Ten years, first month, and fifth day after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, first month, and fifth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Seven months and twenty-fifth day since the arrival).
The Tsinimals were described as "graceful and intolerant."
In the past, about a hundred and forty years ago, this race of aliens had captured the planet of the Langhesi, leading to a mass exodus of the local inhabitants from their homeworld.
The natives, known throughout the galaxy as unparalleled masters of biotechnology, had become so rare that there were practically no mentions of them anywhere.
As if they had all but vanished from sight.
Well, except for that elder who was now sitting to Mara's right, his eyes bulging and afraid to move.
But, unlike the ruler of the Tsinimals present here as well, he conducted himself in such a way as not to provoke anyone by some sinful mishap.
And as for the ruler of the conquerors, whose "gods reject biotechnology," but for some strange reason condone slavery and piracy, he didn't seem particularly "graceful" either.
Sweat poured down the Tsinimal's face in streams, and fear was frozen in his eyes.
He didn't seem "intolerant" either.
Look how quickly he shut up.
Although... what other options did he have, with a purple lightsaber blade hovering mere centimeters from his face.
In the past, Mara Jade had seen such reactions often.
Too often.
But those had been Imperial officials, not representatives of other species.
And all of them had been sentenced by the Emperor himself.
And now...
"Esteemed Hand," the ruler of the Tsinimals said slowly, carefully choosing his words, "could you please stop demonstrating this obvious and lethally dangerous technological curiosity to me."
"Certainly, Ruler," she said sternly. "Right after you sign the document condemning the activities of the Tsinimal slavers and pirates."
"Perhaps it would be easier for him to do so if you stepped off his desk, Esteemed Hand," the Langhesi representative said barely audibly.
Mara shifted her gaze downward.
For a moment, she admired her slender legs, clad in the fabric of her battle jumpsuit that smoothly transitioned into light but sturdy boots.
Under which lay the ruler's working documents, pinned down by her weight.
Including the draft decree she had just mentioned.
Well, no need to mince words—she was standing right on that decree, brazenly stamping the text with her boot sole.
Awkward.
"Have you reviewed the text of the decree, Ruler?" she asked.
"Y-yes," the Tsinimal jiggled his fat chin.
Yes, "graceful."
Like a sarlacc, only smaller.
"I see no reason not to sign the document," Mara pressed on, without even shifting.
"Your actions humiliate our authority!" the Tsinimal squeezed out, squeezing his eyes shut against the acrid sweat dripping from his bushy brows. "We joined the Dominion with love and joy! And now your war machines and soldiers are on our streets, our military base is under occupation, and your ship is in orbit! We haven't done anything! Yes, our ancestors expelled the Langhesi from the planet, but many years have passed! We've moved away from that policy! We no longer engage in slave trading. And we don't pirate! You're mistaken!"
Mara sighed. Profuse sweating in such situations was par for the course. Passionate justifications and rationalizations—straight out of the script.
"You haven't listened to what I told you," she said. "The Dominion could turn a blind eye to the disappearance of one transport starship a month and a half ago, deeming it crashed. We could even ignore the loss of three more such ships at the beginning of last month. But your pirates captured an entire convoy of labor droids and construction materials."
"What do I have to do with these raids?" the ruler exclaimed in a voice half demanding, half ingratiating. He had evidently decided that the delay indicated her reluctance to kill him. "I've devoted all my efforts to atoning for my ancestors' sins. My people have lived in peace for thirty years now. Yes, poor, but in peace. We've left our past in the past! I swear to you by our gods that we've sought out the Langhesi more than once to apologize and ask them to return to their native planet. But the government knows nothing of any pirates! If they're acting in our people's name, I'm not involved! It's some mistake, I assure you!"
Mara knew he was stalling.
But that suited her fine.
The Hand needed grounds to place the planet under full Dominion control.
And what was happening now was in her interests.
"It's not a mistake, Ruler," she cut him off. "It's about the beacons embedded in our transport ships and their cargoes, which your dim-witted underlings failed to find. And safely delivered all the loot to the planet. Shall I specify where? To the northern plateau, into the caves where the pirates' base is located. Who in the past were your own military. It just so happened that I was in a good mood yesterday, so after tracking your raider, we captured prisoners instead of blasting it with turbolasers. And the pirate prisoners told us plenty. Which fully matched what our counterintelligence had gathered on you. The only thing you can do in the current situation is condemn the actions of the pirates and slavers, and declare the southern continent the exclusive territory of the Langhesi people, who were expelled from their native planet by your ancestors. I promise that by signing these documents, you'll receive mitigating circumstances at trial."
"May I at least see confirmation of your authority," the Tsinimal pleaded.
He hadn't just agreed for nothing.
The pieces on the board were already in place.
Time to start the game.
So, time for a bit of arrogance, bitchiness, and haughtiness to make the provocation succeed.
"My documents and seal are right under your nose," the redheaded vixen replied unflinchingly. "I provided the code cylinder with my credentials to you, your guard, and the entire government. And Grand Moff Ferrus confirmed them. I think the Star Destroyer in orbit and the regiment of stormtroopers from the 501st Guard Legion bearing the name 'Thrawn's Fist' should have convinced you of the legitimacy of the papers handed to you."
"V-very well," the Tsinimal muttered. "I-I'll just get my writing implements and..."
His hand reached for the stationery set.
Mara wasn't watching him with her eyes.
She relied on the Force.
So she reacted instantly when, instead of the fountain pen, the ruler of the Tsinimals grabbed a flimsi cutter and tried to plunge it into her leg.
Moreover, she could clearly sense the ruler's fighters standing behind the false door.
That's why she executed a backward somersault, not without pleasure crushing the ruler's jaw and shattering his teeth with a kick.
The massive desk, carved from a single block of marble, had a T-shape.
And Mara easily took up a similar position on the long part of the table, parrying the first shot aimed at her face from the attacker.
Right as the armed guard burst from the hidden door behind the ruler's back.
She sensed the Langhesi representative collapse under the table immediately, shielding himself from the fire.
He wasn't wounded, but frightened.
"You really shouldn't have done that," Mara sighed, seeing the Tsinimal fighters aim a heavy repeating rifle at her.
She had no intention of fighting a rapid-fire weapon.
She was far more interested in how, under the cover of several guards, the ruler of the Tsinimals intended to escape.
So she simply seized the fearsome close-range weapon with the Force, wrenched it from the opponent's hands—breaking his fingers in the process—and hurled her lightsaber, slicing both the repeater gunner and the three remaining fighters into two equal halves.
In the same instant her weapon returned to her hand, the door to the reception area was breached, and stormtroopers appeared on the threshold, led by an officer.
Efficient—they had taken only five seconds from the moment of the attack on her.
And the door was sturdy. It only looked wooden; in reality, it was metal.
"The ruler of the Tsinimals attacked me," Mara explained to the officer. "He is to be held accountable. Announce to the locals that due to the traitorous actions of his government, the Langhesi system is passing under direct Dominion control. Declare curfew. Order all local military to remain in barracks and surrender their weapons. Disobedience—death. Ensure the safety of the Langhesi delegation. And report to the Chimaera that we're establishing a planetary blockade until resistance to lawful authority is eliminated."
"Yes, ma'am," the officer said, spotting the hidden door. "Shall I send commandos after the ruler?"
Yes.
Right after she let him get away?
"This is my mission," Mara declared. "Carry out your orders."
"Yes, ma'am," the officer saluted.
He left two stormtroopers in the office, then began issuing orders over his comlink, coordinating the steel-clad fighters' actions.
Mara, meanwhile, jumped down from the table and helped the trembling-with-fear Langhesi representative rise from the floor.
After brushing off the humanoid, she gave him an encouraging smile.
"Everything will be fine," she stated. "We'll return your planet to you."
"I beg you—no unnecessary casualties," the Langhesi nearly sobbed. "We don't want genocide."
"No one wants that," Mara sighed. "But the Tsinimals have been making 'kind eyes' at us for too long while sending pirate raids on our convoys. Those who don't take up arms will live."
"May their gods have mercy on them," the Langhesi sighed.
Mara, satisfied that everything was under control here, slipped into the hidden passage, extending the Force ahead to find her target and avoid possible traps.
She couldn't afford to let Thrawn down.
Again.
She liked being the Hand.
She had seen that Shadow Guard.
It made her shiver.
No, she definitely didn't want demotion to their ranks.
She hadn't toiled so long, like the damned, with all the mentors Thrawn assigned her, for that.
No more slip-ups.
Only victories.
***
The conference room on the Chimaera was unusually empty today.
Besides me and Colonel Tierce, who habitually combined the roles of adjutant and bodyguard, no other Dominion citizens were in this compartment.
Instead, across from me sat a representative of the humanoid Langhesi species.
The Dynast, if I understood his position correctly, was currently the highest-ranking political leader of those exiled from their home planet, which now lay under the belly of the Star Destroyer.
If one abstracted from the red hair, four-fingered hands, and lack of lips, nose, and ear lobes—he was quite human-like.
"The negotiations are dragging on," the Langhesi said worriedly.
"Diplomacy is not a quick matter, Dynast," I said meaningfully. "I assure you, everything will proceed exactly as we discussed. Your people will return to their home planet."
"Those who haven't completely lost themselves in the galaxy," the sentient across from me said bitterly.
"As soon as the opportunity arises, the Dominion will begin searching for your people's diasporas," I assured him. "First, we'll settle matters with the Tsinimals, then begin repatriating your compatriots."
"Thank you," the humanoid said embarrassedly.
"For what?" I asked in genuine surprise.
"You're at least trying to return our home to us," the Dynast explained. "No one else has been so kind to us since the migration began."
"I'm grateful for your flattering assessment of my efforts," I said. "But I must remind you that the entire planet of Langhesi won't belong to your people. The largest continent, inhabited by the Tsinimals, will remain theirs. Your people will be given the second, smaller one. Perhaps it's worth consulting the catalog of habitable and unoccupied worlds in the Dominion again to avoid any possible future troubles?"
"We lived on that continent that will become our home again," the Langhesi smiled (probably a smile). "Your scouts showed me holographic recordings of our cities... Of what's left of them, of course. It's painful to see those ruins, but in time we'll restore everything. For our descendants. I'm grateful for the offer of an entire new world, but it's excessive. Our population on Langhesi never exceeded a few million even in the best of times. And now it doesn't even reach a few thousand. Perhaps others will be found, but that's speculation. Our scientific mind advises against it. That's why we don't want to occupy an entire planet—it's irrational. And to huddle somewhere else... Why not on the homeworld, then?"
There was a certain logic to it, no doubt.
Yes, it differed somewhat from what I was used to, but one shouldn't forget that I was dealing not with humans.
The Langhesi, like the Kella people who had vanished from the galaxy, and the extragalactic conquerors, the Yuuzhan Vong, could shape and imbue life with new forms.
They worked with biotechnology, and despite the calamity that befell them nearly a hundred and forty years ago—their homeworld conquered, the race enslaved by the Tsinimals, who considered their technologies a sin against their gods—they continued their science.
Because of that conquest, the Langhesi began a mass migration across the galaxy.
They specialized in producing unique pets for the wealthy of the Galactic Republic.
And the Galactic Empire.
When our scouts found the few Langhesi diasporas on some worlds of the Galaxy (through back-channels of orders for valuable pets), it took effort to arrange a personal meeting between us.
And nearly another month to convince them to collaborate on projects where we had virtually no specialists.
This included studying Ithorian pollen, which, as I knew from my known future, degraded Yuuzhan Vong technology.
This included studying the aliens' technologies discovered on Bimmiel and Lorrd.
And ultimately, work with cloning cylinders.
Specialists in this field weren't just needed—they were essential.
Because currently, clone production was handled by simple technicians following instructions left over from the Empire's time.
One could use a rifle for single shots without knowing its workings or understanding the switches and mounts.
But a weapon is far more effective in the hands of a specialist who knows how to set it to burst fire, not single shots; understands how to mount the sight properly; and if he even attaches an underbarrel grenade launcher with optics and shows how to use it without shooting oneself—that's success.
But there was something else I needed from the Langhesi.
"The Dominion will provide all possible assistance in restoring your cities," I promised. "I hope you haven't forgotten the condition of our unspoken agreement, Dynast?"
"For my people, it will be an honor, Grand Admiral," he declared. "To study alien biotechnology and develop countermeasures against it... The latter is new to us, but we'll manage."
"And with the cloning cylinders?" I clarified.
"I've reviewed the data your adjutant provided me," the Langhesi stated. "Spaarti technology is, of course, new to us. But not complex. We can maintain those cylinders."
"And recreate them?" I inquired.
"Any biotechnology can be created," the Langhesi declared. "With mechanisms, it's more difficult. Especially those produced on Spaarti Creations. But we'll work in that direction, no doubt. As for the others..."
He meant the trophies from the X1 base.
Cloning cylinders unlike anything we'd seen before.
No specifics, only guesses.
***
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