Ten years, three months, and five days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, third month, and fifth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Nine months and twenty-five days since the Arrival.)
Moff Harch sank exhaustedly into a chair.
The metal table in front of him literally beckoned the man with its smooth and cool surface, which could temporarily cool his overheated body.
The man was breathing heavily, periodically coughing so hard that his lungs began to ache.
This time was no different.
By the time the spasms stopped tormenting him, he saw that Sister was standing before him.
The woman's expressionless face only irritated him, despite having found her quite attractive a few days ago.
"You've gotten worse," she said.
"Oh, really?" Harch sneered, breaking into another coughing fit.
It took him about a minute to speak again.
"I hadn't noticed," he rasped. "What about the others?"
"Brother is dead," she reported. "His lungs decomposed."
"I don't care about him," Harch wanted to say, but couldn't—the cough overtook him again.
This time he coughed for a very long time.
By the time he finished, he started shivering as if he had just climbed out of a freezer.
Glancing at the heating system indicator, he grimaced.
The mark stood at the required twenty-three degrees.
The man stood up, nearly falling, reached the thermostat, and turned it to the right, only satisfied when he saw the number seven degrees higher than the original.
Under normal circumstances, that would mean an unbearable steam room in the room, but he was cold.
And he wanted to warm up.
He wanted to warm up very badly.
He could lower the temperature later.
"The crew?" he asked.
"The ground forces are already unable to even get out of their bunks," the woman said. "Among the crew of the 'Kettle,' symptoms of the second phase are also observed. Navigators, transport shuttle pilots, flight deck technicians—on the verge of a coma. The medical section has established that symptoms of the disease are present in all personnel. Only the miners are healthy, perhaps—because they interact with droids."
"What the hell is this stuff?" the Moff asked, coughing again, pressing a handkerchief to his mouth.
Pulling it away and looking at the cloth, he grimaced at the sight of blood.
"The data isn't accurate yet, there could be an error..."
"Just say it!" the Moff barked.
He shouldn't have done that.
A new coughing fit, triggered by Harch's angry shout, was so violent that he nearly fell off the chair.
It only ended when the Moff's bloody spittle landed on the table in front of him.
"Shit," he rasped, wiping his bloody mouth.
"Yes," Freymis agreed. "You're finishing the first stage. A little more, and you'll fall into a coma."
"And what you see isn't enough for you to specify the filth that has infected my entire base?!" Harch rasped.
"Presumably, it's Direllian plague," she said quietly, looking away from Harch, who had started spitting mucus from his mouth.
"What's that?" he asked.
"An airborne disease," the woman reported in an indifferent tone.
"How could we have been infected?" Harch grated. "Especially in such massive numbers?"
"I have a guess..."
"It must be those Hutt-damned Vultures that sprayed the contagion," Harch suggested, not waiting for the specialist's theory.
"Unlikely," the girl stated.
"Then how did your brother become the first to be infected?" the Moff asked. "He took it upon himself to destroy all the Vultures!"
"He has a weakened immune system," the girl explained. "Such diseases are fatal for him. He fought for a while using the Force, but it doesn't help much."
"Then what? Where could we have been infected?!"
"Tiraggi's second moon," the girl said. "The techs who landed on the surface got sick first. Remember the ground force commander's behavior on the bridge? Those are the first symptoms."
"Nonsense!" Harch erupted. "The stormtroopers were in armor! It filters out all contamination!"
"But it doesn't have disinfection capabilities," said the Sister. "They brought the contamination back on their armor. And the techs who landed without protective gear — inside themselves. By the time we reached the base, the crew was infected. And by the moment we arrived at the base, the virus had already taken effect. It spreads through oxygen-bearing atmosphere like wildfire."
"Damn it!" Harch coughed. "What's the prognosis?"
"A virus with near-total mortality."
"There has to be a cure," Harch rasped, struck by such a simple and disappointing prospect. "Hutt's Pellaeon... He lured us to an infected moon, pretending it was important to him."
"Or maybe he just quarantined the planet from anyone who might come there, to keep the disease from spreading," said Freymis. "Something like a sanitary cordon."
"Doesn't matter anymore," Harch snapped. "The cure. That's all I care about now."
"There is one," the woman agreed. "Shiarkha Roots. Effective if taken before the third phase completes."
"Get it," Harch ordered. "Since bacta and other meds aren't working. Since you have immunity..."
"I don't," the woman cut the Moff off. "I heal myself with the Force."
"Then heal me!" Harch commanded, irritated by what he'd just learned. "Since you didn't think to do it for your precious brother! Or my men! What are you waiting for?"
"I can't heal anyone else," Freymis said in a calm tone. "My gift only extends to myself. Otherwise, I wouldn't have let my brother fall into a coma at the end of the second phrase. I don't care who dies. But I wouldn't have left him to die."
Presumably, you're not lying about that.
"Get the root," Harch repeated. "Do whatever it takes to cure my men."
"That's why I came," the Inquisitor woman said. "Shiarkha Roots only grow on the planet Kirtania."
"So what's the problem? Send someone there!"
"Problematic," Freymis stated. "As I already said — the pilots are sick. Not one of them would make it to Kirtania. And if they did, they certainly wouldn't return to base alive."
"Is it that far from us?" Harch marveled. "The name sounds familiar."
"It should," the young woman said. "Kirtania is located in the Nembas sector."
"Zann Consortium satellites," Harch coughed up more blood. "Damn it!"
"Exactly," the woman said. "To get there, you'd need to break through Dominion territory. There are only two ways. Through the Mieru'kar sector or through Bosph. Both are now part of the Dominion, since our forces there were wiped out by them."
"I see where you're going with this, Freymis," Harch said, a wad clotted in his lungs that he desperately wanted to cough up.
But Harch no longer had the strength — his sternum ached as if he'd been hit by a jackhammer.
A fairly large one, at that.
"I don't think they've had time in these few days to mine the Bosph borders," Harch said. "I think we can still break through... Take a transport and go get the medicine..."
"And why would I do that?" the woman asked unexpectedly.
"To cure me!" Harch flared up. "Haven't you and your brother been preaching about my greatness since the moment we met?"
"Idiot," the woman said.
"What do you mean?" Harch was taken aback.
"I mean you have fewer brain cells than cubes on a command bar," Freymis said, still looking the man straight in the eye with that same icy gaze. "Are you really so pathetic that you thought anything awaited you but death for your betrayal?"
"Betrayal..." Harch muttered absently. "So you tricked me? Both you and your brother?"
"Betrayal is the path of the Dark Side," Freymis said succinctly. "You've already done everything that was needed. You threw Zann Consortium forces into an attack on the Dominion. You weakened Zann, while simultaneously cutting off his access to the rich mineral deposits he hoped to use for building and strengthening his fleet... If not for my brother's death, I might even have been glad that your crew is infected with the Direllian Plague..."
Harch strained with all his might toward the blaster holstered on his Moff uniform belt.
But the woman waved her hand, and a crimson lightsaber blade severed his arm just below the elbow.
Ignoring the man's screams, the Inquisitor continued her calm speech:
"This even helps my plan," she said. "Now I don't even have to think about getting rid of your loyal forces. You'll all die on your own. All that's necessary is to open the airlocks and dump the corpses and contaminated air into space. Without oxygen, the plague will die on its own."
"You... You'll die too!"
"The Force will save me," the young woman replied. "More than that. It will allow me to continue."
"What are you planning?"
"To keep destroying the Empire's enemies from within," Freymis answered calmly. "Not one of your bastards will leave this base. Soon this will be a mass grave. Which I will then decompress and clean for future use. After that, I'll go into a healing trance and wait for the Dominion's envoys to arrive here."
"What?" Harch was stunned. "You work for the Dominion?"
"I told you, you're an idiot," Freymis commented. "Though, if you were smarter, other Inquisitors would have handled you... No, I worked for the Empire. The Dominion is one of our targets. I think they'll be quite happy to find an intact Star Destroyer here, a metal refinery, mining colonies... They clearly intended to capture all of this — you weren't lured to an infected moon for nothing."
"I don't understand... Why would you help them capture the Chiloon Rift if you're their enemy?" Harch rasped.
"It's simple," she replied. "They were told not to be touched... for now. But that was said until their actions killed my brother... Now I don't care what they're planning back in the Empire. For me, this is personal. And I won't rest until I've destroyed them all! Luckily," she unhooked an old comlink from her belt, "since my brother's Padawan days in the Jedi Order, I never thought this thing would be useful for anything besides hunting Jedi. But as it turns out, it will serve my purposes quite well. The Dominion is looking for surviving Jedi. I'll become one of those who infiltrate their society."
"You... want me to help you," Harch bared his teeth, wincing from the pain in his severed arm but refusing to show that it really hurt him to the point of frenzy. "Why else would you be telling me all this..."
"Yes, you're not the brightest," Freymis smirked. "No, I told you this so you'd concentrate your thoughts on it. And your mind would be open to my intrusion. Oh, there it is, what I was looking for..."
Harch paled.
"What do you want from me, witch?" he wheezed, coughing.
"Your worthless little secrets, Moff," the woman said. "Especially the ones about bank accounts. I'll need a considerable amount of money to get to Vice Admiral Pellaeon. And all those sentients responsible for my brother's death. I think I'll start with you."
She thrust her hand forward.
But instead of another lightsaber attack, Harch felt an invisible vise clamp around his neck.
He tried to say something, but didn't have time.
Freymis broke his neck.
Standing for a couple of seconds and looking at the cooling body, the Inquisitor left the office of the failed Moff, who also happened to be a multiple traitor.
* * *
By the time the group of investigators arrived at the planet Praesitlyn — the location of the Intergalactic Communications Center — only the empty complex building awaited them.
Giving no signals except for endlessly repeating Republican propaganda.
On all news channels.
Having somehow cleverly blocked the ability to include pre-paid advertisements, news programs, or other broadcasts into the airwaves.
The investigators had several goals.
First, they needed to figure out the reasons for the unauthorized, repeated broadcast of New Republic President Borsk Fey'lya's speech across the entire galaxy.
The HoloNet leadership was extremely displeased that someone was using their equipment for a galactic broadcast.
And it wasn't even about the broadcast itself, informing the whole galaxy about the New Republic's glorious victories at the Battle of Balmorra and the cleansing of the Humbarine sector from the Pentastar Alignment's forces.
The problem was that they did it completely for free, without depositing a tidy sum into the information network's leadership.
Using the benefits of the HoloNet without paying...
That's not even audacity anymore.
That's pure Gamorreanism, a flagrant disregard for market laws, painting the New Republic in anything but a favorable light — as an aggressor and galactic invader.
Additionally, it was necessary to determine the reasons and conditions under which the New Republic was able to make such broadcasts.
The investigators had several theories about how this could have happened.
First — the New Republic had captured the communication center and was running it in secret from the government of the Sluis sector.
Second — again, the New Republic had managed to bribe the security and workers of the Intergalactic Communications Center.
And they had dutifully done whatever the Republicans needed with the servers to spread their propaganda.
And third...
A slicer attack.
That was also considered, but as the least likely of the possible options.
Because it didn't explain why the Intergalactic Communications Center had stopped its regular communication sessions.
The Marauder-class corvette guarding the planet also hadn't contacted command.
And its wreckage was what the investigation group had just left behind, descending into Praesitlyn's atmosphere.
From the outside, the HoloNet central hub building — which continued to destabilize the entire company's operations — looked intact.
Though the company representative would have preferred to see it destroyed — then they would have had every reason to file charges against the New Republic for seizing private property.
And there would be no problem activating the backup hubs either.
As it happened, the millennia-old technology couldn't function with multiple hubs active simultaneously.
For a backup to come online, the active hub's servers had to be physically disconnected, thereby redirecting information traffic.
And while the techs of the Intergalactic Communications Center were resuscitating backup servers in another part of the galaxy, desperately calculating losses from broken contracts and the need to purchase expensive equipment to restore the spare hub's functionality (deep in their mercantile hearts hoping the Praesitlyn center's operation could be restored with minimal expense), the investigation group landed on the landing pad.
Each of them knew the HoloNet's backup hubs existed, of course.
But they hadn't been activated or tested in a long time, and the equipment installed in them was so ancient that it would take multi-billion credit expenditures just to bring the system online.
Not to mention months of work to configure everything properly.
To return the HoloNet to the state it was in just before the New Republic's takeover.
Finding traces of a fairly intense battle, the investigators began to suspect what had happened here.
The hub had been taken by storm.
Of course, they didn't know that the Marauder in orbit had been destroyed by a "nondescript freighter" of the Dominion, which had approached the ship under the false pretense of a malfunction.
They also didn't know that the old ship had been destroyed by a salvo of proton torpedoes fired by the freighter, which had suddenly become nimble and resistant to attack.
The investigators didn't even suspect that the same freighter had also destroyed a pair of fighters that had managed to escape the ship's hangar before its destruction.
Yes, in time they would find the ship's "black box."
And they might even suspect something was wrong when they saw the damage on it — both external and in the logged records of the final minutes of the ship and its mercenary crew's existence.
But they would never be able to determine that the final records were a forgery, crafted by the hands of Mr. Pent.
No one would doubt that the freighter's transponder data, signaling its affiliation with the New Republic, was completely fake.
But all that would come later.
Right now, the investigators were finishing their external inspection of the building and moving on to assessing the situation inside.
It took considerable effort for them to get inside and find traces of a heated battle there as well.
Their attention was drawn to cuts left by a lightsaber, and they reported them to their superiors.
There was no doubt — Jedi had been here.
The very ones whose revival the Republicans had been boasting about in their propaganda.
The discovered bodies of Republican commandos and the absence of mercenaries and technical personnel only confirmed the suspicion.
The New Republic was behind this act of technical and commercial vandalism.
All that remained was to find traces of interference in the computer code of the entire information network.
And that could only be done in the server room of the HoloNet's central hub.
And so the investigators began removing the servers...
Doing this without explosive ordnance disposal specialists was clearly unwise for their own safety.
The Intergalactic Communications Center's construction exploded when the first server was disconnected.
Explosives scattered throughout the complex detonated, destroying both those inside and the complex itself.
The Sluissi and equipment were destroyed.
Data transmission between the galaxy's planets ceased suddenly and without explanation.
The center, the heart of the HoloNet, ceased to exist, ripping apart the interstellar broadcast network for a long time.
And much later, on the ruins of the burned-out building, explosion byproducts were found that were quite characteristic of super-powerful Republican-model explosives.
Despite the fact that, after an even longer period, only mercenaries, the center's director, and Republican special forces could be identified among the remaining bodies, no one bothered to investigate why the bodies of other operators weren't found.
Any inconsistencies in the versions of events were written off as consequences of the explosion.
In a single day, the communication network that had bound the entire galaxy together ceased to function, breaking apart into separate structures.
The galaxy lost contact between sectors.
A monstrous act by its very nature disrupted the plans of every inhabitant of the galaxy.
Except for one state.
For the Dominion's war machine, the loss of communication between galactic sectors served as the signal to begin a counteroffensive.
And the galaxy's northeast, in the area of the Hydian Way's northern stretch, erupted in flames.
But only the Dominion's regular forces knew about it.
The rest of the galaxy was trying to figure out why the HoloNet broadcast had stopped.
* * *
An Imperial-I-class Star Destroyer entered the Yirtan system in the Nembas sector in the galaxy's north, accompanied by three large Acclamator-class assault ships, a Venator-class Star Destroyer, two interdictor cruisers, and ten heavy Vindicator-class cruisers.
The squadron's target was the fourth planet orbiting the star Yirta.
Capturing this system would cut the Nembas sector in two, since the Yirtan system lay directly in the middle of the sector, on a regional hyperspace route that had become extremely popular during the Galactic Civil War.
Captain Abyss gazed through the central viewport at the blue-green world with a considerable amount of cloud cover.
The Star Destroyer's scanners indicated that the planet boasted diverse terrain and climate, including arctic tundra, deserts, mountains, and plains.
This world was known for its tropical jungles and forests, full of trees that produced luxurious hardwoods in huge demand among the galaxy's wealthy sentient population.
Additionally, the astronavigation guide indicated that the world had a breathable atmosphere with standard gravity and a temperate climate.
Its days lasted twenty-three standard hours, and its year was three hundred sixty-nine local days.
The world's history stated that the homeland of the arakiya species had been settled by humans and various other races.
Currently, the population numbered about two million humans and ten thousand aliens, dwarfing the fifteen hundred native inhabitants of this world.
During the Empire — and this data came from the Ubiqtorate archives — the planet had been divided into three competing economic states known as Dulai, Kinkosa, and Surana.
The main source of wealth for the local population was the export of medicines, raw materials, and metals.
In exchange, the ruling elite imported high technology.
For most of the year, significant rainfall reigned supreme on the planet.
During the rainy season, it poured all day and night.
It was unknown how this world hadn't shared the fate of that mudball known as Jabim.
But Abyss was confident he would have to repeat the Grand Army of the Republic's feat of capturing a rainy planet covered in impenetrable jungle and mud.
With the only difference being that the accumulated experience of Imperial military history — both naval and ground forces — dictated the need to learn from the mistakes of the Jabim campaign.
The Acclamators carried numerous wheeled Juggernauts and tracked vehicles, instead of the repulsor platforms, speeders, and walkers used on Jabim.
Numerous squads of stormtroopers, whose armor was painted in protective camouflage, were currently the only ones in the Dominion trained to operate in jungle and swamp conditions.
Despite Grand Admiral Thrawn's decision to revive the Stormtrooper Corps in the full abundance of specialties it had under the Empire, progress was rather slow.
"The natives, the arakiya, were almost completely exterminated by the colonists," Abyss heard the voice of the man who would lead the ground operation.
"General..." Abyss greeted his assistant in the conquest of this world on the destroyer's bridge.
"No names, Captain," the man said quietly, running a hand through his short hair. "Call me what everyone else does. General."
The General had arrived recently.
And it was he who would lead the Dominion's ground forces into battle to conquer this planet.
That was nearly three legions.
No, barely a third of them were stormtroopers — the main force.
The rest were Kavil's Pirates, or rather one of their combat units — who would make up for the Dominion's own lack of forces in this battle.
"As you ordered, landing zones have been designated outside the forests," Abyss reported.
"Good," said the General.
"Probably," Abyss shrugged. "But if you say it's important, then it must be."
"I'd even say it's a key part of the strategy," said the General. "And it directly depends on whether we want to hold this world under our control and reap all the benefits from it, or not."
"How does that relate to the decision to land outside the forests?" Abyss clarified.
"That way we won't disturb the natives until we're done with the three city-states," the General explained. "You see, few people know why the indigenous population on this planet is only about fifteen hundred individuals."
"A dying species?"
"Colonists made them that way," the General replied. "When humans and aliens arrived on this planet, there was a misunderstanding between them and the arakiya. As a result, the natives came to be seen as a threat. The arakiya were hunted and exterminated, reducing their population to the last known count. Only then did it become known that they were sentient and not predators. The colonists made an agreement with the locals, according to which the arakiya declared themselves masters and protectors of the forests, and the green spaces were left to them as a habitat that no one could enter without their permission."
"Fascinating, but I still don't understand..." Abyss pointed at the planet's hologram. "These forests are only a couple of hundred thousand square kilometers. Is all this for them?"
"Strangely enough, yes," the General replied. "Not only are the trees themselves highly valuable species that fetch enormous sums on the galactic market, but the medicinal plants growing in them have no natural analogs. Plants grow here that can cure very dangerous diseases. The kind that, every now and then, rage across the galaxy. Pharmaceutical companies buy raw materials for producing medicines against these diseases, viruses, bacteria, fungi, and so on for billions of credits every year. That's how the local ruling elites can afford to live in luxury."
"So that's why they try to kill each other?" the Void Wanderer's commander clarified.
"Of course," the General agreed. "Unhealthy competition. Dictated by the fact that the first settlers didn't even try to understand this world's wonders. They cut down the forests in pursuit of economic gain. Restoring forest volumes, and thereby increasing the amount of raw material sold on the markets, is beyond any single city-state's ability. So some try to absorb others and seize their territories, enriching themselves."
"It's not particularly noticeable that anyone's lining up for local raw materials here," Abyss pointed to the planet's empty orbit, now being settled by Dominion starships.
"We arrived just before the season for collecting medicinal herbs and plants," the General explained. "Also, don't forget that the exporters of goods from this planet are major pharmaceutical companies. From the Core Worlds."
"Oh," Abyss smirked unpleasantly. "Too bad, but I'm afraid they'll have to suffer losses from their ships hitting minefields on the sector borders."
The disappearance of broadcast signals beyond a single sector — the collapse of the HoloNet served as the trigger for activating the minefields generously scattered by Dominion ships along the administrative boundaries of sectors in the northern part of the Hydian Way.
The Dominion's nearest neighbors — the satellites of the Corporate Sector (as well as the Sector itself) — found themselves unable not only to contact each other and coordinate a response to the large-scale attacks of the Dominion's regular fleet, but even simply to transfer their armed forces from one sector to another to establish fortified zones.
Such was Grand Admiral Thrawn's plan for isolating the "Zann Consortium" and its satellites from one another.
"We are not interested in enemy casualties," the General declared. "The Nembus Sector is a staging ground for strikes against the Dominion. That means it will be captured and brought under our jurisdiction."
"Thalassian pirates," Abyss said quietly. "I recall they settled somewhere around here."
"Not specifically in this system," the General said. "But there's certainly a base of theirs in the sector."
The Nembus Sector.
"Once we establish our own base on the planet, I'll start the hunt," Abyss promised.
"Of course," the General nodded in agreement. "But not before I negotiate with the natives about using their forests to move our diversionary groups."
"Confident you can negotiate?" Abyss asked with undisguised skepticism.
He glanced at the small holographic projector, which displayed an image of the planet's native inhabitant.
Arakya.
"I managed it in the past," the General replied modestly. "Though that conversation was only about obtaining medicine for those infected at the outpost on the second moon of Tiraggi. That was some time before I joined the Dominion, however."
"And what were they infected with?" Abyss inquired.
"Direllian plague," the General answered ingenuously.
The commander of the "Void Wanderer" shuddered.
A virus that began its assault on an oxygen-breathing organism with cold-like symptoms, quickly progressing to the decomposition of mucous membranes and respiratory organs, then attacking the meninges, excretory and digestive systems...
At the end of one of the stages, a person afflicted with this disease would fall into a coma from which they never emerged.
Death occurred when the lungs decomposed and the body could no longer oxygenate itself.
But the virus, sustained by the remaining oxygen in the blood, continued its activity, rapidly turning a sentient being into a leather sac filled with a jelly-like mass.
Worst of all, the virus did not die when its host died.
It entered a state of hibernation, after which the open orifices in the "sac" served as a source for spreading virus molecules into the surrounding environment.
A horrific and deadly disease.
"I don't recall any outbreaks of this disease in the galaxy over the last few decades," Abyss said with a shiver.
"That does not negate the fact that the Dominion needs access to the healing resources," the General stated. "After all, the planet Kirtalia is rich not only in Shiarha root... Not to mention that a crime lord operates on the planet who has significant influence over the galaxy's black market."
"And you intend to negotiate with him, just like with the Arakya?" the commander of the "Void Wanderer" clarified.
"No," the General ran his hand over the barely visible scar running across the entire surface of his upper skull. "Him, I will simply kill."
* * *
Everything that could be said about the planet Horn had already been said.
A sandy world, littered with the ruined production hulls of foundries, assembly plants, and smelters built more than thirty years ago with the forces and funds of the Confederacy of Independent Systems.
All of it was lost and abandoned due to the "immaturity" of the planet Horn, whose crust, because of processes occurring in the depths of the bedrock, periodically cracked open and flooded vast areas with molten lava.
Which, upon cooling, turned into enormous black stains on the light-sand hue of the planet's surface.
Planet Horn.
These phenomena cost the CIS the destruction of numerous factories, which, combined with the multi-billion initial costs of development and resource extraction, forced the CIS to abandon the world, leaving behind everything they had managed to build.
Thirty years had changed much.
But not the graveyard of old machinery that the surface of Horn had become.
"The Graveyard" the surface of planet Horn.
"The Graveyard" was what the local garrison called the surface of Horn in the area where the ground base was established.
Once, this was where the CIS's administrative-command center, overseeing numerous factories, was located.
A small section of the tectonic plate, least subject to disturbances, tremors, and changes.
Despite the excessive drought ruling this area, the dry air and fine dust that caused unpleasant sensations, one could not say the place was completely devoid of the captivating magic of its landscapes.
Case in point: the three LH-1740 Core Ships that had served in the Trade Federation's arsenal during the Clone Wars.
Abandoned by the Separatists due to damage to their drive components, clogged with that same ubiquitous sand.
This, in fact, was why the pilots of my shuttle were now covering all elements of the shuttle's propulsion system with protective casings — the shuttle I had taken down to this sandy planet.
LH-1740 Core Ship.
The commandant had gathered them from across the planet.
The report stated that five such "giants" had been found in relatively operational condition.
But two had to be dismantled for spare parts for the other three.
Even more — several dozen — were scattered across the planet, but there was no possibility of reaching them or lifting them into orbit for restoration.
However, the commandant was already addressing this issue.
Thanks to a pair of Lucrehulk-class battleships delivered to him after their capture by Rear Admiral Shohashi in a battle with the "Zann Consortium" fleet in the Bosph sector.
Guards in gold-and-black armor silently let our procession pass under the arches of the administrative center.
In the past, it had been a Geonosian hive-city, significantly damaged by orbital bombardments from the Grand Army of the Republic, which had thus simply driven the CIS away from this planet.
Everything inside this specimen of architecture indicated it was built not by a human, nor even by a humanoid intelligence.
Holes in the floor serving as passageways between levels, which Geonosians had no need for stairs or anti-gravity lifts to traverse.
As is done now.
Geonosians have wings, which they use to move between levels in their cities.
The interior space of the hive resembled the honeycomb built by bees on Earth.
But there were also long corridors linking one part of the hive to another.
Unlike many others, this hive had partially survived precisely because it was built within the depths of a rock.
And it was the rock itself that was used as a building material, split and processed to suit the Geonosians' needs.
This...
Very interesting.
So the native inhabitants of the planet Geonosis can split solid rock and transform it into building material.
Fascinating...
Possession of such technology would allow us to accelerate the construction of bunkers and bases inside mountains tenfold.
No need to hollow them out from within, like carving a canoe from a tree trunk.
Melt what needs to be melted, turn stone into jelly, and mold whatever one wishes.
That this was not done using acid, which would simply corrode the rock, I realized as I approached one of the walls.
Geonosians could see perfectly in the dark, while the human eye required lighting to avoid breaking a leg or getting lost in the web of corridors stretching through the mountain range.
Therefore, the commandant, paying little attention to the wall decorations, ordered wiring and lighting fixtures to be laid directly over them, driving mounting anchors into the Geonosian ornaments.
I ran my hand along the wall's surface, feeling the curves of the pattern.
Wavy lines, geometric patterns, intricate spirals...
An apparent chaos of images, at first glance meaningless and seemingly created without any informational component.
But among them, something common appeared.
Something that ran like a red thread through what was discovered.
"These are paintings," I said.
The Geonosians had not decorated the tunnels in their hives with surreal patterns or images.
These were paintings.
Furthermore, created on the walls while the material was still soft, pliable, and workable.
It wasn't even sculpture, but a form of molding.
And these images spoke of only one thing.
Cruelty.
Violence.
Killing for entertainment.
For liberation.
For raising social prestige.
Kill or die.
Submit, because you were born for it.
The paintings depicted several types of Geonosians.
Each caste had its own attributes.
Sometimes, these appeared among members of other castes as well, but in a smaller size.
This suggested that, through violence, an individual from a lower caste could become someone of a higher caste.
But he would never be equal to one born into the higher caste.
Which led to a thought.
Violence is the path of elevation from slave to aristocrat.
But no one can fully enjoy a new position.
A slave does not become a master — only a slave who possesses aristocratic attributes.
A change in social standing for a slave is a reward for the relentless labor for which he was created.
A fleeting chance to escape the mire in which he found himself.
I suppose the number of Geonosians wishing to stop being slaves was more than one.
Consequently, they were pitted against each other so that only one victor remained.
Hmm...
It reminds me of the Petranaki Arena from the episode "Attack of the Clones."
The Geonosian Colosseum, where the stands were filled with the local species, watching the massacre of the Republicans.
Hmm... What else does a slave need to keep him from rebelling against his position?
Exhausting labor, so he cannot fight on equal terms with warriors.
Bread, so he does not die of starvation.
And spectacles, to divert his attention from his routine days to a rare performance.
A carefully thought-out mechanism for manipulating slaves...
This could even be called an ideal form of governance.
For those incapable of grasping their own individuality.
Footsteps sounded from the direction we had been moving until I stopped to study what I had seen.
It was astonishing how much one could learn about an alien culture just by looking at its stone carvings...
"Grand Admiral, sir!" I was torn from my examination of Geonosian art.
I turned my head, looking at the officer in an infantry uniform.
On his chest was a command bar, denoting his military rank.
Colonel.
The commandant of our base on Horn.
A stern gaze, a slightly sharpened face, a muscular build.
We had already met in person in the not-so-distant past.
He did not have the most pleasant personality for conversation.
From a civilian perspective, that is.
From a military one — one couldn't ask for better.
Simple, direct, speaking briefly and to the point.
Obedient, proactive.
Competent.
And most importantly — he liked what he did.
Despite having spent a long time as a conscripted fleet officer.
Since then, he delighted in handling "ground-based" affairs.
And, as the Dominion Security Bureau reported, he was quite satisfied with his responsible post.
Commandant of the secret base where the lion's share of all the Dominion's combat droids were developed.
Not to mention the vast volumes of minerals extracted from Horn's depths and supplied to the homeworld.
Alongside the finished product, which had changed little since the creation of these droids by the future Separatists' specialists.
And on top of that — a scientific base for studying a number of specimens of military engineering thought.
"Colonel," I replied to the formal greeting.
"You did not arrive at headquarters at the appointed time," he said. "I decided to meet you in person, sir."
"I got carried away studying the Geonosian carvings," I explained, pointing at the wall before me. "Quite... instructive."
"Yes, sir."
"Is everything ready for the meeting?" I inquired.
"Yes, sir. We are only waiting for your arrival."
"In that case — let's go," I said. "I hope you have something to please me with, Colonel Niovi."
"Yes, sir," a brief smile cut across the grim face of the former commander of the "Guard's" ground forces. "I do."