The intergalactic conflict was gaining momentum with every passing day. The Republic had finally managed to shift its economy onto a wartime footing, and now the volume of its military production exceeded that of the Separatists—a fact trumpeted by every media outlet across all sectors of the galaxy.
High-ranking officials granted countless interviews. King and I even wagered on who would win. He argued that the Separatists could simply drown the Republic in a sea of bodies, prevailing through sheer numbers. I, however, sided with the Republic; however rotten the state had become, the government of corporate merchants leading the CIS was even less appealing. And so, we followed the news from both sides of the front with keen interest.
The Confederacy was fortifying its territories in the Outer Rim. The resolutely determined Republic dispatched nearly all its available ships and troops to crush the Separatist strongholds, aiming to force the Confederacy into submission. In the opinion of many military experts—men with impressive bellies who, for some reason, chose to voice their theories as far from the front lines as possible—the conflict was entering its final phase.
Meanwhile, the Separatist Shadow broadcast loudly proclaimed the immovability of their Outer Rim positions, celebrated a multitude of front-line victories, and heralded the bloodthirsty genius of General Grievous. The dreadful cyborg had cut down more than a few Jedi. A metal monster, an amalgam of cybernetics and living tissue, his two-meter armored figure instilled true fear in anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path.
On the battlefield, Grievous was a brilliant commander and a tactical genius, whose precisely planned, lightning-fast assaults filled the Republic forces with dread. He was despised and hated, yet everyone feared him, even the CIS leaders themselves. This was evident during one interview, where a high-ranking Separatist official nervously flinched at the mere mention of Grievous's name.
Unfortunately, at some point, the news from the Separatist side ceased. The reason was revealed in the news the very next day: the Republic had achieved a major victory, shutting down the CIS Shadow broadcast center during a battle at one of the Outer Rim planets.
Now we had to rely on the clearly biased news feeds from Coruscant, the capital world of the Galactic Republic. But it was far better than being left without any information at all.
Fortunately, the Republic High Command had established a staging post on our planet, just as they had planned. Setting up communications systems was one of their primary objectives. Now, several Venator-class Star Destroyers constantly hung in the sky, and barracks, proving grounds for vehicles, and other military structures began to be erected amid the ruined cities.
I definitely did not understand the purpose of all these actions. Looking at the troop movement data published on the HoloNet from the time the Separatists first seized the planet, the Republicans' current efforts baffled me.
From any perspective, it wasn't profitable for them to waste resources on this world. It was too far from the main hyperlanes, had no valuable minerals, and no potential soldiers, unlike the Mandalorians, for instance. We had nothing useful at all, so why were they fighting for it? Surely they couldn't be that obtuse?
Nevertheless, for the local population, the presence was only a benefit. Clone patrols monitored the entire city, and the residents now had jobs. A benevolent Senator had even sent us humanitarian aid on several ships. The people were slowly recovering from the year-long nightmare they had endured.
But this no longer concerned me. I had more interesting matters to attend to.
My search for the base's former owners had yielded some progress. It happened unexpectedly. Deciding to finally check where the hatch from the hangar led, I suddenly found myself in a massive cavern that transitioned into a long tunnel leading somewhere outside. It was so long, however, that I didn't dare explore it all the way. An hour's walk was more than enough; perhaps I'll send King to check it out later.
I assume this was the route the ships used to reach the laboratory. But what interested me far more was the control room.
I didn't find it right away. I had a general idea of its location from the blueprints, but I couldn't figure out where the door was for the longest time.
It turned out the blast door was cleverly hidden behind what I initially thought was a simple boulder. When I tried to lift it with the Force, the strain made my vision tunnel. Even calling upon the Dark Side, I barely managed to raise it an inch.
Unable to maintain the tension, I let go of the boulder, and it landed back in place with a metallic clang. So, it wasn't a natural rock, but another camouflaged door? Excellent! The task just got significantly simpler.
Just as I suspected, one of the stones was a hidden control panel. The moment I pressed the key, the boulder smoothly slid aside, revealing a dark passage.
The room was an oval chamber, with tables and technical equipment of unclear purpose lining the walls. However, a quick inspection was out of the question. The moment I stepped inside, I instantly coughed like a terminal patient. The layer of dust was even thicker than in the lab, and the air was stale and heavy. The ventilation system must have been completely defunct.
In the end, I had to wait for King's droids to clean the room and the air to clear up a bit.
Once the room was habitable, I immediately started examining the local data. A flood of information lit up before my eyes. Could it be I'd gotten lucky!?
But two hours later, I irritatedly pushed away from the monitor. Whoever deleted the data clearly had a dark sense of humor.
Most folders contained only titles but were empty inside. "Receipt of X parts," "Shipment of Y material" (written in cipher), and various experiment names. What could "Experiment Z34NY" possibly mean? Absolutely anything. Hundreds of documents with no content. A cursory HoloNet search also failed to shed any light on the matter.
However, I did manage to acquire some useful information. My suspicion that this was a laboratory was supported by physical evidence. It wasn't just a mad collector's stash of medical equipment, after all.
From what I could gather, they were involved in either cloning, life extension, or perhaps both simultaneously. Something related to biology, in any case. A few names weren't encrypted, and a folder titled "Bio-sample Cylinders Class HC-41" was an unmistakable hint at the research focus.
Finally, a file caught my eye: Master Lyman Jay Curra. It was the only name I had come across in all my searching. At least, it was a lead; I'd have to try finding information about this Master. Who or what he was remained a mystery.
I handed the remaining data over to King for analysis and decided to return to my favorite pastime: trying to figure out how to make money fast.
Besides the options I'd already considered, a couple more ideas came to mind. If I could use the Force to sense danger, could I use it to feel how the dice would land or where the ball on the roulette wheel would stop? Or perhaps subtly nudge a figure in the right direction? Yes, making money in a casino became the second part of my plan.
It was relatively legal, offered the potential for a large payoff, and I could definitely make a clean escape if I attached myself to a company of influential younglings. But for that, I needed to get into an extra-class casino, and the three thousand credits I had left would barely cover five bets. I also wasn't sure if I could properly influence such small objects. Maybe after selling the speeder bikes and other junk, I could raise the sum to eleven thousand, but that was far from certain. Everyone on the planet was currently cash-poor and couldn't offer a good price for my goods.
The second option was to steal expensive transport and resell it. The problem here was that my planet lacked decent vehicles. That meant virtually all my savings would go toward buying a ship, because I didn't want to abandon my current property. I needed to find places with good ships. And to sell them, I would have to make constant trips to Hutt Space.
If I tried to trade within this planet, the owners might track me down fairly quickly. This was especially true if I remained in the Outer Rim. The closer to the Core Worlds, the more people there were, but security was noticeably better, too. So, think and then think again.
Life went on as usual until its flow was disrupted by an unwelcome event. Squads of clones began sweeping the planet. Small groups of about fifteen men, accompanied by unfamiliar equipment, started appearing more and more frequently among the hills.
We found out about it by chance. When I went out to breathe some fresh air and bask in the sun, I was nearly run over by a passing clone patrol. The tall grass had simply hidden me from their view.
The next time, I deliberately staked out a spot on a hilltop with electrobinoculars to figure out what was going on. The clones were clearly searching for something. Every group was equipped with scientific-looking gear.
Hutt, too little information. But something deep inside me suggested that this was a bad sign. I would have to take a risk.
I had to wait several days for the right moment. Finally, a group of clones decided to set up camp relatively close to my observation post.
Getting past the sentries was easy for me. I snapped a branch with the Force in one spot, and while the soldiers were distracted, I quietly slipped toward the makeshift camp. I couldn't get too close, though; the clones had cleared a sixty-meter-diameter area and surrounded themselves with speeder bikes.
It was lucky that I was still small; the tall grass reliably concealed me from prying eyes. But I had to listen to their conversation very carefully. Sometimes the crackling of the campfire or some other background noise drowned out their voices. I had to sit practically motionless for several hours to glean anything of value.
They talked about the war and about girls, about how they would live after the war, what awaited the Republic, and when the war would finally end. If you didn't know who was speaking, you might have thought it was a conversation between ordinary people, not "meat droids" as the Separatists called them, and as some people on the Republic's side did, too.
The measured conversation, the crackle of the fire, and the quiet voices lulled me into a drowsy state, and I began to nod off. I probably would have fallen asleep if not for the squad commander's comment. The conversation had finally turned to what interested me most: why the hell these soldiers were operating so close to my home.
"…Blast, how many times do I have to tell you? We can't refuse these duties." If not for the different armor markings and hairstyles, I would have struggled to tell them apart. The Force gave me a hint that they were different, but the feeling was barely perceptible, and I wasn't that proficient yet. The clone speaking now had orange stripes on his chest plate; if not for the way the others treated him, it would have been hard to tell he was the commander. "An order is an order. General Staff knows best."
"Begging your pardon, Commander, but this is utter nonsense!" A clone with a scar across his face was practically yelling at his superior. I felt in the Force that the others tacitly supported him. "Our squad has been in more than one battle. We've been deployed for over two years. And they're forcing us to rot in some scumhole on the galaxy's fringe!"
"Agreed," another clone with red-dyed hair joined the discussion. "After liberating this planet, a small garrison should have remained, and the rest of the forces should have moved on to other sectors. We were born for war. Instead, half of us are stuck on this planet for no clear reason."
"I understand and share your feelings," the clone commander said, looking sternly at his subordinates. "But an order is an order. We cannot disobey it."
"And what if the order is flawed?" the clone named Blast spoke again. "We were sent to look for underground fortifications where droids might have been left behind, waiting for an opportune moment to attack us. But that's ridiculous. All we've found are refugee earthworks and nothing else. Not a single droid the entire time. Not even a trace."
"Agreed," another clone, who had been holding a datapad, chimed in. "The Separatists didn't have the resources for this. They only started mobilizing forces here after we arrived. My calculations say that this action made no sense, but that's what happened."
"Orders are not open for discussion. You aren't planning to desert, are you..."
The crackling of the campfire muffled the commander's words, but I had still learned the main point. They were searching for underground fortifications. My home certainly fell into that category. Did someone in Republic High Command know about the laboratory? Or maybe laboratories, plural? What if mine was just one of several? What if the tunnel wasn't for ships at all, but a sort of subway connecting various points?
This was not good. I had to take action. Sooner or later, my hideout would be discovered during a planetary scan. Even if I destroyed the overly zealous clones, the disappearance of such a group would surely attract unwanted attention.
Sliding through the tall grass like a silent shadow, I vanished into the night. I needed to prepare an emergency evacuation plan.
Unfortunately, the unpleasant events did not stop there.
A week later, early in the morning, King burst into my room. He was so agitated it looked as if steam would start pouring out of him in all directions.
In truth, this piece of junk had become far more human since its creation. It had been operating continuously for over a year without specialized maintenance. Some of its counterparts don't survive for that long.
By his own account, he had already deviated more than thirty percent from the galactic technical standard. By law, he should have either been destroyed or had his memory completely wiped. But I had no intention of doing that. The more human he became, the more effective he was.
A somewhat annoying, slightly clumsy, but fiercely loyal personality meshed very well with my friend's mechanical brain. Yes, a friend. Without me even realizing it, this tin-can had become unexpectedly important to me. But sometimes he was extremely irritating, like right now.
"Owner, I believe I have won our wager!"
"What wager? It's too early. Go terrorize Mosa and Bosa and leave me in peace," I said, rolling over and pulling the blanket up for emphasis.
"The cleaners are already terrorized up to their eyeballs. The war might be ending soon!"
I shot up as if scalded. Ending so soon?! I thought I had another year for careful preparation.
"What makes you say that?"
"All the media are reporting it. General Grievous and Count Dooku, along with a massive Separatist fleet, have broken through to the Republic capital, to Coruscant! Battles have been raging across the planet for hours now. Coruscant is completely blockaded by Separatist forces. The CIS is openly broadcasting their triumph in this war on all free frequencies."
Quickly throwing on the first thing I grabbed, I practically ran after my bodyguard. A holo-image of a reporter was hovering above the holotable, her voice trembling with excitement and fear as she broadcast live from Coruscant.
"The exact number of casualties from the Separatists' treacherous attack is incalculable. Ship wreckage is destroying buildings. Droids have flooded all the streets. The Jedi and clones are unable to hold back the assault. The operation is being personally commanded by General Grievous. We hope that the reserves will be sufficient to counter the offensive…"
A muffled explosion from the other side of the screen cut off the transmission. I sat there in a daze. So soon. This happened too early.
"As you can see, my analytical reports were correct. CIS droids will simply overwhelm Coruscant with their bodies and seize the city, unless their command structure is destroyed. Tactical Droids lack the capacity for a planned long-term offensive. Most likely, they will choose to retreat, especially if the Republic..."
"Stop. Give me your analysis of the situation. What are your thoughts on the coming events?"
"According to the information available to me, if all forces are concentrated at Coruscant, the Republic has a chance to repel the attack. But their military power is dispersed across the entire galaxy; battles are raging elsewhere, and forces may be unable to move to the capital's support. However, a counter-move by the Republicans to attack the key worlds of the CIS leaders is possible. In that case, the Separatists might recall some ships from the Republic capital to defend their worlds, but that outcome is unlikely. In my estimation, the chance of the capital falling is over seventy percent."
"And what about the situation on our planet?"
"According to my calculations, the clone troops will most likely evacuate to aid the capital. The probability of looting, robbery, and anarchy breaking out is ninety percent. The current local authorities will not have the power to protect the citizens."
"Well, that sounds like an excellent moment to acquire a personal starship."
"I concur. Based on our capabilities, the chance of stealing a suitable ship is ninety-three percent."
Unfortunately, it didn't work out. Against all sound logic, the majority of the ground garrison remained on the planet. The ships hanging in orbit, however, all departed for Coruscant. Still, the remaining ground forces were more than enough to suppress any outbreaks of crime.
It was very strange. Their capital was dying, yet they weren't committing all their forces. What was the reason? It was unlikely there was anything that valuable on this planet. It couldn't be just my laboratory, could it? Perhaps there was valuable equipment, but not so valuable that they would risk losing the war over it!
For several days, we watched the events unfolding on Coruscant non-stop. The fate of the entire galaxy, and more importantly, my personal fate, depended on the outcome.
With each passing day, the situation on the capital world grew worse. CIS droids were actively pushing back the planet's defenders. Even the constantly arriving Republic reinforcements failed to save the situation. And then, the Separatists launched a strike that no one had expected.
By throwing all their forces into the defense of the city, the High Command made a critical error. Despite all the personal security in his quarters, Supreme Chancellor Palpatine was abducted.
The pillar supporting the very foundation of the Republic, the man who strengthened the crumbling state, the man who would lead this galaxy into a bright future… all these epithets pointed to only one person. Sheev Palpatine, the man who had been raising the Republic from its knees for over a decade.
His loss was a massive blow to the Republic forces. Nevertheless, it was a done deal. General Grievous destroyed the Chancellor's guard and flew him directly off the planet.
If not for a short delay, the Republic might have been considered defeated. But the forces of Generals Kenobi and Skywalker arrived just in time to the battle, delaying Grievous's ship in orbit.
The Jedi managed to infiltrate the flagship of the machine-like monster. And by some miracle, they were able to free Palpatine and, as later became known, destroy Count Dooku. Soon after, the ever-increasing Republic forces routed the Separatist fleet, forcing it to flee. The fighting on the surface continued for some time, but deprived of air support, the droids were quickly destroyed.
Upon learning this, I breathed a sigh of relief. King was wrong; the war could continue for a long time yet. Although the CIS fleet and forces had suffered serious damage, their factories were operating at full capacity, and their resources were far from exhausted. This meant I had time to build my personal power and develop a detailed plan of action.
When the Battle of Coruscant finally ended, I was able to relax and dedicate myself to sorting and analyzing the data retrieved from the control room computer. I needed to figure out what was so valuable about this laboratory, or perhaps something else, but either way, it was better than having nothing to occupy my mind.
To my great disappointment, only the name Master Lyman Jay Curra offered even an illusory hope of finding the right thread to untangle this mystery. Attempts to correlate the technical equipment data with its possible use were futile.
The sheer volume of data was too great. I would delegate that to King later; his circuits don't get tired, so he can do something useful.
To my profound disappointment, all the information I managed to find on the Master came down to a few words. Lived, was, died. Jedi Order Knight, not noted for anything remarkable. Has been considered dead for fifty years. True fate unknown.
Well, that was sparse. And that brief report took me several days of active searching and buying various pieces of information.
Stretching, I stepped out of the room where I had been re-reading the results on my datapad. Time for something to eat...
Pain shot through my body—screams, numbness, bewilderment, fear—this insane cocktail of emotions flooded my consciousness. Dropping to my knees, I clutched my head.
Through the Force, I heard fragments of indistinct remarks and the cries of the dying. The overall sonic pandemonium was overridden by a single voice, which seemed to resonate from a thousand places at once. A cold voice imbued with unwavering power and authority.
Gathering the remnants of my will, I tried to listen, to decipher what this person, who inspired both terror and the desire to bow one's head, was saying.
"Execute Order 66."
"Execute Order 66."
The Force was tearing apart with the sensation of death, the deaths of countless sentient beings who had a deep connection to it. And along with it, all those who felt the Force suffered.
Only this one voice was calm and constantly repeating. It felt like this being was taking a dark satisfaction. It seemed to be reveling in the surrounding chaos of pain and screams.
"Execute Order 66."
A cold and terrifying feeling of death once again spread through my body. I remembered dying once before, and it was terrifying, insanely terrifying. I wanted to crawl as far away as possible, hide, run, postpone the inevitable end.
Fear became the catalyst for fury, and fury for rage. Roaring, I rose onto my knees and tried to stand. My legs were shaking; I wanted to fall back to the floor and curl up in the farthest corner. Fear and pain are nothing; I am above this. Rage gives me strength.
The monster was felt somewhere nearby, but it was not striving to seize control. No. This being seemed to be waiting, studying a new, interesting creature.
"Owner? Are you alright?" King stood on the stairs, observing me carefully. "I can fetch a medkit, if you are perhaps..."
"No need. Turn on the live broadcast from Coruscant."
"But your condition..."
"I. Said. Turn. It. On!"
The Force vibrated in my voice, overflowing me, obeying my command.
"As you say, Owner."
Turning on the holotable, King began to listen, as attentively as I was, to the speech of the man whose face was obscured by a hood. Suddenly, a realization struck me. I knew this person!
Two images superimposed on one another: Darth Sidious, the terrifying creature with wrinkled skin and yellow eyes from the films I watched as a child, and the Chancellor of the Galactic Republic, a man radiating warmth and confidence who inspired faith in a bright future. They were one and the same being!
Right now, Palpatine was giving a speech about a Jedi conspiracy to overthrow the Senate and seize power.
"...And the Jedi insurrection has failed. The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated! ...I have been scarred by the assassination attempt on my life. I am deformed! But I assure you, my resolve is now stronger and greater than ever! In order to ensure security and greater stability, the Republic will be reorganized by us into the first Galactic Empire, for the sake of preservation and for the good of society!"
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