Palpatine sat in his luxurious chair, his back to the office entrance, by a huge transparent window, soberly watching the infinitely complex echelons of vehicle traffic teeming over the Coruscant cityscape. Millions of sentients, as if in a giant hive, hurried about their business. From the height of his position, they all appeared as mere cogs in the vast mechanism of a giant machine named the Galactic Republic.
Citizens could hide behind the clones' backs all they wanted, saying that it was the Republic's army that must protect the Constitution and the people from oppression by enemies, who were currently the Separatists. Intelligence had reported more than once that among the residents of Coruscant, after the notorious deportation of representatives of races secretly or overtly sympathizing with the Confederacy, a parasitic mood was strengthening. There were few willing to personally take up arms and defend ideals tens of thousands of years old. The military reported that the total number of volunteers—ordinary sentients who joined the Grand Army of the Republic—was just over ten million—a pittance in the overall mass. And even then, the overwhelming majority of these militiamen belonged to the people of Christophsis. Those who served Dougan. And such a thing could not help but cause concern. Such loyalty was a threat to the Plan. Not critical, but unpleasant enough. Because when it all begins, Christophsis, with its resources and armed forces, could provide sanctuary to many Jedi. And a lot of time and effort would have to be spent to uproot the Jedi filth. It is much easier to deal with these problems now than to leave their solution for last.
Yes, the CIS attack on Dougan's armies negatively affected the progress of the entire Plan. Instead of the fires of war spreading across the galaxy, the intensity of the conflict was shifting to the Outer Rim and the Mid Rim.
But there were both pros and cons to what was happening.
Hearing the office doors slide open behind him, Sheev Palpatine took a deep breath and donned the friendly-gracious mask of the Supreme Chancellor that had become his second skin.
"Master Yoda," he greeted the Jedi. "Master Windu," the grim Korun gave a barely perceptible nod. "Senator Amidala," the girl, despite everything that had happened to her recently, looked as imperturbably democratic and full of energy as ever. I wonder, does she have other facial expressions? Or does what is happening in the galaxy not affect her at all? The death of Duchess Satine, the loss of political weight, the rift with Anakin Skywalker, the breakdown of negotiations with the Separatists... And Padmé is still just as unperturbed. Is this vaunted political restraint, or is the girl actually that dim-witted? Considering how easily she fell for Palpatine's own provocation eleven years ago and initiated the vote of no confidence in Valorum—the Chancellor was beginning to lean toward the second view. Clearly, Anakin Skywalker gains significantly from breaking up with this mindless doll. "I am glad to see you. I lack the words to express my deep relief that you are well, Lady Amidala. Escaping from the thick of a blockade on a civilian ship... Yes, it seems this is becoming a habit for you."
Palpatine allowed himself a smile. It was a pity this fool wouldn't fully appreciate his sarcasm. His hint at the flight from Naboo eleven years ago, which helped Palpatine even more in advancing his plan (had Amidala stayed on the planet and signed the documents the Trade Federation needed, the war so necessary to the Sith might have started much later). Just as now—having fled Naboo, this little fool returned to Coruscant. Right in the heat of events, the realization of which Palpatine needed like air.
"I am glad to see you again, Supreme Chancellor," the Naboo woman said restrainedly. "I owe my rescue to Master Kit Fisto—it was he who piloted the ship that managed to break through the Confederacy patrols."
"Then," Palpatine shifted his gaze to the green old man. "Accept my sincere words of gratitude for such excellently raised Jedi, Master Yoda."
The big-eared Jedi merely nodded in silence, tiredly watching the view of Coruscant behind the Chancellor's back. I wonder if Yoda will live to the end of the war to recall this conversation and appreciate the mockery of the Dark Lord of the Sith? After all, if the current Jedi, raised under Yoda's steady supervision, were not so pathetic, the Sith Plan could not have been realized in the coming decades. To think how many times the Plan was under threat of failure... How many times the Jedi were a couple of steps away from figuring out what was happening. But they couldn't. They lost, they died, they took their secrets to the grave. And thus, they magnified the Sith triumph all the more.
"Admittedly, I was somewhat surprised when my secretary informed me that you desired an audience," Palpatine said, seeing that the Jedi were in no hurry to start the conversation. "How can I be of service?"
"The Confederacy has launched a full-scale offensive in the Mid Rim and Outer Rim," Windu reported.
"Yes, I have heard of this," Palpatine smiled inwardly while maintaining a serious expression. "Count Dooku has crossed all lines. Destroying the main HoloNet relay centers... that is a serious crime."
"The galaxy has not known the like before," Yoda stated. "Troubles us, such a step by the Separatists does."
"As it does all of us," Palpatine said with feigned sympathy. "The disruption of communications with the Far Outsiders—it is extremely unpleasant."
"Undoubtedly, this is primarily connected to the actions against the army group of Master Dougan," Windu said decisively.
"You think so?" Palpatine stated with surprise. Well, well, they figured it out. Or was it just a lucky guess? "I am inclined to believe it is merely another way to spite us..."
"Circumstances force us to think otherwise," Padmé Amidala joined the conversation. "The Separatists are purposefully acting against the specific three systems armies that you transferred to the operational command of Master Dougan."
"Grand-moff Dougan will manage," Palpatine didn't miss the chance to slip in a barb. "He seemed to me a sufficiently competent commander. And placing three homogeneous armies under him was a very wise move. At least, that's what I was assured by the command of our Grand Army of the Republic."
A small lie that the Jedi would no longer be able to verify. With their traditional sluggishness, the Jedi are incapable of deciphering who among the high-ranking officers the Supreme Commander ordered or simply spoke to. The Sith's little intrigue had long been buried under the weight of gossip and speculation. To find out who the initiator was, in all this diversity of backroom talk and rumors that grew around this appointment, was an unaffordable luxury. For everyone—Palpatine merely voiced the decision of the High Command. And the fact that it was he who threw them this idea as food for thought—that is already history.
"And yet," Windu continued to insist. "The Council is certain that everything happening over the last months on the Outer Rim is a purposeful action against a specific Jedi. First—the creation of bridgeheads around these armies. Then—the destruction of communication centers. Effectively, now the forces of Master Dougan," the Master pronounced the last words with special emphasis, "are not just surrounded by enemy units, but are in an information vacuum."
"Yes, that is undoubtedly a sad fact," Palpatine barely kept himself from yawning. How boring it was—to hold a conversation with such dim-witted Jedi. Against their background, all of Dougan's multi-move games, which the Chancellor knew about, were the height of strategic mastery. And therefore—such a dangerous opponent must be disposed of as soon as possible. "But, on the other hand—he has truly enormous forces under his command. Thousands of ships, more than ten million clones—not to mention millions of militiamen. I heard that he managed to achieve not only the loyalty of the Christophsians, but even the traditionally parasitic moods of the residents of Pantora were set aside. So, it seems to me, Grand-moff Dougan has nothing to fear. After all, I transferred the Rothana factories to his command—and believe me, that cost the Republic a great deal. Kuat demanded new, enormous orders from us for their equipment—we had to order more than two thousand additional Venators alone. And five hundred of those new Predators."
"No one disputes that you, Supreme Chancellor," Padmé said, "have put a lot of effort into resolving the current situation..."
Oh, girl, you don't even know how much had to be corrected. And, of course, on the one hand, this seems an incredibly heavy burden for the Republic—new military orders nearly hit the bottom of the budget. But, in reality, all of this serves only to strengthen the Sith Plan. New clones, genetically improved by the Arkanians compared to previous versions of the Grand Army's fighters, and infinitely loyal to orders—including the Emergency ones. Thousands of new ships, millions of units of military equipment... Yes, trillions of credits had to be spent, however, when it's all over—Palpatine will have under his command a multi-billion army of perfect clones, provided with every possible type of weapon. Sectors that try to resist his plan will be crushed by the Grand Army. And already now, the first bricks of the foundation for the collapse of the current Banking Clan system have been laid—Armand Isard reported yesterday billion-credit losses (and that's just in one day since the communication blackout!) for the Muuns in the financial field due to the disruption of the communication system with the Far Outsiders. A little more time will pass, and Rush Clovis will begin to make truly fatal mistakes. After all, most of the Banking Clan's funds are endless re-loans and credits. Including—in financing the war between the Republic and the Confederacy. On the one hand, the Banking Clan could cover its losses by collecting interest from the warring parties. However, what a misfortune—the Separatists are not going to pay their debts. And the sums coming from the Republic are but a drop in the ocean. After all, the loans issued for conducting the war are calculated for decades of monthly payments. And by the time most of the sum has to be returned—the Banking Clan will cease to exist, ruined by the financial crisis. Or, in the end, Republic fighters will land on Scipio. And all burdensome debts will be automatically written off by right of the strong.
True... it is necessary to manage to make a few more loans to ensure his already growing advantage. How good that the right person, whom Clovis is unable to resist, has arrived on Coruscant. Thank you, Master Fisto. True, Palpatine had initially planned to squeeze new credits out of the Chairman of the InterGalactic Banking Clan precisely under the vague phrasing that the Mid Rim was in danger. And Naboo, where Padmé Amidala was supposed to be—was among the worlds targeted by the Confederates. But this is even better. The Naboo woman has an almost mystical ability to influence men in love with her. She will surely convince Clovis to put the Banking Clan's last resources into financing the Republic's war machine in exchange for a vague promise of a quick end to the war. After all, only a ceasefire and the restoration of the information infrastructure can save the Banking Clan from ruin.
Of course, a completely fantastic scenario is possible—where the Muuns find quadrillions of credits capable of plugging the gap in finances. But, one wonders, where would bankers get a couple of the Republic's annual budgets? Those reserves—exactly the necessary sum that they had—Rush Clovis returned as an apology for the machinations of the previous leadership of the InterGalactic Banking Clan. How grand that corruption among the Muuns and the urge to misappropriate others' property worked in favor of the Plan.
"...but, wouldn't it be wiser now to move our forces to rescue the besieged armies?"
"Forgive me, Senator," Palpatine shook his head. "But right now we do not possess sufficient resources necessary for counterattacks across such an extensive front. Masters Unduli, Gallia, and Grand-moff Dougan will have to wait until we can strike at the Separatist positions in the Mid Rim."
"Prolonged, this may be," Yoda voiced his fears. "Many worlds without communication we may lose in the Mid Rim and on the Outer Rim."
"I understand this, Grand Master Yoda," the Sith nodded. "But in the current situation, the High Command of the Grand Army of the Republic believes that deblocking Master Dougan's armies is an unaffordable luxury. We have too few forces and ships for such actions. And at the same time—the Separatists' attachment to such a powerful group, under the command of one of our best Jedi—could play into our hands."
"In what way?" Mace Windu frowned.
"As I have been assured by our intelligence and the command of the Grand Army, while Count Dooku's troops are pinned to the armies on the Outer Rim," Palpatine sighed. "This will allow us to slowly build up our own reserves and consistently push the enemy out of the Core, the Inner Rim, the Colonies, the Inner Rim, and the Expansion Region."
"But that way we are effectively leaving three systems armies to their fate!" Amidala flared up. "We must help them!"
"I understand, my dear," Palpatine portrayed sympathy on his face. "But current circumstances do not allow us... However, it seems to me there is a way out of the situation."
"And what is it?" Windu frowned.
"If we had more clones and ships," Palpatine said with a breathy, feigned sadness in his voice. "Then we would certainly try to deblock Grand-moff Dougan's forces..."
"An insoluble problem, this is, mm?" Yoda inquired in his typical manner of mangling sentence structure.
"Yes," Palpatine folded his hands in a steeple. "The Republic's budget, unfortunately, is limited. Especially in light of the need to place additional orders for the construction of hyperdrive transmitters destroyed by the Confederacy. And even then, if we ordered them now, they would be ready by no means soon—at best, by the end of the year—an extremely complex and expensive technology."
"What are you proposing?" Windu squinted.
"We are forced to ask for a new loan from the Banking Clan," Palpatine sighed. "To win this war, we will need more than one billion more clones and thousands of ships..."
"But those are enormous sums!" Amidala exclaimed. "Effectively—maintaining the current army and fleet is most of the annual budget! We cannot afford even greater spending on the war! After all, there are other spheres where funding is necessary! Healthcare, the social sphere, aid to refugees..."
"My dear Padmé," Palpatine said with a fake sad smile. "I understand this better than anyone. Believe me, if we could win this war through diplomacy alone—we would have done so already. But instead, we need walkers, fighters, rifles, clones, and starships. Without them—we will simply be crushed. I don't know about you, but I wake up in a cold sweat at the mere thought of what the galaxy will turn into if the Separatists win."
"But we are only feeding the millstones of war and..."
"My dear," the Sith raised his hands conciliatorily. "You yourself suggested to me a few minutes ago to move troops and armadas to rescue Grand-moff Dougan. Even if I do not like the plan proposed by the command of the Grand Army, take my word for it—if I had an extra thousand ships, I would certainly move them to deblock those armies. However, I simply cannot give such an order when pockets of Separatist movement are blooming literally under our noses—in the Inner Rim and the Colonies. I do not have the right—in the name of protecting the citizens of the Republic."
"And if you had such ships and forces—would you order the armies deblocked?" Yoda inquired with a cunning squint.
Palpatine tensed internally. He knew that despite his apparent simplicity, the Grand Master of the Order was a very cunning and clever fellow. He would not have asked such a question if he didn't have an ace up his sleeve.
The Naboo man feverishly analyzed. What could lie behind Yoda's words? Without Palpatine's permission, the Master would not be able to move troops and ships—Palpatine had personally closed this loophole in the legislation after the actions of the Grand Master, who had literally pulled all of Jango Fett's clones without exception to help Dougan. It was good that the matter only involved ground force units—if Yoda had pulled this trick with the clones who were part of the ship crews, Palpatine would have outlawed the Jedi that very second. Because for all their skill, the new Arkanian-produced clones were not yet being produced on such a massive scale that they could replace absolutely all the Kaminoan clones in the fleet.
Or had the Order finally decided to reveal the secret of its financial accumulations? That the Jedi had money—and A LOT of it—was known to almost every citizen of the Republic who had even heard of these amazing sentients. But the guys living in the Temple perched on the mountain were in no hurry to share information—how many dataries and other currencies they actually had. The Jedi openly ignored the ancient tradition of the sentients of this galaxy—keeping money in the InterGalactic Banking Clan—otherwise Darth Plagueis would have known more about the solvency of the Sith Order's enemies than they did themselves. All the Sith had achieved in the last thousand years, trying to find the limits of their old enemies' solvency, was that the Jedi owned a small block of shares in Kuat Drive Yards—and the dividends from such a haul are truly enormous even by the end of a fiscal year. After all, Sifo-Dyas didn't get fired up about the issue of secretly creating an army without informing the Council for no reason. This means, understanding HOW expensive it is, he couldn't help but understand that it's better to have such sums on hand—because if they aren't there at the time of settlement with the manufacturer, then instead of an army, one might see something else entirely.
"Undoubtedly, Master Yoda," Palpatine decided to lean toward the second view. And he decided that even in this case, he would lose very little. If the Jedi decided to finance another expansion of the army and fleet—it was a pleasant bonus. It wouldn't be worse for the Sith Plan—on the contrary. When an opponent hands you their credit chip themselves—it's a sin not to use it. Let his money go toward his own needs. He wouldn't have to pay back the debts anyway—partly because the Jedi are too noble to give money to the Republic they swore to protect at interest or even as an installment plan. But for the most part, the lack of concern was the certainty that upon completion of the Plan, there would be no one left to remember who exactly provided these loans. And the media on Palpatine's short leash, like Eline Tyrell, could always present such a "noble" gesture from the Jedi as another Jedi attempt to prolong the conflict. By the way, the fate of Eline should still be ascertained. "I care about the fate of Grand-moff Dougan as much as you do. But what are you proposing?"
"Senator Amidala is in close friendly relations with the head of the Banking Clan," the Grand Master reported information already known to Palpatine. Palpatine nearly laughed out loud. Of course. In close, but by no means "friendly" relations. According to the information the Sith had, Clovis and Amidala had been "friends" with their bodies in the past much longer than Anakin Skywalker with the former queen. By the way, a good reason to remind the Chosen One again of his hatred for a specific banker and his former lover. Especially since Armand Isard had provided information just a couple of days ago that the Sith's future apprentice had fundamentally violated the sanctity of the Jedi Code by using for its intended purpose a female who happened to be his apprentice. Praise the Force that Anakin Skywalker hadn't done this earlier with his Togruta apprentice. At the mere thought of a human's connection with an alien, Palpatine began to feel a burn in his lower back.
"I am aware of that," Palpatine nodded grandly. "It helped us uncover facts of corruption in the Banking Clan's board. But I don't understand, what does that have to do with this now?"
"We are certain that in light of the current situation," Windu joined the conversation, "Rush Clovis will not refuse to issue the Republic another loan for the needs of the war."
"Of course," Yoda sighed, glancing at the Senator from Naboo, who looked extremely embarrassed. "If a person close to him asks him for it."
So that's it... Curious—for once, the Jedi's thoughts turned out to be identical. Palpatine experienced a range of emotions simultaneously.
Joy that it was the Jedi who came forward with such a proposal. They would not have come to him with such a proposal without securing the support of Amidala herself. Actually, the entire audience was merely a performance designed to secure Sheev Palpatine's approval for this operation. If he said "no," the initiative would die at the root, as it would not have the slightest state support. And after her failure in negotiations with the Separatists, Amidala was no longer so confident in her actions. Has the democracy of the brain begun to recede? He should task Mas Amedda or Sate Pestage to observe this individual—it feels like she has changed after her stay in Dougan's guardhouse. This could be a serious warning sign—the Jedi could have recruited her as one of his supporters. Or even more—achieved much greater intimacy than a working relationship. Hm, it's worth hinting at this to Anakin Skywalker—the churning of the Dark Side in Anakin Skywalker in such a case is guaranteed to be more than complete. Sheev didn't believe that the young Jedi could have stopped loving his former queen completely.
And at the same time, the thought that the Jedi could sponsor the construction of new starships and the growing of new clones frankly appealed to the Chancellor. And therefore, he felt disappointment. He should have tried to play this card to the fullest. One cannot abandon a good plan just because your opponent doesn't want to realize it.
"I appreciate your resourcefulness, Master Yoda," Palpatine noted peaceably. "But personally, I am not sure that Rush Clovis and the other Muuns will want to meet us halfway. If you've forgotten—the small scandal that occurred between us led to the Banking Clan raising the interest rates on the loan for us. Unilaterally. These are giant sums. I think the Muuns will want to conclude a new loan on even more favorable terms for themselves. And this could lead to the collapse of our entire financial system. I admit, I would not want to hand over a Republic mired in debt to a new Chancellor."
"Oh, so you still remember the elections for the post of Supreme Chancellor," Amidala smirked. "There is a common opinion that you will never step down from these duties."
"My dear," Palpatine tried to portray grief and internal pain on his face. "I have heard these ravings too. And it pains me that there are sentients in our Senate who believe this. I love the Republic and democracy, and therefore, I assure you that as soon as the storm passes, I will step down from my emergency powers and new elections will be scheduled. I have no desire or aspiration to hold the post of Supreme Chancellor for life."
"...because this post will be abolished," Palpatine added to himself. "As will the other atavisms of the thoroughly rotten Republican system."
"That is not the conversation now," Yoda gently reminded Amidala. "We are certain of the success of Senator Amidala's enterprise."
"So you are the initiator of this proposal?" And here, Palpatine's years of practice in the art of emotional control cracked. The astonishment was so real that he didn't even have to act it. "I admit, I did not expect this from you, Senator. After all, you are an opponent of conducting the war..."
"I wanted to ask Clovis for a loan not only for conducting military actions," Amidala shook her head. "But also for solving social problems that the Senate prefers to forget in view of the escalating conflict with the Separatists. When planning the budget, spending on the social sphere was significantly reduced..."
"Yes," Sheev admitted. "And the reason for that is the war. Well, your proposal is worth considering, but, to be honest, Master Yoda, I thought the Jedi Order would decide to extend a helping hand to the Republic."
"In what manner?" Yoda squinted. "All the Jedi, to a man, are already at the front. We cannot help more."
"I understand," the Sith shook his head. "But there are persistent rumors about the wealth of the Jedi... Especially after it became known that your subordinates were making purchases of clones from the very beginning..."
"Jedi are keepers of the peace, not warriors," Windu reminded dryly. "We cannot finance the expansion of the conflict—it contradicts the ideals and values of the Order."
"You've got to be kidding me," Palpatine decided to himself. "Saying such a thing after secretly growing an entire army and building a fleet..."
"But the Order's money could be put toward a good cause," Palpatine insisted. "The same social problems Senator Amidala reminded us of—they also require their dataries. And we can direct the loans from the Banking Clan directly toward solving purely military tasks... In my view—a wonderful compromise of proposals."
Yoda looked at the Chancellor with an unblinking gaze for several seconds. Then, exchanging glances with the Senator and his Jedi friend, he spoke.
"Discuss your proposal at the Council, we must," the Jedi croaked. "Unanimous, the Council's decision must be on this issue..."
"Forgive me, but is that even possible?" Palpatine hid his biting smile, stroking his hand under his nose. "As far as I know, five members of the Jedi Order Council are currently unavailable..."
"Six," Mace Windu corrected grimly. "Master Mundi is also out of communication range."
"In that case, I cannot even imagine how in—"
"Voting is possible in such a case," Palpatine said, spreading his hands.
"The responsibility for this decision is mine to hold before the next generation of Jedi," Yoda wheezed. "If I live to see the end of the war..."
Clever. If the Grand Master knew that he was not destined to raise new Jedi fledglings, would he have become more compliant?
"I am sure that everything will turn out for the best," the Sith assured him. The question was only for which side of the ancient conflict. Palpatine could bet that success would clearly not favor the Jedi. "Well, I think once the issue of the Order's support is resolved, we can also settle the rather delicate situation regarding Senator Amidala's assignment. On that note, my friends, I must ask to conclude our meeting—business does not wait."
Palpatine pointedly rose from behind his desk, signaling to those present that the audience had reached its natural end. the Korun and Padmé followed his example. Yoda slid down from his chair as usual, hobbling away while leaning on his cane.
"There is one more thing," Yoda said, having barely reached a couple of meters from the doors.
"What else do you want, you old fool? Your talk is already delaying me from a communication session with Count Dooku in my sanctuary," Palpatine thought angrily, but inquired peacefully.
"How else can I be of service, my friend?"
"The Council of the Order believes," Windu was not slow to follow. A loyal dog, always coming to the rescue of his big-eared master, "that a Sith Lord has penetrated the highest echelons of the Republic's power."
"A Sith... Lord?" Sheev asked, carefully playing at uncertainty. "I believe you spoke of him after Geonosis. Master Kenobi received a message about him from Count Dooku."
"As always, you are perceptive," Yoda agreed. "Verify this, we must. Convinced the Council is that the Sith stand at the head of this war. And in the operations against Master Dougan—also. Too many of their servants has he killed. They take revenge for the disruption of their plans."
"You have no idea how high the Sith have climbed," Palpatine thought to himself. Aloud, he inquired:
"To be honest, I thought it was nothing more than disinformation with which Count Dooku wanted to lure Master Kenobi to his side."
"Whether it is so or not, find out we must," Yoda assured him. Oh yes, of course you'll check. You've been looking for a year already, with no results.
"Well, if that is the case, then I wish you success in this difficult endeavor," Palpatine wished. "Everything that depends on me—I am ready to help you."
"Your help will be required," Yoda assured him. "Test the members of the Senate for Force sensitivity, we would like to."
Palpatine felt his back grow damp. Hutt! That idiotic idea to detect midichlorians again. And he had thought that with the death of the initiator of this whole scheme—the Jedi Ronar Kim—the initiative had been safely forgotten.
Ronar Kim was a typical specimen of a modern Jedi. Originally from Naboo, he had long been close to the Chancellor. And perhaps he would have lived a little longer if he hadn't gotten the idea into his head that he was duty-bound to discover the Sith Lord in the Senate. To his misfortune, Ronar figured out how to do it—simply test all Senate employees for midichlorian levels in their blood. Of course, among the tens of thousands of workers in the Galactic Senate, there would be several individuals among those connected to the Force. Including the Chancellor himself. And that would have narrowed the circle of suspects for the Jedi very, very significantly. As a result, Palpatine had ostensibly agreed to Kim's proposal—to be the first to take the midichlorian test. Additionally, he asked Kim not to spread word of his brilliant idea among the Jedi and other sentients—so as not to cause unrest among the senators. And then he arranged a trip for the Jedi and his privy Padawan to the planet Merson. Where both safely perished—through the efforts of Palpatine, who deprived them of air support and left them alone with numerically superior Separatist droid battle groups. And they were supposed to take their secret to the grave!
"But is that even possible?" Palpatine inquired with restraint.
"Yes," Windu assured him. "The Jedi have been using a similar test for many hundreds of years—detecting midichlorians in the blood of potential recruits for the Order."
"And midichlorians are...?" Palpatine clearly felt the sweat turning icy. Getting rid of one Jedi was no problem. But two members of the Council, and a senator to boot... The Sith desperately stalled for time.
"Symbiotic microorganisms connected to the Force," Windu explained. "The more of them a sentient has, the stronger his connection to the Force."
"These analyses will help us identify the Sith Lord," Yoda added. "And put an end to his treacherous plans."
"It seems easy," Palpatine nodded. "But if this technique has been known for a long time, why haven't you applied it before?"
"Blind we were," Yoda admitted. "If simple solutions, the young must suggest to us..."
"And who then is the author of this wonderful idea?" Palpatine inquired with a smile on his face and cold determination in his heart. "Whom should we thank for such a wonderful way to identify a treacherous enemy?"
The Jedi and the senator looked at each other. Palpatine did not miss a certain embarrassment in their behavior.
"It is Master Dougan's idea," Padmé said modestly, looking the Sith in the eye. "He asked me personally to bring it to the Jedi Council when he sent me from Hypori to Naboo."
"Oh," Palpatine said. "Master Dougan deserves praise for such an idea—if it works, of course."
And a Base Delta Zero—wherever that Jedi brat might be.
"Yes, Master Dougan said that you would like this idea," Padmé smiled. "And you, as a true champion of democracy and guarantor of Republican values, will certainly support it. And you will set an example by being the first to undergo testing."
Mentally, Palpatine was already roasting the hated Jedi with a Force Storm, but outwardly he showed no sign of his true intentions.
"I like your idea," said the Sith hiding under the guise of the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic. "I promise you I will consider it with all seriousness."
"We ask for nothing else, Chancellor," Amidala uttered submissively, leaving Palpatine's office in the company of the Jedi.
***
Darth Malgus almost reached the second Yuuzhan Vong with his lightsaber, but the warrior turned out to be faster than expected and managed, arching back, to get away with a light scratch on his mutilated body. His staff—the primary melee weapon of this race—became flexible once again, but the opponent did not have time to use it.
Mephisto, timing the moment, emerged from behind the gifted one's back, pumping half a magazine from his carbine into the enraged opponent. The Yuuzhan Vong's armor withstood the abuse, but the enemy did not survive a aimed shot from a blaster pistol to the head, toppling onto his back.
"Airlock cleared," the commander of the 13th Assault Legion commented.
"Excellent," Darth Malgus rasped, driving an armored boot into the brain of the first fallen Yuuzhan Vong with a kick. The two-meter giant, who had lost his arms and legs during the battle with the Sith Lord, jerked, wheezed, and went still.
The clone clicked out the half-empty magazine, replacing it with a fully charged cartridge. It was a pity that so much Tibanna had to be spent on these mutilated bastards. And they had only captured the airlock.
"Medic over here!" he heard a shout from one of the soldiers. Turning his head, he saw several clones with medic markings hurrying toward a fallen soldier from the third platoon of Aurek Company—the vanguard of the boarding team. A pity for the boys—as soon as they were on board the enemy battleship, this pair of ugly brutes had finished off most of the platoon with their staves. A bastardly weapon—half snake, half solid object—you couldn't tell right away. And it inflicted mortal wounds.
The plan for boarding the enemy battleship—if one could bring oneself to call this indecent piece of rock, filled inside with organic abominations, a "battleship"—was as simple as an undersuit.
Admiral Ebgart's ships surrounded the Vong ship that had tried to flee, qualitatively and quantitatively stuffing it with various types of materials hazardous to health—ranging from turbolasers to proton torpedoes. As a result, the seriously damaged but still defending Vong ship, having lost most of its weaponry, all defense systems (which had caused obvious problems for the dreadnought crews when the battleship's gravity forces began stripping deflector fields and trying to spin the Imperial starships around the Vong vessel) and engines, felt the weight of turbolaser guns at close range on its thick hide, which strongly resembled sea coral. And into the resulting breaches, which to the surprise of those present healed quite quickly, poured streams of stormtroopers and "Skymen" equipped with jetpacks.
And now, from different sides, the fighters of Mephisto's 13th Corps, supported by battle droid squads, were clearing the ship of most forms of organic life. Simply put—everything that moved was to receive its portion of blaster fire. And what didn't move but looked particularly disgusting—it was ordered to be moved and also treated to Tibanna.
Which was exactly what the clones were doing now.
Though, in the Marshal's opinion, a first baptism of fire, and immediately against an extra-galactic enemy, was quite the experience. Yes, even if his fighters were imbued with all the latest knowledge on conducting combat—no one had yet encountered such an enemy—brave to the point of madness and seemingly seeking death. So, the 13th Corps, already dubbed "anti-Yuuzhan Vong," was gaining invaluable experience. Which would subsequently be passed on to other brothers.
"We are finished here," Darth Malgus commanded. "Blow this door," he pointed his energy weapon at a membrane in the coral wall, "and we continue."
"Yes, sir," Mephisto, catching the eyes of a grenadier platoon, pointed them to the target. The fighters, raising their hand-held rotary grenade launchers, fired their charges...
"Tough scum," the Marshal commented, seeing that from an explosion sufficient to blow a Droideka to pieces, the membrane was only covered in scorch marks. "Continue until you break through..."
It took several minutes. Finally, the organic door leaf burned out, surviving half a dozen hits from thermite-shaped charges, after which thermal detonators flew into the adjacent corridor.
And from there, enemy soldiers rushed into the room occupied by the stormtroopers.
"Disgusting," Malgus spat, looking at the Vong running at him, whose very appearance immediately brought to mind the unknown enemy's love for self-flagellation and the torture of one's neighbor.
"I completely agree with you," Mephisto nodded, accurately pumping a blaster bolt into the nearest opponent's eye.
The Sith Lord acted much more simply.
Waiting until a group of enemy fighters got closer, he threw out his left hand toward them, from which streams of blue-white electric snakes tore loose, enveloping all four from their ugly heads to their no less mutilated feet. Malgus, without ceremony, turned them into baked pieces of foul-smelling meat and slime, after which, spotting three more, he rushed at them with his lightsaber at the ready, without any elegance.
"Well, what for?" Mephisto quietly asked himself. "Grenades and blasters are convenient."
Meanwhile, a battle raged in the room. Vong fighters and Imperials clashed at short range. Blaster streaks flashed, thud-bugs hissed—the only type of long-range weapon of the Vong ground forces. In some places, his boys had already closed in hand-to-hand, carving the enemy to pieces with vibroknives. It was going poorly—the organic Vong armor, more like the skeleton of a huge shelled creature, barely suffered from the clones' cold steel.
Mephisto rolled to the side when a massive opponent lunged at him, swinging his snake-staff in the air. The name was born spontaneously and was based on the very similar behavior of this organic creation. Sometimes solid, sometimes flexible, and it even tries to bite at a convenient opportunity. Intergalactic crap.
Meanwhile, the Yuuzhan Vong, from whose body various growths, needles, and other nightmare delights protruded, turned to attack again. The Marshal quickly scanned the surrounding space—there were so many enemy soldiers that the clones barely stood out against their mass. This was bad. He had already found out from personal experience that although the enemy soldiers did not excel in physical strength, their madness and lack of self-preservation instinct made the Vong extremely dangerous opponents.
Only Darth Malgus was handling these bastards more or less successfully, piercing their armor at the joints of the chest and arms, and roasting the extra-galactic filth with Force lightning. Spectacular and effective.
The opponent made a thrust with his staff, which had turned into a flexible snake. Mephisto placed his carbine under the monster's fangs, around which the staff wrapped. The Vong jerked his weapon back. The clone did not resist, merely touching the red button on the forend. How good that the Imperial military-industrial complex provided such a useful function on the weapon. Wait, how many seconds? Oh, Hutt.
Mephisto dove to the side like a fish, rolled, and then, raising his blaster, managed to enjoy the sight of how the self-destructing weapon deprived the Vong of his right hand and that treacherous staff of his. Simply lovely. An empty magazine in the blaster. And there was simply no time to change it.
The one-armed bastard rushed at him, clearly intending to skewer the clone with a medium-length spike on the forearm of his remaining hand. Well, well.
"Let's play," the clone smirked, returning the blaster to its holster and pulling a vibroknife from the sheath fastened to his chest. The metal vibrated slightly in his hand.
The opponent tried to hit the clone's head with a swing of his arm, which would surely have led to grave consequences. But, to his luck, Mephisto ducked, was at the enemy's side in one long step, and with a precise movement drove his blade into the armpit.
Despite the armor being painted in black and silver, he saw black goo appear on his gloves. They have black blood too? Great incubator, what filth.
The Vong, falling to his knees, shrieked something in his language, which sounded more like the roar of wild beasts, occasionally interrupted by the sated belch of a rancor.
"Even your language is bastardly," Mephisto smirked, twisting the blade in the wound with undisguised pleasure. The flow of black goo (even in a feverish delirium, Mephisto refused to admit it was blood) increased. Oh well, there's more to come.
"Their armor is vulnerable in the armpits," he reported into the comlink. The boys clearly wouldn't mind knowing how to get rid of these freaks more effectively.
Pulling out his weapon, the Marshal, pinning the weakened and black-goo-bleeding opponent with his foot, slid the blade between the upper part of the breastplate and the enemy's mutilated skull. A short downward movement of the vibroblade—and the clone's armor was covered in black splashes fountaining from a huge wound on the neck.
"Well look at that, almost like humans," the clone smirked. Looking around, he noticed that most of the clones, having discarded their blaster weapons which were useless at such close range in a confined space, had closed with the Vong with vibroknives. Praise the donor that this wonderful tool for destroying sentients and opening cans is part of the standard stormtrooper equipment.
His attention was drawn to the escalating battle between Darth Malgus and a group of Vong in the far part of the room captured by the clones. Two opponents took some kind of bugs out of pouches (or something similar, but it looked like swollen seaweed), and the rest swung their staves. The commander was freely carving the Vong into pieces, occasionally amusing himself by sending some of them flying or roasting them with lightning to a medium-well level. Which attracted even more enemies to him.
"Did they fly here for a collective suicide?" Mephisto shook his head, changing the cartridge in his blaster.
Commanding all free clones to move to help Darth Malgus, the Marshal drew the attention of one of the Vong hurrying toward the Sith with a short burst to the back of the head. The salute of a friendly greeting from an Imperial stormtrooper surprisingly turned out to be lethal for the freak, causing the latter to scatter his brains in every known sense.
"Such delicate things," the Marshal smirked, running toward the site of Darth Malgus's confrontation with the Vong.
The Sith whistled a circle with his sword, forcing those warriors who approached him closely to retreat, leaving several limbs on the floor. Seeing a gap in their defense, he sent several Vong flying, who, barely touching the floor, found themselves in the warm, friendly company of stormtroopers. The cloned brotherhood turned out to be a hospitable welcoming committee for the participants of the Darth Malgus flights, filling the bodies of the extra-galactic horrors with vibroblades in the armor joints with a speed many would envy.
Mephisto jumped over the body of one of the Vong, whose insides were already being greeted by vibroknives, and sprayed a burst from his blaster pistol at several enemy soldiers pressing Darth Malgus. Two warriors, livening up at the appearance of a new opponent, threw bugs at him, and the living bullets hissed toward the Marshal.
The clone, using the armor's computer systems, hit both insects with absolute precision, while simultaneously punching a hole in the eye of one of the enemies.
Four Yuuzhan Vong with maces were in the immediate vicinity of Darth Malgus and rushed at him, while a fifth grabbed another bug. As soon as he did this, Mephisto, going into a leg sweep, broke the Vong's knee with a kick, noting with grim pleasure that the latter was not destined to walk anymore. The alien roared and collapsed next to the Marshal, striking him hard in the chest with a fist, causing a rather unpleasant crunch and crack of the plastoid armor, which had finally given up the ghost.
Gasping for air, the clone rolled to the side, rising on all fours. And almost immediately received a powerful kick to the gut, which sent him flying a good meter down. Something crunched unpleasantly in his chest, and sensations appeared that clearly did not testify to the clone's blooming health.
Mephisto, gathering his will, noticing ugly legs next to him, struck with the edge of his palm with his last strength at the place where a normal person's knee would be, but it had the completely opposite effect. Instead of falling, the Vong jerked the Marshal into the air, holding him by the throat with one hand, and with the other, tearing off pieces of the broken breastplate with immense strength, clearly intending to get to the clone's tender vitals.
"So soon?" the clone rasped, smiling bitingly under his helmet. "We barely know each other."
The Vong clearly didn't understand the irony of what was said, but surprise showed on his ugly face when Mephisto, pulling out a thin Beskar dagger (won in a cantina on Odessen from one of the mercenary specialists, proving to the latter that clones also know how to drink lum) that had been hiding in a secret sheath under his right bracer, drove it into the enemy's neck in the throat area and, moving it away from himself, broke the vertebrae with a practiced blow and separated the enemy's head from his body.
Freeing himself from the grip of the fallen enemy's fingers, Mephisto, coughing desperately, meanwhile noticed that one of the clones of his corps a couple of meters from the Marshal himself was pinned to the ground and the enraged opponent was about to plunge a calcified snake-staff into the brother's chest.
A solution was found quickly. Gripping the dagger by the handle, Mephisto sent the Beskar blade straight into the opponent's forehead with a precise throw, putting the remainder of his strength into the toss.
The blade easily pierced the mutilated alien's frontal bone and went up to the hilt into the brain of the opponent, who toppled onto his back.
"Thank you, sir," the clone responded, jumping to his feet in one motion. Rushing to the commander, he pulled a portable medkit from his belt pouch on the move, pumping a dose of bacta, painkillers, and stimulants into the part of the Marshal's body unprotected by the breastplate.
Mephisto felt an instant surge of strength. He mechanically glanced at the chronometer built into his bracer, noting the time of the injection, fully aware that in a few minutes the medicine's effect would end and it would become problematic for him even to remain conscious.
"Help... Darth... Malgus," the Marshal rasped, waving his hand toward where he estimated the commander should be.
"That's hardly necessary, sir," the fighter objected.
Mephisto turned his head in the right direction, watching as the massive Sith, surrounded by dozens of enemy corpses and their parts, resisted the two only survivors of the Vong slaughter without any hint of fatigue. At the same time, it was striking that most of the company—about seventy men—had already, having regained their small arms discarded during the hand-to-hand combat, methodically finished off the few surviving Vong and taken control of the corridor into which a passage had been punched not so long ago.
Meanwhile, Darth Malgus blocked a snake-staff strike with his lightsaber, then shifted his weapon to the other side, parrying a thrust from another enemy warrior, then forward—the third enemy was hit in the center, and immediately back, fending off a blow aimed at the back of his head from a fourth opponent. And so successfully that the yellow energy blade not only severed the enemy's weapon but also split the mutilated face in two.
"He's carving them up good," the soldier noted with admiration, helping Mephisto up.
"Yeah," the Marshal coughed. "Give us a hundred of those—and we could fly to their galaxy to cause some chaos on the way."
And again Malgus hard-blocked a new thrust, then dodged a treacherous snake-staff strike aimed at the Sith's side, while jerking the opponent toward him by his own weapon, driving his blade into the opponent's chest. The fallen enemy ended up on the floor, but his place was already taken by one of the two survivors. A moment later, the second joined in.
One swung his weapon at him from above, the second dove down and tried to deliver a stabbing blow to the torso. The coordination of their actions was simply amazing. However, Malgus was not so easily taken. He instinctively ducked, avoiding the first one's thrust, delivered a kick to the second one's snake-staff from a turn, disarming him. After that, the commander, roaring furiously, lunged straight at him, with the clear intention of ending the loser's life path.
The sword entered the chest up to the hilt. Now only one opponent remained.
Malgus pulled the sword out even faster than he had plunged it in and went for the last warrior. The latter tried to defend himself, then even swung his staff at the man, but the man's feint forced the opponent to open up and a quick blow severed his right hand at the wrist. The triumphant man did not drag out the finale.
Throwing out his left hand, he emitted a stream of lightning that pierced the Vong's body, causing him to writhe in pain and scream piercingly. Then, after a couple of minutes, the scream cut off and it became clear to everyone present that the enemy warrior was dead.
But Darth Malgus continued to char the body, causing steam to rise from the Vong's evaporating internal fluids. The organic armor and growths on the alien's body had already darkened and begun to crumble, turning into black dust settling on the coral floor.
Mephisto exchanged looks with the fighter, and both shrugged almost in sync, continuing to watch what they saw.
Finally, when the parched, blackened-beyond-recognition body was freed from the lightning and collapsed onto the floor with a quiet crunch, the bones covered with remnants of dried meat and mutilated organic armor parts began to fall apart with a quiet crunch, the Marshal, leaning on his fellow soldier, approached the commander, whose eyes glowed brightly with molten Aurodium.
"Sir, you're not going to eat him, are you?" the clone inquired, pointing to the opponent's body disintegrating before their eyes. "Otherwise, you should have baked him a little less."
"Witty," Malgus growled, poking a finger into the clone's chest. "Talk less and fight better next time. And then you won't have to swim in bacta and knit broken ribs."
"I'll keep that in mind, sir," the Marshal assured him, saluting the commander. "Forgive me—I'm less than a month old."
"So be it, greenhorn," Darth Malgus said in the same rough but caring voice, placing his palm on the clone's chest, which was beginning to ache as the cocktail of drugs wore off. "This time I'll save your life. But next time you'd better die before I have to heal your wounds again."
"I'll shoot myself as soon as I finish off the last Vong, my lord," the Marshal promised, feeling with delight as a pleasant warmth began to spread through his body from the commander's hand.
***
Lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice how the Nu-class shuttle, fluttering out of the Spirit of Fire's hangar, rapidly descended toward the surface of Daalang.
After the orbital battle, there was little time to sleep, but I still managed to carve out a couple of hours. During this time, aviation leveled most of the enemy's ground fortifications, suppressing the anti-space and anti-air defense positions identified by the commando squads established on the surface. More bombs—fewer casualties among the clones. It's just a pity that the enemy's battle droids and equipment are under deflector shields. It's annoying, frustrating, we'll have to break through each of the enemy's fortified points ourselves.
There are five in total—a pair of cities—quite lively metropolises. Three are some kind of abandoned settlements that would be better leveled with an orbital strike, but unfortunately, the clones were unable to reliably find out if there are civilians in these villages. I didn't want to be known as a butcher.
Yes, and to be honest, we don't have that many resources to suppress enemy positions from orbit. This short but hot battle exhausted our supplies of proton torpedoes and concussion missiles. Of course, the bomb bays were still a third full, but in light of the discovered circumstances—it's not the wisest thing to spend them on destroying enemy ground units. Especially since, due to the breakdown of long-range communications, who knows when Kreeves's fleet will reach us. The Marauder had to be sent for it.
So, the destruction of the main HoloNet relay stations on the borders of the Expansion Region and the Mid Rim. Clever, Sidious, nothing to say.
But for every clever ass, there's a threaded bolt. Or something like that.
Not the point. This didn't break my connection with the Empire—the Force is still with me, and at any moment I can contact one of the Hands or Guardians to give the appropriate order. It's more difficult with the systems armies—for now, we'll have to use courier ships to deliver messages between units scattered in different sectors. It's frustrating—to be left without control over most of your forces just like that.
Of course, I have already passed the appropriate order to the management of the Maw Installation through the guards. They will have to strain themselves to speed up the production of the Eternal Empire's communication and navigation system equipment—those very archaic holocommunicators the size of an airspeeder that my subjects use in the Unknown Regions and Wild Space. It's not as efficient in data throughput as the HoloNet—after all, the latter has been tested for millennia in conditions of mass use. But, at the moment—it's better than nothing. The only problem is that it uses a completely different principle of information encryption than the HoloNet—Iokathian. Significantly more reliable. But as slow as a bantha. Jerjerrod promised that the new generation of equipment would be able to maintain communication not within five to seven thousand light-years, which is at the level of HoloNet planetary relay communicators, but further than twenty—Doctor Kynesworthy managed to achieve the functionality of a prototype of equipment using the notorious lightsaber crystals. Something related to optics and hyperspace physics—for me, this multi-volume Jerjerrod report of over forty pages on cybernetics is just Greek, but the results speak for themselves.
It's just a pity that we can't equip every large ship with such terminals, as the Republic did—we simply don't have enough of these same crystals. The Black Guard was already conducting excavations on Dantuin—I remember there were once deposits of crystals there. If they find them—it will be good. If they don't—the backup plan is already in action. Forgive me, Yoda, you have done so much good and eternal for me, but you will have to part with something finally. Thanks to Aayla for the excellent memory.
Suddenly the transport tilted, turning; inertia pushed Tallisibeth, sitting opposite me, straight into my arms.
"Forgive me," the girl said embarrassedly. "That was sudden..."
"It's all right," I waved it off, finally breaking my connection with the world of dreams. "It looks like we have some problems. Pilot?"
"There's a battle going on below, sir," the clone responded over the internal comms. "We just dodged an enemy missile."
"A small price for the fate of dying during landing," Zett Jukassa, sitting next to me, said meaningfully.
I did not deign to answer him, of course.
Five Padawans, along with my inseparable pain in the ass, Oli, along with me and clones from the personal guard—I did find a use for the clone assassins (ironic, don't you think?)—were landing on Daalang with the second wave of the landing force.
Ahsoka was the first on the surface, under whose direct command I placed the 501st Legion of Senior Clone Commander Rex, part of Marshal Cody's 7th Air Corps. After all, atmospheric insertion is their forte. Scouts reported that the Seps were simply shocked when the Marauder burst through the dense layers of the atmosphere over their heads, from which clones with jetpacks began to pour down at full speed. The first captured Separatist mercenaries told how they were stunned by such a rapid descent of an entire legion. In fact, it was thanks to such brashness that we managed to capture the outskirts of one of the abandoned settlements under the control of Koorivar mercenaries in less than half an hour. Those are some bastards, I must admit. But impressionable. Because to see only a hundred clones dashing gallantly onto their heads and decide that it's a whole legion—you really have to be scared shitless.
And the plan for such a rapid attack did not belong to Ahsoka. And not even to the staff officers. Its author was Captain Boroda (Beard). Moreover, because of the 501st Legion's traditional way of painting its armor, the clone was periodically called Blue Bea—
species. Ahsoka once mentioned that the captain got a bit carried away while painting his new set of armor, and his dapper goatee ended up with a blue tint. Maybe that's where the nickname comes from.
But that's not the point. The main thing is that Torrent Company and the 501st, which arrived to assist them, have managed to push the enemy back far enough for our Acclamators to land near the aforementioned nameless settlement and begin a proper offloading.
Admittedly, only two corps were offloading in this area—the 7th Air Corps and the 8th Infantry Corps. The 5th Assault Corps and the 6th Landing Corps were deploying at another settlement—three thousand kilometers away from us. Dougan's Fist in all its glory.
The participation of the remaining units in this operation had to be canceled. Firstly, because a significant portion of the enemy's defenses had already been suppressed. And secondly, and most importantly—as soon as Kreeves' ships and the transports with ammunition for the Blade Fleet arrive in the system, Aayla will lead it in an attack on Deneba. And all the "Twi'lek" corps will descend upon the surface of a completely different planet. As soon as we finish on Daalang, we load onto the landing ships and proceed to the new objective. Aayla, once she completes her business on Denebe, will repeat our leapfrog maneuver—and so on until we reach Gamorr.
The pilot banked into a wide turn to the right. Whie Malreaux, sitting to the left of Tallisibeth, tumbled onto the girl, earning a quiet and indignant hiss from her. I merely smirked under my mask.
"There's a fight below," Oli said, her eyes glued to the data pad streaming the feed from the cockpit. The Padawans, as if by prior agreement, craned their necks in her direction.
I smirked again. Children, what can you do.
Right now, we were roughly a kilometer above the enemy positions—trenches and redoubts plowed by bombs and the laser cannons of ARC-170s, which some military genius had decided to use as the first line of defense on the outskirts of the city.
The Force suggested to me that several clones had just died below. And, to be honest, at first, I didn't give it much thought. Then I realized that this "buzzing," as Winnie the Pooh used to say, wasn't for nothing.
Because we were approaching the target on a vector over territory that, according to reports, was held by the 501st Legion. The main forces of the corps were offloading at an improvised spaceport ten kilometers away—for the sake of offloading safety. And since our clones are dying down there...
"Descend," I ordered the pilot.
"Sir, it's not safe here..."
"Right into the thick of the battle," I clarified, unhooking my lightsabers from my belt. A pair of identical-looking ones. But what different fates their owners had—the twin brothers Thexan and Arcann. Yeah, their old man wasn't the best. Who, suspiciously, hadn't shown his ghostly ass for a long time. Definitely plotting something wicked. If I were him, I'd be hanging over my shoulder constantly. Since the Celestials are dead, he has nothing to hide from. But no.
"Yes, sir," the shuttle banked into another turn, dropping like a stone. The Padawans gripped their safety restraints, jerking them down to chest level. Right, I remember them all claiming to me that only those who are afraid do that. I don't know if the Shadow Killers, who had already boarded the shuttle and secured themselves, laughed at that statement, but I certainly did.
Finally, the belly of the shuttle touched the surface, and the boarding ramp began to lower. Using the Force to lift the seat lock, I gestured to the Shadow Killers and Oli, who were now free of their restraints.
"Let's go, then," the Padawans, still fumbling with their devices, were granted a biting chuckle from Starstone.
Stepping outside the shuttle, I assessed the situation.
The outskirts of the city were burning.
Several buildings, leaning with age, now resembled bright bonfires, belching acrid smoke. Blue and red blaster bolts flashed back and forth, occasionally punctuated by the smoky trails of rockets.
"Looks like Ahsoka got flanked," I reckoned, pointing the clones toward a nearby unit of B1 battle droids marching in an effective box formation toward some clones desperately firing back from a crater. Without a word, the clones in power armor, ejecting massive vibroswords from their gauntlets, rushed toward the target. "Oh, I'm going to pull her ears for this."
"Togruta don't have ears," Oli noted. "Only montrals."
I nodded mechanically, and then the meaning of what she said hit me.
"What, no dirty jokes?" I even whistled in surprise.
"I'm tired of it," the girl sighed, activating her own lightsaber. "I tease you and tease you—you could at least get angry for interest's sake."
"Oh, so those were little jokes?" Together, using Force Speed, we slammed into the thick of the enemies, turning them into scrap metal faster than they could react. "And just how long were all your snide remarks about intimacy just jokes?"
"Well, almost always," the girl answered without thinking, but through the Bonds, I could feel she was being slightly disingenuous. "I'm not a fool to pine for an old man for so long."
"I'm not old," no, my back occasionally hurts after night battles, but that's from overexertion!
"Right, and I'm just a librarian from yesterday," the girl huffed, using the Force to crush the B1 battle droid nearest to her into a piece of scrap. "Relax, Emperor, I don't want to drag you into bed as much as you've imagined."
"So," with a Force Wave, I tore the heads off several droids, hacking another pair to pieces with two swings of my sabers. "You still want to, then?"
"You overestimate yourself," Oli laughed. "And anyway, just so you know—I'm a lesbian."
"What?" The shock I felt hearing this could have cost any other Jedi their life—a B2 super battle droid, somehow mixed into this crowd of Neimoidian dummies, fired a burst into my torso, but the red bolts simply dissipated against the translucent sphere of my Force Barrier. Continuing to watch Oli, I threw my saber at the enemy without looking, slicing it diagonally. "In what sense?"
"Do you need me to spell it out?" Oli's eyes widened.
"Yes, damn it!" I growled, ducking under a B1 battle droid turning toward me with its blaster leveled and slicing it from bottom to top. "Preferably in all the lewd details."
"Well," Oli unceremoniously used the Force to push away a Shadow Killer whose vibroblade was somehow stuck in the chassis of a downed B2 super battle droid, while a creeping B1 battle droid was about to fire a burst into him. Her golden blade described a semicircle, reflecting the bolt back at the enemy and piercing its head. "To be honest, I wouldn't mind spending a night with Xiaan Amersu..."
"Well, in that case, I'm a lesbian too," I admitted. "She's quite the girl..."
Hearing the girl's quiet giggling, I felt anger boiling up inside me. Venting it on the nearest droids, which literally flew into pieces, I jabbed a finger toward the girl. "Is this another joke?"
"Naturally," Oli moved out of the line of fire of a spider droid crawling out of a deep pit. Starstone vaulted over it like an acrobat, slashing her blade across its chassis. Waiting for the droid's red photoreceptors to go dark, she looked at me. "Don't be so serious!"
"This isn't f***ing funny anymore!" I shouted, noticing a Hailfire droid rolling out from behind the ruins and firing a couple of rockets our way. Eat this, Starkiller. Catching both with telekinesis, I returned the deadly projectiles to their sender, causing a substantial fountain of scrap metal. "I have thousands of ships, millions of clones, and billions of subjects under my command, and I have to put up with being mocked by some little brat whose tits haven't even grown in properly yet?!"
"Size isn't everything," the girl shrugged.
"That's a male excuse," I countered.
"I should ask Ahsoka Tano and Aayla how often you use it," the girl giggled. Noticing that my Force was filling with rage faster than could be imagined, she raised her hands in a conciliatory gesture, nodding toward the Padawans running toward us with sabers drawn. Hmm, turns out Oli and I had carved through a hundred meters of enemy lines during our bickering. Efficient. "Breathe out, teacher, or you'll burst from indignation."
"You're still too small to be taking jabs at me, Blade," I snapped. "And as stubborn as a Hutt."
"Well, who's my teacher?" the girl smirked. I didn't have time to parry—the five Jedi "ghosts" ran up.
"Marshal Master Dougan," Whie Malreaux addressed me, scanning the area cleared of the breakthrough group. "Are you even sure you and Oli need our help?"
"Maybe we should head to another army where Jedi help is actually needed?" Nuru scratched his head.
"Hilarious," I remarked, looking around. "Look, kids, there's work for you too."
A squad of soldiers was retreating in an organized fashion to the right, appearing from behind the ruins of what was once a large building. The clones moved steadily, without panic, taking cover and continuously pouring fire from carbines and rifles at an enemy invisible to us.
There were nearly two hundred soldiers, and they clearly did not have a significant numerical advantage over the droids, which were becoming quite numerous in our field of vision.
Among them, as always, B1 battle droids predominated—the "meat" of the Separatist army. Fifty B2 super battle droids—just to keep things interesting.
Blaster beams sliced the air between the forces, which were now separated by the distance of a sprint. Soldiers fell, charred black and smoking, while battle droids froze into metallic statues, scorch marks and electrical sparks visible where the light metal of their frames had been marked by the Republic soldiers' blaster fire.
"The 501st?" Bene gasped.
"The very ones," the Shadow Killers, surrounding our group in a wide semicircle, hungrily bared their vibroswords. Look at that, they've got a taste for it.
"I heard the 501st never retreats," Tallisibeth noted.
"A retreat is just like an advance, only in the opposite direction," Whie tried to joke, but meeting skeptical glares, he chose to change the subject.
"Why are we standing here doing nothing?"
"Actually, I gave you an order—help those clones," I reminded them. "You ignored it. That means there will be five more dishwashers in the 7th Corps kitchen today. And the more soldiers die, the longer you'll be assigned to the kitchen..."
The Padawans vanished like the wind. Smirking, Oli watched as the kids, accelerating with the Force, raced toward the battle, while a clone with captain's rank insignia moved toward us.
"Looks like you're right," the meeting took place behind the first line of houses, where a scene of total clusterf*** opened up before us. Droids of all kinds—tanks, Octuptarra tri-droids, Hailfire droids, and other trash were advancing from three sides. Obviously, the squad we wiped out was a nasty surprise intended to complete the encirclement. "Ahsoka Tano has gotten herself into a tight spot."
"Remind me to punish her after we deal with this," I requested.
"Definitely," Oli nodded. "Should I give you a leather belt, or do you have your own?"
"Padawan," I reminded her of her place with emphasis, "belay that."
"Can't," the girl admitted. "Trolling a person from another universe who's obsessed with sleeping with alien women will never get old. Did the women back home not give you any?"
"That happened," I admitted.
"Ah, well, that explains it," the girl nodded. "I've read about something like that. Compensating for past failures. It happens."
"Worse, but less often," I noted. Too bad it doesn't work.
Meanwhile, the clone captain approached us, removing his helmet as he walked.
"Sir, Captain..."
"What happened here, Boroda?" I asked, nodding in greeting.
"We got bogged down in the center of the settlement," the clone reported. "We expected reinforcements earlier, so Commander Tano ordered several screening units to be pulled from the flanks and rear. The Seps found out and sent several motorized units around us."
"And where is that cartoonish brat herself?" Oli asked.
"At headquarters, Commander Starstone," the clone replied without blinking. Yeah, it seems the 501st "loves" Ahsoka Tano with an inhuman passion. After this grand f***-up, they'll "adore" her even more. Her poor eyes.
"Are the losses heavy?" I asked.
"Not too bad, sir," the clone informed. "About seven hundred fighters—but all 'KIA'."
Smiling under my mask, I recalled introducing the designations of my home army, familiar to me from movies, into the army's use. It's a good thing I didn't start cranking out blaster "Kalashnikovs" and domestic military equipment with the guts of the Galaxy Far, Far Away like some of those idiot-reincarnates I read about in school, as a memory of the "Motherland we lost." The Force steered me away from that delusion.
"Sad news," I admitted. "We need to hold out for a little over an hour—the main forces are fifty kilometers south at the beachhead. When we left, the offloading was practically finished, but the corps will only move in our direction as a full unit."
"Wise, sir," the clone said. "A thin trickle of reinforcements won't change the weather for us. But it's going to get hot—there are a bit more than 'very many' droids here."
"Then why didn't you request help?" Oli frowned.
"Ask me something easier, ma'am," the clone's entire demeanor showed that he really didn't want to answer for his superiors' f***-ups to even higher superiors. "Maybe the comms system is acting up..."
"But ours is working," I noted, dialing the necessary recipient on my wrist computer. The built-in holocommunicator came to life with the miniature figure of a Senior Clone Commander.
"Sir?" he asked without removing his helmet.
"Flash, load the men onto the Low Altitude Assault Transports," I ordered. "The 204th must be at the target in fifteen minutes with the full strength of the line infantry. Tanks wouldn't hurt here either."
"We'll be there in ten, sir," the clone echoed. "I'll inform Marshal Nyx that we're leaving the artillery in his care."
"Good," I permitted. "Hurry, Flash, the 501st is having a hard time here."
"We'll do what we can and a bit more on top," the clone assured me before ending the transmission.
"Are they all like that with you?" Boroda asked.
"Like what?" I didn't catch the point of the question.
"Well... extremely dutiful," the clone hesitated slightly.
"Every single one," I smirked. "Welcome to Dougan's Fist, Captain. Consider this your baptism by fire."
"Thank you, sir," Boroda scratched his short hair before putting his helmet back on. "Looks like it'll be more fun with you than with Anakin Skywalker."
"You haven't seen the most interesting part yet," Oli huffed, activating her lightsaber. "Well, teacher, shall we go mince some droids?"
"Now, I've heard that somewhere before," the clone grumbled quietly, changing the magazine in his blaster carbine.