Ten years, four months, and twenty days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, fourth month, and twentieth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(One year and thirty-five days since the Arrival.)
The 'IsoTech-Dominion' operating rooms all looked alike.
Tyberos knew that behind each of these identical doors were injured or crippled specialists and fighters from the regular army and fleet of the Dominion.
It was primarily military personnel who received cybernetic prosthetic services.
A state that called sentients to war not only paid well but also provided a full range of services for restoring lost mobility.
At government expense.
The man stood out from the general patient population not only for his pale blue skin color but also for his physique, surpassing almost every other patient who, like him, sat or reclined on orthopedic furniture awaiting transport to surgery.
"Kid," a clone of Jango Fett sitting next to him said quietly, displaying a right leg torn off at the knee, a right arm mangled up to the elbow by an explosion, an empty right eye socket, and a temporary artificial respiration device replacing a lost lung. "What happened to you?"
Tyberos looked at the deeply lined face of the man whose combat career had begun forty years ago.
Funny — before the Carannia campaign, this clone had gone through hundreds, if not thousands, of ground and space operations and remained completely whole, unharmed.
But here, as soon as he ended up in the Carannian meat grinder — as the storming of the capital of the planet Serenno and the entire D'Asta sector was now called — he became an invalid across his entire right side in one go.
"I'm fine, gramps," Tyberos chuckled.
"People who are 'fine' don't come here for prosthetics," the old clone said with a didactic tone.
"Well, then I'm not exactly fine," the former mercenary snorted. "I decided I should install a few implants to become stronger, faster, and deadlier."
"Definitely not right in the head," the clone's single eye widened in surprise. "Who in their right mind would voluntarily shove cybernetics into themselves when their arms and legs work fine?"
"People like me, gramps," Tyberos pointed a thumb at his chest. "Those whose best friend was taken by the Jedi."
The clone's wrinkled face twisted as if he'd been given a taste of Gamorrean food and promised to make him symmetrical if he refused the honor.
"Jedi," judging by his facial expression, the clone wanted to spit on the snow-white marble tiles of the waiting room but thought better of it, remembering the completely sterile atmosphere. "I hate them, hutt take them as brothers, the Jedi. I've hated them for thirty years now. Ever since Umbara."
Judging by his tone, the old man clearly had PTSD, plus some kind of mental issues.
And they say clones are completely unemotional, 'meat droids' just give an order and they'll jump into fire and water and space without a suit, ready on nothing but cries of 'For the Republic!/For the Empire!' (choose one) to tear Star Destroyers apart with their bare hands and split planets in half with their own piss.
"Umbara..." Tyberos repeated, searching his memory. "That wasn't during the Clone Wars, was it?"
"Exactly," the clone's one healthy hand clenched into a fist. "One of the toughest campaigns for the 501st. And connected to a Jedi bastard."
"Skywalker?" Tyberos became interested.
The topic of this family had become almost an obsession for him.
Because everything he valued had, in one way or another, been trampled by the Skywalker family in particular and the Jedi in general.
His biological parents had been persecuted by the Jedi — but he used that argument for mass appeal.
His best friend had been killed by Luke Skywalker.
That was already a factual justification to tear the overhyped Jedi apart from head to tailbone.
His coveted ship had been damaged and spent a long time in repairs due to the actions of the clone of Darth Vader's apprentice — Luke Skywalker's father and Leia Organa-Solo's father.
Three arguments — quite enough to hate this family and wish for their deaths.
"In a way," the old clone said after a moment's thought. "We were under Skywalker's command on Umbara. We fought through the Umbaran army with heavy losses and captured their airbase. And after that, Skywalker left us in the care of a Besalisk Jedi who made clones fight against clones."
"How's that?" Tyberos was surprised.
"He ordered us to attack an enemy unit that was supposedly droids disguised in our uniforms," from the grimace that flickered across the veteran's face, he didn't particularly want to remember those events, but since he'd started, he decided to see it through. An unwritten rule of the 501st Legion, after all. "Hundreds of brothers shot each other..."
"And why didn't you crack his skull open?" Tyberos asked lazily, rolling his shoulder muscles in circles.
"The brother who shot him was put on trial by the Jedi," the old clone veteran said with hatred. "That's when I started hating them."
"Captain Tyberos," a stunning Twi'lek nurse appeared next to the former mercenary. "Please come to the operating room. Everything is ready."
"I'm coming, beautiful," Tyberos winked at the nurse, making her giggle in embarrassment.
"Don't lose heart, gramps," the giant slapped the invalid on the shoulder so hard he nearly flew off the couch.
Fortunately, the former mercenary managed to catch him with his other hand and hold him in place.
"When I'm smashing Jedi skulls, I'll be sure to send them your regards from everyone who died on Umbara."
"Thank you," a tear appeared in the veteran clone's single eye. "Thank you... brother."
* * *
Beyond the viewport of the admiral's salon aboard the Strazh, the light of hyperspace bloomed once again.
The flagship, having reloaded ammunition and received replacements for the equipment and personnel lost during the storming of Carannia, once again accelerated to break the light barrier.
Lieutenant Colonel Tierce placed a report, compiled based on the results, on the Grand Admiral's desk.
"That's it," he stated.
"Yes," Thrawn confirmed, already undoubtedly familiar with the approximate data from the preliminary summaries. "The uprising in the D'Asta sector has been suppressed, Lieutenant Colonel."
Grodin nodded, feeling a sudden wave of fatigue wash over him.
For almost six months, the Dominion had first indirectly and then ruthlessly dealt with problems on this territory right under its nose.
Mercenaries, equipment shipments through shell companies, clearing pirate nests, bloody assaults...
It seemed the only things Dominion commanders hadn't used against the rebels were the 'Torpedo Sphere' and the 'Death Star.'
During this time, hundreds of thousands of mercenaries and regular soldiers and officers had received their baptism of fire.
Tactics and strategies developed in scientific circles by the luminaries of Dominion military science had been field-tested.
Threats from rebels and their loyalist forces had been eliminated, control over the sector's raw materials and production base had been obtained, remnants of its armed forces had partially come under the control of the Defense Forces, and part of them were undergoing additional checks to be integrated into the regular fleet.
Hundreds of light ships would receive crews for patrolling Dominion territories and strengthening the regular fleet.
The forces preparing for the next phase of the metropolis's expansion were growing stronger every day.
The proclamation of the D'Asta sector as part of the Dominion, the declaration of Baroness D'Asta as governor of these territories, and her marriage to Vice Admiral Pellaeon had gone quite routinely in the official sphere and festively within the annexed sector.
The 'HoloNet-Dominion' network had been tested in broadcast mode, and news of these events had been conveyed to citizens living in territories conquered by the Dominion and those being prepared for conquest.
Lieutenant Colonel Tierce had no doubt that the decision to broadcast this news to territories slated for conquest was also part of Thrawn's plan.
The Grand Admiral could not be unaware that enemy agents connected to Palpatine or any other Imperial Remnant might be present in those sectors.
And while spy droids flooding the territories of sectors slated for capture tracked every attempt to transmit information beyond the sector using pulse or other transmitters, and then Noghri squads conducted punitive raids to eliminate enemy agents, there was a risk that the enemy could use their Inquisitor agents to inform the adversary.
How this might affect the course of the further campaign, Grodin did not yet know, but he assumed it was no coincidence that the 'Perimeter' system was being fortified as never before.
Almost the entire surplus of minefields, gravity stations, defensive platforms and structures, masking fields, planetary shields, and turbolasers had been promptly deployed in regions particularly vulnerable to enemy breakthroughs.
Minefields had been laid on the approaches to the new Dominion territories and were only waiting for the order to act, to cut off one sector loyal to the 'Zann Consortium' from another.
Minefields and barrier fields between sectors — the targets of the first phase and the old borders of the metropolis — had been deactivated, gathered, and delivered to new combat stations.
The regular fleet stood frozen, awaiting the command to begin the invasion.
Hundreds of Star Destroyers, hundreds of cruisers, and thousands of corvettes and frigates.
Hundreds of thousands of stormtroopers, regular army fighters, and fleet specialists, the mercenaries of 'Kavil's Corsairs' and Mandalorian warriors — all had moved to their designated positions and were only waiting for the order to begin the offensive to come through the 'HoloNet-Dominion.'
Millions of humans and other sentients worked tirelessly to accomplish the impossible—to ensure that only the best, most thoroughly modernized starships of the Dominion would take part in the coming battle.
Fully crewed, the Dominion's Star Destroyers—the Triples—had already taken up their positions, ready to tear through the enemy's defensive lines.
Reviewing the reports, Tierce could only shake his head, marveling at how Thrawn had managed, in an unimaginably short time, not only to secretly withdraw all active Star Destroyers from the front lines and rush their modernization, but also to redistribute the freed-up crews so that the number of combat-ready ships in the Defense Forces and the regular fleet simultaneously reached fifteen hundred hulls.
No mixed crews of droids and sentients.
Only career military personnel on the bridges and decks of the ships.
Only motivated men and women ready to tear out the enemy's throat, to sever the roots of his poisonous ivy that had infected the entire northern galaxy.
Old and new officers.
Clones and originals.
Twi'leks, Gothals, Zabrak, Rodians…
Every kind of being on the decks of the combat-ready starships of the regular fleet and the Defense Forces.
No mercy and no negotiations with those who refused to lay down their weapons at the first demand.
The Dominion would warn only once.
Anyone who did not comply would be destroyed.
Intelligence reported hundreds of planets ready to defect to the Dominion's side, or that had already done so in secret, becoming operational bases for the subsequent invasion.
The northern part of the galaxy froze, awaiting the inevitable resolution of the protracted conflict between organized crime and the genius of Grand Admiral Thrawn.
Tomorrow, as soon as the GeNod-Dominion lost the ultimatum Vice Admiral Pellaeon had broadcast across the planets—an ultimatum whose essence could be reduced to a single phrase: "Surrender or be destroyed"the regular fleet would begin its attack.
An invasion of dozens of sectors simultaneously.
An operation refined to the smallest detail, incorporating the experience of every formation or squadron commander.
But Grand Admiral Thrawn would not lead his fleet in this decisive battle.
The Guardian and the Chimaera—only two major ships the Chiss had taken with him to a distant goal on the other side of the galaxy—the two flagships from which Thrawn had commanded his brilliant operations, were moving toward the Perlemian Trade Route.
To where yet another crisis required the personal involvement of Grand Admiral Thrawn and his guard units.
"And now what?" asked the lieutenant colonel, his gaze fixed on the infopad left for command.
Thrawn shrugged.
"D'Astan has become part of the Dominion," he said. "Their history has seen worse devastation, worse problems than what they face now. An operational group of specialists from Colonel Astarion's department has already arrived to establish all the facts that interest us. Including the mass execution of the capital's population. The remnants of the rebels will be found and crushed. Grand Moff Ferrus has also joined in to help restore Carannia. Nothing our specialists haven't dealt with before."
"Except for the mass genocide of the population," Tierce agreed, barely flinching.
"Unfortunately,"a note of anger and bitterness crept into the Grand Admiral's voice—"Carannia has become a symbol of the fact that we cannot always and everywhere be in time. Preliminary analyses and autopsy data from the first bodies show that the executions were carried out long before the tactical superdroids came to power. That is, it was primarily the aristocrats who did it—they gave the orders to execute sentients. The Tacticals merely carried out orders and finished what was started. The first investigative data show that the executions were carried out at the time the planetary blockade was imposed, due to popular discontent and the desire to submit to the Baroness. Moreover, the execution was not carried out in the most brutal way possible. The sentients were taken to the lower levels of the underground complex, pumped full of a powerful gaseous narcotic, an overdose of which stopped their respiratory organs and caused brain failure. In a way, that can be considered a relatively humane death. But in any case, we lost millions of sentients. The capital lies in ruins. Small consolation that we have gained control over an army of billions of combat droids and obsolete armored vehicles."
Tierce nodded silently.
The question of losses had always troubled Thrawn—from the very first moment of their acquaintance, the Grand Admiral had made it unequivocally clear that for him, the end did not justify the means.
In this, he was favorably different from most Imperial and former Imperial warlords.
"Grand Admiral, I wanted to inform you that our agents report mass contract terminations among Kavil's Corsairs," the lieutenant colonel clarified. "As you predicted, the statistical information had the effect of a second Alderaan. The second wave of mercenary reinforcements, predominantly composed of young recruits, refused to continue their contracts at a rate of ninety-eight percent."
"Are we tracking their further movements?"
"Yes, sir," Tierce confirmed. "Seventy percent of the above number immediately submitted applications for enrollment in the Defense Forces. Another twenty-six percent are seeking employment in the private sector or specialized educational institutions. One percent submitted petitions for enrollment in the regular fleet because they have military education. Three percent remain under further observation due to uncertainty about their future."
"Those who desire further development will find a way out of the situation," Thrawn commented. "As for the infantile ones, they will either die of hunger or find support from private charitable foundations, which will provide them with all necessary assistance."
Tierce suppressed his urge to smile.
"Private charitable foundations" were nothing more than another subsidiary structure of the Dominion Security Bureau.
Having various directions and specific activities, they engaged in the soft, unobtrusive "education" of those who considered themselves unable to get along with the new government.
Counterintelligence officers analyzed the activities of each sentient, calculating their potential danger to society and the state.
The idea, oddly enough, came from the Republicans, who used similar foundations to lobby their interests in some sectors, and also used the capabilities of such foundations to destabilize the internal political component of those who supported the Empire or did not wish to cooperate with the New Republic.
Through such "foundations," the Republicans engineered revolutions, violent seizures of power, and brought pro-Republican politicians to power.
The Dominion was a novice in this field of "dirty games," but at the same time actively adopted the experience of its foreign adversaries.
Command and analytical centers broke down enemy operations into components, noting the tactics and strategy of Bothan scouts and saboteurs.
However the Dominionites felt about the New Republic, there was something to learn from the enemy.
Focusing only on one's own achievements and cherishing exclusively self-created innovations and progressive thoughts was a pernicious path of encapsulation and degradation.
An excellent example of such a policy of isolation was the Hapes Consortium, which, with the help of separatist scientists who fled to its territory, managed to create its own military fleet and develop its own weapons, but despite its hegemony within its sector, its military thought lagged behind the galactic standard.
As a result, the Hapans were currently rearming their ships with more powerful, longer-range, and more accurate artillery systems, navigation, and other instruments…
It was obvious that the Hapans were being prepared and pumped full of weapons in order to drag them into a new round of galactic confrontation.
"Chief Shipwright Zion has sent you and headquarters a complete list of technological lines and patents that need to be purchased for independent reproduction and retooling at our shipyards," Park warned. "Not all of his wishes can be bought with money, sir."
"Our Chief Shipwright sometimes demands more than he is capable of delivering," Thrawn said. "But the mobilization of shipyards and labor resources for the modernization of ships is quite commendable."
"Lieutenant Colonel Astarion is unhappy that Zion acted arbitrarily and allowed tens of thousands of Fo-F'eans to work at the shipyards before the verification procedures were completed."
"Yes, I have already read his report," Thrawn said, frowning. "No potential enemies were found. Or do you have more precise data?"
"I think the Shipwright is overreaching with his idea of becoming the best among his colleagues," Tierce said bluntly. "And I think his ambitions could harm us. He acted arbitrarily by recalling a significant portion of the workers from headquarters and from the refitting of the Torpedo Sphere."
Thrawn shook his head.
"Don't worry, Lieutenant Colonel. Yes, there is a certain self-will here, but from the perspective of effectiveness, the Shipwright, by mobilizing the crews of ships under repair and redirecting our artisans, managed in a short time to refit the necessary number of ships, in particular the Star Destroyers. We put all the Triples into service—according to the newest design—all the Victory-IIIs, the Dominators, modernized the Avengers, finished the Crusaders, repaired the ships damaged in the first phase. The total overhaul allowed us not to transfer a significant portion of personnel to ground crews for subsequent retraining. The new ships are crewed with permanent personnel, have undergone the minimum necessary training, and have participated in combat integration with the main forces of the regular fleet. For the first time, we can state that all combat-ready starships of our strike forces are fully staffed and trained in the use of the ships. We have finally transferred the Gladiator-class Star Destroyers to the Defense Forces and repaired them, modernized the Quasar Fire-class escort carriers and handed them over to Grand Moff Ferrus. Likewise the Corellian corvettes, frigates, Dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers, and much more. This is a breakthrough in the activity of our shipbuilding and ship repair industry, indicating that our civil society has reached a developmental point where the interests of the state and the need to arm those who defend the Dominion have become more important than personal comfort and well-being, healthy sleep and a normalized work process within an eight-hour shift and a one-hour lunch break. In my opinion, everyone who did this must be rewarded. From Zion down to the last welder or equipment adjuster. For the first time, every one of our shipyards, orbital docks, or orbital repair workshops has been utilized. Through titanic efforts, we have obtained a fleet that can not only go on the offensive, relying on the Perimeter and a few Defense Forces for border defense. Now every important direction will be controlled by a first-class squadron or formation of the Dominion's regular fleet, crewed by experienced personnel."
"But that is a disciplinary offense!" Tierce insisted. "The modernization plans for headquarters and the Torpedo Sphere have been disrupted, pushed to the right."
"Let's look at things realistically, Lieutenant Colonel," Thrawn suggested. "While we were solving problems in the Aparo and D'Astan sectors, Ryan Zion solved our fleet problems. Now we can not just throw a hundred Star Destroyers into battle—but nearly three hundred of all classes. By the old classification, that's the strike force of almost fifteen sectors in destroyers alone. From the point of view of formalism, it's a crime, not even a misdemeanor. From the point of view of the operational necessity of the fleet and army, it's a feat that requires rewarding. At least for the fact that Zion pulled it all off himself. Without the support of the military command, which, except for Pellaeon—who only formally agreed to it and was mired in the Serenno problem—was essentially not even aware of what was happening. First of all, questions should be asked of the military project coordinators who did not report in advance."
"Perhaps that should be rewarded," Tierce agreed. "But perhaps it wouldn't hurt you to take disciplinary measures against him."
"Your point of view correlates with mine," Thrawn replied. "But you have nothing to worry about. Shipwright Zion will soon be occupied with work on developing new types of universal and large landing ships for the fleet based on the Acclamators, creating a full-fledged Dragon-class design rather than makeshift conversions of Venators, and together with Vice Admiral Pellaeon, they will standardize our shuttles and small craft. The volume of bureaucratic and tactical-technical assignments for both will be so great that neither will have time to break away from their tasks and pull something like this again."
"I hope so." Tierce took a deep breath. He still didn't like what was happening, but he understood that once Thrawn made a decision, arguing was futile. "With your permission, Grand Admiral, I will ensure that their activities are under full counterintelligence control. If Zion pulls anything like this again and disrupts schedules anywhere by shifting labor, we will know in advance, not after the fact. That way we can prevent arbitrary and uncontrolled actions, rather than react to consequences."
"Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel," Thrawn said quietly. "And don't be so gloomy. This is not just the end of a rebellion within our territory." He smiled restrainedly. "It is also a beginning. The beginning of our victory and the complete subjugation of the northern galaxy to the Dominion's authority."
* * *
Chief Inquisitor Olo Drast, trying to suppress his excitement, slowly spread his lips into a smile.
"Yes, we found them," he said, feeling the Dark Side of the Force resonate within him with the absolute calm and imperturbability of the Imperial Guardsman standing opposite. "So much time searching, so many losses suffered, and now they are at our disposal."
"Should I inform the Executor Sedriss about the discovery of the rebels?" the Guardsman inquired.
Drast did not answer immediately.
The commander of the assault battalion, assembled almost by company from across the Commonwealth, shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearly broadcasting his uncertainty in the Force.
Well, of course.
He was a stormtrooper only by virtue of having the characteristic white armor, not by calling.
An ordinary farmer or any other useless biomass, forcibly torn from his mother's skirt to fill the mobilized "meat" shortage in the Commonwealth's bloodied units.
Short officer courses—and to the front.
That's how it should be—the weak serve the strong.
And who cares that this boy had never fought before and had never seen death.
They were all expendable material.
They were and always would be.
"What if we cannot inform him because of the Executor's remote location and the impossibility of delaying the report?" the Chief Inquisitor mused, stroking his chin with his fingertips.
He asked more for form's sake, knowing full well that none of those present would say anything to him.
At least nothing useful.
And what difference did it make to a Hutt whether they notified the Executor before or after the purge?
After all, he himself had said that finding and destroying the rebels responsible for the losses near the Jedi Temple was his, Drast's, personal affair and his responsibility.
Yes, the words were different.
But the essence was clear and unmistakable: "find and destroy."
"The Executor is far away," he dismissed his doubts, deciding that delay might allow the rebels to escape. "A lot of time will pass while he is informed and a messenger returns with an answer. In that time, the rebels could escape."
A lie from beginning to end.
The two days needed to go to the Executor's base, notify him, and bring back an answer was not a long time for solving a cardinal issue.
Especially one concerning the Jedi among the rebel rabble that had so plagued the Commonwealth's forces on Coruscant.
And the claim that they intended to flee somewhere was also a lie.
According to data from a scout droid, the settlement was quite inhabited, and the rebel scum had been there for a considerable time.
"Begin," Olo ordered. "All units—attack. I will arrive to personally kill the Jedi."
"Received, Chief Inquisitor." The hollow phrase from under the crimson helmet sounded ominous.
But it was not as triumphant and murder-anticipating of the hated Jedi as the grimace that spread across Olo Drast's face.
* * *
"Master Windu," Jahan addressed the elderly Korun. "Afar reports that the civilians have left the settlement area and are safe."
The Jedi, who had been sitting in what he called a meditation posture, looked at the agent with a stern gaze.
"You should be with them, Mr. Cross."
'Is this a thing with all Jedi?' an indignant thought flashed through the Dominion agent's mind.
"It's enough that my agents, Afar, and your apprentice are with them," Jahan grimaced. "You, me, and Alessi,"he glanced at the bustling Sluissi beside him—"will hold them here long enough, then withdraw."
The Korun continued to bore him with a heavy gaze, then, suddenly, grinned.
"Thirty years ago, few sentients would have dared to challenge my decision, Agent Cross. Especially if they were not members of the Jedi Order," he added in a raspy voice.
"Oh, so I'm lucky," Jahan smirked. "I earned praise from a Clone Wars hero?"
"Don't say that," the elderly Korun darkened, looking at his artificial hand. "If I were a hero, I would have understood who Palpatine was from the very beginning. Or at least finished the duel with him. If I were a hero, I would have seen the shatterpoint of the Chosen One…"
'Looks like the old man is having Clone Wars flashbacks again,' Jahan thought grimly.
Windu was, generally speaking, not the worst conversationalist.
But apparently, after years of wandering the Lower Levels of Coruscant, he had gone a little…
Not that he had lost his mind, but a good psychiatrist would be more than welcome.
Survivor's guilt or something like that.
Jahan wasn't particularly versed in the intricacies of human souls, but he was willing to bet that the Korun clearly had a fixation on standing as a wall between those he protected, those he held himself responsible for, and those who intended to harm them.
"The mines are set and armed," Alessi reported. "Exactly where you said, Master Windu."
"Good," the Jedi said, rising to his feet.
"I wouldn't say that," Jahan winced, surveying the blinking lights of the detonators connected to numerous explosive charges placed throughout the shelter's structure. "I'm not an expert in mine and demolition work, but I would have placed at least seventy percent of the charges in different places."
"Frankly, I would too," Suon grumbled. "Six charges on one structure is a bit few. It's clearly sturdy…"
"That would probably be more correct from a scientific or military standpoint, Agent Cross, Mr. Suon," the Jedi nodded, looking around the empty room with a sorrowful gaze. "However, I ask you both to trust me and the Force."
"The last Jedi who said that sacrificed himself so that other Jedi would see the light," Alex scratched the back of his head. "Master Windu, let's not mince words. Have you decided to off yourself for a great mission of setting the Jedi on the right path?"
The Korun was silent for several seconds, as if listening to something invisible and intangible to the other two sentients.
"I knew it," Cross sighed bitterly. "This is some tricky Jedi plan. Fly to Coruscant and die effectively. And how am I supposed to report back to the Commander-in-Chief afterward? I went on a mission with a Jedi, lost him, found another, he also ritualistically offed himself, we slaughtered the entire Coruscant garrison, captured the planet in the name of the Supreme, we're heroes, don't put us in a cage with rancors?"
"Sounds unconvincing," the Sluissi grimaced.
"Today the Force is with us," the Korun assured them.
"Can it be on our side all the time?" Jahan asked. "No, I understand that it's because of one of my guys that the scout droid found your shelter, but… You talk to the Force, have it play on our side, okay?"
Something happened that Cross and Suon had never seen before from the Jedi Master.
Even though they had spent quite a long time with him.
The Korun was smiling.
"Despite millennia of study, the Force remains too inscrutable for us to control it," he declared. "At least, Jedi teaching says so. To follow the Force, but not to direct it for one's own benefit. The latter is the path of the Dark Side, the selfishness born of it and fed by it…"
"No, that's enough," the Sluissi threw up his hands. "I can't listen to this philosophy a second time in a row. Jahan! Maybe we should stop looking for Jedi? Let's find and recruit a Sith, huh? So he doesn't sermonize, but just carves things up without lectures and preaching?"
The Korun laughed quietly.
"Forgive me, friends." How strange it was to hear that from the once formidable and fierce Jedi, who with a mere twitch of an eyebrow could silence arguers, and with his hands could crush armies of droids.
Still, thirty years filled with reflection on how badly the Korun had let down the entire galaxy changed anyone.
Even Windu.
And falling from the window of the Supreme Chancellor's office after having his hand cut off by the one on whom the greatest hopes had been placed for thousands of years didn't exactly add faith in the correctness of his former dogmas.
And even though they say you can't break an adult, the Korun, it turned out, while not a joker, a carouser, or the life of the party, was still a quite open person if you spoke with him openly and without a blaster at your back.
"The demolition charges are set correctly," he said. "Thanks to my unique gift — Shatterpoint — I can pinpoint the weakest spots in this structure..."
Suddenly, a device in Alessi Suon's hand started beeping.
The Sluissi frowned, looking at the detector.
"What in the nine hells?" he muttered. "The short-range sensors have triggered. They're already on their way!"
"I'm in position!" the Dominion agent reported at once. "Mace, tell Jayden to hurry up. We're almost out of time."
Alex Cross's loyal comrade raised his blaster and braced for a fight with the enemy creeping up to the gates.
But before he could pull the trigger, a blue-white lightsaber blade, as if born from the Korunnai's metal hand, parried a sniper rifle shot.
The next instant, the Jedi surged forward, deflecting more shots.
"Uh, thanks," was all the stunned technician managed to say before a second shot burned out his eye.
The Sluissi's body crumpled to the floor like a rag doll.
Jahan cursed under his breath and nearly lunged toward his friend, but caught himself. He knew — surviving a shot like that was next to impossible.
The only thing he could do was grab his own sniper rifle and put a hole through the head of the Pentastar Alignment agent who was reloading his "Night Sting."
The metal door tore from its hinges with a crash, and flame poured through the opening.
Mace, who was standing nearby, was blasted clear off his feet. Through the gap in the hangar wall, the flattened cylinder of a HAVr A9 "flying fortress" drifted slowly inside.
HAVr A9 Flying Fortress
An anti-gravity field pressed one of the hangar doors to the ground, and dark liquid began seeping out from under the twisted metal plate.
Jahan found himself alone in an instant.
Towering amidst the chaos, he stared dumbfounded, slowly retreating behind the cover of a makeshift fortification.
They had stayed behind to buy the civilians time to escape.
Through the Lower Levels, through a thousand dangers — that's why the Dominion agents had come with them.
The three daredevils were supposed to hold out long enough. But the enemy had slipped past the traps the late Alessi had set with his own hands.
No scanner could have detected them.
A cannon turret swiveled toward the Dominion agent, who was huddled behind a pile of debris.
The "Fortress" fired.
Jahan barely dodged the shot, diving into a small trench dug specifically for situations like this.
He quickly assessed the situation.
The backup squad in white armor didn't keep him waiting.
"Rebel scum," a voice rasped through a distorted amplifier. "I don't care whether you try to surrender or not. Every last one of you will be destroyed! If there's a shred of honor left in the Jedi, let them come and fight me..."
"I'm not a Jedi," Jahan shouted, ripping a control panel from his belt. "But I can kick your ass just as well!"
His finger hit the activation key.
And the entire shelter exploded.