After that, you have to send your fleet to Dantooine and let the vonskors hunt Jedi.Now you have to start making Nightsisters and a space station to protect the planet from resistance and rebels.In the next step, you have to destroy the space station and any spaceships after you corrupt the planet because they could resist then send your “hired muscle” to destroy all resistance.Capture planets and build a fleet of the most powerful.
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But the game was slowly coming to an end, the Afghan people ferociously resisting outside control. For Great Britain and the Soviet Union, Afghanistan was the playing field for their "Great Game," the power struggle to control Central Asia. People belonged to one country and then the other, nationalities changing as often as the direction of the wind. The borders between Afghanistan and India were drawn and redrawn from time to time, as if only penciled in. Each would take turns promising to protect the borders they had just invaded, like a pedophile who professes to love his victim. “Shekiba was born at the turn of the twentieth century, in an Afghanistan eyed lasciviously by Russia and Britain. A mad vision yet a virulent one: I, wading in the ooze, am no less infected with it than the faithful Colonel Joll as he tracks the enemies of Empire through the boundless desert, sword unsheathed to cut down barbarian after barbarian until at last he finds and slays the one whose destiny it should be (or if not his then his son's or unborn grandson's) to climb the bronze gateway to the Summer Palace and topple the globe surmounted by the tiger rampant that symbolizes eternal domination, while his comrades below cheer and fire their muskets in the air.” By night it feeds on images of disaster: the sack of cities, the rape of populations, pyramids of bones, acres of desolation. It is cunning and ruthless, it sends its bloodhounds everywhere.
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One thought alone preoccupies the submerged mind of Empire: how not to end, how not to die, how to prolong its era. Empire dooms itself to live in history and plot against history.
Empire has located its existence not in the smooth recurrent spinning time of the cycle of the seasons but in the jagged time of rise and fall, of beginning and end, of catastrophe. What has made it impossible for us to live in time like fish in the water, like birds in air, like children? It is the fault of Empire! Empire has created the time of history. And everyone, I know, in that walled town sinking now into darkness (I hear the two thin trumpet calls that announce the closing of the gates) is similarly preoccupied. Without exception they are dreams of ends: dreams not of how to live but of how to die. I am not unaware of what such daydreams signify, dreams of becoming an unthinking savage, of taking the cold road back to the capital, of groping my way out to the ruins in the desert, of returning to the confinement of my cell, of seeking out the barbarians and offering myself to them to use as they wish.
“Calf-deep in the soothing water I indulge myself in the wishful vision.