The crimson blade split the air with a familiar hum and came down like a guillotine, clearly intending to decapitate a certain lightsaber-dropping enthusiast.
But this time (after so many training sessions), Fodeum was ready for his opponent's attack.
Blocking with the white-and-blue blade given to him by Grand Admiral Thrawn, the young man easily parried the thrust. His muscles tensed as he felt the full force of the Inquisitor's blow. But he held firm. This time he wouldn't go face-first into a burrow for the local rodents, because...
The Force warned him far too late that the Inquisitor's weapon might not only be his double-bladed lightsaber. But also the Inquisitor's body itself.
A boot with a ribbed sole slammed into the young Jensaarai's chest with such force that Fodeum realized he was airborne the next instant. The sensation of weightlessness pleasantly invigorated body and spirit. His back, however — which had taken the brunt of the impact against the rough surface of an ancient tree — was not at all pleased with this turn of events.
Fodeum slid to the ground, gasping for air — his lungs felt suspiciously empty after Obscuro's blow. His respiratory system wasn't in a hurry to help its negligent owner, either. Darkness began creeping dangerously into the edges of his vision.
Then things brightened a little — but it felt suspiciously unpleasant. And the cause was either the Inquisitor's displeased glare, or one of his blades pointed straight at Fodeum's throat — hard to say.
"Terrible!" Reynar barked, deactivating his lightsaber and jerking Fodeum to his feet. Shaking the young man like a sack of grain, the mentor seemed to activate some hidden mechanism in Fodeum's body that Fodeum himself didn't know about. But his lungs started working again. For which they deserved honor and praise. "Disgusting! You're holding your lightsaber like it's your first time! Where's your Force?! You think you can waste my time?! Fight, you weakling, or die!"
"Thanks..." Fodeum choked out, taking another breath. Apparently the training duel had cost him some bruised internal organs. Oh, you couldn't do that! They were, after all, his favorite, only, precious, and irreplaceable organs. "Valuable... advice..."
"Go to the Hutt with your gratitude!" Obscuro snarled. "You'll be killed in your first real fight! I could have done it several times already, but I decided to give you a chance!"
"By breaking a couple of ribs?" Fodeum tried to joke. His body strongly advised against it.
"You're fine, you weakling!" Obscuro spat on the ground with barely concealed disgust. "Be grateful I changed my mind about hitting your face, or your precious tailed little girlfriend," he waved a hand toward the Vex hurrying toward them — "would be picking your nasal cartilage out of your own cerebellum."
"You're so merciful today, my lord," Fodeum said with a strained smile, throwing in a barb. "Could you maybe not only beat me up in the future, but also teach me something?"
"Teaching you," Obscuro ground his teeth — "is just a waste of nerves. If it weren't for Thrawn's request, I wouldn't waste my time on you at all, weakling!"
"Enough!" the Twi'lek girl snapped at Reynar. The Inquisitor shot her a withering glare, but she didn't even think of backing down. "You've been beating him up for two weeks straight! Every day!"
"Training must bring pain," the Inquisitor muttered through his teeth. "It's the only way to remember a lesson!"
"Are you even alive?" For the first time, Fodeum felt genuine concern radiating from his partner. Her worried face was so close he could catch a faint scent of her perfume — sweet yet not cloying.
"Yes, yes," Fodeum said absently. "No worse than usual."
"You'll cripple him, you insensitive brute not endowed with even a shred of compassion!" Abandoning the fate of one particular Jensaarai to chance, the Twi'lek fearlessly approached the Inquisitor, who towered a good two heads above her. Reynar gave the girl a hostile look, as if he couldn't believe some little slip of a thing barely reaching his chest would challenge a man who could easily dispatch both her and the entire Imperial research team that had been picking through the ruins of an abandoned Jedi Enclave for days. Surreal, but...
"Vex, don't..." Fodeum called out.
"You shut up!" the Twi'lek hissed at him, pointing a thin, elegant finger his way. Pursing her lips, the girl shoved the Inquisitor in the chest with all her might. He didn't even budge. "What kind of training is this anyway? Every day, for hours during rest breaks, you pummel Fodeum with all your might and call it preparation?! There's going to be no spot left on him that's not bruised, you monster!"
"Only pain can help him remember how to save his own life!" the Inquisitor rumbled. "When Sedriss, Solusar, or someone else from the Dark Side Elite faces him, he will remember my lessons! He'll remember through the pain, embrace it, and grow stronger!"
"You'll kill him during training, you Hutt-spawned monster!" the frenzied girl persisted, shoving the man in front of her in the chest again. Reynar didn't even notice. "All I see is you beating him, kicking him, pushing him, throwing him, slamming him to the ground! Who teaches like that?! At least show him how to fight...!"
"Vex!" Fodeum raised his voice, feeling the pain in his body begin to fade. He reached into his old memories of training with the Jensaarai and now poured the Force into his body to invigorate himself and return to normal. The process wasn't fast, of course, but it was better than nothing.
"What, are you more comfortable bullying those who can't fight back, who are inferior to you in training and skill?" the little fury continued to rage. "Did you show how big and strong you are?! So how is constantly knocking him out going to help him improve and be ready to face enemies, which you keep going on about like some kind of rebel?!"
Fodeum, perfectly aware of his partner's far-from-meek temper and the Inquisitor's even more vile character, gripped his lightsaber in his hand, clearing his mind of extraneous emotions. The Force stubbornly insisted that it was all about to begin...
And it began.
The Inquisitor clenched the fingers of his right hand into a fist, and the Twi'lek's verbal diarrhea instantly stopped, like water ceasing to flow from a turned-off tap. Instead, the girl, kicking her legs and clawing at her throat, rose a good meter into the air and froze to the right of the impassive Inquisitor.
"You little brat," he said, spitting onto the grass. "Always chattering, chattering, chattering... You make my ears hurt! Useless! I'd better strangle you so you stop interfering with my attempts to make at least somewhat decent warrior out of your sniveling captain. If Darth Vader were in my place..." He cast an appraising glance at Fodeum, who was observing the proceedings, calculating the best way to resolve the crisis. But as far as he understood, the Inquisitor was deaf to words. And absolutely amoral. He didn't give a damn about conscience, or about others' lives, for that matter. A fire of his own rage began to kindle in his chest, the cause of which lay in understanding his own helplessness next to this monster. "Oh, your little captain is about to blow steam out of his ears... Well, what's the matter, weakling? Come and free your lady love?!"
"Leave her alone, Reynar," Fodeum said. It came out kind of pathetic; even he didn't believe in the firmness of his own character, let alone this machine of death.
"Make me, kid," the Inquisitor snorted. "She's such a sweetheart." Obscuro ran the back of his hand across the girl's cheek, from which tears were rolling. "It'd be a shame to ruin such a pretty face..."
"Don't touch her!" the young Jensaarai demanded more harshly, feeling a wave of flame spreading through his body, beginning to devour the barriers holding the beast inside.
"Make me, weakling," the Inquisitor offered him. "Jensaarai protect someone or other, don't they? All the unfairly wronged and oppressed? Well, she's one of them." He nodded towards Vex, who had stopped convulsing and was only looking at him with pleading eyes. Unspoken pain and fear cut into his heart. "Why are you standing there like a rotten stump? Waiting for me to cut off your arms and legs, sit you under a tree, and make you watch while I carve up your friend with a pocketknife? Ha, you're all fired up just picturing it! Your little eyes are blazing, you've pressed your lips together, chin raised! Back straight, little hands gripping your little poker... Do you enjoy watching, kid?" Venomous pleasure dripped from Obscuro's voice, the pleasure he felt pouring his syrupy words into the young Jensaarai's ears.
"DON'T. TOUCH. HER." The Force seemed to saturate every particle of his body, transforming him into a colossal reactor of incalculable volume and indescribable power. With its help, planets could be crushed and stars could be exploded, people could be torn to shreds with bare hands, or the armor of spaceships could be punched clean through. The Force, an ancient, intoxicating, and dangerous ally, was with him again.
"Make me, weakling," Reynar said, a threat in his voice, clenching his fingers so that Vex began to wheeze. "Your little friend is already ready to carry my slippers in her teeth every morn—"
The sky-blue blade of Fodeum's lightsaber traced an elegant arc, forcing Obscuro to take a step back. With a hiss and a crackle, the crimson blade came to life, which the Inquisitor turned into a spinning wheel of fire. Fodeum broke through it, landing blows. Not aiming, putting in all his strength and pouring in all the pain, all the rage, all his fears, concerns, hatred, irritation...
The Force was intoxicating and it went to his head. Feeling almost physical pleasure that his lightsaber was about to break through the defense of the weakening, retreating Obscuro, and the bluish-white blade would pierce the Inquisitor's armor, letting the spirit out of him, Fodeum was practically snarling in anticipation of the moment when he could savor the horror frozen in the eyes of a defeated enemy.
In those seconds, all the instructions from his mother and other Jensaarai about the danger of the dark side and emotions, so malleable and so dangerous, flew out of his head. Now he craved only one thing—to kill. And to protect Vex.
He had already freed her—he felt that by switching to a defensive stance, the Inquisitor had stopped choking his partner. Now he needed to finish him! Finish him! Kill! Tear apart! Protect...
The last thought, cutting like a thousand swords, made him stumble, as if tripping. His rage instantly vanished, and the desire for death became something so disgusting that he felt dirty, covered from head to toe in a crust of dried blood. The blood of those he had intended to kill.
And the Force left, leaving behind a sucking feeling of emptiness, loneliness, and endless longing, like when everyone who was dear to you dies...
He managed to dodge a kick to the chest, but the subsequent lunge from the double-bladed lightsaber knocked the weapon from his hand. With a hum, the Inquisitor's weapon flashed before his nose.
Fodeum felt a wave of indescribable rage and bloodlust emanating from Reynar, compared to which his own recent emotions seemed no more than a child's prank. The Inquisitor was breathing raggedly, and in his molten-metal-colored eyes, the young Jensaarai saw only his sentence. The killer raised his sword...
The Force pulsed with a warning echo...
A blaster shot rang out over his head, its bolt nonchalantly parried by the Inquisitor's blade into the grass. The next one shot straight up. Then, using telekinesis, Reynar tore the blaster from the wheezing Vex's hands and carelessly cut it in half with his weapon. The Twi'lek herself materialized next to the Jensaarai as if from thin air. Judging by the drag marks on the grass, however, no supernatural movement had occurred.
"This is called Dun Moch," Reynar Obscuro forced out. "Putting an opponent off balance through threats, mockery, or any other provocations. Sith and their minions use it to break a Jedi's control over their emotions. You just need to survive the first flash of rage, after which the Jedi dogmas will break them, and all the Force they gained from the Dark Side will evaporate, just like it did with you, weakling." With a hiss, the lightsaber blade retracted into the hilt, which he then placed on his belt. "I've killed dozens, if not hundreds, of Jedi this way, you little runt, so I know how to make you do what I need. Those who come for you and your loved ones will be able to do the same perfectly. And they'll have a hundred or two more tricks in reserve, not to mention that every one of their training sessions is a struggle with death itself. Today, you gained the power to crush me," Fodeum noticed with curiosity that the Inquisitor was displaying a single scorch mark left on the armor of his suit, "and to protect her." Reynar's finger jabbed towards Vex, who was looking at him like a little rancor. "You can't be both good and bad at the same time, weakling. Choose already what you want—to gain power and use it to achieve your goals, or to remain the kind and cheerful boy whose conscience comes first. When the time comes to act, and it's not me in front of you but someone from the Dark Side Elite, she," he jabbed his finger towards the now quiet but no less furious Vex, "won't save you. What you saw today is just a small fraction of what a Dark Side adept is capable of. Anyone else in my place—Sedriss, Solusar, or any of the other five butchers—won't waste time with you. She," he jabbed his finger at the Twi'lek again, "will die in your arms. And after that, they'll finish you too. If you want to live and win, accept what you truly are, weakling. The Force must always be with you—it's your weapon, the lightsaber is secondary! If you keep rejecting the Force every time you think you can kill and sleep soundly at night, you'll die. And they'll step over your corpse and kill those you wanted to protect, but were afraid to dirty your little hands. You run around me, asking me to teach you to fight, but you don't try for a single second to understand that the galaxy is vast and the threats within it are countless. Half-measures won't work. You either become what you are and use the Force, or you remain a weakling who will always need someone else's help to avoid dying in a gutter. But you might survive, relying on occasional touches of the Force, as you've been doing for years before. But those who risk their own skin to save yours—they won't."
Without waiting for an answer, Reynar turned on his heel. The hem of his heavy black cloak nearly whipped the partners' faces, but they managed to step back in time. The Inquisitor, with measured steps, not doubting his rightness for a moment, strode towards the ruins of the Dantuin Jedi Temple, around which a field camp of Imperial specialists had been set up.
"He's provoking you to do what you shouldn't do," Vex whispered, looking at Fodeum, who was staring blankly at his own hands and the lightsaber lying in the distance. "Remember you said the Dark Side is dangerous?"
"I did," Fodeum echoed. "I was taught to control it, to keep it in check..."
"Don't listen to the Inquisitor," Vex shook his shoulder. "He wants to make you into the same bastard he is! You're above that!"
"Of course," the young man nodded, not very confident in the correctness of his friend's words. "But there's a grain of truth in his words... He's deliberately confusing me with different assertions, but he's right about some things..."
"I'll always have your back," Vex assured him, pressing against her commander, putting her head on his shoulder in a friendly gesture. "Just like you have mine. Don't break yourself just to be stronger. Who needs that kind of power if you're no longer you?"
The partner looked at the top of the Twi'lek's head...
And said nothing.
* * *
The first landing shuttle with speeder bikes in its cargo hold carefully hovered a few meters above the ground. As the ramp lowered, a scout trooper opened the throttle on his 74-Z speeder bike and, with a roar, shot out into the midday light of Honoghr's star. Following him, the landing struts of the second ship touched the withered grass of the surface.
A scout trooper astride a 74-Z speeder bike.
The machine, stripped of most of its hull plating and armor for lightness, was one of the most common military speeders in the galaxy since the Clone Wars. It had been in service with the reconnaissance units of the Grand Army of the Clones, and continues to be so to this day—for Imperial scouts. No matter which army served with the 74-Z, it always proved itself a reliable and unpretentious machine, distinguished by high maneuverability and speed.
And now, while the Fourth Squad, led by their sergeant and Noghri guides, unloaded from the depths of the Lambda-class shuttle, the scouts mounted on 74-Zs were doing what they did best—surveying the surroundings for enemies. The machine's maneuverability was enviable, as was the reaction speed of the scouts themselves, who managed, at speeds of three hundred sixty to five hundred kilometers per hour, not only to avoid being smeared thinly across the terrain but also to carry out combat tasks.
TNX-0297 looked around, searching for their Noghri guide with his gaze. He was standing near the squad leader, and the sergeant was heading his way. Mushkil, noticing his approach, appeared next to him:
"This temple is a holy place for our people," he mewed in passable Galactic Basic. Who exactly he was addressing was hard to tell. The sergeant nodded in agreement, not wanting to enter a debate. His task was combat leadership. "The outsiders have barricaded themselves inside. And there is no hope of freeing our matriarchs."
"We'll take care of it," TNX-0297 said, surveying the area.
The scouts, having examined the plain approaching a small grove, in the depths of which some Noghri religious structure was hidden, were returning along a wide arc, heading back to the rest of the stormtroopers who had disembarked from the shuttle. Data from their helmets was already being transmitted via tactical channels to unit commanders.
So, the scouts had discovered over a hundred armed enemy soldiers. Some of them were positioned in cover in the forest, the rest were frozen in anticipation of the inevitable assault around the complex. There were probably more inside—otherwise, the Noghri matriarchs would have already freed themselves. That meant the enemy had significantly more manpower than anticipated. And right now, they were clearly baffled about what nine stormtroopers and a few scouts could do against them.
The sergeant assessed the terrain.
They would have to cross a fire-swept plain, two hundred and fifty meters of open ground, after which a dense undergrowth and hills began. Immediately after that was the grove of trees where the Noghri temple was located.
Everything was quiet around, which seemed too suspicious to him. The scouts had clearly noted enemy presence on the hills; trenches and even a few bunkers had been set up. That meant the New Republic troopers didn't intend to do anything until they were attacked. They hadn't engaged the scouts either. So, there was something else going on here.
His attention was caught by the sound of engines.
Turning his head, he saw another Lambda-class shuttle coming in for a landing. Judging by the hull number and modifications, it was the Grand Admiral's ship.
"Fourth Squad—center dress," he commanded, having identified the spot where the pilot intended to land the machine.
The soldiers formed up. Considering that there were two more "Lambdas" between them and the rebel positions, the arrival of command would remain a mystery to them.
The Grand Admiral emerged from his ship behind the Imperial Guardsman. With rapid steps, they approached the field holoprojector, which displayed the enemy's disposition.
The Noghri guide bowed respectfully at the waist when he saw the commander. The stormtroopers—both the regular infantry and the dismounted scouts—stood at attention in formation according to regulations.
"Report," the commander ordered.
"The squad, with attached scout units, is preparing to assault the Noghri temple," the lieutenant explained. "The enemy is holding the clan matriarchs, threatening to kill them if we attack. Their demand: three armed ships with hyperdrives and free departure corridors. An attempt by the Noghri to free the hostages themselves resulted in the attackers being wiped out. The enemy lost up to a company of troopers, but at least two more remain at their disposal. Armed with small arms. According to intercepted communications, they are commanded by Officer Page."
"So we're facing New Republic special forces units," the Grand Admiral squinted.
"In this sector, yes, sir," the squad leader confirmed. "In other engagements, just regular troopers."
"This is the last pocket of resistance, Lieutenant?" Thrawn inquired of the squad leader, involved in the special operation to free the Noghri matriarchs.
"Affirmative, sir," he replied. "The Republic forces are entrenched on two defensive lines—the hills and the forest, as well as directly around the structure. We assume a command post is located inside the structure."
"Attack plan?" the Grand Admiral asked, looking at the smoldering hulls of enemy armored vehicles a few dozen meters from their current position, destroyed by the shuttles during their initial pass.
"The scouts attached to the squad will use speeder bikes to lay smoke screens on the enemy's front line of defense, then break through it and attack the second line. The Fourth and Third squads will attack the position head-on in this and the adjacent sector, while the First and Second will flank the enemy to the left and break through the forest to the structure by the shortest route. The Noghri death commando squads will infiltrate the temple during this time and neutralize the enemy landing force."
"Where are the Noghri now?" the Grand Admiral's burning gaze fell on the guide. Mushkil looked away.
"Scattered in the undergrowth to the left," he mewed. "They have been there since the first attack was repelled."
TNX-0297 knew about the Noghri's attempt to destroy the troopers who had taken control of this temple. Blind chance had led the enemy here—a turbolaser turret had managed to damage one of their ships, and it had limped away with all its remaining power. It had crashed half a kilometer from this spot. And the enemy immediately moved here, intending to occupy a position between the hills and fight back using heavy equipment. Thanks to the stormtrooper reinforcements, the New Republic's vehicles were left burning in the fields of kholm-grass. But several companies from the landing regiment had managed to escape, after wiping out the Noghri who tried to stop them.
"I don't recall the Noghri ever mentioning this place," Thrawn stated, continuing to stare intently at his interlocutor. "Or the temple located here."
"It is the Noghri religion," the gray-skinned one replied. "The temple was built by the gods, and no one is to know of its existence. So the matriarchs decreed."
"Well, we'll speak with them later," Thrawn promised. "Lieutenant, commence the assault. Use the shuttles to cover your subordinates during the attack. Upon closing to fifty meters of the enemy, send the scouts with the smoke screen. Immediately after that, lift the shuttles and destroy the retreating forces."
Mushkil started to say something. But the Grand Admiral gave him a warning look, after which the Noghri chose to remain silent.
"Sir," the squad leader snapped.
Thrawn shook his head in warning.
"First, offer them the chance to surrender. Five minutes to think. If they don't accept the offer, destroy them. Take the officers prisoner."
"Order understood, Grand Admiral," the lieutenant snapped. "Permission to execute?"
"Proceed."
"Yes, sir."
TNX-0297 couldn't help but note the logic of the Grand Admiral's thought. The enemy was surrounded and knew it perfectly well. From four sides, they were blocked by eight armed transports—one squad of stormtroopers and twenty scouts each. The enemy might outnumber them, but they were currently limited to small arms. Their only 'insurance' was the lives of the matriarchs, who were here during the attack on the planet. The sergeant had studied rebel tactics enough to know—they wouldn't execute hostages. Therefore, holding them was nothing more than a bluff. Thrawn had understood this too.
"All units, move out," the lieutenant commanded, addressing the other stormtroopers. They had a foot march ahead to the positions under the cover of the vehicles, whose shields the Republic troops couldn't penetrate, and the New Republic troopers and special forces had nothing to oppose the shuttles' guns. It would be an easy fight. With the changes the Grand Admiral had proposed, even easier than originally planned.
Thrawn and the guard were already ascending the ramp of his own ship. Who exactly had contacted the commander remained a mystery for now, but it wasn't important at the moment. The Grand Admiral needed to be informed that the enemy held hostages of this category. The matriarchs were the rulers of the Noghri clans, effectively the planet's government. Much depended on their death or survival.
The landing shuttles were already rising to a low altitude, like birds of prey ready to strike.
The stormtroopers, invisible behind the hulls of the machines, advanced at a fast pace, following them. Obviously, this method of movement was chosen only until the enemy gave their answer to the proposed ultimatum.
"The enemy has rejected the surrender offer," the lieutenant's voice came through TNX-0297's helmet. "Commencing the assault. Pilots, advance at medium speed. Stormtroopers, switch to a run. Scouts, stand by to break through."
The shuttles, the brightness of their engines increasing due to the additional power being fed to them, had already accelerated their forward movement. The stormtroopers, keeping enough distance to avoid being caught in the engine exhaust, broke into a run to ensure no large gap formed between the vehicles and the infantry.
So far, everything was proceeding routinely, without the obvious problems that usually plagued operations of this scale. The enemy tested the strength of the shuttles' deflector shields with a mass volley and fell silent, as soon as the "Lambdas"' heavy laser cannons began plowing through their positions.
TNX-0297 had covered the necessary distance when the scout riders roared out from behind the shuttle's hull, adding their own firepower to the suppression of targets.
Describing arcs in front of the enemy positions, the scouts launched smoke grenades—and immediately the area began to be shrouded in thick clouds of white-gray smoke, which, however, did not prevent the soldiers in the snow-white armor from tracking the enemy using their armor's computer systems.
As soon as the shuttles began to gain altitude, the order to transition to a direct assault sounded on the squad's tactical channel.
The Fourth Squad rushed forward at a run, firing at detected targets through the smoke screen. To avoid running into return fire from any remaining enemies, they had to change their disposition, making evasive maneuvers to the sides. A simple and effective tactic—the enemy, pinned down by fire from the air, was ineffective.
Unlike the stormtroopers.
The rattle of blasters drowned out all surrounding sounds, merging into a monotonous canvas of routine for the 501st Legion.
Bursts gave way to scattered shots, but the overwhelming sound was definitely from the E-11 Blastech rifles used by the stormtroopers. The rare return fire from the enemy indicated that most of them had been wiped out. Or were retreating, stricken by the fire from the armed transports.
The stormtroopers advanced, pushing into the forest, which was already catching fire in places. Mushkil, moving ahead of the advancing stormtrooper line, took down an enemy — a camouflaged sniper — with a blaster shot. A throwing knife lodged in the sniper's forehead, and his body crashed into the bushes, splintering them under his weight with a crack. The fighters of Fourth Squad circled the corpse, already picking out two more targets on the move and cutting them down with crossfire.
Somewhere in the distance, munitions began to detonate — grenades and a few things more serious. Noted.
The first casualty reports appeared on the tactical channel. Second Squad was almost completely wiped out; First Squad's advance was slowed by accurate sniper fire. The Noghri joined the action, and a few seconds later, the First Squad sergeant reported the problem eliminated.
Third Squad was moving fifty meters away, pushing forward without stopping. The screech of speeder bikes and the rapid-fire bursts from their guns indicated that the enemy's second line of defense wasn't giving up as easily as one might assume in any other situation. An effective solution was needed, and Sergeant TNX-0297 was looking for one right now.
The fighters covered four hundred meters of forest in a few minutes. Ahead, the dark-gray bulk of a temple loomed, with a fierce battle already raging on its steps. Judging by the craters in the ground and the scarred exterior elements, the enemy had planted camouflaged mines, which had already claimed several stormtroopers and a couple of Noghri.
New Republic fighters were falling back to the main entrance — a rectangular arch, inside which a warm yellow light gleamed. The wreckage of droids, destroyed by what was clearly close-range fire, caught his eye. The enemy stayed well away from them, but the Noghri...
"Mines!" TNX-0297 warned, but it was too late.
A wave of a dozen young Noghri literally ceased to exist when the enemy detonated the camouflaged explosive devices. Bodies and body parts were scattered across the area. The stormtroopers took cover behind the outer half-meter wall that ringed the temple, which was partially destroyed, just like the structure itself.
TNX-0297 noted that the structure was built from extremely durable materials. Specialized construction equipment had definitely been used. The Noghri don't have such technology. Conclusion: the temple was not built by Noghri.
A little more time was needed for additional analysis. TNX-0297 found the necessary solution.
"Lieutenant," he addressed the squad leader. "I suggest the shuttles and stormtroopers lay down suppressive fire. The squads advance in turns."
"Understood, Sergeant," the lieutenant immediately switched to another comm channel, issuing the relevant orders.
The temple entrance was literally flooded with an ocean of blaster fire. The defenders, having lost a significant portion of their fighters, fell back into the inner chambers, clearly intending to find cover there. It was logical — they knew the layout of the building. An optimal solution was needed.
By the time Fourth Squad had, from a safe distance, shot up the parts of droids in which the enemy had planted demolition charges and mines, they were closing in on the entrance, from which crimson blaster bolts streaked out, barring the way inside. A frontal assault was predicted to be incorrect — heavy losses were forecast. A different option was necessary.
"Scouts, prepare to breach the interior," the Grand Admiral's voice suddenly sounded on the command frequency.
TNX-0297, who had himself reached the same conclusion a second ago, silently watched as pairs of scout stormtroopers at high speed zipped past New Republic fighters lying in ambush, using their weapons to attack and draw attention away from the main assault force.
As soon as the enemy's suppressive fire died down, the squads rushed forward.
The howl of blasters from both sides turned into a cacophony of death, accompanying the defenders' agony.
Using the interior, columns, and small podiums, the stormtroopers completely surrounded the central chamber, where, near several old Noghri women covered in black fur, stood three New Republic fighters. Five more were wounded in various ways and were trying to pose a formidable force from their positions. The stormtroopers spread out across the chamber: some stayed to guard the prisoners, while the rest rushed into the passages in the walls to clear the other rooms. They were joined by several Noghri squads, while no fewer than two dozen occupied the central chamber, hiding in the shadows.
With the cautious growl of 74-Z engines, the scout stormtroopers also joined the ranks of the "guards."
And the slaughter continued in the corridors... Judging by the sounds, the E-11s were overwhelmingly dominating the enemy. It would all be over soon. The outcome was clear and inevitable.
"Drop your weapons," the sergeant ordered the surrounded men. "Your people need medical attention."
"What a considerate Imperial we've got here," a tall, powerfully built man sneered through gritted teeth. He had no command plaques or other insignia, so one could only assume he was the highest-ranking among those Republic soldiers still alive. "We need a ship and a way out of here..."
"You will get neither, Lieutenant Page," came the voice of Grand Admiral Thrawn from the corridor connecting the entrance area to the main chamber. Accompanied by an Imperial Guard, he stood under the arch joining the two rooms, calmly gazing at the last Republic soldiers on the planet. "The best I can offer you under the circumstances is to surrender, where you will receive whatever aid is necessary. Continuing this conflict will mean your death."
"Then you'll kill them too," stated the soldier, whose combat knife touched the throat of one of the matriarchs. The next second, a throwing knife flashed from the darkness, traversed the space between them in a swift throw, and severed the man's wrist, the hand still clutching the cold weapon. The Republic soldier hissed, releasing the hostage.
And in the following minute, a crack of breaking bones echoed as the commander's body crashed to its knees. His arms dangled like useless ropes, unable to perform any action. The matriarch, using him as a living shield, held his own combat knife with its point at the fallen man's Adam's apple. The other clan rulers, taking advantage of their opponents' confusion, literally vanished before their eyes — only shadows within the main hall stirred suspiciously.
The Republic fighters barely had time to exchange glances before knives flashed...
"The first one to pull a trigger will be the cause of death for all his comrades," Thrawn stated authoritatively. He looked both at the matriarch who was holding the enemy unit commander and periodically glanced at the Republic soldiers. "To all New Republic fighters who lay down their arms, I guarantee captivity and proper medical care. The Noghri may kill the Republic soldiers, but if they do, I will never again accept your oath of allegiance or come to your defense. You have ten seconds to decide. After that, you will be destroyed at any cost. The countdown has begun..."
TNX-0297 assessed the correctness of the commander's actions towards the enemy. He had offered them a chance to surrender before demonstrating his strength. They hadn't complied because they hadn't believed him. Perhaps they expected negotiations to begin. The stormtroopers had crushed them, and now the best course of action was to take prisoners.
As for the Noghri... The sergeant didn't know the level of relationship between the Grand Admiral and the grey-skinned natives, so he couldn't assess the weight of his words and the severity of the warning. He simply noted that masters of knife combat could become potential targets. Therefore, he slowly moved his leg back to have room to maneuver in case hostilities broke out.
The time allotted by Grand Admiral Thrawn expired. The Republic fighters, raising their hands, obediently disarmed.
"The right choice," Thrawn commented. Looking at the Republic special forces commander, who was being disarmed by several 501st Legion soldiers, he addressed the clan matriarchs, who were standing a couple of meters away.
"I will remain in orbit around Honoghr for another two days," he said. "If you have something to say to me, say it within that time. If not, I advise you to concern yourselves with evacuating your planet. The Republic will not leave you alone."
With these words, the Grand Admiral, accompanied by his guard, left the ancient temple.
* * *
"Eymand!" Tyberos yelled, squeezing into the cockpit of an armored Gozanti-class transport and flopping down into the co-pilot's seat next to the helmsman — a large, burly fellow stripped to the waist. This offered a perfect view of the tattoos covering his body. Each one was practically a marker of a prison sentence served. Judging by appearances, their pilot had spent most of his life on Kessel. Was that where he got such developed musculature? "Come on, buddy, get a move on. We're in a pinch here."
"Rabid Ewok, the headhunters, and the Devastator are in position!" the former Jedi Knight replied. "Undocked from the transport. We need to hold out for about thirty minutes until they get clear and make the jump."
Easier said than done.
Tyberos looked at the scanner data.
The pirates whose heavy fighter he'd stolen had brought damn near their entire fleet with them. It seemed this little transgression had really gotten to them. Well, nothing they couldn't handle. The main thing was that it wasn't them getting handled.
"We've got big problems, Captain," the hulking pilot said in a low voice.
Tyberos already knew that from the instruments, but if even this guy, who was only quick-witted when piloting a ship, had figured it out...
"We're going to intercept their course," Tyberos ordered. "The main objective right now is to keep them from reaching our transport. The other four are safe — the Colicoid Swarm will cover them."
"And the Black Pearl won't cover us?" the big man asked.
"Good question, Tyberos," Eymand's voice cut in. "Will Vane cover us?"
"The bastard wants me to pay for his entire ship's repairs in exchange for his help," Tyberos spat. "We don't have that kind of money."
"If we lose the profit from this operation, we'll have nothing at all," the former Jedi stated. Thanks, old friend, for not mentioning the "stash." No need for even trusted individuals to know about that. And certainly not worth discussing over comm channels. "We have two jointly captured cargo ships full of food supplies, and one — the one barely crawling — is all ours. Thrawn will pay handsomely for gifts like these. There are enough missiles there for 'his victories' for a dozen battles to come. We lose this ship, and we'll only have enough cash for repairs and crew payouts. So, I'd take the risk — if the Black Pearl puts in a good effort, it can take out half the fleet of Lok's Avengers."
And the pirate captain Nim had brought a hell of a fleet. The armored transport's onboard computer had already tallied the number of targets.
Fourteen Nubian N-6 Scurrgs, upgraded by the Lok pirates, which increased their danger tenfold. Just these alone would be enough to...
Sixteen G-400s — a single-seat fighter with a single cannon. One-on-one, the enemy was worthless, but there were a lot of them gathered today.
Freefall — an N-class fighter-bomber of Nubian manufacture. The executive officer of Lok's Avengers seemed to be flying it. A well-armed, heavy, maneuverable, fast vessel loaded with unguided bombs. Not as scary as it seemed — as long as its bomb bays were closed.
The Guardian Mantis. What could be worse than a Xi Char-engineered agile, nimble fighter with some kind of cloaking system? That's right — two such fighters. Fortunately, the pirates only had one. But that didn't exactly make it easier on the heart.
Two sigils... Ancient relics.
Zumer — that was a homebuilt job, a light cargo ship. But it was armed enough to last a lifetime.
Five Z-95s in AF4 modification. Headhunters were a headache even without any modifications, and this was the latest model... More powerful, faster, stronger, better protected...
Wait, hold on. Was that it?! Where were the X-wings, the Y-wings, the assault gunboats, the Skyhoppers?!
"Forty ships," Tyberos sighed. He knew the tactics of Lok's Avengers perfectly well, so there was no doubt left.
He started issuing orders to the remaining crew members on the captured transport. The guys were, of course, taken aback by the message, but they confirmed the order and set to work.
Sorry, Vane. You should have agreed right away. You'll sell it after today anyway.
Checking the instrument readings to see that Captain Irv was keeping as far away from the action as possible, and that the rockets and turbolasers of his Colicoid Swarm were already tirelessly carving up the scorched hull of the Mon Calamari cruiser under field conditions, the privateer captain calmed down somewhat. The circle of casualties would be minimal. He felt sorry for Vane, of course, but what could he do? Chance, the Universe, or the blasted Force had decreed it so. But what would happen, would happen. The main thing was to really piss off Nym subordinates.
"You want more?" Eymand inquired. "Tyberos, they're about to be in range!"
"I get it, I get it," the privateer squad leader chewed his lip. "We're stalling for time."
"And Vane? He's got so many missiles he could just blast them from extreme range."
"Let's try a couple of tricks first," Tyberos said, opening a channel to the Freefall. "Gentlemen pirates, wouldn't you rather go back to the hole you crawled out of?"
"O-o-o-p," someone with a thick accent drawled, one that even an electronic vocabulator couldn't hide. "An-and who's this talkative fella we got here, huh?"
"That's the kid who swiped our Devastator," a second voice said grimly. "Hello, Captain Tyberos. Did you think we wouldn't come for you?"
"Nim," the voice of the Lok pirate leader was hard to mistake for anyone else. "Did you fly all the way here to beg me again not to show that recording?"
Tyberos had his own history with Lok's Avengers, which he didn't particularly broadcast. Only Eymand knew the details. And Nim himself. And, to some extent, his cronies. But that was a long time ago.
But neither Captain Nym nor Captain Tyberos had forgotten. Especially the latter. So when he got the chance, he once again ground the former captain's face in the dirt by stealing the Devastator right from under his nose. What a stink it had caused...
But it seemed Nim had become even more aggressive and vengeful over the years, flying halfway across the galaxy to settle the score over a single ship.
"O-o-op," the first pirate spoke again. "So it's you, is it, Tyberos? Really decided to risk your neck?"
"I came for my ship, Tyberos," Nim rumbled with undisguised menace. "And for your head. I'll take both my trophies back to Lok."
"Tyberos!" Eymand cried out as hyperspace once again showed them no favor.
"I see it," he hissed. "Nim, you'd better call your boys off. We're working for the Empire. This isn't our contract — it's theirs. You touch that ship," he looked with satisfaction at the sluggish freighter, around which multiple new targets had appeared. The very ones he'd been worried about missing. "And you're finished."
"You sweet-talker, Tibby," Nim cooed. The privateer ground his teeth. That nickname again. "But my beef is with you, not the Empire."
"Then let the ships go, and we'll settle our problems..." Tyberos said, though he knew he was only provoking Captain Nym further.
"No, Tibby," the Fiorin replied. "I want to see that stupid Imperial who trusted you with this operation skin you alive. Fire!"
Dozens of fighters — X-wings and Y-wings — launched proton torpedoes at the sluggish freighter. Tyberos silently thanked the Force that his ships were outside the detonation zone...
But the massive Black Pearl was caught in the explosion's kill radius.
The matte-black armor plates of the Providence-class carrier took the brunt of the heat and shockwave. The deflectors did what they could to cope with the energy surges but were unable to stop the wave of debris that swept across the open hangar deck, obliterating everything it could reach. The Star Destroyer was, quite literally, flayed across most of its starboard side, which had been in the path of the detonating munitions of the destroyed ship.
As sorry as he felt for his money, the main thing was that the escape pods with his crew members were outside the danger zone, indicated by the markers on the radar. Vane was a good guy, but he didn't need a monster like that. Not at all.
"Thump, and your transport's gone," Nim said mockingly. "What a beautiful Separatist destroyer you had there, Tibby... Hmm, a real sight for sore eyes. Haven't seen a Providence in ten years. Where'd you get it? Ah, never mind."
"You made a big mistake, Nim," Tyberos admitted, signaling his pilot to head towards the Black Pearl. Maybe he wouldn't even have to pay anything if Vane had been on board that transport. Even the pirates who attacked the ship weren't prepared for it to be blown to pieces, destroying and damaging everything around.
"Well, I wouldn't say that, Tibby. That ship you snatched up is something else. And the second one's not bad either."
"Nim," Tyberos said gleefully. "Those aren't my ships."
"Now we're going to give your gang a good thrashing and take that beauty for ourselves. Always dreamed of... What? What do you mean, not yours?"
The Black Pearl, which until now had seemed a motionless behemoth, suddenly came out of its drift and began moving. There was very little distance left to Lok's Avengers squadron; soon the fighters would be locked in a knife fight. Practically point-blank range and...
Yazuo Vane's ship seemed to be engulfed in crimson fire. But it had nothing to do with the pockets of fire blazing on the starboard decks.
And in the very next second, twelve markers vanished from the scanner data. In real space, small detonation flashes appeared in their place, preceded by a massive artillery and missile salvo from the Black Pearl's bow guns and launchers.
Tyberos mentally closed his eyes, thanking the Force that Vane, that insufferable brat, had survived. And that right now he was angry. Very angry.
The first thing everyone in the immediate vicinity heard was a string of choice curses in a mix of Huttese, Arkanian, Corellian, and several other languages Tyberos didn't know.
Then the erudite, white-maned captain of the Black Pearl decided to make his feelings known:
"I don't know who you are, you Gamorrean pig who damaged my ship," Tyberos didn't recognize Vane's voice, it was so filled with rage. "But now I'll dig you out from under the ground! Tyberos, is this your pal?!"
"I wouldn't say that," the privateer captain replied, admiring how another salvo of turbolasers practically wiped out half the original Lok pirate flotilla. "His name is Captain Nym, and he decided to try and get his hands on your ship, Vane."
"MY? SHIP?!" The comm channel practically seethed with the half-breed's rage. The Black Pearl began moving, accelerating with every second as it rushed to meet Nym nineteen starships, which were dancing in the vacuum, trying to avoid the turbolaser fire or missiles Vane's ship was spewing. "Come here, Captain Nym! I'll flay you alive!"
"O-o-op..." was all that was heard on the open channel before an anti-ship missile blew the stealth fighter to pieces. Well, now it was clear who had owned that inimitable accent.
"Vane! Vane!" The airwaves were in absolute chaos. The pirates, who found themselves nose-to-nose with squadrons of Vulture-class droid starfighters — which had been massively 'parked' on the ship's armor during the explosion and had taken no losses — were trying to flee. But what had worked for them in the past — heavy weapons and ship armor — was today the cause of their destruction. "Vane! This is Captain Nym! It was a regrettable mistake! I'll pay! I'll pay you back everything!"
"He's lying, Yazuo," Tyberos lied calmly. "Lok's Avengers are broke. If Nym had any money, he'd never have flown here to snatch our prize from under our noses."
"I don't care!" the commander of the Black Pearl raged. "Nim! Don't you dare run, you bastard! I'll fly to your planet and grind your base to dust!"
He didn't even need to intervene.
The Lok's Avengers fighters couldn't even reach Tyberos's gang's defensive holding positions — the guns, droids, and missiles of the Black Pearl did all the work. Nim and his deputy, along with three badly battered Headhunters, managed to escape before vengeance caught up with them.
The Gozanti slowly cruised along the Black Pearl's damaged starboard side. A sad sight.
Armor was torn off or deformed. Deck plating was twisted or buckled in waves. Bulkheads were peppered with shrapnel. Several fires that had started had died out on their own — once everything flammable had burned. And to top it all off, the hangar deck had simply ceased to serve its original purpose. There was absolutely nothing left onboard that could even remotely be called flight-worthy. The only thing that had saved Vane's ship from total detonation was that Vane didn't have the money to buy the required amount of ammunition. So, in effect, he had just spent his last reserves.
"Yazuo," Tyberos said. "I'm on your starboard side. There's... not a single intact spot here. I'm sorry, friend."
Instead of a reply, the hangar's metal shields tried to slide shut. But they couldn't — either they were jammed or the mechanism had been damaged in the detonation.
"Friend?" Vane turned to him with unexpected venom. "Because of your games with various Captains Nim, my ship is damaged. Eymand already sent me the telemetry! I basically don't have a starboard side! The turbolasers are gone like a bantha licked them clean! This is what you call friendship?!"
"It's not like I led them here," Tyberos noted innocently. "If you noticed, they destroyed the ship with proton torpedoes and missiles, so the explosion's aftermath is... corresponding. Believe me, I'm very sorry..."
"Shove your pity up a Hutt's tail!" Vane punctuated the direction of their journey with some strong language. "If the Pearl doesn't reach Makem Te to hand over the ships, I'll personally slice you into pieces, you understand me?!"
"Of course I understand, friend," Tyberos smiled. He was already calculating in his head how much his 'friend's' repairs on this ship would cost. Given its age and the condition of most of its mechanisms — it might come to half the value of the Providence itself. Vane had money — after all, he and Irv had each captured a transport on their own, and another one jointly with Tyberos's people. The only question was what had been in the holds of the first two ships, since Tyberos knew about the food rations on the second pair. If there was something valuable in there, then Yazuo might be able to pay for the ship's repairs and settle his debts with Thrawn. But if not…
He definitely wouldn't be able to fly a damaged, falling-apart starship for long — either he'd have to abandon it, or the ship would just blow up on its own in hyperspace or during the next battle. Yazuo, though an enthusiastic guy, wasn't an idiot.
Maybe in a day or two, he'd come around to the idea of needing to sell the ship. And Tyberos would be right there… Too bad he wasn't flush with cash himself. He definitely couldn't cover the full price. Two-thirds — that he could manage, but there would be big problems paying the crew. Though, for a common cause, they'd probably meet him halfway, but they'd ask for 'interest.'
Tyberos leaned back in the co-pilot's seat, watching the battered Black Pearl, surrounded by its fighter drones, move toward the Colicoid Swarm. Vane couldn't abandon his 'vultures,' so he intended to stuff them into Captain Irv's hangar. Such a practical boy…
Tyberos broke into a wide grin. He thought he knew who to negotiate with to get the funds needed to acquire the Black Pearl.
Grand Admiral Thrawn would surely be interested to know that on the planet Lok, Captain Nym had a large warehouse full of loot acquired over nearly forty years of piracy. And some decent production facilities for the Scurrg H-6 bomber.
Yes, Thrawn would definitely be interested in that kind of setup. He just needed to present the situation so that the Imperial wouldn't find out that he'd lost a fully loaded cargo ship because of a petty trick by Tyberos himself.