"And these five are our Padawan Pack?" No matter how hard I tried, the skepticism was still leaking through. "Is Yoda joking?"
"Does that surprise you, Master?" Oli asked indifferently. "I think, considering that in other system armies thousands of Jedi and Padawans are fighting, while in our 'Gent,' 'Heft,' and 'Grek' barely a hundred can be mustered, you could have guessed that..."
"Oli," I addressed my apprentice.
"Yes, Master?"
"Shut up."
"Yes, Master."
"Wonderful."
"Indeed, Master."
"Oli?"
"Already quiet."
"Thank God..."
"As if!"
"God damn it!" I roared, making the five children wrapped in Jedi robes and tunics — three boys and two girls — turn their attention to us. "Master Fay promised you learned control!"
"Control — yes. Keeping my mouth shut — no," the girl shrugged. Assessing my utterly skeptical expression, she added:
"You don't have to worry — I won't blow up the system with a sudden Force Storm, but I'm not going to bite my tongue eith..."
"Oli!"
"Yes?"
"How about I talk to Yoda? I'm sure you're already capable of passing the Jedi Trials and becoming a full-fledged Jedi Knight."
"Oh no, Master," the girl grinned. "I'm with you until the very end. Consider me your punishment for all your sins. In this life and the past."
"I didn't sin that much!"
"Then it's for the future," the girl smiled sweetly, looking at me. For a moment, a duel of glares ensued between us. However, no winner emerged — we were delicately interrupted by a cough behind my back.
"Lord," Ahsoka spoke quietly. "The Padawans are coming toward us..."
"We're not done, apprentice," I noted acidly.
"Whenever it's convenient for you, teacher," the apprentice added with a sweet smile, bestowing upon the Togruta the most innocent look I had ever seen in my life. How do you like that, Shrek's cat? "Of course, as long as at that moment there isn't some pretty painted trollop moaning under you."
Tano, taken aback by such eloquence, shifted her gaze to me, then, biting her lip, began studying the toes of her boots, hooking both thumbs behind her belt — next to the dangling lightsaber hilts.
Sighing heavily (apparently it was an evil fate — every Emperor in this galaxy was plagued by disappointment in their apprentices), I swept my eyes over the five Jedi larvae, i.e., Padawans, who had lined up before me.
Despite the fact that I had practically laid down my life to get as many Order Padawans sent to me as possible, circumstances had prevented me from meeting them until now. Although, the question of the advisability of keeping them in the "Gent" had already been raised more than once.
However, I'd never gotten around to those Jedi details. I had ordered them a floor in the Citadel, with their own garden and training hall — so the Padawan blood wouldn't stagnate. And I very instructively asked several Jedi loitering at headquarters to keep an eye on the kids. Until recently, Etain Tur-Mukan had been handling this. But for obvious reasons, she had to stop her lessons with the kids — the last thing we needed was for a new-generation Jedi-ling to pop out of her during a sparring match and say hello.
"Master Dougan," a dark-haired girl who looked about twelve or thirteen smiled. "We're glad to see you."
"And I'm so glad," I announced in a tone full of optimism and universal disappointment. Oh, how much this scene reminded me of a scene from the kid's movie "The Mighty Ducks," where Emilio Estevez's character meets the kids' hockey team he's supposed to coach against the young lawyer's will. "Padawan Bene, if I'm not mistaken?"
"Yes, Master Dougan," the girl blinked.
"Well, and you are..." I stopped my gaze on a fairly tall boy for his dozen years of life, with a light brown mane neatly braided into a Padawan braid, ."..I take it you're Whie Malreaux?"
The boy, who in the history I knew had the fortune, along with Bene and the brilliant Cin Drallig, to catch some deadly and very real ass-whippings from Darth Vader in the Jedi Temple during the execution of Order 66, looked me over with a rather unfriendly stare.
"What's so glum?" I inquired.
"Master Drallig said you weren't a very good Jedi," the fledgling spoke. "I didn't think I'd have to train under you..."
"Well, loosen up and exhale, or you'll burst from self-importance," I advised, looking at all the Padawans. "I'm not your teacher. And I'm not your mentor. I pulled your Jedi-youngling butts out of the Temple because my army doesn't have enough Jedi. And, frankly, I asked for those who could think for themselves, not hide behind the opinions of others. By the way, Malreaux," I brought my gaze back to the Padawan. "Did Drallig also tell you that I took him apart during a training duel?"
"No," Wi shook his head. "But he said that instead of fighting him the first time, you sicced younglings on him, and the second time, he disarmed you and won."
"What a fanta...," I caught myself just in time. "So Troll didn't mention that by the end of the second match he could barely stand, and when I pulled out a second lightsaber, Cin gracefully bailed faster than water down a toilet. Maybe he wet his pants, maybe he caught a case of cleverness — I don't know, he didn't share such intimate details with me. But since Troll says otherwise... looks like I need to meet him again and drag him by the mane through the whole lobby."
Just as I shifted my gaze to the second girl in the group, I heard a quiet snicker from the previous boy.
"Any questions, Padawan Marlo?" I inquired.
"None at all, Master Dougan," he replied hastily, carefully avoiding my eyes.
"Really?" My astonishment knew no bounds. "Well, if that's the case, ten laps around the Citadel, Padawan."
"That's more than a hundred kilometers," the girl standing right in front of me breathed quietly.
"Want to keep him company, Tallisibeth?" It seemed my overly cheerful tone scared the girl, as she immediately tried to tilt her head so that the white-blonde hair growing on it would hide her expression from me as much as possible.
"Is this some kind of training, Master?" Wi asked gloomily, earning the right to see my face, which was extremely surprised and disfigured by a lack of understanding as to why I was still hearing sounds emanating from his mouth.
"You're still here, Padawan Marlo?" I inquired. Satisfied that the kid, squeezing out a heavy sigh, ran toward the turbolift, I returned to contemplating the remaining three Padawans.
"So, this is Tallisibeth Enwandung-Esterhazy," I identified, noticing from the girl's and the standing Padawans' rounded eyes that I hadn't made any mistakes in pronouncing her name. Well, well. "Also known as 'Scout.' Also known as the defender of the unjustly wronged, Mother of Dragons, et cetera, et cetera..."
"Mother of Dragons?" the girl looked up at me. "I don't understand..."
"You'll get used to it," Ahsoka encouraged her in a cheerful tone, throwing in her two deci-credits.
"Oh, well... okay..." the girl was embarrassed.
"Am I interrupting anything here?" I had to ask the girls. Oli pretended not to be interested in what was happening at all, but whistling the "Imperial March" was just the right thing to do. Damn it... "Alright, kid, out of everyone here, I'm most glad to see you."
"Really?" the girl blinked.
"No," I said with absolutely no emotion on my face. Seeing her eyes sadden and Ahsoka tense up in the Force, I sighed and put my hand on the girl's shoulder:
"Don't get upset, it was a joke."
"You have a cruel sense of humor," Tallisibeth said, pursing her lips.
"You should see the teacher reduce Dark Side adepts to fine dust," Oli said dreamily, punching her open palm. "Splat — and the remains of Sora Bulq can be wiped up with a rag."
"Really?" the "Scout" gasped.
"Yep," I admitted. "Be a good girl, and I'll teach you too. All of you," I added, raising my voice.
"It won't work," the girl said quietly. "My connection to the Force... is weak."
"So?" I didn't get the joke.
"She's a weakling," added the boy standing next in line. An instant later, an invisible force grabbed him by the legs and dragged the Padawan face-first along all the garden paths.
"Master Dougan..." the younglings were stunned. "What was that?"
"Karma is a bitch," I explained. "I hope it's clear that if I ever hear anyone again talking about how someone is a weakling and someone is a damn badass, they won't get off so easily?"
"A what badass?" Bene inquired.
"Don't pay attention," Oli advised. "The teacher often uses expressions from his native language. We don't understand most of it ourselves, but we put on a smart look like we do. Otherwise, he might get upset..."
Turning to Oli, I favored her with an oily smile — right as the boy flying headfirst behind the Padawans' backs started counting the number of bushes with his forehead. Bushes with a lot of thorns. The girl, hands behind her back, smiled brazenly, her whole demeanor showing she was playing on my nerves for all the time we'd been apart. Petty little brat. Why didn't you die when you were little?
"Well, then," I stopped in front of the last member of the Padawan Pack. "And who are you, Smurf-boy?"
Frankly, seeing such a colorful character... and in this part of the galaxy... and with a lightsaber... and a member of the Jedi Order... Unfathomable are your ways, Force. You're a treacherous thing.
"I don't know what a smurf is," the boy admitted. "But my name is Padawan Nuru Kunggurma, I'm a Chiss. It's a race from the Unknown Regions..."
"I know where that is, kid," I sighed. Frankly, I could even explain to the boy why his diplomatic mission to the Ascendancy, which the Chancellor himself had assigned him, had failed. Of course, I wasn't going to. "And what your race is called, I also know. The only thing," I added in Cheunh — the native language of the Ascendancy, making the boy's coal-black eyebrows shoot up, "is I have absolutely no idea what the hell you're doing here. You had a teacher."
"He..." the boy answered in broken native speech. "Left the Order, and I am... without a mentor... Master Yoda said that from you much can be... learned..."
"Learned," I mechanically corrected his speech error. Thank the Force I'd once dug around in Thrawn's head during our rendezvous on Zakuul and learned the Chiss languages. "Well, we'll see what you're good for."
"I am quite skilled with a lightsaber," Nuru confidently declared, still in that dialect.
"A light-stick isn't a cure-all," I said meaningfully, just as I Force-pulled the insolent youngling, scratched up and extremely annoyed, to the Padawans' formation.
"Well," I shifted my gaze to the boy seething with anger. "Any more questions about how you should only show off your awesomeness in your own backyard, sitting on your potty surrounded by the same kind of jerks?"
"No, Master Dougan," wiping a drop of blood from a deep scratch on his cheek, the boy said through gritted teeth. "I've learned my lesson."
"Good job," I praised, fixing my gaze on the Padawan with the face of George Lucas's son. "Look, Zett Jukassa, the ability to think before you act might save your life one day."
"Yes, Master," he said.
"Well," I clapped my hands, "since we've met, let me give you the good news, you little pests. Starting today, all of you are under my direct training. You probably won't like it, especially considering the fact that I'm going to assign you to units I personally command. Unlike the rest of the Grand Army of the Republic, you will not be commanding clones," I heard discontented grumbling. "Clones were created for war, and at the moment, they understand it better than you do. So if that's the case, be so kind as to listen to them. Don't like it? I can suggest which ship to take to fly straight back to Coruscant."
"But Commander Tano commands the 501st Legion," Esterhazy objected. "Why don't we...?"
"Because Commander Tano has been in this war for almost a year and a half, while you, at best, know which end of a blaster to hold so you don't shoot yourself in the head," I explained. "But don't worry — you'll have a chance to prove your head isn't just for eating. In two hours, all of you," I swept my heavy gaze over them one by one, "will be waiting for me on board the flagship of the Blade Fleet."
"Are we going to war?" Jukassa brightened.
"For now," I countered, "you're going to the arsenal, where you'll be fitted with armor and equipment that will help you survive on the battlefield for more than a couple of minutes."
"We're Jedi," Bene reminded me. "We don't need armor and..."
"At the moment, kid," I noted with a yawn, "you are Padawans whose average life expectancy on the front line, according to general Jedi statistics, usually doesn't exceed a few days. And, Force knows I'll regret this, but a big, bright feeling inside me strongly advocates for you to live as long as possible."
"Why?" Kunggurma frowned. "Death doesn't exist — only the Force..."
"But, Smurf," I wagged my finger at the speaker, "there are reports where I can't just gloss over the reasons for your death. And I've become damn lazy lately, and I don't have time to write obituaries. So do me a favor — stop busting my head."
Casting a glance at my apprentice, who was innocently whistling some tune, I grinned nastily so that only she and I could see it. I think I know which little thorn in the ass will be appointed in charge of this kindergarten.
* * *
"It looks more like a dirty dump than an ancient Jedi library," Sariss wrinkled her nose.
"A space city isn't just the Order's secret library," Celeste noted instructively, looking around. Yes, this intersection was just as empty. Like the previous four. Not a trace of the inhabitants. "It was a huge metropolis, built during the era of the first hyperspace flights. Once upon a time, you could find millions of architectural monuments and artifacts from long-gone eras in this city..."
"I'd rather we found some locals here," the apprentice lamented. "It's like everyone died out."
"That is true," Celeste said quietly.
To lie to herself by saying that life was still thriving anywhere on the enormous space station would be lying to herself. Because, despite the huge structures and numerous functioning equipment, the station known as the "Space City" was dead.
No, no one had killed the locals. There were no corpses, no signs of battle in the streets. It seemed as though this place had simply died out. And the corpses had disappeared on their own...
That made it feel a little unsettling.
Like traveling through a crypt.
However, a task was a task.
A long, long time ago, the Jedi Order had sought to acquire numerous academies or repositories where they could accumulate their knowledge in case, once again, something irreparable happened and the Jedi once again disappeared from the face of the galaxy. This had happened more than once, and it was doubtful that the upcoming purge would be the last.
The Emperor sought to bleed the Order dry, taking from it those who were either smart enough or hopelessly stupid enough to change their worldviews. This would undoubtedly deal a heavy blow to the Jedi Order, but wouldn't lead to their total extermination. However, there was no reason to hope that the Sith would be so scrupulous.
Many aspects of Dougan's plan seemed overly optimistic, even naive at times, to Celeste. She didn't know the modern Jedi, but she doubted they were any different from the ones she had worked with before entering stasis. She wasn't going to compare the combat skills of the two generations — that was a thankless task. But she could bet that, as had happened before, the High Council preferred to rest on its laurels, remembering and preparing for past wars. Meanwhile, the Sith evolved, throwing all their efforts into the coming war.
She had gone over the Emperor's plan in her head not once or twice, mapping it onto the information she knew from the HoloNet, and couldn't deny the fact that modern Jedi... to put it mildly, didn't measure up to those she had known in her time. Keepers of Peace, defenders of democracy... though in essence — the lapdogs of a Senate that had become utterly corrupt and bloated under the weight of corruption and idle indolence. The very thing that those who created the True Covenant had feared.
The decay of the Republic had reached its peak. A systemic crisis had affected literally every aspect of galactic life. It was no wonder that the cancerous tumor of the Sith had sprouted on fertile soil.
The Sith were not the cause of this war. They were merely a catalyst for discontent. The war would have erupted anyway — if not now, then in ten or a hundred years — there wasn't much difference. It was just that now the Sith had gained not a quantitative, but a qualitative advantage in society — the Jedi had become firmly associated as champions of a rotting regime. And among the galaxy's inhabitants, there would be trillions of sentients who would gladly accept change — a new power, strong and merciless to the old order. That automatically made the Jedi outlaws, turning them into enemies.
It was all sad — to watch from the sidelines as what you had given your whole life for perished. But at the same time, the girl admitted that the current Jedi Order was but a pale shadow of the one she had once served.
Perhaps Dougan was right — it was time to return to basics. Not to hide behind dogmas, repeating them until you grew sick of them. But to absorb something new.
For herself, Celeste had already decided that most of the Dark Side techniques, as well as the Sith worldview, were not her path. But the Unified Force... that was something new. Something that seemed far more complete than two disparate paths. You didn't have to get close to a fire to know that it radiated heat and smelled of burning. You could understand that even by looking from the side...
At the edge of her consciousness, she recognized a spark of the Force. Powerful enough to tell that it belonged not to an ordinary sentient, but to a gifted one.
Sariss, without a moment's hesitation, ignited her weapon.
"Lady Morne..." the girl began.
"Yes, I felt it too," Celeste agreed, removing her weapon from her belt. But she didn't want to release the golden blade from its hilt. The confrontation with the Jedi on Telos had proven that her initial point of view — not to raise a weapon against her Order brethren — was worth nothing. Because modern Jedi were incapable of thinking and analyzing those who stood before them. It felt as if the philosophy of the Shadow Corps had permeated the entire Order — anything that wasn't absolute Light was Darkness. And subject to destruction.
And yet she hoped that not every random Force adept who had undergone training in the Order would be equally categorical and stupid.
"Stop," a young man demanded in a booming voice, appearing a few meters in front of them. He had slipped out from behind a large container to the right of their path. "You will go no further."
"A Jedi!" Sariss rejoiced, spinning her lightsaber in front of her. "How long I've waited for this..."
"Get out of here, Sith spawn!" the young man demanded, activating his own weapon with the traditional Jedi green blade. "And you'll save your life."
"Listen," Celeste said conciliatorily. "We don't want a battle..."
"Speak for yourself, Master," Sariss said caustically. "I'm not against it at all."
"So much the worse for you," the Jedi noted coldly. "You will both die here!"
"Are you really a Jedi?" Celeste asked darkly. Indeed, in her time, such a thing had never happened.
"I am Jedi Knight Eydan Boc," the young man announced loudly. "The High Council entrusted me to guard the library, and you..."
A huge fist that could not possibly belong to a humanoid pierced the Jedi's chest at the spot where the heart would be in a human or near-human race. The bewildered and doomed Jedi, staring at the bloody limb protruding from his chest, only rolled his eyes in shock. This went on for several seconds before the muscles of the Jedi's body relaxed. The lightsaber hilt fell from his hand with a hollow sound, clattering onto the pavement.
"How unaesthetic," Celeste winced, watching the life leave the Jedi. The young man's eyes rolled back, never to open again. Khem Val, pulling his hand out of the corpse, licked his lips hungrily, eyeing the fresh meat.
"Will you really allow him to devour this Jedi's corpse?" Sariss asked with a shudder, hiding her own weapon.
"Would you prefer that the Dashade feasts on one of us?" Celeste asked, watching as the monsters — another had materialized beside them, dropping its Force Cloak, and the second one — began tearing off pieces of still-warm meat and stuffing them into their fanged mouths.
"No, of course," the former Sith minion was taken aback. "It's just... somehow... inhumane."
"This world has completely gone mad," Celeste sighed. "Sith lecturing Jedi about morality... O tempora, o mores..."
* * *
The bridge of Declann's new flagship greeted me and my entourage with an aura of a working atmosphere. The traditional Venator-style bridge was filled with clones and crew members bustling across the metal deck on their errands. Small flaws and defects caught the eye — missing ceiling panels here and there, inactive control panels that were being installed before my eyes, a few workers from the shipyards — though, if one could bring themselves to call that pair of outdated space docks used by the Christophsis government as assembly points for the Valiants.
However, none of this spoiled the overall impression of the ship — mighty, well-armed, and devilishly dangerous. Yes, an excellent choice of starship for the position of fleet flagship.
"Grand Moff," Admiral Declann appeared beside him, commander of the Blade Fleet. "I'm glad to welcome you aboard the flagship."
"Glad to be here, Admiral," I said, shaking his outstretched hand. "What do you think of the starship?"
"Not a Telos, of course," the officer smiled. "The compartment sizes and ceiling heights are certainly different. But better than a Venator, and, forgive me, a Hammerhead."
"Don't apologize," I waved my hand. "It's not like these are my own creations — we fight with what we've got. Is the fleet fully equipped?"
"Yes, sir," the admiral gestured to move to the tactical room, located to the right of the main entrance to the bridge. Then, glancing over his shoulder, he hesitated. "Are all these with you, sir?"
"Yep," I smirked, looking at the crowd behind me. "A real painting — 'Daddy and his brood.'"
"That's quite a lot of Jedi for one ship," the admiral scratched the back of his head. "But it's not for me to tell you, sir."
"Don't worry, Nial," I smiled, saying it loud enough for my companions to hear. "Force willing, some of them will fly home already in coffins."
Meeting Ahsoka's eyes, who was blinking rapidly, I nodded for them all to go into the tactical room. No point blocking the doorway and hindering movement.
"Sir," the black-skinned officer lowered his voice. "Can you trust them at all?"
"Not a jot, Admiral," I admitted. "The redhead who's pretending to be my adjutant," I pointed to Mara Cross, silently watching the activity around the tactical terminal, "she dreams of seizing power on her home planet through others' hands. The apprentice," a nod toward Oli, "dreams of sleeping with me and strangling everyone who did it before her..."
"Strange Jedi customs," the admiral chuckled. "And the second teenage girl, the Togruta?"
"This one is from the category of those who have already succeeded," I noted tiredly, catching the officer's surprised look. "The five who are still wet behind the ears dream of becoming Jedi."
"And the generals?" He nodded toward the elevator cabin that had arrived behind them. "Er... sir, forgive the indiscreet question, but are we on a combat operation or a party with pazzak and Twi'leks?"
"God knows," I sighed, "Nial, I didn't do it on purpose."
The admiral, watching as Aayla Secura, Xiaan Amersu, Rachi Sitra, B'rink Utrilla and her Padawan Rennax Omani, Larant Tarak, and their accompanying clone commanders headed into the tactical room, turned his head toward me with a hint of disbelief written on his face.
"Sir, don't take this as rudeness, but it seems to me that you should, at least for appearances, sometimes involve not just sexy girls in joint operations."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not judging, but... rumors are already going around that you have a thing for exotic species..."
"It's not a rumor," I sighed sadly. "I have an unattainable dream — to sleep with all the beautiful female representatives of the galaxy..."
"But then the galaxy would consist of your descendants, which is risky in terms of genetic diversity," the officer stroked his chin.
"That's why I try to limit myself to Twi'leks," I clapped the admiral on the shoulder. "Even if I don't manage to pull out in time, nature won't allow offspring to appear."
"That's true," Nial said thoughtfully. "But there's always the chance of collecting a bouquet of venereal diseases..."
"Remind me to be less candid with you, Admiral," I said with a chuckle.
"Sorry, sir," the admiral faltered. "It's not every day you can chat so easily with your Emperor..."
"It's all right, Declann," I chuckled. "But you're right about one thing — I clearly lack male friends."
"If you ever think of sitting down over a mug of lum and chatting about who's better — Zeltrons or Twi'leks — you know my comlink frequency," the admiral smiled somewhat sheepishly.
"Deal," I chuckled. Then, lowering my voice, I asked. "Is the Defender on board?"
"Yes, sir," the fleet commander suddenly became serious. "I ordered the right side hangar to be allocated for your needs — the corvette and your team of technicians and pilots are stationed there."
"The X-wings?"
"The entire squadron is loaded and placed in the hangar. Security is appropriate."
"Well, that's excellent," I concluded. "By the way, what name did you give the destroyer?"
"None, sir," the admiral admitted. "That's the prerogative of those senior in rank to me."
"That won't do," I declared decisively. "A ship needs its own name. And a motto wouldn't hurt either..."
"In any case — this is a starship of the Empire," the admiral reminded. "So, I would be honored if you gave it a name."
"What do you think, would the name 'Spirit of Fire' suit our new flagship?" I recalled a glorious ship from another fictional universe.
"An excellent name, sir," I sensed through the Force the utmost sincerity in the admiral's words. "Maybe you have a suitable motto too?"
"Strangely enough — yes, I do," I nodded, reciting a phrase in Latin from memory. "Exitus Acta Probat."
"I'm not familiar with that language, sir," Nial admitted. "What does what you said mean?"
"The end justifies the means," I translated the motto of the UNSC ship.
Nial was silent for a moment, thinking over his thoughts. Then he nodded in agreement.
"Couldn't have thought of a better one, Emperor."
"Well," I sighed. "Since the formalities are over, let's go to the hall; they're probably already waiting for us."
* * *
Scouts say that clones in the Grand Army of the Republic don't laugh. It's supposedly because most of them have inhibitor chips in their heads, which almost turn the brothers into organic robots whenever their real commanders want.
Although, in Tako's opinion, it was all fiction. All of them — whether clones of the GAR or stormtroopers of the Empire — came from a single donor. Who, again according to rumors, was killed by the Jedi. But among the stormtroopers, the donor's fate didn't interest anyone. Unlike the fates of other brothers.
"Remind me, please," asked Alex, commander of the 2nd Assault Corps of the Empire, "what did you answer Grand Admiral Thrawn when he asked if we were ready to carry out any order coming from the Emperor?"
"I said we would carry it out with honor," Tako turned his helmet, removed from his head, to face himself, peering into the blackening eye sockets.
"And if you had known where we were being sent, would you have answered the same?" asked Misk, commander of the 3rd Stormtrooper Corps.
"I think so, yes," Tako answered absently. Though he perfectly understood that it wasn't really the case. But he couldn't just go along with his comrades' opinion that the task assigned to them was complete crap.
"Then what are you standing around for?" Alex asked with a laugh, slapping him on the backplate. "Don't stall — you'll freeze."
Tako just shook his head. Freezing on this planet was practically impossible. But dying of boredom — yes. On the other hand, the 11th and 12th Corps under Marshals Smoke and Anton had much worse luck — they were dumped on some godforsaken ice planet called Hoth to build an Imperial outpost in the heart of enemy territory. However, they were covered by the Emperor's Ghost Squadron of Admiral Modus — the personal fleet of the Emperor himself. Rumor had it that some of the Imperial Knights had even joined that expedition. But it was all just rumors. You couldn't find out the facts anyway — even if you asked Smoke and Anton personally.
It wasn't customary among Imperial stormtroopers to spread details of their service — especially secret missions. The Imperial Security Bureau and its military counterintelligence units also didn't eat their rations for nothing.
Probably the brothers serving in the Grand Army of the Republic would appreciate the humor of the situation.
The current location of the first three Imperial Stormtrooper Corps was the planet Kinuin. A place forgotten by all religions in Wild Space. A lifeless, habitable planet of pure Earth-type with an oxygen atmosphere. It would seem — why is there no life here? A riddle even bigger than what the hell almost a hundred thousand Imperial stormtroopers are doing here. Though, the latter is actually known. They are setting up a transit base for the Imperial Fleet. They are creating a bridgehead necessary for moving transport convoys from the central systems of the Empire to the fringes of the Known Galaxy.
For now, a powerful outpost must be created here, where an entire corps and an escort squadron will be stationed — symbols of the Empire's power in these restless territories.
Tako didn't go into the intricacies of the strategy of the father-commanders. It was beyond his competence. But based on the tasks assigned to him and other corps commanders, he had an idea of what was happening.
The Empire was paving its way to the edge of inhabited systems. Even though the Mordell sector was nearby, where forces under Lady Ventress and Captain Dreagan Allous were stationed. But those territories were close to planets captured by the Confederacy. Apparently, the Imperial Armed Forces command was searching for secret routes. Primarily — due to the need for weapons supplies, particularly products of the Incom Corporation.
Therefore, stormtroopers and other armed formations loyal to the Empire had to dig into the ground on Kinuin, Zonju V, Iminusof, Delrakkin, Sabterell, Kal'Shebbol, Westar, and Marix Minor. Of course, this chain of fringe galactic worlds was not the last on the convoy routes, which had to head to Ryloth, passing planets like Skynara, Karazak, Drexel, Doom-Bradden, Orvax IV, which, although formally located in the territory of the so-called Galactic Republic, were undoubtedly under the Empire's sway — surely, otherwise the secret convoy routes would not pass through these systems.
Unfortunately, being here, it was impossible to know this for certain. As such, there was no communication between the Empire and the worlds, races, and armed units loyal to it in the territory of the known galaxy. But somewhere out there, among their blood brothers, the Emperor was now present. And he surely knew how to plan a secret operation without revealing his true plans. A sentient who had built a huge state practically from scratch couldn't afford to make mistakes.
To the last two worlds within Wild Space and the Unknown Regions — Zonju V and Iminusof — units of the 2nd and 3rd Imperial Stormtrooper Corps were currently heading to begin construction of garrisons there. They had been brought here on fleet warships, and medium transport ships of the Haor Chall Engineering corporation had subsequently brought construction materials and equipment. But no one intended to keep them in orbit — every soldier understood that the Empire's few combat and transport starships were currently worth their weight in aurodium.
Marshals Misk and Alex, just like their men, were waiting for the ships of the first — but clearly not the last — transport convoy of the Incom Corporation, to head to their planets and continue carrying out their assigned mission. Well, to keep tongues from wagging too much, Tako, without much ado, suggested they join the construction work as well.
The main part of the base — a spacious underground complex — had already been built by construction droids from Incom and Haor Chall Engineering. Stormtrooper engineering units were currently laying communications and setting up defense systems. It would take a couple of months at most, and this base would take its full shape. As intended.
Tako surveyed the deserted landscapes of Kinuin once again. Yes, by the Hutt, how good it was here. Quiet, peaceful. Maybe he should suggest to command to set up a civilian settlement here in addition to the military base. They might be just clones, soldiers of the Empire, but at the same time, each of his men was a citizen of their own country. With all the ensuing rights and obligations. And also — needs. Purely biological ones — including that. Yes, decidedly, what was missing here was a small civilian settlement where the guys could spend their evenings in conversation and friendly gatherings with locals. And not just gatherings.
Tako knew for a fact that many of his men had girlfriends on the side. That was quite logical, given how long the 1st Corps had been stationed on Zakuul. Where for a time there were no other sentients except Twi'leks. Yes, he remembered that time when almost eight thousand Twi'leks arrived on Zakuul — slaves freed by the Emperor, who were being traded left and right in the known galaxy. At first, of course, the soldiers didn't understand what a gift they had been given — since out of eight thousand, almost six were girls. For clones who had seen not just individuals of another race, but also females for the first time, they turned out to be guides into the world of true human life.
"Marshal Tako," a soldier in standard armor with the markings of communications units materialized beside him. Yes, Imperial stormtroopers, unlike their Republic counterparts, were not organized into uniform mono-task corps — scouts, assault troops, infantry. Each Imperial corps, despite being called 'Assault Corps', included various units — signalmen, engineers, tank drivers, and other equipment. Landed on any planet, an Imperial Stormtrooper Corps had scout troops, its own artillery, heavy equipment, long-range and field communication gear. However, the experience of recent months showed that the army and fleet would undergo certain changes more than once until the final table of organization for the branches of the military was approved. The soldiers cared little about this — their business was war, and organizational issues could be solved by sentients with ranks higher than their own.
"Speak," Tako demanded.
"A convoy and escort squadron have emerged from hyperspace. Captain Dreagan Allous reports that transports have arrived to carry the corps of Marshals Misk and Alex," the signalman reported. However, Tako himself already saw in the sky the wedge-shaped hulls of the former Republic Acclamators, which served as military transports for lack of better. Though the same scouts were gossiping that soon the fleet would see similar starships of purely Imperial construction. But who knew when that would be.
"Understood," the marshal said. Looking at his two comrades, whose faces bore cheerful smiles, the clone ran a hand over his short crew cut. "Good luck on the new planets."
"Let's hope there are Twi'leks there," Alex grinned. Misk supported him with a friendly chuckle.
"Yeah, keep hoping," Tako thought darkly. He, for one, had looked at the galactic atlas.
"The strategic situation has become critically complicated," I explained. "Daalang is our first objective. As soon as we deal with 'Sabaoth' and secure the system's space, we land ground forces on the surface. Rear Admiral Kreeves and his ships will take orbit around Daalang, after which we'll continue our voyage along the local hyperspace routes, destroying the enemy at Deneb, Lorans, and Aridus, culminating in an assault on the Separatist base at Gamorr. Rear Admiral Zsinj will meanwhile secure New Cov, then launch an offensive toward Kalarba and Milagro. Master Gallia's starships—most likely Commodore Terren Rogriss's strike squadron—will capture Bannistar Station in the Hevvrol sector for us, which will finally relieve the Seventh System Army and, for us, grant access to a major refueling hub across the entire oversector. Given our factories on Melida/Daan, this will let us maintain operational tempo for subsequent offensives in this region of the galaxy."
"Forgive me, Master Dougan," Racha Sitra drew attention to herself. "But Bannistar Station is neutral territory..."
."..which the Separatists use quite freely to refuel their ships," Admiral Declann noted. "Before the Battle of New Cov, over forty of their starships received fuel at Bannistar Station—and at rather low prices."
"If that isn't proof of their loyalty to the Separatists," Larant supported, "then I don't know what else is needed."
"Either way," I summed up, "we're striking these planets. Ultimately, our combined force must reach Allantin IV, thereby relieving the shipyard."
* * *
"So all this—for the Allantin shipyard?" Renax Omani asked in surprise. The blue-haired girl, catching a dozen angry glares at once, hastily shrank back. "Sorry for interrupting."
"It's all right, Padawan Omani. The right questions are always welcome," I reassured the girl. "Yes, the final goal of this entire operation is to re-establish our control over the Allantin IV shipyards. They may be heavily damaged by the Separatists, but they still retain enough capacity that we'll need, given our encirclement."
"But the planet is in Master Allie's zone of responsibility," Kungurama chimed in, emboldened that the blue-haired Padawan's boldness had gone unpunished. "Can we really...?"
"Furthermore—we must," I noted. "The enemy is perfectly fine with us fighting on our own territory. A strike by 'Gent' forces where no one particularly expects them will be quite a surprise for the enemy."
"But what does having a shipyard that still needs repairs actually give us?" Master Utrilla frowned. "If I remember correctly—we have the Battle of Saleucami ahead. Wouldn't it be more advantageous to go on the defensive now, and then launch a surprise attack there?"
"The strategy is essentially built for that," I assured them. "When the enemy learns of attacks by such large forces near the Corellian Route, they'll either move part of their forces from Saleucami to support their outposts in our zone of responsibility, or they'll lose their allies one by one. Either way, the Separatist forces in the nearby sectors will be significantly weakened. And their lack of advance information about the reasons for relocating eight whole corps will make Separatist command very nervous. That's precisely why, to prevent leaks, the mission's objective was only announced in hyperspace."
"We're not trusted?" Racha Sitra frowned. Through the Force, I could feel indignation radiating from her and most of the Padawans.
"No," I assured them. "The operational situation simply required it. The Separatists have already intercepted information through our communication channels more than once. So we have to minimize it in open and even official sources. From now on, the most critical data will be delivered to the executors directly via couriers. Our commandos may not like it much, but that's the price of secrecy for the upcoming attacks."
For a moment, a rather oppressive silence hung over the room. It was broken by Tallisibeth Esterhazy.
"Master Dougan," she raised her hand, drawing attention. "If we're striking south of Daalang, why aren't we accounting for the possibility that the Separatists could hit us from the direction of Nixor and Nant'ri? There are significant Separatist-allied forces on Emberlene..."
"To my knowledge," I prevaricated slightly. Knew, yes. I'd given that order myself. "Emberlene was recently sacked. Their army and fleet were destroyed, and what remains poses no serious threat to us."
"But then why don't we send troops to occupy those planets?" Marshal Hellagen inquired. Like the other clone commanders, he stood casually to my right of the terminal, while the Jedi had arranged themselves to my left. "Isn't there a risk the enemy could use the vacant territory to advance toward our borders?"
"That's precisely why we're leaving the 'Anvil' fleet in orbit around Daalang," Secura reminded him. "Admiral Kreeves is competent enough to hold out until reinforcements arrive in case of attack."
"And commando squads—thanks to Master Yoda, we now have so many you couldn't find a place to put them all," I said, though a plan for deploying the commandos was already taking shape in my head, "will conduct reconnaissance on those planets. If things are as we suspect, Admiral Kreeves will use the reserves to occupy the planets and establish fortified outposts there."
"But Ord Pardron and Christophsis are over a day away," 'Scout' insisted.
"The Hutts will provide our reinforcements," I explained. "Raids from Daalang primarily hurt their economy. Once we strike and throw the enemy out, I'll negotiate with them to ensure comprehensive support for our troops. If that's all..."
"Forgive me, sir," Marshal Sinilian, commander of the 212th Corps, drew attention. "But you didn't say which corps will be assaulting which specific planets."
Judging by the tense silence of the other marshals present, they were all wondering the same thing. Only Sinilian, as a reconnaissance commander, had enough healthy curiosity to ask outright.
"It's simple, Marshal," I smiled, with no intention of answering the question. "We'll hit Daalang with every available force. The main thing is to get into the fight—we'll sort out the rest as we go."
* * *
"Looks like," Cad said slowly, "things are bad."
The Umbarean woman looked at her night visitors—a Duros and a very young man, dressed like bandits from ancient legends—and just shook her head. These were Imperial spies? They looked more like vagrants from the Corellian Trade Route.
They'd met after midnight, when Al Comlin had managed to slip out of his residence with little difficulty and head to the meeting point.
Frankly, the Senator had expected to see a couple of thugs, not two mercenaries. That didn't mesh with the aura of wealth and prosperity the Empire supposedly had, which Bana Breemu had described when she offered him Mahtee Dunn's seat. Shortly before the latter's death.
Al still didn't know for sure whether the Empire had planned the former Umbarean Senator's murder or if it had been a random confluence of events. But the fact remained: after Mahtee Dunn's death, Al had managed to push his own candidacy, first into the Senate. And then, into the minds of Umbara's ruling levels, the idea of seceding from the Republic—an idea that had been floating around Umbarean society for quite some time.
Frankly speaking, Comlin owed his career advancement to the Empire. Because a young aristocrat from the thirteenth level, even one with rather trivial telepathic abilities (commonplace in their world), simply didn't have the experience or knowledge for this kind of backroom intrigue—to jump straight to the third level, leaving far behind many of his far more influential and skilled competitors.
Imperial agents had done everything for him. Eliminated the uncooperative, greased the greedy, intimidated the zealous. And the road to the upper levels of Umbarean society lay open before him.
Al didn't flaunt his position or achievements. He understood perfectly well that should the Emperor—whom he'd never laid eyes on—wish it, all the power the Umbarean Senator held would turn to dust. He would lose his position, at best crashing back down to the thirteenth level. And that was practically a disgrace you could never wash off.
The native Umbarean society had, since ancient times, included a system of levels—castes—numbering nearly a hundred. As it should be—at the bottom were the most despised. The top ten levels held such immense power that many couldn't even dream of it. Primarily, only members of families with levels from the tenth down to the first inclusive could leave the planet. But there were few such families—a little over a dozen. So, few had seen Umbareans outside their home world. And across the galaxy, only one Umbarean was widely known: Sly Moore. Chancellor Palpatine's confidante. She was honored and respected on Umbara. Held up as an example. This made young aristocrats gnash their teeth.
No one knew how Sly had achieved her position. And possessing compromising information on one's fellow countrymen was an age-old national pastime for their people. Because sometimes only blackmail, intimidation, threats, and other delightful behind-the-scenes games could give an Umbarean a chance to rise a level.
And many young Umbarean aristocrats wanted to repeat Sly Moore's success. But didn't know how. And so they fumed with idleness, habitually devouring their competitors back home.
Al Comlin had found his way up. Cooperation with the Empire had given him a career boost. And his cautious game in the Separatist Congress was the guarantee that the second part of the deal would be fulfilled. When it was all over, the rulers of Umbara—members of the highest caste level, Rootai, revered at home like kings and gods—would fade into oblivion. Freeing up power for him.
That was what the Emperor had promised, through Bana Breemu's words. And as the former Senator from Himbarin Sector had assured, service to the Emperor was rewarded. Al had believed her. But he'd also verified her words. And found them credible—after all, it wasn't from nothing that hundreds of warships had suddenly appeared in the war-ravaged and Separatist-occupied Brimu Sector. Yes, they were obsolete 'Dreadnought' heavy cruisers, but they had quite effectively driven the CIS out of the sector. Its worlds had almost immediately bristled with hundreds of defensive orbital platforms. And the numerous mercenaries from the Ailon Nova Guard had died by the thousands but freed the sector from Count Dooku's mechanical soldiers. Al had an idea how much the Ailonites' services cost. And he didn't wonder where the billions had come from for a Senator who had lost everything.
He liked Bana's example—she remained the last representative of her sector's aristocracy. No wonder she had effectively become the ruler of Himbarin, which had once been an economically prosperous sector. Kuat could once again be kicking itself that its old rival was regaining strength.
Al wanted what every politician wanted. Power.
But given his convictions, he understood that achieving the highest rungs of the hierarchy without bloodshed was impossible. Because he wanted what was best for his people—development and prosperity. The caste system and the closed nature of Umbarean society prevented them from entering the galactic weapons and technology market—and on Umbara, the latter was among the best in the entire Republic. A decisive decision at the top was needed for Umbara's products to flood out of the planet. And for billions of credits to flow back in.
If becoming an Imperial agent within the Confederacy was necessary for that—he agreed.
And judging by the flabbergasted faces of both spies, he understood that the information he'd just given them wasn't just valuable. It was priceless.
"Destroying the HoloNet stations is a pretty serious matter," the man said, scratching his chin. "Not easy..."
"The coordinates of all major relays are known," Al noted. "Without relays in the Mid Rim region, those worlds and the Outer Territories will be in an information vacuum."
"Yes," the Duros agreed nasally. "The planetary relays in the Expansion Region aren't powerful enough to reach the Outer Rim relays."
"That's what Count Dooku is counting on," the Senator reported. "The Confederacy of Independent Systems, relying on its own Shadow Broadcasting relay network, won't lose the initiative..."
"While Republic troops will have to rely only on their own forces, within a single sector, since the main relays are located on planets—sector capitals," the Duros concluded. "Strike in one sector—and the neighboring one won't even hear the call for help."
"How did the CIS Senators agree to this?" the human boy exclaimed.
"We won't be left without communication," Comlin shrugged. "Mobile relays are an expensive pleasure, of course, but Count Dooku assured us that ultimately this will serve the cause of liberating the Confederacy's worlds."
"Well, yes," the Duros squinted. "Right now the Republic has invaded many Confederacy worlds..."
"And according to intelligence," Comlin recalled the Senators' corridor talk, "they're planning strikes on Saleucami, Mygeeto, and Felucia. That report alone made most of the Separatist Congress Senators vote 'aye'."
"Crap," the Duros repeated. "To hell with the communication—destroying the relays will effectively disrupt navigation between the Expansion Region and the Mid Rim on the major hyperspace routes."
"That was mentioned too," Al confirmed. "It'll make it extremely difficult for the Republic to bring in reinforcements—they'll have to jump from one system to another to retune their hyperdrives to the hyperspace beacon signals. This will significantly increase travel time for starships outside specific sectors. We, of course, won't have that problem..."
"'We'?" the man flared up. "Whose side are you on, exactly?"
"My own," Al said coldly. "It just happens to align with Imperial policy for now."
"Dangerous talk," the man snorted. "Not afraid that the moment you tell the Empire to go to hell, the next day there'll be Imperial dreadnoughts in Umbara's orbit instead of Republic hypocrites, and your Shadow World will turn into a charred slag heap?"
"Empty threats," Al waved a hand. "Umbara, in my person, will support the Empire as long as the Empire doesn't act against our interests. I've already informed the Emperor of this through trusted people and received preliminary consent."
"Allies that sly should be greeting the dawn under nuclear explosions," the man said, pursing his lips.
"Shut up," the Duros requested. "The Empire is grateful for your assistance."
Al gave a perfunctory smile. Squinting slightly, he tried to peer into the minds of his new acquaintances. And if the human boy was just a seething well of youthful maximalism with not many thoughts in his head, the Duros... Well now. How was that even possible?
"I wouldn't recommend poking around in my brain, Senator," the blue-skinned alien rasped a warning, demonstratively spinning a thin icepick in his hand. "This isn't my first time dealing with your species. And I do have telepathic blockers in my arsenal."
"They work for, at most, a few minutes," the Senator said, suppressing a yawn. Yes, it was late; time to get back to the residence. "After that, your brain becomes just as pliable as anyone else's."
"It takes me about three seconds to slit your throat or shove this knife hilt-deep in your eye," the Duros smiled. Nodding toward his partner, he added, "Him, two."
"And I thought you were more of a professional than your underling," Comlin admitted, deciding it was best not to provoke a confrontation with Imperial representatives. After all, the second part of the deal hadn't been fulfilled by the Imperials yet.
"He just has the fastest hands in the entire Outer Rim," the Duros shrugged.
"And trained," the boy added with slight offense, showing his hands, which he kept in the slit pockets of his trousers. "The Pantoran Assembly already found that out. Posthumously."
"Yes, I heard about that," Al said meaningfully. As if—the death of every single member of Pantora's ruling body had alarmed many Senators, both in the Republic and the Confederacy. And no one had yet doubted it was an accident... But if the Empire was capable of such operations... then perhaps Mahtee Dunn's death wasn't a simple coincidence either. "On that note, I hope we're done? My wives are probably already waiting for me..."
"One last thing, Senator," the man said sharply. "How much time do we have before the attack on the relays starts? We still need to drop by a couple of places..."
"There's no time left," Senator Comlin said flatly. "The attack on the relays began right after the Congress session ended. All Republic forces in the Mid and Outer Rim are already cut off from the civilized part of the galaxy. They just don't know it yet."
"Those Separatist cocks," the man said angrily, spitting loudly in front of himself. Al, watching the spittle carried by the wind that had been blowing in the Imperials' faces for half an hour, smear across the edge of the man's cloak, decided that this kid's hands might indeed be fast and trained, but he was a terrible marksman.
And how did people like this manage to serve the Empire?