21 BBY: Republic Military Command
By the next morning, I had forced those thoughts to the back of my mind.
I had more pressing matters.
Now that my injuries had healed, I needed to stay vigilant. My last mission had been a wake-up call—I had been careless. I allowed myself to become too focused on the objective, failing to properly scout the mission zone. Tunnel vision is a dangerous thing; it lures you into a false sense of control while the battlefield shifts around you.
That mistake had nearly cost me everything.
I wouldn't make it again.
As I sifted through my latest reports, my receiver buzzed, flashing with a high-priority notification. I straightened, eyes narrowing at the name on the transmission.
Tarkin.
He was summoning me to his office—immediately.
For an investigation debrief.
Interesting. I had submitted my report some time ago, but the review process had taken longer than expected. That alone was concerning.
Whatever Tarkin had found, it was important enough that he wanted me to hear it firsthand.
When I arrived at Tarkin's office, he was already waiting for me outside. His usual stiff, authoritative posture carried an air of expectation.
"Lieutenant Commander Tanya Valken," he greeted. "Your last mission was admirable. The Separatists suffered a decisive blow that day, thanks to your actions. The Republic is in your debt."
"I'm honored, sir," I replied, offering a crisp salute.
"Come inside."
I followed him into the room, and as we took our seats, he pulled up the after-action report on his console. The screen illuminated with a detailed overview of the Kastallax V operation, including intelligence data, mission logs, and my team's recorded testimonies.
"According to your report, you infiltrated the base undetected upon arrival. Is that correct?"
"Yes, sir. I believe we maintained complete stealth upon entry."
Tarkin nodded, skimming through the text. "Your report details how you located the shield generator—a method that aligns with your squad's statements. However, while navigating the base, did you notice anything unusual?"
I hesitated, analyzing my memory for discrepancies. There was something in the way he asked the question. He was fishing for a specific answer. What was he getting at?
"There were fewer guards than I expected," I admitted. "But I assumed they were being pulled away to reinforce against the Republic's ground assault."
"That's a reasonable assumption," Tarkin conceded, tapping a command on his console. "But did you notice anything else?"
Now that he mentioned it, something had felt off during the infiltration. There was a level of security inconsistency I hadn't properly accounted for.
"Well, sir," I said carefully, piecing it together, "the base's security system was heavily encrypted. When Verik attempted to breach the network, he couldn't even make a dent in it. Republic decryption algorithms are usually more reliable. But we were losing time and had to rely on power distribution readings instead."
Tarkin leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable. "Your report states that your squad accessed the base's energy grid to determine the location of the shield generator. Once you arrived, you were ambushed. Does that sound correct?"
"Yes, sir." I exhaled. "I take full responsibility. A silent alarm must have been triggered. I should have scouted the room before sending my team inside."
"The fault is not entirely your own," Tarkin said. "Republic Intelligence also made a critical oversight. Durge's presence was not anticipated."
I stiffened slightly at the name. Durge. The towering, monstrous warrior who had nearly killed me.
"This Durge… Why wasn't he on Republic records?" "I've studied Separatist military assets, but his name never came up."
Tarkin's gaze darkened slightly. "Durge is not an official member of the Separatist chain of command. He is a mercenary—one with a long history of vendettas against the Jedi. His species, the Gen'Dai, are nearly immortal. He's been active for over a millennium, resurfacing only recently. His regenerative abilities make him exceedingly difficult to eliminate. Surviving an encounter with him was nothing short of a miracle."
Miracle? No. Luck, perhaps. Desperation, definitely.
That meant one thing: the Separatists didn't station Durge there by coincidence. His presence signified that Kastallax V held more value than just its logistical importance.
Tarkin continued, "Your report states that you led Durge away from your squad during the ambush, engaging him alone. He landed a direct hit, and from that point onward, your memory is… foggy?"
"Yes, sir." I kept my tone neutral. "I remember the pain, the blood loss… then fragments of the battle. My consciousness faded in and out."
Tarkin's fingers tapped idly against his desk before he spoke. "Your squad reported... something highly irregular about your condition following the hit. They claim that after taking that hit, you became possessed. A shockwave powerful enough to knock them down and suddenly strong enough to defeat Durge and the droids despite your injury. By the time they regained their footing and visibility on you, the commando droids had already been annihilated, and you collapsed."
I frowned. Of course, Tarkin wouldn't understand—but invoking the so-called "blessing" seems to come at a greater cost now. Not just physically, but in something far more insidious—my dignity. That being said, I had always believed myself to have leverage. After all, prayer is the currency of gods. If Being X were to strip away my will entirely, it would defeat the purpose of his existence. His cruelty lies not in brute force, but in his insufferable games—always indirect, always forcing me to bend, never outright breaking me.
But this… this was different.
The Being X I know doesn't work like this.
I barely had time to process my thoughts before Tarkin delivered his next statement.
"This investigation is classified. Everything we've discussed here today is strictly confidential." His gaze met mine, unwavering. "That being said, the Supreme Chancellor wishes to thank you personally."
My mind stalled for a moment.
"… The Supreme Chancellor?" I repeated, my voice betraying a hint of genuine shock.
"Yes. We are departing for his office in one hour."
Why?
Why would the most powerful man in the Republic take interest in a mission the general public doesn't even know about?
I knew Palpatine had direct authority over military operations, but this? This wasn't standard protocol. There was no political gain in rewarding an unknown officer. What was his aim?
I kept my expression impassive, but my mind raced. This wasn't a simple debrief.
21 BBY: The Senate Building
As we stepped off our transport, I gazed up at the Senate Rotunda. It loomed over us, its massive dome a symbol of the Republic's authority and endless bureaucracy. The structure was even more imposing in person than in the holovids—a monolithic testament to the Republic's reach. The polished marble facade gleamed under Coruscant's daylight, and towering pillars of durasteel and transparisteel stretched skyward like the fingers of an outstretched hand, grasping at the heavens. A grand monument to inefficiency if there ever was one.
The surrounding plaza was a fortress in all but name. Coruscant Guards stood at rigid attention, their red-accented armor glaringly bright against the sterile metallic hues of the Senate district. Turrets monitored from elevated platforms, their barrels sweeping with calculated precision. Security buzzed like an overcaffeinated intern during quarterly reviews—constant, agitated, and ready to crack under pressure. Patrols moved in tight formations, automated scanners flickered in the corners, and checkpoints clogged every major intersection like bureaucratic red tape at its finest.
They've really gone all out, I thought dryly. If they spent half this effort securing the Outer Rim, we might not be in a war to begin with.
We were stopped multiple times along the way, asked for identification so often I started wondering if the guards just enjoyed making people sweat. Guarding your assets is important, sure, but this level of paranoia felt a bit excessive, even for a wartime capital. It reeked of desperation—like a failing business tightening every policy in the handbook just to keep the lights on.
It was overkill. Even for a government at war, this was excessive. My thoughts lingered on the true reason for such paranoia.
"Is the Senate always this heavily guarded?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral.
Tarkin barely spared me a glance. "You're correct to notice. While you were in recovery, a group of bounty hunters infiltrated the Senate and took multiple senators hostage. I'm sure you can read the full report later."
That explained the tension in the air. I could feel the unease in the guards—the stiffness in their posture, the subtle way their hands hovered near their weapons. Even with the enhanced security, the fear hadn't faded.
"Thank you for enlightening my ignorance," I responded, my words carefully chosen.
Tarkin merely nodded as we approached the main entrance.
Two Senate Guards—clad in blue and black armor—stepped forward, their expressions unreadable behind their visors.
"Identification, please."
Tarkin handed over his clearance. A quick scan later, we were waved through.
"Proceed."
The massive doors hissed open, revealing the heart of the Galactic Republic.
The grandeur of the Senate Building was overwhelming. Towering archways lined the entrance, their intricate carvings depicting moments from the Republic's long history. Massive banners, each bearing the insignia of the Senate, hung from the ceilings, illuminated by soft golden lighting that bathed the halls in an almost holy reverence.
I felt out of place. The sheer amount of bureaucracy involved in keeping this place running is something I can't even imagine. To be able to govern trillions of beings across a galaxy at this scale is truly a feat to behold. It's admirable, but in a ship this big, there are bound to be cracks.
The polished floors gleamed, reflecting the movement of dignitaries and officials who bustled through the corridors, their robes swishing as they engaged in quiet, urgent discussions. Senate aides rushed between offices, datapads in hand, while protocol droids chattered softly, navigating their way through the sea of political maneuvering.
The Republic had spared no expense in making this place a temple of power.
Even amidst the bureaucratic pageantry, I could feel the underlying tension. The war had taken its toll—every senator, every official carried the weight of a galaxy teetering on the edge of collapse.
Tarkin moved through the halls with purposeful strides, navigating the labyrinthine corridors with ease. I kept pace, taking in every detail. Mental mapping was second nature to me, and if I ever found myself back in the Senate under… less ideal circumstances, I wanted to know its layout.
Eventually, we arrived at a private elevator, its entrance flanked by two Royal Guards. Their crimson robes flowed over their pristine armor, their pikes held firmly in hand. These weren't standard Senate Guards—they were Palpatine's personal enforcers.
Their silent acknowledgment of our arrival was proof enough that we were expected. Without a word, they stepped into the elevator behind us, their presence a silent reminder of the power I was about to stand before.
As the doors sealed shut, the soft hum of the elevator filled the space.
The silence was almost suffocating.
I exhaled slowly, keeping my hands at my sides, my posture composed. This was it.
I needed to make an impression.
This was a rare opportunity—perhaps my only chance to prove my worth to the Supreme Chancellor himself. A single misstep, one wrong answer, and I could lose the favor of the most powerful man in the Republic.
My mind ran through every possible scenario, every question I might be asked. I couldn't afford to be caught off guard. I straightened my uniform and lifted my chin.
The soft chime of the elevator signaled our arrival.
The Royal Guards led the way, their flowing crimson robes parting to reveal the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic engaged in a quiet conversation with his aide.
This was my first time seeing Palpatine in person. I had read reports, seen holovids, and heard the rhetoric—the stalwart leader of the Republic, the unyielding champion of democracy. Yet, none of those prepared me for the presence he exuded in the flesh.
He wasn't physically imposing, nor did he radiate the bombastic arrogance of a typical politician. Instead, there was something calculated about him—his posture, his expression, his very demeanor seemed carefully measured. His pale skin contrasted sharply against the deep crimson of his office's decor, his aged features betraying no sign of weakness, only wisdom. His eyes, though warm in expression, held an unsettling depth—like they could see through every layer of pretense and thought.
As we approached, he ended his conversation with a simple wave of dismissal, turning his attention toward Tarkin.
"My Chancellor," Tarkin said, offering a slight bow, his voice as crisp as ever. "It is, as always, a pleasure to see you. Allow me to introduce Tanya Valken."
I stepped forward and extended my hand.
"It's an honor to meet you, sir."
Palpatine took my hand, his grip gentle yet deliberate, as if measuring something intangible. "I have heard much about you, young Valken."
He offered a small, knowing smile. "Tarkin has spoken highly of your tactical acumen and your commitment to the Republic. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed."
"Please," he gestured toward a chair, "sit."
There was something about the way he spoke—deliberate, thoughtful, as if every word was placed with precision.
With a subtle motion, he dismissed Tarkin and the guards, leaving just the two of us in the grand office.
The room fell into a calculated silence, save for the distant hum of Coruscant's traffic far below.
I took my seat across from him, sitting straight, my posture precise. This was a test, an assessment. I needed to ensure I left a strong first impression.
Palpatine steepled his fingers and regarded me with genuine interest—or at least, the illusion of it.
"You are quite the remarkable young officer," he said. "Rising through the ranks so swiftly, demonstrating a strategic mind well beyond your years… That is no small feat."
I nodded slightly. "I simply seek to serve the Republic to the best of my ability, sir."
A soft chuckle. "How very noble. If only such dedication were more common among our organization."
He leaned forward, lowering his voice just slightly.
"You must see it by now—the inefficiencies that plague our war effort. The indecision, the constant bureaucratic gridlock, the hesitation to do what is necessary."
I maintained my neutral expression, but inwardly, my thoughts churned. He was speaking exactly to my frustrations.
"The Jedi…" he continued, his tone shifting into something just a touch more contemplative, "they were never meant to lead armies. They were once peacekeepers, diplomats. Idealists. But war is not a matter of idealism, is it?"
I kept my voice even. "No, sir. War is about execution, not philosophy."
His smile deepened ever so slightly.
"Precisely." He exhaled, as if burdened by some great weight. "And yet, the Jedi continue to stand at the helm of this war, bound by their outdated code, hesitant to take the necessary steps to secure victory."
I folded my hands on my lap. "I have… noticed their reluctance to necessity."
"Indeed," he said. "Even now, while our soldiers bleed and die on the front lines, they insist upon flawed principles. They refuse to see that mercy without strength is nothing but weakness."
I felt the weight of his words settle in the air.
"They denied your strategic maneuver, did they not?"
A flicker of irritation flashed in my mind. I had never mentioned that—at least not to him directly. But of course, he would know.
"Yes," I admitted. "They deemed it… too aggressive and too risky."
He scoffed, his expression shifting into something that resembled disappointment—not at me, but at them.
"A shortsighted decision," he mused. "And yet, you took it upon yourself to submit your plan to the military instead. A bold move. I must commend such initiative."
He let those words linger, studying my reaction.
I met his gaze, keeping my expression measured. "I simply did what was necessary, sir."
His eyes—those piercing, unreadable eyes—lingered on me for just a moment longer than comfortable.
Then he smiled. "That is precisely why you are here, Tanya."
The way he said my name was unsettling. Not Commander Valken, not Lieutenant Commander—just Tanya.
"You have a bright future ahead of you," he said. "The Republic needs minds like yours—unclouded by dogma, unafraid to take decisive action. The Jedi shunned you, failing to recognize your talents. I don't see it that way."
I nodded, though I remained wary. "I intend to prove my value, sir."
"Oh," he chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "You already have."
A moment of silence passed before he spoke again, glancing at my now prosthetic arm with an air of familiarity this time.
"I deplore your last mission. It cost you dearly. The Republic owes you its gratitude. It pains me to see someone so young fighting in a war entangled in politics."
People who can admit to their failures and learn from them are invaluable. Hiring someone who can't own up to their mistakes will inevitably bring the company down. I won't let myself look like a fool.
"The fault is my own. I won't allow myself to be so reckless next time."
He clasped his hands tightly, a gravity settling in his voice that pierced the air with intensity.
"There will come a time, Tanya, when the Republic will need leaders who understand what must be done. When that time comes, I trust you will be ready."
"I will be, sir."
He studied me for a moment more, then finally, he stood. I followed suit.
"You have served the Republic well, Tanya. And I expect great things from you in the future."
"I won't disappoint you, Chancellor."
His smile was cryptic. "Of that, I have no doubt."
We began walking slowly toward the elevator from which we had arrived.
"You have my support, Tanya," Palpatine said, his voice smooth and assured. "If there is any way I can assist you, please do not hesitate to contact me. I will have Tarkin provide you with my personal line."
His tone was warm, almost fatherly, as if this were a gesture of genuine goodwill rather than the calculated move I knew it to be.
"You're too kind, sir," I replied with measured gratitude, inclining my head slightly. "I appreciate your support."
He extended his hand, and I took it, ensuring my grip was firm but respectful. The handshake lingered just a second longer than necessary, a silent exchange of understanding.
Behind me, the elevator dinged softly, signaling its arrival. I stepped inside and turned back to face him. He gave a slow, deliberate wave, his usual cryptic smile still plastered on his face.
As the doors slid shut, sealing me away from the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, I exhaled quietly, controlling my thoughts.
He knew even more about me than I had originally thought. Has my career truly made that much of an impression all the way to the highest seat of power? Or had he been watching me for far longer than I realized?
Either way, it hardly mattered. The meeting had gone well. That was what mattered. I had successfully navigated a conversation with the most powerful man in the Republic and, in doing so, secured something invaluable—his favor.
With this connection, my position in the military was further cemented. I had already established myself as an invaluable asset; now, with the Chancellor's backing, my foothold was undeniable.
A small weight lifted from my chest. For the first time in a while, I felt less uncertain about my future.
But then… his words lingered in my mind.
"There will come a time, Tanya, when the Republic will need leaders who understand what must be done. When that time comes, I trust you will be ready."
I frowned slightly. Was he alluding to something greater? A political shift? A restructuring of power? There's something I couldn't yet see?
I could only speculate for now. Time would reveal the larger picture.
For now, my priority was clear: win this war.
The Separatists were gaining ground, and that could not be allowed to continue. The longer this war dragged on, the worse the Republic's position would become. It was imperative that we ended it swiftly and decisively.
Tarkin and I rode in silence as our speeder weaved through the endless congestion of Corusant's skylanes. The sheer scale of the city was staggering—layers upon layers of traffic stretching as far as the eye could see, a never-ending river of speeders and transports. Navigating through this chaos was an art in itself. Frankly, I couldn't imagine anything worse than having to personally deal with this mess every day.
"Congratulations on your promotion, Colonel Valken," Tarkin said, his voice measured. "The Republic lacks competent officers such as yourself. As you know, the Jedi have attempted to fill these roles—to varying degrees of success. But it's hard to find a Jedi who truly knows how to lead troops. Most just waste our resources."
Colonel?
The word barely registered at first, as if my brain refused to process it.
A promotion was expected at some point, but Colonel? That wasn't just a small step up the chain—that was a leap. A rank that came with real authority. It wasn't just a matter of giving orders anymore; Colonels handled logistics, strategic planning, coordination across multiple units. They weren't just officers—they were decision-makers.
The weight of that responsibility settled over me like an ill-fitted cloak.
I had assumed I would be eased into higher command—given time to adjust, to build experience before such burdens were thrust upon me. But apparently, the Republic's desperation for competent leadership meant skipping a few steps.
Perhaps my lack of attachment to conventional military hierarchy made me more useful. Easier to mold into whatever role the Republic needed me to fill.
I quickly forced my thoughts into order. It doesn't matter. Whatever doubts I had, I wasn't about to voice them in front of Tarkin.
I nodded, keeping my expression neutral. "Thank you, sir. I believe it's only a matter of time before the Separatists adapt to the Jedi across the board. They already have specialists trained to eliminate them. Developing a droid specifically designed to counter Jedi commanders can't be far off."
Tarkin gave an approving nod. "Your observation is valid. The Jedi are too rigid to adapt, and their outdated philosophy will only hinder them in this war. That's why the Chancellor has placed his trust in you."
His piercing gaze met mine as he continued. "You are being granted command of a newly assembled Task Force. Your objective will be to prevent the Separatists from gaining a decisive advantage over the Republic. This operation, however, is classified."
I stiffened, keeping my posture rigid, but my mind reeled. A Task Force? Command?
This had to be a mistake. A few months ago, I was just another officer buried in analytical work, content with operating from the rear. I had only just broken out of the office and nearly gotten myself killed. Now, I was suddenly expected to oversee an entire fleet? This wasn't just a simple reassignment—this was a complete shift in my career trajectory.
Tarkin's words rang in my ears, each syllable settling like a weight on my shoulders. Promotions happened fast in wartime, but this? This wasn't just fast—this was being launched headfirst into the deep end.
And why me?
I had done well—exceptionally well, even—but that was in isolated operations, where my input was strategic, where I could control the conditions. This was entirely different. Managing a Task Force meant logistics, personnel, fleet coordination—it was the kind of assignment that seasoned officers spent decades working toward. And Tarkin was handing it to me as if it were the most natural thing in the galaxy.
There had to be some mistake. Some oversight.
Tarkin, however, was already a step ahead of me. "The Supreme Chancellor himself has taken an interest in your career, Colonel," he continued, his tone measured, unreadable. "He believes you possess the necessary qualities to lead this operation."
Palpatine? The Supreme Chancellor himself?
I had suspected my recent successes were gaining me recognition, but this… This was beyond anything I could have anticipated.
A cold realization settled over me. This isn't a reward. It's a test.
Palpatine's trust was a double-edged sword. The kind of faith that could propel one to power—or become a noose around their neck if they failed to meet expectations.
I forced my expression to remain neutral, swallowing the initial surge of frustration. I needed to understand before I reacted.
"Sir," I began carefully, choosing my words with precision, "I appreciate the confidence, but with all due respect, there must be others more qualified for this command. Surely there are officers with more battlefield experience—"
Tarkin cut me off with a sharp look. "This is not a matter of seniority, Colonel. It is a matter of capability. You have demonstrated effectiveness, ingenuity, and adaptability. That is what the Chancellor values."
His tone left no room for argument, but I still felt the urge to push back, to demand why this responsibility had been placed on me. But then, as I stared at the man in front of me, I understood why.
This wasn't a request. This wasn't a decision I had a say in. The choice had already been made.
Like it or not, this was happening.
I exhaled slowly, steeling my resolve. If I was being given command, then I would have to reluctantly see it through.
I arched a brow slightly. "What makes it so sensitive, sir?"
"Because of the nature of our operations, they will be kept off the record. The Jedi Council cannot be trusted with this information," Tarkin said bluntly. "They would never be able to do what must be done. The Senate would panic at this revelation. For now, the Jedi are the heroes on the warfront in the public's eye."
I gave a curt nod. "Understood, sir."
"Good. Choose your forces wisely, Valken," he said, his voice sharp with finality. "The Republic is counting on you."
I raised my hand in a crisp salute. "Sir, you can count on me."
"Failure is not an option," Tarkin stated before looking away.
I sat back in my seat. Of course, another impossible task.
21 BBY: Tanya Valken's Office
This week has been exhausting. I had been given a month to assemble my forces. Building a unit from the ground up was no easy task, especially when the work we did wouldn't even be recognized. Our operations were to be strictly top secret—buried in the shadows, unseen and unsung. I had even been given a base on Anaxes, a Republic observation post. Rectification construction had begun immediately, and I would soon move my operation there.
Public perception of the Jedi was still annoyingly favorable in the Core Worlds. Republic propaganda saw to that, plastering holos with heroic narratives of Jedi-led victories. The Second Battle of Geonosis, for example, was lauded as a resounding success under decisive Jedi leadership. But the reports I read?
A "victory" at staggering cost.
I shook my head. They don't understand the strain they put on our logistics. Keeping up with their insatiable attrition rate was a nightmare. And the clones? Forced to follow Jedi orders with no regard for survival or efficiency. Reckless charges, unnecessary engagements—it's a miracle any of them survive at all.
My task force had to be different.
I didn't have the luxury of throwing bodies at a problem until it was solved. Every loss we took had to be meaningful. On the bright side, compared to Germania, at least the soldiers I would be given had proper training and equipment.
That being said…
I couldn't afford to have any war fanatics in my ranks.
That reminded me—the Shadows still owed me a favor. Rho wouldn't mind if I pulled them from him, would he? In fact, I was sure the 509th Legion would be grateful to see them go.
I had read some of the reports. Apparently, the Shadows had a habit of being… difficult. Disobedient, even. It didn't make much sense to me—I thought they followed my orders just fine back on Kastallax V. Perhaps they simply had an issue with inept leadership.
I activated my terminal and signaled my receiver. The cold synthetic voice of a protocol droid answered.
"Get me in contact with the 509th Command Center. The Shadows still owe me."
"Yes, ma'am," the droid responded promptly.
I leaned back in my chair, exhaling slowly. If I played this right, my task force would come together smoothly.
As I entertained these thoughts, a whisper—soft, barely perceptible—drifted through the air.
I stiffened.
It was faint at first, like an echo just beyond the edge of my perception. The sound was coming from my desk.
I narrowed my eyes, slowly opening the drawer where I kept my lightsaber.
The whisper grew louder.
It wasn't an external sound.
It was inside my head.
For a moment, a chill ran down my spine; this was unusual, but I pushed it down, forcing myself to remain calm. I've faced worse.
I stared at the lightsaber. The whispers deepened into something more distinct. A voice—twisted and mocking—filled the silence.
"Lies… He lies."
Being X. This has to be him. I couldn't help but chuckle at his misfortune. Can't even stop spacetime anymore to patronize me. The blade began to move on its own, attracted to my hand like a magnet.
21 BBY: Serenno
An older man sat at the head of a vast chamber, a throne-like chair supporting his hunched form. The dim green light cast eerie shadows across his face, accentuating the deep lines of age and calculation. Behind him, a towering window framed the vastness of his power, its intricate durasteel latticework forming the unmistakable crest of House Serenno.
Lining the chamber walls stood rows of battle droids, their featureless photoreceptors gleaming in the half-light. Their rigid forms cast long, angular shadows across the polished floors. Silent sentinels, unmoving yet ever-watchful.
A sudden blinking light at the desk broke the stillness. The receiver pulsed rhythmically, signaling an incoming transmission. With a flick of a switch, the holographic form of Durge flickered into existence. His massive frame, clad in gleaming armor, loomed within the projection, his very presence radiating menace.
The older man steepled his fingers. "Durge, report."
The Gen'Dai's voice rumbled through the receiver, tinged with barely contained frustration. "My injuries are healed, sir. I won't allow another Jedi to beat me again."
The older man's brow furrowed. "And yet, here we stand. A vital Separatist logistic base lost. Supply lines disrupted. This failure has cost us, Durge."
Durge clenched his fists. "The Republic fights like cowards. They knew they couldn't win in a direct engagement, so they sent in infiltrators. A child." His voice seethed with contempt. "A Jedi brat with a lightsaber and a death wish."
The older man's lips curled slightly. "I've read the report. This Jedi, Tanya Valken… off to war so young, even among the Jedi." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "I expect better from you, Durge. You let a Jedi child best you?"
Durge bristled at the accusation, his gauntleted hand gripping the hilt of his sheathed vibroblade. "It won't happen again. If the opportunity ever arises, Allow me to kill that Jedi myself."
A pause. Then, the older man nodded. "Perhaps."
The response was vague—deliberately so. "For now, your skills are required elsewhere. Intelligence suggests the Republic is mobilizing for a major offensive. We need to ensure their advance is... stunted."
Durge crossed his arms. "So another slaughter, then?" A low chuckle escaped his helmet. "Fine. I'll carve through their ranks until there's nothing left."
"See that you do."
With that, the transmission cut off. The holographic display dimmed, and the chamber plunged into silence once more. The older man exhaled slowly, his gaze turning toward the darkened expanse of the green tinted window.
Then, he stepped back from his desk, descending onto one knee. The light of the holo-display flickered once more, illuminating the jagged silhouette of another figure—a shadowed form obscured by a deep hood.
"My lord," the older man intoned, his voice reverent. "The project is safe."
The figure did not respond immediately. But when it did, the words dripped with quiet, insidious certainty.
"Good."