Settled on the bed in the cabin of the Defender, I closed my eyes and reflected.
Ruk's success in his field was gratifying—to everyone without exception. The Force, and my own memories, had allowed me to intervene in the course of events and prevent the Jedi attack on Korriban. It was terrifying to think what my carelessness could have led to, if during my encrypted-channel conversation with Vette she hadn't mentioned the Jedi squadron that had arrived in the Ardo system. Like a flash, visions of the battle for Korriban raced through my mind. And now, using the speed advantage provided by powering her dreadnoughts with isotope-5, the Twi'lek was hurtling at full steam toward Malgus, who was hastily concentrating his forces to repel the attack.
Fortunately, we made it in time. Malgus informed me of his readiness to meet the enemy and of the reinforcements arriving with Vette's ships. I didn't need to hint that not a single ship should be allowed to escape the system. The Sith knew his business perfectly well, and no surprises were expected there.
But as they say, every silver lining has a cloud...
Despite the positive outcome for the Republic as a whole, things for the 13th Sector Army hadn't turned out in the most favorable way.
Just a week ago, nearly two hundred ships were preparing to enter service. Now, less than a third of them remained—and even those weren't in the best shape. The ships faced a long repair period, and that was despite the fact that the CIS could throw even greater forces at us.
And there were only two repair bases—Ord Pardron and Christophsis. Of course, most of the ships would be operational within a week or two, but we still had to hold out that long.
Darill was already exhausting the army intelligence's resources, trying to uncover the Separatists' plans. In our situation, "forewarned is forearmed" was painfully true.
On the positive side, the Jedi had easily destroyed the CIS forces on Dressed. The "Ruusan Rebels" were now loading onto transports to depart for Rodia. Pellaeon had managed to stabilize the situation in space, but the tin cans were raging on the planet's surface. The hastily organized local militia was holding on by a thread and urgently needed help from experienced, battle-hardened infantry units. General Rahm Kota's volunteer brigade was just what the doctor ordered.
Makati and Tigellinus, though they had suffered significant losses, had won space superiority over Nexus Ortai. Unduli was conducting a systematic offensive on the surface, successful so far. The enemy was attempting to break the blockade, but without result.
The siege of the Monastery was dragging on—despite carpet rocket strikes from the corvettes and landings that fell literally on top of them, the Sepos were holding key objectives with deeply echeloned defenses.
The losses... simply terrifying... As King Pyrrhus once said, "One more such victory, and we are undone." Though that's not an exact quote.
Damn it all, why is everything so complicated...
"No one promised you easy victories, my apprentice," I heard, and opening my eyes, I saw the ghost of Valkorion curiously examining my armor hanging on a dress mannequin.
"Master," I said, getting off the bed and kneeling before the ghost, simultaneously activating the "privacy mode" that blocked any recording or eavesdropping in my cabin.
"Your summons to Coruscant is no accident," the Sith stated. "You must be on your guard."
The battle in the Christoph system had barely died down when I received an order to immediately report to Coruscant. The Council just silently shrugged—the summons came from the Judicial Department of the Republic Senate. No details were given, but Darell whispered to me in confidence that my trip was related to an ongoing case against a former Moff.
Strange. Honestly, I thought the slave-trading, corruption, and other "side jobs" of Bailur would be swept under the rug. After all, the officer had influential patrons. And given the Senate's corruption...
Alpha and Balda, as usual, made up my guard. The ever-present Iokath pilot was working his magic in the cockpit, while Oli and Shay trained on the lower deck. The Mandalorian was happy to stretch her legs by training the Padawan. And as for the latter, no one really asked her—the girl didn't understand, but an opponent like Mandalore the Avenger, who had hunted Jedi back when Starstone wasn't even a project, was hard to find.
So, amid the roaring laughter of the red-haired hellion, the young Jedi was getting her angles measured and her bumps bruised.
"I don't see any threat to myself," I had to admit. "My actions as Moff are too insignificant for the Sith Plan for them to pay attention to me now..."
"Never underestimate Palpatine's foresight," Vitiate warned. "Taken individually, your actions are not a threat. However, he sees the whole picture. Your popularity is growing—and soon it will overshadow the glory of his protégé."
"Skywalker?" I clarified.
"Precisely," the Sith agreed. He looked down at me. "The Sith Plan places great stakes on the Chosen One—you know this better than anyone. He is the key to the Order's destruction."
"He is extremely loyal to Palpatine," I continued. "In essence, the Chancellor replaced his father. He keeps the Jedi's secrets, feeds his ego..."
"Learn to see several steps ahead in others' plans," the Emperor said insistently. "Your 'unexpected' invitation to Coruscant makes you vulnerable, dependent. You must be ready for a battle."
"I don't think I'm ready for a battle with Palpatine," I admitted. After a pause, I added, "I don't think anyone is ready... except for you, Master."
Valkorion grunted approvingly.
"You have assimilated the knowledge you received from Kun's ghost," he concluded. "It is time to increase your power."
Opaa... Something new.
"In what way, Master?"
Valkorion, clasping his hands behind his back, began pacing the cabin.
"About seven thousand years ago, a group of Jedi dissidents was exiled from the Order. They were defeated and banished. At the end of their journey, they arrived on Korriban and subjugated the pure-blooded Sith."
"Twelve Exiles..." I recalled. "The Hundred-Year Darkness..."
"Precisely," Valkorion confirmed. "One of them was Karness Muur."
Something clicked in my skull.
"The owner of the talisman that turned living beings into rakghouls," I said, showing off my knowledge.
"I'm glad your memory doesn't fail you, my apprentice," the Emperor praised. "Are you familiar with the talisman's subsequent fate?" I shook my head negatively. I wasn't such a fan as to remember such minor details.
Receiving my answer, the Sith continued.
"Muur was killed by other Sith. His spirit remained bound to the talisman, which was passed from owner to owner for three thousand years. Eventually, about four thousand years ago, the talisman fell into the hands of a member of the Jedi Covenant organization—Jedi Master Celeste Morne."
"I think," I said, "I recall... The Jedi Covenant—a secret organization that sought Sith artifacts to prevent the Sith's return."
"Correct," the Emperor nodded approvingly. "Celeste placed herself in suspended animation to break the influence of the ghost that was tempting her to the Dark Side. And now, she lies in the depths of an ancient Sith stasis ark, waiting for you to come and claim what is rightfully yours."
A brief silence fell, which I broke.
"The ghost of Muur is our goal?"
The Emperor smiled with his lips alone.
"Muur's power in life amazed his contemporaries," he said. "He was skilled in Sith magic—especially healing techniques. Absorb him, and you will take one more step toward your goal."
"How do I defeat this ghost, Master?" I inquired. "Where do I find the ark?"
"The ark awaits you on the planet Jebble, not far from the Mandalorian sector," the ghost said, approaching and placing his right hand on my shoulder, sending chills down my spine as hundreds of needles stabbed into my backbone. "Muur is exhausted by millennia of sleep and struggle with the Jedi's mind. Crushing him will be easier than Exar Kun. And he, in his time, was blessed by Marka Ragnos himself."
"It will be done, Master," I said, never taking my eyes off the ghost's. The latter, seeing—or rather, sensing in the Force—how I accepted the pain, allowing it to spread through my entire body, making my nerve endings tremble with tension. As if in a crucible, the pain almost instantly transformed into anger.
"Excellent," the ghost smiled, removing his hand. The pain was gone, but the anger... "You should prepare to meet Muur's ghost. Use all your strength, apprentice."
"Victory will be ours," I returned the Emperor's smile, and then the ghost faded.
Sighing, I walked over to the mannequin and began putting on my armor. The anger demanded an outlet.
* * *
"He is certainly impressive," Count Dooku said, enunciating each word.
Inflexible as a stone statue, several meters before him, at the top of a passenger shuttle's landing ramp, stood the Dathomirian Zabrak, whose black-and-yellow skin, despite the midday sun caressing Serenno's surface, seemed to absorb the light.
The need to find a new assassin had become acute after the disappearance without a trace of Asajj Ventress and Sev'rance Tann. Both acolytes, despite excellent training and considerable experience in hunting Jedi, had not returned from their assignment on Teth. The confrontation with the Jedi Dougan had cut short the triumphant march of both, just as it had derailed the plans of Darth Sidious.
"Savage Opress," Mother Talzin said, pride in her voice.
The Dathomirian witch, head of the Nightsisters clan—from which Dooku's previous apprentice, Ventress, had once come—watched with a triumphant smile as the Count of Serenno, leader of the Confederacy, scrutinized the Zabrak critically, like a pack animal. Making a light gesture with her hand, she beckoned him closer.
Inevitably, like the Force itself, the alien, readjusting his grip on the huge vibro-axe, descended, stopping before his future master. His last footstep had barely faded when, driven by a mighty arm, the axe slammed with a crash into the permacrete surface of the landing pad. Raising his eyes, he stared at Dooku without fear, with a quiet growl, towering a full head over the Sith.
The former Jedi, glancing downward, just grunted in satisfaction, looking at the numerous cracks in the indestructible building material.
"He is the fiercest of his kind, my lord," the witch reported. Then, bowing slightly, she added, "He will serve you well, Count."
"Yes," Dooku smiled predatorily. "He will serve..."
The Zabrak dropped to one knee, bowing his head, crowned with a circlet of long, sharp horns.
"Follow me, Savage," he commanded, turning his back to the guests. "That will be all, Mother Talzin."
Looking from under his brow at the Count's retreating figure, the Zabrak easily returned to his original position. Paying no attention to the Dathomirian witches heading back to the shuttle, he followed his new master at a quick pace.
Catching up to the Sith, the Zabrak adjusted to his unhurried stride, silently walking alongside the man. At the edge of his perception, he felt the Dathomirian witches return aboard the Separatist ship that would take them to their home planet.
"Mother Talzin thinks highly of you and your talents," Dooku broke the silence. "But I require a demonstration of your combat skills," the man pulled a small info-chip from his pocket and handed it to the acolyte.
"The Republic is fighting on the planet Monastery," Dooku began his briefing.
"Monastery?"
"The name means nothing," Dooku cut him off. "It is a fortified outpost where the Confederacy has set up a refugee camp to protect them from the Republic's army. The Jedi have launched a massive assault on our fortifications, but we managed to push them back. Unfortunately, they have captured our relay center. Once they crack our encryption—we'll have to forget about the secrecy of our troops' communications. Go to Monastery and destroy the relay. No mercy. For anyone."
"It will be done, my lord," the Zabrak stopped dead in his tracks as the man halted before the steps of his luxurious palace.
"A ship awaits you on the landing pad," the Sith said. "It will take you to Monastery. Once you return after successfully completing your mission, your training will begin."
"As you command," Savage Opress said, readjusting his grip on his weapon, and headed toward his goal.
* * *
The moment the Republic strike group of Star Destroyers materialized in the space of the Korriban system, Jedi Master Eeth Koth felt the presence of the Dark Side.
Standing on the bridge of the flagship Venator, which had recently left the shipyards, the Zabrak concentrated in the Force, trying to see into the future. Through the prism of the Great Force, he sensed two more Venators following his ship, and just as many Acclamators, packed to the brim with clone infantry units, forming a defensive formation, awaiting further orders.
Korriban. An ominous, barren planet, the home of the Sith race that had brought only pain and suffering to the galaxy.
Hundreds of thousands of kilometers from its surface, the Jedi could smell the stench of the Dark Side emanating from the desert planet. In all his time as a Jedi, he had never, until now, been on Korriban. Such close proximity to the other side of the Force... was disorienting, but that's what it meant to be a Master—to resist evil.
Years on the Council had hardened the Zabrak, preparing him for a clash with all sorts of trouble. Almost eleven years ago now, he had been present at the meeting of the High Council when Qui-Gon announced the return of the Sith. He had seen with his own eyes the concentration of the Force in the young Skywalker. The young Jedi had grown, becoming one of the best, perhaps the best Jedi in the last thousand years...
"Scanners are detecting a bulk freighter in the system," one of the clones reported. "Registered to the company 'Haor Chall Engineering.'"
"A conglomerate that produces equipment for the Confederacy," the Jedi Master recalled a line from intelligence reports. Interesting. Isard's department had reported that the Xi Char had left the ranks of the Separatists... And now, their ship was discovered in orbit of an ancient Sith world. Records of Korriban, along with the coordinates of dozens of other worlds, like Kamino, had been deleted from the Order's Archives. The Jedi was ready to bet that the presence here of a starship belonging to one of the CIS supporters, behind whom stood the Sith, only confirmed the latter's involvement in tampering with the Archive files.
Sending him on this mission, Grand Master Yoda had warned Koth that the Sith had likely returned within the limits of the Impenetrable Caldera. This was not part of the Republic's plans. The Council could not allow the enemy to have a beachhead in a region of the galaxy protected by natural barriers, where he could set up the production of battle droids without any problems. And they had no right to, before the eyes of the entire galaxy.
Tactical monitors were awash with information. The planet was teeming with life; huge construction droids were moving about, seemingly extracting ancient Sith structures from the depths of sand and oblivion.
"It seems our opponent has decided to set up their base here," the Jedi hissed, addressing the starship's commander. The clone, like hundreds of thousands of his second-generation brethren, served the Republic faithfully, ready to carry out any order from the General. "Obi-Wan's vision turned out to be true."
"Launch the fighters, Captain," the Jedi decided. "Open a communication channel with the freighter..."
"We're being hailed, General," the clone interrupted the Zabrak.
And indeed, a ghostly figure appeared above the surface of the holographic communication terminal, wearing a hood over its head that concealed the speaker's face.
"I am Senior Jedi General Eeth Koth," the Temple Guard introduced himself without particular ceremony. "Your vessel is in a restricted zone, according to—"
"Jedi..." the figure responded in a hoarse voice, clearly synthesized by a vocabulator. "Eeth Koth, in the flesh. I was expecting your arrival."
"You know who I am," the former Master didn't bat an eye. "Then you know why I'm here."
"I have been eagerly awaiting your arrival," the figure rasped. "The Lord warned me of your intrusion..."
"Lord?" Eeth Koth was surprised. "So, you are a member of the Sith Order!"
A gurgling sound came from the speaker's side, only distantly resembling laughter.
"Without a doubt, I once belonged to them," the Zabrak was ready to swear by the Great Force that the speaker was smiling.
"And now?"
"Now I am something more," the hooded figure said firmly. "Not a Sith, not a Jedi..."
"What, then?" Koth was genuinely surprised. He knew without a doubt that there were dozens of Force-sensitive groups in the galaxy that didn't identify with either of the ancient warring orders.
"Something more," the speaker said defiantly, slowly removing his hood. A completely bald skull, crisscrossed with dozens of long-healed scars that had become old keloids. A network of veins covering the head pulsed in time with the words, even on the hologram. A face hidden by a massive mask-respirator that distorted the voice. And deep-set eyes burning with an amber light. "I am Darth Malgus, the Hand of the Emperor. And your doom..."
The man, in whom the Zabrak was surprised to recognize an ancient Sith, cut the connection. And before the Jedi could say anything, the air in the bridge filled with the buzzers of battle stations and the alarmed voices of clones, agitated by the impending battle. The first of their careers.
"They're jamming our communications!"
"Enemy ships on the scanners..."
"But there was no hyperspace jump!"
"They're launching fighters! They're not in our databases!"
"Archive records indicate these are Harrower-class dreadnoughts and Supremacy-class Sith interceptors!"
"Antiques from the time of the Great Galactic War?" Eeth Koth repeated. Was this a joke? These ships belonged in a museum!
What was going on? An ancient Sith at the head of six equally ancient dreadnoughts was trying to destroy his squadron, consisting of state-of-the-art ships?!
Meanwhile, the clones, following orders implanted in their subconscious back at the maturation stage on Kamino, calmly took their places according to the duty roster.
The position was far from ideal. The Zabrak realized with a quiet growl what Malgus meant when he said he was expecting the Jedi's arrival.
Three Harrowers, materializing from the blackness of space, surrounded Koth's detachment in a semicircle, while two others completed the encirclement, clearly aiming for the Acclamators bringing up the rear. The sixth dreadnought, clearly the flagship, hovered over the first three.
The Sith's ships, continuously launching dozens of interceptors from their hangars, began zeroing in, engaging the numerically inferior Venators in battle.
The icy void of space filled with the streaks of turbolasers from both sides.
The Battle of Korriban had begun.
* * *
The trap snapped shut the moment the Borodino and the Orel came in from the rear, surrounding the Republic ships.
The dreadnoughts, obeying the lethal calculations of droid commanders, began the systematic destruction of the Jedi forces.
"Wasn't that a bit too pompous, the way you talked to that Jedi?" Vette inquired.
The Twi'lek, standing to the right of the former Sith Lord, watched the unfolding battle from the bridge of the flagship Striking Hand. The wedge-shaped hull of the Sith destroyer, like a giant arrow aimed at the very heart of the Republic formation, generously showered the Jedi command ship with crimson turbolaser salvos.
Numerous turbolaser cannons, from armored turrets, continuously sent their deadly payload, literally vaporizing armor elements and technical superstructures on the enemy flagship. Within ten minutes, one of the matte red armored blast doors protecting the Venator's hangar cracked, spewing hundreds of pieces of debris into the airless void.
"The Jedi is confused," Malgus grated, greedily staring at the battle picture. "He never expected to encounter an ancient Sith on his path. Now, no matter how much he calls on the Light Side of the Force for help, fear and confusion are inside him."
"Ha," the former companion of the Empire's Wrath grinned. "Since when do you not just smash your way through?"
"Since there's no need to," Malgus snapped.
Together with two battalions of stormtroopers cloned on Yavin 4, unconditionally loyal to Vitiate's apprentice, Vette had delivered to Korriban almost three thousand clones for the crews of the Striking Hand and numerous squadrons of interceptors that had been gathering dust in the dreadnoughts' hangars.
Without the slightest fuss or complaint, the new crews took their places aboard the flagship and in the interceptor cockpits with enviable professionalism, adding extra strength to Malgus's contingent. Something the Republicans were currently feeling on their own skin.
It had taken Malgus less than a month to bring most of the worlds within the Impenetrable Caldera under his control. The Skywalkers, knowing neither fatigue nor mercy, first subjugated Korriban with its few inhabitants to the power of the future Empire. Next came the turn of Ziost, whose surface hadn't felt a human foot in several thousand years.
Then, the conquests snowballed.
Ashas Ree, where during the time of the Great Galactic War, Malgus and his warriors had already established the Empire's dominance.
Atis, where Malgus's mechanical army had to face the fanatical followers of Vodal Kresh, whose tomb, sealed by the Emperor himself, awaited the moment when Dougan would visit this world to get his hands on its secrets.
Beregen. An inexhaustible source of precious stones, now destined to fill the treasury of a new master.
Bosthirda, where Darth Zidrix once nurtured rebellion against the Emperor. The dark temple on the planet held ancient secrets that would never again fall into the hands of modern Sith.
Ch'hodos, whose ruins of an ancient Sith base became the foundation for Malgus's operational headquarters and the garrison for his main forces.
Jaguda, whose population, despite sympathy and a small garrison of CIS forces, became another lawful prize for the ancient Sith, though not without difficulty and mass executions.
Har-Shian. A satellite of a planet no less significant to the Sith, where the true fortress of the ancient Sith Lord—Naga Sadow—was located. Although capturing this ice-covered, insurmountably mountainous moon proved easier than many other worlds, Har-Shian was guarded by an entire battalion of Skywalkers, whose primary task was to protect the ancient fortress from potential looters.
Korriz, whose only glory was owed solely to the creation upon it of the legendary battle blade Garu. A barren planet, yet one with rich deposits of useful minerals in its depths. Like the worlds in the Bhar'gebb systems, where legendary ultrachrome and trimantium were once mined; Nfolgai, literally seeping with aurodium; desh; Savek, in whose depths a keen eye could extract the galaxy's rare neuronium; Swolten, home of rhyolite, which granted alchemical swords eternal sharpness. And, to be honest, in the Horunet system, where Korriban is located, within its endless asteroid belts, as well as in the depths of the 7 moons of the Sith homeworld, one could mine electrum, bronzium...
Hallion, once densely populated by humans, rich in obsidian and decorative spheres mined from the vast lava fields covering much of the planet, by the time of its occupation represented an abandoned planet with a few thousand natives degraded to a primitive level. Subduing them posed no difficulty. It was here that the Haor Chall Engineering division established itself, taking control of the ruins of an ancient factory belonging to the droid-producing company Yuxicol. Despite the hot climate polluted by volcanic emissions, the Xi Char erected their workshops and assembly lines with unprecedented fanaticism. Not subordinate to Malgus, the insectoids occupied the planet, shamelessly seizing the blueprints for ground combat vehicles from both of Vitiate's Empires, collectively discussing modifications and improvements. The Sith was fortunate to observe a sort of conference of these aliens. Despite the distance separating their groups on Zakuul, the New Forge, and Hallion, the Xi Char exchanged collective developments that were destined to be realized in metal in different corners of the galaxy.
Drezzi. A planet that once swore allegiance to Darth Nyriss, languishing for millennia in civil wars instigated by Republic agents since the Galactic Wars. Ancient mines in asteroid belts and on lifeless planetoids once brought the ancient Sith untold wealth, which the Republic either did not wish to seize or could not due to the system's remoteness. Considering the abundance of human resources on the planet, in the future, it would become an excellent source of taxes and recruits.
Creias 2, in the eponymous system. A place where the ancient Sith studied magic and alchemy. Ancient knowledge in dilapidated manuscripts, guarded by the ghosts of long-forgotten Sith Lords—another precious gem in the coffers of the new Emperor.
Niht-Ka. A barren world soaked by incessant ammonia rains. It held no interest strategically or otherwise, were it not for the ancient hexagonal structure housing armor forged by an Onderonian blacksmith, once belonging to the dark Jedi Varb Nall. Only the absence of clear instructions regarding this monument of ancient history prevented Malgus from erasing the structure from the face of the planet.
Very little remained before all the worlds of the Impenetrable Caldera would bow before the might of their new master.
Relg. Another sacred world, once flourishing under the rule of the Sith Lord Ludo Kresh. Fertile, untainted by Jedi footsteps, destined to become a pearl in the new Empire.
Har-Delba. An ancient world whose sole attraction was the ruined and time-worn fortress of Naga Sadow. The few Massassi, to Malgus's surprise, not degenerated over thousands of years, fiercely repelled any attempts to capture the planet, but with the arrival of stormtrooper reinforcements, the Hand planned to bring this world to its knees as well.
Kalsunor, inhabited by spawn of the Dark Side—the Sithspawn—remained a hard nut to crack for the invasion army. Bred by ancient Sith using alchemy, these giant beetles literally dissolved unwanted guests, destroying the Skywalker landing force sent to subdue the planet within hours.
The Dromund system, where the Sith Empire once rose from the ashes. Five worlds from which Vitiate began building his new state. Malgus had asked Dougan more than once or twice for permission to strike at the upstarts who had settled in the sacred Dark Temple on Dromund Kaas, but always received a refusal. And so, the abandoned yet still usable mines of Dromund-Iskin, which had been the key to the Empire's rapid construction; the orbital shipyards of Dromund Kalakar, in serious need of repair but not destroyed, from whose slipways "Harrowers" and "Terminus"-class ships had once launched; Dromund-Fels, in whose dungeons since the start of the Great Galactic War, hundreds of Jedi and Republic commanders had met their end; Dromund-Tin, in whose underground cells soldiers of the Empire's elite units underwent merciless training—all awaited their hour. For some reason, Dougan did not want to destroy the pathetic followers of Darth Millennial with a single lightning strike. But that did not stop Malgus from leaving scouts in the system.
With each new world, the conquests became more difficult, due only to the reduction in military contingent. Now, however, with Yavin 4 producing a battalion of stormtroopers every two weeks without fail, and the New Forge in the depths of the Xi Char bulk-freighter delivering endless rows of Skywalkers, the final subjugation of Sith Space was not far off.
Vette, by the way, was not idle. The reinforcements that arrived to Malgus had already seen their baptism of fire. The "Borodino" and "Oryol" had landed forces on Baal and Kashib, seizing complete control over the planets. Thanks to her reconnaissance in the Gordian Reach systems, the movement of Kota's squadron had become known.
Of course, resistance on the planets she captured was minimal, but the mere fact that the Empire now possessed new fertile worlds capable of becoming sources of minerals and food could not but please.
Returning his thoughts to the battle, Malgus noted with satisfaction that the number of Republic small craft had been reduced by almost half. Bulky and heavily armed AIRs and V-19 Torrents could not fight on equal terms with nimble Sith interceptors. Of course, ISFs carried no heavy weapons, and their shield protection left much to be desired... But, in space combat, speed and the ability to spray the enemy with frequent salvos sometimes meant more than heavy armor and powerful guns.
Studying the battle's picture, Malgus thought with inner satisfaction that it was not in vain that Sith interceptors had been highly praised by Dougan, who predicted a great future for the improved ISF in the Imperial fleet.
One of the "Venators" ignited, covered by a web of internal explosions. Being the leftmost ship in the Republic Star Destroyers' wedge formation, it was subjected to concentrated fire from the "Sevastopol" and "Poltava," which stripped its deflector protection in less than half an hour. The concentrated fire from two "Ravagers" easily split the star destroyer's hull, causing a series of detonations in its internal compartments.
Meanwhile, the "Borodino" and "Oryol," busy from the start of the battle disabling a pair of "Acclamators," succeeded in their endeavor. The assault cruisers, engulfed in flames and deprived of their limited stern protection from the first minutes of the battle, found themselves in a vulnerable position.
With their engine nozzles shattered, the first-series "Acclamators" now posed a threat only from the front, where the "Ravagers" were reluctant to go. Methodically targeting and destroying the ships' gun emplacements, the "Borodino" and "Oryol" mockingly closed in on the Republic ships from the stern, proceeding to the second part of Malgus's plan.
For all their merits, the "Ravagers" were ships of the line, whose lot was to engage in space combat, not transport landing forces and heavy equipment. The "Acclamators," despite their proud classification as "assault cruisers," were nothing more than large troop transports, successfully designed for carrying ground forces and delivering them to the surface of attacked planets.
These same considerations guided Dougan when forming his squadrons—one flagship capable of transporting troops, surrounded by escort ships capable of engaging their opponents in a line battle.
Therefore, frantically preserving the integrity of both "Acclamators," the pair of "Ravagers," opening their hangars, landed troops onto the hulls of the Jedi ships. The trophies were intended for use in subsequent operations—after repairs.
"The flagship 'Venator' is damaged," a clone clad in black fleet uniform approached Malgus and Vette. His face was no different from the soldiers of the Grand Army of the Republic, unsurprising considering that for creating his clone army, Dougan used genetic material stolen from Kamino. The clone's jacket shoulders and sleeves bore golden patches, but Malgus did not consider it necessary to delve into the new system of military insignia. At least—not until the battle's conclusion.
However, at the same time, the Imperial clones differed from their brethren by accelerated growth, as well as unquestionable loyalty to their command. Kaminoan geneticists, for a huge sum and without excessive subtlety, programmed the new clones for absolute obedience. Vette had reported this, not without pride, of course—the program for creating clones for the army and fleet was her brainchild. Malgus, who had planned to recruit a crew for the "Sundering Hand" personally loyal to him, could only silently accept the accomplished fact. Of course, no one said it openly, but the Sith was ready to swear—should he do anything against Dougan's will, the crew would tear him apart, no matter how many died fighting the Sith.
But, he had no intention of acting against his master. The Force Bond, that damned Jedi slave network with which Vitiate's apprentice had bound Rukh, combined with psychic suggestion, prevented the Sith warrior from opposing his master. This drove the freedom-loving Malgus into a fury. But even the power of the Dark Side could not break the shackles of Sith magic that had bound his mind.
"Vette," he addressed her. "Prepare the 'Fury'," the girl had arrived on the Sith's flagship in an interceptor. "We'll take a squad of Skywalkers and board the Jedi destroyer. Captain," he glanced at the clone. "Bring the dreadnought alongside the flagship and direct the Skywalkers to seize the ship."
"It will be done, my lord," the clone pressed his right fist to his chest and silently withdrew from Rukh to carry out the order.
"Are you serious?" the Twi'lek hissed. "In the heat of battle? There are about seven thousand clones on board. We don't stand a chance, you blockhead! They'll finish us off as soon as we reach the hangar..."
"In the Temple on Coruscant, there were over three hundred excellently trained Jedi," the Sith rasped. "There were only fifty of us. We slaughtered every one of our enemies. Their smoking remains, as well as the congealed blood, flooded the entire floor of the Vestibule. And then, I destroyed the Jedi sanctuary, defiling their home, their refuge, their shrine," turning to the Twi'lek, the Sith fixed her with a gaze in which molten gold swirled. "Don't speak to me of chances, little Twi'lek."
* * *
Up until the moment the second "Venator" vanished into oblivion, disappearing in a silent flash—the result of the ship's ammunition and reactor detonations—Eeth Koth still held hope for a favorable outcome.
Of course, practically the entire air wing had been annihilated by the Sith, but the enemy had also suffered significant losses. One of the dreadnoughts pressing the detachment's rearguard, during the landing of troops—droids of an unseen design—carelessly exposed itself to the missile tubes of an "Acclamator." A full salvo of proton torpedoes, four in number, penetrated the dreadnought's lower hangar, instantly turning it into a scattering of huge debris. A pity only that beforehand, the ship managed to deploy hordes of humanoid droids that, like beetles, swarmed over the assault cruiser's hull, penetrating internal compartments through hundreds of assorted breaches.
The second "Acclamator" awaited the same fate. Unlike its counterpart, it was completely immobilized, so the Sith ship could, unimpeded, hover in the rear hemisphere of the Republic starship, deploying troops, while fending off the last-ditch fire from the enemy's turbolaser towers.
"Turn the ship," ordered the Jedi, pointing to the site of the Sith ship's destruction. "While the engines are intact, we'll break out of the trap and..."
"The enemy flagship has closed in on us and is deploying troops," the clone commander interrupted him. "The upper hangar is under enemy control, combat is ongoing in the internal compartments..."
"Oh, Force!"
Despite lacking specialized training, the Zabrak exerted every effort to avoid mistakes. The Great Force, which he relied upon on the battlefield, guided him unfailingly. But today, in the embrace of the Dark Side, it had abandoned him.
"Enemy on the bridge!" A clone's cry rang out as soon as the armored blast doors slid open, and the compartment filled with deadly blaster volleys.
"Order everyone to save themselves as best they can!" the Jedi roared, moving off the firing line.
A massive figure in black armor, gripping the hefty hilt of a lightsaber with a blade of an unusual for a Sith—yellow—color, cleaved the control panel near which the Master had just been standing.
"Eeth Koth," Malgus uttered with mocking satisfaction in his voice. "Glad to meet you face to face." The Sith spun his blade in his hand, assuming the classic Shien stance.
The Jedi, igniting his own blade, mechanically deflected a blaster shot fired by a pretty Twi'lek with a blue skin tint. However, the girl immediately vanished, diving into one of the "pits," causing the deflected shots to fly into empty space.
"This meeting will be your last, Sith!"
"If you only knew how often I've heard that phrase, Jedi," the giant spat the last word as if it were bitter saliva in his mouth. A second later, with a lightning-fast motion, he seized by the throat a clone who had inexplicably ended up nearby. The crunch of snapping cervical vertebrae pierced the Zabrak's ears.
"Thousands of Jedi have met their death from my blade," the Sith slowly but inexorably advanced on his prey. Cautious, like a seasoned predator cornering its quarry, he was in no hurry to finish it, instilling fear, savoring its final moments. "More capable. More worthy than you."
"We'll see about that!"
Without fear in his heart, the Zabrak went on the offensive, seeking to push back the larger foe with swift Ataru-style attacks.
However, the Sith proved unyielding. His power, both physical and in the Force, overwhelmed the Jedi, forcing him to switch to defense almost instantly. Leaping back, the Zabrak noted with annoyance that the bridge was under enemy control.
Snow-white humanoid droids, gripping Republic-style blaster rifles in their hands, silently, without fuss, dragged away dead bodies from the control consoles. Obviously, the enemy intended to make use of the damaged ship which, despite the battle endured, was still operational, though its speed had now dropped to a fraction of its original.
Seeing that the fight for the bridge was coming to an end, the Zabrak turned to his enemy. None of his companions intervened in the duel between the two Force adepts, so Eeth expected Malgus to engage him in dialogue. But the Sith merely roared and charged into battle. The Jedi barely had time to raise his blade to meet the unexpected attack.
Koth assumed a defensive stance borrowed from the Soresu arsenal, as he often did in training. But now even the third form seemed inadequate to withstand the Sith's onslaught. He attacked the Zabrak with such speed and ferocity the Master had never witnessed before. Even Darth Maul, the Zabrak who fell on Naboo, according to Obi-Wan's tales, moved slower than this ancient Lord.
Giving himself wholly to suffused fury, Malgus became a wild animal, pouring relentless blows upon the former Magister from all sides, so frequent that it seemed as if he wielded a dozen blades simultaneously.
It took all his effort not to allow the opponent to cut him in half.
Eeth ducked under a horizontal sweep of the lightsaber and immediately received a heavy kick from the Sith's armored boot under the ribs. He flew a good three meters, soaring high into the air before crashing onto the metal deck of the bridge. Although the blow knocked the wind out of him, the Jedi managed to retain concentration and rolled aside, barely dodging another thrust of the yellow blade. Parrying a sharp downward strike, he pulled his legs under him and executed a backward somersault to a distance of several meters. With his back, he felt the heat emanating from the opponent's blade as the Sith delivered a sweeping blow that severed part of his Jedi robes.
Malgus, without bothering to close the distance, struck his foe with a powerful Force Push, sending him flying backward into the corridor adjoining the bridge.
He slowly rose to his feet, raising his blade before him with his last strength, his entire posture showing he was ready to repel an attack. But Malgus, not attempting to overcome the defense, thrust his left hand forward. The Sith did not hesitate to call upon the Dark Side of the Force and unleashed a hurricane of several dozen writhing, snow-white lightning bolts tinged with blue, rushing at the opponent from every possible side.
Eeth Koth skillfully deflected the strike, catching it on the tip of his lightsaber, but Jedi defense proved weak against the raging ocean of the Dark Side. Tongues of lightning enveloped the Zabrak's body, passing millions of volts of electricity through him, causing the celebrated Master of Crucitorn to gnash his teeth, appealing to the Great Force to sever his consciousness from the external raging ocean of pain.
For an instant he succeeded, and the body, agonizing in the streams of the Dark Side, ceased to scream from the pain of bursting skin and blood boiling right in the veins. With a foggy gaze, Eeth Koth, holding his blade before him, tried to assume the defensive Soresu stance, seeing the approach of his enemy's massive figure.
Abruptly, without any warning, Malgus cut off the lightning stream, with a sweeping motion severing the man's sword-wielding arm just below the elbow. He screamed and fell to his knees. His body and Force concentration had failed Eeth Koth. The Light Side of the Force retreated, driven out by the encroaching chaos.
Kneeling on one knee, Malgus unceremoniously grabbed the helpless Zabrak by the neck, looking into his eyes.
"I see your pain and despair, Jedi. The Light Side did not help you now, and will not help your brothers. My master is reforming the galaxy, and there will be no place in it for either Sith or Jedi," the Zabrak's eyes widened. His fogged brain was still trying to analyze what he'd heard, to complete the logical chain...
"But, you are too weak to see that, Eeth Koth."
Malgus delivered a single powerful blow: the sword's blade entered the Zabrak's chest just below the midline of the ribs and emerged a good half-meter out from his right shoulder blade.
The Sith extracted the blade, simply deactivating the lightsaber. When the Jedi's body fell face-first into the mud and dust of the corridor, the dark Lord riveted all his attention on the blue-skinned Twi'lek standing behind him. Vette stood frozen, observing him.
"Inform our master that I have destroyed the Jedi group and seized the prizes," the monster of the Dark Side in the flesh pulled the Zabrak's lightsaber to his hand, which he placed on his belt next to his own. "Senior Jedi General Eeth Koth proved unworthy of recruitment. I broke his heart."
* * *
The yellow sun of Nesus-Ortay hung directly overhead, scattering rays over the lush valley below and the camp in the jungle where Nyx and his battle-brothers of the 204th Legion awaited. Under the shade of a tree, the senior clone commando, to pass the time, was running a quick systems check on his new armor.
Like the armor of the ARC troopers Balda and Shaiba, Nyx, as well as the regimental commanders, had received new kit which, it must be admitted, was more comfortable than the Phase-1 armor supplied by Kamino. The power cell was fully charged and suitable for prolonged use. He had also checked the spare power module.
The weaponry remained the same—the same DC complex. However, unlike his brothers, Nyx preferred to arm himself with two DC-17 blaster pistols. The heavy blasters could compete with the DC-15s blaster carbines with which the infantry was overwhelmingly armed. Of course, the carbine's cartridge capacity, good for 500 shots, was no match for the 50 charges in the pistols. But Nyx did not strive to be on the front line, which was why he hadn't taken his carbine out of his backpack for a long time.
Thanks to the enviable genetics of the clone donor and countless training sessions, Nyx's hands moved deftly and confidently. Over the past months, he had been subjected to routine so often that even thinking wasn't required during the work. Pre-combat weapon inspection was not standard practice in the armed forces of the Grand Army, but the commander, dating back to Christophsis, had introduced this innovation among the legion's troops. Contradicting higher orders was not in the clone's nature, and besides, this habit had saved his life several times here on the nexus.
Despite heavy losses, the legion was regularly replenished with recruits—they were easily distinguished from veterans by the absence of black marks on their armor. Of course, over time, distinguishing marks were also applied to the newcomers' breastplates, but for that, one had to participate in several battles as part of the legion.
He shoved the pistols into the holsters fastened on his belt on either side; checked the vibroblade in its sheath on his boot and glanced around. The clones—the regimental commanders, as well as the Christophsians—their colleagues from the volunteer units, were conducting similar checks of their own weapons while awaiting orders. Nyx merely nodded grimly, meeting the gaze of Phob—commander of the first regiment.
His brother picked up his rifle and approached the clone sitting on the ground, shielding himself from the scorching sun and enemy observers, leaning his back against a tree trunk.
"What do you think about all this, commander?" He jabbed the barrel of his carbine toward the far edge of the valley, where, like an impenetrable monolith on a ridge of rock, sat the massive bulk of Separatist fortifications.
"I'll reserve judgment until Hellagen and the scouts return," the clone sighed.
"I hope they're already on their way back," grumbled the clone. "We've been in position for a full two days. No word from them..."
Nyx shrugged.
"We can't begin until we know the full picture. Especially since the Jedi is still conducting clean-up in the jungle. Don't worry," he extended a hand and the clone, grabbing his forearm, helped him up. "The scouts will return soon."
Sergeant Hellagen and his group had earned a good reputation in the war over the past months. They had participated in every battle, starting from Kamino, and had won no small number of victories. They had gone from being one of a thousand frontline units to an elite reconnaissance platoon, earning gratitude from both Commander Dougan and the ARCs. No wonder that among them they were some of the first, along with the commanders, to receive the new armor. And in addition—prototypes of the latest DC-19 Stealth carbines, whose special modification allowed for silencing the sound of the shot and concealing the blaster bolt itself from the unaided eye. The perfect weapon for reconnaissance, but overly complex to handle and energy-intensive—the cartridge lasted for literally 5-6 shots, after which the weapon required cooling. Otherwise—an explosion in the wielder's hands was inevitable.
But, it was precisely now that the scouts could serve as the key to capturing the industrial world of Nexus Ortay—the Separatist citadel. They had been here only a couple of days, but it was already beginning to wear on the nerves.
Phob began pacing the ground. Nyx sat calmly in the shade, watching him march back and forth.
"Don't wear yourself out," he said after a minute. "We certainly won't move out until dusk. You can rest too."
Phob stopped pacing, but his restlessness didn't go away.
"General Unduli says it will be as easy as morning warm-up," he said, carefully maintaining a careless tone in his voice. "Do you think she's right?"
A Jedi of the Mirialan race had taken command of the legion shortly before the landing on the planet. Despite her courage — the Jedi fought alongside the clones, shared their daily life, and in no way separated herself from the soldiers of the unit — Nix was in no hurry to speak well of his commander. Even now, when mobile groups of tin cans had been discovered in the rear of the Republic forces, she hadn't shifted the responsibility for neutralizing them onto the clones. Taking a battalion of volunteers from Christophsis with her, she had gone hunting for the enemy, when she could have ordered any of the clone commanders to do it. Her Padawan — Barriss Offee — was in the rear, with the medics, providing what help she could to the wounded.
Unlike Dougan, with whom the 204th Legion had been through more than one battle, and especially the meat grinder on Christophsis, the new commander was still a mystery. And the clone was in no hurry to take a side — to agree with her assessment of the situation or not. Of course, the Jedi Master had proven her competence — in less than a week, the legion under her command had driven the enemy out of four fortified areas with minimal losses. But all of that was just small skirmishes. The assault on the enemy's main base promised serious losses — and first of all from the "secrets": firing points camouflaged from detection.
It was to find and destroy those that the general had sent Hellagen's group. Once the scouts cleared the valley, the legion would be able to move forward.
"Well?" Phob repeated. "What do you say, brother? When it all starts, will it be as easy as the general promises?"
"Phob, calm down. The general hasn't let us down," the senior clone commander finally said. "Why would she be wrong now?"
The commander of the first regiment fell silent, thinking over his words.
They were hidden in the jungle at the edge of a narrow valley — the only path to where the Separatists had set up their camp. The fortifications towering over the valley turned the open ground into a shooting gallery, where the tin cans would grind up the clone units with rapid-fire blasters and heavy cannons.
But it was precisely this infamous fifth fortification that separated the soldiers of the 204th from the planet's capital — the city of Nexus. There, protected from bombardment by thousands of hostages from the local population, was the Separatist commander.
If Republic forces tried to move troops through the valley without disarming the "secrets," even at night, they would definitely be spotted on the fortifications. Neither artillery nor the armor, painted in shades of green, which had once seen its white color, would save them.
And even if the clones managed to break through the fortifications, the Separatists would signal the base camp, and their entire defense would rise and prepare for battle long before the enemy reached them. Then they'd have to retake the entire city, house by house, street by street… Remembering his brothers' stories of the street fighting on Christophsis, where thousands of his brothers had met their deaths, Nix shuddered. The Jedi was right — unnecessary casualties weren't needed by anyone.
"I feel uneasy," Nix finally admitted. "Taking these fortifications won't be that simple. When we get the 'go-ahead,' there won't be any room for error. We have to be perfect. If the scouts screw up, we're in for trouble."
Phob threw his hands up in irritation.
"Contact the general."
"And what do I tell her?"
"I don't know, honestly. Maybe we should send out new recon groups? Or at least move a few battalions forward under cover of night. It's better than sitting here waiting. The idleness is just killing me!"
Nix didn't have time to answer — a speeder's whine sounded nearby, and then several Republic vehicles shot out from the edge of the forest, braking carefully not far from the clone commanders.
From one of them, a Mirialan jumped down lightly, as if she hadn't spent several days in the saddle.
The green-skinned Jedi, despite being clad in light gray-brown armor, was noticeably limping on her left leg. The chest plate had traces of a few scorch marks, and generally, the commander's appearance spoke of great fatigue.
"General, ma'am!" The clones sprang up from their spots, greeting the Jedi. Handing the speeder over to one of the clones, the general walked over to Nix.
The clone smiled under his helmet, slapping Phob familiarly on the shoulder.
"I think we're finally going to get our orders."
* * *
The clones stood at attention while Nix and the Jedi silently studied the tactical terminal. The holographic projection showed those gathered a map of the valley, with a good dozen markings. Hellagen, who, as it turned out, had arrived at the legion's position about half an hour ago, was patiently explaining the details of his raid behind enemy lines.
The three-dimensional image displayed the droid defensive structures: a permacrete wall stretching a good hundred meters — from one mountain ridge to another — a couple of meters thick, with a single passage — wide gates closed by durasteel shutters. On top of the wall were five turrets with wide embrasures, from which the barrels of heavy blasters menacingly protruded. At some distance from the wall were parapets, from which, their muzzles pointing upward, the Separatists' self-propelled guns were visible.
"The enemy is well entrenched in their positions," he said. "We've disarmed about seventeen 'secrets.' Mostly small B-1 units, but reinforced with heavy rapid-fire blasters. There's no communication between them — the mountains interfere with comlinks. We didn't find any approach routes the enemy could use to rotate the 'secrets.' Most likely, no one has been replacing the droids."
"I should think not," Richie snorted. "They're just tin cans."
Ignoring his remark, the Jedi pointed to the location of the firing points.
"They're spaced about a klick apart all along the valley — from our positions all the way to the fortifications themselves."
"That's right," the sergeant nodded. "I think that, with no communication, the artillery on the fortifications must have been supposed to fire directly on the 'secret' positions as soon as they detected our advance."
"But now they don't have that option?" Day inquired.
"Of course," the scout confirmed. "The valley is clear. Of course, moving across open ground is suicide, but by platoons, using the natural terrain…"
The general, who had been silent until now, spoke up.
"Excellent reconnaissance, Sergeant. The Separatists won't know about our approach until we start the assault on the fortification."
"That's right, ma'am. If we move fast enough, we'll be able to deal with the droids on the hill before the main forces are deployed in the city."
"The droids in the city are in travel mode?" Nix asked in surprise.
"Yes, sir. We spent almost two days studying the situation. The city is patrolled by two hundred B-1s, while the B-2s and droidekas are powered down. I don't think they've been activated since the planet was conquered."
"Unwise of their commander," the Mirialan said thoughtfully. "Knowing we're on the way and being so negligent with their own defense…"
"That only works in our favor," Nix remarked. "By the time they deploy their forces, we'll already be in the city."
"But that doesn't cancel out the fight for the fortifications," Nix reminded him. "Did you find out what the garrison is armed with?"
"Of course, sir," Hellagen nodded. "There's at least a battalion of B-1s, a hundred B-2s, and half a dozen proton cannons aimed at the valley. About a hundred heavy stationary blasters that can fire at both ground and air targets."
"This is going to be oh so not easy," Richie shook his head. "We won't be able to suppress that many tin cans fast enough to break through to the city and manage to evacuate most of the inhabitants."
Those gathered fell silent, thinking over the coming battle.
"There is a way out, gentlemen," the Mirialan said unexpectedly. The clones stared at her as one. Meanwhile, the Jedi began to explain.
"The height of the fortification walls is about ten meters. We can get almost right up to the walls, and then some of the clones will use jetpacks. How many do we have? Around three hundred?" Addressing her question to Richie, the Mirialan waited for his confirmation, then continued. "They'll be able to shoot the enemy in flight, tossing shock grenades at at least some of the cannons and firing points while the droids analyze the situation. During that time, the main forces will use grenade launchers to breach the gates leading to the interior and engage the enemy in close combat. The soldiers with jetpacks and the scouts on speeders and light walkers will meanwhile break into the city, seize a bridgehead, and hold it until the main forces arrive. Once we capture the fortifications, or at least neutralize most of the heavy weapons, we'll send reinforcements on gunships. They'll strike at the main droid force positions, which should significantly reduce their numbers."
"What forces does the enemy have in the city?"
"Up to fifteen thousand B-1s and no less than two thousand B-2s and droidekas."
Hearing the numbers, Nix whistled. Although no one echoed his reaction, his brothers-in-arms were thinking the same thing. During the battle on the planet, the legion had lost more than three thousand killed or wounded, which meant the Republic forces were significantly outnumbered in "living" personnel.
"If we don't manage to destroy most of the droids before they're activated, we're done for," the Mirialan squinted, voicing the thought that had been tormenting everyone.
* * *
Gazing over the empty rooms of the abandoned fortress, Kira, with a touch of sadness, gave herself over to memories of when this place was full of life.
The flickering of multicolored lights in the reception area, where she and her beloved, setting aside cares and routine, gave themselves to dancing. The young Jedi Knight laughed as she watched her chosen one's clumsy moves, hiding her smiles so as not to accidentally hurt his feelings.
Everything in this home reminded her of him. The old music player, forlornly living out its days in a corner. The intricate furniture — a gift from the Killiks on Alderaan. The food dispenser, bought on Corellia for an outrageous price — almost two thousand credits — had delighted them more than once with its exquisite dishes. The numerous flags and banners hanging on the walls had lost their original beauty, turning into dust-filled, pest-eaten rags that only added to the overall impression of abandonment.
The layer of dust she brushed off one of the panels was several centimeters thick, which, in the conditions of the dwelling's complete isolation, seemed unthinkable. But facts, as they say, are stubborn things.
After thousands of years, Kira still felt the echoes of that Force that had been great in her chosen one. The aura of tenderness and care with which he had surrounded the young Padawan, and later the Knight, still filled the walls and furnishings of what had once been a cozy family nest — the apartment on Nar Shaddaa that had become that for them. But, over the years, the Force had waned, turning into only murky reflections of the riot of colors that had reigned here before.
Wandering through the half-dark halls, the girl visited every room, her heart aching as she surveyed the dim traces of former splendor.
Nothing in this dwelling captivated her anymore. The attachments she had held onto had been unceremoniously severed by long imprisonment and time that had flown by like an instant. Alternating between the silent execution of the Emperor's missions and long periods of hibernation in suspended animation, she seemed to have lost all the threads connecting her to this and other memorable places.
Before, her heart would have shattered with grief had she witnessed something like this.
But now, through the time and hundreds of tortures she had endured to please the Emperor…
The last place on her path was the study.
A small room, designated by the plan as a bedroom, but taken over by the man by right of being head of the house. Even away from strife and unceasing conflicts, in the arms of his beloved, he never allowed himself to be secluded from his duty, his work. Kira remembered how angry she had been at her beloved when she one day realized that the galaxy would always come first for him. And even Carsen's all-consuming love could not distract him for long.
Over time, she had resigned herself to the second role in his life. Duty to the Order, to the galaxy, to each of the trillions of living souls in the millions of inhabited worlds had always been paramount for him. Such was the fate of every great man.
Memories washed over her.
Dromund Kaas. Training in the ways of the Dark Side. The Emperor, whose insinuating voice, like the whisper of thousands, spoke to her.
"Each of us will one day decide what is more important: family or power. And foolish is the one who, for the sake of feelings, rejects greatness."
Shaking her head of chestnut hair, the girl focused, clearing her mind of childhood memories. The last thing she wanted right now was to feel hatred for her past. The few bright moments she had cherished all these years within herself were fading, one by one, in this decay. It wasn't worth darkening her soul. Faith and boundless love — that was what gave her the strength to move forward. To serve that monster, no matter what.
Pausing before the doorway, she tried to bring back the memories of those happy moments they had shared here together.
The only place in the house where the Hero could allow himself to shed the burden of daily life and the armor that had become his second skin over years of wandering. The room they entered as front-line soldiers opposing the Sith Empire, the Hutt Cartel, Revan…
With a smile, she touched the control panel and stepped over the threshold.
The desk, positioned so that the dim light from the window would spill its rays onto the simple metal table, bought on the black market, made by craftsmen from the Sith Empire. Their little secret. Kira recalled with delight how her love, with comical grumbling, had criticized Republic manufacturers. They had changed dozens of stores where he demanded they sell him a simple table, rectangular, without rounded edges or ornate carving. Without complex electronics or unnecessary options.
Everywhere they had been looked at like they were crazy — a couple of Jedi denying the ancient Republic traditions of interior design.
How his eyes had shone with happiness when, on their next arrival on Nar Shaddaa, he had found this surprise — a rectangular table with a wide top, its base an inverted trapezoid. A massive, yet extremely comfortable, chair came with it.
His joy had been boundless. Like a child, he had praised Imperial design — because, aside from a portable holocommunicator and a built-in computer, this table didn't boast any upgrades.
A pair of sofas arranged along the opposite wall. A floor lamp standing close to the clouded windowpane. How they had loved to sit here in the evenings, basking in the yellow light that this single source of light poured over them…
She ran her fingers along the edges of the information datapads arranged in neat rows on the shelves of a simple metal cabinet bolted to the wall to the left of where he used to sit.
A small cabinet with locked doors, where he stored his armor in those moments when he stopped being the Jedi upon whose shoulders the care for the well-being of the entire galaxy had fallen. The cabinet was small, designed only for his things and the tools for repairing armor and weapons, but there was also a single item stored there that she treasured. Guarding the small boundaries of his personal space so jealously, he had categorically objected to anything other than his weapons and armor being in that ultra-modern vault.
But, like all women, with cunning, affection, and a few small whims, she had won her place in his armored vault, placing there just one, but the most significant object for her.
The blade of Satele Shan. The very same one she had lost in the battle on Alderaan, opposing Malgus and his Sith. Somehow, the Hero had found the pieces of the lightsaber in the vaults of Malgus's station, before overthrowing the self-proclaimed emperor. He had presented them as a gift to the Grand Master as a sign of his greatest respect. The only one on the entire Council, she hadn't just suspected, but had known for certain about their passionate romance. But she had kept the secret. Like a mother, whose love Kira had never truly known, she had treated the young girl.
Perhaps the only one of all the Jedi living at that time, it was Satele who understood how wrong the Jedi were to reject love. But, like her legendary ancestor, she had kept the idea of the Unity of the Force to herself. The Order had not been ready to accept the truth. Neither in the time of Revan, nor during the Galactic Wars…
Kira smiled, remembering how inspired and happy she had been that the Grand Master had given her the damaged lightsaber. Satele had talked at length to young Kira about how she had assembled the blade, how she had covered it with intricate carving, pouring her soul into it. Shan, not without pride, had asked the girl to restore the blade and use it as her own. The most valuable gift possible, which the Grand Master of the Order, who rejected love, could give at the secret wedding of Kira and the greatest of Jedi Guardians, the one who had slain Vitiate.
Kira had spent long months restoring the original appearance of the hilt, using Force Forging to restore the strength of the thinnest coating of Mandalorian iron over the electrum base. Sleepless nights she had spent restoring the beauty of the pattern, rejoicing like a girl at every successfully restored swirl.
And he had watched her from behind his desk. In love, utterly devoted to her and her love. When she had finally finished her work, she had triumphantly activated the blade… but failure awaited her.
Some minor malfunction had prevented the legendary weapon from working. He had comforted her sorrow by showing her a huge painting, done on canvas with genuine, relic paints. They were both depicted there. Two people in love. Clad in armor, bearing the marks of a recent battle, still holding the hilts of their lightsabers… the artist had captured with astonishing accuracy a vivid moment from their turbulent lives.
In the painting, one could easily make out the outlines of the bridge of a Sith dreadnought, the site of Kira's return to the Light. The death of Darth Angral aboard his own flagship, minutes before the destruction of Coruscant. The painting, incidentally the only one in the entire house, had taken its place of honor in his study, on the wall, so that while working at the terminal, he could always look up and remember that memorable day. The moment their love was born…
The point on their life's path where they first understood, without jokes or playfulness, how close they were to each other…
Trying to guess the password to the ancient mechanism, Kira, with grim determination, confirmed her thought that she would take with her Satele's gift and the painting. Whatever it cost her, she would carve out an inviolable space for herself on Odessen, where she would recreate the altar of her love. Her own little world, where none of the Hands, the Emperor, or his Apprentice would have access. The stubbornness with which the Hero had stood his ground, not allowing her to keep Satele's blade in the only suitable place for it in the cabinet, she would use to shield her inner world from intrusion.
And what was her surprise when, instead of the silver-blue hilt covered in ancient carving, she discovered a simple hilt, without any embellishments. The purely pragmatic design of the hilt, whose emitter was encircled by several pointed blades, was not characteristic of a Jedi blade.
Golden-colored armor, in which she was surprised to recognize a Zakuulan military kit, the type worn by members of the order of the same name… Only at the very bottom, where only dirty rags and technical debris were always stored, did she finally find her blade. Its surface scarred with scratches, stripped of its beskar coating, the pattern disturbed in places…
Gasping, as if she had taken a blow to the gut, Kira took the blade reverently in both hands. What had happened to him?
Collapsing into a chair, the girl stared with wide eyes at the ancient weapon, desecrated and ruined. It had been hidden away in a trash bin, like a disgrace, stripped of its original beauty… But who? Why?! It was as if it were yesterday that she had lamented her inability to assemble it correctly. His reassurances, interrupted by a call from Darth Marr, whose foresight did him credit, leading to five years of separation and the subsequent war with the Eternal Empire of Zakuul.
But he had sworn to her that he hadn't visited Nar Shaddaa since they parted, in Wild Space, when Valkorion's scion had attacked Marr's squadron, and Kira, along with her other companions, had been forced to flee and scatter across the galaxy! But if that was so, where had the armor of the Knights of Zakuul come from?!
Tears appeared in her eyes.
She remembered the moment of their reunion, when she had returned to Odessen with Scourge. The battles on Onderon had barely died down, and the pair of former servants of the Emperor, certain that the Outlander was their miraculously saved Hero, had returned to their ally. With barely concealed impatience, she had waited while Scourge told them about the deadly plague the Emperor had left as his final weapon.
She remembered his confusion when he saw his old friends.
That bewilderment in the Force that he hadn't been able to hide…
But at that moment, she had been the happiest of women and hadn't paid attention.
The girl leaned back in the chair, wiping tears from her eyes. He had never lied, not even in the smallest things… could it be the influence of the Emperor, whose vessel he had been for so many years? Maybe he had simply forgotten?
Nar Shaddaa was lost in the night of resinous fog, and the lights outside the window had finally gone out. The district was no longer elite, so the street lighting was barely holding on.
The girl touched the switch of the floor lamp with the Force.
The yellow light flickered, casting bright stripes that dispelled the darkness onto the wall opposite the desk…
In the next second, it felt as if her heart had shattered into a million pieces. Like shards of a razor, they fell into the depths of her soul, leaving bleeding cuts.
The painting that had gladdened his eyes was gone. The last sparks of love and nostalgia that had held her back from falling had gone out.
He had killed them. He had killed her. After four thousand years, she had found the answer to why the Outlander had been so cold to her then, on Odessen.
The same artist — this was easy to see from the painting's characteristic "handwriting" had created another masterpiece for him. In it, the carefree smiling Commander of the Alliance, against the backdrop of a celebrating, victorious Onderon, was kissing a blonde girl, whose eyes, like amber resin, looked at the rival from the canvas. And triumphed.
The transformation came to Kira without difficulty, instantly, as soon as the instincts cultivated on Dromund Kaas took over.
Thanks to tireless training under the finest Sith, the Emperor's Children could, in fractions of a second, turn their deepest fears, their deepest pain, into the heat of unstoppable rage, so powerful it could melt comets.
Kira didn't care that the mental blocks had fallen. She didn't care about self-control or loyalty to the Jedi truths she had adhered to even after all attempts to break her. The monstrous experiments of the Emperor and his mechanical minions, who had once granted immortality to Scourge, and hundreds of years later to the Hands who now served his apprentice, had only added to her strength.
Rage raced through her veins like an incinerating torrent. The iris of her eyes filled with the fire of solar prominences, and the Dark Side, to whose power Carsen had surrendered, demanded blood. It didn't matter whose, as long as there was an endless sea of it… Madness that would have been the envy of the most desperate Sith juggernauts fed her, nurturing the Dark Side. And the stronger the Darkness within her became, the more insane she herself grew…
But suddenly, as if hitting an invisible wall, the rage, ready to tear her body apart and pour out into space as an untamed storm of the Dark Side, went out. The anger, like an uncontrolled flame, had burned its fuel in the tiny inner world she had preserved for thousands of years. And went out. Leaving behind only smoldering coals, in which sparks of the extinguished flame now and then flickered, ready to flare up at the first wind. All that was needed was to give those sparks fuel…
Once, she had witnessed Scourge's confessions while he was talking to the Hero of Tython.
"'I still remember the feeling of sunlight warming my skin. The taste of my favorite food. The color of my first love's eyes. I would give anything to experience those simple pleasures again.'
'That's why Jedi aren't allowed attachments. Desires deprive you of your peace of mind.'
'You've misunderstood everything. My peace of mind is never disturbed. I feel nothing.'"
As never before, Kira understood her old comrade. And although he was no longer alive, his three-hundred-year-old wisdom proved more timely than ever.
Her love… was dead. Everything bright that had once connected her to the past had burned away in the flame of the Dark Side, to which she had surrendered for the first time in thousands of years. The moral principles she had cultivated within herself had been swept away by the raging ocean of the Force. Like a river bursting an ancient dam, the Force washed away the dogmas of the Jedi, the axioms of the Sith, mixing them in a single crucible of passions in the lowlands of her subconscious.
On this day, finally and irrevocably, the Jedi Kira Carsen died.
Grabbing the desecrated blade of the ancient Grand Master, the Hand of the Emperor left the abandoned fortress, ordering two Twi'lek slave girls to put it in order by the time their common master arrived.
Rushing at breakneck speed in a hover-taxi toward the spaceport, despite the indifference to everything happening that reigned in her soul, Kira couldn't shake the feeling that she could hear the mocking laughter of Lana Beniko.