The ship's chronometer measured another stretch of time. However, these were just numbers on a screen — on board a warship, concepts like "day" or "night" didn't exist. The crew had long since grown accustomed to measuring the passing hours with the term "watch." For the guests of the Chimaera, it grated on the ears, but the naval personnel — clones, Christophsians, Twi'leks, other sentients loyal to the Eternal Empire — paid it absolutely no attention.
The dreadnought's bridge differed strikingly from every design Helnior knew. In contrast to the layout of Republic capital ship bridges, it was noticeably more spacious and consisted of three "work" zones.
The first stretched from the main entrance along a wide platform to the observation deck, in the center of which sat the Grand Admiral's chair. On either side of this part of the bridge were two spacious "pits" equipped with tactical terminals, where clones and ordinary sentients worked in complete silence, occasionally speaking to each other as duty required. And in this, at first glance, surreal picture, there was nothing strange. The Imperial fleet made no distinction between clones and non-clones. All were equally loyal subjects of the Empire.
The Chimaera was not the first Imperial dreadnought whose bridge Helnior had visited. And, at first glance, the flagship was no different from others of its class. Save for one small — relative to the size of the ship itself — but significant difference.
The right half of the bridge, besides the traditional control consoles, also housed a massive holographic projector. Around it were now gathered the commanders of all structural divisions of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul's Expeditionary Forces. The only one missing was the base commandant on Nirauan (for obvious reasons: what was happening on the bridge didn't concern him in the slightest).
At the head of the table, in complete silence, sat the Grand Admiral. He silently observed the three-dimensional image. At first glance, nothing substantial. Just a pair of bulk carrier ships, slowly preparing to jump into hyperspace. A familiar sight in any region of the galaxy settled by sentients. And not worth the attention of such a large gathering.
With one small exception — these freighters belonged to the Eternal Empire. And they were a convoy, in whose holds lay Imperial property. Quite expensive and valuable.
To an outside observer, the fact that two enormous cargo vessels were moving through the poorly charted territories of the Unknown Regions without any escort might seem surprising. However, this question had already been raised by virtually everyone present. And only one humanoid knew the answer.
But he continued to maintain his silence.
Which gave rise to even more questions about what was happening, especially considering that the campaign to destroy the Ssi-Ruuk had only recently ended, though local battles were still raging on some of the lizards' military bases. But those were already details. The stormtroopers of Marshals Tako and Alex were supposed to finish their work soon and take the remaining military installations of the Ssi-Ruuk Empire under their control. After which — to go to Nirauan for rest and replenishment of losses.
Although, in Helnior's opinion, the value of those bases was just slightly less than zero. At the very least, because they were built for use by bipedal lizards and their equally lizard-like slaves. Not for humanoids. And what annoyed him most was that, for a clearly insignificant operation, Thrawn had allocated such substantial forces of "skywalkers" to the clones.
However, this was of little interest to the Emperor's trusted agent with blue skin and burning eyes.
In essence, Thrawn was currently the only Grand Admiral in the Imperial fleet. Yet few doubted he would be the last. And, it must be admitted, he held his post by right of tactical genius. Which stood in sharp contrast to the Republic fleet, where the highest ranks were filled by scions of noble houses who sat out the war in the deep rear, while the most promising officers paced the bridges of ships.
Thrawn could have easily spent his time in his fortress on Nirauan, delegating tactical decisions to his subordinates. But instead, he continued to lead his ships into battle, expanding the Empire's living space, burning with turbolaser fire and crushing with the heavy tread of army units anyone who posed a threat.
"Grand Admiral, you are taking an extraordinary risk," R'Lair remarked. The tips of his Lekku quivered, betraying the Twi'lek's irritation.
Which was understandable — the scouts had worn themselves out, rummaging through the ruins of Ssi-Ruuk bases, searching for valuable equipment and information. They spent days and nights in the ruins, fulfilling their duty to the fatherland. Rare finds were sent to Nirauan via a well-established procedure, where comparatively less mobile intelligence personnel studied them with specialized equipment.
"Risk is part of our work," Thrawn replied quietly. He never raised his voice. But even with this approach to communication, he could make any stubborn subordinate know their place. "And our people know this."
"Nevertheless, having transports without escort forces practically under the enemy's nose invites attack from those pirates, the Tofs," Helnior noted. "Highly unjustified, sir."
"I will take your opinion into consideration, General," a slight smile appeared on the Chiss's lips.
"All this flirting with the Tofs," Commander R'Lair said with clear irritation, "is a waste of time. They simply need to be destroyed, and that's the end of it!"
Thrawn looked up from the hologram he seemed to be trying to hypnotize. Despite the fact that the display on the table's surface practically didn't change, the Chiss seemed to track every movement of the bulk carriers. It gave the impression that every maneuver was a pre-planned combination, like a move in a logic game. When the opponent doesn't notice the feint disguised as an ordinary routine move until it's too late.
The Half-blood was ready to swear that everything was happening exactly as Thrawn had intended from the start. And that everything unfolding was merely one of his many lessons. The Grand Admiral sought not only his own effectiveness but did not disdain sharing knowledge with his subordinates through visual demonstration.
On the one hand, if this was a fleet operation — why was he, the commander of the "skywalkers," present? And the marshals standing on the opposite side of the holoterminal. Misk, Skip, Dyato, Anton, and Smoke were clearly superfluous here. All of them were representatives of ground command. Sev'rance Tann was a different matter — she had proven herself as a fleet commander more than once. But what did the others care about the fleet's antics? Apparently, the bulk of the Twi'lek's irritation was dictated precisely by these considerations.
But such a question could only be asked by someone unfamiliar with the Grand Admiral. Because, in most cases, his tactical and strategic approach consisted of universal schemes and techniques. Which, with sufficient imagination, could be applied to ground battles as well.
And this placed Thrawn a step above all other fleet commanders Helnior had ever known.
The Grand Admiral had already proven in two campaigns — against the Vagaari and the Ssi-Ruuk — that his highly unconventional approach to assessing an enemy through the study of artworks was extremely effective. It was logical to assume that future operations would be even larger in scale. And Thrawn was only one and couldn't be everywhere at once.
Helnior smiled furtively.
Yes, the Grand Admiral's plan had become clear to him.
Thrawn was passing on his experience to his subordinates, seeking to further increase the effectiveness of the Expeditionary Forces. And this, at first glance insignificant, operation was nothing more than a process of weeding out those capable of creative thinking from template executors. Although, to be honest, the half-Arkanian had always considered clones effective, but still — executors. They were talented, proactive, dutiful. And yet — they were inferior to ordinary sentients in strategic thinking. So to speak — the costs of the birth process. Even if this wasn't broadcast at every corner, the problem of clones was known to the command.
Then why was it necessary to gather them here and now? Unless...
"Everything has its price, R'Lair," Thrawn said. "A threat must be understood before engaging with it."
"Through art?" the Twi'lek snorted. "Oh, right, of course."
"The Tofs have no art," Tann smirked.
"In the sense we understand it," Thrawn corrected. Catching the interested gaze of the scout and the Chiss woman, the Grand Admiral explained:
"They are merely a band of brigands and bloodthirsty killers. Raiders. Barbarians. Their culture does not create architecture, music, nor does it strive for painting."
"In that case, your method of understanding the enemy is worthless against the Tofs," the Twi'lek observed. And, at first glance, he was right. "We are only wasting time and sacrificing lives by sending Hermit and his people to certain death. Unarmed bulk carriers with a special forces squad on board — that's a gimmick for the gizkas! Pirates are not inclined to negotiate..."
"You are correct," Thrawn confirmed, causing unprecedented surprise among those present. "The Tofs cannot be understood by my usual method..."
"Then I don't understand why our ships aren't in their systems yet, grinding their planets to dust?" the Twi'lek said. "With the Vagaari and Ssi-Ruuk, you didn't stand on ceremony."
"Both of those races posed an obvious threat to the Empire, sitting practically on our doorstep," Thrawn reminded patiently. "They are predators, and non-humanoids at that. Their needs are simple — slaves. Any diplomatic method of eliminating the threat from their side is unacceptable. You, R'Lair, would not agree to give the Vagaari several thousand of your compatriots in exchange for the gravity shadow generator technology, would you?"
"Of course not!" the Twi'lek exclaimed. "That's inhumane!"
"I would receive a similar answer if I posed a comparable question regarding the Ssi-Ruuk," the Grand Admiral voiced his thoughts aloud. "The Emperor knew this better than anyone. Therefore, no one was going to stand on ceremony with the Vagaari and Ssi-Ruuk. We are not barbarians, after all, to establish diplomatic relations by trading our citizens for valuable technology."
"And yet, you sent transports with no defenses or weapons into a remote, uninhabited system bordering one occupied by the Tofs," Sev'rance Tann stated.
"I sent special forces into a system close to Tof-controlled territory," Thrawn clarified. "On slow, unarmed bulk carriers. I cannot use the same approaches for humanoid and non-humanoid races."
"Is this some kind of trick, sir?" Marshal Misk suggested.
"It is not a trick," Thrawn refuted. "It is a provocation. And a diversion. All in one."
"And what's the difference?" Marshal Dyato frowned.
"If it were a trick, each transport would be equipped with scanning apparatus for long-range reconnaissance and identifying the strengths and weaknesses of Tof defenses in the border systems," Thrawn said.
"And the provocation is that the Tofs, seeing unarmed ships, will try to attack them," Helnior realized.
"Exactly," Thrawn agreed.
"You wouldn't risk crews and ships, of which we have few enough already, just to provoke the Tofs," Sev'rance said.
Thrawn smiled almost imperceptibly.
"Of course I wouldn't," he agreed. "The deflectors on those bulk carriers can withstand fire from a Harrower."
"With all due respect, sir," R'Lair said, "but what is the point then? If the Tofs want the ships and cargo, they'll simply bring more ships and get their way anyway..."
"Patience," the Chiss urged. "Soon everything will become clear..."
As if the uttered phrase was a hidden command.
New markings appeared on the hologram. One large ship — clearly a raider — immediately began cutting across the course of the bulk carriers, simultaneously disgorging dozens of miniature fighters and boarding pods from its depths.
"It has begun," Tann commented.
"Sir, wouldn't it be better to send them reinforcements?" inquired Marshal Anton, who commanded the 11th Assault Corps.
"Without a doubt, they will have them," Thrawn assured. "But not before the Tofs show us everything they are capable of."
"Forgive me, sir?" Smoke frowned, commander of the 12th Stormtrooper Corps.
"You see," Thrawn said, as if a lecturer before students, "Mr. R'Lair has quite correctly noted that pirates and murderers do not create works of art. And I cannot analyze their way of thinking. But it is within my power to give the Tofs the opportunity to demonstrate their own kind of art to me."
Silence fell among those present.
"Their style of battle," Helnior guessed.
"Precisely," Thrawn confirmed. "Methods of attack, plunder, and murder — that is the very art the Tofs can boast of. Ordinary races leading a sedentary lifestyle embody it in something material. But, as was rightly noted, the Tofs are barbarians. Greedy and aggressive. A real threat to the Empire."
"Then why haven't we launched a preemptive strike?" Misk inquired.
"Unlike the Tofs, we are not barbarians and bloodthirsty killers," Thrawn observed. "And we cannot repeat the same tactic endlessly. It worked once — the Vagaari fell in under a week. Destroying the Ssi-Ruuk took us twice as long. I have no doubt that the Unknown Regions and Wild Space differ little from the galaxy we know in terms of espionage."
"Is that why you use a new strategy in every new campaign?" Sev'rance clarified. "The Vagaari — capture the leader and methodical invasion. The Ssi-Ruuk — a strike on the capital followed by luring out the enemy's armed forces. The Tofs..."
"For the Tofs, I have chosen a strategy of provocation and studying their capabilities in real time," Thrawn finished. "The Tofs, as I suspected, have a network of spies — otherwise, even if they had spotted two large transports, they would hardly have sent only one mothership. Without knowing the characteristics, capabilities, or even the value of the cargo — that is highly questionable. Two bulk carriers are certainly valuable prizes, but with a single ship, there is always a chance of losing part of the plunder — something never before observed of them."
"And by attacking our ships," Helnior said, "the Tofs have effectively committed an act of aggression against the Empire."
"And we are fully entitled to strike the Empire's enemies with all available means," Thrawn nodded. "GEMINI."
The droid, integrated into all systems of the dreadnought, instantly responded, appearing as a miniature figure at the edge of the holographic table. Outwardly similar to a common-series protocol droid, GEMINI, meanwhile, even carried herself as an individual, unconstrained personality. The complete opposite of Republic droids.
"I'm listening, Grand Admiral Thrawn."
"Transmit information for Captain Hermit to the bulk carriers via encrypted channel," the Chiss requested. "Also duplicate it to the Dogma, Nemesis, and Stormhawk."
"By all means," GEMINI assured him. "Ready to receive data."
"Begin," the Chiss uttered the code phrase. The droid's hologram froze for a moment like a statue, then came alive again.
"Done. Recipients have confirmed receipt of encrypted data."
"Excellent, GEMINI. You are dismissed," the Grand Admiral said. Waiting until the hologram vanished, the Chiss looked with a smile at the holographic display of the Tof ships' futile attacks on the bulk carriers. The enormous vessels, laden with massive cargo containers, were dotted with numerous markers of Tof boarding pods.
The next instant, the container walls flew outward, releasing hundreds of Imperial ISF-TIE Supremacy interceptors into space. Like a pack of hounds, they sprayed green streams of deadly energy and crisscrossed space with missile salvos, annihilating the enemy's small craft in an instant. The Tof battleship, realizing it had fallen into a trap, began to turn away, clearly intending to bug out into hyperspace.
However, it was out of luck. Because directly before it, a mere few hundred thousand kilometers away, three ships appeared — a Harrower accompanied by a pair of Marauders.
"And so, the Dogma's battlegroup is in position," Thrawn commented as a lashing barrage of turbolaser bolts and missiles instantly stripped the enemy of its deflector shields and engines. Then, taking an optimal position, the dreadnought began pummeling the enemy ship with ion cannons, silencing all its weapons and the slightest signs of electronic activity in a fraction of a second.
"I presume," Helnior said, "that the fight for our bulk carriers is about to begin? After all, enemy boarders are on them."
"I cannot imagine what numbers of Tof boarders would be needed," Thrawn said matter-of-factly. "But to handle the corps of Marshals Tako and Alex, reinforced by part of your combat droids, the Tofs would need an entire army. Which, to the enemy boarders' misfortune, they do not have."
"I wonder where the Nemesis and Stormhawk groups are now?" Helnior asked, though he was already beginning to guess the answer.
"They are receiving telemetry of enemy actions from GEMINI aboard the Dogma and are invading the star systems occupied by the Tofs," Thrawn replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "By my estimates, the orbital defenses of their homeworld — the planet Tof — should fall in six hours."
"So soon?" the Twi'lek was surprised.
"This engagement has shown that Tof capital ships have nothing to oppose even a single Harrower," Thrawn stated. "Against eight Star Destroyers of a class similar to the Dogma, fifty Marauders, and twenty heavy cruisers of the Dreadnought class, they have no chance at all. Oh, and by the way, General Helnior, a shuttle is waiting for you in the lower hangar. It will deliver you to the Nemesis. The pacification of the planet Tof is your task. Don't worry, your mechanized corps of skywalkers is already in place."
"Yes, sir!" the half-blood said respectfully, heading for the turbolift.
"Lady Tann, your transport is also ready. The Stormhawk and its squadron are awaiting your arrival. GEMINI will brief you on the situation."
"Moving out immediately," the alien woman nodded and joined the man near the transport cabin.
"Here we go," he chuckled, waiting for the cabin to arrive at the required deck. "Looks like one more race is about to be wiped from the pages of this galaxy's history."
"That is true," the Force-sensitive agreed.
"And now, esteemed Marshals," the Grand Admiral's voice reached them, "you will each hear your personal assignments for capturing the remaining planets under Tof control. You didn't think I called you here for nothing, did you?"
Holding back a smirk, the half-Arkanian mentally applauded the genius Chiss.
The Grand Admiral was worth learning from.
And it was not worth putting off this excellent endeavor.
Stepping into the turbolift, they both maintained impassive expressions. Right up until the cabin doors closed and it began to move.
Helnior, placing his hand on the girl's slender waist, pulled her close. He sealed her lips with a passionate kiss.
"Take care of yourself," he said — half-request, half-command to his beloved.
"Don't you dare die," she echoed back to him, finishing the marriage vow she had given her beloved on the ruins of the burning Ssi-Ruuk Imperial capital, amid the dying screams of the exterminated lizards.
"Absolutely not," the General smirked. "I have no desire to leave such a lovely young and sexy widow all alone."
The Force-sensitive's lips lit up with a genuine smile. Pressing her entire body against her husband, she whispered words of farewell before she was forced to exit on her required deck.
* * *
There was no room for them on the cruisers. Not even on the Resolute — a Valiant-class carrier Star Destroyer, the flagship of Rear Admiral Makati. It was packed to the brim with clone fighters and their bombers.
The other ships of the fleet — Hammerheads, Marauders — were also overloaded with small craft. A feeble attempt to somehow neutralize the enemy's superiority in fighters. Where two squadrons were supposed to be carried, four were taken. As a result, the hangars were packed to capacity with Torrents. Even the Aethersprite interceptors made their way to the target independently — much like the Jedi squadron.
Although... what kind of squadron was that.
Out of the dozen pilots heading to Rindellia as part of the squadron subordinate to Garen Muln, only Djlok, Jaysen Suel, and Tsui Cho were its permanent members. Siri Tachi, Sia-Lan Wezz, Rii'ke En, Mander Zum, Malik Galera, Olana Chion, K'Kruhk, and Bol Chatak, who had joined them at the last moment, were temporary pilots. With the exception of the last one, the other Jedi were participating in the battle for Rindellia only because either their own units were to land on the planet after the space battle, or they were slated to take part in a similar operation, but already on Enarka, located further along the hyperspace route. On paper, everything was simple. Capture two little planets — and the road to Naboo was open. The thin trickle of communication between the tenth and seventh system armies would be restored.
But easy only on paper.
Osko Djlok cracked his eyes open for a moment, surveying the instrument panel with a slightly hazy gaze. Five minutes until arrival. Time to get ready.
Flicking switches, the Zabrak Jedi began restoring the operation of secondary systems. The astromech droid, whose dome poked out of the socket in the forward part of the hull, swiveled its head cheerfully. The kid had missed him. Six hours in hyperspace — quite an experience.
However, as soon as their journey through hyperspace ended, a new kind of "experience" would begin. One not everyone would survive.
About a year ago, in the Rindellia system, Admiral Grievous's flagship — the dreadnought Malevolence — had massacred a Republic medical convoy. No survivors. And, as if in retaliation for the ship's destruction, the Separatists had established a full-fledged base on the planet. With planetary defense cannons, reflecting shields, and other delights. A fairly imposing fleet appeared in orbit — five Recusant-class destroyers, a dozen Munificent-class frigates. Small fry that any run-of-the-mill squadron could have smeared across space. But shortly before the Battle of Hypori, intelligence reported that new "clients" had appeared in the system: seven Lucrehulk-class ships and the carrier flagship Providence, on whose bridge, according to rumors, Admiral Trench himself was present — curse his arachnid backside.
And as if the news of the increase in enemy numbers weren't enough, command also demanded the capture of the ground base. Whether intact or not, Dougan's order hadn't specified. Therefore, Makati clearly wasn't planning to stand on ceremony — why else would he have assembled such a formidable flotilla to destroy the Separatists?
One Valiant, three dozen Hammerheads, two dozen Marauders. In the second wave — more than thirty Acclamators, whose task was to arrive in the system after the fleet suppressed resistance and drop assault troops right on the droids' heads. The Spear Fleet itself was to leave a proper covering force in orbit and continue its advance to Enarka, where for weeks the enemy had been grinding down the depleted units of Master Gallia, mixing them with dirt and soil.
And, as regrettable as it was, they had to fly to the target, relaxing their stiff muscles in the cockpit of the Aether Fairy. Thank the Force it hadn't abandoned him, and his meditative techniques had helped pass the time. But, by the Sith, how his body had stiffened!
At moments like this, he barely remembered he was only thirty. For a Zabrak — the very prime of life. For a Jedi — even more so. But these kinds of flights would definitely do him in. He'd need to talk to Garen — let him go to Master Dougan and secure a dedicated ship for the Jedi squadron's base. It wouldn't be a great loss for the fleet to transfer one Marauder under Jedi command. A wonderful, fast, and well-armed machine — Osko had become convinced of that during the Battle of Hypori. The nimble little ships had torn Separatist starships to shreds. Mesmerizing. And lethally effective.
Just what suited the spirit of a Jedi Ace. Speed, pressure, deadly precision.
Though... Garen would probably cave. Even asking the Grand Moff (Djlok smiled, remembering the Tenth System Army commander was technically younger than him) about the fate of the Fighter Corps had taken a long time to process. A slow and stubborn guy. He'd be better off piloting a dreadnought, not a starfighter. Though, to give credit where it's due, the "Fairy" in Muln's hands was like a ballerina who slits throats and takes scalps.
Pre-combat systems checks took the allotted time until the exit from hyperspace. The Zabrak, pulling the ring-displacement control stick, transitioned his fighter into realspace.
Like an ancient blade with an oversized guard, it sliced through space behind the Resolute's stern. With practiced movements, he jettisoned the now-useless displacement ring, throwing the craft into an upward barrel roll. He didn't worry too much about the Order's abandoned property — recovery tugs from the carrier would pick it up.
At first, positioned at a considerable distance from the destroyer, Osko thought his eyesight was failing him. But rubbing his eyes with his fingers confirmed he wasn't mistaken.
"Vanguard 4 to Leader," he opened a comm channel reserved only for the pilots of the Jedi squadron "Vanguard." "I don't know who screwed up, but we're in the sarlacc's ass as usual."
Bad feelings wouldn't let him relax. And how could you relax when all the reconnaissance data could be safely thrown under a bantha's tail?
What "Recusants," what "Munificents"? Over two dozen Lucrehulks were hanging over the planet, already launching swarms of interceptors. Not to mention the enemy carrier doing the same thing.
"Thanks, Four," Garen replied dryly. "We noticed ourselves. Aces, split into flights and prepare for battle."
Spotting Mander Zum's marker behind his fighter — who had become his wingman for the operation — Osko just shook his head. Reality was ruthless and uncompromising. How else could you answer the question — "who dragged an archivist, who'd spent his whole life behind dusty shelves of info-crystals, into an active army?" And worse — gave him control over an entire corps! Let him get behind the controls!
Though, to be fair, unlike fencing and many of his other "peculiarities," Mander handled a fighter quite well. At Hypori, he even managed to send some Separatist fighters to a tech-based heaven. But that was more the exception that proved the rule — just because you're a Jedi and know how to yank a fighter's control sticks doesn't make you an ace.
Too bad few understood that. Which, logically, led to predictable results.
On Osko's advice, Mander took his fighter higher than the Resolute, which was holding orbit relative to the planet's surface. At the same time, the flagship was disgorging dozens of small craft that streaked toward the impenetrable clouds of Separatist fighter droids launched from their starships. A brutal fight was coming, and the Jedi were right in the thick of it.
As the attack plan predicted, the Resolute, surrounded by the Marauders, appeared above the Separatist position, traditionally arranged in a single cruising formation in orbit. The Hammerheads materialized right in front of the enemy flagship, which immediately came under crossfire from both of Makati's detachments.
And judging by how disorganized and formulaic the enemy's response was — it wasn't the legendary Admiral Trench commanding them. A pity, really. How much evil would have left the galaxy if the Jedi had managed to destroy that warlord.
Suddenly, Osko noticed that the Resolute wasn't just continuing to pour fire from all its guns at the enemy flagship, but it also hadn't stopped its axial rotation. The ship had already turned its broadside toward the planet's surface, which was... somewhat strange. Considering it had exposed its entire "back" to enemy fire.
Before he could wonder at these maneuvers, the "destroyer" fired a salvo from its port-side guns, facing the planet. All the artillery spoke at once: the heavy turbolaser batteries and the ion cannons. Blue energy bolts pierced the light cloud cover and crashed down onto the planet. Beautiful — given the fact that the turbolaser turrets on the "back" were now aimed at the enemy flagship, blasting it to cosmic dust. While the broadside batteries burned everything alive on the planet's surface.
And terrifying. The Zabrak didn't envy those below, where a sea of fire was beginning to spread across the surface. Streams of energy fire churned the soil and buildings of the Separatist base that were outside the deflector. The enemy, as always, didn't splurge on expensive defensive systems, covering only the most important part of their base — the command post. Structures outside the deflector fields ceased to exist, instantly turning first into a pile of rubble, then into fine dust. The local forests, growing right next to the Separatist base, caught fire...
The pilot felt extremely uncomfortable next to a ship sowing death and destruction on an industrial scale — he'd never seen anything like it. Just imagine for a moment that instead of droids, organic enemies were on the planet... Brr, even goosebumps ran down his spine.
The astromech's whistle made him look at the tactical monitor. The deflector shields protecting the base were slowly thinning. The Resolute stopped hitting the planet with turbo-lasers and switched to ion cannons. They caused much less damage, but Makati would get an almost intact base instead. No need to spend money clearing rubble and rebuilding. Since, according to the plans, the Separatist facility was supposed to be used for their own purposes.
Oh, what would happen when the base's shields died...
The astromech triumphantly announced this happy event. Osko felt the corners of his mouth stretching toward his ears, but... his heart wasn't in it. As if something was wrong. Something...
Activating his comlink, he contacted Garen:
"Leader, this is Vanguard 4. Bad feeling..."
"Not just you, Vanguard 4," Jaizen Suel, the squadron commander's wingman, responded.
"Nothing's going according to the briefing," Muln chimed in. "Looks like Admiral Makati's changing tactics on the fly. Alright, enough loafing around — the droids are breaking through to the flagship..."
The Jedi squadron's role in this battle was unusual — guarding the Resolute. The Rear Admiral figured this was the best use for the Jedi — protecting the command ship. And given the squadron's mixed composition, hastily assembled, there was some logic to it.
Most of the Republic's small craft had already engaged the Separatist droids in mortal combat. The battle of light forces raged in the space between the Hammerhead detachment and the Separatists, and between the latter and Makati's flagship.
Again and again, space was illuminated by a miniature flash — another clone died. But since the First Battle of Geonosis, everyone had gotten used to such an abundance of death.
"Vanguard Squadron," a controller's voice from the Resolute came over the command channel. "Previous order canceled. Withdraw to point 2.4.5 and await instructions..."
"What?!" Garen was speechless for a split second. "Are you out of your mind up there? The Vultures from the Lucrehulks are about to arrive!"
Djlok, after blasting a Separatist craft that had slipped past to the flagship, glanced at the Trade Federation battleships. The squadron commander was right — at least seven squadrons of Vulture fighters and no fewer than a dozen Hyena bombers were heading for the Republic flagship. Even the Jedi couldn't handle that! Hoping for the Marauders? They were busy polishing the hulls of the nearest Separatist ships and were clearly out of effective firing range to cover the flagship.
"Resolute to Ace Leader," the controller wearily interrupted the squadron commander. "Admiral Makati knows this. Carry out your assigned task. Another air group will handle the cover."
"Hutt knows what!" Bol Chatak swore. "This is idiocy!"
"I don't think so," Siri Tachi said with a chuckle, her fighter flashing a few meters above Osko's canopy. "Look!"
And indeed, there was something to look at.
The armada of AIRs, whose arrival everyone had conveniently forgotten when the battle started, slipped out of hyperspace, appearing on the flank of the enemy squadrons rushing toward the Valiant. The newcomers' guns spoke — and half the Separatist machines vanished as if blown away.
"Clever, clever," Master K'Kruhk commented. "Makati lured the enemy air wing onto the Resolute."
"They could have told us that," Olana Chion's voice carried annoyance. And the Zabrak understood the girl perfectly — nobody likes being "kept in the dark."
Meanwhile, the AIR squadrons, having torn the enemy small craft to shreds, split into strike groups, each approaching a strictly designated Separatist ship.
"I bet the Separatists are in for a rough time right now," Sia-Lan Wezz's voice came over the squadron frequency. And as if to confirm her words, tiny crimson flashes of proton torpedoes began separating from the AIRs' fuselages, streaking toward the enemy ships. Osko and Mander, following in his wake, engaged a couple of stray Vultures, instantly condemning them to floating scrap metal in space.
The explosions of enemy small craft coincided with the brightest flashes where five Lucrehulks had been — and as the radiation intensity subsided, they began breaking apart.
"Five down," Tsui Choi commented. "Just over a dozen and a half left."
"I don't know what Makati's planning, but it's clearly a surprise for the Separatists," Jaizen Suel remarked. "The Hammerheads have chewed up two more, and the Marauders are finishing off at least three Lucrehulks."
The Jedi squadron, assembled at the point designated by the controller, could admire the scene unfolding before them.
The enemy flagship was exchanging fire with the Resolute, but judging by the number of scorch marks on its hull and the eruptions and decompressions of damaged compartments, it was clearly in a bad spot. On one side, the Torrents were continuously attacking, ripping open its hull; on the other, missiles from the Marauders, plus their turbolasers backed by guns from several Hammerheads and the Resolute itself. From the outside, it looked like there wasn't a single intact spot on the enemy flagship — even its through-hangar had turned into a blazing firestorm.
Suddenly deprived of support from its nearest ships, destroyed by the AIRs, it found itself alone surrounded by Republic starships. No wonder, after taking missile salvos to its engine nozzles and losing propulsion, it was being pummeled like a slow bantha, its chances of survival rapidly dwindling.
Still, the Republic side wasn't exactly in pristine shape. More than half the Hammerheads were ruins that somehow kept fighting, returning fire with their surviving guns. At least two cruisers were already knocked out, venting the last of their atmosphere and hull into the icy void, busy with crew evacuation.
"Force, what idiot thought of using this ancient piece of terentatek shit barely holding together in space..." Melik Galera spoke up for the first time.
"Watch your language, Knight Galera," the squadron commander reined in the relatively young Jedi. "You're serving in an army under that same 'idiot's' control."
"My apologies," the Jedi faltered immediately. "It's just... the Hammerheads are outclassed by Venators. If we had Star Destroyers instead of this old junk, there wouldn't even be wreckage left of the Separatist fleet."
"If the Gent System Army had Venators instead of Hammerheads," Sia-Lan Wezz joined the conversation, "the Republic's budget would have cracked. Fifteen hundred Star Destroyers are an extremely expensive pleasure."
"But there was money for Hammerheads," Galera persisted.
"They were purchased by the Christophsians and willingly transferred to Dougan's command," Mander Zum broke his usual silence. "Quite a useful asset in the first year of the war, when the Separatist fleet was mostly Munificents, which the Hammerheads tore to pieces."
"Oh, I didn't know," Melik said. "But now we clearly need something more powerful."
"That's true," Siri Tachi joined the discussion. "After the Banking Clan announced it wouldn't participate in the Clone Wars and started dealing with its dissidents, the number of Munificents under Count Dooku's command decreased significantly."
"But the number of Recusants increased a lot," Jaizen Suel lamented. "So the Gent just got caught in a bad situation. They prepared to fight Munificents, but things turned out a bit differently."
"Now that Rothana is under our control," Siri Tachi added, "the situation should improve. After all, the new ships will be stronger than their predecessors."
"That's true," Garen Muln agreed. "But I'm wondering what the hell we're doing here? A whole squadron waiting for who-knows-what..."
The controller, as if he'd heard the squadron commander's indignation, cut into the Jedi channel:
"Vanguard Leader. Be ready to cover the landing force."
"What's this now?" Osko was taken aback. "They're in the second..."
However, the appearance of wedge-shaped Acclamators, exiting hyperspace above their current position, answered all questions.
"Hutt knows what," Master K'Kruhk lamented.
"Vanguard Leader to landing ships, we're your escort," Muln's voice made it clear he wasn't happy about what was happening. Jedi acting as nannies for an armada of infantry... Yeah, that was a hard blow to the ego.
But there was nothing to be done — those were orders.
"Vanguard, cover the troops," came the voice of a Jedi Master known in the Order as the Dark Woman. According to command's plan, she was to lead the ground assault on Rindellia. Then on Enark — the strike cruisers would support Admiral Makati's fleet with fire, while simultaneously landing infantry and equipment.
Djlok whistled in surprise. Yeah, the original plan had finally gone completely under a bantha's tail.
"Landing force," Muln said wearily, "I'm not sure the surface is ready to receive guests..."
"That's what you're here to check," the Dark Woman snorted.
The silence that fell over the airwaves was broken only by the hiss of static. The Zabrak waited for the other squadron members to protest, but they remained silent too. Muln spoke, and his voice lacked both anger and strength. The fire in the Jedi seemed to have gone out.
"Vanguard Leader to squadron," Garen commanded flatly, "form up Echo 3 formation."
"Leader," Bol Chatak interrupted. "Not everyone present is familiar with your methods..."
"Split into pairs," Suel explained. "And approach the target from different sides."
"This way we'll cover more area," Master Choi added.
"Why not say so from the start," Sari Tachi lamented.
A dozen Deltas dove into a steep dive, entering the upper atmosphere.
Osko felt each of his squadron mates through the Force. Confident, calm...
His head seemed to split open with a flash of pain.
"Boss, this is Four, something's wrong here. I have a bad feeling..."
"Copy, Four. Everyone, attention — possible surprises," Garen responded. The Zabrak smiled.
When he first joined the squadron, the commander was extremely skeptical of the new recruit's heightened precognition regarding upcoming dangers. However, after Vergesso and Hypori, he'd softened his stance. Practice showed that the Zabrak, more than any other Jedi, could sense the approach of problems long before the active phase.
The tactical monitor was still empty. The enemy base's deflector shields, continuously receiving gifts from orbit, finally gave up — the backup generators, activated after the Resolute took out the main ones, also failed. And the faster the surface rushed toward Osko's fighter's nose, the more he understood why command had been so diligently wearing down the enemy's deflectors. And why such massive forces were needed for this seemingly routine landing operation.
According to pre-battle briefing information, the Separatist base occupied an area of about several square kilometers. But only the central part was protected by reflective field generators. The Bothans had provided the intelligence on this Separatist stronghold — looks like they pulled out all the stops for revenge after the attempted invasion of their home system.
But the furballs forgot to mention (or deliberately omitted — it no longer mattered) that the CIS outpost was located at the base of a huge mountain range, so massive that all the cruisers, including the arriving landing ships, could hover over it and still not cast a shadow over even a third of its area.
As if in a nightmare, the squadron descended rapidly into the lower atmosphere. And toward them rose hundreds of pillars of blinding crimson energy.
In a crazy roll, Muln, flying first, peeled off to the side, trying to control his machine, now rebellious and smoking badly after a couple of hits. He saw how, in a flash of blinding light that showered the neighboring ships with a hail of small debris, Master Tsui Choi, the leader of the second pair, disintegrated.
He watched in horror as his astromech shrieked, losing half its dome-shaped head — but that very thing saved Osko's life.
A burst from rapid-fire turbolasers, clearly not mounted in the folds of the mountainous terrain for nothing, burned through Melik's cockpit, but judging by the small black dot, he managed to eject.
"Resolute!" Djlok roared, pulling his machine away from the death trap. "The base is active, heavy defensive fire..."
Fire licked from the right, and he saw Vanguard 2's craft, Jaizen Suel, tumble nose-over-heels and plummet like a stone. Fortunately, the Force told him the girl had managed to use her escape gear, disappearing from the enemy tracking system into the low cloud cover.
"Leader is down," Djlok began listing. "Executive officer too."
"You are assuming command of the squadron, Vanguard 4," the controller ordered in an unruffled tone. "Sending AIRs to suppress the enemy's firing points."
"To hell with that!" his right engine, having taken a direct hit, died. "Bomb it from orbit! I'm pulling my people out!"
"Denied, Vanguard 4," the controller countered. "Seven minutes until the AIRs arrive."
Osko shook his head in irritation.
Seven minutes!
The Seppies had wiped out a third of the squadron in three minutes! A Jedi squadron! Muln, Suel, Choi — all aces who'd been through more than one battle! And they were swept aside like trash off a table.
What could you count on with just seven mediocre pilots in the formation?
His ship, trembling like a nuna in a hurricane, barely pulled out of the dive. Zum was hanging behind, apparently deciding to cover his leader.
What an idiot?!
"Vanguard Four to the rest," Djlok said through gritted teeth. "Loose formation. We need to hold out..."
They passed through the low clouds that the strong wind had blown over the base. And now they were back in the center of the carnage.
The Deltas darted swiftly around the mountain range, occasionally hosing down spotted targets with their guns. But it was all pointless — the CIS turbolasers were protected by reflective shields. "Just like on droidekas," the ace thought.
Events were happening too fast; no one had time to react. Djlok was trying to level his machine and didn't orient himself immediately. He heard K'Kruhk futilely calling his wingman, and only after a few seconds realized that Zum was still on his tail.
"Four to Eight!" he addressed his wingman. "Break off, damn it!"
The hell with this damned pair distribution. Muln, the leader, usually flew with Suel; Choi led Djlok. With the arrival of other Jedi, they had to do things differently.
Garen Muln had to work with Melik Galera, Vanguard 11. Jaizen Suel led Rii'ke Enn, number ten. Tsui Choi — Olana Chion, number seven. Djlok got Mander Zum, number eight. Sia-Lan Wezz, with callsign "Vanguard 7," as the most experienced of the newcomers, became the element leader consisting of herself and Siri Tachi, "Nine." Bol Chatak, with serial number "Vanguard 12," was subordinate to Master K'Kruhk, whose callsign was one less than his charge's.
A complete mess, existing only because the Jedi flight corps didn't have enough aces to fill one full squadron.
"Acknowledged," Zum replied. The same second, his fighter banked away, dodging a burst, then climbed upward.
The targeting reticle turned red; a short beep in his earpiece signaled target lock. The Zabrak pressed the trigger, pouring a long burst into a turret he'd spotted moments earlier.
The shimmering deflector didn't let him see if he'd hit anything, and if so, what. Osko fired a few more times, then pulled up, shot straight up like a candle, and fell on the enemy from above. Just in case, he put his ship on its port wing to reduce the chance of being hit. Then decided it wasn't worth the risk and turned away. The interceptor, now a barely controllable construction, was barely staying in the air. If the droid were still alive, he could count on repairs, but...
The Zabrak mentally thanked the Force for swapping the base model for a 7V, where the astromech was located directly in front of the cockpit, not to the side in a plane. If he'd stayed with the old model — he'd be burning now with a hole in his chest.
"Siri! Sia-Lan! Pull out!" Mander Zum's hysterical cry cut through the channel. "Up! Get out of there!"
The white-and-silver interceptor, piloted by the white-haired beauty, spiraled down onto one of the gun emplacements, pouring fire from her guns without pause.
Djlok wanted to yell at the girl to get out of there — the twin cannons, having stopped firing at Master K'Kruhk's weaving fighter, began to elevate to destroy the insolent Jedi woman. Especially since the interceptor's guns were ineffective...
Before his eyes, the emplacement's shield disintegrated under the hurricane fire of Wezz's fighter, which had appeared from behind a massive mountain ridge — Siri's guns then pierced the mechanism with energy blades, causing an internal detonation.
"How?" the Zabrak gasped.
"Simple," the blonde girl replied flatly. "I keep pulling the trigger till the end."
Rolling over his starboard wing, Djlok brought his machine into a wide, smooth turn to get out of the enemy anti-aircraft artillery's kill zone. The Jedi pressed the right pedal: the machine pitched its tail up rather ungracefully. Then, playing with the control stick of the disobedient craft and fuel feed to the reaction chamber, he forced the fighter to almost crawl over the mountain range, its nose barely scraping the rock.
Dead ahead, in a shallow crevice, he spotted another turbolaser tower. But unlike the others, it wasn't protected by deflector fields. Though, judging by the numerous impact marks around — someone from his comrades had already worked on it.
The tower was firing at a retreating red interceptor with black patterns — Bol Chatak's machine. Deciding to take advantage of the situation, Osko, closing to a lethal distance, crept up to the death machine and, dropping his tail, slammed several rapid salvos into it.
The emplacement exploded, throwing the much-abused Jedi fighter aside.
Tumbling head over heels, the Zabrak sadly thought his craft was done for — the cockpit was screaming with all kinds of alarms signaling malfunctions.
Just as the Delta shuddered to a halt, its canopy cracked from the impact, slammed against a protruding ridge, and crashed to the ground with a heart-rending screech, Osko used the Force to blast the now-useless canopy and leaped out.
The battle raged in the sky — the depleted Jedi interceptors kept trying to thin out the enemy's defenses. Not without success, it had to be said. Sia-Lan, whose fighter had been pierced by a turbolaser barrage, ejected from the cockpit, landing not far away. The uncontrolled machine slammed at full speed into the ill-fated Separatist gun, destroying it along with its crew.
The Jedi was unharmed, and spotting her colleague, waved to him cheerfully. He waved back, then noticed rapidly approaching points behind her.
"Droids!" he shouted, simultaneously launching himself toward her.
His lightsaber blade ignited with blue fire, and sensing the threat, the woman readied her own weapon.
The pair of Jedi easily deflected the first shots from the B-2 squad. Some shots went into the formation of barrel-shaped Separatist machines, while others ricocheted off the Jedi's energy weapons somewhere to the side. Still, a couple of dead enemy combatants was clearly a poor result. Especially since more and more were appearing behind the first ones.
"A bad day to die," Osko quipped grimly, parrying another shot. He could see the distant points of AIRs appearing on the horizon, but they were so far away that without Jedi abilities, they were indistinguishable. And the remnants of Vanguard seemed to have vanished. No — through the roar of battle, he could hear the frequent yapping of the remaining interceptors' guns, but apparently the pilots had moved to a distant part of the ridge — closer to the reinforcements.
After estimating the arrival time of reinforcements and the speed at which new machines of death kept materializing from the rock depths to come for them — emerging in various spots across the mountain range with the clear intention of surrounding (which they had already managed) and destroying the pair of Jedi — one of them spoke.
"Funny joke," the Jedi praised. "Terrible situation."
"Afraid?" Djlok asked in surprise. "We're Jedi, we don't know fear..."
"Yeah," the woman nodded grimly, parrying another blaster bolt. "That's why we die who-knows-where and how."
"Such is the fate of peacekeepers," Osko shrugged. "We don't choose it..."
"Not on my watch, kid," the Jedi snorted, tirelessly parrying shots. "Just a little more..."
The next moment, a badly scorched white-silver interceptor slid out from behind the rock formation, smoke pouring relentlessly from numerous hull breaches, yet somehow still miraculously staying airborne. It circled the pair of Jedi once, scattering the swarms of droids with fire from its cannons. Then, with a pitiful grinding screech from its nozzles, it crashed onto its belly nearby.
The canopy flipped open, and a tired but very much alive (unlike her fighter and the B-2 astromech clearly torn apart by a direct hit) Siri Tachi jumped out of the cockpit.
"Right on time," Sia-Lan said to her wingman. The blonde girl gave a forced smile, and only then did Osko notice that her left arm, despite the protective armor, had been burned by a blaster bolt and hung limply at her side.
"I came at full throttle," the girl said. "As soon as you reported being surrounded, I raced here at top speed..."
"This might not be my business," Dzhak said, looking at Sia-Lan. "But you didn't have a comlink with you..."
"We communicate through the Force," she explained.
"Battle Meditation," Siri clarified. "It allows contact between Force-sensitives over a considerable distance. It connects the minds of several gifted individuals, turning us into a coordinated organism."
"Incredible!" the Zabrak gasped. So that was how this pair had managed to disable the defenses and blow up the turbolaser tower with such surgical precision! That's where such accuracy and coordination came from!
For a moment, the Zabrak imagined what results a squadron of Force-sensitive pilots linked by Battle Meditation could achieve...
"Can anyone teach this?" he asked, as if casually.
"Only," Sia-Lan looked him straight in the eyes, "non-Jedi."
Dzhak "froze" for a moment, processing the answer. Then he waved his hand and said:
"Whatever — even a Hutt! Teach me!"
* * *
Running a hand through his damp hair after the shower, he grinned at the glowing creature that was dressing itself without using its hands. Standing with its back to me.
"Leaving already?" I snorted.
The Daughter gave me an indifferent look and raised her arms, letting the tunic settle onto her torso.
"Conversations here are pointless," she said. "Everything we needed from each other, we accomplished last night."
"Listening to you, it sounds like I wasn't the one who fucked you, but you who fucked me," I frowned. It was uncomfortable to feel that way. When you've been phallomorphized to the right condition, used for the deed, and then — waved off. Like, the Moor has done his work, the Moor can get lost.
My conscience almost immediately fed me a full chronology of my past bedroom exploits. Yeah... not the most pleasant aftertaste — feeling like one of those people used for a one-night stand.
Though before, that kind of thing never bothered or concerned me.
Oh, damn Mortis, what are you doing to me.
"Facts are stubborn things," the Daughter said as she approached me. Still the same imperious, untouchable prima donna with a detached, enlightened poker face. A higher being, after all.
As if she hadn't been moaning like a dock whore just a few hours ago, growling with pleasure when I wrapped her lush mane around my hand and threw her head back, begging to be taken like the last peasant girl. Oh, women, women...
"All you women need from men is sex," I sighed. "And we, meanwhile, sit in a corner later with our legs tucked in, arms wrapped around them, and cry. Without even boiling borscht first..."
"Don't act like an egocentric," the girl said, touching my lips with hers. A shiver ran through my body, and the hair in all the immodest places stood on end. Actually, not just the hair. "It was a wonderful night."
"As if you have anything to compare it to over the last few tens of thousands of years," I said, when the Force currents overwhelming the Daughter stopped stirring my body.
"I'll leave that unanswered," the Celestial said indifferently. "I need to return to my abode."
"I thought you, like a typical strong, independent middle-aged woman, lived with your parents..."
"Stop clowning," the Daughter advised. "It doesn't suit you. And yes, I have my own dwelling on Mortis. Like the Father and my brother."
"So why didn't we go to yours?" I asked in surprise. "It would have been more comfortable than a bed built by underdeveloped sentients."
"My brother has a habit of visiting without warning," the Daughter explained. "I doubt you'd survive his reaction if he saw what we were doing."
"And on board a dreadnought — do you think he wouldn't have found out if he wanted to?"
"You already know we can't exist without air," the Daughter smiled.
"What makes you think that?"
"Was there another reason you ordered the ship moved to a higher orbit, beyond Mortis's atmosphere?"
"Guilty as charged," I admitted.
"I need to reach the planet," the Daughter said. "It's almost dawn. They might miss me."
"I've already arranged things," I said — I wouldn't specify why they couldn't have missed her overnight. "The pilots lowered the dreadnought's orbit, and we're now in the upper atmosphere. I figured if they did miss you at night, you wouldn't want to 'show up' on a transport vehicle. Again."
"Excellent," the girl said, silently leaving my cabin, passing harmlessly through the wall with a transparisteel viewport.
As soon as the figure of a massive, shiny griffon began moving away from the ship, I took a deep breath.
Well, that was the strangest experience in the last year or so. Hell, in my whole life!
Who else could sit around with a bunch of tipsy guys over a mug of beer, bragging about spending the night with a beautiful, well-built, infinitely affectionate and depraved woman two meters tall, old enough to remember the primordial soup of most galactic races?
Though... who am I kidding. I'll never tell anyone about this. I just don't have people I trust that much to share something like this.
"Pathetic kennel!" I heard a serpentine hiss behind me, somewhat resembling Galactic Basic.
I turned — but no, it was still a humanoid.
"And a good morning to you too, Son," I waved, grabbing one of two glasses from the table, half-filled with fruit juice. "Can't sleep?"
"You're an insolent upstart," the Celestial hissed through his teeth. "I'll smear you across the walls of this compartment like an insect."
"Why can't you all just leave me alone?" I sighed, waving my free hand at him. "Well, here I am."
A stream of crackling red lightning shot from the Son's hands toward me as I calmly drank my juice. From the outside, it probably looked like I was about to repeat my first experience with Force Lightning, which Sev'rance Tann had given me during our first meeting, but... Guys, come on! I do learn from my past mistakes. Not always, mind you, but...
The lightning pierced my body without resistance, slammed into the chair behind me, which — a very expensive piece of furniture from some factory — burst into flames like a match, shattering into dozens of blazing pieces.
The stunned Son looked at me in surprise as I kept drinking the juice without missing a beat. When the glass ran dry, I set it back down. Right next to an identical glass. Also half full. Or half empty? Hell if I know which.
"Is that all?" I asked, as if nothing had happened. "It's getting late, and I still wanted to drop by your father's place at noon..."
"How?" the Son asked in astonishment. "I am the embodiment of the Dark Side of the Force! My techniques are perfect! Is SHE protecting you?!"
"Only two things protect me," I had to lift the veil of mystery a little. "My brain and barrier-type contraceptives. Look, by the way, there are a couple of used packs from last night lying around — you can take them, use them, I'm not stingy. And don't give me that wild look! I'm a guy from a decent family — I don't want to wrap my dick in some Cretaceous-era crap. Besides, I didn't find my dick in a dumpster..."
"You will answer for your insolence, human," the Son rasped. But his enraged expression changed in an instant to an impenetrable mask. The spitting image of the Daughter's. "However, I will grant you a chance to survive."
"Oh, now that's a worthy dialogue," I said appreciatively. "Just don't threaten me anymore, or I'll shit myself from fear. So, what do you want? Actually no, don't tell me. Let me guess... You want to get out of here?"
"I have spent a millennium in this prison!" the Son said with rage, clenching his hands in impotent fury. "You have no idea what torment this is..."
"I do know," I countered, recalling an incident at the very beginning of my studies on Earth. "I once had a kidney stone. Oh, when it was coming out, I thought I was going to die."
"Sarcasm," the Son said. "You're literally soaked in it..."
"What kind of galaxy," I shrugged. "Such are the answers. You know, I could take you on my dreadnought — together we could bring peace back to this galaxy."
"Yes..." the Son said with anticipation. "Your current teacher is a child compared to me. I will reveal all the secrets of the Dark Side to you. And the galaxy under our rule will flourish, reaching the heights of its existence."
"That sounds much more reasonable than what I heard from your Father..."
"Father," the Son said, as if spitting out something vile. "The old fool! He uses me and my sister for his own purposes. He restrains me!"
"Well, the old man is weak, as far as I know," I said, tossing a little shit onto the fan. "It wouldn't cost you anything to get rid of him."
"Most of my power comes from him," the irritated Son lamented, pacing the room, throwing wild, rage-filled glances from his red eyes at the rumpled bed. "He controls Mortis, and as long as he lives, leaving it is difficult."
"But not impossible," I reminded him.
"Yes," the Son agreed. "Nothing can leave Mortis without the Father's permission. So you must convince him that you will become a conduit of his will in the outer world. He will allow your ship to leave the Monolith, and just before exiting the atmosphere, I will slip into the airlock and escape with you."
"The plan is as reliable as a Swiss watch," I said reproachfully. "The Father will realize we've tricked him sooner or later. Most likely right after we leave Mortis."
"That won't matter anymore," the Son snapped. "We'll be in orbit of a planet inhabited by thousands of Sith. Powerful, talented ones. I will appear before them as their god, and they will follow me, desiring power and knowledge. I will have an entire army of the Force-sensitive serving only me, just as you have your own. The Father won't dare attack us."
"He doesn't need to attack," I countered. "He'll track us somewhere in the galaxy using midi-chlorians and seal us away with black holes, just like he did with the Servant..."
"Ah... the 'Mother,'" the Son said with acrid hatred. "A lower being whose cycle of existence should have ended long ago."
"So why didn't you do it?" I asked.
"I desire it with all my heart!" the Son snarled. "The Father needs her for something. Her death would bring him great pain... Yes, first we will destroy the Servant. That will weaken him — she is his complete antithesis; they are interconnected through the Force. I think that will be enough to keep the old man out of my affairs. I might even do it quickly — after all, thanks to her, I have been able to leave this dungeon — even for a short time!"
"There are a few things to consider," I noted. The Son shot me a withering glance. "First: Centerpoint Station. Even the old man, stripped of power, could use it again to imprison us..."
"He can't!" the Son waved dismissively. "Using that station requires more than just being a Celestial. A huge amount of Force is needed to power it. He hasn't had that for a long time. Every time the Servant broke out of her prison, he sent me and my sister to bring her back. Without my power, he can't do anything. And if he tries, it will cost him his life."
"Okay," I agreed. "But don't forget, he could transfer some power to the Killiks to do all the work for him again."
"They are pathetic creatures, incapable of opposing me," the Son snorted. "With your army and our Force, we will destroy them effortlessly if he decides to use them against me."
"You'd have to find them first," I pointed out. "They're somewhere in Wild Space..."
"You are appallingly petty," the Son said irritably. "I made the Killiks what they are, and finding them will not be difficult! Even now, confined to the Monolith, I know their scouts are exploring worlds in the nebula you call Utegetu!"
"Don't get angry!" I asked. "You understand I'm risking more than you. You could easily destroy any of your kin — if something happens, they would grind me to dust with a single glance. It's logical that I want to calculate all the options while there's still time."
"All?" the Son asked suspiciously.
"Absolutely," I admitted. "And frankly, I'd be much calmer if you took the Dagger of Mortis from the Sanctuary."
"The only weapon capable of killing me?" the Son flared up. "You intend to kill me?"
Crackling red lightning appeared in his hands, ready to strike me. Yeah, I'd hit a nerve with my distrust. I'd better explain before he starts tearing the place apart. I wasn't sure the same trick would work twice.
"Yes," I agreed. "The Dagger can kill. You, the Father, the Daughter. Any Celestial, if I'm not mistaken. And in my opinion, the only weapon capable of killing my mentor should be kept far from anyone who might use it."
"You're not mistaken," the Son agreed. "And... your reasoning is sound. But it is in the Sanctuary, on the altar, where no Celestial can retrieve it. So your worry is pointless."
"It's not pointless at all," I countered. "In case you don't know, your Father wants to bring the Chosen One to Mortis — the one he himself made, by his own words."
"My Father's affairs do not concern me," the Son snorted.
"And that's a mistake," I shrugged. "He's not a Celestial. And if he follows your Father's precepts, why couldn't he take the Dagger to kill you?"
The Son thought for a moment, stroking his chin.
"You speak sensibly," he said after a few minutes of contemplation. "I will show you where it is. You will take it."
"Let's make it simpler," I suggested. "Your Father is probably tracking my movements — since I'm not in his field of vision. The moment I show up there, he'll immediately realize what's going on."
"That possibility cannot be ruled out," the Son agreed. "Then send one of your people there. The Sanctuary is at the base of a rather conspicuous mountain — a massive peak with a blue-green crystal burning at its summit."
"I'll give the order immediately," I said, bowing politely to the Son, hiding a smile. "My ship is at your disposal... Master."
"You will be properly rewarded for your service, my apprentice," the Son said triumphantly. "By the end of the day, the galaxy will know our greatness!"
In an instant, the tall, bald man with deathly white skin and tasteless red tattoos vanished, replaced by a huge bat with a predatory grin. After filling the cabin with a disgusting shriek that nearly burst my eardrums, he disappeared, falling through the deck.
Dropping the Cloaking, I stepped into the room where my own phantom, created with an Illusion, began to dissolve, fading into the air. Along with it — the empty glass on the table.
Picking up the real glass object with real drink inside, I downed it in one gulp.
"And these beings are teaching me how to properly handle the galaxy," I said ruefully, setting the empty container on the table.
I needed to hurry — time was running out, and there was still a lot to do.