Nine years, four months, and twenty-five days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-four years, four months, and twenty-five days after the Great Resynchronization.
"Sir," Captain Pellaeon addressed the Grand Admiral, who was fastening his snow-white tunic in the cabin of a Lambda-class shuttle — the only one that had left the main hangar of the Chimaera, descending into the planet's atmosphere. "If the Emperor himself sent the Guardian to the planet, then I don't understand..."
The planet Wayland.
."..why we might have problems?" I clarified, looking at the two squads of stormtroopers positioned further down the compartment. Next to each squad stood a cage with ysalamiri on the deck... And, my god, it seems no one realizes that the droppings need to be cleaned out of the cages. What a stench...
I'll need to bring that to their attention. Otherwise, the little beasts will completely foul everything that ends up in the blast zone of their bowels.
The Star Destroyer commander nodded affirmatively, shivering from the discomfort caused by the light armor worn under his tunic.
"Like the cuirasses we've put on, Captain, the ysalamiri are nothing more than precautionary measures," I explained. "It's been almost six years since anyone was last here. I doubt anyone had a direct link to Wayland. It's also unlikely that he has a way to leave the planet — such a miscalculation would jeopardize the very secrecy of Emperor Palpatine's storehouse. From which we conclude that the Guardian has been in informational isolation this whole time. What he's thinking now is unclear."
"So maybe we don't need him at all?" the Captain offered a different perspective.
"Unfortunately, that's not the case," I said. A gentle rocking accompanied the ship during its smooth descent from orbit. Entering the atmosphere caused some turbulence, but nothing critical. "After the Emperor's death, the effectiveness and coordination of our forces have dropped significantly. Considering how many people we've lost in this time while the warlords squabbled among themselves, the bottom line isn't encouraging."
"Yes," Pellaeon agreed. "The quality of new personnel... isn't the highest."
"An interesting fact, considering that cadets and trainees are taught the same programs by the same instructors as before, during the Empire's heyday," I said. The Captain gave me a cautious look.
"Most of the Empire's educational institutions are under enemy control or have defected to their side," he reminded me. "And those that remain..."
."..aren't the best?" I said with a smile. Pellaeon, after a moment's thought, nodded silently.
"Only Carida remains the same," he said. "The academies in Imperial Space... Well, I'm somewhat biased about the competence of their instructors."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I see the results," he sighed, looking sadly out the viewport, through which the clouds surrounding Wayland were flashing by. "I don't need to look far for an example. Lieutenant Tschel..."
"And what's wrong with him?" I pressed, realizing that after mentioning the name, Pellaeon had hesitated, following the regulations and not discussing subordinates. Because it was his duty as the commander of a combat vessel to either be satisfied with what he had or take measures to improve the qualifications or replace the young officer.
"Sir, I..."
"You may speak freely, Captain," I permitted. "I'm interested in your opinion."
"Most of my subordinates are blatant youngsters," Pellaeon said. "Their level of knowledge might be decent, but they lack extensive practical experience in conditions close to combat aboard smaller ship classes than a Star Destroyer... And now... As soon as they finish their training courses, the Imperial Ruling Council shoves them into any vacant position. Despite the fact that they simply haven't been taught practical fieldwork..."
"Your observation is partly valid, Captain," I noted. "But the assessment of sentients and their actions is always a complex set of causes leading to a particular result. You can't teach something to a person, or any other sentient. One can only learn. And the desire for self-improvement arises only with proper motivation. You are absolutely correct — now even a simple commoner who has graduated from an educational institution can get a berth on a Star Destroyer. And just six years ago, that was unthinkable. The best a recent graduate could hope for was a patrol bucket somewhere in the Outer Rim. Unless he represented special value to our armed forces."
"Or wasn't from a noble family," Pellaeon snorted. He himself had risen from the lower ranks, and so, at his age, he was merely the commander of a Star Destroyer. And even then, he only became one because of the previous commander's death during the Battle of Endor. And for five and a half years, he had been the commander of the Chimaera. The position of Executive Officer, which Gilad had held before that fateful battle, was currently vacant.
Though, to be honest, remembering everything I had read in the Expanded Universe books about this character — Pellaeon wasn't that great a commander. Maybe that's why Thrawn used him as something like a chief of staff?
Still, I have no doubt that under current conditions, Pellaeon would give me such a run for my money that I'd be left eating his dust and keeping my mouth shut.
"Let's not dismiss that fact either," I agreed easily. It was hard to argue with facts. In the Galactic Empire, many officers — mostly high-ranking ones — held their positions solely by right of birth. Palpatine relied on industrialists and aristocrats, granting them certain privileges.
"So they have no motivation," Pellaeon sighed. "For us, Imperials of the old school, serving is a duty, an honor, a way of life and thinking. For them, it's just a job."
"A lack of victories can demoralize anyone," I noted. "You yourself expected that our encounter with the enemy in the Obroa-skai system would end in defeat for the rebels."
"Yes," Pellaeon didn't lie. "But I fully understand that a lone Star Destroyer, especially with an inexperienced crew, is practically a gift to the rebels. However..."
"A small miracle would have been nice?" I smiled, looking into the eyes of the Chimaera's commander.
Pellaeon nodded dejectedly.
"A victory could have boosted the morale of our forces," he noted.
"Victory — yes," I agreed. "But a miracle... Miracles don't happen. Mystical knowledge and faith in the Force won't save the Empire the way they help the rebels. But," seeing Pellaeon's despondent look, I emphasized, "that doesn't mean we can't use their tricks for our own purposes."
"How?" the Imperial asked in surprise.
"You see, Captain," I said. "The fact is, the Guardian of Mount Tantiss on Wayland is a Force-sensitive sentient."
"I figured as much," Pellaeon smiled into his mustache. "It's not for nothing that we brought these lizards along," he pointed to the cages of ysalamiri resting near the feet of the stormtroopers clad in white armor. "But I still think it's unlikely."
"Commendable that you don't overlook details, Captain," I noted. "However, the secrets of Mount Tantiss are so significant that there is no other suitable candidate for this post."
"There was an outpost here," Pellaeon reminded me. "They could have stationed a corps of stormtroopers equipped with the latest technology."
"How much did we detect from orbit with the Chimaera's scanners?" I inquired.
"Nothing," the Star Destroyer commander said firmly.
"And if there were any ground troops on the planet, we wouldn't have had that problem," I reminded him. "Any unshielded electronics is easily traceable from a Star Destroyer. So we accomplished nothing with conventional means. We'll have to negotiate on site."
"As I understand it," Pellaeon gestured again towards the stormtroopers, "if the Guardian doesn't agree to mutually beneficial cooperation, we'll make him? Or get rid of him?"
"Non-Jedi are quite difficult to keep in check," I noted. "They always try to rise to the pinnacle of power, subjugating everyone around them. That's their nature. But at the same time, their abilities, unnatural for most sentients, can serve us well. Again."
"Again?" Pellaeon repeated.
"Yes," I nodded.
"May I ask what exactly you mean?" he inquired, clearly consumed by curiosity.
A very slippery moment. Because the true nature of Palpatine was known to very, very few within the Empire. For the public display of the Dark Side and the Force on behalf of the Galactic Empire, there was Darth Vader. Palpatine himself operated from the shadows, not particularly advertising his talents to just anyone.
"In due time, Captain," I preferred to postpone the conversation until a more convenient moment. "I'd like you to find the answer to your question yourself."
Pellaeon fell silent, watching as clearly distinguishable landscapes of the green planet appeared outside the viewport.
"What if the Guardian refuses to cooperate with us?" he asked. "Or thinks he can rule the Empire himself instead of anyone else? You said yourself that non-Jedi are quite unpredictable."
I looked at the adjacent seat, where the one and only grim bodyguard sat silently.
"If he won't obey, we'll make him," I declared. "Rukh is competent enough to remind any ally of the Empire of their place in the galactic food chain. And as for claims to power... Well, we have ysalamiri for neutralization, a whole fleet, Noghri, and stormtroopers, after all. One way or another, the Guardian will serve the cause of the Empire under my command. Or he will die."
* * *
The Lambda descended to the level of the treetops.
Forests and wide plains filled with thick grass. The tranquility of pristine nature seemed soothing.
But I knew perfectly well that in this place, the outer beauty and serenity actually conceal something terrible. A man, powerful but insane. Blinded by his own power and wallowing in the fragments of his memories.
The shuttle descended at the foot of a single mountain in the surrounding landscape. We could have spent a lot of time searching other mountain ranges on the planet, but from orbit we had already determined that only near one of the imposing cliffs was there something resembling a settlement. And as I recall, that's exactly where settlements were located near Mount Tantiss in the events I knew.
But only after landing did it become clear how close I had come to failure.
A dozen squat, nondescript buildings, which I had identified as a town, turned out to be only a small part of it, since most of the houses were located under the canopy of dense vegetation from ancient trees. Curious, but the vegetation looks Terran... Probably. To my shame, I don't know the fauna of my home planet particularly well. But that's not important right now. As far as I remember, there are no predatory plants here. Which makes sense — otherwise there wouldn't be a functioning settlement here.
I ordered the Lambda's pilot to descend, choosing the central square as a landing site. Its size would allow it to serve as a landing pad for a much larger ship. For example, an Acclamator-class assault ship. Considering that the first mentions of Wayland and Mount Tantiss appeared during the Clone Wars, it's no wonder that this could have been the unloading point for all the goods Emperor Palpatine intended to hide from public view.
It was larger than they had anticipated. Many squat buildings hid in the shade of the trees. Thrawn ordered the pilot to circle the town twice, then set down in the center of what was proudly called the main square.
"An interesting architectural style," I said, examining the structures. No, it wasn't just a saying — the buildings of this town really did intriguingly combine the straight lines of boxes, curved roofs, sharp ridge peaks, small towers, arched, round, rectangular, oval windows. Honestly, there really was something quite strange and intriguing about it. It was clear this town wasn't built by humans — and certainly not by the architects of the Empire, for whom functionality was characteristic, but never decorative polish. But here there was both simplicity and unpretentious patterns on the walls of houses, multiple types of roofs and windows that could be used on two externally identical buildings. One might think each resident built their house according to their own understanding, but certain elements were repeated. In various combinations. Which suggested a complete absence of a unified style. Possibly two, or even three types were building this town. Judging by the size of the windows and doors, their dimensions, and floor heights — it was unlikely they were non-humanoids or reptiles.
Honestly, I couldn't remember if humans lived on Wayland or some aliens, but seeing the buildings in person, I'd say several types of sentients lived here, each having adopted something from their "neighbor" in their architecture.
A stormtrooper brought me a cage with a pair of ysalamiri, clearly intending to march alongside me. However, from the outside, it would look like I was afraid of something. I was afraid, of course, but I didn't intend to show it to those around me. The image of Thrawn must not be shattered by my fears. Because only the image of Thrawn is what's keeping me alive right now. My conversation with Pellaeon made it clear that not only my future fate depended on this charade.
Instead of letting the stormtrooper guard me, I opened the cage myself and picked up the lizard, stroking its back like a pet.
Warm to the touch, it reminded me of Terran reptiles. Slightly rough skin, as if made of small scales, short but strong legs, a potbelly. And little claws, trimmed by caring technicians so the lizards wouldn't grow into their trees for a long time.
That's exactly how — with a lizard in my arms, Rukh silent and walking to my right and behind me, Pellaeon mirroring the Noghri's step, along with a squad of stormtroopers at the vanguard, and another bringing up the rear of our procession and positioned around the ship as soon as we left the shuttle — our modest procession stepped onto the soil of the planet Wayland.
"Do you think the locals are hostile to outsiders?" Pellaeon asked quietly, looking around, his hand repeatedly touching his blaster holster.
"We'll find out soon," I declared, watching as the first squad of stormtroopers split into two teams and began to slowly, meticulously check the surrounding houses. "The natives have probably taken cover in their homes — the usual reaction to incomprehensible things happening in their comfort zone that they can't explain. I doubt they often see Lambda-class shuttles flying around here."
Several minutes of waiting passed, during which the first squad searched the nearby buildings and reported that they were empty. Now that was unexpected...
"Rukh," I addressed the bodyguard. "Give me the loudspeaker."
"Going to tell them who's in charge?" Pellaeon asked with a grim, nervous curiosity.
"Captain, a spaceship landed on the planet, from which emerged sixteen creatures encased in identical armored suits, receiving orders from a creature in a white uniform with blue skin," I noted with a lazy drawl. "The locals might not be as advanced as us, but they're hardly idiots."
In a far, far away galaxy, the military version of a loudspeaker wasn't the familiar horn-shaped "yeller," but a disc, one side of which was the speaker membrane, and on the other were the microphone and noise-cancellation systems.
"I need the Guardian of the mountain," I said. The rock face was imposing, its mass concealing an enormous entrance visible even to the naked eye — a set of metal doors that gleamed dully in the shadows, so tall that a Lambda-class shuttle could fly straight through them. Not to mention the broad stairs leading down from them. I wondered why the Emperor hadn't arranged a landing pad right in front of the mountain. Then again, from orbit, with the right scanners, it would have been easy to spot. "Whoever takes me to him will be generously rewarded. You have five minutes to think it over."
"Wait — we're going to pay them?" Pellaeon asked, surprised.
"You'd begrudge a few credits and a heat source to someone who saves us the time of finding the Guardian ourselves?" I clarified.
The Chimaera's captain hesitated, clearly embarrassed by what he'd just said.
"They might not even understand what you're talking about," he remarked. "They're savages, after all..."
"Human cultural traits are visible in the city's architecture," I countered evenly, finally recalling that the planet was inhabited by humans and two native species. And humans can only have one origin. "Which means the colonists' descendants have lived here long enough to participate in its construction. At least one inhabitant of this city must understand Basic. Otherwise, they'd already be prostrating themselves before us, worshiping us as gods."
"Maybe that would have been better," Pellaeon grumbled into his mustache. "Then we wouldn't have to persuade them to help us..."
"No one is trying to persuade anyone," I declared. "An offer has been made. No takers. Recall the stormtroopers to the ship."
Gilad Pellaeon relayed the order through the comlink, adding at the end, "On the double!"
"Take your time," I advised. "This performance shouldn't descend into farce. Rukh. Have you detected any movement?"
"Yes," he replied, nodding almost imperceptibly toward an unremarkable building at the far end of the square. "Two of them. They look human. No one else nearby."
"Excellent," I agreed, glancing at the chronometer. Then, raising the megaphone to my face, I addressed the area again. "Time's up. Disobedience will be punished."
Before anyone could respond, I turned to the captain of the Chimaera: "Order the gunners on the Chimaera to destroy that house."
Seeing me point at the building — a structure distinguished by its scale and elegance, which could be nothing other than the ruler's residence in this small society — Pellaeon raised the comlink to his lips...
Only three seconds passed before an unbearably bright beam of green light crashed into the structure, reducing it to molten slag at the bottom of a smoke-blackened crater.
I shielded my eyes with my palm to avoid being blinded by the flash and lowered it as soon as the green plasma finished its instructive lesson.
The natives' response struck me in the chest immediately.
An ordinary arrow with a metal tip pierced the ysalamir that I had reflexively raised to chest level during the bombardment. The innocent little creature stared wide-eyed, wheezing and clawing at the air.
The arrow's shaft had passed straight through its body, stopping only upon striking the armor hidden beneath my tunic. Judging by how the tip had spread upon impact, it was crafted with taste and dedication. Such an arrow could only be meant for one thing: maximizing internal damage.
"Admiral!" Pellaeon rushed toward me, but I waved him off.
"Rukh!" The Noghri bodyguard sprinted to me, holding a blaster in one hand and a throwing knife in the other. "Where did the shot come from?"
"From that building I told you about, Master," the Noghri growled.
"Good," I replied calmly, watching the lizard's convulsions. "Captain Pellaeon — have our stormtroopers show what they're capable of."
"Yes, Admiral..." The Chimaera's commander reached for his comlink, quietly relaying orders.
While the first squad moved at a run toward the source of the threat, I raised the megaphone to my face: "Attacking representatives of the Empire carries the death penalty. Retribution is always inevitable! Stormtroopers — move out."
Eight soldiers clad in plastoid armor approached the structure, surrounded it, and immediately opened fire on the single door and windows, forcing every living thing not yet killed by the sudden attack to take measures to save itself. But whatever the locals tried to do, they didn't make it in time.
The walls of the little house, riddled with holes in hundreds of places, could barely support the weight of the roof when a stormtrooper approached the building and tossed a thermal detonator through the broken window. A roar, a bright flash, and the entire structure collapsed to the ground with a crash, burying everything inside beneath the rubble.
The stormtroopers returned to the ship with the same coordination and discipline. Hmm... there's a common belief that they're all cross-eyed fellows who couldn't hit a barn with a turbolaser. But based on what I'd just witnessed, the Expanded Universe books treat Imperial soldiers with a great deal of unfair skepticism.
Or perhaps I'd just witnessed yet another example of never underestimating the rebels' "plot armor."
I raised the megaphone to my face and announced: "Needless casualties can be avoided if I am granted an immediate audience with the Guardian of the mountain!"
"You won't be meeting him anymore," came a calm voice, full of authority and a sense of superiority.
The Chimaera's captain, standing beside me, spun toward the sound, drawing his blaster from its holster.
"Easy, Captain," I said slowly. "No need to unsettle our guest."
And it seemed our "guest" could pose no real threat.
Tall, clad in the brown robe familiar to any Star Wars fan, with a long, matted beard whose hair had long since turned silver with age, he studied us, examining each of us individually — me, Pellaeon, Rukh. He didn't even deem the stormtroopers worthy of such consideration, which clearly indicated his attitude toward common sentients: pawns, nothing more.
He was used to ruling here, and he had come now for anything but negotiations. To be honest, I'd partly hoped the orbital bombardment of the palace would destroy not only the building but this man as well. Pellaeon doesn't trust Force-sensitive sentients, and I can't say I'm particularly fond of them either.
His hand touched the medallion hanging on his chest, over a once-white tunic faded from washing — another well-known attribute. When he finished studying us, unmistakable contempt appeared in his gaze.
"Strangers are rarely seen on Wayland," he said. Despite his apparent age, his voice was full of strength and authority. "Clearly, you've arrived from beyond this planet."
"A logical conclusion," Pellaeon observed. "Given that there's a starship behind us. But who are you?"
The old man, whose name I already knew, merely looked at the ruins of the house the stormtroopers had attacked. Then at the smoke rising from the crater where his palace had once stood.
"You have caused me damage," he declared, glancing back at us. Or did I imagine it — for a moment, when our eyes met, did his flash with interest? Catching myself still holding the dead lizard, I gestured to a stormtrooper and obtained another ysalamir.
"Yes, that's correct," I confirmed. "And this could have been avoided if you had come out to meet us immediately, Guardian."
"Him?" Pellaeon exclaimed in surprise. "The Guardian?"
"The Guardian is dead," the old man said, moving toward us. "And has been for a very long time."
"Is that so?" I smiled. "Then who are you?"
"I rule this planet and these sentients." The old man stopped about ten meters from us, raising his hands as if smoothing his beard with his palms. Cheap trick.
An awkward pause hung in the air. The old man bored into me with his gaze.
"And I am Grand Admiral Thrawn, Supreme Commander of the Imperial forces," I had to introduce myself to smooth over the awkward moment.
"There is no Empire on this planet," the old man declared. "Only me and those I rule."
"Is that so?" I smirked. The old man's gaze hardened. Come on! Come on! "And what about the mountain that rises behind your back? Something tells me everything inside it belongs to the departed Emperor. And therefore, to me, as the Supreme Commander of the Empire. He kept it safe for us."
"So the Emperor is dead?" the old man asked, thoughtful, even bewildered.
"Killed by rebels, to be precise," I said. "That's why we're here — we need what's in the mountain. And the Guardian's help."
"The Guardian is dead," the old man repeated like a mantra.
Fine. Two can play this game.
"And how did he die?" I inquired with feigned courtesy.
"I killed him." Pellaeon took the safety off his blaster. I gestured for him to hold his fire. "I killed everyone who came here after his death to call upon his service. I will kill you too."
With a speed that would make younger men envious, the "native" thrust his palms forward, and branching discharges of blue lightning burst from his fingers, hurtling toward us with the deafening crack of rending space...
...only to dissipate as if an unknown absorbent, capable of countering the Force, dissolved them without a trace a few meters before us.
Pellaeon raised his blaster, taking aim. The stormtroopers did the same.
"Hold your fire!" I ordered, trying to keep my voice calm and unruffled. "Lower your weapons."
"How did you do that?" the old man demanded menacingly. "You're not Jedi — I'd have sensed that immediately."
"Right, right," I thought, scratching behind the ear of the new ysalamir. Hmm... it seemed to like it — it started purring.
"You don't need to be a Jedi to have the ability to kill one," I replied modestly. "All you need is an extraordinary mind, esteemed Guardian."
"The Guardian is dead!" the mad old man roared, striking us again with more streams of lightning.
But, as before, they had no effect. The old man stared at his palms with agitation and confusion, then tried to strike with lightning again.
The same result.
"As you can see, esteemed Guardian, we came prepared for our meeting," I explained. "Don't waste time on things beyond your power to overcome."
"I killed the Guardian!" the old man threatened, his voice full of menace.
"I don't doubt it," I lied. "However, he who defeats a krayt dragon becomes a krayt dragon himself." I paraphrased a well-known Earth saying, adapting it to the reality of a galaxy far, far away so it wouldn't sound too jarring. "You are now the Guardian, and you have been guarding Mount Tantiss and the Emperor's treasures for a long time, thereby serving the Empire."
"I serve only myself." The old man tried to strike with lightning once more, but weakly, as if making a final attempt. "How are you blocking my attacks?"
"That secret is available only to allies of the Empire," I said, glancing briefly at the stormtroopers. No, it was like something out of a fairy tale. They'd been ordered not to shoot and to lower their weapons — and they were still doing it. Excellent training. Protected by ysalamiri, just like us, they simply observed the proceedings. "Join me, and the secret will be revealed to you. In time, of course."
A tense silence hung in the air.
"The Masters of the Jedi Order serve no one," he said with a grotesque edge, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
"A Master of the Order?" Pellaeon was taken aback. "But they're all..."
"Quiet, Captain," I ordered, not letting the Imperial reveal the secret of the Jedi Masters' destruction. Not now. If he wants to call himself that, that's his business. I need him — so I'll have to let these small self-proclamations go in one ear and out the other. "In that case, be our ally."
Negotiation should begin with deliberately impossible conditions, to create the illusion of a setback when the other side agrees to the necessary terms. That way, each negotiator gets what they want — one gets results, the other gets self-satisfaction from thinking they managed to bargain.
"We will talk," the old man said. "I promise nothing more."
"For now, that's enough for me," I agreed. "Lead the way, Guardian."
Throwing a gaze full of ferocity my way, the "Jedi Master" headed toward the nearest native dwelling.
A ruler, indeed — one who commands everything.
Except what belongs to me. Or what will yet belong to me.
The moment he finished reporting to the Provisional Council about his flight to meet the smugglers, Han felt the tons of indignation about to come crashing down on him. He'd been part of this governing body long enough — the one trying to manage what was once the Rebel Alliance and had now become the New Republic — to expect no other outcome. Most of the Council members understood exactly what had happened, but there was one extremely troublesome sentient...
However, the blow came from an unexpected quarter.
"As anticipated, your contacts among the smugglers refused to join us," Admiral Ackbar said, making no attempt to hide his displeasure. The Mon Calamari shook his large head disapprovingly. His race's attitude toward various illegal operations and the sentients who engaged in them was well known to everyone present. As was his skepticism toward the mission Han had undertaken.
* * *
Admiral of the New Republic, Gial Ackbar.
Han looked at his wife sitting across from him and scratched behind his ear. Was it really so hard to understand such simple things?
"No one mentioned joining," he reminded them. "Smugglers are mercenary people. They live for profit. And right now, they have no reason to abandon their lucrative business and switch to a legal one. I was told outright that they know about the sorry state of our budget."
"Or maybe it's simply a matter of a complete lack of trust?" The voice of another member of the Provisional Council sounded overly formal and unnaturally solicitous. This was the voice Han had expected to be first in the stream of criticism. But now, hearing what he'd anticipated, he found himself unprepared.
So he caught himself wearing a sour expression, not hiding his attitude toward Councilor Borsk Fey'lya.
"Could be," Han said through a tight smile, looking at the Bothan.
New Republic Councilor Borsk Fey'lya.
"Really?" The Bothan's fur rippled, confirming his wide-eyed astonishment. "Are you so unsure of the mission's results, Captain Solo?"
The former smuggler rolled his eyes, simultaneously closing them, and counted to ten in his head. It didn't help much. Luke had wasted his time trying to teach him Jedi relaxation techniques.
Fey'lya had been stirring his swamp long enough to know exactly how to get under Han's skin.
"Fine," Han said. "Yes, I was told in no uncertain terms that there's not much trust in us. But only among some of the smugglers. Everyone knows how we feel about them, so they'd naturally assume the offer is a trap to catch them all and ship them to Kessel."
"Not a bad idea," Fey'lya declared, engrossed in examining his nails.
Han opened his mouth to tell the Bothan exactly what he thought of his ambiguous remarks, but a delicate cough from Leia pulled him back.
"Regardless, their message is clear," said the red-haired woman who had been a founding member of the Rebel Alliance and now chaired the Provisional Council, speaking quietly, as if voicing her thoughts aloud. "The smugglers want money."
And it wasn't that Mon Mothma was wrong.
Councilor Mon Mothma.
"Which we don't have much of," Fey'lya reminded them. "We shouldn't squander it trying to embrace the unembraceable."
"That's rich coming from you," Han muttered under his breath.
"Order, Captain Solo," Mon Mothma rapped her gavel lightly. "We thank you for your participation in this mission."
"But it didn't solve the problem," Admiral Ackbar declared. "We need functioning logistics if we intend to keep fighting the Empire."
"The battle in the Obroa-Skai system clearly demonstrated that the valiant defenders of the New Republic can repel even an invasion by an Imperial Star Destroyer," Fey'lya stated, still examining his claws. "Perhaps, in light of recent events, the fleet's initiative to assist with transport isn't without merit?"
Judging by how quiet everyone present had become, Han had the impression the Bothan had tossed a thermal detonator into the crowd. And everyone was staring at the blinking indicator light...
"I hereby declare this meeting of the Provisional Council adjourned," Mon Mothma rapped her gavel, breaking the silence.
As everyone began to gather their things, the Corellian approached Leia.
Leia Organa Solo.
"Could've gone better, huh?" he said with a crooked grin, trying not to speak too loudly.
"Unfortunately," the Alderaanian princess replied with a strained smile. "Come on, let's talk on the way."
As soon as they left the meeting hall and started moving, Han couldn't hold back anymore.
"What was Fey'lya talking about?" he asked. Sure, Solo was no longer a general of the New Republic. Yes, government secrets passed him by, but his wife would never make a sevenfold secret out of something like this.
"Before you arrived, he got into a very diplomatic and veiled argument with Ackbar," she said as they stepped onto the rotunda, mingling with the workers of the Senate building. Han glanced at the plantings, toward the long grove they were approaching. What were they doing in the New Republic Galactic Senate building anyway?
"As always," Solo sighed. "But I don't recall Fey'lya ever saying a good word about the military before."
"From his rhetoric, I can tell he's aiming for Ackbar's position," she said. "The fact that our battered frigates managed to drive off a Star Destroyer near Obroa-Skai gave him the right to claim that military funding is already at an optimal level."
"Leia, that was just one Star Destroyer," Han reminded her. "The Empire has hundreds, if not thousands."
"Ackbar said the same thing," she sighed. "Considering the Empire's raids on our communications, Fey'lya demands that the fleet be more active in the New Republic's supply operations. We have several fleets that, in the councilor's opinion, are just guzzling fuel on their bases while the economy stagnates. Ackbar defended his position as best he could. And if your plan to bring in the smugglers for transport had worked, we might have avoided extreme measures. Unfortunately, after the victory over Ysanne Isard and Zsinj, we haven't had any major military engagements to justify maintaining multiple fleets. Essentially, Ackbar will have to..."
"Don't tell me the Council agreed to disarm the ships," Han grimaced.
"Fine, I won't," Leia smiled with just her lips. "But it's true. A significant portion of the fleet will be disarmed and used as transports in convoys."
"No, I can accept that military ships can be loaded with civilian cargo and delivered to their destination," Han said, rubbing his forehead vigorously. "But why disarm them?"
"Which one of us is the captain of his own ship?" the princess said, smiling now for real.
"I understand all of it," Han sighed. "Turbolaser batteries, fighters, bombers, shuttles — they all take up space on the decks and in the bays. The more space inside the ships, the more cargo can be transported."
"So crews are being reduced too," Leia sighed. "Ackbar isn't thrilled about it either. If you had managed..."
"Sorry I let you down," Han said, taking his wife's hand.
"You didn't let anyone down," she said with mock anger. "After all, the admiral himself agreed that the faster trade with the Outer and Mid Rims gets started, the sooner the ships will return to combat duty. We just need a few months, six at most. Then there'll be money in the budget to build our own freighter fleet. While there's a lull on the fronts, the convoy system will save us from crisis."
"Well said," Han noted. "While there's a lull on the fronts."
"Everything will be fine," the princess pressed against him. "By the way, I have a mission. A request came in from the planet Bimmisaari to join the New Republic. They want to send me, and the Bimms also want to see Luke as a hero of the Rebellion. But I think we could all go together, don't you?"
"Just like the good old days?" Han smirked. "You, me, Chewie, Luke, C-3PO, and R2-D2..."
"Exactly," the princess's eyes lit up — she could never hide her adventurous spirit. "Just like the good old..."
"What do you want?" the old man asked, sitting down behind a large wooden table and watching me and Pellaeon settle in across from him. Rukh wisely positioned himself near the door, where he could more easily control both the only entrance to the dwelling and the old man's movements.
"First of all — how should I address you?"
"I am a Master of the Jedi Order," the old man said with pride and a hint of contempt. "Joruus C'baoth."
* * *
Joruus C'baoth.
Pellaeon, sitting beside me, coughed.
"That can't be," he said, looking at the old man in confusion. "C'baoth is..."
"You need some fresh air, Captain," I ordered, fixing the Imperial with a stern look. The Chimaera's commander blinked and headed for the exit. Much better. He wouldn't ruin the whole performance.
"You've trained him well," Joruus said with obvious pleasure, watching the captain leave.
"Discipline is the key to proper work," I remarked neutrally. "So, you are a Jedi Master. Trained in the ways of the Force, capable of things most of the galaxy cannot even imagine..."
"Don't flatter me, Grand Admiral," the old man said, a threat in his voice, fingering his medallion. "I'm far too old for that to have any effect. So, I want to know — how did you manage to deflect my attacks?"
"Everything in its time, most esteemed Master," I said, wagging my finger. "As I've already said, that information is only for loyal allies of the Empire."
"You're not in a position to bargain, Grand Admiral," he declared. "You destroyed my palace — and my subjects died. You destroyed one of my houses — and there were casualties there too. As long as you're with me, you're my guests. The locals won't attack. But one word from me..."
"A single movement is all I need," I said, nodding to Rukh, who allowed him to hurl one of the knives toward C'baoth. The old man raised his hand belatedly to intercept the weapon with the Force...
... the blade buried itself in the back of the chair he was sitting on.
The old man turned his head toward the knife slowly and majestically, as if everything was going according to his plan. Then he brought his gaze back to me.
"That was a mistake, Grand Admiral," he said, fury in his voice.
"The mistake was threatening me," I clarified. "As you can see — we are capable of rendering you powerless. So let's call it even — each of us has demonstrated their ability to pressure the other. Perhaps these preliminaries are sufficient, and we can move on to a more constructive conversation?"
"You want an alliance," C'baoth recalled, paying no attention even to the knife protruding near his head. "But I am a Jedi Master. I have everything I need. And even the antics of your pet Noghri do not impress me," Rukh stirred. "Yes, Noghri, I know what you are. And I know about the role of punishers and assassins that your people played under the Emperor."
My bodyguard remained impassive.
"State your proposal, Grand Admiral," C'baoth demanded. "I don't have much time."
"I came here to take for myself everything the Emperor's treasure vault can boast," I said — why lie when everything was obvious anyway?
"You can go there without me," the "Jedi Master" snorted. "I'll order that you and your men not be touched."
"My gratitude for your magnanimity knows no bounds," I smiled. Especially considering that almost a legion of stormtroopers were stationed on the Chimaera, capable of slaughtering every man, woman, and child on the entire planet in short order, thereby ridding me of any possible problems. "But, you see, I came here to secure the support of the Guardian of the Mountain."
"The Guardian is dead," C'baoth said, as if reciting a mantra for self-reassurance.
"Yes, but you are alive," I noted. "As already emphasized — one of the Jedi Masters..."
"The last Jedi Master," my interlocutor said with a sly smile. "The fact that you interrupted your subordinate doesn't make what's happening in the galaxy a secret to me. I know about the Jedi Purge, and the Battle of Yavin, and even the Emperor's death at the Battle of Endor."
"I'm glad you're so well-informed," I smiled. "That will save me a lot of time. Am I to understand that you received this information from those who came for the Guardian?"
"Yes," C'baoth replied without elaboration.
"In that case, you must remember the incredible power of Emperor Palpatine," I continued. "His death brought enormous problems for the entire Imperial military machine. His abilities helped coordinate fleet actions. And his death, despite the small size of the Rebel fleet, left our fleet disorganized and forced to retreat. If Captain Pellaeon were here, he would confirm this, as he took part in that battle."
"You need my help," Joruus said with understanding.
"Yes," I admitted. "A fully trained Jedi Master is a rarity in our time. However, I am confident that you are capable of helping my troops with coordination."
"Perhaps you should train your soldiers better?" C'baoth suggested, examining his hands.
"That won't be an issue," I promised. "But not everything can be solved by ordinary soldiers or even Star Destroyers. Unfortunately for me."
C'baoth snorted:
"So that's why you need me — Battle Meditation."
"I'm not familiar with that term," I had to lie. I knew what he was talking about. But Thrawn was unlikely to possess such knowledge.
"What you're talking about, what the Emperor did — that is Battle Meditation," he explained, looking me over with a gaze that held faint contempt. "The ability to use the Great Force to link the minds of humans and other species, to use their talents with maximum efficiency. I have possessed this gift since birth and do it easily and naturally. The people, Psadans, Myneyrsh who live in my city — they are all under my control when necessary..."
"For example, to kill an enemy commander with a precisely aimed arrow," it dawned on me. How fortunate that I hadn't forgotten to wear my armor. Judging by everything, I'd have to make it more comfortable and wear it constantly, if my life was dear to me.
"But you don't control them constantly," I stated. Or do you?
"There is no need for that," C'baoth declared. "They live and go about their business until I need them. Then I unite their minds with my will and do what I need to do."
"In that case, yes — Battle Meditation is what I need," I agreed. "To coordinate fleet actions. In the most critical moments — to take full control of the situation."
"And why would I do that?" the "Jedi Master" clarified. "You have nothing that could possibly interest me."
"So, the limit of a man of your talents' dreams is one town on a backwater planet?" I clarified, trying to bait my interlocutor in hopes of playing on his pride. I didn't want to play my trump card yet. Otherwise, it could trigger a chain of events that might lead to irreversible, tragic consequences.
"A city that lives as I command it," C'baoth's eyes flashed. "I see what you need, Grand Admiral. Thousands upon thousands of worlds bowing before your magnificence. Hundreds of rebels dying in agony, burning ships, and the banner of the Empire flying over Coruscant."
"Ultimately — yes," I agreed, clearly understanding that achieving such a thing was hardly likely.
"You want power, Grand Admiral," C'baoth stated. "But you don't understand its essence. Neither did the Emperor himself. Abstract power over thousands of worlds is the absence of power. Real power — I have it. The sentients on this planet live and die by my will. They do whatever I want — and nothing else," was it just me, or were there contradictions here? "That is power. Not what you dream of."
"Maybe so," I thought.
"At the same time, that's only a limited number of sentients," I noted. "Does a man of your talents content himself with such scales? It always seemed to me that a Jedi Master ought to rule, say, a planet, a star system, or even an entire sector."
"Your assertions demonstrate your immaturity, Grand Admiral," C'baoth said with a condescending smirk. "Power must be real. It must be tangible. Only when I know each of those who are under my power do I understand that I rule them. Not an abstract million, billion, or trillion sentients."
What the hell?! It was starting to get annoying.
"You have nothing to offer me, Grand Admiral," C'baoth sighed.
"Except the secret of how you found yourself powerless against an ordinary sentient," I declared. "Don't you think that is a threat to your power, Master C'baoth?"
"Be that as it may," he agreed. "But once you leave Wayland, the threat will disappear with you."
"And there's the problem, esteemed C'baoth," I declared. "We are not going anywhere from this planet. It is in Imperial Space. And, if I am right, there are technologies in the mountain that are hardly transportable. Operationally, at any rate."
"I already said that you and your men will not be harmed," the old man declared. "Haul out everything you need, and then — leave me."
This was starting to get irritating.
"I need your help, C'baoth!" I hissed, losing my composure. Even Rukh stirred. "And I will get it. By any means."
"You cannot force me, Grand Admiral," the old man said calmly. "You need me alive. And alive, I will not serve you."
"Because you think I have nothing to offer you," I sighed.
"That is so," C'baoth agreed.
"However," I smiled softly. "A man of your intelligence and talent must understand that nothing in this galaxy is eternal. Not even a Jedi Master. Not even you."
C'baoth looked at me from under his shaggy brows.
"My death will not benefit you, Grand Admiral," he said with poorly concealed threat.
"Yes," I agreed simply. "But would it benefit the Jedi teachings?"
"What are you talking about?" C'baoth tensed.
"As I have heard, every trained Jedi must have an apprentice," I noted, demonstratively looking out the window at the city's beauties.
"Yes, in the old days that was so," my interlocutor confirmed. "Now, however, the Jedi have been destroyed. There is no one to inherit my mastery."
"Indeed?" I smiled.
"The Emperor, Vader, and their minions like the Noghri," he nodded toward Rukh, "tracked down and destroyed every Jedi in the galaxy."
"I'm surprised you believe that," I sighed. No, I wouldn't give away my trump card — that would be the collapse of everything. But I could dangle a carrot. If only it would work. "A man of your talents and intelligence should have realized long ago that it is statistically impossible to track down and destroy absolutely every Jedi and apprentice. Someone must have survived. After all, many Jedi left the Order and fled, went into hiding. Yes, most of them were found and destroyed. But they had children. And their children could have had their own children..."
"That doesn't mean they became Jedi," C'baoth declared. But the confidence was gone from his voice.
"Staying here, you will never find out," I declared. "However, by helping me, you could use the resources of Imperial Intelligence to search for new recruits and rebuild the Jedi Order."
C'baoth did not answer. He sat there, fretfully worrying the medallion hanging on his chest. So fiercely that there was almost no doubt left.
"But it might also be that we find no one," he said unexpectedly, relaxing. "I am no fool, Grand Admiral. I knew Palpatine, and I know the diligence with which he approached the destruction of his enemies. There are no Jedi left. Not one."
"Is that so?" No, the old man wasn't completely insane. And I had hoped he was sufficiently excitable by nature to take the bait. "And here I thought I had heard of at least one Force-sensitive sentient. And I'm not talking about you."
"Be careful, Grand Admiral," C'baoth said, tensing up. "You cannot mislead a Jedi Master. You are neither a Jedi nor a Sith for such a thing to go unpunished."
"I have no intention of misleading you, honored Master," I smiled. "There are at least a couple of Force-sensitive sentients in this galaxy. Anticipating your question, I will say that, despite their age, they are untrained. They have heard of the Jedi, but have not received the proper upbringing."
"Jedi do not train adults," C'baoth noted. "Never."
"I'll bet a Star Destroyer that you're wrong," I wanted to say. But the less I focused on the specific example, the more likely this fellow would forget what happened a little over forty years ago after the Battle of Naboo.
"Perhaps that is why the old Jedi Order fell?" I suggested. "A man of your wisdom, who survived the Jedi Purge, must have drawn many conclusions about exactly how the Jedi should develop under your leadership. And therefore, why not adjust the program and make exceptions to ensure the Jedi never disappear?"
"What's in it for you, Grand Admiral?" C'baoth squinted. "The Jedi supported the Republic, the antipode of the Empire."
"And yet, the Jedi do not use lightning as a weapon," I noted. "For that, they have lightsabers. But you do use it. Emperor Palpatine used it. And what successes were achieved? You managed to achieve harmony on Wayland, reconciling three peoples. Palpatine managed to unite the galaxy. Believe me, he did not do it on a whim — there are threats far more terrible than exist in this galaxy. And the Jedi could help the Empire stand against that wave of violence and horror. Jedi trained by you. Understanding what you understand. Thinking as you think. Acting as you act."
"Your words are as sweet as wine, Grand Admiral," C'baoth said with a pleased smirk, rising from his seat. "I will help you. For the sake of the future of the Jedi Order. But remember my words — when the Order rises again, we will demand what is rightfully ours."
"I will be happy to help you with that," I smiled, following the Guardian. "And now, let us visit Mount Tantiss and see what Emperor Palpatine left for us."
"Not until you give me the name of those you know as potential Jedi," C'baoth stopped at the doors. In his hands, he held his medallion again. It seemed it helped him keep his grip on reality. Noted.
"For now, one name will suffice," I cut him off. "He is a representative of a powerful and well-known Jedi family in the galaxy. He has only just begun to grasp the Force..."
"I will decide that myself, Grand Admiral!" C'baoth stamped his foot angrily. "The name."
"As you wish," I shrugged. "Corran Horn. A descendant of Nejaa Halcyon of the Corellian Jedi."