The shuttle pilot looked back over his shoulder:
"We are exiting hyperspace, sir."
Olo did not see fit to answer.
He continued to sit motionless, eyes closed, immersed in the Force and his reflections.
"Is he even alive?" the co-pilot's voice reached him. "We won't get a pat on the head if we deliver a dead body to Coruscant instead of a living Chief Inquisitor."
Irritating.
"This planet is called Imperial Center," the Chief Inquisitor remarked.
Adding a heavy dose of threat to his voice, he hoped the pilots would stop talking.
Expectations deceived him.
"Y-yes, Lord Chief Inquisitor," the first stammered. "Whatever you say, that's what we'll call it."
And what else to expect from a bunch of conscripted hicks from some backwater systems?
Anything, but not professionalism.
Olo rose resolutely from his seat and headed for the cockpit exit.
"I'll be in the passenger compartment," he explained for both slow-witted men. "Report when we land."
"Of course, sir," the second grunted. "Looks like his first time on Coruscant."
They didn't even notice their passenger was still there.
Brainless idiots.
Who don't they take as pilots…
Chief Inquisitor Olo Drast.
"Shut up and mind your business," Drast ordered without looking back. "Otherwise, dead pilots' bodies will be found in the shuttle upon landing."
"Yes, sir," both answered in sync, losing all curiosity about him and focusing on performing their duties.
All the better.
At least for a bit, he could be alone.
Sinking into a passenger seat, Olo leaned back, taking a more comfortable position.
The pilot was right.
The Chief Inquisitor was seeing the cloud-shrouded gray orb in rings of protective Golan platforms for the first time.
In the past, not many from the lower strata of the population across the galaxy could afford to visit the capital planet.
Having become an Inquisitor after a short stay in the Jedi Order as a youngling, the man believed all roads were open before him.
That, hunting his former comrades, he would report every traitor he killed directly to the Emperor.
Hopes were not fulfilled.
From his very first day in the Inquisitorius, Olo departed for and returned exclusively to Prakith.
A world in the Deep Core, a planet where not everyone can survive.
But every Inquisitor can know the limit of his capabilities and learn his place in the hierarchy.
But he hadn't reached the capital planet until now.
For some reason, Imperial Center appeared to him cold and dead, as if with the ruler's death the city should have perished too.
But this city was more alive than all the living.
Just like the Emperor.
Perhaps there is some connection there.
But Olo didn't see it for the life of him.
With inner sight, which only the Force-sensitive possess, he enjoyed the lights of millions of sentient beings on the planet and in its airless surroundings.
Through the viewport, he could observe dozens of starships—combat and transport—hanging in orbit around Imperial Center.
"Sir, we have received a request for an identification code," the pilot's voice came from the ship's intercom. "Please transmit it. Or else we are in the range of the orbital stations…"
Olo saw two of the two dozen third-model Golan stations placed by the Pentastar Alignment in orbit around Imperial Center to protect the state capital.
A necessary precaution in view of recent failures on the galactic front.
The Alignment is having to abandon one sector after another, pulling communications and armed forces scattered across hundreds of star systems from one direction to another.
All for the sake of defending at least the little that was managed to be conquered under Grand Moff Kaine's leadership.
"Transmitting the code," Drast said, using his personal communicator.
It would be a great stupidity to cross all this way, to reach what he currently had, only to perish from the shots of his own defensive structures.
There is so much armament on these stations that sometimes not every Star Destroyer can overcome them.
And a typical Lambda is a mere trifle for them.
"Permission to continue the path received," the pilot reported with clear relief in his voice.
Fool.
He really thought someone on the station would open fire to get rid of them because of some access code.
The days when the Empire would blow up a shuttle to get rid of intruders, without regard for various technical aspects, are long gone.
Now the Empire cannot afford to lose ships, pilots, and other personnel over trifles.
However slow-witted they may be.
The nearest patrol pair would have been directed to them and forced them to land on one of the stations for inspection.
None of the military brass will set themselves up like that.
Especially when they know that the Chief Inquisitor himself, overseeing the Pentastar Alignment's activities, is to arrive at Imperial Center.
"We are heading to tower seventy-eight, level four hundred and forty-three, second platform," the ship's first pilot spoke again through the intercom, heading toward the edge of the protective field.
"And what does that mean?" Olo was starting to lose patience.
"Sir," the pilot said with difficulty, "that is the Imperial Palace. An area for especially important guests."
It grew quiet.
Looks like the idiot was struck when he realized he was engaged in no ordinary taxiing.
That is the beauty of traveling incognito.
Everyone considers you some errand-runner, dignitary, minor official, or someone of the same ilk.
To tell every first pilot you are the Chief Inquisitor—is simply stupid.
Just like using a personal ship.
Too bright and obvious a target.
In current times, such oversights can cost a life.
And in light of recent failures, it's already hanging by a thread.
Lightning discharges flashed ahead, then one thick, sinuous thread stretched through the clouds, and in its light Olo saw an octagon hanging over the storm front.
One of the many sectors of the planetary shield.
Olo used the holoprojector installed in the passenger cabin to observe what was happening at least schematically.
He categorically did not want to see the idiot pilots.
Even from here he felt their cowardice, and the air was literally saturated with the smell of fear.
A miniature model of the planet condensed over the console, then two spheres formed around it, made of octagons.
Both spheres rotated slowly in opposite directions, constantly mixing the mobile sectors.
The absolute defense of Imperial Center, which is customary to speak of with admiration and genuine piety.
Nowhere else in the galaxy is there another such world whose unquestionable importance can be assessed by the presence of two counter-rotating planetary deflector shields at once.
The upper element shifted, but the lower layer remained completely motionless.
Surely, when the shuttle passes inside, the upper segment will close the passage, and only then will the lower one open.
And so it happened.
The Lambda headed toward the lower shield segment indicated to it, when Olo saw a flash of lightning outside the viewport.
In the next moment the ship shook palpably.
The lighting in the cabin flickered.
"Sir,"—again this unbearable pilot.—"The situation is under control. The air here is highly ionized due to the deflector fields. A discharge drained our shield and shorted several systems. But everything is fine."
Really?
Since when is a ship malfunction considered "normal"?
He wanted nothing as much as to return to Entralla.
The planet in the Pentastar Alignment where, after Ardus Kaine's death, the state's temporary capital was moved.
Including all headquarters of key specialized government bodies.
Including Justice, as the part of the Inquisitorius serving the Alignment was officially called.
Now, when they all know of Emperor Palpatine's return, when the Inquisitorius is again united in its fortress on Prakith, Justice remained a mere formality.
They all, who serve in it and are officially termed Interrogators, didn't give a damn about these bureaucratic games.
They were, are, and remain Inquisitors.
The shuttle overcame the second shield, after which, not without effort, it broke through the cloud mass.
The fact that they were approaching the target from the planet's dark side did not prevent them from viewing the world unfolding below.
Amazement and delight—that is what everyone should feel at the sight of Imperial Center.
The unmistakably recognizable Imperial Palace was like a volcano grown in the middle of the metropolis spread across the entire planet.
If the planet had tangible boundaries, one could say the Palace stands in the very center of the Empire.
Giant towers thrust into the sky like the teeth of an oversized crown; numerous lit windows resembled distant precious splendors of inlays.
And you wouldn't say that in the past this complex was the Presidential Palace, which the Supreme Chancellor once occupied.
No, nothing at all remains of the rotting, stifling gloss of the Old Republic.
The building is rebuilt, improved—like all of Imperial Center.
Olo hadn't seen the planet in the past, but he was sure things were much worse here before.
Knowing from stories and holovideos where to look, the Chief Inquisitor located the Senate building.
Semicircular, like a scab grown over a wound, it was tiny compared to its formidable neighbor.
And traces of the meteorite attack used by Grand Admiral Thrawn were also visible there.
Numerous breaches, damage…
Though now it's hard to say which of these destructions were inflicted by the late Grand Admiral and which—by the Alignment warriors during the planet's assault.
Changing his gaze slightly, he looked with a smirk at the huge pile of construction debris, rising like a mountain on the site of the Jedi Temple.
For some reason he even felt cheerful when he saw that the place that had taken his childhood away was no more.
The shuttle was descending. Black gaps between neon threads appeared—houses.
Buildings rose above the ground, and even artificial light couldn't penetrate to the bottom of man-made gorges.
A vivid imagination instantly populated the city's lower levels with nightmare and deadly dangerous creatures.
The pilots leveled the little ship caught by the wind.
The planet's grandeur boggled the mind…
Streets that seemed like narrow slits were wider than mountain canyons on some planets he'd visited.
Towers, thin as knitting needles, turned into massive ziggurats, on each floor of which the population of a small provincial town could reside.
Buildings layer by layer covered the planet, dressing it in a kind of armor made of construction materials.
Interesting… probably for several centuries no one has set foot on the surface of Imperial Center.
The shuttle shook again.
They were already on approach to the Imperial Palace.
a narrow tunnel visible on the required tower turned into a greedily wide-open mouth that swallowed the shuttle.
The transport, frozen over a spacious landing pad, folded its wings, hovered for a moment, and settled onto its landing struts.
This was performed abominably—the ship tilted and only the shock absorbers managed to compensate for the pilots' blunder.
Without saying a word to the irritating pilots, he bypassed the shuttle's empty passenger cabin.
Descended the ramp.
Below four stationary figures in snow-white storm-armor were already waiting for him…
Drast passed them soundlessly, allowing an honor guard to be organized behind his back.
Which, as soon as an order is given, will turn into a firing squad of executioners.
They will undoubtedly fail.
But they will clearly try.
If a command to eliminate Olo Drast comes.
At the present moment they were his escorts and guides, because in this web of corridors and passages one can easily get lost and remain in the magnificent complex for the rest of one's days.
Walking through the corridors of the Imperial Palace, the Chief Inquisitor met many dozens of people of various professions.
Guards, officials, errand-runners…
No one looked at him.
People turned away, accidentally meeting his gaze, inevitably flinching.
They tried not to notice and not to hinder his movement.
Others simply recoiled sharply to the side, as if from one with an incurable disease or the disfigured.
The corridor stretched and stretched; the floor underfoot was springy.
Apparently, they were walking along a closed bridge between the tower and the Palace proper.
There were no windows, only bare walls.
Maybe they were decorated with something before, but now they are empty, faceless, gray.
On some, traces of blaster scorch marks or fragments from exploded munitions are visible.
The consequences of the battles for the Imperial Palace revealed themselves to the inquisitive observer.
No one hid them, because there were more important matters.
If it were the Emperor's will—everything here would have been licked clean by the tongues of thousands of slaves and mechanisms.
But the Emperor doesn't give a damn about this world.
He is comfortable on Byss too.
Imperial Center has turned into a passing flag of political purpose—a symbol of power, not its source.
Maybe one day everything here will come alive with lush color again—when the Emperor forgives this world for its betrayal.
For its anti-Imperial demonstrations after the master's death.
One day.
Perhaps.
But not now.
The stormtroopers led him along a corridor, then another, and another—to doors by which two exact copies of them stood.
The stormtroopers stopped, hinting to him that he would cover the last stretch of the way alone.
Massive doors opened, letting the Chief Inquisitor into a huge room, almost a hall.
As soon as he entered it, the way back was cut off—the doors closed with an impressive thud of solemnity and monumentality.
The far wall was transparent, and behind it the sunset of Imperial Center glowered sullenly.
At first Drast thought he was alone here.
And only by resorting to the Force did he realize the assumption fundamentally did not match reality.
"You have appeared," a strong male voice sounded.
Its owner, like darkness separated from the walls, materialized himself against the background of the transparent wall.
He didn't ask.
He stated.
Against the background of the sunset sun, it seemed as if the speaker was hovering in the air over the once-overpopulated world.
"Exactly as you ordered," Olo's voice was calm, impassive, focused.
No one will ever instill in him greater fear than he symbolizes independently.
"And I also ordered you to keep your curs in check,"—the anger exuded by the speaker was almost tangible.—"Are you aware of what your frozen-over little inquisitor has done?"
A contemptuous tone and an intent to identify the culprit.
With such an approach, Inquisitors investigated cases of fugitive Jedi appearing in the galaxy.
"The transformation suits the planet."
The man turned to him, standing so that the blood-red glow of the sunset fell on his pointed features.
From this, Executor Sedriss's facial expressions looked surrealistically diabolical.
And damnably dangerous.
"Do you even have a notion of what happened?"
"The Jedi Temple is destroyed. It should have been done long ago."
"Idiot," the Emperor's henchman threw toward him. "A legion of fighters slaughtered. Stormtroopers, soldiers, arsenals, barracks, equipment destroyed…"
Since when does this attract the attention of the Executor himself?
All this happens on the front every day.
Possibly at this very minute.
"And what of it?" he managed to breathe out.
"We should have slaughtered you all," the Executor clasped his hands behind his back, facing the city. "Jedi were acting here."
A big event.
And for this he was pulled away from stabilizing the front?
"An Inquisitor reported this to me," Olo said calmly. "Evidently, he failed to destroy the Jedi. Well, there is no place for weaklings in the Inquisitorius."
A snort came from Sedriss's side.
He waved his hand, and a life-sized hologram of a sentient appeared between them.
A Mon Calamari.
In Jedi robes.
With a lightsaber on his belt.
"Do you know who this is?"
"Master Bre'ano Umakk, one of the Jedi who survived Order Sixty-Six."
"One of your failures," Sedriss clarified. "It was he who was in the Jedi Temple."
Really?
He doesn't look like one who can mince an entire legion with armored vehicles to boot.
However, the Inquisitor said he felt a strong opponent.
But even so…
Such a thing is beyond the capabilities of one sentient.
Even a Jedi.
"One?"
"He had several accomplices with him. They are being searched for in the Center's Lower Levels now. The Jedi, by the way, is also dead. As is your subordinate."
I see.
And why was Olo pulled away?
Why was the search for some saboteurs being handled personally by the Executor, the person who puts into effect the Emperor's plan to restore power over the galaxy?
Does he have nothing better to do?
So maybe it's worth answering the requests for aid without which the fronts are choking in blood?
"Before his death, the Jedi managed to spite us greatly," the Executor uttered with a new portion of rage.
"In what way?" Drast inquired.
Instead of an answer, a hologram came to life…
"My Jedi brothers and sisters,"—the Mon Calamari's voice is quiet, but at the same time full of strength and confidence.—"To you I address myself, Bre'ano Umakk. A Jedi just like you. Thirty years ago, as a result of a treacherous attack by clones, deceived and used by the Sith against the Order, we were bled dry, exterminated, scattered across the entire galaxy. Some perished, others surrendered to the victors' mercy, others actively fought the usurpers and perished. But the majority hid, crawled into the darkest holes of the galaxy. Our Order fell. It turned out weak, unable to see the danger before its eyes. Decades were given to us to contemplate our path. My reflections have come to an end. I have concluded that it is time for the Jedi to return to the basics of studying the Force. To become warriors guarding the sentients dear to us. To stop using double-faced motivation, pretending to be guardians of peace. We were generals—and not the best ones. We couldn't preserve peace. It's time to admit to ourselves—we are the ones guilty of the Emperor winning. On our conscience are the deaths of all sentients over the last thirty years. And if those of you who heard of the death of the Emperor and Darth Vader, of Anakin Skywalker who betrayed us, breathed freely and returned to worldly life, then you did so too early. The Sith are stronger now than ever before. In the Deep Core, Emperor Palpatine has returned to life. He waits for the galaxy to weaken in fratricidal war to seize it. I call on all of you to stop pretending that war in the galaxy—is none of our business. Open your eyes and see. Everyone who dies now—is a victim of the fact that we were too weak thirty years ago and earlier. I call on all of you to return to the origins of studying the Force. To remember Lord Hoth and the Army of Light. To unite in a single impulse to defeat the Sith and fulfill your destiny. The Force—is One. We were too stupid and arrogant to see it. Our orthodox masters didn't understand their mistakes and sent Anakin Skywalker's children to do the work they themselves couldn't. I accept responsibility for the slips and failures of the old Jedi Order. I take a step forward. I am changing. And I call on all of you to do the same. There is no point in keeping peace when only war is ahead. Take weapons in your hands and join me. Together we will correct our mistakes. And do what we must. We forgave those who stumbled. And decided to forgive ourselves. That won't do. I cannot reconcile with that. For the Jedi as we know them, it is time to put an end. The time has come for a new, but in reality, a forgotten old teaching. The Force is one. Only our actions and intentions determine the good, separating it from schemes. Join me and my like-minded companions. Together we will become those the Jedi were meant to be."
The hologram froze again, indicating the end of the recording.
"More Jedi populism."
"Which was broadcast using the Temple transmitter and reached everyone who kept their Jedi communicators," Sedriss clarified. "Every former Jedi received this message."
"Before the HoloNet disrupted its operation?"
"An interesting coincidence, isn't it? First Fey'lya calls to restore the Jedi Order. Now this Umakk crawls out with his truth."
"The use of it is a bit less than nil," Olo remarked reasonably. "Only idiots have kept Jedi communicators over so many years. The Inquisitorius tracked Jedi including by the trace of these devices. There will be no effect…"
"Thirteen," Sedriss said unexpectedly.
"What does this number mean, Executor?"
"Exactly that many Jedi manifested themselves on New Republic and Empire territory after this and the Bothan message. Our spies report that several Jedi have already joined the Republican order. Some others were discovered by customs bodies and entered into battle with patrols. Practically all of them are slaughtered. And the prisoners—are silent."
"Is it known where they were heading?" Drast became interested.
"It wasn't possible to learn this from the prisoners. In their ships' navigation computers everything is also destroyed. It's like an obsession. They crawl out from every crack as if this," the Executor pointed to the frozen hologram, "can actually motivate someone."
"Likely the meeting place coordinates are embedded in the message itself," Olo suggested.
"The best slicers and decoders are working on this problem," Sedriss shared information. "So far—without result."
And again, a question arises—so what next?!
Why was it necessary to tear the Chief Inquisitor from the front?!
"You will engage in searching for the Mon Calamari's accomplices," the Executor ordered. "Let the military deal with the front. I want all your servants to be thrown into searching for the saboteurs. Likely—they are the only key to finding the meeting place. And to understanding who stands behind this sudden Jedi gathering. I want to know where they are gathering, who is helping them."
"And what will that give you?"
"And then," Sedriss turned his back to the city sunk in darkness and his black figure flared with the amber light of his eyes, "we will destroy them all. Once and for all. And Sith power will again reign over the galaxy…"
***
I won't say Silri discovered America for me with the use of ysalamiri to accelerate Kaminoan clone production.
She didn't discover it at all.
That was exactly how my clone, who perished during the Battle of Sluis Van, was created.
Yes, on him the technology of rapid Kaminoan cylinder growth and ysalamiri was tested.
And memories were embedded using "HeNod" technologies.
Yes, that was last year.
We played with genetics as best we could.
And back then we didn't know that we could give birth to terrible moral and inhuman psychopaths with such experiments.
So, when meeting Luke Skywalker, one will need to shake not his throat, but his artificial hand.
As a sign of gratitude for correcting my oversight and not letting a fruit of a wild imagination into the world.
What a mad Mitth'raw'nuruodo clone could do to the galaxy I knew from the books of the Hand of Thrawn duology.
True, there a hybrid of a Chiss and Grodin Tierce acted as a dark Imperial genius.
A symbiosis of talent and ruthlessness.
And if my clone had managed to survive, to back down, to stop obeying, then I fear even to imagine what my crazy clone could have done with what is stored in my memory.
And the latter, by the way, was telling me quite pessimistically that the context of some of Silri's positions was by no means empty bluster.
"I don't need Kessel."
"Tarkin collaborated with criminals."
"The Dominion must leave Kessel, the Cartakk sector, and the planets in the south of the galaxy"…
Studying Dathomiri art objects and in particular the Night Sisters' indicates that they love to enjoy power.
And to command.
This cultural aspect is traced in their behavior.
Thus, on Dathomir besides the Night Sisters there is also a settlement of Night Brothers—Zabraks whom the witches used as donors of genetic material to continue their line.
Hence the Dathomirians—hybrids of Zabraks and humans… So, the Night Brothers were in total dependence on the Night Sisters, essentially being their slaves.
Besides, one shouldn't forget such a fact as the Dathomirians' use of rancors as a means of transport.
Taming a multi-meter mad beast is worth much—including in terms of personal authority.
I recall Silri has one such, a "pocket rancor," whom in the well-known game she summoned/teleported/created near herself using Dathomiri magic.
One way or another, Silri demonstrated in her conversation with Sergius her superiority over him and the Dominion.
That is already an indisputable fact.
But the fact that she wasn't going to capture Kessel, mentioned Tarkin, his ability to contact criminality for his benefit, words "in passing" about Cartakk—whose conquest by us specifically she couldn't know from primary sources—says a lot.
Yes, Silri could and can have agents in the Cartakk sector or even inside the system of the same name.
And information can leak even not through technical means, but through exchange of thoughts using the Force or some other way.
In any case Silri could simply understand that the groupings from the Cartakk system aren't making contact for a reason.
At the present moment the greatest concern was represented by the fact that Silri on board the Vengeance mentioned the Empire's financing of "its secret research centers."
And after that she remembered Tarkin.
The semantic message is clear even to non-philologists.
Silri knows about Tarkin's secret research projects.
Add here her words about Kessel…
With a sinking heart I thought about what would happen if someone like her reached Admiral Daala's base.
Where, besides four Star Destroyers, there is weaponry capable of changing all power balances.
For example the Death Star prototype.
Yes, it's just the station's frame, but armed with an active and effective superlaser.
I recall it had a calibration problem, but since when were a rhino's size and blindness his problems?
At number "two," but not in importance, inside the black holes there is also the Sun Crusher.
A little ship with impenetrable armor and torpedoes capable of turning stars into supernovae.
How is this dangerous?
The fact that the local sun in any inhabited system almost instantly explodes, exuding a shockwave and various types of radiation that bring only death.
Something similar about four thousand years ago was done by the fallen Jedi Exar Kun, exploding the Cron star cluster.
Near the then residence of the Jedi Order on the planet Ossus.
The planet turned out scorched to the ground and only millennia later was some kind of ecosystem restored on it.
And even then—it's not a fact that it was without the help of the few indigenous Isana people, descendants of the ancient Jedi who escaped Kun's attack in secluded places on the planet.
"Something must be done urgently about this," Mara Jade fidgeted in her chair, casting an expectant look at me. "Silri must not be allowed to get these ysalamiri."
"And even more so—be allowed to acquire a fleet to transport her units," Lieutenant Colonel Tierce supported.
"Ships without crews—are just metal," the commander of my flagship remarked.
"Exactly so," I agreed. "At the moment we can do nothing about the fact that Silri has shipbuilding and cloning capacities at her disposal."
"But you aren't going to conclude an alliance with her?" Jade inquired with emphasis in her voice.
"We won't be able to attack Silri's forces at the moment for the further reason that access to both Rothana and Kamino is via hyperspace routes, part of which are filled with minefields analogous to which our Perimeter system was created," I ignored the voiced question. "This technology is borrowed from Kuat Drive Yards."
What point in answering it if the decision is already made, and it is the most optimal of all available?
"Mines, artificial gravity generators that activate if a ship is detected giving an incorrect response to the 'friend-or-foe' identification system's work," Pellaeon nodded understandingly.
"Surely there is such equipment on the Vengeance," Mara lit up with initiative.
"Unlikely," Tierce countered. "Based on what Agent Bravo-Eleven told us, the Star Destroyer acted outside Kamino. And didn't fly there."
"While the agent was on the ship," Mara reminded.
"I think Silri didn't reveal her true location to the pirates and mercenaries," Pellaeon uttered. "It's illogical if she viewed them as 'cannon fodder'."
"Even if we find something on any of the destroyed or captured ships, it's unlikely that Silri or her henchmen won't change the frequencies of the 'friend-or-foe' identification system," I said.
This is elementary precaution.
And Silri has already demonstrated she isn't as stupid as one might think of her.
Such an oversight shouldn't be expected from her.
But it must be checked.
All the more since we are already dealing with the issue of overcoming the mine barriers around the Silri Syndicate planets.
"Should we fear that, having obtained Kamino's cloning cylinders, Silri will decide one way or another to use the genetic material archive?" Mara inquired quietly.
"As I recall, Jango Fett's DNA was completely exhausted during the Clone Wars," Pellaeon spoke up. "So one shouldn't worry about her being able to send her clones to us under their guise. Especially since she has no ysalamiri to accelerate growth."
"I'm not talking about ordinary DNA," Mara said, looking into my eyes. "On Kamino they've already proved they can create something powerful."
"After long unsuccessful attempts," Tierce clarified.
"The probability that after the Battle for Kamino, when Galen Marek's clone took Darth Vader prisoner and the Rebel Alliance defeated the Empire, Marek genotype stocks remained on the planet causes great doubt," I said. "We know the planet was under Imperial control after that. And Darth Vader escaped the trap. The Sith Lord's character was not distinguished by softness, and his mind—by forgetfulness."
The fact that he left Starkiller DNA stocks on the planet—is an assumption on the level of stupidity.
Just as is the fact that the Kaminoans could "keep something for themselves."
Vader is not among those sentients who leave matters unfinished that could one way or another harm him personally and his cause.
"Sir, in the agent's story one moment bothered me," Lieutenant Colonel Tierce said.
Just one?
However, I know what he wants to ask about.
"Yes, soldiers in white-black armor of unknown design, that is unusual," I agreed.
"Could they be mercenaries who were brought to a common uniform?" Jade voiced her thoughts…—"A mercenary—is a different psychology," Tierce rejected the thoughts. "They are effective due to their non-standard approach to solving combat tasks. None of them would dress up in a standard armor. A mercenary gets used to working with individual gear. Expensive and often custom-made. They don't hide their faces under helmets, except for Mandalorians. But the latter's armor is easy to identify by its special texture. From the description I didn't notice such features. Standard equipment, on the other hand, is created from considerations of quality-to-effectiveness ratio. With such an approach unification—is a way of reducing production costs. So by indirect signs one can conclude that the fighters the agent met—are directly army units."
"Meaning she has regular troops after all," Captain Pellaeon said pensively. "Clearly there aren't as many of them as she would like…"
"If the words are to be believed, she had a reserve fleet to attack Kessel," Mara continued to insist.
"If she is to be believed," Pellaeon emphasized the possibility. "Analysis shows her words are often just bravado. Wishful thinking."
"Maybe so," Mara agreed reluctantly. "But delaying the solution to such a problem could turn out sideways for us."
"The Silri Syndicate will be destroyed," I said. "Just like the Zann Consortium. We need their territories, resources, productions. They won't give them to us voluntarily. Consequently—conflict is inevitable."
As it is also inevitable that I will have to activate actions in this part of the galaxy.
But first, before planning work in the galactic east, I should first find out how things are in the north, at the borders of the metropolis, and in the northwest, at the Perlemian Trade Route.
In the Tanium Worlds, Captain Astorias's operation should have just concluded, which will put a weapon of mass destruction in the form of one sentient into the Dominion's hands.
Since there is no possibility of finding his copy, we will settle for dealing with an especially dangerous asset.
Had I another option, I wouldn't have gone for such a risky step, wouldn't have captured Juno Eclipse for the sake of making her partner, Galen Marek's clone, perform my errands.
But I have no other opportunity to get such a powerful Force adept who has already clashed with Palpatine and defeated him.
Skywalker is possibly lost.
The Dark Apprentice, another Marek clone, is an unknown variable whose existence in current events is not confirmed or refuted in principle.
He could be alive, could be dead, or could have never existed as a given at all.
In any case, I need proven personnel to oppose Palpatine.
With all respect to the Shadow Guard and the Jensaarai—most of them will perish before they can harm Sidious.
So why waste one's own personnel if there is a possibility and high degree of probability of attracting a "third-party specialist" to one's side.
"Like any organization, the Silri Syndicate will continue to exist until their leader is destroyed," Mara noted, looking sideways at me with her emerald eyes.
The feeling arises as if there is something on my face she wants to speak of but doesn't dare.
"Silri, like Tyber Zann, will be destroyed," I confirmed my intentions for solving the problem of galactic-scale criminality in the most correct, but at the same time radical way.
"There is a big problem," Mara said, pursing her lips and casting a searching look at Lieutenant Colonel Tierce. "I don't think we have anyone at our disposal capable of defeating this witch. Again, we don't know what information she gleaned from the holocron and what she's capable of. However, the fact that according to the agent she was able to give orders to her subordinates on other ships, simply by looking at a tactical hologram, already gives an understanding that fighting her one-on-one is beyond the abilities of most of us."
I shifted my gaze to Tierce.
"I must regretfully state, sir, that the practice of fighting gifted ones indicates that the Guard's adepts like Namman Cha and Khairisa are not up to the task," a regret sounded in Grodin's voice.
Mixed with anger at himself.
"Everyone has a breaking point," I stated neutrally. "This is not a failure of yours or your subordinates, Grodin."
I was required to say something that wouldn't look like tearful "pats on the head."
Thrawn's image does not provide for sympathy and regret.
Only cold analysis of the situation.
And logic says that the guardsmen still face tasks they are not strong enough to solve within their capabilities.
Gifted ones should be hunted by sentients equal to them in strength.
The only problem is that besides Maul and Obscuro I don't have many candidates to issue such liquidation assignments to.
Strin is still a student. Maul reluctantly admits he is strong, but at the same time only at the start of his path.
Throwing him into battle against experienced fighters—means condemning him to death.
Aurra Sing is no more than an excellent sniper, a hired killer who is virtuosic in destroying difficult targets.
But not gifted ones.
Obscuro's partner isn't even considered for such a role.
Mara Jade…
Perhaps so.
She proves she is capable of stable work results.
Master Bre'ano Umakk?
No, he is not a fighter, rather a teacher, a mentor.
Asajj Ventress?
Yes, this one—is a liquidator with experience.
But, as in Maul's case, she hails from Dathomir.
Will any of them be able to oppose a compatriot?
Great doubts.
Moreover Jade made a correct hint.
Gifted ones should be destroyed by gifted ones.
Turning the Jensaarai into hunters of Jedi or Sith—is not the best of possible ideas.
At least at the moment.
Noghri?
Absolutely not what's needed.
Only one option remains, it turns out.
Apparently, I have an uneasy conversation ahead with the only one who can solve my personnel problem.
With Mara Jade.
Likely as a prelude to it, the red-haired beast has been casting ambiguous looks at me all this time.
"All dismissed," I ordered. "Captain Pellaeon, prepare the Guardian and our escort for departure. We are returning to the metropolis at the Tangrene base. Lieutenant Colonel Tierce—return to the medical bay and finish your treatment as planned."
"Yes, sir. It will be done," both men rose from their places in sync and headed for the exit.
When the door closed behind them, Jade made it look as if she were interested in my astromech's front panel.
"Did this droid previously belong to Skywalker?" the girl asked unexpectedly, still staring at the droid's dome.
"To both Skywalkers," I clarified. "Both the father and the son."
"Symbolic," a light smirk appeared on her lips.
After which the girl looked into my eyes and clarified:
"Apparently, you didn't keep me for nothing, having sent the others, Grand Admiral?"
The voice sounded seemingly mundane.
But still somehow unusual.
As if something else was hidden beneath the lack of expression.
Something I couldn't yet understand and decipher.
"That is correct," I agreed, shifting my gaze to the monitor before me. "There will be a new mission for you, Mara."
I needed precise data to hand to the operative.
Here is the required file.
I transferred it to a already prepared chip… Removing the device from the input socket, I squeezed it in my hand for a moment.
Time to finish with all this…
Sound in large rooms carries fairly easily.
A loud, distinct sound of a zipper being undone.
"You need to…"
I cut myself off mid-word when I shifted my gaze from the computer monitor and looked at Jade's face.
Its crimson color could be distinguished even in the darkness of my apartments.
Even in the glimmers of the work monitor's backlight.
As well as the thin strip of snow-white top peeking between the two halves of the upper part of the combat jumpsuit, slightly parted to the sides as the zipper loosened.
Despite all the idiocy of the situation, I couldn't find anything to say.
***
Self-control is hard to keep when two meters from you a young and attractive woman has begun to undress.
Who is all but crawling out of her skin to tell you she wants to stop being "just a subordinate."
Whose emotions overflow the boundaries of the permissible.
"Recruited her on my own head."
And how to explain to Jade that the time, place, and circumstances are completely unsuitable.
Look, poor Rukh with a bewildered face is standing a couple of meters behind her, having shifted slightly to see my face.
He simply doesn't understand what he needs to do.
Twist the Hand and drag her somewhere to air her head?
Close his eyes and forget what he sees?
Delicately withdraw?
Poor Noghri.
At this rate he'll have a stroke.
"Mara," I addressed the girl quietly. "You are forgetting yourself."
"You promised me a frank conversation,"—can she really blush even more?—"Wasn't that why you kept me after everyone?"
No!
No!
And once more, no!
I wanted to give you another assignment!
Woman, what is even in your head?!
Maybe some wound didn't heal properly?
How can the stars even align so as to think of such a thing in this situation?
Ushering her out of here costs nothing at all.
Rukh can manage.
But there is a nuance.
The women of this universe are little different from those I knew in my past life.
And there is no fury more terrible than a rejected lady of the heart.
And at the present moment whatever I say will be perceived by her as a mortal offense.
Give her to understand I'm not set for any romantic-love adventures, especially considering the war—she'll be offended.
Say I'm at least twice her age and it's not the age difference I'm comfortable with—she'll be offended.
Plead that it isn't the time yet—she'll be offended.
Say she is special to me because I relate to her like a stupid and flighty daughter—a lightsaber strike in the back and a few parting words "in the ear" await me.
Postponing the promised conversation—is even more trouble.
The situation cannot be escalated—no one will be better for it.
The situation is a stalemate.
Wherever I make a move—there is a threat everywhere.
I've already read the report on how she handled two Inquisitors.
The lady has clearly grown.
And, if I understand correctly, my "forgiveness" for previous operation failures she took precisely as a manifestation of sympathy from a crusty military man for her lovely person.
And not a second chance for a potentially promising operative, toward whom I feel a shred of guilt for having sent her to Vjun without a whole army and having left her in captivity for a long time.
Where she was subjected to torture and beatings.
Oh…
I've driven myself into a trap.
In every sense.
But I cannot be silent either.
"Yes, it was assumed we would talk seriously,"—a diplomatic phrase that should cool her down a bit.
"I am ready for the talk, Grand Admiral."
Your mother!
How can one even in two movements remove from the arms the tight and body-hugging fabric of a combat jumpsuit?!
Is this definitely not a hallucination?
Judging by several scars on the body—it doesn't seem so to me.
This is indeed Mara Jade.
The dream of teenagers and youths obsessed with this universe.
More precisely, one of them.
Bold, independent, freedom-loving…
No, I like this girl.
She is indeed beautiful in herself, but… She is after all my subordinate.
A total antipode.
Nothing good will come of this.
What is even happening?
I don't remember in the universe's lore her behaving like this.
However, after ten years of acquaintance all her flightiness collapsed after Skywalker's clumsy marriage proposal.
And somehow all her gloss vanished after that.
The Mara Jade developed by Timothy Zahn disappeared.
Turning into a dreary Jedi after marriage to Luke Skywalker.
A grayness, like all the Jedi of the New Order except for a few names.
As if the Vader descendants literally suck the individuality out of those who surround them.
May Palpatine's lightning strike me!
What am I even thinking about?!
And how to behave so as not to offend the woman?!
In my past life I never managed to find the answer to this riddle of the universe.
I don't like that I cannot win this battle.
Interpersonal relations—is not the front I planned to open at all.
And even less—to lose on it.
Twice!
And fine with Isard—she suits my temperament.
No romance, pragmatic relationships between two sentients who respect each other.
But what to expect from Jade?
Best of all to just freeze her in carbonite for a couple of months and then explain everything!
Yes, that's exactly what I'll do.
Ru…
Gray-skinned traitor!!!
Mara Jade didn't even turn around, hearing the quiet hiss of the door in which Rukh disappeared.
Scoundrel!
"Do you want to say something, Grand Admiral?" the green-eyed fury purred, sinking onto my lap.
No, I don't!
And my mouth is open because I wanted to call the bodyguard!
Jade, seeing my stupor, didn't even stop.
She threw her arms behind my head, kissing my lips and while doing so wriggling her hips on me.
Yes, your mother…
To the Hutts.
We'll deal with the consequences later.
I have the right to rest.
My hands closed on Jade's waist.
Our gazes met…
Mitth'raw'nuruodo would never have done this.
Probably that was why he perished, not having calculated a betrayal under his own nose.
Didn't know how to relax.
"It seems you are glad to see me, Grand Admiral," she said languidly, with merry devils in her eyes. "Or am I understanding something wrong? It's just pressing…"
An awkward situation.
"I can only confirm that it isn't a hand," I pulled the girl to me and kissed her.
I couldn't think of anything better.
From the deck's vibration it became clear that the Guardian had crossed the faster-than-light barrier.
***
The door to Grodin's cabin flew open and a gray-skinned hurricane flew inside, freezing like a statue on one of the two chairs.
Tierce, standing at the entrance, looked with a grim gaze at the finely shivering Rukh, whose eyes were wide enough that if desired one could see the optic nerve.
"Brother of the knife…" the Noghri rasped, staring straight ahead. "There… There… There…"
"Did Jade go on the offensive?" Tierce asked, closing the cabin door and sitting opposite the bodyguard.
"I… I…"
"It's normal," the Lieutenant Colonel said with a serious face, pulling out the bedside table's drawer. "That was what it was all heading for. Thrawn held out for a long time. Judging by the fact that I'm not being told of a shootout in his apartments, the fortress has fallen."
Taking a bottle of aged Virren out of there, he poured the contents into two glasses.
Rukh drank one in a gulp.
Followed by the second.
The guardsman refilled the glasses, but this time took one for himself.
Rukh continued to stare ahead.
Well, at least he stopped shivering.
"I… I fled…"
"It's normal," Tierce said, taking a sip. "When he charmed that double-Isard, even I got some gray hair. But, for now everything is normal. And if she starts interfering—we'll get rid of the bitch. I won't allow her to clog his head."
"My eyes…" Rukh whispered, teeth clattering against the glass's walls. "Can you imagine, she started undressing right before my eyes… How am I to live with this now?"
"Silently," Tierce advised. "I know from experience. Such a thing even if you want to—you won't forget."