Nomad, pressing a monocular to his visor, surveyed the expanse before him. Thousands of square kilometers of lifeless Christophsis terrain, somewhere out there — beyond the visible boundary of a ten-meter permacrete wall with an electrified fence and observation towers manned by sentries. Well, at least they'd found a use for the soldiers from the former Coruscant Guard — guarding the testing ground of the training center. Sure, the guys with the traditional red patterns over their snow-white armor did plenty of other things too — but as military police for "Gent," they proved extremely effective. Which wasn't surprising — they'd learned over the past year, chasing scum around Coruscant with electric "democratizers." Now they were maintaining exemplary order in the clone army's garrison with the same success.
The purpose of his current observation was a dozen long-obsolete AAT repulsor tanks, once belonging to the Confederacy, but conveniently lost by them in battle. This scrap metal had been patched up into a semi-working state and delivered to Christophsis — for training volunteers. Using the zoom, the clone could see numerous scorch marks from blaster fire on the tanks' worn armor. In places, there were obvious hull penetrations — looks like they'd been hit by heavy kinetic weapons. And the repulsor tractors hastily rolling back toward the observation post kind of symbolized that the equipment was clearly not operating at optimal capacity. Just like all the stuff that had been used as targets in previous demonstrations of other equipment.
"Kid," the Marshal tore himself away from the device and turned to the man standing behind him — another mercenary from the private military company that was training the militia. "I could blow this junk apart from turret to belly with a spit. What the hell is this whole show for?"
"My name is Lieutenant Salov," the man said evenly. "I'm an instructor..."
"I don't give a damn," Nomad admitted. "The only reason you aren't getting an earful of my disgust, twisted by the immense force tearing at my tender cloned innards, is that the Regulations require me to keep my helmet on. And your teeth are still in your head only because I don't want to get my hands dirty on you. And because fraternization is also forbidden by — again — my beloved Regulations, which I start and end my day reading."
"Well then," a voice came from behind the clone. Nomad turned, looking over a lean, middle-aged man in volunteer infantry uniform with a captain's command plate from head to toe. Behind him, moving silently, was a tall Sephi woman with facial tattoos. The clone automatically shifted his gaze to her belt, but found no Jedi weapon. Good. He couldn't stand homegrown moralists and softies from Coruscant. "Perhaps, Marshal, you should re-read the articles on courteous treatment of subordinates and other military personnel?"
"And who the hell are you, rolling down from the mountain?" the clone inquired.
"Captain Mikkel Desiderari," the man introduced himself. "Battery commander, for whose tests you were invited as an observer."
"I know why I'm here," the clone cut him off. "But I'm seriously displeased that instead of training with my beloved 611th Landing Corps, I have to waste an hour waiting for the officer in charge of the trials."
"The Captain is not to blame," the Sephi said in a melodious voice. "He was delayed because of me. High Jedi General Fay, attached to your corps."
"A thermal detonator up my nose," the clone ground his teeth. "A Jedi after all."
This was getting old.
First, his corps had been filled with "shinies," half-trained on Kamino by some undersized nobody who didn't hold a candle to the competence of the Mandalorians whose school Nomad himself and all first and second-generation clones had gone through. Then a Jedi was attached to the corps — a horned Zabrak beast who, instead of participating in training and combat drills, went off to "fight" on Rindellia, where she conveniently caught a wound and took an entertaining little vacation in the hospital for several months (you had to try hard to catch shrapnel shards in both hearts). Now a new order — prepare to be transferred as part of a strike group with several other units. And the crown jewel of this outright mockery — a headquarters requirement to report to the training ground for "personal participation in the testing of the latest artillery models." And to top it off — a Jedi who looked like you could embarrass her with a single harsh word and leave her in crippling cognitive dissonance for the rest of her life. Wonderful. Just perfect!
"Pleasure to meet you, General," Nomad forced out. "You've come at a fantastic time."
"I understand your displeasure, Marshal," the Jedi said calmly. "But I was on another mission before this and didn't have the opportunity to join the corps. Believe me, I regret that our acquaintance happened this way."
"Holy incubator," Nomad nearly slapped a hand to his face. "So many words for nothing. Almost fell asleep. What did she say after 'I understand your displeasure'?"
"Shall we begin the tests?" suggested the mercenary milksop.
"That would be wonderful," the Marshal said with all possible sarcasm. "A little longer, and I'll have stubble, even though I was clean-shaven this morning."
"Before or after reading the Regulations?" the Jedi smiled. The clone shot the good-natured woman a look full of irritated anger, cracking his knuckles and clenching his fist in helpless fury.
"I prefer to combine those two mandatory procedures," he ground out. Yeah, she was definitely going to be a problem.
"We can't start the tests until Generals Ann and Marshal Zorgi arrive," the Captain noted. "They, along with Generals Zoom, Galera, Chion and Marshals Ogre, Blade, and Zachary, will be here any minute now."
"Goddamn protocols," Nomad thought. Why the hell did he have to be here, watching mercenaries shoot up mangled Separatist junk with new equipment — armored personnel carriers, tanks, multiple rocket launcher systems and all that good stuff — when he should be on the landing pads supervising the corps' loading onto the "Acclamators"?
And what really pissed him off was having to wait for new participants. If they were going to show him how "Grads" plowed through boxes of "tin cans" again, and "Beavers" and "Scorpions" hauled away damaged equipment and set up crossings — he would definitely stop holding back and speak to everyone present in the language of his progenitor, using such colorful expressions and literary turns of phrase as he'd picked up during his training with Walon Vau.
However, to be objective, he had to admit that the latest models of military and engineering equipment were clearly the product of a very productive imagination on the part of their developers. Created specifically for use by their people, not some Kuat-style "just make it and screw it if the pilot in the AT-RT dies faster than they can train him."
"Beaver," "Scorpion" engineering vehicles that had clearly proven that even the enemy's heavy weapons — including tanks — were not much of an obstacle for either machine to evacuate damaged army equipment from the battlefield, even under "tin can" fire.
The "Grads" had impressed him with their destructive power. When he'd faced Separatist "Firestorms," he'd felt unbridled rage that the Republic had nothing similar. And that was annoying — when the enemy could rain a volley of rockets down on you, and your best response was a couple of shots from AT-TE cannons or a self-propelled gun. Nomad preferred not to even think about the effectiveness of the AV-7 as artillery — slow, with medium range, they'd performed well in the first year of the war — but after the carnage on Melida/Daan, they were just pea-shooters, not artillery.
"Hyacinth," in that regard, while a mass-driver platform, was far more effective — both mobile and rapid-fire, and crucially, capable of firing almost directly. And on the move, as he thought, if desired or necessary, you could send a couple-three interesting surprises to the Seps — high-explosive, shrapnel, plasma or any other payload — the assortment was pretty large according to the nomenclature. But, no doubt, after such shenanigans, you'd have to repair the entire drive train of the self-propelled gun.
"Shilka," "Shkval," and "Smerch" these were equipment with no analogues in the Republic army. Anti-aircraft cover on the march... You could only dream of that! Eh, if the GAR had had these little beauties last year, how many guys they could have saved.
The "Eviscerator" medium tank had honestly impressed him. A tracked platform, while making it vulnerable to mines, also meant that the Separatists mostly only bothered with anti-personnel mines, rightly assuming most of the Republic's heavy equipment had repulsor platforms and they didn't need to bother creating anti-tank surprises. So the "Eviscerator" could easily move ahead of the main part of the corps, both clearing dangerous areas with its armored bulk and supporting advancing units with mixed fire.
"Doomsday.".. an invention of some dark genius. The tank was clearly designed to break through heavily fortified enemy defenses, with traps and "secrets" and breastworks... But for the Grand Army of the Republic, fighting droids that preferred to simply overwhelm with numbers — a useless thing. On the other hand — the range of its main caliber guns was only slightly inferior to that of the SPHA and allowed "sending regards" far into the enemy rear. Maybe it was more of a self-propelled mount than a tank?
"Fellblade.".. well, a relatively decent machine. For mud, swamps, and other filth. Something between the "Juggernaut's" cross-country capability and the "Eviscerator's" effectiveness.
The "Berserk" light infantry fighting vehicle... Now that one really piqued his curiosity. Armament — a third of a comparable AT-TE's, speed — about twice as fast. Armor — well, it stopped small arms, cannons and rockets — probably not. Crew — only three people. An infantry squad could be delivered anywhere the wheels turned. You could send it on reconnaissance, and it would do well as mobile forces... But why the hell hadn't such a simple concept appeared earlier? Everything fast the Republic currently had was reconnaissance walkers and speeder bikes — and they couldn't fit more than one trooper.
BTR "Praetorian"… A ground variant of the LAAT, though, really, why deliver just two squads in such an armored and armed monstrosity when it's far simpler and faster to do it in a gunship? Which, of course, isn't too keen on incoming fire — unlike this mastodon — but still — faster. Except if the sky is reliably blocked by the enemy, and on the ground — a local version of hell…
"They're coming," Captain Mikkel Desiderari's voice interrupted his thoughts.
The Marshal turned his head in the indicated direction and noticed the white hull of a Lambda-class shuttle — another new arrival. Like the other equipment he'd already seen, they had arrived just a couple of days ago — in a huge convoy of bulk freighters. Nomad had a few acquaintances on the army staff who had secretly told him that this convoy was only the first of many that would deliver equipment to the surrounded army via some secret indirect routes. In particular, reinforcements of ARC-170 fighters had arrived, the shortage of which had recently been felt very strongly by the fleet. True, from the very first hours it became clear that this equipment was by no means of Republic manufacture. You only had to look at the manufacturer's stamp.
The Lambdas and their Sentinel assault variants were effectively a replacement for the LAATs, which had suffered considerable losses in battle due to insufficient hull armor and the vulnerability of vital systems to air attacks. The Marshal himself hadn't yet had a chance to go inside one, but judging by everything, three more marshals were about to join their company, having been given the opportunity.
"Finally," Nomad grumbled.
The training ground, besides a reliable fence, had a massive bunker that could easily accommodate a couple of Acclamators. The lower level housed a hangar for the vehicles slated for testing. The upper level was reserved for observers and coordinators. On the roof was a landing pad for shuttles — that was, in fact, how Nomad himself had arrived. Though he'd used a familiar LAAT for that purpose.
The Lambda was coming in to land from the far side of the range, allowing itself to be examined in the finest detail. Eight rapid-fire blaster cannons, covering all possible attack vectors against the shuttle. Numerous shield generators were visible on the hull, apparently duplicating or overlapping each other… Yes, whoever developed this little ship had clearly cared about the survivability of the crew and passengers.
It took a few minutes for the four Jedi and an equal number of clone marshals to reach the observation post.
Nomad hadn't crossed paths with any of them before — except that he suspected he might have seen his fellow clones on Kamino once. After all, it was the home planet for all the "products." And they'd all supposedly been present at the board meeting — but there hadn't been time for that then. It hadn't been even a few days before most of what was then the 611th had been "laid down" no time for memorizing other people's names.
The clones, seeing their comrade, greeted Nomad with a short nod. The commander of the 611th Corps responded in kind.
"General," a tall, powerfully built man in medium armor with a short haircut, very similar to that worn by clones per the Regulations, greeted the Sephi. A lightsaber hilt dangled from his belt.
"General," she greeted her fellow Jedi with a smile.
"General," the second man, looking more like a vagrant in his attire, nodded to the woman. Yeah, this one hadn't even heard of armor. No wonder — most Order members fought that way. Either they relied on the Force, or on the air's resistance to blaster bolts and shrapnel.
"General," the Sephi repeated the gesture.
"General," hearing this greeting from a young dark-skinned man with idiotic sideburns covering half his face for what felt like the umpteenth time, the clone felt as if he were at some comedy show.
"General," for the third time, the Jedi Fay put a smile on her face.
"General," the human woman said last, receiving a gaze full of goodwill from the Sephi in return.
"General," the Sephi said in a friendly tone.
The clones in the room exchanged questioning glances. What was going on, anyway? Nomad felt himself starting to feel sick from all this ostentatious "regulations-following" the frivolous and prim observance of regulation paragraphs without the slightest understanding of their essence.
The holy scripture for every serviceman stated that when greeting officers of equal rank, men should greet women first. And it was enough to state the rank just once. But mindlessly repeating ranks as a greeting — this idiocy was not written on the pages of the manual.
"Generals," Captain Mikkel Desiderari joined the greetings, shaking hands with the male Jedi and bowing slightly to the second woman.
"Captain," the Jedi with the short haircut nodded.
"Captain," the "vagrant" Jedi repeated his gesture.
"Captain," the "overgrown" one said with a smile.
"Captain," the second female Jedi said in a sweet voice.
"Uh…" Instructor Salov scratched the back of his head. "Is this some kind of joke?"
"Simple politeness," the armored Jedi explained. "Lieutenant…"
Nomad mentally rolled his eyes, imagining that now the newly arrived Jedi would start greeting the mercenary. Glancing briefly at his fellow clones, he noticed they were simultaneously examining the toes of their armored boots. Thank the incubator that his brothers understood him.
"…are the self-propelled guns ready for testing?"
"Yes, General En," the mercenary confirmed. "We were only waiting for you."
"Excellent," he praised. "Captain Desiderari, bring the vehicles into position, and we'll talk in the meantime."
The Jedi, paying no particular attention to the clones (only the human female Jedi exchanged a few brief words with Marshal Zakari), moved to the far part of the room, talking quietly among themselves.
The clones, having removed their helmets, positioned themselves near the observation window — the only transparent part of the bunker, and even then, the transparisteel at that spot was a little over half a meter thick.
"I hope I won't have to watch a demonstration of all the new models a second time?" Nomad inquired aloud.
"No," one of the marshals echoed. "I'm Zorgi, by the way. 89th Assault.
The commander of the 611th identified himself.
"Zakari, 332nd Assault," the second clone responded. Nomad, looking at him more closely, began to wonder if his former company commander of the Aurek Company in his corps considered his former commander an idiot. But judging by the slight smile and the recognition in his eyes, Zakari had recognized him from the first minute too. He'd just decided not to make it obvious. Hmm, good lad, at least he remembers the Regulations that forbid overly familiar relations.
"Blade, 224th Assault," the third introduced himself.
"Ogre, 207th Star," the fourth reported.
"How did I live without knowing all their names?" Nomad thought. But he asked something else out loud:
"Does anyone know what we're all doing here? Besides being shown the new models?"
"Headquarters is fielding new weapon samples using the express method," Ogre reported. "I went through this yesterday."
"Actually," Blade said, "like all of us — a day or two or three ago. They showed us everything except the newest super-heavy self-propelled guns."
"They're demonstrating those today," Zorgi added, chewing his lip.
"Right before deployment?" Zakari snorted.
"So it's with you all that I'm being sent god knows where," Nomad squinted. After receiving short nods, he asked, "Does anyone know what our objective is? And why the hell are they showing us these new toys, which there aren't enough of for the whole army anyway?"
"The whole army won't get them," Zakari shook his head. "Only our five corps."
"Give me more details on that," Nomad tensed. "I haven't heard anything of the sort."
"Me neither," Ogre's interested gaze fixed on Zorgi, who was making a careful show of finding the bunker's uniform, solid-colored ceiling very interesting.
"There isn't very much equipment," after a minute of tense silence, Zorgi finally gave in. "Most of the arriving convoy consisted of new fighters and shuttles. And the ground vehicles that were delivered will barely be enough to equip three to five corps — and not even at full strength. It was decided to distribute it among our five — the only ones with extensive combat experience of all those on the planet. Plus, we're the only ones fully staffed with personnel who've managed to get used to each other."
"And where do you know that from?" Nomad asked suspiciously, having heard nothing of the sort from his acquaintances at headquarters. Which was… rather ambiguous.
"I was present during a conversation between General En," the clone nodded towards the armored male Jedi, "and General Lokin."
"Would I be wrong if I said they want to send us to some ass-end of the galaxy?" Ogre clarified, grinning unpleasantly.
"You wouldn't be wrong," Zakari replied in a flat tone.
"Saleucami?" Nomad asked quietly.
"Kalinda," Zorgi said quietly. "Kira, Brevost…"
"Hold on," Blade frowned. "I checked the briefings. There's nothing for infantry to do there — there aren't even proper planets in those systems…"
"…and Kerkoidia," the marshal of the 89th finished.
"Hutt shit," Nomad hissed. The mere mention of that planet made him want to commit suicide. The Kerkoidians — loyal followers of the Confederacy's ideas. After the soldiers of the System Army "Grek" failed to take the system or at least establish a blockade, the locals, perfectly understanding that sooner or later they would become an object of interest for the Republicans, turned every single settlement on that world into a fortified fortress, surrounded by a wide ring of defenses — at least ten lines deep. And each of them — numerous fortifications, firing points, turbolasers, minefields, "hidden positions." Every kilometer — a kill zone pre-sighted by enemy artillery for anyone who entered it. Not to mention that every single settlement was protected by energy fields, and the planetary defense wouldn't allow anything that didn't look like a CIS droid to land. And as for the large enemy fleet in the system — better not even remember. In a word — shit.
"The 'Grek' boys fucked up," Ogre ground his teeth, "and we're supposed to kick the 'cans' out of there?"
"That's what I heard," Zorgi shrugged.
"I read the intelligence reports," Zakari intervened. "The whole place is plowed up with fortifications and millions of droids on the surface…"
"Brothers," Zorgi raised his hands placatingly. "You asked — I answered. After the second slaughter on Geonosis, I don't feel like jumping into that inferno either. But they say the order comes from the Grand Moff himself."
"I hope he has better plans than the rest of the Jedi," Nomad threw out angrily, glaring at the Order members who were still whispering in the corner. "Looks like the rest of the convoy is for this operation too?"
"Most likely," Blade stroked his chin. "I have a couple of acquaintances in the Christophsis Defense Fleet — they say literally all their combat-capable fighters were pulled out by command."
"There's not much choice," Zorgi concluded. "Whether we like it or not, Kerkoidia is a place that could cause us a hell of a lot of problems."
"Yeah," Ogre agreed. "The sooner command roots out that rot, the better."
"They'd better bomb the planet from orbit," Nomad snorted. "The locals are Confederacy supporters, and one of their bastards, from what I heard, organized a massacre on Christophsis before it was liberated…"
"I completely agree with you, Marshal," the clones turned, staring in surprise at General En, who had silently approached them. Though, all the Jedi without exception were present. So much for covert conversation. "As does everyone at headquarters."
"Sorry, sir, we were just chatting," Zorgi muttered.
"It's fine, boys," the Jedi said placatingly. "Kerkoidia is a place few people like. Least of all, High Jedi General Dougan. He was the first who wanted to burn it down to the bedrock, because the battles on that planet are a foretold hell."
"So why not do it, sir?" Nomad insisted. "We'll lose a huge number of soldiers there…"
"It's all about the intelligence," the Jedi explained with a sigh. "Our commandos, Bothans, and even the Hutts report that there are over a hundred thousand prisoners of war on the planet…"
"Clones?" Blade inquired.
"Not only," En stated. "There are many volunteers among them."
"Possibly," General Fay joined the conversation. "Have you heard of the 'Ruusan Rebels'?"
The clones' faces darkened instantly. The commander of the 611th Corps felt his tooth enamel cracking — he was clenching his jaw so hard.
"Those bastards who don't consider us human, or even sentient at all?" Nomad ground out the question, knowing the answer perfectly well. "Frankly, I'm not eager to liberate them. Especially after they fucked up on Vohai, exposing my corps' flank, resulting in me having to basically scrape it back together piece by piece. You've just shattered my peace of mind — I thought they'd all been wiped out, along with their moron of a general. The only one worse than him was General Krell. The crunch from under the AT-TE's footpads from the snapping bones of my fallen brothers on Svivren still haunts my dreams. It's a pity that four-armed bastard hasn't crossed my path yet — I'd strangle him with my own hands. Kota acts the same way — maybe he's a traitor too?"
The Jedi exchanged meaningful glances. Nomad bit his tongue until it hurt. That tone of conversation with clones might be permissible, but even Vau, who was famous for his cruelty on par with his ability to insult anyone just because he didn't like them, preferred to speak neutrally about Jedi in the presence of unfamiliar sentients. Or not speak at all.
The Marshal knew he'd gone too far. And the massive losses resulting from Rahm Kota's "tactical withdrawal," which he'd "forgotten" to inform the clones about, did not, by the regulations, justify the insolence of the 611th Corps commander.
Sometimes he began to regret having his inhibitor chip removed and being let in on the conspiracy. It seemed that extra piece of organic matter really did allow for controlling clone aggression. And yet — it was a great pity that Kota and at least someone from his fascist comrades had survived and been captured, rather than dying during that hellish rocket barrage that had blanketed the clone positions and nearly cost them all their lives. If not for the selfless attack of the Aurek Company, which after Zakari's transfer was commanded by Bobson, they'd have all died there. Yes, upon returning to the corps deployment, it was worth "delighting" the veterans with the news that they were about to liberate those who had destroyed most of their corps.
"There are very few who like them in the Grand Army," the second female Jedi joined the conversation in a diplomatic tone. Nomad strained his memory… Olana Chion, he thought her name was. "I worked extensively with the GAR and Order headquarters during the first year of the war. And I can say with a clear conscience that the 'rebels' themselves and their commander… are rather contradictory beings."
"But that doesn't change the fact that they are citizens of the Republic," En continued. "And our fellow soldiers. However, the capture of the planet has much more behind it than it seems at first glance."
Nomad opened his mouth to ask a question, but was interrupted by Captain Desiderari's voice.
"Self-propelled guns in position. We are ready for the demonstration."
"Like these pea-shooters are going to help us," Ogre quipped sadly in a low voice.
But he was heard.
"You'll be surprised, Marshal," Lieutenant Salo grinned slyly. "But even one of these self-propelled guns, not to mention the battery being demonstrated, can significantly simplify your life."
"They said the same thing about the SPHA," Zakari reminded him. "And those unwieldy mountains can't do anything worthwhile on their own."
"It's different here," Captain Desiderari stated diplomatically. "These self-propelled guns are capable of breaching any enemy ground defensive line… However, it's better to see it for yourselves."
The clones, along with the Jedi, moved toward the transparisteel.
Even without the computer systems of his helmet or a monocular, Nomad could make out a dozen six-wheeled vehicles, several times smaller than the Juggernaut, but significantly more massive compared to, say, the Saber — the GAR's main repulsor tank. And besides, the armament…
"The caliber commands respect," Ogre let out a low whistle, referring to the massive cannon which, on each of the twelve vehicles, was now smoothly elevating, stopping roughly at a forty-five-degree angle from its initial position. "One hundred fifty-two millimeters?"
"Exactly," Salov nodded.
Blade let out a low whistle. Even the AV-7 — the GAR's field artillery — had a smaller caliber. Significantly smaller.
"Before you is mobile super-heavy artillery," Salov introduced it.
"The name is shit," Nomad stated, catching the gaze of everyone present on him once again. "It feels like it was given by someone who has absolutely no relation to military actions and equipment…"
"In a way, that's true," Senior General Fay said, but offered no further explanation.
"So, MSTA," Salov continued, "is an ultra-long-range super-heavy universal weapon capable of firing proton shells at both large aerial and space targets, as well as ground targets, at ranges from fifty to two thousand kilometers."
"This little thing," Zakari jabbed a finger at one of the self-propelled guns, "hits targets at two thousand kilometers? Or maybe meters?"
"Exactly kilometers," Salov repeated calmly, putting sound-dampening headphones on his ears. Nomad noticed Captain Desiderari doing the same. The commander of the 611th Corps, realizing something was up, signaled the other marshals. The five clones synchronously put their helmets back on. The Jedi, however, seemed not to notice what was happening.
"Such range is achieved through special alloys used in the weapon's construction and an additional accelerating electro-magnetic block," General Fay explained, apparently privy to the intricacies of the equipment being tested.
"From these, you could set up an impenetrable planetary defense," Zorgi remarked, "especially for any planet."
"Or mount them on starships," Olana Chion noted, "instead of SPHA guns, as Skywalker suggested."
"That's not our area of activity," General En cut her off. "If you want to voice your initiative to command, General Chion, file the appropriate report with the Grand Moff. For now, I'm only interested in the effectiveness of these gun…"
A monstrous roar reached Nomad's ears, even though the noise insulation level inside his armor was adjusted for maximum dampening.
The "vagrant" Jedi and the Jedi with the ridiculous facial hair winced, simultaneously grabbing their ears. The other three continued standing as if nothing had happened.
Twelve snow-white-blue energy blobs crossed the distance separating them from the targets with incredible speed, slamming with indescribable accuracy into the battered hulls of the AATs, which literally vaporized the moment the energy shells touched them.
As did a significant portion of the surface around them, burned literally to the state of charred slag.
"That's…" Olana Chion caught her breath mid-sentence.
Nomad watched, mesmerized, as clods of dust and chunks of metal, thrown into the air by the monstrous shockwave, settled. Huge craters remained where the tanks had been — several meters in diameter and at least half a meter to a meter deep. With the same black, baked-to-slag surface.
"…monstrous," the "vagrant" Jedi said. Nomad finally remembered his name. Mander Zum. Judging by the fact that he still hadn't gotten armor — either he hadn't been at the front long, or he was an ideological Jedi psychopath whom blind luck had protected so far. "Who developed such equipment? It just annihilates everything in its path…"
"There's a war on, Mander," General En remarked sharply. "And in case you haven't noticed, we're surrounded and without proper communication with the rest of the galaxy. And I'm not sure anyone on Coruscant cares about our situation. The MSTA is excellent weaponry. The more droids we destroy and fortifications we demolish with their help, the fewer soldiers will die."
"At the cost of such desecration?" General Zum's hands began to tremble. "Jedi Zum," Nomad mentally corrected himself. Generals are only those who understand the essence of war. Jedi are cowards and neurasthenic ideological fighters for democracy and incomprehensible ideals, with hardly any sensible thoughts in their heads — less than in a minocc's brain.
"Since when is destroying droids by any means desecration?" Blade inquired.
"But there are sentients on Kerkoidia too," the Jedi reminded. "Whose lives we are supposed to preserve and deliver for trial on Coruscant…"
"Whose side are you on, Master Zum?" Zakari muttered, puzzled, exchanging glances with General Chion, who, looking at her colleague, just shook her head disappointedly.
Nomad, standing next to Ogre, switched to a private channel that couldn't be overheard from outside.
"I hope when this starts, you know what to do, brother?"
"Don't doubt it," Ogre responded. "We've all known how to hunt Jedi since birth."
* * *
Throughout its entire history — from its emergence to the present day — the rocky desert world of Geonosis had endured many catastrophes and mass extinctions, including a comet strike on its largest moon that nearly wiped out the entire planetary population. Assessing the results of the destruction, the floods, and the unpredictable solar storms bringing radiation, it's easy to understand why the ancient inhabitants of Geonosis — those who remained — moved underground.
However, this world was now dead.
Its indigenous inhabitants, who had built thousands of factories, dozens of hives, millions of kilometers of underground tunnels, had now finally faded into oblivion. Most of the corpses were still rotting in the underground, awaiting their turn for disposal. They decayed, filling the catacombs with the suffocating, foul stench of decomposition, which would make any sentient instantly turn inside out the moment they inhaled it.
But now, on the surface of Geonosis, as well as in its depths, there was not a single living being.
Not a one.
Except for her.
Kira inhaled deeply the scorching air of the planet, feeling it burn her lungs. Her body nearly made her cough, but the girl suppressed the reflexes using the Force.
Standing here, in the middle of a vast plain turned into an improvised landing pad, and the remaining rocks inside which the Geonosians' remaining production facilities were hidden, the Emperor's Hand unexpectedly realized that the Praetorian standing before her — the commander of the "Skywalker" legion — had finished his report. Or, at least, had stopped to get some kind of reaction from her.
Unlike their brethren, the Praetorians were painted in black and gold, characteristic of the Eternal Empire of the past. The girl liked this combination much more than the black and silver that Emperor Dougan had devised for his new Eternal Empire. However, that was a matter of taste…
"How long will it take you to clear the catacombs?" she inquired.
"Six months," the droid replied without hesitation. "They are extensive and extremely confusing. Many passages collapsed during the battles or were mined by the enemy during the retreat. We are advancing sequentially — from hive to hive.
"Aha," Kira replied boredly. "Continue in the same manner."
"It will be done, ma'am," the droid turned on its metal feet, emitting a crunching sound from the contact of durasteel with the rocky surface, and strode away.
The Geonosians did not die from the execution of Order Base Delta Zero. They were not poisoned by chemical weapons. They were not forced to die under the influence of chemical or bacteriological weapons.
They were simply all killed. By the clones of the Grand Army of the Republic, and then — by the replacement arriving for the line infantry — the militia troops. And not at all because someone craved the extermination of these wonderful mechanics and engineers. Simply because they refused to surrender — they followed their queens' orders to the very end. First — as living beings, and then — as reanimated corpses.
The Republic was the first to face this problem — the brain worms manifested themselves by taking over clones and even one Jedi. Kira had read the report on that mission. A pathetic sight.
A Jedi Knight of her level — she never quite managed to become a Master for known reasons — by immersing herself in the Force, could perfectly well detect the presence of such highly developed parasites inside a sentient. And even more so — kill it. Without running all over the ship like an idiot.
But what could you expect from the current Jedi? Right — nothing, except potential recruits. From the rest — just analysis, maybe.
After bringing the Geonosian droid production factories to a state of complete destruction (in reality, only the factories where Master Soera Antana had been active were destroyed; the rest were "destroyed" only on paper), the planet, having lost its obvious value — no inhabitants, no production — was put up for auction. For a very high price — anyone wishing to make money from scrap metal recycling could amass a vast fortune here.
But the Emperor was interested in the planet for a completely different reason.
The remaining droid factories were more than enough to resume production of Eternal Empire military equipment. So, through shell companies, the Empire had taken ownership of Geonosis. And after it — Hypori. While the latter, with relatively large investments and significant repair work, was slated to become a military production giant for the Eternal Empire in just a few months — from armored personnel carriers to self-propelled artillery and multiple rocket launcher systems — Geonosis couldn't boast a particularly wide range of output. Skymen, assault droids, small arms, clone armor. The Geonosian shipyards, hidden in the planet's asteroid belt, captured and partially destroyed by the Republic during the military campaign, were now being retooled by the Empire's engineers for the production of Marauders, Terminus-class destroyers, Supremacy-class interceptors, transport and assault shuttles, and landing craft. The objective was exactly this — to cleanse the planet and system of rotting corpses and turn it into an industrial giant for the Empire.
The Emperor assumed that somewhere in the depths of Geonosis, Geonosians and their queens might still be hiding — it was statistically impossible to kill the entire planetary population in short-term battles. That's why only droids were on Geonosis — Skymen to clear the planet of corpses, and Incom construction droids to restore what was destroyed and retool what remained. The Emperor categorically did not want to risk any of his people becoming infected with worms.
Kira assumed it would be a long time before a non-droid being set foot on the surface of Geonosis — for the Eternal Empire, using droids for this was much simpler, more profitable, and economically sound.
The girl didn't really object. She loved solitude. After the rapid events of the past months, taking a breather was simply necessary. You could reinforce yourself with the Force long and hard, but eventually the body would rebel, demanding the rest nature intended for it. And the girl wasn't about to overrule her own nature.
Nadia had also decided it was better to rest. She was currently overseeing the reconstruction of Hypori for the Empire's needs. Atroxa was controlling Darvanis, where factories for producing GEMINI droids were being rebuilt — droids that were destined to take control of the second-model Harrower-class destroyers, which were just now being laid down at the gradually occupied Rothana shipyards.
You didn't need to be a genius to understand the Emperor's policy. The Empire's core territory had its own resource bases, shipyards, and factories for producing all types of droids and weaponry — sufficient to meet the needs of Zakuul's society and armed forces. However, the complete subordination of the three system armies nominally under the Emperor's control, and the territories they governed, was planned — and for that, the two vast military forces had to be unified. To equip the armies of Kaminoan clones with weapons familiar to the Empire's stormtroopers, to integrate the standard equipment and Star Destroyers. Hauling all of this across half the galaxy was necessary if it was needed (and it undoubtedly was). But it was far simpler, albeit more economically costly, to create the necessary rear bases in the immediate vicinity of the expected front lines.
Malgus had settled firmly, and most likely permanently, in Sith Space — his homeland, which he had championed even while in the Emperor's service. Though the girl had no contact with the Sith, she had no doubt that the same thing was happening inside the Impenetrable Caldera and in other parts of the known galaxy secretly controlled by the Emperor.
Vizla was conquering the Mandalorian Sector, which was destined to become another satellite state, semi-dependent on the Empire. Kira didn't much like the Mandalorians — in their time, they had more than once fully or partially switched sides in the conflict, depending on what whim struck their ruler. No wonder Dougan had bound the Mandalorians to the Empire with huge credits and exorbitant obligations, which they wouldn't be able to pay off until the next century. Dirty — by Jedi standards. Necessary — by the standards of achieving the Empire's goals.
Zavros was laboring to replenish the ranks of Force-sensitives, needed by the growing superpower on a galactic scale. It would have been interesting to at least once more see the place she had idolized millennia ago. Although, in the girl's opinion, placing the sole Academy of Imperial Knights in such close proximity to Republic territory — a potential and very powerful enemy — was risky. She had voiced her concerns to the Emperor, but he, praising "his beloved perceptive girl," advised her not to worry about it. In the Farlax Sector, which had sided with the Empire, Imperial Navy and Army forces were already operating, forces that were meant to provide sufficient protection for the Deep Core of the galaxy, secretly occupied by Zakuul.
Celeste and her tame Sith girl — in whom Kira saw much of what she herself had experienced in her distant youth (in terms of the Sith's one-sided upbringing, not gang rapes involving one's own parents) — was busy collecting all possible ancient knowledge, relics, and Jedi artifacts scattered across the galaxy in such secluded places that even Kira, former aide to the Hero of Tython and close friend of Grand Master Satele Shan, had never heard of most of them.
Asajj Ventress… as far as Kira knew, the former Dathomirian witch was currently languishing in the Moddel Sector — a terrible backwater on the border of the Outer Rim and the Unknown Regions, where there were truly vast deposits of minerals and habitable planets. You couldn't envy her — she had to build infrastructure for the Empire's needs from scratch, while simultaneously taking measures for the voluntary annexation of the locals to Zakuul. Lately, after his epic on Mortis, the Emperor had slightly changed the direction of the Empire's foreign policy. Obviously, the meeting with the Celestials had not been without consequence for him.
Kira ran her palm over her face, wincing at the sand a gust of wind had thrown into her eyes. Damn bastard. She couldn't stand sand.
"Commander," the girl said, lowering her hand, noticing the repulsor transport that had arrived, carrying half a dozen Skymen. And on the floor of the vehicle, bound with massive metal bands, was a girl. Quite pretty, with attractive features… Young, maybe a little over thirty, dark-haired, attractive, smiling at the Emperor's subordinate.
Only two things spoiled the impression.
First — she was on Empire territory, and Kira had no idea who she was.
Second — Carsen didn't sense the girl in the Force.
"Who is this?" the Hand asked the Skyman commander.
"A spy," he explained in a mechanical voice. "Discovered by a patrol on a camouflaged landing pad, where a fighter was waiting for her. During the conflict, the transport was destroyed. The spy offered armed resistance, destroying half of my platoon."
"Oh, really?" Now that was interesting. The Skymen — also known as assault droids — had the most advanced software and combat skills. The work of Dr. Nikolai Kynesworthy, based on digitized knowledge from clones. The same data was uploaded into the brains of the Empire's stormtroopers. "This is getting interesting."
Kira, wrapped in a spacious cloak that kept the wind from filling her clothes with sand, approached the prisoner. Despite being bound by a strip of metal of no small weight, she rose to her feet with ease.
"So you're the commander of these tin soldiers?" she asked. Her pale blue eyes looked at the former Jedi Knight evenly and confidently. "Pleased to meet you. I hope, of course, that you won't judge me based on one unpleasant incident…"
"Who are you?" Kira cut her off. "What were you doing on the planet?"
"That's not important," the girl said. "I'm an agent of Republic Intelligence, and you are obligated to…"
"I'll ask a second and final time," Kira demonstratively brought her hands together, interlaced her fingers, and cracked her knuckles. "Who are you? What are you doing on this planet?"
"You know, I have the same questions for you," the stranger smiled winningly. Kira noticed her shift her gaze to the Hand's belt. "To be honest, I've always admired the Jedi Order, but I've never had the opportunity to meet a Jedi Knight in person."
"I'm afraid that won't happen today either," Kira remarked coldly, using the Force to detach her lightsaber from the ring on her belt — a weapon that had once belonged to Grand Master Shan. The blade ignited with blue energy beams, spun in her hand, describing a familiar figure eight.
The stranger frowned slightly: "But…"
Before she could continue, Kira, with a strike honed many hundreds of years ago, cleaved the prisoner from shoulder to hip in a diagonal slash.
The "girl" lay before her in two neat halves, the edges smoking and melted, internal equipment severed.
"A replicant," Kira snorted, nudging one of the halves with her boot toe so she could get a better look at the emotionless face with its glazed eyes. "Check if the remains are functional. If so, deactivate them and place her in a shielded container. Inform the Praetorian — tighten security on the surface. There may be more replicants here. The fleet must be on constant readiness. And I need to report the incident to the Emperor. I don't like any of this…"
* * *
The enemy lunged at her, closing the distance so fast his feet seemed not to touch the ground. This sudden attack was graceful, and she might have admired it if Luminara's blade, elegantly tracing an arc, hadn't pierced his chest.
The green blade emerged from his back, meeting no resistance along its path. The enemy, with a final breath, died in her arms.
Pushing the corpse away from her, the Mirialan sighed, raising her weapon to parry a burst of blaster fire aimed at her. The crimson energy bolts flew into the air, and the woman, without much subtlety, yanked the B-1 who had fired at her towards her, cleaving it apart with a single blow.
"Are you alright?" Shaak Ti appeared beside her, solicitously putting an arm around her shoulders. "You look terrible…"
"I look worse than I actually am," Luminara forced a smile. "But the number of droids is starting to tire me…"
"Not much left," the Togruta assured her. "Once we take the capital, the path to Dac is open for us."
"Yes," Unduli replied with a weak smile. "For us…"
"… and for the Empire," she added mentally.
"Get some rest," Shaak Ti asked her. "Maris and I will continue the assault."
"Yes," the Mirialan agreed hoarsely. "Give me a couple of minutes."
The Togruta, smiling, returned to the battle, drawing the clones of the 41st Elite Corps with her, who immediately began flowing around Unduli, who had settled at the bottom of a crater.
The battle for the planetary capital — Talas, in the Kamdon system of the Mon Calamari sector — had been going on for five days already.
The Separatists — both the droids, of which there seemed an incalculable number, and the Quarren, and numerous mercenaries, outright bandits and robbers — fought fiercely, unwilling to yield. Even the fact that, at the cost of incredible losses, the fleet of the System Army "Heft" had driven them out of the system and was hastily licking its wounds, didn't faze them in the slightest.
They were hoping for reinforcements — a breakthrough of the blockade — but the new ships never came. Luminara knew why.
George'o'george had begun his offensive on Minntuin.
Not at all as planned — from prepared positions, with far greater forces. But it was what it was. The base on Taral V never became fully operational — the "Heft" simply couldn't keep up with the changing situation on the Outer Rim. The only consolation was that this young knight had enough ships to, at the very least, prevent the enemy from transferring their operational reserves.
The entire Mon Calamari sector was bogged down in unceasing battles between Separatists and Republic forces. The corps that Master Dougan had sent as an operational reserve were thrown straight into the meat grinder unfolding here. And it seemed this horror would never end.
An open battle for the capital, instead of the planned systematic siege — that was also a result of the enemy's actions. All sectors of the Mid and Outer Rims had simultaneously lost contact with the center of the galaxy. The Separatists hadn't failed to take advantage of this, striking heavily along almost the entire front. Luminara had no choice but to go all in — to throw all her forces into destroying the enemy. Just to finally end this battle and move on to the next.
Shaak Ti's presence brightened the gray, monotonous days filled with an endless cycle of deaths, both allied and enemy. The Togruta, perhaps for the first time in recent times, had made a decision of her own free will — to stay with the "Heft," instead of returning to the Temple the moment Luminara arrived in the army. And, frankly, the Mirialan was grateful to her for that. As she was to her Padawan — the restless Zabrak Maris Brood, who, unlike her teacher, was increasingly drifting away from traditional Jedi views in this unending whirlwind of death.
Despite their long acquaintance and closeness, Luminara had not dared to openly discuss the question that tormented her with Ti. To reveal the essence of what she had seen then on Tatooine — Unduli was simply obligated to. She couldn't do otherwise. Of all the Jedi under her command, she most desired to gain understanding for her actions from Shaak Ti and Barriss.
And though the first was right beside her — within arm's reach — Luminara simply could not find the strength to start that conversation.
The Togruta listened to her on many things, but this… This was different. Finding enough words and evidence of the necessity to switch sides… perhaps the same George'o'george would understand her immediately — the boy was literally disgusted by the thought that no one — neither the Jedi nor the Republic — had done anything to come to the aid of the besieged armies.
But Shaak Ti and Barriss… that was a completely different case.
The Mirialan was acutely aware that if she couldn't reach them, convince them, prove she was right… she would have to kill them. All of them. With her own hands.
One after another.
Even the understanding that she would have to kill Gree — her loyal commander and almost a friend — paled in comparison to these two possible victims.
Gree was loyal to the Republic to the marrow of his bones. Even despite the removed inhibitor chip, the commander of the 41st Elite Corps continued to believe fervently in the Republic and democracy. He didn't care who ruled the Republic. Why the Sith were evil. Why the Jedi couldn't see past their own noses. He was an organic combat machine. He received orders — and he followed them. And those orders, the execution of which would directly or indirectly harm the Republic, he would organically refuse. And so — his fate was sealed.
But Shaak Ti, Barriss Offee… It wasn't so easy to raise a blade against your own apprentice. To one whom you had spent years drumming in the necessity of adhering to Jedi precepts.
And even harder — to cross lightsabers with someone who had been closer to you for decades than all the other Jedi combined.
Unlike Aayla, Tholme, and most other Jedi, whose romantic escapades had become a byword in the Temple and a thorn in the side of the High Council, Luminara and Shaak had managed to hide their relationship from others for decades. And they were the only ones in the entire Order who had succeeded in it.
Luminara wearily looked at the sun rolling towards sunset. By the Force, how unbearable all this was…
* * *
The crack of the Devaronian's skull bones seemed to echo through the entire first level of the bunker.
The red-skinned prisoner hissed in pain, jerking in the commandos' grip, but, naturally, couldn't break free.
"Bastard," he spat, glaring at me from under his brow. "I thought Jedi didn't do things like this…"
"I'm not exactly a typical Jedi," I had to disappoint him. "I'll ask one more time — what is that field, and how do we get past it?"
"Go screw yourself!" A bloody glob of spit practically sizzled on my chest plate. "I'm a prisoner of war, you're obligated to…"
The next second, he let out a heart-rending scream as he felt his left horn, clamped in my hand, begin to crumble.
"Wrong answer," I commented. "We have thirty minutes before that unknown damn thing reaches our abandoned forward positions. It'll take me just five to break every bone in your body with my own hands, and then leave you to die here under your buddies' rocket fire."
"I won't tell you anything!" the mercenary howled. Following the horn, the bones of his right foot, which I'd shattered with a Force Push, turned to dust.
His animalistic roar sounded like the pitiful whimpering of a bear that an unlucky hunter had painfully wounded but couldn't finish off.
"Master Dougan," Ahsoka spoke cautiously, appearing in my field of vision. "All remaining units of the 7th Air Corps and the 8th Infantry Corps have been withdrawn beyond the city limits, equipment evacuated…"
"Good," the Devaronian howled as his ribs began to break. "Glad that at least you can do something properly."
"I'm sorry," the Togruta hung her head guiltily. "I meant well…"
"And it turned out, as usual, through the ass," I growled, grabbing the Devaronian by the right collarbone and snapping it in half. "You had plenty of time and a team of elite commandos to figure out what these shit-eaters could spring on us! Who's supposed to do the thinking for you?"
"I thought we could take the city gradually, district by district," the Togruta said quietly. "Having located the generator here, I didn't think they had another one…"
"That's your thing," snorted Oli, sitting on a container nearby, tearing her gaze away from contemplating the motionless body of the tattooed Twi'lek. "You always think, and then you do…"
"Shut your mouth," I turned to my apprentice, jabbing a finger at her. "Ahsoka is my person and subordinate. And I'm the only one who gets to chew her out!"
Oli flinched as if slapped, frozen in surprise, mouth open, eyes wide. Ahsoka went silent too… Only the clones — Broda, Flash, Titus, and Kaymaker (the last two were actually holding the bastard in place so he could fully appreciate his situation), who were in the captured bunker, showed no sign that it affected them in any way, that the ever-forgiving Grand Moff had suddenly dumped a bucket of ice water on his pet Jedi. Who usually got away with everything.
And the reason was quite simple.
Or rather, there were exactly eight regiments' worth of reasons. Nine thousand two hundred and sixteen troopers from the 7th Air Corps and nine thousand two hundred and sixteen troopers from the 8th Infantry. All of our forward units, which, after the rapid breakthrough of the front and landing in the thick of the enemy, had been sent to pursue the retreating enemy. And had fallen under the effect of this damn Separatist shield. Which had separated them from the main forces, while "Hailfire" rockets were currently turning eighteen thousand four hundred and thirty-two troopers into bloody mincemeat. And believe me — you wouldn't want to be a Force-user at that moment, feeling every single death.
I don't know which bastard designed this infernal contraption, or who deployed it, but this fucking wonder weapon had, in a short time, stripped me of a quarter of all my forces. And had enormous potential to annihilate the rest.
The initial assumption, that the enemy would drop their cap on us and grind us to dust before we could even squeak, turned out to be not entirely accurate. The field expanded in jumps. Capturing new territory, the dome remained impenetrable from the inside, but you could still get into it from outside. And thus, the clones, equipment, anything caught in the trap could be destroyed by the enemy without any trouble. Because the enemy commander was meticulously turning every captured sector into a dead zone using every weapon system at his disposal. But his favorite was carpet rocket bombardment from those fucking big-wheeled bastards.
Orbital shelling and bombardment hadn't helped much. The shield, hiding most of the city from us, had survived everything — short of dropping a Star Destroyer on it. But that would be an absolute last resort.
What's notable — you could only get inside the shield from the part that was continuously multiplying everything inside it by zero. From the other sides — it was an impenetrable barrier. Verified.
But the reason why the enemy hadn't just covered the whole city at once and leveled it to the bedrock was suggested, oddly enough, by Tallisibeth.
"According to the readings from the scanners on the Spirit of Fire," she had said before I ordered her and all the other Padawans, along with the remaining clones, to retreat far outside the city, "our orbital bombardments, while not harming it, force it to absorb a huge amount of energy that the enemy was planning to use to expand the shield. This allows us, to some extent, to slow the field's spread. Until the enemy finds additional energy reserves — and then our efforts will be useless."
A brainstorming session aboard my flagship led to an even less comforting conclusion: we were dealing with a redesigned version of a planetary shield. The enemy, apparently, had planned to seal off the entire planet from everyone, but either hadn't managed to bring in the required number of generators, or simply hadn't finished connecting them. Either option was about as welcome as a second dick growing out of my forehead.
The only consolation was that, apparently, this kind of contraption existed only here — there were no similar problems in other populated areas. So, realizing the pace of the offensive was becoming impossibly slow, I ordered Eyle to deploy the legions that hadn't participated in the first wave for the assault on the other cities. With the necessary precautions, naturally.
Watching Oli, who demonstratively rose from her spot and left the bunker through the wall I'd previously broken, I heard the Devaronian's intermittent, giggling sobs and broke his other collarbone and every bone in his left arm.
"You were harsh with her, sir," noted Titus, the marshal commanding the 187th Legion. From the faces of Flash and Kaymaker, they shared the same opinion. But they weren't in a hurry to voice it. Rex preferred to look the other way entirely, while Broda was having a brief conference with several clones from Torrent Company, who were monitoring the enemy's tricky device.
As soon as I realized the scale of the shitstorm we were dealing with, I ordered, under Cody and Nix's supervision, to withdraw all units of the 7th and 8th Corps outside the city, except for those in the immediate vicinity — the 187th, 204th, 313th, and 501st Legions. Even though the enemy had badly mauled them both during the breakthrough and landing and after the field was activated, I wasn't about to abandon the city entirely. The boys were without their vehicles and artillery now — but they were still a force.
For one simple, bleeding reason: in the person of the goat-faced bastard who claimed to know a path to the enemy's rear — not directly to the generator's location, but definitely far behind the mass of droids gathered at the shield's edge, waiting for its next expansion.
However, this bastard refused to talk until he was taken off the planet and provided for for the rest of his life. I didn't give a damn about the money, but wasting time calling in a transport was out of the question. Still, credit where it's due, the guy held up pretty well, even considering he already had enough fine bone dust inside him to fill an hourglass.
Sure, I could have used the Force to turn him inside out, gut his brain, sift through every thought, and find the answer. But that takes too long — that kind of technique requires time, which we don't have; patience, which I don't have; and precision, of which I, experiencing a constant Force-shock from the deaths of sentient beings every second, was hardly capable. Oli, despite her inclination for mental techniques, wasn't trained in that. Ahsoka… her talents lay in a completely different area.
So I had to play the role of a butchering trauma surgeon, diploma earned on the fly — breaking the Devaronian's bones, hoping the pain would prove a more convincing argument than his greed and desire to save his own skin.
Too bad, but the only thing I managed to get out of him was the reason why the Separatists had set up such a complex defense system here, in this unremarkable little town.
Money. A lot of money. Obtained through completely illegal means — robbery and piracy on hyperspace routes. Huge stockpiles of Republic equipment and weapons, captured during privateer raids. All of this, along with nearly a hundred thousand slaves — former crew members of Republic and other ships, local inhabitants — was all in this town. And was being prepared for evacuation to the capital when we attacked. Similar depots and camps existed in every city on the planet — since each town was controlled by a separate clan of Separatist bastards. We'd had the misfortune of landing on the fiefdom of the Sabaoth Squadron. Damn it to hell.
"Nothing terrible," I waved it off. "Should've put her in her place and taught her some manners a long time ago. She's not made of sugar, she won't melt."
Lifting the Devaronian's head by the chin, I looked him in the eyes and asked:
"Remembered what you were supposed to say?"
"Go to hell," he said, trickles of blood leaking from his mouth. "I'm your only chance, and you won't kill me. Donita — in a coma, thanks to your dim-witted girlfriend."
At my signal, Kaymaker, commanding the 313th Legion, broke several of his fingers.
Another howl of pain...
"You don't get it, moron?" Kaymaker asked him. "It's not your place to comment on the Emperor's subordinates."
Good guy, I thought. Dutiful.
"I'd advise you to start talking," Flash said, continuing to search through the Devaronian's clothing and gear, which had been removed from his body before the execution. "You won't last long..."
"You'll kill me anyway," the Devaronian laughed, "as soon as I say what you want. No, you bastards, I need freedom and money..."
Beard approached me.
"The scouts didn't find anything that could help us, sir," he said quietly. "Should I order a search of the large building ruins?"
"Too long," I lamented. "But there's nothing else for it."
"I understand, sir," the clone, waving a hand to his subordinates waiting for him at the bunker's 'entrance,' stepped outside.
"Get some rest, sir," Rex advised, deliberately not looking toward the chunk of meat. "The boys and I can break his bones ourselves..."
"I want to tear him apart," I admitted. "Because of him, we can't help our guys..."
"We understand completely, sir," seeing that the Devaronian was starting to lose consciousness, Titus broke his wrist with an elbow strike. A scream announced the prisoner was back with them. "Those are our brothers dying on the other side of the shield right now."
"Don't take the sin on your soul," Kaymaker asked, performing the same operation on the second wrist. The clone had to raise his voice to be heard over the tortured man's screams. "We'd like to continue ourselves..."
"Don't take it as insolence, sir," Rex nodded toward the subdued Ahsoka, who clearly had tears welling in her eyes. "But you have more important matters..."
Looking at the Togruta, whose shoulders were trembling in silent sobs, I concluded the clone had a point. He was right, I did have more important matters. And, in the end, it was time to follow the paths of behaviorism — to separate the figure from the background. Put everything in its place.
Too bad the time and place were wrong. In the heat of the moment, I might even kill... I'd never had losses this stupid or massive... yeah, fuck, never at all! And that made what happened between the girls in the bunker even more infuriating. Frankly, Oli's phrase, generally harmless and to the point, was the final straw. The valve burst. The shit boiled over. For all the time they'd both been around. For all the fucking chaos that had happened with their involvement and its consequences. It was time to cut this Gordian knot. Too bad it had to be under these circumstances... But it had to be done. It simply had to. Because either it would devour me. Or it would blow up later.
"Yeah, Rex," I nodded. "I have an important matter. Tear him apart, but get the information."
"Don't worry, sir," the clone stepped aside, clearing my path to the Togruta, but I turned on my heel and headed out of the bunker. Clearly feeling behind my back how, wiping away tears, the Togruta rose and followed me.
Oli hadn't gone far — just twenty meters. She stood, head thrown back, gazing at the cloudless night sky. Calm on the outside, but seething with rage within.
Ahsoka and I walked the distance to her in silence. She had nothing special to say to me. And my words weren't meant only for her. I wasn't going to repeat myself.
"I'll say this only once," waiting until both were in my field of view, I took off my mask, looking each of them in the eyes in turn. "And I advise you to remember it. Anyone with memory problems — write it down."
Oli lazily turned her head toward me, her gaze full of hatred. I clearly sensed her true emotions — wounded pride, resentment, disappointment, disgust, distrust... and interest in what was happening. Ahsoka, in contrast, kept looking at the ground, reminding me of a beaten dog, so attached to its owner that even though he hits it, it can't leave — he feeds it, after all.
"I made a mistake by letting you get out of hand — admitting the problem is the first step to fixing it. I don't know what each of you has imagined about yourselves, but I'll spell it out for the especially alternatively gifted participants of the special olympics for having my dick in your guts. You're both small fry with an incredibly inflated sense of self-importance. One thinks that because she's close to me and certain of my secrets were entrusted to her not by my choice, that gives her the right to fuck with my brain and derive tons of refined inner pleasure from it. The other — a dick-sleeve who imagines she's a brilliant commander, as if that could be transmitted sexually. No, Ahsoka, you're no strategist, no Suvorov. Just a girl with an overinflated ego who can't see past her own nose. And, no, Oli — nothing's changed. You're not a manipulator who can twist me around her finger and make me dance to her tune. The fact that I didn't immediately slap you down and break your neck doesn't give you the right to think you're special. Neither of you means anything more to me — no matter what you've imagined. You both, like the others, serve me — in whatever capacity I deem necessary. If I decide I want to fuck Ahsoka — then I'll fuck her. And anyone else I want. If I want to break your psyche, Oli, and mold you into what I need — then that's how it will be. There's no other way. From now on and forever — get this through your thick skulls: I am your commander, master, lord, lover, friend, brother, matchmaker. You are tools for achieving my desires. And any freedom you have is only what I allow you. No other way. And it won't be the other way around. If I said you'll get under me," pointing a finger at the apprentice, I noticed she literally flinched from the surprise, "then it will be whenever I want. And however I want it. Nothing else is provided for you. Don't like it?" Meeting the apprentice's gaze, I bared my teeth. "That's your problem. The sheriff doesn't give a shit about the Indians' problems. You both voluntarily joined me. There's only one way back — as bloody mincemeat. Nothing and no one will stop me from realizing my Plan, least of all — two little shits who can't remember their place and understand their role in what's happening. Clear enough?"
"Yes," swallowing the lump in her throat, Oli said.
"Yes, my lord," Ahsoka barely lifted her eyes and immediately lowered them again.
"Your fucking stupid rivalry has tired me to the very depths of the balance of my infinitely pure black soul," I continued, getting more and more swept up in anger. Not at the girls. At myself. For, in pursuit of the goal, I'd essentially lost sight of what was going on right under my nose. And it wasn't just about the two little headless octobers standing before me. "I won't tolerate it anymore. From now on, you both either play by my rules, or I throw the dissatisfied out the fucking airlock. And so neither of you gets any ideas about thinking god-knows-what about each other, let alone defying me," thrusting my hands forward, I Force-grabbed both by the neck, pulling them toward me. Lifting the stunned girls, who were weakly clawing at their necks, squeezed by my armor-clad fingers, I let the Force — the Light and Dark sides — flow through me like a raging torrent. "You are only mine."
Ahsoka could inwardly pride herself as much as she wanted on her ability to switch between sides of the Force. Oli could try to summon Sith magic to help until Revan's second coming. The result would be the same.
I broke through their mental barriers with such ease, as if they had never existed. And I let the Force manifest what I had planned.
The idea wasn't new, but for some reason it had only just occurred to me. Well, better late than never.
The transformation took only a few moments. When you have such power of the Force at your disposal — you only need to want it.
Releasing both, I watched Ahsoka and Oli fall to all fours, choking with coughing, looking around with dazed eyes.
"And if you, you little bitches, ever try to do anything against my will again," thanks to the established Force Bonds, I could project my thoughts into both their minds. The girls were in a state of indescribable terror. After all, everyone knows that Bonds can only exist between two beings. Well, fuck you. Should have studied the Kwa A'nen's holocron (thanks to Vizla for such a generous raid on the Jedi Temple). A magnificent thing, even though its keeper long refused to cooperate, sensing the Rakatan modifications in me, "I will destroy you both. With a simple snap of my fingers. The games are over. You're either with me, or..."
"We're with you, my lord," a smile appeared on my face at the sight of both girls, with frightened expressions, kneeling before me. "We're always with you..."
"Excellent," I lifted their faces, holding both by the chins. I couldn't resist running the thumb of my right hand over Oli's full lips, slightly trembling with fear. And I did the same, but with my left hand, for Ahsoka. "The next mistake is fatal. There won't be total submission like with the Guards or Hands, Ahsoka," how pleasant it finally was to have both of them on a short leash. Immoral, but necessary. Doubly sad that my own actions had led to this. Under other circumstances, at another time, I would have resolved the issue differently, but... Empires had crumbled over even smaller fuck-ups. It was time to gather the stones. They were just unlucky to get caught in the crossfire. "For now — you're both free. I'll call when you're needed."
"Y-yes, my lord," both answered in unison.
Sensing in the Force a life-light approaching me, I turned around.
"Got a result, Kaymaker?" I asked gloomily, ignoring his astonished look at the sight of both girls kneeling before me.
"Y-yes, my lord," he stammered. Then, shaking his head with an apologetic smile, added, "Sorry, I said it automatically."
"Get to the point," I asked, feeling both girls rise from their knees, following my mental command. "Did you break him?"
"We cracked his data deck," the clone clarified. "The cities are connected by an internal network of tunnels, which the locals adapted for monorail transport but abandoned hundreds of years ago. The Separatists are using it to move reinforcements and ship valuables to the capital."
"What does Christophsis have to do with this?" I thought.
"Two kilometers under the factory ruins, there's an entry point," Senior Clone Commander Kaymaker continued. "We've already given the order — the boys are combat-ready."
"We move out," the command came out by itself. "Don't spare the enemy soldiers. Take no prisoners. I'll strangle their commander personally."
"As you command, Emperor," the clone replied with poorly concealed joy.