His weapon began to move with such rapid speed that the Mon Calamari had never before demonstrated during training sessions on Dantooine.
Parrying the first sequence, the Inquisitor realized the former mentor had always held something back…
Or his words about the Unified Force had not been the empty chatter of a madman, and he had indeed learned something that had made him stronger.
More aggressive.
More ruthless.
Only now, having refused to follow the fool, did he see Umakk's true abilities and understand that he could hardly protect himself from certain death.
Though a chance for victory remained.
There is always a chance.
The opponent didn't even react when the Inquisitor reflected his attack and retreated to regroup.
He had begun the fight furiously, raining a storm of multi-directional strikes on his former apprentice, expecting to finish their clash quickly.
Now he had to reconsider his strategy.
"You've gotten better since we last fought," the Inquisitor said, clearly impressed and not even trying to hide it.
But he wasn't doing it out of the kindness of his heart.
And not to show respect.
He needed a breather to resurrect the fire of the Dark Side within himself, which had faded during the short conversation.
The former mentor did not react.
He rushed forward again, and the plaza in front of the Jedi Temple's main entrance filled with the hiss and crackle of lightsabers that had managed to clash several times in the interval between two heartbeats.
The Inquisitor could have lost his life long ago had he tried to react to every movement individually.
Instead, he simply called upon the Dark Side, letting it flow through him and guide his hand.
He gave himself to it entirely, unconditionally.
His weapon became an extension of the Force, and he answered the Mon Calamari's persistent attack with an impenetrable defense.
Then he went on the offensive.
In the past, the Inquisitor had feared to subordinate his will to the raw emotions that fed the Dark Side.
But since then, he had grown smarter.
Stronger.
More powerful.
He had no such flaws; for the first time, he resorted to his full potential.
Even feeling the fire of hatred eating him from within, he would not let the former teacher win.
Yes, he had become stronger, but the Dark Side would win regardless.
No matter what Umakk possessed.
On the contrary, victory over such a powerful rival would only make the Inquisitor stronger than his former self.
And no one would stand in his way.
Possibly not even the Emperor himself would be an obstacle.
He drove the Mon Calamari back under the vault of the Temple with fierce, sharp strikes, forcing the old teacher to back away.
Somersaulting, Umakk flew through a massive breach where the main temple gates had been into the Entrance Hall, but the Inquisitor was ruthless in his advance, lunging forward sharply and nearly managing to land a hacking strike at the opponent's leg.
His blade was parried at the last second, but he quickly followed the strike with another series of powerful lunges and thrusts.
The Jensaarai Master continued to retreat, steadily driven back by the rage of the apprentice's mad attack.
Every time he tried to change tactics or move to another form, the other anticipated it, reacted, and seized the advantage.
The end was inevitable.
The Dark Side in the Inquisitor was too great, prevailing, as it turned out, even over those tricks the opponent had demonstrated in the fight with the stormtroopers.
Only some unexpected maneuver could save Umakk, but for that he needed an opportunity.
And that was exactly what the Inquisitor was not giving him.
Over the entire course of his training, the former apprentice had seen every possible sequence, series, movement, and trick of Soresu and knew how to parry and nullify them all.
The Jensaarai Master clearly grew desperate.
He leaped, spun, dived: he was wild and reckless in his retreat, striving only to save his life.
This only fed the Inquisitor's bloodlust further.
He continued to advance and drive the opponent further into the ruins of the Jedi Temple.
The ruins underfoot would restrict him.
One mistake was enough—and the crimson blade would sever the mad, stubborn head.
Realizing what was happening, the Mon Calamari began to use the Force to hurl pieces of columns, walls, and ceilings at him.
None of it helped.
Filled with rage, the Inquisitor batted it all aside, continuing to advance.
On the edge of perception, he felt more and more Alignment armed units converging on the Jedi Temple.
He felt transport shuttles landing troops directly onto the roof of the ziggurat.
Sensed movement inside each of the half-ruined and collapsed temple towers.
As if thirty years ago, Imperial troops were taking the Temple in an uncompromising assault.
Floor by floor.
And this fact only strengthened the Inquisitor's triumph.
Now he understood what his former mentor had wanted to achieve.
Stir the conscience in the Jedi.
Make them raise their heads and come out to fight.
Not a Hutt's chance.
Now the communication center would be destroyed.
And the Jensaarai—wiped out.
The Inquisitor had effectively cornered his victim at the end of the Entrance Hall.
And triumphing, savoring the moment, he watched the Mon Calamari, who stood a couple of meters from a wall.
On which old scorch marks from numerous blaster shots were displayed.
Perhaps someone had been executed here thirty years ago.
If so, it would be extremely symbolic.
"So your end has come, former teacher," the Inquisitor said, not hiding his triumph. "You are trapped. Your Temple, for which you fight, is occupied by two legions of soldiers who will find and destroy everything you fought for. Here. Now."
He looked at the Mon Calamari, who looked frightened.
But from the smile on his lips, it seemed the former Jedi was playing some game of acting with him.
"You still haven't understood anything," he said softly.
The Dark Side literally distended the Inquisitor.
Words arrived as if through cotton.
The fire of hatred burned in his eyes, and a bloody veil of bloodlust clouded his vision.
"What are you talking about, old man?" he barked in impatience.
How dared this piece of junk spoil his moment of triumph?
But a worm of doubt gnawed at the Inquisitor from within.
There were less than five meters between them, but the Mon Calamari had enough room to calmly take an attacking stance.
The terror that had turned out to be feigned vanished from his face.
The faded glow of the Force emanating from him burned with a bright flame once more.
"It is not you who cornered me," the former teacher replied. "It is I who lured you and your army into a trap, so my friends could leave."
"Friends?" the Inquisitor frowned.
Suddenly the sound of blaster fire reached him.
Looking back, he saw the squad guarding the only untouched Juggernaut fall to the precise shots of two figures in black.
Who were already in the cab of the armored machine.
The wheeled giant's engine coughed and it slowly began to roll out through the breach…
"Even if they escaped," the Inquisitor growled, "you—won't get away."
"And I never intended to," the Jensaarai Master smiled at him. "I will die here, in the Temple that was my home…"
"Have no doubt of that," the Inquisitor smirked.
"And you will die here," the Mon Calamari said with the same smile. "And everyone you brought here. The entire Coruscant garrison. And my friends will not just escape from the Temple that became a trap. They will leave the planet. And after the Alignment loses the elite of its ground forces, all of you—every one of you who survives this—will be hunted like wild beasts by Palpatine's acolytes. And destroyed for the failure. With my death, the collapse of what you serve only begins, former apprentice."
The absence of a name in this context was as much an insult as it was from the Chief Inquisitor.
The Inquisitor wavered.
He understood there was a rational grain in the Mon Calamari's words, but could not believe he had been played so easily!
But treachery was a weapon of the Dark Side of the Force!
How could this be?!
"The Force is merely a tool," the Jensaarai Master said with a smile. "There are no Sides. The Force—is Unified. And it is—with me."
Waves of the Force began to emanate from the Mon Calamari, literally buckling the ancient Temple.
Centuries-old ceilings cracked, remnants of columns collapsed and fell with a roar onto the Entrance Hall floor.
In the Force, the death of several thousand people—Alignment stormtroopers—echoed with a thunderous resonance.
One of the corners of the Jedi Temple collapsed all the way to the Lower Levels, burying several battalions of unsuspecting Alignment soldiers.
Part of the facade collapsed next, blocking the exit from the Temple.
Total darkness fell within, barely pushed back through the breaches and by the lightsabers.
"This is your home!" the Inquisitor barked, lunging into the fight, but the Mon Calamari parried his attack with ease, batting the former apprentice aside like a bothersome insect.
A huge part of the ceiling crashed down, followed by a rain of screaming sentients falling to their deaths from a great height.
"You are destroying the legacy of your teaching!"
The Inquisitor realized he would not get out.
Not fight his way out, not survive the Temple's collapse.
Not slip from death's embrace.
He hurled several stones at the opponent, but they seemed to strike an invisible barrier and missed the target.
The Inquisitor rushed into an attack, but his foot caught in a crevice between two pieces of slabs.
With a clear crunch, his leg broke.
And then another stone crashed down from above, pinning him to the floor and breaking his spine.
The Inquisitor wanted to scream from the pain, but could not.
Air left his lungs.
The weight of his own defeat would not let him breathe.
He boiled from within and could not cope with it.
"The Jedi must be ended," the Mon Calamari's voice echoed. "The Temple is a symbol of the ignorance they slid into. Its collapse will mark the beginning of a new era."
It couldn't be!
Couldn't!
No Jedi would go through with the destruction of their sanctuary just to let others understand…
The Inquisitor cut short.
And at the same time, the Dark Side began to eat him from within, melting bone and tissue.
The darkness demanded fuel he could not give it.
Now, seeing the cruel and cunning expression on the enemy's face, the Inquisitor understood the real truth.
The Force really was—just a tool.
And then the Jedi Temple on Coruscant finally collapsed.
The transmission, broadcast to all corners of the galaxy, the reflections of emotion and understanding of the Jensaarai Master's higher truth, reached the ears of those who wanted to hear them.
When the last vaults fell, they buried the clothes and lightsaber of Bre'ano Umakk.
But not him.
Having reached enlightenment at the very end of his path, the Jensaarai Master became one with the Force.
With the Unified Force.
***
The all-wheel-drive A6 Juggernaut heavy assault vehicle was the largest representative of the Juggernaut family of armored vehicles and one of the most enormous combat machines ever to serve in the Grand Army of the Republic during the Clone Wars.
And, naturally, in the armed forces of the Galactic Empire.
The only machine exceeding this wheeled "two-headed" giant in size was the SPHA heavy self-propelled artillery unit, which had proven itself well during the Clone Wars.
And the SPHA had served the Empire too…
But now Jehane was at the wheel not of an SPHA, but of a "rolling slab," as the Juggernaut had been dubbed back during its time in the Grand Army of the Republic.
Or did that nickname belong exclusively to the previous modification, the A5?
Either way, what difference did it make?
In fact, both machines were already a great rarity in the armed forces of the Imperial Remnants.
For the reason that they had once been displaced from military parks by the AT-ATs beloved by the Emperor.
"What about the weapons?" Jehane shouted to his partner, trying not to pay attention to the stream of blaster shots pouring into one of the armored vehicle's two cabs.
Alignment rear units, as well as those who had not yet managed to be under the vaults of the Jedi Temple collapsing behind the fleeing agents, clearly did not approve of the fact that the ten-wheeled giant, as tall as a small house, was crushing infantry and armored vehicles concentrated on the perimeter around the Jedi sanctuary without any piety.
Given that through the efforts of either an explosion or the Jensaarai Master, the crew of this machine had died, stuffed with debris through the punched-in transparisteel of the forward cab, Agent Cross didn't much want to breathe Coruscant air mixed with tibanna.
Only the presence of a helmet kept his eyes from tearing from the stream of air hitting his face.
"Launchers active!" Afar reported.
A second later he cursed.
"What else?"
"We've got grenades, not missiles!"
"Banta poodoo!" Jehane agreed, calculating that the saving overpass, near which the temple-siege headquarters was located, was exactly three kilometers away.
A missile's flight distance.
If they had them!
But it seemed the crew of this armored vehicle had decided grenades would be more interesting.
Despite the fact that their range for flight and confident impact wasn't even half a kilometer.
"What about the guns?" Jehane asked, flinching when a precise sniper shot flew through the shattered vision slit and bit into the body of an already dead member of the previous A6 crew.
The Juggernaut of this model was equipped with several laser cannons—on the nose as well as the stern.
Not to mention the sides.
But only one of them—located above the cab where Jehane now sat—had a firing range of three kilometers.
The others—from one to one-and-a-half kilometers.
Which was a bit little, considering the enemy had not only tanks, but also—judging by the bursts nearby and on the vehicle's armor—mortars as well.
Not to mention that the garrison on the planet had large forces of AT-ATs, an encounter with which promised nothing good for the armored wheeled giant.
Nothing at all.
"Main turret's fine," Afar answered.
But first he fired a precise shot from it at a cluster of enemy equipment.
The deployment site of repulsortanks that were just warming up their systems to go into battle lit up with the flash of the Zygerrian's direct hit.
Several tanks were mangled, others overturned by the shockwave, others escaped with only a light shrapnel rain of parts from the damaged machines.
Either way, to save themselves, they would have to press the accelerator pedal hard.
And regret that the agents hadn't gotten an A5 with its fantastic speed of two hundred kilometers per hour.
The A6 could boast a cruising speed of only half that.
A strong explosion occurred, causing the armored vehicle, against the driver's will, to begin to veer right and tilt slightly, while simultaneously sagging cyclically on the uneven surface.
There could be only one reason for this.
"Third wheel on the left is blown!" the Zygerrian announced.
"Compensating!" Jehane declared.
The Juggernaut—both the fifth and sixth models—was driven by five pairs of wheels.
In fact, the wheels were the main difference of the A6 generation of armored vehicles from the A5.
On the "five," they were solid with a hard coating, had a large enough width and diameter to ensure the machine acceptable off-road capability with low ground pressure.
However, on the A6, because of the significantly increased dimensions of the armored vehicle, solid wheels were no longer suitable, as even a small bump gave the entire structure a noticeable tilt and could eventually cause the giant to tip over onto its side in an emergency.
Like the one that had just happened.
Therefore, Republican engineers created a new wheel for the new machine, consisting of three independently rotating segments, where each segment could have its own rotation speed and its own height relative to adjacent segments.
That is, if a wheel ran over an obstacle about a meter high (a tree trunk, a stone, or an unlucky spider droid), one of the segments rose, following the dimensions of the obstacle, and the other two remained at the same level.
As a result, the crew and troops might not even feel this obstacle, as they saw no noticeable tilt.
But in the case of damage to one of the segments, the situation was completely different.
The even distribution of the load on all five pairs of wheels played a bad joke in case of damage, because the pressure on the other axles increased, the center of gravity shifted, and now tipping over was talked about as something common.
By the way, the fate of the obstacles the Juggernaut had the honor of running over was unenviable.
The armored vehicle's mass and strong wheels allowed it to turn practically all Confederacy of Independent Systems droids encountered on the path into a state of "crushed scrap metal."
During the Clone Wars, Juggernaut crews evidently willingly used this additional "weapon."
And Jehane was doing the same now, crushing the fortifications and manpower of the Pentastar Alignment.
Ultimately, thanks to the new wheels, the creators of the A6 managed to give their giant high off-road capability, even exceeding that of the "five" and far surpassing the off-road capability of heavy combat walkers like the AT-TE, AT-AP, and AT-HE, whose high ground pressure, due to the comparatively small size of their "feet," did not allow them to move on soft ground without the danger of bogging down to the roof.
And the final advantage of wheeled travel was the ability to penetrate defense fields unhindered.
Similar capabilities belonged to the walking equipment of the Grand Army of the Republic, and consequently the Galactic Empire and its unofficial successors, the Imperial Remnants.
Such a property—penetration under shields—is unavailable to any repulsor equipment.
And it's finicky in maintenance.
Not to mention the size of the reactor needed to power an apparatus like the Juggernaut.
The Juggernaut's compensatory system allowed a puncture to be sealed with a special sealing compound and movement to continue while compressors restored pressure in the damaged segment of any of the damaged wheels.
"Distance—one and a half kilometers!" Afar's shout came through the open blast door.
In fact, he was still not behind Jehane, in the weapons operator section, but on the upper deck of the troop compartment, from where the turret located on the roof of the armored vehicle could be controlled.
But now, with the distance closing, he realized it would be best to move to where he had the opportunity to fire more laser cannons.
If they were lucky and weren't shot up sooner, then grenades from the launchers would be put to use too.
On all three decks of the massive armored vehicle, the compartments were separated from each other by quite thick armor to prevent the spread of a blast wave or fragments inside the Juggernaut if one of them was damaged.
"Engage the other guns!" Jehane ordered.
"Already on it! All of them I can!"
The armor and survivability of the A6 Juggernaut model that entered service during the Clone Wars were truly impressive.
The guns of most CIS tanks only occasionally penetrated its armor, inflicting minor damage in the process.
Specifically, A6 crews practically did not fear the most common separatist tanks, such as the AAT assault tank or the NR-N99 droid tank.
Even an IG-227 hailfire droid, armed with anti-tank guided missiles, could only seriously harm the Juggernaut's wheels and only had a chance to disable an A6 with a volley launch.
What was there to say about droid grenadiers and various equipment with a smaller caliber, which could be ignored entirely.
And under these circumstances, Jehane could only guess what exactly the Alignment fighters had managed to hit them with.
Yes, as for every beast there is always a hunter, so a match was found for the Juggernaut.
Truly dangerous enemies for the A6 were CIS bombers and fighters armed with bombs, missiles (or proton torpedoes).
Protection against this threat could only be provided by the two laser cannons on the roof and stern of the machine; only these guns had a more or less sufficient elevation angle.
However, these guns were unsuited for anti-aircraft fire and were unlikely to be a great threat to nimble CIS droid starfighters and droid bombers.
An equal threat to the Juggernaut was the fire of large ships (frigates and cruisers) from low orbit or the stratosphere, for it was practically impossible to effectively mask such a large machine.
And avoiding a shot, even with such off-road capability and speed—was also something from the realm of fantasy.
However, vulnerability to air attacks was characteristic of the entire Juggernaut family.
And not only them, but all large combat machines.
This threat could only be countered by the constant accompaniment of Juggernauts on the battlefield by self-propelled anti-aircraft units.
The Juggernaut's main battery was two laser cannons. One of them was on the roof, and the second—above the rear control station.
It had taken quite a lot of effort to seize the machine, throw out the concussed crew, and lock the rear controls, shifting everything to the forward cab in a simple way.
Yes, in service to the Galactic Empire, these machines underwent modernizations that allowed the second driver-mechanic, who during the Clone Wars was in the rear control compartment and helped in handling the machine, to be removed from the crew list.
The navigator was also removed, without whom the original A6 version was practically incapable of moving at high speed.
They were replaced by control blocks and automation.
But the fact remained—a second control station was present on this machine, and if there were still wounded or concussed enemy fighters on board somewhere, they could intercept control of the machine simply by disconnecting the control blocks.
And neither agent wanted such an outcome.
Under no circumstances.
The power of the armored vehicle's laser weapons was twenty percent greater than most CIS armored vehicle guns, not yielding to them in effective firing range.
To fight infantry and light equipment, the Juggernaut had two twin-barreled rapid-fire blaster cannons mounted on turrets under the front cab and two anti-personnel laser cannons on the sides.
Such an arrangement of guns allowed for a decent squall of fire to be created along the front, capable of "pinning to the ground" even a very numerous squad of enemy infantry.
However, the arrangement of the guns created a large "dead zone" in the rear section.
Another weapon of the armored vehicle was two retractable universal launchers, the blocks of which were on the sides of the machine at the level of the second wheel.
The launchers could fire guided missiles, effective against armored vehicles and buildings, or grenades, useful for suppressing firing points, destroying infantry squads, and covering a landing party.
The launchers were not rotatable, but their design allowed missiles or grenades to be launched both forward and backward.
Nothing threatened the armored vehicle from the rear now, but at the front there were a fair number of problems.
Like an "awakened" AT-AT, which was firing at the Juggernaut, punching through its armor in the rear of the machine now and then.
There was nothing to answer this colossus with.
Guns wouldn't penetrate it—the AT-AT's blaster-resistant armor wouldn't even notice them.
Guided missiles could still do something to the legs, but it would be best to have large-caliber proton artillery at hand.
But the agents had no such thing at their disposal.
"Upper turret destroyed!" Afar reported with alarm in his voice. "Along with a piece of the roof!"
"I know!" the armored vehicle's schematic glowed red, announcing numerous damages.
Good thing the chassis and engine compartment were safe.
Otherwise, as soon as they stopped, they'd turn into a stationary target.
"Are we being shelled from orbit?!"
"No, poodoo, from an AT-AT!" Jehane barked back.
He veered to the side, but it helped little—the walker's energy weapon continued to hole the hull.
Judging by the fact that the walker's gunners were starting to get closer and closer to the machine's forward cab, the situation was ceasing to be exciting and adventurous for the two agents.
Moving, meanwhile, into the "catastrophic" category.
"Five hundred meters!" Afar reported. "We've lost almost all the guns!"
Jehane only had time to veer to the side to avoid a direct hit on the cab.
At the same time, he himself leaned his body, avoiding possible consequences of the shelling.
The machine seemed to hit an invisible wall, slowing its revs and speed as the driver left his seat.
Now the armored vehicle rolled forward simply by inertia, thanks to the still intact transmission.
Ignoring the ringing in his ears, Jehane suddenly realized clearly that he was looking into the star-filled sky of Coruscant.
And normally there should be an armored ceiling and some equipment in this part of the cab.
Only a crack in the helmet's visor prevented him from enjoying this beauty that had eternally lured adventurers into space.
A pillar of energy that rushed over him at a distance of several meters explained the situation to him more than eloquently.
Jehane jumped back into his seat, silently thanking the creators of this armored vehicle from Rothana Heavy Engineering for a quality military "product."
The AT-AT had apparently decided it had destroyed the machine's driver, and now the Juggernaut posed no threat.
"Like hell!" Cross yelled, flooring the accelerator pedal.
The armored vehicle's engine roared like a hungry rancor.
The machine, instantly gaining speed, lunged forward toward the temporary Alignment forces headquarters.
"Cross!" Sagaal Shana's shout came. "What's happening?!"
"We've got a convertible now!" the special agent barked, throwing off his damaged helmet. "Four hundred meters!"
Grenade range.
The AT-AT "woke up," its "head" beginning to track the restless wheeled target.
And the enemy infantry also became sharply active.
Crimson rays of blasters and heavy repeaters appeared in the air.
Stripped of the cab's armor, Jehane could be hit by any of them at any moment.
But the agent didn't give a damn anymore.
"Grenades!" he yelled.
Afar didn't ask extra questions.
He activated the launch of every piece of ammunition in the mangled machine's launchers.
Several dozen grenades, leaving behind barely noticeable smoke trails, erupted from both sides of the machine.
A wall of fire formed in front of the Juggernaut, in the center of which stood the Alignment walker, looming relentlessly over the crippled armored vehicle.
"Empty!"
Afar's voice came right in the agent's ear, and the Zygerrian slumped into the adjacent seat, mangled by a stray hit.
"Don't tell me that—"
"I won't!"
Afar instantly assessed the armored vehicle's direction of movement.
"There's no overpass there!"
"Then we'll make one!" Jehane yelled under the control of adrenaline. "Hold on to something!"
The Juggernaut burst into the fiery inferno of the enemy's temporary base's conflagrations and explosions.
Instantly the cool of the Coruscant night turned into a scalding steam room and Jehane felt sweat begin to pour down his face.
The walker's driver also realized that at close range he couldn't damage the wheeled monster.
And too late grasped what a furious Jehane Cross, driving the Juggernaut, intended to do.
He began to back away, trying to safeguard the machine and pick off the brazen one threatening a collision.
Doing exactly what Jehane himself was counting on.
The "rolling slab" slammed into the AT-AT's supporting "legs" at monstrous speed.
The roar of the collision and crumpling metal filled Jehane's ears as he was thrown forward from the driver's seat.
The restraint straps threw the agent back under the sound of snapping super-strong material from which they were created.
With the groan of a dying sea animal, the AT-AT could not resist the laws of physics and crashed onto its side, falling off the edge of the plaza on which the Jedi Temple had once been located.
And the rear base of the units besieging it.
But everywhere now only ruins remained, which several assault transports hanging in the air could observe.
Without taking his foot off the accelerator, Jehane sent the Juggernaut after the rammed AT-AT.
The armored vehicle, with some speed and inertia, flew a good few hundred meters in a straight line, after which its nose began to sag.
Gravity had nothing against the two Dominion agents, but turned out heartless nonetheless toward sentients trying to make wheeled armor fly.
"Back!"
Together with Afar, Jehane flew into the open weapons operator compartment, along the way hitting his shoulder and hip on the hatch frame.
Before the multi-ton machine flew into a built-up block, making its way by means of its own weight multiplied by the inertia gained from the high-speed run, both had time to grab the first thing that came to hand.
Jehane was thrown into the far part of the compartment, hitting his already damaged shoulder on yet another bulkhead, which made him yell as pain pierced his entire body.
Beside him, Sagaal Shana joined his solo performance of the aria of pain of those involved in a car accident.
Their duet was drowned out by the roar of breaking structures, punched-through duraconcrete, reinforced duracrete, the crumpling metal of the Juggernaut, and the weapons operator compartment's armored capsule yielding under the density of the punched-through building.
"To the stern!" Cross shouted, seeing the armored bulkhead that once separated the command compartment from the weapons operator compartment crumple.
Afar, swearing in Huttese in what sounded practically like a literary impromptu of modern art, followed him.
They had to make their way along the machine's starboard side, of course, as it had finally settled onto its side and practically stopped.
And escape was possible now by only one acceptable way—through the upper hatches in the cargo-passenger compartment's roof.
Though this method was inconvenient because of the size of the hatches and the need to then slowly climb down from the machine's roof.
After all, no one in their right mind (except Jedi) would jump from a fifteen-meter height, and slowly climbing down the armor under enemy fire was quite a pleasure.
But they didn't have to experiment.
The upper hatches turned out to be deformed.
Opening them without a hydraulic tool or the help of those same Jedi was impossible.
And neither was seen nearby.
But they had to run.
The faster, the better.
The Alignment fighters clearly realized that the collapse of the Temple and the Juggernaut's high-speed voyage were connected.
"Landing ramps," Afar suggested, cradling his broken left arm with his healthy right.
"Well, can this day present us with any more surprises?!" Cross laughed mirthlessly.
The troops left the armored vehicle through two wide doors in the sides, located between the second and third wheels.
The placement of the doors and the height of the wheels obviously did not allow troops to be landed on the move.
But they weren't in motion now.
The Juggernaut, having fallen on its side, did not allow the landing hatch to be thrown open completely, so both agents used it as a slide, which they enthusiastically slid down.
"Felt like I went back to childhood!" Jehane shared his impression.
"I wouldn't want to be friends with you in childhood," Afar shared his opinion, seeing the residential building destroyed for a hundred meters around in the center of which they found themselves.
The groans of walls and ceilings hinted that they should leave this little spot as quickly as possible—before uninvited guests arrived.
But first…
"Got a thermal detonator?" Cross inquired with the smile of a madman, looking at his comrade.
The smell of fuel hung in the air.
Which, to the melodic sounds of splashing, was pouring from the destroyed fuel tank of the defeated giant.
"As always, when you serve in Hutt Space," Afar pulled a small cylinder from his belt. Clearly not manufactured for military supply. "One stays for yourself."
"And I'm the one who had a hard childhood?" Jehane marveled, setting the thermal detonator to combat readiness.
"I'll refrain from comment," Afar grimaced.
Setting the timer on the explosive tucked under the Juggernaut's fuel tank, Jehane looked at his comrade:
"Think the turbolifts in the building still work?"
Jehane laughed bitterly.
He no longer had the strength for obscene swearing.
***
Mara stared at the Grand Admiral, clenching her fists and feeling an unexpected agitation.
Not dictated by the Force—in Thrawn's presence, such a value was insignificant.
But the anger she felt when the Grand Admiral had found her pressure point without much difficulty was significant.
Where did the anger come from?
How could she not be angry at a man for whose sake she had abandoned all her plans and rushed to help.
And instead of even a modicum of gratitude, he acted as if her initiative were as loathsome to him as the snow-white tunic he had been wearing for so many years.
Though the tunic, at least, Thrawn definitely valued.
"I told you everything I know!" she growled, and her voice echoed strangely in the spacious living room of the Dominion Supreme Commander's apartments. "I felt a threat and reported it. I flew here because I thought it was right…"
Thrawn watched her with polite calm, causing her an irresistible desire to incinerate him on the spot.
"I do not like it when people try to pull the wool over my eyes," he stated coldly.
"I don't understand what you're talking about…"
"Lies."
"No."
"Yes."
"No!"
"Yes," Thrawn didn't even change face.
He didn't raise his tone.
Didn't show his interest in getting what he needed from her in any way.
"Fine," Mara crossed her legs, staring intently into the Grand Admiral's eyes. "You're strong at mind games. What, in your opinion, am I hiding, and what is the real goal of my arrival?"
Thrawn's astromech, once Luke Skywalker's assistant in the destruction of the first Death Star, returned from the kitchen, signaling the order's readiness.
Next came a protocol droid painted black, which served the table in seconds.
Mara glanced at the exquisite sweets.
Her stomach growled treacherously, reminding her that the food on her ship did not possess such qualities, smells, or even appearance.
Even though it was bought in the best shops!
"Help yourself," Grand Admiral Thrawn said magnanimously.
"Thank you," Mara smiled tightly. "I'm on a diet."
"Maintaining one's form is commendable," Thrawn assessed, taking a sip of caf. "But in your case, one should not overdo it. The line between a slender physique and repulsive thinness on the verge of anorexia is blurred. And if you cross it, it will be unpleasant."
"It's just right for me," Mara declared. "In the line of duty, I love climbing through all sorts of ventilation ducts and other dusty holes. The smaller I am, the greater the assortment of holes I'll fit into."
"Zeal in work is understandable and commendable," Thrawn said. "However, I think it is worth thinking about it from a different perspective."
"What perspective?"
"It occurred to me that such a goal-oriented nature as yours will clearly strive for an increase in indicators and efficiency in work," the Grand Admiral shared his thoughts. "Even at the expense of your health. But from the point of view of long-term efficiency, that is a bad strategy. The more you undermine your health now to be more efficient in the current moment, the sooner you will have to be replaced."
"Why?" Mara tensed.
"Because you will find yourself unable to perform your work," Thrawn explained. "Exhausting training, a lack of replenishment of beneficial elements and vitamins through meals… Soon your body will be processing its fat reserves. After which muscle breakdown and general atrophy will begin. You would have to claw your way out of that state for a very long time. And work will not wait for you to see fit to regain your form. Someone else will have to be found for the position of Hand. In fact, Maris Brood, after training, could do it. Her psychological profile indicates that she gains effectively physical pleasure from fulfilling the orders of someone who possesses power over her. A peculiar psychological disorder that is actually useful—we discovered this in the example of Leonia Tavira. She will not ask questions. And is ready to carry out any order as long as her master is satisfied with the result."
Mara cursed mentally.
No sooner had she blurted out about a non-existent diet without thinking than she was given a lecture on the theme: "Mara, dear, don't forget to eat, or you'll go on pension. By the way, there's a candidate. A horned psychopath with the tendencies of a maniac who gains pleasure from being commanded and praised for murders."
Jade actually shuddered at the thought of how Brood would look at Thrawn with her lying, lovestruck eyes when he ordered her to carry out sabotage in some corner of the galaxy…
Her hand reached for the candies automatically.
Mara, not taking her gaze from Thrawn's burning eyes, freed the treat from its wrapper and sent a chocolate-covered nut into her mouth.
Wholly.
But she hadn't thought about whether she would be able to open her mouth to bite into a candy a third the size of her own fist.
No, she could try, of course…
But in etiquette courses at the Imperial Palace, she had been taught that opening one's mouth wide before a sentient sitting opposite you was wrong.
Women would start to be jealous, and men—evaluate and consider options…
Oh, Force, what heresy was entering her head?!
"A good choice," Thrawn praised. "But I prefer sweets of a smaller size. They are inconvenient to chew."
"I'll dtholfo," Jade said with a full mouth. "Don'th bothther thith thmaller."
"Since it is convenient for you—dissolve it," the red-eyed one said calmly. "I will wait."
Complete lack of emotion.
Detachment.
Verbal skirmishes with a double, or even triple bottom.
Mara felt something break inside her.
The girl brought her hand to her face and spat the now-sticky candy into it.
Nearly stretched her lips.
Good thing her jaw hadn't locked.
"A handkerchief?"
She raised her eyes from the slimy nut and saw that Thrawn, like a magician, was pulling a white handkerchief from his left breast pocket with the index and middle fingers of his right hand.
Which he held out to her.
Jade didn't refuse.
She silently snatched the offered item of every gentleman's clothing and set about getting rid of the sticky structure of the chocolate that had melted in her mouth and on her hands.
Wisely, before doing so, she placed the source of her problems (through her own stupidity) on the table.
Hiding it from the Grand Admiral's gaze with her cup of caf.
"Since when do Grand Admirals carry not just code cylinders in their breast pocket, but handkerchiefs too?" she asked.
Thrawn had already made it clear that the conversation between them was more confidential than a simple briefing.
So maybe it was worth using his "policy" to the fullest and clarifying the points that interested her?
"Since people in my circle started fainting," Thrawn said.
Mara, cleaning the chocolate from her palm, froze.
"What do you mean?" she raised a surprised gaze to Thrawn.
"Keep rubbing," the Grand Admiral advised. "This brand of chocolate has pervasive properties in its coloring. If it dries or gets into the skin, chemical reagents will have to be used."
Avoiding the topic.
Mara brought her open palm to her face and silently, in the street manner, spat on it, looking into Thrawn's eyes.
After which she began to wipe off the chocolate with the handkerchief, using her own saliva.
"No one would use dye in chocolate if it didn't dissolve with saliva," she explained. "Clients wouldn't much like walking around with a brown palate."
"Sounds logical," Thrawn replied. "Thank you, you have resolved my dilemma regarding those candies."
Oh, the Emperor's black bones?!
A dilemma regarding a candy?
Was he trying to fight a war against it or something?
Cut off retreat with caf cups, attacked with butter knives, and blocked in the vase with the forces of smaller candies?!
"Do you even consume candies after you've studied them as an art object?" Mara sneered.
"In a way," Thrawn replied. "Actually, I was pondering whether candies created by Givins for Givins could be lethal to a human. The viscous chocolate they use for their candies, when in the acidic environment of the stomach, is able to provide a Givin with fat processing for a long time. Which allows them to provide their bodies with energy for a long period."
Mara felt all the blood drain from her face.
Givins are a race living in the south of the galaxy, in the Yag'Dhul system, near Thyferra.
They resemble skeletons in appearance, because their skeleton is their outer shell.
Aside from being specialists in the exact sciences—every one of them a genius by human standards—they have another feature of physiology distinct from humans.
They don't breathe.
At all.
So choking because a "nut in chocolate" got caught across the esophagus does not threaten them.
"Are you mocking me?" Mara clarified.
"Not at all, Hand," the Grand Admiral replied. "I am enjoying your company."
"And you gave me a candy from which my stomach could have exploded and tons of fat could have appeared in every place?" Jade inquired with durasteel in her voice.
"No one forced you to choose that candy as the priority and most desired," Thrawn explained. "You decided to do it. And now you do not like the consequences of having grabbed it, unwrapped it, and swallowed it with heat and passion. It is a good thing you didn't try to swallow it… So your claims against me are not particularly clear to me. Inviting you to drink caf with me, I did not force you to choose that specific candy."
Mara inhaled deeply and loudly.
"We aren't talking about the candy, are we?" she clarified, looking away.
"A suitable metaphor," the Grand Admiral confirmed. "It fits quite logically into the context of what is happening."
"I wonder, if nothing had happened, what else would you have chosen to convey your point of view so figuratively?" the girl asked, having cleared the remnants of chocolate from her lips.
"Interpreting simple phenomena in the required context is a very valuable ability," Thrawn replied vaguely.
"Of course," Mara folded her arms, looking away. "And what happens now?"
"Depends on you," the Grand Admiral stunned her.
"How am I supposed to take that?" the girl clarified, her whole body flinching. "Do I have to prove something to someone?"
Something happened that she clearly hadn't expected from Thrawn.
"Is there a need to prove anything to anyone?" he clarified, chuckling. "It seems to me that, aside from a few flaws, your service has given much to the Dominion. You found the Guardian, the Fellblade, killed ×1, took Ysanne Isard captive, recruited the best slicer in the galaxy to our side, contributed to the rout of the enemy's information activities, recruited a valuable agent of the Zann Consortium…"
"Should I start being proud of myself now?" Jade inquired.
"At the very least, you should already respect and value yourself," Thrawn said, leaning forward as if showing a desire to approach Jade herself or examine her closer. "Few have done more for the Dominion."
"Except you," Jade said.
"I am a variable from another equation," the Grand Admiral cut her off. "We are talking about you, Mara…"
So it was like that.
"Then let's talk about US, Grand Admiral?!" the girl leaned forward so her face was ten centimeters from the Chiss's face. "Since it's come to that?"
Thrawn didn't even move.
Understanding perfectly that if he leaned back now, it would look like an uncompromising defeat in a battle of gazes.
"'To that'?" the Grand Admiral clarified. "Could you express your thoughts more specifically?"
Mara's eyes flashed.
"Imagine the situation," she suggested. "I'm flying across the galaxy to buy my house, sleeping alone in a bed aboard another temporary ship that belonged to some slick operator from the Rebel Alliance, when the Force hits a gong and literally yells in my ear that something irreparable is about to happen and what links me with someone close to me will be lost forever. In effect—it warns me of the death of someone dear to me. I start to reflect, dig into myself, and after long attempts find out that, as it turns out, this 'close' person to me is not a person at all, but a Chiss! And at that—he's my boss! I try to reach him at breakneck speed, to warn him of danger, and my efforts are rewarded only with the fact that people are ready to hear me out when I arrive. Is that how important I and my work are to you, Grand Admiral Thrawn, that you cannot tear yourself away from contemplating your magnificent holograms of art objects for my sake?"
Thrawn looked at her intently for several moments.
"I see," he said, bringing a hand to his face and stroking his chin.
Mara didn't see pupils (even if Chiss have them), but felt that Thrawn was not looking at her.
"So either Baroness D'Asta's offer is much more dishonest than I understood, or you caught Bel Iblis's trap, organized with the help of Han Solo and his fleet…"
"The Baroness's offer?" Mara was surprised.
"Yes," Thrawn spoke detachedly, as if his thoughts were far away. "She proposed that I marry her…"
With a ring and a crash, the coffee table and the caf-pot, cups, and candy vase on it flipped onto their side.
"What the…?!" Mara jumped up, unable to hide the emotions tearing through her. "What does that little brat allow herself?! I hope you refused to take that alcoholic as a wife?! She's a clone, besides!"
"Careful, Jade," Thrawn said, looking up at her. But for some reason, the girl felt as if he were looking at her from an unattainable height. "It is unwise… Caf on the deck!"
"Unwise?!" the girl boiled. "I'm on the cutting edge of every attack for you and the Dominion every day! Even the Ice Queen's clone—even she has done more for you than that blonde little shrimp! And what has she imagined about herself?! Not a credit to her name, she holds her father's legacy only thanks to Dominion forces, and she's asking to be a wife?! She isn't even asking! She's imposing herself! Even girls from Twi'lek pleasure houses behave more modestly! What, am I worse than her?!"
"Jade!" for the first time since she had known Thrawn, he raised his voice at her so that it became terrifying. "Stop!"
But Mara, as they say, was off.
In a fit of pique, she swung her leg to kick the caf-pot and vent all her rage on it.
But, to her surprise, she realized her supporting leg was slipping.
"Spilled caf!" the girl realized, grouping so as not to sprawl across the entire floor in front of Thrawn.
In the next moment, she felt herself caught by two strong, firm arms that clearly did not belong to a Noghri.
And not just caught as a waiter in a fancy restaurant holds a tray.
Grabbed in a masterly way and pressed against a firm body in a white uniform.
With shining, star-yellow-spectrum aurodium counter-epaulettes on the shoulders.
"Have you calmed down?" Grand Admiral Thrawn inquired in a velvety tone, looking at her.
"A little," Mara squeaked, feeling her heart beating loudly. "Can… can you hold me like this for a while longer?"
"I can," the Grand Admiral answered without hesitation.
In the next second, Mara felt herself falling.
"But of course, I will not do so," Thrawn explained as she crashed to the floor, breaking one of the cups with her body.
Or finishing off an already broken one.
Jade jumped to her feet in a fraction of a second, looking at the Grand Admiral with a challenge.
"Oh, is that so?" she shouted into the man's face. "So some cloned little baroness is better than me? After everything I've done for you and the Dominion? You should have married Isard! There'd be more use in that than in some brainless alcoholic lady!"
"Jade…"
"Think I'll believe I'm indifferent to you?! That after all my failures you gave me chances because you value me as a personal agent? That it was exactly for that you flew behind Myrkr, scratching me out of Karrde's hands? Admit it to yourself, Thrawn, that we're drawn to each other!" she spat into the Grand Admiral's face. "You're just a heartless chunk of a tactical computer in a Chiss's shell that cannot or will not understand the obvious! There is chemistry between us! That link whose break so puzzled the Force itself!"
Thrawn was silent for several seconds.
During that time, Mara's heart went into her boots several times, then returned, packed its bags, and only then retreated to the lower part of the girl's legs again.
"Yes," Grand Admiral Thrawn said unexpectedly. "The chemistry between us is indeed present…"
"Aha!" Jade said triumphantly and in a completely girlish way. "I knew it! Knew it!"
"The situation must be discussed…" Thrawn continued. "Unfortunately, circumstances require my attention and participation elsewhere at the present moment."
"Any time!" Mara said with heat. "I am ready for a talk! Honest and open! It's time to admit everything to each other and stop pretending we're just boss and subordinate!"
"Are you free the day after tomorrow, after lunch?" Thrawn clarified in such a tone…
His most ordinary tone.
"Yes!" and to the Hutt with the assignment Thrawn had spoken of before the start of…
Everything that had happened in his apartments a few minutes ago.
"I am free the day after tomorrow, after lunch!" Mara repeated, looking at the Chiss with the triumph of a winner.
Well, finally they would be able to talk without reservations.
And, possibly, without witnesses.
"A pity; I will be busy at that time," Grand Admiral Thrawn said slowly.
Why you son of a b—
Mara was in front of Thrawn in one long stride.
In such proximity that even a palm could not have squeezed between them, let alone a Noghri looking on in bewilderment.
Rukh didn't seem to quite understand whether his participation was needed, and whether it was worth dragging the red-haired fury away from his boss.
Or master.
Or whatever he was to them…
"You are the most bitter, the most heartless, the most cold-blooded, the most ruthless creature in the galaxy, Thrawn!" Jade spat everything that had popped into her head.
Straight into Thrawn's face.
"Thank you," he replied indifferently. "The best compliments I have heard lately."
"Jerk!" Mara, beside herself with anger (at herself—first and foremost), struck the Grand Admiral's chest with her fist.
And felt her hand meet not just fabric and body, but a quite muscular, fit body…
Which was quite rare for Imperial commanders.
To check her sensations, she struck a second time.
Quite right.
Under his tunic, Thrawn was clearly hiding a body that was not flabby.
"Well," Mara spoke more quietly now, running her open hand over the sculpted muscles under the Grand Admiral's tunic. "At least I understand why the little baroness chose you specifically."
"I am certain she cares nothing for my human or other qualities," the Grand Admiral replied, just as quietly. "What is important to her is a political marriage and the guarantees of personal safety it provides."
"As if I'd believe her," Mara sighed, her hand reaching the officer's belt decorated with a buckle depicting the Dominion "gear." "Mark my words—she won't stop there."
"I am certain of it," Thrawn replied. "I fear Vice Admiral Pellaeon will have a difficult time in this marriage…"
It took Mara several seconds to connect the dots.
A slyly satisfied expression appeared on the red-haired fury's face.
She barely restrained herself from rubbing her hands together like a caricatured villain from a holofilm.
"A cunning way out of the situation," she said, looking into the Grand Admiral's eyes, faltering now and then and looking at his lips.
"Thank you," Thrawn replied.
"But it wasn't done for me, was it?" Mara swallowed a bitter lump in her throat, realizing the stupidity of the situation.
"I fear not, Lady Jade," Thrawn replied. "It is not in my plans to bind myself in marriage and be distracted from work by family idylls."
"I'd bet my lightsaber that after those words, Ysanne Isard started taking her clothes off," Jade whispered, her gaze fixed on the Grand Admiral's lips.
"I do not consider it necessary to discuss this with anyone," Thrawn cut her off. "My relationships with Isard—are not subject to disclosure or discussion. Especially since you are my subordinate. And this entire conversation has gone too far."
"And you don't need to tell me anything about her," Mara said barely audibly, flinching at memories of the tortures the real Isard had arranged for her after Endor. This doesn't apply to the clone… She didn't do it… But she possesses all of Isard's memories. "I hate hearing stories about someone else. Better I be separate. And she be separate."
"In that case…" Thrawn began.
Mara put on the most pitiful and charming gaze she was capable of.
But, unlike the approach used in the art of acting in the service of the Emperor, she was being open this time.
"This cannot be," the Grand Admiral uttered.
And hearing that husky prohibition, which the heated girl's imagination had practically brought to the category of a "stifled groan," was the best thing she had heard all evening.
"I know," she whispered, smiling. "But you won't hide from me now, Grand Admiral Thrawn. I know where your heart is."
"In my chest."
"Nope… In my hands."
In proof of those words, she placed her palm on the man's chest, feeling the quickened heartbeat.
She slowly scraped her claws over Thrawn's tunic, forming a fist, which she showed to the Grand Admiral.
After which, not hiding her satisfied mood, she unfastened the collar of her jumpsuit slightly and tucked Thrawn's imaginary heart inside.
The Supreme Commander-in-Chief looked at her with undisguised surprise.
Aha, yes, Thrawn, exactly.
You can calculate your opponents.
And even guess that with a yielding and spineless man beside her, Mara would relentlessly dominate.
But beside…
For some reason, I want to feel like a little, mischievous girl…
Psychologists say there is as much restlessness, vulnerability, coquetry, and tenderness in a woman as there is steely will, authority, charisma, and masculinity in her chosen one.
Psychologists are jerks, of course, but they say interesting things sometimes.
"So then," Mara slumped onto the sofa, crossed her legs, and placed her hands on top. "It seems, Grand Admiral, you wanted to give me some assignment? I am entirely and completely at your disposal."
Thrawn looked at her with suspicion and mistrust, as if he saw someone with bipolar disorder before him.
He even looked at Rukh to ensure he wasn't imagining it.
Judging by the fact that the Noghri's black bead-eyes had turned into things like black holes, the bodyguard was clearly in a state of shock.
"Yes," Thrawn spoke in a completely ordinary tone, taking an information assignment from his tunic's other breast pocket. "Your assignment is indicated here, Lady Jade. Action must be taken with maximum efficiency."
"As always, Grand Admiral," Mara, like a sand panther, stretched with a curve of her parts as she rose, then stopped playing the performance, realizing that where work began, there was no place for coquetry. "You can rely on me."
Stepping outside the doors of the Grand Admiral's apartments, Mara smiled victoriously, adjusting her hair in the reflection of the armor of one of the guardsmen standing at the doors, then winked at him.
Softly whistling a tune she'd heard on Tatooine, the girl wandered toward her ship.
As if he couldn't, yeah right…
Let's see how you sleep now after a performance like that, Grand Admiral Thrawn.
And whether you'll remember your darling Isard.
I'll have to buy Vice Admiral Pellaeon at least a bottle of Corellian whiskey in gratitude for turning the danger of marrying that baroness away from Thrawn.
Mara definitely wouldn't have been able to compete with her.
Of course, unless she asked for the Fellblade back and captured a couple of sectors for Thrawn…