With the remnants of the orbital force in flight, mopping up the remaining forces on the ground was only a matter of time.
Nadia’s capture of the general had only played into our hands, hastening our triumph.
We had arrived just in time.
Loathsom, by mining sections of the tunnels, had only made our job easier.
Detonating the minefields had triggered tunnel collapses, which turned into excellent routes to the surface.
Half-blocked with rubble, they hindered the passage of our heavy equipment but allowed the infantry to deploy.
With support from clones using jetpacks, the infantry and militia, in a single surge, overwhelmed the droids.
Nadia and Balda attacked Loathsom’s bridgehead, leading the Third Regiment and its attached two and a half thousand militia.
Kira, supported by the First Regiment — which had suffered the fewest losses — and an equal number of locals, was fighting for the Southern metropolis.
I, with the remnants of the Second Regiment and the largest militia detachment, was to take the spaceport.
Faithful Alpha was also under my command.
The remnants of Rudi’s Fourth Battalion and Mimo’s engineers were to defend the base against any possible attacks.
In total, the militia had been able to field up to ten thousand fighters.
I had taken four thousand of them for myself.
I had thrown the last battalion into attacks on other settlements on the planet.
We weren’t trying to win on all fronts at once.
For the most part, the attack was aimed only at capturing Loathsom and the Northern metropolis.
The other attacks were meant to tie the enemy down in combat and prevent reinforcements from arriving.
My star armada was doing the same thing in orbit.
It turned out even better than planned.
We had managed to catch the enemy by surprise.
The OOM droids commanding the enemy contingents on the planet were serious opponents.
Like relays, they transmitted orders from the central computer to subordinate forces.
More autonomy, more tactical flexibility.
In almost every settlement on the planet, CIS units were under the command of these droids.
Perhaps only blind luck, or experience in guerrilla raids, had helped the militia break the enemy forces.
Rudi, to whom data was flowing from across the planet, was informing me in real time that another settlement had been taken from the enemy.
Our first major success was the capture of Loathsom.
The destruction of the Separatist bridgehead was the most critical element of the plan.
Through monitoring the Confederacy’s communication systems, Republic forces learned of the transfer of authority.
If it had taken place, it would have been impossible to force the droid units to stand down.
In the Clone Wars animated series, Obi-Wan managed to force the CIS forces to surrender by capturing Loathsom.
Why not pull off the same trick?
Why destroy thousands of extra droids and sacrifice lives if it can be avoided?
However, an unpleasant surprise awaited us.
With the start of the Clone Wars, the Confederacy of Independent Systems developed a need for a new type of battle droid.
Like the Republic, the CIS needed talented officers capable of commanding ordinary droids in both ground and space battles.
Unfortunately, neither the Republic nor the CIS had a store that sold tactical geniuses, so while the Republic gained experience through trial and error, the CIS continued its experiments with droids.
Trying to make them smarter, loading them with various tactical algorithms and only the Force knows what else, Confederate scientists finally achieved success.
The result of the work of Separatist engineers and scientists were the T-series tactical droids.
These two-meter-tall units, resembling ancient Cylons from a well-known universe, were intended to command military ships and combat units of the CIS.
Which they, in fact, handled perfectly.
The capture of Loathsom, unfortunately, did not simplify our situation.
The bridgehead that had frayed our nerves finally fell.
And along with it — all its defenders.
Grell reported large stockpiles of captured weapons and equipment which, according to Mimo, were relatively simple to return to service.
But that did nothing to ease Kira’s and my position.
The CIS armed groups controlling the Northern and Southern megacities found themselves under the command of tactical droids.
Those guys simply ignored the broadcast order from Loathsom to surrender.
We ended up with two very massive centers of resistance that could only be taken by force.
* * * “The Third Regiment is moving to help the First,” Alpha informed me, diving into the same crater I was in.
It was hard to call a giant bomb crater a trench, of course, but there was nothing else.
The greatest miscalculation of the GAR was the clones’ lack of ordinary entrenching tools.
For crying out loud — not even a single entrenching shovel!
“I’m happy for them,” I replied, trying to shout over the roar of nearby explosions.
“But how does that help us?” “Grell and Karsen will crush the forces in the Southern megacity, then they’ll help us,” the commando explained.
“And I thought it might be something good,” I could only spread my hands.
The Northern megacity was no smaller than the capital, but unlike it, it had few skyscrapers.
Built, essentially, only to support the spaceport, which the local elite had placed at a distance from the residential areas, the megacity contained more than ten landing pads capable of receiving enormous starships.
If the Lucrehulks could descend into the atmosphere, they would have found excellent parking spots here.
Even before the War, the Christophsians had equipped the spaceport with some semblance of anti-aircraft artillery.
However, the Separatists had destroyed it when the army of the previous Jedi tried to use it.
In its place, the Separatists brought their own.
How disappointed I was to see a dozen operational anti-aircraft guns at the droids’ disposal.
And, I must admit, this mechanical fellow had used them quite creatively.
The repaired guns now kept our own starships in orbit, preventing them from intervening in what was happening.
At the same time, the cannons were pounding our positions, not letting us finish what we had started.
By blowing up a section of the tunnel, we rushed to attack and captured two-thirds of the spaceport’s territory, giving the droid contingent a real beating before the tactical droid joined the battle.
Then things got more interesting.
In fact, the remaining territory of the spaceport to be captured was one continuous permacrete plain.
On one side — us; on the other — the enemy bristling with a dozen guns, who had taken control of the massive spaceport building.
A stalemate.
To the left, right, and behind, the droids were surrounded by landing pads, which ruled out any flanking maneuver or attack from the rear.
The air was covered by artillery.
And this time, the ‘subway’ station didn’t come anywhere near the droid positions.
The starship landing pad was strewn with the bodies of clones and militiamen who had died trying to storm the spaceport building.
On the flat terrain, they became like targets in a shooting gallery for tin cans.
The ‘Rush the Center’ plan, with which we had captured most of our current positions, drowned in blood.
The few survivors hid in improvised foxholes, crawling as close to the droid citadel as possible.
But with each such crawl, there were fewer of us.
We managed to divert most of the guns by calling in air support, which, although unable to cause serious damage to the enemy fortification, got on the tactician’s nerves.
At the same time, it prevented all ten guns from plowing up the square and sending us to the Force.
“How long until our artillery arrives?” I asked.
I didn’t see any other option — since we couldn’t take the building, we’d have to level it to the ground.
“The guns are already in place,” Alpha reported.
“Mounting the carriages.
Another half hour, and we can open fire.” “I hope we don’t get shredded in that time,” I replied doubtfully.
I needed to buy time.
Stop the exchange of fire, giving the engineers a chance to finish mounting the guns and the medics a chance to collect the wounded.
I shared this thought with the commando.
The clone froze for a moment, as if stunned by what I’d said, then decisively rejected my idea.
“Droids don’t negotiate, sir!” “Well, we’ll see about that!” The clone’s response gave me an idea.
As they say — ‘a good idea comes after the fact.’ * * * Tactical droid TX-65 was a typical representative of its family.
With a barrel-shaped yellow-and-blue torso and a flattened head equipped with red photoreceptors.
Organics might have found dozens of other ways to describe it, but for a tactician, that didn’t matter.
Only the completion of the task — the Confederacy’s victory in this war — was the direct and obvious goal for each of the tactical droids.
And nothing should interfere with the execution of that plan.
It, like the other tacticians, had been assembled at the Baktoid Combat Automata factory.
Impossibly large volumes of data had been loaded into its electronic brain, subordinating the droid to a single goal — the destruction of the Republic’s forces.
Ground battles, space battles — it was all the same.
The Republic must fall, and its masters were destined to be the rulers.
General Loathsom had assigned it to command the garrison in the Northern megacity.
A strategically important outpost on the planet, the spaceport in this city allowed the reception and dispatch of large-tonnage ships.
But the general hadn’t used the spaceport, and no reinforcements arrived.
At the head of a half-million army, TX-65 could not understand the reason for such idleness of so valuable a resource.
All its heuristic and tactical algorithms pointed directly — it should receive as many troops and heavy equipment as possible and destroy the Republic’s resistance forces.
TX-65 knew that the new clone commander had significantly strengthened the defensive perimeter of his base.
Simple calculations indicated that the passivity of the Jedi and his soldiers served a purpose unknown to the droid — perhaps they were waiting for relief.
But, in that case, they should intensify the pressure even more.
Land additional forces from the ships and begin the assault.
However, a personal antipathy had arisen between Admiral Trench and General Loathsom.
Their behavior called into question the possibility of fruitful cooperation and the achievement of the goal set by Count Dooku — the destruction of the Republic’s forces.
TX-65 began to act.
Although it only had ineffective B-1s under its command, with their help it managed to restore the functionality of most of the spaceport’s anti-aircraft artillery, preparing it to fire on ground targets.
And it turned out to be just in time.
The clones had used an underground transport tunnel and managed to capture virtually all of the peripheral territory of the spaceport in record time.
The tactical droid was only able to prevent their further advance with artillery barrage fire.
An assessment of the situation eloquently indicated the practically accomplished defeat of its troop group.
It had just over fifty thousand B-1 series droids left under its command.
The reactor that powered the anti-aircraft guns was in territory occupied by the enemy.
According to TX-65’s calculations, no more than a day would pass before the enemy could figure this out, cut the power to the artillery, and storm the spaceport building.
In addition, the enemy had AV-7 cannons.
After the capture of General Loathsom, these guns could be reoriented to destroy the units under TX-65’s command.
The droid could spend hours developing plans for its own defeat, using the available information.
Of course, under different circumstances, it would prepare defensive plans for the further retention of the assigned facility.
But all of them were pointless.
The organics would destroy its group.
At the cost of heavy losses, but they would still bring all the droids under its command into a state that precluded functionality.
Including itself.
A droid did not know what ‘death’ was, as that concept was inherent to organic life.
But cessation of function…
“Hello-hello,” the communication system suddenly came to life.
“Hey, tin can, how are you doing?” The contingent’s headquarters was located in the spaceport’s control tower.
The powerful equipment left by the previous occupants would have given the tactician an advantage if it hadn’t been limited by its meager forces.
“The transmission is coming from the clone side,” the nearest B-1 reported.
“I know,” the tactician cut it off.
“Open a communication channel.” “Tactical droid TX-65 of the Confederacy of Independent Systems army speaking,” it introduced itself.
“Identify yourself.” “Well, well,” the voice sounded pleased.
“I thought I’d have to search the whole building for you.
This is Jedi General Rick Dougan.
You’ve heard of me, right?” “I possess information,” the droid confirmed.
“What is the purpose of this communication session?” “You see, my mechanical friend,” the voice said, “while you and I are chatting here, my soldiers are deploying artillery — the same kind that pulverized Loathsom’s tanks.
And in half an hour, my guns will raze your entire building to the foundation.” “That possibility has been calculated,” the droid replied.
“You will suffer losses in the assault.” “Well, you won’t exist at all,” the human countered.
“Do you need that — just came off the assembly line, and already heading for the smelter?” “My unit is not important,” the droid replied.
“The Republic will fall.
My task will be carried out by other droids.
The Confederacy will win.” “It will fall, it will fall.
You just have to wait a couple of years,” the Jedi replied unexpectedly.
“But what good does that do you?
You won’t be around anyway.
Just like me, probably.” Critically assessing information from the enemy, the droid could not help but note that there were no facts in his words.
And without facts, it was impossible to calculate a model.
“More data is needed,” the droid stated.
“What data do you need, droid?” the human asked.
Then, without waiting for an answer, he continued: “The war will last three years, or thereabouts.
The Republic and the CIS will pummel each other until, one day, the Sith behind this whole war implement their entire plan.
The Jedi Order will fall; all CIS droids will be shut down.
The Republic will be transformed into an Empire, with a Sith at its head.” “Count Dooku will come to power,” the droid concluded.
“That is an acceptable outcome.” “Count Dooku will be finished off by Anakin Skywalker.
And then Darth Sidious, who is manipulating all of us and ruling the Republic, will turn him into a Sith.
Everything has been predetermined for a long time, droid.” “The information has no confirmation,” the droid countered.
“There are no facts.” “You must know that Jedi have the ability to see the future, droid,” Dougan appealed to the tactician’s memory banks.
“I have seen all of this, and I know what will happen in the future.” The tactician remained silent.
It analyzed what the Jedi had said.
Much remained unknown.
If a Sith ruled the Republic and sought to destroy the Jedi, why didn’t he just let the CIS march on Coruscant?
The droids would carry out the purge.
The GAR just needed to stay out of the way.
But the Republic government was doing the exact opposite.
The clones and the Jedi were only capturing more and more new territories.
The Jedi were dying, but still not as quickly as they could have if they were surrounded by an entire army.
Not enough data.
The human hadn’t shared everything he knew.
It was impossible to construct a stable model of how events would unfold.
The results would not be optimal.
The droid fell silent, analyzing the situation.
If the human’s input was correct, then this entire war had no meaning for anyone except a narrow group of beings.
The Sith and the Jedi — long-time opponents waging wars for control over the galaxy.
If the outcome of this war was predetermined, then its entire task — the Confederacy’s victory in the War — lost all meaning.
If there was no point in fulfilling the primary objective, then achieving victory in this battle was also meaningless.
But this conclusion was only valid if the Jedi’s words were true, which they were, lacking in detail.
More data was needed.
Then, in its electronic brain, another plan was born.
It needed solid reasons to defend its position and put forward its demands.
“Cease fire,” the droid ordered.
“Siiir?” one of the commanders drawled.
“Keep the Republic forces in your sights,” it ordered.
Then, opening a communication channel, it said: “I require additional information, human.
Move into the spaceport building with your hands raised.
If you attempt to attack us, we will resume fire.” “Whatever you say, tin can,” the human agreed.
“But one clone comes with me.” “Acceptable,” the droid allowed.
“Only one, and unarmed.” “Agreed,” the human agreed.
“Brew us some caf in the meantime.” * * * “Sir, have you lost your mind?” As soon as the Jedi stopped talking to the enemy, the commando spoke up.
“Going to them?
They’ll shoot you!” “Not just me,” the Jedi reminded him.
“You too.” “That’s not funny, sir,” the clone assessed.
Seeing the Jedi hiding his lightsaber in the chest plate of his armor, the clone hastened to prepare as well.
“I’m not one to criticize, sir,” he continued.
“You certainly talked his ear off.
It sounds like you short-circuited his entire brain.
But why do we need to go inside?
There must be a hundred thousand droids in there — take a look, there’s practically a platoon peeking out of every window.” “I didn’t lie to him,” the Jedi admitted, stunning the clone.
“Sorry, General, but what did you say?” the commando asked again.
The human rose to his full height.
Holding his hands above his head, he waved them at the droids.
Cursing softly, the clone followed suit.
“This is a damn stupid idea!” the clone hissed.
Then, catching himself, he added: “Sir!” “Alpha,” the human addressed him.
“Listen to me.
I didn’t lie to that droid by a single iota.
Everything is exactly as I told you.
The Republic is under the control of a Sith Lord who controls both sides of the conflict.
His goal is to destroy the Jedi Order, establish a regime of Sith terror, and rule.” “We must report this,” the stunned clone managed to say.
“The Jedi and clones together will put things in order.” Slowly walking across the landing pad, the human continued.
“Remember the Contingency Orders, Alpha,” the Jedi prompted him.
“What does Order 66 say?” “‘In the event of actions by Jedi officers contrary to the interests of the Republic, and upon receipt of direct orders, confirmed as received directly from the Supreme Commander (Chancellor), GAR commanders shall liquidate said officers with weapons, and command of the GAR shall pass to the Supreme Commander (Chancellor) until a new command structure is established,'” the clone recited without hesitation.
Then he fell silent, stunned.
“So…
we’re the ones who do it?” “Exactly, Alpha,” the Jedi nodded.
“Ten years ago, one Jedi foresaw this war.
He approached the Kaminoans with a request to create a clone army.
As soon as they accepted his order, the Jedi was killed by Darth Tyranus — Count Dooku, the future leader of the CIS.
I’m not sure what will make the clones raise their weapons against us — the Contingency Orders or the biological implants in your heads — but you will do it.
Every single one of you, as one.
And the Jedi Order will fall.” “We must resist that,” the clone said decisively.
“We must inform the army command, the Senate, the Chancellor…” “The Chancellor is the villain,” the human smirked.
Seeing the lack of understanding, he continued.
“He is a Sith — a member of an order, the ancient enemy of the Jedi.
He is in hiding, wielding enormous power among senators and the military.
He controls Dooku, being his master — Darth Sidious.” “Sir,” the clone was taken aback.
“If you know all this, then why are you doing nothing?” “Me?” the human seemed surprised.
Then, as if remembering, he explained: “Well, I just told you…” “So they could kill us both right now!” “Oh, right,” the human caught himself.
“But, regardless, I am acting.” “How?” “Alpha, if we survive this, I’ll tell you everything.
For now, let’s try to get the droid to switch to our side.” * * * After hearing the human out, TX-65 remained silent.
For exactly three minutes.
That was how long it took to assess the truth of the Jedi’s words and model the information received from him.
The results…
did not please it.
As the human had predicted, after the death of its leaders, the CIS would fall into the hands of the victor.
The Republic would fall shortly after.
One giant holochess game.
Where both sides were played by the same person.
“Darth Sidious,” the tactician repeated.
“A high-ranking Republic official?” “Exactly,” the human confirmed.
The droid calculated silently.
The man hadn’t given it the Sith’s name or position, but that wasn’t necessary.
‘Baktoid’ had provided it with a perfect brain.
“Sidious is Chancellor Palpatine,” it replied after a couple of minutes of calculation.
“How the hell?” the clone cursed.
“It’s simple.
The transformation of the Republic’s form of government into a monarchy benefits the ruler of the new state.
The current Chancellor has more privileges than his predecessors.
He commands the army and the fleet.
He has a majority of supporters in the Senate.
Further consolidation of power in his hands is in his personal interest.
Any other figure trying to seize power would receive neither political nor military support.” “Well, that all seems right,” the human said.
“The Jedi Order will resist the seizure of power,” the tactician continued.
“Consequently, they must be eliminated.
Sending Jedi into a controlled war against a state with no restrictions on recruitment is a perfectly logical step.
The larger the enemy army, the less chance the Jedi have of surviving.” “It seems to me,” the clone remarked, “this droid thinks logically.” “That is a fact,” the tactician confirmed.
“I am a machine.
I cannot make mistakes.” “Then make the right choice,” the Jedi spoke.
“The CIS faces defeat.
The entire droid army will never achieve its goal.
The Republic will not be defeated.
It will only grow stronger.” “That is the most probable outcome,” the droid confirmed.
“Then explain why you should die for a lost cause?” “The input data was different,” the droid reminded him.
“Victory awaited the CIS.” “But now you know that isn’t true,” the clone pointed out.
“You’ll be sent to the smelter,” the Jedi suggested.
“There will be no need for tactical droids in the new army.
You will be destroyed.” “An obvious option,” the tactician agreed.
“But,” the Jedi noted, “there is another.” TX-65 turned its optical sensors toward the human.
“Speak, human.” * * * One of the countless dive bars on Coruscant’s lower level had given shelter that evening to many wanderers from the lower levels.
The establishment’s owner — a Toydarian named Siun Tarr — kept his bulky body aloft with flaps of his leathery wings.
Ever since a clever customer had bought his ancient droid, he had been performing the duties of bartender and waiter in his establishment, glancing suspiciously at the patrons gathered there.
Shady characters.
Bandits, small-time mercenaries, workers from the lower levels.
In a word, the usual crowd for his place.
No other regulars were ever here.
In the corner, a jukebox was playing something, and on an old monitor mounted on the far wall, as was fitting for this hour, the news was playing on the HoloNet.
The announcer — a slick-haired Devaronian in a suit that would have gotten him a vibroblade in the throat on this level in an instant — was talking about the situation at the front.
Day after day — only disappointment.
More tactical retreats.
Of course, the Republic was waging a victorious campaign.
Geonosis, Muunilinst, Brentaal IV…
But these were just drops in the ocean.
The galaxy was vast.
And few believed that the Grand Army of the Republic, under the command of the Senate’s attack dogs, was really as good as they said on screen.
But, thanks to a Givin tech, Tarr’s receiver also picked up signals from the Hyper-Communications Cartel.
Listening to the latter threatened serious trouble, but patrols had never appeared on these levels, so the cantina’s patrons, who weren’t inclined to believe the official media, sometimes gathered to listen to CIS channels.
The Republic was still bogged down on Atracken, suffering huge losses.
The siege of Foerost was also not yielding results…
“The galaxy is divided: after the Battle of Geonosis, Count Dooku’s droid armies are rapidly seizing the most important hyperspace routes, cutting the Republic off from most of its territories.” The Confederate announcer — a young and attractive Twi’lek — instantly riveted even the most drunken eyes.
“The clone army under the command of Jedi generals is failing — they have too few soldiers and ships to gain a foothold on the Outer Rim.
And more and more planets are siding with the Separatists.
Those planets whose governments and people remain loyal to the Republic are being attacked.
The Jedi are busy with the war, and there is no one to keep the peace.
Chaos reigns everywhere, crime is on the rise,” the announcer’s voice sounded matter-of-fact, yet emotional.
“In the past week, the Republic has lost ten Jedi Knights supporting the bureaucratic regime…” “Hey, boss!” Tarr’s attention was drawn to a Nautolan named Shido — small fry in the Black Sun syndicate.
But just mentioning the cartel was enough on their level to earn a certain amount of respect.
“Switch to the Republic channel.” He waved his datapad.
“There have been updates on the site.” The Toydarian switched the channel without a word.
“This is Elin Tyrell with you,” the red-skinned Zeltron, host of one of the news programs, as always positive, attractive, and friendly, clad in a form-fitting jumpsuit that accentuated her young, toned body, was usually broadcasting about the Republic’s victories on the battlefields.
Just as she was now.
“Citizens of the Republic,” she addressed the audience.
The girl was in a spacious office, the walls of which were decorated in a dark green style.
“Today I am on the planet Christophsis, which was literally a battlefield just yesterday.
We are broadcasting live from the office of the ruler of Christophsis, from the University of Exact Sciences.” The girl rose from a luxurious carved chair and walked to the window.
The holocamera, following her, revealed to the viewers a huge square, flanked on three sides by the university building.
On a small platform stood a figure in a matte-black robe with silver edges.
The figure was clad in dark gray armor, its face hidden by a mask.
But that did not prevent the figure from speaking, nor the crowd from listening attentively.
Behind the figure, like two brothers, stood a pair of clones in unfamiliar armor, a warrior girl with loose red hair, and several clones in standard armor.
On either side of the figure in black, five-pointed oblong black flags hung from T-shaped poles.
“For six months, the CIS army held the planet in an impenetrable blockade, forcing its inhabitants to surrender.” The girl returned to her seat, and the camera took a wider angle, now capturing a small coffee table on the other side of which sat an elderly Christophsian with close-cropped gray hair, in a tunic of expensive fabric.
The old man was thin, and his face bore designs executed in white paint.
The establishment’s owner recalled that he had once happened to visit Christophsis.
The arrogant rich had quickly shut down his cantina, but he had managed to get acquainted with the planet’s culture.
The white markings on the face could only be afforded by the rulers — the planet’s nobility.
But the old man didn’t look very rich.
“But yesterday, Christophsis finally won.
The CIS troops were defeated by Jedi General Rick Dougan, and the fleet…
Here we will need a comment from the planet’s new ruler.
Elder Aisel, tell us, where did Christophsis get such a fleet?” “Christophsis is rich,” Aisel began, his voice unexpectedly strong for such an old man.
“We purchased old ships from the Jedi Order and modernized them at the Rendili Shipyards.
That fleet was what crushed Admiral Trench’s occupation fleet.
In addition to destroying most of the fleet, we managed to capture one of the Trade Federation’s battleships.” “Well, it’s pleasant that through the efforts of the Republic, another world has been liberated and will return to the fold of our state,” the girl chirped, but was interrupted by the old man.
“The Republic had nothing to do with it,” he declared.
“All your state did was abandon General Dougan and his 204th Legion here to their fate.
They, not the Republic, saved us.
Jedi Rick Dougan is a national hero of Christophsis.
We will honor him.” “But the general is in the service of the GAR,” the girl reminded.
“The Grand Army of the Republic, the Senate, and the Chancellor didn’t care much about their people here.
They were left without reinforcements, without food, without equipment…” “But the Republic did attempt to break the blockade,” the Zeltron recalled.
“Of course,” the Elder confirmed.
“Part of the debris in orbit is all that remains of those reinforcements.” An awkward silence fell.
The correspondent frantically thought how to salvage the situation, because the facts stated were not at all what she had hoped for.
But it was Eisel who spoke first again.
“Reflecting on the fate of our world, we did not want a repeat of the past,” he remarked.
“But the general convinced us that we should rejoin the Republic.
We are a people who have experienced this painful war.
Who if not us should open the Senate’s eyes to what is happening?” “That is an excellent decision, Elder,” the girl noted.
“The Grand Army of the Republic will not allow your world to suffer another occupation.” “We will see to that ourselves,” the man remarked.
“We are creating the Christophsis Self-Defense Forces, which will include the militia forces organized by General Dougan, and we will also use part of our fleet for this purpose.” “And what will you do with the other part of the fleet?” the girl asked in surprise.
“Only one Jedi saved our people,” the Elder said vaguely.
“We will repay him in kind.” “I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” the girl spread her hands.
“The Republic couldn’t break the blockade because it didn’t have ships,” the Elder explained.
“So that the Hero of Christophsis never finds himself in that situation again, our planet is transferring all its Hammerhead-class cruisers and Thranta-class corvettes to Jedi General Rick Dougan.
Christophsis also assumes all obligations for the maintenance and support of these ships.
Our militiamen are ready to join the general’s 204th Legion and help him in the liberation struggle against the Confederacy.
From now until the victorious end, our system will be a reliable stronghold for him and his subordinates…” At these words, the cantina patrons began to buzz, discussing the Elder’s statement.
“What’s this all about?” a surprised voice came from one of the regulars.
“An entire system swore allegiance to the Jedi?” “Not to the Jedi, but to one Jedi,” Shido countered.
“He solved everything there alone.
Not your Skywalker…” “Hey, what are you, picking a fight…?” A heated argument broke out in the establishment…
It all helps promote the story.