Fourteen.
A dozen and two to boot.
Exactly that many Banking Clan battle platforms had to be destroyed in Muunilinst's orbit to secure the invasion corridor for ground forces.
Anakin banked, pulling his fighter out of the line of fire of an enemy "Nantex." The nimble Geonosian starfighter continuously showered him from its single blaster cannon. But how could its pilot, an OOM-series droid, compete against the best pilot in the galaxy?
The Jedi easily slipped out of the opponent's sights, allowing Ahsoka, who was following him, to turn the enemy into a sieve.
"Excellent," he praised his Padawan. "Do you want to surpass me in the number of fighters shot down?"
The small Togruta gave an indignant snort.
"Are you laughing at me, Master?!"
"Never in my life, my young Padawan."
"You just blew up a battle platform with hundreds of 'Nantexes'! I haven't even come close to your score..."
Skywalker smiled. It was a risky venture, of course — catching the self-guided missiles of the droid fighters on his tail and flying into the battle platform's through-hangar with all that baggage. The homing heads, despite their clever stuffing, still couldn't surpass human ingenuity and delivered their lethal cargo straight to the flight deck where the aforementioned "Nantexes" were being rotated. Anakin waited long enough for the missiles to fly into the hangar, after which his Delta-7B, with its nozzles howling, disappeared into the vacuum of space, avoiding damage from the internal detonation.
The gray-and-yellow Delta, accompanied by its partner in red-white-yellow coloring, returned to the flagship.
Of course, it was still a long way from a total victory in the space battle, but now the Banking Clan had received a significant slap in the face that they simply had nothing to answer with. The Republic had punched a hole in the orbital defense and could proceed with a systematic ground operation. All that remained was to clear nearby space of surviving "Nantexes," but the clones on their V-19 Torrents would take care of that.
"Returning to the 'Resolute'?" The clever apprentice guessed the Jedi Knight's intentions. "But there are still a bunch of fighters here..."
"It's about time to remind you that a Jedi doesn't seek personal glory in battle," Anakin said with a smirk. "Or is my score of 216 'Nantexes' shot down giving you no rest?"
"216? You're clearly exaggerating, Master!" the girl declared indignantly.
Anakin couldn't suppress a smile, imagining Ahsoka puffing her cheeks out in offense.
"Are you saying I'm a liar?"
"Me? No, of course not..."
"Then 216," the Jedi concluded with a laugh. Then, opening a communication channel, he contacted flight control. "'Resolute'-control, this is Skywalker, returning."
"Copy that, General," the familiar voice of a clone answered immediately. "Preparing the main hangar for you."
"Be there in a minute..."
As soon as he closed the communication channel, Anakin's feigned cheerfulness vanished.
As before, in his nightmares, he dreamed of a dragon. Powerful, gripping his heart. Bringing fear that made the man wake up at night in a cold sweat.
Jabiim had become the point of no return. The place where he had given his rage free rein.
Just like then on Tatooine, when a whole clan of Tusken Raiders had fallen by his hand.
He couldn't tell anyone about this, not even Obi-Wan, not even Padmé. Kenobi, though a friend and mentor, was still a Master who was more loyal to the Order than to Anakin.
Padmé... She would never understand what he had been forced to do on Jabiim to return to her.
In the entire galaxy, there was only one person to whom he could entrust his secrets.
He would never have a closer friend than the one who now stood at the head of the Republic. Palpatine had replaced Anakin's family: always near, always caring, always ready to give advice and assistance. A sympathetic, understanding listener who accepted Anakin as he was, without any conditions, with love and friendship. The Jedi never acted that way and never would — the dragon, in whose clawed paws the heart of the most powerful of Jedi lives, had been whispering this basic truth to the Jedi Knight ever since the former slave from Tatooine became a Padawan.
He could tell Palpatine things that couldn't be shared with anyone else living today.
At times, Anakin felt the Chancellor was not firm enough in his policy. He sought to maintain dialogue even where, in Skywalker's opinion, force should have been applied. He didn't understand this, and as the Chancellor told him with a smirk, he likely wouldn't understand in his young years why Palpatine spent his priceless time on all these endless meetings and Senate sessions. Why, instead of reaching out and hitting the table hard with his fist and giving an order, he was forced to explain the justice of his point of view to fools.
But how simple it would be if the Chancellor had more power. He wouldn't have to listen to all these lazy people in the Senate, the Jedi Council, forever in an incomprehensible slumber, but could resolve the issue once and for all. If the Jedi were subordinate to the Chancellor, perhaps the Separatist crisis would not 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 belongs 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, masking his true feelings in every way.
The journalists across the entire HoloNet were wrong. He knew fear, but he was stronger than fear.
Jabiim, where he had nearly lost those closest to him — Obi-Wan, his wise teacher, and Ahsoka, the little bundle of energy he had already grown attached to — showed him the full depth of the sluggishness of bureaucracy. The Republic, for all its merits, proved too weak against the forces of a single planet.
How much he had had to justify himself to the Council for essentially fleeing from there, leaving the loyalists alone with Stratus's enraged supporters. Only Palpatine's intervention forced the Council to back down. The Chancellor himself praised his actions, stating there was no point in staying there and dying. Jabiim is 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. Gross, unbridled, all-overwhelming force. But effective. Anakin had shared his thoughts on this with Palpatine, and he had fully supported his friend. Но с грустью добавил, что Сенат не позволит этого. The time to restore order in the galaxy with an iron hand had not yet come.
It was Palpatine who insisted on his appointment here. The Council, gritting their teeth, accepted the Chancellor's will. They had envisioned Obi-Wan commanding the operation to capture Muunilinst. But he had not yet recovered from his wounds received on Jabiim.
Aubrie Wyn, who had lost her mentor in the heat of battle, also remained on Coruscant. Despite the fact that the girl was strong in healing, she faced a long rehabilitation. Anakin didn't even want to think about her future fate. The Temple was already overflowing with Padawans who had lost their teachers. Aubrie became one of these "orphans." And despite Anakin feeling responsible for her, he couldn't influence the Council's decision in any way.
They had a secret — one shared between the two of them. Fighting Stratus and his "Nimbuses," they both crossed the line of what was permitted. They both touched their fears, absorbed power from their despair... and both won.
Returning home, the Knight and Padawan gave each other a promise — no one would ever know about it. It was their secret alone. Even Ahsoka must remain in the dark.
Palpatine had once mentioned that the Jedi could teach Anakin much. But they were unable to unlock his potential. The Chancellor suspected the Council simply didn't want the young Skywalker to know the limits of his power. Because then he would become stronger than all of them.
The Jedi are simply afraid of him. Afraid of who he might become.
And they are envious of 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 conducting the war. The Council considers itself above its own rules.
Anakin felt the dragon in his chest stir.
Palpatine had repeatedly recalled how many Jedi were accepted into the Order despite their advanced age. This made the blood in Anakin's veins flow like liquid fire. Even Eeth Koth had been accepted by the Jedi at a late age.
And he... if Qui-Gon hadn't insisted then, the Council would have rejected Skywalker.
So now the young Jedi looks the dragon in the eyes and doesn't slow his pace.
If anyone can save the Republic, it's Anakin. Because he is already the best and is becoming even better. But the dragon besieging the walls, whose name is fear, twists and hisses.
Because in a universe where even stars can die, Anakin truly fears that being the best doesn't yet mean being good enough to save everyone.
"Master?" Ahsoka's voice pulled him from his thoughts. Shaking his head to rid himself of the illusion, he was surprised to find that his fighter was already on the Destroyer's deck. Clone technicians from the deck crew stood in anticipation for the general to leave the cockpit. Even R2 had already left his landing socket and was conversing with Tano's astromech in binary.
"Sorry, Snips," Anakin left the cabin with youthful agility. "I was thinking about the future..."
"And I thought you always act first and think later," his Padawan teased him. Anakin rolled his eyes.
"You're too small to be making snide remarks at me, kid," the Jedi snapped back without malice. His answer was only a satisfied grunt from the Togruta.
"Let's go to the command center, Ahsoka," her teacher nodded. "It's worth talking to Rex about our ground operation."
***
"And after that, you freed all the Twi'lek slaves?" Tarkin asked, as if drawing a line.
"Precisely so, Captain," I nodded affirmatively. "The Force and all the laws of the Republic gave me the right to do so..."
"The Tribunal is least interested in your commitment to an old Jedi religion," Wilhuff countered, returning to the seat of the state prosecutor.
I wanted to throw something heavy at this self-satisfied moron. But I deemed it unwise. Otherwise, the journalist crowd would find another reason to write something provocative about the Jedi's actions.
"The witness may take his place in the hall if the defense has no questions," the pompous bureaucrat in judge's robes glanced toward the lawyer and the former Moff. Receiving a negative gesture from them, the judge continued. "On this, we conclude the judicial investigation. Are the parties ready to proceed to the pleadings?"
Receiving affirmative answers from Tarkin and the lawyer, the judge, settling comfortably in his chair, began listening to the Moff's defense counsel's speech.
Sinking into a seat in the courtroom, I smiled under my mask. For once, justice would prevail.
I and my team had already spent two weeks on Coruscant. Day after day, every morning I headed to the court residence, repeatedly speaking before the prosecution and defense, talking about my relationship with the Moff, his instructions, and so on. It's not for me to judge, of course, but apparently, Baulyur was charged with a truly enormous list of crimes. Even the Hutts (thanks to Jabba) had sent an authorized representative who described the relationship between Hutt Space and the former Moff in detail and at length. The defense could no longer fight that off.
The Hutt provided many documents that revealed to the court details of contracts for escorting merchant ships and guarding "contracted workers." Despite the wildness and shouts of indignation, 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 ships for such purposes was a crime.
However, this theater interested few. Guilt was objectively proven by the testimony of nearly a hundred witnesses and irrefutable material evidence — patrol ship logs escorting merchants, audit report conclusions, information on accounts where billions of sectoral army funding had settled. As they say — you can't argue with facts.
After the Hutt's speech, Baulyur took the floor, admitting all charges in full. Despite being stripped of his rank and not enjoying any privileges, his case was considered by a military court — a tribunal. And as I understand it, by admitting guilt, the former official hoped to mitigate his punishment.
Right now, something else concerned me most.
I was twirling a metal bar with two rows of plastic badges in my hands. Four red, four blue...
Two days ago, immediately after Tarkin's announcement as the state prosecutor at the trial, the Sectoral Command was convened for an emergency session.
More than two dozen high-ranking GAR officers, among whom I noticed Moff Trachta, heard my report on the state of the 13th Sectorial. Many tricky questions addressed to me by that same Tarkin found quite reasonable explanations.
They were interested in literally everything. The resources the Hutts were helping with, my relationship with the Christophsis government, the new armor for the ARCs under my command that appeared out of nowhere, the banner of the 204th Legion, numerous officer transfers with promotion, the "Marauder" orders from Sienar, contacts with "Incom," the de-mothballing of "Telos"...
The meddling bureaucrats looked for loopholes, corruption, and personal interests in every action of mine. And they were extremely disappointed when they didn't find them. Ki-Adi-Mundi, among others present at the command meeting, appealed several times to the Order's inner foundations and the Force, backing up my words about the reasons for the captains' transfers.
In my subjective opinion, the commission from Sectoral Command remained dissatisfied with my answers. "Excessive personnel losses" — that was the "bolt" on which Tarkin's negative review rested, marking the end of the meeting. The commission members, with few exceptions, nodded their heads in agreement with him.
I was in a state of confusion (what the hell is going on?), until Trachta took the floor.
"High losses, you say, Captain Tarkin?" The Moff rose from his seat, looking at everyone present with a smile. "And where are they not high? We are suffering colossal losses on all fronts — it has reached the point where nearly half of the first-batch clones have fallen on the battlefields. The second generation is only just being introduced into our ranks — we spend an enormous amount of time plugging holes where the CIS mows down our units by the dozens. It doesn't suit you that the Jedi enjoys 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 home he saved from ruin. One could also propose to the Senate to exclude from the Republic those twenty worlds that returned after the capture of Nexus Ortai. Finally, the peace with the Hutts that Master Jedi Dougan achieved is also unnecessary for our army, in your view." The gathering murmured disapprovingly. "Colleagues, I see in your opinion not an objective assessment of Senior General Dougan's actions, but only unnecessary suspicion and distrust of a Jedi who has done far more for our common victory than many of the Order members and those present here. In a short period in the role of acting Moff, he achieved victories where we did not expect them — the capture of Rodia, Bothawui, and Christophsis was prevented. Dressel and Nexus Ortai have been liberated. Very soon, the general's troops will capture Monastery. The 'Iron Lance' under his lead stood firm against Admiral Trench and General Grievous. He repelled a provocation by Count Dooku's acolyte and achieved an alliance with the Hutts. Who if not he is worthy of appointment to the post of Moff of the 13th Sectorial Army?" At these words, I tensed. What...? An appointment to the post of Moff is being discussed here? Why am I not in the loop?
Rage began to boil inside. A clear picture formed in my head. Sectoral Command had specially organized an abrupt 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 one's own army?
But to hell with them. I can list the names of all my commanders and the number of starships in the squadrons from memory. So they picked the wrong person.
Meanwhile, Trachta continued.
"It's worth reminding you that during Moff Baulyur's command, the sectoral army lost two-thirds of its territories and four-fifths of its personnel in killed and wounded. And in such difficult conditions — practically without help from us — the General was able to make a breakthrough of such scale. I simply cannot call it anything other than a 'miracle.' You're interested in the reason for battle banners appearing in the units? I see nothing wrong with that. Clones fight and die on command. The General gave them motivation. Open your files and see what condition the 204th Legion was in at the time of its completion on Kamino. Only tears. Now it is one of the best units in the Grand Army, not inferior to the fame of the 501st Legion, the 7th Air Corps, or the 9th Assault... They are effective and deadly to the enemy. Personally, I see no other candidates who could compete with Master Jedi Dougan. Therefore, I call upon you to leave your prejudices and make a weighted decision..."
The appointment of Moffs, as I recalled, was within the powers of the Chancellor's office. But, as it turns out, the candidate was first subject to discussion by Sectoral Command. A standard bureaucratic practice — weed out the undesirable and slide in the most suitable candidate who will be so grateful for the sudden happiness that they won't dare to stir the waters and will remain loyal to their "patrons" for the rest of their career.
While the officials conferred, I managed to catch Trachta among 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 blowing hot air — evidently he hasn't stepped out of the role of prosecutor at Baulyur's trial. Believe me — this meeting wouldn't be happening if your candidacy hadn't already been approved in advance in the Chancellor's administration."
After these words, I became all ears. And my intuition grew anxious, sensing something bad.
"Command is not happy with the appointment of a Jedi as responsible for an entire Oversector," the Moff continued, lowering his voice. "They hardly tolerate the dual power in the 2nd and 4th Sectorials, and here you will have full power. Evil tongues are whispering that your appointment will be a massive PR move for the Order and will push regular officers into the background."
"What nonsense."
"Such are the realities of behind-the-scenes intrigue, my friend," the Moff smiled. "The Jedi enjoy popularity with the population, and among the military, your kind is, to put it mildly, unpopular. You're different — you have indisputable 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. In the Senate, nearly two thousand senators are sticking spokes in his wheels one way or another. Amidala keeps boasting about her support in the Order, so your appointment will deprive her of arguments for a while."
"I see," I smirked. Clever. Palpatine can point to any arguments of the loyalists and say he is in solidarity with the Order's policy and even appointed a prominent Jedi to command on one of the toughest sections of the front. The Council, in my person, will receive a silent declaration of loyalty from the Chancellor. Like, I trust the Jedi so much that I appointed one of them as Moff. This, among his other intrigues, will lull the attention of the Council, which is looking for a Sith among the Chancellor's inner circle, for a little longer. Of course, what Sith would appoint a Jedi to command an entire sectoral army? It's simply unfathomable...
Damn, how beautifully he does it all. It's impossible not to admire Palpatine's genius in such moments.
"By the way," Trachta reminded me. "Don't forget, tomorrow after lunch is the session of the appropriations commission. They'll be transferring money to the army accounts — you must be present to confirm receipt. And you'll tell them in general terms what you plan to spend it on."
"It's easier to think of what not to spend it on," I said with a laugh. "After Trench and Grievous's attacks, all my ships in service need repair. One more such attack and I'll simply have nothing to fight back with."
"It will be quieter in your direction for the next couple of months," the Moff shared. "The Seps threw all their reserves at you and the 14th. Now they simply have nothing to oppose you with. The CIS armada tactic didn't pay off — Isard is practically swearing to the reliability of this information. Dooku will soon shift to a 'hit-and-run' tactic with small detachments, no more than a squadron. So you can safely fly to Kamino and Rotana and buy what's needed."
"I also need to hurry Rendili and Sienar," I remembered. Seeing the confusion on the man's face, I explained. "I have a large loss among 'Hammerheads' and 'Marauders.' I need to complete the existing squadrons and strengthen their presence throughout the theater of operations."
"Yes, I heard you allocated entire squadrons to newly appointed Commodores," Trachta grunted. "Extravagance on your part, you know. Tell me, why do you need squadrons for maintaining control over systems? Bulky formations, especially in the conditions of the Seps' current tactics. A flight of ships of the line is quite enough to control an entire system — especially since your front has nearly doubled now."
"Hmm..."
"No, it's clear when you need to conquer a system. Но для патрулирования и защиты — тебе хватит и звеньев. Especially since you have yesterday's captains commanding your squadrons — you should know how many outcries there were about your poaching. Especially since you promoted them all through a rank. Are they ready to command anything larger than a flight?"
"They handled it relatively well, you know... And the Force tells me they're capable guys..."
"Dougan, the Force will drive you to the edge soon," the Moff smiled. "Your task now is to hold the territory. Reduce the squadrons, at least by half — you'll immediately free up a couple dozen ships from which new squadrons can be formed. You did that with the infantry — diluted them with volunteers. A good move, by the way! Many Moffs are doing the same now — a pity that recruits don't flow to them in such a stream as to you."
Trachta's words made sense. I should think about this at my leisure.
"Thanks for the advice."
"Don't forget to return those 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 pay for them and hand them over to the grasping hands of the 1st Sectorial. We parted after shaking hands.
As the Moff had assured me, the Sectoral Command commission returned to the meeting with joyful news for me.
"Senior General Rick Dougan," Tarkin took the floor. "The Sectoral Command commission has made a decision approved by the Supreme Chancellor's administration. You are appointed as the permanent Moff of the Oversector within the sphere of activity of the 13th Sectorial Army. Relevant information has been entered into all Republic registers. Accept our sincere congratulations..."
The Force shifted, pulling me out of the embrace of memories. Looking around, I saw a middle-aged man slip silently through the courtroom door. His face was little known to me, but a stirring began in my memory.
Meanwhile, Tarkin, who had just finished his speech, thanked those present for their attention.
The judge, who kept silent for a minute, pursed his lips, then, after checking his notes, spoke.
"The sentence will be announced tomorrow at noon standard time. The session is closed for today..."
Witnesses and participants began to gather as soon as the judge left the hall. A pair of Senate Guards, without any ceremony, put shock handcuffs on the former Moff and led him to the escort room. The defendant's lawyer approached Tarkin and, smiling, engaged the officer in conversation.
I had nothing more to do here, so, free as a bird, I headed for the exit.
"Moff Dougan," that same man to whom the Force had drawn my attention blocked my path.
"How can I be of service to you?"
"Oh, could we step aside," he suggested with a polite smile. "Talking in the courtroom doorway is a sign of poor form."
"Well, let's step aside," I smirked, checking just in case if my lightsaber was in place.
We left the courtroom. The man, quickly orienting himself in the building's corridors, pointed to a resting area in one of the corners of the corridor.
Sitting on a sofa opposite me, the man continued.
"Allow me to congratulate you on your appointment. It is always a pleasure to know that our armed forces are in competent hands."
"Thank you for the flattering assessment of my abilities," I thanked him dryly. The Force was clearly anxious, which made me feel uneasy. "But I still do not know who you are and what the purpose of our conversation is."
"Oh, forgive me my tactlessness," he smiled charmingly. "Kinman Doriana, I work in the Chancellor's administration."
The Force shifted again. I felt a metallic taste in my mouth. I don't like such acquaintances.
"Pleasure to meet you," I nodded diplomatically. "To what do I owe a visit from the Chancellor's assistant?"
The man, without stopping smiling, put his hand into the inner pocket of his richly decorated nano-silk garments. He pulled it back out holding a colorful piece of paper between his fingers, which he handed to me.
"Supreme Chancellor Palpatine invites you to attend an evening performance at the Galactic Opera in his company in eight days..."
Touching the invitation, I felt the Force howl with a premonition of danger.
"I am flattered by this invitation and certainly accept his generous invitation. Please convey to the Chancellor my boundless respect and gratitude for the honor shown."
***
While I was wasting time in court, Sectoral Command, and the appropriations commission, each of my companions was busy with their own business.
Olee, from the first day of arrival on Coruscant after I reported to the Council on my work, was forcibly sent by me to the Halls of Healing. After Christophsis, the girl had withdrawn into herself and become gloomy. I felt her anxiety and fear. No wonder — she still neglected my advice to close off her feelings. And as a result — she experienced truly titanic emotions.
Vokara Che, of course, assured me that nothing was incurable, reminding me of my near-corpse state after the meeting with Tann. I refused her persistent offer to visit the Halls myself, citing being busy. Which made the Twi'lek grumble like an old tractor in a field.
Vizla and the Iokath drone headed for their goal, and so far there was no news from them.
The ARCs were checking my Coruscant residence for surprises.
House 100 on Republic Street met me with a circular landing pad attached to a semi-circular upper terrace, from which there were two side entrances to internal premises.
Alpha met me on the terrace.
"How did it go, sir?"
"In my view, well. The court will soon announce Baulyur's sentence. Settled into the new residence?"
"Conducted a superficial inspection. No surprises found. The cleaning droids cleaned everything to a shine, so the penthouse is ready to receive guests. Balda is busy connecting the electronics to the HoloNet."
"Excellent."
As soon as the door leaves moved in opposite directions, a staircase going down to the lower level appeared before my eyes. To the right was the entrance to that same spacious hall, one of whose walls was a transpari-steel screen. Glancing inside for a moment, I immediately dubbed it the "living room" — simple comfortable sofas along the perimeter of the room, a pair of computer terminals, and huge vases with long-withered plants indicated this purpose for the room. In the middle of the living room, on a pedestal, was a statue depicting a massive alien warrior baring its beastly maw. The carving reached out with a hand, its fingers crowned with huge claws. One of the exits in the room led to the bedrooms, of which there were three. Joined by a common "hallway," the rooms proved to be furnished identically — spacious beds, several comfortable armchairs, desks, and panoramic windows replacing one of the walls. Small cabinets with mounts for storing clothes, weapons, and armor were welded tight to the walls at human face level. Comfortable, cozy. Not a luxury class hotel, but for Jedi leading an ascetic lifestyle — more than luxurious rooms.
The second exit — located opposite the one I used — led to a similar staircase going down to the lower floor.
On the sides of each of the staircases were podiums on which stood ancient statues of unknown representatives of various races.
Reaching the first level, I entered a small hall along the walls of which were several tables and comfortable soft armchairs, somewhat reminding me of parts of the interior from the Jedi Temple.
The doors in the right part of the hall moved apart, revealing a two-level room to my gaze, in the center of which a massive holoprojector was installed, displaying a three-dimensional map of the galaxy. Along the walls, huddling together, were computer terminals, clearly borrowed from military warehouses. Dozens of monitors and screens were full of images of diagnostic programs, and Balda, swearing under his breath, showed his dissatisfaction with the archaic computer network with his whole appearance.
"As we understand it, this is an equivalent of a command center," Alpha explained. "Information from the HoloNet, from several ancient satellites from Coruscant's orbit, is displayed on these computers. A pair of terminals are responsible for the penthouse's defense and controlling the house's internal systems. Balda is just trying to make all this ancient equipment work."
In the left part of the hall were three rooms at once.
One — a spacious dining room with cozy sofas and a wide dining table. Kitchenware and dining supplies were arranged along one of the walls.
The second — a kind of "hallway" with an exit to a turbolift capable of taking the resident to any level of the house or to the underground garage where aerocars were kept. Besides the concierge's place, behind which stood a long-out-of-order protocol droid, several decorative ornaments, and ten transport containers, there was nothing to look at here. Except that the entrance was guarded by a pair of deactivated terminator-like droids armed with outdated blaster rifles. With a practiced eye, I easily identified the robots as Oricon D-R3Ds, with a pair of huge vibroblades visible behind their metal shoulders.
"We didn't activate the clankers," Alpha admitted. "There are about ten such guards," he pointed to the "terminators," "throughout the house. There are niches in the walls for them — for maintenance and recharging. The lift is also inactive — you can't call it or open the lift shaft without a special password."
The last room most of all reminded me of an "attic." Most of the roof and outer wall were thick transpari-steel stained glass, through which a truly grand view of Coruscant's technogenic landscapes and the sun burning at its zenith opened.
Besides several statues showing Rakatan warriors holding double-edged swords over their heads, and the same comfortable sofas arranged along the perimeter of the walls, there was not much to look at here.
Except for two shelves with information crystals shimmering with a light blue light. Built into the wall sections to the right and left of the "attic" entrance, they gave me a clear feeling of being identical to the database from the Archives.
"Well," I admitted. "Living quarters are more than worthy."
"Precisely so, sir. We are ready to receive a guest..."
***
As required for conspiracy purposes, he changed several hover-taxis before arriving at the designated address. Surveillance, even if there was any, had long lost him, so he arrived for the meeting with his employer and companion without any fear.
A figure in a black cloak and silver-gray armor with a mask hiding the owner's face met him right on the landing pad. At dusk, Coruscant looked more than sinister.
"Glad you came, Raith," Dougan reached out a metal-clad hand to him. Sienar shook it casually.
"Likewise, Master Jedi," he said. "I think you'll be pleased with our meeting today."
"You've intrigued me. Let's go inside."
No sooner had the entrance doors closed behind his back than Raith came nose to nose with a pair of droids polished to a shine, of a series completely unknown to him. Both held huge and clearly archaic blasters in their hands.
"I didn't think a Jedi needed guards," he muttered as he followed the host down the stairs.
"You forget that I am no ordinary Jedi."
"That's true enough..."
The small journey ended in a spacious room with a truly huge holographic projector in the center. Raith, who had seen hundreds of samples of various equipment, could only whistle in surprise.
"Now that's a real antique..."
"But it works no worse than modern ones," the Jedi noted. "So what do you have for me?"
Sienar, looking around the room in which there was not another living soul except for a dozen working terminals, himself, and the Jedi, took an information crystal from an inner pocket, which he connected to the terminal with the silent consent of his business partner.
"Your proposal to me was a challenge, of course. But, without false modesty, I'll tell you that I managed," the map of the galaxy was replaced by an image of a "Harrower." And next to it, a second one appeared, externally very similar to its brother... but only if you didn't look closely. And the devil, as is known, is in the details. "I present to you the 'Harrower 2.' The name is a working one, of course, but I didn't risk choosing a name for it personally..."
"Tell me about the ship, Raith."
"Yes, of course. As I understand it, I received blueprints for an already modified ship?" I nodded silently. When I first thought about creating an armada, I was immediately faced with the question — which type of dreadnought to recreate? The one used by the Sith Empire, or one of those ten currently creating my Empire?
The choice fell on the second. With all my desire, I couldn't afford ships where several thousand people were required for the crew alone. The dreadnoughts from the "Emperor's Phantom" squadron were perfect for this.
"Well, don't deny me then the honor of detailing my creation," Raith received a nod and continued. "First of all, I completely replaced the character and structure of the armor. In four thousand years, progress has stepped far ahead, so thanks to a lightened but more durable skin, the ship reduced its mass parameters by nearly three thousand tons. The weapons system was also replaced. I didn't decrease or increase the number of firing points — here, in my view, the 'Harrower' will give a run for its money to more than one generation of ships of the line in terms of fire power. Without thinking twice, I put 'Taim & Bak' systems — it is their DBY-827 heavy turbolaser military turret that is installed on 'Venators.' But the Republic ship has only 8 such turrets. And the 'Harrower 2' has 16, which, as on the original, are placed right against the superstructure."
"An impressive arsenal," I appraised. "But what powers all this energy-consuming goodness?" However, slightly turning the model, I found the answer in the lower hemisphere.
"Yes, that's correct," seeing where my gaze went, Raith said. "The lower hangar had to be replaced with a reactor compartment for a solar ionization generator. But I compensated for the volume of landing platforms in four other hangars," Raith assured me and hurried to explain. "Thanks to the modernization, up to a quarter of useful space was freed up throughout the ship, which allowed expanding the hangar decks and increasing the volumes of useful space. As I understand it, the original blueprints provided for transporting a significant number of passengers?" I nodded. Receiving the answer, Raith continued. "Thanks to upgrades to the ship's automation system..." I turned sharply toward the engineer.
"Raith, I formed the task clearly..."
"Don't worry," the shipbuilder raised his hands. "I didn't interfere with the central control protocols or the system itself — only an improvement of peripheral systems for compatibility with new equipment. Also, I transferred the cloaking system to the new project without change," I returned to the review.
"The use of a solar ionization generator allows producing an order of magnitude more energy than necessary for the ship's full maintenance," by his voice I understood Raith was finishing the presentation. "And this is already considering that the system updates, including the engines, allow the 'Harrower 2' to move at practically the same speed as its ancestors using 'Isotope-5.' And its deflectors are now so strong that it would take a flight of 'Venators' to break them. So right now before you is, without doubt, the fastest, most protected, most heavily armed ship for line combat."
"Interesting," I concluded. "You didn't say a word about the air group."
"And that's another part of the presentation," Sienar assured me, changing the image.
Now a projection of an ISF interceptor froze before us.
"I call it the ISF-TIE interceptor," Sienar announced and proceeded with explanations. "The designers of this insanely amazing starfighter used a very temperamental but promising idea of twin ion engines. Frankly speaking — this system represented nothing but excellent speed and many inconveniences then. But thanks to my developments with the Sienar Fleet Systems TIE twin ion engine, the modernization of this ancient Sith product also became possible."
"Curious," I smirked, appreciating the irony of the situation. Sienar, it seems, is destined by birth to create interceptors and fighters. "And what can this craft boast of?"
"By implementing my engine and my company's developments, I achieved an increase in flight characteristics — in its original form it's ready to outrun most Republic fighters right now, not to mention droids. And after remodeling — it's even faster, more maneuverable, and more dangerous. Of course, I couldn't stick a navigation computer and hyperdrive in there," I sucked in air. It seems Sienar will never manage to make a perfect TIE on the first try, "but after all — it's a carrier-based fighter-interceptor for gaining superiority in nearby space, not an ARC. If you need something large and with a hyperdrive — that's for 'Incom.' Especially since they finally came to their senses and put a quad laser in the rear."
"Raith," I placed an encouraging hand on the man's shoulder, sensing shades of offense in his words. "I have no complaints about the interceptor fighter concept. I fully agree with you — its role is to be based in hangars or on airfields, not to skulk in deep space."
"It's nice when companions' thoughts align," the man smirked. "The new engines require more energy, so I put more productive solar panels while maintaining the previous design. There are deflectors on the hull — but they will withstand no more than three to five hits from a light fighter cannon, no more than that. Even debris won't survive fire from a quad or turbolaser. But at the same time, the pilot's cabin is comfortable, and the interceptor can now carry up to four self-guided strike missiles."
"An unexpected surprise," I pointed a finger at the edges of the planes where highlighted projectiles were blinking. "I didn't think you could develop a small missile project on your knee..."
"I didn't develop it," he smirked. "It's a 'Haor Chall' corporation project — the Xi Char put such missiles on their 'Hailfire' droids. When I... interned with them, I... borrowed a few ideas."
Hilarious.
"Is that why they wanted to kill you?" I asked with a smirk in my voice, knowing the answer perfectly well.
"For that too," Raith replied gloomily. He probably remembered all those assassination attempts my current employees had arranged for him in the past. "But I'm not finished with the presentation yet."
"Oh...?" I trailed off. This is getting interesting. I understand that I gave Sienar blueprints that contained full documentation for ship production, but a bit more than a month has passed since our meeting... Did he not sleep at night, only processing my orders? On the other hand — for the profits promised by working on my projects, one can work day and night.
"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 making it even more lethal and effective."
"I'm eager to hear the story," I smirked under my mask. The plan was to build "Furies" in the form they came to me from Valkorion on board his station, but if the inventor has workable and promising ideas...
"Like the previous interceptor, and indeed all small Sith ships of that time, as I understand it, ion engine technology is used here. I replaced the solar panels, engines, equipment, power supply — and now this ship is twice as good as its original in all the parameters mentioned. The ship's armament — two heavy and two light twin mounts — I took the liberty of replacing," Raith brought the blueprint closer. "If before the heavy guns were located outside the hull, on the sides, and the entire structure was susceptible to damage from the side, from debris or a stray shot, now I've moved them to the forward hemisphere. Only the barrels are now brought outside, which, as on fighters, are fixed. The new power system and my engines allowed producing more energy, as a result — instead of two twin guns, I installed four heavy twin mounts on the ship. In the lower and upper part of the ship I placed four light anti-aircraft guns each, covering them with armored caps. Launch tubes — both for strike missiles and proton torpedoes — I left in their original places, only updated 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 hurried to add, "the cloaking system based on Adegan crystals, identical to the one on the 'Harrower 2,' remained untouched."
"Should I repeat that this is excellent work?" I turned my gaze to the shipbuilder. He only smiled and again brought up another hologram on the screen.
"The 'Terminus'-class light destroyer," I looked at the ship with its elongated wedge-shaped hull and pair of rearward-set planes. "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, similarly to how it's done on Republic ships. As with the dreadnought, I upgraded all systems, so now you have a perfectly protected cruiser of the line, not inferior in armament and protection to Republic 'Acclamators.' But I have a great idea that I'd like to discuss with you..."
"I'm all ears."
"See this structural groove that goes along the top of the hull from the superstructure to the very nose?"
"Of course I see it. What's wrong with it?"
"As I understand its creators, they didn't make the deck solid because most of the portholes from the rooms on the upper deck look out into this 'groove.' I propose getting rid of them to add a main caliber gun to the ship."
"Tell me more about that..."
"The crew of this ship is a bit over five hundred sentients. I've created a virtual model that will be operated by only two hundred sentients — including the deck crew and starfighter crews. Of course, this will require the integration of automation systems similar to those installed on the 'Harrowers.' Но благодаря этому, мы можем отказаться от использования верхних кубриков — что граничат с «желобом» и установить на их месте оборудование масс-драйверной пушки."
"Hmm... it seems to me a ship of this size doesn't have enough 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. Which is enough to power the mass-driver gun, and there will still be a solid reserve left. Just think — a light cruiser with a gun powerful enough to pierce a Corellian corvette right through..."
I pondered.
Mass-driver installations are weapons using kinetic projectiles accelerated to huge speeds by electromagnets. Such guns, but on a smaller scale, were on some variants of AT-TE walkers, and despite their destructive potential, they had several drawbacks. First — a very noticeable recoil. The second...
"Did you find a way to cool it effectively?"
"I wouldn't have proposed this project to you otherwise," the designer smiled. "We're using a carbonite cooling system. Though it's bulky, for firing in a vacuum where a negative temperature reigns, carbonite is our best option."
"A sound proposal," I said after a couple of minutes of silence. "But we should build several ships and test them. Especially since we'll need to build separate production facilities for creating ammunition for such guns — as is known, mass-drivers are simply ammunition eaters. AT-TEs armed with kinetic guns use up their ammunition in a couple of hours of battle. And here is an entire cruiser..."
"There's a small catch," Raith said, stroking his chin.
"Well, yeah," 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," Raith admitted. "Neither Rendili, nor my... our company, nor 'Incom.' Kuat has certain developments, but building a ship gun of such scale is beyond them too."
"Kinetic guns are on nearly half of Kuat-made walkers," I reminded him.
"That's true, but the scale... even they can't manage this!" Sienar stated confidently.
"I don't think you started this conversation without knowing how to solve our problem," a guess was born from my mouth. As expected, a correct one.
"There's one company that has been developing this technology for more than a hundred years," Sienar began from afar. "Right now they've significantly weakened their market positions — the government on their planet changed course to demilitarization and pacifism..."
"One doesn't have to be a Jedi to realize you're talking about 'MandalMotors'," I showed off my erudition. Satisfied with Sienar's nod as a sign of agreement, I continued. "So I take it the idea about carbonite cooling systems is also their development?"
"A little industrial espionage never hurt anyone," the man didn't even bat an eye. "But my agents haven't achieved much success. 'MandalMotors' is closely linked with the radical group 'Death Watch' — essentially, except for the Mandalore government, they are their only buyers. The group is outlawed, but they keep the corporate secrets of their equipment's manufacturer sacredly."
"Why not buy the company then, 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 more than once. Despite demilitarization, their society is extremely unfriendly to outsiders. Their own, even though 'Death Watch' are terrorists of the purest water, they support unconditionally, albeit secretly from the government. This gave me certain thoughts..."
"Let me guess — the board of 'MandalMotors' are members of 'Death Watch'?"
"Those are only reflections," Sienar shrugged. "Truth is not for us outsiders to achieve. And hoping for help from one of the Mandalorians... is not wise."
"How convenient that I have my own Mandalorian," the thought flashed. "It seems Vizla's mission just got even harder."
"Well, I've heard the problem, Raith," I said, summing up our meeting, looking at the designer. "Leave the solution to the 'MandalMotors' issue to my conscience. Focus for now on the production of the 'Harrower' and interceptors. How soon can you launch them into serial production?"
Sienar, pulling the info chip from the reader, put it into the inner pocket of his jacket. Stroking his stubbly chin, he was silent for a few seconds, after which he said:
"Building ships in large series right now is premature. I think we should first assemble a few prototypes that we'll put through a set of tests. Identify malfunctions, eliminate flaws... I think within the next month, in a mode of strict secrecy, I can produce three fully equipped dreadnoughts with a full air wing. But it's best to conduct tests far from the curious eyes of the Republic. If I can still hide the construction of several large ships by covering it with a fake order from a remote neutral system, as soon as I lay down even a dozen dreadnoughts — tomorrow the entire Republic fleet will be at my slips. And testing systems in the Core Worlds could cost us that same interest from Mr. Isard's department..."
"You'll have a test range," I assured him. "I want all three new 'Harrowers' with the full IFS-TIE air wing in a month." Realizing its name had stuck, Sienar broke into a smile. "And provide half a dozen updated 'Furies'."
"As you command," Sienar gave a playful bow. "Since we've discussed the tasks set before me, perhaps we should discuss company business? The Muuns have recently increased their attention to my assets — after your 'Marauders' smashed several of their fleets."
I smirked.
"My friend, the Force tells me that tomorrow your factories will be producing an even larger number of these wonderful ships."
"Can that be considered an official order from the Moff of the 13th Sectorial Army?" my companion returned the smirk.
"Without any doubt, my friend. I need five hundred more..."
***
Scattering worthless clones left and right with his ax, Savage, like a predator making its path among a herd of banthas, rushed toward the target.
The Jedi.
He stood, clutching his lightsaber with both hands, with a proud gaze, regardless of the soldiers dying next to him.
Savage growled gutturally, sensing the proximity of the battle.
He had stepped over the corpses of three Jedi already, making his way to the communication tower where the Separatist relay was located.
Too weak. Too self-confident. An easy victory over unfeeling machines had made them careless.
He ended their lives without even breaking a sweat.
Bultar Swan.
Koffi Arana.
The names of his first victims, which he now savored like an exquisite dish. Their lightsabers were now dangling on his belt — he would present them as a gift to his new master. A sign that Count Dooku should appreciate.
Like a shadow he slipped through the Jedi camp, past the guards. Only at the base of the tower did he meet these two dead men who dared to propose that he surrender.
Fools. He took their lives like a reaper gathers his harvest.
But it cost him his incognito. The dying Jedi Koffi Arana managed to raise the alarm.
Opress blocked the armored entrance doors to the tower, destroying the control panel. Of course, the clones and the Jedi who joined them would soon break through — it was inevitable. Но к тому моменту он уже выполнит свое предназначение.
He didn't keep count of the clones killed — even as opponents they were alien to him. Victory over them is like taking a toy from a baby. It does no honor to a warrior. But it brings him closer to the cherished goal.
The battle had to be fought for every flight of stairs, for every platform of the tower. But with every fallen Republic clone, he moved up a step.
And now before him was only the communication room — a circular room with a transpari-steel roof, in the middle of which the relay antenna rose a good fifty meters through the transparent ceiling.
Stepping over the threshold, Savage stepped on the face of a wounded clone whose belly he had ripped open just a moment before. The pathetic copy of a Mandalorian lay on the floor for a few seconds, painstakingly holding his innards with his hands as they threatened to fall out.
He didn't even pay attention to the crunch of breaking bones. A precise strike with the sharp shaft of the ax into the control panel — and the armored shutter fell down, decapitating the clone.
A blue-skinned Jedi, clutching a lightsaber staff in his hands, looked sadly at the slaughtered clones, after which he said in a lecturer's tone.
"There is no honor in cruelty, Sith."
Savage ignored him, preferring to advance in silence, clutching his huge ax with both hands, with blood trickling from its blade onto the smooth floor of the communication room.
"Stop," the Jedi commanded. "Take even one step — and you're dead."
The Zabrak sniffed. The Jedi was not afraid, at least he was not panicking. He was cold, focused, confident. Not like those two who didn't even have time to squeak — the acolyte cut off the woman's head and pierced the man with the shaft.
This opponent would be more interesting.
Even though his career as an acolyte had begun not long ago, Opress had already realized that he liked killing members of the Order. Not only because Dooku ordered it — but because his own blood boiled from it.
Perhaps this Jedi would prove a worthy opponent.
He even exceeded the Zabrak in build — he towered over him by nearly a head. A kind of blue furry animal.
Savage lingered his gaze on the opponent's green blades for a second.
Then, just as silently, he brought down the vibro-ax strike, intending to end the fight with one blow.
However, the Jedi proved more agile than the killer expected. He stepped back, giving his weapon a spin as if creating a defensive field impenetrable for attack. However, Savage immediately landed a powerful blow that forced the Sith to step back slightly from the collision of his saber and the ax.
"You will lose, Sith!" the Jedi warned.
"If so," Savage thought, "for what purpose warn the opponent?"
This Jedi is as much of an empty shell as those who died before him.
Savage, having grasped only the basics of dealing with the Dark Side under the constant control of the Nightsister clan, concentrated, calling the Force to his aid. Baring his teeth, he swung the ax and rushed into the attack.
Ten minutes later, the lightsaber staff of Jedi Master Zustus Farr also dangled on his belt, and the communication room was ablaze after the explosion of several thermal detonators.
Savage, not really hiding, descended the tower's sheer wall and left Monastery on his ship, leaving the Jedi to mourn their worthless brothers.
***
Read the story months before public release — early chapters are on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Granulan