Returning to my body, I felt severe exhaustion.
Opening my eyes, I noticed the worried looks of Nadia and Kira.
Touching my face with my hand, I felt my fingers touch something sticky.
Pulling my fingers away from my face, I noted with some indifference that it was blood.
“You…
are dismissed,” I said with difficulty.
Then, catching myself, I added, “Thank you, girls.
Sorry for the discomfort…
I…” “It’s fine,” Nadia said quickly.
I didn’t miss Kira’s fleeting, puzzled glance at her friend.
As if Carsen had expected a different reaction from her friend…
“You should rest,” I decided, rising to my feet.
Severe dizziness nearly cost me my balance.
But, thanks to the Force, I managed to grab onto the desk.
“As should you,” Kira remarked.
I nodded in agreement.
“As should I.” * * * I slept for almost a full day, waking up in the evening of that same day.
The feeling of mild nausea and dizziness hadn’t gone away.
A headache had appeared.
Frankly speaking — not the best feeling.
To the best of my ability, I hobbled to the refresher and put myself in order.
I took only two sets of armor with me to Christophsis.
The gray-steel armor of a Sith warrior, with a mask and a matte-black cloak with a crimson lining and sleeve trim — armor that had become a second skin to me over the course of the battles.
And the Jedi Knight armor with a cream-colored cloak that had been gathering dust in the wardrobe.
A yellow power cell indicator, glowing just below the chest armor plates, signaled that the suit’s computer systems were operational.
Many times I had been tempted to put on the Jedi armor set, but I always returned to the raiment of the warriors of Vitiate’s Empire.
Sighing, I pulled the Sith armor back on.
Throwing the cloak of light shadow-silk over the suit, I noted with displeasure the numerous damages to the mantle.
Tears, snags, burn marks from blaster bolts…
It was a shame that such a rare and expensive material, which concealed virtually any sound, had been ruined.
I would have to find and order a new cloak.
After a moment’s thought, I decided to order similar cloaks, only with a silver trim and an embroidered legion emblem-banner on the right chest section of the mantle.
The last element was the mask.
Austere, with eye slits protected by polarized lenses, with predatory facets, it pleasantly cooled the skin.
Over the millennia, the electronic components had not aged in the slightest.
Unlike, it must be said, the Republic electronics from the Cold War era.
The day ahead was not going to be an easy one.
The locals, having undergone an emotional upgrade, needed to have their successes cemented — otherwise, slowly but surely, they would become disillusioned with their new idol.
Several small, yet sensitive victories were necessary.
A couple of small victories that would grow into a large-scale battle…
all in all, not a bad option; I just needed to plan everything so that the victories would be ours, and not the CIS army’s.
But first, I had to deal with the routine.
As they say — the human organism is most active after sleep.
I should take advantage of that.
For over an hour I studied summary reports on mobilization, the arming of the new militia, and the organization of training.
Fortunately, the captured CIS weaponry was substantial.
I was just studying the engineers’ reports on makeshift inventions designed to alleviate our shortage of heavy weapons.
Must say, very worthwhile initiatives.
Weld 4 or 6 E-5 blaster rifles onto a single mount — and there you have a multi-barreled machine gun analog.
True, due to their design features, the E-5s had a tendency to overheat…
But it was better than nothing.
I was granting my approval for the production of this type of weapon when I was interrupted by a cautious knock at the door.
Concentrating, I noted with surprise that, absorbed in my work, I had not noticed Nadia Grell approaching my office.
Grimacing at my own carelessness — one day such inattention could cost me dearly — I used the Force to open the door.
“Nadia,” I greeted the girl, rising from behind the desk.
The Jedi was dressed in a dark blue doublet with armor elements, black leggings with protective plates, and high, massive boots.
Over it all was thrown a black hooded cloak, designed to conceal weapons and provide protection from the weather.
“My Lord,” the girl inclined her head slightly, settling more comfortably onto the sofa where I had indicated she should sit.
“How are you feeling?” I inquired.
The girl smiled.
The show of attention was evidently to her liking.
“Much better,” she replied.
“A couple of meditations — and the discomfort vanished as if by hand.” “Mmm,” I hummed.
That was true — among the vast legacy I had gleaned from the spirit of Exar Kun, there were several restorative meditations and healing trances capable of using the Force to neutralize destructive effects on the body.
I should try them.
“You look exhausted,” the girl remarked.
There was genuine concern in her voice.
“Didn’t sleep well,” I said, with a guilty conscience.
“Nadia, if you don’t mind — when we’re alone, let’s address each other informally.” “As you wish,” the girl inclined her head.
Then, catching herself, she corrected — “As you wish.” “That’s good,” I smiled.
Returning to my desk, I glanced at the datapad, which still held the information crystal with Ruk’s reports.
“Did Kuat refuse us?” I asked the Jedi.
The Sarkhai girl nodded silently, settling on the sofa half-turned towards me.
“I didn’t get a chance to finish reading your report.
Can you tell me in your own words?” “They are certainly interested in the opportunity to earn new credits,” she explained.
“But their capacities are tied up with Republic orders.
What they can spare us is negligible.
One or two dreadnoughts a month is a drop in the ocean.
Plus, given the number of Republic officials, inspectors, engineers, security, and so on — our order will very soon cease to be a secret for Coruscant’s bureaucrats.” Of course, I could have argued that — in its time, most of the Empire’s Super Star Destroyers were built on Kuat, and done so in absolute secrecy.
Then again, different time, different state.
“Well, what if our order were fulfilled on Rothana?” “As soon as the Kuat representatives heard the planet’s name from me, they broke off negotiations.
I had to weave and dodge on the way back, covering my tracks from their security service.” Not the best news, of course.
But I didn’t think a Sarkhai who had maintained her reputation as the Emperor’s Hand for four thousand years couldn’t shake a tail.
“Your thoughts?” “Kuat is not interested in cooperation.
They receive large and extremely lucrative orders from the Republic, and they see no reason to spread their forces thin for an unknown client.
Even despite the fact that we are holders of one of the company’s largest numbered accounts.” “Corellia?” “Likewise.
The Corellians are building — as they think — their own fleet in secret; they have no time for large external orders.
All large and medium slipways are occupied with the construction of the Corellian fleet.
They can only offer us small shipyards — for building ships class and size no larger than corvettes.” “Hmm,” I pondered.
The Corellian Engineering Corporation held the second largest numbered account — for hundreds of thousands of quadrillions of credits.
That was enough to cover the cost of several dozen Republic fleets.
“Not much in the way of major players on this field for us.
If this continues, we’ll be left without ships.
What about Sienar?” “Sienar, to put it mildly, is down on their luck right now,” the girl explained.
“Some of their developments failed to pay off, leading to serious financial losses.
Essentially, the company is ready to trade its developments to whoever pays the most.
But the problem is that there aren’t really any takers.
The Republic is focused on Kuat.
The CIS has its own shipbuilders — not as talented, but still with mass-produced items.
Sienar is forced to fight for its existence.
The Senate has repeatedly slapped them on the wrist for playing with the CIS, but Raith Sienar has good connections in the Republic’s armed forces.
His developments — like the ion engine — openly go to Kuat, secretly to the CIS.
At the same time, despite the promise of these developments, the Republic is not ready to integrate them into its existing projects.” “Interesting,” I remarked.
Playing both sides never led to anything good.
But my memory told me that things for Sienar were only going to get better.
It was no coincidence that the promising Tarkin was already in his circle.
“But, for all the bad news, there is good news too,” the girl admitted.
“Oh?
What’s that?” “CEC, even if they won’t build new dreadnoughts for us, can still help us,” the girl began.
“It would be better if I showed you.” “Go ahead,” I handed her the datapad with her report.
Rising from her seat, the girl walked over to the desk, standing behind me to the right.
Quickly scrolling through several pages of the report, she pointed at an image of a small ship, shaped like the letter ‘T’ with a curved downward crossbar.
“The Marauder-class corvette,” the girl presented the starship to me.
“A Sienar design for patrolling Deep Space and screening capital ships.
The corvette can carry between 12 and 36 fighters, mounts 8 turbolasers, and tractor beam generators.
Moreover, the corvette can easily be upgraded into a missile variant.
Several such ships can provide reliable protection for escorted transports or screen capital ships from the enemy’s mosquito fleet.” “Looks like a decent machine,” I agreed.
“Is he producing them for the Republic?” “The project was developed for them,” the girl confirmed.
“But the Senate didn’t approve the ship for procurement.
As a result, Sienar, having invested a trillion, is forced to sell its developments under the table to the CIS — just to somehow recoup its costs and save the company.” “Hold on,” I leaned back in the chair, struck by a thought.
“We could acquire a fleet of these ships, and at the same time — take Sienar by the throat, gaining control of his company.” “Our funds in the numbered accounts at Sienar’s company would be sufficient to buy a controlling stake,” the girl admitted.
“I spoke about this with our top manager after the refusal to cooperate.
He declined to continue the conversation, explaining it was outside his competence, but warned that the company’s leadership would not be pleased with such client behavior.” “We need to get off this planet as soon as possible,” I decided.
“And pay a visit to Sienar.” “I would be happy to keep you company,” the girl said unexpectedly.
Catching herself, she immediately continued scrolling through her report.
“I…
wouldn’t mind,” I said, and upon uttering these words, saw a slight blush on the girl’s cheeks.
I admit, her slip of the tongue intrigued me.
But I didn’t have time to develop that thought, as she pointed her little finger at another image.
“During the Cold War, smugglers praised the XS light freighter for its speed, armament, and spacious hold,” she said.
A 3D model of a ship appeared before me, vaguely resembling the Millennium Falcon.
More angular, though.
“It carried a supply of proton torpedoes and a very decent armament that helped it fight off Sith fighters.
Such freighters often reduced Sith Star Destroyers to scrap metal.” “The Cold War ended long ago,” I noted.
“And light freighters aren’t really what we need…” “These freighters can finally solve the supply issue for our army and fleet,” the girl said didactically.
“They can hold up to a company of soldiers — perfectly protected even from the enemy’s large-caliber artillery.
Of course, the ship’s design should be modernized by current standards…” “How many ships are they willing to sell us?” I asked.
“They have up to a thousand in storage in the Corellia system,” the girl said, checking her notes.
“CEC will replace all the electronics, install new weapon systems, adding another five twin turbolaser mounts to the ship.
After the upgrade, such a freighter will be able to fight off any corvette.” “Admit it, you already placed the order?” I smirked.
The girl, seeing my positive attitude, nodded.
“We need ships,” she said.
“We can’t actively use the Harrowers or other conspicuous ships.
But freighters, especially under the command of experienced smugglers, will become not only our transport artery but also our eyes and ears across the entire galaxy.” “We just need to find a thousand crews for these ships,” I smirked.
The girl looked at me with surprise.
“The best pilots in the galaxy have always been born on Corellia, worked for the Hutts, and hid on Tatooine,” the girl said, as if it were a matter of course.
“It’s worth searching in one of those places.” “Well then, we’ll search,” I agreed, anticipating the rest of the report.
“Rendili Trade Corporation, which holds the patent for corvettes like our Defender, together with CEC is ready to produce improvements for this corvette and manufacture upgraded versions of the Defender,” the girl continued without delay.
“The ship already underwent modernization on Coruscant,” I recalled.
“Our new partners will install two more twin turret mounts of medium turbolasers in the lower and upper hemispheres,” Nadia explained.
“And the side twin turbolasers will be replaced with single heavy ones.
At the end of the modification, the ship will have very substantial armament.
It will be able to handle CIS frigates alone.” “Even if I said ‘no,’ it wouldn’t stop the modernization, would it?” I guessed with a chuckle.
Grell nodded in agreement.
“I understand that my actions went beyond the tasks assigned to me,” she acknowledged.
“But what’s the point of numbered accounts on Corellia if we can’t use them?” “Sound reasoning,” I approved.
“If Corellia is striving for sovereignty and creating its own armed forces, it could lead to simple nationalization of our accounts.” “I thought the same,” the girl nodded.
“Especially since the Jedi Enclave on Corellia doesn’t interfere in galactic affairs, limiting itself to its home star system.” “That works in our favor,” I grinned.
The Green Jedi didn’t really pay proper attention to much of anything.
Turning to Grell, I said: “How many of the new version Defenders did you order?” “A hundred for now,” the girl admitted.
“The new ships will have reinforced armor and be able to withstand fire from heavy turbolasers…” “So, I take it it’s going to be an expensive pleasure, right?” I said with a smile.
“It’s essentially a custom order,” the girl began to justify herself.
Then, lowering her voice slightly, she said: “One and a half million each.” “Tolerable,” I approved.
“You did excellent work.” And that was a fact that couldn’t be denied.
The girl accepted the praise with a smile.
Then she added: “Towards the end of my visit to Coruscant, I came across some interesting information.” “What kind?” “The Republic struck at Charros-4.
The Haor Chall Engineering company was completely destroyed.
The company’s shares crashed on the galactic exchange…” “Haor Chall?” I asked again.
“I don’t recall that corporation.” “They manufactured most of the known CIS equipment there,” the girl said, scrolling through the report again.
As she found images, she recited the information.
“The C-9979 landing craft.
The Hyena-class bomber.
The variable geometry starfighter droid.
The mecanized assault aircraft.
And the IG-227 Hailfire-class tank droids we know.
Haor Chall created and tested the Seismic tank on Dantooine, which was destroyed by Master Mace Windu just over a month ago.” “And what about Dooku?” I wondered.
An entire promising company had been destroyed by a successful Republic sortie.
“The CIS appropriated Haor Chall’s developments, and effectively left the workers destitute.
Now the corporation’s leadership is trying to save themselves by offering their services to the Republic.
But, as you understand, the Senate bureaucrats…” “Can we buy this company?” I asked.
“What for?” the girl was surprised.
“I thought it would be simpler to acquire their patents — they’re selling for a pittance, but without complex manufacturing facilities, they’re useless.
That’s why they haven’t been bought yet.
The Republic doesn’t need them, and the CIS reproduces them without any permission.” Interesting…
An entire corporation for a pittance…
“Is there any other news?” I asked.
“The last company I visited was Incom.” “Incom?” I recalled the company that had given the Alliance to Restore the Republic its best ships.
“But we don’t have numbered accounts there.” “It’s simpler with them,” the girl smiled.
“In effect, they were left out of the great pie distribution.
Kuat, Rothana, even Sienar to some extent — they’re the winners.
Small companies, however, are forced to scrape by on odd jobs.
In Incom’s case, it’s orders for ARC-170s.
Despite the fact that the Republic gave them a tasty order — the ARC-170 is in high demand in the fleet — the company can’t survive without full capacity utilization.
The initial order for the Z-95, which was supposed to solve the problem of light fighter availability for the clones in the fleet, will end in six months — by the end of the first year of the war.
And the Republic military has no intention of extending the contracts.
Incom’s leadership will lose the lion’s share of its profits, which is already causing nervous tics in most of its employees.” “You decided to poach them?” I smiled.
“I merely made an offer,” the girl returned the smile.
“Incom’s leadership wants a meeting with my boss.” “Well then,” I concluded, “we need to get off this planet quickly.” * * * Nadia’s report couldn’t help but please me.
Thanking the girl once more, I asked her to leave me.
I needed to think.
Of course, not everything had gone as planned, and we still didn’t have a contractor to build the Harrowers.
But Rendili StarDrive was ready to earn its money and build us a fleet of Hammerheads and Thranta corvettes.
Up to a thousand ships of each type.
Let’s say.
Plus two hundred Dreadnoughts.
Though, Rendili had inflated the price.
Then again, it wasn’t my money.
If the numbered accounts ran out — it was enough to raid the warehouses full of aurodium at the Imperial station.
The freighters — a small stream of cargo transport that still needed to be organized.
The Defenders — let’s assume they could be used as consular representative ships.
Or as personal starships for those Jedi who would join me.
The Furies…
Leave them as ships for my Hands.
Sienar…
A name that for any Star Wars fan evokes associations with light Imperial starfighters.
But Sienar’s company did more for Palpatine’s Empire than anyone else.
Sienar gave Palpatine’s ships the solar ionization reactor — that was the name of the huge semicircular thingy under the belly of every Imperial Star Destroyer.
It was thanks to this Sienar development, combined with its ion engines, that the Empire’s ships had an enviable advantage in power output and speed over their counterparts or competitors.
And before anyone else got their hands on these inventions, I needed to do it myself.
The Incom Corporation…
these guys could take the load off Rendili by taking over fighter production.
Perhaps they would offer a more interesting alternative to the Claws and the Aureks.
And for dessert — a corporation stripped of its home and means of subsistence…
Too tasty a morsel to miss.
However, I shouldn’t forget about the Station, which was destined to create myriads of Skywalkers for conquering the galaxy.
Leaning back in the chair, I tried to picture the image of Atrox…
* * * The Sith Lord loomed like a dark monolith on the bridge of the dreadnought Victory, which, together with its two sisters — the Oslyabya and the Peresvet — had emerged from hyperspace.
The triangular, predatory hulls of the Harrowers reorganized into a cruising formation at the head of the Victory and moved deeper into the ancient star system.
“Alpha Squadron has left the hangar,” Ash Thorn, the captain of the Victory, approached him.
A tall, gray-haired man who had once held a high position in the Judicial Forces, he had left his last post about five years ago.
The Republic’s bureaucracy, bribery, and other vices of the titular state had led the Alderaanian native into retirement.
That’s where Hart found him.
Devious as a wild beast, the Emperor’s Hand had persuaded the captain-justiciar to serve his new master.
Malgus sometimes wondered what had caused a once-loyal commander of Republic law enforcement forces to switch sides.
Thorn had come to serve the Empire with several of his acquaintances, who now commanded the Oslyabya and the Peresvet.
The only crewed squadron of Claws consisted of mercenaries, who were appearing on Odessen more and more every day.
“Have you organized patrols?” the Sith inquired.
“Yes,” Ash replied.
Then, catching himself, added, “Lord Malgus.” Malgus inhaled noisily, drawing the filtered air of the bridge through his respirator.
The Dark Side of the Force reigned supreme in this star system.
He had been here once before, hiding the treasure of his New Empire.
And now he had returned to retrieve what he had hidden.
The Sith thought with hatred about how he had to give up what he had preserved at such great cost.
Hundreds of Anomids — brilliant engineers and scientists — had been exterminated by him to maintain secrecy.
“So this is it?” The voice of the Lethan rang out on the Victory’s bridge, as empty as the other decks of the ship.
The Twi’lek was in an extremely elevated state of spirit after their new master had mastered the ability to project his consciousness into the bodies of his servants.
The Sith had felt it on his own skin.
Bowing before the Emperor’s Apprentice, he had effectively given himself over to the latter’s unlimited use.
If the boy wished, he could get into his head too, turning him into a puppet.
The Lethan gazed with an imperturbable expression at the endless blackness of space, where eight planets with countless moons basked in the rays of a yellow sun.
Here and there in space drifted enormous chunks of metal, remnants of an ancient catastrophe.
The last battle in this system had filled the starfield with debris, through which Malgus’s ships could barely navigate.
His flagship, the Smiting Hand, had sustained significant damage while towing the station, so he’d had to abandon it here, retreating on the Judicator.
“Yes,” Malgus grated.
“In orbit of the second planet.” “So close to the star?” the girl was surprised.
“It’s a volcanic planet.
Direct access to raw materials,” Malgus explained.
“The system’s star is too weak to cause any harm.
Over millennia of use by this system’s inhabitants, its output has diminished several times over.” “Fascinating,” the girl smirked.
“So you returned the station to the homeland of those who built it?” “This system has long been forgotten,” Malgus cut her off.
“The safest place to store such a dangerous artifact.
The Dark Side is strong in this place and perfectly masks the Station’s radiation.
Neither the Sith nor the Republic would have ventured here…” “They did venture here when Revan returned,” the girl countered.
Then, listening to her own sensations, she added, “And the Dark Side here…
it’s faded…” “If they had found the Station,” Malgus retorted, “Revan would have finished his work.” “Fair point,” the Twi’lek unexpectedly conceded the Sith’s rightness.
“What station are we talking about?” the silent commander of the Victory suddenly asked.
“You’ll see soon enough, Captain,” Malgus promised.
Turning to the Force, he noted with some bewilderment the truth of the Lethan’s words.
The former aura of the Dark Side was nowhere to be seen here.
Then again, after four thousand years, even Korriban had lost its grandeur.
Malgus had once been loyal to the Emperor.
Then he had betrayed him, seeing in Vitiate’s fall the weakness of him and his Empire.
Unfortunately for him, Vitiate did not forget betrayals.
Like a hunting trophy frozen in carbonite, Malgus had hung in the Emperor’s personal vault until his turn came.
After several years of torture, he had acknowledged himself Vitiate’s servant.
Whatever masks the Emperor wore — he remained the one who destroyed peoples to satisfy his ego.
For thousands of years he had carried out the Emperor’s will, eliminating the undesirable, gathering the lost secrets of the Empire, preparing the ground for a new Empire.
Anticipating the moment when he could once again burst onto Coruscant and destroy the Jedi Temple to its foundations.
The Emperor had promised him.
And what happened?
Vitiate makes a Jedi his apprentice.
The first after himself.
And all the former Emperor’s Hands, except perhaps Hart, become pawns in this boy’s hands.
Yes, the Jedi may not be so simple — quite proficient in Niman, well-versed in the use of the Force.
But he is just a boy.
He has no idea about the ways of the Sith.
Darth Sidious — that’s who should have received power from Vitiate!
A true Sith — cunning, purposeful.
The boy himself didn’t even know what he was doing.
Out of dozens of options, he chose Odessen — a world on the backwaters of the Galaxy.
For the sake of balance in the Force.
If he could, he would have spat.
Malgus silently carried out his orders — inspected the station, put the security systems in order, carried out repairs on the squadron’s ships.
Reluctantly, he renamed each of the dreadnoughts.
The Retvizan, the Tsesarevich, the Victory, the Peresvet, the Oslyabya, the Sevastopol, the Poltava, the Petropavlovsk, the Borodino, and the Orel.
Names that grated on the ears and made him gnash his teeth.
And now, these Twi’lek whores show up on Odessen and start giving orders.
A role greater than spreading their legs for someone at the right moment had never been assigned to them.
Every Hand knew that Atrox hadn’t even waited for an invitation — she had spread her legs for the Jedi on her own.
And, judging by the arrogance that had appeared in the blue-skinned one’s behavior — she had followed the Lethan’s example.
Vette had taken the Orel and the Borodino with her.
With a legion of droids and the last Fury on board.
To all questions — only a meaningful expression and arrogance.
Such audacity was forgiven only to Hart — Vitiate’s favorite.
But not to these depraved girls.
Though it infuriated him that Atrox was giving him orders, he obeyed.
He prepared three Harrowers, also placing a legion of Skywalkers on board.
And personally set a course for the Lehon system.
The ancient homeworld of the Rakata.
The place that became the cradle of the Infinite Empire.
The source of their boundless power.
Here, amidst the aura of the Dark Side, he had hidden the “Factory.” Emitting the power of the Dark Side, the station could remain here for thousands of years without being detected.
By no one, except the one who left it here under the cover of the most perfect cloaking field.
“Captain Trod on the line,” the holoprojector activated, revealing the commander of the Peresvet in its rays.
In contrast to Thorn, Gabriel Trod was not tall or lean.
A short, stout man, with a receding hairline, he had lived half a century, giving many of those years to hunting pirates in the Outer Rim Territories.
But age had not dulled his mind.
“We see a drifting ship on the scanners, a Harrower-class.
Is it one of ours?” “That ship was abandoned long ago, Captain,” Malgus cut him off.
Then he added, “But we should try to tow it and repair it.” “Understood,” the stout man replied.
“Moving to the ship.” Left alone, the Victory and the Oslyabya moved in close to the geostationary orbit of the second planet from the sun in the Lehon system.
Covered in molten lava, pockmarked with volcanic geysers, the planet could not sustain even the slightest hint of life in its poisonous atmosphere.
“It’s not worth getting closer,” Malgus warned Thorn, who was preparing to bring the ships into geostationary orbit.
“The Factory could have shifted its position over thousands of years.” “As you command, my lord,” the ship’s commander replied.
The station was hidden by a cloaking screen, its projectors making the Factory’s surface mirror the surrounding space.
Unlike the cloaking screen installed on the Furies, the station’s device was a more advanced model.
One of a kind.
“Order the shuttles prepared,” the Sith commanded.
“As soon as I lower the cloaking field, we will move to the station.” The former justiciar nodded in confirmation and stepped aside, passing commands to the mercenaries remaining on board.
Meanwhile, Malgus, using the comm panel, transmitted a long sequence of Aurebesh letters and numerical sequences over an open channel.
Atroxa watched the Sith warrior’s actions with interest, not forgetting to glance at the tactical displays.
Finally, after spending a few minutes on the buttons, the warrior pulled away from the keyboard.
“The cloak is off,” he explained.
“But,” Atroxa noted with a smirk, “the Factory still isn’t here.” Before the Sith could answer his companion, the ship’s commander interrupted the conversation.
“Something big has appeared on the scanners,” he said, rushing to the tactical display.
“It will be in visual range any moment now…” The buzzers of a battle alert sounded in the air, but it was becoming clear to everyone on board that none of the three ships could withstand a good, stand-up fight.
Each of them now carried no more than two dozen people—far too few to use the ships as intended.
“Captain,” the Sith took command.
“Launch the Skywalkers, prepare them for boarding.
Recall the squadron, get them ready to strike…” “It can’t be!” Atroxa exclaimed.
The Lethan couldn’t contain her horror and awe, staring at the massive structure slowly drifting toward the pair of Harrowers.
A huge metallic core, the size of a small moon, covered in a lattice of metal structures, partially plated with armored hull, shone with thousands of lights.
On three sides, the core was framed by massive “fins,” tens of times longer than the Victory, in which numerous hangar decks were discernible, protected by energy shields that glinted in the reflections of the planet’s crimson light.
At the base of the “fins,” a white-orange flame raged as if in a giant forge, its streams rushing toward the planet’s surface, siphoning molten magma rock from it.
“This can’t be real,” Atroxa said in a trembling voice.
With grim determination, Malgus watched the largest battle station in the galaxy approach them.
“Captain Thorn,” the Sith addressed the human.
“Stand down from battle stations.
Keep the ships at a distance from the station.
Prepare the shuttles and the landing party.” “Yes, my lord,” the justiciar quickly pulled himself together, rushing to give orders.
“Let’s go,” the warrior roughly tugged the girl, frozen in amazement, by the shoulder.
“It’s time for us to go to the station.” Heading for the elevator, Malgus, with grim thoughts, finally found answers to the questions that had arisen — what the Factory’s purpose was and where the Dark Side from the native Rakata system had vanished to.
The Factory had evolved, absorbing the remnants of its predecessor and saturating itself with the aura of Rakata Prime.
And, although he understood that no good could come of what had happened, an order remained an order.
He was obligated to subjugate the greatest automated Star Forge in history to the will of his master.
It all helps promote the story.