Watching Atroxa's Fury slowly descend onto the landing field in front of the base's main hangar, Malgus noted with a professional eye the interceptor's numerous damages. Several sections of the hull were torn out completely, one of the engines was running unevenly, and the cloaking mesh had patches visible to the naked eye…
The Sith thought with displeasure that only untrained barbarians would use such an elegant ship as the Fury in open combat. And judging by everything, that's exactly what had happened.
"I deprived Anomid scientists of sleep and food by the hundreds to build these ships," he said aloud. The Togruta standing nearby wisely remained silent. "And this Jedi and his Twi'leks turned one of the last three Furies into junk in a couple of months…"
The welcoming committee consisted only of the Sith and the former Togruta Jedi. The rest of the base personnel, which still barely numbered a hundred people, were on continuous duty at the base, on foot or space patrols.
And wasn't it too much of an honor? Convening a welcoming committee just for servants like themselves?
Ashara stood silently, watching the two Twi'leks descend the ramp. Tired of the organizational routine, she looked noticeably bored.
"We expected you to arrive earlier," the girl remarked as soon as the newcomers approached. "Nadia and Kira left as soon as they got your message."
"Don't tell me you expect us to report to you on how we spent our time?" the Lethan said contemptuously. The red-skinned woman demonstratively tossed the hilt of her lightsaber in her hand. Her entire behavior, her posture, exuded superiority over her interlocutor. As if being a doormat for a Jedi was something important, the Sith thought.
However, the Togruta, Malgus, and Atroxa were united by something in common.
Hunting down Darth Nox like predators, the former commander and the Sith Lady had tracked down each of his companions. An archaeologist. A bounty hunter. Next was a servant droid, who tried to lead the pursuit away from the former Dark Council member. In the end, the sorcerer was left only with his loyal Dashade, a Kaleesh, and a Togruta. These three were of interest to the Emperor, but the beast protected its master to the last drop of blood.
The Sith recalled with relish that, fueled by the Emperor's Dark Side, they had playfully deflected most of Nox's attacks. The Councilor had lost both arms, then his legs. Malgus had almost lost himself, nearly taking the life of the former Lord Kallig, while Atroxa effortlessly disarmed the Kaleesh by severing his hand and knocked Ashara unconscious.
They had broken them both. Effortlessly, allowing the Emperor to shatter their will, trample it, and rebuild their personalities from scratch. They begged for death. But death came only for Nox. Atroxa had directed the Togruta's blades… Since then, a certain… let's say, mutual dislike had arisen between the girls.
A pity only that the Kaleesh had died, sent into the midst of the Brotherhood of Darkness. Darth Bane, driven by his own plans, never learned of Vitiate's offer, never voiced by the foolish alien. Zilek had been too stupid to believe Kaan's promises…
But, on the other hand — they were all just toys in the hands of the Emperor. And his Apprentice.
Watching the verbal duel between the Togruta and the Lethan, Malgus noted with hidden hope that the latter had not remained in debt, summoning the Force to her. In her years of service as a Hand, the girl had quickly learned that you should always be the first to start a fight.
"I would be happy to discuss this with you," Ashara smiled. "The Emperor's Apprentice wouldn't mind if I strangled you with your own intestines, would he?"
The red-skinned woman bared her teeth, activating a golden-colored blade. Zavros responded to her, completing the picture with two more lightsabers, taking her own blades in a ready stance…
"Stop it," Vette intervened, stepping between the girls who were ready to lunge at each other. "He won't be happy about this."
"Meddling little whore," Malgus thought. "Ruined such fun."
The traitor's fate should have been sealed back when the former Wrath of the Empire sacrificed his companions to escape the Emperor's Hands…
As Valkorion had promised him, the Sith warrior was killed last. He had unemotionally sacrificed his former lover — Vette — in a desperate attempt to avoid inevitable retribution. Needless to say, recruiting the Twi'lek proved easy enough? And tracking down the warrior's other companions with her help, exterminating them all except Jaesa Willsaam, became almost a point of honor for the blue-skinned woman. She had easily killed her former lover and helped break Willsaam's will. Valuable acquisitions that had helped implement the Emperor's plans more than once.
But here, on this base, Malgus was frankly bored.
Odessen turned out to be a most trivial, impossibly boring world. The notorious balance of the Force, in favor of which Dougan had chosen the planet, only brought a sense of peace, which was abhorrent to a Sith.
The Sith's blood demanded action, preferably the kind where a battle raged all around… Why the hell had Dougan summoned these two Jedi women? He was at war! He needed a commander, a man of action, not these contemplatives.
"Let's go to the operations center," Vette said. "The Master has tasks for us."
"A holotransmission would have been faster," Malgus said irritably, hoping for at least a verbal exchange. But the girls simply ignored him, silently heading inside the base.
* * *
According to Vette, the atmosphere in the current operations center was exactly the same as the one that had reigned here during the time of the Eternal Alliance.
Gathered around a huge ancient holoprojector, which, incidentally, worked perfectly even four thousand years later, the three Hands watched as the fourth adjusted the equipment.
"And why does she have the message from the Master, not you?" Ashara asked Atroxa.
The Lethan shrugged nonchalantly.
"I don't rule his thoughts," she replied.
"Oh, we know what you do rule over there," the Togruta waved dismissively. Seeing the lack of understanding on the Lethan's face, she added. "We all know how you while away his evenings."
"Less envy, dearie," Atroxa smiled. Malgus thought with disgust that the Sith Lady wasn't bothered by the reputation of an easy woman. Although, he recalled, she hadn't been bothered before either. The entire Imperial Fleet knew how she had secured her appointment to Coruscant. Sith, Moffs, admirals… who hadn't been in the arms of this whore.
Disgusting. While the Sith were scheming and plotting against each other, she was merely spreading her legs for the right individuals at the right time.
Over his years of service to the Emperor, more than once or twice, the Sith had been visited by the thought that he wouldn't be surprised if he ever learned that she had earned her place among Valkorion's Hands through a well-known method.
"Who's jealous?" Ashara snorted with laughter.
"You are jealous," Atroxa seemed to savor every word. "Believe me, girl, if you don't want to die on this piece of rock from old age, surrounded by antiques, swallow your pride. In the end," the Lethan rolled her eyes and licked her teeth lasciviously with the tip of her tongue, "it's worth it."
"Will you stop?" Malgus grumbled. What was this blue-skinned woman still digging for?
"Easy there, big guy," Atroxa chuckled. "You haven't had a chance since the Empire."
Malgus shook his head warningly. This woman had always known how to manipulate men. But not him. He had overcome his weakness, and carnal pleasures did not move him.
"I'll take your word for it," Zavras snorted. "With your experience..."
"Don't believe me," the red-skinned beast smiled, "ask Vette."
For a second, the Togruta froze with her mouth open.
Admittedly, Malgus was surprised too. Not that he was very surprised — after all, Vette, like Atroxa, was a Twi'lek, and promiscuous behavior was in their blood. But still — unexpected.
"Ah, so that's where this port is!" came the voice of the blue-skinned smuggler. The girl emerged from beneath the holoprojector terminal and inserted an information chip into the receiving slot. "Let's take a look at our assignments..."
The girl's hands flew over the keyboard.
Atroxa and Zevras were devouring each other with their eyes. The first — with some triumph. The other — with distrust and a hint of disgust.
Finally, the Togruta couldn't take it anymore.
"Vette!" the Jedi called out to the Twi'lek. "I have a question for you..."
* * *
While the alien women went off to whisper, Malgus brought up the details of his assignment on the holoprojector screen.
Unlike the Emperor, who set tasks simply, concisely, and unambiguously, issuing orders through the voice of his sycophant Khrat, the mission from Dougan... was some kind of flight of consciousness. Words, words, words, historical references, more words... Nothing concrete.
Just historical references, reflections connected to Revan, his struggle with his own apprentice... Malgus prepared to close the file to ignore the assignment, but his eyes caught what was written in the last paragraph.
"The Star Forge is not the only station created by the Rakata. You know what I'm talking about. Activate the station before my return."
After rereading his own assignment, Malgus felt like he couldn't get enough air.
Long ago, the race of Dark Side servants — the Rakata — had created a fully automated station that produced droids and ships faster than any shipyards in the universe could. The "Star Forge."
Revan and Malak — two fallen Jedi, subdued by the Emperor — went in search of it. If the Empire gained the power of infinite fleet reproduction, it would become invincible and would sweep the Republic away in an instant.
The Sith didn't know the details, contenting himself only with fragments of rumors. But over thousands of years of serving the Emperor, he had uncovered this secret too.
Revan and Malak turned against each other. The Republic supported Revan, corrupting him with the Light Side. As a result of a powerful battle in the Rakata's home system — Lehon — the "Forge" was destroyed. The empire of fallen Jedi that had been created fell.
Revan was in the Emperor's captivity for three hundred years. The Jedi freed him and allowed him to carry out his vengeance. Revan managed to hide from the Emperor — who had spent three hundred years studying his prisoner — that the "Forge" had a younger sister — the "Foundry" station.
Although its resources couldn't be compared to the "Forge's" capabilities, in experienced hands the "Foundry" could bring half the galaxy to its knees.
Revan used it to produce battle droids. As soon as the strike group, on Malgus's orders, seized the "Foundry" and eliminated Revan, the Sith set his sights on it.
No one, not even the Dark Council, knew that the Emperor's Wrath, Darth Nox, a bounty hunter, and an intelligence agent had preserved the "Foundry." Even then, planning his New Empire, Malgus understood what would be at stake.
A trump card like the "Foundry" couldn't help but play its role. Malgus sent thousands of scientists to the "Foundry" to unlock its secrets.
As soon as the Emperor was struck down by the Jedi and the Dark Council rushed to tear each other's throats out, Malgus announced the creation of his New Empire.
The "Foundry," hidden in a new system behind the Anomid masking fields, awaited its hour.
It didn't.
The reports sent by the aliens forced Malgus to abandon using the station.
A creation of the Dark Side, the "Foundry" drove most of the scientists mad. The aliens killed each other by the dozens, just to free themselves from the station's influence. Malgus visited it personally. Once.
As a true servant of the Dark Side, he was amazed by the power of this creation. The prospects that opened before him nearly made him a slave to the "Foundry." The temptation to channel its power through himself was so great that only monstrous self-control helped him avoid being subjugated by the station.
He left that place, vowing never to return. Unable to destroy the ancient structure, he preferred to forget about it and erase all mentions of it.
Now, reading the man's order — find and activate the station — he again felt a sensation as though the Force itself had frozen in his veins. Memories flooded over him, bringing only a grim sense of impending catastrophe.
Wrath burned in his veins.
The boy! The fool! He'll ruin them all!
For all of them, the "Foundry" was just a factory. But only Malgus, and perhaps Revan, had seen the true face of this terrible invention.
It would tear out its creator's soul, drain his veins, and grind his bones to powder, but it would never stop. The "Foundry" was absolute evil, so all-encompassing that only the Emperor himself could compete with it.
The station would spare no one. It would use any sentient as fuel, to serve its own purposes. Once aboard the station, Malgus had felt its insatiable hunger. Draining Force and life energy from its inhabitants, the "Foundry" used those who tried to control it. While sentients received their products from it — weapons, droids — it itself used the sentients. It clouded their minds, drove them mad, and fed on those who succumbed.
From memory, Malgus could reproduce the report of his scientists, who had opened his eyes to the monster he had been ready to awaken.
"It will never stop executing its program," he uttered quietly, the words etched into his memory. "Its mechanisms may sleep for thousands of years, but they will always be ready to work. The 'Foundry' is one big trap for any sentients, gifted or not. Perhaps that's why the Rakata abandoned it, sending it to a remote system. Its purpose and objectives are unclear, but to achieve them, it's willing to tolerate anyone who can satisfy its hunger for the Force."
Closing his eyes, Malgus experienced true animal fear for perhaps the second time in his life. The first time — when he stepped aboard the "Foundry." The second — now, realizing that the man's order demanded his return.
"Damnation take you!" Malgus slammed his fist hard against the glass surface of the terminal, causing the holographic text to disappear. Looking around, he saw that the few mercenaries — technicians Hart had hired — had hastened to leave the room, so as not to get in the Sith's way.
Four thousand years wasted! The secret he had guarded had come to light.
Where in the Hutt's name had the boy even learned about this station?
His reflections were interrupted by the well-known, provocative, leisurely clicking of Atroxa's heels, approaching him unhurriedly.
Spotting the Lethan looking at him with interest, he strode toward her furiously, jabbing his finger into the Jedi's whore's chest.
"You! You will return to him immediately and make him abandon this plan! The 'Foundry' will destroy us all, just as it did its previous masters! Tell him our lives aren't worth becoming fuel for that damned death machine..."
The girl stood before him and smiled. But this time, her smile wasn't flirtation or teasing. It was a harsh mockery from one in control toward her servant.
A suspicion flashed through the Sith's mind...
"Why don't you say that directly?" the girl's lips moved, but a voice that was completely not hers came from her mouth. Distorted by the Force, the voice of a man whose consciousness had taken over the Lady Sith's body — he recognized it almost immediately.
"A Jedi," Malgus bared his teeth. He stepped so close that the scent of the Lethan's perfume reached his nostrils. Grabbing the girl by the shoulder, Malgus shook the beautiful doll that had become a vessel for her master. "You don't know what you're doing, you..."
With a lightning-fast movement, the Lethan's thin hands seized the Sith's arm and twisted it at an unnatural angle, causing pain and tearing ligaments. Howling in pain, Malgus instantly summoned a lightsaber hilt to his hand, but couldn't use it.
"On your knees," a voice boomed in his ears, triggering the blind obedience program the Emperor had embedded deep in his subconscious, "before the Dragon of Zakuul!"
As soon as the code phrase ended, the Sith crashed to his knees, smashing the armored plates of his kneepads against the grated floor of the base.
A fine tremor began to shake Malgus's body. Vitiate, the old sadist, had made sure that after disobeying him just once, the Hands would never feel such a desire again.
The Sith's nervous system blazed as if voltage from the nearest reactor had been applied to it. His skin relived the memories of countless cuts and flayings. Again and again, episodes of bones being broken flashed through the warlord's memory...
The code phrase had brought to the surface all the pain and suffering that the future Hand had endured day after day for several years, before his will surrendered. Only the oath of loyalty to a new master had stopped Valkorion's torture thousands of years ago. Sith magic, which Malgus had not suspected, had bound him in servitude to a ruthless maniac. And now the dead man had passed his whip to his apprentice.
"I..." words were spat from his throat along with clots of blood. Tearing off the respirator, now filled with blood, Malgus tried to clear his damaged airways of blood, realizing he was losing precious time with every second. His body, receiving no physical injuries, was tormenting itself with the memories of past tortures. A sophisticated delayed punishment for those Hands who, like Malgus, forgot their place. The Sith magic that had halted the aging of each of the Hands had broken its chain, destroying the apostate from within. Malgus knew the price of his salvation. And he was ready to pay it.
"One day," he thought, "I'll tear your limbs from your body and break your spine." A thought he would live with from now on. He would get rid of Valkorion's "gift." And he would settle accounts with the boy.
"I... swear... loyalty... to your... kkhak... teaching..." Blood poured from his throat, nose, ears, and eye sockets in a stream. "Master..."
What was said bore fruit. With literally two hacks, he managed to clear his throat and gulp fresh air. His throat, damaged in past battles, treacherously tickled.
Malgus stood on all fours. Crushed. Destroyed. In a puddle of his own blood. In times past, he wouldn't have lasted a day — other Sith, sensing his weakness, would have finished him off around the nearest corner.
Atroxa — or rather, his new master — crouched down before him. His new master lifted the Sith's face and peered with their pitch-black eye sockets into Malgus's weakened face.
"There won't be a second chance," the Jedi warned through the Lethan's lips. "Obey, or die."
With these words, the Lethan's thin fingers deftly placed the respirator mask onto his face. Malgus, with relief, inhaled the now-safe air and collapsed onto his back with pleasure. The tremor in his arms and legs reminded him of the demonstrative humiliation to which the Emperor's apprentice had subjected him.
The boy had learned a new trick — placing his consciousness into the bodies of his Hands. A technique the Emperor had used on his secret agents — the Emperor's Children. After Vitiate's death, either on their own or with Jedi or Sith help, all of these "Children" had been found and eliminated.
Except one.
Kira Carsen. A Jedi who had gone to Dougan. Only she, or the old maniac himself, could have revealed the technique of this bond to his new true master. Hutt scum...
Out of the corner of his eye, Malgus saw Vette and Ashara standing in the doorway where they had gone to gossip. Atroxa pointed at the prostrate, exhausted Malgus.
"When you're done admiring, help him come to his senses. And get to work."
* * *
In the past, Kira had been one of the Emperor's Children — a group of individuals who could contain the Emperor's consciousness, serving as his secret agents.
Nadia Grell, together with her teacher, had fought against the Emperor's Children.
Both girls had valuable experience that would allow me to coordinate the actions of my Hands anywhere in the galaxy. For the most part, that's why I called the girls to Christophsis in person. Reports were reports, but they were obligated to share their knowledge with me.
I called them to my office toward evening, a day after their arrival. Postponing Ptar's request for a meeting, which the base commander had conveyed to me, I ordered Vizla to block access to the floor. The Mandalorian, with a cynical chuckle, gave the corresponding orders to the clones.
"You called for us, master?" Grell clarified, entering my office first.
In the evening twilight, the shadows falling on the objects in the room caused slight discomfort. I had deliberately not turned on the lights.
"Come in," I indicated the sofas to the girls, finishing reading Grell's report. I wanted to question the white-skinned girl right now, but...
The girls positioned themselves sideways, each sitting on their own sofa.
"You both dealt with the Emperor's Children in your time," I began. Seeing their darkened faces, I continued.
"I want you to teach me how to maintain contact with you at a distance."
"Only the Emperor could do that!" Kira declared. "And each of his servants — the Voice, the Children — underwent special training, enhancements... It's impossible to contain the Emperor's consciousness without that."
I could feel that my initiative wasn't generating any enthusiasm among the girls. But they were Hands, meant to obey.
"Kira," I said as calmly as possible. "My consciousness isn't even close to the Emperor's." The girl tried to object, but I cut her off. "This isn't a request."
A flash of anger flickered in the girl's eyes. And immediately disappeared.
Despite her rebellious nature, the girl perfectly understood the rules of the "game."
"You can't just snap your fingers and transfer your consciousness into another body," Grell shook her head. "A direct connection between the subjects is crucial here. The Emperor subdued us and gained the ability to penetrate our consciousness. But he never performed full consciousness transfers. We only heard his voice, his emotions, nothing more."
"We were taught to believe in the Emperor, to adore him," Carsen picked up. "To be utterly devoted to him. For all his power, the Emperor couldn't subjugate the consciousness of a Sith Lord who hadn't been prepared or trained."
"Emotional upgrade," I suggested. "They made you open to the Emperor's consciousness. When you followed the Light path," I turned to Kira, "you blocked the Emperor's access to your consciousness. But he took control of you aboard the 'Devastator'..."
"I gave in to anger," the girl admitted. "And my mind became open to him."
"Essentially," I smiled, "there was no doubt this was a Dark Side technique. Shall we try?"
"I know very little about how exactly the Emperor tuned himself to connect with his agents," the girl admitted.
"But we know for certain that during the period of using the Voices and the Emperor's Children, he was in a prolonged meditative trance," Nadia added.
"Besides," Carsen reminded, "we need a gifted individual utterly devoted to you..."
I noted with internal irony how Kira subtly marked her and Grell's attitude toward me. The girls were absolutely right that they only knew the reverse side of the coin — the actions of the Emperor's consciousness "receivers."
But, try and try again.
"I think our joint meditation will suffice," I uttered, taking a comfortable posture for releasing consciousness first.
A moment later, both girls joined their minds to mine.
* * *
Strangely enough, I even had a subject for consciousness transfer.
And although Kira was only a couple of meters away from me, only she had the special training to contain another, more massive consciousness.
In truth, the idea of transferring my consciousness into another body, gaining control over it, had interested me since I first encountered this technique back when I was a player in a Star Wars MMORPG.
Scouring through countless guides and Internet articles about Force abilities, I picked up pieces of information that were often contradictory. But in any case, it was information I needed.
I never managed to look into the repository of knowledge on Odessen — and it contained a decent amount of information from the Jedi Order Archives, the Sith Order Archives, even the Voss Mystics. And the fact that the knowledge was over four thousand years old — that meant nothing at all.
There was a small library aboard the "Defender" and each of the "Furies." But lack of time hadn't allowed me to absorb new information.
Of course, in my head there was knowledge about Jedi training, Force techniques that my predecessor had been taught by Valkorion. Even Kun's knowledge resided in my skull. But all of this wasn't enough for me... I craved more.
In part, by transferring my consciousness into the bodies of my Hands, I could solve the pressing issue of obtaining new information while staying here on Christophsis, under siege.
Can the state of meditation be described in words?
It can. Peace, tranquility of mind... But that's all for the Jedi.
Controlling another's body required the Dark Side. And, truth be told, apart from Naga Sadow's Battle Meditation, I was hearing about Sith meditations for the first time. Though, Atroxa was always at my service... And, oddly enough, on this matter too.
Guided by my memories, I drew power from my followers. We burned in the Force like three brightest flames, illuminating the entire astral projection of Christophsis with our light.
I observed them and myself from the outside and saw, with considerable surprise, that my flame raged with greater strength than the fires of my companions. Did that mean something? Possibly. Something to figure out, but later.
Enveloping myself in the girls' Force, I began to project my consciousness into Kira. At first, nothing happened, but then I felt weak glimmers of another's emotions. Her emotions.
Distrust. Kira's will, never broken by the Emperor, refused with every fiber of her soul to accept my vision of the future. With the help of the Force, she managed to hide her negative judgments from me, but now, when the world around us was unburdened by physical shells, I could read her like an open book. Yet the girl seemed unaware of this.
Pain. I saw her emotional wound — the loss of her beloved. I saw her hope for his return. Somewhere deep within these emotions, I sensed a certain hidden triumph and gloating, an expectation of an inevitable threat to me. But this "surprise" was very deep in her consciousness, surrounded by numerous thin threads that I was cautious not to disturb.
Circling around the girl's consciousness, I grew increasingly disappointed in my assumption. Her consciousness remained closed to me. Pushing through the tangles of surface emotions and sensations, I reached the core of her consciousness. And, to my surprise, I noticed it was surrounded by an impenetrable sphere that repelled any attempt I made to enter.
After hundreds of attempts to break through this defense, I had to retreat and leave Kira's consciousness. But I found numerous cracks and slight breaches in her defenses. Not enough to break through them, but quite acceptable for projecting my thoughts. This was probably the loophole the Emperor had used to gain control over the girl and transmit his thoughts to her after her capture.
Next, I turned my attention to Nadia.
The Sarkhai girl was in complete serenity.
No emotions, only peace. Her consciousness didn't resemble the chaos of emotions that raged in Carsen's soul. The white-skinned girl had her own inner peace, and she wasn't troubled by empty fears.
Like Kira, she grieved for a lost loved one. But that loss remained in the past.
There was no anger in her, no hidden thoughts.
Her attitude toward me could be called indifference — the kind office workers have toward the management of a neighboring department. But I did detect a certain interest. The girl wasn't indifferent to the fate of the galaxy or the fate of the Jedi. She seemed to have adopted a wait-and-see position, ready to evaluate the actions I took. Moreover, this seemed to be the general policy of her thinking. Regardless of what question was being discussed.
Of course, it would be foolish to think that I myself and my intentions could please everyone who came under my command. But that even the Hands didn't believe in me stung a little.
At the edge of my consciousness surfaced the Emperor's words that I should subjugate the Hands to myself. They needed to know their place and be superstitiously afraid of disappointing me.
And for that, I only needed to say one phrase. The very one Valkorion used to control his daughter, Vaylin.
Let's set aside the ethics of such a question. When you're conquering a galaxy, that hardly interests you.
But by subjugating that will to myself, would I get only puppets carrying out my will, or fanatically devoted gifted individuals who, like the Revanites, would follow me no matter what epic fail I planned?
So many unresolved questions...
But meanwhile, unlike Kira's consciousness, I found no barriers in Nadia's consciousness. The temptation was too great.
I needed to subjugate the Hands. To seize influence over them.
An ambitious, risky, and even reckless plan took shape in my mind.
I touched her with my consciousness. I extended a small bundle of my consciousness and touched the Jedi's mind, deliberately choosing as the point of contact her thoughts about the future organization of the galaxy and the Order.
If this was important to her, since my words didn't affect her, then let my thoughts find fertile ground among her concerns.
The concept of the post-war galaxy had long and firmly settled in my mind. All that remained was to share it with my Hand... Maybe it would be enough to simply imagine how I saw the future under my rule?
The Force told me that the girl in the real world had experienced brief confusion. No matter how gently I tried to do it, it turned out like an elephant dancing in a china shop.
At that same second, I felt her heartbeat, felt her blood flowing through her veins.
I felt my presence in her body. I felt Grell's consciousness nearby, in a state of shock. The girl watched in horror as I opened her body's eyes and looked around.
My own body, frozen in a lotus position. Hmm, why didn't anyone tell me my hair was a mess and had grown too long? I looked like a homeless person in armor.
Kira sitting next to me, knees tucked under her, in a prayerful pose...
Feeling inner triumph, I channeled the Force, slightly shifting a deck on my desk.
I had gained control over another's body. I could break free from the confines of my own mind!
Take that, Harry Potter!
In this universe, the Dark Lords had way better cookies!
I should probably wrap this up. I felt a slight tremor appear in the hands of the Sarkhai's body, and blood began to flow from the girl's nostrils down her lips.
I hastily left the girl's consciousness, minimizing the damage from my presence as much as possible.
Once outside her body, I concentrated on the image of Atroxa. Well-known, familiar in every centimeter of her body... As soon as I was able to find her through the Force, my consciousness rushed across the galaxy toward the desired target.
The Lethan, at first stunned by the intrusion into her consciousness, easily yielded control, welcoming me warmly and with desire into her gentle body.
Using her emotions as a beacon, I burst into the Lady Sith's consciousness without any reverence.
* * *
Returning to my body, I felt severe exhaustion.
Opening my eyes, I noticed the worried looks of Nadia and Kira. Touching my face with my hand, I felt my fingers touch something sticky.
Pulling my fingers away from my face, I noted with some indifference that it was blood.
"You... are dismissed," I said with difficulty. Then, catching myself, I added, "Thank you, girls. Sorry for the discomfort... I..."
"It's fine," Nadia said quickly. I didn't miss Kira's fleeting, puzzled glance at her friend. As if Carsen had expected a different reaction from her friend...
"You should rest," I decided, rising to my feet. Severe dizziness nearly cost me my balance. But, thanks to the Force, I managed to grab onto the desk.
"As should you," Kira remarked.
I nodded in agreement.
"As should I."
* * *
I slept for almost a full day, waking up in the evening of that same day.
The feeling of mild nausea and dizziness hadn't gone away.
A headache had appeared. Frankly speaking — not the best feeling.
To the best of my ability, I hobbled to the refresher and put myself in order.
I took only two sets of armor with me to Christophsis. The gray-steel armor of a Sith warrior, with a mask and a matte-black cloak with a crimson lining and sleeve trim — armor that had become a second skin to me over the course of the battles.
And the Jedi Knight armor with a cream-colored cloak that had been gathering dust in the wardrobe. A yellow power cell indicator, glowing just below the chest armor plates, signaled that the suit's computer systems were operational.
Many times I had been tempted to put on the Jedi armor set, but I always returned to the raiment of the warriors of Vitiate's Empire.
Sighing, I pulled the Sith armor back on. Throwing the cloak of light shadow-silk over the suit, I noted with displeasure the numerous damages to the mantle. Tears, snags, burn marks from blaster bolts...
It was a shame that such a rare and expensive material, which concealed virtually any sound, had been ruined. I would have to find and order a new cloak. After a moment's thought, I decided to order similar cloaks, only with a silver trim and an embroidered legion emblem-banner on the right chest section of the mantle.
The last element was the mask. Austere, with eye slits protected by polarized lenses, with predatory facets, it pleasantly cooled the skin. Over the millennia, the electronic components had not aged in the slightest. Unlike, it must be said, the Republic electronics from the Cold War era.
The day ahead was not going to be an easy one.
The locals, having undergone an emotional upgrade, needed to have their successes cemented — otherwise, slowly but surely, they would become disillusioned with their new idol.
Several small, yet sensitive victories were necessary. A couple of small victories that would grow into a large-scale battle... all in all, not a bad option; I just needed to plan everything so that the victories would be ours, and not the CIS army's.
But first, I had to deal with the routine. As they say — the human organism is most active after sleep. I should take advantage of that.
For over an hour I studied summary reports on mobilization, the arming of the new militia, and the organization of training. Fortunately, the captured CIS weaponry was substantial.
I was just studying the engineers' reports on makeshift inventions designed to alleviate our shortage of heavy weapons. Must say, very worthwhile initiatives. Weld 4 or 6 E-5 blaster rifles onto a single mount — and there you have a multi-barreled machine gun analog. True, due to their design features, the E-5s had a tendency to overheat... But it was better than nothing.
I was granting my approval for the production of this type of weapon when I was interrupted by a cautious knock at the door.
Concentrating, I noted with surprise that, absorbed in my work, I had not noticed Nadia Grell approaching my office. Grimacing at my own carelessness — one day such inattention could cost me dearly — I used the Force to open the door.
"Nadia," I greeted the girl, rising from behind the desk.
The Jedi was dressed in a dark blue doublet with armor elements, black leggings with protective plates, and high, massive boots. Over it all was thrown a black hooded cloak, designed to conceal weapons and provide protection from the weather.
"My Lord," the girl inclined her head slightly, settling more comfortably onto the sofa where I had indicated she should sit.
"How are you feeling?" I inquired.
The girl smiled. The show of attention was evidently to her liking.
"Much better," she replied. "A couple of meditations — and the discomfort vanished as if by hand."
"Mmm," I hummed. That was true — among the vast legacy I had gleaned from the spirit of Exar Kun, there were several restorative meditations and healing trances capable of using the Force to neutralize destructive effects on the body. I should try them.
"You look exhausted," the girl remarked. There was genuine concern in her voice.
"Didn't sleep well," I said, with a guilty conscience. "Nadia, if you don't mind — when we're alone, let's address each other informally."
"As you wish," the girl inclined her head. Then, catching herself, she corrected — "As you wish."
"That's good," I smiled. Returning to my desk, I glanced at the datapad, which still held the information crystal with Ruk's reports.
"Did Kuat refuse us?" I asked the Jedi. The Sarkhai girl nodded silently, settling on the sofa half-turned towards me. "I didn't get a chance to finish reading your report. Can you tell me in your own words?"
"They are certainly interested in the opportunity to earn new credits," she explained. "But their capacities are tied up with Republic orders. What they can spare us is negligible. One or two dreadnoughts a month is a drop in the ocean. Plus, given the number of Republic officials, inspectors, engineers, security, and so on — our order will very soon cease to be a secret for Coruscant's bureaucrats."
Of course, I could have argued that — in its time, most of the Empire's Super Star Destroyers were built on Kuat, and done so in absolute secrecy. Then again, different time, different state.
"Well, what if our order were fulfilled on Rothana?"
"As soon as the Kuat representatives heard the planet's name from me, they broke off negotiations. I had to weave and dodge on the way back, covering my tracks from their security service."
Not the best news, of course. But I didn't think a Sarkhai who had maintained her reputation as the Emperor's Hand for four thousand years couldn't shake a tail.
"Your thoughts?"
"Kuat is not interested in cooperation. They receive large and extremely lucrative orders from the Republic, and they see no reason to spread their forces thin for an unknown client. Even despite the fact that we are holders of one of the company's largest numbered accounts."
"Corellia?"
"Likewise. The Corellians are building — as they think — their own fleet in secret; they have no time for large external orders. All large and medium slipways are occupied with the construction of the Corellian fleet. They can only offer us small shipyards — for building ships class and size no larger than corvettes."
"Hmm," I pondered. The Corellian Engineering Corporation held the second largest numbered account — for hundreds of thousands of quadrillions of credits. That was enough to cover the cost of several dozen Republic fleets. "Not much in the way of major players on this field for us. If this continues, we'll be left without ships. What about Sienar?"
"Sienar, to put it mildly, is down on their luck right now," the girl explained. "Some of their developments failed to pay off, leading to serious financial losses. Essentially, the company is ready to trade its developments to whoever pays the most. But the problem is that there aren't really any takers. The Republic is focused on Kuat. The CIS has its own shipbuilders — not as talented, but still with mass-produced items. Sienar is forced to fight for its existence. The Senate has repeatedly slapped them on the wrist for playing with the CIS, but Raith Sienar has good connections in the Republic's armed forces. His developments — like the ion engine — openly go to Kuat, secretly to the CIS. At the same time, despite the promise of these developments, the Republic is not ready to integrate them into its existing projects."
"Interesting," I remarked.
Playing both sides never led to anything good. But my memory told me that things for Sienar were only going to get better. It was no coincidence that the promising Tarkin was already in his circle.
"But, for all the bad news, there is good news too," the girl admitted.
"Oh? What's that?"
"CEC, even if they won't build new dreadnoughts for us, can still help us," the girl began. "It would be better if I showed you."
"Go ahead," I handed her the datapad with her report.
Rising from her seat, the girl walked over to the desk, standing behind me to the right. Quickly scrolling through several pages of the report, she pointed at an image of a small ship, shaped like the letter 'T' with a curved downward crossbar.
"The Marauder-class corvette," the girl presented the starship to me. "A Sienar design for patrolling Deep Space and screening capital ships. The corvette can carry between 12 and 36 fighters, mounts 8 turbolasers, and tractor beam generators. Moreover, the corvette can easily be upgraded into a missile variant. Several such ships can provide reliable protection for escorted transports or screen capital ships from the enemy's mosquito fleet."
"Looks like a decent machine," I agreed. "Is he producing them for the Republic?"
"The project was developed for them," the girl confirmed. "But the Senate didn't approve the ship for procurement. As a result, Sienar, having invested a trillion, is forced to sell its developments under the table to the CIS — just to somehow recoup its costs and save the company."
"Hold on," I leaned back in the chair, struck by a thought. "We could acquire a fleet of these ships, and at the same time — take Sienar by the throat, gaining control of his company."
"Our funds in the numbered accounts at Sienar's company would be sufficient to buy a controlling stake," the girl admitted. "I spoke about this with our top manager after the refusal to cooperate. He declined to continue the conversation, explaining it was outside his competence, but warned that the company's leadership would not be pleased with such client behavior."
"We need to get off this planet as soon as possible," I decided. "And pay a visit to Sienar."
"I would be happy to keep you company," the girl said unexpectedly. Catching herself, she immediately continued scrolling through her report.
"I... wouldn't mind," I said, and upon uttering these words, saw a slight blush on the girl's cheeks.
I admit, her slip of the tongue intrigued me. But I didn't have time to develop that thought, as she pointed her little finger at another image.
"During the Cold War, smugglers praised the XS light freighter for its speed, armament, and spacious hold," she said. A 3D model of a ship appeared before me, vaguely resembling the Millennium Falcon. More angular, though. "It carried a supply of proton torpedoes and a very decent armament that helped it fight off Sith fighters. Such freighters often reduced Sith Star Destroyers to scrap metal."
"The Cold War ended long ago," I noted. "And light freighters aren't really what we need..."
"These freighters can finally solve the supply issue for our army and fleet," the girl said didactically. "They can hold up to a company of soldiers — perfectly protected even from the enemy's large-caliber artillery. Of course, the ship's design should be modernized by current standards..."
"How many ships are they willing to sell us?" I asked.
"They have up to a thousand in storage in the Corellia system," the girl said, checking her notes. "CEC will replace all the electronics, install new weapon systems, adding another five twin turbolaser mounts to the ship. After the upgrade, such a freighter will be able to fight off any corvette."
"Admit it, you already placed the order?" I smirked.
The girl, seeing my positive attitude, nodded.
"We need ships," she said. "We can't actively use the Harrowers or other conspicuous ships. But freighters, especially under the command of experienced smugglers, will become not only our transport artery but also our eyes and ears across the entire galaxy."
"We just need to find a thousand crews for these ships," I smirked.
The girl looked at me with surprise.
"The best pilots in the galaxy have always been born on Corellia, worked for the Hutts, and hid on Tatooine," the girl said, as if it were a matter of course. "It's worth searching in one of those places."
"Well then, we'll search," I agreed, anticipating the rest of the report.
"Rendili Trade Corporation, which holds the patent for corvettes like our Defender, together with CEC is ready to produce improvements for this corvette and manufacture upgraded versions of the Defender," the girl continued without delay.
"The ship already underwent modernization on Coruscant," I recalled.
"Our new partners will install two more twin turret mounts of medium turbolasers in the lower and upper hemispheres," Nadia explained. "And the side twin turbolasers will be replaced with single heavy ones. At the end of the modification, the ship will have very substantial armament. It will be able to handle CIS frigates alone."
"Even if I said 'no,' it wouldn't stop the modernization, would it?" I guessed with a chuckle.
Grell nodded in agreement.
"I understand that my actions went beyond the tasks assigned to me," she acknowledged. "But what's the point of numbered accounts on Corellia if we can't use them?"
"Sound reasoning," I approved. "If Corellia is striving for sovereignty and creating its own armed forces, it could lead to simple nationalization of our accounts."
"I thought the same," the girl nodded. "Especially since the Jedi Enclave on Corellia doesn't interfere in galactic affairs, limiting itself to its home star system."
"That works in our favor," I grinned.
The Green Jedi didn't really pay proper attention to much of anything. Turning to Grell, I said:
"How many of the new version Defenders did you order?"
"A hundred for now," the girl admitted. "The new ships will have reinforced armor and be able to withstand fire from heavy turbolasers..."
"So, I take it it's going to be an expensive pleasure, right?" I said with a smile.
"It's essentially a custom order," the girl began to justify herself. Then, lowering her voice slightly, she said: "One and a half million each."
"Tolerable," I approved. "You did excellent work." And that was a fact that couldn't be denied.
The girl accepted the praise with a smile. Then she added:
"Towards the end of my visit to Coruscant, I came across some interesting information."
"What kind?"
"The Republic struck at Charros-4. The Haor Chall Engineering company was completely destroyed. The company's shares crashed on the galactic exchange..."
"Haor Chall?" I asked again. "I don't recall that corporation."
"They manufactured most of the known CIS equipment there," the girl said, scrolling through the report again. As she found images, she recited the information. "The C-9979 landing craft. The Hyena-class bomber. The variable geometry starfighter droid. The mecanized assault aircraft. And the IG-227 Hailfire-class tank droids we know. Haor Chall created and tested the Seismic tank on Dantooine, which was destroyed by Master Mace Windu just over a month ago."
"And what about Dooku?" I wondered. An entire promising company had been destroyed by a successful Republic sortie.
"The CIS appropriated Haor Chall's developments, and effectively left the workers destitute. Now the corporation's leadership is trying to save themselves by offering their services to the Republic. But, as you understand, the Senate bureaucrats..."
"Can we buy this company?" I asked.
"What for?" the girl was surprised. "I thought it would be simpler to acquire their patents — they're selling for a pittance, but without complex manufacturing facilities, they're useless. That's why they haven't been bought yet. The Republic doesn't need them, and the CIS reproduces them without any permission."
Interesting... An entire corporation for a pittance...
"Is there any other news?" I asked.
"The last company I visited was Incom."
"Incom?" I recalled the company that had given the Alliance to Restore the Republic its best ships. "But we don't have numbered accounts there."
"It's simpler with them," the girl smiled. "In effect, they were left out of the great pie distribution. Kuat, Rothana, even Sienar to some extent — they're the winners. Small companies, however, are forced to scrape by on odd jobs. In Incom's case, it's orders for ARC-170s. Despite the fact that the Republic gave them a tasty order — the ARC-170 is in high demand in the fleet — the company can't survive without full capacity utilization. The initial order for the Z-95, which was supposed to solve the problem of light fighter availability for the clones in the fleet, will end in six months — by the end of the first year of the war. And the Republic military has no intention of extending the contracts. Incom's leadership will lose the lion's share of its profits, which is already causing nervous tics in most of its employees."
"You decided to poach them?" I smiled.
"I merely made an offer," the girl returned the smile. "Incom's leadership wants a meeting with my boss."
"Well then," I concluded, "we need to get off this planet quickly."
* * *
Nadia's report couldn't help but please me. Thanking the girl once more, I asked her to leave me.
I needed to think.
Of course, not everything had gone as planned, and we still didn't have a contractor to build the Harrowers.
But Rendili StarDrive was ready to earn its money and build us a fleet of Hammerheads and Thranta corvettes. Up to a thousand ships of each type. Let's say. Plus two hundred Dreadnoughts. Though, Rendili had inflated the price. Then again, it wasn't my money. If the numbered accounts ran out — it was enough to raid the warehouses full of aurodium at the Imperial station.
The freighters — a small stream of cargo transport that still needed to be organized.
The Defenders — let's assume they could be used as consular representative ships. Or as personal starships for those Jedi who would join me.
The Furies... Leave them as ships for my Hands.
Sienar... A name that for any Star Wars fan evokes associations with light Imperial starfighters. But Sienar's company did more for Palpatine's Empire than anyone else. Sienar gave Palpatine's ships the solar ionization reactor — that was the name of the huge semicircular thingy under the belly of every Imperial Star Destroyer. It was thanks to this Sienar development, combined with its ion engines, that the Empire's ships had an enviable advantage in power output and speed over their counterparts or competitors. And before anyone else got their hands on these inventions, I needed to do it myself.
The Incom Corporation... these guys could take the load off Rendili by taking over fighter production. Perhaps they would offer a more interesting alternative to the Claws and the Aureks.
And for dessert — a corporation stripped of its home and means of subsistence... Too tasty a morsel to miss.
However, I shouldn't forget about the Station, which was destined to create myriads of Skywalkers for conquering the galaxy.
Leaning back in the chair, I tried to picture the image of Atrox...
* * *
The Sith Lord loomed like a dark monolith on the bridge of the dreadnought Victory, which, together with its two sisters — the Oslyabya and the Peresvet — had emerged from hyperspace. The triangular, predatory hulls of the Harrowers reorganized into a cruising formation at the head of the Victory and moved deeper into the ancient star system.
"Alpha Squadron has left the hangar," Ash Thorn, the captain of the Victory, approached him.
A tall, gray-haired man who had once held a high position in the Judicial Forces, he had left his last post about five years ago. The Republic's bureaucracy, bribery, and other vices of the titular state had led the Alderaanian native into retirement. That's where Hart found him.
Devious as a wild beast, the Emperor's Hand had persuaded the captain-justiciar to serve his new master. Malgus sometimes wondered what had caused a once-loyal commander of Republic law enforcement forces to switch sides.
Thorn had come to serve the Empire with several of his acquaintances, who now commanded the Oslyabya and the Peresvet. The only crewed squadron of Claws consisted of mercenaries, who were appearing on Odessen more and more every day.
"Have you organized patrols?" the Sith inquired.
"Yes," Ash replied. Then, catching himself, added, "Lord Malgus."
Malgus inhaled noisily, drawing the filtered air of the bridge through his respirator. The Dark Side of the Force reigned supreme in this star system. He had been here once before, hiding the treasure of his New Empire. And now he had returned to retrieve what he had hidden.
The Sith thought with hatred about how he had to give up what he had preserved at such great cost. Hundreds of Anomids — brilliant engineers and scientists — had been exterminated by him to maintain secrecy.
"So this is it?" The voice of the Lethan rang out on the Victory's bridge, as empty as the other decks of the ship.
The Twi'lek was in an extremely elevated state of spirit after their new master had mastered the ability to project his consciousness into the bodies of his servants. The Sith had felt it on his own skin. Bowing before the Emperor's Apprentice, he had effectively given himself over to the latter's unlimited use. If the boy wished, he could get into his head too, turning him into a puppet.
The Lethan gazed with an imperturbable expression at the endless blackness of space, where eight planets with countless moons basked in the rays of a yellow sun. Here and there in space drifted enormous chunks of metal, remnants of an ancient catastrophe. The last battle in this system had filled the starfield with debris, through which Malgus's ships could barely navigate. His flagship, the Smiting Hand, had sustained significant damage while towing the station, so he'd had to abandon it here, retreating on the Judicator.
"Yes," Malgus grated. "In orbit of the second planet."
"So close to the star?" the girl was surprised.
"It's a volcanic planet. Direct access to raw materials," Malgus explained. "The system's star is too weak to cause any harm. Over millennia of use by this system's inhabitants, its output has diminished several times over."
"Fascinating," the girl smirked. "So you returned the station to the homeland of those who built it?"
"This system has long been forgotten," Malgus cut her off. "The safest place to store such a dangerous artifact. The Dark Side is strong in this place and perfectly masks the Station's radiation. Neither the Sith nor the Republic would have ventured here..."
"They did venture here when Revan returned," the girl countered. Then, listening to her own sensations, she added, "And the Dark Side here... it's faded..."
"If they had found the Station," Malgus retorted, "Revan would have finished his work."
"Fair point," the Twi'lek unexpectedly conceded the Sith's rightness.
"What station are we talking about?" the silent commander of the Victory suddenly asked.
"You'll see soon enough, Captain," Malgus promised. Turning to the Force, he noted with some bewilderment the truth of the Lethan's words. The former aura of the Dark Side was nowhere to be seen here. Then again, after four thousand years, even Korriban had lost its grandeur.
Malgus had once been loyal to the Emperor. Then he had betrayed him, seeing in Vitiate's fall the weakness of him and his Empire. Unfortunately for him, Vitiate did not forget betrayals.
Like a hunting trophy frozen in carbonite, Malgus had hung in the Emperor's personal vault until his turn came. After several years of torture, he had acknowledged himself Vitiate's servant. Whatever masks the Emperor wore — he remained the one who destroyed peoples to satisfy his ego.
For thousands of years he had carried out the Emperor's will, eliminating the undesirable, gathering the lost secrets of the Empire, preparing the ground for a new Empire. Anticipating the moment when he could once again burst onto Coruscant and destroy the Jedi Temple to its foundations. The Emperor had promised him.
And what happened? Vitiate makes a Jedi his apprentice. The first after himself. And all the former Emperor's Hands, except perhaps Hart, become pawns in this boy's hands.
Yes, the Jedi may not be so simple — quite proficient in Niman, well-versed in the use of the Force. But he is just a boy. He has no idea about the ways of the Sith. Darth Sidious — that's who should have received power from Vitiate! A true Sith — cunning, purposeful.
The boy himself didn't even know what he was doing. Out of dozens of options, he chose Odessen — a world on the backwaters of the Galaxy. For the sake of balance in the Force.
If he could, he would have spat.
Malgus silently carried out his orders — inspected the station, put the security systems in order, carried out repairs on the squadron's ships. Reluctantly, he renamed each of the dreadnoughts. The Retvizan, the Tsesarevich, the Victory, the Peresvet, the Oslyabya, the Sevastopol, the Poltava, the Petropavlovsk, the Borodino, and the Orel. Names that grated on the ears and made him gnash his teeth.
And now, these Twi'lek whores show up on Odessen and start giving orders. A role greater than spreading their legs for someone at the right moment had never been assigned to them. Every Hand knew that Atrox hadn't even waited for an invitation — she had spread her legs for the Jedi on her own. And, judging by the arrogance that had appeared in the blue-skinned one's behavior — she had followed the Lethan's example.
Vette had taken the Orel and the Borodino with her. With a legion of droids and the last Fury on board. To all questions — only a meaningful expression and arrogance. Such audacity was forgiven only to Hart — Vitiate's favorite. But not to these depraved girls.
Though it infuriated him that Atrox was giving him orders, he obeyed.
He prepared three Harrowers, also placing a legion of Skywalkers on board.
And personally set a course for the Lehon system.
The ancient homeworld of the Rakata. The place that became the cradle of the Infinite Empire. The source of their boundless power.
Here, amidst the aura of the Dark Side, he had hidden the "Factory." Emitting the power of the Dark Side, the station could remain here for thousands of years without being detected. By no one, except the one who left it here under the cover of the most perfect cloaking field.
"Captain Trod on the line," the holoprojector activated, revealing the commander of the Peresvet in its rays. In contrast to Thorn, Gabriel Trod was not tall or lean. A short, stout man, with a receding hairline, he had lived half a century, giving many of those years to hunting pirates in the Outer Rim Territories. But age had not dulled his mind.
"We see a drifting ship on the scanners, a Harrower-class. Is it one of ours?"
"That ship was abandoned long ago, Captain," Malgus cut him off. Then he added, "But we should try to tow it and repair it."
"Understood," the stout man replied. "Moving to the ship."
Left alone, the Victory and the Oslyabya moved in close to the geostationary orbit of the second planet from the sun in the Lehon system.
Covered in molten lava, pockmarked with volcanic geysers, the planet could not sustain even the slightest hint of life in its poisonous atmosphere.
"It's not worth getting closer," Malgus warned Thorn, who was preparing to bring the ships into geostationary orbit. "The Factory could have shifted its position over thousands of years."
"As you command, my lord," the ship's commander replied.
The station was hidden by a cloaking screen, its projectors making the Factory's surface mirror the surrounding space. Unlike the cloaking screen installed on the Furies, the station's device was a more advanced model. One of a kind.
"Order the shuttles prepared," the Sith commanded. "As soon as I lower the cloaking field, we will move to the station."
The former justiciar nodded in confirmation and stepped aside, passing commands to the mercenaries remaining on board.
Meanwhile, Malgus, using the comm panel, transmitted a long sequence of Aurebesh letters and numerical sequences over an open channel.
Atroxa watched the Sith warrior's actions with interest, not forgetting to glance at the tactical displays.
Finally, after spending a few minutes on the buttons, the warrior pulled away from the keyboard.
"The cloak is off," he explained.
"But," Atroxa noted with a smirk, "the Factory still isn't here."
Before the Sith could answer his companion, the ship's commander interrupted the conversation.
"Something big has appeared on the scanners," he said, rushing to the tactical display. "It will be in visual range any moment now..."
The buzzers of a battle alert sounded in the air, but it was becoming clear to everyone on board that none of the three ships could withstand a good, stand-up fight. Each of them now carried no more than two dozen people—far too few to use the ships as intended.
"Captain," the Sith took command. "Launch the Skywalkers, prepare them for boarding. Recall the squadron, get them ready to strike..."
"It can't be!" Atroxa exclaimed. The Lethan couldn't contain her horror and awe, staring at the massive structure slowly drifting toward the pair of Harrowers.
A huge metallic core, the size of a small moon, covered in a lattice of metal structures, partially plated with armored hull, shone with thousands of lights. On three sides, the core was framed by massive "fins," tens of times longer than the Victory, in which numerous hangar decks were discernible, protected by energy shields that glinted in the reflections of the planet's crimson light.
At the base of the "fins," a white-orange flame raged as if in a giant forge, its streams rushing toward the planet's surface, siphoning molten magma rock from it.
"This can't be real," Atroxa said in a trembling voice.
With grim determination, Malgus watched the largest battle station in the galaxy approach them.
"Captain Thorn," the Sith addressed the human. "Stand down from battle stations. Keep the ships at a distance from the station. Prepare the shuttles and the landing party."
"Yes, my lord," the justiciar quickly pulled himself together, rushing to give orders.
"Let's go," the warrior roughly tugged the girl, frozen in amazement, by the shoulder. "It's time for us to go to the station."
Heading for the elevator, Malgus, with grim thoughts, finally found answers to the questions that had arisen — what the Factory's purpose was and where the Dark Side from the native Rakata system had vanished to.
The Factory had evolved, absorbing the remnants of its predecessor and saturating itself with the aura of Rakata Prime.
And, although he understood that no good could come of what had happened, an order remained an order.
He was obligated to subjugate the greatest automated Star Forge in history to the will of his master.