"Sam, I need your help..."
In the silence of the conference hall, I was afraid to turn toward my dear deputy, who was burning a hole through the hologram of Fay sent this morning.
The creak of the unfortunate cup in her hand echoed through the area, reflecting off the walls and making all the operators, Techs, and soldiers walk on tiptoe, afraid to provoke a storm.
Behind Somnia stood Miranda with the exact same expression, clearly already measuring how the elf looked through the optical sight of her rifle.
"Silly." Giggling into her palm, the Shorty saluted my displeased look with a cup of kaff, then immersed herself again in her very important business. The Jawa was creating a new type of piloted walker based on construction droids and our early developments. In terms of cost, this project had already gone beyond all limits, because for the same money, one could buy a damn Gozanti-class cruiser! "Collected a harem, now suffer..."
A portion of murderous looks went to the Shorty as well, but the little technophile didn't care about such squabbles.
The others remained tactfully silent, allowing me to fully "enjoy" the depth of the moment. That damn Jedi, she probably sent it over an open channel right in the middle of the meeting on purpose! As if last time wasn't enough, for which I'm still paying with constant suspicious squints, jokes, and anecdotes circulating throughout our organization.
"You are my last hope." Bowing, Fay reached out to the droid and turned off the recording, cutting it short and leaving me in tense reflection.
"Is the information accurate?"
"We're checking." Despite all the grudges, games, and simple follies wandering around the ruling elite of the Helldivers, we still remained professionals, so Somnia promptly set to work, throwing in hundreds of reports and data that confirmed Fay's information. "It seems it really is true... Ships are converging on the system from all sides, and many pirate captains have left their domains and disappeared from all radars. Too many to list, but... there are a lot of them."
"Scum and trash, only capable of robbing defenseless planets." Adding his weighty word, Arkam threw his legs over a passing cleaning droid. "Our fleet is strong enough to deal with them, albeit with serious losses. What can we say about the Judicial Forces or Tarkin's battle group? Not to mention the new Republic fleet of two hundred Dreadnaughts..."
"Agreed. The plan seems too insane," bringing the whole layout onto the holographic map, the girl bit her lip in thought, starting to tap out a familiar rhythm with her index finger, "but we've already managed to see that Magnus is no naive fool or psycho... I mean, he's certainly quite the maniac and a crazy scientist, but..."
"He has brains." I finished the general thought, to which everyone nodded. My eyes shot to Somnia, along with a question. "Do you think he'll use his combat toxins, viruses, and so on again?"
"One hundred percent. The pirates will surely be a diversionary maneuver." Somnia's fingers tapped on the keyboard, after which she brought up a list of guests who would be present at the official launch. The aforementioned Tarkin with his entire team and fleet ships, Luren Korta, Chairman of the Defense and Security Committee, at the head of a Judicial security fleet, the Rendili defense fleet under the command of the head of the Rendili StarDrive security service... Enormous forces, each comparable to the other. Together they could easily fight off the pirates, even the Katana fleet, if everything went sideways. "Most likely he'll try to knock out the entire general staff; there are just too many important figures, patrons, senators... Even the Chancellor will be present. It's a momentous event, after all."
She shrugged awkwardly, as if saying it was obvious and a better moment for a chemical attack simply couldn't be found. I completely agreed with her, nodding at every word.
"Whipped."
"Sit quietly over there and mind your business since you're not participating in the discussion." I growled at the Shorty, receiving childhood taunts and "Be-be-be" sounds in response. "I'm more interested in whether the Order knows about Fay's actions."
"Definitely, yes. I think without their patronage, she wouldn't have dared to involve us..."
"That means the green dwarf will send someone else, so be careful when the shooting starts." Looking over my tensed friends, I clarified in case anyone didn't believe my words. "And it definitely will start. I guarantee you."
"Are we really going to get into this?" Grimacing, Miranda popped her gum, then leaned against the back of Somnia's chair. "Are we even going to get paid? We're supposedly Assassins... even if we fight for Liberty."
And I understood her perfectly, as well as the doubts of everyone else. Usually, we strip slavers and pirates to the bone, getting rich and cleaning the galaxy of trash. But here... the Judicial Forces might step on our toes for such stunts in the Core Worlds.
"I'll contact Rick... and the Order. If they agree and pay for our work, we won't sit on the sidelines." Clearing my throat, I clasped my hands, feeling with a sixth sense that we were on the right path. "But I'd rather deal with Magnus even without any rewards. That sick bastard has clearly planned a lot of shit for the galaxy, and without him, it will definitely be better."
****
Turning off the communication hologram, Rick Dicker rolled back in his chair from the desk, then turned toward the panoramic window of his brand-new office. The recent promotion had fallen on him... expectedly. And only his rivals and enemies blinked their eyes, silently flapping their lips and drooling.
Greedy fools who only dream of how to more skillfully rob the state treasury. Not that Rick himself didn't sin in that way; if one didn't engage in such things, all colleagues at his current level would have legitimate questions.
Banal things, such as the latest model Speeder, a house in a lovely place, a ship with a good hyperdrive, and a beautiful mistress who spends money that comes from who knows where.
Everyone immediately becomes calmer when they see that he has quite understandable and desirable goals in life... not much different from their own.
Grimacing at the thought, the man pulled out fruit cigarettes, a pernicious habit of smoking which he had maintained for forty years.
Exhaling tiredly, Rick put the cigarette aside, starting to play with a lighter, now striking a spark, now extinguishing the small flame. Someone might say that after talking to one of his promising protégés, the former investigator plunged into doubt or felt agitation, but no...
Quite the opposite. Having received Sam's message, the senator's assistant felt a strange peace, as if everything was as it should be. Old Dicker would have been more worried if an event of such magnitude had passed without any incidents at all, and young Sam only confirmed many of his fears.
Something was brewing. Something that would change the Republic, walking with a forged boot over its naive rose-colored glasses, which the inhabitants of the Core Worlds were not going to take off.
And it wasn't that Rick was strongly against it happening.
Finally lighting the cigarette, the man inhaled with the full power of his old lungs. A dizzying moment of relaxation, a slight heaviness in the chest, and a puff of smoke slips out of his mouth, spreading the aroma of fruit and tobacco through the office.
Swallowing sweetish saliva, Dicker looked at his computer screen, closely examining the blinking icon of the message from Sam, which he had specifically left in the unread folder so as not to forget about it in the business days filled with mountains of work, in connection with the same entry of the Katana fleet into service.
And although he appreciated the impulse of the young mercenary, there were already completely different plans for the Katana fleet. It was to become the push that would serve as the start of the avalanche.
"Hm... You can't make an omelet without breaking eggs." Putting out the cigarette, Rick straightened his uniform, smoothing it to an ideal state and removing all extra lint and pills. Taking a deep breath, the man stood up from his chair and, walking to the long-distance transmitter, knelt down, preparing for another difficult conversation, for all the previous ones had not left him indifferent. As soon as the projector blinked a couple of times, the panoramic windows closed, cutting off the office from any outside eyes and sounds. Just a second later, the other side answered, and a blue hologram of a figure in a cowl appeared in the air. "Master, as you predicted, Zeta Magnus has betrayed us..."
****
"Ha... Ha... Ha..."
Heavy breathing escaped from the helmet. Allan Syn felt for his blaster with his hand and fired at random into the darkness, but having achieved no success, he threw away the weapon with an empty magazine, then accelerated, hiding in the darkness of the corridors.
Screams and shots rang out behind him, after which silence fell over the complex, broken only by the rare thud of his own feet.
Clattering his sabatons, he ran and ran, afraid to stop for even a second. Feeling himself with his healthy hand, the guy clicked his tongue in disappointment when he realized he didn't even have a knife left.
Sweat clouded his eyes, and through the Visor, a pair of frightened eyes could be seen. With his eyelids wide open, the Helldiver ran through the corridors of the underground base where they had been sent to kill the pirates.
Running out into a corridor, the young guy almost fell but was able to maintain his balance and continue the run, hoping to reach the Pelican before the presumed enemy.
The walls shuddered behind him. Rolling away from the line of attack, the soldier dove like a fish into a new corridor, escaping an object that flew over his head.
Cursing everything in the world, especially the bastard pursuing him, the Helldiver caught his broken arm on a doorframe and, crying out in pain, fell to the floor.
Skidding across the steel plating stained with streaks of blood profusely shed throughout the complex, Allan tried to stand up, but his hand poked into the guts of some dead man.
Recoiling in disgust and fear, the young man looked with pity at the pirate face mutilated in fear. His body was mangled beyond recognition, and only the wide-open eyes and mouth spoke of the horror he had experienced earlier.
The Helldiver's head slid to the side. The entire corridor was littered with bodies with quite characteristic wounds. Clotted blood, scorched lines on bodies or stumps of limbs...
"Shit," picking up the nearest blaster, the Helldiver dashed further down the corridor, running a few meters on all fours, "shit, shit, shit..."
Attempts to contact the shuttle were unsuccessful. White noise filled the entire airwaves, and only a nasty beeping in his ear was the answer to all his requests.
Stumbling over the dead, thrown in a heap of meat into the passage, he reached the last corridor that led to the hangar where the ship was supposed to be waiting.
Suddenly, a grinding and chattering sound came from behind. Falling forward and twisting on pure reflexes, Allan sent half a magazine into the darkness, reveling with some animal pleasure in the inhuman screams that rang out in response.
He fired and fired, clearly distinguishing the sound of hitting a body, until the blaster beeped about the end of the ammunition.
Cursing, throwing the blaster at random into the darkness, the Helldiver jumped to his feet and, squeezing the last strength out of his body as if catching a second wind, ran toward the hangar with the ship, hoping the pilots weren't sitting with an open ramp.
Flying at full speed into a closed door and groaning again from the pain in his broken arm, the soldier pounded his fist on the opening button, occasionally turning back and listening to the clicking of the approaching xenos.
"Come on... COME ON!"
Breaking into a scream, Allan hit the panel with all his might, and when the door began to open, he slipped through the crack, disregarding the safety of his armor and equipment. Not bothering to close it, because losing extra milliseconds was impossible, he ran toward the ship, feeling relief with every second.
The ramp was closed. The pilots were busy in the cockpit, but at his appearance, they activated the turret and started the engine, releasing blue flames from the nozzles.
"Yes, bitch! To hell with you..."
But before Allan could finish the thought, the shuttle rose into the air before his eyes. Slowly but inevitably, the ship, swaying from side to side, rose upward to the frightened cries of the pilots and the roar of the engines. It jerked and tossed, but the Pelican remained in one place, illuminating the hangar with flashes of afterburners.
And then came the grinding. A powerful corner of crumpled metal, a mind-breaking sight that was imprinted in the Helldiver's head for the rest of his life.
Falling to his knees, Allan watched as an invisible hand crumpled the war machine like a piece of clay, twisting and breaking straight lines and structures, turning the starship into a pile of wreckage.
Allan didn't notice how insect-like monsters surrounded him from all sides. How the light in the hangar finally went out, and the burning shuttle crashed to the ground, making him shudder.
In the reflections of the flame, he saw the wreckage being scattered in different directions, and the flame that had soared to the ceiling subsided, giving way to a silhouette in a black cowl.
Walking unhurriedly, the figure approached the Helldiver, who had not even tried to get up from his knees and was waiting for his fate with anger and fear.
A flash of crimson light illuminated the hangar, and the hum of a lightsaber filled Allan's ears.
Raising the blade to the sky, illuminating his own face and a torn outfit of black cloth, a black man with yellow eyes cut Allan in half.
Leaning over the fallen halves of the body, Mace Windu pulled a tag in the shape of a skull and white wings from the neck of the hated enemy. Squeezing it in his hand, deforming it with The Force, turning the grotesque little ball, the Korunnai made a hole in it, then threaded a small string, adding another trophy to dozens of others.
Putting his gruesome beads, stained with soot and blood, back on his neck.
****
Putting aside the note, with a wave of his hand, the cyborg formerly known as The Spider turned it into ash. The sent report evoked nothing in his soul but a crumb of satisfaction of expectations.
The new apprentice fully justified his investment. Cruel, strong, consumed by a thirst for revenge and not seeing beyond it. Saturated with The Force and knowing how to use it...
An ideal object.
It was a pity that after the first defeat, which finally broke him from the Jedi path, Magnus had to replace half of Mace Windu's body, which meant he was no longer suitable to become his new vessel.
For now, everything was going according to plan, and there was no need to hurry or worry.
Glancing to the left, the cyborg grimaced contemptuously when his new assistant—an Arkanian mutant with feigned aristocratic manners—bit into a Twi'lek leg, literally purring with pleasure.
"Who I have to deal with."
Calming himself once again, convincing himself that all this was temporary, the cyborg used his incredible mathematical abilities, which were available to him during his life, a long time ago...
At the memories, The Force rebelled, and the table under his hand turned into a crumpled mess. The memory of betrayal gnawed at his soul, but it was a predictable outcome that awaited him in any case, as it had all his predecessors. Но the fact that he made a mistake in the most important aspect of the plan...
Shaking his head, simultaneously answering Zeta Magnus's silent question, the cyborg rose to his feet, again running through the approximate plan of action in his head, which he had to rebuild from scratch when he managed to get off that foul desert planet.
All accumulated resources, developments, brilliant engineering solutions, connections with prominent figures of the galaxy... In one moment, he lost everything.
And fine, he would deal with that, create anew, seize what was needed... But his body.
His gaze involuntarily slid to the metal hand, gradually going further to the body hidden under the cloak. A vile parody of a Force user, a pathetic fragment compared to his former power.
"But no matter... Soon this will end."
Casting another look, unreadable because of the mechanical face, at Zeta Magnus, the cyborg reassured himself that someday this crazy geneticist would help him create a new, better, and stronger body, and until then, he would endure all his antics.
"Let him devour half the galaxy if he wants!"
He exclaimed in his heart and was already about to retire to his quarters, but then a new message caught his attention. The little spy he had known back on Tatooine had brought him good news again.
No matter how pragmatic the cyborg was, he was glad that he was surprised on her account and experienced unusual and pleasant emotions about it.
"Kitsu sent fresh news. The Siths have learned of our plans..."
"O-o-oh, basically, that was expected." Shrugging, the giant put aside the Twi'lek leg and wiped his mouth with a napkin, giving the command to the droids to stop playing Corellian violins. "But this doesn't change our plans?"
"More no than yes. The main thing is to fulfill the plan at least halfway; the rest is secondary."
"That's good, then," another wave of the hand and the music flowed through the room again, plunging them into some kind of aristocratic ball, "then I see no reason for concern. We will be ready, my friend."
"True... Friend."
Flicking the hem of his cloak, the cyborg turned sharply on his heels and left this unpleasant place, for every second spent near the Arkanian irritated him to a bloody veil before his eyes, and only a cold mind and the body of a machine allowed him to keep himself in check.
***
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