Ten years, two months, and eleven days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-fifth year, second month, and eleventh day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Eight months and thirty-one days since arrival.)
This diner was the only decent one in Foulan City—the largest city near where the factory known as "Spaarti Creation" was once located.
It was usually not crowded and even cozy.
The prices for goods almost matched their quality, and the staff was not even curious about rare guests, which is quite unusual for a backwater from which anyone with money and hope to start a life elsewhere flees.
Once, "Spaarti Creation" was an economic miracle that provided stable incomes to the entire Parla sector, where the planet Kartaao was located.
But after the destruction of the complex, things went much worse here.
As often happens, only those who had nowhere else to go remained on the planet.
Young people preferred to flee from here, raised on their parents' stories that life on this planet would not get any better.
But today, the diner was packed to the rafters.
It seemed that representatives of all races and peoples inhabiting the galaxy had decided to visit the eatery. And they belonged to almost all social levels, starting from slightly below average.
"Popular place," Zlyuchka remarked to Reynar, settling down next to her partner.
Next to him—meaning, almost crammed in.
"Today is the harvest sale day, forgot?" Obscuro explained, putting a small piece of stewed meat into his mouth. "Sentients earned money from buyers and now allow themselves to relax a little. I don't see anything reprehensible in that."
"So we came here in vain, right?" Zlyuchka clarified, not taking her hands from under the table. "A crowd."
"Don't worry," the Guardian reassured her. "I don't feel any threat from them. Better tell me what you found out."
Zlyuchka glanced around the bustling crowd.
"Feed the girl first, then ask questions, huh? 'He who pays for the girl dances her.'"
"That even sounds disgusting," the man said, shaking his head and pulling his hood lower over his head. "Your order will be brought in a couple of minutes."
Zlyuchka glanced at her employer.
"It's nice that you ordered for me in advance. But you remember that I don't eat anything with flour, right? If you forgot, you're in big trouble," she warned. "Very big trouble. And actually, you should support me and refuse such an abundance of calories."
Her gaze fell on a medium-sized meat pie sitting in the center of the table, only half-eaten.
"The second one is mine too," Obscuro remarked sarcastically. "After all, I have the right to indulge myself. And I need more calories than you."
Zlyuchka demonstratively turned away, crossing her arms.
Her mood improved slightly when she saw the waiter droid hurrying towards her with a tray, which smelled incredibly appetizing, despite the closed dome lid.
However, as soon as the droid placed the dish in front of her and lifted the veil of intrigue, her mood became completely bleak.
"Okay," she said reluctantly, stirring the salad leaves on her plate and estimating how long it would take to make and deliver a new order, considering the crowd of customers literally tearing the waiter droid and both cooks apart. "There's nothing reprehensible about flour. Especially since there's meat in it..."
"Oh, Zlyuchka. You again!" Reynar teased her, stroking her hand. "'Principles that are not so principled when your stomach rumbles.' It's no longer funny."
"Exactly," the Twi'lek muttered, using her fork to pick out and claim the largest piece of meat from his plate. "The Force says we should share."
"Not at all," the former Inquisitor grimaced. "You don't even direct it to claim that."
"I assume the Jedi lived by that principle..."
"And I'm not a Jedi," Reynar deftly took back the best part of his dish from her, but they diplomatically divided it into two roughly equal parts, giving his companion the larger one. "But I won't let you starve, so be it."
"Try it," Zlyuchka bared her even teeth. "You'll find out what happens when a geyser of boiling water appears in the ship's toilet."
"You're mean," Reynar sighed.
"I prefer to be called 'Not-so-nice'," the Twi'lek corrected him, using the meat she had been gifted.
"Should I call you 'Not-so-nice-pie' now?" the former Inquisitor clarified, watching with a twinkle in his eyes as the girl indulged in eating the meat pie.
"Vewy yummy," she mumbled. "Tastes good, by the way. By the way, we have a guest in two hours."
"Chew first," Obscuro advised, glancing in the direction his partner indicated.
A few minutes later, a middle-aged man sat down at their table, his face hidden by the hood of his cloak.
But the thin features were visible to those sitting opposite him.
A simple face, delicate contours.
They say about such people that they have "breeding."
"No less than thirty-five, but no more than forty-five," Reynar estimated the guest's age.
He was dressed in understated, yet not cheap, clothing.
Clear gaze, straight back, strong hands that clearly had not known much hard work.
And indeed, hard work on Kartaao is the basis of survival and prosperity.
Whoever this person was, he was clearly above the simple laborers who worked from dawn till dusk in the fields, growing the harvest that was then bought for a pittance by passing merchants.
"Good day," the polite tone in his voice clearly confirmed what Reynar had already noticed.
"And to you as well," Reynar wiped his lips with his sleeve, posing as a gruff but shrewd merchant. "I am Bill Wo..."
"No names needed," the man requested. "Your partner said you are interested in extremely rare goods."
Reynar glanced at Zlyuchka, who was diligently working her jaws, chewing the meat pie.
The girl shrugged, as if to say, what do you want from me? I found someone who can tell at least something—you act from now on.
"That's right," he nodded to his interlocutor. "I'm interested in valuable and rare technological samples. Preferably unique ones. I buy them for a lot of money and resell them. I heard that your planet has a complex that can retool itself in a day to produce anything."
The interlocutor's face twitched.
"You are obviously from far away," he said.
"That's right," Reynar nodded. "How did you know?"
"Your ship is extremely worn out," the guest explained. "And you're asking about something that hasn't existed for almost thirty years."
"Is that so?" Reynar feigned surprise. "What happened?"
"The Jedi," the man hissed through his teeth. "They and their damned Clone Wars came to Kartaao and destroyed 'Spaarti Creation.' The Jedi crashed their ship onto the complex, destroying it. The catastrophe scattered all the production workshops to the Hutts, and also killed most of the local workers. Without one or the other, it is impossible to restore 'Spaarti Creation.' So, if you were hoping to order something here, you've made your journey in vain."
"It's sad to hear that," Reynar sighed. "I had big plans for this factory. It's strange that there's nothing about the misfortune that befell you, esteemed sir, on the HoloNet."
"These Jedi took everything from me," the guest said with the same malice. "I worshipped them when I was younger. But seeing how aggressive and disrespectful they are, after their 'peacekeeping' deprived my family of their source of income, and me myself—of my father, I hate them with all my heart. I sincerely regret that you made this whole journey. But your efforts are in vain. There is no factory. There are no workers. You probably noticed that we are barely making ends meet here..."
"Yes, it's bleak here," Obscuro agreed. "But... maybe something is left? Every factory has warehouses where products are hidden before shipment. Or were they destroyed too? You didn't come to the meeting just to say what you could have told my companion. I'm willing to pay a lot of money for any remnants of industrial equipment or products that, by chance, were not accounted for."
With the last words, he placed his palm on the center of the table, and when he removed it, a stack of high-denomination coins lay there.
Ten thousand credits in Hutt currency, which has wider circulation on neutral planets than the temporary currency of the Empire, Republican credits, Dominion money, or any other currencies.
"A person who respects himself and is well-mannered always pays for the goods received in any form."
The man grinned, reached for the money... and found that Reynar had intercepted his hand.
"For the goods received," the former Inquisitor repeated with emphasis; with his other hand, he pushed the coins aside. "And now," Obscuro unclenched his fingers, "let's hear your story."
The interlocutor leaned trustingly towards him.
"Understand, what I want to tell is not for dissemination," he said quietly, looking Reynar directly in the eye. "No one but me knows about it. Especially—the population of Kartaao."
"Well, yes!" the Guardian said in a tone that made it clear he was not suffering from credulity. "How could it be otherwise?"
The man quickly looked around and moved even closer.
"It concerns the Binali family," he said mysteriously. "They managed the planet and controlled 'Spaarti Creation.' Besides the factory, as you correctly say, there were several warehouses—they were called branches. There, finished products were moved before shipment for sale or direct delivery to the customer."
"And how is the Binali family connected to any branches?" Reynar asked, cautiously probing his interlocutor with the Force.
His intentions are unclear.
As if he is studying them.
This is already suspicious.
"Think about it," the man grinned. "An aristocrat manages a factory that can produce any type of goods and can be reconfigured in just one night to produce a completely different type of goods. At the same time—there has never been an army or fleet on the planet. But no one has ever tried to seize control of the enterprise. Why do you think?"
Reynar shrugged.
"Did Lord Binali have good connections with those who could protect him?"
"Something like that," the man chuckled. "As I learned after my father's death, he knew how to make profitable deals for himself. One of them helped him maintain control over 'Spaarti Creation.'"
"I still don't understand..."
"There were three fully built branches on the planet, and a fourth was under construction," the interlocutor patiently explained. "Lord Binali shipped part of the goods, using the branches to make unaccounted-for equipment 'lost.' And then he transferred it to those who, in one way or another, solved his problems with the right to own the factory. Given that only Lord Binali was able to establish normal relations with the race that built 'Spaarti Creation,' it would be foolish to replace him. There is profit, the manager does not violate agreements—everyone is happy."
"A rather simple but effective scheme," Zlyuchka remarked, having already finished the rest of the pie.
Reynar appreciated the girl's abilities—it took him more than half an hour to finish half the pie.
The girl managed in three times less time.
"So, there is some unique equipment left in the warehouses, produced by 'Spaarti Creation'?" Obscuro feigned his interest.
"Yes," the interlocutor agreed. "And quite a lot. A large part of it was taken long ago by the 'Black Sun' fighters, but there is still something to profit from."
The mention of the criminal organization was unsettling.
"So Binali was 'under' Prince Xizor?" he asked.
"Xizor came to power much later," the interlocutor explained willingly. "At that time, completely different beings managed the organization. I understand they had some kind of crisis, because by the end of the Clone Wars, Kartaao seemed to be forgotten, and they never appeared here again."
Reynar even knew what kind.
He was in no hurry to show off his erudition.
"And what is in the warehouses?" he continued to play his role. "And how much?"
"Not as much as I would like," the man chuckled. "The sale of these goods allowed us to live comfortably for many years. But, for a good price, I am ready to show you the way to the warehouses and the entire price list available. I assure you, it is worth looking at."
"I readily believe you," Reynar nodded, indicating with his eyes that the man could take his reward. "And in words, what's there?"
"Agricultural machinery, equipment capable of operating in difficult swamp conditions, mining equipment," the man said leisurely. "And several hundred samples of goods, because of which the Old Republic flew to Kartaao. We hid them from everyone and even lost them for a while. But when we started tidying up the old tunnels a few months ago, we dug them up. And it became clear that 'Black Sun' did not take everything from us that the Republicans were hunting for. I think you understand that this is extremely rare equipment that costs a lot of money. A lot of money, to be frank."
'I wonder why you didn't sell them yourself then,' Reynar thought, a completely different thought swirling in his head.
The picture began to form.
Lord Binali owned a unique factory capable of building anything at the customer's request.
He had agreements with "Black Sun," according to which they provided him with protection and security, and in return, he gave them part of the unaccounted-for, but produced, goods.
Given how unique and highly productive the mechanisms produced by "Spaarti Creation" were, it was not surprising that the bandits chose this method of collecting "tribute."
If they received only a certain amount of money from Binali, it would be too simple and ineffective.
But the goods, unique, high-quality... they could be sold on the black market at exorbitant prices.
And in such a case, the profit from "Black Sun's" cooperation with Binali grew before their eyes.
Not to mention that they didn't even need to demonstrate force, to keep combat detachments on the planet.
It was enough to hint indirectly that the planet was under their protection—and all questions would be resolved.
But there is a nuance that changed, and at the same time clarified, absolutely everything.
The Old Republic flew to Kartaao with a single purpose—to produce Spaarti cloning cylinders.
According to this man, "Black Sun" received part of this technology from the total produced.
This could explain why the "Zann Consortium" now had Spaarti cloning cylinders, which were located and actively functioning on the planet Smarck.
In addition, the interlocutor stated that they found another batch of cylinders in the abandoned tunnels.
Of course, if Reynar understood him correctly.
This information needed to be verified personally.
"I think, before deciding whether we need some rare technology that may or may not be in demand, we need to see it first," the Guardian said.
"At any convenient time for you," the man smiled broadly. "I assure you, you will not be disappointed by what you see. Times are not peaceful now, so if you or your clients wish to acquire your own army, you will snatch the goods from us along with your hands."
"Well, let's take a look," Reynar sensed a Force fluctuation and realized that the most interesting part of his mission had begun.
"Please follow me," the man kindly offered, rising from the table.
***
The holographic communication method predictably erupted with interference when the connection with the desired subscriber was established.
"Grand Admiral Thrawn," Darth Maul addressed me in a thoughtful, deep bass, giving a slight half-bow. "Your assignment is complete."
Good news.
"Details," I demanded.
"We found the elder boy and removed him from the Imperial Space cadet academy on Orinda," the Zabrak reported. "I had to deprive him of consciousness to steal him from the territory without unnecessary problems."
"And the younger one?" I asked.
"Aurra Sing stole him from the Orinda cadet academy," the former instructor of Mara Jade reported. "The boy is sedated and will soon be delivered to Dominion territory. We separated to avoid attracting attention."
"A logical step," I assessed. "Deliver the children to Suutrik IV at my residence and hand them over to the Jensaarai defenders."
Before handing over the offspring to Zyix K'zzt, it must be ensured that they do not pose any threat.
Considering that the children of an enemy of the Empire, albeit considered dead, were placed in military institutions by the Empire itself, it is quite suspicious if their young minds have not been brainwashed.
Reuniting the family while there is a danger that potential ideological followers of the New Order might stab my only cloning specialist in the back or slit his throat is at least reckless.
Let the defenders first examine them for "hidden danger."
Of course, it is unlikely that anyone cloned the children to slip a "loaded weapon" to Zyix K'zzt.
But there is an unbreakable rule for crossing Dominion borders—one way or another, they pass through an encounter with the Jensaarai.
This has already helped us identify enemy agents, saboteurs, and simply ill-wishers and hidden enemies.
Not to mention that it was thanks to the Jensaarai and the Force that we learned about the programmed clones of the "Zann Consortium."
Reasonable caution has never failed.
As my classmate Slava used to say: "Just because you feel trouble but don't see its prerequisites doesn't mean a brick isn't flying at your head straight from the dormitory roof."
There is no need to look far for examples of how healthy paranoia in this galaxy could solve many problems.
"It will be done, Grand Admiral," the Zabrak hissed, letting me know that he was literally bursting with dissatisfaction.
"Obviously, you have something to tell me, Darth Maul," I said.
"Yes," his lips formed a hard smile. "I would like to return to hunting Palpatine's servants. I am sure he has a few more Force-sensitive beings who could fall by my saber."
"Undoubtedly, the Emperor has Force-sensitive servants," I agreed.
To deny this would be foolish.
At least a couple of members of the Dark Side Elite have not yet been destroyed.
Reconnaissance on key worlds tries to find them, but so far, no traces.
Luring them out with "bait," spreading rumors about Luke Skywalker's presence on a particular planet, as we did last year, will also not work—from all indications, the son of Darth Vader is on Byss.
And, if history still corresponds even slightly to what I know and remember, then Luke Skywalker's fall to the Dark Side of the Force has begun.
Given the predisposition to close contact with the Force in this family, one can guess which of the two—Maul or Skywalker—will win in case of a meeting.
I still need Maul—I don't have many instructors for lightsaber combat.
Reynar Obscuro, Mara Jade, Asajj Ventress, Bre'ano Umak, the Jensaarai trained by him, and Ahsoka Tano, of course, have certain knowledge, but none of them can compare to Maul.
"You will certainly resume your hunt, Darth Maul," I promised. "As soon as reconnaissance discovers these beings. Not sooner."
Through the interference, an irritated growl from the Zabrak could be heard.
"Pay more attention to your student's training," I advised. "As far as I remember, you said that Streen has unique abilities in controlling the forces of the elements."
"That's true," Maul grimaced. "And he is not well-suited for the role of Shadow Guard. Too soft. Too much sympathy. The Jedi philosophy is closer to him than the Sith. He is not a fighter; he is more interested in the Force than in lightsaber combat. I am sure he is not ready and never will be ready to follow orders and make exceptional decisions. His place is in defense, not offense, Grand Admiral. I made a mistake regarding him, deciding to train him. He should be transferred to the Jensaarai Order."
"And allow information leaks about the activities of the Shadow Guard?" I clarified.
The Zabrak twitched the corner of his mouth.
"No, Darth Maul, your proposal is rejected," I stated. "As is its premise—to get rid of a student, a burden, in order to devote more attention to searching for adepts of the Dark Side Elite. I agreed to spare your life for only one purpose—so that you would oppose Palpatine."
"That's right," the Zabrak grinned. "I can kill him."
"I'd take your word for it, but I suspect that's not the case," I retorted, which clearly displeased the Zabrak. "Darth Sidious is one of the finest duelists and Force adepts, as far as I know. Defeating him with lightsabers alone will be impossible. That's precisely why I agreed to have you train Streen. If I understood you correctly, Streen might just be the addition that helps you defeat Darth Sidious. You are a master of lightsaber combat. With the holocron and other records from Ossus and Dantooine, you can prepare Streen so that Palpatine's Force attacks won't have an advantage."
"The subtle nuances of the Force are not what a warrior needs."
"As you rightly pointed out, and I am inclined to trust your opinion as a specialist, Streen is not a warrior," I reminded him. "You have the knowledge, you have the time – prepare him for battle. For victory in this battle."
The emphasis clearly angered the Zabrak.
Well, it was his right.
It was enough that he didn't argue with me.
"I understand you, Grand Admiral," the man said.
Or would it be more appropriate to call him "half-man," considering the cybernetic lower half of his body?
"That's all for now, Darth Maul," I said, disconnecting the holoterminal.
I think, despite him being a strong lightsaber duelist, perhaps even the strongest alive now, deep down he still understands that Palpatine's power isn't just in his dueling skill.
His Force abilities are far superior to any living Sith or Dark Side adherent.
Approaching his elimination without an alliance with the Skywalkers or Marek would be like hunting big game.
You need beaters to weaken the beast before the final, fatal shot is delivered.
That's why I try to protect and foster the quality improvement of my Jensaarai and Guardians.
I fear the former will have to be the beaters, while the latter will be the "shooters" who finish the target.
We simply have no other options.
There aren't that many experienced Jedi or Sith on the Dominion's side who can contend with someone who can bury a nineteen-kilometer Star Destroyer in the middle of Coruscant without anyone noticing.
That's why I place great hope in Ahsoka Tano's training under the ghost of Darth Vectivus.
According to the spy droid's data, the Togruta is still on the asteroid and hasn't left it for a moment.
I will definitely not interfere with her learning the Dark Side, because I understand that for both Jedi and Sith, training doesn't happen in a few months or days.
There's an example of "working by contrast."
There's already a half-trained Jedi in the galaxy who learned the intricacies "as he went along."
What came of it, how many of his students turned to the Dark Side of the Force and became galactic threats, is also no great secret to those who know the history of this galaxy's Expanded Universe.
I don't claim to know everything, but what I do know is enough to understand what's what.
Palpatine doesn't send parts of his subordinates "to slaughter" for no reason.
He doesn't just intend to exhaust them and get rid of traitors, but also focuses his attention on breaking Skywalker's will and training him.
I fear the debut of the resurrected Darth Sidious is postponed due to his maximum effort to purge his ranks of traitors and train Skywalker.
In that case, there's no guarantee that Vader's son will eventually return to the Light Side and be involved in Darth Sidious's destruction.
It's possible he'll break and replace his deceased parent in the role of the Emperor's right hand.
Therefore, I have to account for this scenario as well.
Taking more and more risks each time.
Unfortunately, you can't win in Star Wars based solely on military might.
At least not when your enemies have people capable of dropping Star Destroyers onto planets or are Darth Vader's children.
I need trump cards.
And, I hope, I'll have them soon.
Otherwise, a mess will brew in the galaxy that will make the events I know seem like child's play compared to what I've wrought.
But there's no other way – you fight fire with fire.
Well, the moment of philosophical musing is over.
It's time to get down to business.
For example, to remind a certain brilliant "icebreaker" that results are expected from him.
***
On the landspeeder of their unnamed interlocutor, they covered several kilometers towards a massive structure.
It looked like a destroyed warehouse, having survived fires and clear impact damage to its roof from something heavy.
"It doesn't look impressive," Reynar admitted.
"Don't judge by appearances," the interlocutor chuckled. "We keep all the best things in the tunnels. They were built in the past to avoid upsetting the workers of 'Spaarti Creation' – they had an inexplicable obsession with ensuring the grass surrounding the production complex wasn't encroached upon."
"You couldn't walk on the grass?" Zlyuchka, sitting in the back seat of the speeder, asked in surprise.
"Those were the rules," the driver explained. "It wasn't for us to break them."
"Well, of course," Zlyuchka agreed.
"And how is it that neither the Republic, nor the CIS, nor the Empire came here to deal with the remains of 'Spaarti Creation'?" Reynar inquired. "The technology is unique, but we live in an age of the impossible – it could clearly be restored and used at your discretion."
"That's precisely the problem – it can't," the interlocutor explained. "Only a small portion of the population that once built this complex truly understood how it all worked. And even then, it was mostly on an intuitive level. The destruction of the complex, as I said, occurred with the death of most of the workers. No one was left who could restore or operate a restored facility, if such a miracle had happened."
"Well, fine, the Republic," Reynar stated. "But the Empire was fanatical about intricate projects that could absorb a lot of money. It's unlikely they would have simply ignored everything that happened..."
"Ha, that's for sure!" the man exclaimed, bringing the speeder to a halt near the dilapidated main gate. "They came, of course, they came. They studied the ruins of 'Spaarti Creation.' They collected what remained of the cargo that was in production at the time of the Jedi ship's crash – he grew serious again. "They took everything they possibly could from us. After which, they abandoned it and forgot about it. We had to survive on our own."
'A touching story,' Reynar thought. 'I don't think I should demonstrate how little I care.'
"But you managed to preserve some of what was produced in the complex," he changed the subject.
"We had to work hard for it," he stated with a hint of pride. "First, as soon as the battle ended and 'Spaarti Creation' was destroyed, we thought the goods were gone too. Then it turned out that at one of the warehouses, a branch, the last batch of Republic cargo had been preserved. They, of course, took it away before we figured things out. But then we decided to check what was left. That's how we found Father's supplies. By the way, we've arrived."
He spoke the last few phrases as their vehicle came to a stop.
It took a few minutes to get out of the speeder and walk to a small door next to the gate.
"They've been in disrepair for a long time," their interlocutor explained. "Of course, if you buy goods from us, we'll dismantle them and help load everything onto your ship. But, as I see it, it would be easier to bring your 'Lambda' directly to the warehouse, as the roof has long been leaky and collapsed."
And indeed – the sky could be seen through the ceiling.
With a practiced eye, Reynar realized that there had been a fire inside the warehouse – as the external signs indicated.
It was probably because of this that the roof had collapsed inward.
But it clearly wasn't after his companions arrived on Karta'o.
Despite the wind blowing through the warehouse, there wasn't a speck of construction debris visible inside.
Consequently, the consequences of the fire had been dealt with, and a long time ago.
"Let's go," the companion waved his hand, pointing to an impressively sized door in a small utility room on the far wall.
The size of the gate suggested that this passage was clearly intended and used for transporting something of considerable dimensions.
Near the utility room, a couple of guards were found, who, upon seeing their superior, began to feign active duty, only confirming the assumption that they were doing anything but what they were supposed to be doing.
Behind the utility room doors, a similarly wide corridor was discovered, clearly dug underground, sloping slightly beneath the surface.
"The workers of 'Spaarti Creation' dug it," the escort explained. "To make it easier to deliver finished products to storage areas."
That was obvious enough.
Especially since it had already been mentioned.
Reynar felt no hostility from the guards or the man himself.
But something still made him uneasy.
Judging by the fact that Zlyuchka wasn't chattering – she was too.
Numerous, but low-powered lamps illuminated the tunnel's arches, their glow sufficient only to make out the path.
"Lining the tunnel with permacrete is an expensive pleasure," Zlyuchka suddenly broke her silence.
"It's not permacrete," the man stated. "When the workers dug the tunnels, they processed the soil into a material stronger than any construction mixture we know. Unfortunately, it can only be produced by passing it through the processing of Kransoks – those who built it. But, they all practically died in the catastrophe, so these curls and hooks," he pointed to barely visible patterns on the wall, "are all that remains from those eras. We studied the material, but it's impossible to synthesize – there are a number of substances that we couldn't even create artificially."
"A great loss," Reynar said. "With such a building material, the market demand would be insane."
"Yes, but we have what we have," the man shrugged. "We're here."
He pointed to one of the barely noticeable arched decorations, stretching from floor to ceiling.
But its width was almost half that of the corridor, and its height was no less than five meters.
Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a hidden door that slid aside as their companion approached.
Thus, they found themselves in a spacious room, no smaller than the warehouse on the surface.
The lighting here was a little better, so Obscuro managed to make out dozens of rows of non-standard transport containers, their height reaching almost the height of the arched opening through which they had passed.
"And what's inside?" Reynar asked.
"Open it," the companion suggested, approaching the nearest crate. "I prefer the client to see for himself what he intends to buy. The effect of the first glance."
And also – to easily assess from the outside whether the client understands what is being shown to him or is a complete novice.
Obscuro opened the locks on one of the sides of the transport container without much difficulty and pulled aside a thin but sturdy metal plate on the front of the container.
Looking at the four-meter trans-parietal cylinder, enveloped in a web of devices and wires at the top and bottom, he demonstratively scratched his head and looked at their companion.
"And why did the Republic need these incubators? To breed animals for meat?"
The man smiled – and in the dim light, his smile looked more like a villain's grin.
"It's immediately clear that you've never seen anything like this before," he said, approaching the container. "These are eight hundred Spaarti cloning cylinders, produced according to Old Republic blueprints. It was the new generation of cloning cylinders that the Old Republic wanted to produce on Karta'o. They provided our workers with the blueprints and specifications, we reconfigured the equipment, and then began their manufacture. There were three generations of these cylinders in total. The first – created entirely according to Republic blueprints. The second – with minor technical revisions by our specialists. And the third… Unfortunately – I don't know what was changed, as the third generation was on the territory of 'Spaarti Creation' when the factory was destroyed."
"But you said the Republic managed to ship some batch," Zlyuchka reminded him.
"That's right," the man nodded in agreement. "There were several thousand first and second-generation cylinders on the factory grounds – the first and second batches. The Republic decided to take only the third, so these were stored here. A total of about twenty thousand first and second-generation cloning cylinders were produced. The same amount – the third. Most of the first were destroyed, and the second – Palpatine's then-chancellor's assistant, Kinman Doriana, secretly took them off the planet."
So – forty thousand Spaarti cloning cylinders!
But only about half of them survived.
The entire third generation, if this man's words are to be believed, is now at Grand Admiral Thrawn's disposal, after passing through Doriana, Palpatine, and the Empire.
But what about the first twenty thousand?
Reynar voiced this question.
"As I said – most of them were destroyed," the man reminded him. "After the destruction of 'Spaarti Creation,' the Republic sent scientists and soldiers who took away everything they could. The Empire did the same. But because the tunnels were collapsed, they found nothing. We, however, dug them up. And now we can make good money from it. Here," he pointed to the rows of containers, "are eight hundred cloning cylinders. Unlike Kaminoan technology, these cylinders, according to Old Republic specifications, can produce a clone not in ten years, as the Kaminoans did, but in just one year. Just one year – and you can create an entire army sufficient to conquer some remote world. In my opinion – very valuable equipment."
"I agree," Reynar thought quickly. "I recall you saying that 'Black Sun' worked with Lord Binali. And received some of the production. Did they," he nodded towards the cloning cylinders, "get these too?"
When sending them on this mission, the Grand Admiral had mentioned that seven thousand two hundred units of similar cloning cylinders were found on Smarck.
Another twenty thousand have been in the Dominion's possession for a long time.
An extra eight hundred incubators won't hurt.
Twenty-eight thousand Spaarti cloning cylinders – more than seventy-two thousand two hundred.
A valuable haul.
Yes, they'll have to pay, but still.
"Of course," the man replied. "Seven thousand two hundred first-batch cloning cylinders. Lord Binali hid them in underground storage as soon as Doriana learned there was a possibility to improve the technology. And he wanted to get the best of the best."
'More like – he was just stalling for time,' Reynar thought, familiar with the situation orchestrated by Palpatine's subordinate.
Kinman Doriana was officially sent here to establish the production of cloning cylinders.
In reality, he served not the Republic, but Darth Sidious.
And therefore, he did everything to ensure the planet was attacked by separatists, who provided official supplies of cloning cylinders in the Republic's interest.
He probably thought he could take all the cylinders Binali had hidden.
And Binali, it seemed, outsmarted the Supreme Chancellor's assistant.
And saved the goods for his patrons.
Which they then took.
I wonder why these eight hundred weren't evacuated?
"And how much do you want for them?"
"One hundred thousand for each," the man said.
"Credits?" Zlyuchka inquired.
"Peggets," the man smiled at her. "Governments using credit chips as payment methods have been changing like gloves lately. But peggets have been circulating in the galaxy for thousands of years and are always accepted in any part of the galaxy."
A truth that would be difficult to argue with.
"Eighty million peggets is a large sum," Zlyuchka said. "In credits – it's the cost of a good star cruiser or a used destroyer."
"So what? The goods are worth the price," the man stated.
Reynar felt that the man was clearly puzzled and wary.
He exuded notes of hostility.
"I don't doubt it," Obscuro said. "But first, we need to ensure this equipment is functional. And gather the full amount – it's not a small sum. I assume you're interested in cash, aren't you?"
"We'll also need transport to haul it all away," Zlyuchka continued. "Its freight also costs money."
"Not to mention that specialists are needed to operate this equipment," Reynar continued to drive down the price. "There are quite a few problems to consider... Seventy thousand for each."
"One hundred," the man smiled. "And not a yupi-yupi less."
Yupi-yupi is a small coin, worth a fraction of a pegget.
A direct indication that no one intends to bargain with them.
Reynar could have bought the entire batch at once, but he understood that this wasn't how merchants and adventurers conducted business.
"Eighty."
"One hundred," their new acquaintance, a stranger, stood his ground.
"Then the inspection of the units – at your expense."
The Force howled a warning as doors shrieked behind the man and the warehouse was sealed.
"Looks like we'll have to get out ourselves," Zlyuchka said, not taking her eyes off the silently laughing man.
"I think," a voice came from the darkness of the even rows of equipment, "you won't need to."
Reynar and Zlyuchka reacted instantly, preparing for battle.
The Twi'lek grabbed her blasters, Reynar hesitated to draw his lightsaber.
It wasn't time to demonstrate his Force abilities.
Because the woman who was now emerging from the darkness towards them had literally appeared out of thin air.
A former Inquisitor could have detected her earlier – he couldn't.
He didn't sense any living organisms nearby, except for the two he saw with his own eyes – the man who had led them into the trap, and Zlyuchka.
Hiding from the Force is difficult, but possible.
Thrawn used ysalamiri for that.
But this trick won't work on someone who has felt the Force-repelling zone created by these lizards at least once.
Optical camouflage is expensive, but useless against those who wield the Force.
You can hide yourself from sensors, eyes, scanners – but not from the Force.
It will always tell you where a sentient being is.
But there was another option.
The most disgusting of all.
"What indecisive agents," the female Zabrak said sarcastically, appearing before Reynar, who still couldn't sense her in the Force. "You've spent so much time on the planet, and only now have you fallen into the trap. You did well, Lord Binali."
"And I thought someone said this man was dead," Zlyuchka spat, glancing at the man.
The young man laughed.
"My father died," he explained. "I am Korf Binali. The son of a man used by the Jedi, the Republic, Palpatine, the Empire – for their own purposes. And today, thanks to my patrons from 'Black Sun,' I will finally avenge my father! Die, Imperial agents!"
Explaining anything to this sentient being was pointless.
The woman hiding in the warehouse was clearly an elite operative of 'Black Sun,' if she decided to fight two people alone.
Or rather – the 'Zann Consortium.'
And more precisely – she is an extremely dangerous opponent, if Reynar's assumption is correct.
And at this point, there's no room for sentimentality – whether they work for the Empire or the Dominion.
If they aren't killed, then...
With a hiss and a crimson flash, a scarlet rotating lightning bolt streaked over their heads.
With a characteristic sound, it entered the upper body of Korf Binali, severing his head.
The disfigured corpse crashed onto the smooth, sturdy floor.
His head, with its mouth contorted in a silent scream and a look of utter surprise, horror, and rage, rolled at their feet.
"So annoying," the Zabrak said with a vengeful smirk, catching her weapon in her hand. "The figure played its part – the agents have arrived. Now – let's have some fun."
With a characteristic hiss, another short lightsaber appeared in her hands.
Now she had two distinctive weapons, which dismissed Reynar's last assumptions.
The Zabrak is Force-sensitive.
And she works for the 'Zann Consortium.'
"Surrender," she said. "You can't defeat me anyway. I trained with the best masters. I fought the very spawn of the Abyss – and survived. Your resistance will be nothing more than an amusing, but brief game. And I have other plans for the evening."
Zlyuchka fired at the Zabrak, but she easily parried the blaster bolts, deflecting them into the open container.
Two white-blue bolts passed through the transparent shell of the cylinder, leaving through-and-through melted holes.
"Damn it!" the Twi'lek cursed, looking around to find a more comfortable position.
"Vile worms," the Zabrak sneered, shedding her familiarity. "I'm ordered to take the agents alive. But no one said your arms and legs have to be in place."
"You're mistaken," Reynar sighed, demonstrating the hilt of his lightsaber jumping into his hand. "I'm telling you – we're against it."
With a hiss and a crackle, an crimson blade, which had felled many Jedi, manifested in the semi-darkness.
Roaring with anger, the wielder of the twin light shoto lunged forward, filling the underground vault with a furious cry.
***
"...And I say this is a pointless waste of time," Pent declared, looking reproachfully at his double.
But, technically speaking, he himself was Genth's double.
"I don't think there are any better alternatives," the unique (in its boyish simplicity) original shook his head. "We've tried everything possible in technical terms."
"So you decided we can solve the problem by pinging?" Pent asked skeptically.
"As alternatives, we're left with asking for many, many reconnaissance droids and sending them across the galaxy in hopes they'll find the target," Genth turned away shyly.
"You're not considering several points with your proposal!" Pent grimaced, like a small child.
"And we're getting a call," the original said.
"First, for something like this, we'd have to send a signal across the entire galaxy and wait to see if... – Pent fell silent as the meaning of the last phrase dawned on him. "Interesting. And who needs us?"
"Do you have many options?" Genth shivered.
"Not really," Pent mirrored his movements. "No, logically, he's right. We've already missed all the deadlines. So..."
A persistent sound of an incoming transmission, accompanied by an energetic blinking of the call indicator, emanated from the holoterminal.
Well, so that even the most slow-witted would get it.
"It's blinking like it's angry," Genth admitted.
"I'd be angry too in his place," Pent sided with the caller. "What are we going to do?"
"We can not answer," Genth blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Well, like we're not here."
"Yeah, went for a walk," Pent said sarcastically. "Do you want me to remind you that there are guards outside the door? I think if we don't answer, they'll come in here. Possibly even through the wall."
"I feel sorry for the server," Genth said, looking at the operational boundaries, hung with technical devices. "Better answer..."
Pent, without a word, approached the communication device and, after a moment's hesitation, activated it.
For a few seconds, nothing but static interference came from the projector.
But then the jagged lines and noise disappeared – the smart equipment automatically adjusted to the line distortions and compensated for the interference.
"Mr. Genth, Mr. Pent," the blue-skinned sentient with crimson eyes addressed them in an unconventional greeting.
No, the eyes were the same color as the entire hologram, but for some reason, in Genth's perception, they blazed so brightly that a supernova explosion would seem like a small flash in comparison.
"Grand Admiral Thrawn," Pent said with a forced smile. "We are so glad to see you. How are you? How is your health?"
"'Eye of Palpatine'," the ruler of the Dominion didn't buy the flattery. "I need a report."
The clone and the original exchanged glances, then drooped guiltily.
"No progress," Thrawn correctly understood everything.
"Sir, we've explored over a hundred theories on how to find this piece of rock, but they all remained theories," Pent admitted. "We're at a dead end. I fear it's simply impossible to find this ship with what we have."
"So, having a near-complete description of the ship, its creation principles, armament, the markings of the equipment installed on it, the best 'icebreaker' in the galaxy, and his clone declare they are powerless?" the Grand Admiral clarified.
It seemed he hadn't changed his intonation, but for some reason, an icy chill that pierced to the bone was felt.
"It appears so," Genth said quietly. "It's like looking for a bolt in orbit in an asteroid field."
"Well, actually, there's a proposal," Genth said enthusiastically.
He had only one chance to test the most desperate and dangerous hypothesis.
"Oh, you fool," Pent grimaced.
"It's hurtful, actually," Genth frowned.
"I'm listening," Thrawn seemed not to have even noticed their verbal spat. He fixed his gaze on the original, as the initiator of the idea, and stared at him shamelessly. "Do you have something to say, Mr. Genth?"
"Sir, it's a wild proposal," Pent hastened to declare.
"Your opinion will be taken into account," Thrawn assured. "Mr. Genth. Don't make me repeat the same question twice.
The 'icebreaker' shuddered.
"In short, there is a way," he licked his dry lips. "We know a lot about the equipment installed on the 'Eye of Palpatine.' Including the unique communication equipment identifiers that the ship uses to communicate..."
"I know what the communication equipment is for, Mr. Genth," Thrawn assured him. "Go on."
"In short, there's a theory that by connecting to the 'HoloNet' servers, we can initiate pinging of these systems," the frightened Genth blurted out.
Thrawn was silent for a few seconds.
"In more detail."
"Pinging is, among other things, also a method of locating between computers," Pent explained. "From one computer, a data packet is sent to a unique identifier. Knowing the identifier, we can accurately determine that the data will reach. But as this packet travels through the 'HoloNet,' we will learn which relays it passed through, what the beam angle of the communication antennas was..."
"In other words, we'll know which sector the 'Eye of Palpatine' is in, and in which direction from the relay we should look for it," Genth continued. "From the time delays, the fluctuations in packet transmission, we will also understand how long it took for the data to transmit from the relay to the 'Eye of Palpatine's' communication device. Knowing the characteristics of the data transmission channel at the final relay via wireless connection, and having the time delay, we can calculate the distance from the relay to the receiving device itself. After which, we can send a command there and board."
"An interesting proposal," Thrawn said. "Mr. Pent, do you have any objections to what has been said?"
"Of course," the clone snorted. "First, you need to understand that the equipment on this piece of rock is unique. And the communication frequencies – also unique. If someone is still tracking the use of all this, they will detect our pinging. You don't need to be a genius to perform a reverse ping and find the signal source."
"And also – to trace the final target," Thrawn added.
"Yes," Pent nodded. "Thus, we will not only expose ourselves but also help someone find this damned dreadnought."
"Is that your only objection?" the Grand Admiral clarified.
"No, of course not," Pent stated. "Let's assume we successfully mask the signal source – it's difficult, but possible. But the problem is that we'll need to launch either a single test signal – and it will wander through the relays until it's found. Or – send data packets to all relays at once."
"Has the Empire not done this?"
"Of course, it has," Pent agreed. "And they failed. They used a mass launch of search programs. Because sending a 'wandering packet' means losing a huge amount of time. But the equipment didn't respond in any case. This could indicate two problems at once. First – there is mechanical damage to the dreadnought's communication systems. That is, the signal simply doesn't reach. Second – and just as likely as the first – the ship's computer 'swallows' the search packets and doesn't send them back."
"In other words, the sought-after response will not be found," Grand Admiral Thrawn said.
"Precisely, sir," Genth replied quietly.
"But, as I said – to launch the most optimal pinging option, we need access to the greatest computational power. No state has that – only the 'HoloNet' headquarters. But naturally, they won't allow us to interfere with their systems. Because we won't let them check the contents of the information packet. At the very least, out of fear that we might launch some kind of virus attack, they will refuse us. The Empire probably sent a couple of destroyers to the planet for them..."
"Any other ideas?" Thrawn inquired.
"No," Pent shook his head.
"We could send millions of scout drones across the galaxy," Genth cautiously suggested. "It would be quite expensive, of course..."
"Of course," Thrawn agreed. "It's not rational to search for a ship whose cost would be less than the cost of the search efforts."
"I hear you. Mr. Genth – pack your things," it sounded almost like a death sentence.
The original looked at his double with alarm.
"Mr. Pent – you will remain to continue searching for the 'Eye of Palpatine'," Thrawn concluded. "Mr. Genth – a ship is already ready for you."
"I understand, I've failed you," Zakarisz drooped. "Can I choose which black hole you send me into?"
"Without a doubt, you have the right to choose your method of death," Thrawn agreed, further saddening the 'icebreakers.' "But we'll talk about that later. You have another assignment."
"Truth?" Gent practically jumped. "Wow! And what do I have to do?"
"Nothing complicated," the Grand Admiral replied. "You'll just fly the ship into the center of the minefield."
The last thing Zakarij heard before he passed out was a suspicious, drawn-out hissing, gurgling sound made by his own clone.
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: Granulan