I left Tatooine with a light heart.
The Defender, under the control of its permanent Iokath-produced pilot, carried me through the atmosphere glowing hot with the light of two suns. There, in Tatooine's orbit, a squadron awaited me, which was to return in triumph to its base—Ord Pardron.
Where I would finally fully assume my duties as commander of the army.
Admiral Var, as soon as communication was restored, briskly reported a lull on the fronts—the active phase of counteroffensives had shifted into passive positional battles. The enemy proved exhausted and in dire need of reinforcements. We, on the contrary, had reinforcements from the Center that could strengthen us at the most dangerous points.
After the tension between the Republic and the Hutts was relieved, Jabba's fleet lifted the blockade of the Hammer fleet, and Palleon was finally able to contact us. Having exchanged news, the commodore sent a corvette to me and departed for his base—his task was to reinforce Creeves's grouping at Rodia. CIS scouts had begun manifesting there far too often.
K1, at my direction, set a course for Ord Pardron, and glowing with the radiance of its engines, the corvette entered hyperspace.
A motley crew had gathered on board—two wounded clones living in the medbay. The shuttle's med-droid had done everything possible, and now the boys, though forced to be on "sickbeds," had no reason to fear for their lives. Though… they didn't fear anyway…
Clones are designed such that their natural aggression, their personal opinions, and even their instincts are largely dulled for the sake of a single goal—obedience to the command's orders.
There, in the head of every clone, sits an inhibitor chip (and that is certain now), which at a certain moment will force them to execute the notorious Order 66. That is how the extermination of the Jedi is supposed to happen.
But now, everything will follow a different path. Sidious's plan will not be fulfilled to the extent he would like. Heh-heh-heh…
Watching Luminara and Olee spar, my thoughts drifted back to contemplating what had been achieved.
In my mind, the structure of the army of the future Empire had already taken shape.
Rendili and Corellia… I must carefully study the issues of these systems defecting to my side. One cannot put all one's eggs in one basket—that is, no matter how great the wonders of the Forge are, it is not invulnerable to a massive attack—Malak could testify to that. Therefore, I should consider the issues of joining or seizing important shipbuilding capacities. Malgus, seizing Sith Space, mentioned the restoration of the shipbuilding capacities of Vitiate's Empire—their coordinates have been long forgotten, and the resource base is not exhausted. This option suited me. But the problem was that the relatively intact shipbuilding complex of Dromund Kalakar required the extermination of the Prophets of the Dark Side established on Dromund Kaas. During our previous visit to the capital world, Valkorion had hidden us from sensor observation and in the Force, but it cannot last forever. And an early "revival" of the Prophets would attract Sidious's attention. A sharp point. But if solved, Sienar would receive an almost ready site for assembling its new improved Interdictors.
The abandonment of Zakuul was perfectly suited for deploying machine-building plants on it, which is why Haor Chall headed there under Nadia's watchful eye. Soon, a branch of Incom will join them. At first, they will have to squeeze together on the planet; later, we shall see.
As I already said, Rothana looks extremely attractive to me. Located deep within the territories controlled by the Iron Lance, with a successful offensive, it could be quickly captured and oriented toward the production of the equipment and ships we need. All that remains is to get there. I think Rendili StarDrive will not mind taking control of Rothana as a return spit in Kuat's soul. I'll need to think this point through. For now, however, I must ensure that Rendili completes repairs on the Katana fleet as quickly as possible and accelerates the production of new ships "for Christophsis." After all, to secure the oversector's territory, I will have to strike massive blows at my neighbors. In particular—at the 14th Sectorial. I don't like it when someone breathes down my neck.
The Kaminoans were deceiving the Republic, claiming that a healthy clone could be created in ten years. It can be faster, but more expensive. Significantly more expensive. Neither the Republic nor the Jedi could afford such expenses; therefore, Sifo-Dyas settled on the "standard" service package in his choice. And the clone army had patiently grown all these years…
The path of expense and non-guaranteed results that the Kaminoans offered the Jedi Master consisted in the fact that, like all commercialists, the Kaminoans had a tendency to expand their sphere of services and buy advanced equipment. Albeit in a not entirely legal way.
That memorable conversation of mine with Lama Su lasted a long time. The Prime Minister did not understand my hints, or pretended not to understand. Therefore, I had to break his arm and leg with the Force and then force him to listen.
I had no confirmation for my words, only canon inaccuracies once gleaned from literature. Но, на мой взгляд, этого было достаточно, чтобы как минимум задать вопросы.
So, according to my information, at the beginning of the war, the Kaminoans managed to clone a Force-sensitive individual and obtain two equally gifted clones based on him. Rahm Kota's Padawan named Falon Grey became a guinea pig without knowing it. At the beginning of the Clone Wars, he received a serious wound and was sent to Kamino for treatment. Where the cunning grey-skinned bastards obtained DNA samples from him and created two Force-sensitive clones based on him—X1 and X2. They did well, it seemed; that's where the roots of Darth Vader's cloning of Starkiller come from. They improved the technologies in the Imperial period, and the Sith surely hinted at how and what…
But the interesting part of this story is that both Grey clones fought in the Clone Wars as GAR soldiers. This means they were grown faster than in 10 years. Which means the Kaminoans cheated the Republic somewhere, but where exactly—is not yet known.
I told this to the ruler of the Kaminoans. I seasoned the story with details of his deal with Sidious and Tyranus, and told him what future awaited Kamino—from the remnants of war to rebellion, nationalization, and loss of autonomy. I shamelessly exploited my knowledge of the future, playing on the myths and fears of ordinary sentients regarding the Jedi. Few could boast of knowing the specifics of Jedi foresight. And the Kaminoans were precisely not among the chosen few. Lama Su could not catch me in the fact that Force Visions are fragmented in nature, not a sequential plot.
Moreover, by promising him punishment from the Council for interfering in the secret of cloning gifted individuals so zealously guarded by the Jedi, I was able to break the Kaminoan. Generous compensations and the promise of real protection, backed by a Force Suggestion, broke Lama Su's will. The directives that Count Dooku had once instilled in him were nothing compared to the power I had gained by absorbing Exar Kun's spirit.
But even I was bewildered by what I saw.
"So, Palpatine has a new army. I have no doubt that he will one day consider our cloning operations a threat and seek to destroy our capabilities. Но он дурак, если считает, что мы передали всех боевых клонов Фетта ему," Lama Su said, commenting on the scene unfolding before my eyes.
In a secret laboratory located in the government quarter of Tipoca City, tens of thousands of cloning cylinders rose in even rows. They lacked the simplicity I had seen in the Clone Wars animated series. And each of them was filled with almost mature Jango Fett clones, peacefully slumbering in a nutrient solution. Only dozens of staff personnel, carefully busying themselves at technical objects, disturbed the silence in the room.
These cylinders reminded me more of the ones I saw in "The Force Unleashed" videos, where Galen Marek clones were grown in the underground. Something between a Chief's stasis pod from the "Halo" universe and a laboratory test tube.
"We spent considerable funds and effort to obtain twenty thousand such cloning cylinders," the Prime Minister told me. "And a lot of money went into bribing officials to export them bypassing Jedi attention from Cartao…"
"Damn it," I cursed. "Cartao! That's…"
"Spaarti cloning cylinders," the Kaminoan confirmed my guess. "It was thanks to them that we were able to obtain the clones of the Jedi Grey. However, we cannot replicate the cloning success."
"For what reason?"
"All subsequent clones, both gifted and ordinary, go insane after a while," Su said with bewilderment. "On average—in a week or two. We are striving to figure out the reason, but the larger the batch of clones grown in these cylinders—the faster such psychosis occurs. We are striving for a solution to this problem. The limit we were able to establish experimentally is 100 cloned units. Funding for research in this area, which we asked Master Dyas for, could have significantly increased the size of the Grand Army of the Republic—on average, a healthy clone is created in such installations in 2-3 weeks. At the same time, copied skills via a special training program are already embedded in its memory. Now we are conducting experiments on stabilizing clones based on data obtained from the gifted clones."
"Three weeks and a fully trained fighter…"
"Without any doubt, he needs training in real conditions—otherwise knowledge will not be assimilated. But this approach would allow us to create clones dozens of times faster…"
"You know, Prime Minister," I smirked. "I think you will be interested in my proposal."
"You have already intrigued me with promises of all sorts of support," the Kaminoan snorted, pointing to the devices applied for bone fusion.
"Oh, not at all," I laughed. "I know how you can neutralize such a significant flaw."
"Really?" doubt was traced in the Kaminoan's voice. "My best scientists…"
"Know nothing about the Force," I finished. "I need an experimental batch of these cylinders—say, one thousand. Tests will be held at my secret base. And if they prove successful—your problems with the cylinders will be solved."
"And we will be able to receive more money from the Republic for order fulfillment times," Lama voiced his thoughts.
"No, of course not," I laughed. "You will have a completely different client. A more generous one."
***
As Vette reported to me, the experiment was successful.
Ysalamiri reliably blocked the clones' connection to the Force, and as a result, thousands of clones coexisted peacefully in an improvised training camp on Yavin 4 under the supervision of a Mandalorian clan. I should notify the Kaminoans of the success and increase the scale of production for my Yavin clones. Especially since the appearance of ships of the 13th Sectorial Army on Kamino will not arouse much suspicion. I only need to deal with those subordinates who have great prospects for further service to MY Empire.
Fate (or the Force) had tossed Palleon and the young growth of Palpatine's Empire and the Rebellion before my eyes. Future heroes of the Empire and the Alliance—under my command. And now it depends only on me how to manage my personnel.
But, in the context of the miraculous way of creating a clone army, I omitted one famous name. The name that in legends twenty-some years later would strike terror into the young New Republic.
Thrawn. The Chiss whose strategic mind and masterful command made him the career of Palpatine's thirteenth, secret Grand Admiral. And now, he was languishing in exile, for his talent ran contrary to the interests of his native Chiss Ascendancy, hidden far in Wild Space. And the more I thought about the future, the more I desired to find him and win him over to my service. Yes, now he is young, not as experienced as in the times of the Empire, but still… such a valuable asset cannot be given into Palpatine's hands.
He should be sought out. Like Malgus, who is subjugating Sith Space to my will, Thrawn will be able to bring unknown parts of the galaxy under my banners. The Empire of the Hand, as he called his conquests in the depths of the Unknown Regions and Wild Space. Too tasty a morsel to close one's eyes to all this.
Thinking about Thrawn, I noted with surprise that my thoughts were excessively concentrated on his person. After all, he was only one of a damn dozen…
But let's return to thoughts about the army.
The main, so-called exchange forces of the infantry are droids. The Sky-soldiers entirely suited me as cannon fodder. Simple to maintain, easy to build. A third of the New Forge's capacities is now oriented toward the production of these war machines. At this stage—this is enough to seize the abandoned worlds of Sith Space and take control of the worlds I have marked. The second third, regardless of the time of day, uninterruptedly produced weapons and equipment for the future army. The last section was only being completed now and is unlikely to reach its working wave in the near future. But one way or another, its lot is the production of heavy equipment.
Unlike its predecessor, the New Forge could not independently create new models of droids or weapons—only repeat the models supplied to it. But it did so strikingly fast. By the time Operation Knightfall begins, I will have an army of Sky-soldiers of all types, exceeding the size of the Empire and CIS armies by dozens of times.
And the design bureaus of Haor Chall, Incom, and Sienar will provide me with new weapon models. Which the Forge will repeat thousands and thousands of times.
The soldiers currently being produced on Kamino, unfortunately, will remain loyal to the Republic—nothing can be done with the first and second generations of clones anymore. Reading the summaries kindly prepared for me by Admiral Var, I noted that the Senate, with a heavy heart, had signed a contract with Kamino for the purchase of another batch of clones. The second generation.
The pioneers of the clone army, like my legion, by the end of the first year of the war, which is not far off, will suffer significant losses. Small wonder that time and again defeats in the theaters of war forced the bureaucrats to agree to purchase a new batch. Adult, fully trained individuals will join the Grand Army in a couple of months, diluting the seasoned clones of the first generation. A similar infusion was expected in my army as well—after all, the zone of responsibility is such that I have a greater number of clones and fleets.
Therefore, one should keep a sharp eye on them. The legion that went through fire, water, and durasteel pipes with me will soon be rid of the notorious inhibitors. Christophsis's magnificent medical center will help me maintain the loyalty of the troops at the proper level. Of course, getting rid of inhibitors cannot be a guarantee that some clones will not still execute that cursed Order 66, but here, as expected, the devil lay. In the details.
If I remember correctly, from the middle of the second year of the war and by the end of the third year, the Kaminoans will send the third and fourth generations of clones to the Republic—they are currently undergoing mass training. And additional medical procedures—inhibitor chips, which became the pledge of the huge army's loyalty. Despite everything, they executed the order and exterminated those with whom they had shed blood for so long. Because the Supreme Chancellor's order is a priority over the Jedi's words.
However, now it is not quite so. The first and second generations will execute the Chancellor's orders—I held no illusions here. But the third and fourth, as well as all subsequent ones—this is MY army. No matter what edge of the galaxy they are on—they will execute MY orders. For such is the program in their inhibitors from now on.
I thought long about whether I should remove the inhibitors from the clones' heads entirely. Let them decide for themselves whether they should fight for me or the Republic. But then I dismissed these Jedi ravings. They are clones. Their task is war. In my Empire, they will be given civil rights and a decent existence. They will cease to be objects in the hands of politicians. That should be enough for them. But free will is not for soldiers. The right to ponder orders is a privilege of their new leadership. At least—until the victory over Palpatine.
Of course, after a long conversation with Baldy and Alpha, I ordered their inhibitors removed. These boys earned their free will. But their request—to do this for the whole legion—I dismissed. Not yet.
The clone factory on Yavin 4 followed the same principles. The storm corps, as I affectionately called the clones produced there, consisted of Alpha-class ARCs. Along with inhibitors ensuring loyalty to my orders, these clones, together with those who defected to my side, auxiliary troops, and mercenaries, will make up the second line.
The third will be represented by members of the new Order. It's funny to say, but beyond general phrases and concepts, my vision on this issue has not advanced. However, it is the gifted ones who will have to lead the army and fleet. I have about two years (with adjustments for changes in cause-and-effect relationships as a result of my interference) to prepare gifted ones fully loyal to me. Unfortunately, implanting chips in all of them, or like with Unduli—opening the future, will not work. In the first case, it won't help—the Kaminoans tried; in the second—it takes too long.
Atroxa, like a small child in need of encouragement, reported to me about the successful recruitment of members of the Jensaarai order. Let there be few of them—just under a thousand—and they aren't so very gifted, they are only the beginning. As soon as I deal with the affairs of the sectoral army that have piled up on me, I will gather my trusted Hands and pay a visit to one more place. Where thousands of gifted ones are only waiting to be led by a strong leader. How do I know this? It already happened on the pages of the Legacy-era books.
The Force drew me out of my thoughts. Casting a glance at the training area, I instantly understood the reason for the confusion emanating from Olee.
Lowering her gaze to the floor, as if trying to press herself into the corvette's walls, one of the Twi'lek twins was moving noiselessly from the doorway toward me. To be honest, I still couldn't distinguish them from each other—even their voices were very similar to one another. However, as a parting word, Jabba told me that they are only similar in clothes. But I haven't yet seen fit to check his words.
Besides two clones, two slave girls, a couple of Jedi, and not counting an ancient drone, there was no crew on the corvette. Consequently, if a pair of notable alien women disappears in my cabin, the conclusion will suggest itself. No, really, I didn't invite them for tea.
If Luminara accepted the news of Jabba's gift perfectly calmly, then Olee… Ever seen a little fury? Well, this black-haired girl (yes, she is taller than a meter and a half, but a head shorter than me. Therefore, I have the right to call her that. In the end—I didn't foist her on myself).
Yes, we didn't quite get along with her at first—after all, who likes being foisted with a teenager with ambitions. But after her selfless—and I can't call it otherwise—saving of my life.
I thought a good option would be to treat the girl gently but with humor. At the back of my mind, the thought flashed that the Padawan was excessively intrusive and inquisitive, and she quite nimbly wormed her way into my trust—she almost calls me "thou." If it continues like this, she'll soon start patting me on the ass like a pal.
Therefore, watching through the prism of the Great Force the bit of jealousy toward the Twi'lek emanating from Starstone, I made a note for the future—to put the apprentice in her place. Otherwise, God forbid, Troll Drallig will turn out to be right.
Though… on the other hand, she can be understood.
Unlike the outfit in which the sisters accompanied my negotiations with Jabba, the Twi'lek looked much sexier now. Short-topped ankle boots. Tight leggings of shiny blue fabric, creating the impression of her nakedness. And an intricate top, separately framing her rather lovely and neat breasts. Although, for my part, I would call it a top.
Her flat belly was crossed by intricate black line tattoos extending to her legs, under the leggings, and covering the visible part of her chest, back, arms… So that's what the Hutt was hinting at…
"Lord," half of the Tatooine crime king's gift bowed low. "Ann and I have prepared dinner for you. Will you do us the honor of tasting our delicacies?"
A clear nervous chuckle came from the Padawan's side. She couldn't see my face from under the mask, so I angrily shook a finger at her.
I had no intention of refusing. Neither sister was Force-sensitive—I checked. But somehow they still found out I was hungry.
"A timely proposal," I noted, rising from the sofa. "Why not?"
"I, by the way," Olee intervened, "am also hungry."
"We haven't finished training yet," Luminara checked her. Meeting my eyes, she added. "We will join in a couple of hours."
"But…"
"Don't be distracted, Olee," the Master's voice grew stern. "Your defense is not as good as you think. So first—training, then dinner."
"Yes, Master," the girl, pursing her lips, returned to the training position.
Tan Gella, watching me with an obliging gaze, let me go ahead, following behind.
Descending to the main deck, my gaze caught the blue-white glows of hyperspace opening before my face, filling the corvette's rooms through the transpari-steel elements of the cockpit.
The Iokath drone sat silently in the pilot's seat, not even paying attention to the footsteps on the deck plating.
Deciding not to distract it from its task, I headed to my cabin.
The door panel nimbly slid to the side, letting me inside. Stepping over the threshold, I began to suspect something was wrong.
No, the set table was present and literally groaned with exquisite delicacies. Beside it stood the second twin, Ann, dressed in a long-hemmed sleeveless dress. Но расстеленная кровать, приглушенный верхний свет, запах благовоний… I would say the setting was not at all for consuming food.
My suspicions were confirmed when Tan sealed the entrance door.
"Please don't be angry with us for the deception, Lord," she prattled. "But our position obliges us to please our master. And you are so pensive, so tense…"
"I am intrigued by what is happening," with a practiced motion, I removed the mask from my face and threw the hood off my head. "Especially by the fact that you pulled this off so nimbly under my nose."
"Allow me," Ann threw off her robe with a light movement of her shoulders, appearing in an outfit compared to which Princess Leia's clothing in the Hutt's captivity is a model of decency. "We'll take it from here…"
The Twi'lek's nimble hands fluttered over the armor, helping me get out of the plates. At first, the second sister did this alone, but after a couple of minutes, Tan joined her as well. To my surprise, the second sister inconspicuously threw off her outer clothing, remaining in an outfit identical to her sister's.
Smirking, I allowed the girls to rid me of my outer clothing. Embracing both, I nodded toward the dinner table and clarified.
"But afterward, we will definitely eat," catching a smile from both sisters, I allowed them to draw me into the bed.
***
The sparring with Master Unduli was not like the battle that training with her Master usually presented for her. His frantic pressure, swiftness, and inevitability bore no comparison to the Mirialan's seeming slow-footedness. As soon as Olee thought everything was too simple, she almost missed an unexpected feint from the opponent, which threatened her with big problems in a real fight.
"You are distracted," Unduli noted, deactivating the blade. "The training won't work this way. Inattentiveness is the key to defeat. I thought your teacher told you that. It is the basis of any Jedi training."
"We have… a peculiar relationship with the teacher," the girl hesitated.
The Master gestured for her to sit on the sofa. Olee hung the blade on her belt with a sigh, realizing that there would be no more sparring.
"I noticed how you looked at him when he left with…"
"With the slave, Master," the Padawan answered more sharply than she intended. Catching herself, she looked at Luminara to see if she had said it rudely. She didn't want to offend the Master. "Just… a Jedi owning slaves…"
"It clearly bothers you," the Mirialan voiced the obvious.
"Of course! A Jedi should have no attachments. And the Master… how can one even take and own other sentients? It's illegal and immoral."
"Padawan," Unduli said instructively. "Your indignation is understandable. Но эти разумные — дар Джаббы хатта в знак заключения союзного договора. Should your mentor refuse it—he would have delivered a deadly insult to the Hutt."
"But they are slaves! And the Republic fights slavery. And now he's there, in his cabin, and they are feeding him. I can reach out to him in the Force and feel him resting in the company of these slaves. It's disgusting! How can he not understand that?"
"Olee," the Master said patiently, breaking the girl's concentration. "The galaxy is multifaceted. The customs and behavior of many species cause disgust and bewilderment. What is perfectly normal for the Hutts—is for us—at times even against the law. But we are forced to coexist in peace with them—otherwise, the Republic would have to fight on several fronts."
"I don't understand," the girl admitted.
"In the past, at the dawn of its formation, the Republic was represented mostly by humans. And against other races, humans organized a large number of crusades—for the sake of extermination, seizing new territories, and for other reasons. Humans could not accept that other sentients with a different way of life lived somewhere. Therefore, it is logical that the aliens defended their territory and their ideology with a fight. The Jedi Order put an end to the madness that was happening, and all parties sat down at the negotiating table. And they were able to reach a consensus. The Republic in the form you see it—is the result of the tolerance of some races for others."
"I… I don't really understand, Master."
"Fine, see for yourself," Luminara patiently rubbed the bridge of her nose. "The Jedi have a tradition—at the end of training. The teacher cuts off the Padawan braid."
"Well, yes…"
"Many consider it barbaric. But for us, it is perfectly normal. Just as it is perfectly normal for a Hutt to give slaves, as you call them, as a gift. It is part of their way of life."
"But they are living creatures… they could have been kidnapped from their planet and…"
"Young Padawan," the Mirialan tapped her finger on the interlocutor's forehead. "And where was your head when the instructors were telling you the specifics of the etiquette of other races?"
"I… I was sick. Probably," the girl was embarrassed.
Luminara dipped into the Force. Listening to its echoes, she concentrated, striving to extinguish the emanating emotions in the Force. After a couple of seconds, she succeeded. Well, it was the right move. The Padawan should not witness the riot of emotions.
"Many thousands of years ago, when Ryloth—the Twi'leks' home—first learned the immensity of the galaxy surrounding it, they lived in conditions of a most severe crisis. Their planet is harsh and cannot boast of anything that might interest the Core Worlds. Therefore, the Twi'leks went a different way. Their women are beautiful—well, you see that for yourself—so many of them found a refuge as concubines, or as they are called in the Republic—'contracted workers.' That is, in essence, the Twi'leks were hired by their masters."
"Pff, some hire," the Padawan grumbled.
"One way or another, they had no other ways to get off the planet and settle across the galaxy," Unduli concluded. "Over time, this naturally faded away. But an indelible impression remained in the galaxy's memory—if a person in power has Twi'leks, it means they have status and are more respected than if they don't."
"But Knight Secura is also from Ryloth," the girl remembered. "Why doesn't she behave like this?"
"Oh, little one," Unduli smiled, recalling conversations with her friend. But you can't tell a child such things, can you? "Aayla is a Jedi. And all of us, becoming Jedi, try to conform to the culture of Coruscant. Therefore, do not think ill of your teacher. He could not insult Jabba by rejecting his gift. But he won't keep them with him either. Most likely, he will send them somewhere or find them a business to their liking."
"Yeah," Starstone smiled obscenely, which was clearly not expected of a young Jedi by the Soresu master. "we know their 'favored activities.' The HoloNet is full of recordings of their 'activities.'"
"Hm," the Mirialan frowned. "Isn't it a bit early for you to start watching such things?"
The girl's eyes bugged out, realizing she had said too much. Pursing her lips, she stared silently at the floor.
"One should not judge everyone by the same yardstick," Unduli said instructively. "If all Twi'leks seem debauched to you, then remember with what dignity Knight Secura carries herself and be ashamed of your thoughts. Aayla is a typical representative of her kind, but can you say something like what you thought about her? No, she is a model for many—both in morality and in valor."
"I understand, Master," the girl stood up and bowed. "Forgive my offensive thoughts. I… I will take an example from Knight Secura."
"Well, at least you don't know the shameful pages of her history and the indecent content of our conversations," Luminara thought. Otherwise, taking an example from Aayla is not the best option.
The Master smirked at her thoughts. Even in such small things, Dougan turned out to be right. The Jedi are not who they want to seem. Although he didn't say it directly, isn't it natural for sentients to be who they were born to be? Why, for the sake of serving the Order, should they lose their individuality? Oh, so many questions arose in her head. Dougan, Dougan. Why did you return from the Unknown Regions? Why did you turn all the foundations upside down? For the sake of salvation? Or are you our undoing?
Unduli sighed sadly. She believed Dougan's visions, what he showed. But is there really no other way than to destroy the Order?
***
Summarizing the actual results of the past period of the war, the heads of the Confederacy of Independent Systems were in a rage.
Dooku, situated at the head of a huge round table, remained silent, allowing them to speak. Though, frankly, he was not interested in their minor squabbles and issues. Each of them is merely dust under a Sith's feet. The only one he truly answered to was on Coruscant right now.
But he, too, was not in a good mood. Sidious did not tolerate disruptions to his plans. And the operation to kidnap the Huttlet was supposed to be one of the winning milestones in this war. Leaving a multitude of minor battles on the Republic's balance sheet, the Confederacy was meant to win large, politically significant battles. The treaty with the Hutts ruined everything. The Master had correctly said—the Hutts must have a very significant interest to violate a thousand-year sovereignty and conclude an alliance with the Republic. Those provisions of the treaty that were presented ostensibly as a global interest of the Hutts—making a profit on the war under the guise of helping refugees—Sidious didn't even perceive as a partially reasonable explanation.
"For thousands of years, the Galaxy has been exterminating itself, not without the help of the Jedi. Hundreds of planets destroyed, trillions in exile. And only now did the Hutts want to intervene? Don't you find this noteworthy, Lord Tyranus?"
And Dooku found it noteworthy.
"One cannot use the same solar wind twice," the proverb says.
But now Jedi Master Rick Dougan does it regularly. The capture of Christophsis, the imprisonment of Loathsom, the defeat of Trench, the capture of Yukio, the imprisonment of Gunray, the operation on Teth… Unwise help from Christophsis, streams of volunteers that this planet sends to his army. Why, they are building him a fleet! Dooku's scouts report that representatives of Christophsis have had conversations with almost every major manufacturer of military equipment.
The disappearance of Tann and Ventress, the defeat of Bulq—all this is on the conscience of a single Jedi.
Holy Force! Even if Yoda himself had gone over to the Dark Side—there would have been fewer problems from him than from this incomprehensible upstart.
Analyzing his opponent based on information his scouts could find, Dougan had never stood out for anything remarkable. A mediocre youngling, a Padawan not reaching for the stars… They even foisted him on his teacher like a punishment.
Doda Abhira… Dooku had to strain his memory to recall this annoying, difficult Master. A researcher. A seeker of new peoples and paths. Hm…
Spies reported that Dougan spent his entire life as a Padawan together with Abhira in the Unknown Regions. Dougan participated in the Battle of Geonosis and even distinguished himself somehow. Но после этого покинул Орден. No one had heard of him for several months until he returned just before the Battle for Kamino. And his career took off wildly. He almost immediately found himself among the "combat" Jedi and received a large detachment under his command. And he gave the CIS forces under Christophsis such a slap that it's worth considering whether he should be recruited.
Bulq said the boy is experimenting with the Dark Side. His clumsy attempts to copy Vaapad only amused Sora, and he allowed the boy to leave, contenting himself with the latter's words that the Hutt was dead. And Dooku believed his henchman. And was even able to conclude an agreement with Jabba… but as soon as he left the system, everything went awry…
Dooku loved analyzing his opponents. And breaking Dougan down, so to speak, he came to discouraging conclusions.
The Jedi clearly stood out from the general mass of his Temple brothers. Sidious suggested that the Jedi had found an ancient holocron and achieved greater mastery with its help than many of his brothers. An idea certainly worth noting. Perhaps it is so. But can a holocron teach a gifted one tactical genius? Highly doubtful. That is a gift one is born with.
The Master gave him a scolding for the Count shifting the responsibility for dealing with the Jedi onto Bulq. But what is the point of seeking out underlings if you cannot make them work in your stead?
The metal leaves of the entrance door opened, letting General Grievous inside. At his approach, most of the CIS leaders, those cowardly brutes, flinched. Well, the Count thought, if even his allies fear him…
"My friends," Dooku began his speech. "Since we are all assembled," he gestured to those sitting at the table. By the way, some of them were present only as holograms due to being busy with important activities. "I find it necessary to discuss what we have managed to achieve during these eight months of war. Thousands of worlds are under our control, including, despite protracted battles on Muunilinst and Jabiim, we continue to hold our key planets. Speaking of Jabiim. Our ally, Alto Stratus, informed me that he dealt a crushing defeat to the Jedi, forcing them to retreat to evacuation bases,"—a cry of approval rippled through those gathered. "A little more, and we'll be able to knock the Republicans out of another world."
"What about the failure in negotiations with the Hutts?" Wat Tambor. The Skakoan in his permanent armor towered over the table in hologram form. His troops and fleet waged a non-stop war for Ryloth. Against the Republic, against the Twi'leks… And it must be admitted, he was winning. "The treaty with the Hutts will complicate my position on Ryloth."
"My friend," Dooku smiled. "This is only a temporary difficulty. The Republic will not be able to utilize Hutt resources quickly—and certainly won't be able to dislodge you from your fortifications."
Nute Gunray shook his head.
"But the Jedi are very strong. Especially after the appearance of their new ships—the Venators. General Grievous and his super-dreadnought with the ion weapon turned out to be not so useful…"
The cyborg standing near the Count coughed, interrupting the Neimoidian's unexpectedly brave speech. The latter, though represented at the meeting by a hologram, cringed uncomfortably as soon as the cyborg focused his gaze on him.
"No one expected such a devious attack from the Republic. It was unexpected for us, but, at the same time, the Malevolence annoyed the enemy quite a bit. So, it fulfilled its task. Of course, its loss is irreplaceable for us, but the Malevolence 2 will be a worthy alternative to it. Not a month will pass before additional weapons are installed, and your new super-dreadnought, General," he looked at Grievous, "will enter service. Use it to achieve maximum success."
"How is the preparation for Operation Durge's Lance going?" Shu Mai asked.
"In accordance with our plans," Dooku said vaguely. "Significant forces and a more convenient moment are needed for such a large-scale operation. I think we should postpone the implementation of the operation… say, for six months."
The CIS leaders whispered, looking at each other.
"For such a significant time? Is it not logical to strike now, when the Republic is weakened by defeats? In six months, they will have thousands of new ships…"
Grievous intervened in the conversation.
"Stop being cowards! My new flagship and the fleet attached to it will sweep through the Mid Rim worlds, exterminating Republic forces. And into the resulting breach in the Republican army will rush the forces of Operation Durge's Lance. As a second echelon, they will crush the Republic forces weakened by the offensive. We will bisect the Republic—cut its Center off from the Outer territories. And defeat them piece by piece. Count Dooku! Allow me…"
"My friend, there will be another task for you. The situation at Muunilinst and Hypori should be rectified. While the cautious Jedi cannot break through our defense in space, more and more new reinforcements are coming to them. Darth Sidious finds it necessary to once and for all resolve the issue of the siege of Muunilinst. I think you will support him, highly respected San Hill?"
The Muun, head of the InterGalactic Banking Clan, bared his teeth predatorily. His hologram flickered slightly—the state of siege in which Muunilinst found itself was telling.
"Your mercenary, Durge, is doing an excellent job," he told them. "The Republic sends more and more new clones to us. The Gen'dai easily exterminates these timid attempts to break our defense."
"Excellent," Dooku smiled. "General Grievous. You should advance to Muunilinst, crush the Jedi orbital grouping, and then—exterminate the invasion forces on Hypori."
"I will gladly carry out this instruction, Count Dooku," the cyborg bowed.
"Undoubtedly," the man smiled. "You will carry out everything required of you, monster. And at the end of the war, you will become the hook on which all war crimes are hung. Such is Sidious's plan." "As for Ryloth… Are additional forces needed there?"
"By all means," the Skakoan looked over those present, "The latest Republican attacks damaged a large number of our ships. If they attack again—we will have to retreat."
"Against the background of the reinforcement of the 13th Sectorial Army," Shu Mai piped up, "it seems reasonable. The Commerce Guild is ready to provide assistance with the available forces."
"Excellent," Count Dooku turned to Nute Gunray, "What will the Trade Federation delight us with?"
The latter gestured to his companion.
"We are ready to strike Rodia…"
"Can't wait to pay back for the imprisonment?" Po Nudo, head of the Hyper-Communications Cartel, smirked.
But the Viceroy only gave him a contemptuous look. Dooku smirked to himself. Great Force, how simple it all is. They are ready to tear each other's throats out and don't even notice how they are being led by the nose.
"Wonderful," the former Jedi said aloud. "A preemptive strike should be dealt to the 13th Sectorial Army. Now they have relatively stabilized the situation on the fronts. This is unacceptable—considering their alliance with the Hutts. It would be reasonable to strike Christophsis—as a sign that we have not forgiven the defeat dealt to Admiral Trench. What do you think, gentlemen, should the revenge be entrusted to the Admiral himself?"
"He has already proved his incompetence," Gunray spoke. However, his position received no support.
"Count Dooku," Poggle the Lesser intervened through a translator. "Work on restoring the Geonosis plants is in full swing. Already now we are ready to strike the clone contingent placed on the planet and return the surface to our control."
Count Dooku looked at him with interest.
"You surprise us with your promptness, Archduke. We hadn't hoped for your plants for another several months. Are you sure of your strength?"
The Geonosian listened to the translation and then nodded confidently.
"Already now we are a hundred times superior to the Republican forces on the planet. However, for lack of a fleet, we cannot strike the orbital grouping—the clones have four Venator-class ships."
Dooku thought for a bit, mechanically stroking his beard. In truth, the CIS didn't have many free forces in that sector, but the proximity of the sites of the proposed operations…
"Archduke," he addressed the alien. "I think Admiral Trench can help you with that."
***
The most powerful Jedi of his generation. Maybe even—of any generation of Jedi. He is faster, stronger, more resourceful than any of the Jedi Knights. Even many Masters, and what is there to hide—Council members—envy him. He knows this because it is visible in their slippery looks and arrogant manners. The way they strive to humiliate him with their "my young friend," "young Skywalker."
But he knew the truth. The fastest. The strongest. An excellent pilot. An invincible warrior. On land, at sea, in the air, or in space, there is no one who even comes close to his talent. He possesses not just strength, not just skill, but also resolve: that rare, priceless combination of fearlessness and elegance.
He is the best at everything he does. The best of all. And he knows it. And he is proud of it. The media call him the Hero with No Fear. Why not? What does he have to fear?
Except perhaps…
Looking through the transpari-steel screen at the receding orbit of Jabiim behind the stern, Anakin felt a tremor in his right hand. The phantom pain of the limb being cut off overtook him again.
Gritting his teeth, he clenched his metal fingers into a fist as hard as he could. The prosthesis clenched until the electronics produced feedback into real muscles. But even that was not enough.
He lost. The Hero with No Fear. Like all the Jedi on Jabiim, he learned what not just fear is—but terror. An all-consuming sense of loss when the Nimbuses undertook the assault on Cobalt Base. One by one, the last Jedi died—of those who managed to survive.
He remembered Ahsoka's despair, her eyes full of terror as a real hell raged around. The remaining equipment exploded, clones and militiamen burned alive. Jedi fell one after another…
And all this pain of loss pierced through the web of the Great Force into his heart. It struck the most vulnerable place. For the umpteenth time, it showed him that he is not omnipotent. He cannot save everyone.
Fear still lives in him, gnawing a breach in the firewall protecting his heart.
At times Anakin imagined the terror eating his heart day after day in the form of a krayt dragon. This terrible predator of Tatooine—the hero of many horror stories. And every night when Anakin cannot lose himself in battle, surrounded by friends, this krayt dragon finds a way out. It emerges from that cubbyhole in the furthest corner of Skywalker's heart and eats him alive as he sleeps.
And he, the best of the Jedi, cannot resist this.
Every night the dragon reminds him how he held his dying mother in his arms, how she spent her last strength to say: "I knew you would come for me…"
Every night the dragon reminds him that one day he will lose Obi-Wan too. He will lose Padme. Or they—him.
Everything dies, Anakin Skywalker. In time, even stars burn out. So someone among the mentors once told him.
Everything dies. And one must accept it.
Everything dies…
He can almost not even think about it.
As soon as he imagines Padme's death, he screams, waking up in terrible agony. Again and again, day after day.
Even his own death does not bother him as much as the thought of losing Padme forever.
Earlier, Obi-Wan's instructions helped him, but now… even that is not enough.
Jabiim…
The place where his dragon was able to find food. Henceforth, it seizes a place in Anakin's heart, extinguishing the searing flame of youth, fun, and lightheartedness. It turns the heart of the Hero with No Fear into ice.
Anakin threw his head back. Hot tears ran down his cheeks. So many losses. So much disappointment. And in the center of it all—is he.
He was not fast enough to save Obi-Wan from a falling walker. As a result, he is currently in a coma.
He was not a good teacher—and Snips is currently in the infirmary, having endured Stratus's torture and abuse. The two-week captivity did not pass without a trace for her. Emaciated, with marks of torture after being captured during the storming of the capital, she was brought to the commandos' evacuation site, suffering terrible losses in the process.
The only thing that warmed his heart—he was able to put an end to this madness. The Chancellor, his long-time friend, with a plea in his eyes, had asked Anakin to evacuate, to leave the clones and loyalists, to flee Cobalt to where the only one of the three Republic transports managed to land. To where Obi-Wan was, and where Ahsoka was to be brought…
But he stayed. For exactly ten minutes. And that proved enough to settle scores with Alto Stratus once and for all. Together with Aubrie Wyn, he fought this monster and his Nimbuses. He allowed the Force to lead him. He allowed the fear of defeat to take over. He released the dragon from its cage, and it gave him strength. His heart filled with ice, but the dragon breathed fire, and searing power once again flowed through Anakin's veins.
He was again faster and stronger. He was invincible. He became inevitability itself.
Leaving the remains of Cobalt Base, Anakin looked back more than once, trying to make out Stratus's decapitated body lying under the pouring rain. And although it was already impossible to see after several kilometers, the Jedi could not assure himself that this nightmare was over. Together with the injured but living Aubrie Wyn, he arrived at the evacuation site.
As the senior of the capable Jedi, he listened to the report of the commander of the only Acclamator that had broken through to the evacuation site. Staring into the face of the dark-skinned commander, Anakin felt each of his words strike his exposed nerves like a whip.
Exhausted and wounded by the two-month battle, the clones looked like a bunch of ragamuffins against the background of loyalists almost sleek with satisfaction. They all arrived here—with families, wives, parents. The loyalists of Jabiim, having not lifted a finger for the liberation of their planet, sought to leave it.
Listening to the starship commander's report, Anakin looked at the smug face of the loyalist leader and said loudly:
"Captain Declan, load the clones on board. The loyalists stay on the planet…"
There were many arguments and curses, attempts at clashes, and even open armed conflict. Anakin allowed the dragon to take power over him. With the help of the Force, he held Orlis Gillmunn, the loyalist leader, by the throat, barely restraining himself from breaking his neck…
The Republic left Jabiim, carrying to the stars the curses of the gullible Jabiim loyalists and the shameful defeat of the Republic and the Jedi in general. And of Anakin Skywalker in particular.
***
For the first time, arriving at Ord Pardron did not bear the heavy obligation for me.
Ambitions triumphed—henceforth, I own all this magnificence. Even if I am temporarily performing the duties of a Moff, but still… Power, absolute power…
Unlike my previous visit, I now observed radical changes. For the better, by the way.
Immediately, as soon as the corvette emerged from hyperspace, the order reigning in the system caught my eye. The station in orbit still represented a checkpoint for transports, but now they moved as if along invisible cosmic highways. Even columns of civilian starships flowed around the station, not lingering at the inspection points longer than necessary.
"Look at that, we have a cover squadron," Olee smirked, pointing to a five-pack of Venators hovering not far from the station. The formidable grey hulls inspired power and respect.
"And patrol ships," Luminara added, pointing to several fast corvettes dispersed in nearby space.
"Some order has finally appeared," I was amazed. An incoming call signal flashed, and Admiral Var appeared on the screen.
"Jedi Master Dougan," he nodded. "Welcome."
"Glad to see you, Admiral," I smiled. "How are our affairs?"
"In general terms, everything is stable; there's a relative lull on the fronts," the old warrior narrowed his eyes. "And I don't like it."
"Well," I concluded. "As soon as I land, I'm at your service."
"I look forward to it," the old warrior gave a military salute, after which he cut the connection.
"Keep a course for the spaceport," I ordered the drone.
The time has come to take power into my own hands.
***
The galaxy is as steady as ever. It does not care about all those devious plans and ambitions that guide the sentients inhabiting it.
The galaxy existed before them and will exist for as long after their death. Scars from wars and strife will heal, so that a new generation can get new lumps.
And so it will be again and again. Wars among these stars will not stop as long as fools rule them.
He did not consider himself such, and therefore, many years ago he made the right choice. He joined the one whose life story caused puppy-like delight in him.
A Sith who destroyed a decaying Order. A man whose will created two Empires that conquered the galaxy.
Vitiate's spirit had been gathering information about the life of the galaxy for millennia. Who but he should rightly manage its fate? The strongest must rule. Here the Sith are right as never before.
By the suddenly dropped temperature on his starship's observation deck, he realized with inner awe that the Master had arrived.
"Set," the Sith's spirit addressed him. Among all his immortal Hands, only Set Harth, a former Jedi archivist, had every right to call himself the Emperor's Hand. All the others… they are merely pawns. An instrument. As soon as the goal is achieved, there will be no need for them. Furthermore, they might suspect something…
"Master," he bowed obsequiously before the ghost.
"Rise. There has long been no need for that."
"As you command, Master."
Vitiate walked silently to the observation screen, watching the glow of the galaxy.
The huge hemisphere of the transparent wall was colored with the paints of distant stars. Somewhere out there, in the cold vacuum of space or in the atmospheres of planets, thousands and thousands of sentients fought and died. Millions.
They all died for the sake of one single goal. The logical result of the long, painstaking work of the Master and his humble servant.
He examined the teacher's creation and saw that it was good.
Moreover. Magnificent.
The Sith of the past and present could only dream of such a perfect plan. But they could never have done what Vitiate managed. And as soon as the plan is fully realized—they will never be able to do it again.
The galaxy will once again belong to a single being whose will will become law.
"Your apprentice is doing excellent," Set broke the silence.
"That is his purpose," Vitiate remarked. "To be the best. To become an icon. To lead and subjugate. I am pleased with his successes."
"At the same time, he has already attracted the Sith's attention," Harth noted. "Of course, with your support, none of them are a match for him…"
"It is not yet time to move against Sidious and his clique," Vitiate said. "Too little has been done. So much more remains to be accomplished. He acts quite confidently to implement what was intended himself. One only needs to continue to correct him occasionally, not allowing him to make mistakes."
"Sleeping with subordinates is not the right move," Set snorted.
"Is the resentment of Atroxa's refusal still bitter?" Vitiate smirked. Harth wisely remained silent.
"He can be understood," Valkorion continued. "He is from a wild world where they can only dream of such things. The transfer of his consciousness here made him my debtor. He may not realize this, but such is his nature—he is cruel to enemies but cannot harm an ally without due motivation. A wonderful symbiosis of consciousnesses in one body…"
Silence again. Set was once again surprised by the multifaceted nature of his Master's plan. Finally, he decided to ask the most important question that bothered him.
"Master, do you not regret… the owner of the body? He is lost forever."
Vitiate went silent. The Jedi wisely did not break the silence. The question was already sharp; there was no need to escalate the situation. Но любопытство, жажда знаний… это его бич. And so he could not remain silent.
"He is merely an instrument," Vitiate said. "An unproven one. Thousands of years of selection, improvement… only for the Jedi to snatch him from the hands of those incompetent underlings to whom you handed the Texan clone to raise? That was your blunder, Set," the ghost pointed an accusing finger at the fallen Jedi. "If I weren't sure of your absolute loyalty, I would think you intentionally didn't delete the records about him from the Temple and allowed the Jedi to take him. I spent extra years to train him again, my child. Only for Jedi heresy to cost him his life. The doubts that settled in his head almost cost us our plan."
Harth swallowed convulsively. Vitiate was closer than ever to the truth.
"But now, everything is fixed," he noted. "And the Earthling in the clone's body… Though, biologically, he is only partly Texan. Your son's genes were significantly improved, so Dougan is his best incarnation."
"But that doesn't stop him from being blood of my blood," Vitiate snapped. It was clear that the momentary rage was fading. "Egor's consciousness in my descendant's body is the best incarnation of Texan, you are right. But he still needs more Power. He successfully absorbed Exar Kun's ghost, assimilated it, and uses ancient Jedi and Sith knowledge without much problem. I think we can move to the next phase. Have you found what was sought?"
"As always, Master," Harth said with a smile. He activated a galactic map, pointing to one of a dozen marked points. "Significant CIS forces are concentrated in this area. To penetrate there at the moment without attracting attention is impossible. But I think in the course of the war…"
Vitiate went silent, considering his further steps.
"In that case, other ghosts should be provided to him. Let him gain experience before taking control of this nexus of the Force. As soon as this power is in his hands—even Palpatine will be no match for him."
"But then his powers will be close to yours," Harth noted.
"Power is nothing without corresponding control," Valkorion cut him off. Looking at Harth, he said: "I can never get used to your new body. Though so many years have passed."
"This game with bodies helps keep the Jedi in the dark for nine centuries already," Harth smiled, adjusting the thin bandage over his blind eyes. "They don't even imagine what problems my new identity can cause them—the Miraluka Jedi named Jerec…"
***
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