals. And real happiness — there it is," he jabbed a massive finger after the Mandalorian woman. "Walking away, swaying her hips beautifully."
"Since when did you start appreciating the beauty of human women?" Kenobi frowned.
"Since the moment Hermione started working for me," the Besalisk said with a laugh, pointing at his head waitress, who was serving another table in a very revealing blue dress. The pleasant-looking middle-aged blonde, noticing their gazes, smiled sweetly and returned to work. "Trust me, old friend, I've lived a long time. And in the end, if you don't sort out this issue early on, you end up alone, working yourself to the bone in your own little joint, and returning to your gloomy bachelor pad gets more depressing every day."
"I am faithful to the ideals of the Order, Dex," Obi-Wan objected.
"Yeah," the Besalisk rose from his seat, hitching up his perpetually sagging pants as he moved. "When you told me about your women... what were their names? Ah, Siri and Satine!"
"Dex," Kenobi said warningly. He didn't like these constant hints from his friend. Every time he heard his friend's musings on family and marriage, he regretted telling him about his romantic interests when he was a young Padawan. Dexter, as an experienced information broker, readily used everything he heard for his own purposes. "I asked you..."
"I remember, Obi!" the giant waved him off. He stopped by the table, crossing both pairs of arms over his chest and stomach — a clear sign of his deep displeasure. "But I won't stop telling you. The Republic is rotten to the core! And you Jedi, with each generation, get more and more bogged down in all this..."
"Dex!" Kenobi raised his voice slightly. "Don't go on. Please."
"Suit yourself, Obi-Wan," the Besalisk waved all four arms. "But before you stick your head back into the jaws of galactic corrupt politics, think about whether it wouldn't be better for you to settle down somewhere in a quiet world in the Outer Rim and have a bunch of kids with that redhead beauty."
"Then I'd be breaking my oath to the Republic and democracy," the Jedi said gloomily.
"At least this way," the Besalisk stressed the last word, "you're guaranteed to survive this whole mess. I've buried too many friends, Obi. I don't want you to become another one."
Before the Jedi could ask Dexter anything, the latter, still holding his pants with one hand, disappeared into the kitchen.
Sighing, Obi-Wan poked at his dessert with a fork for a few more minutes, then paid and left the establishment, trying not to meet the eyes of his friend, who was watching him intently.
* * *
You have to give credit to how masterfully, with flair and passion, Sidious plays.
Making Hypori a lure, drawing me in there. Sending Grievous — the "Knight Killer" after me to finish me off. And when that failed, setting up a rescue mission by capturing Adi, forcing me to trek halfway across the galaxy to meet this psychopath — Nax Kirvan.
It became clear the Baron had completely lost his marbles back when my Wrath — "formerly known as" Quinlan Vos — reported that Dooku had given the delivered holocron of Darth Andeddu to the Baron for study. That very Sith holocron that the Count had sent Vos and his other servant — whose name hardly anyone remembers and will go down in history as "just another bastard with a red lightsaber" to retrieve. Of which very few remain on Dooku's side lately.
Among those who actually represented any interest: Vos himself, who'd already reported on the coup on Rendili. Thanks to the former Jedi and current Senator — both did their part brilliantly. Vos brought the Confederacy fleet with him and unleashed it on the Rendilians, clearly showing them how the Separatist gang really felt about them. And Quinlan's actions were nothing more than the precise execution of Dooku's orders: either subdue Rendili or destroy their fleet, preventing them from joining Republic forces.
Organa, traditionally useless on a galactic scale, did even more. Such crude blackmail... Frankly, from someone who so skillfully seized the throne of Alderaan, I expected far more interesting and subtle manipulations. Didn't Sidious consider him one of his main opponents? To earn such feedback from the strongest Sith of the modern era while being non-Force-sensitive takes real effort. But apparently, not in this universe. Either Grandpa Lucas seriously "spruced up" his literary universe, or my interference is "tearing the veil" from the surrounding gloss. Either way, everything turned out quite... interesting. Organa is a political corpse, and it's high time for him to tuck his tail between his legs and flee Rendili... towards new adventures for his sorry ass.
Kirvan... yes, the boy, even before "leveling up" with Andeddu's knowledge, was a worthy opponent — no wonder he mowed down legions and sliced through Jedi like pigs. Now, having studied the ancient Sith's knowledge, he's become even more dangerous.
Of course, neither he nor Dooku know that the holocron Quinlan found on Korriban is just a pathetic duplicate, where Andeddu dumped all sorts of "slag" and his senile ramblings. I knew this because I studied the holocron before giving it to Vos as a gift for Dooku — my Wrath couldn't just disappear off the radar for so long and show up empty-handed before his "master," could he?
The third problem, oddly enough, popped up where it wasn't expected.
Sha'ala Donita.
Dooku's "assistant," whom Ashara ran into on Manaan and Vette on the slave-trader planet, turned out to be a highly skilled piece of scum, trained in the techniques of the Dark Side of the Force. Not on Ventress's level, I must admit. But skilled enough to stand against Vette, Deezy Azmo, and Matthew Mantrell. Apparently, her being covered from head to toe in Sith tattoos wasn't for nothing. A secret student of Dooku? Asajj's replacement? Hell if I know — the girl hightailed it out of here, having thoroughly chopped up the "skywalkers" and sent a good hundred militia members to the eternal hunting grounds. Which is bad. She definitely "copied" both the ships assigned to Vette for the raid on the slavers and the Christophsians' involvement in all this... Trouble is brewing, and I need to think carefully about how to frame this in case the situation comes before the public eye. And apparently, Sidious is going out of his way to drag my reputation through the mud, lumping me in with the rest of the Jedi. Hell, there's already a fifth video on the HoloNet about Skywalker's successful "butcher" operations in his zone of responsibility. True, they're a couple hundred million views short of my interviews. But Palpy is clearly trying to elevate his Chosen One.
Well, screw them all. Not much longer to keep up this charade anyway. Maybe Vitiate (by the way, where did that old fart disappear to?) was getting his jollies leading everyone in the Sith Empire and the Republic by the nose, pitting them against each other while building his Eternal Empire, but my own cockatoo-dung is still in order.
Yeah, at first it was "fun." Playing on the razor's edge, the sense of danger fueled my interest in all these petty intrigues and manipulations. I was doing a good thing — nipping galactic conflicts in the bud, building an ideal state.
But now, with the Eternal Empire slowly but surely expanding, burning its way through the Unknown Regions with a hot iron, ancient Jedi and Sith relics and knowledge flowing like a river to Zakuul into my personal treasury, and the number of like-minded subordinates growing every day, some kind of apathy has set in. As if the incentive to move forward was taken from me. The passion with which I threw myself onto the barricades of bureaucracy, war, the fight against slavery, and the building of the Empire is now far in the past. The projects are rolling along well-worn tracks. The number of soldiers and officers is growing. The Empire's population is multiplying — just Pantora's request to join the Empire (secretly, of course) is worth something. Of course, the Diplomatic Service politely promised to coordinate such a request with me. And I'll even go further: I'll grant the Papa-Noid's wish. It's not for nothing that I set Bane the task of hooking his young protégé up with the Pantoran senator. Sure, I could have done it myself — the girl is cute, good-looking, and has everything. And I haven't lost the skill to nudge my interlocutor's thoughts in the right direction. But I'm sick to death of all this poking around in other people's brains.
To hell with it all. I have few, but enough, subordinates and allies among the Force-sensitives to recruit new ones this way. Let's follow Revan's path: "My cause is just. Those with me — charge ahead and smite the enemy. Those against me — sit on Coruscant and mind-frack each other, but don't get in my way."
It's time, finally, to pay attention to myself.
I've been digesting Kun's knowledge for quite a while, mostly in fits and starts. Primarily because I didn't have enough free time. Now I do — nothing to do anyway while flying to the rendezvous with Kirvan.
I can dive into more prosaic matters.
Assimilate the knowledge of Muur and Marr that I absorbed. I've started this process several times, but everything in this galaxy is standard — no matter how far you run, there's always some damn thing. Either the Jedi screw up the corps, or the fleet gets lost, or something else...
Good thing I have Oli to "palm off" on someone. I don't have time to teach the girl. And I'm not particularly strong in Sith magic anyway. But according to Ashara, Starstone has a talent for the job. I just need to handle such gems more delicately. Not as crudely as I do — dangling the carrot of lessons in front of her and laughing at her frustration.
Of course, I didn't send the girl to Tython — she hasn't "earned it," so to speak. But the Head of the Academy found her a couple of suitable holocrons. Which the girl is now cramming like the Lord's Prayer in the Citadel on Christophsis. Under the watchful eye of Fay — who else could you assign to a capable student with a natural talent for flying into a rage? Right — a thousand-year-old Jedi who knows 100,500 methods of self-control. And that's only the ones she hasn't forgotten over all that time.
Do I get pleasure from forcing Jedi to dabble in Dark Side knowledge and Sith in Light Side knowledge? No. Not a drop. For me, this isn't another notch on the "Fixed 100/200/300... inadequate people" belt. In my understanding, what's happening is just a necessity. Like going to a soul-crushing job. You know it's annoying, but it pays. And you always gotta eat.
In my case, it's a clear imbalance in the number of Jedi — of whom there are about seven or eight thousand left in the galaxy, but the number is constantly growing as yesterday's Padawans are knighted, whose life expectancy at the front ranges from a few weeks to a couple of months. The Empire's assets are a little over fifteen hundred Force-sensitives who are diligently "biting the granite" of Unified Force science on Tython. Not enough, of course, considering the Jedi are strong precisely in numbers — how many times has it happened that a bunch of weak Force-sensitives spitted a single, but strong Force-user on their lightsabers. Sure, I had an ace up my sleeve, but I never could get around to it. I planned to after Hypori, but, as they say, it didn't work out, no luck.
Oh well, I can only hope that by the time the total mess starts, the quality of the Imperial Knights will be a worthy alternative to the quantity of Jedi.
In the meantime, withdrawing from worldly matters, frozen in a meditation pose on the floor of my personal cabin aboard the Defender, I delved deeper and deeper into the knowledge with which the ghosts were rich. Thanks to Ashsha and the Mimban crystal, this happened faster than in previous times.
The sound signal from the door didn't distract me much from the process. I wiggled my finger to unseal the room, allowing the being waiting outside to enter.
"Am I interrupting?" A stupid question, of course. But what can you expect from a former Jedi?
"Can't sleep?" Without opening my eyes, I gestured for Kylie to sit next to me.
The girl quietly shuffled over and sat down opposite, silently taking a pose similar to mine.
"I feel restless... Emperor," she said quietly. "Bad premonitions."
"Maybe your period's coming?" I inquired.
"No, it's already passed," the girl blushed. A grown woman, and she reacts to such flat jokes. Ah, the girls of our generation are getting smaller. "It's about our mission..."
"Don't worry," I said. Some meditation this is. "I'm right here."
"To be honest, that's what makes me uneasy," the girl admitted. "I've never had... combat missions before."
"Well, this will be your first," I shrugged. What difference does it make? What's with these girly talks this late at night — the chronometer says it's well into the night and we have just over five hours to the target.
Having received an ultimatum from the Council, I had no choice but to take the fastest ship and go to Christophsis. There I picked up my Defender — compared to the rest of the fleet ships, it's objectively faster. Thanks to the mechanics and the Gella sisters for that.
After the mass death of the Prophets, the veil of the Dark Side thinned slightly. Of course, it wasn't enough for the Jedi to see the future properly. But for me, it's enough. Images of future events flash by more and more often. Including the persistent feeling that in this rescue mission, I'll need a specialized Force-sensitive healer from around here. And there are only two of those for the nearest three armies. Barriss is currently swamped at a hospital on Lantillis — Luminara has been assaulting the planets of the Mon Calamari sector without much success, where the Separatists are thoroughly entrenched. And the number of wounded of varying severity is increasing by the day. Even though Barriss is one of the best healers, it would simply take her too long to get to me. And according to Luminara's sincere confession, she hasn't even spoken to the girl of the same race about loyalty to the Empire yet. And the situation with Kirvan could go either way — but not in the context of my usual games of "look, I'm a regular Jedi who learned a couple of neat tricks." The Force was telling me I'd have to act not under the guise of Dougan-the-Jedi, but as the Emperor. That is, at full strength, using all the knowledge available to me. Because I wasn't about to risk losing Adi for the sake of maintaining my cover. After all, the Force-sensitives truly loyal to me who know the real story can be counted on the fingers of a Jedi with bad swordsmanship.
And so Kylie joined my squad. The girl had been learning healing techniques for quite a while, and according to Aayla, successfully — not just Jedi techniques, but Sith ones too. The latter aren't going so smoothly, of course — but even if I spent all my time studying Muur's knowledge, my progress would still be lower than the knowledge Omas had managed to acquire.
"How are your studies with XoXaan's holocron going?" Seeing some awkwardness on the girl's face, I tried to lighten the mood with small talk.
"Making definite progress," the healer replied in a cheerful tone (apparently, I wasn't the only one burdened by this tense atmosphere). "Although... communicating with the multithousand-year-old spirit of one of the Twelve Exiles is hardly a pleasure. She's... willful. And constantly tries to lure me to the Dark Side."
"So, I should remind her that she's only alive as long as she shares her knowledge," I concluded.
XoXaan's holocron — belonging to one of the first Sith in the form we know them — differed from other Sith and Jedi knowledge repositories in that instead of a virtual guide who instructed the Force-sensitive, Xo had imprisoned her spirit. And Kylie was essentially communicating with a Sith. With all the inherent cunning and sophistication of the latter.
Even just to make the ancient harpy cooperate required effort. Specifically, demonstrating what happens to Force Ghosts who dare to oppose "party policy." Yes, of course, the long conversations on the theme "Old lady, you didn't just want to fall into Darkness, but to learn to control not only the Light Side but also the Dark Side of the Force, so why are you being stubborn?" also played their part. What ultimately drove the Ghost of XoXaan onto the path of cooperation remains a mystery. But she was an extremely peculiar mentor. She not only taught Kylie healing techniques using the Dark Side but also provided detailed commentary on other Dark-themed topics. So, one could loosely say that Omas was receiving a full-fledged education — as befits an Imperial Knight.
"Don't trouble yourself, my Emperor," the girl smiled apologetically. "I'll relay your words to her — I think that will be enough."
"Call me if anything," I shrugged. "What difference does it make who teaches you Xo's knowledge — her herself, or me?"
"It's an honor to be your student," Kylie smiled. "Sometimes I envy Starstone..."
"Alone, you can address me with 'you,'" I asked. "You've saved my life three times, after all."
"Alright... But actually, it was twice," the healer recalled. "After the battle with Tann and the attack on the Chancellor..."
"If it weren't for your tedious meditations after Geonosis, my progress would have stood still for a long time," I assured her. I wasn't about to go into the details of how exactly those meditations after my arrival in a galaxy far, far away had pushed me towards the right path of assimilating Exar Kun's knowledge, as well as restoring my own abilities of the body I'd inherited. Sincerity is good. But Oli already knows more than she should. I don't want to increase the number of people privy to my secret unless necessary. "So — three."
"So I'm your personal healer?" the girl smiled.
"I think we've talked about this before," I chuckled. "But, yes. I figure that once everything falls into place, you'll have to head something like the Imperial Medical Center — the best medical institution in the Empire."
"I will accept this appointment with honor, my Emperor," the girl made a polite bow. As much as possible in a meditation pose. Which revealed her already impressive bust at a very revealing angle.
While the girl was returning to her original position, I noticed that the lacing of her jacket — the girl was still wearing the same outfit she'd set off with me and Oli on the mission from the Temple — was looser than usual. And my experienced eye also caught the absence of a few details from the usually modest girl's habitual wardrobe.
"I think XoXaan has achieved certain success in seducing you over to the Dark Side," I chuckled, not taking my eyes off the designated part of the girl's body.
She, following the direction of my gaze, just smiled. Tossing her mane of dark hair, the girl, like a pampered cat, stretched luxuriously, showing me the captivating curves of her body.
"The mentor said not to underestimate the power of one's own beauty," the healer answered simply, confirming my own thoughts. "Besides, I'm free. And mastering the Dark Side erases certain boundaries imposed by Jedi teachings..."
"If you only knew how many times I've heard that already," I said with a note of sadness in my voice. Glancing around the cabin, I sighed and got to my feet, moving towards the door. "However, we have a lot of work ahead of us in a few hours. We won't have time to be yawning. So, I advise you to get some sleep..."
But as soon as my intention to seal her in and protect my other companions from accidentally witnessing the scene about to unfold in my cabin crystallized into a concrete action, the sound signal announced that there were more guests behind the panel.
Throwing a weary look at the healer — which harmonized perfectly with her cheerful smile — I unlocked the door, taking in the extremely erotic outfits of Darth Simi and Darth Hexid, who had been hiding themselves with the Force until that moment. A surprise, then.
Casting a heavy glance at each of the girls and finding not a hint of embarrassment or a desire to retreat, I asked with an almost pitiful groan:
"Ladies, whose side are you on, exactly?"
But the Zabrak girls, having unceremoniously slipped inside and sealed the entrance door to my cabin behind them, left the question unanswered.
I automatically filed it under rhetorical.