Shielding his tired eyes from the scorching sun with his hand, Obi-Wan watched with delight as a yacht from Naboo came in for a landing. The swift machine, gleaming in the rays of the local star with its recognizable mirrored plating, braking in the atmosphere, descended to reach the surface and evacuate only two sentients from this remote world.
Both, in an extremely exhausted state, at the limit of human capacity, awaited the long-desired rescue. The mission, which was to become the key to victory over the Separatists, had nearly led to the death of Kenobi himself and his new friend — the Senator from Alderaan.
"Do you still find this planet a 'majestic sight'?" the Jedi Master allowed a needle. A scion of royal blood, Bail only smiled.
"I'd like to leave it as soon as possible, Obi-Wan," he noted. The man, taking a swig from a water flask, stared silently at the descending rescue ship.
The Jedi, leaning back against a boulder serving as a backrest, closed his eyes, allowing his body to finally rest.
Zigoola.
Despite the destruction of the Sith temple and the ancient holocron hidden within it, the Jedi continued to feel the power of the Dark Side emanating from the planet. It was felt all around, like scaldingly icy water in a mountain river, roaring in its natural fit of rage at an accidental witness to its power.
The Darkness tempted him, tested him. Its messages and calls still stuck into his brain like red-hot needles, but he did not answer them. The Darkness had tested him, and he had emerged the victor from this confrontation. And now, feeling that the Jedi and the Senator were about to leave the ancient Sith abode, the Dark Side raged, with its last strength seeking to break the Jedi Master's will.
Mountains and deserts. Arid plains. Practically no rivers or lakes. A dead world — what is necessary to preserve the secrets of an ancient order. It is unknown what Bail found majestic here. When they arrived on the planet, the Senator expressed that he saw "majesty" in this world. Well, now there will be something to tease Organa about in a narrow circle. The joint adventure had brought both closer. So, now not only Anakin could boast of friendship with members of the Republic Senate. However, Anakin's connection with the Senator was of a completely different sort than ordinary friendship. Kenobi knew about his former Padawan's affair with the Senator from Naboo, who was now rushing to the Jedi's rescue. But he remained silent. Obi-Wan could not reveal to the Council that the Chosen One, as Anakin was considered, had broken the Order's Code. It would be a betrayal of a friend, and the Master cherished his friendship with his former Padawan.
"Friends of the Republic" — an organization of sentients dedicated to preserving the ideals of the Republic. Senator Organa trusted them almost blindly — shortly before the Clone Wars, they had helped resolve a looming crisis between Alderaan and Chandrila. Then, according to the man himself, the organization had helped him resolve complex political conflicts no less than five times, so they had a huge credit of trust.
Organa had come to him with the news that on a remote planet in Wild Space, the Sith had hidden a holocron in an ancient temple containing their detailed plans for the upcoming war.
The temptation to obtain them and put an end to the war... proved too great. Kenobi took off without hesitation, requisitioning one of the corvettes.
Their ship crashed upon landing. Finding no signs of life on the planet, Obi-Wan was already prepared to turn back when ancient Sith ghosts tried to seize control of his body. In a merciless struggle with the ancient spirits, Kenobi nearly strangled the Senator, but managed to regain control in time. However, the ship could not be saved.
And the entire journey, lasting several days, to the Sith structure, they had to overcome on foot. Remembering how he managed to withstand the temptations of the Dark Side, which urged him to kill the Senator and usurp ancient Sith knowledge, Kenobi recalled his training in the Temple with reverence, rejoicing that his faith in the Light Side proved stronger.
Rising on huge stone pillars, the majestic, gloomy structure — the Sith temple — towered over the lifeless plain, shrouded in an aura of death and fear. A huge room, the walls of which were riddled with niches filled with artifacts and manuscripts saturated with the Dark Side. And in the center of the hall — it. An ancient Sith holocron, which from the moment of landing had sought to break Kenobi's will and seize control over him, did not survive an encounter with the Jedi's light blade.
Only with the help of a telepathic crystal was Obi-Wan able to contact Yoda and hope for rescue.
Peering into the peaceful face of the Senator, who had become a friend to him during their journey, Obi-Wan thought with relief that the end of the mission was near. The splitting headaches and visions tearing him apart nearly cost him and the Senator their lives. But, to his credit, Organa did not abandon the Jedi with a clouded mind, for which Obi-Wan was extremely grateful.
Very soon they would reach Coruscant, and the Jedi would be able to talk with the Grandmaster face-to-face. Much would have to be discussed.
Even if here, on Zigoola, he did not find the Sith's plans for this war, as "Friends of the Republic" intelligence had promised. But he destroyed their temple and hundreds of priceless Sith manuscripts and artifacts — they were now buried under tons of stone and construction structures. Yes, the Council would not be able to study them, but neither would the enemy use what was lost.
However, most of all, the visions troubled him.
Not the ones where the Dark Side urged him to kill Bail, accept Sith teachings, or commit suicide.
The Light Side of the Force is kind to its adepts. And therefore, in the depths of madness, Obi-Wan was able to behold the future. And even if Force Visions are very hazy and inaccurate, the Grandmaster himself demanded that his students not believe visions blindly. "After all, this is only one of the variants of the future," Yoda would say.
But Kenobi was no longer a youngling. And it was hard to mislead him with the obscurities of visions. However, he could not ignore them either.
During the telepathic connection with the Grandmaster, Obi-Wan informed him about the Force Visions as well. Though without enthusiasm, the elderly Master agreed with the concerns of Qui-Gon's former apprentice, promising to send a detachment of ships for verification.
The Sith had returned to their historical homeland.
The Jedi, exhausted from the mental struggle with the Dark Side's temptations, saw an unprecedented enemy marching across the sands of Korriban, clearing the ruins of Ziost...
The Force whispered to him that there, in Sith Space, a new flame was flaring up in the furnace of galactic bloodshed. Before his eyes, thousands of droids of an unknown model were leaving the depths of formidable and clearly combat ships. Slowly but inevitably, protected from the rest of the galaxy by the Stygian Caldera, a new force was maturing. And intuition told the Jedi that this force was by no means Light.
However, one way or another, during the mental contact more than a week ago, the Grandmaster had assured him that a Council member — Master Eeth Koth — had already departed for the Sith homeworld to verify Obi-Wan's fears.
It only remained to wait for news from him.
***
Morning meditation proved irrevocably disrupted by an intrusion into her quarters.
A moment before the knock on the door, Ashara opened her eyes and rose to her feet. Summoning her lightsaber to her hand, the girl headed toward the entrance of her cell and threw the door open.
"Hutt's blood!" the man standing in the corridor recoiled, falling onto his backside on the floor. "Were you standing guard under the door or what?"
"And did you want to watch me through the keyhole?" the girl asked, pointing the lightsaber hilt accusingly at him.
"Are you a Jedi?" the man rose, brushing off his pant legs. "I would never have thought you had a secret lair here..."
"It's no concern of yours, Terrik," Ashara shook her head. The Corellian looked at her with suspicion. Smirking, the girl went outside, locking the door behind her. Walking unhurriedly toward the Temple exit, she waited for the man to catch up. "I was informed that Booster Terrik would command the caravan. I assumed it was you..."
"Ah," the smuggler snorted. "And I thought you'd rummaged in my brains."
"Don't flatter yourself," the girl requested. "So, did you bring everything that was needed?"
The smuggler nodded affirmatively.
"Ten Incom super-freighters with construction and defense equipment. Repair and architectural droids, anti-aircraft mounts, a planetary shield generator... You Jedi already crawled into the middle of nowhere, and yet you brought an entire arsenal."
"We are not Jedi," Ashara noted. Passing through a large hall packed with containers and scurrying Skyborn, they approached the central entrance.
"Yeah, that vicious bitch already told me that," the man rubbed his neck.
"Who are you talking about?" Zavros became alert. But, seeing a familiar figure on the stairs, she gestured for the man to be silent.
Tython's natural Force background hid the unexpected guests from her. The Togruta ground her teeth in displeasure. The Corellian, hearing this, whistled in surprise and hurried to blend into the crowd of smugglers looking curiously at the remains of an ancient Cold War-era shuttle.
"Atroxa!" she nearly shouted toward the Lethan standing with her back to her. "What the Hutt are you doing here?"
The red-skinned woman turned toward her нарочито медленно, demonstrating a dazzlingly white grin.
"Ashara," she smiled. "Or should I call you 'Instructor Zavros' now?"
"To hell with your jokes," the Togruta jabbed an accusing finger toward the other Hand. "What are you doing here?"
As always, the Lethan was dressed in her invariable combat suit since the Eternal Empire's invasion of Korriban. But even in armor, she looked excessively sexual. To which the predatory glances cast in her direction by the smugglers huddling nearby clearly testified.
"Executing the master's order," the girl gave a small bow and pointed behind her back. Unceremoniously bumping the girl with her shoulder, the Togruta drew level with her and scanned the area in front of the Temple.
At the cost of incredible efforts, she had managed to restore most of the Temple. The Flesh Raiders and "Skyborn" had obediently cleared the space around the structure, exposing previously hidden remnants of former landscaping — fragments of fences, training and landing pads, paths and bridges over small streams.
Now, on the cleared pads stood several XS-class Corellian freighters, which she hadn't seen in a long time, a single Fury — without a doubt, Atroxa's ship, and a pair of elderly, weathered medium cargo-passenger transports around which sentients dressed in painfully familiar robes were crowding.
Dougan had telepathically informed her that a caravan with food, construction equipment, and materials would arrive. He especially emphasized that under escort, all the necessary resources she would need to revive all the Temples on the planet would be delivered to Tython.
And the girl blamed herself for taking the master's thoughts wrongly.
Even under the conditions of a mental link, he still hadn't revealed to her that the restored Jedi Temple would receive new residents.
"Almost three hundred gifted," Atroxa said quietly, following the Togruta's gaze to one of the large transports around which former Jensaarai were wandering. "Not the best stuff, but quite workable material."
"The Academy is not ready..." Ashara said. "I cannot teach them alone..."
"You can," the Lethan said in a low voice. Zavros cast a sideways glance at the Hand's darkened eyes and made a bow.
"Master," she greeted.
"Ashara," the Emperor's apprentice responded from the other end of the galaxy. "You have done much for the restoration of the Jedi Temple on Tython."
"Thank you, master," the girl bowed again. "The system is under our complete control. Thanks to the partial restoration of the Fury station at the far edge of the system, we are always aware of movements around the system. The Interceptors provide us with reliable cover. The Great Temple itself is not yet fully rebuilt, but with the help of the equipment you sent..."
"Our new recruits will help you," the voice promised. "I considered you worthy to teach the first generation of our followers. From now on — you are the head of the Academy on Tython. Terrik and his people will provide you with everything you need."
"Will Atroxa remain here?" she asked.
"No," the man replied. For a moment he was silent, studying the former Jedi. "No compromises with conscience, Atroxa. Teach them the principles of the Je'daii, teach them to be faithful to our cause, and you will be rewarded."
The Togruta looked at the interlocutor with suspicion. A reward? She did not need one. But the girl did not dare to contradict the master by voicing her opinion.
"Atroxa will take my astrodroid from you," the man told. "You've been brought enough R2 and R3 series droids so that you won't need them."
"As you command," the girl noted with some sadness that the mechanical servant had been very useful to her in organizing the restoration work. Without him, she would have to do a lot herself — it's unlikely a competent assistant would be found immediately.
"I'm counting on you, Ashara," the man said.
"I will not let you down, master," the new head of the Academy assured him. Satisfied with her answer, the Emperor's apprentice nodded slightly. Practically in the same second, the Lethan's eyes acquired their former shade.
"I must say, it's invigorating. Но, признаться, не так я хотела бы ощущать его в себе," the girl noted. "And has he taken possession of you yet?"
"Not in any of the senses," Ashara snapped. She turned on her heels to disappear into the Academy's inner quarters. Lingering for a second, she addressed the Lethan. "Before you get off my planet, tell the newly hatched students that I expect them in the training wing."
Without waiting for an answer, Zavros disappeared under the vaults of the former Jedi Temple.
Atroxa smiled at the irritation emanating from the Togruta. Walking to her ship, she directed the "Greys" where they should go, then tapped the top of the astrodroid waiting for her near the ship and boarded the interceptor.
She had to meet the master and receive a new assignment.
***
Afsheen Makati considered himself a pragmatic sentient.
Standing on the bridge of the Resolute, he contemplated the enemy's defensive order. A five of Lucrehulk-class battleships arranged in two "stories," along with two dozen escort ships — an equal number of Munificent-class frigates and Recusant-class light destroyers. And all this, for good measure, covered by a huge number of starfighters. Every now and then a small detachment of starfighters would break away from the main bulk and test Makati's detachment's defense in battle.
"Sir, what are the orders?" Peccati Syn, the flagship of the "Arrow 2" detachment, asked. "We won't be able to hold them for long. The missile magazines are a third empty."
"Give me ten minutes, Captain."
The Commodore himself understood that holding the waves of Vulture droids rushing at his ships with strike missiles alone would not work for long. Despite the huge drain among the starfighters, the enemy did not weaken their pressure, seeking to overwhelm the Republicans with a mass of nimble starfighters.
The promised support — Commodore Palleon's squadron — had not arrived at the appointed time. The enemy was jamming the squadron's transmissions, and Makati physically could not contact command.
The intelligence data turned out to be incorrect. The enemy had far greater forces than those Makati had. Calculating the specifications of his ships and the enemy ships in his head, the man came to discouraging conclusions. Force was on the enemy's side.
And the Commodore did not wish to get involved in a battle without a guarantee of victory. Yes, thanks to the missile corvettes, they managed to check the enemy, significantly battering their air wing and seriously damaging two Recusants. One frigate was still drifting behind the CIS fleet, having not recovered from the damage. But Afsheen could not resolve the resulting stalemate with the available starships.
If he had Commodore Palleon's support, he would risk fighting the Seps. But, outnumbered by them...
However, Makati saw no insoluble tasks. And therefore, he reflected on how to destroy the enemy piece by piece. Had he noticed the Recusant detachment immediately, he would have used the help of General Geen and his fifty Marauders who had jumped to Monastery, judging by the exit vector. But now what isn't there isn't there. Time was lost. Geen had departed to execute the task set before him, and returning his ships was not possible.
What was notable was that in the bridge, behind him near the tactical table, was a Jedi — Master Unduli. Together with the clone Nyx, the legion commander, she was discussing something, not interfering with the Commodore's concentration. "Curious," Makati noted. "Usually Jedi go out of their way to voice their especially valuable and low-result opinion. But the General has excused herself, citing that conducting a space battle is the Commodore's province."
The time designated for Syn was coming to an end. Moreover, the planned time of the operation — four hours — had expired two hours ago. Consequently...
"Sir, ships are exiting hyperspace!" the operator reported. Then, a moment later, added. "It's Commodore Tigellinus's squadron."
"Excellent," Afsheen said, internally swearing in Huttese. What the hell? It would have been faster to send help from Bothawui than from Dressel.
The holocommunicator beeped, reporting incoming calls. Taking a deep breath, Makati joined the Jedi Master and the legion commander.
"Commodore Makati, Captain Syn, General Unduli," the hologram of the "Stiletto" squadron commander greeted the senior officers (and Syn's hologram) with a short bow. "Glad to see you in order. Commander Dougan sent us to your rescue."
"Well," Afsheen spread his hands. "We have a stalemate. The enemy has an advantage in heavy ships and armament, but we are holding back their advances with our strike missiles. Commodore Palleon's squadron never arrived; a strike from the rear on the CIS fleet has not been delivered..."
"The enemy has gone on the offensive at Christophsis, Rodia, Geonosis, Ryloth," Rufaan said. "The 14th Sectorial is in a fever — they have an offensive on all fronts. 'Anvil' and 'Hammer' are holding off attacks from the southern part of the Corellian Run, taking heavy losses."
"What is the situation near Bothawui?" Unduli asked.
"Jedi Master," the officer addressed. "I was informed that Grievous's armada is defeated. He himself managed to retreat to Mimban. Commander Dougan is moving with all available forces to help the Christophsis Defense Fleet. There are reports that Admiral Trench is commanding the CIS fleet..."
"This is not good," Unduli frowned. "Trench is a very dangerous opponent, especially after his defeat at the hands of Master Dougan. The Order Council thought the Admiral had fallen into disgrace or died after the battle at Christophsis — he disappeared from our intelligence radars for a long time, so... An unpleasant return, it must be admitted."
The officers stared silently at the Jedi. The silent hologram of Captain Batch, who apologized for the delay, was added to them. Citing malfunctioning equipment, the captain became all ears.
Since the situation had changed fundamentally, a member of the Order was to command the combined grouping.
"Commodore Tigellinus," she addressed the newcomer. "Are the 'Ruusan Insurgents' with you?"
"No, ma'am," the officer shook his head. "When I received the order to advance to you, they were still fighting on the planet. General Kota assured me that within twenty-four hours he would throw the clankers into the sea."
"Well," the Jedi folded her arms across her chest. "Then we should crush the enemy without delay. Commodore Makati, you claimed you'd have a plan..."
"It's ready, General," Makati gestured for everyone to pay attention to the tactical terminal. With quick movements, he arranged the holographic figures, giving the corresponding explanations.
"The Hammerheads will be positioned in two 'stories' one above the other, at an acute angle to the enemy ships. The Marauders will take positions on the sides of the cruisers — to the left and right of the 'story.' The flagships — behind the cruisers," he explained the scheme. "The cruisers will deliver a frontal strike, while the corvettes — flank ones. The enemy will have to disperse their fire on different targets, and consequently — they won't get a critical superiority over us."
"Extravagant," Unduli noted. "And risky. As soon as the enemy comes to our corvettes' flanks, they will finish them off with minimal losses..."
"I disagree with you, ma'am," Rufaan intervened. "The enemy ships, except for the Lucrehulks, are designed for battle on counter-courses, so in order to deal serious damage to our corvettes, they will have to present their sides to our cruisers' strike. If they concentrate on the struggle with the cruisers, then the corvettes will pierce their defense from the flanks..."
"In that case, we won't be able to send our bombers to attack the Trade Federation battleships," Batch noted. "They have an advantage in Vultures that we cannot compensate for in any way."
"We successfully battered their starfighter park with missiles," Syn countered. "Vultures move in a tight group and 'disperse' only before the target, which allows them to be thinned out before they reach our ships..."
"And our aviation hunts down and finishes off the survivors," Makati concluded.
"Clever," Tigellinus appraised. "Well, I think we can proceed to annihilate the clankers?"
Makati noticed smiles crossing the officers' faces. The joke "landed," so to speak. Only the Jedi was in no mood for laughter.
"Command, Commodore," she touched Afsheen's shoulder encouragingly.
"Yes, ma'am," the man nodded to the disappearing officer holograms. Rufaan's figure, the last to disconnect, saluted his colleague as a sign of respect.
The Commodore thought for a second, then activated the intercom.
"Attention, battle stations..."
***
What common truth must anyone connected with the "far, far away galaxy" remember?
The enemy is considered defeated when you personally have killed them. However, even then not always...
The thought is simple, as all genius things are. But, at the same time, for me — another lesson for the future.
The victory over Grievous cost us a dozen Marauders, eight Hammerheads, and half the starfighters. Two cruisers and as many corvettes had to be left in the Both system for urgent repairs.
Admiral Striklan's fleet was withdrawing to Ord Pardron — for repairs, replenishing. At the moment, it is unknown how the fate of the battles at Rodia and Christophsis will be decided. I will try to strengthen the fleet with the remnants of the three squadrons where necessary... But in case of our defeat, having Striklan's at least partially repaired formation is better than having nothing.
Sectorial command screamed hysterically, demanding the Confederates be stopped, promising to send reinforcements in a day, two, three... As if there on Coruscant no one understood that the remnants of my fleet could be swept away in less than 12 hours.
It's scary to think — if the CIS can overturn our screen from the "south"... One can write off the "Iron Lance" Sectorial Army. And that goes "slightly" against my own plans.
Palleon was not able to advance from Rodia to reinforce Makati — his squadron, together with Commodore Creeves's unit, was holding off the Trade Federation's bold and furious offensive at the homeworld of the creators of the GenoHaradan. Three dozen CIS battleships were furiously hacking their way to the planet's surface.
One could state as much as one liked that the enemy's furious onslaught at Rodia was nothing more than Viceroy Nute Gunray's revenge for his ignominious capture. That didn't make it any easier, and support ships were not increasing. And besides, Gunray himself was not observed at the head of this miracle fleet.
The situation at Rodia grew heavier with every hour. Palleon and Creeves resisted desperately, thwarting the enemy's attempts to land a force on the planet's surface. But acting against superior forces is quite the "pleasure." It's one thing to fight organics — sentients are sentients because the fear of huge losses and one's own death scares them away from even greater deaths. With machines, such an arrangement did not work. The traders were ready to lose every single ship to achieve the planet's occupation. A matter of prestige, however.
By the time the reinforcement arrived, Palleon and Creeves had lost five ships and control over Rodia's northern hemisphere. "Hammer" and "Anvil" had not received the reinforcements from their required twenty Marauders — the perfectly planned operation on Monastery had gone against the plan. Headquarters reported losses — including among the Jedi, but right now that played no role for me. One can mourn the dead in a calm setting. Now the task is one — to liquidate the enemy's offensive. To slow it down, or even better — to throw it back.
"Commodores Creeves, Palleon," I looked at the officer holograms from the bridge of the Deliverance, which had dropped out of hyperspace in the thick of events in Christophsis's orbit. "Glad to greet you."
"It's mutual, Commander," even the hologram gave away Palleon's exhaustion. It was understandable — the Confederates had struck about ten hours ago. And since then the battle had not stopped for a minute. Only thanks to both Commodores' talents had the enemy not routed the squadrons and staged a massacre on the planet.
"The 'Blade' and 'Mace' squadrons are heading to your aid," I pointed to the holograms of Commodores Declann and Zaarin. "They have the greatest completeness in ships and crews — I think this will be enough to counterattack the enemy and throw them back from Rodia."
"We will take care of that as soon as the reinforcement arrives," Palleon assured me.
"Wonderful," I praised. "Take command over the squadrons yourself, Gilad," the middle-aged Commodore looked at me in surprise. By the way — this was his first show of emotion in the whole conversation. Creeves and two future Grand Admirals diplomatically remained silent. No one even dared to object — behind this officer's back was undeniable experience in command and battles. And by years of service, he surpassed Creeves...
"As you command, sir," Palleon touched his fingers to the brim of his uniform cap.
"Rodia counts on you, Commodore," I said goodbye to the officers, ending the communication session.
With the arrival of reinforcement, Palleon and Creeves could catch their breath, move back from the front line, fix the damage, take a breath, and with joint forces throw the enemy out of the system. Or at least — wipe them from orbit, relieving the planet of the periodic bombardments that now and then fell on the Rodians' heads. And Palleon's appointment as commander of formally the entire fleet... a forced decision — I simply have no one else to appoint to such posts. Therefore, we will promote already known personalities to me up the career ladder. And strain the memory and recruit more and more new future aces, naval and army "luminaries" of military science into my army. If, of course, we survive this battle.
But let's return to more immediate matters. That is — to the second battle for Christophsis.
Since my previous visit to the system, Christophsis had transformed. Its orbit was dotted with dozens of Golan defense platforms, whose work was coordinated from on board the captured Lucrehulk hanging over the planet's north pole, being simultaneously the Defense Fleet's headquarters. In the equatorial region, a Valiance-class space station drifted under the protection of its own shields and guns — identical to the one guarding the geostationary orbit of Ord Pardron and Carida. In addition to all this splendor — a fleet of Thranta-class corvettes and repaired Hammerheads dropped in the Christoph system as "dead weight." It was nice that the Christophsis self-defense forces didn't send the cruisers left to them to scrap and breathed another life into them.
***
Trench, in launching the attack, could not but know what and who he would have to deal with.
And therefore, the Separatists struck without any reconnaissance, with their entire mass materializing from hyperspace, which was almost a suicidal maneuver for such a large flotilla. Before the alarm signal had time to sound, the Defense Fleet ships drifting in orbit found themselves under fire from three Lucrehulks, two dozen Recusants, and an equal number of Munificents. And this whole armada spilled myriads of droid fighters into space. At the head of the attack was Admiral Trench's flagship, the Providence-class destroyer Invincible.
The Harch directed the offensive from the bridge of his destroyer, pulsating with light and sound: shining monitors and flashing screens continuously signaled, warning of the constantly changing situation in different parts of the grand slaughter.
But the Separatist Admiral did not even pay attention to the information given by the electronic devices. He knew the location of all his ships and the enemy starships involved in the confrontation. This was his plan, murderously pragmatic and flawless.
The invasion was his symphony, his creation, where each episode was a separate, refined-to-the-detail act.
Even the arrival of a small Republic squadron in the system was not a surprise to him. Unlike Grievous and the CIS leadership, the Admiral perfectly understood that the attack on Bothawui should not be treated as an evening stroll. A systematic siege should be paramount, but by no means a dashing raid for which the cyborg advocated. Such a tactic would have worked if the target were some backwater planet of the Outer Rim, but the Bothans...
Therefore, the Harch was not surprised by the report of the cyborg's flight to Mimban.
And therefore, he admired his creation of death.
He did not build plans for the Trade Federation fleet that was now flattening Rodia. And Grievous's underestimation of the new 13th Sectorial commander's deviousness... Trench had experience fighting such a devious enemy as Jedi Dougan. The first battle at Christophsis added food for thought — specifically, where the opponent got "invisible" ships from, about which CIS intelligence knew absolutely nothing.
Dougan's methods of conducting battle also deserved attention. He and his henchmen both in space and on the planet showed extraordinary talent in battles. Such cannot be obtained by staying in idle meditations, as Jedi like to do. But all the past conflicts of the last decades were detailed in the HoloNet, and CIS intelligence over the past ten years had gathered a solid amount of information about all the Republic commanders deserving attention, and especially the Jedi.
The Harch held a high position in his nest and the CIS command because his strategic mindset allowed him to notice small details. Whatever Count Dooku claimed, the states included in the CIS had long since set a course for war with the Republic — otherwise all this intelligence simply made no sense. The Confederacy is a union of industrialists who would not spend huge amounts of money just to store information that had no importance for them in the foreseeable future.
But one way or another, now Master Jedi Dougan's dossier had an extremely scant set of information. And as for his leadership talents and merits, there were absolutely no marks there. Until the battle on Geonosis...
The Republic fleet — for him there was no distinction between the Christoph system fleet and truly Republic starships — was in complete confusion. All of Christophsis's Hammerheads that tried to delay the armada with a strike group were swept away by concentrated fire in the blink of an eye.
Next came the turn of the Golan orbital platforms.
In themselves, the structures represented a wonderful element of defense. And certainly united into a network controlled from the captured Lucrehulk, they created a strong defense that few could penetrate.
But the Admiral was never an ordinary sentient. Painful defeats help to take a step back and look around, to draw conclusions. Unluckily for the enemy, Admiral Trench made an "analysis."
While the enemy was coming to, struggling to organize a defense, the Separatist forces were able to punch a hole in the orbital defense, "picking off" a couple of Golans that offered surprisingly weak resistance. The exposed section of the front immediately absorbed hundreds of bombers carrying their deadly cargo to the planet's cities.
Trench did not set the goal of capturing the system — in modern realities, that was simply the height of optimism. The task was to deal as much damage as possible to the planet, to undermine its faith in the Republic, which would allow splitting society in two, driving a wedge between Jedi supporters, and making sentients worry about their safety.
A secondary goal was to destroy the system's economy. If Christophsis lost even a month of its profit, it would cause grumbling among the population, disruptions in raw material supplies to the army...
But unfortunately, he did not manage to get to the metal-rich asteroid mines — the defensive systems and starships pinned him firmly to the geostationary orbit, not allowing a detachment to be separated for the destruction of the mining platforms. Well, perhaps the losses among civilians would serve their purpose.
Two Thranta-class corvettes that were closest to the breakthrough point tried to prevent the breakthrough of enemy bombers, mowing down the hordes of nimble droids with their numerous firing points.
Redirecting their heavy guns, the bulky Republic vessels counted on other ships and support forces to create defensive lines to hold back the enemy. Without these lines, they were practically defenseless against faster and more agile Vultures. The Separatist ships, on the contrary, lay on a vector that reduced the number of guns the Thrantas could aim at them. They wanted to go around them, showering them with fire from all cannons. If the Thrantas tried to change direction to bring more guns to bear on the target, the Vultures would turn and enter from a different vector, dealing even more damage. The merciless maneuver was known as "deck cutting," and without starfighter or battleship support, the Republic corvettes would not be able to withstand it for long.
And so it happened. The ground-based anti-aircraft defense posts did not react fast enough. No sooner had the Thrantas transferred fire to the line ships, and the ground guns failed to switch to shooting down enemy starfighters, than the Vultures destroyed the ships with concentrated fire, which crashed onto the surface of Christophsis in a heap of smoking debris.
***
Help from the Republic ships, nevertheless, was in no hurry to arrive. The Venator that stood on guard was already charred, staying near the captured Lucrehulk. It used the former Trade Federation ship's numerous guns to hold back the pressing Vultures. The Venator itself, with precise salvos, was stripping the power of the deflector fields from one of the Recusants. However, it didn't have much longer to hold — under the pressing enemy forces, scraps of plating were already flying from the captured ship, specifically its "core" — the result of successful Vulture raids.
The Harch could swear that panic had begun among the enemy soldiers. The Self-Defense Fleet ships, hastily pulled together from other points in the system, did not risk approaching closer to the battle site, limiting their participation in the battle to skirmishes with attackers from a long distance and launching starfighters.
Trench's attack was a pure insult; the strategy dealt maximum damage to the opponent but left his own ships unprotected and vulnerable to a well-organized counterattack. But nothing of the sort was foreseen from the enemy. Republic captains were unable to coordinate efforts, unable to create defensive lines. They couldn't even manage a decent retreat... escape was simply impossible. Victory was in his hands!
And then one of the Lucrehulks suddenly stopped firing, struck by an energy charge expelled from the spherical section of the Lucrehulk previously captured by the Republicans. In the next minute, crushed by the concentrated fire of the Thrantas that had rushed to the battle, the Separatist Lucrehulk ceased to exist: the explosion tore the ship to pieces. Everything happened so fast that the Harch didn't even have time to be surprised when the second ship — a classmate of the first victim — exploded.
Republic Hammerheads lay on evasive vectors, unimaginably aiming at the trajectory of the last Lucrehulk. Trench clicked, finally realizing the opponent's tactic.
The first two ships perished, struck by the ion cannon installed on board the Republic Lucrehulk. The opponent had saved trump cards for last — the cannon began to be used only when Trench's ships were left without starfighter cover and, immobilized, became an easy target for Republic fire.
Republic cruisers, meanwhile, fired turbolaser guns, while nimble corvettes delivered missile strikes on the distracted enemy, causing a massive detonation that instantly destroyed the enemy battleships. This, the Harch could not but admit, was a brilliant maneuver: being under merciless attack, two classes of ships perfectly coordinated their efforts to destroy a common enemy. Such seemed simply impossible.
"Curious," the Harch uttered. "Scan those ships," he ordered the droids. The Admiral's limb pointed unambiguously at the unknown corvettes spewing missile volleys.
As soon as he was informed of the reconnaissance's completion, the Admiral, contemplating the picture of destruction — practically all the Golan defense platforms, a dozen Thrantas had already been turned into scrap metal. The Vultures had leveled one of the cities on the planet, until the belatedly awakened planetary defense remembered about the anti-aircraft artillery and set about systematically shooting down Separatist starfighters.
Trench ordered the Invincible into an evasion; the CIS ships received orders to withdraw. It made no sense to continue the attack when the Republic's ion cannon could disable an entire ship. The Vultures would remain in the system after the retreat, not allowing the opponent to start rescue operations for some time. And the fires raging in the cities and on the surface confirmed the achievement of the raid's main goal.
The destroyers and frigates advancing on the damaged Republicans were also forced to suddenly retreat. From the hangars of their presumably defenseless prey — the cruiser Serenity — four full wings of starfighters burst out. Even under ideal conditions, it would be difficult to launch starfighters into battle so quickly; in this situation, such was simply unthinkable.
But still, the scanners identified them: about fifty V-wings flying in tight formation, furiously attacking the CIS ships. They were creating a defensive line!
Clicking disdainfully, Trench with a slight smile fixed his gaze on the hyperspace metric as soon as the Invincible made a hyperspace jump.
Even without seeing the opponent, he could guess who commanded the counterattack. Well, Jedi Dougan had tossed him new thoughts for reflection. This confrontation is becoming even more interesting.
***
Remember the large meeting room on board the Lucrehulk from the first episode? Where they also tried to kill Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan.
That's where I was sitting now at the head of the table in such a meeting room on board the captured Lucrehulk, named by the locals the Hive.
"Disappointing results, it must be admitted," I said, looking up from the news summary. Looking over the datapad at those gathered, I, taking advantage of my face being hidden by the mask, rolled my eyes. "In fact — we are defeated."
"The Christophsis Defense Fleet has lost up to 90% of its strength," Admiral Shyrano summarized. "No matter how much we trained — the invasion proved to be for us..."
"No need for lyrics, Admiral," I interrupted the Rendilian. "What's done is done; the dead cannot be brought back to life."
Sitting at the head of the table, without looking up I felt those in the room. Behind me, Alpha, Kenny, and Balda froze like silent blocks — the trio that had arrived in the system on the Defender toward the end of the slaughter.
On my right hand sat the commander of the remnants of the Shield squadron, Oswald Teshik. Following him was Captain Zsinj, from whose unit only two ships remained, battered to the state of drifting trash. Both military men were in a slight state of confusion — after the slaughter at Bothawui, they had rushed into the thick of the battle at Christophsis without proper rest. Which ended for us essentially in a rout.
Olee, Vizla, and Shyrano sitting to my left felt similar emotions. While I was dealing with the chaos reigning in the center of defense, she led one of the squadrons shooting down enemy bombers. The girl had not just been in the front ranks of the battle but had also witnessed the total destruction of the Southern Megacity. The clearing of debris and the search for the wounded are still ongoing... But already now, by the most conservative estimates, Christophsis has lost more than a million peaceful residents who perished under CIS bombs.
Shyrano, who commanded the defense fleet, felt the same emotions — the bitterness of defeat. Many of his people died in the fight. And it would have been a justified loss if the enemy had not reached the surface... but now... No one knew what consequences such massive losses would lead to. Но то, что они окажутся мало лицеприятны — это точно.
Vizla maintained a stubborn silence. Of course, the ground forces had also not shown themselves at their best, but still, it can be counted to their credit that most of the enemy starfighters were shot down by the planetary defense forces. However, in the Force I felt her indifference. It's understandable — this isn't Mandalore; what difference does it make how many died here.
"Help should be requested from the Republic," Teshik finally spoke up. "The self-defense forces failed..."
"Hold your tongue, Commodore," Shae said in an even tone. "While it's still in your possession..."
"Don't you dare shut my mouth, Mandalorian," Teshik barked. "If not for my ships, your system would already be burning..."
"Your ships were sitting it out behind our backs," Ermus flared up, standing up. "Our fleet did everything possible to hold back the Separatists! Thousands of my people died!"
"And millions of civilians," Zsinj put in, siding with his friend. "My detachment essentially ceased to exist due to gaps in your defense! Your Golans didn't hold out even half an hour, although they are designed for several days of autonomous defense!"
The meeting threatened to turn into a squabble. And as much as both sides were right in their mutual accusations, I did not intend to allow a bickering.
"Stop it," I strengthened my voice with the Force, sharply checking the shouters. Olee looked at me with confusion, catching the emanations, but remained silent. "We are gathered here not to accuse each other in mutual reproaches! The enemy proved cleverer than us; this should be a lesson for the future, but by no means a reason for accusations!"
"But sir," Teshik began, however I cut him off by raising my hand.
"Enough, Commodore," the officer sighed heavily, staring at the tabletop. "There are no right and wrong here. Civilians suffered, an entire city is destroyed. Does anyone want to say that in the midst of this he acted worthily?" I scanned those present. There were no takers. An unfortunate idea — to gather a meeting among people shifting blame to each other. "Let's end the mutual squabbles there. Our task is to prevent a repetition of this. The sectorial army's forces are already scattered and thinned as it is, to deploy even a part of them to the Christophsis system. Commodore Teshik, Captain Zsinj. Go to your ships, oversee the rescue operations and repair work. Admiral Shyrano — I count on your full cooperation in this matter."
"Certainly, Master Jedi," Ermin nodded briefly. The Rendilian rose, straightened his uniform, and left the room without a single word. The Republic officers followed him.
"Olee," the girl started, as if my voice had brought her out of a drowse. "Deal with the wounded. Christophsis's medics are under your full command."
"Yes, Master," as quietly as she answered, the girl left the briefing hall.
Only those whom I could fully trust remained. And it was necessary to talk "heart-to-heart" more frankly.
"Shae," I looked at the red-haired Mandalorian intently studying her helmet resting on the shiny tabletop. "What the hell happened?"
"We were unready," the girl said without looking up from her occupation. "We gave all the more or less combat-capable reserves to the army. The current self-defense forces are yesterday's peasants and miners who are holding a weapon for the first time. The Rendilian officers also had to be thinned with new blood — more than half of them, along with trained cadets, left to ferry the Katana fleet. The CIS caught us at our most vulnerable moment."
"Did TX-65 really not foresee this?" I doubted.
The tactical droid who surrendered the Northern Megacity during the conquest of Christophsis should, in my opinion, have become the key to a strong defense for the system. But something went wrong. Trench easily pierced the protective perimeter and staged a massacre.
"Ask him yourself," the girl touched her wrist computer, and a few minutes later, TX walked into the room with a measured step, having switched sides.
"Master Jedi Dougan," he greeted me with a synthesized voice, scanning those present with the fire of his optical sensors.
Even without turning around, I felt the tension from the clones. Yeah, old habits are not easy to conquer. Considering how many clones fell from this droid's actions during the assault on the Northern Megacity.
"TX-65," I addressed the newcomer. "The Separatists managed to pierce our defense and give our forces a good battering. Large losses among civilians."
"I am familiar with the results of Admiral Trench's attack," the droid replied. I winced at hearing that name. Damn Harch, the fact that he was back in action "upset" me immensely. "We won, but there are significant losses among civilians."
"That's putting it mildly," Balda noted. "Whose side are you on anyway, clanker?"
The droid "froze" for a moment, then continued.
"I am faithful to Master Jedi Rick Dougan," he reported. "I performed the task of maintaining his control over the Christoph system."
"But at what price?" I asked a rhetorical question. "We have a huge number of dead civilians; the defense fleet is destroyed..."
"The system is still under your control," the tactical droid stubbornly held his own. "War without losses is impossible."
"With such losses, the planet will escape our control," Shae noted.
"The answer is negative," TX countered. He approached the holoterminal built into the panel and activated it. A map of the system appeared before our eyes.
"Admiral Trench's actions were not oriented toward capturing the system," the tactician explained. "The main part of the defensive system was directed toward maintaining control over the resource-extracting facilities. They were not affected. Christophsis is still ready to supply raw materials to the Republic. The result of the battle proved the failure of Golan-type defense platforms and Thranta-type corvettes for repelling a full-scale invasion. Their effectiveness did not exceed half of the planned..."
"Sentients died," Alpha noted. "And you're all about effectiveness."
"This will cause unrest among the planet's population and in the Republic," I continued. "The Senate may insist on introducing Republic troops into the system."
"Negative," the droid stared at me like a terminator. "The system government is under your complete control. The population, having suffered heavy losses, will only strengthen in their sympathy for you, since it was you who brought support and was able to repel the attack. Small unrest is probable, but it has only a 0.56% chance of successful development and starting a popular uprising. I recommend conducting a purge of unreliable elements in case of such a crisis."
"I like him," Kenny uttered. "He thinks straightforwardly and is a proponent of large-scale bloodshed. We'll become friends with him..."
"Shut your mouth, rusty bucket," Shae requested. "The fact that we can prevent an uprising is still acceptable. But the question of occupation is as relevant as ever..."
The tactical droid shifted his gaze to the Mandalorian.
"Republic legislation does not assume the occupation of a planet without a direct request for help from a planet's representative in the Senate. Christophsis has defense forces, including resources for its own defense. Introducing an occupation contingent will mean violating 70 Republic laws, which can serve as grounds for a vote of no confidence in the Chancellor supporting such an initiative..."
"By the way," Shae was distracted by a message received. "Elder Isel has arrived on board and wishes to meet with you, Master Jedi..."
***
Old man Isel, this time without makeup but in a luxurious business suit, ceremoniously bowed to me as soon as he crossed the threshold.
Senator Fren, following him with a slight arrogant expression, honored me with only a nod of the head. While the relatives were making their way from the hangar to the briefing room, Shae told me that the young politician had already built up connections in the Senate, which had turned his head slightly.
Well, I feel it's time to remind someone who's the boss here.
Kenny moved to the far corner of the room, taking a position behind a bulkhead so that curious eyes could not see him. TX-65 returned to the bridge — the locals didn't need to know about his existence in principle.
And both clones, as if by chance, took a place by the transparent bulkhead bordering the opposite side of the huge table.
"Glad to greet you, Elder, Senator," I gestured for both to take a seat at the far end of the table. "To what do I owe your appearance?"
"First of all, we would like to congratulate you on your promotion," the old man put a smile on his face, smoothing his hedgehog of grey hair with his hand. "The people of Christophsis gladly welcomed both the awarding of the rank of Jedi Master to you and your appointment to the sectorial army command."
"Thank you," I smirked under the mask. In the Force, the old man's fawning — an experienced intriguer and politician before the one who gave him power — was felt. The Senator, on the other hand, was literally oozing with disdain and was almost bursting with his own importance. "The goodwill of the people of Christophsis is important to me."
"If that's so," the Elder had barely opened his mouth when his nephew interrupted him. "Then why is our defense commanded by incompetent sentients who allowed a flagrant bombardment..."
"Shut your mouth," Shae without much ceremony moved to "checking" the insolent youth.
"What?" the latter shrieked. "How dare you, dirty mercenary? I am a Senator..."
"Was it not clear what was said to you or what?" Balda barked, placing his hand forcefully on the man's shoulder.
"I... I am outraged!" Fren winced in pain as the clone squeezed his collarbone forcefully. "I will complain!"
"Fren, stop it," the Elder hissed. "Don't shame yourself!"
Watching this picture, I couldn't help but smirk. No sooner had the Senator socialized in high circles than he forgot who brought his family to power over the system. Credit must be given; his uncle did not forget TO WHOM he owed his position and wealth.
"I find your behavior, Senator Isel," I began. "Inappropriate for the circumstances."
"You... you are pressing a Senate representative..." the young politician gasped in pain as the clone increased his pressure.
"And you, it seems, have forgotten who made you a Senator," Shae put in her thought.
"Perhaps it's worth reminding the Elder," I suggested. "To whom Christophsis truly reports?"
"To you, my master," the old man bowed. Almost touching the tabletop with his forehead. "I ask you to forgive my nephew — a long stay on Coruscant has not done him any good."
"That's evident," I gestured for Balda to release the politician. "Any more complaints, Senator?"
"N... no... master," wincing in pain, young Isel also bowed. "I offer you my apologies for my bold speeches..."
A barely audible chuckle came from the Mandalorian.
"And yet, you made a complaint against me and my people," I reminded. "That it's because of us Christophsis suffered such huge losses..."
"But after all, it's true; there are many dead and wounded among the civilians," the politician said.
"As regrettable as it is," I confirmed. "But such is the price of war. People die. And not from our bombs. Admiral Trench bombarded the Southern Megacity."
"My nephew spoke without thinking," the Elder intervened. "I again ask for him to be excused. He, unfortunately, understands so little of the military art..."
"I hope the Senator will no longer speak of things he does not understand," I said with emphasis. "Or else, Elder, the system's representative in the Senate should be replaced."
"I understand you, master," the senior Isel echoed me. "This will not happen again."
"Well then," I concluded. "Let's move on to the purpose of your visit."
The Elder, looking at his nephew, shook his head, then looked at me.
"I arrived to assure you that despite the hard time for us, the people of Christophsis are entirely devoted to you, ready to continue to provide all-round support for your undertaking."
"That is gratifying news," I appraised. "I am informed that a large number of volunteers are already taking part in the realization of my plans."
"Without any doubt it is so, master," the Elder noted. "We are doing a huge job preparing personnel for the fleet and army. Ideological processing does not allow for doubt in our fighters — each of them is loyal to you."
"My analysts claim that on the planet, given the invasion, fermentation and even the creation of opposition cells are possible," I recalled TX-65's report. "What do you say to that?"
After hearing this, the Elder winced as if he'd eaten the equivalent of a lemon.
"Jo Ptar," he spat out a familiar but somewhat forgotten name. "It's his doing."
"The former guardsman?" I clarified. "I thought he was held in the dungeons."
"We released him as a gesture of goodwill," the Senator broke the silence. "Amnesty for Jo Ptar and his former associates became a gesture of forgiveness for many. After the most trained cadets and ship crews left on your mission, we had to find reserves. I advised my uncle to release Ptar and his guardsmen — amnesty acts add political weight to the ruling party. Most of them enlisted as volunteers after that and are serving in ground units, the fleet, defense stations..."
The Force, like a lone wolf, howled. A grinding of teeth came from under my mask.
The Senator fell silent, seeing how sharply Shae tensed after hearing this. If it were up to me, I'd have done a facepalm. Or thrown him into space...
"Elder, did you know about this?" I asked quietly. "The commander of the self-defense forces, it seems — did not."
The senior Isel looked at his nephew with an expression full of horror. It seemed the politician had realized which way the wind was blowing and what the reason for such a swift Sep invasion was. Jo Ptar and his supporters had sabotaged the defense systems... And this bastard, apparently, is on the planet.
"I signed the amnesty documents," he admitted. "Fren convinced me that it would be..."
"Enough," I raised my hand, calling for the politician to be silent. Without any further hesitation, I said:
"Alpha, Balda, Kenny — escort the Senator to the interrogation room; Commander Vizla has a conversation planned with him."
Ignoring the shrieks of the politician, who was unceremoniously dragged out of the meeting room by two burly clones accompanied by the Iokath drone, I rose from the table as soon as the door to the meeting room closed.
***
Unhurriedly, savoring the mixture of horror and confusion emanating from the politician, I approached him. But I stood opposite the transparent bulkhead, admiring space.
Hundreds of debris pieces of various sizes drifted in space, periodically docking with rescue vessels in search of survivors. Tens of thousands of sentients had found their grave in this battle... due to the fault of one idiot... However, whether he is an idiot or a conspirator remains to be found out.
"Your shortsightedness concerns me, Elder," I finally said. The rage bubbling in me was under control, but I knew it should be vented. Definitely. To the last drop. Otherwise, it would eat me from the inside.
"Forgive me, master," the old man threw himself on his knees, clasping his hands in a characteristic imploring gesture. "I couldn't even have thought that such a thing could happen..."
"And here is the result," I pointed to the field of debris being formed by tugs. Clearing the orbit, they would then send the debris for recycling and give the formless pieces of metal a new life. "The citizens of Christophsis have died. I don't think the traitors sacrificed themselves. But the fact remained a fact. Because of mercy to some, we got the death of a huge number of residents. This is an unforgivable mistake..."
"I implore you..."
"...for which the Senator will pay. You have proven your usefulness, Elder. Но в следующий раз — я выброшу вас в космос. Is that clear?"
"Yes, yes, yes, master," the old man bowed obsequiously.
"You have a week to find Jo Ptar and all his rebels," my condition sounded. "Shae Vizla will head and oversee his capture," the Mandalorian nodded in agreement. "No mercy for the rebels. Announce through the system that specifically he and his supporters are to blame for the destruction of the fleet and the Southern Megacity. Introduce a curfew if necessary!"
"Master," Shae interrupted my monologue. I turned, looking at her. "There is a more effective and high-result proposal."
"All ears," I said indifferently.
"We will announce a bounty on his head," the Mandalorian rose from her place and approached me. "And each of his henchmen and supporters. We will block any departures from the system, except for freighters that will be inspected."
"The abundance of miscellaneous mercenaries could cause dissatisfaction on the planet," I noted. "No one likes bounty hunters..."
Isel nodded in agreement. The Christophsis residents' disdain for the services of mercenaries was widely known. Here they were not liked, not trusted, and in no way did they want to deal with them. The appearance of bands of cutthroats could only complicate the situation — and the former Mandalore the Avenger could not but know this.
The girl smirked, as if she read my thoughts; with both hands, she pulled her hair back, securing it with a clip. A typical gesture for a girl preparing to put on a combat helmet.
"And no one is talking about bounty hunters," a smile played on her lips. "We can find perfectly trained allies in another place as well... But it will cost us not a little..."
"And what do you propose?" I asked more for form's sake. The answer suggested itself. "The question of credits will not arise."
The Mandalorian named only one word.
At what was said, Elder Isel's eyes rounded, frantically catching air with his mouth. I, on the other hand, was not at all surprised by her answer...
"Depart immediately," I ordered. I liked her idea, but one had to cross the whole galaxy to get there...
"As you command, master," Shae smiled mockingly at the Elder, then, grabbing her helmet, left the meeting room.
Looking at the Elder kneeling, I smirked.
"Don't be a coward, Isel. Only you and your nephew are to blame for all that happened. Now, we will restore order on Christophsis."
***
Staring into the heavy cumulus clouds covering the planet's atmosphere, Nadia could not but admit — the view from the top of the Spire was truly majestic.
Inexplicably, unlike most of the Spire skyscrapers — Zakuul's capital — the Imperial Tower had survived with a minimum of damage.
Crowned with a huge transparent sphere dotted with dozens of docking ramps, it towered over the ruins of the once majestic city like a milestone of the past.
During the height of the Zakuul Empire, its small population flourished, surrounded on one side by the care of countless machines that cleaned, cooked, served, repaired, and built. On the other side — the countless armadas of the Eternal Fleet and the army of Skyborn stood guard over the Empire's security.
And all this was controlled from here — from Emperor Valkorion's throne room. A transparent bubble of transpari-steel that looked so fragile — it seemed you just let a few torpedoes at it and that's it, the end...
However, not everything is so simple. Valkorion's residence was surrounded by hundreds of skyscrapers whose tops were actually bristling with anti-aircraft and missile points, which if activated — and only debris would remain from any invasion fleet.
Nadia with a slight smile looked at the pedestal where the Eternal Throne once stood — an invention with which Valkorion, and then his children — Arcann, Vaylin — controlled the Eternal Fleet, directing their countless armadas for the devastation and conquest of the Republic and Empire worlds.
After the creation of the Alliance, the throne was moved to Odessen, where it, along with the entire Eternal Fleet, was destroyed during the sabotage of members of the Order of Zildrog...
Well, perhaps it's even better for the galaxy that way — absolute power threatens tyranny and oppression of the innocent.
The Spire became the first object on Zakuul restored by the forces of the Xi Char and the Haor Chall corporation. However, it turned out to be not that difficult. Having cleared the central part of the Spire of radiation, the aliens were able to fix and start the solar generator, simultaneously marveling at the elegance, simplicity, and reliability of its design.
With the help of a practically inexhaustible source of energy, things went much better. Sector by sector neutralizing radioactive pollution, the Xi Char cleared the huge city for residents who were not foreseen...
The droid production plant located in the Old World — the first city on the planet — despite huge destruction, was found by the Xi Char to be a suitable place for their headquarters.
The Skyborn assault detachments passed through the megacity erected on the planet at the dawn of the Eternal Empire's creation with a punishing sword and cleansing fire. The flora and fauna that had reigned on the planet for millennia were mercilessly exterminated; superfluous structures, in the aliens' view, were sent to recycling... Slowly but surely, the Old World and the Endless Swamps were turning into testing grounds and assembly shops of the Haor Chall Engineering corporation.
Nadia did not interfere in the Xi Char's activity, perfectly understanding that her task was only to watch over the planet's security, protect the sentients obsessed with technological perfection, and wait for new orders...
Every day, the entire northern hemisphere of the planet less and less resembled the former Zakuul. Even under the canopy of Valkorion's power, the planet did not have such an acceptable appearance. Hundreds of thousands of construction droids day after day, following the general architectural plan, brought the Spire into exemplary splendor, ready to receive its population. The planet's defensive structures were being restored; the Skyborn contingent allocated to her for the mission had grown a thousandfold.
Day after day, the planet was getting rid of the feeling of gloomy neglect.
Practically all of the master's instructions had been executed by her. The planet is in safety, the corporation's production capacities are deployed.
The planet's automatic plants, which once only produced droids, are busy with the disposal of thousand-year-old trash, turning it into raw material for future construction.
And that the planet would be built up much more densely, as was happening now, Nadia understood, watching more and more "guests" arrive on the planet.
First — several thousand Twi'leks, following whom dozens of huge Incom freighters appeared in Zakuul space. Again, construction unfolded on the planet. The huge Haor Chall complexes literally swallowed the disassembled equipment of the Incom workers, after which the gates of the production shops closed, and more than lively work began inside...
The Twi'lek colony, by their own desire, was placed in the planet's southern hemisphere, near a huge ocean. In a short time, not without the help of construction droids, of course, a settlement and vast agricultural lands arose there, cultivated by the labor of unexpectedly hardworking emigrants from Ryloth...
Looking at the fruits of her labor from the height of the stratosphere, Nadia could be proud of herself. The task set before her had been performed and even over-performed. Zakuul, the ancient capital of the Eternal Empire, had been reborn and was more ready than ever to receive its residents. The former Jedi, beloved of the Barsen'thor, had no doubts — Zakuul was to try on the mantle of the future empire's capital, eclipsing everything that had been created before.
Frozen in a meditation pose, Nadia passed Force flows through herself, reaching out through parsecs of icy space to her master's mind. The future Emperor should know that Zakuul is ready for his visit.
***
After the famous Jango Fett laid down his wild and restless head in the Petranaki arena on Geonosis, no sentients remained in the galaxy capable of competing with Cad Bane in the skill of bounty hunting.
During his long life, the Duros had changed thousands of clients, having been in various guises — from bounty hunter to elite assassin. Among his clients were senators, planet rulers, corporation heads, underworld leaders... He saw no particular difference in them and, frankly speaking, did not try to remember his assignments. And clients. In his professional circles, such was not welcomed — and in most cases even punishable by death. Knowing more about your employer than he wished to inform about himself is bad for health.
Despite all the multitude of assignments performed by Bane, he never broke his own rule — always take the highest-paying assignment. Not that the mercenary chased money — he always had enough credits, both for living and for spending time.
But practice showed that the most expensive assignments were the most interesting. And difficult to perform. Which in a certain measure threw a challenge to his professional skill.
Another habit he couldn't get rid of since childhood was his desire to spend his rest on Coruscant's lower levels. Where the sun's light was replaced by artificial lighting panels, and the air was so heavy it settled in the lungs like a viscous liquid...
The Duros's favorite place since the start of the Clone Wars was Siun Tarra's joint. The elderly Toydarian had saved the skin of the young and cocky Duros more than once or twice, who was bound to seek adventure on the lower levels. Sometimes, he tossed assignments — mostly small fry, which Cad fastidiously gave to any of his companions.
But sometimes, truly interesting assignments came up. Like this one, for instance.
The client — a man of medium height, with penetrating green eyes, a short head of hair with a receding hairline. From his entire figure emanated an aura of power that he masterfully hid with awkward movements. The theater he played before the only spectator, as well as accidental eyewitnesses, was to create an impression radically different from the one the mercenary had of him.
The establishment proved full of guests today. The rabble from the lower levels was having a great time, celebrating the Republic army's successes. A pretty Zeltron, Tyrell, was briskly telling about how brave clones and their father-commanders from the 13th Sectorial Army had dealt a sensitive defeat to General Grievous's fleet, thwarting his victorious offensive. Licking her sensitive lips, which drove most of those gathered into ecstasy, the host focused attention on the fact that the defense of Bothawui was commanded by the acting Moff personally — Master Jedi Rick Dougan, who had previously become famous for victorious battles in the territory of the same 13th Sectorial. Next, making a sad face, the girl spoke about the CIS's deviousness, breaking through to Rodia but stopped by the "Iron Lance" forces. О беспощадной резне Тренча на орбите Джеонозиса и Кристофсиса. However, before the audience fell into dejection, the girl added that once again Master Jedi Dougan had come to Christophsis's rescue and chased away the arrogant Harch with heavy losses. For whom they were heavy, Republic propaganda, as usual, did not voice. But, like a cherry on top, she told about the Republic fleet's successful attack on CIS ship groupings at Dressel, Nexus Ortai, Monastery... Not without pride, the host also told about the successes of the national hero — Anakin Skywalker, who took the reins of the Republic armada command at Muunilinst... As usual — the Republic is winning, but the war keeps dragging on. And the Jedi, well done, warriors. Cad smiled at his own thought.
The man, in a faltering but well-delivered tone, slightly stuttering, told Cad a story. Which the mercenary listened to attentively but did not hear. He didn't care at all that a "small official" from the Senate wanted to remove another sentient from his path. The Duros were never interested in the motives and reasons for an assignment. Only the payment is important.
"How much?" the hunter finally asked in a hoarse voice, shifting a toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other.
"F-f-fifty thousand," the man exhaled.
"A not-small amount," Cad appraised. "But clearly insufficient to interest me."
"B-but, I was assured..."
"You were misled. For less than a hundred thousand, I won't even be bothered to lift my backside from this chair."
"That truly is huge money!" the client noted.
"And you are observant," the mercenary smirked. "So let's start the conversation at a hundred and fifty thousand."
"But you just said..."
"You're persuasive — at two hundred."
"That's the price of a whole..."
"Three hundred..."
"Fine," the man's eyes flashed angrily at him. But Cad only smiled. No matter how good an actor this man considered himself, his comedy could mislead only someone who had not dealt with humans and had not learned their facial expressions thoroughly.
"Well then," the Duros broke into a smile. "Now let's talk about the target. Who is he and where can he be found?"
"He will soon arrive on Coruscant," the stuttering disappeared from the man's quick speech. The Duros internally rejoiced at such a rapid healing. "In about a week. He needs to be shot, without hitting anyone from his entourage."
"Blowing him up is always more reliable," Cad noted.
"Unacceptable," the customer rejected. "His death must be exemplary, but no one from his entourage must suffer. And he should be shot under strictly certain circumstances..."
Hearing the latter, the mercenary internally gathered himself. On one hand — many restrictions only whetted his professional appetite. On the other — such assignments often turn out to be blanks and a setup for the killer himself.
"What other circumstances?" the mercenary rasped.
"He must be killed on the steps of the Opera," the man bared his teeth. "But I remind you — no one but him must suffer. I will provide the time of the Opera visit additionally on this comlink," he handed the device to the mercenary.
"Why not kill him at another time and in another place?"
"He is extremely cautious," the man narrowed his eyes. "Armed, and always wears armor. Besides, in ordinary times, he always has a large retinue with him — several bodyguards, war droids, a Padawan..."
The last word grated on the Duros's hearing holes. With anticipation, he asked in an insinuating tone.
"So my target is a Jedi?"
The man, apparently having blurted out too much, nodded silently.
"Excellent," Bane broke into a wide smile. "You've come to the right place. But the price just increased to one million. And money up front — as usual, with non-traceable chips to the bearer..."
The man, without blinking, nodded in agreement. The Duros clearly understood that the customer was ready to pay several times more, but his price should not be too inflated either. Otherwise, the man might "break."
However, among the Order members, there were not that many sentients for whom one was ready to pay the cost of a whole cruiser...
"And who is my target?" the mercenary asked, more for form's sake and professional politeness.
The man was silent for a moment, then, attracted by the broadcasting, for a moment looked at the release of galactic news duplicating an old release dedicated to the liberation of Christophsis from CIS occupation.
The customer stared at the monitor until an image of a figure in closed armor, with a mask on the face and a black-and-silver cloak, appeared on the screen. Then, the image changed to more recent footage — the same figure, silently staring at the rout of CIS ships in Bothawui orbit. In the lower part of the screen, an explanatory caption for the viewers appeared...
"Unexpected," Bane admitted. For a moment he thought, then uttered. "Three million."
With an obvious chuckle, the customer pushed three credit chips of the highest denomination toward the Duros on the tabletop.
"I will be in touch as soon as he arrives on Coruscant," the customer rose, tapping his finger on the left comlink, then silently left the establishment.
"I can't wait," the mercenary said in a hoarse voice, hiding the payment in his inner pockets. Well, a Jedi then. In the end, it is specifically he, Cad Bane, the best Jedi hunter. Not counting, of course, the late Jango Fett, may the sarlacc devour his offspring.
Tipping back a glass of Corellian brandy, the mercenary threw some change on the table and hurried to leave the establishment.
***
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