Palpatine sat in his luxurious chair, his back to the entrance of his private office, in front of a huge transparent window, gazing with a sober eye at the endlessly complex echelons of moving vehicles, churning across the urban landscape of Coruscant. Millions of sentients, as if in a giant hive, hurried about their business. From the height of his position, they all seemed like mere cogs in the vast mechanism of a giant machine named the Galactic Republic.
Citizens could hide behind the clones' backs as much as they wanted, saying that it was the Republic's army that should defend the Constitution and the people from oppression by enemies, who at the moment were the Separatists. Intelligence had repeatedly reported that among the inhabitants of Coruscant, after the infamous deportation of races secretly or openly sympathizing with the Confederacy, a mood of dependency was strengthening. There weren't many willing to personally take up arms and defend ideals that were tens of thousands of years old. Military reports stated that the total number of volunteers — ordinary sentients who had joined the Grand Army of the Republic — was just over ten million — a drop in the overall mass. And even then, the vast majority of these militiamen were from the people of Christophsis. Those who served Dougan. And that couldn't help but cause concern. Such loyalty was a threat to the Plan. Not critical, but unpleasant enough. Because when everything started, Christophsis, with its resources and armed forces, could provide shelter for many Jedi. And it would take a lot of time and effort to root out the Jedi taint. It was much simpler to deal with these problems now than to leave their solution for later.
Yes, the CIS attack on Dougan's armies was negatively affecting the entire Plan's execution. Instead of the fire of conflagrations across the galaxy, the sharpness of the conflict was shifting to the Outer Rim and the Mid Rim.
But what was happening had both its pros and cons.
Hearing the office doors slide open behind him, Sheev took a deep breath and draped over his face the friendly-courteous mask of the Supreme Chancellor, which had become a second skin.
"Grand Master Yoda," he greeted the Jedi. "Master Windu," the grim Korunnai gave a barely perceptible nod. "Senator Amidala," the girl, despite everything that had happened to her lately, looked as imperturbably democratic and full of energy as always. Interesting, did she have any other facial expressions? Or did what was happening in the galaxy not affect her at all? The death of Duchess Satine, the loss of political weight, the falling out with Anakin, the collapse of negotiations with the Separatists… And Padmé was still as unflappable. Was this the vaunted political composure, or was the girl actually that feeble-minded? Considering how easily she had fallen for Palpatine's own provocation eleven years ago and initiated the vote of no confidence in Valorum — the Chancellor was beginning to lean toward the second view. Definitely, Anakin was significantly better off after parting with this mindless puppet. "Glad to see you. Words fail me to express my profound relief that you are well, Lady Amidala. Breaking out of the thick of a blockade in a civilian ship… Yes, it seems to be becoming a habit for you."
Palpatine allowed himself a smile. Too bad this plain girl wouldn't fully appreciate his sarcasm. His hint at the escape from Naboo eleven years ago, which had helped Palpatine advance his plan even further (if Amidala had stayed on the planet and signed the documents the Trade Federation needed, the war so necessary for the Sith could have started much later). And now too — by escaping from Naboo, this foolish girl had returned to Coruscant. Right in the midst of events whose implementation Palpatine needed like air.
"Glad to see you again, Supreme Chancellor," the Nabooan said calmly. "I owe my rescue to Master Kit Fisto — he was the one piloting the ship that managed to break through the Confederacy's patrols."
"Then," Palpatine shifted his gaze to the green old coot. "Please accept my sincere thanks for the excellently trained Jedi, Grand Master Yoda."
The pointy-eared Jedi merely nodded silently, wearily examining the view of Coruscant behind the Chancellor's back. Interesting, would Yoda live to see the end of the war, to remember this conversation and appreciate the Sith Lord's mockery? After all, if the current Jedi, raised under Yoda's unyielding supervision, weren't so insignificant, the Sith Plan couldn't have been realized in the coming decades. Just think how many times the Plan had been on the verge of failure… How many times the Jedi had been a couple of steps away from figuring out what was happening. But they couldn't. They lost, they died, they took their secret to the grave. And thus they exalted the Sith's triumph all the more.
"To be honest, I was somewhat surprised when my secretary informed me that you wished for an audience," Palpatine said, seeing that the Jedi weren't in a hurry to start the conversation. "How can I be of service?"
"The Confederacy has launched a full-scale offensive in the Mid and Outer Rims," Windu reported.
"Yes, I've heard about that," Palpatine smiled inwardly, keeping a serious expression. "Count Dooku has crossed all boundaries. The destruction of the main HoloNet relay centers… that's a serious crime."
"The galaxy has never seen the like," Yoda stated. "Such a step by the Separatists troubles us."
"As it does all of us," Palpatine said with feigned sympathy. "The disruption of communication with the Outer Rim is extremely unpleasant."
"Undoubtedly, this is primarily connected to the actions against Master Dougan's army group," Windu said decisively.
"You think so?" Palpatine said in surprise. Well, well, they'd figured it out. Or was it just a lucky guess? "I'm inclined to think it's just another way to annoy us…"
"The circumstances force us to think otherwise," Padmé Amidala joined the conversation. "The Separatists are acting purposefully against the specific three system armies that you transferred to Master Dougan's operational command."
"Grand Moff Dougan will manage," Palpatine didn't miss the chance to needle. "He seemed to me a sufficiently competent commander. And subordinating three homogeneous armies to him was a very reasonable step. At least, that's what I was assured by the command of our Grand Army."
A small lie that the Jedi would never be able to verify. With their traditional sluggishness, it was beyond the Jedi's power to figure out who among the high officers the Supreme Commander had ordered or simply spoken to about what. The Sith's little intrigue had long been buried under the weight of gossip and speculation. Finding out who was the initiator, in all this variety of backroom conversations and rumors that had surrounded this appointment, was an unaffordable luxury. For everyone — Palpatine had merely voiced the High Command's decision. And the fact that it was he who had planted the idea in their minds as food for thought — that was history.
"And yet," Windu continued to insist. "The Council is certain that everything that has been happening over the past months in the Outer Rim is a targeted action against a specific Jedi. First — the creation of bridgeheads around these armies. Then — the destruction of communication centers. In fact, Master Dougan's forces," the Master pronounced the last words with particular emphasis, "are not only surrounded by enemy units but also in an information vacuum."
"Yes, that is undoubtedly a sad fact," Palpatine barely restrained a yawn. How tedious it was to converse with such dim-witted Jedi. Against their background, all of Dougan's multi-layered schemes, known to the Chancellor, were the pinnacle of strategic mastery. And therefore — such a dangerous enemy should be eliminated as soon as possible. "But, on the other hand — he commands truly enormous forces. Thousands of ships, over ten million clones — not to mention millions of militiamen. I've heard that he managed to achieve not only the loyalty of the Christophsians but also set aside the traditionally dependent mood of the inhabitants of Pantora. So, it seems to me, Grand Moff Dougan has nothing to fear. After all, I transferred the Rothana plants under his command — and believe me, that cost the Republic a great deal. Kuat demanded huge new orders for their equipment from us — we had to order over two thousand additional Venators alone. And five hundred of those new Predators."
"No one disputes that you, Supreme Chancellor," Padmé said, "have put a lot of effort into resolving the current situation…"
Oh, girl, you don't even know how much had to be adjusted. And, of course, on the one hand, this seemed like an incredibly heavy burden for the Republic — new military orders nearly broke the budget's bottom. But, in reality, all this only served to strengthen the Sith Plan. New clones, genetically improved by the Arkanians compared to previous versions of the Grand Army's soldiers, and infinitely loyal to orders — including the Contingency Orders. Thousands of new ships, millions of units of military equipment… Yes, trillions of credits had to be spent, but when it was all over, Palpatine would have a multi-billion army of perfect clones under his command, equipped with every possible type of weapon. Sectors that tried to resist his plan would be crushed by the Grand Army. And the first bricks of the foundation for the collapse of the current InterGalactic Banking Clan system were already being laid — Isard had reported yesterday about multi-billion losses (and that was just in one day since the communication blackout!) for the Muuns in the financial field due to the disruption of the communication system with the Outer Rim. A little more time, and Rush Clovis would start making truly fatal mistakes. After all, most of the InterGalactic Banking Clan's funds were endless re-loans and credits. Including — in financing the war between the Republic and the Confederacy. On the one hand, the InterGalactic Banking Clan could cover its losses by collecting interest from the warring parties. However, what a misfortune — the Separatists weren't going to pay their debts. And the sums coming from the Republic were just a drop in the ocean. After all, the loans issued for waging war were calculated over decades of monthly payments. And by the time the bulk of the sum had to be repaid, the InterGalactic Banking Clan would cease to exist, bankrupted by the financial crisis. Or, in the end, Republic soldiers would land on Scipio. And all the burdensome debts would be automatically written off by right of the strong.
True… it was necessary to make a few more loans to secure his already growing advantage. How fortunate that the right person, whom Clovis couldn't resist, had arrived on Coruscant. Thank you, Master Fisto. True, initially Palpatine had planned to extract new loans from the Chairman of the InterGalactic Banking Clan precisely under the vague formulation that the Mid Rim was in danger. And Naboo, where Padmé Amidala was supposed to be, was among the worlds the Confederates had targeted. But this was even better. The Nabooan possessed an almost mystical ability to influence men in love with her. She would surely convince Clovis to pour the InterGalactic Banking Clan's last resources into financing the Republic's war machine in exchange for a vague promise of a quick end to the war. After all, only a ceasefire and the restoration of the information infrastructure could save the InterGalactic Banking Clan from ruin.
Of course, a completely fantastic scenario was also possible — that the Muuns would find quadrillions of credits capable of plugging the hole in their finances. But, the question was, where would the bankers get a couple of annual budgets of the Republic? Those reserves — the exact sum they had — Rush Clovis had returned as an apology for the machinations of the previous leadership of the InterGalactic Banking Clan. How splendid that the corruption among the Muuns and their penchant for appropriating what belonged to others had worked in the Plan's favor.
"…but wouldn't it be wiser now to move our forces to relieve the besieged armies?"
"Forgive me, Senator," Palpatine shook his head. "But at the moment, we do not possess sufficient resources necessary for counterattacks across such a broad front. Masters Unduli, Gallia, and Grand Moff Dougan will have to wait until we can strike at the Separatist positions in the Mid Rim."
"It could drag on," Yoda voiced his concerns. "Many worlds we could lose without communication in the Mid Rim and the Outer Rim."
"I understand that, Grand Master Yoda," the Sith nodded. "But in the current situation, the High Command of the Grand Army of the Republic believes that relieving Master Dougan's armies is an unaffordable luxury. We have too few forces and ships for such actions. And at the same time — the Separatists' attachment to such a powerful group, under the command of one of our best Jedi, could play into our hands."
"How so?" Mace Windu frowned.
"How I was assured by our intelligence and the Grand Army command, as long as Count Dooku's forces are pinned down by the armies on the Outer Rim," Palpatine sighed. "This will allow us to slowly build up our own reserves and methodically push the enemy back beyond the Core, the Core Worlds, the Colonies, the Inner Rim, and the Expansion Region."
"But that effectively abandons three system armies to their fate!" Amidala flared up. "We have an obligation to help them!"
"I understand, my dear," Palpatine painted sympathy onto his face. "But the current circumstances do not permit us... However, it seems to me there is a way out of this situation."
"And what might that be?" Windu frowned.
"If we had more clones and ships," Palpatine said with a breathy, feigned sadness in his voice. "Then we would certainly try to break the siege of Grand Moff Dougan's forces..."
"This problem is unresolvable, hmm?" Yoda inquired in his typical mangled phrasing.
"Yes," Palpatine steepled his fingers. "The Republic's budget, unfortunately, is limited. Especially in light of the need to place additional orders for the construction of the hyperwave transmitters destroyed by the Confederacy. And even if we ordered them now, they would not be ready anytime soon — at best, by the end of the year — an extremely complex and expensive technology."
"What are you proposing?" Windu narrowed his eyes.
"We are forced to request a new loan from the Banking Clan," Palpatine sighed. "To win this war, we will need another billion clones and thousands of ships..."
"But those are enormous sums!" Amidala exclaimed. "In fact, maintaining the current army and fleet takes up most of the annual budget! We cannot afford even more war spending! There are other areas that need funding! Healthcare, social services, refugee aid..."
"My dear Padmé," Palpatine said with a falsely sad smile. "I understand that better than anyone. Believe me, if we could win this war through diplomacy alone, we would have done so already. But instead, we need walkers, fighters, rifles, clones, and starships. Without them, we will simply be crushed. I don't know about you, but I wake up in a cold sweat at the very thought of what the galaxy will become if the Separatists win."
"But we're only feeding the war machine and..."
"My dear," the Sith raised his hands placatingly. "You yourself suggested just a few minutes ago that we move troops and armadas to rescue Grand Moff Dougan. While I do not favor the plan proposed by the Grand Army command, take my word for it — if I had an extra thousand ships, I would certainly move them to break the siege of those armies. However, I simply cannot give such an order when Separatist strongholds are blooming right under our noses — in the Core Worlds and the Colonies. I have no right — in the name of protecting the Republic's citizens."
"And if you had such ships and forces, would you order the armies to be relieved?" Yoda inquired with a sly squint.
Palpatine tensed inwardly. He knew that despite his apparent simple-mindedness, the Order's Grand Master was a very cunning and sharp-witted fellow. He wouldn't ask such a question without having an ace up his sleeve.
The Nabooian analyzed feverishly. What could be hidden behind Yoda's words? Without Palpatine's permission, the Master could not move troops or ships — Palpatine had personally closed that legislative loophole after the Grand Master's actions, when he had literally pulled every single one of Jango Fett's clones to aid Dougan. It was a good thing it only involved ground force units — if Yoda had pulled that same trick with the clones serving as starship crews, Palpatine would have outlawed the Jedi on the spot. Because, for all their skill, the new Arkanian-produced clones were not yet being manufactured en masse enough to replace every single Kaminoan clone in the fleet.
Or had the Order finally decided to reveal the secret of its financial reserves? That the Jedi had money — and a VERY, VERY great deal of it — was known to almost every inhabitant of the Republic who had so much as heard a whisper about these marvelous beings. But the folks living in the Temple perched atop the mountain were in no hurry to share information about just how many dataries and other currencies they actually possessed. The Jedi openly ignored the ancient tradition of intelligent beings in this galaxy — keeping money in the InterGalactic Banking Clan. Otherwise, Darth Plagueis would have known more about the solvency of the Sith Order's enemies than they knew themselves. All the Sith had achieved over the last thousand years in trying to determine the extent of their ancient foes' solvency was the discovery that the Jedi owned a small stake in Kuat Drive Yards — and the dividends from such a portion are truly enormous, even by the end of a fiscal year. After all, it wasn't for nothing that Sifo-Dyas became obsessed with the idea of secretly creating an army without informing the Council. So, understanding HOW expensive that was, he couldn't have failed to realize that such sums were better kept on hand — because if they weren't available at the time of payment to the manufacturer, one could see something very different instead of an army.
"Unquestionably, Master Yoda," Palpatine decided to lean toward the second point of view. And he decided that even in that case, he would lose very little. If the Jedi decided to finance another expansion of the army and fleet — that was a pleasant bonus. It wouldn't hurt the Sith Plan — quite the opposite. When the enemy himself hands you his credit chip, it's a sin not to use it. Let his money go towards your own needs. There would be no need to repay the debts anyway — partly because the Jedi were too noble to lend money to the Republic they had sworn to protect at interest or even on credit. But for the most part, the lack of worry came from the certainty that, once the Plan was complete, there would be no one left to remember who exactly had provided those loans. And the media under Palpatine's thumb, like Elin Tyrell, could always present such a "noble" gesture from the Jedi as yet another Jedi attempt to prolong the conflict. Speaking of which, he really should look into Ellen's fate. "I care about Grand Moff Dougan's fate just as much as you do. But what are you proposing?"
"Senator Amidala is in close friendly relations with the head of the Banking Clan," the Grand Master reported information Palpatine already knew. Palpatine almost laughed out loud. Of course. Close, but by no means "friendly." According to the information the Sith possessed, Clovis and Amidala had "befriended" each other with their bodies in the past, for much longer than Anakin had with the former queen. Speaking of which, a good opportunity to once again remind the Chosen One of his hatred for that particular banker and his former lover. Especially since Isard had just a couple of days ago provided information that the future Sith apprentice had radically violated the sanctity of the Jedi Code by using his female apprentice for her intended purpose. Thank the Force that Anakin hadn't done that earlier with his Togruta apprentice. Just the thought of a human coupling with an alien made Palpatine feel a burning sensation in his lower back.
"This I am aware of," Palpatine nodded languidly. "It helped us uncover corruption within the Banking Clan's leadership. But I don't see how that's relevant right now."
"We are confident that, in light of the current situation," Windu joined the conversation, "Rush Clovis will not refuse to issue the Republic another credit for the war effort."
"Of course," Yoda sighed, casting a glance at the Senator from Naboo, who looked extremely embarrassed. "If a close person to him asks for it."
So that's it... Curious — for once, the Jedi's thoughts aligned with his own. Palpatine experienced a range of emotions simultaneously.
Joy that the Jedi themselves had made such a proposal. They wouldn't have come to him with it without securing Amidala's support. In fact, the entire audience was just a performance designed to secure Sheev Palpatine's approval for this initiative. If he said "no," the initiative would die on the vine, having no state support whatsoever. And after her failed negotiations with the Separatists, Amidala was no longer as confident in her actions. Had the brain's democracy finally started to recede? He should task Mas or Sate with observing this woman — she seemed changed after her stay in Dougan's brig. That could be a serious warning sign — the Jedi might have recruited her as one of their supporters. Or even more — achieved a closeness beyond working relationships. Hmm, he should hint at this to Anakin — the Dark Side churning in Skywalker would then be guaranteed more than fully. Sheev didn't believe the young Jedi could have completely fallen out of love with his former queen.
At the same time, the thought that the Jedi might sponsor the construction of new starships and the growth of new clones frankly pleased the Chancellor. And that caused him disappointment. He should have tried to play this card to the fullest. You can't abandon a good plan just because your opponent doesn't want to implement it.
"I appreciate your resourcefulness, Master Yoda," Palpatine observed peaceably. "But personally, I am not sure that Rush Clovis and the other Muuns will want to meet us halfway. If you recall, the minor scandal between us led to the Banking Clan unilaterally raising our loan interest rates. Those are enormous sums. I think the Muuns will want to negotiate a new loan on even more favorable terms for themselves. And that could lead to the collapse of our entire financial system. I confess, I would not want to hand over a Republic mired in debt to the next Chancellor."
"Oh, so you still remember the elections for the post of Supreme Chancellor," Amidala snorted. "Rumor has it that you will never relinquish these duties."
"My dear," Palpatine tried to portray grief and inner pain on his face. "I have heard these ravings too. And it pains me that there are beings in our Senate who believe them. I love the Republic and democracy, and therefore, I assure you that as soon as the storm passes, I will relinquish my emergency powers and new elections will be called. I have no desire or ambition to hold the post of Supreme Chancellor for life."
."..because that post will be abolished," Palpatine added to himself. "Along with all the other atavisms of the thoroughly rotten republican system."
"That is not what we are discussing now," Yoda gently reminded Amidala. "We are confident in the success of Senator Amidala's undertaking."
"So you are the initiator of this proposal?" Here, years of practice in the art of emotion control cracked for Palpatine. His surprise was so genuine he didn't even have to fake it. "I confess, I did not expect this from you, Senator. You are against waging war..."
"I wanted to ask Clovis for a loan not only for military operations," Amidala shook her head. "But also to address the social problems that the Senate prefers to forget in light of the escalating conflict with the Separatists. When the budget was planned, social spending was significantly reduced..."
"Yes," Sheev admitted. "And the reason is the war. Well, your proposal is worth considering, but honestly, Master Yoda, I thought the Jedi Order would decide to extend a helping hand to the Republic."
"In what manner?" Yoda squinted. "All Jedi, every single one, are already at the front. We cannot help more."
"I understand," the Sith shook his head. "But there are persistent rumors about the wealth of the Jedi... Especially after it became known that your subordinates were purchasing clones from the very beginning..."
"The Jedi are keepers of the peace, not warriors," Windu reminded dryly. "We cannot finance the expansion of the conflict — it contradicts the ideals and values of the Order."
'You've got to be kidding me,' Palpatine decided internally. 'Saying that after secretly growing an entire army and building a fleet...'
"But the Order's money could be put to good use," Palpatine insisted. "The same social problems that Senator Amidala reminded us of — they also require their own dataries. And the loans from the Banking Clan we could allocate directly to solving purely military tasks... In my opinion, a fine compromise of proposals."
Yoda looked at the Chancellor with an unblinking gaze for several seconds. Then, exchanging glances with the Senator and his Jedi friend, he declared.
"Discuss on the Council your proposal we should," the Jedi creaked. "Unanimous the Council's decision on this matter must be..."
"Forgive me, but is that possible?" Palpatine hid his caustic smile by stroking his hand under his nose. "As far as I know, five members of the Jedi Council are currently unavailable..."
"Six," Mace Windu corrected grimly. "Master Mundi is also out of contact."
"In that case, I have no idea how voting could take place," Palpatine spread his hands.
"Answer for this decision before the next generation of Jedi I will have to give," Yoda grunted. "If I live to see the end of the war..."
Cunning. If the Grand Master knew he was not fated to raise new Jedi fledglings, would he be more agreeable?
"I am sure everything will be for the best," the Sith assured him. The only question was which side of the ancient conflict. Palpatine would bet that success would clearly not favor the Jedi. "Well, I think once the issue of the Order's support is resolved, we can also settle the rather delicate situation with Senator Amidala's assignment. On that note, my friends, I must ask you to conclude our meeting — matters await."
Palpatine demonstratively rose from behind his desk, signaling to those present that the audience had reached its natural conclusion. The Korun and Padmé followed his example. Yoda habitually slid down from his chair, hobbling as he leaned on his cane.
"There is one more thing," Yoda said, stopping literally a couple of meters from the doors.
'What do you want now, old fool? Your chatter is already delaying my comm session with Count Dooku in my sanctuary,' Palpatine thought angrily, but inquired peaceably.
"How else may I be of service, my friend?"
"The Council of the Order believes," Windu said without delay. A faithful lapdog that always comes to the aid of its pointy-eared master. "That a Sith Lord has penetrated the highest echelons of Republic power."
"A... Sith Lord?" Sheev asked, carefully feigning uncertainty. "I believe you mentioned him after Geonosis. Master Kenobi received a message about him from Count Dooku."
"As always, you are perceptive," Yoda agreed. "Check this we must. The Council is certain that the Sith are behind this war. And in the operations against Master Dougan — as well. Too many of their servants he has killed. They are avenging their thwarted plans."
'You have no idea how high the Sith have climbed,' Palpatine thought to himself. Aloud, he inquired:
"I confess, I thought it was nothing more than disinformation, a means by which Count Dooku hoped to lure Master Kenobi to his side."
"Whether this is so or not, find out we must," Yoda assured him. Oh, sure you will. You've been searching for a year with no results.
"Well, in that case, I wish you success in this difficult endeavor," Palpatine said. "Everything that depends on me, I am ready to help you with."
"Your help will be needed," Yoda assured him. "Test Senators for Force sensitivity we would like."
Palpatine felt his back go damp. Hutt! This stupid idea to detect midi-chlorians again. And he thought that with the death of the initiator of this whole scheme — the Jedi Ronar Kim — the initiative had been safely forgotten.
Ronar Kim was a typical example of a modern Jedi. A native of Naboo, he had been close to the Chancellor for a long time. And he might have lived a bit longer if he hadn't gotten it into his head that he had to uncover the Sith Lord in the Senate. To his misfortune, Ronar figured out how to do it — simply test all Senate employees for their midi-chlorian blood count. Of course, among the tens of thousands of workers in the Galactic Senate, there would be a few individuals connected to the Force. Including the Chancellor himself. And that would have narrowed the circle of suspects for the Jedi very, very significantly. As a result, Palpatine agreed for show to Kim's proposal — to be the first to take the midi-chlorian test. Additionally asking Kim not to spread word of his brilliant idea among the Jedi and other beings — to avoid causing unrest among the Senators. And then he arranged a business trip to the planet Merson for the Jedi and his initiated Padawan. Where both met a convenient end — thanks to Palpatine's efforts, depriving them of air support and leaving them alone with numerically superior Separatist battle droid squads. And they were supposed to take their secret to the grave!
"And is that possible?" Palpatine asked with restraint.
"Yes," Windu assured him. "The Jedi have been using such a test for many hundreds of years — identifying midi-chlorians in the blood of potential recruits for the Order."
"And midi-chlorians are...?" Palpatine could clearly feel his sweat turning icy. Getting rid of one Jedi was no problem. But two Council members, plus a Senator... The Sith desperately stalled for time.
"Symbiotic microorganisms connected to the Force," Windu explained. "The more of them a being has, the stronger their connection to the Force."
"These tests will help us identify the Sith Lord," Yoda added. "And put an end to his treacherous plans."
"That sounds easy," Palpatine nodded. "But if this technique has been known for so long, why didn't you apply it earlier?"
"Blind we were," Yoda admitted. "When a simple solution young ones must suggest to us..."
"And who is the author of this wonderful idea, then?" Palpatine asked with a smile on his face and cold resolve in his heart. "Whom should we thank for such a splendid way to uncover the treacherous enemy?"
The Jedi and the Senator exchanged glances. Palpatine did not miss the slight confusion in their behavior.
"It was Master Dougan's idea," Padmé said modestly, looking the Sith in the eye. "He asked me personally to convey it to the Jedi Council when he sent me from Hypori to Naboo."
"Oh," Palpatine said. "Master Dougan deserves praise for such an idea — if it works, of course."
And 'Base Delta Zero' wherever that Jedi bastard may be.
"Yes, Master Dougan said you would like the idea," Padmé smiled. "And that you, as a true champion of democracy and guarantor of republican values, would certainly support it. And set an example by being the first to undergo testing."
Internally, Palpatine was already frying the hated Jedi with a Force Storm, but outwardly he showed no sign of his true intentions.
"I do like your idea," said the Sith hiding behind the guise of the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic. "I promise you I will consider it with all seriousness."
"That is all we ask, Chancellor," Amidala said submissively, leaving Palpatine's office along with the Jedi.
* * *
Darth Malgus almost reached the second Yuuzhan Vong with his lightsaber, but the warrior turned out to be faster than expected and managed, arching backward, to escape with only a light scratch on his mutilated body. His staff — the primary melee weapon of this race — once again became flexible, but the enemy didn't have time to use it.
Mephisto, timing it right, emerged from behind the Force-user, burying half the charge of his carbine into the enraged opponent. The Yuuzhan Vong's armor withstood the abuse, but the enemy couldn't survive the precisely aimed blaster pistol shot to the head, toppling onto his back.
"Airlock secured," the commander of the 13th Assault Legion commented.
"Excellent," Darth Malgus rasped, kicking his armored boot into the brain of the first fallen Yuuzhan Vong. The two-meter giant, who had lost his arms and legs during the fight with the Sith Lord, twitched, wheezed, and fell silent.
The clone ejected the half-empty magazine, replacing it with a fully charged cartridge. A shame they had to spend so much tibanna on these mutilated bastards. And they had only captured the airlock.
"Medic over here!" He heard one of the soldiers shout. Turning his head, he saw several clones with medic markings rushing toward an injured soldier from the third platoon of Aurek Company — the vanguard of the boarding party. Too bad for the guys — as soon as they got on board the enemy warship, that pair of ugly brutes had dispatched most of the platoon with their staves. Abominable weapons — part snake, part solid object — you couldn't tell at first. And the wounds they inflicted were lethal.
The plan for boarding the enemy warship — if you could bring yourself to call this foul piece of stone, filled inside with organic abominations, a "warship" was as simple as an undersuit.
Admiral Ebhart's ships surrounded the Vong vessel that had tried to flee, thoroughly and heavily saturating it with various health-hazardous materials — from turbolasers to proton torpedoes. The result was a seriously damaged but still defending Vong ship, which had lost most of its weapons, all its defense systems (which had caused obvious problems for the dreadnought crews when the warship's gravitational forces began stripping deflector shields and trying to spin the Imperial starships around the Vong vessel), and its engines. It endured the weight of turbolaser fire at close range on its thick hide, which strongly resembled sea coral. Into the resulting breaches — which, to the surprise of those present, closed up fairly quickly — poured streams of stormtroopers and "skywalkers" equipped with jetpacks.
And now, from different sides, fighters of Mephisto's 13th Corps, supported by squads of battle droids, were clearing the ship of most types of organic life. Simply put — anything that moved was to get its share of blaster fire. And anything that didn't move but looked particularly foul was to be made to move and also be treated to some tibanna.
Which was, in fact, what the clones were currently doing.
Though, in the Marshal's opinion, a first baptism of fire, and immediately against an extragalactic enemy, was quite an ordeal. Sure, his men had all the latest combat knowledge programmed into them — but no one had ever encountered an enemy like this — reckless to the point of madness and seemingly seeking death. So the 13th Corps, already nicknamed the "Anti-Yuuzhan Vong" Corps, was gaining invaluable experience. Which would later be passed on to other brothers.
"We're done here," Darth Malgus commanded. "Blow this door," he pointed his energy weapon at the membrane in the coral wall, "and we'll continue."
"Yes, sir," Mephisto, catching the eyes of a grenadier platoon, pointed at the target. The soldiers, raising their rotary grenade launchers, fired their charges...
"Tough filth," the Marshal commented, seeing that the blast, enough to blow a droideka to pieces, had only left scorch marks on the membrane. "Keep going until you break through..."
It took several minutes. Finally, the organic door panel burned through, surviving about half a dozen hits from thermite-cumulative charges, after which thermal detonators flew into the adjacent corridor.
And from there, enemy soldiers rushed into the room occupied by the stormtroopers.
"Disgusting," Malgus hissed, looking at the Vong charging at him, whose very appearance immediately brought to mind the unknown enemy's love of self-flagellation and torturing their neighbor.
"Completely agree," Mephisto nodded, precisely planting a blaster bolt into the nearest enemy's eye.
The Sith Lord acted far more simply.
Waiting until the group of enemy fighters got closer, he thrust out his left hand, from which streams of blue-white electric snakes lashed out, engulfing all four from their ugly heads to their equally mutilated feet. Malgus, without ceremony, turned them into baked chunks of disgustingly smelling meat and slime, then, spotting three more, charged at them with his lightsaber at the ready, without any finesse.
"Well, what the hell for?" Mephisto asked himself quietly. "Grenades and a blaster are perfectly fine."
Meanwhile, the battle raged in the room. Vong fighters and Imperials clashed at close quarters. Blaster bolts flashed, beetle-bullets whistled — the only type of ranged weapon for Vong ground forces. Here and there, his guys had already engaged in hand-to-hand combat, hacking the enemy to pieces with vibroblades. It wasn't working well — the Vong's organic armor, more resembling the skeleton of a huge armored creature, barely suffered from the clones' cold steel.
Mephisto rolled aside as a gigantic opponent lunged at him, waving his serpent staff through the air. The name had been coined spontaneously and was based on the very similar behavior of this organic creation. Sometimes hard, sometimes flexible, and always ready to bite at an opportune moment. Intergalactic crap.
Meanwhile, the Yuuzhan Vong, from whose body various growths, spines, and other delights from nightmares protruded, turned to attack again. The Marshal quickly surveyed the surrounding space — there were so many enemy soldiers that the clones barely stood out against their mass. This was bad. He had already learned from personal experience that while the enemy soldiers didn't physically outmatch them, their madness and complete lack of self-preservation instinct made the Vong extremely dangerous opponents.
Only Darth Malgus was managing more or less successfully against these bastards, piercing their armor at the joints of the chest and arms, and roasting the extragalactic filth with Force lightning. Spectacular and effective.
The enemy lunged with his staff, which had transformed into a flexible snake. Mephisto blocked the creature's fangs with his carbine, around which the staff coiled. The vong yanked his weapon back. The clone didn't resist, only touching the red button on the fore-end. How fortunate that the Imperial military-industrial complex had provided such a useful feature on the weapon. Wait, how many seconds was that? Oh, hutt.
Mephisto dove aside like a fish, rolled, then, raising his blaster, managed to savor the sight of the self-destructing weapon depriving the vong of his right arm and that treacherous staff of his. Simply delightful. The blaster's power pack was empty. And there was simply no time to change it.
The one-armed bastard rushed at him, clearly intending to pierce the clone with the medium-length spike on the forearm of his remaining hand. Well, well.
"Let's play," the clone snorted, returning the blaster to its holster and yanking the vibroknife from the sheaths strapped to his chest. The metal vibrated almost imperceptibly in his hand.
The enemy swung his arm, trying to hit the clone's head, which would surely have led to severe consequences. But, luckily for him, Mephisto ducked, took one long step to the side of the enemy, and with a precise motion drove his blade into the armpit.
Despite the armor being painted black and silver, he saw black sludge appear on his gloves. Their blood was black too? Great incubator, what filth.
The vong dropped to his knees and started shrieking something in his language, which sounded more like the roar of wild beasts, occasionally interrupted by a rancor's satisfied belch.
"Even your language is bastardly," Mephisto grinned, twisting the blade in the wound with undisguised pleasure. The flow of black sludge (even in his feverish delirium, Mephisto refused to acknowledge it as blood) increased. Oh well, that was just the beginning.
"Their armor is vulnerable in the armpits," he reported into the comlink. The guys would definitely benefit from knowing how to get rid of these freaks more effectively.
Yanking out his weapon, the marshal pinned the weakened, black-sludge-draining enemy with his foot, slid the blade between the upper part of the breastplate and the enemy's disfigured skull. A short downward stroke of the vibroblade — and the clone's armor was splattered with black gushing from the huge wound on the neck.
"Well, well, almost like humans," the clone snorted. Looking around, he noticed that most of the clones, having discarded their blasters — useless at such close quarters in the enclosed space — had engaged the vongs with vibroknives. Praise the donor that this excellent tool for destroying sentients and opening cans was standard equipment for stormtroopers.
His attention was drawn to the escalating battle between Darth Malgus and a group of vongs in the far part of the room the clones had captured. Two enemies pulled some kind of beetles from their bandoliers (or something similar, but it looked like swollen seaweed), while the others swung their staves. The commander was unhinderedly chopping vongs to pieces, periodically amusing himself by sending some of them flying or roasting them with lightning to a medium level of doneness. Which attracted even more enemies to him.
"Did they all fly here to commit mass suicide?" Mephisto shook his head, swapping the cartridge in his blaster.
Ordering all freed clones to move and assist Darth Malgus, the marshal drew the attention of one of the vongs hurrying towards the Sith with a short burst to the back of its head. A salute of friendly greeting from an Imperial stormtrooper, surprisingly, proved lethal for the freak, causing the latter to splatter his brains in every known sense.
"Such delicate flowers," the marshal snorted, sprinting towards the site of Darth Malgus's confrontation with the vongs.
The Sith traced a circle with his sword with a whistle, forcing those warriors who had approached him closely to retreat, leaving several limbs on the floor. Seeing a gap in their defense, he sent several vongs flying, who, the moment they touched the floor, found themselves in the warm, friendly company of stormtroopers. The cloned brotherhood proved to be a welcoming committee for Darth Malgus's flight participants, with a dexterity that many would envy, filling the bodies of the extragalactic horrors with vibroknives in the joints of their armor.
Mephisto jumped over the body of one vong, whose insides were already being cheerfully stirred by vibroknives, spraying several enemy soldiers pressing Darth Malgus with a burst from his blaster pistol. Two warriors, perking up at the appearance of a new opponent, threw beetles at him, and the living bullets buzzed towards the marshal.
The clone, using the armor's computer systems, struck both insects with absolute precision, simultaneously punching a hole in the eye of one of the enemies.
Four Yuuzhan Vong with clubs found themselves in close proximity to Darth Malgus and rushed at him, while a fifth pulled out another beetle. As soon as he did, Mephisto, dropping into a leg sweep, broke the vong's knee with a kick, noting with grim satisfaction that the creature would never walk again. The alien roared and collapsed next to the marshal, hitting him hard in the chest with its fist, causing a rather unpleasant crunch and crack from the plastoid armor, which promptly gave up the ghost.
Gasping for air, the clone rolled aside, getting to his hands and knees. And almost immediately received a powerful kick to the gut, flying a good meter backward. Something crunched unpleasantly in his chest, and sensations appeared that clearly didn't indicate the clone's flourishing health.
Mephisto, gathering his will, noticing the ugly legs next to him, struck with the edge of his palm at the spot where a normal person's knee would be, but it had the completely opposite effect. Instead of falling, the vong jerked the marshal up into the air, holding him by the throat with one hand, while the other, with considerable strength, tore off pieces of the shattered breastplate, clearly intending to get to the clone's tender insides.
"Right away?" the clone wheezed, smiling caustically under his helmet. "We've barely met."
The vong clearly didn't understand the irony, but surprise showed on its ugly face when Mephisto, pulling out a thin dagger made of beskar (won in a cantina on Odessen from a specialist mercenary, proving to the latter that clones could drink loom too), hitherto hidden in a secret sheath under his right vambrace, plunged it into the enemy's neck in the throat area and, moving it away from himself, severed the vertebrae with a practiced stroke, separating the enemy's head from its body.
Freeing himself from the grip of the fallen enemy's fingers, Mephisto, coughing desperately, meanwhile noticed that one of the clones from his corps, a couple of meters from the marshal himself, was pinned to the ground, and an enraged opponent was about to drive a ossified snake staff into the brother's chest.
A solution came quickly. Gripping the dagger by the hilt, Mephisto, with a precise throw, sent the beskar blade straight into the opponent's forehead, putting the last of his strength into the throw.
The blade easily pierced the frontal bone of the disfigured alien and sank to the hilt into the brain of the opponent collapsing onto his back.
"Thanks, sir," the clone responded, getting to his feet in one motion. Rushing to the commander, he pulled a portable medkit from his belt rig on the move, injecting a dose of kolto, painkillers, and stimulants into the part of the marshal's body not protected by the breastplate.
Mephisto felt an instant surge of strength. He mechanically glanced at the chronometer built into his vambrace, memorizing the injection time, fully aware that in a few minutes the medicine's effect would wear off and he would find it problematic even to stay conscious.
"Help... Darth... Malgus," the marshal wheezed, waving his hand towards where, by his estimate, the commander should be.
"That's hardly necessary, sir," the soldier objected.
Mephisto turned his head in the right direction, observing how the massive Sith, surrounded by dozens of enemy corpses and their parts, without any sign of fatigue, was facing the only two surviving vongs from the massacre. At the same time, it was also striking that most of the company — about seventy men — having retrieved their ranged weapons discarded during the hand-to-hand combat, were methodically finishing off the few surviving vongs and taking control of the corridor into which a passage had been breached not so long ago.
Meanwhile, Darth Malgus blocked a snake staff strike with his lightsaber, then moved his weapon to the other side, parrying the lunge of another enemy warrior, then forward — a third enemy came from the center, and immediately back, fending off a blow aimed at the back of his head from a fourth opponent. And he did it so successfully that the yellow energy blade not only cut through the enemy's weapon but also split the disfigured face in two.
"He's carving them up nicely," the soldier noted with admiration, helping Mephisto to his feet.
"Yeah," the marshal coughed. "Give us a hundred of him — and we could fly to their galaxy and cause some chaos in transit."
And again Malgus harshly blocked a new lunge, then dodged a treacherous snake staff strike aimed at the Sith's side, while pulling the enemy towards him by his own weapon, driving his blade into the opponent's chest. The fallen enemy hit the floor, but his place was already taken by one of the two survivors. A moment later, the second joined in.
One swung his weapon at him from above, the other ducked down and tried to deliver a thrusting blow to the body. The coordination of their actions was simply stunning. However, Malgus wasn't so easy to take. He instinctively ducked, dodging the first's lunge, spun and kicked the second's snake staff, disarming him. After that, the commander, roaring furiously, rushed straight at him, with the clear intention of ending the loser's life.
The sword entered the chest up to the hilt. Now only one opponent remained.
Malgus pulled the sword out even faster than he had driven it in, and advanced on the last warrior. He tried to defend himself, then even swung his staff at the man, but Malgus, with a feint, made the opponent open up and, with a swift strike, severed his right hand at the wrist. The triumphant man didn't drag out the finale.
Throwing his left hand forward, he released a stream of lightning that pierced the vong's body, making it writhe in pain and shriek shrilly. Then, after a couple of minutes, the scream cut off, and it became clear to everyone present that the enemy warrior was dead.
But Darth Malgus continued to char the body, making steam rise from the evaporating internal fluids of the vong. The organic armor and growths on the alien's body had already darkened, beginning to disintegrate, turning into black dust settling on the coral floor.
Mephisto exchanged glances with the soldier, and both almost simultaneously shrugged, continuing to watch the scene.
Finally, when the dried, charred body, unrecognizable, freed from the lightning and collapsed to the floor with a soft crunch, the bones, covered with remnants of desiccated flesh and mangled organic armor parts, began to fall apart with a quiet crackle, the marshal, leaning on his brother soldier, approached the commander, whose eyes burned brightly like molten aurodium.
"Sir, you're not planning to eat him, are you?" the clone inquired, pointing at the body disintegrating before their eyes. "Otherwise, you should have roasted him a little less."
"Witty," Malgus growled, poking a finger at the clone's chest. "Talk less and fight better next time. Then you won't have to float in bacta and have your broken ribs fused."
"I'll keep that in mind, sir," the marshal assured him, saluting the commander. "My apologies — I'm less than a month old."
"So be it, you milk-sop," Darth Malgus said, in the same rough but caring tone, placing his palm on the clone's chest, which was starting to recover from the cocktail of medicines. "This time, I'll save your life. But next time, you'd better die before I have to heal your wounds again."
"I'll shoot myself right after I kill the last vong, my lord," the marshal promised, feeling the pleasant warmth beginning to spread through his body from the commander's hand.
* * *
Lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice how the Nu-class assault shuttle, darting out of the Spirit of Fire's hangar, rapidly descended towards the surface of Daalang.
After the orbital battle, there was too little time to catch up on sleep, but I still managed to snatch a couple of hours. During that time, aviation had leveled most of the enemy's ground fortifications, suppressing the anti-space and anti-air defense positions identified by commando squads established on the surface. More bombs — fewer casualties among the clones. It's a shame the enemy's battle droids and equipment were under reflective shields. Annoying, frustrating — we'd have to break through each of the enemy's fortified points ourselves.
There were five in total — a couple of cities, quite lively metropolises. Three were some kind of abandoned settlements, which would be better leveled by orbital strike, but, unfortunately, the clones couldn't reliably determine if there were civilians in those settlements. I didn't want to be known as a butcher.
Yes, and to be honest, we didn't have that many resources for suppressing enemy positions from orbit. That short but intense battle had depleted our stocks of proton torpedoes and assault missiles. Of course, the bomb magazines were still a third full, but in light of the revealed circumstances, it wasn't the wisest thing to spend them on destroying enemy ground units. Especially since, due to the long-range communication blackout, it was unknown when Kreeves's fleet would reach us. We had to send the Marauder for him.
So, destroying the main HoloNet relay stations on the borders of the Expansion Region and the Mid Rim. Clever, Sidious, I must say.
But for every clever asshole, there's a dick with a thread. Or something like that.
Not the point. It didn't break my connection with the Empire — the Force was still with me, and at any moment I could contact one of the Hands or Guards to give the appropriate order. It was more difficult with the system armies — for now, I'd have to use courier ships to deliver messages between units scattered across different sectors. Annoying — to be left without control over most of my forces just like that.
Of course, I had already passed the appropriate order to the leadership of Maw Installation through the Guards. They'd have to work hard to speed up the production of the Eternal Empire's communication and navigation system equipment — those archaic holocommunicators the size of an airspeeder that my subjects used in the Unknown Regions and Wild Space. It wasn't as efficient in data throughput as the HoloNet — after all, the latter had been tested for millennia in conditions of mass use. But, at the moment, it was better than nothing. The only problem was that it used a completely different information encryption principle than the HoloNet — Iokath. Significantly more reliable. But as cumbersome as a bantha. Jerjerrod promised that the new generation of equipment would be able to maintain communication not within the range of five to seven thousand light-years, which was the level of planetary relay communicators of the HoloNet, but beyond twenty — Doctor Kynesworthy had managed to get a prototype of the equipment working using the notorious lightsaber crystals. Something related to optics and hyperspace physics — for me, Jerjerrod's multi-volume, forty-plus-page report on cybernetic work was just Greek, but the results spoke for themselves.
It was a pity we couldn't equip every major ship with such terminals, as the Republic had done — we simply didn't have enough of those same crystals. The Black Guard was already conducting excavations on Dantooine — I recalled there were once crystal deposits there. If they found them, good. If not, the backup plan was already in action. Forgive me, Yoda, you did an immense amount of good and eternal things for me, but you'll have to part with some things for good. Thank Aayla for her excellent memory.
Suddenly, the transport tilted, turning; inertia heavily pushed Tallisibeth, sitting opposite me, straight into my arms.
"Sorry," the girl said sheepishly. "That was sudden..."
"It's alright," I waved it off, finally severing my connection with the dream world. "Looks like we have some problems. Pilot?"
"There's a battle going on below, sir," the clone responded over the internal comm. "We just dodged an enemy missile."
"A small price to pay for the fate of dying during the landing," Zett Jukassa, sitting beside me, said meaningfully.
I, of course, didn't deign to answer him.
Five padawans, along with my inseparable thorn in the side, Oli, together with me and the clones from my personal guard — I finally found a use for the clone assassins (ironic, isn't it?) — were landing on Daalang with the second wave of the assault.
The first ones on the surface were Ahsoka, under whose direct command I had placed the 501st Legion of Senior Clone Commander Rex, part of Marshal Cody's 7th Air Corps. After all, atmospheric insertion was their specialty. Scouts reported that the Separatists were completely stunned when the Marauder broke through the dense atmospheric layers above their heads, and clones with jetpacks started pouring out of it at full speed. The first captured Separatist mercenaries told how they were stunned by such a legion-sized airborne assault. In fact, it was thanks to this audacity that we managed to capture the outskirts of one of the abandoned settlements under the control of Koorivar mercenaries in less than half an hour. Nasty bastards, I must admit. But impressionable. Because seeing just a hundred clones charging down on their heads and deciding it was a whole legion — that takes some serious pants-shitting fear.
Moreover, the plan for such a swift attack didn't belong to Ahsoka. Not even to the staff officers. Its author was Captain Boroda. And, due to the 501st Legion's traditional way of painting their armor, the clone was periodically called Bluebeard. Ahsoka once told me that the captain got a bit carried away while painting his new set of armor, and his dapper little beard got a blue tint. Maybe that's where the nickname came from.
But that's not the point. The main thing was that now Torrent Company and the 501st, which had come to its aid, had pushed the enemy back far enough for our Acclamators to land in the area of the aforementioned nameless settlement and begin proper unloading.
True, only two corps were unloading in this area — the 7th Air and the 8th Infantry. The 5th Assault and 6th Landing Corps were landing near another settlement — three thousand kilometers away from us. Dougan's Fist in all its glory.
We had to forgo the participation of the remaining units in this operation. Firstly, because we had managed to suppress a significant part of the enemy's defenses. And secondly, and most importantly, as soon as Kreeves's ships and ammunition transports for the Blade Fleet arrived in the system, Aayla would lead it in an attack on Deneb. And all the "Twi'lek" corps would descend on the surface of a completely different planet. As soon as we finished on Daalang, we'd load onto the landing ships and proceed to the next target. Aayla, as soon as she finished her business on Deneb, would repeat our leapfrog — and so on until we reached Gamorr.
The pilot banked hard right. Whie Malreaux, sitting to the left of Tallisibeth, fell onto the girl, earning a quiet, indignant hiss from her. I just smirked under my mask.
"There's a battle below," Oli said, not taking her eyes off the datapad displaying the feed from the cockpit. The padawans, as if by agreement, craned their necks in her direction.
I smirked again. Kids, what can you do.
We were now at about a kilometer's altitude above the enemy positions — trenches and redoubts plowed by bombs and laser cannons of LAATs, which some military genius had decided to use as the first line of defense on the approaches to the city.
The Force told me that a few clones had just died down there. And, admittedly, at first I didn't pay attention. Then I realized that this buzz, as Winnie the Pooh would say, wasn't for nothing.
Because we were approaching the target along a vector over territory that, according to reports, was in the hands of the 501st Legion. The main forces of the corps were unloading at an improvised spaceport ten kilometers from here — for greater unloading safety. And if our clones were dying down there...
"Descend," I ordered the pilot.
"Sir, it's not safe here..."
"Right into the thick of the battle," I clarified, unclipping my lightsabers from my belt. A pair of completely identical-looking ones. But what a different fate their owners had — the twin brothers Thexan and Arcann. Well, their father wasn't the best. Who, suspiciously, hadn't shown his ghostly ass for a long time. Definitely plotting something sinister. If I were him, I'd be constantly hovering behind my back. Since the Celestials were dead, he had nothing to hide from. But no.
"Yes, sir," the shuttle banked again, plummeting down like a stone. The padawans grabbed their safety restraints, jerking them down to chest level. Ah, I remember, they all assured me that only those who were afraid did that. I don't know if the clone assassins, who had already loaded into the shuttle's depths and strapped themselves in, laughed at that remark, but I sure did.
Finally, the shuttle's undercarriage touched the surface, and the landing ramp began to lower. Using the Force to release my seat lock, I waved to the freed clone assassins and Oli.
"Let's go, shall we?" The padawans, still fiddling with their devices, were met with a caustic snicker from Starstone.
Once outside the shuttle, I assessed the situation.
The outskirts of the city were ablaze.
Several buildings, leaning with age, now resembled bright infernos, belching acrid smoke. Blue and crimson blaster bolts flashed constantly, occasionally reinforced by smoky trails of rockets.
"Looks like Ahsoka got flanked," I estimated, pointing the clones towards the nearest unit of B-1 droids, marching in an effective box formation towards clones desperately firing back from some kind of pit. Without a word, the clones in power armor, deploying massive vibroswords from their vambraces, rushed towards the target. "Oh, I'm going to give her an earful."
"Togrutas don't have ears," Oli noted. "Only montrals."
I nodded mechanically, then the meaning of what she said sank in.
"What, no dirty jokes?" I even whistled in surprise.
"Got bored," the girl sighed, activating her own lightsaber. "I keep joking at you, joking at you — you could at least get mad for the fun of it."
"Oh, so those were jokes?" Together, using Force Speed, we cut into the thick of the enemies, turning them into scrap metal faster than they could react. "And how long were all your caustic remarks about intimacy just jokes?"
"Almost always," the girl answered without thinking, but through the Bond, I could feel she was bending the truth a little. "I'm not stupid enough to pine after an old man for so long."
"I'm not old," no, my back sometimes ached after night battles, but that was from overwork!
"Yeah, and I'm yesterday's librarian," the girl snorted, crushing the nearest B-1 into a piece of scrap metal with the Force. "Relax, Emperor, I don't want to drag you into bed as much as you've imagined."
"So," with a Force Wave, I ripped the heads off several droids, slicing another couple in two with two swings of my sabers. "You do want to, after all?"
"You overestimate yourself," Oli chuckled. "And anyway, for your information — I'm a lesbian."
"What?" The shock I felt upon hearing this could have cost any other Jedi their life — a B-2, somehow mixed in with this crowd of Neimoidian mannequins, fired a burst into my body, but the crimson bolts just splattered against the translucent sphere of my Force Barrier. Continuing to watch Oli, I blindly threw my saber at the opponent, cutting it diagonally. "What do you mean?"
"Should I spell it out?" Oli's eyes widened.
"Yes, fuck it!" I growled, ducking under a B-1 that turned to face me with its blaster raised, and cut it from bottom to top. "Preferably in all the gory details."
"Well," Oli unceremoniously used the Force to push a clone assassin, whose vibroknife had somehow gotten stuck in the chassis of a downed B-2, while a sneaking B-1 was about to fire a burst into him. The golden blade traced a semicircle, reflecting a bolt back at the opponent, piercing its head. "Frankly speaking, I wouldn't mind spending a night with Xiaan Amersu..."
"No, in that case, I'm a lesbian too," I admitted. "She's a hell of a girl..."
Hearing the girl's quiet giggle, I felt anger boiling inside me. Venting it on the nearest droids, which literally flew apart into pieces, I pointed a finger at the girl. "Is that another joke?"
"Naturally," Oli dodged the line of fire from a spider droid that had crawled out of a deep pit. Starstone, like an acrobat, vaulted over it, slashing her blade across its chassis. Waiting for the red photoreceptors of the droid to go dark, she looked at me. "Don't be so serious!"
"This is fucking ridiculous!" I shouted, noticing how a "Hailfire" that had rolled out from behind the ruins launched a couple of rockets in our direction. Eat that, Starkiller. Catching both with telekinesis, I sent the deadly projectiles back to their sender, creating a considerable fountain of scrap metal. "I mean, I command thousands of ships, millions of clones, billions of subjects, and I have to put up with snide remarks from some little pip-squeak whose tits haven't even grown in properly?!"
"Size isn't everything," the girl shrugged.
"That's a guy's excuse," I countered.
"I'll have to ask Ahsoka and Aayla how often you use it," the girl giggled. Noticing that my Force was filling with rage faster than imaginable, she raised her hands in a placating gesture and nodded toward the Padawans running toward us with swords drawn. Huh, looks like Oli and I carved through a hundred meters of enemy ranks during our squabble. Efficient. "Breathe, Master, or you'll burst from indignation."
"You're still too young to be throwing jabs at me, Saber," I snapped back. "And you're as stubborn as a Hutt."
"Well, who's my teacher?" the girl smirked. I didn't have time to parry — a group of five Jedi "spirits" ran up.
"Master Dougan," Whie Malreaux said, scanning the area we'd cleared of the enemy breakthrough group. "Are you sure you and Oli even need our help?"
"Maybe we should go to another army where Jedi are actually needed?" Nuru scratched his mop of hair.
"Fucking hilarious," I assessed, looking around. "Hey, speaking of which, you little ones, there's work for you over there."
A squad of soldiers was retreating in an organized fashion to the right, appearing from behind the ruins of what had once been a large building. The clones moved steadily, without panic, taking cover and continuously laying down fire from carbines and rifles at an enemy we couldn't see.
There were nearly two hundred soldiers, and they clearly didn't have a significant numerical advantage over the droids, which were appearing in considerable numbers within our field of view.
Among them, as always, the B-1s dominated — the "meat" of the Separatist army. Fifty B-2s — just there to hold the line.
Blaster bolts cut through the air between the forces, now separated by only a sprint's distance. Soldiers fell, blackened and smoking from burns, while battle droids froze into metal statues, scorch marks and electrical flashes visible where the blaster fire of Republic troopers had scarred their light metal frames.
"501st?" Bene exclaimed.
"The very same," the clone killers, surrounding our group in a wide semicircle, bared their vibroswords predatorily. Look at that, they're getting into the spirit.
"I heard the 501st never retreats," Tallisibeth remarked.
"Retreat is just an advance in the opposite direction," Whie tried to joke, but meeting skeptical looks, he preferred to change the subject. "Why are we standing here doing nothing?"
"I did give you an order — to help those clones," I reminded him. "You ignored it. So, today, the 7th Corps kitchen will have five extra dishwashers. And the more soldiers die, the longer you'll be assigned to kitchen duty..."
The Padawans vanished as if blown away by the wind. Oli snorted, watching the kids, accelerating with the Force, race toward the battle, while a clone with captain's insignia moved toward us.
"Looks like you're right," the meeting happened behind the first line of buildings, where a picture of complete fucking chaos opened before us. Droids of all kinds — tanks, "Octaptarrs," "Hailfires," and other scum — were advancing from three sides. Obviously, the squad we'd wiped out was an unpleasant surprise meant to complete the encirclement. "Ahsoka's in a tight spot."
"Remind me to punish her after we're done here," I asked.
"Absolutely," Oli nodded. "Should I get a leather belt, or do you have your own?"
"Padawan," I reminded her of her place with emphasis, "stand down."
"Can't," the girl admitted. "I'll never get tired of trolling a guy from another universe who's obsessed with banging alien chicks. Didn't women back home put out for you?"
"There was that," I admitted.
"Ah, well, that explains it," the girl nodded. "I've read about something like that. Compensating for past failures. It happens."
"Worse, but less often," I noted. Too bad it doesn't go away.
Meanwhile, the clone captain approached us, removing his helmet as he walked.
"Sir, Captain..."
"What happened, Beard?" I asked, nodding in greeting.
"We got bogged down in the center of the settlement," the clone reported. "We expected reinforcements sooner, so Commander Tano ordered several cover units pulled from the flanks and rear. The Separatists found out and threw several motorized units around us."
"And where is that painted little pip-squeak herself?" Oli inquired.
"At headquarters, Commander Starstone," the clone replied without batting an eye. Yeah, looks like Ahsoka is "loved" in the 501st with an inhuman love. After this monumental fuck-up, they'll "adore" her even more. Poor her eyes.
"Big losses?" I asked.
"Not too bad, sir," the clone reported. "About seven hundred men — but all 'two-hundreds.'"
I smiled under my mask, remembering how I'd introduced the familiar designations from the Russian army into the military's vocabulary, ones I knew from movies. Good thing I didn't, like some of the idiot time-travelers I'd read about in my school years, start cranking out blaster "Kalashnikovs" and domestic military hardware with a far-far-away tech base, as a "memory of the Motherland we lost." The Force had spared me that delusion.
"Sad news," I acknowledged. "We need to hold out for just over an hour — the main forces are fifty kilometers south at the bridgehead. When we left, the unloading was almost finished, but the corps won't move toward us until they're at full strength."
"Wise, sir," the clone said. "A trickle of reinforcements won't make a difference for us. But it's going to get hot — there are a hell of a lot more droids here than very many."
"So why didn't you request help?" Oli frowned.
"Ask something easier, ma'am," the clone's entire demeanor showed he really didn't want to answer for his command's fuck-ups to even higher command. "Maybe the comm system is acting up..."
"But ours is working," I noted, dialing the necessary recipient on my wrist computer. The built-in holocommunicator came to life with a miniature figure of a senior clone commander.
"Sir?" he asked without removing his helmet.
"Flash, load the men onto the LAATs," I ordered. "The 204th should be at the objective in fifteen minutes at full strength, all line infantry. Tanks wouldn't hurt here either."
"We'll be there in ten, sir," the clone echoed. "I'll inform Marshal Nix that we're leaving the artillery in his care."
"Good," I allowed. "Hurry, Flash, the 501st is having a rough time here."
"We'll do what we can and a little extra on top," the clone assured me before ending the comm session.
"Are they all like that?" Beard inquired.
"Like what?" I didn't catch the gist of the question.
"Well... extremely dutiful," the clone hesitated slightly.
"To a man," I smirked. "Welcome to 'Dougan's Fist,' Captain. Consider this your baptism by fire."
"Thank you, sir," Beard scratched his short hair before putting on his helmet. "Looks like it'll be more fun with you than with Skywalker."
"You haven't seen the best part yet," Oli snorted, activating her lightsaber. "Well, Master, shall we go chop up some droids?"
"I've heard that one somewhere before," the clone muttered quietly, swapping magazines in his blaster carbine.