Tatooine. Citadel Aero.
Training Hall
"Never be afraid to retreat, for it is not an indicator of weakness, and even less so a disgrace. Moreover, if the enemy is pressing you—withdraw, try to catch him," standing before the children, I was telling them one of the fundamental aspects of the O'nak'ta technique. "Watch."
Turning to my mother, I took a stance. Moving to the attack, Aala, at a pace calm for a Jedi but incredibly fast for an ordinary person, delivered a series of strikes. First—a spinning kick to the head. Missing, she continued the rotation and tried to strike again, this time with the other leg. Landing—a punch, another punch, a tripwire, a new dash forward with a combined series of strikes to the body, another jump-spin kick to the head, but it missed.
During each swing, I either retreated, dodged, or led the strike away, not even trying to block it.
"While you withdraw—watch your opponent's movements," another jump, and a downward kick. "Look for weak zones, note at what moments he opens up," I let her fist pass before my face. "As soon as you realize you are ready—immediately transition to a counterattack."
Catching Aala by the leg during another jump, using her body's inertia, I redirected the force and threw her into the wall with a spin, letting out a weak, purely decorative Force lightning in pursuit. Doing a flip in the air, she bounced off the wall and landed calmly on the floor.
"For an opponent to fall—one strike is enough. You only need to know where, how, and when to strike."
"We understand, Dad," Phobos nodded seriously.
"Otherwise, if you know what you are capable of and are confident in your strength, while understanding your opponent's potential—you can go on the offensive, as Grandma Aala did. But remember—you can be caught just the same, so movements must be as fast and precise as possible. If you couldn't overcome your opponent in three seconds after the start of the fight—it means you made a mistake and miscalculated your strength, and that means—you need to retreat temporarily," a hand went up. "Yes, Deimos?"
"Dad, what about the Force?"
"Trust in the Force, but don't be a fool yourself, son. Yes, it influences you, you are obliged to know how to use it, and the higher the level—the better, but you cannot rely on it entirely. You can and should use foresight and various techniques, combining them and weaving them into the course of the battle. But remember—it may happen that the Force fails you, and then you must rely on your own strength. That is exactly why Uncle Kaut periodically runs you on the stadium with a ban on using the Force."
"Heh," came from behind me. A line of Mandalorians were situated against the wall, resting after their training and watching my little ones' lessons with me.
"Now, however, when you know how to fight, I want you to learn to understand—when it's worth continuing the attack, and when you can retreat. And this time your opponent will not be the Mandalorians, me, or Grandma, but Uncle Radiy. Radiy, are you ready?" I asked the immortal.
"Yes," the Terran replied with his usual impersonal tone and pulled a wooden staff toward himself with the Force, the kind Aala usually uses to beat the little ones during training.
"Hold it!" I pulled back the boys who were gathering for the fight. "Where are you going, three against one? One at a time. Choose who will be first, the rest watch, analyze the mistakes—and only then go out. Attack when ready."
The dejected boys stood in a circle and quickly decided which of them would be getting hit on the head first. Having determined the order, they bumped fists and, while Phobos and Rossash stepped aside, Deimos stood opposite Radiy.
Less than a second passed before Radiy went on the attack. Using the staff to perform a leg sweep and thereby forcing Deimos to jump, he immediately delivered a kick, throwing my son back, straight into the wall.
"Hey! The round hadn't started!" Phobos exclaimed.
"I said—attack when ready," the boy pouted his lip in dissatisfaction. "Here is another lesson for you: if you can—force the enemy to fight by your rules. A vivid example of how this can be pulled off—is currently sliding down the wall."
"Oh..."
"Phobos, you okay?"
"I think I slightly overestimated my strength." adjusting his shoulder, the boy replied, returning to his place. "Don't worry, Rossash, this is only the first round!"
No sooner had my son taken his position than Radiy went on the attack again. A series of strikes, which Deimos barely dodged, ended with the boy flying into the wall again, but this time with a Force push.
"Waaaaagh!" the body zoomed past me.
"Don't forget to defend. Always keep your concentration under control and be ready to repel a Force attack," Aala commented phlegmatically. Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned against the wall near the Mandalorians.
"I... didn't even feel the attack," Deimos rasped, standing up.
"Another lesson—keep a cool mind if you don't want to give the enemy an advantage. If you desire to harm him, he may feel it and intuitively predict your strike, without even resorting much to foresight. Radiy is always calm, so you won't feel a threat from his side even if you want to. So, in this case, it's either foresight or reflexes."
"Fine. I get it. Round three!" Deimos exclaimed threateningly, and this time he threw himself at the opponent.
Throwing a shockwave into Radiy's face, he tried to kick the immortal in the chest with a jump. Colliding with a rigid block, Deimos was able to push Radiy back. Throwing his hand forward, the boy let out a glob of plasma with pyrokinesis, but it was absorbed by Tutaminis. In response, Radiy accelerated Deimos slightly toward himself, because of which he couldn't group correctly, for which he received a staff to the ass and went on a flight to the other wall.
"Thwack!"
Thoughtfully huffing, I assessed my son's actions. He's losing too easily, though I know he's capable of more. Strange.
"Oof."
"Deimos?"
"I'm fine, Phobos. Just warming up, now I'll loosen up and give him a thrashing!"
"..." Radiy replied with silence as usual.
"What are you grinning at?" I noticed the smiling Kaut.
"Sorry Shade, but it's just so pleasant—watching them being taught!"
"Yeah. And getting hit on the ass while they're at it," the Mandalorian shrugged. "Kaut, you signed up for the training with them yourself."
"I didn't know what I was getting into! Но now I understand why Zerronis suddenly found business on Malastare." my friend sighed. "By the way, how is Talia?"
"Fine. She's on the station, defending the legal freedom of our border worlds."
"Eh, Shade... How could you throw her to be torn apart by those bureaucratic beasts?"
"Elementary, Kaut. If I had stayed, I would have killed them all there myself."
"Is it that bad?"
"It's much worse! No, just imagine the level of mess there that even our people are overwhelmed. An entire department for fighting the embezzlement of state funds, corruption, and abuse of office can't cope. I have the impression that my guys have split the station into two camps. There is the department for fighting all the crap, and then there's everyone else. Every time I fly to the station, I discover something new for myself that makes me boil even more."
"Ha. You're red enough as it is, where can you go?"
"Just one single case out of many: our guys are pinching a character. He's the first assistant to the senator from Ord Mantell. This character was trying to insolently smuggle slave Twi'lek prostitutes onto the station, who in recent years have skyrocketed in price thanks to our efforts."
"And?"
"And nothing! This idiot first tried to throw his weight around, then to bribe them. And then he sincerely didn't understand why he couldn't solve the issue with money. I'm telling you seriously, this prick really didn't understand why these 'wrong' guards weren't taking the bribe. I inspected him personally, then talked to him. The man is so detached from life that he doesn't even understand what he did wrong. The assistant to the senator from a fairly large planet—doesn't know that Slavery is forbidden in the Republic! Because how can that be, he's spent his whole life supplying 'elite girls to Coruscant.' Why are you choking, bucket-head? Stop laughing. When our guys heard this, when they realized this character was talking to them in all seriousness, I became ashamed to look them in the eye, because half the station is like that!"
"Ha-ha-ha-ha, and what... ha-ha, what about the other half?"
"Those ones at least pretend to be decent. Stop laughing, I'm telling you, this is cause for tears!"
"Ha-ha-ha-ha..." covering his face with his hands, the Mandalorian, red as a boiled crawfish, couldn't for the life of him stop the laughter bursting out.
"No, there are nuggets in that mass too. I know them personally, in the face, every one of them. Those ones—are truly Personalities, with a capital P. I offered each of them to eventually transfer to the Hadian Empire, so maybe there will be a replenishment in our ranks."
"What about the senators from our planets?"
"Waaaaagh!" a body zoomed past right before my nose. Casting a quick glance after it and making sure the little one was fine, I returned to Kaut.
"Nothing. Yes, they are on the station. But they don't take part in big politics, acting rather as advisors for Fay and Talia."
"Just taking up space?"
"I wouldn't say so," I shook my head. "People have repeatedly tried to catch us on the fact that we seized worlds by force, and it would have even worked if not for one thing—the representatives of those very worlds all speak with one voice otherwise, literally standing as a wall in defense of our honor."
"I see."
"In short, Kaut. There's such a soup brewing there that I'd rather hang myself than participate in it. Palpatine, by the way, has shown himself well against this background."
"In what sense?"
"Sheev feels in that swamp like a fish in water. Yes, as the ruler of a planet, he shouldn't spend so much time away from home, but! How perfectly he puts the politicians in their place—it's simply a joy to watch."
Thus, while we were talking, the sparring continued in the background. After the ninth defeat, Deimos yielded his place to Phobos. It seemed the boys had an unspoken contest on the topic—who could hold out longer. At the same time, what was strange—Deimos still hadn't revealed himself fully.
Despite this, Deimos tried to force the opponent to show himself so that it would be easier for Phobos. In the end, each of Phobos's skirmishes lasted longer; the twin brother already knew roughly what to expect. But despite this, the boy surrendered after the fourth defeat. Rossash was the last to enter the sparring.
And now my clone was already making Radiy sweat, and I finally understood why the twins had shown themselves so weakly. Phobos and Deimos had exhausted the immortal as much as they could, found out his potential, and placed the bet on their named brother. Naturally, all three knew—if an opponent showed you his cards—he would one hundred percent have as many more in his sleeve for an unforeseen case.
Unfortunately for Radiy, Rossash was able to determine the styles with which the immortal was fighting, and therefore the strong as well as the weak sides were exposed before the moves were shown.
Yes, Rossash also eventually lost and was defeated six times. But! A scorched Radiy, who had a dent from a fist on his chest and a singe from a pyrotechnic strike on his head, also got his share.
"Alright, let's finish fighting for today. Well done, you showed yourselves well and learned much. Now everyone to the shower, and then practice healing techniques on each other."
"Yes, Dad," the boys responded in discord. Ruffled and tired but nevertheless quite satisfied, the trio headed for the exit.
"Radiy, you alright?"
"Yes."
"What do you say?"
"Unexpectedly good resistance from the teenagers. I relaxed. I didn't expect such a thing. Orienting on the fight with the first one, I assumed the others would fight the same way, as they studied together. However, neither Phobos nor Deimos began to use their aces, leaving them for Rossash. Instead—both were collecting lumps and provoking me to use techniques myself. Smart. I would most likely have lost if they had come at me three against one."
"That's why I sent them one by one. They've learned well how to use a collective battle trance, so when they fight together—they represent a serious threat. Mom, what do you th... ink?"
It didn't immediately dawn on me that she wasn't in the hall. Turning to the Force, I felt her on the second floor, in a side corridor running along the outer wall.
"Alright, thanks for the help. You can go rest," the immortal nodded and, removing the protective plate from his face, began to wipe it from the soot. "Kaut, where are you guys headed now?"
"For a beer! Where else. Joining us?"
"Yes. But a bit later."
Leaving the Mandalorians, I left the training hall. Ascending the stairs, I stepped into the corridor where Mom was standing. Propping her shoulder against the wall, she was peering through the window, beyond which a view of the city opened up. And there, far beyond the houses, our star was slowly hiding behind the horizon.
Standing beside her, I didn't say anything, silently peering into the distance. In recent years, she has been changing more and more. Less and less often could I see that same familiar rude and arrogant Togruta lounging on the sofa with her legs up. More and more often she spends time in the meditation hall. And sometimes I could even see her snapping at the Mandalorians, because of which the fighters try to give my mother a wide berth. And also, if she had produced a fairly frightening impression on a собеседник before, now she doesn't even need to open her mouth; just standing nearby is enough. The Jedi, meanwhile, upon merely spotting her, either bolt with cries of "Sith!" or conversely—throw themselves into battle, and then it's a matter of who's unlucky.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" she suddenly broke the silence.
"It is. I wonder what the landscapes were like here before the Rakata arrived?"
"Most likely, they were much better."
After a short pause, she said:
"You've done well, Shade. The boys are showing a very good result."
"Well, who was our teacher?" smirking, I nudged her with my elbow.
"Yes... Those were the days."
"Mom, are you alright?"
"Yes. Why?" she turned her head to me.
"Nothing. Just worried about you."
"Why would you be?"
"When was the last time you talked to anyone besides me or the children? Kindly, not in your usual manner."
"What do you meeeean? I talk normally."
"Ha, yeah. That's why everyone shies away from you."
"I just don't want to let anyone extra near me, that's all," she shook her head in an "Oh, whatever" manner.
"Talia, for example, isn't extra," I noted. "And yet in your last conversation, you scared her too."
"I know." with a note of sadness in her voice, Aala replied and looked out the window again. "Sorry. I understand it may seem from the outside that I'm indifferent to both her life and the lives of your friends, but that's not so. I do care about them. Just... I don't know, Shade," she hesitated. And judging by the emotions, she herself was a bit scared right now. "I just..."
Before she could finish, we were interrupted.
"Mandalore!" a breathless fighter dashed out to us.
"?" Aala and I turned simultaneously.
"You are urgently summoned to headquarters! Code 'A-zero-nine-zero'!"
Exchanging glances with Aala, we headed to the command center at a fast pace. Code "Zero-nine-zero" meant that a serious threat had appeared from the distant frontiers. If the code had been A-one-zero-zero, the next level, then the alarm would have been raised and an immediate mobilization of troops would have begun. In other words—a total mess.
Flying into the command center, I immediately noted that the entire command staff was already assembled, and even more. Among the holograms were not only Mandalorians and Terrans, but also the commander of the Chiss fleet—Tor'ka'nut'miro'nat, also known as Thonat. Also, Lord Poggle the Elder from Geonosis, Tsarrakt from the Verpines, and Lenodrian from the second state after the Chiss in the Outer Rim were here. And Sheev Palpatine was present too. Oh, as I remember it, I shudder at the ways this character fought his way to being king. Now Naboo serves as one of the main suppliers of plasma.
"What do you have?"
"Reporting. The enemy has moved," Don began immediately, unfolding a map of the sector before us. "Their ships are rising from the planet, and the fleet is reorganizing for a joint jump. This happened immediately after this ship arrived in the system," next to the sector hologram appeared an image of a huge dreadnought, with its approximate dimensions indicated. Fifteen kilometers long, six wide, and another five high. Living protrusions extending to the sides, the front part resembling a whale's head, and additional maneuvering engines extending from the top, bottom, and sides.
"Karrl tul akt rltak," the Geonosian commented on the picture.
"Yes, Lord Poggle. Kuat, it turns out, is still modest," Warren smirked.
"Most likely, it's not a combat vessel, but a sort of carrier ship for long-range flights, like our old 'sleeper ships.' It came out alone, without escort, and is currently in the planet's orbit, most likely replenishing resources."
"Apparently, they decided to advance further," Admiral Thonat joined the conversation. "According to the map, Lenodrian, this strike will fall on your territories."
"I see. We are already preparing to repel the attack. However, we don't know—on which of the seven planets the strike will fall. Over the past time, we've been able to more or less prepare only two," the black man replied gloomily. Literally black-skinned, with eyes white as snow and white hair too. "It's possible that they won't reach us at all, as there are habitable worlds between us."
"Even if so, it won't be any easier for us. I believe we shouldn't give them more time. Whether they go on the attack or settle on a neutral planet—it doesn't matter. We need to knock the enemy out while they haven't taken root even more."
"Support that."
"Okl tulrr ktlr."
"Ancient One?" Don turned to me. The others fell silent, waiting for my further words. In the few years under my command, everyone had realized perfectly well—you can express an opinion and consult, but my word is law.
"Alright. Let's begin to mobilize slowly. Poggle, de-mothball the droids and load them onto the transport ships. Warren, also gather the Mandalorians; the third campaign begins."
"He-he-he-he."
"Aala, select some fighters to help you and fly to Dathomir. When required—you will deploy from the portal right onto their planet and suppress the planetary defense systems." Aala nodded. "Don, raise the ships; I will personally lead the attack. Rally point—the Gihnazh system. Thonat, this doesn't concern you; the Chiss fleet remains in the rear. Your task is not to let them bypass us and to cut off the enemy's retreat routes after the conflict begins. Lenodrian, take your ships to the Chiss. Your forces are too few to be scattered. There is no point in leaving ships in defense—if the Vong come to one of your planets—in five out of seven cases the defense will simply be swept away. However, there is a fairly large distance between your worlds and them, so we will try fundamentally not to let their forces near your worlds."
"Gratitude."
"Just in case, take part of the population to the Chiss, and hide the others in bunkers. Let's hope this measure proves unnecessary."
"Trrrkl lykp taktrlk ur?"
While Poggle was speaking, my earpiece translated the Geonosian's speech.
"No, don't load all the droids. Leave twenty percent on the planet as a reserve."
During the meeting, I quickly distributed the tasks, and we set to work. Talia wanted to see me before my departure, but alas. The little ones, meanwhile, wanted to prove themselves in action and were asking to join the campaign. Since by Mandalorian law they are already adults, I agreed and therefore sent them along with Warren to the fleet. I still needed to personally inspect the clones. There are some details that worry me greatly, and I need to deal with them before letting the genie out of the bottle.
Over the past time, the planet chosen for the clones' homeland had become overgrown with a large number of factory-cities. In one city, armor was manufactured, both for clones and for vehicles. In another—weapons, both handheld and stationary, and they were producing ship-mounted PBCs
And there were no fewer than sixty such cities scattered across the planet. Each went about its own business; the level of automation at these facilities was brought to maximum indicators due to the lack of hands. And all this only to grow, train, and equip the clones. The station for growing them was simply colossal in size, and several cities could fit in it at once.
Descending to the planet and leaving my KIM, which had become my home, I walked down a corridor of greeting fighters accompanied by four Mandalorians and two Terrans. Two columns of warriors in black-and-red armor. T-shaped scarlet visors glowed threateningly in the dim light of the rising sun, and a white beastly grin on the cheeks emphasized the "gaze."
The clones' armor differed from the Mandalorian kind as much as it was similar. The clones had that same famous and universally recognized Mandalorian "Iron Heart" on their chest. Но unlike the Mandalorian armor, the clones' iron heart was bleeding. An ornament encircled the symbol and gave it a special zest, signifying that despite any losses and wounds, we would stand.
In general, the clone armor had a much greater elegance compared to the standard Mandalorian kind. The crude segments with straight angles already familiar to my eye had become more streamlined. As if they were made not by a crude blacksmith but drawn by an artist.
On the left hand sat the familiar auxiliary computer. A built-in frontal shield went with it, which the fighter could use to cover himself if necessary. In the right hand, a hefty vibroknife was hidden, the size of the entire forearm. The knife didn't need to be taken out in case of anything; it could unfold and turn into a short vibroblade built into the hand.
Also, unlike the Mandalorian armor, there were no life-threatening secrets in the clones' ones. Secrets would cease to be such after the first skirmish. But! There were removable modules, so fighters could independently modify their armor in small ways. A built-in blaster there, a needle gun, a miniature rocket launcher, both wrist-mounted and shoulder-mounted. The choice of goodies with which one could strengthen oneself was very wide; the only condition was not to the detriment of the main equipment. If you are, for example, a sapper, you can do what you want—but the standard kit must be with you, and then whatever.
Among the clones were both men and women. Since each clone is a full citizen of the Hadian Empire, we tried to maintain more or less the ratio of men and women. Given that a man is by definition stronger than the fair half, at least among the human species, it was necessary to approach the assignment of roles more thoroughly. Thus, if more men went into the infantry, there were many women among the pilots, medics, programmers, and even mechanics.
Also, at early stages, the problem of cross-breeding genes with the transmission of pathogenic diseases was solved. The clones simply didn't have these defects inherent to ordinary people, as a result of which, purely physiologically, they could freely mix blood. But! If you can, it doesn't mean you should. Laws are laws, and they forbid marriage among members of the same family. And though de jure it looks stupid—all clones are brothers and sisters to each other—no one will be making concessions to anyone. I repeat—the law is the law.
"Welcome, Ancient One," the project leader greeted me, bowing respectfully.
"Mandalore," the Mandalorians standing next to him struck their chests.
Letting me inside the complex, the project leader stood beside me, while the Mandalorians fell in behind us. This pair were not guards, but leaders. One was responsible for the fighters' technical equipment, and the second for their training.
"I regularly read your reports, Tiberius. The fact that you are perfectly meeting the deadlines is commendable. How many fighters do we have?"
"At the moment, two hundred thousand units are already ready, and another million is on the way."
"Can you be more specific?"
"Certainly. Currently, out of two million fighters, seven hundred thousand are infantry. Another hundred thousand are drivers of tanks, walkers, armored personnel carriers, and other ground vehicles. Another two hundred thousand are auxiliary forces. Such as artillerymen, field medics, logistics services, and combat engineers. These specialists will subsequently be redistributed among the legions to ensure regular support on the battlefield. Separately, a logistics fleet has been formed, including fifty thousand clones. These are not combat forces, though they can fight. Their task is to organize supplies from the rear to the line of contact and transfer supplies to their colleagues who organize logistics directly on the front line. It includes clones specially trained for laying a route even through the most difficult regions for advancement. Also, special ships and auxiliary technical means were developed for the supply fleet to support even units squeezed into a ring. The combination of these factors will help them provide support to our forces despite any obstacles."
"Commendable," I nodded and, turning, saw how behind the glass, somewhere there, the issuance of equipment to infantrymen was in full swing. Everyone was bustling, running. The order for clone mobilization here hadn't arrived yet, but it was clear as day that it was about to come. News reaches here easily, after all.
"Now concerning the pilots. Thanks to high automation, we managed to reduce the crews even of large ships, like a dreadnought, to record low values. Thus, the standard crew of such cruisers numbers only three hundred people."
"Tiberius, this worried me before, and it worries me now. I understand small vessels, but large ships... Will the fighters handle the task assigned to them? Haven't we cut the crew too much in the pursuit of efficiency?"
"Virtual Intelligence compensates for the small numbers. Furthermore, the system of direct connection of the captain to the ship also removes an enormous number of problems. Yes, a person needs to have special implants installed for this, as well as limiting the amount of incoming information so as not to cause brain overload, but that is the least of the problems. In total, we have allocated four hundred thousand people for space fleet officer positions. Another three hundred are pilots of small flying craft."
"And where do the remaining clones go?"
"Distributed among facilities. Security, escort, mining, remote assistance, like slicers. And some remain here."
While strolling through the corridors, I listened to the report and looked around. I was interested not only in the technical aspect with figures but also in the moral one. What the fighters were thinking, what their morale was, what they were saying—all this is not customary to reflect in a report, as those should be brief and succinct summaries. Now I needed to understand what this army was capable of.
"The fighters were raised on the soil of Hadian and Mandalorian traditions. They have a strong will, Ancient One, and extremely high motivation. They don't see themselves without the Hadian Empire of Terrans and will do anything for it. True, due to some features of propaganda, an opinion exists among them that they were born to die."
"Be specific."
"We used our historical records of the Empire's war with the Republic. They consider themselves the successors of those ancient warriors and strive if not to surpass their feats, then at least not to lose face. Plus the Mandalorian tradition of an honorable death on the battlefield. Because of this, the value of a fighter's life has suffered, which in turn causes me concern about future statistics on high mortality. Especially this concerns the first batch."
"In other words, the clones' courage borders on madness."
"One could say so."
"Tiberius," I said his name bitingly. "I did give recommendations regarding the training." I looked sideways at the man. I have enough Terrans; I'm afraid to introduce them to the world, and what can be said about the clones? Though, why am I surprised, given who taught them. And the Mandalorians, instead of acting as a damper, on the contrary, tightened the bolts even more. I see. "I won't say how much I'll be upset if everyone falls in the first battle, throwing themselves chest-first under bullets. These are people, not droids."
"I understand... We will adjust the program for future generations. However, permit me to add that thanks to some genetic modifications, we were able to create improved clones."
"What kind of clones?" stopping, I looked at the Terran, sensing a catch in these words.
"I took responsibility and started the 'Terminator' project. You once mentioned having fighters in the ranks capable of going where no one else can."
Recalling my own words, I nodded uncertainly. And I also recalled reading in reports about gene-modified fighters, but I thought it was ordinary clones they decided to improve. And so it was.
"Suppose. And you made special forces?"
"Relatively. They cannot be classified as commandos, but the fact that they will pass through the hottest battle is a fact."
"Tiberius. Who exactly did you make for me, eh?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Don't worry, Ancient One. The experiment was successful. Moreover, we already have an experimental batch of a thousand fighters. I was just about to provide a full expanded report soon."
"Well, show me these 'Terminators.' "
"Certainly. Come."
While we walked, Tiberius briefly outlined the monsters he had grown for me, but the reality was still able to surprise me. In a separate wing, they presented me with a literal cabinet, under two and a half meters, broad-shouldered, muscular, in serious enclosed armor. A closed helmet with six cameras located in place of eyes. Thick ceramic-durasteel armor with beskar plating. The suit, in the best traditions of the Terrans, was perfectly fitted to the wearer, because of which it didn't look bulky and didn't restrict movement in any way.
On the back was a pack built into the suit for higher jumps, as well as flights in zero gravity. After all, its power wouldn't be enough for constant flight. Also, a generator from—no more, no less—an armored personnel carrier was built into the suit. The fighter was equipped according to the situation. He could be given a heavy mounted blaster in his hands, have a volley rocket launcher, a PBC, or a laser repeater hung on his shoulder. A laser sword was a mandatory element, the model for which was my trophy "black blade," obtained back from Vizsla.
A serious fighter, indeed, what else can you say. However, it made no sense to make all clones like that. To start with, such a fighter ate for ten, and the armor cost as much as an entire cruiser. A cruiser!!! Yes, we could afford it in limited quantities, of course, but the fact remained. And that's not taking into account the cost of the clone itself. To grow, train, feed.
And then there was the problem on the domestic side. The guys were significantly larger, even larger than some Wookiees, and required appropriate household items. And it was simply inconvenient for them to stoop in some doors. And as for reproduction, I won't even mention it! They are also living people, also want to have a home where they will always be welcome, and here the only option is to grow proportionally sized partners, because otherwise—it's impossible. Though, people from Itachiki are quite large due to low gravity; maybe it won't be a problem... Hm.
On the other hand—I'm sure a thousand of these guys could clear out the Jedi Temple. Seriously, I can hardly imagine how the Jedi could kill this walking GMO. Two hearts, a chest bone plate, an iron stomach, strengthened bones and tendons, implants, a beskar-plated exoskeleton. This fighter—is literally a terminator who, by the way, also uses the Force.
For all clones without exception have a weak connection to the Force. They know how to foresee a threat, strengthen their bodies, and possess telekinesis in a way. Yes, they need to strain and apply significant effort, much more than everyone else—but most importantly, they can neutralize the influence of another adept on themselves.
"Tiberius... You decided to grow Jedi hunters behind my back?"
"But you said yourself..."
"I was just thinking out loud," I rolled my eyes distressingly... How hard it is to deal with initiative-taking geniuses. I have half the Spark running around with such types; you can't keep track of everyone, and everyone is coming up with something like that. "Fine. Well done, the fighters are good. And we will certainly test them in action. If they prove themselves, we'll lay down another couple of tens of thousands. You just think over the problems I voiced to you."
"Certainly, Ancient One."
"Alright, enough of the tour for me. Announce the mobilization. Но first, organize a place on the landing pad. I need to make an announcement."
"As you command."
For the next two hours, I suffered at a desk, inventing a speech, while a real chaos was going on behind my back. Everyone was rushing, bustling, though they didn't turn on the alarm—that's good.
A podium for me was organized right on the main launch square, where giant transport ships land. Tens of thousands of soldiers stood on it in strict ranks and froze in anticipation of the speech. And to my left and right, camera droids hovered. Standing under the directed gazes was uncomfortable. But even more uncomfortable was feeling their emotions. The Terrans and Mandalorians had made Force knows what out of me; the clones were all but praying. Not knowing another life, sincere and even a bit naive, they looked at me with such devotion, with such emotions, that for a couple of minutes I just tried to pull myself together.
"I hate... How I hate public speaking," I cursed to myself, but, taking a breath—an exhale, I began the speech:
"Soldiers of the Hadian Empire. I know that an opinion exists among you that there is no greater honor than to die for the Empire, but that is not so. Yes, it is honorable, but you should know that there is something that stands above death. You should know that you are part of this Empire. You are its sword and its shield. You are its support. You are its banner! The price of victory will not always be worth your lives, because as long as you live, as long as you stand on guard—the Empire will stand too. Remember that your lives are worth more than pride and honor. Of course, we will not forget those who give their lives, as the warriors of antiquity were not forgotten. The Hadian Empire is alive; it is alive within each of us, and each of its defenders will forever remain in its ranks."
I paused and looked over the identical yet so different fighters. My defense wavered, and the emotions that possessed them began to break into the depths of my soul. Faceless helmets turned toward me, gloomy armor, but the emotions... Pride, resolve, and respect—they were simply overflowing. The mask hid my face, hid the tear running down my cheek. Clones... There, in the big world, they are considered trash. Second-rate. But I see in them something more.
"Today," I continued, swallowing the lump, "is the day when you will show yourselves to the world. Today is the day when you will leave your home planet, but you should know that your home is not a planet or even a place. It is the people who surround you; it is what you protect. Soon we will all have to engage in a battle with an enemy that threatens to erase everything we hold dear. Dear to you. And he will see our rage. He will see what we are capable of. And that the Hadian Empire of Terrans survived; it lives and will live! For the Glory of the Hadian Empire of Terrans!" I proclaimed loudly. "For our brothers and sisters! For our future! Thon'Ra!"
"Thon'Ra! Thon'Ra! Thon'Ra!" the legions picked up. The voice of the legion resounded like thunder. The strikes of a fist against armored chests rumbled. Thousands of soldiers, confident in what they were doing, what they were fighting for, were ready for anything.
A march played, written in the ancient language but in Mandalorian performance. The transport ships standing in the distance opened their ramps, and the legions of soldiers marched toward them...
From the darkness we have returned, and stepped into the light.
The galaxy will see the wrath of a defeated but not broken people!
We are thousands of skies
We are the storm and the tides.
We are the wrath of forgotten days
And the end of all times
We are the gods of a new world order
We are the soldiers in the legend of light
We are the brothers and sisters carrying the legacy
We are the forgotten legend.
From the darkness we have returned,
And stepped into the light.
Glory to the brothers!
The ancient peoples are not forgotten.
Taungs, Mandalorians, Terrans, Hadians.
They are alive as long as we are alive.
And they have returned together with us.
Returned to take what is theirs.
And we will destroy everything that stands in our way!
We are the gods of a new world order
We are the soldiers in the legend of light
We are the brothers and sisters carrying the legacy
We are the forgotten legend.
Listening to the locally composed song, I rejoiced that no one would figure it out. Because it would be hard to explain to others my most honest, open, and kind intentions. Nevertheless, the clones' morale skyrocketed to such a degree that I literally burned out.
Hundreds of thousands of soldiers, in one place, radiating the same thing—it's simply a disaster for an empath. At first, it felt like I would explode from the overwhelming emotions, but then, as if by a switch—it turned everything off, which allowed me to stand with a stony expression and observe the march phlegmatically. If not for that, I might have even pitied those who stood in this army's way. For this is only a small part of it, as over the next ten years, this army should increase to one and a half billion fighters. And that's only clones, not counting those who graduate from military academies on our planets.
Alright, time to head to the ship myself. After all, I was given command of an entire dreadnought.
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: patreon.com/Granulan