Captain Torin Inek watched the nexu lying at his feet with interest.
The predator, nearly five meters long with two pairs of eyes, its huge, reddish-cream tongue lolling out, was breathing rapidly and shallowly.
Its blackened, blaster-scorched flanks were heaving, but this was only a desperate struggle for life. With a broken spine and a shot-through head, one doesn't live long.
The long, muscular tail, with which it had just killed a stormtrooper who now lay prone, posed no threat.
Its muscle-bulging limbs, ending in claws as sharp as a vibroblade, twitched barely perceptibly, signaling the dying nerve endings of the beast.
But its eyes...
The eyes were alive, despite the massive wound in its skull.
The nexu.
The AT-RT's laser cannon had nearly blown the female's head off when she burst from an abandoned house in the survivors' settlement. The beast, like its twenty-eight kin before it, had attacked the landing forces that had finally broken through the droid army.
The result of the short battle — three clones killed, ripped open by the nexu's claws; another with a crushed sternum is currently under observation by medics aboard the "Abyss Fury."
"Vicious creature, — General Covell spat on the ground with feeling, not hiding his contempt for the animal. — Lost so many soldiers because of it.
"If murderers broke into your home, General, you'd also want as many of them as possible to die, — Torin remarked calmly, not taking his eyes off the dying nexu's gaze, which was fixed on him.
"When I find those survivors, they'll answer for all the dead, — General Covell's clone continued angrily.
"We lost one company, — Torin reminded him, stepping a little closer to the beast. He reached a hand toward its body. Its right front paw twitched but couldn't lift itself from the ground. — That's a decent result, considering we captured both the settlement and the crash site.
"The only thing that makes you happy is that the cargo on the ship is intact, — the general snorted, looking disapprovingly at the dying feline.
"Yes, that's good, — Torin agreed. — And after the locals lured us into that abandoned camp where the nexu pride lives, I want to meet them even more. Are the scouts already combing the forest?
"Yes, — Covell replied, looking at a transport lifting off. — While the fleet boys haul out all this junk, we do the work.
"Everyone has their own mission, General, — Torin stated.
"Just leave that creature already, — the clone advised. — Or better, finish it off so it dies faster. We need to widen the search perimeter.
"That won't happen, — the scout stated. — Our work here isn't finished yet.
"Are we supposed to wait until the fleet boys haul out every last log? — Covell grimaced.
Torin stepped closer, stroking the huge cat's forehead with his armored gauntlet.
A mewling groan came from its mouth.
"Doesn't it bother you that the life-form scanners detected thirty marks, but we only killed twenty-nine nexu in the settlement? — the scout asked.
"Are you saying the thirtieth creature is nearby? — Covell squinted.
"Yes, — Inek replied simply, nodding toward the house the nexu had jumped out of. — In there.
"Stormtroopers...! — Covell barked, pointing at the new target.
"Stop, General, — Torin replied, seeing the dying one breathe even faster, casting a glance toward its old hiding spot. — No one is to open fire on the nexu in that house.
"What, are we going to spare the guard beasts the locals kept here? — General Covell snorted.
"That's not the question, — Torin got to his feet.
Feeling the dying predator's gaze on him, he calmly walked into the house, hearing a feline hiss behind him.
The female couldn't do anything except attract attention to herself, hoping the stronger predator would kill her and it would all be over.
It wouldn't end.
The scout found what he was looking for quite quickly.
A cub, its fur strikingly white, was hiding among the leaves and rotting grass from which its mother had made a sort of nest-bed.
The kitten hissed and swiped its paw, its little bead-like eyes blazing, clearly wishing it could get far, far away. But the trouble was — it was still too weak to even stand, let alone break through a wall and escape.
The spines running along its backbone stood on end, showing all the negativity the cub was expressing towards the stranger.
Torin crouched down, reaching out his hand.
With the calm born of years of experience, he ignored the attack on his limb, though the shavings the kitten's claws gouged from his durasteel armor were certainly impressive.
Grabbing the cub by the scruff of the neck, the agent stepped outside.
Well, well... The kitten... Clearly not a newborn anymore.
Upon seeing the kitten, the mother began to wheeze more heavily. She even tried to get up... But it was clear her body could no longer respond to the requests of her still-fighting-for-life brain. The mother wouldn't allow herself to succumb to death until she knew the cub's fate.
Seeing its parent, the cub squeaked pitifully and tried to break free.
Torin crouched beside the nexu's body, stroking the dying one's face with his free hand. The pleading look in her eyes never left the cub.
"Everything will be fine, — the agent promised her, smoothing the kitten's fur, ignoring how its forked tail frantically lashed his forearm. — I'll take care of him. I promise.
He pulled a piece of jerky from a pocket on his tactical belt, clearly not part of standard equipment. The kitten first hissed, but then sank its teeth into the prize, frantically tearing it apart with its needle-like teeth.
A weight lifted from his heart, because he had been afraid he'd have to bottle-feed the cub with milk.
Having filled its stomach, the little nexu cub yawned sweetly, then demanded more.
And got it.
The dying female let out a pitiful groan, giving Torin a farewell-approving look. With her last strength, she lunged forward, licking the agent's chest plate and her own cub with the tip of her tongue.
And then, the female closed her eyes and stopped resisting the embrace of death.
It seemed like an unreasoning animal, driven only by instinct and training... But in that last look she gave the agent, there was more meaning than in the actions of many humans.
"What was that just now? — General Covell inquired quietly.
"The female accepted me as a black nexu, — Torin said, taking off his helmet. The snow-white cub, still munching appetizingly, cast an interested glance at him but didn't stop what it was doing. — That breed is considered extremely rare and, at the same time, the strongest among this species. I think her last action was something like a blessing and a farewell simultaneously. She asked me to take care of the cub, seeing that I didn't kill it outright. The request of a dying predator to a stronger kin.
"So my soldiers and the stormtroopers... — the general glanced at the gray-uniformed infantrymen and "dolls."
"The first were like adult individuals to her, and the second were just big cubs that came to kill her offspring and her pack, — Torin explained. — At least, that's what I think...
"So... — the general pulled off his helmet and smoothed his disheveled hair. — You decided to adopt a nexu?
"He won't survive in the forest, — having emptied all the supplies, the little one, already strong enough to kill small prey, gave a charming smile, revealing two rows of sharp teeth capable of crushing bone. Then it curled up contently in a ball on the scout's arms and purred happily. — He'll either starve to death or become a training hunt target for another pack's cubs. I'm not leaving him here, — the agent stated resolutely, getting to his feet, holding the clearly not-light cub in his arms.
Striding toward the nearest Lambda shuttle, Torin heard the words of Clone General Covell:
"And I always thought those guys from the former Imperial Intelligence were just heartless bastards...
"Continue the search for survivors, — Torin ordered without looking back. — We'll deal with them for the nexu trap.
* * *
" *
"Just what I needed," Mara thought, deflecting a shot aimed at her head with the blade of her lightsaber.
The two-meter figure in crimson armor and a cloak, with the solid visor of its helmet hiding its face, continued firing at the girl, intending to suppress her resistance with the rate of fire of its blaster.
It was tough, but she'd faced worse.
Mara was taken aback at first, thinking she was up against soldiers from the Dominion Guard, but she quickly realized her mistake.
These guards wore an old uniform — from the time of their service to Palpatine. Therefore, these were not those who served Thrawn.
And this, in turn, meant that ×1 had far more resources than they had previously seen.
And, if she slanted her gaze to the side to watch the battle Maul was engaged in, it became clear that the self-proclaimed Sith Lord had clearly saved plenty of "surprises from the past."
The Zabrak spun and kicked the chest of a tall droid armed with an electrostaff. A terrible sound of metal grinding against metal rang out, but the former instructor's tenacious prosthetics failed to pierce the MagnaGuard's sternum.
IG-100, "MagnaGuard." Uh-huh, the mad clone also had such "toys" in his arsenal.
Count Dooku and General Grievous's favorite playthings from the Clone Wars.
Created specifically to counter Force-sensitive individuals... Ah, why hide it — they were designed to kill Jedi.
And, judging by the swiftness of their movements, these guys clearly hadn't rusted in the last thirty years.
The end of one of the droids' electrostaff pressed into Maul's chest.
Blue-violet discharges ran across his red-black skin, and the room, in the far corner of which sat the freak who had started all this, echoed with the roar of a wounded animal.
But the next moment, his lightsaber pike with crimson blades moved with incredible speed, cleaving the droid's body into several pieces.
The war machine fell apart, and the Zabrak moved on to the next opponent.
Mara used the Force to tear the blaster from the guard's hands, and he instantly armed himself with a vibroblade.
It didn't help him, though — a precise shot from her SoroSuub rifle punched a hole through his visor. The soldier fell face-first to the floor, frozen in a red-black puddle.
In the same second, Mara lunged at the other two guards, who had turned their attention to her. The lightsaber beat in the girl's hand like a living thing, parrying blaster shots.
Ordinary soldiers would have been cut to pieces before they even had a chance to use their weapons, but overcoming the Imperial Guards wasn't so simple. Once upon a time, men like these had trained Jade in the art of hand-to-hand combat. And, let's be honest — just as she surpassed ordinary people in this art, these two in crimson robes could easily have taken her down.
The first soldier parried her blow with his electrostaff, which he used like a vibroblade. The energy blade nearly flew from her hands and carved a deep groove into the nearest wall.
Mara performed a reverse somersault, swinging her blade diagonally in the process. The first fighter came away unscathed, having calculated her moves in time.
The second guard also joined the fight, and Mara had to retreat again to handle the coordinated attack of the two butchers.
The girl called upon the Force, corkscrewed into the air, and, tucking her knees, somersaulted over her opponent. And didn't miss the chance to slash her blade across the back of the careless enemy.
The guard, caught off guard, reacted a fraction of a second too late — his staff whistled mere centimeters from Mara's blade.
Cut in two, the warrior in crimson armor went still on the floor.
Mara didn't give the second guard a chance to recover.
As Ahsoka had taught her, she cleared her mind of all distractions and thrust her palm out, hitting the soldier square in the chest with the Force. But instead of being sent flying, the warrior only took a half-step back.
It took a moment to understand — the clever bastard had driven his weapon into the floor and used it as a brace.
Oh, is that so?
Thrawn's Hand surged forward.
She struck down at his head — an obvious feint to force his weapon up and leave his legs open for a quick second strike.
The guard knew the maneuver: well, of course, it was a move from the arsenal of the Sun Guard, once serving the Sith.
So the guard easily parried the high strike with his electrostaff, proving once again that his weapon was made of a material capable of resisting energy blades.
The staff came down, covering his legs, but Mara had no intention of striking there.
Instead, she thoroughly kicked the lunk in the head, sending him helmet-first to dig a hole for a womp rat.
The guard easily sprang back from the floor, reaching for his staff — and at that moment, the purple blade pierced his chest.
Knowing some of the tricks the Emperor used in creating his bodyguards, Jade didn't hesitate, cutting off his head. That way, he definitely wasn't a threat.
Maul was going all out.
He practically didn't use the Force, relying only on his strength, speed, and swordsmanship.
Which was a bit... foolish, when dealing with droids specifically designed to counter lightsabers.
Mara glanced at ×1, who was sitting in a meditative pose.
Around the psychopath were placed various artifacts, including several holocrons.
They glowed with such a bright crimson flame that the girl found it unbearable to look at them.
And she didn't have time: a doorway opened at the far end of the room, and four more guards were already running through.
"Are you kidding me, — Mara groaned.
But no, reality remained the same soulless embodiment of the law of meanness, so she had to enter the fight again and...
The Force unobtrusively pulled her to jump aside.
And just as she did, grenades flew from behind her — the shock commandos hadn't abandoned her in her time of need.
The girl, instantly calculating trajectories, caught the munitions with the Force and corrected their destination.
The thermal detonators exploded, turning the guards into shredded meat with their blast and shrapnel.
And a considerable part of it splashed out towards the Sith Lord.
Mara immediately felt the pressure on her mind drop. The girl glanced towards the source of danger.
The Jedi clone watched the spectacle with detached curiosity.
Her throat went dry when the freak's gaze settled on her. He didn't even seem bothered that some of his toys — the artifacts and holocrons — had been damaged or destroyed.
"Well, alright, Emperor's Hand, — the clone said, getting to his feet. A blade of traditional red light ignited in his hand. And its tip pointed at her. — I'll finish you off with my own hands.
Instead of answering, Mara lunged forward.
How did it go?
"Peace is a lie, there is only passion."
* * *
Or maybe, "Victory breaks my chains"?
" *
The cabin was thick with fumes and suffocating smoke — the damage from the first hit was taking its toll.
But Tychus kept his giant moving, pulling a respirator mask over his face with one hand.
It didn't help much — this thing didn't protect against the smoke, nor against the danger of taking another shot to the "head." But at least he wasn't coughing every other breath.
And he wasn't represented as a charred carcass like the rest of the crew in the walker's cabin.
The machine was seriously damaged, but Sergeant Tychus Roach wasn't giving up. Not in the past, not now, never.
This time, he was exactly where he needed to be.
Sergeant Roach shoved the control levers, letting the AT-AT take a few more steps, drawing closer to the enemy's forward defense line.
The walker's "head" turned toward the ground cannon that was firing at the hull with direct shots.
The laser cannons barked briefly, and the J-1 evaporated along with its crew and a large chunk of the landscape.
But it had done its job — according to the scanners, a gaping hole now yawned in the walker's "neck collar." One more hit on the machine, and you could bury not just the crew, but the guys in the troop bay too.
Something heavy "arrived" from the right.
The AT-AT nearly crashed onto its left side, but the hydraulics and gyroscopes held. However, a section of the troop bay had lost its blaster-resistant armor.
"Boys!" he clicked on his comlink, addressing the stormtroopers. "Anyone alive?"
"Three wounded, two dead," one of the stormtroopers reported back in a matter-of-fact tone.
Yeah, these guys would boil alive in a kettle with an expression like that was all part of the plan.
"Hold on!" Tychus ordered them. "One more J-1."
Dropping the troops here, right in front of the second defense line, meant sentencing the stormtroopers to instant death.
He had to hold out.
At least break into the fortifications, clear the artillery.
Ah, you lumpy rancor!
An AAT tank, having crawled out of cover, fired a salvo of energy torpedoes, intending to blast the limbs off the Dominion walker.
Tychus, keeping the limping machine on course, crushed the "box" under one of the support platforms with grim satisfaction.
Through the smoke in the cabin, he distinctly made out a proton cannon on a rise, preparing to fire a direct shot.
And there was no time to aim his own guns precisely.
No time to get out of the line of fire.
No time to turn the armored side.
No time to break through — if he was taken out here, the stormtroopers would have fifty meters of open, fire-swept ground ahead.
A lousy situation. They'd all get killed.
But there was a chance.
One in a million.
The AT-AT's blaster artillery fired an "area saturation" salvo. And in the very next instant, as the Separatist cannon's shot tore off the AT-AT's front left leg, the suppressing fire detonated an enemy ammunition depot.
A pillar of fire and a shockwave literally flattened the local landscape, scattering fortifications in a hundred-meter radius.
Ha, so the ammo dump was there after all!
That was the last thought before the AT-AT began to topple left.
Tychus yelled, warning the stormtroopers of the danger.
He yanked the levers to buckle the machine's knees and keep it from rolling onto its side. Better to fall flat on its belly — that way the troops would survive.
Well... better odds, anyway.
Then came the impact, nearly rattling his skeleton out of his body.
There was pain, a lot of pain.
There was the taste of burnt insulation in his mouth — through his cracked gas mask visor, acrid gas was seeping in.
Tychus, coughing like a rancor with a cold, groped blindly across the control panel.
His fingers found familiar levers, switches, buttons.
Shut down the reactor!
Immediately shut down that huge explosive menace before it blew and the end of the world swept through the advancing ranks.
The screeching wail of the emergency siren, signaling that the core was safely blocked, could have passed for a divine aria.
"Yeah, you lumpy rancor!" Tychus managed to breathe out, before the caustic gas cut into his throat.
He moved his legs — the left one was pinned by the deformed cabin.
Oh, come on! Seriously?! What if he moved it differently?
A moment later, when his leg finally deigned to stay attached to his body, the sergeant felt the safety harnesses stop crushing him.
Instead, he was literally yanked from his seat and...
A moment later, the damaged gas mask was torn from his face. Along with his helmet.
In their place, drowning out the roar of battle, someone pulled a sealed helmet over his head. Cool streams of fresh air hit his face. His vision cleared.
The visor clearly identified the stormtrooper standing before him.
"Sergeant Roach, are you alright?" he inquired, emotionlessly.
"Alive," Tychus confirmed. No point going into details about how everything hurt, including his tailbone. "What about the troops?"
"All alive, sir," the stormtrooper replied.
Of course, that only meant those who hadn't died from the earlier hit.
"Get the sergeant to cover!" a voice came through the headset. It was probably the unit commander.
"Complying," the stormtrooper acknowledged.
He helped him up, then uncompromisingly made him bend at the waist, shielding him, and moved him out of the line of fire under the protection of the fallen armored beast's seemingly sturdy hull.
Practically collapsing onto the glowing-hot slag, Tychus watched with a smile as the walkers, "juggernauts," and "little ones" surged with cavalry-like momentum into the breach he'd opened in the second defense line.
And the enemy soldiers suddenly... ran. Stormtroopers, wookiees, Force adepts. Only the droids tried to hold the advance, but they were swept aside by the Dominion forces pouring into the gap Sergeant Roach had created.
He lovingly smacked the armor of his AT-AT.
"Great work, you lumpy rancor!"
The stormtrooper who had pulled him out of the fire gave the sergeant a strange look.
Very strange — even the helmet couldn't hide it.
If Roach had known what that careless phrase would lead to in the future, he'd have bitten his tongue for sure.
* * *
To be fair, ×1 was a remarkably talented swordsman.
Streams of the Dark Side flowed through him, making the blade an extension of his body.
He stung, thrust, slashed, parried.
And pressed forward.
Without mercy, attacking with sword and body alike, he quite literally battered through Mara Jade's defenses.
If she had met him just a couple of months ago, she'd be a pile of assorted chunks on the floor.
But not now.
Now she was stronger.
For the first time since she'd wielded a lightsaber, she felt stronger than she'd ever been.
Yet even now, after all the training, she couldn't overcome the madman. Knowing this, she wisely chose to stay on the defensive and managed to parry ×1's first flurry of strikes. The girl understood that attacking in this situation was foolish. She simply didn't have the physical strength to overpower the clone's onslaught.
Oh, may a hutt be your bride, Maul, where the hell are you?!
Right at that moment, the Zabrak appeared beside her, elegantly inserting himself into the fight and drawing the enemy's attention.
"What, did you stop for a snack?" Mara snarled.
The Zabrak roared, bellowing as he switched to a counterattack against the Sith Lord.
A genuine beast.
And the other one was no different — he roared too.
This was some kind of... madness. Vader had never allowed himself that. Neither had Palpatine.
The girl threw a quick glance back.
One of the assault commandos lay with a pierced chest, a vibroblade sticking out of it.
The other two — Sergeant ТНХ-0297 and the flamethrower operator — were fighting hand-to-hand with two more guards. Where did they keep coming from? Were they reproducing by budding or something?
The girl looked at Maul and ×1. The speeds at which those two fought were beyond her reach. So Jade chose an opponent more her size.
Finding herself next to the nearest guard, the girl felt a surge of energy. And it wasn't the fire of the Dark Side.
The calm and controlled emotions reigning inside her gave the red-haired beast strength. Far more than the blind obedience to rage had ever given her before.
The enemy tried to hit her in the face with his electrostaff, but Mara ducked, swept his legs, and knocked him off his feet. He crashed onto his back. He struck the nearby flamethrower operator with his weapon, sending him flying. But Mara was there instantly, guiding the tip of her blade between the plates of red-black armor.
A short click of energy releasing from the hilt, and the guard's body went stiff for the last time.
As she deactivated her weapon, she heard the thud of the second guard collapsing to the floor.
The hilt of a combat knife was sticking out of his visor, and Sergeant ТНХ-0297 dropped to his knees, clutching a wound on his stomach. Blood trickled from the cut in his armor.
"We need to help him!" Mara cried out, turning to the flamethrower operator. He turned, moved swiftly to the commander's side, tearing off his chest plate and pulling a bacta patch from his webbing belt.
The girl turned her head just in time to see Darth Maul's legless body flying toward her.
The Zabrak just had no luck with lower limbs, that was for sure!
* * *
Rolling to the side, Mara avoided a face-to-face meeting with her former instructor.
She sprang to her feet nimbly, igniting her weapon.
Maul cast a hate-filled glare at the enemy charging toward them.
"Don't just stand there like a statue!" he roared. "Attack!"
Judging by the absence of hysterical notes in his voice, the Zabrak had clearly come to his senses. Probably, by breaking ×1's concentration, they had also shed the illusions he had been casting.
The girl ignored the advice, instead sliding smoothly to the side and slashing at the enemy's legs.
×1 performed a forward flip, landing a solid kick on her. She tumbled forward like a log but quickly turned her shameful sprawl into a roll.
And now she was back on her feet and ready...
She had to duck to avoid a cleaving strike that threatened to decapitate her.
And immediately took a knee to the face.
What the hell was this?!
Mara, not letting the enemy recover, grabbed his leg and swept him, dropping them both to the floor.
The blade hissed back to life, her grip changed, and the violet blur of energy stabbed into the spot where ×1 had just been.
The Sith Lord kicked her away, then got to his feet, filling the room with a bestial roar.
"Not scary," Mara summarized, lunging into the attack.
The blades clashed, and the girl immediately turned the clinch into a gliding strike, adding a knee thrust to the enemy's ribs.
×1 was caught off guard by the unexpected move and staggered.
The girl repeated the maneuver, this time mixing it up with a blow to the head.
The enemy stepped back but quickly recovered, switching to the offensive.
The blades clashed with a grating screech!
"Fool!" the clone breathed onto her from his mouth, foul with rotting stench. "You have no idea of the Dark Side's power."
"And that's one of the few things I'm proud of," the girl declared, shoving him back with a Force push.
×1, unprepared for such an assault and having focused almost all his effort on breaking her defense, flew back a good ten meters.
The self-proclaimed Sith Lord slumped to the floor like a sack, and the girl immediately rushed at him. ×1 rolled over, rose to one knee, and thrust his hands forward, hurling branching lightning at his enemy.
Oh, that was just childish.
The girl caught it with the blade of her lightsaber but was forced to stop, realizing she had underestimated the power of the technique.
Her feet slid across the floor.
The enemy kept pouring all his rage into this lunge, and Jade feverishly analyzed what she could do in this situation. Letting her guard down would hurt. And fixing her hair afterward wouldn't be easy. Walking around with a red puffball on her head didn't suit her.
Mara caught herself thinking that controlling her own emotions not only let her fight an enemy while concentrating on the duel but also allowed her to think about other things. That was... unusual.
When she had used the Dark Side, that had never happened.
Darth Maul, seeing the deadlock, spun his lightsaber and hurled it at the self-proclaimed Sith Lord.
×1 was forced to break off his attack to deal with the unexpected helper's weapon.
His face twisted into a grimace, and he immediately released a Force Lightning bolt at his former apprentice.
Maul screamed, and Mara used his suffering to strike.
The girl quickly calculated her chances. She couldn't match ×1 in physical strength, and her swordsmanship was frankly lacking. Her trump cards were agility, acrobatics, and speed.
Oh, and cunning too.
She hadn't been born red-haired for nothing.
Let everyone else suffer!
So...
The girl reached out with the Force to the assault commando, catching the flamethrower operator's attention.
The soldier, looking away from his wounded comrade, glanced back.
Instantly assessing the situation, the soldier took one step and was beside his weapon. A second later, just as ×1 fired a Force Lightning bolt at Mara, a stream of fire engulfed the self-proclaimed Sith Lord from head to toe.
The scream of a being burning alive slammed into her ears.
Mara, absorbing the interrupted electrical stream, lunged forward just as ×1 used the Force to blow out the flames on himself.
With clothes melted onto his body, burned skin on his rage-twisted face, he turned his head toward the girl...
His blade met her thrust.
Mara slid to the floor, using the momentum to slip past the enemy, simultaneously severing his right leg above the knee.
Striking the floor with the Force, she was back on her feet.
A flash of violet energy — the sword traced a circle, changing the position of the hilt in her palm.
Like a guillotine, the weapon of Thrawn's Hand sank into the throat of the self-proclaimed Sith Lord, beheading him in one fluid motion.
Looking at the sickening face, the girl grimaced and kicked that vile ball across to the far end of the "field."
Exhaling, she shifted her grip on the weapon and glanced at the Zabrak, still smoking from the torrents of electricity that had hit him.
"You all right, half-pint?" she inquired, watching with a smile as Maul moved toward her on his hands, holding the remains of his body above the floor.
"Kill you," he hissed.
Jade moved her hand, planting the blade right in the Zabrak's chest area. One move, and his body would be impaled on her weapon.
"Now listen up, you half-wit," Jade enunciated clearly, looking without fear into the eyes of the former Sith Lord, now full of molten aurabium. "The Dark Side has clouded your mind. You intended to harm my master's cause. I'm giving you a chance — either you continue to serve him faithfully until the end of your days, or I kill you. Here and now, or tomorrow, or in a year — doesn't matter. I will do it if you betray us chasing your ambitions. Do you understand me?"
Maul bared his teeth, not taking his eyes off her.
"Yes," he rasped.
The fire in his eyes vanished, and his gaze fixed on the spot where ×1 had been meditating.
"I sense a holocron there. Not Sith, not Jedi... Something in between... There could be great knowledge. It would grant you and me incomparable power! To better serve the Grand Admiral, of course..."
"Wipe that drool off your chin and stick it on your horns," Mara advised, extending her hand and calling a small pyramid into it, no longer blazing with inner fire. "You'll get it only if you're allowed. For now," she looked toward the assault commandos. The Force told her the sergeant was stabilized. At least something good. "time to get out of here. Are you running on your own, Maul, or do you need a carry?"
The shackles had indeed been broken.
But the Dark Side had nothing more to find inside Mara Jade. There were no more blind passions or power for power's sake. No, and there never had been.
Just like the Light Side.
* * *
The survivors of the Sa'Nalaor crew built a small camp in the middle of the jungle right after they got rid of the Rodians from the Yiyar salvage company, who had arrived to rescue the survivors several years ago.
They had to work hard to get rid of those arrogant Rodians and their helpers, who intended to claim all the riches from the crashed Separatist freighter for themselves.
A lot of time had passed since then, and a lot of aurabium from the ship's hold had been spent to finance the activities of the Children of Ropok.
Liberation was close. As soon as the restored Star Destroyer from Raxus Prime, under Reom's command, arrived, the cargo from the crashed ship's depths would be moved to the new vessel, and the crew, who had spent decades in this deadly world, would get the hell out. Where to exactly didn't matter.
The main thing was that they had enough money to live out the rest of their lives in comfort, far from the galactic turmoil and the next big conflicts.
However, with the arrival of the Imperials, their plans had to be drastically adjusted, and not for the better.
Not only did they have to abandon the main settlement, leaving behind the entire active contingent of droids and equipment salvaged from the Sa'Nalaor to distract the enemy. It was clear that neither they nor the guard nexu would hold the enemy back, or even delay them.
They just needed to buy time for the survivors to finish repairing the Rodian freighter — repairs that had been ongoing since the moment Harsol had ordered that very ship shot down to prevent the Yiyar Corporation employees from escaping.
With the appearance of ARC-170 reconnaissance fighters, it became clear that the Empire had somehow tracked them to Cholganna.
There was no point expecting rescue — the most likely way the survivors would be discovered was through the capture of the Children of Ropok. And the destroyer at Raxus Prime. Neither piece of news could be considered positive.
Under no circumstances.
And something told the Sa'Nalaor's commander himself that they were running out of time.
He walked briskly across the settlement's single street, glad that the enemy "flyboys" couldn't spot him due to the houses being built on metal-rich ground. Not a single scanner would work properly in this part of the forest. And the powerful tree canopies hid the houses from visual aerial detection.
A settlement of survivors in the Cholganna forest.
Rell was heading to the workshop to check on the progress of the restoration work.
Because he really didn't like the fact that the Imperial search parties were already within a ten-kilometer radius of the settlement. Something had to be done about it.
Either set up a few ambushes — but that might only point the enemy in the right direction. Or just wait for the engineers to finish repairing the Hutt's hyperdrive.
Rel Harsol.
Rell smiled warmly at the few survivors he had known for many years of service, both on the Sa'Nalaor and during the decades spent on Cholganna.
They were all brave men and women who had challenged the unruly planet and won.
The Empire would not break them.
Without knocking, he entered the wooden shed that housed the battered freighter.
Over the years spent on Cholganna, the ship hadn't gotten any better. It had been a substantial piece of junk before, and after installing spare parts from the crashed frigate, it had completely lost any hint of external appeal. But that was all empty — the main thing was that it got them out of here.
Them and a small portion of the Sa'Nalaor's cargo, enough to start a new life — not exactly comfortable, but a life nonetheless.
Where the aurabium they'd taken from the planet wouldn't help, the cybernetic innovations from Kratalla would.
The leader of the survivors found the brilliant Arkanian cyberneticist right there in the workshop.
While the engineers and their assistants worked, welding up yet more holes in the hull, the woman, thanks to her skills with fine cybernetic adjustments, was helping restore the freighter's broken backup hyperdrive module.
Of course, the primary one was beyond saving — it had been too badly trashed, and without a complete replacement of key components, it wouldn't work.
Kratalla.
"How much longer?" Rell inquired, glancing at how the Arkanian was adjusting the flow regulator.
"Another couple of hours," she said, working with her tools. "About that much more is needed to patch all the holes in the ship and pump carbonite into the cooling loops."
Harsol twitched his cheek impatiently, looking at the massive apparatus that had previously been used for freezing food.
Now, due to the lack of sufficient liquid tibanna, it was being used for the upgraded and miraculously functioning cooling system of the damaged freighter.
"Too long," he said.
But it was said merely as a formality, because the captain understood that his people were already working at the limits of human capability. And the capabilities of the other races present among the surviving crew members of the Sa'Nalaor.
Demanding more from them would be tyranny.
And the latter was an unacceptable trait for Harsol, one he refused to acknowledge as part of his character.
"Are the Imperials that close to our position?" the Arkanian instantly grasped the essence of her lover's impatience.
"Closer than I'd like," Rell winced. "I think it's worth making a sortie. Plant some mines further away and try to provoke the Imperials into intensifying their search efforts somewhere else in the forest."
"You think they'll fall for it?" the Arkanian asked.
Rell grinned.
"Remember the Imperials who came here after Yiyar?" he asked. "These are the same kind — greedy and dim-witted. The scout droids indicate that our uninvited guests are still hauling valuables out of the Sa'Nalaor's hold, letting our surveillance system track their every move."
"Greed overrides caution," Kratalla remarked philosophically, grinning.
"Or," a male voice came from the shadow cast by the freighter in the shed, "it's part of the plan."
Rell didn't need to be told twice.
Before the stranger had even finished his last sentence, the blaster pistol was already in his hand, his index finger on the trigger.
"Alright!" Harsol snapped, twitching the barrel as he saw a middle-aged man in black armor stepping out from behind the freighter's ramp. With the trained eye of a former Separatist captain, he assessed the potential threat of his new opponent and deemed it high enough. The fact that this man had slipped past the outer posts and the settlement's perimeter alarm system was enough. "Slowly pull your blaster from its holster and put it on the ground! Now!"
A smile played on the stranger's face.
"No," he simply replied.
Kratalla snorted.
Yeah, right, the big Imperial hero himself, where else would he be.
"I'll count to ten, then I'll put a hole in your head," Harsol promised meaningfully. "One..."
The man let out a pretentiously heavy sigh.
"After the first shot — which you will miss — the Scout Troopers will execute every surviving member of your crew," he promised. Raising his hand, he pointed a finger at the Arkonian woman.
"And they'll start with her."
Rel laughed.
"If anyone else were here besides you, the alarm would have been raised long ago, Imperial," the Separatist captain reasoned. "Two."
"First of all, I'm not Imperial," the stranger clarified. "Dominion Intelligence. Roughly the same as the Empire, but better. Without the xenophobia, recklessness, and oppression of everyone in sight."
"Hard to believe something like that," Kratalla declared, drawing her small blaster from its holster and aiming it at the uninvited guest.
"Me too," Harsol agreed. "Three."
"Suit yourselves," the stranger said indifferently. "But for you, Harsol, I have an offer. Pass the certification in the Dominion, and you'll get a warship under your command. Given that our enemy is still the same Republic as in your time, just called something a little different, you can continue your fight against the corrupt and the hypocrites of democracy. There's a place for your girlfriend in our secret projects. Well-paid positions, including for the crew of the Sa'Nalaor. If you're reasonable, I'm authorized to tell you that you can keep a percentage of your ship's cargo value."
Kratalla whistled.
"Two hundred billion instead of two trillion?" Harsol smiled. "Well, that's quite the offer."
"Twenty," the stranger corrected. "I see math isn't your strong suit."
"'Twenty' sounds even duller," Harsol ground his teeth.
With a practiced eye, he had already spotted movement on the hull of the Rodian freighter. And even though the movement happened in the dark, in daylight it was easy to distinguish camouflaged armor from the gray of the shadows.
So this guy definitely wasn't alone here.
"A guaranteed twenty billion against two trillion you couldn't take even if you wanted to," the Imperial — or Dominion, as he called himself — declared. "So, a billion for each surviving crew member... You could live out the rest of your life without the slightest hint of poverty. And if you invested wisely..."
"There were thirty of us," Kratalla noted. "Not twenty..."
"I'm afraid your perimeter security boys are no longer among the living," the stranger declared.
"Bastard," Harsol hissed.
"Did you think that after your little stunt with the nexu and battle droids at the settlement, I'd give the order to take you all alive?" the stranger wondered. "No, Harsol. Be grateful for what you have right now. Because... how many seconds have you counted now? Huh?"
"Four," the Separatist captain said, not without pleasure.
"Even better," the scout nodded. "That means you only have five billion left. For twenty sentients. Two hundred and fifty million per 'brother.' That's still a very large sum. A comfortable life and all that."
"You're cutting the share fast," Kratalla smiled.
"I don't like all this haggling and negotiating," the man in black armor declared, not even glancing at the Arkonian woman. His gaze was fixed on Rel's actions. "I think it's time to say 'Five'?"
"Why do you want us?" Kratalla interjected, redirecting the stranger's attention to herself.
Rel smiled inwardly. As long as the enemy was looking at the Arkonian woman, it meant he couldn't react quickly to Harsol's own actions when he decided to shoot.
Since the conversation had started with two trillion, the Imperials had clearly only found the cargo left on the Sa'Nalaor. And it wasn't aurodium.
But the last one, in a much larger amount than the stated sum, in small ingots, had been lying in the freighter's cargo hold for a long time.
All two hundred trillion.
They just needed to get it off the planet and that was it.
The CIS treasury, which General Grievous had entrusted to him for evacuation to Utapau after his attack on Coruscant, belonged only to Harsol and his crew members. And no one else.
"The Dominion values useful personnel," the scout announced. "And for us, it makes no difference what color their skin is, what gender, age, or biological species they are. People like her," he pointed at the Arkonian woman again, "are absolutely priceless employees. We have many wounded soldiers — there's a war on, after all. I've seen the prosthetics stored on board the Sa'Nalaor. They're beautiful and much better than what's currently on the galactic market. Such technologies can benefit both you, in terms of profit, and the Dominion. You just need to stop pretending you're in control of the situation. I'll repeat — your camp has been surrounded for a long time. One wrong move, and a massacre starts. One way or another, we will take the cargo and the survivors from this planet. Whether the latter go as honored guests and new citizens of the Dominion on board the destroyer, or fly in body bags... Believe me, it makes no difference to me. And my death won't cancel the execution of the head of state's order. The cargo and the prosthetics will be delivered to the Dominion and serve a good cause."
"That's a fresh tale," Harsol declared. "Those Imperials who came after the Yiyar also said that many Separatists live well in the Empire. Only their documents showed otherwise."
Suddenly, a smile appeared on the stranger's lips.
"I knew some search team would eventually succeed," he snorted. "I bet they wanted to take everything, and even forge documents, saying the cargo never existed?"
"How perceptive," Kratalla chuckled, toying with her blaster. Rel looked displeased at the disassembled hyperdrive. His lover should stop messing around and keep assembling the device their escape depended on. Let the Imperial blather on as much as he wanted; Rel could get the ship out of the system. Even with his eyes closed. "And they also talked about how my cybernetics could help with several military projects."
"As far as I know, the Empire found and dismantled a number of your inventions, using them as the basis for a couple of programs," the stranger declared. "But what exactly you'll be doing in the Dominion if you join, I don't know. And I'm not really interested, to be honest. I have my own job. And I'd like to get back to it, instead of standing here before you, pleading like a boy."
"You know, I like how you negotiate," Kratalla said unexpectedly, licking her lips.
Rel felt a surge of rage. And jealousy. He didn't like that playful tone. Even when it was used to distract.
"And what about Ropok's kids?" the Arkonian woman asked. "You found them through us, right?"
"Yes," the agent didn't deny it. "Alive and well. And for a certain compensation, they transferred the rights to the 'IsoTech' company to the Dominion, as well as the destroyer that Reom was restoring for you."
"Hutt slime," Harsol hissed. "Their father had a much better business sense."
"The kids made their choice," Kratalla said melodically, rising and walking over to her lover.
Her hand rested on his lower back...
"And so have we," Harsol said, taking aim.
The Imperial didn't even flinch.
The next moment, Rel felt a pain in his back, quickly spreading to his chest.
Following that, he felt dizzy and saw that he had fallen onto his side.
The man wanted to say something, but his tongue wouldn't obey.
It was as if some viscous and tart mass had appeared in his mouth, clogging his throat. The man realized he had only one chance left.
He raised his hand to shoot and pulled the trigger, his gaze growing hazy as he aimed at the figure in black.
A crimson discharge passed several meters from the stranger, whose flattering words had made Kratalla betray him.
"Well, the hidden prosthetic came in handy," Rel heard Kratalla's words as she examined her right limb. The synthflesh fell away, revealing the cybernetics, which in an instant transformed into a vibroblade.
At the same moment, the lower part of Rel's body fell to the ground, severed from his torso by a single blow.
"Betraying a lover isn't the best way to gain trust," the Dominion agent declared.
"You hang around on this planet as long as I have, boy, then we'll see what your opinion is in a situation like this," the Arkonian woman snorted, kicking Harsol's legs. "This Gamorrean lost his mind completely during the years we spent here. Instead of fixing the Rodian freighter and escaping with the aurodium, the greedy slug wanted to settle down here. And he didn't care that I lost an eye, a hand, and a leg here from a nexu attack! He decided to keep playing games with Ropok's worthless brats! As if I didn't know that those two were selling my inventions at triple the price, while paying me only a tenth of the full cost of the prosthetics!"
"But escaping with Harsol was much more profitable than falling into the hands of the Republic or the Empire almost thirty years ago, wasn't it?" the Dominion man clarified, stepping closer and taking the blaster from the coughing, bloody hand of Harsol.
"Love can forgive a lot," the Arkonian woman declared. "But not thirty years of tormenting ourselves when there was a chance to get out of here! I hope the offer to cooperate with you is still on the table?"
"You mentioned aurodium," the scout gently corrected the emphasis. "There was nothing like that on the Sa'Nalaor..."
"Moved to the freighter," the woman pointed at the vessel standing nearby, "disguised as provisions. The treasury of the Confederacy of Independent Systems is entirely at your disposal."
"We'll check," the agent promised. "Well... I think it's time for you to head to the destroyer and get cleaned up. The Dominion categorically objects to its valuable employees wearing rags instead of clothes. Or valuable personnel being lost..."
The last phrase was directed towards Rel, but blood filling his lungs prevented the dying man from interjecting a comment.
Instead of words, only voluminous spits of precious red liquid flew from his mouth.
"If only you could grow new limbs too," Kratalla snorted, transforming her vibroblade back into the cybernetic hand implant. "You'd be priceless."
The scout laughed.
"You'll be pleasantly surprised, esteemed Kratalla, but I have a bonus offer for you... However, you'll have to spare your former lover's life. I've studied his service record — he's an experienced light ship commander. We can use people like that..."
What they talked about next, Rel didn't know. His eyes closed, and then he began to feel his body being frozen in carbonite.
* * *
Captain Pellaeon didn't even think about hiding his relief and joy.
"The ground battle is over, sir," he said, addressing the Grand Admiral who sat in his chair in the middle of the flagship Star Destroyer's bridge.
"Are the units being withdrawn to the ships?" Thrawn seemed more engrossed in reading intelligence reports than paying attention to tactical information about the situation in the Mustafar system.
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon confirmed. "Along with the cargo and industrial equipment we've removed from the planet. The cloning laboratory equipment has been secretly delivered to the Chimaera. Officially, it was destroyed by Assault Commandos. The next wave will be the evacuation of the bodies, so the clones don't fall into enemy hands."
"Cancel that order," Thrawn declared, looking up from the screen of his personal datapad.
"Yes, sir," Gilad echoed. "But... what about covering our tracks?"
The thought that the supreme commander would decide to so casually reveal almost the Dominion's main secret — the existence of cloning laboratories — went against everything Thrawn had done so far.
No, that couldn't be. He must have thought of something else and was just saving time.
But if so, what?
"Of course we won't leave a single trace that could help the Republicans uncover our secrets, Captain," Thrawn said, pointing at an assault cruiser being pulled by tractor beams towards Mustafar's orbit. "That ship carries all the proton torpedoes and baradium charges from the other assault cruisers remaining in the system. After we're done on Mustafar, we'll stage a starship crash onto the planet's surface. Right into the throat of the volcano nearest to Base X-1."
Gilad felt a chill.
Seismic and volcanic activity on Mustafar was as common as sand on Tatooine's surface.
So this was how the Grand Admiral intended to cover up the traces of the battle — by triggering a volcanic eruption.
The detonation of a ship loaded with ammunition would be so powerful that it would scatter so much lava from the planet's mantle across the vicinity that they wouldn't have to worry about anything at all.
Not only would the blast turn the volcano into a kind of supervolcano, widening the vent to catastrophic proportions, but the lava flow would reliably conceal everything left on the surface. Bodies would be melted, as would vehicles and buildings. The AT-AT hulls would last longer, of course, but even they would melt like ice on a sunny day.
Crude, but effective. And a lava-flooded planetary surface would deny the Republicans the chance to land and survey the battlefield as a battleground.
"Understood, sir," Gilad replied. "What course should I give the navigators? The Hydian Way or the Corellian Run?"
Thrawn barely shook his head.
"Neither, Captain," the Grand Admiral declared. "We won't fall into obvious traps. Not with our level of starship combat readiness."
"Yes, sir," Gilad said slowly.
And, by the Hutt, how was he supposed to interpret that?!
Clearly, staying in the system was stupid. But where to retreat if the enemy was closing in? In a few hours, the New Republic fleet would be here, and then things wouldn't be good for them.
Retreating further along known routes was also wrong — the New Republic would undoubtedly launch a search campaign to find Thrawn's lost fleet.
They needed a place to lie low, make repairs, hopefully fix whatever artillery could still be brought online. Maybe even replenish crew numbers with recovered wounded. And getting the starfighters repaired wouldn't be bad either...
But where, by the Hutt, could they do that?!
"Order the navigators to plot a course for Zonju V," the Grand Admiral commanded.
Pellaeon mentally ran through everything he knew about a planet by that name.
Quadrant J-21, Wild Space...
A den of pirates and smugglers, where not long ago a battle had raged between the ships of Captains Tyberos and Irv, resulting in the Luminii pirates ceasing to exist and gifting the Dominion valuable trophies from the Clone Wars era... Yes, there were no more criminals on that planet — the auxiliary forces had given them a thorough going-over with artillery.
But, wouldn't they be looking for them precisely in places like that star system, given that its location was no secret to anyone?!
"Sir, if I may, that's an extremely bad final destination," Pellaeon declared. "Finding us there would cost the Republicans nothing. We'd practically be crawling into the far corner of a big trap."
A junior officer was obliged to inform a senior one that his order wasn't as brilliant as he thought.
"Exactly, Captain," Thrawn confirmed. "Which is precisely why Zonju V is not our final stop."
Pellaeon thought about saying something, but...
"Yes, sir," to hell with the guesses.
Grand Admiral, show me what other 'idiot' you have in your layout.