Ten years, third month, and thirteenth day after the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fifth year, third month, and thirteenth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Nine months and thirty-third day since arrival).
What does a person see when they open their eyes in the dark?
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing until the visual organs adapt to the state of the environment and various object contours begin to be seen through the gloom.
Humanity does not possess night vision.
But at some stage of evolution, the Chiss acquired such an ability.
And now, lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling, discerning the smallest details of the ceiling overlap.
In the bedroom—absolute darkness.
Even the reinforced transparisteel viewports—secured.
If desired, they can be opened, but then the blue-white light of hyperspace will pour into the seclusion compartment.
In which I am not alone.
Turning my head, I looked at the woman lying nearby.
A shock of bright red hair was scattered over the pillows and blanket, framing her like an angel's halo.
The young, beautiful face, on whose lips a satisfied smile was frozen, is beautiful in the night.
Just as it is in the light of day.
Like a porcelain figurine wrapped in soft packaging, Mara Jade was given over to sleep.
Sprawled on the bed in a star shape.
Good thing she didn't snore, having run out of strength.
For a few seconds I admired her, turning on my side.
A thin strand of hair lay across her face, its tip falling right toward her nose, causing the girl to grimace periodically.
I moved the strand aside, after which I slipped out from under the blanket.
The refresher had an invigorating effect.
But a visit to the training hall—gave even more strength.
A treadmill for a warm-up.
Exercises for legs, arms, torso.
Loads that make muscles groan but clear the head.
A barbell with one hundred and fifty kilograms of weight flew up fairly easily.
The first few minutes.
Then it became harder.
A Chiss's metabolism differs from a human's.
Physique—not much.
But the innards…
That's what Three will tell me upon returning to the metropolis, she who with her characteristic pragmatism, abstraction, and skill dissects my clone's body.
Is it dangerous—to entrust the body of one's own clone to a brain-transplant specialist for study?
Everything is dangerous.
As practice shows—the peace and order that reigned in the galaxy "from book to book"—is all a lie.
What I observe—is only proof of the one-sided view of the universe's authors.
Passions simmer here constantly.
The New Republic didn't solve problems—it only fought the symptoms of diseases that plagued the galaxy.
Hence such a situation—from crisis to crisis.
That's why there are so many "underwater stones."
I began to solve problems not "broadly," but "deeply."
From here crawl out various kinds of troubles that were not indicated in the Expanded Universe.
When the barbell went down, a red halo appeared over my face.
"Good morning."
It happened so unexpectedly that I lost my rhythm, my breathing faltered.
And the load turned out to be unliftable.
Straining the remnants of my strength, I returned the barbell to the holders, feeling the muscles of my arms and body trembling.
Just like that.
It was enough to invade my personal space, disrupt my train of thought—and as if the ability to perform repetitions vanished.
My mind played a cruel joke on me.
Rising, I took the towel offered to me and wiped the sweat from my face.
In reality I needed time.
Time to think of what to say.
For some reason I remembered that last time I consoled myself with the phrase, saying no man knows the right thing to blurt out in a similar situation and how to behave so as not to make things worse.
"Good morning,"—meaningless to rub your face and pretend you are so busy you can't answer.
"I didn't know you train,"—one look at Mara Jade was enough to note the darting gaze, the shy posture (well, at least she put on a bathrobe), bitten teeth. "I'd have helped with the barbell, but… These ysalamiri are everywhere…"
Of course they are everywhere.
I don't like it when I have to fight against Force-sensitive sentients.
Who due to their extrasensory abilities can one way or another get a "hint" from what I don't control.
But at the present moment I was much more interested in Mara Jade's behavior.
Uncertain.
It grew a bit easier.
Looks like I'm not the only one feeling awkward.
Mara's tone isn't confidently sarcastic either.
Rather guiltily-shy.
"In a healthy body—a healthy spirit," I said.
For some reason an inscription in white paint on the fence of the training town of the unit in which I served my conscription service popped up before my eyes.
"True,"—the girl shifted from foot to foot.
The lip-biting became even more pronounced.
Well, the time has come to seize the initiative.
Because her behavior gives an understanding that Jade's plans didn't go beyond what happened yesterday.
"If needed—the equipment is at your service," I suggested, gesturing around the gym.
Not as large as one might think.
The size of a basketball court and filled with training equipment of all sorts.
Essentially—a miniature copy of the gym used by stormtroopers and paratroopers.
The fleet… A good question.
And how do fleet specialists pass physical training tests if they don't use equipment?
"Are we on a first-name basis already?"—in Jade's eyes, when our gazes crossed, well-known devils appeared. "It seemed to me that special favor from command was needed for that…"
Ah no, she oriented herself quickly enough.
Caustic remarks are already breaking out.
"I don't insist on observing subordination in private," I uttered, finishing soaking up sweat with the towel. "Starting today."
Looking into the girl's eyes, I maintained her battle of gazes for some time, after which she became interested in another part of the gym.
"It seems to me that if you trained in the general hall with subordinates, it would have some encouraging and motivating moments," Jade said.
How interesting.
Both she and I are trying to bypass what happened.
That very case when the "corporate party was a success," but the "girls from accounting" try not to look you in the eye when meeting.
As if someone is going to remind them of half-naked dancing on the table.
"An interesting point of view," I uttered mundane. "Thank you for the idea. I'll think it over."
"Don't mention it,"—Jade still hadn't turned her face to me.
Does she really think I'll believe she was so struck by the parallel bars that she can't tear her gaze from them?
The awkwardness of the moment risked growing into irritation.
Therefore, I simply left.
Tossed the towel into the clothes-cleaning machine, where the training clothes followed next.
Returned to the refresher and placed my body under the watery steam of hot water, washing the sweat off me.
It seems it dawned on her what was obvious yesterday.
This won't lead to anything good, and certainly not comfortable, so we shouldn't have…
A breath of wind went cold across my back, attracting attention.
Turning around, I fixed my gaze on a pair of emerald eyes…
Well, not eyes.
"He'll think it over,"—Mara stated in a dissatisfied-offended tone, crowding me in the refresher stall. "No need to think. Need to act."
How she managed in a one-by-one meter stall to gracefully raise a leg, blocking my exit from the refresher, is beyond me.
But at least now it's clear she isn't training for nothing.
"This is not allowed," I warned, hinting at a not-so-safe environment.
"It is allowed,"—with a satisfied smile Jade bit into my lips like a vampire into a victim's neck.
A few seconds later, she threw her arms around my neck and with a light jump hung on me, wrapping her legs around my waist.
The emerald green of her eyes looked straight into my soul.
Through those very mirrors of the same, burning with fire.
"Only this time, mind you, don't ride me to unconsciousness."
"I can't promise anything,"—this too broke out by itself.
And off it went…
***
Hijarna Stone Fortress was slowly but surely falling apart.
Undoubtedly, the reason for this was not that Talon had placed his new operational base here…
Hijarna Stone Fortress.
This sad process began even long before the planet Hijarna in the Orus sector in the galaxy's Inner Rim was discovered by the Fifth Alderaan Expedition.
It was this association of scientists from the now-destroyed planet that discovered the planet and a huge fortress created from black stone that absorbs any types of energy.
Archaeologists determined the age of the venerable structure at several thousand years, but could say nothing more definite.
According to the information the Claw himself possessed, scientists of the past pondered the fortress's role in the planet's history.
Some believed it was the locals' last desperate defense against what devastated Hijarna.
Others believed it was an invaders' stronghold.
But one way or another, this majestic structure was coming to irreversible decay.
The fortress stood, empty, abandoned, needed by no one, guarding an empty, abandoned, and unneeded world.
In the practitioners' opinion: a pointless waste of incredibly hard and utterly rare black stone.
Romantics called it the last witness of an old catastrophe and an unfailing sentry.
Hijarna Stone Fortress rose over a plateau on which traces of destruction were still preserved.
A monument to an old and unclear tragedy, a desperate attempt to protect a doomed planet.
Or the reason for both the siege and subsequent destruction.
There is no learning what happened here now.
One could only guess.
At the present moment the decaying fortress was called by Talon nothing other than a new home.
"A temporary home," he corrected himself mentally.
He wouldn't stay long here.
Right now this is a place for meeting those whom the Claw could trust.
At least a little.
And with every month fewer and fewer of those remained.
Some didn't want to deal with him anymore because of the fate that pursued anyone who provided him aid.
Aves, Mazzic, hundreds of others…
All of them were destroyed by Grand Admiral Thrawn.
Revenge for the fact that Karrde, while declaring his neutrality, was actually helping the New Republic.
Not without damage to his pocket, of course.
But still more than to the Empire.
And now, when the game of hypocrisy was over, he was playing all but on credit on the Alliance's side.
And this carried quite obvious reputational, economic, and other losses.
Talon looked at the assistant who entered the room used as a communications center.
After Mara Jade's departure, the death of Aves, Dankin, Mazzic, and many others, it was Chin.
A native of the planet Myrkr, Chin was one of Karrde's oldest and most reliable partners.
Before leaving the planet, Chin also served as the smugglers' operations manager at Karrde's headquarters on the planet.
As an expert on Myrkr's local wildlife, Chin trained and domesticated Karrde's pet vornskrs (also killed), and was also skilled in removing ysalamiri from tree branches.
It was he who taught Thrawn's stormtroopers this process, thanks to which the latter achieved great success.
He performed many roles in Karrde's organization, including working on board Karrde's main vessel, the Wild Karrde.
Yes, for the new Action IV, the Claw chose the same name as for the old ship.
Naturally Thrawn returned nothing when Karrde turned to him via Ferrier on Sullust.
And Pellaeon didn't give a damn anyway.
The Grand Admiral was destroying Karrde's organization, and naturally was not interested in returning what was taken.
Reserves had to be spent to restore the organization at least in part.
Talon would never admit it, but the Alliance's periodic cash infusions helped his organization stay afloat.
At least for now.
Chin nodded toward the display.
"Report on the New Republic?"
"Yes,"—Karrde pulled out an infochip.—"Admiral Duplex has really gone on a tear."
"They're fighting well, yeah?"
"Looks like it. He's kicked the Pentastar Alignment off Ruul, Sarapin, Fedalle. Apparently, the next target is Skako. Without Grand Moff Kaine, the Alignment is as if it's forgotten how to fight. They lose a battle for a fortified point—roll back light years, withdrawing their forces from adjacent star systems."
Chin rubbed a fruit against his clothes and bit into it with a crunch.
"If he and Sei'lar continue at the same pace, then after the Bothan captured Tepasi, the New Republic may well attack Brentaal IV," he concluded and bit into the fruit's pulp; wiped sweet juice from his chin. "And if they capture it, they cut off parts of the Alignment from Imperial Space."
"I'm inclined to think Fey'lya is betting on the disjointed actions of Orinda and Entralla," Karrde replied, feeding the computer another info-crystal. "While the Alliance chokes the Imperials on the Perlemian Trade Route from defense, the Bothans decided to take Coruscant back."
"It won't be that simple," Chin chewed the fruit. "Even if they take Brentaal, ahead of them are Corulag, Anaxes. And Coruscant itself is fortified now like no example under the Snow Queen or the rebels themselves."
"True," Karrde agreed, reading the new data. "And that is the most surprising thing. The Alignment is preparing to defend Coruscant. And it's scooping more and more reserves from its rear. Those stations they dragged into Coruscant orbit didn't come from thin air. They were removed from the defense of Yagi Minor, Entralla, and several other planets. For the Brentaal, Corulag, and Anaxes fortifications, exactly the same thing is happening. The Alignment is moving its useless Dragons from the front lines, which pop from one X-wing squadron raid, and sending available Destroyers, Vindicators, and Enforcers to the front lines."
"Scraping the last they have," Chin correctly assessed the situation, having finished with the fruit.
"And it's stupid," the Claw sighed. "It would have been simpler for them to pull back to one line, the same Brentaal IV, and hold it with all their might, growing reserves in the rear. And they are as if enemies to themselves—stripping rears and throwing everything they have onto the front. Looks like only Kaine among them understood anything in military terms. If the front collapses, and there are all prerequisites for that, what will stop Fey'lya from storming the Alignment territory next?"
"Don't look at me," Chin asked. "I'm not as smart as you, boss."
"You just underestimate yourself,"—the smuggler group leader thought to himself.
Chin has the makings of a leader.
Had Karrde more strength, he would undoubtedly have appointed Chin commander of a "branch."
But that is exactly the problem.
"Any news?" Karrde inquired, not tearing himself from the monitor along which lines of a decrypted message crawled.
Plus a picture: a star chart and accompanying text.
The guys were flying to Hijarna to deliver their reports on the situation in the conflict between the Alignment and the New Republic.
After that they would head on new missions, and the next meeting place would be communicated to them by couriers…
The paralysis of inter-sector communication disrupted too large plans and slowed communication between members of Karrde's organization.
As a result—some information became obsolete before it was delivered to the addressee.
"Hardly anyone wanting to meet," Chin answered. "Citing busyness, being in other parts of the galaxy. A pair of direct refusals due to working for the Alliance."
"Expected and predictable,"—Karrde didn't doubt things wouldn't be as before.
Members of the organization had learned too much about him that he preferred to keep to himself.
And now the number of those wishing to collaborate had shrunk.
If he could still somehow keep rank-and-file assistants by him, as for turning to more authoritative comrades in the trade—no longer.
Trust was lost.
Karrde's organization, spanning a huge part of the galaxy, had shattered into pieces.
And now represents a gnawed skeleton left from a massive giant with fat.
But, until they learn of this in the Alliance, he is still at work.
It's not his first time restoring the organization.
Managed before, will manage now.
In the end his organization won't be without money.
Even if the Alliance once again delays a money tranche and money for paying for work has to be moved from the accounts of other profitable enterprises, he won't grow poor.
In the end, the Alliance leaders always have their conscience by their side—Leia Organa-Solo.
Should they lose the will to pay—he will act through her.
"Something else?" Talon asked, seeing that Chin was not leaving.
"One did come into contact after all," the assistant admitted reluctantly.
"Just one," the Claw huffed. "Not much. But still better than nothing. Who?"
"Ro'Amond. One of the guys was on Poderis and met this nashtak there. He asked to contact him. Supposedly there is some information that will interest you."
Chin said all this in such a tone as if he spat.
And it's hard to blame him for that.
"What frequency is he on?"
"Channel seven," Chin explained. "I'd probably better go."
"Engage in packing things," Karrde ordered. "We won't stay long here."
"Will be done, boss."
Chin's reluctance to communicate with Ro'Amond is quite understandable.
The Iridonian Zabrak represented his own smuggler grouping and, concurrently, information traders.
In the past they collaborated fruitfully.
Ro'Amond held in his hands quite a strong but small (by the standards of Karrde's old organization) grouping, flying on heavily modernized Corellian corvettes and frigates.
Up until Karrde's disappearance and his stay in Thrawn's captivity.
He picked up several of Karrde's former partners into his organization, snapped up some of the business.
And naturally expanded his capabilities.
It's not clear for what purposes he even responded to Karrde's offer of collaboration.
But the fact that he is in a position to contact the Claw indicates the Zabrak is somewhere in the Orus sector.
Coincidence?
Unlikely.
Meaning someone steered him toward Karrde's temporary stop.
And that is not as good as it could be.
In any case Talon did not plan to stay long here.
Having tuned the holotransmitter to the required channel, Karrde saw the formed projection of Ro'Amond…
Ro'Amond.
"Claw,"—the smuggler greeted the information broker with a smirk.—"Didn't know you decided to settle in the Orus sector too. Aren't you afraid of Imperial Space patrols? Grown bold under the Republican Alliance's wing?"
Since Mon Mothma and her allies hadn't thought of a name for their state better than simply "the Alliance," people in the galaxy mocked it however they could.
"Alliance for the Restoration of the Republic 2.0."
"Alliance against Bothans."
"Alliance of the dissenters."
"Republican Alliance."
"Radical Alliance."
"Rebel Alliance."
And another good two dozen more concise but less melodious and unprintable names.
"What do you want, Ro'Amond?" Karrde asked.
"Well, an unpleasant situation occurred," the Zabrak grimaced. "I decided to earn a few credits here…"
Which is already quite funny.
A "few credits" in Ro's understanding is at minimum the cost of one starfighter.
Meaning he also has quite a serious employer.
And a solvent one.
There are as many such in the galaxy as you can count on a Nautolan's head tentacles.
And practically all of them don't regret having dealings with Karrde himself.
"Want me to give you a loan, or what?" the Claw inquired.
Usually a desire to earn a "few credits" for Ro turned into a "stiffing," in which he took his money from the employer (if he managed to do so) in the company of his thugs.
Or by training his ships' guns on the client.
It seems the only employer who didn't want to stiff him was the Corellian Diktat, for whom he unsuccessfully investigated cases of their ships being kidnapped straight from Corellian shipyards.
Under this business he talked some major official from Corellia out of a pair of decommissioned CR90s and DP20s as payment.
Which they demanded back from him after several weeks of failed searches.
Which is logical—after all, four starships is quite an expensive pleasure.
I wonder how much he paid that official to decide to give up the ships.
Even if decommissioned and requiring repair, the Diktat was arming itself how and with whatever it could now.
Besides building new ships, it was also successfully modernizing old ones located in boneyards and condemned to being cut for scrap.
It seems Corellia is the only state in the galaxy (except, perhaps, Tapani) that builds its fleet entirely from ships produced according to its own blueprints and built at its own shipyards, from its own resources.
If not for the Diktat's arbitrariness, Corellia could be set as an example for all others.
In a short period of "independence," the Diktat quite promptly organized itself on an independent production base.
Ro, who couldn't get on the Corellian ship kidnappers' tail, having correctly reasoned that "without stiffing the client you aren't a smuggler at all," waved goodbye to the Diktat and technically vanished into the sunset.
Along with the ships.
Actually the presence of such impressive forces allowed the native of Iridonia to snap up some of Karrde's business while the latter was "resting" in Thrawn's captivity.
"Nope," the smuggler-Zabrak drawled. "I had a ship taken. Right on Poderis."
"The Empire hasn't stopped representing danger," Karrde shrugged. "The Orus sector is Space territory. What did you want, flying here on combat Corellian ships?"
"The Imperials aren't scary for us," the Zabrak replied indifferently. "Having contacted the Alliance they don't even look our way. They don't care that we scurry through the Orus sector. They have much more of their own headache. Heard, I suppose, that the New Republic has gone on a counter-attack?"
"Yes, rumors have reached."
Ro was clearly trying to lead him to something.
Curious.
In the past he didn't engage in such matters.
"And the Alliance not long ago grabbed Contruum and Gyzere," Ro'Amond continued in a mundane tone.
The fact that the Alliance had gone on the offensive became big and unexpected news for Talon.
From the category of those you didn't even guess, hear, or expect, although actually you have people working for the Alliance.
Transporting cargo for them.
Equipment.
People.
And how did it turn out that he isn't aware of Bel Iblis's actions in this direction?
And what about the talk about ship shortages?
What about preparation for such operations?
An attack cannot be carried out without preceding fruitful and diligent work by logisticians.
And Karrde's guys—are part of this logistics system.
Now, it turns out, not.
Sad.
Meaning now the question of distrust is growing sharper.
Fine, we'll draw conclusions.
"Did you contact me only to tell me about this?" Karrde asked.
"Actually to ask for help getting off Poderis," Ro'Amond was not at all embarrassed. "As I already said—I lost a ship. And I'd be extremely grateful to you if you dropped me at one little spot."
"Just one?" Karrde raised his eyebrows.
"Yep," the Zabrak smiled. "My guys are quite far and there's no contact with them. You understand yourself—looking for transport to Alliance territory in a sector controlled by Imperial Space is not the brightest idea. If, of course, you want to live a bit longer."
Why would a smuggler who took orders from anyone ready to pay absolutely need to reach Alliance territory?
And by a direct flight.
What prevents hiring a carrier to the meeting place with his ships, or the nearest point from which there is contact with them, and then—fly to the Alliance if it's so urgent?
Something here is not right.
"I'd gladly help," Karrde said, demonstrating no interest, "but there is a nuance. I don't plan to fly to the Alliance in the near future. And transport expenses should be paid. I doubt you have money with you to cover my costs."
The Zabrak sniffed.
Poderis, of course, is not the biggest hole in the galaxy and the Orus sector in particular, but ships are still there.
Not as often as in the whole sector, but still.
"And how much do you want for transport?" Ro'Amond asked, eyeing the Claw distrustfully.
After all, he imagined what price such a flight might cost.
Hence the suspicious attitude.
"Twenty thousand," Karrde announced calmly.
"Robbery," the Zabrak blurted.
"Well, then a happy autumn season on Poderis," the Claw wished the Zabrak in the same tone. "If you ask nicely, I can recommend you a decent hotel."
Poderis was an outlier world whose colonists held on due to persistence and stubbornness, with a disorienting ten-hour workday and almost perpendicular axial tilt, which led to hurricane winds in spring and autumn.
Its surface consisted of enormous mountain ranges protruding from the planet's oceans, where colonists lived behind a protective screen of huge wind-shielding barriers.
Which were made by local settlers from metal suitable for starship plating.
Actually, for this reason smugglers quite often visited there for minor and cheap repairs.
However the presence of Imperial Space corvettes in the sector had cooled the ardor of most transient guests… And for non-locals to be there at such a time of year…
At minimum uncomfortable.
Karrde, however, had his own interests and contacts there.
Not as abundant as in the past, but still.
"What do you want, Karrde?" the Zabrak gave in. "You didn't just name me a sum four times greater than what is actually required."
Karrde shook his head distrustfully.
"I want to know exactly how you lost the ship on Poderis," he said with a touch of laziness in his voice. "In detail. If the story is worth it, then, so be it, I'll send one of the guys for you. And you'll be dropped at Alliance territory. Or maybe—if it's really something important—then I'll take you straight to Dac. That's for me to decide."
Ro has quite a strong grouping.
They don't take just anyone, but there is a minimum crew plus several fighters on each starship.
And since someone took a whole corvette from him…
It means a daredevil was found who could pull the wool over the eyes of a whole dozen sentients at once, including Ro himself.
And the latter is not distinguished by excessive trust, faith in sentients, and simple-mindedness in principle.
Meaning the story is clearly not simple.
And after it the Zabrak decided to fly immediately to the Alliance?
Something extremely interesting happened on Poderis.
And practically under Karrde's nose, since his guys who were there didn't get into such a mess and unloaded calmly.
The Zabrak cast a quick look at him.
"And aren't you asking a bit much, Karrde?"
"No. And what's the matter?"
"You're meddling in my business, actually."
Meaning the ship loss is connected with his current assignment.
Quite interesting.
A mission to a backwater planet importing food products, medical drugs and equipment, high technologies.
Connected with a well-paid client.
And it all ended with a ship being lost.
Ro could lose money, fighters, cargo, but for a starship, and the flagship of his squad to boot…
No, something interesting clearly happened on Poderis.
Given current political realities—immensely important.
"If you want to stay, then…"
"Fine," Ro hissed through his teeth. "A Jedi took my ship."
Karrde's lips twisted.
"What, like Luke Skywalker in person? Decided to change his X-wing for something larger and more comfortable?"
The Zabrak's face was literally distorted by a grimace.
"No, not the blessed and exalted oddball, brother of the well-known princess of the shattered orb. Another."
Karrde turned his back to the display.
He didn't want his "business colleague" to see his amazement and bewilderment on his face.
It took a few seconds to get the upper hand over himself.
"There aren't that many Jedi in the galaxy, Ro," Talon said. "I want to hear the story in full."
The Zabrak shifted his shoulders awkwardly.
"Karrde, this is…"
"All the best, Ro. Hope you have luck with a passing ship…"
"A Hutt as a wife to you, Claw!"—the Zabrak flew into a rage.—"This is too much!"
"Everything has a price. You agreed to it."
The Zabrak's jaw muscles worked.
Finally he gave in.
As Talon had assumed, the Zabrak's situation required the fastest possible solution.
He was all but itching to return to the Alliance.
"As I said, hired on for credits," he uttered reluctantly.
"To whom?"
"Well there's one in the Alliance… Deals in transport. Said something needs to be picked up from mechanics on Poderis. Well, I arrived, decided to fix my tub too while the cargo is gathered. A week's delay—is nothing when they can fix engines on the cheap…"
"Go on."
"While the guys were resting, the mechanic who was fixing the ship swiped it."
"You spoke of a Jedi."
"Well he turned out to be one! Or do you think I'd leave the starship unattended? Disarmed my guys with his lightsaber, opened several of them like tin cans, took the ship and was gone."
Sounds like nonsense.
Why would a Jedi take someone else's starship?
"Hard to believe the proverbial guardians of peace could take a ship from an honest smuggler."
"Yes, and while doing so—take the cargo I had to take to the client in the Alliance! Now I want to fly to him and ask what Huttish filth happened and what I was pulled into."
Suppose.
The galaxy is full of coincidences.
"And who recommended this mechanic who turned out to be a Jedi to you?" Karrde asked.
There are too many "white spots" in the story to believe it just like that.
"Well the client did. Said: 'Fly to Poderis, pick up the cargo from the mechanic. Pass something by word of mouth, and bring me the containers.' And now no cargo, no ship, no payment… Only questions and a great desire to bash the client's face, because I feel this was a setup."
"Or what you're telling me—is a setup."
"Suppose I believe that," Karrde pretended. "What were you supposed to say to the mechanic? Some Gamorrean insult, I suppose, if he decided to steal your ship."
"Nothing like that," Ro'Amond shrugged. "Some nonsense. 'Time to restore the order. You are needed by the Alliance.' Recruiting the mechanic, apparently…"
No, simply modern youth—and Ro is barely thirty standard years old—is not aware that Jedi in the past consisted in an Order, not a hobby club of domestic detectives.
"What was the mechanic's name?" Karrde asked.
"How should I know? I don't introduce myself by first and last name to every first mechanic…"
"Well, do you at least know the client?"
"Of course. Not the first time working for him. And just now such a hitch happened…"
"The client's name."
"Jan Strange. Former Imperial servant. Now deals in cargo transport…"
"So that's how it is, then," Karrde said slowly. "Well, then, I'll send someone for you in the near future."
"Listen, time won't wait. I don't want her to vanish somewhere. Maybe this mechanic stole the ship for her… Better fly yourself, I've already lost a heap of time, and you have one of the fastest tubs in the galaxy."
"Regretfully, Ro, your story turned out not so impressive as to distract me from current affairs," Karrde smiled, switching off the holoprojector.
"Chin,"—he contacted the assistant using a comlink.—"Send someone to pick Ro up from Poderis. But first—let them finish current missions."
"Fine, boss. Will be done."
Switching off the communication device, Karrde drummed his fingers on the computer panel.
Jan Strange, then, yeah?
Careless work, must be admitted.
From Kyle Katarn personally the Claw expected a much finer style of secret recruitment operations.
And to use his girlfriend, Jan Ors, under an old pseudonym as a task source for Ro…
And also in such an openly hackneyed way to try to recruit a Jedi who knows how much time he spent hiding from the Empire… Not great.
Too crude.
Too stupid.
And too easily Ro decided to tell him all this.
If this operation actually took place and a Jedi was on Poderis all this time who didn't like being decided to be recruited into the Alliance, then it's clear why Iblis doesn't trust him.
With such own agents one doesn't even need enemies… Whether this actually came to pass, or Ro invented this story for some of his own, or even not only his own purposes, Karrde was not going to tear himself away from his main work.
Even if Ro told the truth and the Alliance decided to restore the Jedi Order under its wing, it all looks extremely amateurish.
***
Despite all assumptions, after the outburst in the refresher, the situation did not become clearer or less awkward.
Mara thanked the Force both for someone having thought to equip the Grand Admiral's apartments with a kitchenette and for the fact that at least here she could hide from Thrawn's company.
Need to get her head in order.
And figure out how far her girlish desire to bypass rivals in the form of Baronesses D'Asta and surpass the Snow Queen clone had gone.
The girl, sinking in a soft bathrobe, paying no attention to her still wet hair, stared in a silent stupor at a cup of caf.
AND WHAT THE HUTT HAD SHE EVEN DONE?!
She'd like someone to give an answer for her.
But the Hutt was swimming there…
Got into what was happening up to her ears herself, had to untangle it herself.
So-o, what did it all start with?!
With the fact that for her failures Thrawn didn't order her thrown out the airlock, didn't tie her to his flagship's antenna during movement, and didn't even arrange an excessively brain-washing instructive educational process.
He gave her a second chance.
Once, twice…
Which was perceived by her first with distrust.
Then with suspicion.
And after "studying" under Maul she was altogether convinced Thrawn values her more than he lets on.
Well his behavior toward her doesn't mesh with the characterizing material she could extract from stories about the Empire's thirteenth Grand Admiral.
A cold, hardened intriguer, schemer, strategist who spends all his time studying the enemy and drawing up plans for his destruction in the most effective way.
And now…
Having recruited her with a reasoned account of how she was used by Palpatine, he didn't even blink when she proposed destroying Palpatine's work.
His huttish autobiography book in which he explained how easily and unhindered he manipulates the galaxy.
Given that even then she realized—Thrawn is gathering his own deck of Force-sensitive sentients.
And Sidious's works—are actually a source of information, knowledge thanks to which gifted ones could be trained without chasing after Jedi legends and artifacts.
Of all people, the Emperor—is clearly a powerful sentient who has more than one and not even two trump cards up his sleeve.
Not to mention that on the pages of Palpatine's book there was information about aristocrats, officials, senators bribed or intimidated by him…
All this could be used to bring the New Republic (and the Empire) to its knees.
Excellent compromising material.
And Thrawn simply burned it…
Mara remembered that then she all but threw herself on his neck and kissed him as a sign of gratitude.
Because any power-seeker would have preferred to have such a source of information with him.
And Thrawn destroyed it.
At her request.
And thereby grew in her eyes from the ranks of "simple but brilliant soldier" to "leader who won't walk over heads."
Displacing from her consciousness the place previously occupied by an utterly embellished by her own consciousness Emperor.
He prepared her for the battle with Luke Skywalker to rid her of the Emperor's obsessive mental command.
Returned to her the role of a Hand—a personal secret agent.
And sent her on missions vital for the Dominion.
And not to investigate corruption or rebel cell activity on the galaxy's fringes.
Gave a second chance…
Several times.
All this together added up for her into an image of a woman who is important to the Grand Admiral not only as a subordinate.
The imagination of a young lady painted pictures of the past for her, when she had only just met Thrawn during the Empire days.
She cherished the hope that the brave warrior fell in love with the Emperor's best dancer—as Palpatine had presented her then.
It was at the ceremony created for the sake of Thrawn's secret promotion to the rank of Grand Admiral.
It was at the secret part that Palpatine told the Chiss who she really was.
Why did he do that?
Few in the Palace knew who she was.
Could it be that Palpatine noticed Thrawn's interest in Mara even then, and therefore reported her position as the Emperor's personal agent to discourage the newly-minted Grand Admiral's desire to take her away?
For rumors went that the Grand Admiral Thrawn destroyed, Demetrius Zaarin, had gotten mixed up with one of the women close to the Emperor.
It was only now Mara knew the talk was about another Hand, but back then, when there was more lies than truth in the Palace…
If the Emperor really highly valued Thrawn, he could have just given Mara into his service, as he did, giving Sarcev Quest one of his Hands, Roganda Ismaren.
But he didn't do it.
Mara grabbed the mug of caf with her hands and took a large gulp.
Her head was ready to burst.
The past and present were literally tearing her to pieces.
And everything hovered around one simple thought:
"What had she done?"
The girl raised the mug to her lips and took a sip.
And a little more.
Can one blame everything on the hunting passion of a woman who was shown that she—is not just a servant at the table of galactic politics, and all but handed one of three Dominion Star Super Destroyers with a note on a bow: "Thanks for the service. Shake your hand. Thrawn."?
Can one scuff a foot, lower eyes and repeat: "I'm not a fool, just how am I worse than those hussies who hang on you?"
Can one proudly raise a head and say: "I felt I was in a special position. And now—certainly in a special one."
Mara took a gulp of caf.
True, then she'd need to scuff a foot and quietly add: "Well yeah, I guess that might not be so, but I so want to believe I'm just the one like that, so I close my eyes to facts and…"
No, one will still have to convince them she isn't a fool later.
No, of course one could tell a story in a circle of friends about how she is a predator-heartbreaker, stole the Grand Admiral's heart, and therefore the icy cliff of indifference and calculation didn't stand…
Only there are no friends.
Unless with a stretch one can call Tano such, but she is Hutt knows where now…
In short, despair and unknown all around.
Mara tilted the mug to take another sip.
And realized there was no more caf.
We've lived to see it…
No friends, no caf…
But in the assets is what's better not to blab about at every step—they won't believe such a thing is possible anyway.
She once heard a joke that Thrawn has only one hobby: war and how to turn it into a masterpiece of art.
Well, honestly, they even attributed romances to Palpatine…
Mara set the mug with caf aside.
The porcelain cup rang quietly, clashing with five just like it.
"I'll need to wash them," Mara thought.
Oh, how good that he left by the time she woke a second time.
Otherwise it would have been altogether awkward… Maximum awkward.
And she had to like a fool wake up the first time and go looking for him.
No, well this way at least she knows two more of Grand Admiral Thrawn's occupations at which he is very, very successful.
Besides planning wars and contemplating art objects for understanding enemies.
"What were you even thinking?!"—with anger at herself, Mara slapped her own face.
And what if what happened spoils everything?!
She was quite satisfied that Thrawn patiently endured her quite typical flirtations (and she only decided on them after he caught her coming out of the shower in her cabin).
And here…
What did she even expect after deciding on such a bold step as what happened?!
A difficult question…
Actually she intended to get the promised conversation.
And then her brains switched off when she realized everyone was ushered out and she wasn't.
Or the lessons in Twi'lek dances and provocative behavior she studied before being dropped on the mission to Jabba, when she was to kill Skywalker before he saved Captain Solo from carbonite, made themselves known?
Oh, Force-Strength, what will happen now…
In the best case—Thrawn will pretend nothing out of the ordinary happened.
Well… A slight exceedance of job instructions, no more.
In the worst—she'll see the Grand Admiral sending her on some trivial missions, sending bouquets of flowers and tons of chocolate, jewelry and lightsaber crystals with Rukh…
Oh…
Rukh…
How could she forget about the Noghri?!
She hadn't seen him since morning.
And how much did the bodyguard see yesterday? He traditionally hides in the shadows near Thrawn…
Mara drowned her face in her palms, feeling herself reddening and screamed with all her might and the full power of her lungs.
To mess up like this…
The girl dropped her hands onto the tabletop and her head onto her hands.
She wanted to cry and laugh from despair.
Indeed, trouble does not come alone.
And what to do with all this now?!
What will her relations with Thrawn become?!
What will they say of her in the crew now, if the bodyguard doesn't know how to keep his tongue behind his teeth?
And what if Tierce or Pellaeon find out she didn't spend the night in her cabin?
And the former will definitely find out, because guardsmen guard the corridors of living quarters for senior command personnel.
And Mara's cabin is among those…
Oh, well your mother…
"Played it out," Mara uttered in a doomed voice, feeling a hot desire to burst into tears.
Or jump into an airlock.
Yes, while the Guardian is in hyperspace.
No, won't do…
Or they'll start spreading rumors, saying there's an omen: "Fall in love with Thrawn and die"…
Well wonderful.
Now one can't even suicide so that someone from among those who know doesn't invent a trick like it being somehow connected with Thrawn and last night…
"Well that's it," she mumbled into the table. "Time to pack things, wait for a shuttle to some planet with a convent, repent of sins…"
No, everything was very good indeed!
So much so she didn't even think that…
But the consequences…
Not that she started on this path for sporting interest.
Thrawn is actually pleasant to her as a man, as a commander who values and respects her…
But, judging by his behavior in the morning, he didn't know what to do with her himself.
Either to strangle or to drown.
But really, worst of all will be if Thrawn starts making mistakes, acting less effectively because of what happened…
Mara suspected that the slips he'd had lately might be somehow connected with…
Well in general with another lady who was also promised a Star Super Destroyer.
And here she invited herself too…
And attacked.
Not just once.
Maybe run away, eh?
Or drown in a drinking water tank?
Oh, what has she done…
"Something hurts, Hand?"—the Noghri's mewing voice sounded almost over her ear.
Mara jumped like she was scalded, pushing off with her feet and hitting the back of her head against a kitchen cabinet.
Judging by the fact that Rukh was on the kitchen counter across the table from her, he is more agile than she.
"Put the knife away,"—grabbing a frying pan as a weapon, Mara didn't take her eyes off the bodyguard's obsidian blade. "Did Thrawn send you to kill me?"
Took a step toward him to have the possibility for short-range combat if needed.
"Why would our master kill you, woman?"—for the first time she heard grumbling in the bodyguard's voice, who jumped off the counter and with an unsteady gait sat on the nearest chair.
"And why were you aiming a knife at me then?"
"And why do you jump like that?"
"And why do you sneak up?"
"And why are you whimpering on the table?"
"And why aren't you with Thrawn anyway?"
"And you?"
Mara looked into the Noghri's eyes, he looked into hers.
"Fine, got heated, sorry," she admitted reluctantly, setting the pan aside.
By the way.
"And why are kitchen utensils on the table and not in the cabinet?" she asked the bodyguard.
"Our master was cooking," Rukh uttered.
Mara felt her eye twitch.
"What?" she asked cautiously.
"Products. Cutting. Boiling. Frying. Eating."
Rukh accompanied each explanation with characteristic movements.
"Hey, I speak Basic!" Mara was outraged.
"And why didn't you understand the first time?" the bodyguard was offended.
"I'm in shock that he knows how to do it," Jade admitted, looking around the kitchen.
No, seriously!
In what a prostration was she that she didn't understand—they actually cook food here, and it's not just part of the interior to have a place to brew caf.
"Does it well," Rukh said unexpectedly. "Smells good. Cooks delicious meat on coals—master treated me once."
Meaning Thrawn knows how to fry meat…
Meaning not only frying enemies and one overstepping subordinate-person, but also an animal's meat…
"I'm in shock," Mara sank onto a chair, propping her head with her hands. "And is it definitely Thrawn?"
"I'd cut your tongue out for such words," the Noghri grumbled, starting to scan the tabletop. "Blaspheming our master! Must not! A mortal sin for a Noghri!"
"I… I didn't know he's like that. Thought he was a soldier through and through…" Mara tried to justify herself.
"Our master changed greatly when he stopped serving the Empire, understood what an evil it is and opened our eyes," Rukh said. "Became better. Not as cold as before."
"That's for sure…" Mara said distractedly. "And… What are you doing here anyway?"
"Came for caf,"—eyeing the pile of used mugs, Rukh uttered.—"Did you drink it all or what? Why so many mugs?"
"Well," Mara felt a prick of conscience. "I sort of mechanically…"
"Bad," Rukh frowned. "Our master doesn't like dirt. Must wash. Dry. Clean up…"
"Maybe I should cook him a little soup for lunch too?" Jade was outraged, feeling a reproach in Rukh's words.
"A woman helps a man, not delivers problems,"—now this is a direct claim.
Meeting his eyes, Mara looked aside, adjusting her bathrobe collar.
"Rukh, about yesterday…"
The Noghri jumped aside, again leveling the knife.
"Don't you dare undress again, woman! Rukh must not look at his master's female!"
"Hey! You brat!" Mara was outraged. "I wasn't going to at all! Just wanted to ask that you don't… to anyone…"
"Rukh doesn't blab," the Noghri said huffily, hiding the knife. "I just have a headache. Brother of the knife said caf is needed. Our master allows me to drink his caf. Good caf. Invigorates. Clears the head."
"And it didn't help me," Mara admitted. "I… I just don't know how to behave further… Well, you understand after what."
"Understood,"—the Noghri turned his back to her and began digging in the cabinets.—"There should be another pack of caf. Here it is."
He turned to the Hand with a sealed pack of caf.
"I'm at a loss," Mara admitted. "I… don't know how to behave further after what happened."
Rukh was silent for a few seconds.
Then said reluctantly:
"When they train young death commandos on Honoghr, the mentors teach. 'If you don't know what to do—do what you did before'."
"Some crooked wisdom," Mara said.
And then she beamed.
"Rukh, why you're a genius?!" she exclaimed, throwing herself at the Noghri to hug him. "I'll behave as before!"
"Get away mad female!" the Noghri screamed, diving like a fish away from her embrace. "Don't touch me! Rukh doesn't hug! No need to hug me! Rukh won't drink so much again!"