Consciousness returned to me as suddenly as it had vanished. As if someone powerful had thrown a switch. The memories from right before I blacked out were still there, though—and there was only one Force adept strong enough to pull a trick like that on me.
Valkorion.
At the very mention of the Emperor, my jaw clenched on instinct.
I don't know what game he's playing, but the Sith lured me here for something other than teaching me a lesson because he had to repeat the order to get myself a ship.
Too petty for a ghost almost four thousand years old—one who'd been killed twice and yet was still livelier than the living.
The Emperor dangled candy in front of me. Promised to make me important in this galaxy. To give me what I never had in my previous life. He played on greed and ambition.
My teeth ground.
No, I wasn't furious because I'd realized Valkorion had played me. No. A Sith is meant to be slippery and treacherous.
I was angry at myself. For getting hooked so stupidly.
The Sith used me as a courier, to deliver this body to his real apprentice. Exar Kun, a fallen Jedi. Judging by the slavish devotion with which the ghost stood before the Sith, they'd planned it for a long time. Maybe that was why Kun's ghost had been so stunned by Vitiate's words about a duel…
Then I stopped and thought. The version was stitched together with white thread.
Let's assume I crossed a line and the Sith stopped finding me useful. Valkorion could have thrown me out of the body in an instant—he's the one who dragged me here in the first place. And it would have cost him nothing to shove Kun in there. He didn't do it. Instead, he arranged a duel. Gave me a hint on how to kill the ghost. And he even supported me when I tried to absorb him.
Those weren't the actions of someone who lured me to Yavin 4 just to deliver a body for a ghost. Unless my memory fails me, Kun's spirit isn't bound to Yavin 4. Or is he?
Or did Valkorion miscalculate, underestimate me, and then, once it became clear Kun wasn't my match, the Sith simply changed his tune midair?
Nothing but riddles. Enough lying around, I ordered myself. Time to get up and solve problems.
But the moment I tried to rise, I realized the body wouldn't obey. I could feel it, I knew all my limbs were there, but I couldn't move anything below my neck. As if everything beneath my throat had been powered off.
Well then. Let's open my eyes.
I was lying on the stone floor of the Great Audience Chamber, on my back, arms and legs spread. My lightsaber lay nearby—two meters from my right hand at most.
Sunlight pierced through the window frames into the chamber, pushing thick darkness back into the corners. My eyes watered slightly from the brightness, but they adjusted almost at once—once I nudged them a little with the Force.
An early dawn was lighting the moon. Bright, warm beams from the east. Like searching spotlights, slowly, too subtly for the eye to track, they explored millimeter by millimeter across the floor and walls. Straining to make my body move, I thought furiously about the lost time. How long had I been lying here?!
My body felt wooden. A chill was beating at my face. The tip of my nose felt so cold I started doubting I'd get to keep it.
A thin crust of dust covered my armor and cloak, along with a few tree leaves. Apparently, I hadn't been lying here for a single day. Because I don't remember dry leaves lying in the center of the chamber. Even if they had been there, the Force energy in this place was so violent it would have evaporated them. No, these leaves had been carried in by the wind after I'd gone out.
"A rather interesting way to absorb a Force spirit," Valkorion appeared beside me. "Darth Nox would have paid dearly for such a technique in his time."
The ghost, like a neon statue, glowed in a blue-violet shade. Only now did I begin to understand that unlike the spirits of Obi-Wan, Yoda, and Skywalker in the original trilogy, Valkorion's ghost looked… worn. It didn't have that saturated brightness the Jedi spirits had. No sharp, glossy contrast. It felt as if the ghost was tired from everything he'd been through.
As if he had lived all those thousands of years like a living man.
"What's wrong with me?" I indicated my body with my eyes alone.
"Temporary paralysis," Valkorion explained. "You pushed so much Force through yourself that your nervous system finally gave out. I shut you down. Otherwise you'd have fallen into a coma. And you likely wouldn't have come out."
"You can do that?" I wanted to ask, but bit my tongue. This wasn't some fallen Jedi who'd picked up tricks from ancient Sith. Over his lifetime, Valkorion could have forgotten more about the Force than the entire Jedi Order could ever learn.
"Your body hasn't fully recovered from digesting the spirit's power," Vitiate explained. "Draw on the Force and pass it through your body in small doses, relaxing the tissues."
Silently I followed the ghost's advice. I didn't feel the light-side restriction the way I had before, so purely by instinct I sent it through my veins. Like life-giving moisture in a scorching desert, the Force flowed through me. My shell—wounded by hundreds of thousands of microscopic injuries—answered with a dull, background ache in every cell.
With a quiet groan, I ground my teeth. I focused on the pain, leaned on it like a crutch, and unexpectedly, the body twitched in response to my fleeting wish.
Valkorion, standing nearby, smirked. Turning his back to me, he strolled unhurriedly toward the window openings on the western side of the chamber.
Following his gaze, my eyes caught on the Massassi carcass lying off to the side. The body, separated from its head by my sun-colored blade, was also covered in a layer of dust and debris.
"How long was I lying here?" I felt the Force setting my body right. The overall pain eased, and with it the rage quieted down. My mind cleared, and sensation returned to my limbs. Soon I'd regain full control.
"Six days," the ghost shrugged. "Plus or minus a couple. Time flows differently for us."
"Six days?!" I blurted. "My droid! My ship!"
Valkorion smirked.
"Your corvette and your mechanical servant are where you left them," he said. Snapping his fingers, he summoned a small spark of lightning. "A minor short circuit in your droid's processor, and there you go—he's waiting peacefully, powered down. Don't worry. You won't be stranded on this moon."
I exhaled in relief. Right—getting stuck in this cursed place was the last thing I needed.
"You handled your trial brilliantly," the long-dead Emperor continued. "It's pleasant to realize you can be something more than a Jedi errand boy."
"That wasn't a trial," I snorted with contempt. The Force was reviving my body little by little. By my estimate, ten minutes and I'd be able to move my arms. "You just wanted to kill me. And shove Exar Kun's ghost into my body."
"Conflict allows us to develop," Valkorion said, adopting the tone of a lecture. "You and I both know what Jedi dogmatism and Sith fanaticism will bring to the galaxy. This stagnation can't be resolved by anything but the bloodiest of conflicts."
I thought silently.
Valkorion's words couldn't be without some basis.
First, with the Jedi's help, Palpatine would break the CIS and seize the entire known galaxy. The officers and soldiers forged during the Clone Wars would become the foundation of the Imperial Army and Navy, which would rule the galaxy with an iron hand.
And then the original trilogy would begin… And what came after the second Death Star's destruction? Thrawn, the Yevetha, the Jedi Academy, the Yuuzhan Vong invasion? Or was it "Aftermath" and that hysterical, incoherent, unknown war?
"Regimes are overthrown by idealists," Valkorion remarked. "But behind them stand pragmatists, power-hungry men, and opportunists who, after the regime change, will take the helm of the new state. And everything will be as it was—only the signboard changes."
"You said we could fix it," I recalled. "What's my role?"
The Force helped me regain control over my body, and I rose to my feet with a groan, clutching my aching abdomen. My body hurt as if a tank had run me over.
At my unspoken command, the lightsaber flew back into my hand, then returned to my belt. Slowly, in tiny steps, I moved to Valkorion's figure, stood beside him, and leaned against the stone wall.
"I granted your predecessor, and therefore you, much knowledge of the dark side of the Force," he said. "But Jedi dogma still resonates in your body and mind, preventing your potential from unfolding. I cut you off from the light side so you would turn to the dark. You are to blame for forcing me to act this way. But there was no other way."
"But I could have refused," I noted. "And then what?"
Valkorion looked at me with the immeasurably tired gaze of crimson Sith eyes.
"What use is an apprentice who cannot unlock his potential?"
My mouth went dry.
"So you really did plan to seat Kun's ghost in my body if I lost?" I exclaimed. It came out a little shrill.
Valkorion gave a condescending smile and stared back out into the jungle.
"At the dawn of my invasion, I sent thousands of agents into the Republic. One came to Yavin 4 to kill the spirit of the one who became the cause of the Old Sith Empire's demise."
"For what?" I was surprised. "I remember it was Naga Sadow's spirit. But one spirit can't threaten an invasion by an entire Empire."
"Nothing was allowed to threaten my power in the galaxy," Vitiate explained. "Even dead, Sadow could have caused many problems. The Sith gravitated toward their traditions, and if Sadow remained 'alive,' he could have found an apprentice, resurrected himself, gathered followers, and challenged me."
"You got rid of a rival," I realized. "I remember Sadow's apprentice—a former Jedi—studied Sith alchemy and prepared his own apprentice to create a body capable of housing the spirit."
"If that happened, the bastard could have appeared in my palace and demanded a kaggath," Valkorion said, as if spitting the word. "I could have smeared him on the walls of the Dark Temple without effort, and locked his soul away for hundreds of years of torment, but that would have required distracting myself from my plans to create the Eternal Empire of Zakuul. However great Sadow was, my plans were worth more than the time I would have spent destroying him. And besides… If you make a god bleed before his worshipers' eyes, he loses his power."
"So that means…" it struck me. "You lured Kun here on purpose to deal with him."
Valkorion answered with a satisfied chuckle.
"Not only that. Revan went to great lengths to resurrect me," Valkorion explained with a sigh. "But interference by Jedi and Sith disrupted the ritual. Part of my power went to awakening that worthless ghost. In my true body, with most of my strength, I could, of course, do more than any living Force adept, but I was no longer as strong as I had been last time. Ambition clouded my mind. And as a result, I suffered severe damage—damage I recovered from over several thousand years. As a ghost I watched the galaxy. The device with which Revan revived my spirit, despite the Republic's efforts, still saturated this moon with the dark side. Here I could feed on the Force, recover. Kun's ghost kept me company for long years. And though he is far more experienced and cunning than you, he remained a fearful, cowardly Jedi. One who, moreover, absorbed a portion of my power. And I do not forgive that."
"I absorbed his spirit," I narrowed my eyes. "Does that mean the portion of power he stole now belongs to me?"
"Correct," the ghost nodded. "Not only a portion of my power, but Kun's knowledge is now yours. Your predecessor practiced a rather mediocre form of Niman. Level one—and even then, just the basics. By assimilating Kun's memories and knowledge, you will gain, among other things, knowledge of the second level of Niman, now lost and thoroughly forgotten."
"Well, damn," I whistled. "Thank you for such a generous gift. But why not absorb him yourself and become stronger?"
"I am a Force spirit," Valkorion laughed. "No one can cause me trouble. But my apprentice will find new knowledge useful."
Silently bowing, I waited for him to continue.
"Many of my secrets and vaults were saved from being looted—by Republic forces, Imperials, Eternal Alliance troops, and simple scavengers alike," Valkorion finally said. "They will be the foundation for creating our new Empire. We must visit them."
"Our Empire?" I doubted. "You're powerful enough to rule the galaxy. Why do you need me?"
"You are my will in this world," Valkorion said with slight pomposity. "My children, in whom I placed my hopes, failed them. Thexan, the most reasonable of the three, could not withstand Arcann's rage, broken by the dark side. One and the other were weak. Vaylin—too insane—turned into a bloody tyrant and sadist. None of them could become my heir." The Emperor's voice took on metallic notes. "I saw their future and knew how it would end. I knew that under the guise of the Outlander, my longtime ally in bringing order to the galaxy would surrender. Soften. He bent the knee before me, and I was ready to share the galaxy with him. But carbonite freezing, captivity… all of it changed him. And I abandoned my plan to make him my heir. I realized I had misjudged him, and everything I had planned to pass to him will become yours."
I was silent, understanding the Emperor wasn't finished.
"He shamelessly took my power when he needed it, but ignored my guidance entirely. His past life clouded his mind. And then I betrayed him. No body is ready to absorb my might, so I began transforming his. Each time he used my power, I strengthened his body, preparing to seize it. But I underestimated the hatred my own family bore for me. Narrow-minded and soft-bodied, they could not understand the depth of my designs. Using a holocron with which I tortured my father's spirit, they split me across the galaxy, feasting on my bones."
"Nice family," I admitted. The ghost acted as if he hadn't heard.
"I waited thousands of years," Valkorion sighed. "I drew the dark side out of this world. Prepared. Waited. The descendants of my trusted servants—Nathema zealots—secretly pushed this galaxy in the direction I needed, hidden from Jedi and Sith. And then, one day, Rik Dougan was born. Billions of variables had to align so that he would stand at my side and guide this galaxy into the future. But the Jedi took my creation from me. They killed my servants, the last zealots, took the child to the Temple, where they broke his will. They wanted to create a Jedi shadow out of him, and gave him to train under the one who brought him to the Temple. And even after my child returned to me, Rik proved unable to carry out his mission. He gave himself entirely to Jedi teachings. Even on the verge of death he refused to accept his fate. One-sided, with the habits of a dark Jedi, he could do more harm to my cause than good. His fate was sealed the moment he turned to the Light in the Geonosis arena. The light side could not protect him from blasters."
Valkorion fell silent. Strangely, I felt a flicker of sympathy for the ghost. Planning to make the galaxy stronger in his own image, he'd been killed, betrayed, unmade more than once. Not by a road of yellow bricks, but by bones and oceans of blood—he still intended to lead the galaxy to greatness. Of course he needed a loyal partner. A direct continuation of his will.
If the zealots had lived, he might have continued his work with them—but the Shadows had killed them all.
"Through the Abyss, I sensed your mind," Valkorion's voice sounded again. "I see your potential and your drive. I gave you the chance to move forward, to prove your usefulness. And you did it. Without hesitation you ended the life of one who could become an obstacle in the future. Without regret you absorbed one who would not have spared you. But you did not destroy the one who may still be useful. You are worthy to rule this galaxy," Valkorion finally said, turning his head toward me.
To be honest, it floored me.
There's no other way to put it.
No, it was clear the Emperor was playing his own game—one that ran counter to the plans of both the Jedi Order and the Sith. It was clear that for some reason I mattered to him. Even his twisted test of my abilities made sense in its own way.
Remembering his words about teacher and apprentice "fixing the galaxy," spoken aboard the gunship on Geonosis, there were no illusions about my role. Like, take out the trash, empty the Emperor's bedpan.
A Jedi errand boy. Can you expect more when you've been in the galaxy for less than a year?
Well. You can. You can expect something. But not this.
To learn that a man who built two Sith Empires was ready to build a third—and intended to set me on its throne…
Fate did not prepare me for that.
"Why me? You…" repeating my question, I faltered. It just happened on its own. Conscience wouldn't let me address him as "you" anymore. "You have immense experience ruling. Why don't you take the throne yourself? You, more than anyone, understand what rulership is. Your experience is priceless…"
"Neither Jedi nor Sith can ever be destroyed completely," Valkorion said. "Even now, that little monkey in the Senate and his aristocrat acolyte think themselves true Sith, knowing nothing of my brethren on Kesh. My figure on the throne would only ignite civil war, as would Palpatine's. The Sith would strive to serve me, the Jedi to destroy me. That is their nature. But you are different…"
"I don't understand," and here I felt genuinely ashamed. They want to make me a ruler of a new state, and I have no idea how that even works. Had Valkorion overestimated me? "How could I possibly surpass you?"
"At the beginning of the Mandalorian Wars, the Jedi were despised. The Republic stood on the brink when Revan tore victory from defeat. By an act of will he crushed the Mandalorians and broke their spine forever. Until the end of time, the Mandalorians will never again reach the greatness of their ancestors. But what matters is something else," Valkorion leaned toward me slightly, clenching a hand into a fist. "Revan became an icon. He was revered. Republic citizens followed him into the Unknown Regions without hesitation. An entire fleet of supporters. Many Jedi. Even when he ordered them to kill their brothers, they obeyed. When Arcann captured the Outlander, his name became the symbol of the Alliance. Its soul. His reputation drew people to the Alliance's side. Even the Hutts, who don't give a damn about anyone, helped him. His inner strength let him break Arcann's will and burn the dark side out of him. Envious and shallow, Arcann fell into the Light. Even at the cost of losing part of his own abilities, he remained loyal to the Outlander until death. Revan, the Outlander, and the Hero of Tython built their fame themselves. And people followed them through the crucible of wars."
"We use the Clone Wars to create our own supporters," I understood.
Valkorion smiled. His smile resembled the grin of a corpse, and gooseflesh ran down my spine.
"Victory after victory, you will become an icon to them. A god in the flesh," he said. "Saved worlds will fall at your feet, and their inhabitants will pack recruitment offices, eager to join your army. Ruthless to enemies, humane to allies, you will become the new hero of the era. And when the time comes, you will reveal the truth. The manipulator of the war at the head of the Republic. A venal and corrupt Senate. An inert Order. Sentients' hearts will fill with righteous wrath. They will carry you into the Senate on their backs. Together—with your potential and my knowledge—we will rip the heart from the Baneite scum's chest and bathe in his blood," Valkorion's eyes burned with mad fire. Warming with every word, he wrapped himself in the dark side of the Force. By even the most modest estimate, if he let it run free right now, everything living on the moon's surface would die. "We will create a new Empire without corruption and bureaucracy. We will create an Order without arrogant, priggish ignoramuses. We will create a society that will stop treading water!"
I felt Darkness roiling around us—so impenetrable the light side didn't show even the faintest hints. But it didn't frighten me. I accepted the Darkness. I opened myself to it. I gathered it within myself, mixed it with the Light, drawing out unimaginable power. And I liked it.
I saw my path in this galaxy. I understood my goals. The future stood before me—too blurred, but unmistakably clear.
Hammerheads and Rendili StarDrive "Dissectors" flew flags the galaxy had never seen before. Armadas from deep within the Unknown Regions flooded into the galaxy, sweeping aside or capturing Republic and CIS ships. Dozens of gifted adepts stood at the heads of those armies. Familiar faces flashed, replaced by unfamiliar ones… but all of them drew power from the Unifying Force. Grim resolve, chained by necessity, made them raise weapons against yesterday's brothers of the Order…
The vision broke. The glimpse of the future stunned me. Valkorion's plan would succeed. Though I didn't see the final outcome, there was no doubt.
"You will create a new state on the ruins of the Republic and the Confederacy. The Eternal Empire," Valkorion said. The cyclone of Darkness around him sharply died down, as if he had cut off its nourishment. "Led by the Eternal Emperor."
"I… I saw it, Master," I said, my voice trembling with awe. Stupor, shock, delight—everything surged within me, boiling with fierce passion. Without noticing how, I found myself kneeling before Vitiate.
"I swear loyalty to your teachings," the words fell from my lips by themselves.
"I accept your loyalty," Valkorion proclaimed. Raising his hands, he flooded the Great Audience Chamber with a Lightning Storm. Branching streams of Force melted stone like putty. Standing in the center of the Storm, I felt the Temple walls fill with power, creating a Force aura within them. Like a signature, it carried Valkorion's personal shade. The Emperor marked the Temple, claimed it, spat into the Abyss, and trampled those who had built this Temple and the others on Yavin 4 in their own honor. Naga Sadow. Exar Kun. Tenebrae defiled their memory, showing the failures their place in the food chain.
"Rise, my apprentice," the Emperor put special emphasis on the last word. "From this day forward, this world is ours."
***
A sharp spike of the dark side caught Republic Chancellor Sheev Palpatine in his hidden sanctuary.
The man listened to his senses with curiosity. Pure, unbridled dark side power was emanating from the Unknown Regions. Someone very powerful had announced themselves. But the surge was so brief it didn't allow the Sith to trace it.
Darth Sidious leaned back wearily in his chair. The secret base, created in an industrial, sparsely populated part of the city, ensured his security. Neither the Jedi nor the Separatists knew his true identity, and none suspected he stood behind the beginning of the Clone Wars.
Only in his hidden sanctuaries, which reliably screened the Force within, could he open himself to the Force without fear of being detected by the Jedi. Each time—wrapping himself in the Force that concealed his true nature, meeting Jedi and senators, shaking hands and holding briefings—he couldn't help gloating as he watched the Jedi attempt to uncover the identity of Darth Sidious, about whom Count Dooku had informed a representative of the Order.
From an early age, Palpatine understood he was different from his peers. An unknown power boiled inside him; drawing on it made him stronger, smarter, better than the others. He managed to deceive the Order's seekers by hiding his Force potential. He understood his fate would be different. He would not serve. He would rule.
His family irritated him with their inertia. His father could not—or would not—increase the family's wealth and political capital, despite being among Naboo's prominent aristocrats. His mother followed him submissively in his blindness. Only Sheev, driven by ambition and inner power, desired greatness.
And the Force gave him a Master. The Muun Hego Damask. Darth Plagueis, Dark Lord of the Sith. He saw enormous potential in the boy. The youth accepted with joy and awe to become his apprentice. All that remained was to cross the line—the one that would give him to the dark side forever.
He killed them all. His entire family. At seventeen, Palpatine became a cold-blooded murderer, slaughtering his whole bloodline.
Becoming Plagueis's apprentice, Sidious devoted himself entirely to the dark side of the Force. He studied Sith history, absorbing the tenets of the ancient Order. Plagueis did not allow him to relax for a single second. Sith teaching broke a person, humiliated him, stripped away everything he valued. Plagueis took everything from him. And in return he opened the secrets of the dark side.
The destruction of the Jedi, the subjugation of the galaxy—this was the goal of all the suffering he endured for thirty years. The Sith had evolved. They stepped into the future, abandoning open confrontation with the Jedi. Cunning—that was the weapon of the Baneite Sith. The Republic would fall, struck from within. The Jedi would die trying to save it. And on the ruins of the old world would rise an Empire destined to last thousands of years.
Plagueis controlled not only the Sith's centuries-old accumulations of wealth and knowledge, but also commanded vast banker capital. The Muun threw every available resource into implementing the Plan.
And, of course, his Master betrayed him, Palpatine.
In secret from Sidious, Plagueis began probing the secrets of immortality. Forgotten and forbidden Sith and Jedi knowledge became the object of his study. Palpatine didn't know exactly when his Master became obsessed with the idea, but he saw the results of those attempts.
Anakin Skywalker. The Chosen One, created by the Force itself. Raised by the Jedi, yet not bound by their dogma. And often listening to the advice of his friend—the Republic Chancellor.
Palpatine killed Plagueis without hesitation while he slept, and claimed all his works. There was no guilt, no agonizing.
The Sith way was betrayal.
Sidious bound together every resource available to the Sith, every cult and every follower. Holding contempt for other species, he still allowed them to aid in carrying out his Plan.
Only a few were initiated into Palpatine's true designs. Sly Moore—an Umbaran capable of penetrating the minds of living sentients. Vice Chair Mas Amedda, who had no extraordinary abilities but was a loyal political ally. Sate Pestage. Kinman Doriana. Count Dooku.
Palpatine was slowly but surely plunging the galaxy into chaos. With ease, manipulating the invasion of Naboo and Valorum's resignation, he moved toward his goal.
The Prophets, living on the ancient Sith world of Dromund Kaas, had warned him. An invasion from beyond was coming. A Force-blind species planned to invade. Their ideals were beyond understanding. Negotiations were pointless. They could only be destroyed. But the Republic was too weak for that.
The Force does not grant clear timing in its visions. Therefore, the Plan demanded maximum speed.
Darth Maul fell on Naboo. It was on his homeworld that Sidious first noticed Skywalker.
In the years since, he had been bending the boy toward the dark side, marveling at his potential and sensitivity to the Force. It was still too early to reveal himself to him. Palpatine waited.
But he needed a successor. An executor of his will. One who would be a red rag to the Jedi, so that chasing him would distract them.
Count Dooku became that very successor. Palpatine could not help but be amused by how easily Dooku misled his friend Sifo-Dyas, with whose help he created the clone army. And how easily he disposed of that former friend. Jedi…
It couldn't be denied: Dooku was excessively useful. He found many puppets who, like chained beasts, eagerly rushed to smash the Republic and the Jedi. Grievous. Ventress. Tyranus reported Jedi who had taken interest in the dark side.
The Count had witnessed with his own eyes how one Jedi at the Petranaki Arena released the dark side, crippling hundreds of battle droids. Force Destruction. A technique so ancient, so dangerous, as it was powerful. Was it possible that one of the Jedi had fallen to the dark side on Geonosis? Most likely. And if so, Dooku would find him—and the army of dark followers would gain a new recruit.
Palpatine had not forgotten the incident with that Jedi; he had only let it slip from his attention for a short time. Now, with the dark side's manifestation in the Unknown Regions, it was necessary to gather information about the possible fallen. But it had to be done in secret. He drew his cloak around himself, letting the hood cover his face.
"Darth Tyranus," he contacted his apprentice through a holoterminal. "Did you sense the dark side surge in the Unknown Regions?"
The elderly Count gave a short nod.
"Yes, my Master."
"We must identify the source," Palpatine smiled. "Nothing may interfere with our Plan."
"As you command, my Master," Dooku inclined his head in respect. Satisfied, Palpatine cut the transmission.
Having shifted the problem onto his apprentice's shoulders, he returned to studying reports from the fronts.