Fourteen.
A dozen and two more for good measure.
Exactly that many Banking Clan battle platforms had to be destroyed in orbit around Muunilinst to secure a safe invasion corridor for the ground forces.
Anakin banked hard, pulling his starfighter out of the enemy Nantex's line of fire. The nimble Geonosian fighter kept peppering him with fire from its single blaster cannon. But what chance did its pilot, an OOM-series droid, stand against the best pilot in the galaxy?
The Jedi easily slipped out of the enemy's sights, letting Ahsoka, right behind him, turn the foe into Swiss cheese.
"Nice one," he praised his Padawan. "Trying to beat my kill count?"
The young Togruta snorted indignantly.
"Are you making fun of me, Master?"
"Never in my life, my young Padawan."
"You just blew up a battle platform with hundreds of Nantex on board! I'm not even close to your score..."
Skywalker smiled. It had been a risky move, sure — letting the droid starfighters' homing missiles lock onto his tail and then flying straight into the platform's through-hangar with all that baggage. The seekers, for all their clever internals, couldn't outsmart a man's ingenuity and delivered their deadly payload right onto the flight deck where those infamous Nantex were rotating. Anakin waited just long enough for the missiles to enter the hangar before his Delta-7B, engines screaming, vanished into the void, escaping the damage from the internal detonation.
The gray-yellow Delta, accompanied by its red-white-yellow counterpart, was heading back to the flagship.
Of course, it was too early to speak of complete victory in the space battle, but the Banking Clan had just taken a hefty slap in the face they had nothing to answer with. The Republic had punched a hole in the orbital defense and could now proceed with a systematic ground operation. All that remained was to clear the near-space of the surviving Nantex, but the clones on their V-19 Torrents would handle that.
"Back to the Relentless?" the sharp-witted apprentice had guessed her Jedi Knight's intentions. "But there are still tons of fighters out there..."
"It's time to remind you that a Jedi doesn't seek personal glory in battle," Anakin said with a smirk. "Or are you bothered by my 216 Nantex kills?"
"216? You're definitely exaggerating, Master!" the girl protested indignantly.
Anakin couldn't hold back a smile, picturing Ahsoka puffing out her cheeks in offense.
"Are you calling me a liar?"
"Me? No, of course not..."
"So, 216," the Jedi stated with a laugh. Then he opened a comm channel and contacted the control tower. "Relentless Control, this is Skywalker. Returning to base."
"Copy that, General," a familiar clone voice replied at once. "Preparing the main hangar for you."
"We'll be there in a minute..."
The moment he closed the channel, Anakin's forced cheerfulness evaporated.
Just like before, in his nightmares, he imagined a dragon. Mighty, constricting his heart. Bringing fear that made the man wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.
Jabiim had been the point of no return. The place where he had let his anger loose.
Just like back on Tatooine, when an entire clan of Sand People had fallen by his hand.
He couldn't tell anyone about this — not Obi-Wan, not even Padmé. Kenobi, though a friend and mentor, was still a Master more loyal to the Order than to Anakin.
Padmé... She would never understand what he'd had to do on Jabiim to come back to her.
There was only one person in the entire galaxy he could trust his secrets with.
He would never have a closer friend than the one who now stood at the head of the Republic. Palpatine had become Anakin's family: always there, always caring, always ready to give advice and offer help. A sympathetic, understanding listener, who accepted Anakin for who he was, without any conditions, with love and friendship. The Jedi had never done that and never would — the dragon, in whose clawed paws the heart of the most powerful Jedi lived, had been whispering this truism to the Jedi Knight ever since the former slave from Tatooine had become a Padawan.
He could tell Palpatine what he couldn't share with anyone else alive.
Sometimes, Anakin thought the Chancellor wasn't firm enough in his politics. He tried to hold a dialogue even where, in Skywalker's opinion, force should have been used. He didn't understand why, and as the Chancellor had told him with a wry smile, he probably wouldn't understand in his youth why Palpatine wasted his precious time on all those endless meetings and Senate sessions. Why, instead of reaching out and slamming his fist on the table, giving an order, he had to explain the justice of his point of view to fools.
And how simple it would be if the Chancellor had more power. He wouldn't have to listen to all those loafers in the Senate, or the Jedi Council, always lost in some strange slumber, but could settle the matter once and for all. If the Jedi were under the Chancellor's command, maybe the Separatist crisis wouldn't have happened. If the Jedi hadn't created an army in secret from the galaxy, it might have preserved the Republic's integrity. Thousands of innocents would be alive.
If only the Chancellor had more power. Of course, the Grand Army of the Republic now belonged to the state, but with what reluctance the Council had done it...
Journalists across the galaxy called him a hero without fear or reproach. Anakin smiled for the cameras, gave interviews, doing his best to mask his true feelings.
The journalists across the entire HoloNet were wrong. He knew fear, but he was stronger than fear.
Jabiim, where he had nearly lost his closest ones — Obi-Wan, his wise teacher; Ahsoka, the little fidget he'd already grown attached to — had shown him the full depth of bureaucracy's sluggishness. The Republic, for all its merits, had proven far too weak against the forces of a single planet.
How many times had he had to justify himself to the Council for essentially running away from there, leaving the Loyalists alone to face Stratus's enraged supporters? Only Palpatine's intervention had forced the Council to back off. The Chancellor himself had highly praised his actions, saying there was no point in staying there and dying. Jabiim was a defiant world, and no matter what the local Loyalists claimed, it would never return to the Republic's fold.
They could only be brought back by force. Brutal, untamed, overwhelming. But effective. Anakin had shared his thoughts on this with Palpatine, and the Chancellor had fully supported his friend. But he'd added sadly that the Senate wouldn't allow it. The time for restoring order in the galaxy with an iron fist had not yet come.
It was Palpatine who had insisted on his assignment here. The Council, grinding their teeth, had accepted the Chancellor's will. They had foreseen Obi-Wan in command of the Muunilinst operation. But he hadn't yet recovered from his wounds sustained on Jabiim.
Aubrie Wyn, who had lost her master in the heat of battle, had also stayed on Coruscant. Despite the girl's strength in healing, she faced a long rehabilitation. Anakin didn't even want to think about her future. The Temple was already overflowing with Padawans who had lost their teachers. Aubrie had become one of those "orphans." And even though Anakin felt responsible for her, he couldn't influence the Council's decision.
They shared a secret — one between the two of them. Fighting Stratus and his Nimbus, they had both crossed the line of what was permitted. Both had touched their fears, drawn strength from their despair... And both had won.
Returning home, the Knight and the Padawan had made a promise to each other — no one would ever know about this. It was their secret alone. Even Ahsoka had to remain in the dark.
Palpatine had once mentioned that the Jedi could teach Anakin a lot. But they couldn't unlock his potential. The Chancellor suspected the Council simply didn't want young Skywalker to learn the limits of his power. Because then he would become stronger than all of them.
The Jedi were simply afraid of him. Afraid of what he might become.
And they envied his strength.
The dogmas on which the Order was built... The Council was mired in envy of him and therefore couldn't fully devote itself to waging the war. The Council considered itself above its own rules.
Anakin felt the dragon stir in his chest.
Palpatine had recalled many times how many Jedi had been accepted into the Order despite their advanced age. This made Anakin's blood run like fire. The same Eeth Koth had been accepted by the Jedi at an older age.
And he... if Qui-Gon hadn't insisted back then, the Council would have refused Skywalker.
So now the young Jedi looked the dragon in the eye and didn't slow his pace.
If anyone could save the Republic, it was Anakin. Because he was already the best and was getting even better. But the dragon besieging the walls, whose name was fear, coiled and hissed.
Because in a universe where even stars could die, Anakin was truly afraid that being the best didn't mean being good enough to save everyone.
"Master?" Ahsoka's voice pulled him from his thoughts. Shaking his head to clear the daze, he was surprised to find his fighter already on the destroyer's deck. The clone technicians from the deck crew stood frozen, waiting for the General to leave the cockpit. Even R2 had already left his socket and was chattering on the binary comm with Ahsoka's astromech.
"Sorry, Snips," Anakin said, leaving the cockpit with youthful agility. "Was thinking about what's coming..."
"And I thought you always acted first and thought later," his Padawan teased. Anakin rolled his eyes.
"You're too young to be giving me snips, kid," the Jedi shot back without malice. The Togruta's satisfied snort was his only answer.
"Let's go to the command post, Ahsoka," her teacher said with a nod. "We need to talk to Rex about our ground operation."
* * *
"And after that, you freed all the Twi'lek slaves?" Tarkin asked, as if drawing a conclusion.
"Exactly, Captain," I confirmed with a nod. "The Force and all the laws of the Republic gave me the right to do so..."
"The Tribunal is least interested in your adherence to the old Jedi religion," Wilhuff countered, returning to the prosecutor's seat.
I wanted to throw something heavy at that smug cretin. But I deemed it unwise. The journalist fraternity would just find another excuse to write something provocative about Jedi actions.
"The witness may take his seat in the hall, if the defense has no questions," the pompous bureaucrat in the judge's robe looked toward the lawyer and the former Moff. Getting a negative gesture from them, the judge continued. "With this, we conclude the judicial investigation. Are the parties ready to proceed to closing arguments?"
Receiving affirmative responses from Tarkin and the lawyer, the judge settled comfortably into his chair and began listening to the Moff's defense attorney's speech.
Sitting down on the bench in the courtroom, I smiled beneath my mask. For once, justice would prevail.
My team and I had already spent two weeks on Coruscant. Day after day, I went to the courthouse every morning, repeatedly testifying before the prosecution and defense, telling them about my relationship with the Moff, about his assignments, and so on. It wasn't my place to judge, of course, but it seemed Bailur was being charged with a truly enormous list of crimes. Even the Hutts (thanks to Jabba) had sent an authorized representative, who described in detail and thoroughly all the relationships between Hutt Space and the former Moff. The defense couldn't fight that off anymore.
The Hutt had provided many documents that revealed to the court the details of the contracts for escorting merchant ships and guarding "contracted workers." Despite the savagery and cries of outrage, there was nothing to charge the Hutts with. They twisted Republic laws around their tails and widened their eyes as if learning for the first time that using military vessels for such purposes was a crime.
However, this theater held little interest for anyone. The guilt was objectively proven by the testimony of nearly a hundred witnesses and irrefutable physical evidence — the patrol ships' logs that had escorted the merchants, audit reports, account information showing billions from the sector army's funding had settled there. As they say, you can't argue with the facts.
After the Hutt's speech, Bailur took the floor and fully confessed to all charges. Even though he had already been stripped of his rank and enjoyed no privileges, his case was being heard by a military court — a tribunal. And, as I understood it, by confessing, the former official hoped to mitigate his punishment.
But something else worried me most right now.
In my hands, I was twirling a metal bar with two rows of plastic badges. Four red, four blue...
Two days ago, right after Tarkin — who was acting as the state prosecutor — made his announcement, the Sector Command had been called to an emergency session.
Over two dozen high-ranking GAR officers, among whom I noticed Moff Trakta, had listened to my report on the state of affairs of the 13th Sector Army. Many tricky questions that the same Tarkin had thrown at me found perfectly reasonable explanations.
They were interested in literally everything. The resources the Hutts were providing, my relationship with the Christophsis government, the new armor that had appeared out of nowhere for my ARC troopers, the banner of the 204th Legion, the numerous officer transfers with promotions, the Marauder orders from Sienar, the contacts with Incom, the reactivation of Telos...
The nitpicking bureaucrats looked for loopholes, corruption, personal interests in every one of my actions. And they were extremely upset when they didn't find any. Ki-Adi-Mundi, who was present at the command meeting among others, several times appealed to the Order's internal principles and the Force, backing up my words about the reasons for the captains' transfers.
In my subjective opinion, the commission from Sector Command was dissatisfied with my answers. "Too many personnel losses" that was the bolt Tarkin's negative review hung on, marking the end of the meeting. The commission members, with few exceptions, nodded in agreement with him.
I was baffled (what the hell is going on?), until Trakta took the floor.
"Too many losses, you say, Captain Tarkin?" The Moff rose from his seat, looking at everyone present with a smile. "And where don't we have them? On all fronts we are suffering colossal losses — it's gotten to the point where almost half of the first batch of clones have fallen on the battlefields. The second generation is just being integrated into our ranks — we're spending a huge amount of time plugging holes where the CIS is mowing down our units by the dozen. You're unhappy that a Jedi has the support of the Hutts and the Christophsis government? Then refuse the food supplies from Ukio that Master Dougan won for the entire Grand Army. Or the support of Bothan intelligence, whose homeworld he saved from ruin. You could also suggest that the Senate expel from the Republic the two dozen worlds that returned after the capture of Nexus Ortai. In the end, the peace with the Hutts that Master Jedi Dougan achieved is also unnecessary for our army," the assembled officers murmured disapprovingly. "Colleagues, I see in your opinion not an objective assessment of Senior General Dougan's actions, but only unwarranted suspicion and distrust of a Jedi who has done far more for our shared victory than many of the Order's members and those present here. In a short time as acting commander, he achieved victories where we didn't expect them — the capture of Rodia, Bothawui, and Christophsis was prevented. Dressel and Nexus Ortai were liberated. Very soon, the General's forces will capture the Monastery. The Iron Spear under his command held firm against Admiral Trench and General Grievous. He thwarted Count Dooku's apprentice's provocation and secured an alliance with the Hutts. Who, if not he, deserves the appointment as Moff of the 13th Sector Army?" At these words, I tensed. What the...? They were discussing an appointment to the Moff position here? Why wasn't I informed?
Anger began to boil inside me. A clear picture formed in my head. Sector Command had deliberately organized a sudden meeting so I would appear before them unprepared. Of course, what better proves unprofessionalism than a lack of control and knowledge of the state of affairs in your own army?
But screw them. I could list by memory the names of all my commanders and the number of starships in my squadrons. So they picked the wrong guy to mess with.
Meanwhile, Trakta continued.
"It is worth reminding you that during Moff Bailur's command, the sector army lost two-thirds of its territory and suffered four-fifths casualties in killed and wounded. And in such difficult conditions — practically without any help from us — the General managed to achieve a breakthrough of this magnitude. I can't call it anything other than a 'miracle' I simply can't bring myself to. Are you interested in the reason for the appearance of battle standards in the units? I see nothing wrong with that. Clones fight and die on command. The General gave them motivation. Open your files, look at the state the 204th Legion was in at the time of its formation on Kamino. Pitiful, to say the least. Now it's one of the best units in the Grand Army, rivaling the glory of the 501st Legion, the 7th Air Corps, the 9th Assault Corps... They are effective and deadly to the enemy. Personally, I see no other candidates who could compete with Master Jedi Dougan. Therefore, I urge you to set aside your prejudices and make a balanced decision..."
The appointment of Moffs, as I recalled, fell under the authority of the Chancellor's office. But, as it turned out, the candidacy first had to be discussed by Sector Command. Standard bureaucratic practice — to weed out the undesirables and push through the most suitable candidate, who would be so grateful for the fortune that had fallen on them that they wouldn't dare rock the boat and would remain loyal to their "benefactors" for the rest of their career.
While the officials were deliberating, I managed to spot Trakta in the crowd of officers and exchange a few words with him.
"Don't even worry about what's happening," the Moff assured me after hearing my thoughts. "Tarkin is just shaking the air for nothing — he clearly hasn't recovered from his role as prosecutor in Bailur's trial. Believe me — this meeting wouldn't be happening if your candidacy hadn't already been tacitly approved by the Chancellor's administration."
After these words, I became all ears. And my intuition stirred, sensing something wrong.
"The Command doesn't like the appointment of a Jedi to be responsible for an entire Oversector," the Moff continued, lowering his voice. "They barely tolerate the dual power in the 2nd and 4th Sector Armies, and here you'll have full authority. Evil tongues are whispering that your appointment will be a powerful PR move for the Order and will push ordinary officers into the background."
"What nonsense."
"Those are the realities of behind-the-scenes intrigue, my friend," the Moff smiled. "The Jedi are beloved by the population, but among the military, your kind is, to put it mildly, unpopular. You're a different matter — you have undeniable successes, so the Chancellor will win on all fronts by appointing you. He'll shut the mouths of his opponents in the Senate and 'throw a bone' to the Council."
"Opponents? You mean Amidala and Organa?"
"Not just them. Nearly two thousand senators in the Senate are, in one way or another, putting spokes in his wheels. Amidala keeps flaunting her support in the Order, so your appointment will deprive her of arguments for a while."
"Indeed," I grinned. Clever. Palpatine could point to any of the Loyalists' arguments, saying he was in solidarity with the Order's policy and had even appointed a prominent Jedi to command one of the most difficult sectors of the front. The Council, in my person, would receive from the Chancellor an unspoken declaration of loyalty. Like, I trust the Jedi so much that I appointed one as a Moff. This, among his other intrigues, would lull the Council's attention — which was looking for a Sith among the Chancellor's entourage — for a while longer. Of course, what Sith would appoint a Jedi to command an entire sector army? Unfathomable...
Damn, how beautifully he does everything. It's impossible not to admire Palpatine's genius at times like this.
"By the way," Trakta reminded me. "Don't forget, tomorrow afternoon is the Appropriations Committee meeting. They'll be transferring money to the army accounts — you absolutely need to be there to confirm receipt. And also give them a general idea of what you plan to spend it on."
"It's easier to figure out what I won't spend it on," I said with a chuckle. "After Trench and Grievous's attacks, all my ships in service need repairs. One more such attack, and I'll have nothing to fight back with."
"It should be quieter on your front for the next couple of months," the Moff shared. "The Separatists threw all their reserves at you and the 14th. Right now, they've got nothing to oppose you with. The CIS armada tactic didn't pay off — Isard almost swears by the reliability of that information. Dooku will soon switch to a 'hit-and-run' tactic with small units, no larger than a squadron. So you can safely fly to Kamino and Rothana and buy what you need."
"I also need to hurry Rendili and Sienar," I recalled. Seeing the bewilderment on the man's face, I explained. "I have heavy losses among the Hammerheads and Marauders. I need to re-equip the existing squadrons and reinforce my presence across the entire theater of operations."
"Yes, I heard you allocated entire squadrons to the newly appointed commodores," Trakta snorted. "That's wasteful on your part, you know. Tell me, why do you need squadrons to maintain control over systems? Cumbersome formations, especially given the current Separatist tactics. A line division is enough to control an entire system — especially since your front has nearly doubled now."
"Hmm..."
"No, it's understandable when you need to conquer a system. But for patrolling and defense — divisions will suffice. Especially since yesterday's captains are commanding your squadrons — you should know how much uproar there was over your poaching. Plus, you promoted all of them through the ranks. Are they ready to command anything larger than a division?"
"They handled themselves relatively well, you know... And the Force tells me they're capable guys..."
"Dougan, the Force is going to drive you up the wall," the Moff smiled. "Your task right now is to hold the territory. Reduce the squadrons, at least by half — you'll immediately free up a couple of dozen ships you can use to form new squadrons. That's what you did with the infantry — you diluted them with volunteers. Good move, by the way! Many Moffs are doing the same thing now — it's a shame the recruits aren't flocking to them the way they are to you."
Trakta's words made sense. I should think about this in my spare time.
"Thanks for the advice."
"Don't forget to return the ships I shared with you," the man reminded me with a wink.
I assured him he could already reserve the ships he needed; I would make the payment and transfer them to the grasping hands of the 1st Sector Army. We parted with a handshake.
As the Moff had assured me, the Sector Command commission returned to the meeting with good news for me.
"Senior General Rick Dougan," Tarkin began. "The Sector Command commission has made a decision, approved by the Supreme Chancellor's administration. You are hereby appointed as the permanent Moff of the Oversector falling within the sphere of activity of the 13th Sector Army. The relevant information has been entered into all Republic registries. Please accept our sincere congratulations..."
The Force rippled, pulling me out of the embrace of memory. Looking around, I saw a middle-aged man slip silently through the door into the courtroom. His face was vaguely familiar, but something stirred in my memory.
Meanwhile, Tarkin, who had just finished his speech, thanked everyone for their attention.
The judge, who had remained silent for a minute, pursed his lips, then, checking his notes, pronounced.
"The verdict will be announced tomorrow at noon standard time. Today's session is adjourned..."
Witnesses and participants began to stir as soon as the judge left the hall. A pair of Senate Guards, without any ceremony, clamped shock cuffs on the former Moff and led him to the holding area. The defendant's lawyer walked up to Tarkin and, smiling, struck up a conversation with the officer.
I had nothing to do here, so, free as a bird, I headed for the exit.
"Moff Dougan," the same man who had drawn my attention through the Force blocked my path.
"How can I help you?"
"Oh, could we step aside," he suggested with a courteous smile. "Talking in the doorway of a courtroom is a sign of bad manners."
"Well, let's step aside then," I smirked, checking just in case that my lightsaber was in place.
We left the courtroom. The man, orienting himself in the building's corridors almost instantly, pointed to a seating area in one corner of the hallway.
Sitting down on the sofa opposite me, the man continued.
"Allow me to congratulate you on your appointment. It's always pleasant to know that our armed forces are in capable hands."
"Thank you for the flattering assessment of my abilities," I replied dryly. The Force was unmistakably agitated, making me uneasy. "But I still don't know who you are and what the purpose of our conversation is."
"Oh, forgive my tactlessness," he said with a charming smile. "Kinman Doriana. I work in the Chancellor's administration."
The Force rippled again. I tasted metal in my mouth. I don't like sensations this familiar.
"Pleasure to meet you," I said, inclining my head diplomatically. "To what do I owe the visit of the Chancellor's aide?"
The man, still smiling, reached into the inner pocket of his richly decorated nano-silk robes. When he pulled his hand back out, he held a colorful sheet of paper between his fingers, which he extended toward me.
"Supreme Chancellor Palpatine invites you to join him for an evening performance at the Galactic Opera in eight days..."
The moment I touched the invitation, I felt the Force howl with a premonition of danger.
"I am honored by this invitation and wholeheartedly accept his generous offer. Convey my boundless respect and gratitude to the Chancellor for the honor bestowed upon me."
* * *
While I was wasting time at the court, Sector Command, and the appropriations commission, each of my companions was attending to their own affairs.
From the very first day of our arrival on Coruscant, after I had reported to the Council on my work, Oli had been forcibly sent by me to the Halls of Healing. After Christophsis, the girl had withdrawn into herself, grown gloomy. I could feel her anxiety and fear. No wonder — she still neglected my advice to close off her feelings. And as a result, she was experiencing truly titanic emotional turmoil.
Vokara Che, of course, assured me that nothing was incurable, reminding me of my own semi-corpse state after my encounter with Tann. I declined her insistent suggestion that I visit the Halls myself, citing my busy schedule. This made the Twi'lek grumble like an old tractor in a field.
Vizsla and the Iokath drone had set off toward their objective, and so far there was no word from them.
The ARCs, meanwhile, were inspecting my Coruscant residence for any surprises.
House 100 on Republic Street greeted me with a round landing pad adjoining a semicircular upper terrace, from which two side entrances led into the interior.
Alpha met me on the terrace.
"How did it go, sir?"
"In my opinion, well. The court will soon pronounce its verdict on Bailur. Settled into the new residence?"
"We did a surface inspection. No surprises found. The cleaning droids have scrubbed everything spotless, so the penthouse is ready to receive guests. Balda is connecting the electronics to the HoloNet."
"Excellent."
No sooner had the door panels slid apart in opposite directions than a staircase descending to the lower level appeared before my eyes. To the right was the entrance to that spacious hall, one wall of which was a transparisteel viewport. Glancing inside for a moment, I immediately dubbed it the "living room" the unpretentious, comfortable sofas lining the perimeter, a couple of computer terminals, and huge vases with long-dead plants all pointed to this purpose. In the center of the living room, on a pedestal, stood a statue depicting a massive alien warrior, its bestial maw bared. The sculpture extended an arm forward, its fingers crowned with enormous claws. One of the exits from the room led to the bedrooms, of which there were three. United by a shared "hallway," the rooms were furnished identically — spacious beds, several comfortable armchairs, desks, and panoramic windows replacing one of the walls. Small cabinets with fittings for storing clothes, weapons, and armor were welded securely to the walls at face level. Convenient, cozy. Not a luxury-class hotel, but for Jedi leading an ascetic lifestyle — more than luxurious quarters.
The second exit, located opposite the one I had used, led to a similar staircase descending to the lower floor.
On either side of each staircase were podiums bearing ancient statues of unknown representatives of various races.
Reaching the first level, I entered a small hall, along the walls of which stood several tables and comfortable soft armchairs, somehow reminiscent of the interior elements from the Jedi Temple.
Doors on the right side of the hall slid open, revealing to my gaze a two-level room, in the center of which was installed a massive holoprojector displaying a three-dimensional map of the galaxy. Along the walls, huddled together, sat computer terminals, clearly borrowed from military warehouses. Dozens of monitors and screens were cluttered with images of diagnostic programs, and Balda, cursing through his teeth, expressed his displeasure with the archaic computer network through his entire demeanor.
"As we understand it, this is an analogue of a command center," Alpha explained. "These computers receive information from the HoloNet, from several ancient satellites in orbit around Coruscant. A couple of terminals handle the penthouse's defense and the management of the house's internal systems. Balda is currently trying to get all this ancient equipment working."
On the left side of the hall were three rooms.
One — a spacious dining room with cozy sofas and a wide dining table. Along one wall were arranged kitchen utensils and tableware.
The second — a kind of "foyer," with an exit to a turbolift capable of taking residents to any level of the house or to the underground garage where airspeeders were stored. Aside from a concierge desk, behind which stood a long-defunct protocol droid, a few decorative ornaments, and a dozen transport containers, there was nothing much to see here. Except that the entrance was guarded by a pair of deactivated, terminator-like droids armed with outdated blaster rifles. With a trained eye, I easily identified them as Oricon D-R3Ds, a pair of huge vibroblades visible behind their metal shoulders.
"We haven't activated the tin cans," Alpha admitted. "There are about ten of these guards," he pointed at the "terminators," "scattered throughout the house. There are niches in the walls for them — for maintenance and recharging. The elevator is also inactive — without a special password, you can't call it or open the shaft."
The last room most reminded me of an "attic." Most of the roof and outer wall were thick transparisteel stained-glass panels, through which a truly grand view opened onto the technogenic landscapes of Coruscant and the star blazing at its zenith.
Besides a few statues depicting Rakatan warriors raising double-edged swords above their heads, and the same comfortable sofas arranged along the perimeter of the walls, there was nothing much to look at here.
Except for two shelves of information crystals, shimmering with a light blue light. Set into sections of the wall to the right and left of the entrance to the "attic," they gave me a distinct feeling of familiarity, like the databases from the Archives.
"Well," I acknowledged. "More than adequate housing."
"Indeed, sir. We are ready to receive our guest..."
* * *
As was proper, for the sake of secrecy, he changed several hover-taxis before arriving at the designated address. Any surveillance, even if it had existed, had long since lost him, so he arrived at the meeting with his employer and partner without any apprehension.
A figure in a black cloak and silver-gray armor with a mask concealing its owner's face met him directly on the landing pad. In the twilight, Coruscant looked more than ominous.
"Glad to see you've arrived, Wright." Dougan extended a metal-gauntleted hand toward him. Sienar shook it matter-of-factly.
"Likewise, Master Jedi," he said. "I think our meeting today will please you."
"You've intrigued me. Let's go inside."
No sooner had the front doors closed behind him than Wright found himself nose-to-nose with a pair of gleaming droids of a series completely unknown to him. Both held huge, clearly archaic blasters.
"I didn't think a Jedi needed guards," he muttered, following the owner down the stairs.
"You forget that I'm no ordinary Jedi."
"True enough..."
The short journey ended in a spacious room with a truly enormous holographic projector in the middle. Wright, who had seen thousands of samples of the most diverse technology, could only whistle in surprise.
"Well, this is a genuine antique..."
"But it works no worse than modern ones," the Jedi remarked. "So, what do you have for me?"
Sienar, surveying the room — which, besides the dozen working terminals, contained not another living soul besides him and the Jedi — pulled an information crystal from his inner pocket and, with the silent consent of his business partner, connected it to a terminal.
"Your proposal for me was, of course, a challenge. But, without false modesty, I'll tell you I managed it." The galaxy map was replaced by an image of the Harrower. Then, next to it, a second one appeared, very similar in appearance to its brother... but only if you didn't look closely. And, damn it, the devil is in the details. "I present to you the Harrower II. The name is, of course, a working title, but I didn't dare choose a name for it myself..."
"Tell me about the ship, Wright."
"Yes, of course. As I understand it, I received the blueprints of an already modified ship?" I nodded silently. When I first started thinking about creating an armada, the immediate question was — which type of dreadnought to recreate? The one the Sith Empire had used, or one of the ten that were currently building my Empire?
I chose the latter. Much as I might want to, I couldn't afford ships that required a crew of several thousand. The dreadnoughts from the Emperor's Ghost squadron were perfect for this.
"Well, then do me the honor of detailing your creation." Wright received a nod and continued. "First of all, I completely replaced the composition and structure of the armor. In four thousand years, technology has advanced by leaps and bounds, so thanks to a lighter but more durable hull, the ship's mass parameters have been reduced by almost three thousand tons. The weapon system was also replaced. I didn't reduce or increase the number of firing points — here, in my opinion, the Harrower will outclass several more generations of line ships in terms of firepower. Without overcomplicating things, I installed Time & Buck systems — it's their heavy DBY-827 turbolaser military turret that's mounted on the Venators. But the Republic ship has only 8 such turrets. The Harrower II has 16, which, like on the original, are positioned flush against the superstructure."
"An impressive arsenal," I assessed. "But what powers all this energy-devouring goodness?" I found the answer in the lower hemisphere after rotating the model slightly.
"Yes, that's right," Wright said, following my gaze. "The lower hangar had to be replaced with a reactor compartment for the solar ionization generator. But I compensated for the landing platform volume in the other four hangars," Wright assured me, hastening to explain. "Thanks to the modernization, up to a quarter of the useful space throughout the ship was freed up, allowing the hangar decks to be expanded and the useful volume to be increased. As I understand it, the original blueprints provided for transporting a significant number of passengers?" I nodded. Having received the answer, Wright continued. "Thanks to upgrades to the ship's automation systems," I turned sharply toward the engineer.
"Wright, I gave you a clear task..."
"Don't worry," the shipwright raised his hands. "I didn't interfere with either the central control protocols or the system itself — only the improvement of peripheral systems for compatibility with the new equipment. I also carried over the cloaking system into the new project unchanged." I returned to my survey.
"Using the solar ionization generator allows us to produce an order of magnitude more energy than the ship needs for full service," I could tell from his voice that Wright was finishing the presentation. "And that's even considering that the system upgrades, including the engines, allow the Harrower II to move at practically the same speed as its predecessors using isotope-5. And its deflectors are now so strong that it would take a flight of Venators to breach them. So, currently before you is, without a doubt — the fastest, most protected, and most heavily armed ship for line combat."
"Interesting," I concluded. "You haven't said a word about the air wing."
"That's another part of the presentation," Sienar assured me, changing the image.
Now the projection of an ISF interceptor hovered before us.
"I call it the ISF-TIE interceptor," Sienar announced and began to explain. "The designers of this incredibly stunning small craft used a rather finicky but promising idea of dual ion engines. Frankly speaking — at the time, that system offered nothing but superior speed and a multitude of inconveniences. But, thanks to my work with the paired SIE-TIE ion engine, modernizing this piece of ancient Sith technology became possible."
"Fascinating," I smirked, appreciating the irony of the situation. It seemed Sienar was destined by birth to create interceptors and starfighters. "And what can this craft boast about?"
"By implementing my engine and my company's developments, I achieved improved flight characteristics — in its original form, it could already outrun most Republic starfighters, not to mention droids. And after remodeling, it's even faster, more maneuverable, and more dangerous. Of course, I wasn't able to fit a navigation computer and hyperdrive into it," I drew in a sharp breath. It seemed Sienar would never get a perfect TIE right the first time — "but, after all, this is a carrier-based interceptor starfighter for achieving space superiority in close range, not an ARC. Need something big with a hyperdrive — that's for Incom. Especially since they finally got their act together and mounted a quad laser cannon on the stern."
"Wright," I placed a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder, sensing the hint of hurt in his words. "I have no complaints about the interceptor starfighter concept. I completely agree with you — its role is to be based in hangars or on airfields, not to roam deep space."
"It's nice when partners' thoughts align," the man smirked. "The new engines require more power, so I installed more productive solar panels while keeping the original design. There are deflectors on the hull — but they can withstand no more than three to five hits from a light starfighter cannon, nothing more. Even the wreckage won't survive fire from a quad cannon or turbolaser. But, the cockpit is comfortable for the pilot, and the interceptor can now carry up to four homing attack missiles."
"An unexpected surprise," I poked my finger at the area of the wings where the highlighted missiles were blinking. "I didn't think you could develop a small missile project on the fly..."
"I didn't," he grinned. "It's a project from the Haor Chall corporation — they install these missiles on their Hailfires for the Xi Char. When I... was interning with them, I... borrowed a few ideas."
How amusing.
"So that's why they wanted to kill you?" I asked with a hint of amusement in my voice, knowing the answer perfectly well.
"For that, too," Wright replied, darkening. He was probably remembering all those assassination attempts my current employees had arranged for him in the past. "But I'm not finished with the presentation yet."
"Even so..." I drawled. Interesting, it was. I understood I had given Sienar the blueprints, which contained complete documentation for producing the ships, but a little over a month had passed since our meeting... Had he stayed up all night, just processing my orders? On the other hand — for the profits the work on my projects promised him, he could afford to work around the clock.
"I was very interested in the Fury interceptor project." Another hologram appeared before me. "A very impressive project for its time, I must admit. But my ideas allowed me to make it even more deadly and efficient."
"I can't wait to hear about it," I grinned under my mask. My plans included building Furies in the form I had received them from Valkorion aboard his station, but if the inventor had working and promising ideas...
"Like the previous interceptor, and indeed all small Sith ships of that time, as I understand it, this one uses ion engine technology. I replaced the solar panels, engines, avionics, power supply, engines — and now this ship surpasses its original by a factor of two in all the parameters mentioned. The ship's armament — two heavy and two light twin mounts — I took the liberty of replacing." Wright zoomed in on the blueprint. "If earlier the heavy weapons were located outside the hull, on the sides, and the entire structure was vulnerable to damage from debris or stray shots, now I've moved them to the forward hemisphere. Only the barrels are now external, fixed in place like on starfighters. The new power system and my engines allowed for greater energy output, and as a result — instead of two twin cannons, I installed four heavy twin mounts on the ship. On the lower and upper parts of the ship, I placed four light anti-aircraft guns each, covering them with armored fairings. The launch tubes — for both attack missiles and proton torpedoes — I left in their original positions, only updating the equipment. Two dozen missiles from Haor Chall and half a dozen proton torpedoes... Now this interceptor can disable practically any large vessel. Of course," the man hastened to add, "the cloaking system based on Adegan crystals, similar to the one on the Harrower IIs, was left untouched."
"Do I need to repeat that this is excellent work?" I shifted my gaze to the shipwright. He just smiled and brought up another hologram on the screen.
"The Terminus-class light destroyer." I looked at the ship with its elongated wedge-shaped hull and a pair of swept-back wings. "First of all, I got rid of the command towers tilted in different directions — impractical and very vulnerable. I moved them to a vertical position on the stern superstructure, similar to how it's done on Republic ships. As with the dreadnought, I upgraded all systems, so now you have a perfectly protected line cruiser, no less inferior in armament and protection to the Republic's Acclamators. But I have an excellent idea I'd like to discuss with you..."
"I'm all ears."
"Do you see this structural channel that runs along the upper part of the hull from the superstructure to the very bow?"
"Of course I see it. What's wrong with it?"
"As I understand from its creators, they didn't make the deck solid because most of the viewports from the rooms on the upper deck open into this 'channel.' I propose getting rid of them to add a main caliber cannon to the ship."
"From that point, in more detail..."
"The crew of this ship is just over five hundred sentients. I created a virtual model that could be operated by just two hundred sentients — including the deck crew and small craft crews. Of course, this would require integrating automation systems similar to those installed on the Harrowers. But, thanks to this, we could abandon the use of the upper berthing compartments — which border the 'channel' and install mass driver cannon equipment in their place."
"Hmm... it seems to me a ship of this size doesn't have sufficient power supply for such an advanced and energy-intensive weapon."
"On the contrary," Sienar assured me. "By integrating a solar ionization generator into its systems, we get a significant energy surplus. It's enough to power both the mass driver cannon and still leave a substantial reserve. Just think — a light cruiser with a cannon powerful enough to punch straight through a Corellian corvette..."
I fell into thought.
Mass driver installations are weapons that use kinetic projectiles, accelerated to enormous speeds by electromagnets. Such cannons, but on a smaller scale, were mounted on some variants of the AT-TE walkers, and despite their destructive potential, they had several drawbacks. First and foremost — very noticeable recoil. The second...
"Did you find an effective cooling method?"
"I wouldn't have proposed this project to you otherwise," the designer smiled. "We use a carbonite cooling system. While it is cumbersome, for firing in a vacuum where sub-zero temperatures prevail, carbonite is our best option."
"A sensible suggestion," I said after a couple of minutes of silence. "But we should build several ships and test them. Especially since we'll need to create separate production facilities to manufacture ammunition for such cannons — as is well known, mass drivers are simply ammunition devourers. AT-TEs armed with kinetic cannons expend their ammunition in a couple of hours of battle. And here — a whole cruiser..."
"There's a slight hitch," Wright said, stroking his chin.
"Well, yes," I smirked. "It couldn't be that simple. And what's the problem?"
"The Republic doesn't have sufficient scientific and practical research in the field of mass driver weapons," Wright admitted. "Neither Rendili, nor my... our company, nor Incom. Kuat has certain developments, but building a shipboard cannon of such scale is beyond them too."
"Kinetic cannons are mounted on almost half of Kuat-built walkers," I reminded him.
"That's true, but the scale... Even they can't manage that!" Sienar stated confidently.
"I don't think you started this conversation without knowing how to solve our problem," I hypothesized. As expected, I was right.
"There is one company that has been developing this technology for several hundred years," Sienar began from a distance. "Currently, they have significantly weakened their market position — the government on their planet has shifted towards demilitarization and pacifism..."
"One doesn't need to be a Jedi to understand you're talking about MandalMotors," I said, displaying my knowledge. Satisfied by Sienar's nod of agreement, I continued. "So, I take it the idea of carbonite cooling systems is also their development?"
"A little industrial espionage has never hurt anyone," the man said without batting an eye. "But my agents didn't achieve great success. MandalMotors is closely linked to the radical Death Watch group — essentially, besides the Mandalore government, they are their only buyers. The group is outlawed, but they guard the corporate secrets of the manufacturer's technology religiously."
"Then why not buy the company if its assets aren't highly priced?"
"Mandalorians are a proud and stubborn people. They don't trade their secrets for profit — believe me, I've tried to buy their patents many times. Despite the demilitarization, their society is extremely hostile to outsiders. Their own people, even though Death Watch are outright terrorists, they support unconditionally, albeit secretly from the government. This gave me certain ideas..."
"Let me guess — the board of MandalMotors are members of Death Watch?"
"These are just speculations," Sienar shrugged. "We outsiders will never get the truth. And hoping for help from any Mandalorian... is unwise."
"How convenient that I have my own Mandalorian," flashed through my mind. "It seems Vizsla's mission has become even more difficult."
"Well, I've heard the problem, Wright," I looked at the designer, summing up our meeting. "Leave resolving the MandalMotors issue to me. Focus on producing the Harrower and the interceptors for now. How soon can you put them into mass production?"
Sienar, pulling the information chip from the reader, tucked it into his jacket's inner pocket. Stroking his stubbly chin, he was silent for a few seconds before speaking.
"It's premature to build ships in large series right now. I think it's worth first building a few prototypes that we can run through a series of tests. We'll identify malfunctions, fix flaws... I think, over the next month, in a regime of the strictest secrecy, I could manufacture three fully equipped dreadnoughts with a full air wing. But it's best to conduct tests far from the prying eyes of the Republic. If I can still conceal the construction of several large ships by covering it with a false order from a distant neutral system, the moment I lay down even a dozen dreadnoughts, the entire Republic fleet will be at my drydocks tomorrow. And testing the systems in the Core Worlds could cost us the very same interest from Mr. Isard's department..."
"You'll have a proving ground for the tests," I assured him. "In a month, I want to receive all three new Harrowers with a full air wing of ISF-TIEs," realizing his name for it had stuck, Sienar broke into a grin. "And provide half a dozen upgraded Furies."
"As you command," Sienar made a playful bow. "Since we've discussed the tasks set before me, perhaps we could discuss company affairs? The Muuns have recently intensified their attention on my assets — after your Marauders routed several of their fleets."
I smirked.
"My friend, the Force tells me that tomorrow your factories will be producing even greater quantities of these wonderful ships."
"Can I consider this an official order from the Moff of the 13th Sector Army?" my partner returned my smirk.
"Without any doubt, my friend. I need another five hundred..."
* * *
Scattering worthless clones left and right with his battle-axe, Savage, like a predator cutting a path through a herd of banthas, charged toward his goal.
A Jedi.
He stood there, gripping his lightsaber with both hands, a proud look on his face, heedless of the soldiers dying around him.
Savage let out a guttural roar, sensing the battle drawing near.
He stepped over the corpses of three Jedi already, carving his way to the communications tower where the Separatist relay was located.
Too weak. Too arrogant. An easy victory over unfeeling machines had made them careless.
He had ended their lives without even breaking a sweat.
Bultar Swan.
Koffi Arana.
The names of his first victims, which he now savored like a gourmet dish. Their lightsabers now dangled from his belt — he would present them as a gift to his new master. A token that Count Dooku should appreciate.
Like a shadow, he slipped through the Jedi camp, past the guards. Only at the base of the tower had he encountered those two corpses, who had dared to offer him the chance to surrender.
Fools. He reaped their lives the way a farmer harvests his crop.
But it had cost him his anonymity. The dying Jedi Koffi Aranak had managed to raise the alarm.
Opress sealed the armored entrance doors to the tower, destroying the control panel. Of course, the clones and the Jedi who had joined them would break through soon — it was inevitable. But by then, he would have already fulfilled his purpose.
He hadn't kept count of the clones he'd killed — even as opponents, they were beneath him. Defeating them was like taking a toy from an infant. It brought no honor to a warrior. But it brought him closer to the coveted goal.
He had had to fight for every flight of stairs, every landing of the tower. But with each fallen Republic clone, he climbed one step higher.
And now, only the communications room lay before him — a circular chamber with a transparisteel roof, in the center of which, rising a good fifty meters through the transparent ceiling, stood the relay antenna.
Stepping over the threshold, Savage put his foot on the face of a wounded clone whose belly he had ripped open just a moment earlier. The pathetic copy of a Mandalorian lay on the floor for a few seconds, desperately trying to hold in his entrails, which threatened to spill out.
He didn't even notice the crunch of breaking bones. A precise strike with the sharp point of his axe handle into the control panel — and the armored door fell, decapitating the clone.
The blue-skinned Jedi, gripping a lightsaber pike in his hands, looked sadly at the slaughtered clones, then spoke in a lecturing tone.
"There is no honor in cruelty, Sith."
Savage ignored him, preferring to advance in silence, gripping his massive battle-axe with both hands, blood trickling from its blade in thin streams onto the smooth floor of the communications room.
"Stop," the Jedi commanded. "Take one more step — and you're dead."
The Zabrak inhaled the air. The Jedi wasn't afraid, or at least wasn't panicking. He was calm, focused, confident. Not like those two who hadn't even had time to squeak — the Acolyte had cut off the woman's head and impaled the man with the haft.
This opponent would be more interesting.
Even though his career as an Acolyte had begun not so long ago, Opress had already realized he enjoyed killing members of the Order. Not just because Dooku had ordered it — but because his own blood boiled from it.
Perhaps this Jedi would prove a worthy opponent.
In build, he even surpassed the Zabrak — towering over him by almost a head. A sort of big blue fluffy animal.
Savage paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on the opponent's green blades.
Then, just as silently, he brought his vibro-axe down on him, intending to end the fight with a single blow.
However, the Jedi proved quicker than the killer had anticipated. He stepped back, spinning his weapon as if creating an impenetrable defensive field. But Savage immediately delivered a powerful strike, forcing the Sith to stumble back slightly from the impact of his blade against the axe.
"You will lose, Sith!" the Jedi warned.
"If so," Savage thought, "why warn the opponent?"
This Jedi was just as hollow as those who had died before him.
Savage, having grasped only the basics of using the Dark Side under the watchful eye of the Night Sisters Clan, concentrated, calling upon the Force for aid. Baring his teeth, he swung his axe and charged into the attack.
Ten minutes later, the lightsaber pike of Jedi Master Justus Farr was also dangling from his belt, and the communications room was ablaze after the explosion of several thermal detonators.
Savage, not particularly hiding, climbed down the sheer wall of the tower and left the Monastery in his ship, leaving the Jedi to mourn their worthless brothers.