We were approaching the main hub station of this Shard, identified as Praxis, which rose proudly beneath a colossal transparent dome. On closer inspection, however, numerous bulky structures assembled from standard sectional modules could be seen all around it. Rough seams from secondary welding darkened the joints, while the outer plating of the residential sections was covered in patches made from mismatched sheets of metal.
I looked more closely at the lower level. The residential blocks stood in neat rows and looked more like barracks for convicts than actual housing. Dim lamps burned at regular intervals along the exposed maintenance walkways, clearly operating in some sort of energy-saving mode. For a hundred meters around, there was not a single unnecessary source of light, nor any architectural feature that did not serve an immediate practical purpose.
"There it is, the successor to the 'Great' Empire..." Khem growled hoarsely, genuine mockery in his voice. "The slaves built themselves a pen and imagined themselves kings. In Tulak's time, they wouldn't have kept livestock in these rusted boxes."
Below us, an honor guard had assembled on the landing platform. Two dozen soldiers wearing old-pattern gray cuirasses stood along the markings with flawless, almost mannequin-like precision. Their armor was immaculately clean, and the barrels of their carbines were all held at exactly the same angle. Whatever else could be said about this place, their discipline was impressive.
"If I attacked them right now, the first five would die before they even managed to raise their weapons. They'd stand there waiting for their sergeant's order." Khem was clearly in a foul mood today, continuing to grumble whether there was a reason for it or not.
"Master, just give the command. I will destroy this entire herd of sluggish bantha! Spilling a little of your opponent's blood is an excellent way to begin negotiations."
Despite my companion's bloodthirsty "advice," I ignored him, offering only the sort of meaningful look Obi-Wan probably gave Anakin whenever he said, Anakin, don't, in response to whatever brilliant idea the young Jedi had come up with next.
The shuttle doors opened with a heavy hiss, and the local air rushed into the cabin. It was breathable, but it reeked horribly of smoke and burning, so I quickly put on my respirator.
The honor guard closed ranks behind us, and we followed a silent officer toward what I understood from the official invitation to be the command bunker. The soldiers marched behind us in perfect synchronization, though I could see the tense looks they kept directing my way. Fortunately, we did not have far to go, and before long we reached our destination.
I stepped inside an unremarkable building clad in silver-sheened plating and quickly looked around. Gathered around a massive tactical table, above which floated a dim three-dimensional projection of the sector, was what I assumed to be the entire welcoming committee.
Grand Marshal Vallen stood at the head of the table with his hands clasped behind his back. To his right were, according to the briefing, the fleet commanders: lean men with the bearing of veterans, their age betrayed only by the deep wrinkles around their eyes. To the left stood an obvious engineer in an oil-stained technical uniform, which made him stand out sharply from everyone else present.
The last particularly noticeable person in the room was the Chief Administrator of the civilian biospheres. He was immaculately groomed, with perfectly combed graying hair and a stubborn, protruding chin. A large silver badge gleamed dully on his severe uniform.
"Lord Taales." Vallen inclined his head slightly, offering the minimum gesture of courtesy. "The Council is assembled. We are prepared to hear you."
I did not even have time to step toward the table before the Chief Administrator seized the initiative and placed a flat metal datapad on the holographic console.
"My apologies, Marshal, but military protocols cannot supersede the Law." There was something uniquely irritating about the way he spoke, the sort of brazen confidence in his own righteousness that seemed almost universal among bureaucrats. "I reviewed the Internal Service Charter and the Ministry of War's legal code for the year three thousand nine hundred and forty-two. According to Directive Number One Hundred and One, any alteration to the governing structure of a Shard, as well as any annulment of the Central Committee's authority on Dromund Kaas, is permissible only upon presentation of a direct Manifesto from the Emperor bearing all required seals."
With that, the Administrator looked at me triumphantly.
"You claim the Empire no longer exists. If that is true, then the very status of our Shard as a military outpost loses its legal foundation, meaning we may be considered an autonomous entity. Consequently, your orders possess no legal authority. That, of course, assumes you have actually told us the truth, which I highly doubt. This entire story sounds improvised, and worse, it undermines the foundations of the state. Until a special commission can investigate the matter, I demand that all external connections to your vessel be blocked and that the arrivals be placed under administrative arrest."
A restrained murmur rolled through the chamber. Several fleet officers exchanged glances, their fingers unconsciously settling on the grips of their blasters, while Khem, by contrast, practically radiated delight before bursting into loud laughter.
I silently crossed my arms and made no hurry to answer. My gaze drifted to the Administrator's fingers. They trembled slightly as he worked the controls on his datapad, even though his chin remained proudly raised. He was obviously afraid, though not of me. What terrified him was the thought that his authority would collapse the instant this system was no longer cut off from the outside galaxy. And frankly, he had every reason to be afraid.
Meanwhile, Elara cautiously took half a step forward and leaned toward my shoulder, whispering quickly while staring down at her portable terminal.
"Brute, I'm going to step in before these people start shooting in every direction. I sent a few drones into their local network through an engineering node." She turned the screen toward me and rapidly pointed at a chaotic collection of multicolored diagrams, graphs, and abbreviations.
"If we try pumping modern coaxium into their fuel lines, or even standard Banking Clan hypermatter, the dreadnought reactors will burn themselves straight to hell and take the docks with them! And their chief engineer has dug in his heels and keeps insisting that the schematics can't be altered because they were approved by the Supreme Technical Council sometime in one-thousand-and-who-knows-what!"
Ignoring the fact that she had somehow already managed to speak with the engineer—through the local network, no doubt—I studied the screen more carefully. It was a mess of graphs, diagrams, and formulas that made my head start aching just from looking at them.
I sighed and stepped aside, giving her a clear path toward our opponents.
"I'm leaving all of this to you," I said dryly, raising my voice enough to cut through the growing noise inside the bunker. "I need a functioning fleet. Handle it however you see fit."
She gave a short nod, flashed an unpleasant grin, and immediately headed toward the now-hesitant Chief Engineer. The poor man actually backed away at the sight of a woman advancing on him with a datapad in one hand and a diagnostic scanner in the other, trying to hide behind the other officers.
Meanwhile, the Chief Administrator had already raised his hand above the touch panel. Judging from the glowing ALARM label, he was seconds away from summoning emergency security. It seemed our discussion had reached an impasse. Demonstrating strength would certainly be useful, but I still preferred exhausting every option that did not involve killing my future subordinates.
I glanced toward Khem. The Dashade stood behind me, leaning slightly forward, prepared to launch himself into motion at the slightest signal. One quick sweep of his vibroblade and the Administrator definitely would not have time to touch that button. Still, that remained a last resort.
The situation required a different approach. The divide between the military and civilian administration had clearly existed here for years. All I had to do was push it in the proper direction.
"You refer to the Charter of the year three thousand nine hundred and forty-two, Administrator," I said calmly, taking a measured step forward while opening the archival files on my datapad. My voice was deliberately dry, cutting through the growing noise in the chamber. "Yet you conveniently neglect the Ministry of War's Directives on the Emergency Authority of the Inquisitorius within isolated sectors."
I could not resist showing off a little of the knowledge I had recently acquired from Taales's ancient records.
Stopping at the edge of the table, I looked toward the official and read aloud the passage I had prepared beforehand.
"Paragraph Seven, Clause B. In conditions of critical resource shortage and direct threat to the continued existence of an outpost, any action by civilian authorities that obstructs an Inquisitor's decisions regarding supply and modernization shall be classified as high treason. From the moment such a threat is identified, all powers of the civilian administration are revoked, and absolute authority within the sector automatically transfers to the Chairman of the Military Council. In other words, to you, Marshal Vallen."
Vallen slowly turned his head toward the Administrator, frowning as his hands, which had been resting calmly on the table only moments before, curled into fists.
"You have hidden behind these circulars for twenty years, Administrator," I continued, never taking my eyes off the bureaucrat as I allowed my voice to harden. "Answer the Council directly. Are you truly prepared to keep starving your own people and allow the dreadnought reactors to rot in their docks simply because accepting new fuel supplies might threaten your pathetic grip on power? Fortunately, as you can see, your authority here is not absolute. I would say that is for the best."
Red blotches spread across the official's face. My words had clearly enraged him, though I had to wonder what exactly he had expected.
"Isolation and the purity of Imperial doctrine are worth more than life!" he shouted, finally losing control as he leaned toward the console. "Deviation from approved instructions is unacceptable! Without strict adherence to the letter of the Law, we will become nothing more than rabble! If preserving order requires cutting rations in half, then we will cut them in half!"
I looked expectantly toward Vallen and released the faintest pulse of the Force, barely noticeable, directing it toward the Grand Marshal and the officers standing behind him. I did not place foreign thoughts inside his mind, nor did I try to compel him to act against his nature. I simply took what was already boiling inside him—the deep hatred, accumulated over years, that an old soldier held toward rear-line bureaucrats whose decisions left his ships unrepaired and his people living on reduced rations—and intensified it.
With a movement polished into instinct by decades of service, the Marshal tore a heavy blaster pistol from the magnetic clasp at his belt. There was a sharp, dry click as the weapon came ready, and its black muzzle pressed beneath the Administrator's chin a heartbeat before the man managed to touch the alarm control.
The official froze and hiccupped in surprise. All of his arrogance vanished instantly once he felt cold metal against his throat.
"The civilian administration is relieved of command for direct sabotage of the Shard's combat readiness," Vallen announced. His voice was surprisingly even, carrying the cold, almost steel-like tone of a man who had finally made a difficult but necessary decision. "For the duration of the state of emergency, authority over Praxis Station and all subordinate sectors will transfer entirely to the Military Council."
The two guards by the doors, who only seconds earlier had seemed uncertain whose side they should take, immediately straightened at the sight of the Grand Marshal's weapon and raised their carbines before snapping to attention.
"Take him into custody," Vallen ordered without lowering his pistol. "Place him in the third-level detention block. No outside communication."
The soldiers stepped forward and roughly twisted the now-pale Administrator's arms behind his back. He tried to shout something incoherent about the Charter and procedural violations, but they quickly dragged him from the bunker.
Vallen lowered the blaster and slowly returned it to his belt. He exhaled heavily, straightened his shoulders, and turned toward me. There was not a trace of doubt in his eyes. I could feel that much.
The officers of the Military Council exchanged looks among themselves, but I could already see that none of them intended to challenge their commander.
Vallen adjusted his uniform and met my eyes.
"The Military Council recognizes your authority, Lord Taales," he said evenly, all of his earlier wariness gone as he saluted. "If you resolve the fuel crisis, the Shard fleet will enter your direct command without further bureaucratic conditions."
"Unanimity always makes work proceed faster, Marshal. And yes, congratulations. You are now the ruler of the Shard," I replied with a nod, smiling beneath the respirator where no one could see it. "Unfortunately, we do not have time to celebrate your promotion. Our first priority is preparing the shipyards for refitting."
The Chief Engineer, who had spent the entire confrontation with his head practically buried between his shoulders near the holographic table, swallowed nervously and immediately stepped forward. Clearly understanding what stubbornness had just done to his predecessor, he pulled a master access chip from his pocket and began speaking with a stammer while gesturing wildly.
"W-we are prepared to provide complete access to the shipyards' logic cores! But the architecture of the phase synchronizers is extremely complex! If the impedance values across the reactor windings align with the frequency of modern coaxium injection, we could trigger an interphase bus short—"
The stream of technical terminology that followed made one of my eyes start twitching. The worst part was that everyone in the room, with the possible exception of Khem, appeared to understand perfectly well what he was talking about. Rather than endure the rest of his stumbling explanation, I made an inviting gesture toward Elara, who was already nearby and clearly working on the same problem.
"Where did you even find someone this slow?" the girl muttered as she deftly snatched the chip from the engineer's trembling fingers. Without breaking stride, she began entering commands into her diagnostic scanner and headed toward the main infrastructure control terminal.
I turned toward the Dashade waiting near the doors.
"Khem, take a platoon of Vallen's soldiers," I ordered, making it perfectly clear through my manner alone that I considered myself fully entitled to command these people. "Go through the residential levels and the Internal Service barracks. The deposed Administrator's people might decide to sabotage the air supply nodes or ration distributors. Check everything. But no excesses, understood?"
Khem cracked his knuckles heavily and gave me a crooked grin, exposing rows of sharp teeth.
"Old habits can be beaten out of petty officials quickly. The important thing is knowing exactly where to apply the force. Do it properly, and they will not even have bruises afterward."
Vallen apparently considered my order reasonable and gave a short nod to one of his staff officers, instructing him to accompany the Dashade and provide complete assistance. As soon as Khem's massive figure disappeared into the corridor, the Military Council returned to work. The Marshal began issuing orders for the imposition of martial law while the other officers dispersed to their respective sectors to inspect arsenals and prepare personnel rosters.
I remained beside the central tactical table, skimming reports on food reserves, authorized crew strength, and the technical condition of the mothballed dreadnoughts. The sector possessed impressive manpower and industrial potential. It simply needed to be directed properly. And yes, there was another problem as well. Reorganization was necessary, but... how exactly was I supposed to accomplish that?
Interlude
The Supreme Chancellor's office lay in half-darkness. Beyond the panoramic window, the traffic lanes of Coruscant glittered brightly, but tonight Palpatine had little interest in them. His entire attention was fixed on the holographic screens before him and the streams of information displayed across them.
The offensive against Raxus, capital of the Separatists, had ended three days earlier. Republic propaganda was already proclaiming a turning point in the war, Senators were celebrating victory, and Palpatine had presented them with yet another law expanding his authority while approving the purchase of hundreds of thousands of new clones. As usual, an intelligent man could escape even a crisis like this with relative ease. Still, those damned Jedi who had commanded the offensive had nearly destroyed the leadership of the Confederacy ahead of schedule. The Clone Wars, after all, had been designed as an endless meat grinder, one that would exhaust the Galaxy until military dictatorship became the only remaining option.
Palpatine rose, activated a hidden terminal concealed behind a relief on the wall, and pulled up his hood. In an instant, the elderly politician disappeared, replaced by the commanding presence of Darth Sidious.
"Open channel Aumik-Nine," he ordered into the empty room.
The bluish figure of Count Dooku appeared above the projector.
"My lord—"
"I expected word from you much sooner, Tyranus," Sidious interrupted. "Explain yourself. The offensive on Raxus nearly disrupted all of our plans."
"The Republic took advantage of our temporary vulnerability, Master." Dooku bowed his head. "But we repelled them from the system. The greater problem lies within the command structure. Grievous's flagship was destroyed, and the General himself is dead. After everything that happened, the Separatist Council is in a panic, forcing me to return to the planet and stabilize the situation personally. Even then, the Banking Clan and Techno Union immediately began fighting among themselves over the division of authority."
"Grievous failed to meet our expectations. Nevertheless, the war must not end too soon, and you understand that as well as I do. Appoint new admirals from among the Neimoidians and attempt to recruit someone from outside the usual command structure. Perhaps your apprentice is finally ready to stop wasting her time on minor errands and provide us with something of genuine value?"
"It will be done. But there is something else..." Dooku hesitated briefly. "I still cannot locate Lord Brute. I suspect he was killed during the chaos that overtook Raxus."
"You are reaching conclusions too quickly, my dear Tyranus." Sidious narrowed his eyes slightly. "He is hiding somewhere. Otherwise, I would have felt his death. Instead, there is nothing but silence in the Force... and silence means someone very much does not wish to draw attention to himself."
"You believe he has betrayed us?"
"Like you, he is playing his own game. There is another matter as well. Inspect the rear supply depots. My people are recording unusual losses of fuel and equipment. Someone is systematically clearing out our arsenals. Find out who is responsible."
"Yes, my lord."
The Count's silhouette vanished, and Palpatine lowered his hood before turning toward a map of the Unknown Regions, a dark and nearly empty expanse at the very edge of known galactic routes.
For now, his plan was proceeding more or less as intended. Yet both he and the Prophets who served him could sense something unseen moving beneath the surface. Something was approaching, and Sidious deeply disliked being unable to foresee what it was. The pieces simply refused to form a complete picture. For the moment, he still possessed far too little information.
"I need to review the archives again. I am clearly overlooking something..." the Sith muttered into the darkness.
End of Chapter