Nine years, five months, and the twenty-seventh day after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fourth year, five months, and the twenty-seventh day after the Great Resynchronization.
And finally, after such a long wait and repair work carried out by the orbital shipyard's crews, the Striking departs the workshop bay's berth to make way for the angular heavy cruisers of the Dreadnaught-class already waiting their turn, which arrived an hour ago escorted by a pair of Star Destroyers on standby.
Commodore Dobramu smiled wryly, watching the two dozen Dreadnaughts crowd around the bays — the second batch, as he'd heard from the local craftsmen. Those which Imperial mechanics and technicians had managed to 'patch up' quickly and send back to Tangrene. Considering the first four ships had arrived on their own yesterday — a fairly substantial force. He wondered how the five hundred or so workers left on the shipyard would handle repairs on such a mass of starships. Considering the Striking had been repaired with help from the medium cruiser's own crew, and there were two Nebulon-B escort frigates, a Rebel assault frigate, and the first four Dreadnaughts already sitting in the bays waiting for service? Though, the latter were supposedly operational, but still — so many years of lay-up...
But besides the Dreadnaughts, the repair crews were also digging into the asteroids hanging a couple of dozen kilometers from the shipyards. And it would be one thing if the purpose were clear — why geological plasma drills, already nicknamed 'diggers,' were spinning out there, why numerous tunnels were being carved into them, and what those mysterious projector installations resembling deflector arrays were for... Yes, he'd like to know what all this was for, but no one would say a thing — top secret.
Still, he didn't envy the yard workers right now. They had a mountain of work ahead with these ships, the asteroids, the Golan platform, and everything else — especially if the rumors that there were nearly two hundred heavy cruisers were true. Those who'd managed to board these ships confidently stated — this was the Katana Fleet. An ancient legend grown into reality.
And yet, the Dreadnaughts would definitely see combat.
He even felt a temptation — to request a transfer to one of those heavy cruisers, to take part in the coming battles instead of pulling patrol duty in the Chasin system. But for that, he'd need to speak directly with the Grand Admiral, and where he was currently was anyone's guess.
"Captain," a watch officer approached him. "The shipyard control tower is hailing us."
"Put them through," Akrey headed for the nearest holoprojector console, signaling he'd take the call there. "Control tower, Commodore Dobramu speaking."
"Control tower here," the unseen voice replied. "Striking, expedite your exit from the dock."
"What's the problem?" Akrey tensed. Glancing at the scanners, he frowned. Tiny orbital tugs were slowly pulling the Dreadnaughts apart. But not into the orbital workshop bays, as would be necessary to start repairs — instead, toward the external piers. Even the escort frigates, their sides gleaming with removed armor plates, were casting off docking arms, and the massive manipulators used for slow-paced damage repair were folding up against the piers, ensuring safe maneuvering inside the repair bays.
"Striking, fewer questions, more work," the controller snapped wearily. "We're taking your tugs; you're authorized to use main engines at ten percent power without acceleration or sharp helm adjustments."
This was something completely unheard of.
Starships awaiting repair were ALWAYS moved into and out of station repair bays using only tugs — small craft equipped with enhanced tractor beams. Combined with the stationary emplacements inside the bays themselves, tug pilots could control a ship, slowly but without delay or issues. And only at a distance from the docks were main engines allowed to be activated — otherwise, there was a risk of damaging the station's hull through careless maneuvering. But independent exit from this type of orbital station — that was something new.
"Acknowledged," Akrey decided not to argue. It seemed the local workers had gotten complacent in the absence of military command and decided to show the military who was boss. Well, let them have their little revenge...
"Start main engines," he ordered. "Five percent power for warm-up and checkout, in one minute — increase to ten. Slowly bring the ship out through the dock gate, clear the station by one kilometer."
"What's got the repair crews breaking their precious protocols?" came a quiet voice from one of the watch officers. But no one bothered to answer — the Striking crew knew no more than the questioner.
It took five minutes for the medium cruiser to carefully clear the outer gate of the repair station's bay and begin moving further away from the workshop. Throughout this time, Dobramu watched as the orbital space around the shipyards was methodically cleared — some ships moved to external berths under their own power, others were being towed aside by tugs. The Star Destroyers Imperious and Inexorable, having stopped loading, pulled out from orbit to take positions between the system entry vector and the orbital workshops themselves...
It felt like the shipyards were about to receive arrivals...
"Multiple contacts appearing!" came the report from the scanning systems officer.
"Battle stations!" Commodore Dobramu shouted, looking at his subordinates. They froze for a moment, then scrambled into action. Klaxons blared, and the watch crew rushed around the bridge. A second later, reports came in:
"Deflectors activated!"
"Artillery locked on!"
"Reactor coming up to full power!"
"Aviation ready for launch!"
But why hadn't the other fleet ships reacted yet?! Why hadn't starfighters been launched?!
"Tangrene OCC on the line!"
"Put them through!"
"Commodore Dobramu!" A hologram of Moff Ferrus himself appeared above the projector. "What's the meaning of this?! Immediately cancel battle stations, lower your shields..."
"Sir! Everything points to an attack..."
"There is no attack, Commodore!" the Moff barked. "Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet is arriving, and they need the shipyards! Stop this chaos immediately and follow the seventieth echelon vector toward Chasin!"
Effectively, the governor of the Morshdine sector had just ordered him to clear out. And while Akrey could have started an argument about not being subordinate to the Moff, it would serve little purpose — right now, he was on Ferrus's territory and obliged to follow his orders.
"Yes, sir," the young medium cruiser commander deflated. As soon as the hologram faded, he muttered irritably:
"Stand down from battle stations. Transition to the seventieth echelon," he grumbled, trying to ignore the few chuckles coming from behind him.
Ah, how impressive he would have looked in the Grand Admiral's eyes if an invasion had actually happened and he'd been the only one ready for it... Well, maybe he'd get a chance to prove himself.
In the Chasin system.
Chasing smugglers.
How humiliating for a combat officer!
If the Emperor were still alive, he would have appreciated the Commodore's zeal for destroying the enemy.
* * *
Pellaeon's report reached me on my way to the Chimaera's detention block.
The fleet had completed its jump, and the control tower, slightly overwhelmed by the sheer number of ships needing repairs suddenly dumped on them, was frantically assigning vessels to available bays at the orbital workshop. Well, there was still time, and it was time to deal with a critically important matter before heading down to the surface.
Strike while the iron is hot, as they say. Which meant I needed to let Moff Ferrus savor the fruits of my victory and dream a little before I made him an offer he couldn't refuse.
But first, having given orders regarding the prisoners, I headed, accompanied by Rukh, to the detention cell holding the most important captive I'd acquired from the ambush at Rugosa.
The stormtroopers from the marine detachment guarding the cell gave a brief, terse report on the situation before the door to the cell let me and my bodyguard inside.
Before me, legs folded under her in a lotus position, sat directly on the floor a middle-aged human woman, her face still bearing traces of fading beauty. Her eyes were closed, her face relaxed yet focused. She had a fairly slender, well-built physique, dressed in simple dark clothing that somewhat resembled the Jedi tunics from the movies.
That, in fact, was the only thing at the moment that even hinted at her connection to ancient Jedi knowledge. But she was not a Jedi.
"Get it over with quickly," she said without opening her eyes.
"What exactly?" I inquired, stopping about a meter away from her. Rukh had taken his customary position, one that gave him optimal options for both attack and defense.
"You came here to kill me, didn't you?" She finally opened her eyes. They glimmered with the experience of years lived and a deep-seated sadness. "So do what you came to do, Imperials. And rejoice — you'll finish what the Emperor and Darth Vader failed to accomplish. You will destroy the Jensaarai."
"Thank you for the offer, but not today," I declined. "My name is Thrawn. Grand Admiral of the Empire. Supreme Commander. I came here to negotiate, not to destroy anyone."
"Is that so?" she said in surprise. "You unleashed all your fury on us, killed my defenders, literally baked their minds inside their own skulls, cut me off from the Force, and now you want to talk?"
"Yes, why not?" I asked. "Or will you deny that your people helped Leonia Tavira and her forces attack me?"
"No, I won't deny it," she said.
"Will you deny that there was a battle between us, and that both sides suffered losses?"
"No, I won't."
"Then what grievances could there be?" I inquired. "You and your kin arrived with the clear intention of killing me and my subordinates. You were repelled, because any living being has the right to defend itself from a threat. I am sorry your people died, but my people died too. It was an honorable fight."
"Neither I nor my defenders invaded your minds or burned them out like fire consuming the ether," she grimaced.
"Because you didn't have that capability," I clarified. "If you had, you'd have done anything necessary to please your mistress."
The woman winced.
"What do you want?" she asked. "To mock me before you kill me?"
"Will negotiations not happen without that?" I clarified. "Despite your desire to die, I offer you an alternative."
"And what alternative would that be?" she inquired.
"To live," I said. "We've examined the Offensive's computer. We know where your planet is. But I assure you — no ships are heading there now to destroy the Jensaarai settlement. Instead, I propose that you and your people enter my service."
"Leonia Tavira said the same thing in her time," the woman said. "Her Star Destroyer hung over the heads of my kin and could turn our settlement into a handful of slag at any moment."
"I see this is a very interesting, albeit sad, story," I said. "If you wish, you may tell it. It would help me understand the reasons why you chose to serve pirates."
"We had no choice," she replied. "We Jensaarai have never known peace. Not after we split from the Jedi, not even after they were destroyed. First the Jedi tried to kill us all and nearly succeeded. Then Darth Vader, to whom we offered our swords in service, turned against us. There is no place for us among the powerful of this world — the Jedi see only the Dark Side in us, the Sith only the Light."
"And in reality?" I inquired.
"We are neither one nor the other," she said fervently. "Long ago, our ancestors discovered Sith knowledge and realized they could gain great power not just from Jedi texts. The Order did not accept our view and persecuted us. We hid for many years until we were found again. The Temple Guard killed our leaders, and the survivors barely escaped. The attempt to find refuge with Darth Vader also failed. We became even fewer, and we fled so far, hiding from everyone who we truly were, that we decided to make no further contact with anyone. We lived on Susevfi until Leonia Tavira discovered us a few years ago."
"She was fleeing pursuers and looking for a place to hide," I explained, having already familiarized myself with Tavira's personal data obtained from her ship before launch.
And she had managed quite well — she hid her Star Destroyer in an asteroid cloud, controlled the locals that everyone had forgotten about. No wonder that after meeting the Jensaarai, she had no problems with her affairs whatsoever.
"We learned that only after she had wormed her way into our trust through deceit," the woman said bitterly. Who — for a second — was the leader of the Jensaarai. At least, if Tavira's own log was to be believed. "We do not seek war — only to understand the Force, and we are ready to defend ourselves. That is our philosophy. To become Jensaarai, one must undergo the same training as the Jedi did in the past, including the construction of a lightsaber. But that is not all. Every Jensaarai must create their own armor, using the ancient knowledge we discovered in the past to process cortosis and coat their plate armor with its threads. Only then did the student become a defender…"
I had heard some of this before — from the escaped Jensaarai, Fodeum Sabre De'Luz. But it wasn't worth interrupting the lady. It was clear that without the Force, access to which was denied by the ysalamiri positioned nearby, she was suffering greatly. Presumably, if she had discovered the world of the Force from a very early age, learning to do without it was quite an ordeal. Well, that was the plan — to make her more compliant. And if listening to her long-standing pain was necessary for that, then why not? I had the time, and drawing information from a more competent source than a half-trained boy who had lost his lightsaber was worth it. At the very least — to broaden my horizons.
"We choose an animal as our ally and protector, then give our armor its features. Each defender wears such armor without ever removing it. Only the individuality of the armor allows us to distinguish each other visually," an odd concept, certainly, but why not? "Each such totem is a peaceful creature that will never attack first, only defend itself mercilessly if attacked. That is a reflection of our reason for being."
"The moon where we lived in secret from the other settlers — Susevfi. That was where we first saw Leonia Tavira. She landed on the planet with her people. She began flirting with the local Imperial official, and when he rejected her, she killed him brutally. Then she declared the planet liberated from the oppression of the Empire and in revolt against the oppression of the New Republic. As the Saarai-kaar of the Jensaarai, the leader of my people, I came to Tavira to negotiate and stop the killing of civilians. Upon learning who I was, she managed to win my trust, and then betrayed me when I refused her demand to serve her. She threatened to destroy the civilian population of the planet if we refused to help her. I had no choice, and I agreed."
Very interesting recruitment methods. Pure Imperial. Although, it goes without saying, considering Tavira was formerly the wife of an Imperial Moff. And rumor has it, she personally disposed of both her predecessor and her husband.
"For months, my Jensaarai accompanied Tavira and her flagship on destructive campaigns, helping her loot and kill. We are not proponents of violence, but we understood that otherwise, the death of all life in our world would be on our conscience. Some of us could attune their connection to the Force in such a way that they sensed danger through this great energy if it was directed at Tavira herself."
"And thus helped her avoid ambushes," I realized. A very… interesting concept. I already had several ideas for its use. That said, what had just happened showed that this situation was not a panacea. Considering the ambush on Rugosa didn't even anticipate Tavira's presence there, the Jensaarai couldn't warn her about the trap either. So the system had flaws. With any luck, I'd have to think about how to turn it to my advantage.
"They also influenced the minds of random visitors to the system, making them look at her ship but not see her," the Saarai-kaar said. "But your Jedi… he managed to break through our defense. And when we tried to counter him, to weaken him — he killed my students. The last ones who could have served Tavira and the cause of saving my people."
"Leonia Tavira is my prisoner," I reminded her. "As is her ship. Not a single pirate left the Rugosa system free."
"Several gangs are still on Susevfi," she said bitterly. "As soon as her ship doesn't return — they will slaughter everyone."
"I'm confident that together we can handle this problem," I declared.
"Together?" she scoffed. "How are you any better than Tavira? You take advantage of my position, you've taken my Force, and you're about to start dictating terms."
"But this way, you will actually listen to me," I said. "And consider what you hear with greater attention. The Force is still with you, but I am blocking it to the extent I need to. I am offering you my help in liberating your planet from the pirates."
"And you want something in return," she said confidently.
"Yes," I said. "You will hand over the pirates, their equipment, and everything they have looted."
"I thought you would demand our service…" the woman said, bewildered.
"I have no intention of demanding anything from you, even though I could," I said. "The Empire under my command will no longer exterminate Force-sensitive beings who do not directly threaten its existence — not simply by virtue of being born. On the contrary, I would like to offer you and your students a place in the state I intend to build. There you could live without fear, learn and teach others, serve as emissaries of peace and justice — something the Jedi failed to achieve."
"And the moment we refuse — you'll take our women and children hostage?" the woman asked.
"No," I replied. "I will simply wish you good luck solving your problems with the Jedi and the New Republic on your own — they were hunting Tavira and know who helped her carry out her raids." The last part was pure bluff. But with the help of Imperial Intelligence, it wouldn't be hard to arrange. "I assure you, after Rugosa…"
"And if we agree to serve you — will you provide us with protection?" asked the Saarai-kaar.
"Protection, a place to live and learn, access to new knowledge," I listed. "Surely you don't think that the knowledge you possess is the ultimate dream?"
"Of course we know we don't know many of the Force's secrets," the Jensaarai leader snorted. "But… if you yourself don't wield the Force, how can you promise such things?"
"I am sufficiently erudite to find and provide my allies with what remains of the ancient Sith and Jedi knowledge." A simple statement of fact. And at the very least — somewhere in the labyrinth under Mount Tantiss, there was something that would interest the Jensaarai. And besides, in this galaxy there were systems like Yavin, where the Sith once dwelt, Korriban, Ossus, and many other worlds that were once Jedi or Sith sanctuaries or strongholds.
"How can I trust an Imperial after all the evil the Empire has brought to me and my people?" the woman asked.
"As a gesture of goodwill, I will do two things right now," I said. "First — after you agree to cooperate with me, your Force-sensitivity will be returned to you. As long as we act together and protect the galaxy from great and small evils — you are my ally and will never be deprived of the Force by me again."
"But you already have a powerful Jedi who killed my students — the best the Jensaarai had!" the Saarai-kaar said distrustfully.
"Yes, there was a Jedi in my retinue," I said, having no intention of revealing the finer points of C'baoth's origin to the Jensaarai, let alone telling her that he had finally come to his senses and departed for his planet to await Horn's arrival. "What he did to your people only confirmed my suspicions about his madness and the need to cease all contact with him."
"Will you kill him?" she asked, squinting.
"If there is hope that he can be helped — no," I said. Though I wasn't particularly hopeful that an adult defective clone could be fixed. But, after all, the laboratories on Mount Tantiss were already operational and properly reactivated. C'baoth's genetic sample existed. If needed — we would create our own. And, if possible — a sane one.
"But you don't believe in that outcome," the Saarai-kaar stated.
"I doubt fixing him is even possible," I admitted.
The woman was silent for a time before speaking again:
"The second," she said, rising slowly and gracefully to her feet. "What else can you offer the Jensaarai in exchange for service?"
"Rukh," I nodded to the bodyguard.
The Noghri was practically instantly at the entrance door, then stepped out into the corridor. I knew for certain he was now heading to the adjacent cell to remove the ysalamiri further away. And also to meet someone who had been awaiting my return on the planet.
I wasn't afraid of the Jensaarai attacking me with the Force at all — my beloved ysalamir was cozily snoring on my shoulder. And as for simple hand-to-hand combat, I could handle that.
I didn't miss the way the woman's face contorted when, presumably, Rukh dragged the cage with the lizard away from the wall of the cell adjacent to this one. The Force should have returned to the woman.
And almost immediately after that, the Noghri returned to us, accompanied by a young man…
"Someone else will tell you more about my proposal. Allow me to introduce," I said, gesturing toward the freighter captain, "Mister…"
"Mother?!" the Jensaarai apprentice who had lost his lightsaber breathed out barely audibly.
"Fodeum?!" The Saarai-kaar's eyes widened when she saw the young man. "How is this…?"
I looked first at her, then at him. There was definitely a resemblance.
Well, well. Awkward.
Then again, perhaps it was better this way — because I could see the woman looking me in the eye, who for the first time in years had found her son again, nodding in agreement.
Well then. The local analogue of the "Wait for Me" show was ending its broadcast. Time to attend to more important matters.
* * *
The light lines of hyperspace contracted into points as usual the moment the Crusader emerged into realspace.
"Jump complete, Captain," the senior officer reported to him. "The Crusader… is in one piece."
I-Gor nearly laughed upon hearing the last part.
"So the fact that we had three armor plates blown off and the cold storage on the second deck depressurized is no longer a problem?" he inquired with a smirk.
"After the scuffle at Rugosa, that's small potatoes, Captain," the first mate replied sheepishly, averting his eyes. "Especially since we didn't really need those storerooms."
"Remember that Corellian smuggler we detained near Duro right after I took command of the Crusader?" I-Gor asked.
"The one who liked hiding contraband under the deck?" the first mate clarified. Receiving a nod of confirmation, he confirmed:
"I remember, sir, of course. We pulled about fifty thousand credits' worth of spice contraband out of his rust bucket back then. Though I'm sure there was more — we'd have found it if we hadn't blown up his ship chasing after his partner."
"Spice wasn't the only thing that smuggler was transporting," I-Gor admitted. "He had another small hideout in the stern. Remember how I decided to personally supervise the search in the engine room while you handled the bridge?"
"Of course, sir," the first mate said, slightly tensing.
"I've encountered that type of hideout before — they make a secret compartment inside a fuel tank and store extra cargo there. That smuggler was transporting four cases of elite single-malt Corellian whiskey — fifteen hundred credits a bottle. I've been keeping them in the cold storage on the second deck all this time."
"Unexpected honesty, sir," the first mate admitted.
"I was hoping that after the Emperor's death, a worthy enough occasion would arise to one day share this nectar with the crew," I-Gor confessed. "A second major triumph for our Grand Admiral in a row is undoubtedly such an occasion. Every battle turns into an unqualified success for us. Look," he gestured toward the Bellicose and the Imperious, frozen in parade formation, acting like sentinels, having maneuvered themselves perpendicular to the trajectory of the battered but victorious Grand Admiral's fleet, letting them pass before their bows and saluting with turbolaser turret salvos. "The 'Triumphal Arch'. That custom is about three thousand standard years old. I don't even remember the last time it was used. It's respect for all who prevailed — the living and the fallen. It's the Grand Admiral's triumph. A turning point — if the Imperial Ruling Council doesn't start properly supporting us after this, they truly are nothing but a bunch of power-hungry idiots. Just like the Ubiqtorate, which slunk out of here with its tail between its legs. Just think what Thrawn could have accomplished if he'd gotten all fifteen of the Ubiqtorate's destroyers, instead of just our old Victory-class lady? Ah, it's a shame that compartment got blown out into hyperspace. We could have had a much more enjoyable day of shore leave…"
"Agreed, it's a shame, sir," the first mate supported. "Do you think our victories are just the beginning?"
"I'm certain of it," I-Gor declared firmly. "The Empire hasn't achieved victories like these in quite a while. And in such a short time, no less. I'm convinced Thrawn is the future. At least — the immediate future. We stick with him — and we'll see the Empire rise in new greatness over the galaxy."
"You've literally voiced the opinion of the entire crew," the first mate chortled with satisfaction. "But… don't you think that, given the ships the Grand Admiral captured, the Ubiqtorate will recall us, and the smart-alecks on Orinda will recall some of the Star Destroyers under Thrawn's command?"
"If that happens, it will only prove their shortsightedness," the Crusader's commander declared. "While they sit in the Imperial Remnants, trembling over how not to lose new sectors and ships, Thrawn hits the enemy where they least expect it. Bringing three Imperial II-class ships back under the Empire's banner is a resounding success. And it needs to be built upon, not thrown a wrench in the works. I don't know if it will actually happen, but if the Ubiqtorate tries to recall us — I won't obey that order. And I hope you and the crew will back me up."
"Intelligence would consider that treason," the first mate remarked.
"We serve under the command of the Supreme Commander of the Empire," Captain I-Gor reminded him. "If that's treason, then I want nothing to do with those who think so."
The first mate thought for only a few minutes. Then, looking at the commander, he declared:
"Sir, I have a confession to make."
"Is that so?" I-Gor was surprised. "And what might that be?"
"We have something to celebrate the victory with," the first mate said, looking away. "That smuggler near Duro also had a habit of making a hideout under the cockpit floor… We definitely have about ten cases…"
Laughing, I-Gor warmly shook his subordinate's hand, noticing out of the corner of his eye how tugs were heading toward the damaged ships of Thrawn's fleet to guide the vessels into the orbital workshop's bays.
* * *
The dungeons of the Moff's residence were not the gloomiest place Lieutenant Colonel Astarion had ever been in his life. He had seen worse workplaces.
But unfortunately, at the present time, there were no suitable places on Tangrene for properly housing such a large number of prisoners of war. Instead, they had to use the barracks of one of the military bases on the planet that were still unused after the Ubiqtorate evacuated the garrisons — only they were spacious enough to hold almost seventy thousand captured Republicans, pirates, and smugglers. And it required recruiting an entire legion of stormtroopers to provide their security. Well, planetary garrison bases were designed to house hundreds of thousands of infantrymen and many units of equipment — each one. There was still room for holding a larger number of POWs… It was just a pity that significant stormtrooper forces had to be diverted to guard them. Regular infantry from volunteers and army units could have handled it, but such a large number of prisoners was better entrusted to those who couldn't be swayed by pity.
Although the Lieutenant Colonel was certain that using stormtrooper units for such purposes was irrational, he kept his opinions to himself. The Grand Admiral knew better how to use his resources. Still, he could be understood — the regular army under his command was even smaller than the stormtrooper units. Well, at least the Lieutenant Colonel knew for certain that such duties for stormtroopers were only temporary. Once the existing volunteers, assigned to the so-called "auxiliary forces," completed their appropriate infantry and marksmanship training, guarding POWs would become their responsibility, and the stormtroopers would return to more significant tasks.
And yet, the reason he found himself in the dungeons today was quite unusual. As was the personal invitation from the Grand Admiral himself to conduct an interrogation.
Passing the guard posts, Astorian, accompanied by the shift supervisor of the wardens, reached the required cell. How many such prison interrogation rooms had he seen in his lifetime? Thousands. This one was no worse than the others. One could even say it was vastly better, as it was clean, didn't stink of human sweat and excrement. And there were no sounds of tortured beings either. Not because of good soundproofing — the dungeons didn't hold guilty civilians or military personnel at all. That was what garrison guardhouses or standard isolation cells were for.
The metal door opened, and the Lieutenant Colonel stepped over the threshold. Raising his gaze, he saw Grand Admiral Thrawn himself standing against the wall opposite the entrance, in the company of a grey-skinned alien.
"Come in," Thrawn ordered, indicating the seat at the table usually occupied by interrogators. Astorian followed the advice, still wondering about the reasons that had brought him here. What the Grand Admiral had in mind was not yet clear to him. Aside from the fact that the Lieutenant Colonel himself had nothing to fear — he worked for the Grand Admiral's benefit, not to his detriment. And the information received from Thrawn was not rich in detail.
The Grand Admiral himself and his bodyguard had moved closer to the entrance, positioning themselves so the person entering couldn't see them. Then, as if at an invisible command, the door opened and a pair of stormtroopers led in a man wearing an undersuit. Unceremoniously seating him on a metal chair, they handcuffed him to the metal bracket of the table and left the interrogation room, finally allowing the "security officer" to get a good look at the man with whom he was about to have a difficult conversation.
Neat short haircut, clearly military style — Imperial, at that. An attentive, calm gaze. Well-developed musculature. This man was clearly an Imperial serviceman. Moreover, judging by the undersuit, a stormtrooper. He sat upright, his posture unbending. He didn't turn his head to look around, didn't try to assess the situation. This man was accustomed to acting only after receiving an order.
"Identify yourself," Astorion demanded.
"Stormtrooper TR-889, sir," the man replied in the same calm voice.
"Do you know the reasons for your presence here?"
"During the assault on the enemy Star Destroyer, I used a tactical psychological ploy to make the enemy crew surrender."
What? Astorion thought he had misheard.
"And what was it?" he asked.
"I used the ship's internal announcement system to spread word of the commander's death," the stormtrooper answered.
"And why did you think it would work?" The lieutenant colonel understood that now, staring straight at the detainee, he couldn't look away — otherwise the man would realize they weren't alone in the interrogation room. And Thrawn, apparently, had a strong desire to keep his presence here a secret. For now, at least.
"Simple calculation," TR-889 said in the same matter-of-fact tone. "This Star Destroyer defected to the New Republic immediately after their commander did. During the assault, I noticed that most of the crew members I encountered were humans. Nine out of ten. I assumed they were the same ones who had been under Sair Yonka's command during his betrayal. Therefore, he held referent power over them and was their leader. News of his death demoralized the enemy, and the ship was captured."
"Or your initiative could have made things worse," Astorion snapped, switching to psychological pressure on the interrogatee. "They could have blown the reactor and then everyone would have died — both rebels and stormtroopers! Or they could have stiffened their resistance and the troops would have suffered far higher losses than they did!"
In truth, Astorion had no idea how many soldiers had died during the boarding actions. But he intuitively felt that his task was to crush the stormtrooper morally, to make that impenetrable shell of calm break. It was too obvious — even elite stormtroopers who had gone through the hellish grind of advanced training after Karide would have been psychologically broken by the mere fact of being interrogated.
"There was no risk," the stormtrooper said firmly. "The enemy understood perfectly that they were surrounded, that their ship would be taken regardless. They were defectors, meaning their psyche wasn't that stable against Imperial ideas. They hadn't yet fully accepted Republican ideology as dominant, so they looked solely to their leader — Captain Yonka."
"Isn't that a bit much knowledge for a simple stormtrooper?" The lieutenant colonel narrowed his eyes, trying to gauge whether his pressure could break this guy. Judging by the fact that the man's expression hadn't even flickered — not really. Not a stormtrooper, but a stone.
"… The death of a leader is an extremely destabilizing factor," Astorion realized that TR-889 was continuing his monotonous explanation. While anyone else in his place would have just shut up and started worrying. No, this guy was anything but a stormtrooper. "…which throws subordinates and close associates out of their usual groove…"
"Did you experience that firsthand?" the Grand Admiral suddenly intruded into the interrogation, stepping into the stormtrooper's field of view. The man, casting a quick and wary glance at the figure in the white tunic, widened his eyes and rose to his feet.
"Grand Admiral, sir, stormtrooper…."
"Yes, TR-889, I have no hearing problems," the gray-skinned alien forced the man back into his seat. "What is your name, stormtrooper?"
"Identification number TR-899…"
"That's not the question I asked," the Grand Admiral said. "You're a smart man, Major, as you've just so casually demonstrated. You must understand that we wouldn't be having this conversation for no reason. Your personnel file has been checked; the evidence of data scrubbing and integration has been found. You do your work excellently, but I have better specialists. So I repeat the question — your name?"
Really? So this stormtrooper wasn't just a marine, but also a major, a battalion commander? Things were getting interesting. Yes, of course, commanders in the Stormtrooper Corps weren't simple executors like rank-and-file soldiers, but they were far from experts in psychology. They were taught to kill as efficiently as possible, not to assess the enemy from psychological perspectives. They were elite brute force, trained to the highest standards, but hardly virtuosos of that kind.
The lieutenant colonel watched with concealed interest as the stormtrooper's impassive expression shifted from simple and carefree to tense and focused.
"Grodin Tierce, sir," he said clearly, finally dispelling the myth of his belonging to the Stormtrooper Corps. The "dolls" went through such drill that they forgot their own names — they were given numbers and nothing more. The entire training was aimed at destroying pity, personal identity, and self-determination. Deprivation of a name was one of the initial stages. By the end of the training, stormtroopers completely forgot that they could be called anything other than their identification number.
"Is that so," said Thrawn. A shadow flickered across his face, and his gaze hardened. "Is that all you have to say?"
"I will answer all your questions, sir," said Tierce.
"Then let's start with the simplest — why is a soldier of Palpatine's Imperial Guard masquerading as an ordinary stormtrooper?" Astorion barely restrained himself from coughing. What?! This "stormtrooper" was also a commander of an elite unit that guarded the Emperor himself?!
Yes, formally the Imperial Guard belonged to the Stormtrooper Corps, but again — only on paper. In reality, they had their own structure and bases, and nothing at all was known about their training. After all, their sphere of work was far beyond the understanding of ordinary beings.
"After the death of Emperor Palpatine at Endor, the Imperial Guard was fragmented," Tierce explained. "Some of us returned to bases, others began serving warlords. There are those who defected to the New Republic. I chose the path of service as a battalion commander of stormtroopers. And my unit is one of the best in your fleet, Grand Admiral."
"And that's why you hid your past?" Thrawn inquired.
"Many of those who claim or claimed the title of Emperor use Imperial Guards as a scarecrow to increase their own importance," Tierce explained. "I want to serve through action, not as an icon."
In fact, it wouldn't have been difficult for the Imperial Guard to fix Tierce's personnel file. So, if not for his excessive desire to be useful, no one would have noticed him.
If not for the incident on the rebel Star Destroyer… If not for…
"Your actions on the 'Freedom' were intended to attract my attention," Thrawn said, voicing the thought that had just occurred to the colonel himself.
"Yes, sir," he confirmed. "I did everything to come under your command and observed your actions to understand and assess your motives. To be honest, I thought you, like the other warlords, would seek personal power over the Empire and use all the resources of Mount Tantiss for that purpose. I apologize for my unworthy thoughts. My actions on Captain Yonka's 'Freedom' were directed specifically at gaining your attention. As a stormtrooper, I couldn't just come to you and report formally. Now that our meeting has taken place, I can offer you my services not just as a frontline fighter, but as an Imperial Guardsman."
"I don't need bodyguards," Thrawn remarked. "I have Noghri."
"One who has already proven insufficiently effective," Tierce declared, not even glancing toward the gray-skinned alien standing behind him. "I, with a single battalion, captured a Star Destroyer for you, losing only one company. And only three stormtroopers died; the rest will undergo recovery and continue their service."
"And why should I trust you?" Thrawn asked.
"Because it would take me only five seconds to kill everyone in this room," the Imperial Guardsman said calmly, shaking his hands. The handcuffs that were still on his wrists clinked against the metal tabletop. The lieutenant colonel thought he would hardly have time to shoot the detainee even if the man intended to attack. Even if he hadn't surrendered his service pistol at the security checkpoint. "And I'll spend three of those seconds asking you once more to be my direct commander."
"Is that so," Thrawn said with interest. "Why me specifically, and not any other warlord or even the Imperial Ruling Council?"
"You are effective," the guardsman answered simply. "They are passive. Simple logic. I am not a display case to be someone's toy and stroke someone's ego. I am a soldier and trained to follow orders. You and your fleet fight. That's enough for me. I told you about my past only to demonstrate that I possess additional knowledge that may be useful to you in achieving your goals."
"How interesting," Thrawn chuckled. "You are an impressive specimen of human, stormtrooper, and guardsman all in one, Major Tierce. Given the lack of unanimity between you and your fellow Imperial Guards regarding the candidate of service, I conclude that you are merely striving to restore your familiar worldview — to find a strong commander and serve him. Or am I wrong?"
"The Imperial Guard was created to serve an outstanding person," Tierce said, but his tone no longer sounded as confident as before. "Perhaps… part of our training contributes to this…"
"Or you were all altered by Emperor Palpatine's power for that purpose," Thrawn suggested. "I hope you are aware that our ruler was an adept of the Force?"
"This information has no evidentiary confirmation," the major said sharply, his hands clenching into fists. His gaze became somewhat feral, and his nostrils began to flare, indicating that the man was drawing in more oxygen. He didn't like what he was hearing.
In fact, Astorion himself didn't really believe that the Emperor was some kind of adept of that Jedi magic. Darth Vader was another matter…
"Do not dare threaten me, Major," Thrawn said sharply, reacting to the guardsman's words and actions. "The person who discovered the scrubbing in your personnel file served Palpatine and communicated with him directly through the Force. Perhaps you even saw her once among Palpatine's retinue. A young girl, red hair, green eyes. The Emperor liked to call her his favorite dancer…"
"I understand who you mean," Major Tierce said. "But the Emperor couldn't…"
"Are you saying I'm lying?" There was steel in Thrawn's voice.
"No, sir, never…"
"So you have a refutation of my words about Palpatine's membership in the Sith Order?" To be honest, Astorion had already stopped understanding why he was here. It seemed that Thrawn wanted to prove something not only to the stormtrooper. But what? That Palpatine, who had hunted Jedi, was himself something similar? But what difference did it make if the Emperor was dead? There were more important matters… "Or do you have a more reasonable explanation for the fact that the Emperor emerged victorious from his duel with the Jedi Masters in the final hours of the Old Republic? Or can you explain how he managed to hide a nineteen-kilometer Super Star Destroyer, the 'Lusankya,' in the middle of Imperial Center, in its busiest part? Or can you answer how he could live for almost thirty years while controlling the Sith Lord Darth Vader? A Sith, one of those who can control the Force and are known for their ambitions bordering on total subjugation of all life to their power and the building of empires? Or do you have answers for the reason why, in the Dafillevean sector during the cleansing of a New Republic base on the planet Ord Pardron, you, like the other infantry and stormtroopers, acted more cohesively, precisely, and effectively, as in the days of Palpatine, but your actions were coordinated through the Force and a clone of the Jedi C'baoth, created by Palpatine's order, whom I discovered on the planet Wayland, where you played the role of commander of my cover squad? Perhaps you can find more logical answers to my questions, Major, than the admission and realization that Emperor Palpatine is a Force-sensitive being, a Sith Lord, and we are all nothing more than his puppets, serving a single purpose — to prevent his enemies from gaining strength until he can gather under his command powerful forces capable of once again subjugating the galaxy to his rule?"
"No, sir," Tierce answered clearly. His body relaxed — the man was responding to orders. The way he had been taught. The drill made itself known. "I have no more logical answer than the one you have voiced."
"Are you familiar with the name of the planet Byss?" Thrawn inquired, changing his commanding tone — which made Astorion shudder — to almost caring intonations.
"Yes, sir," confirmed the Imperial Guardsman, his voice regaining its former crisp and confident tone. "It is located in the Deep Core. Once a colonization mission was organized there, but I have no information on whether it succeeded. Some units of the Imperial Guard were stationed on Byss, but I was there a very long time ago and have no information about its current status — an unknown system of hyperspace beacons operates there…"
"It's a pity you don't have that information, Major Tierce," said Thrawn. "You could have gone straight to Byss and asked your master why he summoned some of your comrades to him and discarded others like trash, allowing them to serve those who were tearing his Empire apart."
"Emperor Palpatine… alive?!" Tierce's body seemed to stiffen, and his voice… wavered? But somehow unnaturally. "But… how…?"
It couldn't be said that Astorion didn't understand his detainee. Right now he felt exactly what the guardsman felt — shock, confusion, disappointment, pain. If the Emperor was alive, then… why did he allow all this? The rebel victory, the collapse of the Empire, the civil war that killed billions of Imperials?!
"Sith techniques, magic or something else — I don't know, this metaphysics doesn't interest me, Major," said Thrawn. "You said you don't want to be an extra for someone else's greatness. I suspect that with your talents you could have found a place as a military advisor with any of the warlords, but you came to me. You wished to serve the most effective commander because you cannot exist otherwise — you were raised for such purposes. You could kill me and everyone here in a few seconds — and I believe your words. Just as you should believe your commander. I am ready to accept your service, but in return I demand unconditional loyalty to me and execution of orders without hesitation and without regret. My decisions will not please you — that's for sure, I can promise. So decide for yourself what is most important to you here and now — to be an Imperial Guardsman serving Palpatine because you never had another choice, or to remain in my service and carry out only my orders."
"But, sir, if the Emperor is alive…" Tierce said in a bewildered tone, but the lieutenant colonel didn't believe him for a moment, "if he managed to survive Endor…"
"His body was destroyed," said the Grand Admiral. "And you know that. You are a very bad actor, Major Tierce. Everything I just said — you already knew. Like any Imperial Guardsman — if you weren't a witness to Palpatine's displays of power, you couldn't have avoided knowing those who saw it personally. For example, those guardsmen who were on the Death Star when Palpatine fought Darth Vader's former secret apprentice, Galen Marek. There aren't so many Imperial Guardsmen that you could simply fail to notice their disappearance. You are excellently trained, Major. And after everything you've been through, you haven't lost your self-awareness and personality as such. That means you were never just a simple weapon in Palpatine's hands. So the question arises — why are you putting on this whole comedy for me?"
Astorion watched with amazement as a slight smile appeared on the major's calm face. Which, however, vanished almost immediately.
"You are even more perceptive than stated in Palpatine's files, Grand Admiral," said Grodin Tierce. "Yes, you are absolutely right — everything you said, I already knew. And much that you don't know. I was there, on the Death Star, when that upstart in Jedi rags nearly killed Vader and matched forces with Palpatine himself. And if the Emperor hadn't finished off the bastard, my company and I would have been next to be thrown at that boy. I saw the Emperor do the things for which he killed thousands of beings across the galaxy. And I kept silent, followed orders, put it all out of my mind, didn't dwell on it. He could read any of our minds and killed without hesitation those who witnessed his sensitivity to the Force. I don't know why he did it, but he did. He was a mad son of a bitch, and I was glad when I learned he was finally dead. I stopped being someone else's slave — do you know what it's like to not belong to yourself, while being at the very center of an Empire that fights against slavery? I was proud to serve as a stormtrooper, I rejoiced when I was selected to become a guardsman. Understanding of Palpatine's double standards came slowly, but it came. You're right — I am smart. Damned smart. That's why I didn't respond to the order to report to Byss to continue serving the resurrected Palpatine. Like some others of my comrades, we dissolved, became invisible, blended into the crowd of faceless and nameless clones. I didn't lie — I watched you, Grand Admiral. I stood guard at the Moff's residence when you spoke with pirates and hired them for dirty work. I was the one who prepared the residence hall for your conversation with Mara Jade. I saw how you broke her, and if I could, I would have applauded you. But unfortunately, I only observed through a hidden camera in the video surveillance system — such are in every residence. Imperial Intelligence used them for surveillance and gathering kompromat. If earlier I came to serve you to be a stormtrooper, what I always wanted to be, then after what I heard… You are a damned smart being, Grand Admiral. And that's why they will get rid of you. You are as perceptive as ever, but you don't see the main thing — no one will allow you to gain too much power, enough to subjugate the remnants of the Empire, and that's the only thing they fear. The conspiracy you only suspect is wider than you think. Palpatine secretly controls almost all Imperial Remnants, and they will become the staging ground for his invasion. You quite accurately determined his motives — he is not interested in the Empire, he only cares about destroying his enemies. I decided to reveal myself to you for one simple reason — I believe you can stop him. Or, at least, try to do so. Your chances are higher than the others. But you have something they don't — the desire to do it. I respect such people, even if you are not of our race."
The Grand Admiral didn't answer immediately, silently studying the guardsman.
But the lieutenant colonel had a question:
"In all this tirade, you haven't said a word about the reasons for your interest in defeating Palpatine," said Astorion.
"It's banally simple," Major Tierce chuckled. "I want to live. Palpatine has already killed almost all those guardsmen who showed willfulness and didn't report to Byss after his death. My comrades-in-arms, with whom I deserted together, are no more. Also killed are those who were on Byss and reported Palpatine's intentions and those of his circle. The stormtrooper cover saved me, but I'm sure it wouldn't have lasted long. When Palpatine returns, he'll use us again like any of his puppets. And then he'll throw us away when he's bored. Or kill us for his amusement. He is no longer the one we remember. A greedy crazy old man in a young body, obsessed with revenge and bloody reprisals. He won't even fight for worlds — he'll just blow them up, fortunately his stockpile of superweapons is impressive."
"So you decided to make direct contact with me," the Grand Admiral concluded. "And you played the 'ignorant soldier' to find out if I would tell you everything the same as I told Mara Jade. If what I said didn't match, you would have killed us all."
"Of course," Tierce answered artlessly. "Eliminating witnesses is one of the simplest ways to cover one's tracks. And the training level of the stormtroopers guarding these cells is such that luring any of them in here, killing him, disfiguring his face, taking his armor, and disappearing is as easy as pie. But I dare to assure you — you passed the test, Grand Admiral. And this time, without any traps or idioms, I am ready to cooperate. Command me — I am at your complete disposal."
"Not a bad performance, Major Tierce," Thrawn clapped his hands. "But you overestimate yourself. You could undoubtedly try to kill me and Lieutenant Colonel Astorion, but you would not achieve your goal. And I, in turn, would only lose an excellent donor for cloning."
A smirk appeared on the "stormtrooper's" face.
"Noghri wouldn't have stopped me," he declared. "Palpatine taught us to kill them like blind kittens when he learned that Vader had acquired a similar brood. You won't find a better bodyguard than me."
"No one mentioned the Noghri," Thrawn said calmly.
And in the next instant, the air was split by a hiss, and a white-blue energy blade appeared before the throat of the former Imperial Guardsman. Following it, at the same time as Major Tierce shifted his eyes toward the source of the energy threat, a figure emerged from the air without any warning, clad from head to toe in brown armor. A mask with the image of some animal leaned forward.
"Should I kill him, Commander?" a muffled voice came from under the helmet.
"A good question," said Thrawn. "I hope you are convinced, Major Tierce, that I do not need a bodyguard."
"Impressive," he swallowed carefully and suddenly smiled. "Though I prefer ground battles to trailing after someone. Stormtrooper TR-889 is ready to carry out any order you give, Grand Admiral."
"Well then, we have an agreement, Major," said Thrawn, looking directly into the eyes of the disconcerted Astarion. "You have heard a great deal. And understanding what is what is not difficult. So I will ask only once: are you with me, Lieutenant Colonel?"
And he had only wanted the Grand Admiral's help in restoring the Imperial Security Bureau... And now came an offer to participate in destroying a mad former ruler of the galaxy, intent on turning them all into insane servants?
"Yes, why not?" Astarion tried to smile. But, as always, it came out as a grimace. "But... if we intend to fight against everyone, we'll need a lot of weapons, personnel, and especially ISB employees. A dozen interrogators and I won't be able to screen everyone who intends to come under your command, Grand Admiral. I simply can't be in several places at once."
"Don't worry, Lieutenant Colonel," Thrawn advised him. "This inconvenience can be easily resolved."