With a loud clang, the massive entrance door of the cantina swung open, letting gusts of an icy blizzard into the room.
The day-shift miners gathered inside, already well-loaded with cheap swill, cast glances of irritation and anger at the fool who had managed to annoy everyone present at once. None of the locals would have thought to open the cantina door while a blizzard raged outside — the establishment's fickle heating system could easily fail from the temperature drop. And then, the only place in the entire mining town where one could relax after a hard day's work would be on the verge of closing.
The mining brotherhood had formed here long ago. Long before the Mandalorian Wars, ice mined on Jebble was supplied to Taris, where it was wildly popular among the wealthy. But nearly four thousand years ago, the planet was subjected to nuclear bombardment by the Neo-Crusaders. The reason was an epidemic of the rakghoul plague, which had turned the planet's already sparse population into bloodthirsty monsters. Under the influence of the continuous bombardment, the ice cover turned to steam, and the planet was abandoned. And only fifteen hundred years ago, the ice returned. And it was still in demand — time had not spared Taris, and now precious water was brought to the planet, no longer as a luxury, but as a necessity.
The harsh climate of this world was reflected in its inhabitants — taciturn, morose, destitute — they came here for a piece of bread. And over the years, the desire to amass capital and escape, spending the rest of their days in idleness, only grew. Rumors of Neo-Crusader treasures circulated throughout the sector. Everyone wanted to get rich by discovering a rare starship or a nuclear warhead, for which buyers could always be found. Years passed, but only a few managed to escape the planet. The realization that most of the sentients who came here in search of profit would die right here, without ever getting rich, came slowly.
There were no old people here — backbreaking labor and harsh natural conditions left no chance for the sick and weak. And yet, they paid here — not much, but regularly and in hard currency.
With the start of the war, the Republic, in the person of Taris, needed more and more ice. Every few days, a convoy of Republic freighters landed on Jebble. Only during loading could the day and night shifts of miners vary their leisure time in any way. Changing one's tedious job as a prospector for the duties of a loader for half a day was the most common entertainment on the planet. In other worlds, robotic loaders were used for these purposes, but in this world, they simply froze stiff before they could be of any use in filling the ships' holds.
The next day, the caravan returned to Taris, and the settlement returned to its routine. The crews of the Republic ships preferred to stay aboard their starships, so guests in the cantina were rarer than a good mood from its owner. Thus, the appearance of a stranger, clearly not a local — otherwise, why the hell would he head to the cantina in a blizzard? — led the miners' alcohol-heated heads to a careful assessment of the newcomer.
He was of average height — about a head and a half to two heads shorter than the average miner. Even the fluffy, clearly new winter suit could not hide the fact that the newcomer's build was by no means heroic. From head to toe, he was dressed in polar gear — massive snowshoes, waterproof pants and jacket, an oxygen mask… Whoever he was, he had chosen equipment appropriate for the weather conditions.
The sentient stopped for a moment at the door, looking around at those present. Then, removing the hood and massive goggles from his face, he walked slowly toward the bar. Only upon reaching it did he deign to get rid of the mask and jacket.
An astonished gasp rippled through the ranks of the miners.
A girl.
Young, pretty. Her face bore no traces of weathering, and her slender hands, freed from the captive of massive mittens, spoke directly to the fact that mining labor was unknown to her.
Of course, the fairer sex was no rarity on Jebble. Но подобных красавиц тут не видали давно.
"You're not as easy to find as I'd like," the girl said in a dry but melodic voice, settling across from the bartender. "You could have at least put up a sign..."
The owner of the establishment, who also doubled as the bartender, merely shrugged noncommittally. The Devaronian didn't really care about the visitor's opinion.
The cantina had no name; and it didn't need one. None of the locals ever had trouble finding it. Jebble was a small world, and there was only one settlement on it. There were few places one could go: the mines, the colony, or the endless, featureless icy wastes. The mines were a massive complex including caves and tunnels dug into the ice, as well as treatment and processing facilities.
The spaceport was also located here. Freighters with shipments of ice on board landed there regularly — in strict accordance with the transport schedule. Usually, the berths — pits and warehouses carved into the millennia-old ice — held only service ships. When someone new arrived on the planet, it quickly became known — after all, it was a small world, and practically every inhabitant was always in sight. All the stranger, then, that the guest had not been known until now.
Just three hours ago, another caravan had departed from the planet — they delivered equipment and supplies to Jebble to prevent the mines from stopping. Workers who were no longer hardy enough to mine ice worked at the treatment plants and in the spaceport. They weren't paid as well as at the mines themselves, but they lived longer.
But regardless of where people worked, they all returned home to the same place at the end of their shifts. The colony was nothing more than a dilapidated town of temporary barracks, assembled by the company into a haphazard heap to house the several hundred workers developing the mines. Every building shimmered with the uniform, dull-gray hue of durasteel, weathered and worn, covered on the outside by a thick crust of ice. Inside, the buildings looked exactly the same — temporary dwellings of workers that had become far too permanent. Each had four small private rooms designed for two people, but more often housing three or more — the company could not afford to purchase new housing for the workers. Not because they lacked the ability — every caravan brought millions of dataries into the management's pockets. It was just that those in power didn't want to spend extra money to improve the quality of life for their near-slaves.
Sometimes entire families shared one of these small rooms — there wasn't much choice anyway. And paying grand sums to fix the situation was not in the honor of the businessmen. After all, no one asked them to produce offspring. In each room were bunks built into the wall, and the only door opened into a narrow corridor, at the end of which were communal toilets and a shower. The doors on poorly fitted hinges, which were never maintained, had a habit of creaking; the barely patched roofs invariably leaked whenever it rained. Windows broken in the past were sealed against the wind and cold and were never replaced. In short, anyone who had been to the planet and lived in such conditions for even a few months had an indescribable desire to get out and never return.
The colony itself stretched along both sides of the central square for only a kilometer, so one could walk from any building on one side to a similar one on the other in less than a standard hour — if the ubiquitous wind and frequent blizzards didn't interfere. If one ignored the terrifying similarity of the architecture, navigating the colony was not that difficult. The barracks were arranged lengthways and crossways in straight rows, forming a grid of unitary streets among identically positioned dwellings buried in snow. The residents had tried to keep things clean at first, but over time, the understanding came — the elements could not be overcome. And day by day, the colony became more like a concentration of snowdrifts. However, those who had lived here longer saw the snowbanks around their homes as a blessing — the dense drifts helped keep heat inside the structures, which in turn helped save on electricity.
The snow-covered streets were trodden day after day by workers rushing to their shift or returning from it. However, an inquisitive mind could discover mountains of trash among the numerous snows — thanks to the constant negative temperatures, the colonists had no need to fear the decomposition of household waste. And the residents of the colony didn't bother to haul trash containers to the outskirts where a dump had been equipped by the company many years ago.
In the entire settlement, there were only two buildings that differed at least somewhat from the others. One was the company store — the only one in this world. Huge sums had once been spent on its creation, and for hundreds of years, the spacious dome-shaped building remained the only place in the colony where the lighting stayed on at night. The assortment of goods could have amazed even the residents of the Outer Rim with its scarcity, but the locals were glad for even this. Of course, when they had enough money to buy something more than standard food packs.
The only entrance to the store was lit by a bright lamp that, like a beacon in the night, attracted rare customers — trade, despite the small number of buyers, occurred around the clock. However, locals often wandered in here simply to warm up before continuing their journey. Located strictly in the center of the settlement, the store could accommodate even a hundred buyers if desired, thanks to the spacious hall, but more than a dozen rarely gathered here.
The store manager, being an employee of the ice mining company, met visitors with a routine "working" smile. Knowing the miners' tightness for credits, he kindly allowed them to buy his goods on credit. A high interest rate was invariably charged on purchases against future wages. This guaranteed that the buyers, working off their acquisitions, would spend even more hours in the mines.
The cantina, which the accidental traveler had wandered into, was the second "attraction" of Jebble. The establishment had been built about a hundred years ago by the ancestors of the current owner on the edge of town and was located on the opposite end from the main buildings of the colony, at the furthest edge of the gray weave of barracks. It had only two floors, and since every other structure was limited to only one, it reigned over the surrounding landscape. The lower floor was accessible to all clients and visitors, while the owner's private residence was on the upper floor. Few visited there, as the Devaronian did not suffer from an excess of communication. However, visitors did occasionally appear there — those rare lucky ones who managed to find something valuable in the ice monoliths. Under the terms of the contract, the miners were supposed to turn over everything found to company representatives, but the latter offered mere pittance. The Devaronian, of course, was not famous for generosity, but he offered a much higher price. It was no wonder that it was to him that the lucky ones turned to sell their finds. Certainly, the company knew about this and had tried more than once to squeeze the competitor off the planet — and every time, it ended in riots among the miners. As soon as the company began to interfere with the cantina's work, the owner closed the establishment. And as a consequence — not a week passed without the angered miners, perfectly understanding which way the wind was blowing, dealing the company a "counterstrike." Often, these were "accidental" collapses of ice blocks onto equipment in the mines. It was practically impossible to repair it on the spot, so the company had to evacuate the affected equipment to the spaceport and from there to Taris. This cost an insane amount of credits, so now the company management preferred not to interfere in the cantina's affairs — otherwise, they had to suffer significant losses. In the end, it wasn't that often that anything was found. And very rarely was the sum from the sale of a find enough for someone to leave the colony.
However, there was something the colony management did not know. Otherwise, they would not have spared the expense to forcibly take what the night shift had delivered to the Devaronian a week ago. Of course, if he had settled the account immediately, this fact would have surfaced instantly. But that's why the cantina owner was an experienced dealer — he never bought anything sight unseen. To analyze the value of a find, he needed time.
"And what is such a beauty doing in this hole?" Siting down next to the stranger, Des — the night shift supervisor — hit the girl with a characteristic smell: a mixture of cheap swill and male sweat. Along with his subordinates, he was relaxing after a hard day's work, sparing no expense — like the store manager, the cantina owner was not averse to serving a visitor on credit.
"I'm interested in antiquities," the girl answered evasively. She gestured to the bartender for a bottle of good alcohol, which caused extreme surprise among everyone present. The drink cost five times more than anywhere else in the galaxy, and even the company management, who occasionally had a glass or two in the cantina, didn't allow themselves the extravagance of purchasing an entire bottle. "They say one can find many interesting things on Jebble."
Des nearly burst out laughing upon hearing this. Almost all newcomers said such phrases. After which they spent decades in the mines in a vain attempt to find at least something.
But as soon as the first chuckle escaped his lips, all subsequent ones got stuck in his throat like a lump. He never backed down from a fight, and what was there to hide — he was the instigator in many of them. A man two meters tall, with a bald skull, a massive face, and musculature that three decades of continuous labor had turned into one of the most muscular men in the mines, he could have made a career as a bouncer or hired on with any mercenary squad. However, he was too stupid and lazy to change anything. Like everyone else here, he was waiting for his score and strongly hoped that the latest find would change not only his fate but the future lives of all his boys.
However, now, when the stranger looked at him, a guardian angel seemed to wake up in Des's brain. With all his might, he screamed to the man that before him sat not just a miniature beauty whom he had first wanted to charm and have a good time with. There seemed to be a huge internal strength in the girl that splashed in her pupils. Instincts told Des that she was not to be trifled with. How such a small human female could harm him, he didn't know, but despite being heavily intoxicated, he preferred to act cautiously.
"Ahem," clearing his throat, the bartender drew attention to himself. "Anyway, I have something. I don't know if it's what you're looking for..."
"I'm looking for something very specific," the girl said coldly, filling a glass with the amber liquid. "Dreypa's Oubliette."
The silence that had reigned in the cantina since her arrival erupted into truly Homeric laughter.
There wasn't a person on the planet who didn't want to discover this ancient artifact. The aura of mystery that had formed around it over millennia could compete only with the legends of the immense riches hidden inside. It was whispered that the Mandalorians had hidden their most valuable items in it when the rakghoul plague broke out on the planet. However, among the miners were also those who believed in the old fairy tale that a Jedi was frozen inside. Of course, a sentient is not treasure that can be liquidated for a large sum. But if the latter were right after all, then the Order would not be stingy in thanking the finder. In any case, a truly huge reward awaited the lucky one — and a way off this cursed ice ball. However, if that were true, the Jedi themselves would be conducting excavations here. So, personally, Des leaned toward the thought that a treasure was indeed hidden in the oubliette.
Despite millennia of searching and numerous conflicts between miners, the ice shell reliably kept its secrets. More than one generation of seekers had passed, but no one had achieved a result. Perhaps this was due to the fact that few now had an idea of what the artifact actually looked like — over hundreds of years, this information had been reliably lost.
The Devaronian smiled condescendingly.
"Many seek it," he admitted. "But so far..."
"The last sentient who knew what that thing looked like died ten centuries ago," Des grumbled. With a nod of his head, he asked the bartender to give him another mug of local beer. Sipping the chilled drink, he allowed himself to smile. Fear of the stranger receded into the background. Alcohol dulls the senses...
"Then I am incredibly lucky," the girl, with an imperceptible gesture, extracted a miniature holographic projector from her pocket, over which a blue image of a rectangular object began to shine in the next instant...
"Hutt," the Devaronian hissed through his teeth. He tried to snatch the device from the girl, but she was faster. Twisting the alien's wrist at an angle, she rose slightly from her seat.
"Apparently, I've come to the right place," the girl smirked. She burned Des with a warning look as he reached for the device. The miner, licking his parched lips, cast a glance at his comrades who, attracted by the scuffle at the bar, were already rising from their seats.
Two dozen tough guys, fueled by more alcohol than necessary to handle a girl and a bartender. In his mind, Des had already calculated that the cantina owner could never pay even a remotely acceptable price for the artifact that had been in his warehouse for a week. The girl... Of course, she was dressed first-class, but how many credits did she have in her pocket?
All that was needed now was to take his find from the Devaronian. He could get a datapad at the store on credit and pay for HoloNet access. After which, it was simple — post photos of the find on any auction. And wait until a buyer with money showed up... He just had to keep everything a secret...
"Where is the oubliette?" the girl inquired coldly. Des gave the cantina owner a warning look. A direct and obvious threat could be read in his gaze.
"Never seen anything like it," the miner said as neutrally as possible. The girl swept him with an indifferent gaze, after which she increased the pressure on the Devaronian's wrist. Crying out, he began to shake all over.
"If I press a little more, I'll break your wrist and two bones," the girl warned.
"Drop it," Des said as indifferently as possible. "He doesn't know anything, and neither do we," the man pointed to his colleagues.
"What you're looking for," the bartender forced out, "I've never seen!"
"Really?" the girl smirked. "Then why do you want my projector?"
"W-wanted it for myself," the cantina owner groaned. "Miners bring a lot of things for sale. I thought if I had this thing, I could recognize the oubliette and buy it cheap."
Des licked his lips again. Although he was separated from the stranger by less than a meter, he was still considering how to immobilize her. Her posture, her movements — everything betrayed remarkable training. And right now, he quite reasonably doubted whether he could overcome such an opponent. However, he only needed to start — and the boys would join in. He didn't doubt that. And he could explain things to them later.
"He's holding up pretty well," the man thought, glancing at the establishment's owner writhing in pain. "And he quickly understood what's what. There's no point in giving him a share, of course — let him sit on this little planet and keep fooling simpletons. And as soon as the buyer flies in..."
The realization was like a blow to the head during a good brawl.
"You flew here on your own ship, didn't you?" he inquired as innocently as possible.
"That doesn't matter," the girl snapped. She didn't even look at the speaker, continuing to stare intently into the horror-filled eyes of the alien. He writhed in pain, but strangely — he didn't look away from his tormentor.
All of this seemed wrong to Des. Too bold, too open... He would never have done it that way himself. However, the girl was likely alone, and he always had the entire day shift at hand, the core of whom were now unambiguously watching the proceedings. The boys understood perfectly what he intended. They were only waiting for his command.
"Ah..." the girl drawled, smiling. For the first time all evening. "There it is!"
A second later, with a sickening crunch, the bartender's face, contorted in pain, turned so that his extinguished gaze could see what was happening behind his back. In the next moment, the girl released her grip, and the alien's limp body fell behind the bar with a crash. And it didn't rise again.
A chill ran down Des's spine.
He had heard many tall tales about the abilities of the Jedi — including the mythical Force. One of his friends told a story that happened to a distant acquaintance of his. That man had worked on Galidraan about twenty-five years ago and told a story about how a few Jedi had hacked Mandalorians into tiny pieces. Not some pacifists or mercenaries, but True Mandalorians, for whom war was the meaning of life itself. The instinct for self-preservation made Des take a few steps back. The stranger, shaking her elegant head, slowly swept all those present with a heavy gaze.
"I'm taking the oubliette anyway," she warned. "And we can do it the easy way — and then you can leave this place obscenely rich. Or the hard way," a cylindrical object appeared in her hands. It was about half a meter long, but Des could bet his life that this seemingly harmless toy was deadly.
But right now, all the attention of those gathered was focused on the holographic projector lying forlornly on the bar. A three-dimensional image of the recent find was slowly rotating above it, so that anyone interested could see in detail what they had extracted from the deepest shaft a week ago.
"And also," a voice came from the back rows. "We can take your ship and sell our find ourselves in any market in the galaxy."
Des thought with horror that one of his drunken friends had voiced what he had been thinking a minute ago. Only a persistent sense of danger prevented him from giving the signal to attack. While the bartender was alive.
One look at his colleagues made it clear that they liked this option better. The thirst for profit, backed by years of titanic labor, and the anticipation of a carefree life clouded their eyes.
With a slight hiss, a cold golden glow appeared from the hilt of the lightsaber pike.
"Then," the red-haired stranger concluded, "it will be the hard way..."
The heat of the moment reached its peak.
At the same time as the drunken crowd rushed at the bartender's ruthless killer, Des dashed headlong for the entrance door.
He didn't care that there was a fierce blizzard outside and that death from hypothermia could catch him long before he reached the nearest house.
He was terrified, and ancient instincts demanded that he save his life. After all, one could find many valuable things in the mines and get off the planet later.
Alive.
It took him a couple of seconds to cross the cantina and grab the door with his hands. His developed musculature needed only one more second to jerk open the only path to salvation.
But a lightsaber pike with an amber blade, thrown by a trained hand, cut him in half a moment before he could do so.
Describing an arc, the weapon returned to Kira's hand.
Just as the first wave of attackers approached close enough to end their worthless lives.
***
There was not the slightest doubt in her actions.
Only the efficient destruction of those who stood between her and the fulfillment of the Lord's mission.
If this had happened a week ago, she would undoubtedly have hesitated, trying to find a less bloody way out of the situation.
Now, however, she was not constrained by Jedi dogmas.
Now before her were only two dozen obstacles.
Without hesitation, Kira, giving herself entirely to the Dark Side, severed limbs and cut the drunken miners into pieces. From the very first seconds of the slaughter, the air in the cantina was filled with the stench of scorched meat.
The energy blade crushed the men without mercy, severing parts of all sizes from their bodies. Cauterized wounds only delayed death — Kira spared no one.
Any survivor was a witness. A threat of exposure.
She would not allow such a thing. Everyone present must die, and this place itself must perish. No traces. After her work, not a single thread would remain that could help those investigating what happened here to understand what had truly occurred.
Fortunately, there are many individuals in this galaxy who know how to wield lightsabers. Well, and if the blame still falls on the Order...
For a moment, Kira hesitated. Her consciousness stubbornly told her that the Jedi were her family, who had taken in the fugitive, trained her, and set her on the right path.
The delay was enough for one of the survivors to manage to throw a glass mug at her.
The blow struck her head — the only place not covered by thick clothing and light armor underneath.
Sparks flew before her eyes, and she felt something warm flowing down the right side of her face.
Her nostrils drew in the salty smell of blood.
Her blood.
The girl felt heat spreading through her body.
Rage.
An almost forgotten feeling.
A scorching wave of the Dark Side swept away all nostalgic memories of her Jedi past. There is no Light Side.
The Jedi will have to accept the Unified Force — just as she did on Nar Shaddaa. They will either all become the Lord's associates or die at the hands of the Sith and their puppets.
It cannot be any other way.
Such is her Master's plan.
As soon as the rage bubbling within her reached its peak, Kira allowed it to pour out through her fingertips.
Force Lightning, destructive and at the same time mesmerizingly beautiful, poured forward, filling the entire space of the cantina. The few survivors, struck by the Dark Side technique, were now falling to the floor, writhing in pain.
Kira inhaled their suffering with a gasp, enjoying it. As she had done hundreds of times during training on Dromund Kaas in her childhood. She had escaped the fate of becoming Vitiate's puppet in the past. Now, she serves the apprentice of her former Emperor. It was meant to be.
The circle was closed. And she was obliged to serve the one who would bring peace and stability to the galaxy.
Only after smoke began to rise from the charred bodies and the stench of burnt flesh became simply unbearable did Carsen stop the execution.
Surveying the site of the slaughter, she noted with indifference that no survivors remained. And since that was the case...
The girl closed her eyes for a moment, visualizing in her mind the location of the oubliette as obtained from the bartender's mind.
As soon as the image formed, she thrust out her free hand. Clenching her fingers into a fist, she noted with a smile how a section of the cantina's ceiling collapsed with a deafening roar.
With a casual gesture, she used the Force to disperse the dust over the spot where the floors had collapsed.
A matte-black box with regular geometric shapes. A strip of indicators on the side. Paint worn by time and temperature drops... But the contents...
Kira concentrated, directing the Force beneath the oubliette's shell. Penetrating through multiple layers of metal and electronics, she finally reached the interior.
A young woman immersed in stasis. Regular features, a long black braid. Outdated armor over a young body. And a simple ornament on it...
Satisfied with her findings, Kira tucked the lightsaber hilt into her sleeve. Putting on her mittens, mask, and goggles, she pulled the hood over her head.
Then, gauging the direction of the Fury waiting for her return, the former Child of the Emperor broke through one of the cantina walls with a powerful Force Push and walked slowly toward the exit. The oubliette, caught by the Force, levitated noiselessly behind her.
The mission was almost complete. And only that mattered.
The blizzard raging outside the walls of the damaged cantina was no hindrance to her. The Force reliably protected her from the annoying snowflakes. Without any trouble, under the cover of the impenetrable night, Kira vanished into the blizzard, taking with her the only truly valuable thing on the planet.
Only an explosion an hour later, which leveled the remains of the cantina to the ground, woke the peacefully slumbering residents. But by then, the Fury, lightened by the mass of two strike missiles, was already rising to the upper layers of the atmosphere, hidden from casual eyes by cloaking fields.
***
"Despite this, friends," the Chancellor's hologram rolled its eyes. "The problem cannot be ignored."
Those gathered looked at one another.
"We understand your concern with the current situation, Supreme Chancellor," Mace answered restrainedly.
"Oh, my friend," Palpatine raised his hands conciliatorily. "This is by no means my whim. The Senate demands decisive action from me. Senator Orn Free Taa gave a whole speech yesterday at an emergency session about the grievous state of his homeland. And he found many supporters ready to back him on the issue of an immediate military operation to end the occupation of the planet. Even more unrest in the Senate is caused by the situation with the resumption of droid factory operations on Geonosis. Believe me, I am making every effort to give you time to regroup your forces, but even my efforts are becoming insufficient."
In the silence of the Temple's tactical room at that moment, only the hum of communication equipment could be heard. And the grinding of Master Windu's teeth.
The protracted nature of the war led to more and more focal points of tension between the Jedi Order and the Senate. Calls for the necessity of a swift defeat of the Confederacy's forces and the liberation of thousands of worlds currently under the heel of the enemy's mechanical soldier were heard more and more frequently from Palpatine's supporters. Master Windu had tried more than once to appeal to the voice of reason, proving that in the current situation, offensive actions would lead to even greater difficulties. The failed operation on Jabiim, the ongoing siege of Foerost, the confrontation on Arakene — these were vivid examples of the consequences of ill-considered attacks.
And now, the Supreme Chancellor was not asking but demanding strikes against specific targets. This could not help but strain the Jedi High Council.
However, there was another reason for the cooling of relations between Palpatine and the Council.
The soft, kind-hearted Chancellor was rapidly concentrating more and more power in his hands. Time and again, as the dust of another crisis settled, the Senate, with hysterical screams, demanded that the Nabooian take even more responsibility upon his shoulders. Which the latter did.
Not two months had passed since the terrorist attack in the Administrative District of Coruscant. Four powerful explosions had thundered, seriously damaging not only the buildings of the Central and Appellate Courts but also the Senate's departmental housing. Thousands of victims, chaos, riots… The horror that gripped the Republic's capital was so all-encompassing that no one on the Council was surprised by the urgent Senate session.
Master Windu, who had attended this "event," was a terrifying sight upon his return. The phlegmatic Korun could find no words to describe what had happened. While most issues required almost years of consideration from the Senate, a package of laws to strengthen defensive measures on Coruscant and increase control over public life by authorities was passed in the first reading by a majority of votes. Even the Loyalist Committee, which included the Order's friends — Bail Organa and Padmé Amidala — supported their colleagues. This inevitably led to the elevation of Palpatine himself. And this could not help but trouble the Masters.
The search for the unknown Sith mentioned by Count Dooku in a conversation with Obi-Wan Kenobi had yielded no results. Although none of the shadows had abandoned this occupation, no one expected to find the instigator of this war in the foreseeable future.
"We cannot do this," the Grand Master said in a stern tone. "Heavy battles are going on across the galaxy. Difficult it is to find reserves for attacks."
"My friend," the Chancellor looked sympathetically at the short Jedi, "do you really want to tell me that we will leave the Twi'lek home world to be plundered and allow the Geonosians to continue building their monstrous weapons of death?"
"Master Yoda meant that the Order is closely occupied with planning operations in these directions," Windu said coldly. "But at the present moment, we simply have nowhere to get a sufficient number of Star Destroyers to not only break through the enemy's defense but also to land army units sufficient for conducting ground operations."
Adi Gallia, the third and last Master of the High Council currently present on Coruscant, sighed heavily.
For almost a month, the CIS had been testing the strength of practically all active sectoral armies. Thousands of enemy starships, millions of droids — and this entire armada had collapsed upon the Jedi and the clones. The galaxy burned wherever there were hyperspace routes. At the cost of incredible losses, they managed to contain this incredible, large-scale enemy offensive. Of course, many worlds had to be abandoned, and the thousands killed on the battlefields would become an eternal reminder of the relentless cruelty of war.
But now, when every army was "licking its wounds" and the reserve armies were literally squeezed dry and bled for the benefit of their most affected "colleagues," following the Chancellor's will — to carry out an attack on Geonosis and Ryloth no later than in two weeks and finally consolidate their power over these territories — was pure suicide.
"Friends," the Chancellor folded his hands at his waist, "I would be glad to give you time to build up military strength, but the Senate Bureau of Intelligence reports that if we do not intervene immediately, the Geonosians will send tens of millions of droids into the army — and everything we have achieved with such great sacrifice will be in vain. And if we allow the Techno Union to continue oppressing the Twi'leks, we will have to live the rest of our days with a sense of guilt for starving millions of sentients to death in CIS concentration camps on Ryloth. I.. I am not ready to take on such a huge responsibility."
The Chancellor's voice trembled. The mask of an experienced politician cracked, and beneath it, the Masters could notice the same good-natured senator from Naboo who tirelessly defended the principles of the Republic.
"The 'Red Tails' have suffered serious losses since the start of the war," Adi Gallia reminded him. "The remnants of the sectoral fleet are concentrated at Essarga; fortunately, after the second battle, the planet is under our control. But they are clearly insufficient to break through the defense of even one world. In the orbits of either of these planets are full-strength squadrons of enemy capital ships. Moff Ravik has a little more than two dozen Star Destroyers under his command, with heavy damage, holding the remnants of his oversector's territory."
"The Moff has already reported the current situation," the Chancellor said coldly. "But it does not change the overall picture. The failures of the 14th Sectorial Army's command are yet to be reviewed by a Senate commission. But this does not relieve us of the responsibility for an immediate de-blockade..."
"The Council understands this better than anyone," Windu snapped. "But the galactic front is literally holding on with its last strength. The first reinforcements to the sectoral armies will arrive no sooner than in a month — and only after that can we talk about Ryloth and Geonosis."
"Just this morning I had a conversation with the director of the Senate Security Service," Palpatine squinted. "And he presented me with some curious information..."
"Hear it we would like," Yoda folded his hands at the end of his cane.
Together with the two other Masters, he stared silently at the Chancellor's hologram, waiting for an answer.
The paradox that had formed would be funny if it weren't sad.
Republican intelligence, as a unified body, was a myth.
On paper, of course, everything was simple — intelligence, and that's it.
But in practice, what you might call a "circus with horses" began. The Grand Army of the Republic possessed its own military intelligence — both tactical and strategic. The first, as always, were the clones. Specially educated and trained, they were indispensable on the battlefield. If you needed to pay a visit to the enemy's rear — the clones went there. The second were numerous scattered units consisting predominantly of Bothans, who worked undercover in every somewhat significant corner of the galaxy, gathering information piece by piece. Most of the intelligence data about proposed CIS operations came from them.
But the Senate had its own intelligence service. Which was headed by Armand Isard. The Bureau of Intelligence worked directly for the Chancellor and reported everything to him. It was Palpatine who possessed the full extent of the information, and it was up to him to decide whether to inform the army command or the Jedi Council of what his people had discovered.
However, the war had already shown how unproductive such duplication of work was. About a month ago, a bill was introduced to the Senate for consideration, according to which (if one removed all the accompanying "filler" from the document), after its signing, the Senate Bureau of Intelligence would take over the entire Bothan network. Unity of command in this field would allow for an optimization of information exchange, and as a consequence — should improve the saturation of sectoral armies with fresh, and most importantly, still relevant data.
"Isard is certain that it is possible to strike Ryloth and Geonosis as early as in a week," Palpatine said softly. The Chancellor's eyes followed the Masters' reaction with curiosity. And seeing their lack of understanding, he continued. "And that is taking into account the time for careful planning."
"The Council realizes this better than anyone," Windu cut him off. "But we need at least a month to prepare a new invasion group."
"I am afraid we do not have that time," Palpatine shook his head. "The intelligence data is quite transparent."
"When the necessary forces appear," Yoda folded both hands on his cane and slightly twitched his ears. "Immediately act we will..."
Silence reigned in the room for a moment. The Masters showed the Chancellor in every way that the communication session should end. Palpatine, in turn, looked at each of them as if he wanted to say something.
"I am afraid," the Chancellor finally said. "Delay will only breed new squabbles in the Senate, and dissatisfaction with the Order will only intensify."
Adi licked her parched lips.
The first year of the war had passed, to put it mildly, ambiguously. Many abandoned planets, millions dead. The Guardians of Peace were making incredible efforts to prevent the CIS droids from breaking through into the heart of the Republic and arranging a slaughter similar to Jabiim, Mimban...
The public had finally gone berserk after the terrorist attack in the Administrative District of Coruscant. Power failure, chaos, riots… A strike in the very heart of the Republic — there is nothing more terrifying for the citizens' consciousness. Thus, in such a cynical way, understanding that the destruction and death of war were not happening somewhere out there, on the outskirts, but could also happen here, in the most protected place in the Republic.
"The 'Iron Lance' can help the 'Red Tails' in conducting these two operations," a new sentient intervened in the conversation.
Until now, he had stood silently by the only window in the room. Folding his arms across his chest, he had watched the sunset rolling over the Republic capital.
Adi looked at the Jedi in surprise. In a black cloak with silver trim, clad from head to toe in armor, the Master had been silent for a good half hour. He had not reminded them of his presence for so long that the Master had even managed to forget about him. And this, despite the fact that the Chancellor had contacted the Council exactly during the report of the newly appointed commander of the 13th Sectorial Army.
Seeing the gazes directed at him, the Jedi walked to the tactical terminal.
"Chancellor," he gave a slight nod of his head in greeting.
"Glad to see you in good health, Moff," the Tholothian noted out of the corner of her eye how the muscles on Master Windu's face twitched at the mention of the Jedi Master's new appointment. "It is pleasant to realize that you think more optimistically than the esteemed Masters. Но, если я правильно помню, ваш флот серьезно поврежден в последних сражениях и с трудом может справиться с собственными задачами, не говоря уже о поддержке соседних сверхсекторов."
"Indeed, my army has suffered serious losses — both in personnel and in the fleet. But we have a certain reserve of ships that have not yet been requested."
"Are your friends from Christophsis ready to hand over an entire fleet to you again?" Windu inquired sarcastically.
Master Gallia sighed softly.
The Korun's dislike for the ambiguous Jedi was widely known on the Council.
Mace did not trust the newly appointed Moff. The rapid career growth of the latter was a subject of gossip for all inhabitants of the Temple — from Younglings to Masters. And unlike the Master, the others saw nothing wrong with the comprehensive aid of the Christophsis government. On the contrary, in such dark times for the Order, knowing that there was a place in the galaxy where the Jedi were not only not despised but immensely adored was pleasant. It meant not all was lost for the reputation of the Jedi, who were dying by the thousands on the battlefields.
The Tholothian thought sadly of the fallen.
In the ten months of the war, more than three thousand members of the Order had died — Masters, Knights, Padawans… About another thousand had gone into voluntary exile in protest against the start of the war and the participation of Jedi in it.
Almost irreparable losses.
With pain in her heart, she met every piece of news about the death of yet more Jedi — and the longer the war lasted, the faster the losses grew. And the more deserted it became beneath the vaults of the Temple. Looking upon the thousands of Younglings, the young Master imagined with horror who would teach them after the war ended.
Undoubtedly, those who survived the horrors of the war would never again be the same Guardians of Peace. Dozens of battles would impose their own, indelible burden on them, which would certainly be reflected in the teaching methods of the rising generations.
The Grand Master was right. A dark time had come for the Order.
"No," Dougan undoubtedly felt the undisguised dislike from the Korun. However, he ignored him. "This time, Christophsis is not helping us. It's enough that they have taken over the repair of a significant portion of the damaged ships."
"And they are building new ones for you," the Chancellor reminded them.
No doubt Palpatine knew of the hundreds of ships laid down on the slips of Rendili by order of Christophsis. Similar information had been reported to the Council by its own spies. The trend by which an armada comparable to those of several system armies would fall into private hands was deemed dangerous by the Masters. But so far, the spies were only monitoring the situation. As long as the ships and volunteers of Christophsis went directly into the "Iron Lance," it suited everyone. The army's huge area of responsibility justified such steps — especially since Hutt Space was always a source of trouble. Of course, a treaty of alliance had been concluded, and the bandits strictly observed all its points on their side. Their services in restoring war-torn worlds and supporting refugees were truly invaluable. But few in the Order doubted that at the first convenient opportunity, the Hutts would attack. And then, to stop their armadas, much more than a standard fleet of an oversector would be required.
"Let them build," Dougan shrugged. "These ships strengthen our squadrons, and moreover — quite unobtrusively for the oversector's budget. And the released funds will always find a use in the purchase of new batches of clones and military equipment. We need much — medical stations, orbital repair docks… I will not weary you with an enumeration; you know the state of the army as well as I do."
"Indeed," Palpatine smiled. "Let us return to discussing your statement about helping in the attacks on Ryloth and Geonosis. Where do you get ships if those in the oversector need repair?"
The Chancellor voiced the question that interested everyone present without exception. Adi prepared herself to listen to the Master.
"Sectoral Command Directive 218-037," the Master said. Then he explained: "The battle at Kamino cost us a great deal. To repel Admiral Merai's attack, we had to involve significant forces from that same 14th Sectorial Army. Three months after that, Sectoral Command ordered the organization of protection for worlds of strategic importance — including Kamino. Moff Baulyur directed practically a third of all ships he had to the defense of Kamino — a hundred starships, half of which were Star Destroyers. The rest were patrol corvettes."
"Master Shaak Ti reported on this," the Grand Master said thoughtfully.
"I remember the reason for this step," interest in Dougan's words appeared in the Chancellor's eyes. "But only Sectoral Command can dispose of this fleet — the danger of losing Kamino is too great."
"Command has used ships from this fleet twice," the Moff continued. "First, to break the blockade of Christophsis, then — for Master Windu's attempt to break through to Ryloth to help the besieged group. Both times — unsuccessfully. The result — about thirty ships were lost — Venator- and Acclamator-class. At the moment, there are two dozen of the latter and eight of the former in Kamino's orbit. In fully operational condition. These ships can be used to destroy the orbital groupings at Geonosis and Ryloth."
"But then we would endanger the security of Kamino," Gallia noted reasonably.
"I perhaps agree with the Master," the Chancellor said, stroking his chin with his fingers. "Too risky an undertaking. As soon as the Separatists find out that Kamino is defenseless..."
"This risk is justified by the current situation," Dougan insisted. "The 'Iron Lance' has withstood the onslaught of a much more serious opponent. Our front is stable, and all hyperspace routes are patrolled by combat units. There are no major enemy formations in my army's area of responsibility. The nearest large groupings are exactly in the orbits of Geonosis and Ryloth. So, neutralizing the threat coming from them is in our own interest. Besides, it is our duty — to help Moff Ravik as he helped us."
"And yet, it is a dubious undertaking," the Chancellor said thoughtfully. "Kamino will be open to a sudden attack."
"But at the same time," Windu unexpectedly said, "it is a real opportunity to strike the blockaded worlds. If we win, it will calm the Senate and ease the situation on the front as a whole."
"Maybe so," the Chancellor pondered. "You know, Jedi Master, there's something to that. The enemy knows our forces are insufficient to strike and will not expect such a risky venture. I, of course, am not strong in the military arts, but I believe Moff Dougan's proposal deserves attention, Master Yoda."
"Think over this proposal we will," the Grand Master said softly.
"I hope for your prudence, Masters," the Chancellor replied immediately, with a tired smile. "On this, please excuse me — a wonderful performance is being given at the Opera today. Masters Yoda, Windu, Gallia," he bowed respectfully to each of them, and the Jedi responded in kind. "Moff Dougan."
For a moment it seemed to Adi that before the end of the session, the Chancellor looked excessively intently at Master Dougan, standing like a silent monolith by the holoterminal. But she wouldn't have sworn to it.
***
As soon as the Chancellor's hologram disappeared, clearing the holographic terminal, silence hung in the tactical room.
Each of those present was thinking about something of their own, but without doubt, the thoughts revolved around the latest events. The Chancellor's request-order could not help but raise alarms.
Ryloth had been under occupation for several months. Yes, the situation of the locals was unenviable, but by no means as critical as it seemed to the politicians. Despite the defeat of Master Ima-Gun Di's ground group and the construction on the planet of a huge factory for the production of battle droids, overall the situation was far from critical. Of course, a humanitarian catastrophe is a terrible disaster. Convoys with supplies and medicines proved too small in number to rectify the situation on an entire planet. But the Order's intelligence was entirely certain that the population's strong ties with the underworld were a reliable barrier against the planet's destruction.
In light of this, Senator Orn Free Taa's hysteria about a possible crisis in his homeland was incomprehensible.
"Dark times for the Republic have come," Master Yoda sighed sadly.
"As they have for the Order," Dougan replied. Like an ancient battle droid, no emotions came from him. Но каждый из магистров знал, насколько смертоносен этот джедай на поле боя.
Few of the modern Jedi could boast that they could kill two followers of the Dark Side at once. And to stand as an equal in a lightsaber duel with Sora Bulq himself... That is worth a lot.
"Master Dougan," Windu said unperturbedly. "You should continue your report on the state of affairs in the sectoral army."
"As you command, Master," the Jedi bowed slightly.
"At the present moment, we have a serious shortage of personnel and ships — only a quarter of the authorized strength is in service. Sectoral Command has approved my proposal to increase the army's strength by another two-thirds..."
"In what way?" Adi frowned.
"Previously, we acted according to the norms of the early periods of the war," Dougan explained. "But with the addition of Hutt Space to our area of responsibility, the situation has become more complicated. We have increased our theater of military operations both through the alliance with them and through victories over the Separatists. To prevent the crisis of the start of the war, we should have much more massive army and fleet forces."
"As far as I know, your appropriation was not increased," Windu squinted. "And your forward purchases will go toward paying off loans to Moff Trachta. How do you intend to realize your ambitious plans?"
Yoda was silent, but it was clear from his face that he was interested in the same question.
"I intend to direct most of the funds to the purchase of clones — both line infantry and crews for the ships. Elder Iselle has informed me that in the coming month, Rendili will be able to supply up to fifty Hammerheads to the army. Sienar, in the same period, will send us twice as many Marauder-class corvettes..."
"The Council does not approve of your business relationship with that supplier," Yoda shook his head. "He has been seen trading with both sides, and besides, that corvette of yours is not approved by the Senate Commission on Armament."
"With all due respect to the senators," the Jedi Master said with clear irony, "Sienar's ships have proven themselves in space battles in the best way. Their missile armament helps us neutralize the CIS superiority in starfighters. As for trade with the Separatists — it seems to me that is a matter for military intelligence. Let them figure out what's what. My business is concern for the army."
"Are those ships reliable?" Yoda inquired.
"They handle the tasks set before them, Grand Master. They cost less than any Star Destroyer, but their area of application is much wider."
"And yet, you are not giving up the use of Acclamators and Venators," Gallia recalled the latest intelligence reports.
"Exactly so," the Jedi nodded. "With the establishment of a lull on the front, I have reorganized my forces, moving to a tactic of mobile units. Capital ships — destroyers or light cruisers — become the flagships of such detachments. Escort ships — a pair of Hammerheads and Marauders, a medical ship. Such a grouping is quite capable of opposing the main Separatist detachments, consisting mostly of Munificent-class frigates."
"Such a tactic will not work if the enemy moves powerful formations against you," Windu countered.
"That is exactly why, upon receiving new ships, I will complete the existing strike squadrons. It is they who will conduct offensive operations in the future. By creating strong points and refueling stations in the controlled territory, I will create a deeply echeloned defense network where the strike squadrons will be the core and the mobile units will be the periphery. Thus, in the event of a clash with small enemy forces, the MUs will be able to handle it themselves. If we clash with large forces — the squadrons will come into play."
"You have a large area of responsibility," Windu reminded him. "Will you have enough strength for such actions?"
"At the present moment — the available forces are only enough for patrolling. As I said, most of the ships are in repair, and to accelerate it, much needs to be done. But if the schedule for the delivery of ships and clones is not disrupted, then the plan will be executed exactly."
"It seems you have a plan for every occasion," Adi smiled.
"The war obliges one to be ready for everything, Master Gallia," Dougan bowed politely in response to the compliment. "I try not to sacrifice my subordinates in vain. Speaking of which..."
"Does something trouble you, Jedi Master?" the Grand Master inquired.
"The matter concerns the Jedi attached to me," he explained. "It is best to demonstrate this..."
He placed an information crystal in the holoterminal's receiving socket, after which a recording of the recent battle in the Monastery relay tower appeared before the Masters.
Adi watched with horror fragments from various surveillance cameras as an armored Zabrak dealt with the clones. After the first gruesome murder of a Jedi, she felt her heart start to beat unexpectedly fast.
"Enough of this," Yoda interrupted the recording. Reaching out a small hand, he took possession of the crystal, which immediately vanished into the pocket of his robe. "No need to watch this again..."
"You have already seen the recording?" the Jedi Master asked in surprise.
"Intelligence informed us of Count Dooku's new acolyte shortly before the massacre on Monastery," Windu said coldly. "So far we know little about him, but his affiliation with the Separatists is certain."
"In less than half an hour, he destroyed two companies of clones and blew up the CIS communication tower with which we planned to hack the enemy's communication systems," Dougan listed. "And... without any mercy, he killed Koffi Arana, Zustus Farr, Bultar Swan..."
"The losses are known to us," Windu interrupted him. At that moment, Gallia understood her fellow Master better than anyone. Cases of the death of a large number of Jedi in such a brief battle were rare in the war. Only the tragedy on Jabiim, where rumors said local loyalists were still resisting, exceeded the bitterness of the loss.
"I would like to begin a search for this acolyte," Dougan voiced his thought. "The sooner we stop him, the faster we end his atrocities. And under my command is a well-proven group led by Knight Sia-Lan Wezz, which..."
"That is for the Council to decide," Windu cut him off. "You already have enough assignments without taking on another..."
"As you command," Dougan bowed submissively.
"The search for this killer will not be easy," Yoda frowned. "A Master is needed here."
"Allow me to lead this mission," Adi Gallia voiced her recent thoughts.
No, Dougan was right in his own way. After Palpatine's election as Supreme Chancellor, Sia-Lan had gone with the members of her team — Rorrworr, Vor'en Kurn, and Deel Sarul — to the snow-covered planet of Palurn to find a Sith Temple there. The team had discovered ruins where Dark Side creatures or cultists might have lived and reported the find to the Jedi High Council. The subsequent cleanup allowed the Republic to eliminate another danger from the ancient enemy.
Over the next decade, Wezz prepared for the trials to become a Jedi Knight. Shortly before the start of the Clone Wars, Wezz and her team went to Corellia, where they successfully, without losses, prevented the assassination of the senator from Corulag, Alastair Treen, by mercenaries — agents of the CIS.
After that, the four had gone on missions together many times. They carried out attacks on battle droid commanders and crime bosses, learned about the activities of bounty hunters staying at the Hutt Royal Hotel, and clashed with deadly Tusken Raiders on Tatooine. Once they were ordered to investigate the disappearance of an arsenal ship engaged in the disposal of battle droids remaining from the time of the invasion of Naboo. The search led them to the Quenn space station, where they defeated several re-activated droids. They also prevented Corann from becoming the first planet of the Core Worlds to secede from the Republic. Rorrworr's team studied rumors of Separatist activities on this small industrial planet and discovered a droid factory there.
Of course, the team did not always act in accordance with the Jedi Code; for example, they got into fights in cantinas with gangs of Aqualish and Rodians, for which Wezz received a serious scolding from the Council. It is unknown how their fate would have turned out in the future if the Grand Master had not ordered Wezz to be placed under Dougan's command. Of course, this was not said openly, but by sending Sia-Lan to the active army, the Council was certain the team would follow her and would record many more victories to their account.
But to face a killer... Yoda was right — it was not their level. "Heavy artillery" was needed here — several Masters. Only a well-prepared, experienced group of Jedi could discover and neutralize this threat.
The Zabrak was clearly at the beginning of his path in learning the Dark Side. His rage gave him strength, but it was blind, uncontrollable. As soon as Dooku "polished" his new assassin, he would become a terrible threat to any Jedi.
"I do not object," Windu expressed his opinion.
"Help you will need in this matter," Yoda declared. "Perhaps candidates you have for these searches?"
"Siri Tachi is currently at the Temple," Adi recalled. "I will speak with her."
"Is she not involved in the mission on Genian?" Master Dougan's question dripped with surprise. As if he were so certain of his information that he did not hesitate to clarify this with the Council.
Windu looked at the Jedi with extreme suspicion. Even Yoda failed to hide his interest. It was understandable — the mission to seize Talesan Fry's decoder on neutral Genian for use at a secret base — a listening post for CIS communication channels on Azure — was strictly secret. And it was supposed to have been carried out, if not for the destruction of the communication center on Monastery. The Council believed the "ice-breaking" device would be most effective exactly on Separatist equipment. Therefore, the equipment had been delivered precisely to the Temple for subsequent transport to Monastery. The fatal events put an end to the excellent plan. So now all the Order could do was use the mechanism on Azure.
"A secret mission this is," Yoda observed reasonably. "Was, at least."
"My apologies, Masters," Dougan immediately became flustered. "The fact is that I planned to ask you to send this Knight and her Padawan to my army to replace those who have fallen. But I heard in the hangars that she was on assignment..."
"Strengthen secrecy the guards in the Temple should," Yoda squinted. "Otherwise our secrets will cease to be such."
"I will personally see to it, Grand Master," Windu volunteered, not taking a suspicious gaze off Dougan.
"Since circumstances have turned out this way," Dougan took advantage of the situation. "May I request her transfer to the 13th Sectorial Army?"
"Consider this decision I will," Yoda said tiredly. "Knight Tachi may not have enough strength for success in the search. Inform Obi-Wan we should."
***
The XS-class freighter named Dangerous Twi'lek made its last two jumps at its limit. A brief check with the astrographic beacons showed that the blind jump had brought them to the edge of explored space. The places were unexplored and wild. One did not expect to meet patrols here, or accidental traders who, given a lucky break, would instantly turn into pirates.
In theory, no warship commander would risk his starship to pursue some freighter. Even though the caravan of five light freighters that Jorj Car'das had been leading an hour ago was being pursued by a corsair in the service of the CIS, there was unlikely to be a complete idiot on board. To continue pursuing a insignificant smuggler into uncharted territory was the height of folly. At least, that was what the ship's owner himself thought.
So far, the theory had not worked — the pirate had intercepted them in orbit of Halkydon, from where they were to make a series of jumps to the appointed goal. And there could be no CIS ships here in principle — after all, these were the backwaters of the galaxy, and the border of responsibility of the 19th Sectorial Army.
And while Jorj was figuring out what was what, the opponent had closed dangerously with the caravan. Already sensing something wrong, the Corellian ordered the call signs they had been carefully provided by the employer's representatives to be broadcast.
And in that same minute, streams of turbolaser fire poured from the depths of what turned out to be an unexpectedly fast former passenger liner. And following that, dozens of starfighters assembled from scrap metal appeared...
He preferred not to engage the insolent one, although he could easily have turned his boys around and, with the five of them, blown the bastard to molecules. The caravan was already behind schedule — and most likely they wouldn't be patted on the head for delivering their cargo later than usual.
Therefore, Jorj decided to use an old smuggler's trick — to weave about, making jumps to one world or another in nearby space to throw the enemy off the trail. There was a reason for this — it wasn't necessary to get into a fight for no reason, and damage could be avoided...
However, they were already being waited for in orbit of Cerea.
An entire squadron of Munificent-class frigates numbering ten ships. And clouds of fighters.
The fight was short but hot. Losing two ships torn apart by CIS fighters, the thinned caravan, although it was able to "nip" at the enemy by unleashing a stream of proton missiles, retreated to Trenvyth.
This cost them another ship — and an ambush was found there too. But this time Jorj could consider his fallen colleagues avenged — in a desperate surge, the smugglers were able to destroy one Banking Clan frigate with strike missiles.
But the trend was very, very sad… If they continued to make jumps to even slightly familiar systems, it was no wonder they would run into an even more serious opponent. Most likely, the smugglers had run into a lurking group of Separatists hanging around the borders of the Republic.
Having lost his last companion, Jorj no longer doubted that salvation required desperate measures. There were perfectly understandable reasons to equate a jump into the unknown to an incredibly stupid idea.
That was why he made a jump to random coordinates.
Slipping out of hyperspace near the Rattataki system, the Corellian almost relaxed. And he nearly paid with his life when a CIS ship followed him out of acceleration. With accurate fire, the enemy destroyed one of the turrets, evaporating the compartment containing the co-pilot, who had been acting as the gunner.
To the accompaniment of turbolaser fire, swearing in a mixture of Huttese and Corellian, Car'das made another random jump.
Since that memorable meeting on Myrkr, the smuggler had studied his new ship well enough. And he understood that such "stunts" would have a negative effect on the hyperdrive. The destruction of the focusing lenses was even possible...
Well, those from Corellia always tested their luck. To the last drop.
As soon as the mottled sky of hyperspace broke into thin lines, finally transforming into a familiar stellar landscape. The tiny distant disk of the local star flickered directly on course with a yellowish-white glow. Mentally prepared for the worst, Car'das cast a cautious glance at the sensor panel.
With a short flash of light, an old acquaintance emerged from hyperspace — the modernized star liner. The Corellian exhaled resignedly; he was too tired even to hurl choice curses in all directions. Well, it had all been leading to this. He couldn't shake the enemy off his tail — the temperature in the hyperdrive cooling circuit had long been beyond the permissible limit. But he simply refused to accept the fact that a rusty pirate bucket could have tracked him. No such technology existed!
Then, a thought struck Jorj. The thought was as simple as it was wild.
He had a beacon on board. There simply couldn't be any other way! But who, and more importantly, when and on what planet, had placed it?
Could this have compromised his routes? Did the enemy know about the mysterious planets where he and his comrades delivered their sealed cargoes?
Anger boiled inside the Corellian.
The hell they did! He wouldn't give up! Suck on that, Bantha fodder, Seps!
Imagining how he would track down the bastard who had set such a trap for him, he transferred all energy to the sub-light boosters. The freighter tore madly from its spot, rapidly approaching the unknown planet. The second jump had taken him far into Wild Space. And it was no wonder the navigation computer was silent. There were no familiar constellations here, so he and the opponent were in the same position. Except that there was more modern scanning equipment on board the freighter.
And he knew that this planet's magnetosphere would hide him from orbital scanning. And hiding on a planet was easier than simple.
The opponent was already releasing a swarm of his pint-sized fighters. Had he working weapons, he would have dealt with them in a few minutes — even before the raider arrived.
The freighter was already in the upper layers of the atmosphere and beginning the search for a secluded sanctuary when the scanner detected a powerful energy radiation.
"Hutt," Jorj muttered, casting a quick glance at the display while not forgetting to fight the control levers in an attempt to survive the atmospheric buffeting. There was clearly an energy source here, nested somewhere in the middle of the equatorial forest approximately a quarter of the way to the planetary horizon. "Bad. Very bad."
Generators like that aren't placed on anything less than a good-sized base. Here, in the middle of the void, this meant either a smuggler base or a pirate base. Or even a research outpost organized by the CIS fleet — they weren't hanging around in nearby space for nothing. In any case, it didn't matter who lived there; he was unlikely to be welcomed anyway.
And yet... Car'das bit his lip thoughtfully. Those fighters behind were coming closer with every minute; even if he started landing the Twi'lek this very second, they would still have time to intercept the ship's reactor radiation before he could shut it down. But if he first flew toward the second energy source, it would help to disorient the pursuers' sensors, and he might have a good chance to slip away.
In any case, he should at least try.
He had already reached the edge of the forest and was now flying at the level of the treetops when the scanner noted one of the pursuers starting to fall to the ground like a stone. Almost immediately it became obvious that the pursuers' pilots had not spent enough time honing atmospheric maneuvers. However, he had already almost reached the unknown energy source. The settlers, undoubtedly, were already alarmed at the sight of the approaching ships. And if the organization of a welcoming committee was not in their plans...
A few moments later, the freighter was already racing over a clearing, and Jorj caught a glimpse of the outlines of a single tiny house, looking something like a shed with a pair of metal hulls stuck to its side.
Then he was flying over the forest again, racing toward a line of ravine-riddled hills emerging from behind the trees. Ahead was an excellent ravine with trees with incredibly massive crowns growing on its summit. Directing the ship there, Jorj allowed himself to smile — not one of the pursuers was showing up in the scanner's range.
The ruse had worked — perhaps it was the only thing that meant anything in such circumstances.
***
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