Ten years, fourth month, and third day after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, fourth month, and third day after the Great Resynchronization.
(One year and eighteenth day since arrival).
The man convulsed.
The spacious room, lit by the intrusive white glow reminiscent of sterility, echoed with the crackle of lightning and the screams of one who cannot heed the voice of reason.
Silri, standing in the oval doorway, watched as another Imperial Inquisitor screamed in pain and begged for mercy.
It wasn't the first time she had witnessed such a scene.
And she found it amusing.
All according to the standard scheme.
First — dismissive attitude towards the offer, complete refusal to cooperate.
Then — anger from realizing their own vulnerable position.
Next, they offer to negotiate, to facilitate their patron sharing the galaxy with the "Syndicate".
They talk about how powerful Darth Sidious is.
What huge armies the Emperor has.
How easily he can destroy them all.
But if they release this particular Inquisitor, he will do everything so that the owner of Kamino and the Sith on Byss become friends.
And then they break when the torture begins.
Their own ego is shattered before an insurmountable force, a power they cannot comprehend.
Ancient knowledge and a mind that no Sith of modernity or the recent past could even dream of.
The Inquisitors understand their own worthlessness.
And under torture, they agree to change masters.
Swear allegiance.
But the torture continues.
Time and again, he breaks them.
Honestly, Silri didn't quite understand why he kept grinding the Inquisitors into the dirt.
In her opinion, it would have been enough, after the multi-day torture ended, to demonstrate his power to these renegades so they would serve the new master.
But the Sith did not stop his torture.
When the tall figure finally lowered his hands and the blue-white streams of Force Lightning stopped tormenting the Imperial Inquisitor, she couldn't hold back a smile, watching the uncontrolled muscle spasms.
"I'm busy, Silri," came the voice of the torturer, who turned his head towards her.
"I have news, Darth Ziilenlos," the Dathomirian witch snorted, approaching the ancient Sith.
"Baritha betrayed us," he said hollowly, turning his head towards the Inquisitor writhing on the floor, over whose body discharges of Force Lightning still ran.
There's nothing to be surprised about here, really.
"Yes, she and her supporters did not return from the meeting with the Dominion's parliamentarians," Silri confirmed, approaching the Sith and standing to his right.
The witch grinned, feeling the suffering of the Inquisitor lying on the floor.
One of those who supposedly joined her "Syndicate" of their own free will and intuition.
The legends were different for everyone.
Some — for the search for power.
Some — for authority.
Some — by the will of the Force.
Some simply needed allies to kill on the side of the strong.
A dozen sentients — different ages, races, genders.
But in fact, each of them — just a spy of the Emperor.
Who intended to destroy her organization.
Or seize it from within, eliminating the leadership.
Bit by bit, information about the true intentions of the Sith from the Deep Core was becoming more and more complete.
They infiltrated and observed.
Studied and gathered information.
To pass it on to their master.
And he would certainly have found a way to use the data about the defenses of Kamino and Rothana for his own interests.
There's no need to even ask what Palpatine's specific goals are.
A planet capable of producing millions of clones.
Shipyards, though damaged a decade ago during Tyber Zann's operation and the flight of the Kuatis from Rothana, yet still capable of producing warships.
"Baritha did not return from the meeting," Darth Ziilenlos repeated. "As I predicted."
Darth Ziilenlos.
Art sourced from free internet search, authorship is indicated on the image itself.
His combat armor is darkness itself, the embodiment of ancient power, vaguely resembling the armor worn by Darth Vader.
Rumors say the latter was based on the design of an ancient Sith battle droid.
Sometimes Silri wondered—what was created first in galactic history?
That very battle droid, or Darth Ziilenlos's armor, but history preserved no mention of them for objective reasons?
The ancient Sith himself was in no hurry to clarify the situation.
Darth Ziilenlos's combat armor.
But now he was in a simpler guise.
Silri looked at the man clad in garments of various shades of red.
It seemed as if he had bathed in blood.
And, to be honest, she began to suspect that the ancient Sith had never done so before.
She knew little of his past, but enough to understand that she had a truly powerful ally.
Darth Ziilenlos looked like an average middle-aged male aristocrat.
But in reality, he was nearly four thousand years old.
He was born before the Mandalorian Wars, which raged almost four thousand years ago.
He was a Jedi who was captured by Mandalorians and subjected to the inhuman experiments of their butcher, known as Doctor Demagol.
He fell to the Dark Side and was one of the generals in Revan's Empire, and after the latter's death, he became another apprentice of Darth Malak, heir to Darth Revan.
All that is ancient history.
Since then, the galaxy has experienced much.
But all of it remained beyond the attention of Darth Ziilenlos and his fifty thousand soldiers, frozen in carbonite on a remote asteroid.
As Ziilenlos himself told it, he once slaughtered all the Mandalorians on that piece of rock, capturing it for his own needs.
He built his own base there for a rainy day.
And that day came when Darth Malak was defeated and his empire began to fall apart.
Ziilenlos took his army to the asteroid and froze them all in carbonite to wait out the power struggle and return when the time came to build a true Sith Empire.
This was to be done by his servant-apprentice, to whom he gave the holocron-key with the map to the army's resting place.
But something went wrong.
And instead of a few decades of sleep—the maximum Ziilenlos had planned for—he and his people spent nearly four thousand years in carbonite until Silri found and freed them.
Now they serve her.
Though of the army of two hundred thousand veteran soldiers, only a quarter of the total number survived carbonite freezing.
The ships that were supposed to await their return, docked to the asteroid, turned into flying relics, with which she barely managed to seize control of Kamino and Rothana.
While Tyber Zann fought the Empire and the Alliance, she took advantage of the opportunity and took the "sweetest" pieces of his criminal empire.
And now she was doing everything to expand her sphere of influence over the galaxy.
The knowledge and experience of a battle general, for whom the war ended literally "yesterday," was more useful than ever in this.
A powerful Sith.
A talented warlord.
A fearless warrior.
An outright sadist who took undisguised pleasure in hunting Mandalorian mercenaries, killing them one by one in the cruelest ways he could devise.
What more could a Dathomirian witch want for happiness?
Only control over everything she could reach.
"We should have destroyed them immediately," she reminded him of her suggestion. "Now the Dominion has allies among the Night Sisters."
"They are nothing," Ziilenlos's voice made one literally tremble from the waves of the Force emanating from him. "Too foolish to understand how things truly stand."
"I doubt they won't be killed on sight," admitted Silri, looking at the whimpering Inquisitor, whose clothes were smoking. "If the Dominion is not inclined to cooperate..."
"If they had agreed to the alliance you proposed, there would have been more problems," the ancient Sith cut her off. "I did everything so they would want to destroy us without the slightest hesitation."
That's hard to argue with.
A Dathomirian, carrying a potent neuroparalytic poison in her horns and a transmitter for detonating false cloning cylinders.
The attack on Kessel...
"I still think that..." Silri began.
"Don't think," he looked at her with his bright yellow eyes. "I have planned everything for you."
"That's what worries me," thought Silri.
To be honest, she was beginning to wonder if the ancient Sith had gone mad.
On one hand, he does everything to anger the Dominion and attract their attention.
Poisons their command.
Blows up their cloning cylinders.
And then—offers an alliance to the Dominion through her.
Does not hinder Baritha and her allies' escape.
And all... For what?
The Sith claims all this is necessary to capture the Dominion.
That in any situation, no matter how events unfold, the Dominion will be made fools.
If they agree to an alliance—they will bring their specialists here, who will be cloned along with the provided ysalamiri.
And these clones will replenish both the "Syndicate's" army and become spies in the Dominion's rear, to follow an order at once and destroy the Imperials from within, transferring all their assets to the organization.
But Silri didn't understand the situation with Baritha's escape.
"She knows too much about us," the witch said, reminding that her countrywoman was a witch who knew much about the defenses of Kamino and Rothana.
Not to mention the number of available troops and ships on both key planets.
"Exactly," agreed Darth Ziilenlos. "That's what the Dominion's actions are based on. They will use the information Baritha and her supporters provided."
Silri felt the spring of dissatisfaction with her ally's actions tightening more and more inside.
"So everything you did until now is nothing more than a smokescreen?" she clarified.
The Sith remained silent.
He watched as the Inquisitor got to his feet, looking at his offender with a gaze burning with fury.
"This is preparation," explained Darth Ziilenlos. "We misinform and disorient the enemy."
"Or you've just gone mad," thought Silri.
It occurred to her that the Inquisitors destroyed by Ziilenlos could have become her elite soldiers.
But instead, they were burned by his insane fury...
"Your thoughts betray you," Ziilenlos puzzled her with his words, looking expressively at his ally. "I did not teach you this."
"You taught me to trust no one," snorted the Dathomirian witch.
"Correct," a crooked smirk appeared on the ancient Sith's lips. "But me—you can trust."
"So what's the plan?" inquired Silri.
"To feed them disinformation," explained the ancient Sith, returning his gaze to the Inquisitor barely standing on his feet. "You spent quite a lot of time with Baritha. What can you say about her ambitions?"
"That they are excessive," Silri hissed through her teeth.
"Correct," agreed the Sith. "Do you know of her desires?"
"She wants to rule the Night Sisters."
A mocking, muffled exclamation came from the Sith, demonstrating his opinion of her mental abilities.
"Her ambitions are no less than yours," he declared. "But yes, you are right. They are more realistic."
"Most of the clan obeys me," declared Silri.
"Only because I told you how to win their loyalty," reminded Darth Ziilenlos. "You proved you are the strongest among all in your domain. They obediently submitted to your will. I taught them the ways of lightsaber combat. And now you have several hundred Dathomirian witches trained in the ways of the Dark Side. They are your personal guard, who will follow us to the end."
"Follow me," corrected Silri.
"Of course," the woman suppressed a flash of anger when she saw the smile at the corners of his mouth. "I just misspoke. In any case—you are the leader of the 'Syndicate,' named in your honor."
"And it won't be for long," she reminded. "The 'Rancor' has IFF system transponders installed. If she transmits the data to our enemies, the minefields and gravity mines will pose no obstacle to those intending to attack Kamino and Rothana."
"That's only how it seems to you," objected Darth Ziilenlos. "IFF frequencies are easy to change."
Which haven't changed since the planets and their minefields came under "Syndicate" control.
"And we will do it as soon as they want to attack our territories," Silri's eyes lit up.
The Dominion will clearly bring all its available forces here to win in one decisive battle.
And they will all die on the minefields.
"No," the ancient Sith stunned her with his answer.
"In what sense?" the Dathomirian witch was taken aback. "You're willing to let them through to the planets themselves?"
"No," he answered again.
"But they will come here with all their forces! Including their Star Super Destroyers or dreadnoughts, whatever they have!"
"Of course they will come," agreed Darth Ziilenlos. "And they will pass through part of the minefield programmed with the old codes known to Baritha and her supporters."
"And the second part will have new codes?" Silri inquired distrustfully.
She didn't like that plans were being woven behind her back, into which she was among the last to be initiated.
It all too much resembled being led by the nose.
"The enemy ships will be caught in a 'bubble' within the minefield," explained the ancient Sith. "As soon as that happens—we will change the codes on the entire field. And only our ships will be able to move there unhindered."
"You want to force the enemy ships to surrender?" clarified Silri, guessing the plan's meaning.
"Exactly," nodded Darth Ziilenlos, smiling as he watched the recovered Inquisitor pull his lightsaber to himself. "And they will have only two options—swear allegiance to us, surrendering. Or die trying to defeat fate itself in my person. Which will you choose, Inquisitor?"
With a contorted face, the latter activated his weapon and rushed at the ancient Sith.
Within centimeters of Silri's face, the scarlet lightsaber blade of Darth Ziilenlos flashed.
The man brought it to his face, gripping the hilt with both hands and holding the weapon parallel to the floor.
The next second, he lunged from his spot, spinning like a deadly whirlwind.
Scarlet blades clashed, scattering sparks and filling the torture chamber with a hum and crackle.
A second later, having cut the Inquisitor to pieces, Darth Ziilenlos deactivated his weapon.
Hanging the hilt on his belt, he looked into Silri's eyes.
"Only a fool would continue to fight in such a situation," he explained. "And such must be destroyed."
"So you kill Imperial Inquisitors," Silri understood. "You consider them fools..."
"No," the ancient Sith once again refuted her logic. "They are idiots. And their master is no better."
"And that means..."
"Everything touched by the corrupting influence of Darth Sidious and other Bainites must be eradicated," Darth Ziilenlos said with contempt in his voice, looking at his two soldiers in white-and-black armor dragging away pieces of the corpse. "Bring the next one."
* * *
Preparations are complete.
And now the "Guardian" moves through hyperspace towards the enemy lurking in the Lur system.
The white-blue underside of breaking the light barrier is mesmerizing in its own way, but quickly becomes boring due to its monotony.
After a year filled with numerous flights from one corner of the galaxy to another, one begins to get used to such light variety on the bridge of a warship.
Over time, it even becomes tiring.
Behind—only the working atmosphere of the bridge watch.
Ahead—the visible parts of the multi-kilometer ship's hull, with light reflections playing on their surfaces.
And inside the "Guardian"—tens of thousands of sentients, methodically performing their work.
And all of them are ready to engage in battle as soon as the corresponding command is given.
We were moving towards our goal and knew well that ahead awaited not only an enemy who, most likely, was under the control of a mad Sith, a servant of Palpatine.
Ahead of us awaited the destruction of dozens of ships gathered from across the Dominion.
From Rukh's reaction, who stood out faintly in the gloom of the bridge's emergency lighting, I understood that our uninvited guest from Kamino was approaching the central platform.
Now Vice Admiral Mor had delivered this person to the capital in the shortest possible time.
While her subordinates were handled by the Jensaarai and Dominion counter-intelligence officers, their leader herself, after similar procedures, was brought aboard the "Guardian."
All this time she had been in guest quarters, awaiting a meeting and undergoing endless medical and genetic research, as well as detailed scans.
She is not a clone, which is already a relief.
Her identity was confirmed by Lady Drashi, whose subordinate she had previously been.
But besides this, Lady Baritha was also recognized by Darth Maul.
No doubts.
It was Baritha who wanted to meet with the Dominion leadership.
From both natives of the most famous planet in the Kveli sector, I learned very interesting details about the past of this remarkable Dathomirian witch.
All this was necessary to prepare for the meeting with her after she had a brief conversation in the presence of guardsmen and ysalamiri with Vice Admiral Pellaeon shortly before the "Guardian's" departure and the "Allegiance's" departure to its objectives.
Strangely enough, Baritha did not intend to do anything of what Drashi had pulled during our conversation.
No poisoning, no explosions.
Which is even more suspicious.
However, the latter applies only to me.
Pellaeon believed there was no trap in Baritha and her supporters switching to our side.
On the contrary, it was an indicator of a power struggle.
Well, I'm inclined to agree with him.
And disagree to the same extent.
"Oh, who would have doubted that Grand Admiral Thrawn is actually alive," the woman with ash-white skin said instead of a greeting.
She was dressed in a simple black pilot's jumpsuit without insignia.
But even so, deprived of her traditional attire, which, according to Darth Maul, symbolized her high position in the Night Sisters clan, the witch carried herself with the dignity of an aristocrat.
For some reason, Baroness D'Asta's behavior immediately came to mind.
And inside, it felt cloyingly vile.
"Glad you have joined us," I said, pointing to a chair a couple of meters away from me behind an auxiliary console. "Have a seat. The conversation will not be brief."
"Oh, I had no doubt," the woman with grace worthy of a member of the feline family settled into the indicated chair.
Captain Pellaeon, standing behind the neighboring console, merely twitched his nose disapprovingly but continued to monitor the systems of the flagship Star Super Destroyer.
"So, what do you want to talk about?" she inquired. "Probably about the codes that will give your glorious victorious fleet a path to Rothana and Kamino?"
What a lovely attempt to start dictating her position during a conversation with someone on whom she depends.
Excellent.
So I'm about to have a dialogue with a born manipulator, skilled in the art of structuring a conversation.
This will be interesting.
"How did you survive?" I asked.
Baritha arched a thin eyebrow in surprise, which seemed like a painting on her "porcelain" face.
"Strange," she said with a hint of irritation and confusion. "I was ready to bet that you were interested in key details of the 'Silri Syndicate's' defenses."
Another attempt to shift attention.
"I can't say that question is of no great importance to me," I didn't deny the obvious. "But first, you will answer my questions. In the order that interests me now."
"Negotiations where each side dictates its terms and does not listen to the opponent are doomed to failure," Baritha said in a warning tone, narrowing her eyes.
"Those who try to set conditions for me on board my ship have a tendency to die suddenly," I decided to clarify the situation and set priorities in advance.
"Kill me—and you won't learn the access codes," warned the Dathomirian witch, pursing her lips.
It seems she didn't think she wouldn't be able to take a leading position in the negotiations.
"I'll try not to forget the fact that your information is outdated by more than three standard weeks," I said, stroking the ysalamiri. "But at the moment, I'm interested in something completely different."
The lizard, quite affectionate on my lap, looked at the witch with its bead-like eyes and suddenly bared its teeth, aggressively opening its mouth.
How interesting.
"It seems you're not the first to disappoint women's expectations who want to get from you what they deserve by right," Baritha quipped with a smile, glancing at the ysalamiri.
The latter, as if staking its claim on me, stretched its paws forward, settling more comfortably and inadvertently showing the claws at the ends of its paws.
And if Mara Jade were here, it would clearly come to blows.
An old internet joke came to mind.
"I'm not against catfights. But under certain conditions. I must see it and be the cause of the conflict. And they must be in swimsuits and fight in a pool of fruit jelly."
A stupid joke.
"Your time is running out," I reminded her.
"Oh, certainly," the witch, realizing that dictating her terms would gain her nothing, once again donned the mask of a good-natured, well-bred lady. "Many on Dathomir thought I died with Gethzerion when her ship was destroyed by Zsinj's ships over Dathomir. In fact, the old bitch escaped, taking a few close associates with her. I was 'forgotten' to be notified of the departure time."
What Baritha is talking about happened literally a couple of years ago.
Exactly in the eighth year after the Battle of Yavin IV, when General Solo, in an attempt to prove to Leia (then still) Organa that he wasn't just a bum from Corellia but a man worthy of marrying the Alderaanian princess, won an entire planet in sabbacc.
And kidnapped the princess to show her his new possessions and disrupt the marriage with the Hapan Crown Prince Isolder.
Shortly before that, General Solo won the campaign known as the "Hunt for Zsinj."
And decided it was time to relax a bit and sort out his personal life.
For this purpose, he flew with the princess to the trophy planet.
To his misfortune, it turned out that the world he won as a result of the sabbacc game was called Dathomir.
And it is inhabited by tribes of witches, descended from the interbreeding of Jedi and hardened criminals who, by the will of the Old Republic, ended up there hundreds of years before the described events.
To General Solo's further misfortune, it turned out that, in the best traditions of heroes of this universe, he did not kill his opponent.
Warlord Zsinj, alive and well, had a base in the Dathomir system because during Palpatine's Empire, he was tasked with maintaining a blockade over this world, knowing the danger of Dathomirian witches.
As it happened, Solo was captured by the Night Sisters clan, led by a witch named Gethzerion.
It was precisely her that Palpatine feared.
Which is even more interesting, actually.
The fact is, I remember Gethzerion's history.
Partially, my knowledge was supplemented by Drashi and Maul.
And a very curious picture emerged.
Gethzerion, like Baritha, came from the Dathomirian Singing Mountain clan—a relatively peaceful association of witches.
According to the traditions of Dathomirian clans, those who broke their laws and codes were exiled to live out their lives in the planet's deserts in solitude and contemplation.
At some point near the end of the Galactic Republic, Gethzerion and another sister named Baritha were exiled after an attempt to kill the witch-leader of the Singing Mountain clan.
The exiles began gathering other outcasts to form their own clan, which eventually became the Night Sisters.
The Night Sisters were not afraid of the dark arts forbidden by the ancient witches but reveled in them and raised their daughters on the Dark Side, though they did not understand it as the Jedi did.
During Gethzerion's rule, many Dathomirians were killed or captured by her clan, which grew increasingly powerful, aided by the indecision of other witches in dealing with them.
Gethzerion had to fight for power over the new clan.
At some point, Gethzerion noticed that another Night Sister, Kairissa, showed exceptional promise in her ability to control Dathomir's beasts.
However, Kairissa became so convinced of her own superiority that she decided to confront Gethzerion directly in battle.
During a fierce struggle for leadership, Kairissa openly declared her intention to kill Gethzerion and take her place as leader of the entire Night Sisters clan.
However, her challenge to Gethzerion failed.
And for her attempt, the latter exiled Kairissa not only from the Night Sisters but from the planet itself.
The latter, after wandering, ended up on the planet Hoth.
There she was found by the Imperial Inquisitor Namman Cha, who offered to become his apprentice, to which she agreed.
And after the Empire's collapse, both, presumably, were embedded with Silri as false allies, spying on the latter.
Returning to the events of two years ago, it can be noted that upon approaching Dathomir, Zsinj's ships shot down the "Millennium Falcon."
The warlord, who still blockaded the planet and the witches on it, made a deal with Gethzerion that he would give her a chance to leave the planet in exchange for capturing Solo and Organa.
The condition was met, but the appearance of Luke Skywalker, following the trail of his missing sister, mixed the cards.
Gethzerion fled on a starship but was killed when Zsinj's Star Destroyers opened fire on his order.
It was assumed that along with Gethzerion, her closest aides also perished, one of whom was Baritha.
This was stated in the Republic Intelligence dossier concerning the end of the life of the warlord Zsinj.
But there were also other reports from individual operatives.
No one saw Baritha board the destroyed ship.
And her body was not found, her remains—not identified.
Some of the Republic operatives clearly remembered the golden rule of this universe: "No body means the enemy isn't dead."
And they insisted that Baritha had survived, against all odds.
Well, their guesses and conclusions are confirmed by harsh present reality.
However, something else is important now.
Logically, it follows that the Night Sisters clan was created and ruled until her death by Gethzerion herself.
That is, for a very long time…
But the known events of the animated series "The Clone Wars," as well as the reluctant revelations of Darth Maul, tell us a different name.
"Are you familiar with Mother Talzin?" I inquired.
It was she who ruled the Night Sisters in the aforementioned sources.
Judging by the fact that a significant portion of the series' heroes, as well as the events depicted in it, found their reflection in historical chronicles, I would like to clarify this point as well…
"Drashi has too long a tongue," hissed the enraged Baritha. "There are things outsiders should not know."
"So, Drashi also knows about Mother Talzin, but she didn't mention it," I noted.
Perhaps she simply didn't know.
She is young enough not to know such things.
And, as far as I recall, she comes from a completely different clan.
"I'm waiting for an answer."
"Why do you need to know this?" Baritha snapped, not even attempting to play the restrained aristocrat. "She's dead. Croaked! Cursed! And forgotten!"
"I'd wager you are also considered dead," I reminded her. "The same fate did not spare me."
Baritha looked at me with a gaze that suggested she intended to lunge forward and tear me apart with her nails.
At my signal, Rukh materialized from the shadows.
The tip of his obsidian dagger pressed against the base of the Dathomirian's skull.
"Answer when the Grand Admiral asks you a question, witch," the bodyguard mewled.
For several seconds, Baritha wrestled with temptation.
Then, obviously realizing that without the Force she was alone against a Noghri, six Guardsmen, and two squads of Shock Troopers, she wouldn't manage, she exhaled noisily, surrendering to the weight of circumstance.
"Talzin was one of us," each word dripped with undisguised hatred. "She became a shaman of the Night Sisters. Quickly gained authority. And then, using magic, subjugated the clan, entering into an alliance with the Jedi…"
"I presume the Jedi was named Count Dooku?" I inquired. "An aristocrat from Serenno. Leader of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Apprentice to Darth Sidious, known as Emperor Palpatine."
Nothing supernatural.
Simple logic.
Talzin helped Ventress in trying to destroy Dooku.
And also, at his request, provided him with a replacement for Ventress when the Sith Lord decided the latter had "outlived her usefulness."
"You know far too much," Baritha hissed. "Rumors say Talzin was also acquainted with Sidious. Handed him some Zabrak brat when he was still just a senator. Or maybe even earlier."
That "Zabrak brat" is named Darth Maul.
And he is literally boiling with the desire to meet his former teacher in the Sith arts.
"How did it happen that Mother Talzin ruled the Night Sisters before and during the Clone Wars?" I asked.
"She raised a rebellion and overthrew Gethzerion, me, and the other clan leaders," Baritha's flawless expression twisted into a grimace of disgust. "We languished in captivity until she croaked."
"After which you regained control of the clan?"
"Formally," the witch continued with less venom in her voice. "Many remained her followers."
"Including Silri?" I clarified.
"And Kairissa," Baritha agreed. "Gethzerion even believed that Kairissa was egged on to challenge her by Talzin. One way or another, she's dead. And we anathematized her memory. She is no more in our history."
"If you ignore the obvious, you won't solve the problem," I objected, stroking the ysalamiri.
"Can we change the subject?" Baritha began to lose her temper. "I didn't come here to discuss filth like Talzin and her witchcraft!"
"On the contrary," I objected. "You came here precisely to put an end to the past of your clan and all of Dathomir. A past linked to Mother Talzin."
The "porcelain face" of the Dathomirian witch was erased by malicious irritation.
Baritha feigned utter surprise on her face.
Then she hastily regained her mask of confidence, inexpressiveness, and composure.
"I don't understand what you're talking about," she switched back to flirtatious tones of voice.
Oh, I didn't think I'd have to thank Mara Jade for her "antics," but the preparatory procedures authored by her…
After what the redhead pulled, the Dathomirian witch's fake flirtations seem like nothing more than a bad play.
"You understand perfectly well, Baritha," I said, shifting my gaze to the white-blue haze of hyperspace. "Your visit, your surrender—it's nothing more than your ambition. A desire to use our resources to remove from the Night Sisters the legacy of Mother Talzin in the person of Silri. Those who support her are also her ideological followers, or those convinced of the rightness of her actions."
Baritha sat silently.
At the same time—she studied me as if seeing me for the first time: with undisguised interest, even a kind of manic greed.
It seems she even forgot about the knife at the back of her head.
"Now I'm beginning to understand why you so easily made fools of the New Republic with their celebrated heroes and huge fleet," she said with a smirk. "Can it really be that a mere sentient, just by chatting with an interlocutor on abstract topics, even having gathered information about my personality in advance, can so simply and casually reason about things that weren't even voiced to him?"
"Could flattery be any more blatant?" I thought disappointedly about my interlocutor.
"Surprise me, Grand Admiral," Baritha leaned forward. "Tell me what I desire. And I will gladly give you the codes."
"Control," I said. "Complete. Total. Unaccountable control over the witches…"
"Bravo," she clapped her hands like a child who saw a circus performance. "Correct, but still…"
She stopped short when the blade of Rukh's knife pressed against her throat, unobtrusively forcing her back into her original position.
"You must not interrupt the Grand Admiral," he mewled into the back of her head.
"So then," I continued, while the woman studied me, "control. You want control. To be precise, you want to rule."
"Oh, how boring, Grand Admiral," she made a face of offended virtue. "Power over the Night Sisters, the best of them, I already have. Complete and undivided."
"But this position does not satisfy your ambitions," I continued my thought. "You are the last of the representatives of the founders of the Night Sisters clan. You gathered all those who support you and are loyal to your authority. And you realized you are in the minority. On Silri's side is the majority of the witches evacuated from Dathomir, an army, a fleet. In open struggle, you cannot win."
"I am stronger than her," Baritha declared. "Older, more powerful."
"The problem is, she won't fight you one-on-one," I said. "And you know that perfectly well. Therefore, you intend to interest me with help in capturing Kamino and Rothana in exchange for eliminating Silri's forces so that you can fight her alone. And by right of the strong, seize control of the witches who serve her. And then, for as long as your strength allows—over the remnants of the 'Silri Syndicate.'"
"Suppose," her voice was no longer charming, nor mesmerizing, nor reflecting emotions.
Even the playful notes of the "merry aristocrat"—those too vanished, like greenery during frosts turning into winter.
"Suppose," I agreed. "Let's also make an assumption that your codes are already irrevocably outdated. As outdated as your entire escape is part of a plan to lure the Dominion into a trap."
"I have no such ideas!" she said sharply. "I need help to get rid of that trash! You want the same thing!"
"I want to gain control over Kamino and Rothana," I had to clarify to avoid misunderstanding. "And, in fact, I don't care whether Silri is alive after that or not."
Naturally, the Dominion does not leave enemies, ardent and open, alive.
And gives no chance for re-education.
Those who are left alive one way or another—that is the prologue of the next plan, which has much more important prospects than the immediate killing of this or that sentient.
Silri's survival at the moment holds no strategic value for me.
To her regret.
"What are you proposing, Thrawn?" Baritha asked impatiently. "That I just give you the codes, which you supposedly don't need, simply because you guessed what I want?"
"Isn't that exactly what you were proposing not long ago?" I inquired, shifting my gaze to the Dathomirian witch.
Baritha sat, pursing her lips.
And from this moment, it's clear to both of us that she is entirely and completely in my power.
"So, you simply want to deprive me of the only chance to get what I want," she said. "Acting like all Imperials before you—using us, and then, when the witches are no longer needed—getting rid of us like annoying flies?"
An attempt to evoke pity won't work.
"I have an alternative to your petty desire," I said, stroking the ysalamiri.
Judging by the lizard's measured breathing, it was shamelessly asleep, limbs and tail splayed in different directions.
"And what is it?" Baritha inquired.
Exactly the one that was bet on with Ventress and Drashi.
But over time, it became clear that neither of them possesses sufficient authority among their own.
They are more of an addition than a worthwhile candidate.
"I offer you power over the witches."
"I already have control over the best members of the Night Sisters clan," Baritha declared.
Of course, this statement needs to be verified, but that's not the point.
"Isn't it too little for one who stood at the foundation of one of the most famous clans, who helped create the 'Silri Syndicate,' to control only a few dozen women trained as acolytes?" I asked the Dathomirian witch.
"What are you getting at, Thrawn?" the owner of the "porcelain face" frowned.
"How many witch clans inhabit Dathomir?" I asked the representative of the indigenous people.
"Who counts them," she snorted. "A dozen. Maybe two. If you count the really tiny ones, maybe a hundred."
"And each clan strives to pursue its own policy," I continued to outline my thoughts. "Individually they are weak—it's no coincidence they were captured in the past by the mad clone ×1. Some of your compatriots have entered the service of the Dominion, becoming part of the Jensaarai Order—the protectors of the state. I think you are familiar with the representatives of our Order of Force-sensitive sentients."
"I've had the 'pleasure' of speaking with them," Baritha snorted. "Not the strongest representatives of the clans. Rather young and wanting to see the world. Besides—they don't really know or can do much."
"Quite correctly noted," I agreed. "The whole point is that on Dathomir there is no centralized system for training witches. And yet your understanding of the Force is such that you once repelled the Jedi Order."
"Decided to play on my ambitions, Grand Admiral?" Baritha asked mockingly. "Speak plainly."
"I will help you destroy Silri. But you will get nothing from the remains of the 'Syndicate.'"
"You want me to be satisfied with only revenge?" the woman snorted. "Not a chance."
"I offer you more than power over the remnants of a structure that in any case will be destroyed and assimilated by the Dominion," the witch narrowed her eyes. "Yes, that's right. Large criminal organizations interfering with the Dominion's actions will not survive. The Cavrilhu Pirates are direct proof of that. As is the 'Zann Consortium.' I think you are smart enough to understand—I will not allow you to stand in my way on this matter."
"I assume you want to offer me something alternative to my desires?" the witch clarified.
"Of course," I agreed. "Dathomir."
The woman looked at me uncomprehendingly.
"Explain your thought," she requested.
"It's as simple as the plan in which you are being used," I said. "You and your witches swear an oath of allegiance to the Dominion. In return, we allow you personally to stand at the head of your home planet. Naturally—as part of the state, without special excesses."
"You want me to unite the clans and force them to supply you with our women as warriors for the Jensaarai Order?" she clarified.
"Why only women?" I expressed surprise. "The Night Brothers clan, as far as I know, is also not destroyed."
Or, more simply—it's a community of male Zabraks dependent on the Night Sisters, who have sensitivity to the Force.
Though, as far as I know, the Sisters use them exclusively for procreation.
"Oh, those calves will only be happy to move under the wing of strong men," Baritha snorted. "It won't do, Thrawn. The Night Brothers are the source of our future generations. Fathers of our daughters…"
"Are they that way because Dathomirian witches like Zabraks, or because there are no other options?" I inquired.
"You know the answer yourself."
"And I know its solution," I noted. "At the moment, there is a small Dominion representation on Dathomir. We try not to interfere in the internal affairs of the local population as long as nothing threatens them. But the new government might want, in addition to traditional knowledge and skills, for Dathomirian witches to acquire skills in other languages, receive advanced technology for personal use, build new comfortable habitats instead of the caves and ruins you huddle in. Finally, schools, educational institutions are needed…"
"Military bases, right?" she asked with sarcasm.
"If the new government does not object to our military training local residents for the Dathomir Self-Defense Force," I clarified. "I have no great need to keep a garrison on the planet if there is an understanding that there will be no popular unrest and attempts to start another galactic war among Force users."
"You want to control us."
"I want to get a stable influx of gifted individuals into the ranks of the Dominion's protectors."
"I even know how you want to do it," Baritha snorted. "You take away our Night Brothers, and you slip in your own engineers, builders… I bet—each of them will be military, right?"
"Dathomir is a rather dangerous place," I reminded her. "And wild by modern standards. Yes, those who bring you the benefits of culture will require protection. For a time."
"Until the witches start getting pregnant by your soldier boys, right?" Baritha literally burned me with her gaze.
"If it happens by mutual consent, then why should it be forbidden?" I voiced the rhetorical question.
Baritha fell silent for a few seconds.
"Power over the planet, over all clans, in exchange for us getting rid of our males but inviting new ones to the planet," she voiced her vision of the situation. "Since when have Imperials stopped fearing witches?"
"Since the time the Dominion military ceased to consider themselves part of the Imperial armed forces."
"As if anything changed."
"I didn't subject Dathomir to orbital bombardment to deal with ×1's supporters. And I'm not kidnapping anyone to make them part of the Jensaarai Order. Everything is strictly voluntary."
"A nice fairy tale," Baritha shook her head. "You're giving me more than I wanted."
"And I demand no small thing in return," I reminded her. "I think it's unnecessary to say that the work of reconciling all the clans on the planet will be thankless and will require a lot of time. During which you will be under close observation."
"And this observation will be provided by a fleet of Star Destroyers in orbit of Dathomir?" Baritha smirked.
"Rather, patrol ships that will periodically visit the system and several orbital defense stations."
"Is that so," Baritha pretended to think. "Fine. I agree. But the witches will have the opportunity to leave Dathomir at any time they wish."
It was precisely this—the isolation of the planet, the bombed spaceport, and the destruction of any ship taking off from the surface—that made the witches hate the Imperials and wish them death at every opportunity.
"Fine," I replied calmly.
"You agreed to that too easily," Baritha said suspiciously, glancing back at Rukh. "Is this some kind of test?"
"Not at all," I assured her. "The paths from Dathomir have been open ever since the planet came under our jurisdiction."
"And… Only a few clans remain there?"
"Quite the opposite. Those wishing to leave Dathomir never showed themselves. Except for a couple of hundred women who moved to other worlds of the Dominion," I explained.
"And no one wanted to flee to another part of the galaxy?"
"Why not? There were such. All are under the unofficial control of our intelligence."
"Spying on them."
"Keeping an eye," I corrected. "By releasing witches from Dathomir, we impose certain obligations on ourselves. For example—to ensure they don't start enslaving anyone. However, that didn't happen."
"Because there are no Night Sisters on the planet?"
"Because almost all of them voluntarily returned to the planet," I clarified. "As it turned out, witches don't much like being looked upon as savages throughout the galaxy. It's better to be at home as a mistress than abroad as a servant."
"You can leave Dathomir, but it will never leave you," Baritha smiled. "I think I made the right choice. And the work awaiting me isn't dusty. But Silri—I will finish personally."
"I have no objection to that," I agreed, looking at the timer counting down the last seconds of the hyperspace journey. "However, before you and your witches return to your homeland, you must prove that you are ready to serve the Dominion."
"And how?" asked the Dathomirian witch, turning her head towards the disintegrating hyperspace tunnel.
She watched with interest the battle unfolding hundreds of units ahead of the Guardian's nose.
Dozens of ships mercilessly beating each other with all types of onboard weaponry.
"It's simple, Lady Baritha," I said, pointing to the battlefield. "Find the camouflaged ships of the 'Zann Consortium' for us, and we'll consider your service to the Dominion begun."
The Dathomirian witch looked at me with an astonishment difficult to describe in words.
"Has anyone ever told you, Grand Admiral, that you are a sentient whom one admires and wants to kill simultaneously?" she asked.
"If I got a credit for every time I hear something like that, I'd buy myself a planet. Proceed, Lady Baritha. It would be better if you approach the central viewport. There, nothing will interfere with your connection to the Force."