Nine years, six months, and one day after the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fourth year, six months, and one day after the Great Resynchronization.
The first thing you learn as a fighter pilot is that objects in space almost never resemble the pictures you see on the HoloNet. No, not because the latter are made by designers who don't really understand what they're doing.
It's simply that at cruising speed, objects — the jelly of clouds, contours of rocks and mountain ranges, puddles of lakes and smears of rivers — all merge together, taking on the appearance of a palette where several colors have been mixed. Experienced pilots and navigators often joke with newcomers about this, making them break out in cold sweat as they plunge into the chaos of their own thoughts, not even suspecting what will happen to the hapless pilots from a miscalculated course.
"I don't know, Whistler, who drew the image of Jomark on the charts, but they sure didn't get it wrong," grumbled Corran Horn, lowering his X-wing from high orbit at a shallow angle to the surface. He'd shift to low orbit and start reconnaissance. Plunging straight into the unknown wasn't very appealing.
His astromech, who had been through many scrapes with him, erupted in a binary trill.
"No, I'm not praising the artistic ability of the navigation guide's author," Corran said. "Honestly, the work they had here was… an ocean and a patch of land. Any schoolkid could have made the image of this planet in the atlas."
The X-wing completed one orbit over the planet while its scanners disturbed the surface of Jomark, searching for… what?
What was he hoping to find here? Mirax? No, that would be too simple. The equipment detected some traces of electronics, but nothing more than might be found on a planet having a rough time. Still, by all laws of logic, this might be where a Jedi Master could hide from Darth Vader and Emperor Palpatine. A planet that wasn't easy to find even in official and semi-criminal astrography guides.
Corran preferred not to think about the number of credits he'd had to spend to get information about this planet and the Jedi who had called him.
And he had quite a few questions for Joruus C'baoth, the former CorSec operative. They'd start with: "How did you know about my wife's abduction before it even happened?"
Though, technically, the exact time of Mirax's abduction was… unknown. Nobody knew that. But since when does a CorSec operative not use provocations and manipulate facts to get information? At least Joruus C'baoth definitely knew about it long before the news of Mirax's disappearance reached Horn himself.
And he also reliably knew that Horn had gone searching for his wife after contacting him a few days ago, while the Corellian was looking for information on Nar Shaddaa. He'd told him how to get to him. No answers to the questions tormenting Corran. Which was irritating, infuriating, and made him think about a trap.
But no trap awaited him in Jomark's orbit. No Imperial ships, no patrols, no pirate ambushes… as if nothing boded ill… and that made the already suspicious Corellian even more wary.
The only patch of land where the ship's systems had detected faint traces of electronics was clearly inhabited — at least there were structures there.
Corran studied them, descending below cloud level, cutting circles around the continent, figuring out where he could land. Somewhere here was the Jedi who had contacted him. Contacted him, and not Luke Skywalker, the only known Jedi in the galaxy. The question — why?
Was C'baoth avoiding Skywalker? Then this could be dangerous. Corran reflexively patted his blaster holster. His hand bumped the lightsaber hilt — the weapon of his biological grandfather, Nejaa Halcyon, a Corellian Jedi from the Old Republic era who died during the Clone Wars.
Horn sighed, thinking about how tangled his past was. The man he'd called Grandfather his whole life was in fact no more than a friend of his real grandfather.
He was born eighteen years before the destruction of the first Death Star, into the family of Valin Horn, son of Jedi Master Nejaa Halcyon. When his grandfather was killed during the Clone Wars, little Valin was adopted by his grandfather's best friend, Corellian Security Force officer Rostek Horn, with whom Nejaa Halcyon had often worked. Rostek married Halcyon's widow, Corran's grandmother. At the start of the Great Jedi Purge, Rostek Horn managed to remove from the archives all records of Valin Horn as Nejaa Halcyon's son, thus hiding Corran's father's Force sensitivity from everyone — the father now bearing the name Hal Horn. So Corran Horn grew up with no idea he was a Jedi descendant.
Part of this scrap of information Corran had uncovered himself; part was the result of his deductions. His grandfather was still alive and living on Corellia, but Corran himself couldn't get there by official means — the Corellian Sector government officially supported the Imperial Remnants. Capturing a pilot from Rogue Squadron, an elite New Republic unit, would be a great prize for the Imperials' allies. They might even declare a holiday for it.
Though no, that's nonsense. Even when it became known that Han Solo, also a Corellian, had taken part in destroying the first Death Star, nobody made any unnecessary moves. They just issued an order for his capture, hanging a couple more bounty hunters on the Millennium Falcon's tail. As if they could succeed where Jabba the Hutt's thugs had failed.
"We're going down, Whistler," Corran decided. He could fly around here forever, but he wouldn't find answers to his questions until he met this C'baoth in person.
Was he afraid? Yes, probably. But not because he was a coward. Simple logic told him that a Jedi who survived the Great Purge could be far more dangerous than all the enemies he'd faced before. And even if Skywalker claimed that Jedi couldn't harm sentients, Corran didn't believe it. If Order members were as harmless as Luke thought, then how should he treat all the data and testimony claiming that it was the Jedi who led the Grand Army of the Republic during the Clone Wars?
Either Skywalker himself understood very little about the Jedi Order's origins and activities (which was logical, given that he'd become a Jedi without any special training — at least Horn hadn't found any other data, and he didn't really trust rumors), or he was trying to avoid an inconvenient truth.
Corran tried to relax.
As a child, young Horn had watched his father during Hal's meditative exercises and tried to imitate him. Back then, Corran didn't understand that these activities were Jedi techniques — his father never abandoned his Jedi training. True, at the time, the elder Horn told his son it was all part of a secret game, and Corran must never tell anyone about it or, especially, demonstrate it.
When he finished high school and entered the Corellian Security Force Academy, Rostek and Hal taught him to listen to his inner voice and pay attention to any sense of inner discomfort in a critical situation. Surely they did this knowing it was how Force sensitivity manifested.
At the CorSec Academy, Corran was one of the top students, breaking records set by his father during his own training. Oh, if only he'd known how things really were, when he'd tell his father and grandfather after classes about his opinion — matching public opinion on Corellia — that the smuggler Solo was a stain on Corellia's honor, and it was a young man's sacred duty to catch the scoundrel dishonoring his homeworld.
And now, almost a decade later, Corran was grateful to his late father, killed a few years ago, and to his grandfather, for not stuffing him with Jedi wisdom or criticizing his youthful views, allowing him to grow up with his own head on his shoulders and a clear view of things.
"Whistler," Corran reduced engine power, choosing a slow landing over a rapid descent to the surface, not wanting to frighten the locals, "remind me that after I finish talking to this Jedi Master, I need to find a way to fly to Corellia and see Granddad."
The astromech erupted in a trill, commenting on his master's mental faculties.
"No, Whistler," Horn shook his head. "I'm sure we won't get any answers here. I've got chills all over from this place. But I have to check this lead. First here, then we'll look for that Niles Ferrier in the Corellian Sector. I hear he makes a living stealing Corellian ships, so he must have buddies there. Granddad will help if needed."
Whistler beeped questioningly.
"Wasting time?" Corran smiled reluctantly. "Because I feel that Mirax is okay. I'm sure I'd feel her death. No, buddy, someone decided to play with us. And very, very roughly."
The droid emitted another trill.
"As for Booster, I'm not sure," the Corellian grimaced. "My emotional connection with my father-in-law isn't… the strongest. But with Mirax… I don't know, until recently I could sense her, and now… she's like she's disappeared. No," he cut off the astromech's quiet beep. "I would have felt it if she died! After my father's death, I'm sure something like that will never go unnoticed by me again."
Whistler, after a pause, chirped another question.
"Exactly," Horn agreed. "When I find whoever did this, I'll make them regret everything. I'm sure Mirax was kidnapped to lure Booster out. I'm too small a fish for all this trouble. Besides, Mirax never advertised her changed status or double surname in her dealings. Enough theory. Put up what you got from the scan."
Jomark's main population was settled on a patch of land proudly called the main continent, though, to be honest, it should have been called a large island — Corran had seen bigger continents. Besides it, there were thousands of islands scattered in small groups across the endless ocean. All together, they made up about three hundred square kilometers of land. A lot of room for an extended game of hide-and-seek.
They entered the lower atmosphere, switched to repulsor engines a few kilometers from the surface, and descended to the level of the highest mountain peaks. On closer inspection, the terrain, though quite abandoned, was not nearly as desolate as Corran had first thought. The valleys between the mountains were covered with lush vegetation, although there was much less on the rocky slopes. In almost every gorge they flew over, one or two houses were nestled, sometimes even tiny villages too small for the X-wing's sensors to notice.
"But traces of electronics only on the largest island?" Corran clarified, trying to find more confirmation for his inner feeling that the largest patch of land was the right starting point. Whistler responded affirmatively.
"Got it," Corran muttered, looking again at the map generated from the scan data.
Most of Jomark's natives lived on the continent's coast, which wasn't strange given the land-to-ocean ratio. However, there was something else. Several settlements, more like districts of one big town, were located on the shore of an almost perfectly round lake in the center of the continent.
But that wasn't quite a lake. It was a pit left by a collapsed mountain. And the island in the center of the lake was the peak of a smaller mountain rising from the center of that pit. Given the mountainous terrain around, one could assume a volcanic origin for this place.
A desolate mountainous region, difficult for locals to access, and the planet itself was of no interest to the Empire. A very suitable spot for a Jedi who wanted to live as a hermit and not become a target for hunting. However, the scanners hadn't detected anything resembling a spaceship. Then again, maybe he'd been delivered here. Or dropped in an escape pod. Or he'd destroyed the ship himself so nothing would indicate this world's technological level.
"We'll start with the settlement on the island," Corran decided, marking it on the display. "Keep an eye on the sensors and let me know if you see anything interesting."
The droid chirped questioningly and worriedly.
"Yes, of course, if anything suspicious comes up, let me know too."
He found a landing spot fairly quickly — not the largest building, very unassuming in appearance, clearly built without any high technology. But right in front of it was a spacious area big enough for a fighter to land.
It was clearly a residential house, standing in a small yard fenced with a fence that seemed more decorative than defensive. Killing his speed, Corran turned the X-wing parallel to the fence and set it down a couple of meters outside the only gate.
He hadn't finished powering down the fighter's systems when he first felt a presence, too impressive in its aura of power. Then came the droid's warning squeal, which made him look up from the instrument panel.
A man stood at the gate of the house, watching them.
A gray-haired man, all the hair on his face blowing in the wind. Despite the distance, Corran could feel the man's attentive and disapproving gaze fixed directly on him.
The man wore a dark brown cloak over dark gray robes, somewhat similar to those worn by Jedi of the past — if the pictures circulating on the HoloNet were to be believed.
Corran's heart skipped a beat. Joruus C'baoth was meeting him in person. And the Corellian had no doubt he was right about this sentient's identity. Logic? No, it wasn't logic that told him. Just intuition.
He pulled off his helmet, threw back the canopy, and jumped lightly to the ground.
The old man didn't move. Corran, overcoming his initial tremor, ostentatiously adjusted his blaster, then easily and casually, not letting his greeter think he was some farm boy from Tatooine hungry for forbidden knowledge, walked up to the man.
"Master C'baoth, I presume?" he inquired.
The man measured him with a disapproving look.
"Yes," he said. "You're late, Corran Horn."
"I didn't know we had a race," the Corellian admitted.
"Time is the only commodity that cannot be replenished," the old man said pompously. And Horn realized this wasn't going to be easy. "You should have arrived much earlier!"
"The route here wasn't the easiest…" Corran began, provoking his interlocutor into saying more. He needed more information.
"I gave you all the necessary information," the old man's voice held indignation. His hands rose to chest level and grabbed his beard. No, not the hair, but a medallion the hair was concealing. "You have much to learn before you become a Jedi."
"Wrong, old-timer," Corran smiled. "Jedi-ism isn't my thing. I need to know where my wife is. You said you had that information. I need answers."
"I need a student," the old man cut him off. Horn's eyebrows rose. C'baoth, as if not noticing the surprise on his face, turned his back and strode away from the house. Corran, after a moment's thought, gave Whistler orders to guard the X-wing and ran after the Jedi.
"I sense potential in you. Significantly greater than in all those I've dealt with before," the gray-haired man said as soon as Corran was beside him.
It seemed C'baoth had already tried to lure some Force-sensitive sentients here in the past. If so, why hadn't he contacted Skywalker? Corran certainly wasn't stronger than the Tatooine native.
Or maybe C'baoth didn't know Skywalker existed. If so, there was no point in advertising that name. It would be a trump card to play at the right moment.
"Well," Corran spread his hands. "I'm only here to find my wife."
"Why?" C'baoth asked. The question caught the Corellian off guard.
"Because she's my wife…"
His interlocutor narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Wrong answer," he said.
"What do you mean, 'wrong'?" Horn asked indignantly. "My wife's disappearance is what concerns me."
"Your weakness should worry you," C'baoth snorted.
"I have enough strength to—"
"If you have it, then why is your wife missing?"
The Corellian clenched his hands into fists.
"Because circumstances were stronger than me."
"Why?"
What are you, a protocol droid stuck on repeat?!
"Because someone decided to take her from me!"
"You lost your wife because you're weak," C'baoth said harshly. "If you were a Jedi, you could solve all your problems in the blink of an eye."
"They say the Jedi of the past weren't weaklings," Corran countered. "But it didn't help them."
"Don't listen to those who don't know what they're talking about," the Jedi declared. "The Order was weak and didn't realize it. A true Jedi knows how to control himself, his people, and the events happening around him. Always."
"Listening to you, I'd think you could have beaten the Emperor and Darth Vader," Corran said mockingly.
"Before trying to provoke me, think about where Vader and the Emperor are now, and where I am," C'baoth said meaningfully.
There was no arguing with that.
"Fine," Corran decided to try a clever approach. "You tell me where my wife is, I'll find and free her, then I'll come back and study under you."
"Don't bargain with me, Jedi Horn," the Jedi said sharply. "I knew your wife was abducted, and you didn't. I know where to find her — you don't. Only with my help can you locate and free her."
"I have a better idea," Horn smiled. "Let's do it together. Since it so happens that I'm this distrustful, maybe we could free my wife first, I'll be convinced you're not feeding me vacuum for cargo holds, and then we continue training?"
"It's not your place to bargain with me, Jedi Horn," C'baoth cut him off. "The Force is with you, but right now you can sense it about as well as a utensil can taste a dish. And just like a utensil, you're currently merely a tool in someone else's hands. You're being manipulated and forced to do things you don't want to do. Training under me will give you the abilities you need to defeat your enemies, free your wife from captivity, and take your rightful place as a Jedi in the galaxy."
Wow. Quite the speech. Grandiose, contemptuous of everyone else. Any moment now and he'd be talking about Jedi being a superior race.
"And what place do Jedi have in the galaxy?" Horn inquired. "I've heard that the Knights of the Jedi Order served and protected sentients..."
"And where are they now?" C'baoth snorted dismissively. "No, Jedi Horn. People like us should rule and guide, not submit to ordinary sentients."
W-e-e-ell... it didn't take long for the crap to start leaking through the cracks.
Now it was clear why this individual hadn't contacted Skywalker. Such a proper and perfectly ideal person as a Republic Jedi might not have tolerated it, slashing C'baoth with a lightsaber. Or was Horn thinking too highly of him?
"I've heard speeches like that somewhere before," Corran tapped his chin with a finger. "Granted, they didn't sound quite the same, and they didn't come from a Jedi, but the general meaning was the same..."
For another minute, C'baoth seemed to study him. Then the severity unexpectedly vanished from his face.
"I will give you everything you need to find your wife," he said, and the wrinkles on his face formed into a smile. "That's what should concern you most right now."
"What concerns me is my wife's condition and location," Corran cut in. And possibly a tribunal, but that wasn't the priority. "Tell me where she is, and I'll—"
"And what will you do?" C'baoth inquired mockingly. "I told you where I am. How long did it take you to fly here?"
More than half those days had been spent figuring out whether this was a trap or not, and searching for the right information. For the first time since arriving on Jomark, Corran felt like laughing. So much so that he momentarily lost his focus — one of those exercises his father had taught him. Because it was genuinely funny listening to all this nonsense. But he wasn't about to tell C'baoth that and...
"You've wasted so much time that it provokes nothing but irritation in me," the Jedi snapped. "Do you think if I wanted to lure you into a trap, I'd need any tricks? I am a Jedi Master! I don't need all these devices. And you wouldn't need them either if you were training under me!"
So... that was bad. It seemed this old man could read minds. Probably when Corran momentarily lost control, C'baoth managed to slip into his thoughts. Or had he been there the whole time?
"I have no need to stoop to invading your thoughts, Jedi Horn," C'baoth snorted. "It's written all over your face."
Really? In the past, people had told him his emotional control was quite good.
"Now you know how pathetic and weak you are, Jedi Horn," C'baoth said. "Without my wisdom and power, you cannot find your wife. You will merely play your part in someone's plan."
"Whose plan?" Corran shot back.
He had the feeling he was walking on quicksand. It was hard to keep up with these sudden mood swings and abrupt topic changes. Was this the result of C'baoth's isolation? Or was he simply insane?
"The Imperials'," C'baoth said. "You do know the Empire exterminated the Jedi?"
"Yes," Corran said. "The Emperor, Vader, and their fanatics did a thorough job at that."
"They weren't alone," the old man declared. "They had servants — dark Jedi." Quite a revelation! Apparently the New Republic didn't even suspect that opponents of that caliber could have survived. "I fought one such," the old man's gaze grew distant, as if he'd plunged into memories. "And I won. Many years ago. But the Jedi can be reborn again. You and I have a chance to rebuild everything from scratch."
C'baot returned from his reverie and fixed Corran with an intent stare.
"The Jedi are in danger," he said pensively. "I fought a dark Jedi and defeated him. I fought half-trained fools who thought themselves Sith — and I defeated almost all of them. But their tribe still lives, and their thoughts are black as night. They intend to kill the Jedi — this Jensaarai — because the Jedi once wiped out the leaders of that sect. Your grandfather died in the war with them." Corran felt anger and despair boiling inside him. "I need you so the Jedi can be reborn. But first, you must be trained. And the threats to our greatness must be eliminated."
"I'm not sure Jedi should be making preemptive strikes," Corran said. Despite his desire to avenge his grandfather's killers and tormentors, he knew that desire was wrong. In his time, he'd found his father's murderer. And despite the gnawing need for revenge and vigilante justice, he'd thrown the scoundrel in prison. Because that was the right thing to do. No one has the right to judge and sentence except those lawfully authorized to do so. Everything else was nothing but arbitrary rule.
"Just because I call you a Jedi doesn't mean you are one," C'baoth said. "You have no way of knowing how Jedi should act. Those who adhered to a peaceful concept of existence — they died. I am alive, the last of the Jedi. I know what Jedi should be. And you will become the first of a new generation!"
"Isn't it a bit presumptuous to act on the 'I survived, therefore I'm right' principle?" Corran asked. "It reeks of radicalism."
"Jedi have been considered beggars and fanatics for thousands of years, despised and hated," C'baoth spat angrily. "And in the end, they were destroyed. Do you think your grandfather, Halcyon, died so that his murderers could survive?"
"I doubt you have any right to speak about my ancestor," Corran said firmly, realizing only at that moment that he'd already arrived on the island in the center of the lake. Next to a huge, ugly castle. Glancing toward his ship, he realized he couldn't see his X-wing from this position. Well, no matter. Whistler had been left in charge before. If anything happened, he could contact Horn through the comlink. "I don't think you even knew him."
"I don't need to know a person personally to have an opinion about him and evaluate his actions," C'baoth cut in. "I have information about your ancestor. And about how you escaped from Imperial captivity after discovering your ancestor's lightsaber," he pointed to the hilt hanging from the pilot's belt. Corran reflexively gripped the hilt with his fingers.
The old man was well-informed. The New Republic's reporters had widely publicized those events, boosting the already considerable popularity of Rogue Squadron and reaping rewards in the information war against the Imperial remnants. Though Corran thought Jomark was too far from the center of events for news about the capture of Coruscant, his imprisonment on the Lusankya, and his almost miraculous rescue to reach such a backwater. Then again, why was he surprised? Years had passed.
"Is that why you chose me as your student?" he asked. "Because I found my grandfather's sword?"
"The information I was given about you is quite intriguing." "Was given"? Who? What information? Corran felt his intuition start to grumble disapprovingly, telling him that problems were about to take their familiar shape. "But you're completely wrong. You didn't find that sword. The Force led you to it."
Yes, Skywalker had said the same thing.
"Go ahead and tell me the Force led me to you too."
"No," C'baoth answered sharply. "You ended up here because I called you."
Actually, I'm here because I need to find my wife.
"But... you did it through the Force, didn't you?"
"The Force is merely energy that permeates all living things," the old man said in a stern tone, not even looking at him. "To be a Jedi is to serve the Force. We serve it by commanding it, turning to it for power. Yes, I summoned you by turning to the Force. And you ended up here."
"I understand," Corran nodded again, though to his great regret, he didn't understand anything. And he caught himself thinking that every time he responded to the Jedi's words, he... nodded. He didn't agree, but he nodded.
It seemed that consciously, he filtered the Jedi's words through the lens of logic and his own experience. But his body and subconscious absorbed the information directly.
Maybe C'baoth should be understood figuratively? Maybe the old man was simply inarticulate and couldn't properly express his thoughts, which was why the conscious mind resisted while the subconscious grasped the essence? Jedi could supposedly do such things... After all, he'd once managed, without even knowing he was a Jedi, to convince a stormtrooper he was somewhere else! He had. And that stormtrooper had been looking right at the prisoner who'd escaped from the Lusankya. And the stormtrooper was from there too. If not for the Force, as he later understood, nothing could have swayed a stormtrooper who'd been given a direct order to find and return a specific prisoner.
"C'baoth, when you say..."
"Address me as Teacher C'baoth!" the Jedi said. Teacher? Seriously? Was he back in school again?
But the Corellian didn't argue, knowing it would only make getting information harder.
"Forgive me, Teacher C'baoth," he said like an obedient schoolboy. "But I'd like to know why you summoned me specifically..."
"I have five reasons for that," C'baoth interrupted him again. "First: I know about you and I know who you are. Second: you're in trouble and you'll die if you don't acquire my knowledge and experience. Third: you have the motivation to begin training as quickly as possible. Fourth: you're stubborn enough to understand a simple idea — the longer you test my patience, the longer the answers to your questions will remain out of reach. And fifth... I need your help."
Corran stopped, watching the old man enter the building. What kind of help? To wipe out those... Jensaarai? No, kindly excuse him, he was a pilot, not a butcher.
"What help are you asking for?" Corran inquired, following him inside. He didn't like it in there. Like a semi-dark crypt.
C'baoth smiled painfully as he looked at him. In the light of the fireplace, casting shadows across the old man's face, his eyes suddenly looked very tired.
"My life is coming to an end, Jedi Horn. Soon my body will cease to exist, and my consciousness will embark on its final journey."
It was said in such a sad voice, full of pain and suffering, that everything inside Corran went still. His heart clenched with pity for the Jedi. He was dying?! But how, why?
"I'm very sorry," was all he could manage to say, and think as well.
"Such is the natural order of things," C'baoth shrugged, which disconcerted Corran even more. "And there are no exceptions for Jedi. Your life's path has only just begun. Losses and joys await you. Don't let them turn your head and distract you from what's important."
Corran stood there, unable to say anything. His father had died in his arms. Squadron mates had perished, leaving only memories that faded over time, crowded out by other losses. This wasn't an experience he wanted to repeat.
"How can I help?" he asked quietly. His voice sounded very, very hoarse.
"Learn from me," C'baoth said calmly, looking him straight in the eye. "Absorb my wisdom and remember the lessons I will teach you. In the time I have left, you will master Jedi knowledge, becoming stronger and more powerful. In time, all the secrets of existence will be revealed to you, and as my heir, you will be able to pass supreme judgment upon your enemies."
"I understand," Corran nodded, feeling for a moment as if he'd fallen into some kind of trance. "But, you understand, I have my own affairs that I must..."
"And are you ready for that?" C'baoth asked, raising an eyebrow. "You spent many days preparing to meet me. And here I am alone. An old man whose best years are behind him. Do you think the enemy holding your wife captive is the same?"
"Well... no," Corran faltered. He didn't want to argue with the old man. He didn't have much time left without the added stress.
"Who will you help by rushing off to find her headlong?" C'baoth inquired. "You'll only die. And the Jedi will fade away forever. Is that what you want?"
All extraneous thoughts not related to training seemed to fly out of his head.
"That would be too selfish of me," he said. Up until now, he'd been acting like a CorSec operative, following a trail. But what if C'baoth was right and he needed Jedi Force powers to find Mirax, to free her?
"Selfishness is not the Jedi way," C'baoth noted. "We shape the destinies of others because we are stronger and more powerful than them. Remember that, Corran Horn."
"But... we could join the New Republic and fight against the Empire..." Corran said, wincing at how pathetic his own words sounded.
"Why?" C'baoth asked kindly.
Corran was flustered. The reasons had always seemed so obvious to him that he'd never really thought about them.
"Um... fighting tyranny... So all peoples are free... So justice prevails across the Galaxy."
"Is that why you joined the New Republic, Corran Horn?" Joruus C'baoth inquired.
"No," perhaps for the first time in years, he admitted it to himself. "The Empire and Corellia had a bounty on me. The only place I could find a home and take revenge on my enemies was the Rebel Alliance."
"You speak of lofty ideals, but your path is not marked by them," the Jedi declared. "You entered their service because it was convenient for you. And you're not alone. Millions serve the Empire and the New Republic because it benefits them at the moment. That is why absolute power is ephemeral. Only what you can directly control matters — a people, its development, an army, if it becomes close to you. Justice," C'baoth thoughtfully savored the word. "Do not seek justice for lesser beings," he pointed his right thumb at his own chest, then jabbed his index finger toward Corran. "Jedi — you and I, and those who will follow us — that is where true justice in the Galaxy lies. We two, and the new generation of Jedi we will raise to replace us in our own image and likeness. Leave the petty battles to others and prepare for a great future."
Corran opened his mouth to object, but Whistler's chirping and the subsequent crash outside that reached him knocked all thoughts from his head.
Springing into motion, tormented by unpleasant premonitions, he rushed outside. From the gate, he couldn't see his landing site, so he ran back along the path. It took him just a few seconds. Fifteen, to be precise. One glance was enough to realize the most tragic thing that had happened — where he'd left his X-wing and his astromech droid, there was now only a crater engulfed in flames. The house nearby, the fence, and most of the lawn were fused into a single mass of slag.
Corran felt a wave of rage and fury rising inside him. Whistler, the only thing connecting him to his past, the X-wing he'd stolen from CorSec at the very beginning of his wanderings — everything was destroyed. As a pilot, he knew exactly what the aftermath of a proton torpedo strike looked like.
But neither in the sunset sky nor in the reflections of the flames at the crash site did he see whoever had destroyed his ship and astromech. He didn't even smell any spent starship fuel in the air. And who could blow up a ship in ten seconds and vanish from sight without a trace? He couldn't even hear engine noise!!! No silhouette on the horizon! What kind of Jedi tricks were these?!
Exhausted, Corran fell to his knees.
"No..." he whispered barely audibly, still watching the wreckage of his ship burn.
"Learn to control your emotions, Jedi Horn," said Joruus C'baoth, who had somehow appeared beside him. The old man placed his hand on Corran's shoulder. "As I said, you are weak now. But you will grow stronger by training under me. The one who captured your wife is powerful, cunning, and merciless. And the longer you resist your destiny, the weaker you become."
Corran ground his teeth.
"I'm stuck here!" he said. "With you! The fighter was my only way out of here!"
"Didn't I demonstrate to you how one can get here, Jedi Horn?" Mockery danced in C'baoth's eyes. Corran felt a pang of conscience. Right, after all. A Jedi hadn't needed to leave Jomark to get him here.
"Well, fine," he said, looking at the Jedi. Thoughts about C'baoth's involvement in the ship's destruction raced through Corran's mind. But he had no proof. At least not yet. "Consider me agreed. Share your wisdom, Teacher C'baoth. And make it quick."
* * *
The unloading on Tangrene was dragging on. It felt like we'd delivered much less to the Star Destroyer than we'd taken on.
Still, extra time could always be put to good use.
"Report on the situation, Captain Steben," I requested, peering at the hologram of a not-young naval intelligence officer. Under his command at the moment were Noghri units — after they'd fallen out of favor, I'd stopped giving them orders personally. With the fleet's growth and the number of ongoing operations, passing orders through Captain Pellaeon to the "Death Commandos," as the reconnaissance and sabotage units from Honoghr were officially called, had become burdensome. As they say — everyone should have their calling.
Captain of Naval Intelligence, Steben.
"The Noghri unit on Jomark detonated proton torpedo warheads over a landing site," the captain reported in a raspy voice. "The tracking system registered an X-wing touchdown. The detonation was carried out remotely several minutes after living beings cleared the tracking zone."
Therefore, it could be assumed that Corran Horn was trapped on Jomark with Master C'baoth. Excellent. That meant the plan regarding the Terrik-Horn family was proceeding precisely, like clockwork. The abduction had been the trigger to lure out Booster Terrik and his allies. Lieutenant Horn had followed, breaking his chain. He was now pinned on Jomark, which simultaneously allowed us to manipulate Mrs. Terrik-Horn and keep the mad Jedi Master at a distance. Unless...
"Did the tracking equipment record the conversation between Corran Horn and Master C'baoth?" I inquired.
"Yes, sir, Grand Admiral," the captain said.
"Send me the data," I ordered. "Did Lieutenant Horn arrive alone?"
Thanks to Delta Source, it was reliably known that Horn had deserted alone. Though, thanks to the heroes of the Rebellion, his unauthorized absence had been turned into a legitimate order, but those were details. It was only a pity that Wedge Antilles hadn't joined him. Not that it mattered much for propaganda. Sentients could be convinced of anything if they were gullible enough and didn't trust the ruling caste. There were plenty of those across the galaxy. One merely needed to come up with a plausible enough "story" that wouldn't be easy to debunk.
"Alone, sir," Steben said. "The retreating Noghri unit detected no escort ships either in the atmosphere or in orbit around Jomark."
"C'baoth failed to detect them?" I inquired.
"Based on the information we currently possess — no, sir," the captain said. "The Noghri base was set up on a nearby island close to the continent. They have now retreated to a ship equipped with hybidium-based masking systems, using a pre-calculated launch vector. In orbit, they deactivated the mask and left the system under the guise of an ordinary freighter, returning to Honoghr. It can be stated that they were not detected."
Well, the first application of freighters equipped with masking systems had proven itself.
"The ambush preparations were not discovered by the local population?"
"No, sir. The Noghri arrived on the planet secretly. They frightened the locals enough with their nighttime intimidation tactics that the locals abandoned their homes located in the volcano's caldera. This made the mining work, which was carried out at night, easier. All this time, the locals never approached the structure on the island in the volcano's crater — in fact, never even approached the volcano itself. All work was completed before the magister arrived on the planet. The disappearance of the terror the moment Magister C'baoth arrived — the clone's rank grated on the ear. Especially considering what I knew: he was no magister at all. But I couldn't refute the clone's words, spoken in such a self-introduction, without raising questions about myself. It would be hard to name the source of my knowledge, and I couldn't allow my subordinates to start suspecting me of anything. The fact that during my conversation with Mara Jade in the throne room of the Moff's residence on Tangrene, I had walked on "incredibly thin ice" was enough. In that time, we managed to deploy surveillance systems, and now we can receive data in passive mode — all it takes is a ship appearing in orbit and an encrypted data exchange system to get surface data. I ordered that no satellite be placed in orbit to centralize the collected information, as that would compromise the entire surveillance operation.
"If the transmitters and spy equipment are discovered, nothing will point to us?" I inquired.
"No, sir," he said. "The equipment is standard, unmarked, available on the black market. Even if someone finds it and survives the self-destruct system's response, nothing will point to us."
"Did you install an alert system for the appearance of other ships in the system?" I inquired. I couldn't allow someone to fly to Horn's aid without our knowledge.
"Yes, sir," the officer's voice carried a hint of wounded pride. And rightly so — with my question I had shown doubt in his competence. But his feelings concerned me little — better to ask twice and get a reliable answer than to rely on them "following procedure" and later discover that someone's negligence had ruined the plans.
"Is there data on Hypori?" I clarified. The Noghri reconnaissance groups had been on the planet long enough, tracking the movements of Zann Consortium ships on the surface.
"Yes, sir," Steben replied. "After the Ambush at Rugosa, ten Keldabe-class battleships and six Crusader-class corvettes began standing guard in Hypori orbit."
Now that was interesting. As far as I remembered from the last report, there had been half as many before.
"Reason for the increase in the number of stationary ships?" I asked.
"Don't have the data, sir," the captain replied. "Probably they're afraid of an attack."
Well, they were right to be. Because soon we'd come for them.
But there were a few questions.
"I need technical data on those ships," I said. No, I had general information on those vessels — from my past life. But again, how long could I rely on data known only to me? After all, I didn't remember the number of guns, speed, shield strength ratings, and so on. And the technical specifications of the enemy's vessels were a crucial factor in the upcoming battles!
"Understood, sir," Steben said, clearly thinking. "At the moment I only have sensor data on the ships currently on combat duty in Hypori orbit — their appearance and some characteristics. We don't have any other information. Nor do we have specifications on ground equipment — in accordance with orders, the Noghri groups on the planet focused only on the droid production conveyor."
"Send me the data," I ordered. No, I wasn't going to study partial specifications. But I would look at the "pictures." Something told me Tyber Zann wasn't hiding in his den for no reason. Where had the additional ships for guarding Hypori come from? I was sure that if I was right about the Zann Consortium's capture of Rothana, then Tyber's fleet was growing. And probably being upgraded. "Start gathering detailed information on all possible Consortium equipment."
"Sent the data packets, sir," the scout said. A notification of data transfer appeared on my computer. "Grand Admiral, I request permission to go to Hypori personally. I'm sure that somewhere on the surface, the Consortium fighters have data on their ships. If not..."
"In that case, would it be easier for a human to infiltrate a ship than a Noghri?" I clarified. A generally correct assumption, if not for one fact. Tyber Zann was a character from a computer game set in the Star Wars universe. And if I remembered correctly, according to the game's storyline, his subordinates had attacked Honoghr and even subjugated it, recruiting 'Death Commandos' into their service. Was that true in my reality? "Don't jump to conclusions, Captain. Act according to circumstances," I said. "I need results. But not at the cost of jeopardizing the entire operation."
"Yes, sir!" The hologram saluted and faded away.
After waiting for the data to load, I opened the information packets. Three-dimensional copies of two ships appeared above the holographic projector.
Keldabe-class Battleship (Zann Consortium).
Crusader-class Corvette (Zann Consortium).
One glance at these vessels was enough to ask: "Is it worth looking for ten differences?"
Activating the holoprojector, I waited until Molo Himron showed me his focused face.
"I have a new assignment for you, Colonel," I said.
"It will be carried out, Grand Admiral," the head of intelligence assured me. "What is required of me and my men?"
I wanted to say: "Just a small matter." But sarcasm and humor were out of place here.
"Send people to the Mandalorian Sector," I ordered. "I need data on their technological developments — ground, air, and space equipment."
"I'll handle it personally, sir," the colonel said, instantly grasping the seriousness of the task.
"The governor of the planet New Cov most likely did not fulfill the agreement reached several weeks ago," I said. "We still haven't received the required amount of biomass. We need to determine if he was involved in the attack on our ships, and if so, give him his due. Activate your subordinates — the enemy must not know rest even when our fleet is not engaged in active combat. By my return to Tangrene, I need data on strikes against the enemy. Military targets only," I clarified.
"Orders understood," Himron reported in a steady voice. Most likely Palpatine was not mistaken when he said that this sentient was indeed a suitable operative for Imperial Intelligence. I hoped the personality matrices created in his image and likeness would turn out at least no worse. "Permission to proceed?"
"Get to it, Colonel." The hologram of my head of intelligence faded.
Left alone with my thoughts, I looked at the empty space above the door of my quarters.
Events were picking up speed...
The fleet was in a state of repair and refitting — and with such financial inflows, it would remain in that state for a very, very long time. Considering that the enemy had no intention of remaining a "statistician patiently waiting for his own demise," I should hurry to commission the prizes. Because I would need a great deal of strength to carry out the upcoming plans for phase two of my plan. Much more than I had planned. I needed to speed up.
I needed money. Lots of money.
It was time to start liquidating valuable trophy assets. And hold a couple of negotiations.
Should I try to "cut the sturgeon"? Or should I still acquire parts for the ships the old-fashioned way?
I needed more data.
* * *
"This is a 'deep shit' situation," Han commented after listening to his wife. Even her hologram looked upset.
"Admiral Ackbar's suspension is a hard step for all of us," the princess said. The volumetric projection of Lando standing next to her figure grimaced in disapproval.
"Actually, I meant that sticking me on board an Imperial Star Destroyer that I myself captured during the campaign against Zsinj — that's low," Han tried to smooth things over. But meeting his wife's eyes, he only spread his hands apologetically. "Sorry, it's nerves. You can't envy Ackbar."
"And what does Fey'lya have against him?" Lando inquired.
"Besides the fact that all of Ackbar's plans to capture the elusive Imperial task force only resulted in us losing ships and a significant number of Republican military personnel?" Leia asked grimly. The Calrissian sighed heavily.
"Well, yes, stupid question," he replied. "Still, Mon Mothma is not a stupid woman. She must understand that if a Grand Admiral of the Empire is really acting against us, anything is possible."
"Unfortunately, even that information, which Han reported, Fey'lya twisted to suit his own angle," the Alderaanian princess said. "If Han had reported it when he first heard it..."
"But I did report it," Solo remarked. "Just... not immediately."
"The Bothans are pushing that you didn't include that information in your report," the princess explained. "And if it's not in the official documents, it doesn't exist. Now the Bothans are presenting this data as an attempt to justify Ackbar in the public eye."
"That even sounds stupid," Han said. "Listen, try to explain a few simple things to Mothma. War isn't simple. Plans don't always work. How many plans did we come up with against Zsinj? How many worked? And in the end, that clever bastard outwitted us all and sat there, lying low..."
"Han," Calrissian said. "I don't think you should mention that incident in the context of Admiral Ackbar's situation."
"Why not?" Solo frowned, raising his eyes to the ceiling. Gray, like everything Imperial. Why, after capturing Imperial ships, weren't they repainted in soft tones, like inside Mon Calamari starships?
"Do you want to give Councilor Fey'lya another reason to bring new charges?" Leia asked. "But this time against you yourself."
"So where have I already left my tracks?" His fingers clenched into a fist, digging painfully into his palm.
"Fey'lya found a few of Ackbar's own mistakes enough to accuse him of high treason," his wife said. "And he, mind you, is the supreme commander. And you're just a general. Do you think he can twist the fact that you didn't finish off Zsinj in your time to his advantage?"
"Even though the opposite was announced," Calrissian added.
"But we did corner him in the end!" Solo protested.
"But not in that particular battle," Leia remarked. "Han, please, don't do anything stupid."
"At least not without me," Lando threw in. But the joke, as they say, "didn't land."
"Just do what Ackbar asked of you," Leia's voice pleaded. "Find the Imperials! That will help the admiral get out from under the accusation."
"Easy to say," Han grumbled. "Like there are signs every parsec."
"I agree, Leia," Solo's friend supported him. "Looking for their task force is like looking for fleas on a bantha. Especially after the failure of three trap groups, an order came from Ackbar's office on Coruscant to shut down this operation. And apparently, the initiator was no longer our Mon Calamari friend."
"Yes, Fey'lya pulled all fleets back to their bases with his very first order," Leia sighed. "He also ordered weapons returned to almost all the capital ships that were used in the cargo transport operation. Now only cruisers, escort frigates, and similarly sized vessels will be used."
Han closed his eyes and sighed heavily. As a man who had been involved in cargo transport for the last few years (yes, not always legally, but still!), he understood perfectly well that using vessels with less free internal space that could be stuffed with cargo would either lead to longer transport times for the same volume of goods, or to a complete paralysis of logistics and huge expenses. It was basic math! How much did it cost to maintain one disarmed Mon Calamari star cruiser? About fifty thousand credits a month — about the same for an Imperial-class Star Destroyer, assuming the ships didn't take damage in battles.
"Borsk Fey'lya, like a saboteur, acts exclusively against our interests," Solo grumbled. "So he'll stick us on bases now, we'll waste away on patrols, what will that accomplish?"
"Don't forget, that sneaky Bothan ordered patrol routes to be coordinated directly with his office," Lando said. "So first we have to develop them, considering the situation, then send them to him, get an edited version, make our corrections, and so on..."
"Considering the mountain of bureaucracy, I assume you won't be able to coordinate any movements with him at all," Leia said gloomily.
"I've already sent seven versions, not one has been accepted," Calrissian sighed.
"I knew it wasn't worth wasting time on this," Han scratched his head. "Maybe Ackbar shouldn't worry? Fey'lya clearly won't stay in this post long."
"What makes you think that?" the former smuggler's wife asked.
"Judge for yourself," Han said. "The Bothans are selling vacuum. What evidence of high treason do they have, besides military failures?"
"When you think about it, none," Lando picked up. "And it's easy to chalk up to simple military setbacks. And that's exactly where the information about the Grand Admiral of the Empire would come in handy. So if there's no evidence of treason, Ackbar simply misjudged his opponent."
"That's unlikely to find sympathy in the hearts of the families who lost their breadwinners in those failed operations," Leia winced. "Fey'lya is acting as state prosecutor from the armed forces. I suspect he's aiming for the position of chairman of the tribunal reviewing Ackbar's case."
"If I remember correctly, the last such high-profile case — related to the supposed involvement of Officer Wedge in the murder of that damned Corran Horn — included General Cracken on the tribunal," Han squinted. "Which means Ackbar has at least one ally."
"Without a unanimous tribunal decision, Fey'lya cannot deliver a guilty verdict," Lando confirmed.
"Yes, that's actually another piece of bad news I wanted to tell you," Organa-Solo sighed. "Cracken's involvement in developing Ackbar's operation allowed Fey'lya to obtain formal grounds to get the general suspended. I suspect it's for the duration of the investigation into Ackbar's case."
"What does that flea-ridden doormat think he's doing!?" Solo couldn't hold back, slamming his fist on the holoprojector. The holograms flickered and disappeared. Han turned toward the watch officers on the bridge, who were staring at their general in surprise.
"Junk Imperial tech," Solo explained to the crew, hitting the device with his fist again. The holograms returned.
"Something's wrong with the equipment," Han said with a strained smile. "Do we have no allies left in power at all?"
"If the Bothans aren't stopped, in a couple of weeks they'll seize power in the New Republic," Calrissian said grimly. "Han, I don't know about you, but if that happens, I'm definitely resigning. And I won't come back for any titles."
"We need to do something," Han said. "Hutt, I knew this assignment would tie our hands. I'm practically stuck at Eriadu, Lando at the rebuilding base on Ord Pardron... We can't do anything, just sit here and wait for news! What has happened to the fleet that we're turning into mere spectators?"
"I have one idea," Leia said.
"I'm sure I definitely won't like it, since you decided to tell me last," Han said, shaking his head. "What did you come up with?"
"Actually, it wasn't me," the Alderaanian princess said. "Fey'lya gave Cracken a free hand by suspending him from duty. The general grumbled for show, but was actually glad of the circumstances. As I understand, he intends to try to find Talon Karrde. With my help, of course."
"If he hasn't been killed after Rugosa," Calrissian said. "Since our Imperials leave no traces, anything is possible."
"How do you intend to find him?" Han demanded. "If he's really alive, he's holed up in a deep hole and won't show his face. And you, by the way, are about to give birth! Not to mention that that bastard has set an absolutely indecent price for his meager crumbs of information!"
"Han, I'm pregnant, not helpless," the princess said to her husband in that exact commanding tone he had first heard from her in the detention block of the first Death Star. Yes, that very time when she criticized him and Luke for having no plan. "I'm meeting with Cracken in an hour. He said he has a few ideas and wants to discuss them. I think he knows the location of the Talon, but..."
"Let me guess, he needs money?" Lando winced.
"You're as perceptive as always," Leia smiled tightly.
"You don't need to be a Jedi to figure that out," Calrissian said. "I heard that after some events, when Karrde suspected someone in his organization of betrayal, he started charging exorbitant prices for his services — for anything related to the Empire."
"It seems irrelevant," Han muttered. "Sweetheart, it seems to me that cooperating with someone who had Imperials in his crew is not the height of reliability. So I understand you want to buy information about the Imperials from him, strike them, and thereby try to get Ackbar off the hook?"
"In general terms, that's the idea. We simply have no choice, Han," Leia said, looking at Calrissian. "Lando, could you..."
"The New Republic is fleecing me," the dark-skinned man sighed. "All right, I have some savings. I'm not sure it'll be enough to pay for the Talon's services, but maybe at least it'll help negotiate credit. I'll contact Lobot, he'll deliver the money."
"You could just give them the account numbers and arrange access," Han suggested.
"Dear friend," Calrissian broke into a smile. "If you want to negotiate with an information broker, it's better to use cash. At least that shows the money exists. But if it's not enough, and we can't get Ackbar out and stuff the Bothans back into their sewer... then I'm afraid we won't have any chance of defeating the Imperials. They'll just pick us off one by one while we sit on our bases."
"I don't think it's that bad," Han said thoughtfully, stroking his chin. "We didn't consider one possibility for finding out whether a Grand Admiral is acting against us or some impostor."
"Han," Leia's eyes widened. "That's not what I think it is, is it?"
"You know me too well, sweetheart, to realize you're not wrong," the Corellian sighed. "I've been chatting with someone in intelligence... I think I should take leave and visit the planet Rathalay."