“I’m curious why you chose this particular place,” Kira muttered.
“One might think it has some symbolic meaning for you.” Rick shook his head negatively.
“There are no witnesses here,” he explained.
“We mustn’t reveal your identity.” “Yeah, right,” the girl muttered, throwing off her cloak.
A lightsaber pike instantly appeared in her hands.
“Last time you fought Malgus, you seemed to snatch movements from memory, breaking the sequences,” Kira recalled.
“It really got on Malgus’s nerves.
And it made you vulnerable.
If he didn’t have orders, the Sith would have finished you in the first couple of minutes.” “I didn’t know you were watching,” the man replied, remembering.
“Otherwise, I would have tried to give it my all.” “That day has come,” Kira told him and ignited her double blades.
Golden rays played in her hands, describing endless sequences of thrusts, surrounding the girl with an impenetrable wall of energy.
In response, the Emperor’s apprentice unclipped his own weapon from his belt.
A shimmering golden blade burst from the richly-inlaid hilt with a low hum and hiss.
The opponents assumed combat stances and began to slowly circle each other.
“My blade has no training mode,” Kira warned.
“I can easily kill you if you slip up.” “Prove it.” He lunged forward, and the battle erupted.
* * * Resting from her previous sparring session with Rick, Nadia was enjoying some water mixed with fruit juice.
The three of them were training in an abandoned university building, not far from the monument erected in honor of the fallen clones.
A spacious, windowless room in a small warehouse, with a single exit, was perfect for secret sparring sessions.
Watching Kira and Rick train, the Sarkhai girl expected the Emperor’s apprentice to start the fight in an aggressive style, but the ferocity of his attack still caught her off guard.
He started with a series of high strikes, holding the blade with both hands and bringing it down on his companion from the height of his full reach.
Kira, surprised by the brute force so uncharacteristic of Niman, still easily blocked the lunges with her lightsaber pike.
But the power Rick put into his strikes was such that the girl had to step back, and for a moment she even lost her balance.
However, she quickly recovered and dodged an upwards chopping strike from Dougan that could have easily split her from pelvis to shoulder.
The girl blocked the lunge with one of her blades, crouched, spun on the spot, simultaneously answering with a quick thrust to the opponent’s face.
Rick merely moved his head to the side, pushing the girl away from him with the Force.
“Not bad at all,” the girl commented.
“Few people expect strong attacks from a follower of Niman.” “Well, I don’t have many opponents with lightsabers,” the Jedi smiled.
“Atroxa, for instance, gave me trouble with her Ataru.” Kira laughed heartily.
Grell, hiding a smile, buried her face in her knees.
Atroxa, like Malgus, was a follower of Shien — Form V.
Atroxa only mastered Ataru during the Ruusan period, at the Academy on Coruscant, in her fruitless attempts to recruit the Sith Lord Kaz’im.
However, as Nadia suspected, Atroxa, with her ambitions, couldn’t ignore the opportunity to gain knowledge in other forms of lightsaber combat.
She just didn’t advertise it.
As befits a Sith.
Grell herself preferred the defensive style of Soresu, which she had perfected over thousands of years.
Combined with a lightsaber pike designed to change its blade length, her form of combat created an impenetrable defense.
Her friend, despite using a similar weapon, remained faithful to Makashi.
The girl, during the Cold War period, was always on the cutting edge of the attack, so in those times when every other person had a lightsaber, she gave preference to the best form of lightsaber combat against her own kind.
Over the millennia, her fighting style had woven in dozens of elements from other forms, providing her, among other things, with a relatively decent defense against blaster weapons.
Kira answered with a quick thrust to the face with one of her blades, but Rick moved his head to the side and immediately delivered a circular cutting blow aimed at her heart.
Ashara supplemented her arsenal not only with Jar’Kai, familiar to her since the War, but also with Ataru.
Malgus, although loyal to his Shien, never neglected to use Makashi’s arsenal.
However, more than once or twice, he had been seen practicing Juyo, but the Sith warrior never demonstrated full-fledged use of this style in combat.
Meanwhile, the training continued.
Rick, in a stance traditional for followers of Niman — a two-handed grip, the blade angled toward the ground — suddenly burst forward, spinning on his axis and delivering a rising cutting strike.
Kira instantly dropped to one knee, but caught his blade with one of hers, tilting her saber and redirecting his strike downward.
The tip of Rick’s blade dug into the permacrete.
This should have left him open for a counterattack, which Kira used.
Holding Dougan’s blade pinned to the ground, she rose sharply from her knee, simultaneously striking at the opponent’s head with her second blade, forcing Rick to defend.
The latter, apparently confused, instead of stepping back and breaking the distance, raised his left hand to shield himself… Nadia cried out, realizing the man wouldn’t react in time… Kira’s golden blade bounced off a whitish, semi-transparent Force Barrier projected by Rick.
Squeaking in surprise, the girl jumped back, deactivating her blades.
The man held the Force Barrier before him with interest — a hemisphere projected from his left palm, shielding him from any physical attacks.
“Interesting,” he said.
“A terribly familiar technique… Let’s call it a day,” he said, making the Barrier vanish with an effort of will.
“I’ll be on the Fury,” he threw over his shoulder to his sparring partners.
Pulling the face mask of the Sith warrior armor towards him with the Force, he extinguished his blade and quickly left the room.
Meeting Kira’s eyes, Nadia just spread her hands.
* * * “You should see this, brother!” Despite the fact that Alpha’s voice, like those of the other millions of clones in the Grand Army of the Republic, sounded similar, he could easily distinguish the author of the question.
Not because his ARC brother had any special vocal qualities.
It was simply that they were the only two on board this ship.
And certainly only Balda knew the frequency of his comlink, which he was now abusing, distracting his comrade from work.
“Balda, I’m busy,” Alpha said without taking his eyes off the tactical holoprojector, fortunately his comlink was on speaker mode.
“Just look at this!
It’s super…” “We have less than half a day for the attack plan,” Alpha said with slight irritation, “and you’re still wasting time on nonsense.
We still won’t make the deadline…” “But this armor is just super!” came the enthusiastic voice of the other ARC over the speaker.
“I wonder why we weren’t given armor like this?” Alpha had known Alpha-22 — the name given to the ARC whom the general had nicknamed “Balda” according to Kaminoan customs — since birth.
Just like all his other brothers.
But out of the entire hundred Alphas, only Balda couldn’t keep his mouth shut during mission planning.
One of the Kaminoan scientists once said that Alpha-22 compensated for his strong emotions — fear, for example, or joy — with his talkativeness.
As if uncontrollable chatter helped him regain his inner calm.
“We were developed excellent armor, Balda,” Alpha said in a mentor-like tone.
For the second hour, he was studying the holomap, carrying out the general’s order — to develop a plan for attacking the CIS positions.
By holding the Northern and Southern metropolises, as well as a bridgehead in the capital, the Separatists were effectively depriving the Republic forces of room to maneuver.
The dozen or so settlements on the planet — excluding the three aforementioned metropolises — were of little interest to anyone.
The droids limited themselves to patrolling these towns, while the militia set up ambushes from time to time, honing their guerrilla tactics.
This didn’t change the big picture.
The capital, shielded by an energy barrier, had no fear of bombardment by enemy orbital forces.
But as soon as the Republic troops emerged from cover, the enemy’s air power was upon them, with no escape.
“I’m telling you, this one is better,” Balda insisted.
“Just take a look.
One little peek.” Shaking his head, the clone commando finally tore himself away from the terminal and honored his brother with a voyage through all the ship’s compartments, with the firm intention of giving him a piece of his mind.
And, to be honest, after seeing him, he started worrying about a different thing — that they might catch it from the general.
After the arrest of the former captain of the guard, a certain amount of unrest had begun among the locals.
The general, fearing a leak of information, sent both commandos to his mercenaries’ ship, where they were supposed to work through the latest intelligence and voice their thoughts.
Balda, bored after several hours of unsuccessful modeling, started wandering through the ship’s compartments, ignoring Alpha’s prohibitions.
For doing things on his own, he could get a severe reprimand from the general, and for no good reason at that.
Alpha felt very positive about their general.
He didn’t fit the mold of the Jedi the clone had seen on Kamino.
He didn’t flaunt the mythical Force, he didn’t disdain wearing armor.
He didn’t treat clones with the disdain and arrogance that the clones had already tasted on Kamino from representatives of the Order.
Could it be said that their general was a good man?
In light of recent events, when the clones had been buried with full military honors, Alpha had no doubt about it.
He couldn’t call the general his friend — there was still a feeling that the Jedi, unintentionally perhaps, distanced himself from getting close to his subordinates.
But maybe that was for the best?
Duty is duty, and friendship is friendship.
Although, like the clones, the Jedi devoted themselves to the service of the Republic, Alpha had never thought to call himself equal to the Jedi.
He and all his brothers were created for war.
The Jedi, on the other hand, had reluctantly accepted command.
Unlike his infantry brothers, the ARC wondered what would happen to the clones when the war ended.
The Jedi would return to their Temple, but what about him and his brothers?
What would their fate be?
Alpha was tempted to ask the Jedi about it, but the man was always disappearing somewhere — either to the front lines or in the company of mercenaries.
And, to be honest, Alpha was afraid of the answer to his question, suspecting he wouldn’t like it.
Balda’s fate was already clear to him.
He would strangle him with his own bare hands.
While Alpha was poring over the plans, the other commando had stuck his nose where it didn’t belong.
In one of the compartments, he had found a storage room and, without any hesitation, barged right in.
From who knows where, he dragged a suit of armor out into the light of day and put it on himself.
It had to be admitted that Balda was right.
The Kaminoan armorers would have given a lot to get their hands on this sample.
Like the clone armor, this sample had a fabric armor bodysuit as its base, but it was thicker than what the clones wore.
However, the suit was a bit big for Balda — the folds of fabric revealed the former owner’s build.
The durable ergonomic armor components were visibly thicker than those worn by clones.
Unlike their own armor, what they found wasn’t pure white.
It was rather a greyish shade, with numerous red and grey-black geometric patterns.
Across the chest from the left shoulder went a strap with pouches, at the top of which, handle down, a massive vibroknife was secured in a sheath.
On either side of the narrow cloth belt were armored panels.
On the left side was an empty holster for a blaster, on the right — another pair of pouches.
Magnetic clamps on the back securely held a grey-black backpack, inside which one could easily hide all the clones’ simple belongings, with room to spare.
At the top of the backpack was a powerful communication transmitter, something the clones could only dream of having in their own armor.
Built into the armor’s vambraces were a portable computer and a holoprojector, which not only increased the wearer’s autonomy — even the Null ARCs could hardly boast such equipment.
The helmet inspired the most admiration.
Not only were its visors nearly twice as wide as those on the clone armor, but it could form a closed system with the whole suit.
The latter was something the Kaminoan armorers’ creation could also boast about.
Targeting computer, various scanners, rangefinder.
Mounted on the helmet over the visor was a mechanical brim that protected against the scorching sun rays, which, for example, on Geonosis, had kept many of his brothers from seeing properly.
Even the visor’s polarization didn’t help.
“Put it on,” Balda said, showing off in front of his comrade, pointing to a locker to his right.
“There are half a dozen more in there.
All in packaging, like new.
As if they were waiting for us…” “Not new,” Alpha objected, pointing to the numerous scratches on the armor plates.
“If they were waiting for us, the undersuit would be our size.
Take it off, I said!” “You’ll take it off my dead body,” Balda said in a low, threatening voice.
Alpha massaged his temples with effort.
Not only had they come up with nothing, but this poodoo had also put on someone else’s armor.
No, they were definitely going to get it… “Ahem-ahem,” the Jedi’s voice sounded like a bolt from the blue.
Obeying ingrained reflexes, Alpha spun around over his left shoulder, coming face to face with the general standing in the doorway.
The man, dressed in the familiar grey-steel armor, stood leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, watching the clones’ reaction with interest.
Who, meanwhile, standing at attention, were expecting punishment.
“At ease,” the man chuckled.
He looked at the clones with a smile, their faces fixed on him with guilty expressions.
“Sir,” Balda began.
“It’s my fault…” “Like it?” the general asked unexpectedly.
The simple question baffled both ARCs.
Alpha exchanged glances with his brother, hoping maybe he understood the hidden subtext of the question.
But Balda let him down here too.
“We like it, General Dougan,” Alpha uttered.
“Well, that’s good,” the Jedi smirked crookedly.
“Consider it a gift — one set for each of you.” “Sir?” The bewildered clones exchanged glances again.
They had disobeyed orders, broken into his storage room, and he wasn’t even going to give them a dressing-down?
“Get changed,” he ordered.
“I’ll be waiting in the conference room.” With these words, the Jedi turned to leave.
Then he threw over his shoulder: “The undersuit adjusts with the wrist computer, Balda,” and left.
“Yes, sir!” Both clones, as if on command, pounded their fists on their chest plates.
The military salute the general had demonstrated at the funeral procession had found a response among the legion’s soldiers and militia.
Alpha didn’t like gambling, but if he had to, he would bet that there wasn’t another general like this in the entire GAR.
The armor’s computer adjusted the fabric to the clones’ builds using metal threads woven into the undersuit.
A couple of minutes later, both clones, clutching the helmets of their new armor under their arms, returned to the compartment where the holographic map of the Crystal City was slowly rotating above the holoprojector.
* * * The Jedi, resting his hands on the tabletop, was examining his palms, as if there was something interesting there besides the armored gloves and the polymer coating on the inside of the suit.
“Sir,” clearing his throat, Alpha attracted the general’s attention.
“We… wanted to apologize for the intrusion…” “It’s fine,” the man waved his hand.
“I asked the girls to bring this armor for all the ARCs…” An awkward silence fell.
Those present remembered the Berserker, whose sacrifice had ensured victory and survival in the last bloody battle.
“Will all the ARCs get this?” Balda inquired.
“On Kamino, they said they’d improve our armor, of course, but this radical…” “This armor wasn’t made on Kamino,” the man objected.
With a gesture, he invited both commandos to sit down.
As soon as both clones had taken their seats opposite the general, the latter continued.
“It was created during the Great Galactic War, when the Republic was pitted against the Sith Empire.” “So we aren’t the first clones created for war?” Alpha asked, but received a negative answer.
“That was about four thousand years ago.
Cloning wasn’t widely known back then, so the Republic’s army was recruited from its citizens.
But the Republic army also had commandos — just like you.
This armor belonged to them.” “Pretty well-preserved after all these years,” Balda noted, looking around.
“It was made right,” the man chuckled, then continued.
“The commandos who wore this armor were called the Wrecking Crew.
I got the armor from the vaults of… a collector.
I think you need it more than the lockers of some vault.” “We are grateful to you for this, General,” Alpha expressed the general sentiment.
“Did our well-being warrant your attention?” “Of course,” the Jedi replied, as if it were a matter of course.
“Could it be any different?” “The thing is,” Balda said, “clones from other legions don’t favor their generals… Well, and the Jedi reciprocate.” The man sighed, as if he hadn’t heard this story for the first time.
“Unfortunately, that’s true,” he said.
“It wasn’t out of a good life that the Jedi took up the path of war again.
And unfortunately, the Order didn’t teach us how to be generals.
So it turns out that the Jedi have to learn the art of war on the fly.” “But that doesn’t explain treating our brothers like things,” Alpha objected.
“You are also a Jedi, you also have no general training.
But you don’t risk our lives needlessly.
And you don’t treat us like ‘meat droids,'” he added the last phrase, lowering his voice.
“Where did you hear that?” the man demanded an answer.
“The brothers were discussing it,” Alpha answered reluctantly.
“When we were preparing to repel the attack on Kamino.
When you were assigned to command the 204th, many thought that you would be just like the other Jedi.” “And I’m not?” the man inquired curiously.
“No, sir,” the clones answered in unison.
“You don’t sacrifice us in the name of victory,” Balda said.
“The brothers in the infantry don’t understand this, because we were born to fight.
They taught us to minimize losses and always achieve our goals, of course, but Geonosis, Kamino… the brothers have gotten used to the fact that we are expendable…” “You care for the wounded and the dead,” Alpha continued, cutting off his talkative kin before he said too much.
“You surpass other generals in every way,” he noted.
The man broke into a smile.
The praise obviously pleased him.
“Alpha, Balda,” he addressed each one.
“If you ever hear someone calling you ‘meat droids’ or things,” he jabbed at the vibroblade sheaths attached to the straps of the clones’ new armor, “use those things to make that talker regret it.
Whoever he is.” The clones exchanged glances.
No one had expected such a turn of events.
“I can’t answer for all the Jedi in this galaxy,” the man continued, “and I don’t want to.
It’s a troublesome business.
But those who serve under my command will never, do you hear me — never, tolerate insults from anyone.
The fact that you and I are born differently doesn’t mean someone can allow themselves to do that.” The man shook his head.
“I won’t tolerate lawlessness from my soldiers,” he warned.
“But I will never let anyone bully them.
Have you got that?” Both clones nodded silently.
“That’s good, then,” the general concluded.
“I should have said it earlier, but the topic never came up.
Well, no matter, I’ll announce it at the next officers’ meeting.” The general’s words were to Alpha’s liking.
If on Kamino, when first meeting the new general, the legion and the ARCs saw only another commander appointed from above, everything changed afterwards.
Alpha began to suspect that their commander was not so simple when he barged into Lama Su’s office.
And when the Jedi began zealously extorting additional clone units, weapons, and ammunition from the Prime Minister, the commando became certain that General Dougan was far from simple as he seemed.
The ARC pondered, recalling that the supplies that arrived with the legion didn’t include even half of what the Jedi had wrung out of the ruler of Kamino.
Through simple calculations, the commando concluded that the equipment of an entire infantry regiment had been held back somewhere.
As his memories drifted back to Kamino, Alpha suddenly remembered that besides the equipment, the General had made very specific demands of Lama Su.
Over time, this episode from the meeting with the Kaminoan had faded — overshadowed by recent events — but now it surfaced in his mind.
Should he voice the question now?
“Well then,” the general drummed his fingers on the table.
“Let’s take a look at the attack plan.
I have a couple of ideas…” “Well, next time,” the ARC decided.
Maybe not in the near future, but one day the ARC would ask his commander why he needed a full-cycle setup for an entire regiment.
Of course, it wasn’t his business — the Jedi knew best — but two coincidences, the equipment for a regiment and the cloning equipment for a regiment, couldn’t go unnoticed.
* * * Vette watched the stars around the ship compress into points as the Eagle dropped back into realspace, and stared at the world spread out before her.
Admittedly, she didn’t understand her master’s orders, but she didn’t intend to dispute them.
Leaving Christophsis, she had made, perhaps, the most gut-wrenching journey in her entire history.
After delivering Atroxa to Kamino for a meeting with her master’s contact, she input the coordinates the man had asked her to memorize and never leave in the navigation computer.
She had visited the homeworld of Emperor Vitiate.
Nathema.
A barren sphere that left a feeling of a seething, invisible abyss.
The planet was simply devoid of anything alive.
Only the ancient ruins of cities and settlements, and droids that had outlived their masters.
However, traces of battle remained.
Hundreds of battle droids stood frozen for eternity, struck down by lightsabers.
The girl found dozens of corpses — humans and Sith, whose premature deaths were the result of virtuoso lightsaber combat.
Her stay on the planet wasn’t long.
Following her master’s instructions, Vette discovered the former Isolation Chamber — the place where Valkorion once tormented his daughter.
The half-ruined building could still meet her master’s requirements.
A reliable Zakuulan energy source — a solar generator — powered the cargo the Twi’leks had delivered here: the cloning incubators stolen from Kamino.
There were five of them in total, but three hadn’t survived the Fury’s numerous raids on Christophsis.
However, for her master’s plans, even two were enough.
Lama Su, whom, it turned out, Atroxa had visited, was certainly not thrilled that someone else knew about his dealings with Dougan, but after several sessions of Force Choke and cuts on his body performed by the Lethan, he obsequiously transmitted the necessary information to the Fury via an encrypted communication channel.
Atroxa, who had her own assignment for the Prime Minister, showed no interest in her colleague’s mission.
It didn’t require great skill or special knowledge — the Kaminoan provided the entire cloning program for the needed subject.
One only needed to add the sample to the incubator and start the process.
The Prime Minister assured her that there shouldn’t be any problems with the process — they had tested the procedure many times on finished products.
Only after making sure that the automatic cycle system was working did the master’s faithful servant leave this dead world, returning to Odessen, making a loop to pick up her companion.
Then it was time to execute her master’s other plans.
Naturally, she was surprised that Dougan had established contact with Atroxa — previously, this had only been allowed for the Emperor.
From the stories of the gifted Hands, the sensation was quite something.
At moments like this, Vette thanked the Celestials that she hadn’t been born Force-sensitive.
Her master had changed their tasks.
Vette was facing a solo mission, although initially, she and the Lethan were supposed to complete it together.
Her master decided otherwise.
The two Sith were going together to search for an ancient Rakatan artifact.
Vette had heard of it, but she had always thought the station was destroyed.
Witnessing Malgus’s violent reaction upon receiving the task to find the “Factory,” she could only admire her new master’s foresight.
Obviously, he suspected the Sith of insincerity, which had become evident in front of the other Hands.
Rick, having taken Atroxa’s body, broke Malgus again.
Just like the Emperor in his time, the man forced the warrior to kneel before him and swear an oath of allegiance.
It wasn’t that the giant liked it, but it was better than dying from Sith magic.
Vette shuddered, recalling that the same magic was bound within her.
But she didn’t have as stubborn and obstinate a nature as Malgus, so, after the incident in the shower, she quite reasonably decided that voluntary submission to the man was much more beneficial.
And more pleasant.
Atroxa had told her that the Emperor’s apprentice literally fills his partner with the Force, which heightens every sensation.
Before that incident, the girl had been skeptical.
She had already known one such “filler.” You couldn’t get anything from him but rage and animal instincts.
The Wrath of the Empire lived in constant conflict and had no habit of caring for his little slave.
When he wanted her — she was always there.
On the battlefield or in bed.
But this one… was different.
Both as a partner and as a Force-user.
Over four thousand years, Vette had been with many men — of almost all known races.
They all enjoyed her sexuality, taking it for granted.
They got what they wanted — “Thanks, sweetheart, see you next time.” Rick, though… was different.
Of course, he was a man, and after getting what he wanted, he even distanced himself somewhat from her and Atroxa.
The latter was understandable — she needed to be kept on a leash.
Once she got into bed, that was it, you couldn’t drag her out.
Ashara had once said with a laugh that the Force had gifted the Sith Lady with an insatiable sexual appetite.
And that was the only Force characteristic the Lethan possessed.
The man gave her this ultra-secret mission the night before departure, inviting her to a secret rendezvous that ended in passionate intimacy.
Of course, Vette understood that he was using her — and, once on Nathema, she realized he needed a loyal, Force-insensitive servant.
But she didn’t take any offense from it, simply enjoying the moment.
Her new mission was a continuation of Atroxa’s mission on Kamino.
For an unknown reason, the man had sent the Sith Lady along with Malgus.
Perhaps he wasn’t entirely sure of the latter’s loyalty.
But, one way or another, Vette and her Harrower found themselves in the sky above the planet Myrkr.
The Borodino, left in reliable hands, had departed for Dantuin.
Admittedly, Vette had never even heard of such a planet before.
But, through Atroxa’s voice, her master had explained the task to her.
However, as is often the case, everything didn’t go according to plan.
Despite the perfection of their cloaking systems, Harrowers couldn’t exit hyperspace invisible.
The ships needed a couple of seconds to raise their cloaking screens.
Unfortunately, that couple of seconds was enough for the local people on the planet to make a few rash moves.
Apparently, the master, even though he had instructed each of his Hands to recruit worthy candidates for service in his Empire, didn’t know that this planet was a refuge for pirates, smugglers, and other scum from across the galaxy.
“The scanners show one large freighter,” Atis Farr reported to her.
A native of Mandalore, Atis — a muscular, middle-aged man with a completely bare face — belonged to the ancient Mandalorian Farr clan.
Once, they helped Revan in his fight against the Emperor, but after Revan’s fall, they scattered across the galaxy, almost completely wiped out by both Imperial and Republic forces.
The Twi’lek sympathized with them.
To the best of her ability over thousands of years, she had used their services more than once, allowing the clan to stay afloat.
Living on the moon Dxun, in an ancient Mandalorian fortress, the clan couldn’t boast of its military strength — they barely numbered just over fifteen hundred people.
But, unlike other Mandalorians, they honored their traditions and didn’t forget those who helped them.
Which couldn’t help but play into Vette’s hands.
When the Master needed people, Set Harth, of course, had tried thoroughly, attracting various specialists.
But there still weren’t enough.
That’s why Vette had to call the Farr clan to her master’s banner.
The conversation was tough — without mincing words, Vette told the clan about her master’s intention to continue Revan’s work in part and bring peace to the galaxy.
The Mandalorians, it must be said, weren’t happy to be dragged into a war again, but neither did they want to stay near Onderon, which had joined the Separatists.
Besides, refusing help to the one who had saved them for so many years… All in all, thanks to a small diversion arranged by the clan’s scouts at the tracking stations on Onderon, the entire clan moved aboard both destroyers and then vanished into hyperspace.
“I didn’t expect to meet people here,” the girl remarked.
“That’s exactly why they’re here,” Lew grinned.
“The planet is located not far from the Inner Colonies, yet few know about it… A suitable haven for all sorts of scum.” “They’re locking onto us,” a voice came from one of the posts.
“Shields raised?” the clan leader inquired.
Receiving a satisfactory answer, he ordered: “Train the guns on them.” “Fighters are taking off from the planet,” Vette noted, then added: “And armed freighters.” The Mandalorian laughed.
It seemed the scum from the entire galaxy was preparing to rise against two heavily armed ships.
“Launch the fighters,” he ordered.
The clan had its own motley fleet of light forces — mostly Incom Z-95s, but they could boast a couple of Crusader-class patrol vessels — the only military ships produced by MandalMotors.
Despite the fact that MandalMotors management had prepared these ships to defend their home system, the new government in the person of Duchess Kryze had shut down the project.
The clan managed to get half a dozen of the patrol vessels, paying an exorbitant price, but now, surrounding the Sith dreadnought with an impenetrable anti-aircraft dome, the patrol boats once again proved the shortsightedness of Mandalore’s pacifist government.
Meanwhile, the vagabonds of Myrkr were seriously intent on fighting.
Their fleet consisted of about fifty ships — from freighters miraculously holding together in vacuum to quite decent converted yachts, obviously stolen from less attentive owners.
Every single one of them was armed, but they could hardly stand against the power of a Star Destroyer and its escort fleet.
“Open a communication channel with them,” Vette asked, watching a hundred Mandalorian fighters exchange fire with the enemy ships.
“Why?” Farr was surprised.
“In just half an hour, we’ll wipe them out.” “A couple of minutes of conversation, and some of them will serve us,” the girl winked.
She knew perfectly well the price of a smuggler’s loyalty — and judging by the overwhelming number of freighters trying to slip out of the system, they made up the majority of the motley crew.
“Tell your people to surround them, but not to fire.” The Mandalorian made a sign with his hand, and a wonderful female voice flowed from the bridge of the Eagle.
“Don’t turn our chance meeting into a massacre, ladies and gentlemen,” the girl said.
“We can all come to an agreement.
I assure you, I have a good offer for each of you.
Anyone who wants to earn some money, please deactivate your weapons and return to the planet, where I will soon descend.
For those who can’t wait to die — be my guest, our guns are loaded.” A dozen minutes later, having torn two dozen dissenters to shreds, the Mandalorian fighters organized a patrol around the planet, preventing any possible attempts to escape.
Under the guard of a couple of hundred Skywalkers and two dozen Mandalorians in armor and carrying heavy weapons, the blue-skinned Twi’lek went to the negotiations.
It all helps promote the story.