Nine years, five months, and seventeen days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-fourth year, five months, and seventeen days after the Great Resynchronization.
Bound hand and foot, the girl looked at them like a cornered animal.
"You know, Sly," she said in a poisonous tone, "I thought after the slave business, you couldn't sink any lower."
"I didn't choose this path," the hijacker declared, stroking the bacta patch attached to his leg. "Your father screwed me over enough — cost me my work and my clients. So you can only blame him for this."
"As always, you shift the blame to others," the girl spat emphatically in the hijacker's direction. The saliva fell a few centimeters short, landing on the criminal's vest.
"Why, you...!" The corpulent man rose from his seat in the Sting-Pulsar's cockpit, strode quickly toward the prisoner, raised his hand to strike the insolent girl...
Mirax Terrik cowered before the inevitable, closing her eyes. A second passed, then another, but the blow didn't come. Only the hijacker's heavy breathing.
The prisoner opened her eyes.
Niles Ferrier stood about half a meter from her, arm still raised. But he wasn't looking at the one who'd insulted him. He was trying to lock eyes with a young man in black armor. One of those who had stormed her ship after she'd fled the station and ended up captured by the Defel — a creature capable of camouflaging itself in shadows. One of the hijacker's underlings.
"What now?" Ferrier finally snapped. But judging by his voice, he had no intention of insisting on beating the prisoner. "She insulted me!"
"Do not mistreat the hostage," the Imperial said in a calm, quiet, commanding, authoritative voice. She had no doubt about that. She'd seen the precision and professionalism with which they'd stormed her ship. How they searched it, how they found and disabled the secret emergency beacon mechanisms... Hired mercenaries wouldn't need that — if their goal was her or the ship. No, these were either active Imperials or renegades — and the younger Terrik seriously doubted they were interested in her ship. Or even Killik Twilight. They clearly wanted something else. But what exactly — she still couldn't figure out.
"As you wish," Sly snorted. "You shot me, you know!"
"Be glad I didn't aim a little higher," the man in the black armor replied just as calmly. Strange, but this clearly wasn't Imperial stormtrooper armor painted a different color. Something custom-made... Yes, she remembered. Assault kits developed and sold on the black market. Very popular with mercenaries who needed better protection and mobility. They cost a lot — about five to seven thousand for a set. She'd even seen them... with some mercenary and pirate groups. Which ones? She needed to remember...
This man was clearly the unit commander. And even though she couldn't see his face behind the sealed helmet, the conclusion was obvious — the two guards in the same armor hadn't even tried to stop the hijacker, continuing to guard the cockpit exit. But this one, who'd been fiddling with her communication system, had reacted... Interesting. Why? Imperials were never known for their manners. Hardly any conscience had kicked in. Or were they not Imperials after all?
No, they were Imperials. Discipline, precision, obvious military training... Definitely some kind of special unit. And again — what in blazes did they want from her?
"Go to the transmitter, Ferrier," the leader of the "blacks" ordered the hijacker. "You have three minutes. The script is on the panel."
"I did everything you wanted," Sly suddenly whined. "I don't want to talk to Terrik!"
Well, well, well. Now it was becoming more or less clear.
They wanted her father. She'd heard from dealers on Nar Shaddaa that the Empire was looking for warships — and paying well for them. So the Imperials wanted to exchange their hostage for the Errant Venture! Neat job, bastards. Lured her to the station under the guise of a call from a new client. Put on a performance that Sly was their captive. Killed her crew and made her flee the station on the Sting-Pulsar. And as soon as she left the station — the Defel attacked her the moment she tried to use the communication system. Mirax knew perfectly well that the station where the meeting took place had video recording. So the moment of the attack was recorded... And anyone who watched it would know she fled on her own ship. That she wasn't caught by those hunting Ferrier. She wondered if there were holocameras in that hangar? And if so, did they record sound? Her father would surely follow her trail, make inquiries, find out where she was last seen, and arrive at the station. They'd hand over everything — no one would dare contradict an enraged Terrik who had a whole (or almost whole) Imperial Star Destroyer in his hands.
And then what?
Father would search for her. He probably wouldn't tell her husband, Corran. Their relationship was far from warm... And yet? What was the Imperials' plan? Lure her father to Bannistar Station? That was pure stupidity — it was New Republic territory (at least nominally loyal to it). Even considering the Errant Venture had most of its weapons removed, it was still a significant threat. It would cost him nothing to jump into hyperspace...
Unless they were luring her father into a trap he couldn't escape in his ship. But... how did they plan to lure him anywhere? He couldn't track her starship!
Mirax wanted to curse. It was so simple! Sly would contact her father right now and give him coordinates for a meeting! Where the Errant Venture would be waiting for an Imperial Star Destroyer. Maybe even two. Or three. And they'd probably bring some interdictor cruiser too. And that was it.
She was pulled from her thoughts by a sound signal from the communication panel. A short system beep, indicating the outgoing call was routing through the relay network to find her father. Not everyone could afford a direct call to the Errant Venture. Booster Terrik had made sure that even the closest contacts' signals went through hundreds of relays across the Outer Rim, where the ship had been hiding ever since the HoloNet got word that the Empire was searching for combat starships. Who knew better than Terrik senior where to find a suitable hole where even the Empire in its golden years was afraid to poke its nose?
"I apologize for the inconvenience," the same commander of the black soldiers' voice brought her out of her thoughts. He crouched in front of her and deftly fitted a strip of special cloth over her head. The girl didn't even try to resist, perfectly aware it was a gag. The kind slavers used on their victims. Definitely Sly's idea, to keep her from making a sound during the conversation with her father. But what a polite Imperial she'd run into, huh?
After the gag was fastened over the lower part of her face and the mechanism at the back of her head tightened the fabric so she couldn't even move her lips, the gallant Imperial lifted her to her feet and handed her over to two guards. Without a sound, they led her out of the cockpit into a short corridor behind the control station. And stopped. Um... Why? She could see everything from here perfectly, and... hear.
The Imperials wanted her to watch her father get lured into an ambush! Bastards! Now there was absolutely no doubt — these were Imperials. Must be their Intelligence — they were sick in the head with all these elaborate manipulations and multi-stage operations. True, most of those operations ended up compromised because of their complexity. So there was a chance... Too bad the holographic projectors only captured half a meter of space around them. If her father could see she was on the Sting-Pulsar, he'd know this was all a trap. Or if the black stormtrooper unit commander stepped even slightly into the projection zone... But no, he stubbornly stayed outside the communication panel's range. Clearly technically savvy.
Mirax sighed. And he'd still come rushing to rescue her anyway.
"What's the matter, daug—" the miniature hologram of her loving father cut himself off when he saw Ferrier's face instead of the younger Terrik's.
"Sly?" her father roared. "What the blazes are you doing on the Sting-Pulsar?! Rancor take you, what did I tell you?! Get near my girl — and you're dead!"
"Booster," Niles' voice somehow took on not a pleading, not a begging, not a triumphant tone, but... a worried one. Oh, you bastard! Now it was clear why this whole spectacle on the station had been staged?! "Listen to me!"
"I'll break your neck, Sly, if anything happens to my girl," Terrik senior promised.
"Will you finally listen to me?!" the hijacker shrieked. "I had nothing to do with it!"
"How did you end up on my daughter's ship?" Terrik senior barked. "Call her here and get off the Sting!"
"Your daughter isn't on this ship!" Ferrier blubbered like a child. "I found it abandoned at the coordinates your daughter sent me for the meeting!"
"Why would Mirax meet with scum like you, Ferrier?!" the miniature giant with the artificial gaze growled threateningly.
"After you turned me down on the deal, my employer decided to negotiate with you, offering my head in exchange for the resources they needed," the hijacker spoke quickly. So... how neatly he'd avoided mentioning the Empire. And from the sound of it, he'd already asked her father for help, but the old man had sent him on a long interstellar journey. And then this worm came to her... So who had he stolen that painting from? The Imperials, or someone else? It was naive to believe his story back in the hangar. And even more naive to believe it now. He was lying. He'd lied to her father, lied to her, and was still lying now. Bastard! "I escaped, taking some of their antiques with me. Contacted Mirax to sell them. Unlike you, your daughter knows when there's money to be made and doesn't play the offended innocent..."
"Sly," Booster said in a calm but no less threatening tone. "Mention my daughter's name one more time, and I'll throw you in the reactor. Tell me where she is!"
"Mercenaries attacked us during the deal," the hijacker said. "They killed her co-pilot and droid. They shot and captured me. She escaped with the goods on her Sting-Pulsar. My guys freed me on the way to the bounty hunters' ship. I got off Bannistar, contacted Mirax. She sent me these coordinates. But when I got here an hour ago — the Sting-Pulsar was drifting in space. No sign of Mirax. I don't know what happened. Whether she abandoned the ship herself to cover her tracks, or she was taken — but the ship's been turned inside out and won't fly anywhere. Mine's damaged too. You're the only one in this situation who wouldn't give a damn about me. That's why I'm calling you from her ship. If I'd called myself, you'd have told me to get lost..."
"Coordinates!" Terrik snarled. "And pray everything is exactly as you said. Or I'll flay you alive!"
"I'm trying to help you!" Sly almost sobbed. "I have huge debts. My last employers want their buzz droids. I'm being hunted everywhere!"
"Because you're the most disgusting, dishonest piece of work I've ever dealt with," Terrik snorted. Mirax understood — judging by the fact that her father had lowered his voice, he'd started thinking, stopping his emotional outburst. "I don't even need to guess that you, you Hutt-spawn, even in this situation, are looking for a way to profit. But you guessed wrong, you Hutt! I'll buy my girl another ship! And I'll contact the Imperials to exchange her for whatever junk they need. And you, as always, will be left in the cold..."
"No, Terrik," regret sounded in Sly's voice. So well-acted you could almost believe it. "It's not the Empire..."
"What?!" the owner of the Errant Venture barked.
"You heard me!" Sly shrieked. "It's the Invid, you wild rancor! The Invid are after me!"
"How the hell did you get tangled up with those psychos?!" If she could, she would have dropped her jaw in surprise. The Invid pirate group? Those in black were the Invid?! One of the most audacious and bloodthirsty bastards in the Mid Rim?!
The younger Terrik shifted her gaze to her guards. And yeah... she'd seen fighters from their group in that armor on Nal Hutta. Elite fighters... But armor didn't mean anything! You could buy it easily! Then again, now it was clear why she'd thought her captors were Imperials. The Invid had a whole Star Destroyer at their disposal. With full crew and armament, it had defected to their pirate queen. No wonder there were professionals in boarding and prisoner capture among them. They struck across the Mid Rim, leaving no witnesses or traces. How they found targets was unclear. They didn't seem to cooperate with anyone...
"And who, in your professional opinion, needs buzz droids?" Ferrier asked, almost crying. Mirax felt herself becoming disgusted by this man. "While the Empire is nipping at the New Republic, the Invid are smashing the latter's convoys. Looks like they've decided to hit the Zann Consortium too. Or they want to use their tactics with buzz droids. Or something else. Booster, I don't know! I'm small fry! They pay me, I work!"
"I'd like to know how you got away from them," her father seemed to be catching on.
"I'm not stupid, Terrik," the hijacker said with injured pride. "I contacted them on an agreed frequency. Passed on information from you..."
"Don't tell me you even said I offered them droids in exchange for your head?" It seemed her father could still be surprised.
"No, of course not!" Ferrier shook his head. Mirax bit her lip until it hurt. She tried to jerk away, but one of the guards immediately twisted her arm, wrenching her wrist so hard that she nearly cried out from the pain as she collapsed to her knees. Bastards! "But they knew everything, Booster! Everything! You've got a rat somewhere..."
"Or there's a bug on your ship, Sly," Booster said. From the fact that her father was no longer snarling with rage, he had grasped the situation. He believed him! The younger Terrik felt tears streaming down her cheeks. How she hoped her husband's father-in-law wouldn't be so blinded by emotion that he'd fail to listen to reason and realize this was all one big deception! "And how did you steal the Invid's treasure if you never met them in person?"
The hijacker pretended to consider whether to tell the smuggler the truth or not. If not for the whole situation, she would have advised him to take acting lessons! The bastard!
"I stole the antiques from them before I got the job," he said with a shrug. Terrik let out a string of filthy curses. Mirax, who had heard plenty from her father, was amazed at the beauty and coherence of the lexical sequence describing the sheer emptiness inside the hijacker's skull.
"Get rid of the bug," Terrik ordered. "Search the ship top to bottom before I arrive."
Mirax clenched her teeth. No, Dad, please! No!
"I thought of that too," Ferrier said with a strained smile. "That's why I got rid of the old starship as soon as I realized they'd rather cut off my head than let it go. And with my last credits, I pulled off another deal and stole a different ship. But they shot that one up too! Had to shut down the reactor. If you'll allow it, I'll take spare parts from the Skat-Pulsar..."
"Don't you dare put a single part from my daughter's ship on that miserable bucket!" the elder Terrick snarled. "I'm waiting for coordinates."
"No, Booster," Ferrier insisted. "I'm in deep trouble and I've got nothing to lose. I don't know where the antiques I stole from the Invid are now, but the buzz droids are either my way to throw them off my trail or to buy myself some time."
"Fine," the owner of the Errant Venture said reluctantly. "I'll bring you the buzz droids for... how much did you say? Five? Seven million?"
"No, Terrik," even from the corridor, it was clear that Sly's eyes gleamed. "You said buzz droids worth twenty million! I need every single one of them!"
"Never miss your cut, Sly," Booster said approvingly. "You'll get your buzz droids. Twenty million worth. I'll bring everything I have—just over five hundred units. You'll have to move them yourself. And now... COORDINATES!"
"Fine, Booster," Ferrier pretended to look for something on the control panel. Then, returning to the holoprojector, he dictated them.
"Understood," the elder Terrik said. "I'm not that far away. Wait for me in five days. And if you even think about taking the Skat-Pulsar apart or running off—I'll skin you alive, you son of a bitch! For real this time."
As the hologram faded, the commander of the black-ops team stood up and patted the hijacker, who had collapsed into a chair, on the shoulder.
"Job done, Mr. Ferrier," he said, glancing at the girl, whose hateful glare could have heated vacuum, and ordered:
"The fleet is arriving at the designated point. Get her ready for transport..."
A blow to the head brought her a sea of pain and sent her into unconsciousness. The last thing she caught was the black void of space beyond the Skat-Pulsar's cockpit being torn apart by the arrival of a ship with a wedge-shaped hull familiar to the entire galaxy.
But before she passed out entirely, she felt an ocean of pain wash through her body.
* * *
"Too slow, Grand Admiral," Joruus C'baoth said like a spoiled child, sitting before me. "You could have captured a Jedi and delivered him to me long ago!"
You didn't need the Force to know that after those words, Mara Jade, sitting in the corner of my office, concealed by the dim light and the ysalamiri cage, was already listening closely. No matter how she displayed her submission, she continued to gather information. Nothing critical to my plans—just scattered pieces of data. Piecing them together would take some effort.
"We've already discussed this, Master," I said calmly, looking the madman straight in the eye without fear. "And you acknowledged I was right last time."
"And this time, I do not acknowledge it!" the Jedi clone continued to grumble. "Even Masters can be wrong!"
"Then what does that leave for us simple sentients?" I asked rhetorically.
"You're still leading me by the nose, Grand Admiral!" The old man clutched his medallion again. A wave of relaxation seemed to pass over his face. "You want me to keep helping you, but you're not willing to do the same for me and the Jedi Order in return!"
"I take it you're not going to argue your point?" I inquired, glancing at the monitor screen. New reports had arrived from Delta Source. I needed to devote time to studying them promptly. No doubt that one day the New Republic would find this surveillance system. And then the direct information channel from the heart of Coruscant would be cut off. I had to make full use of my current advantage. But again, sometimes the cunning recording device only sent streams of strategically and tactically useless information: rumors, gossip, empty talk among Senate staff. All of it could certainly be used to blackmail a senator if needed. But at the moment, I was more interested in matters related to New Republic humanitarian and military supplies. Several such convoys had already been intercepted by Yazuo Vane's corsairs—they were now escorting the ships to a base for plunder distribution. But even more shipments remained unknown to us—not all operational information was discussed in the corridors by Republican senators and military personnel. A pity. But I had to admit—the enemy took information security very seriously. From the conversations we'd managed to record, only senators, their aides, and various officials "chatted." The military rarely exchanged opinions on force redeployment or more important operational matters. Right after the attack on the Dufilvian Sector, they talked nonstop for a week, stirred up by the event. That allowed us to identify several convoys and sic privateers on them. But the longer we went without any major raids, the calmer the enemy grew. Well, good. Let it be. Soon all the Star Destroyers would be operational, fully crewed and equipped—and then we'd start another campaign of intimidation. By then, the first heavy dreadnought-class cruisers from the Katana Fleet should also come online. All battle-ready Star Destroyers with spare parts, technical teams, and supply convoys had already moved out to the coordinates received from Captain Hoffner. Soon we'd know exactly how things stood. The former smuggler himself was still at the base, in case of unforeseen circumstances. If the ship sent ahead of the main force didn't make contact or report the situation, we'd know Hoffner had betrayed us. And the fleet would stop its advance toward the target. Meanwhile, the interrogators would get to work on our friend Karrde with triple the intensity.
"I don't need to argue it!" C'baoth flared up. "The Force itself tells me!"
"Is that so?" I looked at him appraisingly and with interest. "So you've learned to bypass the ysalamiri's abilities, dear Master?"
For a few seconds we fought with our eyes. Then the clone gave in, looking away.
"I'm tired of waiting, Grand Admiral!" he grumbled. "You promised me a Jedi..."
"I promised you assistance in finding them," I had to remind the old man of what our agreement was actually based on. "I offered you resources to search—you couldn't take advantage of that opportunity. Didn't even try. I took over the matter. And the plan will be implemented the way I see fit. No other way. Please don't forget that."
On one hand, it seemed—why do I need this madman? His necessity had apparently passed, since the search for Jedi from him brought more problems than positive outcomes. Yet that wasn't true. I needed him. For now.
"The pieces are in place, dear Master," I said, scanning a line from a report by naval intelligence operatives. "We've made our moves; now it's your turn."
"What do you mean?" C'baoth squinted suspiciously.
"In the simplest sense," I declared, leaning back in my chair, stroking the ysalamir comfortably settled on my lap. "I've just been informed that a suitable planet has been selected for you. Quite far from inhabited worlds, a small settlement in a blooming corner. A very prosaic place to disappear from the galaxy in comfort. The very place where you will summon Corran Horn."
"Is that so?" the cloned Jedi said, embarrassed. "I... I..."
"You don't need to thank me," I said. "The planet has been found, rumors of your return are spreading. What Corran Horn values most in the galaxy is in our hands. The bait is ready—only the call remains."
"I can't do it from hyperspace," the clone said unexpectedly. Anxiety and confusion flickered in his eyes. As if he were looking for a trap in my words. Correctly. Because that's exactly what it was. Only he wouldn't understand or realize it.
In truth, Joruus C'baoth's success in restoring the Jedi Order did not interest me. Anyone but him. From the Horns' situation, I was interested in entirely different prospects. It was simply a coincidence that an opportunity arose to manipulate C'baoth's desire to get a Jedi and achieve my own goal. Once the Errant Venture fell into my hands, I couldn't care less whether Horn survived meeting the mad Jedi, whether he spared his life, or whether everything went awry and the clone himself met a sad end.
A multi-layered trap was set and awaited the moment to spring.
"Suppose so," I agreed. Honestly, I didn't need it now. We had a stop ahead to board special cargo on Tangrene and then move to the target star system. But extra information about the clone's limits would never hurt. If he couldn't do it even to lure his beloved Jedi, then he truly couldn't establish mental contact with anyone outside the ship while in hyperspace. Good. Useful observation. "In that case, you'll have the chance once we leave hyperspace."
"Yes-yes-of course," the clone's eyes gleamed greedily. "I've studied his appearance well. I'll find him and summon him..."
"As you wish, Master," I said indifferently. "After all, Horn is your future apprentice. I have no interest in him." The cloned Jedi looked at me with surprise and suspicion. Yes, he might be mad, but sometimes he was very, very clever. I shouldn't forget that. "We'll deliver you to a planet perfectly suited for training new Jedi as you envision them. However, since you can't invite your apprentice there directly using your Jedi abilities, I'll have to deploy some of my own forces to hasten your future apprentice's arrival."
"I would be extremely grateful for such consideration toward my needs," the madman muttered.
"I'll ask you to take part in one more operation," I continued, ignoring his surprised and angry look. "It's necessary to deprive Corran Horn of heavy support from his relatives. You understand—if you contacted Horn now, he'd react instantly. There'd be a delay. My own plans would be disrupted. I'm asking for your cooperation."
"Only if it doesn't take too long, Grand Admiral!" C'baoth hissed.
"The operation will take exactly as long as necessary," I clipped. Seeing the unnatural gleam of madness in C'baoth's eyes, I added:
"You'll arrive at the location much earlier than Horn. Much earlier. According to my information, he's only supposed to arrive at Sluis Van in four hours. We'll reach our target in three and a half. During the supply loading, you can contact Horn to summon him for training. It'll take him two, maybe three days at most to process the information, gather necessary data, and decide—either leave Rogue Squadron and head off to search, or try to convince his command to give him leave. Another week or two to find the necessary information—then he'll come to you. The more he's left in despair and without information, the sooner he'll agree to meet you, understanding that only you can help him. During that time, with your help, we'll carry out our operation, after which you'll be left to yourself on the planet of your choice."
"Careful, Grand Admiral," the cloned Jedi said sternly, drawing his bushy brows together. "Even without the Force, I can detect falsehood in your words."
"Then you can tell me exactly what it is," I inquired.
The old madman shot me a wary, displeased look. But said nothing. Because he knew nothing and suspected nothing. His maniacal desire to get a Jedi into his hands dulled his vigilance. Specific promises calmed him, goading him again and again to stoke his desire for power and dominance. As the last surviving Jedi, especially with C'baoth's lineage, the clone simply couldn't refuse. He was perfectly aware—consciously or not—of his helplessness in this situation. He understood he had few choices: either help and get what he wanted, or be left with nothing. And likely dead.
Yes, I needed him—for a certain part. But even without him, I could pull off what I had planned. It would just take a little more time and resources. He was a dangerous ally. And nothing was simpler than bringing them all together in a spider jar.
"I agree, Grand Admiral," he finally said. "But I warn you—if the waiting drags on, you'll bitterly regret it!"
"I have no desire to incur the wrath of a Jedi Master," it was time to play along with the madman, convince him that even such powerful sentients as the Empire's Supreme Commander could fear him. His inflated ego should continue to be inflated. Like a balloon, it would eventually burst. "You know I need you. And you need me. Contact Corran Horn as soon as we reach Tangrene's orbit. Give him vague hints. Let him think it over. Allow him to find certain answers himself. The more his logical conclusions, multiplied by emotion, lean in your favor, the more eagerly he'll begin his training."
"Don't teach me how to raise Jedi, Grand Admiral!" the clone of C'baoth rumbled hysterically, springing from his seat. His white hair and beard flared like snakes on Medusa Gorgon's head. But then settled, because it was just wind. Just an old man filled with powerless irritation, whose madness and emotions I intended to keep exploiting. One of those dangerous assets at my disposal that was best discarded as soon as it ceased to be necessary. C'baoth was undoubtedly good at coordinating military operations with the Force. But he was dangerous. And his madness had, in the events I knew, ruined many of the original Thrawn's operations. "You have no sensitivity to the Force! Only I, do you hear—only I! I alone can properly train a new generation of Jedi!"
"The ones who are superior to other sentients because they're sensitive to the Force?" I clarified calmly, keeping my eyes on C'baoth. As always, when met with calm and authoritative opposition, he shrank, deflating like a balloon.
"And because they are my students," he said more quietly. "I know what power is. Only I. Neither you nor Palpatine. Only I know what real power is..."
"No one is disputing your point," I said. "We still have a few hours until we arrive at the base, Master. I'll ask you to visit the medical bay."
"Why?" he looked at me suspiciously.
"The planet we intend to send you to has pathogenic allergens," I said, completely unconcerned whether C'baoth or Jade could detect the lie. "Corran Horn has the necessary category of vaccinations against most galactic pathogens—as do most sentients in the galaxy. We want to make sure you do too. Your blood will be taken for analysis. If you have the necessary vaccinations, that's fine. If not... As I said, the Empire is facilitating the restoration of the Jedi Order. I don't think either of us wants Corran Horn, arriving for training, to find you bedridden from some local fever."
The clone pondered my words for a while. Any sane person would realize this was a deception. But from the perspective of a lunatic...
"You're right, Grand Admiral," the madman clutched his medallion. "I must be completely healthy for my legacy to emerge."
Without saying goodbye, he silently left my quarters like a shadow. Leaving me alone.
Well, almost alone.
"He's insane," Mara Jade said, emerging from the dark corner of the room. Even the dim light was enough to see that the girl felt disgust at what she had just witnessed.
"Doubt I was right?" I clarified, immersing myself in studying reports from Coruscant. The red-haired Hand, glancing with distaste at the chair where the clone had just sat, decisively pushed it aside with her foot and sat down in another.
"No, but..." she looked at me. I tore myself away from reading a message about the flight of Republican intelligence commander General Cracken to Sluis Van. As planned, the New Republic had begun a cleanup. "Seeing it with my own eyes..."
The subtext was clear without words. Until now, she hadn't fully believed what I'd told her about the cloned Palpatine's madness. Now she had seen the results of cloning experiments firsthand. And to say the least—she wasn't impressed. On the contrary, what I'd told her became more real. Consciously or not, she was now projecting the image of C'baoth's clone onto Palpatine. Slowly but surely, she understood how dangerous he would be.
That was the whole point. I just needed to push her a little further. Show C'baoth's true madness. Then she would have no doubts about my correctness. After this operation, we could visit Mount Tantiss and resolve the Hand issue with Palpatine's final order. After that, I could send her on independent missions. I had quite a number accumulated for her.
And without Horn's summoning through the Force, the Corellian could still find his way to where we planned to drop Joruus C'baoth. The scouts, who had failed in the search for the "diggers," were eager to rehabilitate themselves in another field. Rumors spread through the HoloNet were full of necessary information. Just enough that they might seem like plausible speculation. If you gave an experienced investigator all the needed information at once, he'd never believe it. He'd look for a hidden layer. And I was confident he would find it.
So I hadn't lied in my conversation with C'baoth—Horn needed to find some answers himself. Only when he satisfied his inner sense of search and analysis would he follow the path prepared for him. And then... That would become clear later.
"Entrusting him with training Jedi is wrong," Mara Jade declared. "He'll raise monsters by exploiting their immaturity. He'll cloud their minds just like Palpatine did to me."
"And yet, our mad clone must play his role in establishing the Jedi Order. That's why Joruus C'baoth is dealing with Corran Horn," I said. "A CorSec officer, an insurgent, a member of Rogue Squadron, a hereditary Jedi, a healthy paranoid, a man who wasn't broken by the cells of the Lusankya and all of Ysanne Isard's cunning," I said. "Meeting C'baoth will be nothing more than a waste of time for Horn. But a useful one. For us and for him."
Jade was silent for a while, looking at me with narrowed emerald eyes. I continued reading information from Delta Source. Hmm... Something useful. Senators were discussing the reinforcement of convoys. With escort ships. Presumably. I could even say they'd delayed it. Now this was interesting... Several Senate employees were sharing information that their employers—the senators—were beginning to doubt Ackbar's loyalty. Claiming that it was precisely because of his agreement to disarm the ships that the attack on the Dufilvian Sector and the destruction of the local fleet had become possible. Interesting. Promising. Especially considering there were lists of sector fleets where some Mon Calamari star cruisers were planned to be returned for stability. Primarily, due to the attack on Pantolomin—to the First Fleet, covering Coruscant and the Core Worlds. Useful information.
"Are you sure C'baoth won't infect Horn with his madness?" It wasn't even a question. A statement of fact. I tore my gaze from the screen and looked at the girl.
"Yes, I'm sure," I said calmly.
"Why not Skywalker?" she asked. "He's a trained Jedi Knight. If the goal of this Jedi game is to get rid of C'baoth, he'd be perfect for it."
How curious. She speaks of eliminating C'baoth, but doesn't offer herself. Why? Because she understands that for a simple removal of the mad clone, I wouldn't need a Jedi — a cage with ysalamiri and a blaster would suffice? Or because she's afraid he could get into her head? I'm sure it's the latter. That's why she doesn't even try to suggest using the madman to rid her of Palpatine's legacy. She understands perfectly well that letting such a man... such a being, into her mind would be incredibly stupid and dangerous.
"Skywalker is needed for something else," I said.
"To get rid of the resurrected Palpatine?" merely a lucky guess.
"Among other things," I agreed. "However, no matter how strong Darth Vader's offspring may be now, there is no certainty that a boy who grew up on Tatooine and experienced no significant hardships until recently can recognize C'baoth's true agenda without outside help." In the events I know of, it was Mara Jade who prompted him toward that conclusion, appearing to him during Skywalker's brief training under C'baoth. Until then, Skywalker had been trying every way possible to fulfill his incomplete gestalt of saving a fallen Jedi and returning him to the Light Side of the Force with no fatal outcome. And since Mara Jade is under my command, and I have no desire to bring her together with Skywalker unnecessarily, the possible outcomes are virtually unpredictable. "Moreover, as you rightly noted — C'baoth must under no circumstances be allowed near children. And Skywalker has a sister."
"Leia Organa-Solo," Mara Jade nodded. "Pregnant with Han Solo's twins."
"Whether the children will be Jedi or not — only time will tell," I said. "But if the children are sensitive to the Force, if they are as powerful as Darth Vader or Luke Skywalker themselves... The idea of acquiring two powerful beings obsessed with the concept of 'rightful' power that implies total subjugation of sentients to the Jedi does not seem promising to me."
"So," Jade narrowed her eyes. "Sending Horn to C'baoth is nothing more than a game."
I nodded affirmatively. A very promising one. Especially considering the fact that I intend to keep Horn in C'baoth's company for as long as possible. The depth of the madness must be understood by the Republic's Jedi with maximum precision. As I said — Joruus C'baoth will play his role in restoring the Jedi Order. Weakening Palpatine's future opponents on one front must be compensated by an accelerated understanding of the problem of the New Republic's lack of Jedi — on the other. C'baoth showed me how effective Jedi can be in military affairs. Now it's time to plant the idea of restoring the Order with those who can directly address this issue. Luke Skywalker, for example. He's still on Sluis Van. A dangerous game of "playing Jedi," really. If the Jensaarai are on my side — that's an advantage. Because no matter how hard Skywalker tries, even if he starts teaching everything he knows to Jedi now, or in a month, or whenever — he won't be able to train worthy opponents for Palpatine and his minions. Quite the opposite. Our Jedi will be removed from global politics and military campaigns for a long time, first finding, then training Jedi. Whom Palpatine will either destroy or turn to his side. Luke himself will inevitably end up beside Palpatine. There is little doubt that, like his father, he will return to Jedi teachings, and the Skywalker and Solo families will defeat Palpatine. Plot armor, so to speak. It will almost certainly work this time too. If not... The Maw Cluster holds within its depths the ultimate solution to the problem of entire planetary populations. A joke, of course. No matter how deep Skywalker sinks into the Dark Side, his sister and friends will always pull him out of that abyss. And the New Republic will have its Jedi. Fallen to Palpatine's side in the coming years or not, they will always exist. And their presence gives the New Republic a basis for galactic hegemony. I don't like that balance of power at all — it ruins the possibility of a truce.
Well, I'm confident that after the Terrik family plays their roles, some of the Jensaarai will accept my offer. And unlike the New Republic, I will have trained Force adepts. Who can be strengthened if I dig through my memory and recall where in this galaxy holocrons or something similar can be found.
As for Skywalker... Ultimately, it doesn't matter whether he kills his fallen students or goes into exile — he will cease to be an obstacle in future plans. But I'm sure the young Jedi won't give up. In many ways, he is the voice of reason. And if so, then through all the trials he endures, he will be tempered. And he will look at things more sensibly. It will be... rather amusing if it's the Republic's Jedi who push for a peace treaty with the Empire. With my Empire.
"You're removing not just C'baoth from the campaign, but Horn himself," she said. "You're weakening Rogue Squadron..."
"Whether Horn takes leave to search for his wife, or deserts — we'll use that information for our own purposes," I said. "The New Republic loves heroes who sacrifice everything to save the innocent. Rogue Squadron is one of the most heavily promoted units of our enemy. They've already run a propaganda campaign after our raid on the Dufilvian sector, assuring the locals that we would never attack again, that they were now under reliable protection. With the same goal, they're moving into the Sluis sector. As soon as Horn receives information about his wife's disappearance," Mara raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly — "he will inevitably try to find her. He's a Corellian, he's a Jedi. That's practically a diagnosis and an extremely predictable combination. He'll follow the trail and find C'baoth."
"But not his wife," Jade noted.
"His wife will play her role," I remarked. "Several, even. It's interesting that Horn's wife is the daughter of Booster Terrik, who owns a Star Destroyer. But she's also practically a sister to Wedge Antilles — the commander of Rogue Squadron. It's unlikely Antilles will leave his post with Horn to search for his wife, but circumstances will be arranged so that Antilles also has something to do, torn between duty and family bonds."
"And once Rogue Squadron loses one or two of its pilots — that fact will be used against the New Republic," Mara Jade nodded knowingly. I saw no need to reply. A clever woman had figured out two-thirds of the plan. Which already says she's damn smart and cunning. "I take back my words, Grand Admiral."
"Which ones exactly?" I inquired.
"During our conversation on Tangrene, I said that the journey to the Unknown Regions changed you for the worse," she said. "I was wrong. You've become even more devious and refined in your ability to manipulate the enemy."
"Thank you for the flattering assessment of my abilities, Mara Jade," I replied. "You will lead the boarding of the Errant Venture."
"Booster Terrik's ship?" she clarified. "He's a good friend of Karrde's."
"Does that trouble you?" I inquired. I don't need a struggle of loyalties within one cunning and intelligent person. Of course, we won't be able to kill every member of Booster Terrik's crew. Some will be taken prisoner — including Corran Horn's father-in-law himself. And when they gain their freedom — Terrik will have many questions for Karrde. Which will begin with an interest in how it happened that his former agent ended up on the Empire's side and took Terrik's ship from him. If by that time the Claw has started to take over Terrik's business, the friendly tandem will crack. I don't know for certain, but I suspect that in the circles they both move in, such information will spread quite widely. And when Karrde needs help from other smugglers — they'll think twice before nobly answering such a call. Paranoia and suspicion always go hand in hand among illegal dealers.
"It doesn't trouble me at all," Jade replied. "But if we remove Terrik from his information niche for a long time or forever, then... someone will pick up his illegal or semi-legal business, won't they?"
"The most obvious candidate for that would be Karrde," I said, glancing at another message that had appeared on the screen. The decoder's work scrolled past... "Especially since, according to Leia Organa-Solo's report, during his meeting with her on the planet Filve, Karrde expressed interest in participating in trade transports for the New Republic."
"In person?" Jade was surprised.
"No," I replied, finishing the report. "He promised his assistance to the New Republic in generating the necessary interest among smugglers. However, I'm sure that one way or another, he'll be involved in this business. Cargo transport is an excellent pretext for gathering information. And gathering the latter is his main business."
"It very much seems like the Claw is inevitably choosing its side," Jade narrowed her eyes. I wonder how she would react if I looked at her reproachfully right now and asked: "Didn't I warn you?" But those are just childish jokes. It's not worth humiliating an ally like that. As with Horn — she needs to reach some things on her own. The more correct conclusions Mara Jade draws through her own reasoning, the fewer questions and less distrust she'll have toward what she can't verify in the future. An unwritten rule of local statistics: "Half-truth is better than a lie."
"We'll observe the situation," I said. "Karrde and his organization siding with the New Republic is a troubling sign for us. He has too many connections within the Empire — and that could harm our own plans. Before confronting such an opponent, we should secure our rear from the intrusive influence of his agents."
"The Imperial Security Bureau or Imperial Intelligence cannot be trusted," Mara Jade continued her thought. "Should I handle this?"
"No," I handed her an infochip. The young woman obediently took it. "Before the operation against Booster Terrik begins, I'd like that chip to contain the specific code that allows entry into the central computer of an Imperial starship without drawing attention."
The empty data storage device swayed almost imperceptibly between her fingers. She carefully placed it on the table. The young woman raised her gaze to me, her green eyes like the purest emeralds.
"Now I understand why aboard the Nemesis I was denied access to the ship's information network," she smirked. Her hand reached for one of the numerous pockets on her jumpsuit. The sound of a zipper being opened. "I've been wondering when I'd be asked that question."
An infochip landed on the table in front of me. Unlike the one I had given the young woman, judging by the indicator, this one contained data. A lot of data.
"All the secrets about the Imperial fleet that Palpatine revealed to me during my work for him," she said, pushing the chip with her index finger toward me.
Looking the young woman straight in the eye, I nodded almost imperceptibly. The young woman was truly worth putting on an entire performance for. What she had seen and heard today was enough for her to share secrets known only to her, or only to Palpatine's Hands. That's worth a great deal. At the very least, it proves the fact that she has begun to trust me. But this isn't loyalty yet. After the current operation is complete, it will be clear whether she's ready to act until the very end.
"Thank you, Mara Jade," I said, pulling the chip toward me. "You've saved me several days of work."
"More like months, or even years," she smiled. "I hope this is enough to at least give me some data for future missions?"
"Of course," I agreed. Turning to the computer, I transferred information for her onto an unused chip. "After visiting Mount Tantiss and resolving the issues, investigating this incident will be your objective."
"Is that so?" Mara looked at me with interest. "And what is it?"
"The Super Star Destroyer Guardian," she even flinched. Almost imperceptibly, but still. She quickly drew in her mind what Thrawn could do... No, not quite. What I could do, having a sistership of the Executor at my disposal.
"I heard it was destroyed," she noted.
"The galaxy is full of rumors and speculation," I confirmed. "I hope you don't believe them. Because that ship survived. And I need it."
* * *
In the life of an X-wing pilot, there are many pleasant, even soul-stirring moments. A combat mission, for example, when you close in on an attack against Imperial pilots. And only your reaction, the strength of your shields, and your piloting skill decide whether you'll win or end up in the vacuum as several hundred or thousand fragments.
Many who are ignorant on this matter believe that TIE fighters, which serve the Empire and its remnants, are hopelessly inferior to X-wings, A-wings, and other equipment used by the New Republic. Well, except perhaps the "wishbones" are still just as... useless. But they try not to mention that to wishbone pilots. Wishbones are the pain of everyone who has ever flown one and returned from a mission alive. But their pilots would never admit it. Not because they're ashamed. But because everyone who gets into a wishbone is firmly convinced it's a wonderful machine, capable of destroying its opponent without any problems. And they cite various cases as arguments...
In reality, wishbone pilots know perfectly well that they're hopelessly behind the times. That's what A-wing pilots think, zipping through space at insane speeds and looking down on everyone else. A-wing pilots are a whole separate pain. You have to punch A-wing pilots in the teeth first, and only then talk to them. This is a well-known but carefully concealed truth.
A-wings have rarely been flying long distances anywhere except inside starship hangars lately. They've gotten lazy.
But X-wing pilots are quite satisfied with their machine. How many A-wings or wishbones participated in the attack on the Death Stars? How many of them dealt the fatal blow? That's right. The X-wing is the workhorse of the entire New Republic starfighter corps. So no matter how much politicians praise new models of fighters or interceptors, X-wings were, are, and will be. In one form or another.
Having heard a message from his astromech, Whistler, Corran Horn reluctantly shifted in his seat.
Everything about the X-wing is great — especially the balance between speed, armament, and protection. That's why X-wings so often participate in various combat missions. And they almost always come out victorious.
And in light of this, it becomes unclear...
"Why couldn't they make the seat in this fighter softer!?" Corran grumbled, for the umpteenth time, prying his eyelids open. His back, as always happens in these situations, was stiff. And it gave truly magnificent moments after waking up. Anyone who doesn't believe it — try flying across half the galaxy repeatedly for several days, locked in your X-wing cockpit with no chance to stretch your arms or legs. Not to mention basic human needs.
Because, despite all the positive aspects of serving as an X-wing pilot, there are downsides too.
First, you often have to spend your time in ambushes all over the galaxy. Pirates, Imperial remnants, more pirates, some particularly bold and armed rogues who refuse to obey the law... The list of reasons why an X-wing, in the company of its squadron mates, might find itself in an ambush is practically endless. And that's sad. Why can't they pull one or two Mon Calamari star cruisers from their useless transports across the galaxy and give a proper escort ship to an entire princess, instead of twelve X-wings?
Yes, in the hard lot of an X-wing pilot, especially if you have the neat emblem of Rogue Squadron painted on your fuselage, there's another negative — command simply loves to send you on various kinds of "show missions." Across the entire galaxy...
"I'm awake already!" Corran grumbled crossly, rubbing his eyes with his palms. Astromech droid Whistler once again burst into a trill, in which he bravely and no less irritably reminded his owner that he himself had asked to be awakened by any means possible. Which the loyal droid had done. And there was no need for displeased remarks here!
Stretching — as much as the size of the canopy and cockpit allowed — Corran tried to snap out of it as quickly as possible. The chronometer on the instrument panel was counting down the last minutes before his X-wing would arrive at its destination. And then the same old thing would start all over again, just like in the Dufilvian sector — flying through systems, "trading on reputation," assurances that the Empire would never repeat such raids again...
All that remained was to figure out whether this was a lie for those who had suffered from Imperial actions, or self-deception. Because at his last post, in CorSec, Corran had learned to view any information with skepticism. And if he lived on any of the attacked planets, hearing something like that from someone's lips... He would have doubted. Strongly.
But only because he himself was part of the New Republic's armed forces. And he understood how difficult their position was at the moment. And that it was impossible to provide protection for every planet that was part of the young state. Simply because the New Republic's fleet was significantly inferior to what the Galactic Empire had at its peak. Star Destroyers alone numbered more than twenty thousand units — not counting other types of starships. And even that wasn't enough to properly control what was happening in the galaxy. The New Republic, for all its desire, could not reach such a number — not because it couldn't, but because the Senate would consider such an approach absolutely stupid and financially unprofitable.
If there's one thing the New Republic knows how to do, it's count its money. And they love it.
And they don't care that their overworked military also has people waiting for them at home. And that they love them.
"Whistler," he addressed his little companion. "As soon as we land on Sluis Van, remind me to contact Mirax. I miss her..."
He felt a kind of melancholy and inexplicable sadness inside because another "bravado campaign" was taking him away from the woman he loved. Very melancholic...
Corran tensed up, feeling that at the mere thought of Mirax Terrik, his wife, some unpleasant, gnawing feeling was forming inside him. The same one he'd had a few years ago, when he held his father's dying body in his arms...
The pilot broke out in a cold sweat. What was that?! What was wrong with him?! Memories, or those Jedi tricks that Luke Skywalker had told him about? The Force? Yes, that's what he called it when he urged Corran to join him and become a Jedi...
Horn felt his breathing become sharper and deeper. A very familiar behavior from his own body. As if he were still a CorSec operative on a hunt for an enemy. Internal sensations of unstoppable trouble, a premonition of danger — that which his father had told him to trust his whole life. Directly or indirectly, right up to his death, never revealing the fact that he had been a Jedi apprentice and that Corran himself had inherited this dangerous gift from him.
A gift he didn't want and didn't wish to develop.
A gift that told him — Mirax was in danger.
A gift that had just put him before a choice — to continue his mission as a pilot of Rogue Squadron, or to rush headlong in search of his own wife.
Because the same Skywalker had said — premonitions don't deceive a Jedi. Hmm... or not? No, something like that... Actually, no, the Jedi had said the opposite.
But that still didn't change what was happening. As soon as they reached Sluis Van, he would contact Mirax immediately. If his gut feeling had let him down this time... Strange as it may seem — he would only be glad of that. It was quite possible that this was just anxiety and nothing terrible was happening...
And the very next second, he felt that there was someone else in his head besides himself. A wild, surreal sensation of duality and wrongness caught him at the very moment he had already reached for the hyperdrive cutoff lever. Yes, it was too early, but...
"I know where she is," a deep, well-trained, authoritative, and majestic voice invaded his consciousness so suddenly that Corran pressed his back against the seat in shock.
"Come to me, Corran Horn," the same voice repeated, and this time a blurry image of a man appeared before the pilot's eyes... A powerful old man, with a strong-willed face, attentive eyes, and a heavy gaze. His gray hair and disheveled beard fluttered, caught by gusts of wind... And he was looking directly into the eyes of the Rogue Squadron pilot.
"Come, Corran Horn," the alien thought cut through his mind again. "And you will find her. I will show you how."
And then the vision disappeared. As if it had never been.
And only Whistler's hysterical shrieking pulled Corran from the embrace of... something unknown.
"What minutes?" Horn frowned, looking at the chronometer. When he had reached for the lever, there were seven minutes left until he came out of hyperspace. Now... Two seconds!
The pilot brought the ship into realspace. The light tunnel collapsed, and ahead of them appeared the welcoming lights of the orbital docks of Sluis Van. And the broad stern of the Millennium Falcon, which had emerged from hyperspace at a considerable distance from them. And by all appearances — it had arrived earlier. The commander of that legendary freighter, out of respect for an equally legendary unit, was waiting for their arrival, not wedging into the chaos of the enormous array of starships — from decrepit freighters to huge Mon Calamari cruisers — crowding into orbit around Sluis Van near the cargo terminals. And now the Rogues could admire not only the beauty of this jumble, but also the pure white exhaust from the nozzles of the Millennium Falcon flying ahead of a dozen escorting X-wings. Everything as an escort should be.
Corran, after reporting all systems nominal, surreptitiously wiped sweat from his forehead. Asked Whistler to repeat himself. The talkative astromech was never at a loss for words...
He had dropped out of reality for a good seven minutes! Just sat there, tense as a coiled spring, with his hand frozen on the hyperdrive lever, staring at one spot and not moving. And even if astromechs weren't programmed for emotions, by his own admission, Whistler almost had a short circuit from what he had seen.
"I don't like any of this," Corran said, swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat. Something was happening. But he didn't know what. "I need to contact Mirax immediately!"
Flicking the comm frequency switch, he opened a channel directly to the commander of Rogue Squadron.
"Sir, I don't want to be a pessimist, but it looks like I've got big trouble in my family..."