One — inhale — and the arms bend at the elbows to a right angle.
Two — exhale — and the upper limbs straighten.
"The data that Lieutenant Tschel requested," repeat of "one." — "The serial numbers..."
Another inhale...
"I've already heard all of this from you, Lieutenant Colonel," the Grand Admiral's voice didn't even waver. "Continue."
"They belong to ships that were damaged in the Battle of Endor," and again the arms bend. "The hyperdrive was removed," and again the arms bend, "from a light cruiser of the Carrack-class. Seven such ships were damaged in the battle, sent for repairs," straightening, "to a base in the Outer Rim." Another bend, "Three weeks later, the ISB became interested in the reason," and again his body lowered toward the deck, "why the starships hadn't been returned to service within the specified timeframe," a smooth rise. "It turned out that the ships were absent from the shipyard. They'd had hull repairs, but not main hyperdrive replacements; they weren't fully restored — just like two dozen Tartans being repaired at the same base." If the Grand Admiral had hoped to exhaust him with simple physical exercises, he was mistaken. Despite his "desk job," the Lieutenant Colonel was in excellent physical shape for his age. "However, the ships were handed over to an 'Imperial officer' for transport to their duty stations. It was established that this was one of the officers who had later deserted, joined Warlord Zsinj, and become his right-hand man. Some of the ships — particularly the Carracks — later surfaced in his fleet and were destroyed. Based on certain indicators, we determined that the equipment on the ships had been replaced with identical gear, but from other ship types."
"Someone cannibalized the Tartans to make the Carracks more combat-ready?" Captain Pellaeon inquired.
"The ISB believes so," Astarion said, lowering himself to the deck once more. "Nine years ago, I couldn't get to... the one who stole our ships... but now..."
"That's enough exercise, Lieutenant Colonel," the Grand Admiral said.
Astarion briskly returned to a vertical position, straightening his tunic.
"So, you're an ISB operative attached to the fleet," Thrawn said thoughtfully. "Curious why the Ubiqtorate sent you, rather than an Imperial Intelligence agent, as we requested. Given the fact that the ISB and Imperial Intelligence are competing state organs that have often waged an undeclared war against each other."
"Because the Ubiqtorate is a collection of pompous snobs who only care about holding onto their posts as long as possible and lining their pockets," the Lieutenant Colonel thought, recalling how humiliating it had been to negotiate his attachment to the active fleet. The ISB had refused him — during the Imperial Civil War, many operatives had been killed, and even the survivors had been recalled from fleet vessels just to cover the remaining territories. Maintaining order and countering enemy intelligence was just as important — if not more so — than anything else. He'd had to go over their heads, using connections in the Ubiqtorate to arrange a small "temporary assignment" for himself. But anything was better than rotting on Orinda, sorting out which bureaucrat had embezzled how much money from the repair of government starships.
"It just worked out that way, sir," the Lieutenant Colonel answered crisply.
"I see," Thrawn said dryly, then looked at his flagship's commander:
"The situation with the Tartans is beginning to become clear, Captain Pellaeon. Now any doubts about our pirate's honesty are at a maximum. Most likely, he's trading with us using starships stolen in the past."
Astarion wanted, out of old habit, to cut off the fleet officers and continue the interrogation, but he remembered in time that besides a simple ship commander, the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet, a Grand Admiral, was also present. And you... don't question a being in that position — there were no people left in the Empire capable of authorizing such actions.
"So, Lieutenant Colonel," the Grand Admiral looked him straight in the eye. "Is finding these ships important to you?"
"Affirmative, sir," Astarion replied without a second's hesitation. "They are property of the Empire and should be in its fleet, not used as bargaining chips. If ordered, I will use every available resource to locate the starship thief and hold him accountable, returning to the Empire and to you every ship possible."
"Why such a complicated path?" the Grand Admiral clarified. "The pirate already has certain obligations to me. Consequently, he will either return most of the starships to us, or become a target for retaliation forces. His guilt has just multiplied. Why should I expend forces and resources — already limited — when there's a high probability that the tracking devices embedded in the money cases and some of the credit chips will lead us to the perpetrators?"
Indeed — why? If the goal could be achieved through a simpler path...
Would he understand? Unlikely, but it was worth a try.
"This is a matter of honor, sir," Astarion decided to risk it. "I couldn't finish this nine years ago, and I am obligated to complete it now."
"Obligated to whom, Lieutenant Colonel?" the Grand Admiral inquired. "The Empire will get those ships regardless — if they exist. Who and what are you trying to prove?"
"Myself, and the entire galaxy, sir," the operative answered. "To prove that the Empire is not an empty phrase. Even if not the whole galaxy is loyal to us, the rest should know and understand — we remain a force to be reckoned with."
"I see," Thrawn said. And said nothing more. His chair turned so the blue-skinned being could observe the forward outpost, near which three frigate-class starships were drifting.
It seemed the ships whose serial numbers Lieutenant Tschel had been cross-referencing with the Imperial database belonged to those two Tartans drifting near the structure of outpost NL-1. The Lieutenant Colonel, like any other ISB officer, had heard rumors that the Grand Admiral intended to contact criminal scum to replenish his fleet with other ships. And it seemed he had succeeded. Most likely, these new ships had been purchased from the same thief who had deprived the Empire of an entire division of light starships nine years ago. By the Hutt, what irony — buying back your own starships...
And at the same time — what a disgrace.
"Shall I order Intelligence to track down Yazuo Vane?" Pellaeon offered.
"That won't be necessary," the Grand Admiral assured him. "He's been given specific terms — let's give him a chance to fulfill the agreements. We have other strategic objectives. Carry out the previous order."
"Yes, Admiral," the Star Destroyer commander reported, turning to the watch officers. "Crew, attention! Prepare for hyperspace jump!"
The Lieutenant Colonel, unsure where to go — he had received the information, obtained the data on the serial numbers of the missing ships' units, and received no new orders — continued standing on the bridge, watching the watch officers efficiently prepare the Star Destroyer for travel. A few seconds later, the Chimaera surged forward, and the surrounding blackness of space, dotted with the sparkles of distant stars, transformed into a white-blue haze of merging light lines — the hyperspace jump was complete.
While Captain Pellaeon continued commanding his subordinates, summarizing the ship's status after the jump — the sacred duty of any starship commander — the Lieutenant Colonel remained standing behind the Grand Admiral's chair. The Grand Admiral was gazing at the lights of the jump. An interesting fact — Astarion had dealt with many high-ranking officials and officers of the Galactic Empire. But not one of them would have risked turning his back on an officer of the Imperial Security Bureau. Not because it was rude or anything. No, the ISB didn't care about violating regulations these days. The ISB was fighting for its survival.
For the first time in many years, the Imperial Ruling Council had decided to end the feud between Imperial Intelligence and the ISB. Slowly but surely, they were being pushed to merge into a single structure, subordinate to the Ubiqtorate. Both ISB operatives and Intelligence agents, who felt mutual animosity, resisted. Not many old, battle-hardened, veteran krayt dragons remained in either structure — people who did their jobs without worrying about personal gain or ambitions. Unfortunately, the ISB had far fewer such assets — worthwhile personnel — than Intelligence. So it was no coincidence that the Ubiqtorate kept interfering in ISB affairs, demonstrating its power. And complete contempt.
No, in the better years, people didn't turn their backs on ISB operatives for completely different reasons. An ISB operative would never miss a chance to stab an enemy in the back. "Strike. By any means available. Just strike. Strike. Everything you do will serve the Empire. Strike — you are above the law."
That simple idea was drilled into cadets by instructors at the academies. But year after year, the understanding of that phrase changed its interpretation. While ISB veterans understood that any actions must serve the Empire's cause — whatever they might be — the younger operatives, those with less than ten years of service, believed that any action they took was service to the Empire. And there was a big difference between those two statements.
Imperial Intelligence, under the leadership of the Isard family, knew and understood this difference, which was why their agents were better prepared for the collapse of the power structure after the Battle of Endor. The ISB, whose role in the last decade before Emperor Palpatine's death had been reduced to punitive and intimidation operations, had lost its influence. When a regime falls, the first to be purged are those who served as its punishing sword — the Jedi would not let anyone doubt that thesis.
And so it was painful to watch everything happening. Lieutenant Colonel Astarion secretly dreamed that one day the ISB would return to its true duties — finding and destroying enemies within the state. Not political assassinations and intimidation campaigns, as was happening now.
Perhaps this renewal could be facilitated by Grand Admiral Thrawn, who was characterized as a hu... a being with a rational approach to things. And where Imperial Intelligence turned up its nose at a non-human and grudgingly carried out his orders, the ISB could find an ally. A powerful one — if Thrawn achieved victories.
Unfortunately, few in the ISB still believed in the Grand Admiral's star.
He had left for the Unknown Regions many years ago at the head of a small expedition. He had returned completely alone. Where was the Star Destroyer on which he had left the Galactic Empire? What had happened to the crew?
The most common version was that the Grand Admiral's skills weren't as great as they were made out to be. He had lost all the forces the Empire had entrusted to him for the mapping operation in the Unknown Regions. That's why he returned alone — he was saving his own skin. The flight of his flagship from four old rebel frigates in the Obroa-Skai system only confirmed the majority's opinion: Thrawn couldn't change anything. At best, he could prevent losing what was already there.
That's why Imperial Space was so poor in talent — anyone who was a professional in their field had long since been serving either in the Pentastar Alignment or was dead. A smaller portion had deserted and joined the New Republic.
But Astarion believed.
He believed it was no accident that a non-human had become one of the Grand Admirals. He believed that everything happening — even the shameful flight — was part of a larger plan that would bring victory, and the Empire would rise to the pedestal again, its flags flying over the magistrates of most galactic sectors...
"How long have you been doing your job, Lieutenant Colonel?" the Grand Admiral suddenly inquired.
Astarion was surprised. Who cared about work experience?
"Twenty-four years, sir," he said. "Twenty of them with the fleet."
"Impressive," the Grand Admiral assessed. "What drives you?"
"Metabolism, sir." If you didn't know how to answer — answer formally. If you didn't understand the question — deflect to human physiology or something simple, pretend you took the question literally. They taught that at the academy too. Along with playing the idiot when you needed time to find a suitable answer and analyze information.
A chuckle came from behind the Grand Admiral's chair. It seemed this hu... being had found something amusing in his words.
"Witty, Lieutenant Colonel," the chair with the seated Supreme Commander of the Empire turned so Astarion could see the Grand Admiral's faintly smiling face. "I think we'll work well together."
"Of course, sir," the Imperial Security Bureau officer replied by protocol. How else could he answer a superior in rank and position?
The Grand Admiral rose from his chair, still holding the smelly lizard.
"Come with me, Lieutenant Colonel," he ordered. "We have much to discuss."
* * *
Mara watched the Star Destroyer vanish into the depths of hyperspace, then turned, stepping back from the helm.
She looked carefully at the man who was silently staring into the interstellar distance. Such deep pensive moods rarely overtook the Claw.
"The Imperials have left," she said. "We can return to the planet and pick up the cargo and our property left there."
After a second minute of silence, she began to think Karrde hadn't heard her at all. He hadn't even moved, continuing to stare into the distance. His face remained focused, calm. As if they hadn't been hiding in the crater of Myrkr's only moon the whole time the Imperial shuttles were darting between the surface and the "Star Destroyer."
"We're not going back to Myrkr," he finally said. "Set a course for the backup base."
"Boss," said Aves, sitting in the freighter's co-pilot seat. "We're leaving behind a couple million credits worth of goods..."
"Nothing irreparable," Karrde said with a sigh. "Better this than leading the Imperials straight to our warehouses."
"I'm sure the Grand Admiral has better things to do," Jade declared. "Chasing smugglers with Star Destroyers..."
"Yeah, right," Aves snorted. "The Empire isn't having its best days to be wasting its forces like that."
"The Empire only pursues profit," Karrde stated, looking at Mara, which made the girl feel uncomfortable. It seemed the Claw was still probing her and being suspicious. "We're not as interesting to them as they'd like us to be."
"Well, boss, at least you didn't tell that blue-face about the projector cargo..."
The smuggler shut up the moment Karrde gave him a suddenly hardened look.
"So," her instincts, honed by years of working for the Emperor, screamed again at full volume. "There's something I don't know?"
"You know everything," Karrde replied calmly.
"Everything I'm supposed to know," Mara specified provocatively. The Claw gave her a long, searching look, then gave an almost imperceptible nod. Mara looked at Aves. He gave an apologetic smile and hurried to bury himself in the suddenly fascinating instruments...
"Shall we talk?" Mara rose from her seat, looking Karrde straight in the eye. He gave another almost imperceptible nod, but this time — he was looking at Aves — then moved toward the exit first. Jade threw a quick glance at the smuggler's assistant, but he, putting a guilty-cheerful grimace on his face, hurried back to the instruments.
After she crossed the threshold of the cockpit, she forcefully slammed the hatch shut behind her to prevent Aves from even thinking about eavesdropping. Pressing her back against the metal, she crossed her arms over her chest and began boring into Karrde with her emerald eyes.
"I don't like being made a fool of, Karrde," she said. "What's going on?"
"We're running from Myrkr," he answered simply. But he looked away. That meant he wasn't comfortable meeting her eyes. So he felt guilty. Or — he was acting against her interests. Simple logic, based on knowledge of human psychology.
"That's not what I'm talking about," Mara said, a little more harshly. "You're hiding something from me."
"As I do from everyone in the organization," Talon noted. "What smuggler doesn't have a few skeletons in the closet?"
"Skeletons that Aves knows about, but you think your right hand — meaning me — shouldn't know these secrets?" Mara clarified, catching herself thinking that she was interrogating again. Not having a dialogue, not asking questions, but interrogating Karrde. The same way she had interrogated overreaching Imperial governors. In her past life...
"There are some secrets that men can only confide to other men, not to beautiful ladies," the Claw smiled. But he immediately deflated, realizing his flirting had failed on her yet again.
"Does it have to do with that conversation with Thrawn?" she asked, approaching the subject indirectly. "About your help to the Reb... the New Republic in resolving the transfer of the Star Destroyer to Booster Terrik?"
"An interesting slip," Karrde smirked. "Only Imperials call former rebels 'rebels.'"
"Do you see Imperial uniform on me?" Mara felt her heart start beating faster.
"Ex-Imperials exist too," the Claw noted. This time he looked at her. So now he didn't have to try to look away anymore — he had said what he was afraid of. He suspected her of ties to the Empire. That Hutt-damn Grand Admiral had stirred up Talon's dormant curiosity.
"Dead Imperials exist too," she said as indifferently as possible. "Shall we continue listing the aggregate states of Imperials?"
"Only those known to Imperial Grand Admirals," from his tone, Karrde was going on the offensive.
"You fall into that category too," she said. "He flew straight to your personal base, which you considered your home."
"He flew here, knowing perfectly well that I planned to make you my right hand," Talon continued laying out his cards.
"And conducted a conversation about how you're not as forthcoming as you'd like to appear," Mara didn't stay in debt. "The way you shut Aves up only confirms Thrawn's words."
"Since when do you know the names of secret Imperial Grand Admirals?" Mara felt her throat tighten. No, Darth Vader was definitely dead. It wasn't him. It was her own physiology. This happened sometimes when she was on the verge of exposure. But she wouldn't be caught lying here.
"Since the time you mentioned his name while talking to the commander of an Imperial Star Destroyer," she recalled the exact order of names spoken on that fateful day. "Don't you want to tell me why you're known by name? I think there's a certain connection. You help the New Republic solve problems with Imperial Star Destroyers, then an entire Grand Admiral flies to visit you for lizards whose properties you also know — and most likely, only you know — about your actions to promote me within your organization. And after his visit, you so easily decide to abandon your base, all the goods on it — for which, by the way, there are good, solvent buyers — and immediately declare that the Empire only cares about profit. I'm not even mentioning that we hid on this moon for several weeks before you waited for the arrival of yet another Star Destroyer, its loading, and now you want to leave."
"The best defense is a good offense," Karrde showed off his erudition. "Isn't that right, Mara?"
"I'm not defending myself," she lied. "I'm trying to understand why, in the same month, I'm trusted, promoted, and after the promotion — I'm no longer trusted. In an organization whose leader constantly declares his trust in his subordinates."
"So much talk about trust," the Claw smirked. "Mara, you've repeated it all yourself. Too many coincidences. On Tiaffer, it wasn't the first or last time I helped the New Republic solve difficult material issues regarding the Empire's property. But the Grand Admiral appearing on the very day I intended to make you my right hand, and even mentioning it..."
"Who else knew you intended to promote me?" the girl asked.
"Only me," he noted. "It wasn't and isn't even in my personal records. So I had to wonder — how did Thrawn find out about it. And why — did it happen right now? He's been in power in Imperial Space for practically a standard year and only now showed up on Myrkr. And he needs ysalamiri. Why? What was the point of all that talk about ships, trust, working for the Empire, helping the New Republic?"
"Maybe you should have asked him more thoroughly?" Jade didn't show it, but she noted the order in which the Claw listed the key points of his conversation with Thrawn. And the Grand Admiral had mentioned them in a completely different order. Talon had recited them from memory. In descending order of importance. And he had put... ships first. What exactly did Karrde know about ships that made him so worried? Some secret? What kind? Obviously, Thrawn knew about it and had shaken the Claw's composure. And the fact that the hint was about military ships — even if the Empire was currently looking for starships to replenish its fleet, it was unlikely the Chiss was so desperate that he'd want to buy a couple of the Claw's upgraded freighters. So Karrde's secret was connected to military ships.
Trust within the organization, was it? Well, well.
"He probably wouldn't have wanted to answer," the man said. "From the looks of it, Thrawn was just 'fishing for reactions,' hoping to get a response. Or hoping to pit us against each other, catching someone in perceived dishonesty."
"Not to say he didn't succeed," Mara thought. Karrde was starting to squirm, changing the subject. That meant he definitely had something to hide. And he realized Mara understood that.
"You don't trust me," she began provoking him again. "Otherwise you would have said you had a cargo of projectors... I doubt those are holovid projectors. Off the top of my head — deflector shield projectors?"
"No," the man answered.
"Well then, stop me when I guess right," Mara suggested. "Tractor beam projectors?"
"Exactly right," the list of assumptions was short. "Since the deal on Thyferra, the New Republic hasn't been able to afford, even on credit, half of what I had left after disarming the Star Destroyer Virulence. Since the New Republic couldn't afford to buy it all from Terrik, I bought everything that couldn't stay on the Star Destroyer for ten million. To sell to the New Republic at a profit. After all this time, the cargo is still on my base."
"Hope it's not on Myrkr?" Mara smirked.
"No," Talon assured her. But he didn't even try to smile, which spoke to his seriousness. He didn't even try to pretend he trusted her again.
"And that's all I get after discovering the beacons on your ships?" Jade asked bitterly. As she'd suspected, Grand Admiral Thrawn couldn't resist the temptation to track the smugglers he was so expertly trying to lead by the nose. A thorough search of the small Claw fleet's ships, including his own flagship, the Wild Karrde, revealed that the Imperials had installed beacons capable of tracking objects even in hyperspace. After that, Karrde ordered them to abandon absolutely everything on the base—cargo, equipment, even personal belongings. The computers were purged and mechanically destroyed—no one wanted to test the grand admiral's sophistication in surveillance matters. And that Thrawn, for some reason, had taken an interest in the Claw's crew was clear to everyone. But apparently, only Mara and Talon himself knew that the reason was actually substantial. And only one of them understood just how much. The other could only guess.
"I haven't decided yet if I can trust you after everything that happened," he finally said. Mara felt it become easier to breathe. As if someone had released her lungs, and for the first time in a long while she could take a full breath. "But I'm grateful for your help in finding the bugs. And for your plan to leave them on Myrkr to throw the Imperials off the trail. But… you're a smart woman and you must understand that the grand admiral only started all these games when you began to play a significant role in my organization. You don't even need to try to understand you or look into your past to realize—you were somehow connected to the Empire. Incredibly high. Thrawn came to Myrkr because of you. Maybe he wanted to recruit you or something else."
"But still, I'm with you," she noted, feeling how the threads that had just begun to strengthen, binding her to the Claw organization, were breaking. One by one.
"Which could be interpreted as an attempt to secure loyalty," Talon said calmly, as if reading her a sentence. It became bleak, even painful.
That familiar feeling. She'd felt the same when she finally understood that the past was over. What was lost could not be reclaimed. But last time, when the Emperor died, she renounced her old life and thought it was forever. After all, who needed a former Emperor's Hand when every other warlord wasn't worth the little finger of the dead ruler? No one. They were more interested in dividing up what Palpatine had created.
And she, naive, thought she'd still be taken in by this small company, almost a family, run by the Claw. That didn't happen.
Strangely enough, she didn't even feel anger toward Thrawn, who had started all this. He just saw an opportunity and took it. If Karrde trusted Jade, truly trusted her as he claimed, he wouldn't have given in so easily to provocations.
Or was it something else? What if Karrde was simply trying to get rid of her as a witness and living proof of his duplicity toward his so-called "neutrality"?
That could be verified. Very easily.
"You wanted to know my past," she began. She had hundreds of cover stories for all occasions. She could sacrifice any of them to keep a place where she'd be welcome. "I… I'm ready to tell you…"
"No need," Karrde shook his head. "You had plenty of time to do that. Now it doesn't matter. Your reaction to Thrawn's appearance told me everything. Even Aves, and he's no weakling, couldn't tear the armrests off a chair carved from solid wood. But you could. I'm grateful for many things, Mara, for everything you've done for us…"
He had already decided. And not just now. Maybe he had been waiting here all this time, "hiding," but not to see if the Imperials would come for their beacons, as he told the crew. He was thinking about whether to get rid of her. Whether she would become a burden to his organization. Whether she was the target that would allow Thrawn to strike at the Claw's creation.
And he made a decision. Not in her favor.
Suddenly Mara realized one simple truth.
She was truly needed only by the Emperor. Only he cared for her, taught her, gave her a purpose in life. For Karrde, and even for Thrawn, she was and remains merely a resource. But at least the grand admiral didn't hide that from those around him. He spoke clearly and to the point. And in that, his forthrightness was akin to the Emperor's attitude toward Jade.
There was no trust for Karrde. Not for anyone. He had only his beloved business, his vaunted reputation that he fought for, and credits. Nothing that could somehow confirm his sincerity.
She simply took wishful thinking for reality.
"…You've done a lot for us, Mara," Karrde continued just as quietly. "I'm ready to take you to any planet in the galaxy. Payment will be commensurate with your merits—in any currency you name. But…"
"I understand," she declared. "From here our paths diverge."
"I'm very sorry," that fake warmth and care appeared in his voice, the same that had captivated her in the past. "But you must understand—I cannot risk my business and my people. Even if I'm wrong."
Yes, of course you can't. After all, you put "business" first. And only then your subordinates and comrades.
"No need for a touching farewell, Karrde," she smiled with effort. "I'm a big girl, I'll survive. Business above all else."
"I knew you'd understand," he didn't realize that he had just signed his own hypocrisy. Maybe, of course, it was now anger, fury, disappointment speaking in her, and she wasn't thinking clearly, but… Maybe he did realize she had seen through him and decided there was no point in pretending anymore.
"I'm a perceptive girl," she reminded him. "Well, I don't think you have time to fly around the galaxy with a potential spy on board. If possible—drop me off on Myrkr. No need for money. You won't mind if I settle on your base and take the leftover junk?"
"Of course," the Claw agreed. "But I think you deserve more than what's left there…"
"We'll chalk it up to exchange rate differences," she couldn't help herself. The venom of sarcasm continued to pour from her as best it could. "And yes, no need to descend to the planet for me. I'll use an escape pod. If you don't mind, I'll go pack my things. If you want, you can watch to be sure I haven't taken anything extra or left anything behind."
"No need," the Claw surprised her. "While we were talking, the guys already did everything."
"Efficient," Mara praised.
"You don't have that many things," Talon stated, stepping aside and offering her to move away from the bridge of the Wild Karrde. "We took the decks and chips, you understand—there's information there that only pertains to my organization. Mara, I truly, deeply regret…"
Like I care, she thought coldly. She survived Palpatine's death; she'd survive this too.
"So do I," she agreed, following toward the escape pod bay.
Karrde, like a bantha beaten by a Tusken, trudged heavily behind her, as if escorting her not only off the ship but out of his life.
As she climbed into the escape pod, every single member of the Wild Karrde's crew watched. Some with indifference, some with confusion, some with outright bewilderment. Only malice and triumph were absent from their faces. And that was good.
And there was nothing to condemn her for. She hadn't betrayed anyone by joining their organization.
No one except herself and her essence.
A few minutes later, when the Wild Karrde entered orbit over the base on Myrkr, Mara fired the pod and it carried her down.
Toward the green jungles of the planet. Toward a tiny clearing with several modules and warehouses along the perimeter.
Toward the future.
* * *
"How well versed are you in the internal affairs of the fleet, Lieutenant Colonel?" I inquired, sitting down at the work console in my quarters.
"I don't understand the question, sir," he didn't try to deflect. Sincerity from an Imperial Security Bureau operative was worth a lot.
"Your area of work is the fleet," I recalled his own words. "How deep is your knowledge of the operations of the services that support the functionality of Imperial starships? Its history, for example?"
"No more than a hobby," he stated. "I focus on the current activities of my work, analyzing the prerequisites and the outcome they led to."
Not exactly what I wanted to hear, but better than nothing.
"Well, perhaps you can clarify for me that piece of information we received from the individual who provided us with two Tartan-class starships," I suggested, addressing the computer and bringing up the relevant information on the screen, and from there to the holoprojector.
"This is a list of the Executor-class Star Destroyers built by the Empire in previous years," I explained, pointing at the holograms of thirteen wedge-shaped starships. "The fate of each is more or less clear. However, I have learned that before the start of my campaign, several months ago, a group of Imperial military personnel fled from Anaxes. They took with them a Super Star Destroyer, as well as many secret developments, including large fleet stockpiles, not to mention significant tactical groupings of ships. Do you know anything about this fact?"
"Yes, sir," the ISB operative confirmed.
"Perhaps you could name the reason why there is no mention of this fact in the reports in the archives of the ISB, the Ubiqtorate, or Imperial Intelligence," I said, keeping my eyes on the lieutenant colonel. "Only a brief mention that Imperial fleet forces were destroyed in the sectors of the Core Worlds."
"Yes, sir," the lieutenant colonel nodded. "This information is classified by order of the Imperial Ruling Council."
"For what reason?" I asked.
The lieutenant colonel didn't answer immediately. As if he was considering whether he had the right to disclose classified information to the Supreme Commander.
"Betrayal occurred—the entire fleet of the sector army 'Azure Spear' deserted," he finally decided to reveal.
"I want to hear all the details," the logic of this demand was simple: if some fact is decided to be 'suppressed', erased from official reports, then the situation is as bad as it gets. Someone is trying to hide certain facts.
"After the rebels captured the Imperial Center, our presence in the Core Worlds and Sector One—that's how Coruscant and the entire sector containing the capital planet were designated in military documents—our presence in that region remained strong," the lieutenant colonel explained. "After Grand Admiral Osvald Teshik was killed, command of the sector army 'Azure Spear' passed to Admiral Fayet Kiz, who flew his flag on an Executor-class Super Star Destroyer named the Tide."
"I haven't come across information about this ship in the list of those built by Kuat or Fondor," I noted.
"After the Battle of Yavin nine years ago, by special order of the Emperor, measures were taken to conceal information regarding a number of army and fleet units," the lieutenant colonel explained. "Any mentions of the size of units, their composition, the identities of commanders and servicemen fulfilling their duty to the Empire in those places were purged from all possible archives. This was meant to increase counterintelligence against Rebel spies. After the Emperor's death at Endor, the Director of Imperial Intelligence, Ysanne Isard, ordered another purge. Partially her order was carried out—in those sectors that were somehow dependent on Coruscant or where the Director herself had influence over their leadership. The 'Azure Hammer,' based on Anaxes, fell under such directives, but was not directly subordinate to Isard. That's why you won't find any mention of either the Tide or more than fifty starships—from Star Destroyers and battle cruisers to a number of Super Star Destroyers that were under Admiral Fayet Kiz's command. Last year, the admiral and all combat-ready ships under his command vanished without a trace, effectively leaving Anaxes and all of Sector One without resistance capabilities. The commandant of Anaxes, Admiral Osted Vermis, surrendered to the rebels, effectively presenting them the base and all warehouses as a 'gift' to ensure his own loyalty. This step allowed the rebels to strengthen their power in the Core Worlds and braggadociously claim that the Empire had grown so weak that even experienced commanders were switching to their side without a fight. The Imperial Ruling Council ordered counterpropaganda to reduce the demoralization of the armed forces. It was announced that the rebels had destroyed Admiral Kiz's entire fleet and taken Anaxes by storm. That happened last year, some time before your arrival in Imperial Space and assumption of command of the fleet. Already this year, a few months ago, it became known that some ship or unit commanders in the Imperial Remnants also deserted, disappearing without a trace."
"Apparently the counterpropaganda didn't work very well if every small-time pirate knows that Kiz and his fleet fled rather than were destroyed," I remarked.
"The idea behind the action was good, but the executors didn't coordinate their actions. Both the ISB and Imperial Intelligence worked simultaneously. As a result, contradictory information emerged about the timing of the event. This discrepancy led to the truth, in general, coming to light," Astarion explained.
"And since then, there's been no word from Admiral Kiz or his starships?" I clarified.
"None, sir," the lieutenant colonel confirmed.
"About the latest deserters?"
"Nothing there either, sir. I assume they went to the warlords Teradoc, Harrsk, Delvardus, and Moff Fog Brillis, who have established themselves in the Deep Core."
Bad. Very bad.
Surely they all serve the Resurrected Emperor. And consequently, his fleet has grown even larger. A single Executor-class Super Star Destroyer is equivalent in firepower to an entire fleet…
Not to mention that now at least there's an understanding about the suppression of information. I could swear I remember that among the current members of the Imperial Ruling Council there are lackeys of Palpatine's clone who will go over to his service, if they haven't already. Palpatine's agents, as I thought, ensured the secrecy of his armada's existence.
And, considering that Ysanne Isard, according to rumors, was Palpatine's mistress and made certain 'moves' in the events I know only to placate the Emperor's clone, hoping to attach herself to him and regain control of the Lusankya, the reason for her involvement in all this becomes clear.
So, there is at least one more Executor. And it's in the hands of those I don't even want to approach within cannon range. Or maybe more than one?
"Lieutenant Colonel," I addressed the man. "Do you or anyone else have information on how many ships were at Admiral Kiz's disposal and of what types?"
"Unfortunately, no, sir," the ISB operative disappointed me. "Investigating this fact proved difficult. All that has been determined so far is that all research projects and experimental prototypes located on Anaxes were stolen by the defectors. As well as the strategic stockpile of stygium that was in the planet's vaults."
"I thought all the stygium in the galaxy was destroyed because it was used to build the Super Star Destroyer Terror," I stated, though I knew that wasn't the case. After all, one of the warlords in the Deep Core was building his own Executor with stealth technology.
"Most of the Empire's armed forces thought so," Astarion confirmed. "It turned out to be somewhat different."
Not good.
"Well, thank you for your candor, Lieutenant Colonel," I said. "You indicated that there were several missing defectors. Are the names of the others known?"
"Definitely, sir," Astarion answered affirmatively. "One of them, for example, was Admiral Inos Fanada, in charge of the Vata sector. At his disposal was an entire fleet of Star Destroyers in various stages of repair or construction—they vanished along with second-class shipyards. Their whereabouts are also unknown."
Second-class orbital shipyards, or type—these were huge metal grids capable of accommodating starships of Star Destroyer class and above for repairs in their sections. But unlike first-class shipyards, they could not only repair damage but also build ships. And quite efficiently, given suitable qualified personnel, supply sources, and money for it.
I'm sure the Resurrected Emperor has no problems with any of these conditions. He wouldn't have locked himself away on a secret planet if it didn't have sufficient resources, technical specialists of adequate categories, and money. After all, weren't the monstrous World Devastators built somewhere, which will still show the New Republic where the Jedi spend the winter?
"That was an informative conversation," I said. Colonel Astarion continued standing at attention before me. Turning off the hologram above his head, I spent a few seconds thinking about whether it was worth cooperating with this individual in the future. On one hand, he's clearly trying to curry favor by using the opportunity to display erudition and professional diligence. However, one must not forget that he is an ISB officer. And trusting these people is impossible. Moreover, it's harmful to one's health. Despite the fact that he has concepts of honor, both personal and the Empire's, this old-school rancor could both help and harm.
It was necessary to test his loyalty by using him to the maximum to achieve short-term goals. And therefore, to begin with, he needed to be removed from sight off the ship to minimize his influence on the crew.
"I have an assignment for you, Lieutenant Colonel," I finally decided.
"Yes, sir," he replied in regulation fashion.
"At present, the Empire needs to conduct a series of military operations aimed at the effectiveness of the first part of my plan," details of which the ISB man didn't need to know. "Tell me, are you well versed in the history of the Old Republic's conflict with the Confederacy of Independent Systems?"
"Superficially, sir," again—demonstrative candor. "It happened during my youth; much has already been forgotten."
"In that case, I'll refresh your memory," oh, how long I had tried to recall any names and titles associated with this episode of the Clone Wars animated series. "About twenty-nine years ago, in the Carida system, a Republican strategic conference was held on a station. The Separatists tried to disrupt it by ramming the station with a captured Venator-class Star Destroyer controlled by droids. If they had succeeded, a significant portion of the high command of the Republic's war machine would have died, and how events would have unfolded afterward is impossible to predict."
"I think I remember something like that," Astarion said, frowning. "Yes, that's right. The Star Destroyer was called the Glory. It was loaded with an explosive cargo. Rhydonium, if my memory serves. This episode was analyzed during my studies at the academy. During the fight against Warlord Zsinj, the New Republic used similar tactics to damage his Super Star Destroyer the Iron Fist."
"That's right," I agreed, inwardly pleased that the lieutenant colonel had remembered the substance's name himself. Because I hadn't. "Do you know what rhydonium is?"
"Explosives, sir?" the ISB operative guessed.
"And that quality is also of interest," I stated. "But primarily, it's fuel. Quite explosive, as you noted. That's why few people use it—both in the past and now. But it's extremely efficient. In small volumes, it can power engines for a long time. I need this fuel. Find information about where rhydonium was mined during the Clone Wars. I am placing at your disposal a Victory-class Star Destroyer—the Steel Aurora. Captain Kalian and his crew will provide you with all necessary assistance."
"Thank you for your trust, sir," the ISB operative even clicked his heels.
"In a certain sense, we're pressed for time, Lieutenant Colonel," I said. "I need rhydonium in the shortest possible time and in the greatest possible quantity. Its availability will ensure a positive outcome for the planned operation. Its absence will be an irreparable loss. I hope it's clear how great expectations are placed on you?"
"Yes, sir," Astarion said clearly, without excessive pathos. "I will do my duty."
"I don't doubt it," I nodded. "Begin immediately. As soon as we arrive at the operational base, I need preliminary results."
"Yes, sir."
"Go," I permitted.
The "security man" turned sharply over his left shoulder and left my quarters with what was almost a parade march.
I sat for a while in silence and solitude, reflecting on how interesting the vicissitudes of fate were.
To throw me into the body of a brilliant strategist (compared to the rest of the mediocrities), but without his knowledge. To put me before a choice — either to make the New Republic "invigorated" by Thrawn's campaign and in a more combat-ready state by the time the Revived Emperor appears, or to roll over it with a steamroller using post-knowledge. To bring to its knees or to play patty-cake — that is the question.
Losing is not hard — doing nothing is enough.
Winning is not particularly burdensome either — the "Thrawn Trilogy" by Timothy Zahn is practically a step-by-step guide on "How to Put the New Republic in a Compromised Position." And given the knowledge the Grand Admiral didn't have, it would be easy to avoid his mistakes or at least reduce them to a "draw."
And all because I lack the strength and faith that anyone besides the New Republic can stop Palpatine. Faith in the Skywalkers' "plot armor." Whom I shouldn't touch for now.
However… Hm…
Win now, but lose when the Revived Emperor Palpatine's campaign begins, or lose now so the New Republic can win and the madman doesn't rule the galaxy… How often I ask myself these questions. And I find no clear answer.
On one hand — why should I sacrifice the decent "starting conditions" of Thrawn's campaign so that the New Republic can defeat Palpatine? So that this strange "old man" doesn't commit evil and genocide.
And on the other hand — what will I care if I'm dead? And death is the only thing that will prevent Palpatine from reaching me and gutting my knowledge like a disemboweled rabbit's innards. No, I can't fall into Palpatine's hands alive. I know too much — even if it's just grains of memory, like that rhydonium.
No, I can't let one side grow strong and the other fall apart. So everything doesn't go completely off the rails.
But why should I care what happens to the galaxy if Palpatine wins? First, because the madman will commit genocide — as he did in the events I know. Nothing restrains him anymore, since he possesses overwhelming weaponry. Second, because I'm not a supporter of mass bloodshed when it can be avoided. They don't hire analysts who base their work on indifference to their own losses and civilian casualties. As far as I remember, Thrawn also abhorred that concept — he knew how to achieve results with minimal bloodshed. If I walk over bodies, it will alienate my close associates and subordinates.
However, why don't I use all my knowledge to the fullest right now, so that if I'm going to die, at least I'll go out with a bang? I'll give the New Republic a good thrashing in the process. And maybe the Imperial Remnants too…
But what's the point of straining myself if my fate is unenviable? There are only two options — die or voluntarily surrender to vivisection…
Or not?!
I leaned forward, opening a file on the computer. How likely is it that there's a way to walk the razor's edge so masterfully that I don't cut off everything I can?
Extremely small, in essence, because it would require a huge amount of resources to leave no room for even a mosquito to get through. But only those who never try fail, right? I didn't think about rhydonium for nothing! While I was reflecting, my brain was feeding me puzzle pieces, ready to assemble them into one picture.
To assemble it now.
It took a considerable amount of time to transfer the memories and thoughts from my head onto "paper." The semblance of a global plan exists. That's already good.
The only bad thing is that the scale of the campaign — both main and superficial — doesn't allow me to participate personally. Consequently, part of the operations, and a significant part at that, will have to be delegated to my subordinates. Who can't be entrusted with the full picture of the plan. And who certainly can't be told that Palpatine is resurrecting in the Deep Core.
I'll have to use them "in the dark," carefully masking the true state of affairs and the "double bottom" of the tasks assigned to them. This will be… very difficult. I'll have to think through every step. Defeat means death. And I want to live; I love life, and the feeling is mutual.
So I'll have to find a way out.
All that remains is to do everything with jeweler's precision, so it all works out as intended. And then… Is victory guaranteed? Possibly — but I'll still have to try. But if I do everything right, as planned…
It should work.
The main thing is to position all the necessary pieces on the chessboard in the right place at the right time. When the plan starts to take effect…
It will be artistic.
* * *
She didn't need much time to unload her belongings from the escape pod. Just one small bag.
And carrying it to the nearest living module wasn't far. She had learned many things in her time — including piloting. Including escape pods. So her landing occurred on the outskirts of the old camp.
Despite the time that had passed since the base was abandoned, there wasn't even a hint that anyone had been here: no animals, no people. Everything was exactly as they had left it — locked warehouses, locked living modules, the camouflage netting still not properly stretched…
Jade carefully examined the front door of one of the storage modules. No signs of forced entry. Excellent. No indication of surprises like mines or tripwires either. Good as well.
Whatever reason the Imperials had for landing on the planet again, they hadn't visited the base.
Opening the door with a code she knew, the girl immediately stepped aside to avoid any surprises, like an automatic rapid-fire blaster that might have been set up just out of spite.
Silence. It seemed no one had actually been here.
The girl entered the module, tossing her bag onto a shelf of one of the racks. She looked around. Containers, containers, containers… Various markings, but the contents were the least of her concerns.
It took several hours before the seemingly fragile red-haired woman managed to move the large rectangular crates to block off the far part of the module from the entrance. If needed, such a barricade would delay any attackers for a while. The girl used a tool to open a crate marked "Field Equipment." She pulled out its contents.
She spent a few more minutes setting up a sleeping area and heating — it gets chilly here at night. She unpacked several ration packs, deciding on her dinner menu. Only then did she move to the door dividing the semi-circular roofed warehouse into two halves.
The second part also contained containers, and it took time to arrange them properly — to make movement difficult from the second entrance on the opposite side of the module. If someone tried to attack her in a pincer movement, they'd have to work for it.
Only after she had set up her lair according to all operational protocols and ensured its security did she leave the module, taking a blaster and a light snack.
She activated the devices that repelled insects and other creatures. She supplied power to the base's stationary generator, securing a constant energy source. She worked her magic in the living modules to create the impression that someone was inside. Scanners, of course, wouldn't be fooled, but for a reliable reconnaissance, someone would have to cross the base's perimeter — and she would be alerted beforehand.
Using the living module for its intended purpose would be foolish. Any intelligent being wanting to attack an abandoned base would head there first. That's why she set up in the warehouse — they'd be the last place to loot or seize, after dealing with the supposed base personnel. So, if necessary, she'd have time to react and escape.
She'd check later if any rocket boats remained in the forests at camouflaged parking spots — her planned escape route. For now, she placed several wireless holo-cameras and set up their feeds on one of the datapads she'd found. This way, she could monitor everything on the base and near its perimeter without leaving the warehouse.
It was starting to get dark. Time to return to her den.
But first, Mara wandered around the base, collecting all the beacons she found — devices resembling metallic discs. She needed a datapad, a comlink, and a portable power source. Assembling all this in her lair, the girl rolled in a small barrel of water that would last her several weeks with economical use. Only after all this, in complete silence, did she begin working, having first locked the doors.
Karrde had used her and discarded her like an unnecessary thing. Hard to blame him for that — especially in their mad world. She held no grudge and had no intention of revenge.
She disassembled every single beacon. She needed a small spool of wire to properly connect the spy devices into a network, then connected the power source.
Whoever might be monitoring Myrkr now — and it was guaranteed someone was watching, because Thrawn wasn't the type to leave things to chance — he would now notice the sudden cessation of several beacons. But then, after a while, one of them would resume its function. And its encoded message would have changed.
Along with the coordinate set reporting the beacon's location, a new, previously unprogrammed sequence of words would now be transmitted — words that seemed unrelated at first glance. But the established sequence could be easily decoded by any Imperial ship's computer. And immediately after, a ship would arrive. Most likely, it would be the same Chimaera — the Grand Admiral wouldn't be foolish enough to reveal her secret to anyone. The Emperor's Hand wasn't the type of asset that marches in lockstep and drills. You don't tell just any subordinate about something like that.
Was she right to try to return to the Empire? After all, it was no longer the state she had served under Palpatine. For all his strengths and weaknesses, Thrawn was no Emperor. Not even close.
The Chiss was a military leader, a commander, but not a politician. He didn't have and never had that charm, charisma, and skill for masterful political combat. That's why Palpatine had sent him to the Unknown Regions — to protect him from the political games at court that could have cost Thrawn not only his career but his life.
Nevertheless, his words about restoring the Empire to be more just and effective than Palpatine's state had struck a chord with the girl.
She had nothing left to lose.
Everything that could be lost was lost. But she wasn't going to eke out a miserable existence any longer. Nor would she continue searching for herself in the smuggling business. Karrde hadn't just kicked her out of his organization — soon his suspicions would become known to the entire smuggler community. That door was now closed to her.
Mara reviewed and dissected her conversation with Karrde once more. This time, she latched onto Karrde's revelation that he still had Imperial property in his reserves.
Valuable information. If it wasn't a trap.
She remembered the nod he had given to Aves. Karrde's comment that her belongings had been packed during their conversation. So he had known in advance that he would part ways with her, but he told her something that would allow Thrawn to continue hunting him… Or had he left a false lead at the end to send Thrawn in the wrong direction, making him search for property instead of the unknown warships whose existence Karrde continued to conceal?
In any case, it wasn't worth filling her head with these questions now. She had plenty of time ahead to contemplate which of the "Claw's" words were truth and which were lies.
Placing her homemade communication device away from the sleeping area, the girl checked the alarm traps she had set around the perimeter, verified once more that the surveillance systems were working properly, and only then did she fall into a light sleep.