Jorj Car'das walked quickly across the wooden bridge—in this modern, enlightened age—which, like dozens of others similar to it, connected scattered and distant parts of the landmass, while simultaneously listening to the quiet splash of waves beneath his feet—another "attraction" of Rishi.
Trickles of sweat rolled down his back, and truth be told, he was entirely covered in salty droplets and streaks of a slightly briny liquid secreted by his own body under the intolerably hot local sun.
Hutt! Who had thought to place the Empire's transport company headquarters on this godforsaken world, covered in islands and swampy creeks interspersed with crystalline rivers and a semblance of oceans?!
Reaching the required "islet," he climbed several flights of stairs higher, wound between dilapidated buildings, descended a few more times, and finally reached the cantina he needed. Well, "cantina.".. An ancient shack, long past its prime, but still used by the local rabble as an establishment where, for a small fee, one could consume some vile brew little different from rocket fuel. Though, the Outer Rim law on this matter was simple: "If it burns, you can drink it."
Jorgh, casting a gloomy glance at the idly chatting oafs posing as guards by the entrance, who hadn't reacted at all to the appearance of a stranger in this little world, strode under the building's arches.
From time immemorial, Rishi had been renowned as a haven for pirates and smugglers, who, far from the watchful eyes of the law, could commit any unspeakable vileness that entered their heads. Once upon a time, this had been the headquarters of the pirate gang "Nova Blades"a kind of legend in the criminal underworld—and now just another backwater band preying on the Outer Rim's trade routes. True, few feared them anymore—especially now that a "Dreadnought," supposedly belonging to the Republic, had appeared in the planet's orbit—an unofficial "roof" for Car'das's company.
Inside, it was hardly cooler than outside. Air conditioning systems? Forget it! Ventilation? Pfft, are you joking?
The thin shirt he wore was instantly soaked with sweat. Jorj grimaced at the unpleasant sensation. The "cantina" was smoky—some idiots were puffing on smoking mixtures, a few dimwits were measuring their strength in a far corner, and another group of drinkers were eagerly watching a pair of arguers down mug after mug of foul-smelling muck. The purpose of the competition was hard to determine—except that one of the drinkers, with a pale-green complexion on his face and visible skin surfaces, was acquiring an even more vivid shade of fresh grass with each new mug. Car'das had heard that illegal operations to change species were quite popular in the Outer Rim—a hundred thousand credits (cash only) and they'd turn you into a Rodian. Although, these two seemed to have found a cheaper way to pass as Mirialans—the second one had also started turning green.
Spotting Booster Terrik, who was sipping a disgustingly colored liquid through a straw (and if you imagine a traditional "tube" of polymeric material, then no, not a Hutt's—it was a real straw. A hollow dried blade of grass!), the former smuggler plopped down into a free spot next to his subordinate.
"You took your time," the Corellian continued to watch the drinking match with his eyes.
"Next time you arrange a meeting in some godforsaken hole, make sure it at least has a name so I don't have to spend an age traipsing around this architectural monstrosity on foot," Car'das said irritably.
"You could have used a speeder bike," Terrik replied, still watching the drinkers. "There are a couple at headquarters. There are also speeders with driver droids. Their landing pad is a couple of meters from here."
"I did take a taxi," Jorj ground his teeth. "That empty-headed droid took me to the opposite part of the 'islet.'"
"The locals call them 'nests,'" Booster corrected automatically. "The planet's indigenous inhabitants don't like living on the surface, so..."
"Honestly? I couldn't care less," Car'das stated his position immediately. Let them call it a launch pad for interplanetary rockets. I flew here for a meeting with your contact. Instead, you're sitting here swilling that brew!
"It's lum," Terrik corrected his companion.
"Booster, you know as well as I do what lum looks like," Jorj shook his head. "What you're drinking is either Gamorrean urine or rancor vomit."
"I like it," he shrugged. "And don't worry—I've been here two months and I know this guy. If he said he'll come, he'll come. Well, maybe a couple of hours late—punctuality isn't held in high regard here."
"Sick bastard," sighed the executive director of "Kidd's Transports" (recently established), rolling his eyes.
After the fateful meeting on Myrkr, a rather large number of well-known and not-so-well-known smugglers had found it extremely fascinating and entertaining that, amidst the galactic conflict raging and the periodic raids by the Republic and CIS into their rear areas and frontiers in search of fresh blood among reckless pirates and hotheads, they could earn a decent living in one modest transport company.
The company's initial fleet consisted of morally obsolete XS-class freighters—the hoary antiquity of the "Corellian Engineering Corporation," which, despite the skepticism of most who agreed to pilot these trucks, turned out to be rather interesting little ships. Fast, well-armed, with quite spacious holds for their class.
The secret of this rarity's agility was revealed quite quickly. In reality, the company's fleet had only the external appearance and the "CEC" trademark from the ancient tubs. The entire internals were brand new.
Oh, what the XS pilots hadn't had to do... Mandalore, Pantora, Onderon, Umbara, Humbarine, Hoth, Dag, Serenno, Odessen, Zakuul, Ryloth, Alderaan, Nar Shaddaa, Kuat, Rendili, Ord Mantell, Raxus Prime, Mygeeto, Manaan, Taloraan, Jabiim, Korriban, Arda, Felucia, Coruscant, Nirauan... It seemed the little fleet had been to every arsehole in the galaxy. And that was despite the fact that initially, they'd had to operate without any cover at all—except for some miraculously forged accompanying papers supposedly for cargo transport from the 13th Sector Army. True, the fact that they were forgeries came out fairly quickly, and that racket had to be shut down, hitching a ride on the Hutt refugee and war-affected worlds aid program. And now again—a new name, a new headquarters (though, what difference did the heat on Rishi make compared to the same on Tatooine?). Was it worth tearing one's guts out for such meager profits, you might ask, knowing that from such regular flights the earnings were at best a couple of thousand credits?
Unfortunately, it was worth it. Because the management demanded it. Pick up a couple of people in one place, deliver them to the other end of the galaxy—covertly or not quite officially—then sell the goods (always—top quality), buy provisions and goods from a list issued in advance—and take the most vile, least-studied, unstable, and long-forgotten (choose as appropriate) routes—return to the transit point, which lately had been the planet Terminus, located in the Calleya sector. Situated at the intersection of the Corellian Trade Route and the Hydian Way, this little planet was the center of fairly lively trade on the back end of the southeastern part of the galaxy.
Before, while Car'das and a whole convoy hadn't run into CIS privateers, the transports had been allowed to deliver necessary materials, food, droids, and everything else (practically everything, initially) directly to the Empire's capital on Zakuul. From there, they'd also export "unremarkable sentients of average height and average appearance" to the worlds of the Republic and Confederacy. Now, they had to make a huge detour through the rear areas of three besieged Republic system armies. And the nature of the shipments had changed... It seemed the Empire had gotten its act together with the production of food and its own droids—now the transports mostly carried various kinds of refugees into the Empire—non-humans expelled from Coruscant, Twi'leks from Ryloth, Pantorans from their eponymous little planet. Back, of course, they again exported "ordinary sentients" with tenacious gazes and the characteristic habits of spies and saboteurs.
And no matter how many trips each pilot made, no matter how much the freighters' hyperdrives hummed from wear, "Kidd's Transports" (and who was this Kidd, whose name appeared as the company director?) physically could not transport everyone who wanted to go to the Empire. And although potential settlers were thoroughly vetted at the secret ISB bases on Ryloth and Tatooine, their flow was endless. But, for all the will in the world, it was impossible to fit more than a hundred sentients into one XS (especially when they had to sit practically on each other's heads). So, even if you sent all the company's available ships at the moment (of which, after a year, just over eight hundred remained—pirates, Republic forces, Separatists, navigation errors had reduced the starship fleet), it was a drop in the ocean.
However, everything was about to change.
As his ISB handler had instructed him, the Empire would soon be sending transport convoys of military equipment with bulk ships to the rear of the Ghent System Army. And on the return trip, they would evacuate refugees to the Empire. Even if those weren't particularly adapted for transporting people, they could deliver tens of millions of sentients to Zakuul in one go. A week's flight in cramped conditions was much better than waiting who knows how long until you were crammed like a field ration into a metal box and sent to Wild Space without any comfort.
The transport company breathed a sigh of relief—there was an opportunity to catch its breath, carry out technical maintenance on the ships worn out during this period of active use...
But no. Nothing is ever that simple.
The HoloNet network had collapsed. And it would seem—why grieve if payments to you are made in cash, and there is no need to maintain constant communication with headquarters or the customer...?
Ah, but no. From now on, the starships of "Kidd's Transports" were to serve as fast transports for three system armies. Tearing around the entire Outer Rim like madmen, delivering supplies, ammunition, weapons... and encrypted messages and dispatches from combat units of various army branches to command. The work, of course, was temporary—messengers on errands aren't used for long, especially since there was a rumor on Nal Hutta that the Hutts were ready to provide the besieged Republic with relays whose power would be sufficient to restore real-time communication within the surrounded troop grouping. But, again—the money was good. Especially since they weren't paid in credits, but in peggats—Hutt currency, which carried significant weight in the local realities. But transport shipments for the armies... the ISB handler had made it clear to him that this was a long-term contract. For which he had been allocated plenty of credits to purchase large transport ships—not bulkers, but with sufficient cargo capacity. AA-9 Coruscant Freighters. Giants in their class. With a length of only three hundred ninety meters, they could carry tens of thousands of tons of cargo, or up to thirty to forty thousand passengers—with the necessary provisions for transporting sentients.
A shadow fell on the tabletop.
"Hey, Booster," the words were mixed with chuckles.
Jorj counted to three in his head, then looked at the person who had appeared before his eyes.
He was tall—even while sitting. Quite sturdy and physically developed. Short haircut, or bald? A Hutt could figure it out in all this smoke and dim light. But definitely—a human.
"Hey, Hoho," the Corellian responded, pushing his mug of brew away from him. For a moment, Jorj thought he saw something looking out of the glass at him with a pleading gaze of "Don't eat me!" "Long time no see. Have a seat."
"Yeah, right," snorted the one called Hoho. "Hands on the table. Both of them."
Car'das looked at his comrade in bewilderment. What was this all about now?
But the Corellian placed both his claws on the tabletop without question.
"Do you think you were called here to be shot?" inquired the executive director of "Kidd's Transports."
"Who knows what a Hutt might joke about in the Outer Rim," Hoho smiled. "Here, it's customary to periodically shoot the person you're talking to under the table."
"And I thought we were all friends here," Terrik chuckled.
"Of course, friends," Hoho agreed, giving both businessmen an appraising look. "But I wouldn't let either of you dance with my sister."
"No one was planning to," a splash sounded from the mug. Car'das looked at the tiny creature with many tentacles desperately trying to climb out of the container. "We have a different proposal."
"And what business could respectable sentients have with someone like me?" Did this Hoho never wipe that smile off his face?
"Respectability is an extremely vague concept."
"Meaning, you want to say that almost all experienced smugglers from the Outer and Mid Rim suddenly decided that doing their thing under the signboard of a shabby transport company is much more profitable than earning money alone?" Hoho asked sarcastically. "Don't give me that vacuum."
Car'das raised an eyebrow.
"You'd be surprised—how much."
"Alright, let's be more specific," he smirked sardonically. "There isn't a single pirate or smuggler in the Outer Rim who doesn't know you've organized a transport company and are doing completely legal business. For example—transporting cargo for the Republic army. More precisely—for three system armies in the Outer Rim. And quite recently, you acquired a headquarters on Rishi. Some ancient shack that cost millions just to keep it from falling apart from old age."
Car'das wanted to say that this wasn't his decision and if it were up to him, he would have turned around at Myrkr long ago, not in this Force-forsaken place.
"Rishi is perfectly located," Booster shrugged. "In the rear, away from places where people are shooting. And the climate here is good—you can sunbathe, swim..."
"There are only a couple of beaches here adjacent to clean water sources," Hoho corrected him. "And those are under my guys' control. If you're not sunbathing near the swamps, then you're definitely not where it's good."
"Alright," Jorj waved his hand. "This is all poetry. We have business and hanging around here isn't part of it. The conversation won't be about beaches and streams..."
Hoho grinned.
"So, what's the deal? Want to give a friendly warning?"
Booster and Jorj exchanged surprised glances.
"What are you talking about?" Terrik inquired.
"Don't play dumb," Hoho advised, instantly losing the mirth in his eyes. "Here, everyone understands what's what. 'Ghent,' 'Heft,' and 'Grek'—three Republic system armies are diligently cleaning the planets of slavers, Separatists, pirates. Our kind—smugglers—are left alone, but only a gizka wouldn't understand why. It immediately brings to mind that about a year ago on the Smuggler's Run, word spread that some suddenly rich guys were hiring pilots. On an industrial scale. Even the Hutts were a bit taken aback by such audacity: their spice shipments dropped by forty percent—literally no one to transport it. And then you show up, drag along a 'Dreadnought' that makes everyone on this planet very nervous, and set up a meeting with me—Hoho Potam, leader of the 'Nova Blades.' Simple math is in demand here: adding 'two' and 'two' isn't a problem. You've risen enough—I've heard that 'Gallofree Yards' has found a regular buyer for their new product—the GR-75 medium transports. How curious that nowhere else do these ships appear—only in the Terminus system. They take cargo from XS-class freighters and literally vanish into the Unknown Regions."
"What are you getting at?" Jorj felt an unpleasant sinking sensation in his stomach. And they'd assured him all shipments were reliably covered and would never be linked.
"Just demonstrating my awareness," said Potam. "You've started some kind of game, boys. And you need fighters from the 'Nova Blades.' I don't know why, but the price has doubled."
"Won't you choke on that many credits?" Car'das inquired, but Terrik didn't let him finish.
"You're right—we have a number of orders for which we need reliable escorts. You know—the road to the 'Grek' and 'Heft' system armies isn't safe. Several dozen good guys have already disappeared there—we only find wrecked ships, without crew or cargo."
"Guard transports instead of robbing?" Hoho raised his right eyebrow in surprise. "Something new for the 'Nova Blades.'"
"Not up to it?" Jorj grinned. He had thought from the start that this whole idea of hiring outside mercenaries to guard ships was a waste. But sending ships in convoys without reliable protection was stupid. The Republic had responded rather sluggishly to the offer to provide protection for its own supply lines—not because they didn't want to, but because they didn't have enough ships and anti-boarding teams for it.
"There is no job the 'Nova Blades' can't handle," Potam said with feigned indifference. He, like the other two men sitting at the table, understood perfectly well that an agreement would be reached. The only problem was on what terms.
The "Nova Blades" had long since lost their reputation as fearsome pirates and mercenaries. They didn't have that many people: at most—a couple of thousand sentients. Ships—past-generation junk. But at least they existed. For protecting slow transports—they would do.
"In that case—shake on it?" Terrick asked innocently.
"Tell me, why shouldn't my guys just remember the good old days and take all the cargo for ourselves?" the mercenary leader drawled lazily. "Your cargo must be top-notch. It'd fetch a pretty price on the black market."
"And you're saying it's more profitable to work for the Confederacy?" Jorj smirked.
"They pay decently there," Potam shrugged. "The Sabaoth Squadron has made a pretty penny in the last couple of years."
"You mean the ones who got thrashed at Geonosis and ground to dust at Daalang?" Terik clarified, flicking his finger to send the innocent creature that had nearly crawled out of his mug back into the murky liquid. "Or didn't you hear? Or did you forget? Or didn't you know?"
"A lot of interesting things happened at Daalang," the man chuckled. "For example — a former Jedi had himself quite a romp. The vaunted Republic 'Dougan's Fist' got so bloodied they have to return to Christophsis to replenish. And it seems those guys had plans to sweep through Separatist worlds along the Gamor Run all the way to the Corellian Trade Route. What a shame."
Car'das grew alert. He wasn't privy to the command plans of the Gent System Army, but the mere fact that tactical dispositions of the Republic command were known even in this backwater — that gave him pause.
"You know an awful lot about the Republic's plans," Booster made an innocent remark, meant to draw the speaker out.
"Rumors spread fast through the CIS Shadow Broadcast," Hoho grinned. "Including how soundly they beat that overhyped Dougan. The whole Confederacy is laughing at how he tucked tail and is heading back to Christophsis to lick his wounds instead of continuing his operation. Meanwhile, Skywalker and Kenobi are restoring order in the Core Worlds and Colonies, kicking the Separatists off one planet after another. Soon they'll come to rescue your Dougan too. Probably."
"We're not particularly interested in their affairs," Car'das said as calmly as he could. Sure, they could screw the Republic however and wherever they wanted. Jorj knew for a fact that the Empire had at least one competent being — he'd personally delivered him to Zakuul, whose command skills would be enough to put the galaxy in the feeding position of a Tatooine ku-pa, which would lower its head during the process, sticking its rear up. Which the frenzied males of the same species would use during mating season. "We get paid — we work. And we're offering you and your men a chance to earn some credits. And yes, I don't think that if even one ship goes missing with or without cargo because of you — the Republic, and specifically the Grand Moff, will remain indifferent."
"Well, of course," Hoho snorted. "Alright, shut down the reactor. Escorting your convoys is a piece of cake. My guys will never turn down a chance to earn some credits. As long as we get paid."
Car'das smiled.
"Then let's move on to discussing the price," he offered.
"I hope you have plenty of credits," the leader of the Nova Blades' eyes gleamed with greed.
* * *
The comlink signal vibrating in Quinlan Vos's pocket forced him to leave the ship's bridge. He hadn't heard this signal in quite a while. Which didn't mean, of course, that he could ignore the call.
"And where do you think you're going, acolyte?" He heard General Grievous's rasp behind him. "We're about to finish off the Republic forces..."
"Indulge your ego as much as you like, General," Vos shrugged. "I don't answer to you."
The Kiffar wasn't worried about being watched. No matter how perfect this ship was, every security system, even the most advanced, has holes.
Quinlan used one such "blind spot," ducking into a service corridor.
"Wrath," the figure in a black cloak greeted him.
"Emperor," the man with a yellow stripe on his face knelt on one knee, expressing the deepest submission to his master. "How may I serve you?"
"Have you done what I commanded?"
"Yes," Vos confirmed. Touching several buttons on the comlink, he forwarded the information to his interlocutor. "All data has been sent."
"Grievous doesn't suspect anything?" Dougan inquired.
"Nothing," the Kiffar confirmed. "He's too absorbed in destroying Republic ships in the Bovo-Yagen system. Some remnants from the Second System Army have gathered here — they're being eliminated now."
"It happens," the other said indifferently. "Have you learned anything about Durge and Jek-14?"
"Yes. They captured the King of Toydaria, forcing the planet to join the Confederacy," Wrath reported. "He's being held on his home planet as a hostage. Grievous has sent several squadrons to that system to take control and land troops on the surface."
"Why are you reporting this only now?" the Emperor demanded.
"I have to obtain information through roundabout channels. Dooku and the other Separatist leaders don't trust me," he reported. "I've managed to somewhat restore Tyranus's trust and join this operation. But I haven't been able to find out any information regarding the other new Dark servants yet."
"Most unfortunate," the Emperor acknowledged. "How is the re-recruitment of agents from the Jedi spy network going?"
"It's now the Imperial Intelligence Network," Vos said calmly. "I just forwarded the reports and summaries to you."
"I'll review the information," Dougan promised. "There's no further need for the comlink. Destroy it. From now on, report all changes to me — including Grievous's fleet's course. Or do you have a problem with the mental link? Or with your loyalty to me?"
"Absolutely not, my lord," Vos bowed. "I wasn't sure about the security of this communication method — lately, on Serenno and Boz Pity, there's been a great disturbance in the Force. Not knowing the identities and abilities of the new acolytes, I preferred not to risk my cover."
"Well, at least someone thinks for themselves," the Emperor remarked. "You've done excellent work, Vos. And upon the completion of the Plan, you will be rewarded."
The Kiffar literally felt another of the Emperor's mental triggers click in his head after the code phrase was spoken. Which one it was and what it was for, Vos didn't wonder. What difference did it make if you were a living weapon, the embodiment of the Emperor's wrath? A tool and nothing more. One who had voluntarily sacrificed his autonomy to finally put an end to the Sith and the chaos reigning in the galaxy. A small sacrifice on a galactic scale.
"I live to serve you," he said in a flat tone. Waiting until the ghostly figure on the comlink's holoprojector disappeared, the Emperor's Wrath used the Force to vaporize the device, covering the last traces of his involvement in the rout of General Grievous's armada.
* * *
The clang of metal on metal, the screech of a door torn from its hinges.
Anakin sharply turned his head. The far doors had collapsed, and a squad of sabotage droids burst inside.
In an instant, the forward clone squad was on the ground with fatal injuries.
"Enemy!" Skywalker warned the clones and the padawan following him, lunging forward.
The Separatist commandos, having dealt with the scouts, turned their attention to a new target — a rapidly approaching Jedi with an activated lightsaber. They opened suppressing fire on the new threat, but failed.
Bolts flew over Anakin's head as he ducked to present a smaller target to the enemy soldiers. Using the Force, the Jedi hurled four droids several meters back down the corridor they'd come from. Before they could hit the floor, he was already on his feet, throwing his lightsaber toward them. The spinning blade struck the nearest one, cleaving its durasteel body into two uneven parts.
The three surviving droids, instead of counterattacking, got to their feet and opened frantic fire at him. Anakin rushed forward, leaping high into the air, managed to twist his back in flight and pressed it against the ceiling, reaching out his arms to grab a lighting panel. His body hung horizontally above, parallel to the floor.
The unexpected move caught the mechanical enemy soldiers off guard; the fired bolts whistled beneath him. But now they switched to another target — Aubrie, who, like an armored tank, was steadily advancing toward them, wielding her own lightsaber, parrying their volleys.
Anakin, using the Force, pushed off the ceiling and landed on his feet. The Jedi turned sideways, miraculously dodging shots from the nearest droid, which had realized there was a Force-user in their rear, and with a couple of quick swings of his lightsaber, reduced it to chunks of mangled metal.
The rigid heel of his boot slammed into the head of the nearest of the two remaining droids, sending it flying a couple of meters away — right under the apprentice's blade. At the same time, he used the Force to push the last one. But that one, apparently having magnetized its lower limbs, held its ground, only bending at the waist. Fine, that was enough.
With one swing of his blade, Anakin ended that combat unit's existence as well.
"Are you alright?" Aubrie inquired.
"As always. And you?"
"A couple of close calls," the girl admitted. "But nothing critical. Your lightsaber training is paying off."
"You bet," Anakin smiled.
Monk appeared beside them — the commander of the 2001st Legion, who had been replacing Rex and his 501st for several months now. And, he had to admit, he liked this legion much more than the previous one. No questions, no doubts — pure efficiency. Victory at any cost.
Anakin, as their commander, gave it his all, not sparing himself, to achieve the goal. His subordinates were a match for him.
Monk — an Arkanian-produced clone — unlike his previous comrades, was taller — about two meters, taciturn, and extremely dutiful. You wouldn't get any remarks or jokes from him like from Rex. And he didn't butt in with his oh-so-valuable advice. He was ordered — he did it. That's how it should be.
Aubrie was also pleasing him more and more. Every day, the apprentice spent more time in fencing practice than in the medical station, where she helped the wounded. That's what medics were for. A Jedi must fight. And she understood that — not with that mischievous childish spontaneity like Ahsoka. But as a full-fledged companion, a partner. Who understood him without words. Watched his back, offered a shoulder. Funny and amusing at the same time — Ahsoka, in over a year, hadn't become as close to him as Aubrie had in just a few months.
"General Kenobi reports that the western part of Jigat is fully under control," the clone, as was proper, maintained uniform code, not removing his helmet. Something Rex did constantly.
"Lucky him," Anakin sighed. "First he destroys the CIS fleet in orbit of Mygeeto, now he's taken part of the capital... And we're stuck here!"
"We have stronger resistance," the clone replied. "General Kenobi dropped troops on the Mygeeto capital during the battle itself — barely half made it to the surface. We acted methodically — destroyed the PD and PDS, landed outside the enemy's guns, launched a full-scale offensive. The enemy had time to dig in at fortified positions."
"Thanks, Monk," Anakin smirked. "Aubrie and I remember how it went. My 'stuck here' comment was a rhetorical statement."
"My apologies, sir," the clone replied. "I was created for war, not rhetoric."
"In that case," Anakin waved his hand toward the far end of the corridor. "Have the troops move in that direction — it should take us around their first line of defense. We'll hit them from the rear — break through the front."
"Yes, sir," the clone saluted and disappeared from sight.
Watching the two-meter-tall clones in Phase II armor march past them, Aubrie inquired:
"Is it just me, or are you radiating satisfaction?"
"That's right," Anakin agreed. "We work great together."
"As it should be between teacher and student," the girl shrugged.
Anakin allowed himself to brush a stray lock of hair from Aubrie Wyn's face.
"Just 'teacher' and 'student'?" he asked insinuatingly, a sly smile on his lips.
Glancing furtively at the clones, who marched without being distracted by anything around them, Anakin caught the approval emanating from Aubrie.
Rising on her tiptoes, the girl quickly kissed him on the lips. From the outside, it probably looked strange, but who cared about the clones' opinion?
Putting his arm around the girl's waist with his left, real hand, Skywalker lifted her slightly off the floor, then set her back down.
"And I was starting to think last night was a mistake," the girl said, slightly embarrassed.
"Absolutely not," Anakin said seriously. "But I think we shouldn't do it again in a field tent during artillery preparation."
* * *
"Teacher?" I heard a voice, pulling me out of meditation. Too bad I can't pretend to be asleep and finish absorbing Darth Marr's knowledge. I was just getting to the most interesting part...
Digging through someone else's memories is almost as interesting as scrolling through someone else's phone. If it recorded a person's entire life. And Marr's life — that's beyond good and evil. Ah, too bad Vitiate couldn't recruit him. An excellent servant. Not interested in the intrigues and behind-the-scenes games of the Dark Council, preferring to channel all his considerable talent into the sphere of protecting the Empire's interests and borders. Remind me, which of the Sith, in open confrontation with the Republic, not only managed to stop the enemy's advance on all fronts but also go on the counteroffensive, throwing the enemy out by the scruff of the neck from dozens of worlds? That's what I thought. You can count them on the fingers of one failed turner's hand.
Opening my eyes, I realized with annoyance that my body was stiff. How long had I been meditating to feel this crappy?
Turning my stiff neck toward the entrance, where Oli stood in the doorway, with the numbers of the ship's chronometer glowing above her head, I whistled.
Well, holy shit. Almost twenty hours. Strange that no one bothered me earlier.
"Give me a minute, Saber," I asked, using the Force to shake off the stiffness. "Something happened?"
"We've finished loading," the girl reported, her eyes fixed on the floor. "Admiral Declann asked me to inform you that we're ready to move out to the target. But you haven't told anyone the further course."
"Oh..." Right. I wasn't planning to do that in advance anyway. "Tell the admiral I'll be on the bridge soon."
"As you command, my lord," without meeting my eyes, the girl turned to leave.
"Oli, wait," I asked, getting to my feet. "Come here."
"Yes, my lord," watching the apprentice approach, I couldn't help but smile. Through the Force Bond, I could hear echoes of her thoughts, feelings, emotions — I just had to concentrate, and if I wanted, I could look into her mind. "What is your wish?"
Stretching my stiff shoulder muscles, I took her chin and lifted her eyes to mine.
"Are you upset?" The question was just an excuse to start a conversation. It was clear enough that there was such a storm of emotions in her that... It was sad to realize, but the fact that she was swinging from one extreme to another, from sarcasm to vulgarity like an honor student at prom — that was my fault. The girl just wanted to learn more than the Temple could offer... And it turned out... As always.
.".."
"I know you are, don't hide it," I sighed. "We both know the reason and consequences of my extremely mediocre attitude toward your training..."
"Toward its absence," the girl muttered.
"Hush," I shushed her. "Silence, woman, your day is March eighth."
"Huh?" The apprentice looked at me with a bewildered expression.
"Forget it, it slipped out automatically," I waved my hand. "I can't stay angry for long when I'm the one to blame for what happened. But it did you good, didn't it?"
"We will never be friends," Oli declared.
"It's enough that you won't rip her montrals out of her head at night," I agreed. "I don't like all this... Catty drama in a tight-knit female group where everyone trashes each other behind their backs and talks about how slutty everyone else is."
"You're the one to blame," Oli said. "You could have gotten yourself a single woman and not built some exotic harem here. Twi'leks, Zabraki, Togruta... Don't women of your own species interest you at all?"
"Ha. I never doubted the suggestion wouldn't work on you for long."
"It's not me," fear flickered in the girl's eyes for a moment. "Aayla is upset that you don't park your X-wing in her hangar. She'll be offended if it gets all mossy in there..."
"Oli," I stopped her. "Stop. It's jokes like that that made everything go too far. Let's not stir up the past."
"As you command, my lord," the girl looked away. "What are your orders?"
"Get undressed," I said in a calm tone.
If you converted the speed at which Oli's head snapped back into place into space terms, even the Supremacy-class interceptors — the fastest in the Imperial fleet — would be nervously smoking in their hangars.
For a few seconds, confusion mixed with bewilderment could be seen on Starstone's face. But then determination replaced them. The girl's hand reached for the fastener of her chest plate.
"Even like this?" I sighed. "Nothing bothers you?"
"What do you mean?" Oli looked at me with a confused expression, unfastening the armor piece with enviable speed, which thudded downward.
Bitch! Damn it, that hurts!
Barely restraining myself from saying it out loud, I looked at my bare feet, onto which a five-kilogram chest plate had neatly landed. Right on my toes, edge-first.
I sighed (easy-easy-easy, don't kill her, she's just a horny minor), looked at the girl, who by now had already shed the upper part of her undersuit and was casually kicking off the lower part, which clattered around the cabin with unshed armor elements... Had she been trained in the Russian army with a lit match?
"Cute," I complimented the color and style of her underwear. "And a figure to die for..."
"Thanks," Oli said a little shyly. Looking around my quarters, she innocently inquired. "So... where are we going to do it?"
"Tonight — in your dreams," I said, removing a piece from my fingers. Hmm, it aches, but at least the phalanges aren't broken.
"I... don't understand..." Oli said, bewildered.
"Welcome to the club," I sighed, nodding toward the small couch. The girl climbed onto it with her legs, immediately covering herself with a nearby blanket. "Oh, come on, it's not like I haven't seen it before."
The girl pursed her lips.
"Oli," I looked at the girl. "What's the point of your obsession with sleeping with me?"
"It's not an obsession," the girl whispered quietly. Whoa, it worked. Without clothes, it's like without armor. And that feisty fury is gone. If I'd known, I'd have stripped her down to her underwear right away. "It's just... Am I worse than everyone else? Some kind of ugly? You've already marked off almost every horned and tailed species with internal reproductive organs in your list, and what about me? Why shouldn't I, your comrade, the one who knows so many secrets — get what I want?"
"Don't repeat my own words back to me," I asked. "But it's good that you at least remembered that. Maybe I should have choked you earlier to make you start listening to me?"
"Or maybe you should just stop playing hard to get?" Oli said resentfully. "What difference does my age make to you? Is someone going to come and accuse you of messing with a minor? I'm certainly not going to write a complaint to the Senate Investigative Committee or cry to Master Yoda. You're the Emperor! Do what you want!"
"That's the problem, kid," soon a heavy sigh would become my signature move. "I don't want to have sex with you just because it's necessary."
"You don't like me?" The girl pouted.
"I do like you," it was stupid to deny the obvious. "You could even say you're my little ideal of a woman."
"So what's the problem?" The girl gnashed her teeth. "Do I need to dress up as a Zabrak or a Twi'lek for you to want me? Or ask Ahsoka to borrow her makeup and paint my face the same way?"
"It's not about appearance, Oli," I shook my head. "If you didn't know, sex isn't just inserting a part of a man into a woman. And an orgasm isn't just a muscle spasm."
"Uh... I doubt you said that to Atroxa, Ahsoka, your Twi'lek mechanics, Hexid, Simi, Kaili, Vette... Hutt, I'm starting to lose track of who you've slept with."
"It's scary that you even know that," I remarked.
"And you think anyone's hiding it?" Oli was surprised. "Well, maybe Ahsoka. The others don't make it something... sacred. Atroxa, for example, actually wanted to cuddle me. She said during training that for female Sith, it's perfectly normal to sleep with someone of a higher rank. Master Fay said it's completely normal for them — men feel somewhat obligated to their bedmates and try to repay them somehow."
"Well, that phenomenon isn't exclusive to female Sith," I snorted. "Classic scheme. It's no coincidence that prostitution is the oldest profession. People hadn't even discovered fire yet, but they already knew how to exchange material goods for rubbing genitals. But we're not talking about them now. We're talking about you and me. What's your goal, the reason you want to get into my bed?"
"I..." Oli hesitated. For a few seconds, she gathered her thoughts, then declared. "You're a man, I'm a woman — isn't that enough?"
"No. That's the motivation of gutter sluts with uterine fury. But you don't spread your legs for every member of the opposite sex. You're specifically hunting for what's in my pants. And the more zeal you show for it, the more my intuition tells me there's something fishy going on."
"The others are also hot for it," Oli snorted. "But you don't have these heart-to-heart talks with them."
"I don't," what was the point of denying facts? "But you're also completely wrong to put yourself on the same level as them."
"What do you mean?" The girl blinked.
"I mean exactly that," I shrugged. "Ann and Tann Gella — former slaves. And Twi'leks. For them, sleeping with the master — and despite the 'freedom,' they still consider me that — is like saying hello. Vette... roughly the same category. Atroxa, Hexid, Simi — just schemers who, as you've already figured out, don't care about anything except personal gain. Even their current assignments they perceive as a reward for bending over in time. Though the reason is the banal lack of personnel — so I have to appoint them until someone worthy shows up. And besides, they're aliens. And men always want something exotic."
"And Kaili?"
"A confluence of circumstances," I admitted. "In my world, one galaxy's savior had a tradition — before a deadly battle, to light up in the cabin with lovely ladies. For a while, I thought, why shouldn I do the same — as you rightly noted, I'm the Emperor, not some eternal commander. Though, I suspect Kaili also fell under the influence of a Lady Sith's holocron."
"So... they mean nothing to you?!" Oli was taken aback.
"They mean something," I admitted. "They're my subordinates. Some in administrative positions. Some are scouts, assassins, diplomats. Some combine several roles — like a general of my army and the mistress of another military man."
"And what's the latter for?"
"Because the Empire is being formed in a hurry," I explained. "A huge number of beings are being recruited, whose loyalty has yet to be proven. They're promising — the expansion of the Empire's territory confirms that. I'm not going to rule a state of zombified slaves — so to keep an eye on those I'm not entirely sure about, I leave my spies — both Force-sensitive and not."
"And why are you telling me this?" Oli was surprised. "This is... probably classified?"
"Absolutely. But you didn't betray me to the Jedi and Windu. So why shouldn't I trust you?"
"You trust your Hands more than me," the girl remarked, wrapping herself tighter in the blanket.
"Not all of them," I remarked. "Only those... who are loyal to me and whose minds are linked to mine. They're like an open book. Those who joined but for one reason or another haven't undergone the binding procedure yet — they're just servants. Whatever they think of themselves."
"You mean Ventress and Tann?"
"Them too. In fact, out of all that ragtag bunch you saw in the Throne Room, I can unconditionally trust only Maul — even if he doesn't suspect it, his mind is in my hands. Vos is my Wrath, and I trust him too..."
"Since you're being so candid, why him specifically?" the girl inquired. "He's just an unremarkable Jedi... One of many..."
"But the only one I know of who possesses a special technique that allows him to learn the past of objects — psychometry," I explained. "Don't you think that such an ability is a rather convenient asset for the Emperor's personal assassin? Though, if everything goes according to plan, he'll get a partner."
"Another Kiffar?" Oli was surprised.
"No," I smiled. "But also a being with very interesting abilities. However, let's get back to our conversation. They are useful, sometimes even irreplaceable, but at the same time — compared to you, my apprentice... I wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice any of the Hands to save your life."
"Even Ahsoka?" Starstone said, squinting.
"A difficult question. She's also my apprentice, like you. Not a Hand."
"And you also slept with her," the girl continued.
"That doesn't matter," I rejected the assumption. "You said it yourself — I'm the Emperor. I can do whatever I want. And I do — whatever I want."
"So, you don't want me?"
And again my signature heavy sigh.
"You're not just a subordinate to me, Oli. You're my apprentice. Ideally, I'd like to pass on most of the knowledge I've mastered myself. So you can become my eyes, ears, and hands where needed. My loyal second-in-command. And how, tell me, are we supposed to build a relationship after we sleep together? I somehow doubt you'll be even slightly more obedient after that happens."
"Or maybe I'll become Empress," the girl's eyes flashed.
"Only over my dead body," I replied automatically. Seeing the disappointment on the girl's face, I explained. "Ruling a state is hard work. Work I give myself to completely, to the best of my ability and knowledge. Where I can and should resolve an issue personally — like getting command of a System Army or winning clones over to my side — I handle it myself. For everything else — like conducting war in space or on the ground — I prefer to leave it to professionals. You can't do everything yourself — otherwise there's no point in having subordinates at all. And I don't see myself as a father or husband — not in the near future, at least. Besides, you, like any woman, would get bored staying at home while I decide which system to bring into the Empire and which to burn down to the bedrock. And there's an extremely slippery question — marrying your own apprentice."
"Afraid I'll outlive you?" A smile appeared on the girl's face. "I am younger, after all..."
"Don't worry about that," I shook my head. "There are thousands of ways to extend your life. And when everything's ready — I'll definitely use the safest one. States often lost their positions and development strategies when weaker rulers came to power than the previous ones. And I don't want to send all my work down the drain just because my successor turns out worse than me."
Oli looked at me with a careful gaze, then, staring at the floor, said:
"You talked my ear off masterfully. Told me about this and that — things I can't even verify and don't know if you're lying to me or not. But you dodged the main question."
"Why we still haven't slept together?" I clarified. Who knows what her "main question" is. She's a woman, after all.
Starstone nodded affirmatively.
"Let's just say," oh, how many more excuses will I have to come up with until I finally understand why I'm actually rejecting her? "Setting aside questions of morality, ethics, and personal principles — sex between us would be like a florist sticking his little boy into a freshly assembled luxurious bouquet."
"I don't get the analogy..."
Ah, welcome to the club. Why can tons of people in this galaxy spout crap like that with a straight face, but I can't?
"Oli, we're teacher and student. You're precious to me. In my own way. You saved my life — by disobeying an order at our very first meeting. I don't know what would have happened if you'd stayed in the detention block while I was indulging my sense of self-importance in a duel with Tann. Yes, so smart I chewed up an entire ancient Sith Lord. Thought that alone would make me great and invincible. But it didn't work out. And then you literally pulled me back from the brink of death. Despite the fact that you're beautiful, young — I suspect that if we had intercourse, I'd blow out several spinal discs before you were fully satisfied. And despite the fact that you're incredibly good-looking, with an excellent figure — perfect by every standard, to the point where I'm ashamed to realize I've been with anyone inferior to you in beauty and physique, I... I just can't get over myself and take you the way I did with others."
"Well, if it helps, I'm not against it anyway," the girl blinked her eyes. "I read recently that some men like to grab by the hair to show dominance... With Zabrak females and Twi'leks you probably couldn't do that... But mine are long — below the shoulder blades, and strong too, I won't go bald..."
"Oli, stop it," damn little pest. I'm telling her she's like a sister to me, and she's cunningly arousing me. Well, gravity, you merciless bitch, you fail me at the most unpredictable moment. "It's not about how. It's about understanding what's happening. You're so young, and you matter to me, that I don't want a relationship between us to destroy the fragile balance we have now."
"Sex won't ruin friendship," the girl declared proudly.
Hmm... That phrase seems to be part of the golden treasury of quotes not just on dear old Mother Earth.
"If you were a meaningless servant — there'd be no question," I said wearily. "But... our relationship... Damn, I've tangled it up so much I don't know what's what... Believe me, this situation makes me want to bang my head against the wall too, but..."
"Teacher," Oli threw off the blanket and jumped to her feet. A black-haired beast with eyes burning like molten Aurodium, a body luxurious for her age, and wonderful curves front and back. And that lingerie... Wait a minute! I've seen something like that on Ahsoka... "To hell with all this wordplay! I'm good-looking! You're not ugly either — now. I'm almost sixteen, I'm the Emperor's apprentice, and you've done more for this galaxy in the last year than any member of the Jedi Order ever has. Stop overthinking and getting all weepy about 'oh what will happen if I sleep with my apprentice.' Master Fay and Master Nu said there are no wrong decisions — only life experience! After all, back on Daalang, on the station roof, you promised me!"
And... well, the girl is right. I'm acting like a schoolgirl before her first blowjob behind the garages. I'm the Emperor, but old habits die hard. Probably... And there's no reason for me to reject this little woman — except the cockroaches in my head. With the Hands it's so easy — you know perfectly well they're ready for anything just to gain more authority in front of others, and they'll come themselves — I understood that from the first night with Atroxa. But Oli... I always pictured her differently in my head. Like that ancient classification of women — dumb cunt, awesome chick... I forgot the rest.
But the truth is — little Egorushka was just scared to take someone who, after all, owes you nothing. And won't fake it. And won't come running at the first snap. So what is this? The remnants of Egor's personality? Yes, I admit, I thought I'd conquered all that... But no, it turns out it's peeking through. And... maybe not just here.
"Oli," I rose from my seat. "To be completely honest — actually, I promised you and Ahsoka..."
As I said this, the girl's expression changed from demanding and determined to condescending and bored.
"Emperor," she addressed me with exaggerated politeness, "if for us to finally sleep together I need to call that little montral-headed tramp, I'll organize your entire harem for you! Just, for the Force's sake, enough with these excuses! Let what must happen — happen."
"If anything," grabbing the girl by the hand and pulling her close, I looked her straight in the eyes. "If after tonight our relationship completely falls apart — remember, I warned you."
"May Darth Bane spin in his grave," Oli cursed. "Enough with these formalities already. Just let a young beauty get her piece of happiness! In less than a day we'll be on Saleucami! Maybe I'll die there!? At least let me die not a virgin!"
"The strangest wish I've ever heard from a girl," I had to admit. Then, it dawned on my brain, from which a fair amount of blood had already drained. "I thought you had experience..."
"I do, just not where nature intended," the girl, with playful devils dancing in her eyes, stuck out her tongue at me. "Of course, not like Atroxa, Hexid, or Simi — after all, I haven't been romping around in a circle with anyone, just teenage curiosity..."
"Wait," and here's the second smart thought in recent memory. The battle. Seeing the girl, standing on tiptoes, reaching her lips toward me with her eyes closed in anticipation of pleasure, I put my open palm on her face and sat her back on the couch. "Give me half an hour — first I need to give Declann instructions about the battle. And I need to talk to one... person. Alone."
"If you send me away now," Oli's eyes, which had dimmed, took on an amber-golden hue, "I can't be held responsible. I'll take an X-wing, fly to Saleucami, blow everything up with a Force Storm to hell, then come back and we'll settle in a duel who's stronger."
"You know perfectly well you'd suck in that fight," I sighed. What an unreasonable child.
"I'd suck," the fury nodded. "With a blowjob. So hard your toes would curl. But first there'll be a fight."
"Uh... when I said 'suck' I meant you'd lose," I explained. "And you made it dirty again..."
"Teacher," the girl drove the Dark Side away from herself with an incredible effort of will. "I beg you by the Great Holocron — stop mocking me. I'm a person too, and I can't constantly follow you around like a hungry pet waiting to be played with! Just throw me a bone already!"
I don't know if my roar was heard in the corridor, but since my arrival in this galaxy, I hadn't laughed THAT hard.
And you know... it felt better... In every sense. Like blinders had been lifted from my eyes. In the matter of the relationship between me and Oli — definitely.
Goodbye, little Egor.
"That's it," wiping tears from my face after laughing, I said. "No more excuses. I'll finish my business with the offensive — and then I'll come back to the cabin. To you."
"You promise?" she asked distrustfully.
"Pioneer's honor," I echoed, throwing my traditional black-and-silver cloak over my bare torso and training pants. "I can't keep a beautiful girl in excellent lingerie waiting longer than usual."
"You could have figured this out a year ago," Oli sighed, sitting down on the couch and wrapping herself in a blanket. "If you're gone too long, I'll tell everyone who comes in here in detail what you supposedly did to me."
"Don't give a damn," I shrugged. What does an Emperor care what rumors are spread about him?
* * *
Zachary shook the debris off himself and picked up the blaster he'd dropped during the explosion. Examining the weapon, he sighed and concluded it wouldn't fire another shot.
Nearby, the groans of the wounded sounded.
"Hutt-spawn Separatists," he heard a familiar grumble.
"Nomad," he helped his comrade up. "Alive?"
"I'm talking to you, aren't I, you sack of bantha poodoo," the reason for the marshal's excellent profanity became clear when the commander of the 332nd Landing Corps noticed a huge piece of shrapnel in his former commander's leg. "Don't look at me like a bantha at a slaughterhouse, nothing's gonna happen to me. Help the others."
"Would be nice to have someone to help," Zachary wanted to say, but...
It seems the Force does protect the Jedi after all.
Through the smoke of burnt electronics and the mangled hull of the LAAT, he could still make out movement in the opposite part of the troop compartment.
Climbing through the metal wreckage, he nearly tripped over the body of another clone.
"Brother, you okay, alive?" He pulled the helmet off the clone. Ogre. Concussed, but intact.
Patting his comrade on the shoulder, he moved on.
Blade and Zorgi, armed with some piece of metal — apparently a handrail torn off during the crash — were trying to open a jammed door to the outside. Funny that none of the Jedi — there they were, all in one piece — tried to help the marshals.
Although, wait a minute...
"General," seeing Olana Chion's face, Zachary shook her shoulder. The girl, looking at him with a forced smile, barely turned. Both her hands were pressing on her Jedi tunic at the abdomen. Where a bloodstain was spreading across the white fabric, visible even in the compartment's semi-darkness. "You need urgent help!"
"Do you see a single medic here?" Ogre shouted. But the marshal didn't even pay attention to him.
"Attention," Zachary activated his comlink. "This is Marshal Zachary. Command LAAT/i is down. Repeat — we are down. Generals are wounded," his gaze slid over the glassy eyes of General Mander Zum, whose chest had been pierced by a mangled bulkhead separating the pilot's cabin from the troop compartment. Next to him, applying a bandage to the head of a Sephi, sat General En. All the while, hissing in pain — a huge patch of skin on his head had been torn off, and a piece of transparisteel was sticking out of his shoulder — he was doing his best to help the unconscious woman. "General Zum is dead, Generals Chion, Fay, En are wounded... Wait, where's General Galera?"
Turning around in search of the Jedi, the clone belatedly realized he was standing on something soft.
"Don't panic, Marshal," General Ri'ike Enn hissed through his teeth. "He's unconscious anyway."
"Requesting urgent evacuation," Zachary continued broadcasting. "Repeat..."
"Command shuttle," Admiral Makati's voice responded in his earpiece. "We understood you the first time. Is General En alive?"
"Yes, sir."
"Give him my warm regards," the fleet commander's voice held annoyance. "Ri'ike, if you can hear me — does the idea of sending the entire command on one transport still seem reasonable to you? In the middle of a battle?"
"He can't hear you, sir," Zachary said, lowering his voice. "I'm speaking through the armor's comlink..."
"What does the admiral say, Marshal?" the Jedi inquired.
"Said you have an excellent strategic talent, sir," since the command armor's comlinks were synced to one channel, Zachary could hear his comrades' snorting giggles. Adrenaline and the close brush with death blurred the boundaries of propriety. "And the plan — to land all corps commanders and Jedi on one shuttle — was beyond all praise."
A stifled laugh, turning into a cough, cut through the earpiece. That sounded like Blade. And his lungs weren't in great shape.
"Admiral Makati, we urgently need evacuation," Zachary said into the comlink. The fleet commander, despite his fleet having suffered heavily at Rindellia, had received reinforcements and was handling the operation to capture Kerkoidia. And he wasn't very happy that Jedi En, leading the ground part of the mission, was acting too straightforwardly. The validity of the admiral's remarks was confirmed by the fact that practically all the landing craft of the first wave had ended up on the ground involuntarily.
"Got you, Marshal," a fairly strong impact sounded in the background on the other end, interrupted by the admiral's irritated voice. "Tell those idiots from the Jedi squadron that they're not extras here — they're covering the flagship! Zachary," he addressed the clone. "Do you have at least one intact Jedi there?"
"Yes, sir," he confirmed. "I'm standing on him right now. It's General Galera, he's unconscious."
"Hutt knows what!" Makati swore. "Alright, the leading echelons have advanced a kilometer from your position... Here's what, son. I'm sending a Lambda with an escort. Load the Jedi on board. Don't let them die, it won't be fun."
"And what about the offensive, sir?" Zorgi asked, glancing at his fellow marshals who had somehow gotten to their feet.
"I'm afraid, son, now one of you will have to command," the admiral said. "My authority doesn't extend to the ground — unless I need to wipe some town to dust."
"Understood, sir," the marshal said dryly. "We're waiting for the transport and will prepare the generals for evacuation."
"Good, Zorgi," the admiral's voice held weariness. "Good luck out there. It's no party here either, but we're holding on... Although, maybe I should request help from Rindellia? There's a hell of a lot of Jedi there — there must be at least one free one."
"We'd welcome any help, Admiral," Zorgi brightened. A Jedi, especially one who'd been through Rindellia... That's good. Half the planet there is a Separatist base, but according to rumors, casualties among the fighters are minimal — the local commanders don't show off with fancy maneuvers.
"Then hold out until the courier returns," Makati asked. "But in any case — for seventeen hours, you're on your own."
"That works for us," Zachary rasped, joining the conversation. "Alright, boys, before the droids show up — time to get out of this flying coffin."
* * *
Sorting out the issue of our fleet's and landing force's further advance is not a quick matter, actually. I was foolish to count on half an hour.
Data fragmentation is a truly necessary thing: simultaneously feeding false data to your enemies and incomplete data to your subordinates. Because the assault on Saleucami isn't as simple as it seems at first glance.
It's the precise calculation of the timing of my forces' approach.
And perfect coordination with Grievous's fleet movement, accounting for collisions with minefields...
And hundreds of other variables I had to keep track of in my head. Because entrusting the whole picture to someone... Frankly, I was afraid. Not because I suspected anyone of playing both sides.
Simply, for a properly staged performance, everyone needs to know their own role. And the actors' lack of the overall script is an extra guarantee of success.
So, first Saleucami, then Boz Pity. Two bases in this sector — knocking them out will open the way to the "Heft" System Army via at least three to five hyperspace routes. Which will significantly expand operational freedom there.
The strategy, in general, is as old as the world. Clear the rear of Separatists, establish logistics, secure the lines, and wait, building up strength. Simultaneously, work on re-recruiting Fett's clones will finish, production of standardized weapon models on Hypori and Geonosis will be established, Rothana's shipyards will be refitted to produce "Slashers.".. The "Hammerheads" played their role as a red rag for the Sith and Jedi. Ancient little ships, whose armament was like a square peg in a round hole. They were even inferior to "Venators" in combat power — so their mass production didn't raise any particular questions. Until the very end. When the first part of the plan for the Empire's emergence onto the stage was completed.
The whole plan has three stages.
The first is resource gathering — recruiting allies, capturing bridgeheads in areas of interest.
The second is building up the resource mass. Increasing the number of fleet ships, clones, filling warehouses with mobilization resources, developing new territory, eliminating potential threats. This stage is now in full swing. Of course, the first wasn't executed ideally — practically all of Fett's clones who are fleet specialists remained under Republic control. I got mostly the ground part of the GAR. Which... is also good. Very good, actually, because thanks to the loyalty of the Christophsians, we managed to plug the holes in personnel on the decks of Empire ships and the GAR starships under my command in record time.
Yeah... The System Army turned out even better than expected. Playing a spectacle with me — an ambitious Jedi striving to rise — Palpatine, when the data leaked through TX-65 finally reached him, according to my plans, shouldn't have expanded my influence to three whole System Armies. I would have been satisfied with just "Gent" by that point the army was ready to fully withstand any attack while surrounded. But no... Palpatine, a good strategist for a reason, preferred to stretch my forces across three armies to prevent any possibility of building up reserves. Did he figure out Adi's and Luminara's loyalty to me? Most likely yes — he's anything but an idiot.
It's a shame I didn't account for the idea of destroying communication lines. We could have prepared for it in advance. And now, in an information vacuum, on both sides of our encirclement, you can do anything. No one will know anyway — the barrier set up by the Separatists is quite wide, and you can't break through it on the fly. But they can't break deep into our territories either — despite their numerical superiority in ships and army, I have an ace up my sleeve — an endless supply channel from the Empire's metropolis deep in my rear. And that will be enough for the gradual rearmament of the army and fleet until it's time to move to the finale. Because the second phase will be completed, the worlds currently controlled by the forces of the "Heft," "Greck," and "Gent" System Armies will come under Empire control. And then the Imperial Army will finish off the Separatist units, taking the territory we need.
Lost in thought, I didn't notice I'd returned to my cabin. Sweeping the metal door panel aside with the Force, I stepped inside.
Instead of full lighting, I was greeted by a mysterious semi-darkness, barely dispelled by thin rays of lamps. The air smelled of aromatic incense... Quiet, unobtrusive music was playing...
"Oli," I called. "Can't leave you for even half an hour, you've set up a whole..."
"As it should be on a birthday," the beast cooed, appearing from somewhere to my right. Of course, I sensed her in the Force, but... Either I wanted to relax, pushing aside my unity with the Force, or what was happening was slightly...
Exactly. Diving into the Force, I accurately determined that the incense contained something that scattered attention.
"What birthday?" The streams of the Force washed all that crap out of me, clearing my consciousness.
"Yours, Teacher," the girl said, appearing before me... No, not in the lingerie she'd been in when I left. Now it was something... Very cute and extremely simple — tight leggings, a plain blouse... Damn it, she'd managed to change. "I remember that day well — you were fighting on Kamino then."
"Mmm... Well, I see," I snorted. Right, this body does have a day when it crawled out of its uterine ghetto. Strange that after arriving in this universe, I somehow missed that point for myself. "Don't tell me you planned your coming to me and..."
"Not me," Oli noted playfully. "Them."
The girl pointed somewhere behind me. Turning, I met eyes with Xiaan Amersu, wrapped in a brown temple robe. And Ahsoka, standing modestly behind her in similar clothes. Moreover, while the Twi'lek looked completely sober, the same couldn't be said for Tano. She, like my apprentice, was smiling a little too benevolently.
"Aren't you ashamed to get the youth high?" I asked Aayla, after she came close to me, throwing off her Jedi cloak.
"These are just relaxing aromatics," she said, stretching like a cat in the sun, showing off her graceful figure. Good heavens. They all have the same outfit style. Just different colors. Looks like some kind of flash mob started. "Nothing narcotic."
"Well, I was hoping to get off easy," I sighed, throwing off my cloak and pulling to me the rather surprised Amersu, who was trying to say something, but the Emperor doesn't care. If he wants to kiss a beautiful Jedi woman, literally automatically running his hands over the erogenous zones of this race — he'll do it.