After finishing the second round of loading, I finally squeezed back into the infiltrator's narrow cockpit, while Kem wedged his massive body into the adjacent crash couch with a low grumble, making the old metal braces creak pitifully under his weight. Unfortunately, Elara preferred her calculations to our company and stayed back in the small common cabin, continuing to dig through her datapads.
My fingers settled awkwardly on the central console, starting the ship's reactors. They answered with a deep, vibrating hum that ran through the entire hull, from the nose section all the way to the main engine nozzles. Thankfully, every button was labeled with its function. After a few tense seconds, the ancient onboard systems finally gave me a steady green launch-ready signal.
I eased the accelerator forward, and the infiltrator gently detached from the platform's magnetic clamps, slowly drifting out through the open hangar doors of the Core Guardian and straight into the violent streams of cosmic radiation outside. Warnings immediately lit up across the main display, reporting critical gravitational stress caused by the dangerous proximity of two dying stars, whose invisible grip threatened to tear apart any careless vessel.
Without wasting time, I snapped a set of switches on the upper panel, activating the specialized stealth field that completely screened our engines' thermal, electromagnetic, and ionic emissions. Right now, I assumed that on the sensors of the Phantom shuttle and the base's monitoring systems, our ship had simply vanished into the void as if it had never existed. I twisted the control yoke hard, keeping the invisible scout ship inside the narrow safe corridor through the dense asteroid field. Then, once the system finished loading and plotted an acceptable route, I pulled the hyperdrive lever with an almost steady hand. What can I say? I don't like spaceflight.
Beyond the panoramic cockpit glass, the familiar blackness of space gave way to the smooth, shimmering gray-blue haze of a hyperspace tunnel, wrapping itself around the hull. The onboard computer displayed the estimated arrival time at Dathomir, confirming that the main engines were operating normally and that the navigation system had successfully plotted a vector around the major gravitational anomalies. I leaned back against the hard pilot's seat and allowed my stiff shoulders to relax a little, mentally reviewing recent events and measuring our first real successes.
So far, the situation had developed almost perfectly in our favor. Every major piece on the galactic chessboard had moved exactly as I expected. Count Dooku had completely fallen for the hastily invented legend of the mythical "Prophecy of the Void," and was almost certainly wasting valuable time and agents searching forgotten sectors for a nonexistent artifact. With a little help from Aurelius, the InterGalactic Banking Clan would soon be held firmly by the throat thanks to ancient but still very useful blackmail material, guaranteeing the R.G.A. a steady flow of unregistered credits and heavy equipment. Our base in the Deep Core remained completely secure under the protection of the reprogrammed automated dreadnought's heavy guns, which meant the first phase of large-scale preparations to overthrow the Confederacy's leadership had officially begun.
Behind me, Kem shifted heavily in his seat, trying to fit his enormous knees into the cramped cockpit of the reconnaissance vessel. He exhaled noisily and stared at the blinking indicators on the technical panel.
"This metal box flies smoothly enough, Master, but the silence of space is already driving me mad," the Dashade rumbled, lazily scraping one claw against the plating of the passenger couch. "At least on Dathomir there will be someone to cut apart. Or are we going to sit around again because of rusty gold and old scraps of paper that already make my jaw ache?"
"You'll have plenty of work on Dathomir, Kem. The locals hate uninvited guests, and they test every outsider's strength with particular cruelty," I answered without turning around, checking a short manual on my datapad while adjusting coolant flow through the right circuit of the field generator. "The main thing is, don't start swinging that cleaver too early or without my order. At least wait until I finish bargaining with their chief witch. Otherwise, we'll have to fight our way off the planet through every wild creature they have."
The Dashade gave an approving grunt and closed his yellow eyes, instantly slipping into that strange half-dream state of his, where he somehow remained fully ready for combat at the slightest sharp sound. I went back to studying the infiltrator's technical logs, checking the stability of the stealth systems that were currently absorbing even the smallest radiation and heat fluctuations from our reactor.
Then the routine flight was interrupted by strange behavior from the auxiliary navigation panel to the left of the pilot's seat. That narrow console, built by ancient Imperial engineers, was directly connected to specialized gyroscopes that reacted to local fluctuations in mental fields and the density of the Force in surrounding space. Listen to me now, huh? All it took was reading a few smart books. Ahem. Not important.
The panel emitted a soft metallic chirp, barely audible, like a faulty pressure sensor. Crimson symbols in formal Sith dialect began flashing chaotically across its matte screen.
I immediately tensed, leaning closer to the display and rapidly reading the incoming telemetry. At first glance, it looked like a system glitch caused by the ship's long conservation. But the physical readings said otherwise. The external sensors had registered a brief but incredibly dense and concentrated surge of Dark Side energy, traveling as a wave pulse from somewhere in the Outer Rim. The pulse was so powerful that its echo had managed to pierce even the dense veil of the hyperspace tunnel, forcing the analog indicator needles to freeze at maximum for a split second.
Cold sweat instantly broke across my forehead when I understood the true physical meaning of that brief fluctuation in the galaxy's energy field. My recent manipulations with secret access codes in the Deep Core, the restart of the Core Guardian's old reactors, or the activation of the infiltrator's systems had inevitably created an echo in the Force, even if it was barely noticeable to most living beings. But there was at least one man in the galaxy sensitive and paranoid enough to catch that fleeting motion at the very edge of his perception.
Right now, in his spacious office on Coruscant, Darth Sidious had almost certainly stopped studying another ministerial report and turned toward the dark window, analyzing the sudden sting in the Force. Supreme Chancellor Palpatine had spent too many years carefully building his perfect plan for the coming Clone Wars to ignore strange anomalies coming from a long-abandoned, supposedly dead sector.
The Dark Lord of the Sith had just clearly sensed that a new, completely unaccounted-for and potentially dangerous piece had suddenly appeared on his carefully arranged chessboard. One that did not obey his will or the rules of his game.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
The hunt began three hours later, when the Dashade, Elara, and I reached a damp ravine filled with caustic vapors, where the edge of the rotting swamps ran between sharp stone spires. Elara looked like a tourist who had wandered into the wrong guided excursion. The navigation sensors on my datapad kept glitching, so we had to track the prey by the very physical trail of destruction it had left behind. Even my Force instincts weren't working properly here. Miserable planet.
Huge fallen trees, their bark scraped white, and deep furrows carved through the sticky red clay made it very clear that the local monster was much larger and faster than I had expected. We moved as carefully as possible, trying not to make unnecessary noise, until the creature burst out from behind the nearest rocky outcrop and charged us. It was a massive four-armed brute, and the moment I saw its size, I had to mentally revise my original battle plan.
The beast attacked immediately, hurling a huge boulder in our direction. I had to dodge with a sharp Force-enhanced leap to the side. The rock slammed into the cliff behind me with a deafening crack, shattering into dozens of sharp fragments, one of which scraped unpleasantly across my armored shoulder plate. I barely had time to regain my balance before the nydak spat a stream of thick, smoking bile that hissed as it hit the ground, eating through wet grass and roots. I threw up a dense telekinetic shield in front of me, and the air filled with an ugly crackle as a wave of unbearable heat washed over my face from the neutralized acid.
To be honest, my experience fighting wild monsters was regrettably limited, so it was no surprise that barely a minute later I made an annoying mistake and let the beast get too close while attempting a flanking attack. The nydak lashed out with its lower left arm, unnaturally fast, and the heavy clawed blow landed squarely against my chest, instantly crushing the protective plates of my suit. I heard the dry, unmistakable crack of breaking ribs, lost all the air in my lungs, and was thrown backward at full speed, slamming into the sticky clay along the bank. Tears sprang to my eyes from the sharp pain, and the salty taste of blood filled my mouth, but there was no time for self-pity. The monster was already turning to finish me off with a crushing stomp.
Kem saved the situation. With a furious roar, he threw himself onto the monster from behind, driving his full massive weight into the creature's neck and locking its upper arms with his own powerful hands. The Dashade showed all of his monstrous endurance, jamming the beast's jaws open with the stock of his heavy plasma blaster while it tried and failed to bite him in half. The nydak spun violently in place, smashing nearby stone spires with its strikes and trying to crush Kem against the rocky outcrops, filling the ravine with a continuous roar of impacts and cracking bone.
Somehow, I forced myself onto one knee, fighting through the savage, cutting pain in my broken ribs, and ignited my lightsaber. The orange-black blade hissed as it cut through the damp swamp mist. From close range, I could clearly see a large, semi-transparent, pulsing growth forming in the nydak's throat, with excess energy streaming through it. My Force-sharpened instincts immediately told me it was a weak point — some anatomical vulnerability the beast had gained along with its unnatural strength. That was where I needed to strike. One clean hit.
I really hate fighting monsters like this. Their hides are too thick, and they always come with some kind of unpleasant adaptation, which means Force lightning — my main weapon — barely works on them. So I had to improvise.
Gathering myself and drawing on the Force, I launched into a powerful, completely inelegant leap out of the liquid clay, barely dodging the monster's heavy tail as it swept past. Landing dangerously close to its jaws, I gripped the lightsaber with both hands and drove the active blade straight into the center of the pulsing growth in its neck, forcing it through resistant bone-like ridges.
The excess energy inside the nydak's body detonated instantly with a dull, rolling blast that threw both Kem and me in opposite directions, showering the entire clearing with foul dark blood and chunks of burned flesh. Completely exhausted, covered in sticky swamp slime and bruises, we lay silently in the mud for several minutes. Then Elara stepped out from behind the nearest boulder, clapping with obvious irony.
"Bravo. I should come along with you more often. No virtual-reality film can compete with this."
"You didn't fire a single shot, little coward," Kem grumbled once he recovered. Then he looked at his chewed-up blaster, now completely ruined, pulled his sword from his back, and used several precise, measured blows to carve a massive bone growth from the skull of the dead beast.
Good thinking. At least now we had proof that we had actually killed the monster.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The return trip to the Nightsisters' citadel was extremely difficult. Every careless movement sent a sharp, stabbing pain through my broken ribs. I had to keep my left arm pressed tightly against my side just to stabilize my damaged chest while Kem strode confidently beside me, dragging the creature's massive bone growth behind him on a leather strap. The trophy continued to ooze thick, dark fluid, leaving a clear, filthy trail behind us.
When we finally passed through the heavy outer gates of the fortress and entered the main hall, the young witches seated along the walls instantly fell silent, staring at our mud- and blood-streaked appearance. At my brief nod, the Dashade hurled the bloody trophy onto the stone floor with a heavy thud, right at the foot of the raised platform where Talzin sat.
It rolled across the stone slabs with an ugly scrape, leaving a broad brown smear behind it before coming to rest at the High Priestess's feet. The nearby sentry witches involuntarily recoiled. All the arrogance and theatrical superiority with which the local leadership had greeted us several hours earlier evaporated the moment they saw the remains of the slain monster. It seemed I had earned, if not their respect, then at least the understanding that starting a fight with me would cost them more than all the trinkets I had brought were worth.
Even wounded, I was still fairly confident that a single burst of Force lightning would sweep away most of those present, if not killing them outright, then at least removing them from any possible fight.
And the local mistresses seemed to understand that as well. That simple fact dealt a heavy blow to their clan's authority, because in this particular case, their praised magic had proven less effective than some foreign Sith.
Mother Talzin studied the bone closely, then shifted her heavy, completely unblinking gaze to me, assessing the extent of my injuries and my overall combat readiness after the short but intense fight. To her credit, she kept her expression under control and showed no disappointment at the fact that we had survived despite her intentions.
"You have proven to be an obedient and effective instrument, outsider," she said, slowly drawing a small faceted sphere of dark obsidian from her wide sleeve. "And I always keep my word when a bargain is supported by results. Within this talisman is concentrated mental energy. It will help gather the shattered mind of my son Maul when you find him among the heaps of industrial refuse."
I carefully took the cool object from her long fingers, immediately feeling a faint tingling against my palm. Without another word, I tucked it into a secure inner pocket of my jacket, then handed over the case containing the book and the crystals.
"I'm glad we reached an understanding without unnecessary bureaucracy or empty threats," I replied dryly, trying to breathe as shallowly as possible to avoid aggravating my broken ribs. "Now we're leaving. I have no desire to remain on your hospitable planet any longer than necessary."
But just as I turned my back to her, Talzin continued.
"However, I will not allow you to leave with that artifact without proper oversight from our clan. You remain a dangerous and unpredictable being."
With that, she gestured toward the witch standing near the wall — the same one I had defeated earlier.
"My named daughter, Varji, will accompany you as a guide and as an official hostage of our agreement. She will personally ensure the safety of the artifact and record your every step."
I turned and looked at the young witch. Her earlier pride and arrogance had been thoroughly crushed by her humiliating defeat on the trail and by her own ruler's decision. Varji stood with her head lowered, her pale face showing a wild mixture of hatred for me and a deep, animal fear she was failing to hide behind clenched fists. She was clearly uncomfortable with the idea of being placed under the command of a man who had recently pressed her face into the roadside mud, but she did not dare disobey a direct order from her Mother.
"Come on, hurry up. I have a lot to do. And one more thing — I hope you have money to buy yourself a ship, because I'm not giving you mine for the trip home," I said with a slight mockery, turning toward the exit.
Kem gave a carnivorous grin, displaying rows of sharp teeth, and deliberately patted the hilt of his heavy vibroblade. Varji flinched and noticeably quickened her pace.
We quickly left the grim halls of the fortress and headed back toward the abandoned plateau where my Sith infiltrator rested beneath a reliable cloaking field.
Every step through the slippery red clay was difficult because of my injuries, but I stubbornly ignored the pain and focused on leaving this place as quickly as possible. Varji followed in silence, keeping her distance and occasionally casting sideways glances at the Dashade's back. Kem, for his part, sometimes turned his head just enough to watch our unwilling companion from the corner of his eye.
When the heavy landing ramp descended with a grinding noise, opening the way into the narrow technical hold, the witch froze for a moment and stared at the matte-black hull of the scout ship with clear distrust. She had probably spent her entire life among the primitive structures of her homeworld, so the blinking consoles, rows of cables, and sterile interior of the vessel made her understandably uneasy.
"Go to the living compartment and sit there quietly unless you want Kem to lock you in a cargo container until the end of the flight," I ordered as I passed her on my way to my usual copilot's seat.
She shot me a hateful look from eyes lined with dark paint, but obeyed without argument and disappeared behind the sealed door of the passenger cabin.
I took my "work" seat, activated the central power switch, and began warming up the main engines for our ascent into Dathomir's upper atmosphere. Fortunately, Elara had already taught me how to do this. Kem settled into the neighboring seat as usual, fiddling with his new broken blaster toy and, to my horror, quietly humming something in his awful guttural dialect.
The ship's systems responded to commands with surprising precision. The turbines climbed to operating speed, producing a steady, rising whistle that vibrated through the metal skin of the fuselage. I was just about to pull the vertical takeoff levers and lift the infiltrator off the rocky plateau when the long-range communications radar suddenly erupted into a series of broken signals.
A red interception indicator flashed on the left navigation panel, warning that the antenna had caught a powerful encrypted packet being transmitted on Confederate military frequencies. Under normal circumstances, a civilian ship would have ignored the broadcast entirely, but the internal software Elara had installed during the flight automatically launched decryption protocols.
After several seconds of frantic symbol cycling, the text of a classified order appeared on the screen. I froze for a moment and reread the log lines to make absolutely sure there had been no mistake.
According to the decrypted data, General Grievous had received a direct emergency order from the CIS central command apparatus and had abruptly changed the route of his flagship cruiser. Even worse, an advance reconnaissance fleet consisting of three dozen heavy scout drones had already been dispatched at maximum speed toward the Dathomir sector under the pretext of investigating "unregistered activity."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I asked the empty air.
As expected, I received no answer except Elara's amused snort.