Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine began his morning meal in a perfectly good mood.
Spectacularly, yet efficiently, wielding his cutlery, he carved the tenderest steak into tiny pieces, which he then sent into his mouth, savoring each one meticulously. There was something… symbolic about it. Because in exactly the same way, he — formerly simple Senator Palpatine, a native of the planet Naboo — had destroyed the old order. Slowly, piece by piece, he had stripped the Republic of its former unity.
Of course, not personally. Gone were the days when Sith Lords dirtied their own hands in the mud, deciding the galaxy's fate in duels, facing enemies face-to-face. Now — for the last thousand years — everything was much simpler. And more elegant. Now the Sith had become a thousand times smarter. A million times more cunning. They had no need to roll up their sleeves and do things themselves. For that, it was enough to give an order — and hundreds of beings across the galaxy would carry out Darth Sidious's will.
Palpatine's own task in destroying the Republic was to create the conditions for his agents to work. To pour fuel on the smoldering embers. And to ensure the fire spread as far as possible, but away from the interests of the Sith himself, and those whose shoulders he leaned on — major industrialists, nobility, the military elite. When the Republic fell, he would need a great many beings loyal personally to him, who would help him hold power in his hands. Those who would lead his multi-billion-strong army of Arkanian clones, crushing enemies with an iron fist. Holding the necks of doubters in a gauntleted grip.
This was precisely the goal Count Dooku now served — the eradication of the Jedi, the Sith's ancient enemies. The war was taking more and more lives, destruction multiplying with each passing day… Soon there would be so much that, against the backdrop of failures, all the Jedi's past achievements would simply be forgotten. And they would be anathematized — when the Chancellor declared the Order's members outlaws, blaming them for instigating the war and the subsequent failures in that endeavor.
He wondered if any Dark Lord of the past had ever thought destroying the Jedi would be… So simple. Of course, when Palpatine had just begun this path, when he had to lay the bricks of the future foundation, it had seemed like a heap of problems that gave him headaches and ruined his appetite.
But now, when he was just one step away from absolute power…
The Prime Plan had undergone many changes during its implementation. But it had only become more beautiful. Now he wouldn't have to wait several more years to move to the campaign's finale. Thank you, Grand Moff Dougan. And his crude attempts to turn some profit for himself.
With his intervention, he had literally thrown a year, or even two, of war out of Palpatine's Plan. The plan had envisioned the Republic and Confederacy fighting on equal terms, waging a sluggish conflict, periodically illuminated by major victories on one side or the other. A protracted victory would force the Republic to unconsciously embrace militarization, so that by the war's end, Coruscant would have an overwhelming advantage over the enemy in manpower and warships, and a rapid push of Count Dooku's minions out of the Galactic Core — places where the lion's share of commerce and major industries were concentrated — to the Outer Rim. Where they would finally be destroyed.
But now… By Sidious's order, Tyrannus had concentrated the main part of his military forces to contain and systematically destroy Dougan's army in the Outer Rim. This reduced the tension in the Core Worlds, allowed him to consolidate available resources and launch a full-scale offensive aimed at destroying the CIS resistance pockets right under the Republic's nose.
Effectively, the Count and his droid army had to fight on two fronts — destroy Dougan through active operations, while simultaneously fending off the pressing system armies from Coruscant. War under these circumstances was reducing the CIS armed forces' numbers with incredible speed, which would ultimately make dealing with them (naturally, after they had crushed Dougan) much easier than originally planned. But it wouldn't be the Jedi doing it — by then they would already be enemies of galactic society. It would be battle-hardened and renowned clones and officers. Which would elevate Palpatine's authority to the heavens. How could it be otherwise: while the Jedi were in command, things went poorly. But as soon as he personally took control of the front-line situation — victory was in the bag.
Such an unremarkable interpretation of facts from the right angle, a little falsification — and most of the beings in the galaxy wouldn't even notice how they ended up under his power. And as for the minority… the army and Anakin Skywalker would deal with them. Skywalker, who must unquestioningly become Sidious's apprentice. The position of the latter, of course, was currently warmed by Darth Tyrannus, naively believing he represented something more than an ordinary pawn in this game of holo-chess. Naive fellow. Like all Jedi, really.
The Jedi… Yes, back then he couldn't even imagine it would all be so simple. Controlling the enemy while being literally under his nose… Getting into his pocket… Even Dougan's feeble attempts to spoil the Sith's mood, the Jedi couldn't properly capitalize on. Passing a midi-chlorian test… What could be easier? Especially when you appeal to the necessity of this very test being personally required by the Supreme Chancellor, in complete secrecy. Master Yoda's silent nod, Windu's sullen silence… And no instant tests — just hand a blood sample over to a Jedi courier for delivery to the Temple. Completely sterile and having absolutely nothing to do with Sheev Palpatine. Oh, the Force, playing the Jedi like leading children by the nose. The war had taught them nothing — they believed everything they were told. Thought everyone around was a friend… How foolish… But pleasant, that in exchange for this little farce, the Order's treasury had become accessible, albeit in modest volumes. In any case, the senators loyal to Palpatine had tried immensely to inflate the 'social sector' budget, so they could steal a million or two on the side themselves, and only a very small amount of credits had actually reached the Republic's budget… He wondered what color Master Yoda's skin would turn if he were told that he had virtually single-handedly financed the purchase of another billion Arkanian clones? And for solving social problems, truly laughable sums had gone through, because simulating vigorous activity on any given issue was much easier than actually doing the work. And a backup plan was ready — if the Jedi or anyone else dared to trace the path of this money from the Republic's budget, they would find only dozens of various dummy contracts aimed at supporting vulnerable segments of the population. And many senators who had embezzled those funds. A wonderful combination to throw off the scent.
While in reality, these sums, like most of the Republic's expenditure items, ended up in the pockets of the Arkanian company's leadership on Centax-2, a moon of Coruscant, where the Arkanians had established a full-scale factory for producing billions of clones, whose numbers already exceeded millions of soldiers per month.
There was something so pleasant about the plan being executed. Something elusive, almost ephemeral… An ancient triumph of the Jedi's impending disappearance.
In the cocoon-like silence of his office, it was impossible to hear the sirens, screams, and terror. But he didn't need to hear them. He could see it and feel it in the Force. When he opened himself to it, unafraid of Jedi zeal.
He shifted his gaze from the fruits of his dreams to the chronograph on his desk. Time had come. Turning away from the huge window of transparisteel, from the panorama of Coruscant — the world whose owner wielded virtually unlimited power over the galaxy — he, having ordered his secretary to connect him with no one and let no one into the office, rose from his desk and walked with a light gait to a secret wardrobe, from which he retrieved his dark hooded cloak, slipped into it, shedding the persona of Sheev Palpatine and transforming himself into Darth Sidious.
Sighing — ah, how little time he now had for solving global problems, that he couldn't even visit his secret refuge — he extracted from another hiding place and activated a narrow-band holographic transmitter, which he had left for these… special occasions. Thanks to the work of dozens of engineers and cyberneticists, this equipment was shielded from eavesdropping and tracking. No one, not even a super-advanced slicer, could crack this device or determine the exact broadcast location. And looking for one being transmitting to Serenno from the entire Senate Quarter — truly, that was ridiculous. And impossible.
"Master," Dooku's hologram said, bowing. In truth, the man should have been on his knees, but age had its privileges. At least, for now. "Are you aware of our latest success?"
"Yes, Lord Tyrannus," Sidious replied. "The operation to seize power on Onderon is a triumph. Even though it was supposed to happen much later, circumstances cannot be ignored. Are you confident in Sanjay Rash's loyalty?"
"Absolutely, my lord," Dooku said confidently. "A large contingent of our forces, led by the tactical super droid Kalani, is stationed on the planet. They are maintaining the stability of the new regime, which is loyal to us."
"But at the same time, the former king is still alive," Sidious reminded.
"That is true, Master. I ordered him not to be harmed until we deal with the rebels — some Onderonians hope to overthrow Sanjay with minimal forces. Kalani is taking measures to find and destroy them. However, I must admit that the insurgents are well-trained and have advanced weaponry, the source of which we are still investigating."
"Do it soon, Count." The former Jedi, detecting a clear order in the simple phrase, bowed obsequiously. "I have watched the developments near Daalang with some interest. And I must commend you — although it was not planned, it has still borne certain fruit. Part of Dougan's fleet has been destroyed — that is a great stroke of luck. All that remains is to destroy the second major grouping near New Cov, and his fleet will cease to pose any significant threat."
"He has quite enough ships to continue resisting," Dooku remarked. "Especially since General Grievous has also suffered certain losses — part of his fleet is destroyed, and his flagship is badly damaged. I ordered him to proceed to Saleucami, where Dougan's forces were spotted."
"That is... the right decision," Sidious nodded. "The General must fulfill everything for which he was, in fact, created — to become the scourge and the icon of the Separatist movement. Victory over the Grand Moff will exalt him in the eyes of his allies and make them overlook his previous failures."
"There is something else, Master," Dooku added. "Two Kuat dreadnoughts of the Mandator II class took part in the battle at Lannik. We were not informed of their deployment anywhere except Foerost..."
"Yes, those ships are quite a surprise," Sidious added in an even voice, but inside he felt growing irritation. Two dreadnoughts! And of an upgraded class, about which Isard had only been able to provide him with superficial data. What a surprise that they had been developed specifically on Rothana... It seemed Dougan was in even worse shape with ships than initially thought. If he was requisitioning private company property... It seemed the time had come to subtly hint to Kuat of Kuat that his workers on Rothana had gotten too powerful, and that it would be a good idea to fire them to the Hutt — to prevent Dougan from acquiring a contingent of loyal Rothana Heavy Engineering managers. They hadn't just given him two dreadnoughts for his pretty eyes... "I will take appropriate measures."
"How are things with General Grievous?" Sidious inquired. "Do we know anything about the battle at Saleucami?"
"It appears the General's ship was damaged during the battle at Lannik and cannot establish contact. The contingent on the planet... is silent, as is the orbital group command. We suspect Republic electronic warfare assets are interfering."
"We must contact him immediately," Sidious felt the thread of events slipping from him. "Perhaps..."
The holoprojector flickered, signaling an incoming call. This could not help but cause surprise, since very few knew the frequency of this device... However, one such person was General Grievous, who was the calling party. Smirking, Sidious activated the holoprojector, bringing up the cyborg's figure next to Dooku's. It would be useful for the latter to hear the former Kaleesh's report...
"I hope, General, you are about to tell me that your forces have crushed Grand Moff Dougan?" he asked. However, the cyborg's figure did not answer. Instead, it continued to stand silently, not moving, until it collapsed.
Another figure appeared in its place. A very familiar figure. Clad in Sith armor, over which was draped a black and silver mantle. Sidious clenched his teeth. Dooku, with his inimitable aristocratic arrogance, calmly surveyed Dougan from head to toe as the latter tore off the dead general's head, turning its faceplate toward himself.
"Alas, poor Grievous," he said, a note of sadness in his voice. "I knew him, Chancellor Palpatine." With these words, the Jedi looked at the ruler of the Republic. "Or shall I call you Darth Sidious?"
Dougan moved his fingers, and the hood on Sheev's head fell back, revealing his face. The Chancellor tried to hold it back with his hands, but the Jedi used the Force, tearing the fabric so that only shreds of cloth remained in the man's hands. One way or another, the conspiracy was broken.
"Grand Moff Dougan," Sidious hissed, deciding there was no point in continuing to play with his enemy. "I see you have defeated General Grievous."
"Your eyesight serves you well," the Jedi agreed. "As you can see, Sith, your rabid dog is dead. As was Kirvan before him. How many more bastards will you send? Although no, let me guess... The next will be A'Sharad Hett, won't he, Count Dooku? Speaking of which — thank you for the Wrecking Crew. The ship is, of course, rare garbage, but everything comes in handy around the house. So if you have more, keep sending them — I'll start a collection. By the way, what do you think about me welding General Grievous's remains to the prow of my flagship? I think it would make an excellent figurehead."
Darth Tyranus, exchanging glances with his master, wisely remained silent. There was no point in giving the enemy a longer rope than the one he might hang himself with.
"So, I hope no one has any doubts that your hand is played out, Darth Sidious?" Dougan clarified. "Though, judging by the fact that you're still alive, you managed to pull the wool over the eyes of the Jedi Order Council regarding the midi-chlorian testing. Well, I wasn't counting on that much anyway."
"What is the point of these pleasantries, Master Dougan?" Dooku inquired. "You didn't break into this secret communication channel just to boast, did you?"
"Certainly not," the Jedi agreed. "As I see it, you two have decided that I am an obstacle to your plan to destroy the Jedi Order. I don't judge — that's your business. If you want to settle old scores, settle them. I'm interested in something else entirely."
"An unusual statement," Palpatine said with contempt. "And what is it you want?"
"All the territories currently occupied by my subordinate armies: Heft, Grek, and Gent," the Jedi's audacity nearly brought Palpatine to hysterical laughter. "And a number of others; I will provide a list. You will stop attacking the planets located in these oversectors and those loyal to me, leave me alone, and withdraw the CIS forces to the blockade territory. And from now on — you will not interfere in my affairs, and I, in turn, will not interfere in yours."
"An interesting proposal," Palpatine chuckled. "And why should this happen?"
"Well... let's say, I won't conduct an orbital bombardment of the Morgukai cloning laboratories on Saleucami," Dougan shrugged. "I'll allow you to evacuate all droids and equipment from the planets currently controlled by the CIS, provide safe corridors for evacuation. And from now on, I won't interfere with you reshaping your part of the galaxy to your liking."
"What makes you think this proposal could interest us in any way?" Sidious grinned. "Your army is surrounded, your forces are exhausted, while the Confederacy holds numerical superiority in starships and ground forces."
"Because if we come to an understanding now," Dougan continued, "your nearly thousand-year plan to destroy the Jedi and seize power in the galaxy will continue to unfold exactly as you wish. And no one will tell the Jedi that your clones are nothing more than puppets waiting for Lord Sidious to command them: 'The time has come. Execute Order 66.' No one will tell the Council that the creation of the clone army on Kamino was orchestrated not by Sifo-Dyas at all, but by you, Darth Tyranus, who killed his friend, using him for a blood transfusion into General Grievous, and then, under the guise of the already dead Jedi Master, ordered the army for the Republic. Incidentally — it's in poor taste to use an army in the dark only to have them later kill their own commanders. And certainly, no one will hint to the High Council that one particular Sith, pretending to be Chancellor, has his eye on a certain young Jedi Knight, Anakin Skywalker, otherwise known as the Chosen One."
"And you have proof of your conjectures, Grand Moff?" Sidious hissed. Only one thought pounded in his head: "How does he know all this?"
"Certainly," Dougan snorted. "And believe me, if we come to an agreement now, I will hand you that evidence — including the adjutant of the former Supreme Chancellor Valorum, who has been imprisoned by the Pykes all this time and was not in fact killed. Possibly, I will even hand over your former assistant — Kinman Doriana, if you haven't forgotten him yet. And many other things, gentlemen Sith, that I can return to you, so that we stop hindering each other."
"A Jedi, negotiating with Sith?" Darth Tyranus smiled. "That's heresy."
"Just as much heresy as the fact that a former Jedi, in his old age, fancies himself a Sith apprentice, not even suspecting that he is merely expendable material, necessary only to control the other side of the conflict." The smile vanished from the Count's face. Sidious, meeting his gaze, shook his head slightly, as if to say, let him speak, it's all lies. Dooku, the obedient little animal. He wouldn't believe such a thing, being pathologically incapable of expecting any deception from the one who had so long sought his favor and given him the knowledge that made him stronger than before. "But my job is merely to propose. If you want slaughter and the tearing away of veils, that is what will happen if you refuse to divide the galaxy. Believe me — this is the most optimal outcome, which we will arrive at anyway. So why waste time, billions, and your own nerves, when you can give me what I want and stop wasting effort trying to kill me — especially after so many attempts: Sev'rance Tann, Asajj Ventress, Sora Bulq, Savage Opress, Nax Kirvan, General Grievous, Durge, Jek-14... Even Pavlov's dog would have understood by now that things with me are not going the way you want. Show some foresight — since force didn't work, maybe it's time to come to an agreement?"
"There is nothing in your proposal that could interest us," Palpatine noted coldly. "If we agree to this, you would remain in command of a massive army and fleet, would you not?"
"Of course," the Jedi nodded. "I've grown accustomed to these people. You understand yourselves — these are dangerous times, one must be cautious. So the soldiers and ships will come in handy. As will the existing planets, shipyards, factories, and so on. I've always wanted a small holding for myself, so as far as I'm concerned — it's all fair."
"Not at all," Sidious countered. "Your awareness is certainly impressive. But I have put too much effort into destroying the Jedi. And I do not intend to leave alive those who could interfere with me. The Republic will evolve into..."
.".. the First Galactic Empire, which will stand for a thousand years?" Dougan clarified. "If that's the whole plan, then your handiwork is a total failure. Changing the sign doesn't change the essence, but that's your business. Let's say — if we come to an agreement, then those Force-sensitive individuals who remain or happen to be on my lands won't even look toward Coruscant, won't raise a weapon against you. And they won't come to the aid of their former brethren. You can gut the Order as much as you like. I don't need runaway Jedi. Or Coruscant..."
"Your ambitions are impressive," Sidious bared his teeth. "Half the Outer Rim... Thousands of resource-rich worlds, markets, a multi-million army and thousands of fleet ships... Isn't that too high a price just to keep your mouth shut?"
"In the matter of redrawing the galaxy and destroying a few thousand Jedi?" Dougan clarified. "As far as I'm concerned — a fair price."
"And as far as I'm concerned — no," Sidious declared. "You were useful, Grand Moff, and had you not turned into a rival, you might have found a place under the New Order, serving me. But under the current circumstances... No. You and all the Jedi will be destroyed. As will all the Kaminoan clones. And the Christophsians. And all those who join or have already joined you. In this galaxy, there can be only one ruler — me."
"Don't say I didn't warn you, gentlemen Sith. And one last thing, Darth Sidious. If you ever manage to procreate — don't name your granddaughter Rey."
Palpatine raised an eyebrow.
"And why is that?" It was actually a decent name. But, planning to rule forever, he hadn't given much thought to having offspring.
"I don't want to have to spar with her in the future and taunt her with, 'Rey, hold your saber straighter!'" Dougan sighed, disconnecting.
The Jedi's figure vanished, leaving the Sith alone. Dooku, as was proper for a loyal servant, remained silent. Sidious, however... was seething. Decades of work — down the drain. How Dougan had learned the minutest details of the plan no longer concerned him. This Jedi was not just an obstacle or a rival. He was a THREAT. One that should be eliminated as quickly as possible.
"Send all available forces to Saleucami, Lord Tyranus," he said. "Crush this upstart and all who support him into dust. Unleash chaos and terror, burn worlds, do whatever it takes to send the Outer Rim back to the Stone Age. All who survive will be grateful to us in the future and will gladly put on the yoke of slaves. If necessary — take part in killing him personally, Count Dooku. But this time — with a guarantee!"
"As you command, my Lord." Dooku's gaze was clouded, as if his thoughts were far away. Palpatine, noting this, ended the communication session. After a moment's thought, he crushed the holocommunicator in his hand and swept its fragments into the disposal unit.
Then, throwing the ruined mantle in after it, he returned to the Supreme Chancellor's workstation and sank into his chair.
Leaning back in his seat, fingers interlaced, Darth Sidious began to explore his options. The conversation with that upstart had ruined the Sith's mood utterly.
* * *
Using the throne room of the Duchess's palace for this kind of meeting had already become something of a custom for the new government of Mandalore.
A long rectangular table, on either side of which sat the representatives of the highest authority in the sector.
Only, unlike previous gatherings, this time the seat at the head of the table was not empty.
Mandalore the Avenger had returned. And with her — an army of youngsters. Though the tongue could no longer call these men and women "milk-sops" who had swept through dozens of planets in the Unknown Regions with fire and blaster. They weren't seasoned veterans yet, but now they were warriors. The bedrock of power in their home sector.
However, the figure sitting to her left at the table... was, to put it mildly, unnerving. Because looking into the blazing red eyes of the blue-skinned woman — who also had a pair of lightsabers on her belt — was no pleasant experience. Though Caleb was not the only one who thought the presence of a Jedi — or whatever that Tann was — at a Mandalorian meeting was an extremely strange fact. Despite Mandalore declaring that this woman was their extremely valuable ally.
"I'm waiting for reports on the state of affairs," Vizsla said, surveying those present.
Caleb Daark, who had taken the seat of Prime Minister, spoke first.
"The scum has been practically driven out of our sector," he began with the positive points. "The destruction is enormous, but we still have enough credits to restore the basic components of our economy."
"You speak as if we are capable of providing everything we need ourselves," another man at the table voiced.
A stranger with long, snow-white hair and characteristic Arkanian arrogance. Another outsider who had returned from the Unknown Regions with Mandalore. And for reasons unknown, had almost immediately received the position of Commander of the Ground Forces of the Mandalorian Sector.
All of this was strange... If those sitting at the table did not know the objective truth.
Both the blue-skinned Chiss and the sharp-eared white-haired man were representatives of the Empire — Mandalore's only ally. An ally so valuable that at a single word from Mandalore, goods that had been scarce under Kryze finally appeared freely available in the sector. An abundance of food, technology, modern weaponry... Take, for instance, the fact that defensive stations had finally appeared in Mandalore's orbit for the first time in many millennia. The mines of Concordia and other planets had finally begun operating at full capacity, extracting enough beskar to equip the entire elite of the armed forces with genuine beskar'gam, rather than cheap durasteel imitations.
"Unfortunately, that is not the case," said Agelar Ordo, head of his clan and simultaneously Minister of Industry. A middle-aged man, calm, confident in himself and his resolve to restore the Mandalorian Sector's former glory by any available means. And first and foremost — to develop production enough to satiate the Empire, which, like a bottomless barrel, consumed practically all the goods that MandalMotors produced. Tanks, speeders, weapons... all this was produced by the company on a truly massive scale. And it was shipped out for export in the bottomless holds of bulk freighters that delivered raw materials and food to the sector. Yes, as much as one might wish to achieve full self-sufficiency in domestically produced goods, the sector had too few worlds to revive agriculture and the agrarian industry. And among the Mandalorians, there weren't many who wanted to work the fields instead of becoming soldiers. Yes, returning to the old traditions came with a small caveat that, in practice, turned into a huge problem. Mandalore lived by war and the seizure of spoils. Not by the labors of farmers and herders — those export articles had been unchanged in the sector for millennia.
"Are we experiencing a shortage of anything?" Shea inquired.
"Yes and no," Agelar answered evasively. "The scientists dispatched by the Empire have identified quite a large number of planets with deposits of various minerals, potential raw materials for industry. However, extracting them will require months of work, thousands of qualified workers, and billions of credits. We need to buy practically everything — machine tools, local equipment, control and production safety systems..."
"So, we need financial support from the Empire again," Caleb explained in simpler terms. "And I don't like it."
"Do you have any complaints about Zakuul?" Helnior narrowed his eyes. "As the plenipotentiary representative of the Empire in this sector, I am ready to listen and convey your thoughts to the Dark Council."
"We are a proud people," Caleb remarked. "And realizing that we have to exist on the Empire's handouts doesn't sit well with anyone."
"Yes, this is not the best way to develop Mandalore," Helnior agreed. "But at the moment, it is the only one. In this galaxy, there is no one willing to help us. Except Zakuul."
"But its help has a price," Agelar interjected. "And a very substantial one. More than half of the Canderous-class assault tanks or Crusader-class corvettes manufactured in MandalMotors' workshops go for export — to the Empire. While our fleet and army..."
.".. are not even ready to be called that yet," the blue-skinned stranger spoke up. "Or do you think that rabble of motley starships that came under my command is a fleet? Not a single line ship. Not a single cruiser. Just Crusader-class corvettes — fifty of them. With hastily assembled crews, trained in a rush, fit only for chasing pirates and smugglers."
"I can say the same about the army," Helnior joined in. "It's a mob of mercenaries unfamiliar with concepts like 'tactics.' Charging headlong — which I've already seen the recruits do — is a sure way to die."
"You are here precisely for that, advisors," Vizsla cut off her underlings harshly. "You have been given access to cutting-edge developments in army and fleet technology. I think it's time to find out what you consider suitable for Mandalore."
The blue-skinned woman calmly pushed forward a small holoprojector she had taken from her pocket. Touching the activation key, she pointed the attendees to a three-dimensional image... of a rather futuristic, yet familiar design.
"This is the War Hammer battleship project," she said. "After studying the data on existing projects at MandalMotors, I considered it best to refine the Keldabe battleship project, installing shields on it, strengthening its artillery, and expanding its air wing from three to six squadrons of Star Viper fighters and two squadrons of Beskad-class bombers. Hull length — about two kilometers, height — three hundred meters, width — four hundred meters. Capable of carrying several cargo or landing ships. Possesses a sufficiently durable hull — an alloy of durasteel and beskar — and deflector shields. Armament — thirty twin heavy turbolaser cannons, rapid-fire mass-driver mounts, anti-missile laser cannons, fifty launch tubes for concussion missiles or proton torpedoes. No Republic ship is capable of withstanding it — except perhaps a Predator-class destroyer, and that only due to its super-heavy turbolaser cannons."
"But it is fundamentally incapable of opposing Imperial ships?" Daark clarified.
"Nothing can oppose Imperial ships," the blue-skinned woman noted coldly.
"The construction of such a ship would be ruinous," said Agelar Ordo. "Just the beskar alone would require thousands of tons... A fleet of these ships would be an unbearable burden."
"But we don't need a fleet of such giants, do we?" Vizsla clarified.
"We don't," Sev'rance confirmed. "The War Hammer is the flagship of the fleet. It's unlikely we'll need more than one or two of them."
"What do you think?" Vizsla turned her head toward the Minister of Industry. "Would it be burdensome for our economy to build, say... five of them?"
"One or two might be manageable," Ordo replied. "But five..."
"Yes or no?"
"Yes... though it will require a huge amount of beskar and credits."
"That's not a problem," Shea declared. "I will speak with the Emperor personally — it's unlikely he would want to sacrifice the defensive capability of his allies. But the fleet won't consist of only those five ships, will it?"
"Certainly not," Tann agreed. "I propose refining the Keldabe line ship project, equipping it with deflector shields. In that case, it will become a very worthy mainline vessel."
There were no objections among those present. Keldabe was known to many — as a project, of course. And they saw in it the strength of a revived Mandalore. Such ships were not to be squandered.
"What else?"
The image changed, displaying a hologram of a different ship. With predatory, angular lines.
"Beroya calls it an Aggressor-class line ship," Tann explained. "But in fact, it has less protection, less armament, but greater superluminal speed than the War Hammer and Keldabe. I believe it is better suited to the classification of battle cruiser, and its main guns are a force to be reckoned with. Such ships are cheap and quick to produce and could form the backbone of a fast, well-armed fleet wing. Unfortunately, the reactor's output goes toward maintaining the main caliber, which makes it vulnerable to the enemy, but paired with the Crusaders, such a ship is a terrifying weapon."
"A questionable project," meeting Shea's eyes, Daark commented. "Essentially a flying gun, which would require many other ships for its protection."
"I fully agree," Agelar Ordo supported. "Too wasteful. But the concept of a fast, well-armed vessel for the fleet is indeed worthwhile."
"Perhaps then you will appreciate the Vengeance-class light cruiser." A new hologram appeared over the table. "The ship is armed with medium and small rapid-fire cannons — mass-driver and turbolaser cannons — with engines allowing it to match the speed of the fastest corvettes in our fleet."
"But it can't be that simple, can it?" Daark remarked.
"Yes, this ship is not equipped with shields," Tann admitted. "Instead, the ship's frame uses the same alloy as the Keldabe. By saving energy on the shield generators, we achieve truly monstrous rate of fire and speed. Pitting such a ship against Star Destroyers would, of course, be madness, but against, say, the same Corellian Consular-class corvettes, our destroyer would handle them without issue, and enemy starfighters would be a feast for it."
"Another dubious project," Agelar Ordo remarked. Caleb Daark was about to support him, but noticed how intently Vizsla was studying the starship's hologram.
"We should hold off on premature judgments here," she declared. "Arrange it, Agelar, so that Beroya builds us half a dozen such ships — the expense won't be the greatest, but at the same time, we will get a clear idea of what kind of ship this is and whether we can use it anywhere."
"And if not?" Caleb pressed. "That's just money and time down the drain."
"If this ship does not suit us, it is quite possible that someone else will be interested in it," Helnior, who had been silent all this time, remarked vaguely. Seeing the surprised looks directed at him, he explained, "Just thinking out loud, nothing more."
"Do we have anything else to replenish the fleet?" Shea inquired.
"The Pursuer-class heavy patrol ship." A hologram of a starship appeared over the table, one that had been developed by MandalMotors at the very beginning of the war. And several dozen of these spacecraft had somehow fallen into the hands of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Which, in fact, served as the first hint that Mandalore had supposedly joined the Separatists.
"And what about it?" Caleb clarified. "Too armed and armored for a patrol ship — the Crusaders handle that better, and..."
"A mine layer, - the blue-skinned woman explained her intentions. - Mandalorians in the past were extremely good at implementing blockades or mining trade routes. Considering that in enemy fleets, and in any other fleets for that matter, there simply isn't a class of breaker or minesweeper ships, then this vessel is a real find. It can move onto any route with a small escort, dump hundreds of mines at hyperspace exit points, and give uninvited guests a spectacular reception..."
"And why do I have a strong conviction that this type of ship is extremely necessary for the Empire, - Caleb Daark grumbled. - And much more so than for us."
"I must remind you, - Helnior drew attention to himself, - that the Mandalorian Sector is much closer to Republic and Confederacy territory than the Empire. Such ships could serve both us and our allies."
"I've noticed that you already identify yourself with Mandalore, General Helnior, - Daark snapped back. - Even though you're not one in principle and..."
"It's not for you to challenge the decision of the Emperor and Mandalore the Avenger, Prime Minister! - Sev'rance Tann rose from her seat, placing her hands meaningfully on her Jedi weapon."
"Oh yes, jetiise, - Caleb easily brought his armor to combat readiness, preparing to throw an electrical net from his vambrace if a conflict started. - Do it, ignite your blades and you'll find out..."
"Cease! - Mandalore the Avenger's armored gauntlet striking the table led to the most unforeseen consequences. Whether the table was of poor quality, or Vizsla's armor had an exoskeleton, but one way or another, the legs buckled, causing the piece of furniture to crash to the floor, nearly crushing the feet of everyone sitting behind it."
"Mandalore, I... - Caleb himself realized he had gone too far in the heat of the moment. But the red-haired woman didn't let him finish."
"General Helnior and General Tann are our honored guests and military advisors, - Shea said hoarsely. - If anyone has any complaints about them, address them to me, because I allowed them to be here. And I will allow those I deem necessary for the cause of restoring prosperity to our sector to do the same."
"As you command, Mandalore, - Agelar Ordo bowed his head slightly. Yes, and this is the heir of the glorious Ordo clan name? He expressed his readiness to obey far too quickly. Although... what else to expect from an industrialist?!"
"I offer my apologies, Mandalore, - Caleb hissed, sizing up the Arkanian with a glance. - Got carried away... But this man is not a Mandalorian. And has no right to count himself among our people..."
"I see you sometimes forget, Prime Minister, - Tann said in an even tone, - that any clan can accept him into its ranks if it deems him worthy. Do you want it to be Clan Vizsla?"
Taken aback by such a direct attack, Caleb raised his hands conciliatorily. Dealing with this white-haired man one-on-one was always possible. But if he ended up under the direct protection of Mandalore's clan... Yes, there were simpler ways of suicide.
"In that case, if there are no mutual grievances, - the red-haired woman glanced at the destroyed table. - Then perhaps General Helnior will tell us how he proposes to modernize our army?"
All eyes converged on the Arkanian. He, looking around at everyone with a bored expression, shrugged.
"Teaching Mandalorians to fight in formation would only ruin them. But there is something that can give us an advantage on the battlefields over other armies. And besides, much cheaper than building tanks or stormtroopers..."
"For example? - Agelar Ordo said with clear interest in his voice."
"What is your proposal, General? - Vizsla fixed her gaze on him."
"Well, it occurred to me, why not use Imperial credits and resources and bring our battle droids, the "Basilisks," back to the battlefields, - Helnior said innocently."
Caleb just shook his head sadly, without saying a word. An outsider, through and through. Did he really think none of the Mandalorians had dreamed of this? "Basilisks" - semi-sentient droids that Mandalorians used over three thousand years ago on battlefields, literally incinerating enemies, instilling superstitious terror in survivors who would rather take their own lives than ever face these terrible war machines in battle again. But after the defeat in the Mandalorian Wars and the subsequent Galactic Wars, all "Basilisks" were destroyed, and all documentation on their manufacture was lost to the ages.
"Hm, there is a rational grain in this, - Agelar pronounced. - As far as I remember, the production of "Basilisks" was quite a labor-intensive affair, but in those days one could only dream of maximum factory automation... There's just one problem."
"Which is? - Shea clarified."
"Basilisk" is a unique technology, - Caleb said mockingly. - You can't build it in any garage using crap and three-millimeter durasteel foil of the "plasticine 3" grade. You need documentation, technical specifications, standards... And they're all lost over the past millennia.
"That's all, - a smirk now played on the white-haired man's lips. Patting the pockets of his black uniform of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul, he pulled out a holoprojector, turned it on, and displayed a white and blue schematic of the war machine that modern Mandalorians had only heard of in legends. - It seems to me, schematics are not a problem. Especially when the Emperor himself is interested in Mandalore's greatness."
Daark, exchanging glances with Ordo, just silently spread his hands. Perhaps the alliance with the Empire really wasn't as bad as it had seemed at the very beginning.
Well, and if this alliance became burdensome for Mandalore, the Zakuul stormtroopers could always be introduced to the "Basilisks." Lethally.
* * *
No, trying to understand army humor... That's somehow too much.
Eymand, an Imperial Knight, once a simple Zabrak from the Nightbrother clan, the first of his tribesmen to complete the training course, rubbed his temples, closing his eyes, trying to spend at least a moment finishing his digestion of what he had just heard.
But a short burst from a blaster carbine, coming literally a couple of dozen meters away, prevented him from concentrating.
However, the Zabrak didn't even turn his head. He knew nothing threatened him - he felt it in the Force. And besides, for several weeks now, in that part of the forest from which the sounds of shooting came, there was a firing range. Where fighters from the commando squad "Veshok" were teaching local Onderonian rebels the basics of survival in such a difficult time.
"One more time, - he raised his eyes to the clone sitting opposite him, wearing a full set of "Infiltrator" armor, painted in various patches of green and brown. Which in fact sharply reduced the fighter's visibility in the local environment. Yes, if the Separatist droids, besides their usual optical sensors, also had thermal imagers, not a single ambush would have succeeded. But the creators of these metal toy soldiers saved on everything. And as everyone knows - a stingy man pays twice, a stupid man pays thrice, a Neimoidian generally takes losses in this war. Because a small partisan detachment, consisting of only four clone commandos who arrived a little less than three weeks ago with another shipment of weapons to Onderon, plus Eymand - who had just finished his training but possessed the most outstanding tracking and sabotage skills among the brothers, managed not only to secretly position themselves just a couple of hundred kilometers from the capital of Onderon - Iziz, but also to successfully contact the locals, dissatisfied with the separatist lackey's seizure of power. And form a quite combat-capable partisan detachment. Which caused no small amount of trouble to the Separatists, striking from ambushes and then hiding in the thicket, covering their tracks and luring pursuers into minefields."
"Repeat why you have such names, - he asked the captain commanding the "Veshok" squad. Yes, he would have to work on his communication skills. Because fighting side by side for two weeks, and only now asking why the squad commander and the sniper had such... elaborate names."
"You think it's funny, Knight? - the squad commander tilted his head, as if he was figuring out where best to put a shot from his favorite blaster pistol into the Zabrak."
"No, it's just... - Eymand was slightly embarrassed. - Anyway, on Tython they told us that we would be operating together with fighters of the Imperial Army, among whom there are also clones. True, they told us that clones take names consisting of one word..."
"I didn't choose this name for myself, - the clone reminded. - The Emperor gave it to me. After Lady Atroxa told him how I and my squad stormed and defended the deck control station on Nax Kirvan's flagship."
"Well... "Yuri Semetsky" is a rather unusual name, - Eymand lamented. - I haven't even heard of anyone having anything like it."
"The Emperor said that on his home planet that was the name of a great warrior who managed to fulfill his dream - to live forever. And from then on he died every day but was resurrected to die again, - the squad commander explained."
"And this is connected..."
"This is connected with the fact that on Geonosis I was concussed by a rocket explosion, - he said impatiently (apparently, he wasn't telling this story for the first time), - because one of my careless fighters, instead of taking cover during an artillery barrage, climbed onto the parapet and fired at the hordes of the enemy like some infantryman..."
"And you were considered dead..."
"Because the electronics circuit in my armor short-circuited, - the commander explained. - And I was considered dead - even though I was just shredded by shrapnel..."
"And it punctured his lung, liver, guts, and knocked out his eye, - the sniper added, and the commander turned his head toward him so sharply that Eymand thought he heard his vertebrae crack. - But that's a completely different story..."
"And then..."
"And then, - Semetsky sighed, - there were plenty of operations. And on each one, when I was saving my fighter, I was either shot, or blown up, or had explosives thrown under my feet, or stabbed with a vibro-axe. They even collapsed a Separatist droid factory on my head. A couple of times they even shot me in the head - but it somehow worked out."
"Wait, - Eymand waved his hands. - They shot you in the head twice?"
"Yes, - the clone replied impassively."
"And you didn't die?"
"If I had died, would we be having this conversation? - Semetsky clarified."
"Well, there are many ways to survive, - the Imperial Knight hesitated."
"Including with your head shot through? - the sniper perked up, nudging the commander in the side with his elbow. - I told you, you don't need a brain!"
"Jar Jar, - Yuri snapped. - Shut up, please. Yes, I survived after being shot in the head twice..."
"Hutt me in the steak, - Eymand exclaimed. - Two headshots - and the brain untouched! How is that possible?"
"On Kamino during training, I was pushed off the "Citadel," and I fractured several bones in my head, - the commando commander explained. - The Kaminoans implanted thin durasteel plates at the fracture sites. They saved me. It hurt - both during the operation and when a bolt from an E-5 hits you in the forehead, but it's bearable."
"And what happened on Kirvan's flagship? - Eymand tried to change the subject. Yes, the squad he got... was certainly interesting. What surprised him was something else - why were clones from the Republic army on such a mission, and not from the Imperial army. Yes, they were told that most clones from the system armies "Grek," "Heft," and "Gent" supported the Empire, but... It was somehow wrong. Didn't the leadership of that system army to which this unit was formally assigned know about their going AWOL? Or was the command also involved in the conspiracy? Just questions, to which, naturally, a simple Imperial Knight would get no answers." Even if they were asked.
"The commander fought B-1 squads with his bare hands, - the sniper Jar Jar said with delight. - You should have seen how he handles a vibroknife..."
"And why didn't he use a ranged weapon? - Eymand was surprised."
"It wasn't working, - Semetsky replied. - Like all the electronics in the armor."
"Uh... how so?"
"Ion grenade."
"But B-1 series droids don't use ion grenades, - Eymand recalled his training course with Master Shegren. - Or were they sabotage droids?"
"They weren't droids at all, - Yuri Semetsky answered gloomily."
"Then who? - the Zabrak was surprised."
"Guess, - the squad commander chuckled. - Here's a hint. Which of the fighters in my squad doesn't carry grenades, mines, thermal detonators, and isn't allowed to train the local rank-and-file partisans, even though he's the best sniper among all the clone commandos I know?"
"Jar Jar? - the Zabrak was so surprised his horns nearly grew longer. - But how, why?"
"You wield the Force, Knight, - Semetsky remarked sarcastically. - Guess who's the idiot who always rushes headlong into danger, carries explosives that activate at the slightest touch, and can't throw grenades? Oh yes, almost forgot - activating ion grenades without throwing them at the enemy is just lovely."
"Hey! - the sniper protested. - I apologized for that time. And the previous one. And the one before that. And I promised not to do it again!"
"But you, bantha poodoo, invent something new every time! - Semetsky roared, jumping up from his seat. - Fighting a commando droid, taking its vibrosword, and throwing it back - how stupid can you be!"
"He was just getting rid of the weapon, - the Imperial Knight stood up for the sniper, - so the droid couldn't use it..."
"He cut off three of my fingers! - Semetsky fumed. - Three, damn it, understand! I only have five on one hand! Do you think it's comfortable to shoot a blaster when you've only got your thumb and little finger? Try it for fun! Unforgettable experience!"
"But all your fingers are in place, - Eymand noticed."
"Thank our surgeons, - Jar Jar chimed in, for which he immediately got a smack on the neck from the commander."
"If the Medic hadn't picked them up, - Semetsky stated without malice, - I'd still be saluting with my hand to my head, causing sentients to wonder why the hell I'm hinting that we need to call."
"Yeah, you don't envy him, - Eymand agreed."
"The worst was in a bar on Christophsis, - Yuri sighed. - Can you imagine how much booze a bartender pours if you show him "just a little" using your thumb and little finger? I almost became an alcoholic - instead of fifty grams, he'd pour a half-liter mug."
"And did you ever try, when your fingers weren't in place but you wanted a drink, just running one of your remaining fingernails down the glass to indicate the level you wanted poured? - asked a young guy from the local militia who was sitting near Eymand."
"I tried, - Semetsky nodded. - In military sign language, running one finger horizontally across an object means signaling other fighters to destroy that object. Remember, So, drinking in a commando's company and marking your drink amount that way is dangerous. Because there's always an idiot who will act on autopilot and blast the glass with a blaster. Jar Jar left me without a drink eight times that way."
Eymand felt he was about to burst with laughter. As were the brother and sister Herrera sitting nearby - active participants in the Onderonian resistance. Yes, family, but so different... However, they were trained roughly the same. Taught small unit tactics, ambush organization, sabotage, predicting enemy actions. They were excellent soldiers, in the future - possibly elite saboteurs or field agents. Except that Steela Herrera, unlike her brother, So, prefers sniper weapons. And she's being taught this far from easy task by none other than Jar Jar... Speaking of the sniper.
"Jar Jar, - the Zabrak, having laughed it off, looked at the second clone. - And how did you get your name?"
"Oh, the Emperor gave it to me, - the latter said proudly. - Right after the capture of Baron Kirvan's flagship. It was a wonderful ceremony..."
"I even remember his words, - the commander flared up with renewed vigor. - "Fighter, I know only one like you, ridiculous, ungainly, the future winner of the Darwin Award in all categories, from whom everyone around suffers - a representative of Binks from Naboo. Henceforth, you are no longer CS-4074/16, but Jar Jar.""
"Uh... What's the joke? - So asked, exchanging glances with Semetsky."
"Better you don't know, kid, - Semetsky said gloomily. - I talked to the guys from the 204th who once ran into this representative Binks on Rodia... That's a weapon of mass destruction in the guise of a Gungan. Remember - if you see a Gungan named Jar Jar Binks, shoot first, ask questions later."
"But he's a senator, - Steela remarked. - Killing him carries a life sentence."
"Take my word for it - you'll get a reward for killing him, - Semetsky assured."
"Well, - Eymand smiled. - My first mission certainly won't be boring."
And then the usual order of things was broken by the scout's cry over the comlink.
"Droids!"
"Well, - Jar Jar jumped to his feet with enthusiasm, lovingly stroking his sniper rifle. - Soul to heaven, the ride begins."
"If I get shot again because of you, - Semetsky grumbled, - I'll definitely die and haunt you in your nightmares."
* * *
"Thank you, Spectre, - stepping away from the encrypted communication terminal located on the "Conqueror," once proudly bearing the name "Devastator," and now - "Varyag," I first of all looked at the commander of the commando squad "Theta.""
Clad in a standard "Infiltrator," the clone captain silently saluted.
"Your communication is my work, sir."
"Still, restoring a system burned to ashes in three hours... That's worth a lot."
"That's our specialization, sir, - the clone replied. - Not all commandos are dumb stormtroopers or saboteurs."
"Yeah, - Matthew Mantrell, standing nearby, agreed with slight bewilderment. - I've seen the "Inferno" squad in action... After them - only scorched earth and charred corpses..."
"Really? The Sinner probably stuffed nerf meat into the explosives again, - the commando chuckled knowingly, causing the three volunteer corps commanders to gulp nervously in unison. - No, we're much more humane. "Theta" specializes in electronic espionage, ECM, and anything that transmits even a grain of information..."
"And you performed excellently, Spectre, - I noted. - You and your men. The communications jammer was simply magnificent. We can communicate - they can't."
"And built from scrap metal, at that... - the Rodian Deezy Azmo chimed in."
"I wouldn't say the hull of the late General Grievous is very suitable as a transmitting antenna, - Spectre admitted. - But, oddly enough, it is well shielded from external electricity, which positively affects signal transmission."
"One way or another, - I waved to the clones from the "Theta" squad to continue their work on restoring the "Varyag's" bridge systems. It was damaged a little bit. I miscalculated slightly - together with the droids, I crushed practically all the control panels with the Force. Including the special transmitter through which I had just finished communicating with Dooku and Sidious."
"Continue your work. We need this ship."
"Of course, sir, - Spectre stepped aside, starting to restore the artillery console."
I, leaving the three volunteer corps commanders to sort out among themselves whose units would be stationed on this giant as a temporary crew so the "Varyag" could at least crawl to the shipyards of Christophsis or Rothana, slowly walked over to the Twi'leks standing on the right side of the bridge, two human girls, a Kiffar, and one Togruta.
"So, - my conversation with Sidious and Tyranus was seen by everyone on the bridge. - Any questions about what just happened? Ask them now, because when my turn to ask comes..."
"Is it... really so? - Padawan Bene whispered. - Chancellor Palpatine is a Sith Lord?"
"I hope that's a rhetorical question? - I asked. Really," I didn't put on this whole show with the hood reveal across the galaxy just to explain the obvious.
"We must inform the Council, - Uh Marlo said decisively. And judging by the expressions on their faces," Zett Jukassa at least agreed with him. But Kungurama and Esterhazy were suspiciously silent... Bene... Bene was practically at a loss.
Roughly the same state of mind was shared by all the Twi'leks. Even Aayla Secura and Larant Tarak. Who, in general terms, of course knew that somewhere out there in the Senate there was a Sith... But that it was the Chancellor himself...
"They didn't prepare us for this in the Temple, - Rennax Omani said quietly, her gaze expressing complete bewilderment."
"No one was prepared, - I admitted. - I remember when I first found out myself... Yes, shock, that's our specialty."
"And how long have you known about this? - Ksiaan Amersu asked."
"Long enough to take adequate countermeasures, - I answered evasively."
"And you didn't tell the Council? - B'ink Utrila asked."
"No, I didn't, - I admitted."
"But why? - the padawans asked in unison. From first to fifth."
"And who would believe me? - I clarified. - The Chancellor has always been benevolent toward the Jedi, practically kissing their butts all ten years before the war. He knew many of them personally and even made them his advisors. Do you think I wouldn't get punished for slandering a good man? After all, no one proved he was Force-sensitive. I sent a method through Senator Amidala on how to expose him. But the Order screwed up even there."
"We have to insist! - Marlo fumed. - Get our way! By any means necessary!"
"Seriously? - I chuckled. - Kid, you've been pining over Tallisibeth for about five years now, - the girl, upon hearing this, blushed to the tips of her ears. - I don't see you trying to tell her about it."
"This is... Different... - the boy faltered."
"Just like with me, - I countered. - What's the point of proving anything to an Order or a Council that missed a Sith right under their noses."
"Count Dooku became a Sith after leaving the Order, - Utrila corrected me."
"And I'm not talking about him. Everyone remembers the Naboo Crisis eleven years ago? When Qui-Gon Jinn was killed? - seeing the clear understanding of the essence of what was happening," I continued. - He was killed by a Zabrak - Darth Maul. Sidious's apprentice. Whom he sent on a mission straight from Coruscant. Can anyone remind me where almost all the Jedi were eleven years ago?
"In the Temple... - Utrila said grimly."
"On Coruscant, - Bene added."
"And if Darth Sidious possesses a Force Concealment technique that allows him to hide his Force-sensitivity from others, then Maul doesn't possess anything of the kind, - I added. - So why didn't any of the Jedi sense him? An adept of the Dark Side of the Force..."
"You didn't sense him either, - Uh Marlo pouted."
"Oh, I have a great excuse for that, - I chuckled. - When all this crap happened, I was wandering the Unknown Regions with my teacher. And as it happened, I returned - or rather, found myself - in the known part of the galaxy only at the start of the Clone Wars."
"But we need to do something, - Marlo persisted. - We can't let the Sith exterminate the Jedi!"
"Naive boy, - the Kiffar chuckled."
"The Teacher is doing something, - Oli remarked. - Creating a force capable of opposing Darth Sidious and his plans."
"Locked up here, in the Outer Rim? - Jukassa sneered. - What good is that?"
"Enough, - I assured him. - Did you really think that in my conversation with Palpatine I would lay out all my trump cards, giving him a chance to cover his tracks? No, buddy - I didn't even count on being able to negotiate with him - this whole show is for you. So you understand who you're fighting. And what he's willing to do for his goal."
"And you? - Utrila clarified. - Do you have the power you spoke of to oppose him, having openly declared your intentions?"
"You won't believe it, B'ink, but Palpatine doesn't even suspect what will happen next. Under my command is a pretty large army and a strong fleet..."
"Which, as you said, would destroy the Jedi with Emergency Order 66? - Amersu clarified. - Some plan - trusting those who would betray..."
"They won't betray, - Ahsoka assured her. - The Kaminoan clones no longer obey Darth Sidious. The Emperor removed the inhibitor chips from their heads that would have forced them to blindly execute that order... And besides, along with this army, there is another one that is currently guarding the Empire's territory in the Emperor's absence."
"Emperor? - Utrila grew alert. - Which Empire?"
"The Eternal Empire of Zakuul, - I explained. - And no, it's not on the maps - it's located where neither Sidious's fleet nor his spies can reach it."
"The Unknown Regions, - Esterhazy guessed."
"Clever girl, - I praised. - Take a pastry from the shelf."
"What do you mean? - the padawan blinked."
"Forget it, - Ahsoka advised her friend. - If the Emperor says something you don't understand, it means he's expressing himself the way they do on his home planet..."
"Nevertheless, - I interrupted the side conversation. - Unlike the Order, which does nothing knowing that a Sith is somewhere in the Senate, I am trying to save the lives of the Force-sensitive. Every one of whom Sidious considers his enemy - if they don't serve him."
"How? - Bene blinked."
"I am creating a state that can accept any Force-sensitive, provided they are smart enough to understand—there are no sides of the Force. Neither Dark nor Light. That's just the philosophy and viewpoint of two ancient criminal organizations that couldn't share power in the galaxy. And this argument has been going on for thousands of years," I explained. "And every time, both sides clash in a conflict that costs billions of lives of ordinary beings. I'm tired of it. So I decided that in the Empire, there will be no division into sides of the Force. Only the Unified Force—the views held by the first Force-sensitives, the Order of the Je'daii. I hope you've at least heard of them?"
"Yes... I think... I remember something like that..." came disjointed voices from the Padawans.
"But that's a heretical teaching," Utrila frowned. "Like the Potentium, and..."
"It's not for nothing that the first Force-sensitives trained in all manifestations of the Force," I remarked. "They understood that living only in passions or renouncing emotions is not an option. We are sentient beings, not droids. That's not how it should be. No one in their right mind would cut off their own leg and say how great their life is..."
"But... what if someone doesn't want to do as you say?" Kungurama inquired. "Will you get rid of them?"
"Yes, that's what I thought at first," I admitted. "But then I realized—I don't give a damn about this whole galaxy. I'll take under my wing those worlds that want stability and prosperity. And those Force-sensitives who want to know more about the Force, to become stronger, but not for personal power. For the prosperity of the galaxy. And the Empire."
"So," Amersu licked her dry lips, "those Jedi who don't join you..."
"Will be left to themselves," I finished for her. "You can't force someone to like you—my meeting with certain... ancient inhabitants of this galaxy allowed me to look at many things from a new angle. In particular, that I don't need the entire galaxy."
"And I thought those who use the Dark Side only want to enslave the whole galaxy," Omani squinted.
"My Darkness is balanced by my Light," I sighed, dropping my mental veils, allowing the Force-sensitives to gauge my true potential. "And they give me the strength to fight for a just cause. To achieve goals by any means necessary."
"For what?" Xiaan blinked.
"It's simple," I answered. "In a few decades, invaders from another galaxy will enter the Celestial River. Those who are not sensitive to the Force, who hate machines and technology. And who very much enjoy exterminating the populations of entire worlds. Or turning them into slaves. Which is no better than death."
"How do you know this?" Utrila asked. "Even the Balance Corps and the Prophets cannot see the future—the Dark Side prevents them from doing so..."
"When you wield the Unified Force, the veil of the Dark Side is not frightening," I explained. "And the future is as clear as if you already knew everything that will happen."
I was lying, of course. But how long could I keep leading around those I regularly merged with through Battle Meditation? I was already taking risks building all these mental blocks... At least this way there would be a couple fewer secrets.
"So, by learning the ways of the Dark Side," Esterhazy said slowly, "we can become stronger? To protect the innocent?"
"Yes," I agreed. "Not acting at the Senate's bidding like their attack dogs and creating an epic f… mess without understanding the situation, as was the case on Galidraan with Count Dooku, but acting correctly. By the law. By justice. Not relying on the mercy of the Force, which sometimes has its off days, but becoming its master. Just one clarification—it's not the Dark Side of the Force we need to learn. It's the Unified Force—these are different concepts. And, so you understand, the number of midi-chlorians in your blood has nothing to do with what you can become. Midi-chlorians as a limit of one's potential is an old Jedi trick, invented as a frivolous attempt to determine the potential of their Padawans. In reality, the Unified Force is something greater than one can imagine. The Unified Force is understanding. It becomes a weapon only when there is no other choice."
"And can someone teach this?" Tallisibeth asked, still in a whisper, her gaze fixed on the floor.
"Only—not the Jedi," because what would it be without iconic phrases. "But in the Empire, there is an Academy where one can grasp the basics of this concept and see the world differently."
"Can we get in?" Kungurama asked impatiently.
"You can," I agreed. "If you join the Empire and swear allegiance to me and the Empire. Then yes—the gates of our Academy are open to you."
"And what then?" Utrila said doubtfully. "Are we—knights and masters who follow you—supposed to spend another half of our lives mastering new tricks?"
"No," I smirked. "Long training is only for children—younglings and Padawans. Those who were previously Jedi pick things up quickly enough. So no, I will teach you personally. I will show you the truth, and we will walk the path of knowing it together—if you stumble, I'll catch you."
For a moment, it seemed all in vain. All that flirting with Palpatine and Dooku...
Then, before my eyes, Xiaan Amersu knelt on one knee. After her—Rennax Omani. Utrila. Rachi Sitra. Esterhazy. Bene. Kungurama. Jukassa... Aayla, Oli, Ahsoka, Larant—followed suit. Only stubborn Whie Malreaux remained standing.
"Do you disagree?" I clarified.
"I... I am a Jedi," the boy declared proudly. "I must destroy the Dark Side..."
"Well then, renounce your love for Tallisibeth," I offered. "After all, love is an emotion. And as we know—no emotions, there is peace. Drop everything, renounce her. Return to Coruscant—I'll even provide you with a ship and..."
Reluctantly, as if he had lost a cow, Malreaux knelt before me on one knee. Glancing at his beloved, the Padawan received her smile for the first time.
"Well then," I concluded. "Since you still have a head on your shoulders, I propose we move to the final part of the oath of allegiance and return to the assault on Saleucami. Is everyone ready? Then repeat after me..."
While a dozen and a half Force-sensitives recited their commitment to my teachings and ideals, I met the gaze of the Spectre.
The clone commando confirmed with a slight nod that he had saved the data about my interaction with the Sith on a separate information chip. Excellent... The deeper into the forest, the more my opponent loses self-control. And I have more and more evidence that will undeniably burn the backside of the High Council of the Order, forcing them all to rush into Palpatine's chambers, intent on impaling him on their blue-green lightsabers with lethal force...
Sidious, Sidious, Sidious... You have no idea how much you've complicated your own life by refusing to split the galaxy between us.