Ahsoka simply couldn't fall asleep, her thoughts circling endlessly around what had happened in the Halls of Healing. Her feelings were conflicted: on one hand, she was angry at Aayla Secura's behavior and the words she had spoken about her Master; on the other, once she had cooled down a little, she realized she felt some sympathy for her.
At last, wanting to resolve her doubts, she turned to her master.
Yes, Snips?
I wanted to ask… Master Secura was probably saddened when she learned about her master's death?
Most likely, yes.
Well… I don't know… It feels like I should sympathize with her, because I…
Ahsoka tried to find the right words, but her master spoke first.
Yes. I understand. For me, losing you would be the most terrible thing that could happen.
But you wouldn't wish death on…?
No. Death would be a release for the one who… no, that's not quite right. He would beg me for death…
Ahsoka fell silent in shock. Her master's words were… cruel. And yet, at the same time—pleasant.
Aren't you afraid of dying?
Ahsoka couldn't hold the question back—and instantly regretted it. It was far too tactless. But… after a long silence, Vikt finally answered.
Most likely… no. I'm afraid of dying without purpose.
Ahsoka hurried to change the subject.
What about our assignment?
Ah, boring stuff. We'll be forming a large formation of troops and ships. We'll be staying on Coruscant for two or three months. There'll be a lot of work.
Oh, blast…
Exactly… Did I satisfy your curiosity?
Oh… sorry, Master. You're probably tired…
It's nothing. You should rest.
A feeling of warmth and care flowed from her master.
Okay.
Ahsoka burrowed deeper under the blanket and soon began to drift off to sleep.
***
The morning medical procedures were fairly short—I wrapped them up in an hour, which meant most of the morning was still at my disposal. I needed to, so to speak, "make productive use" of it, because the day promised to be busy: I had a meeting with Palpatine at noon, and a "formal dinner" in the evening. But for now it was time to deal with current problems. The rest we'd handle as they came.
Ahsoka headed for the Akagi. As she explained, she wanted to train on the simulator with Tin man. Well, that was useful enough. The important thing was not to forget that behind those virtual units stood real… people—and not only people—which I reminded her of. I also handed her a copy of the plan, which she was to deliver to my officers—first and foremost Lichtendal and Blam.
I, meanwhile, hurried to the Temple hangar and, requisitioning an airspeeder, headed for the headquarters of the First Sector Army. The route was already familiar, so there was no chance of getting lost.
Upon reaching the destination, I parked my transport and headed for the building. After a short while I was already standing by the doors leading to the Moff's office. A captain—apparently serving as acting adjutant—nodded politely.
"Sir, Moff Trachta is currently occupied. Please wait, I'll inform him of your visit."
"Understood," I said, dropping into one of the chairs conveniently arranged around a small table.
The man disappeared behind the door, but barely thirty seconds later he burst back out.
"You may go in."
Nodding, I rose from the chair and proceeded to the helpfully open door. Sitting behind his desk, Dikeimus greeted me by saluting with a fork impaling a piece of kam'tari.
"Ah, Mikore. Glad to see you. We've been hearing about your successes in strengthening ties."
I settled into the chair opposite him.
"Why are you having breakfast in the office? That busy? Maybe I came at a bad time?"
"No, not really. Things are quiet calm at the moment, so I'm allowing myself the luxury of proper, normal food. Two weeks ago, though, it was a madhouse—the whole headquarters ran on stimulants for three days straight. If not for clone rations, everyone would've collapsed. As it was, we only had a couple of fainting spells…"
"Yeah, clone rations are something else," I said with a smile.
The moff scraped up the last of… well, let's call it salad, and pushed the tray aside. A servant droid swiftly picked it up and carried it out. Trachta slid a bottle of wine closer and, at my nod, poured the nectar into our glasses. I glanced briefly at the label.
"Wow. Virenne Reserve, vintage… NN-179! Not a bad choice."
"The position obliges, you know… So, what brings our diplomat-hero here? Oh—and congratulations on the promotion!" Our glasses clinked.
"Thanks!.. Are you familiar with the system armies?" I went straight to the point.
"Ah…" Trachta grimaced. "Yeah, I saw that mess the other day… Wait, are you telling me they dumped one of those armies on you?"
"Yep. The Thirteenth."
"I see…"
"Yeah. And since it's going to be formed on Coruscant—meaning it falls under the First Sector's responsibility—who else should I come to but you?"
"Mmm… I sympathize with you. You'll have a mountain of crap to sort through. Especially since the idea itself is idiotic."
"How so?" Catching Trachta's look, I hurried to clarify. "I mean, I know it's idiotic, but I'm just interested in your perspective."
"Where to start… Well, first of all, I doubt the combat value of the auxiliary troops. Clones are acceptable, but there aren't enough of them—they'll barely cover the first five or ten armies. And then it gets worse. The deadlines are simply unrealistic. Four months… Ha! I'd bet my arm they'll yank you out in three, and in that time it's simply impossible to organize the proper work and coordination of such a number of troops and ships."
"You're an optimist… I'm counting on two months at most."
"Well… fair enough… Second, we're short on ships, and I simply can't fully satisfy your requests. The same goes for ship officers."
"I have a feeling we'll be bargaining for every single hull," I grimaced.
"Exactly," the man laughed. "Well… we're not short on smaller vessels. I'd even say we have a surplus, so I can throw in some extra there. But when it comes to larger ships, we're seriously lacking."
"Is it really that bad?"
"Yeah… well, better in some places, worse in others, but overall the picture isn't very cheerful. We haven't even met our own needs yet, and now they want us to pull a whole heap of ships out of thin air."
"So what can the First Sector spare? What can I count on?"
"You know what… let's figure that out right now."
Trachta activated the desk projector. I, in turn, switched on my portable datapad.
"So… you can forget about twenty-four Venators. I can spare only eight, and even they won't arrive for another month and a half."
I frowned. Damn… I was hoping for twelve.
"Only eight?"
"That's right. The First Sector is getting only eighty units over the next three months. Besides, we're guarding Coruscant, not some Ryloth, so eighty Venators is a lot. The Third Sector will receive only sixteen during the same period. But… Foerost alone will swallow about thirty ships, so don't take it personally—we need them more."
"What's going on there? I heard something about a blockade, but I don't know the details."
"Ah, that…" Trachta displayed a section of the map on the projector. "Foerost—a planet about a hundred light-years from Coruscant, on the Koros Trunk Line. It belongs to the Techno Union. They've got about ten shipyards there, and more importantly—an enormous amount of resources. They're churning out warships like hotcakes. Right now fifteen hundred enemy ships are being held back by only seven hundred of ours. We don't have enough strength to break their defensive ring—and even if we did, their planetary defenses are off the charts. On the other hand, they don't have enough strength to break out either—we've deployed two Kuat eight-kilometer Mandator-II Star Dreadnaughts there. They're certainly slow and clumsy—which isn't great—but in our situation it's not critical. In defense and blockade operations those dreadnaughts are especially effective. So we've got a kind of parity. Both sides—the CIS and the Republic—are building up forces, but neither is making decisive moves yet."
"Still… eight ships isn't much."
"Can't be helped. We'll try to compensate with others," the moff scrolled through the list. "All right… I can give you sixteen Acclamators. Together with your two that'll make eighteen. Let's see… another seven Persuasive, and… eight Conciliators."
"What kind of beast is that?" I asked in surprise.
"An attempt to turn the Acclamator into a proper carrier—we didn't have enough of those early in the war, as you know. It was designed and produced by Rothana. The ship completely lost its landing contingent, and they changed a few things internally. Armament's the same as a standard Acclamator, but it has no torpedo tubes. On the other hand, it can carry one hundred forty-four fighters and bombers. They managed to build about a hundred of them, but as you understand, once the Venator appeared, the Conciliator became obsolete."
"All right… let's take them."
"Right… there are also four Subjugators: basically the same Acclamator, but designed for landing support and planetary bombardment. Twenty-four heavy turbolasers with a firing range of one hundred twenty kilometers in atmosphere, and two heavy rocket-torpedo launchers with a two-hundred-kilometer radius—serious firepower. You can have all these ships within a couple of days."
"Hm. That's all well and good, but… I might bring the landing troops and carry out the deployment. But how do you expect me to provide orbital cover? What about fleet engagements? A system army is supposed to be fully self-sufficient in ships—otherwise there's no point in creating such formations."