Nine years, nine months, and eighteen days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or forty-four years, nine months, and eighteen days since the Great Resynchronization.
(Five months and three days since the arrival).
Skywalker sat in a meditative pose when the cell door swung open, revealing a figure in the doorway.
— Open your eyes, farmboy, — Mara snapped her fingers to draw his attention. — And don't bother pretending to be a Jedi — you have no access to the Force. Get up — you're being moved to new quarters.
The Jedi opened his eyes.
His gaze remained clear and steady.
If the Tatooiner had been using the Force, he would have looked different.
But the ysalamiri cages reliably stripped him of his favorite toy.
— Staring at me won't change your fate, — Mara smirked.
— I know you, — the Jedi declared.
— Oh, really? — Jade arched an eyebrow.
— You were at Jabba's palace when I was rescuing Han with my friends, — the prisoner stated, rising from the floor and rubbing his clearly stiff limbs.
— And you said his name as if the entire galaxy and every sentient you meet should know exactly which of the millions of Hans in the galaxy you're talking about, — Jade remarked sarcastically.
Turning her head toward the guards, she nodded:
— He's clearly concussed, — she said. — Get him out of the cell.
— Thank you for the offer — I'll manage, — Skywalker declared, taking a few steps toward the exit. — I think you should step aside to avoid an awkward situation.
— Says the Jedi who coldly killed two Jedi in the Jedi Library, — the red-haired vixen sneered, but she cleared the way.
A silent guard in black-and-blue armor wordlessly clamped Luke's hands in heavy metal cuffs.
His left arm began to tingle from mild electric shocks.
His right arm, however, didn't care — the prosthesis hadn't been repaired. On the contrary, its power cell had been removed, turning the implant into a useless piece of metal. Even the stub of a lightsaber had been taken out.
The Jedi chose not to respond to the provocative remark.
— Has Thrawn decided to get rid of me? — he asked calmly, continuing down the ship's empty corridor.
— Are you in such a hurry to die for a righteous cause? — Jade continued her taunts.
— A Jedi's duty is to be prepared for self-sacrifice, — Luke noted.
— Is that so? — Mara didn't hold back. — Then why doesn't your whole lot just collectively off yourselves? I suspect that would solve a lot of the galaxy's current problems. And future ones too.
— Suicide is not the answer, — Luke remarked.
— Sounds like an excuse for your own cowardice, — Jade scoffed.
They walked in silence for a few minutes before the Jedi broke the quiet again:
— I'd like to speak with Grand Admiral Thrawn.
— Oh, really? — Mara batted her eyes, feigning a "silly alley girl" expression. — I get that audacity is your second nature, but did your early-Jedi brain consider that not every sentient in the galaxy makes a habit of obeying Republic dimwits? Especially after those same dimwits had the gall to try stealing what doesn't belong to them. And killed two researchers who, by the way, were serving the Dominion's people.
— You intend to use Jedi knowledge for evil, — Luke stated firmly, looking into the girl's eyes. — I cannot allow that.
— You'd better watch your words, kid, — Mara grimaced. — Last time you got involved with that kind of attitude where you weren't needed, you not only killed people who could barely harm you, but you got your just deserts for it. And now you've decided to say something particularly offensive in the presence of guards who, at the slightest hint of trouble for the Grand Admiral, could tear you to shreds, burn you in an engine exhaust, and pack your few remains into a box to send to your dear sister with a detailed account of your latest "achievements."
Luke held her mocking, probing gaze.
— Were they your friends? — the Jedi asked quietly.
— Oh, has your conscience finally kicked in? — Mara feigned pity. Then her features turned indifferent. — No. If they were, you'd be facing a lightsaber across your throat instead of a transfer to another cell. Those two were Ahsoka's friends. But what's it to you? Be glad I'm the one escorting you, not her. In that case, you might not have made it out of the cell alive.
— I've thought a lot about what happened and concluded that I may have acted wrongly, — Luke declared.
— Sounds like you blew up someone's house with the residents inside and then lowered your gaze to apologize, — the red-haired vixen grimaced, nodding toward a corridor branch they were heading down. — Or did you apologize to the families of those killed on the Death Star too?
— You know about that part of my past too?
— Only the deaf wouldn't have heard, — Jade noted. — Your propaganda still trumpets it as some great achievement. Sometimes, when I feel nauseous, I tune into your government holonet channels — and voilà, it's done without any mess like sticking fingers down my throat.
— Why do you do this? — Luke asked.
— What exactly?
— Your speech is clearly trying to throw me off balance and disrupt my calm, — Skywalker observed. — Why?
— Well, about six months ago, I'd have said I'm reflexively compensating with jabs for the past you took from me, — the girl declared. — Now, I'm just keeping the conversation going. By the way, how do you feel about sand?
— What does that have to do with our current discussion? — Luke couldn't hide his surprise.
— Your dad didn't like it, — Jade stated.
— You obviously knew him well, — Luke showed clear interest in her words.
— We crossed paths, — Mara replied vaguely.
— In service to the Emperor?
— Where'd you get that idea?
— It's unlikely my father, serving Palpatine, made friends outside his primary duties, — Luke answered, somewhat embarrassed.
— Yeah, he wasn't exactly the life of the party, — Jade smirked.
— I'd be grateful if you could tell me more about him, — the Jedi requested. — Much of his past is a mystery to me.
— Oh, you'd be better off talking to Ahsoka — she knew him before he donned that stylish black suit, — Jade said. — Back then, he was probably more talkative.
— Probably, — Skywalker agreed. — But we're talking now, aren't we?
— Fair point, — Jade nodded. — I wouldn't say Darth Vader was absolute evil in the traditional sense, but you couldn't call him a pure soul either.
— I understand. He did a lot of bad things while serving the Emperor and following his orders.
— Orders can be carried out in different ways, — Jade said sharply. — Darth Vader took the shortest path — straight through. Usually, those who stood in his way didn't survive.
— There was good in him, — the Jedi insisted stubbornly. — He saved me from turning to the Dark Side when the Emperor tried to sway me aboard the second Death Star.
— I'd say that's new information, but it's not, — Mara said, smirking. — To send Palpatine plummeting down a reactor shaft, you'd need a certain reserve of heroism and durasteel will.
Luke stopped, looking at her in surprise.
But he resumed walking after a firm prod in the back from the guard trailing them.
— Surprised? — Mara asked.
— You're well-informed, — Luke confirmed. — But I don't recall seeing you during the battle.
— I wasn't there, — Jade agreed. — And, I'll admit, for a few years, I thought you and your dad were the ones who killed the Emperor. That thought practically drilled holes in my brain.
— But something changed, didn't it?
— Yes, — the girl replied simply. — Now I don't care.
— Because you serve Thrawn, and he's not a follower of Palpatine, — the Jedi was clearly trying to draw her out. — I've heard about the Emperor's personal agents. Were you one of them?
— What difference does it make now? — Jade shrugged.
— You switched sides, — Luke noted. — That makes you similar to my father's actions…
— I doubt you'll spend the rest of your life remembering the sound of my breathing, — Mara smirked. — But your father had a rather distinctive auditory signature.
— You're angry, — Luke stated. — As if I'm to blame for what my father did in the past.
— Oh, spare me the lecture on "the sins of the fathers and the responsibility of their children," — Mara said in a mock-pleading tone. — I judge you for who you are, Skywalker.
— And who am I, in your opinion? — Luke inquired.
— A self-proclaimed Jedi who learned a few tricks from an old textbook and now fancies himself the conscience of the galaxy, determined to impose peace.
— I had teachers, — Skywalker declared. — Besides, there's great wisdom in books.
— Judging by how you speak of them in the past tense, your mentors don't live long, — Jade smirked. — And a Jedi self-study guide… Well, if you've got one, good for you.
— If I had the holocron you took from Ossus, my understanding of the Force and the Jedi's purpose would be deeper.
— If Darth Vader hadn't been roasted on Mustafar, you might have had more blood relatives, — Mara countered.
Luke chose to ignore the barb.
— By the way, did you know your first teacher, Obi-Wan Kenobi, was the one who carved up your dad? — Mara asked. — He left him to cook on Mustafar's slag.
— How do you know that? — Luke asked.
Mara looked at him in disbelief.
— Do you even know that your R2-D2 served your father in the past?
Luke fell silent, visibly embarrassed.
— Wow, — Mara drawled. — If you have a source of your family's archival data right at your fingertips and still haven't learned every detail, I pity the Jedi you plan to train.
— How is that even relevant? — Skywalker asked.
— You miss the obvious, — Jade explained. — And yet you're planning to teach others. Instead of thinking things through and weighing your options, you rush headlong into action. Just like your dad.
— Do you enjoy comparing me to my father? — Luke snapped, raising his voice.
— In short, I don't even see a difference between you two, — Mara said, sizing up the young man with an appraising look. — Except you're smaller. Your dad's suit definitely wouldn't fit you. You're even too short for a stormtrooper.
Unexpectedly, Skywalker smiled.
— Did I say something funny? — Jade asked.
— When I freed my sister from her cell on the Death Star, she said something similar, — the Jedi explained.
— So, in ten years, you haven't even grown, — Mara sighed. — Wow, the Jedi are getting smaller. Look at Ahsoka, for example. She left the Order as a kid, but even back then, from what I've heard, she caused quite a stir. And on Ossus, she practically wiped the floor with you and redecorated the place. Even though you're supposedly the heir of Darth Vader and should be stronger than her. At least in the Force, you're definitely more powerful.
— Perhaps, — the Jedi dodged the uncomfortable comparison. — I wouldn't mind learning from her.
— Sure, I'll pass that along, — Mara smirked. — A Skywalker cycle around Ahsoka. Your dad destroyed Jedi she knew and grew up with, and you're following in his footsteps… Are you sure you'd walk away from her first training session in one piece? They say children tend to repeat their parents' fates, — the red-haired girl pointed at his prosthetic right hand. — Judging by the absence of that limb, you're starting out just like he did.
— That was a test I failed, — Luke admitted.
— And what was it about? — Mara asked curiously.
— I had a vision that my friends were in danger, — the young Jedi recounted willingly. — I interrupted my training with Jedi Grand Master Yoda to go save them. Yoda warned me that I was seeing only a possible future and that my actions could make things worse. But I didn't believe him, thinking I knew better. In Cloud City on Bespin, I faced Darth Vader. He's the one who took my hand. Then he revealed he was my father and offered to overthrow the Emperor to rule the galaxy together. As father and son.
— In that exact order? — Mara clarified.
— Yes, why?
— Quite the family dynamic, — Jade remarked caustically. — First, your dad tortures your sister, then maims his son and suggests a coup. If there's any logic in that, it's escaping me.
— In my father's defense, he was under the sway of the Dark Side then, — Luke said. — He couldn't control himself…
— Or didn't want to, — Jade countered. — Take it from me, Jedi. The Dark Side doesn't make us do terrible things. If you're not in control of yourself, you become little more than a beast reveling in power. I've used the Dark Side too, but I didn't do what your father did. Sure, I had fewer opportunities back then, but even now, I don't. So, your attempts to justify your father's atrocities are just childish babble. Darth Vader was a maniac. Slightly less deranged than Palpatine, occasionally rational, but a maniac.
— It's odd to hear such words from a former lackey of Palpatine, — Luke admitted.
— And isn't it odd that a farmboy, sitting at the controls of an X-wing for the first time, blows up a battle station designed by the galaxy's best minds? — Mara asked.
— Our conversation is turning into mutual accusations and nitpicking, — Luke sighed.
He swayed, realizing the ship had just exited hyperspace.
— I'd be grateful if you'd inform the Grand Admiral of my desire to meet with him, — Luke said.
— Then state the purpose of the meeting, — Mara suggested. — Thrawn's a busy sentient with a lot on his plate. And from what I've seen, talking to you is a waste of time. You all think we're just sweet-talking you.
— To be fair, your former boss did exactly that, — Luke declared. — Hence the distrust.
— Of course, of course, — Mara smiled. — It's clear you know nothing about military strategy.
— You're insufferable, — Luke sighed. — Just take me to my new cell and tell the Grand Admiral I intend to discuss the future with him. I'd like to explain that what happened on Ossus was an accident. I had a vision through the Force, and I misinterpreted it… Possibly.
Mara stopped at the entrance to a hangar and looked directly into the Jedi's eyes.
— Don't you think you get into too many messes when you have Force visions and react to them poorly? — she asked, not hiding her disdain.
— We all make mistakes, — Luke stated. — That's what makes us sentient. Can you interpret Force visions correctly?
— No, — Mara admitted. — But I don't get those Jedi hallucinations either.
— Then how do you… — Luke faltered. — How do you manage to win battles or avoid dangers?
The girl shrugged:
— I use my brain, — she said. — Try it sometime, don't be afraid. You might like it.
Luke had no response — the guards, having lost any shred of respect for the young Jedi, dragged him onto a transport shuttle.
***
An interesting fact.
— No traces of toxic substances detected, Grand Admiral, — the medical droid reported, its unblinking yellow optical sensors fixed on me.
— Was the analysis conducted across all known databases? — I asked.
— Including historical and archaeological databases, as well as the special records of the Ubiqtorate and Imperial Intelligence, — the artificial doctor confirmed. — Your body shows no signs of poisoning. Nor are there any substances deviating from baseline data. Your organism is the same as it was six months ago.
— Except for age-related changes? — I clarified.
— Precisely, sir.
Which means, for some reason, the fate of Prince-Admiral Krennel has passed me by.
Quite… unusual.
Because the situation mirrors exactly what happened with the late ruler of the Ciutric Hegemony: seizing a state, bolstering its defenses — and sudden death after a kiss.
But time passes, and there's no reaction…
I buttoned my tunic, leaving the medical bay of the Chimaera.
Rukh, whose eyes had widened slightly since witnessing the events at the "Altered Carbon" base, followed me silently.
The flagship was returning to Ciutric IV to complete minor repairs — a slot had just opened up for us at the orbital repair yard.
And I was deep in thought…
Why was a base, where specialists work to transfer minds from one body to another, named that way?
Some time ago, I had the chance to read the novel of the same name by the British science fiction writer Richard Morgan in its original language. Later, when Broken Angels and Woken Furies came out, I could barely tear myself away.
Quite… intriguing.
Especially since I only recalled this trilogy when Torin Inek pointed out the monks transplanting brains…
So, while the base wasn't exactly engaged in the same life-extension procedure described in Morgan's novels, the subtle reference struck me as amusing.
And to the Iceheart, the reference to Prince-Admiral Krennel's death clearly seemed amusing.
The doors to my quarters slid open, admitting me inside.
Rukh, halted by my order, remained in the vestibule.
I headed toward the bedroom, expecting to find the same scene I'd left behind.
I wouldn't say I was greatly surprised, but seeing the bed already made and dublIsard calmly sitting on the nearby couch, working on her personal datapad, was striking. Why hide the obvious? I was impressed by the ease and harmony with which she blended into my modest field quarters.
After what happened here — she's the picture of composure.
The woman's eyes scanned the lines of reports, her demeanor one of complete focus and immersion in her task.
— I have news, — she said without looking up from the screen. — Of the "disgusting" variety. We have a problem.
No romantic kisses, embraces, or silly smiles and cooing understood only by the two of us…
I let out a discreet sigh of relief.
— I'm listening, — I gestured toward the exit from the bedroom.
The woman followed without protest to the part of the quarters I used as a workspace.
Casting a quick glance at the powered-down workstation, I noted that no one had touched it — the small markers, sheets of flimsi, lay at the same angles, the chair hadn't been turned a degree, and the data chips remained in the exact order they'd been in when we returned to the Chimaera for the journey back.
In the ten minutes of my absence, Isard hadn't even tried to access the computer.
Of course, she's not foolish enough to attempt that on the first day, but it only confirms her intelligence.
DublIsard set the datapad aside, looking into my eyes.
The same calm, slightly curious gaze.
As if nothing had happened, and we remained in our previous roles…
I don't know whether it's the influence of K'both's medallion or her natural emotional restraint, but there's a certain charm to it.
— First, I'd like to thank you for the information provided during the journey, — she said.
I noted that she, like me, was avoiding pronouns.
A complicated situation, in truth. On an emotional and personal level.
How do we address each other now?
Logically, I understand one thing, but emotionally… It's an awkward struggle between mature gallantry and cold calculation.
— In private, you can address me by name, — I said, simplifying the matter.
— Full or middle? — A smirk briefly appeared on the woman's lips before vanishing.
Well, well.
She even knows about that quirk of Chiss naming conventions.
The peculiarity is that the people of the Dominion introduce themselves with their full name upon meeting. For me, that's Mitth'raw'nuruodo.
In special cases, as a gesture of friendliness or trust, a Chiss may share and permit the use of their middle name. In my case, that's the well-known "Thrawn."
The issue is that my predecessor took pity on the Imperials and chose not to reveal more than necessary. For convenience, he shared his middle name.
That the clone knows the full name and demonstrated it now suggests she knows a bit more than she lets on.
How much more — that's a puzzle for the mind.
— Middle, — I allowed without flinching.
The new day had just begun, and the heterochromatic woman was already testing the boundaries of what's permissible.
And, with her characteristic approach, she did so with remarkable intelligence.
— In that case, I'd like to draw your attention to the situation in the D'Astan sector, — the hint of amusement left her eyes, and her face became a mask. — They've crossed the threshold into civil war.
— I'm aware.
— From indirect data — the dismissal of D'Astans, arms trading through the Hutts — I understand the Dominion has interests in the sector?
— Yes, — I had no intention of elaborating.
— The Baroness, according to the records, is also a clone? — Her voice carried no hint of being offended or slighted.
— Precisely, — I confirmed.
— And you want to find out who's behind it, — dublIsard stated.
There's no need to clarify here — it's explicitly stated in the information provided to her.
While the next step is being prepared, the Iceheart clearly needs to get to work.
Solving the issue of the cloned Baroness is certainly a task with an asterisk.
At least, it seems so without delving too deeply into the problem.
— According to the cloned Baroness, she maintained relations with a faction of Hutts controlled by someone named Grappa, — I said. — Analysts are working to determine who this sentient truly is.
— Small fry, — Isard declared. — Grappa the Hutt is just an executor. A step above a common mercenary, but in the long run, he lacks the courage to operate alone. He definitely has patrons. As I recall, he has an operational base on an uninhabited planet near the Core Worlds. Genon, I believe.
— Undoubtedly, — I agreed. — However, the situation requires our close attention.
DublIsard looked at me with interest.
— Is it about the Baroness?
— It's about the sector, — I clarified. — The D'Astan sector is a highly developed region with significant potential and industry. Not to mention its trade and military capabilities. I cannot allow it to fall to Imperial Space.
— In that case, they'd gain control over movements along the Selonian Spur and the controlled segment of the Hydian Way, — Isard quickly grasped the key points.
— Not to mention that the D'Astan sector is an excellent staging ground for striking the Dominion, — I continued. — The planet Axxila, essentially a Dominion fortress world, lies within the sector. If Imperial Space subjugates it, they could strike at the Morshdine, Meram, and other remote territories.
— It would be more logical to openly engage in the power struggle in the sector, — Isard stated. — But you haven't. I wonder what the reason for that decision is?
— Palpatine, — I said. — And his direct order that my interference in the affairs of the Imperial Remnants would lead to confrontation.
— Which is currently disadvantageous, — the clone understood. — Well, that brings the logic back to the beginning. What's the interest in the Baroness's contacts with the Hutts?
— I want to know who created the clone of Feena D'Asta and why, — I was certain the Iceheart understood this but chose not to flaunt her awareness.
— There might be more detailed information on Grappa the Hutt in the Imperial Intelligence archives, — dublIsard said thoughtfully. — The name is familiar, at least. But not as an independent player.
— I'd like to hear the details.
— Before capturing Coruscant, the Rebel Alliance raided Kessel, — Isard began willingly. — They freed about two dozen of the most hardened and dangerous criminals apprehended by Imperial law enforcement. They intended to use them to destabilize the situation on Coruscant, facilitating the capture of the Imperial Center. I identified the names of each and gathered information on them. One of the freed was a certain Yu'll Asib.
— That name means nothing to me, — I noted.
— But it's clear to me, — the woman declared. — Grappa the Hutt was one of Asib's lackeys. And Asib, in turn, wasn't just a hardened criminal sentenced to a long term on Kessel. He had a wide network of contacts and accomplices within an organization like Black Sun.
This just keeps getting better.
Black Sun — another criminal syndicate, much like the Zann Consortium, controlling vast resources and military power. Not to mention, this organization had ties to the Empire and aided in the construction of the second Death Star.
But there's a catch…
— Prince Xizor, the leader of Black Sun, was eliminated by Darth Vader a year before the Battle of Endor, — I recalled.
— Yes, and the vigo — the organization's lower-tier leaders — began a power struggle and killed each other off. The unified organization collapsed into small gangs, no longer a threat to the Empire, — Isard confirmed. — I don't like to brag, but the original put considerable effort into the organization's downfall.
In other words, instead of eradicating Black Sun entirely, the Empire allowed them to destroy each other until they no longer qualified as "organized crime."
How foolish.
Another example of how not to operate.
— Continue.
— Now fast-forward seven years to the Rebel Alliance's operation to capture Coruscant, — dublIsard said. — The criminals they freed on Kessel weren't apprehended or eliminated after the city's capture. On the contrary, they seized control, forming new criminal organizations from the ruins of the old structures. Asib, as far as I recall, worked closely with former Moff Worrus, who was one of Black Sun's vigo. More precisely, Asib was a subordinate, a lieutenant under Worrus. The Moff pretended to work for the New Republic on Coruscant, then disappeared. As I understood while working for Krennel, Worrus was captured by the New Republic on Thyferra. That means the original got her hands on him. He was tried and sent to Kessel. Asib, however, remained free. As far as I know, he vanished somewhere in the Corporate Sector. Nothing was heard of him after Thyferra.
— And likely used his former boss's elimination to consolidate power over Black Sun's remnants, — I continued the thought.
Which meant Grappa the Hutt is likely now subordinate to Asib.
And yet, the key question troubling me remains unanswered…
Hmm…
Let's lock in the thought.
Black Sun collaborated with the Empire.
Vader dismantled the organization.
All the vigo are either dead or imprisoned.
Lieutenant Asib remains at large.
Across the galaxy, numerous Black Sun operatives remain uneliminated…
Then a clone of the Baroness, whose father secured her a seat on the Imperial Ruling Council, emerges, maintaining contact with and receiving support from one of Asib's subordinates.
No, this isn't a question.
It's a simple logical chain.
— The Baroness lied, — I said.
— It's in the blood of aristocrats, — Isard remarked.
— She wasn't supported by Grappa the Hutt, — I declared. — She was a Black Sun spy within the Imperial Ruling Council.
— Bravo, Grand Admiral, — dublIsard gave a polite smile. — It took me nine minutes to reach that conclusion. You did it in eight and a half. But that doesn't change the fact. As I said — we have a problem.
So, back to the tried-and-true school method of solving physics problems.
Given:
A clone of the Baroness, who for nearly four years sat on the Imperial Ruling Council, overseeing the operations of all Imperial Space. Upon learning from me who killed her father, she quarrels with her co-conspirators in a secret plot within the Council. She flees to her sector, where preparations for civil war begin almost immediately.
A resurgent Black Sun, which in many galactic sectors was nothing less than a shadow government.
A ruthless, greedy, and inventive organization.
Rising from the ashes.
Does that remind you of anything?
Find:
There's a lot to uncover.
— Well, I must admit, it was rather ingenious, — I leaned back in my chair. — Quite theatrical, I must say…
DublIsard remained silent, her gaze fixed on me.
— The objectives of the operation in the D'Astan sector are changing, — I said after a moment of silence, staring straight ahead.
— You no longer need the sector itself? — Isard asked, surprised.
— Oh, no, — I countered. — The sector will either belong to the Dominion or remain neutral. A third option doesn't interest me.
— So, new points of interest have emerged, — the Iceheart noted.
— Precisely, — I agreed. — A mistake was made in assessing the scope of the situation.
— I doubt you believed that blonde alcoholic about not being involved in criminal cartels, — Isard said.
— Otherwise, would I have needed an outside assessment of the situation? — I asked.
The Iceheart smiled, understanding that the work she'd done was something I'd already considered. However, without the full details about Grappa's identity, my thoughts had veered toward the Hutts rather than Black Sun.
Which operated in a very familiar way.
But I still don't believe in coincidences.
— It's unlikely Black Sun is the final authority, — I said, opening the root directories of the information database on my computer.
DublIsard looked at me with interest.
I didn't rush to respond, knowing that a mistake would be highly reckless on my part.
An incorrect analysis had already cost me a proper conclusion — and thus, preparation.
— It's improbable that the Baroness's clone was created decades ago and kept in cryofreeze, waiting for her time, — dublIsard nodded affirmatively.
— Yes, it takes at least a year to create a stable clone, — she said. — Preferably three to five, or even ten.
— A DNA sample for cloning could have been obtained from the Baroness long ago, but creating a mind imprint to ensure the agent doesn't reveal themselves prematurely is a lengthy process, — I noted. — Feena D'Asta joined the Imperial Ruling Council a couple of years after the Battle of Endor.
— That same year, the Rebel Alliance captured the Imperial Center and declared itself the New Republic, — the Iceheart pointed out.
— Yes, and by that time, your original had already significantly thinned the ranks of the Ruling Council, forcing them to flee to Orinda. Additionally, by then, the Zann Consortium had been thoroughly dismantled.
— Not entirely accurate, — dublIsard objected. — The hunt for Zann and his followers began earlier, under Pestage, when he was posing as the Emperor. But it concluded around the same time the New Republic dealt with Zsinj. The Empire prefers to mark the destruction of the Consortium with the series of battles in which they crushed the criminals and destroyed their fleet. But they don't advertise that for years afterward, intelligence services were rooting out that blight across the galaxy.
Pestage…
Mention of that man evokes mixed feelings.
There's little to respect about him — there's nothing human in him, despite his appearance.
Yet, thanks to his breakdown, Isard managed to pinpoint the exact date of Palpatine's attack.
Or rather, the circumstances under which he'll launch it.
The Emperor is waiting for the real Isard to deliver the Lusankya to him.
He's already set his primary targets, thanks to the Ubiqtorate.
Losses don't concern him.
So, he's willing to wait to secure another Executor-class super star destroyer — even at the cost of losing strategic initiative.
And, if Pestage is to be believed, the Emperor has a fallback point for launching the operation — the start of the next year. In case either I or the real Isard fail. And when Grand Moff Kaine's fleet of Red Dragons and Vindicator-class heavy cruisers is ready.
I'm certain there are additional conditions for starting the operation that even Pestage doesn't know.
And once again, I'll have to revise my plans.
The longer I delay the endgame, the stronger Palpatine becomes.
But I need time to set the stage.
And he's using it to complete his instruments of destruction.
Both super star dreadnoughts with axial superlasers: Eclipse and Eclipse II, the Galactic Gun…
With each passing day, the enemy grows stronger, and I, to bolster my own position, am forced to allow it.
Losses to the New Republic are of little concern to me now, but the risk of facing a mad Emperor's armada on unprepared fronts is deeply troubling.
I didn't even notice that the penultimate month of the ninth year after the Battle of Yavin had swiftly turned into the tenth.
The final month in my plans.
Just over thirty days remain.
The dread I felt upon realizing this only subsided when dublIsard pointed out why Palpatine hadn't launched his offensive at the start of the new year.
And still, I'm uneasy.
This current conversation only adds fuel to the fire.
It's time to deal with Crimson Dawn.
However, the New Republic still needs time to reach its "starting point" for the finale to unfold as I've planned.
— Be that as it may, — I looked at the woman, — the problem is bigger and deeper than you or I anticipated.
— How much bigger?
— For starters, the criminals have cloning cylinders, — I said. — Assuming the minimum time required to grow a clone using Spaarti technology, Feena D'Asta was replaced by a clone a year after the New Republic captured Coruscant.
— So, Black Sun has been controlling those amateurs for nearly three years, — Isard smirked. — Dilettantes…
— There are far more critical aspects to this, — I said, finally locating the necessary files and cross-referencing them. — Yu'll Asib is the name of a former advisor to the Corporate Sector Authority's government on military-industrial matters.
For a few seconds, the Iceheart sat motionless, processing the information.
— It can't be that simple, — she declared. — There aren't enough idiots in the Corporate Sector's intelligence services to allow something like that. A hardened criminal in the government… They'd have gotten rid of him.
— They did, — I confirmed. — On my orders.
— Given what you said about the lack of information on Black Sun, you must have acted on other grounds, — dublIsard narrowed her eyes, resembling a predator.
— Precisely, — I confirmed. — The Corporate Sector Authority's advisor on military-industrial matters was eliminated on a tip as someone advancing the Zann Consortium's interests.
— "Advancing," — the woman said, as if tasting the word. — Not past tense… So, the Zann Consortium survived after all.
— According to my information, it's not only survived but is growing, — I declared. — The Corporate Sector is under their control, and they're building an army. Their vulture droids were stealing Imperial parts from Republic warehouses — and they have new ship types in service. I've already struck several planets and crushed their fleets there. Now, it seems, Tyber Zann isn't just rebuilding the Consortium but is subsuming other organizations through proxies.
Which is logical under normal circumstances — if bands of Black Sun operatives remain, skilled and eager to live a criminal life, why not bring them into the fold?
— Curious that they haven't retaliated, — Isard mused. — Tyber Zann isn't one to forgive slaps. And Black Sun operatives aren't the type to work for competitors — back in the day, Xizor positioned Zann as exactly that. He even tried to set him up against Vader. Though that ended badly for Xizor.
— Perhaps Zann isn't strong enough at the moment. So he uses proxies to create the impression among Black Sun operatives that they're still working for their vigo, not a competitor.
— To be weak and yet rely on the Corporate Sector's fleet? — the Iceheart doubted. — I doubt it. No, there's something else. It's unlikely he doesn't know who harmed him and how to reach you. Considering your shared history and how you impacted his fate. We need more information…
— You'll have it, — I said. — As soon as my agents complete their work on Genon.
DublIsard ran her hand along the base of her neck, her gaze drifting absently.
I didn't miss that she briefly touched the K'both medallion under her clothing.
— You didn't know Grappa the Hutt was Yu'll Asib's contact, — she said slowly. — Nor about Black Sun. Yet you gave me the data for parallel analysis and already launched operational measures… But if Asib is already dead, who is Grappa contacting?
— That's exactly what my agents are tasked to find out, — I said, checking the data. — The one posing as Baroness D'Asta was informed by me that she's a clone of the real aristocrat.
— Sharing that information with her was risky, — dublIsard noted. — She likely warned Grappa the Hutt.
— That's how we learned about Genon, — I explained. — Intelligence now has two tasks: determine who's contacting Grappa in place of the late Asib and uncover the fate of the real Baroness.
The Iceheart took a moment to process the situation.
— There are several ways out of this, — she said. — If the real Baroness is alive, we could arrange a swap. I'm sure the real Feena would be open to joining the Dominion.
— That's the ideal realization of my intentions, — I agreed. — But only if the woman is still alive and agrees to join. Otherwise, she's an obstacle.
— Publicizing that a Zann Consortium spy was in the Imperial Ruling Council all this time is potent compromising material, — dublIsard noted.
— But also dangerous, — I clarified. — On one hand, it could easily undermine the Council's authority and force Palpatine or his lackeys to scrutinize the councilors to assess their loyalty. Given the brewing conspiracy against the Emperor within the Council, it's a valuable weapon.
— However, if we can't eliminate them through Palpatine or his agents quickly, it could give Orinda time to seize the D'Astan sector.
— That's the second aspect, — I agreed. — Which brings us back to basics — the sector becomes a staging ground for enemy forces.
— The third point — why does the Zann Consortium want the D'Astan sector? — Isard asked. — The cloned Baroness openly defied the Imperial Ruling Council instead of following her programming and continuing her work within the Empire. With Orinda's resources, the clone could have eliminated all disloyal aristocrats and remained in control of the sector, still part of the Imperial Ruling Council. But she turned to you for help. What's the point?
— What's the benefit to a Zann Consortium spy involved in a conspiracy against Palpatine, knowing that any further interference in Imperial politics and the Empire's restructuring would mean conflict with Palpatine for me? — I mused.
DublIsard smiled.
— So that's the blow Tyber Zann planned, — she said knowingly. — The Consortium's leader figured you'd seize the sector and occupy it for the Dominion.
— That would be easy enough, — I agreed. — And, in Zann's view, while I'm being praised for my strategic brilliance in neutralizing the threat in an instant, it would tip the scales of Palpatine's patience. He's already intent on destroying me, and this would give him an excellent pretext. No need to find reasons to eliminate me while maintaining the loyalty of the Imperial military.
— Intrigues worthy of the old days, — the Iceheart stretched. — While two try to slit each other's throats discreetly to avoid the Emperor's notice, the latter, who pitted them against each other, watches with a smile, ready to strike if needed.
— All of Palpatine's power was built on diverting threats of conspiracies by pitting his subordinates against each other in struggles for power, wealth, and his favor. While his lackeys were busy with underhanded fighting, Palpatine himself faced no danger. Though, at the same time, this approach perfectly aligned with the Sith Order's philosophy, to which Palpatine belonged.
— In such a struggle, the most adaptable survive, — dublIsard agreed. — And thus, Palpatine planted a bomb at the foundation of the Galactic Empire. Over twenty-three years of ruling the Empire, he fostered such a thirst for rivalry and disdain for others among the powerful that, after his death, they tore each other apart for the slightest scrap of power.
— Considering he planned to live forever, his strategy has some merit, — I noted.
— Only in the mind of a madman detached from reality, — the Iceheart declared. — So, shall I handle the issue with the D'Astan sector and the cloned Baroness?
It's time to solve another puzzle involving provocation and a loyalty test.
— I had a proposal to put you in charge of the Dominion Intelligence Service, — I said.
The woman, after a moment's thought, shook her head.
— Given what we discussed at that base, I don't think I need to know everything, — she said. — Later, perhaps, when Palpatine's issue is resolved — maybe, if your desire remains. But not now, when additional information about the Dominion's intelligence operations could give him further incentive to destroy you. I'm ready to oversee the operation against the Zann Consortium at the intelligence level, but for now, nothing more.
— Is your choice driven by specific intentions? — I asked, already knowing the answer.
— Properly presented information about this event will likely earn me more trust and provide an additional guarantee of loyalty during a personal meeting, — the Iceheart declared. — Something substantial is needed to avoid unnecessary suspicion. This story fits the bill.
— Very well, — I agreed. — We'll proceed as such.
***
When the body in black robes fell to its knees and then collapsed onto its side, the hum of the lightsaber ended with a sharp hiss.
The crimson blades retracted into the double-bladed lightsaber's hilt, and Reynar collapsed onto the pavement, exhausted.
— Another one, — the Shadow Guard rasped, gazing peacefully at the cloudless blue sky. — Now I can rest.
Suddenly, a massive head with elegant features and a pair of lekku draping over it appeared before him.
— You do know you've got a hole in your gut, right? — Vex asked, holding a bacta spray and a pneumosyringe. Judging by the capsule's markings — a stimulant and anti-shock.
— Krdis Mordi was stronger than I expected, — Reynar wheezed, tasting the salty tang on his lips. — But now he's dead…
— And you'll die too if you keep lying here like bantha poodoo! — the Twi'lek snapped angrily. — Can you feel your legs?
Reynar didn't answer — he didn't care.
A strange sense of inner peace washed over him for killing another of the Dark Side Elite's fighters.
Honestly, he hadn't felt anything like this when hunting and killing Jedi one after another.
But now, he felt serenity.
And the gentle breeze on his torso's skin — they'd clearly stripped his upper clothing in that area.
— Oh, wow… — Vex's surprised voice came.
Strange.
It's a lightsaber strike.
There can't be anything extraordinary there.
Just a microscopic straight cut, its edges singed by crimson energy.
And that very burn was now disrupting his internal organs.
Which would lead to death.
A faint hiss of an aerosol sounded.
The burning pain where Mordi's lightsaber had struck became cold.
Very cold.
— Does it hurt here? — Obscuro felt a sharp jab in his right thigh, followed by the sensation of medicine flooding the limb.
— It's fine, — Reynar whispered, admiring the sky. — It's good…
— You've got a hole in your stomach, you idiot! That's not fine! And it's not a kriffing bit good!
Who cares…
— I'm at peace, — Reynar said with a smile. — I can die now…
And no one would tell him otherwise.
Today, he touched the Light Side of the Force and experienced something he couldn't describe in words.
A moment of hesitation cost him a wound that would kill him.
But he understood the main thing.
He understood how to balance his darkness.
A beautiful gift before death — knowledge and peace.
The realization that his joy of victory was tainted by something external washed away all serenity.
The man, without taking his eyes off the sky, tuned into his senses, into the Force.
Then, with effort, he lifted his head and looked at his stomach.
— You do know I'm wounded, right? — he asked the Twi'lek, who was mesmerized, running her sharp-nailed hands over his chiseled abs.
— Yup, — Vex nodded, not looking away from the man's body. — Never seen anything like it…
Her hands traced over his abs again.
They radiated the pleasant warmth of a normal human body.
— Are you out of your mind? — Reynar lurched forward, propping himself on his elbows. — I'm lying here with a hole in my gut, dying, and she's stroking my stomach?!
The man grimaced from the pain in his abdomen, clenching his teeth to avoid screaming.
— Just lie there, die, I'll touch and calm down, — Vex shot him a glance. — No, seriously — if you walked around without a shirt on Ryloth, all the girls would be yours. Though our men would probably beat you up — they're big and strong, but they don't have such defined muscles…
— Crazy in both lekku, — Reynar hissed.
His mood was thoroughly ruined.
With a familiar effort of will, he channeled the pain into fuel for the Dark Side, nourishing his body and burning out the beginnings of inflammation.
Grabbing the girl's shoulder, the Shadow Guard rose to his feet with a growl.
Swaying, he leaned on Vex standing beside him.
— Pervert! — he snapped, taking a step toward the hillock where their shuttle was hidden. — Touching a dying man?! That's borderline psychotic!
— Oh, come on! — the girl protested. — What, you can't spare a feel? Where are you going?! You were about to die!
— So you can grope me while I'm cooling off? — Reynar growled, slowly moving toward the transport. — Like hell! I'd burn with shame in the Abyss knowing what fate befell me!
He just needed to reach the ship — there was a medical droid that could patch him up and put him in a medically induced coma to heal.
And most importantly — in the bacta tank, one Twi'lek's naughty hands wouldn't reach him.
— What's the big deal?! — the girl exclaimed. — Can't even touch a corpse now?!
— Crazy in both hemispheres! — Reynar shuddered. — Now I'd be scared to die next to you! Who knows what you'd do with my body after I'm gone?!
— Would it matter to you by then? — the girl asked playfully.
— Emperor's black bones! — Obscuro pleaded, overcoming the pain in his gut. — I'll become a Jedi just so my body vanishes after death! I'm not trusting you with my remains!
— Oh, don't exaggerate, — Vex grimaced. — You'll probably die to your next opponent. Think I didn't notice you're no match for your latest enemies? You're falling short.
— For now, — Reynar said with quiet fury. — I'll train a bit more. I'll beat everything that Mon Calamari knows out of him and give the Dark Side Elite an Order Sixty-Six. I've found balance in the Force!
— And I touched your abs, — Vex giggled.
— Lunatic, — Reynar pushed the girl away, limping toward the lowered ramp on his own.
— Hey, are you offended or something? — the girl asked indignantly.
— You're a pervert! — Reynar shouted. — Touching a dying man!
— It worked, didn't it?! — she shot back. — You changed your mind about dying…
— What?! — Reynar stumbled in surprise and tumbled down the hill.
Straight toward the shuttle's lowered ramp.
— You really don't spare yourself, — Vex muttered, helping him up. — I was joking! Joking! I had to snap you out of that blissful staring at the atmosphere like you'd snorted two lines of spice.
— Horrible joke! — Reynar declared, struggling to move his legs.
Vex's admission somehow drained all his anger.
— But it worked, — the girl noted.
— Don't do that again, — Obscuro warned.
— And you don't dare die, — the Twi'lek said. — They'd make me write a report about how it happened, and my education's three years of religious school and two courses in dance.
— How do you even fly a ship? — Reynar asked, stunned.
— How, how, — the girl grumbled. — By instinct. Buttons and levers are the same everywhere.
— Insane, — Obscuro felt his hands trembling.
The Dark Side fueled him again, and the man, albeit shakily, hurried into the shuttle.
The girl walked beside him, supporting her comrade until he collapsed into a chair next to the medical droid.
— Now you're safe, — Vex smiled childishly, hearing the medical droid's report. The wounds were serious, requiring surgery, but the human would clearly live.
— Thanks, — Reynar rasped, feeling his consciousness slip as the sedative took effect. — Just… don't touch…
— Sleep already, you prude, — Vex snorted, laughing.
Darkness nearly enveloped the Shadow Guard's consciousness when he heard a whisper close to his ear:
— Your body really is amazing. Get well, grump, it's boring without you.
The last thing his senses registered was the touch of lips on his cheek.
Then he passed out.