Nine years, six months, and twenty-four days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-fourth year, six months, and twenty-fourth day after the Great Resynchronization.
The Lambda-class shuttle had barely touched down with its landing struts on the landing pad carved into the mountain's bulk when Major Grodin Tierce was already descending the lowered boarding ramp toward the squad of stormtroopers waiting to receive him and his prisoner.
"Welcome to the facility, Major," General Covell said, stepping out from behind the white-armored soldiers.
"Thank you, General," Tierce replied reservedly. "I won't be long — just here to hand over the traitor."
He shoved the tall man in a black prisoner's jumpsuit in the back. The latter's head had been prudently covered with a black hood, and his hands and feet were bound with chains and cuffs, preventing any quick movement.
Approaching the prisoner, General Covell yanked the hood off, staring into a face well-known to every Imperial.
"So this is who you are, 'Grand Admiral' Octavian Grant," the commandant of the Mount Tantiss facility snorted, before replacing the hood. He chose to ignore the muffled sounds coming from behind the gag in the prisoner's mouth. "Deliver him to Laboratory Forty-Two," the General ordered, turning to face the stormtrooper squad leader. After rattling off the regulation response, the squad leader grabbed the prisoner's arm and, accompanied by eight soldiers, led him toward a distant passage leading into the mountain's depths.
"I will inform the Grand Admiral personally," Covell said, looking fearlessly into the eyes of the Imperial Guard standing behind him.
"As you wish," Grodin shrugged indifferently. Glancing at the nearby shuttles, around which groups of people in plain naval uniforms without insignia were gathered, he asked:
"A new batch of clones?"
General Covell gave a tight-lipped smile.
"That's beyond your security clearance, Major," he said, not even trying to hide the threat in his words. "You did as you were ordered. Good day."
"Yes, sir," in his past, clad in crimson and black, Grodin would have already been wiping the hangar floor with this pompous General, smearing him with blood and other bodily fluids that tend to flow from a vibropike piercing seventy different points on the human body.
Without saying goodbye, Major Tierce returned to his shuttle. The soldiers from the support squads sat silently in their seats, waiting for the moment their involvement would be needed again.
"We're lifting off," Grodin snapped, appearing in the cockpit. "Set course for Tangrene. Establish contact with the Chimaera and inform the Grand Admiral that there's personalized news of high importance waiting for him. I'll be in my quarters — patch the call through there."
That little General can think whatever he wants about himself and report to whomever he pleases.
Guardsmen always report to their master themselves.
* * *
The Chimaera materialized in realspace at the precisely designated time. And before everyone on the bridge unfolded the grim vista of the world Vjun. Its dark gray and swamp-green surfaces clearly indicated that this planet, located in the star system of the same name in the Niuri sector of the Outer Rim — classified by the Imperial astrogation guide as quadrant V-6 — had clearly endured no small number of catastrophes in the past.
The planet Vjun.
However, my attention was drawn far more strongly to an entirely different scene.
The moment the metric of hyperspace dissipated, another gray triangular hull of a warship appeared to the starboard side of the starship — a design that had instilled terror in the galaxy's inhabitants for the last few decades. And if it weren't for a few details, one might have assumed everything was fine with the Nemesis...
"Now it's clear why they've been silent all this time," Captain Pellaeon said, with poorly concealed emotions far removed from Jedi ideals. Not that he needed to follow those dogmas, anyway. "Crew!" he barked, addressing the watch on the bridge. "Battle stations! Launch fighters, establish a security perimeter around the Chimaera."
The sharp screams of the sirens hit our ears...
"There was a battle," I said, leaning forward and peering at the starship's silhouette and the debris around it. A very, very large amount of debris. "Judging by everything, that field of mangled hull plating and engines is all that remains of the Corellian escort corvette."
Both deflector shield generator spheres on the Star Destroyer were absent. The stern was torn open as if it had been rammed. The entire hull was scarred with multiple traces of impacts and breaches. The elevated axial superheavy turbolaser turrets were gone; the ion cannons and most of the port-side broadside weaponry facing us were destroyed. I doubted the starboard side was in any better shape. But what interested me most were the chunks of hull plating and armor that looked far too much like pieces of Imperial Star Destroyers. Over there, for instance, was clearly a forward section — or rather, the first ten meters or so of it.
And it would be one thing if that were a piece of the Nemesis...
"Multiple fighter and interceptor debris," Pellaeon immediately stated. "At least ten to fifteen squadrons."
"That's significantly more than the total number of small craft a Star Destroyer carries," I said. "Are there signs of life detected on the Nemesis?"
"Yes, sir, Grand Admiral!" came the voice of... Lieutenant Tschel. Turning in my chair, I looked at the dashing young officer, who simultaneously sported dark circles under his eyes, an impeccably pressed naval uniform, and a fine red web of burst capillaries in his eyes. "We're registering movement onboard. The solar ionization reactor is active, but they're not responding to hails."
"Lieutenant," Pellaeon said evenly. "Please note that Captain Schneider's ship currently looks like it's been swallowed by a sarlacc. And after your watch, report to the chief mechanic for an unscheduled certification on the location and function of the communication systems aboard an Imperial I-class Star Destroyer. Is the order clear?"
"Yes, sir," the Lieutenant replied in a lively but exhausted voice.
Pellaeon is browbeating the Lieutenant. Make a mental note. But file it away for later. There are more pressing tasks now.
"Send fighters to sweep around the Nemesis," I ordered. "And a forward recon team aboard the Star Destroyer. If there are survivors, we need to know what happened here since the last report from that ship."
"Yes, sir!" Pellaeon saluted, quickly moving to the pit and beginning to issue the corresponding orders in a low voice.
And now, a little logic, based on the principle that strength lies in hindsight.
The last reports from Mara Jade and Captain Schneider came in eight days ago. In them, both stated that the red-haired hellion insisted on dropping out of hyperspace early to begin reconnaissance.
Given the presence of Castle Bast — Vader's personal residence — on this planet, there's a strong suspicion that Mara Jade's caution was not unwarranted. The presence of debris only confirms this — whether they walked into an ambush or attacked first, the Nemesis's crew fought. Judging by the damage and debris, clearly against superior enemy forces.
The ship has lost its shields and communications; the engines are damaged. The hyperdrives — both primary and backup — are also damaged. Otherwise, they wouldn't still be here. Apparently, the hyperdrive-equipped shuttles and shuttles are either seriously damaged or destroyed — otherwise, they could have been used to contact us and report the situation. Also, a significant fact: not a single message has been received from the ship since then.
We didn't contact them because the ship was operating in nominally hostile territory, and transmissions are easy to trace. We could have given away the ship's position — if we hadn't already done so during the communication session eight days ago.
So, what's the bottom line?
Something or someone attacked the Nemesis so swiftly and rapidly that they didn't have time to report it. I do not believe that Jade or Schneider deliberately neglected to follow orders and engaged a clearly superior enemy without informing command.
And I also want to punch myself in the face for this oversight — what would it have cost to 'drop in' on Vjun when we were heading for Hast? We were flying the same route! But no, I prioritized differently... priorities where attacking the shipyards and capturing prizes outweighed the fate of the Vjun operation...
This is exactly what I was thinking about after the victory at Hast. Mistakes that go to your head and lead to defeat.
A failure that could have been avoided if I had controlled the entire situation unfolding in the galaxy and around my forces completely. And there would have been no problem if a real Thrawn had been in my place. Someone who could keep everything in his head and didn't need any staffs or advisors...
I may have inherited his physiology, but not his skills. No matter how hard I try, I simply cannot keep the overall picture in my head. I'm not at that level yet. Or maybe I never will be. I can work out a specific situation down to the last detail. The level of manipulation of enemies — real and hypothetical — that I outlined to Pellaeon during the flight amazed even the seasoned soldier.
And the current situation clearly illustrates the truth of his words — how do individual acts tie into the overall concept of the plan? Without a doubt, each of my plans has points of intersection, but that's the problem — they are just points of contact, not the ideal structure I would like to achieve. The condition of the Nemesis is direct proof that, by concentrating on solving one problem, I lost sight of everything else. I effectively left the resolution of the Vjun problem to the consciences of Mara Jade and Captain Schneider instead of continuing to control everything that was happening.
I decided that two months of active operations and victories were enough to consider my subordinates sufficiently autonomous to handle current situations. And I slipped up...
What's the conclusion? The system where I just set tasks and checked in on their execution from time to time, so-called 'when convenient,' doesn't work. That's the path to failure. I need to keep my finger on the pulse. And pay more attention to working out the details of operations that aren't under my direct command. And yet, not so long ago, Captain Mor was arguing to me that tactical initiative is the prerogative of the Star Destroyer commanders, i.e., the direct executors.
Two sides of the same coin. And a reminder that I absolutely should not judge all my subordinates equally. Some of them can handle the assigned task; some cannot. Hast demonstrated this most vividly...
And now, Vjun...
I clearly overlooked the fact that other Imperial warlords might know about the existence of Castle Bast. Obviously, the battle was with them. And if so, I need to take immediate measures against possible consequences — secure Tangrene.
"Captain Pellaeon," I addressed Pellaeon, maintaining calm in my voice.
I cannot let anyone know that I am panicking. That would raise big questions from the crew. At the very least, questions about the discrepancy between my behavior and that of the real Thrawn in similar situations. Subordinates very easily sense changes in their command's moods and behavior. Planting doubts in them by starting to act or behave radically differently than the real Thrawn would — that would bury everything I've achieved over this entire time. For the 'ride into the sunset' to work as planned, my subordinates must have no questions about me. The idea must be reinforced in their minds that I, and only I, can defeat the New Republic and other enemies. I must continue the 'policy' that will make my subordinates understand that we don't need any other Imperials and that only our path is the right one. And for that, again, they must not doubt me. It took immense effort just to win over Pellaeon, Ferrus, Reyes, Tierce, Himron — and they're just the command staff. Securing the support and absolute loyalty of subordinates, especially such a large number, is no simple task.
"Contact Moff Ferrus. He must immediately move the asteroids into position and activate the cloaking fields."
That's what those asteroids were created for. There are plenty of other uses for them, but for now, we'll stick with this.
"Sir?" Pellaeon asked in surprise.
"Our mission on Vjun didn't go as planned, Captain," I explained. "Whoever our enemy who fought the Nemesis is, they may already possess data on the location of our main base. And they will certainly attack it — at any moment when we least expect it. Our fleet and base personnel on Tangrene must be prepared for this."
"But then our ships moving from Hast will be caught in a trap," the Chimaera's commander reminded me.
"Warn them about the change in our security system," I ordered. "The safe fairway for ships to pass between the invisible asteroids can be easily tracked using the gravitational crystal lattice installed at our shipyard."
Gilad nodded silently and continued issuing orders.
And his last words sparked a thought.
The fact that the orbital shipyard had equipment for tracking invisible ships and objects was undoubtedly known to Pellaeon. And to every other fleet commander. But I had to remind them of this...
Consequently, this is direct proof that I am not the only one overlooking answers that are literally right under our noses. And for some reason, I remembered an episode from the Thrawn Trilogy books, when the Grand Admiral arrived on Honoghr to meet with the matriarchs. There, he learned that wookiee fur had been found on one of the Noghri's ships. Thrawn assumed the Noghri had been captured by the people of Kashyyyk, because a failed operation had taken place there. Thrawn was close to the truth. But if he had checked the fur for DNA, he would have discovered that if not all of it, then certainly a large portion, belonged to a single wookiee. Chewbacca...
And after that, Thrawn didn't pay proper attention to constant surveillance of the Noghri people, never even considered they might betray him... And he paid for it with his life.
So...
I felt a bead of sweat form on my forehead.
What if I've been thinking too highly of the real Thrawn? Yes, he is a tactical and strategic genius compared to the general run of Imperials, but he lost. And lost in a situation that could have been anticipated if he had, for example, a staff.
After all, the Grand Admiral said he didn't reject others' worthwhile ideas simply because they weren't his own. In some areas, I already have a staff, having delegated recruitment, financial, and political campaign support duties to Moff Ferrus. Chief Engineer Reyes handles the technical aspects, and Pellaeon is a walking fleet staff. And if you add that Captain Mor regularly sends me his observations... It really does smack of that classic 'staff' in the traditional sense. With one exception — all of these are unofficial initiatives.
Creating a full-fledged body to give me advice is a ruinous path. From the standpoint that it contradicts the behavior of the real Thrawn. And again, it all comes down to the need to conform... Indeed. You can't call a meeting, hear information from colleagues, listen to their comments and suggestions, like I could in my past life.
Without a doubt, I tried to stay informed about what was happening, but I received information strictly from each representative of the areas of activity of my forces: the fleet, intelligence and counterintelligence, industry and supply, repair units...
I tried to do what the real Thrawn would have done...
And I completely forgot the fact that his path led to failure and death.
I allowed myself a bitter, hidden smirk.
Vjun, huh? Mara Jade? One miscalculation, and my head immediately started working in a positive direction. But mistakes never come alone.
Take, for example, Molo Himron's prolonged silence... We didn't contact him either, for fear of blowing his cover.
What if that's also a failure?
Closing my eyes, I stroked the ysalamiri resting on my lap.
Calm down, calm down, Grand Admiral.
Maybe this isn't a failure yet. We'll panic when we receive (if we receive) the unpleasant facts. But this sobering slap in the face couldn't have come at a better time... I can only hope and pray that the consequences of my oversight won't be as 'painful' as they could have been. After all, any defeat, with a certain amount of skill, can be turned into at least a stalemate.
Of course, no one except me knows the full extent of my current plan for 'riding into the sunset.' Pellaeon is only familiar with the immediate tactical projections — and voicing the plans led to their potential improvement.
Mara Jade and Molo Himron know even less about my plans. But they hold critically important information for maintaining my cover.
Namely, the knowledge that Palpatine is alive. Or will be alive soon... And that I don't intend to work with him. And that's already a problem.
I made a mistake by telling those involved in operational work too much. That's a fuck-up... a failure.
So, right now, if the enemy who attacked the Nemesis is the one I just thought of, all I can do is hope that Mara Jade didn't fall into their hands alive.
"Grand Admiral, sir," came the excited voice of Officer Tschel. "The fighters and boarding party have reached the Nemesis."
"I need a full report, Lieutenant," I said dryly. "Save the suspense for off-duty time."
"Captain Schneider is requesting permission to come aboard," Tschel said. "And... the ground-based units of the Nemesis are in bad shape, sir. As is the Star Destroyer itself."
Indeed, after everything they'd seen, could anyone doubt it would turn out any other way?
"Arrange a meeting, Captain Pellaeon," I ordered, rising from my chair and glancing at the young man sitting modestly nearby.
"Follow me, Master Fodeum Sabre De'Luz. I will certainly have use for your talents in the near future."
* * *
The Dark Side of the Force is vast in this world.
It is like the water of a lake, with a man on a raft in the middle. And if one wishes, this water — beautiful and granting strength, power, the energy to destroy every obstacle in its path — can be drunk to one's fill.
Or else, one can drown in it.
Reynar's eyes snapped open.
It took him a moment to realize exactly where he was.
A meditation chamber, created by Darth Vader himself. And located directly within Bast Castle, built for the Sith Lord. A massive fortress, symbolizing the power and position of the Dark Lord within the hierarchy of the Galactic Empire.
A dead lord.
With a hiss, the chamber's doors slid open.
Reynar looked at the stormtrooper standing beside him in heavy armor.
A unit of the Galactic Empire's Stormtrooper Corps, specifically trained and prepared for service and combat operations on planets like Vjun. Where nature itself seeks to reject invaders…
This type of stormtrooper — a symbol that the Empire, always and everywhere, under any conditions, is ready to punish its enemies.
"A Star Destroyer has been detected in orbit," the stormtrooper said.
"And?" Reynar prompted, rising to his feet and cracking his stiff neck. He had meditated for too long, trying to find a clue in the Force on how to achieve what he wanted and obtain the answers he needed.
"The ship has been identified as the Chimaera, flagship of Grand Admiral Thrawn," the faceless, individuality-stripped soldier explained. Once, long ago, like in another lifetime, Reynar himself had been the same. Nameless, without a past, an unprincipled executor of another's will. Though, what had really changed now? He still did as he was ordered.
"Any word on our ships?" Reynar asked, running his hand over the lightsaber hanging at his belt. How simple… First one, now another…
"Negative, Commander." Reynar didn't like the answer.
"Contact Executor Sedriss immediately!" he ordered.
"We already have, Commander," the stormtrooper replied. "No response."
"The communications system is down?" Reynar frowned.
"Functional," the stormtrooper countered. "The frequency left for us to use is not operational."
"What?" For the first time in years — ever since he had joined the Inquisitorius — Reynar felt a flash of confusion. "What does that mean?!"
"I have no information, sir," the stormtrooper replied in the same indifferent tone.
The Inquisitor felt anger boiling inside him.
"But I understand what's going on," he rasped.
His throat felt as if an invisible Force was constricting it. If the Dark Lord Vader were alive, Reynar would undoubtedly have thought he was using his favorite trick, which also served as an elaborate method of execution.
But no. Here, in Bast Castle, there was no one who surpassed him in the Force.
His throat was tight for a completely different reason…
He understood everything.
He understood why Executor Sedriss QL and six other dark jedi from the Dark Side Elite had left Vjun, taking the shuttles and landing craft from the Nemesis after destroying the deployed legion loyal to Grand Admiral Thrawn.
He understood why all the secret equipment had been evacuated from Bast Castle.
He understood the nature of the order he had been given: to hold Bast Castle to the last, with a battalion of stormtroopers, and only a single communication channel to the Executor.
He understood why Sedriss QL had ordered him to use the emergency contact method only if ships belonging to the Grand Admiral's fleet appeared.
He understood why he had been the one to torture the former Hand of the Emperor, who had never broken under the pain.
He finally understood why he, a turncoat Inquisitor, had been left here in charge of Darth Vader's own residence.
Reynar Obscuro realized he had been betrayed.
Imperial Inquisitor Reynar Obscuro.
* * *
Captain Schneider, despite his bandaged head and most of his face, diligently maintained a posture of attention until he was offered a chair and ordered to give a detailed report.
"Immediately after my last report to you, Grand Admiral, we began scanning the system," he said. Judging by his expression, it hurt to speak. Which made sense, considering the fragments of the exploded panel had been pulled from his neck only a few days ago, after another operation in the ship's infirmary. "Scout droids were dispatched to Vjun. Despite the acidic atmosphere, they provided us with information that there were no forces whatsoever in Bast Castle or its outskirts on the planet…"
I sat across from the commander of the Nemesis, listening to his words and noting his behavior. So far, nothing fell outside the acceptable tolerances of physiognomy. The Jensaarai standing behind me also reported no lie detected in the Imperial Star Destroyer captain's words.
"…Lieutenant Jade ordered the landing and led it personally," the captain continued. "Immediately after the legion reached the surface, all contact with them was lost — both with the surface and beyond the star system. The ships didn't return either. A battle alert was called on the Nemesis. But no one attacked us. On the contrary, we detected two Lambdas heading toward the ship. The pilots reported communication malfunctions and equipment failures due to the acidic precipitation on the planet."
"And you didn't request their access codes?" Gilad, standing nearby, immediately asked.
"Don't insult my intelligence, Captain Pellaeon!" Von Schneider snapped. "I haven't been commanding a Star Destroyer since yesterday!"
"Enough," I said, addressing both officers. The Jensaarai standing behind me chuckled softly. No, I fully agreed with him. Grown men, officers, and they pick at each other like children. "Continue your report, Captain Schneider."
"Of course I requested the access codes," he said, throwing a fierce glare at Gilad, who quickly looked away. "Both primary and backup! They matched the current ones. And the pilots' voices were identified by the operations control center as belonging to our pilots. I authorized the landing…"
Given what planet we were in orbit of, you had to understand what might have happened.
"The pilots' voices didn't sound detached?" I asked.
"Excuse me?" Von Schneider blinked with his one unbandaged eye.
"Didn't you get the impression that the pilots were repeating phrases after someone?" I clarified.
The Nemesis commander thought for a moment. Then he nodded affirmatively.
Now it was clear. The pilots had been taken under control by Force-sensitive beings. "These aren't the droids you're looking for" and so on. It seemed I was only just beginning to realize how deeply mistaken I had been in thinking this planet had been idle until the arrival of the Disciples of Marka Ragnos.
"Continue."
"Right after the ships entered the main hangar, the boarding ramps opened and droids burst out," Schneider said.
"Separatist battle machines?" Pellaeon clarified.
"No," Schneider grimaced. "Ours. From the Dark Trooper project."
Now this made me deeply uncomfortable.
These were the droids capable of wiping out a small army with just a handful of units. They had appeared in a video game… featuring Kyle Katarn, I think. As far as I remembered, these battle-droids were manufactured exclusively aboard some kind of Super Star Destroyer that had been destroyed. Shouldn't that have put an end to the production of such war machines?
Or else…
There was logic in it.
The Dark Troopers had been brought to Vjun before the factory that produced them was destroyed. I remembered now. The ship was called the Arc Hammer. And it was destroyed somewhere between the Battle of Yavin and the Battle of Endor. But again, if I wasn't mistaken. So either there was a production facility for these machines of death somewhere, or the ones stationed on Vjun were those created before the Arc Hammer's destruction.
"Before we could organize a defense against the boarding parties, they used the shuttles to disable the long-range communications system and shot out our deflectors," Schneider continued. "Killed over a thousand of my men before they were destroyed. The shuttles, of course, we shot down. And then, two Procursator-class Star Destroyers arrived in orbit."
The familiar name caught my ear.
I had encountered them before — when I studied the data on Mount Tantiss. And there, among others, an image of this ship type appeared. They were weaker than a standard ISD — probably. No exact information, as it had been wiped clean by Palpatine's agents. But since these ships hadn't 'surfaced' anywhere until now, it meant I was right — Palpatine had dragged everything most deadly and most 'exotic' into his hole in the Deep Core, including small-production starships.
"I decided not to avoid the fight, since we didn't know the fate of the landing force," Schneider said quietly. "In terms of armament, the Procursators are inferior to the Imperials, on par with the Victories somewhere. But they can take a hit well, and they hit back hard. Without deflectors, we wouldn't have lasted long, so I had to do everything possible to get rid of them. They weren't going to leave, and the corvette kept preventing them from boarding my ship… until it was destroyed. We managed to give them a good pounding with bombers, but they didn't let up either. Despite casualties among the crew and damage to the ship, I destroyed both enemies. I was left without communication, without an air wing, without engines, without shields, and without the ability to jump into hyperspace — they took out the hyperdrives first," he explained. "For a while, we did repairs, looked for a way to contact the surface. And a day ago, we detected our shuttles leaving from the far side of the planet, and judging by the vector they took leaving the system, they were headed somewhere toward the Core Worlds, possibly even Coruscant."
Close, but no. They went straight to the Deep Core… And surely, there was nothing left in Bast Castle that could be of interest.
On the one hand, the events I knew of must have included something similar — the guarding of Vader's residence. And everything in the Castle remained there for a long time after the Battle of Endor, until various individuals 'got their hands' on these items. But my actions had almost certainly already affected the unfolding events, so it was no wonder there was nothing left on the planet that I would have liked to 'get my hands on.' Still, for now, it was just an assumption. I needed to check everything. Thoroughly.
"Since then, we've been trying to fix something — communications or engines — to either call for help or go get it ourselves, but both people and machinery are at their limit. We took a heavy beating," he summed up. "But after a couple of good repairs, we'll be ready to return to service and continue carrying out orders, sir," Captain Schneider finished his story.
"Contact Tangrene, Captain Pellaeon," I ordered, looking at the commander of my flagship Star Destroyer. "We need a transport with spare parts for the Nemesis. And support ships to guard the destroyer during repairs. Instruct the Spartan and the Stormhawk to break off their current missions and head to our system." The fleet traveling at the speed its third-class hyperdrive stations could achieve shouldn't be far from us now. "The Death's Head and the Inexorable are to proceed to Veylan and remain there until further orders."
Now there was no doubt — accidentally or deliberately, my operations had intersected with the actions of the Risen Palpatine's agents. If they had 'broken' Mara Jade, then the Mount Tantiss facility was compromised, and I could expect 'guests.'
"Return to your ship, Captain Schneider," I ordered. "Oversee the progress and completion of repair work. Report all problems immediately. Captain Pellaeon will allocate additional repair parties to you."
The man stood, saluted silently, and left the briefing room for the duty squadrons.
After Von Schneider left us, I turned and looked at the young Jensaarai. He shrugged, embarrassed:
"I didn't sense any attempt to lie," the young man replied. "But my abilities… are imperfect."
"We'll take it as fact that Captain Schneider isn't lying," I said. We had no better option for now. "Integrate trusted personnel into the repair teams, Captain Pellaeon. Have them discreetly question the Nemesis crew for details of what happened."
We'd cross-reference the scattered facts. If they repeated — it was most likely that everything happened as the Nemesis commander said. If not…
Easy. Don't get paranoid. There has to be a rational streak in everything. I couldn't dwell on what had happened. There was a war on; people died, equipment was damaged.
Von Schneider said the ships had left Vjun a day ago. The attack happened eight days ago. In that time, if Palpatine had wanted to, he would have sent reinforcements — which would have finished off the Nemesis. Or taken it by boarding.
Those same starships could have also evacuated the assets from the planet. But Palpatine's underlings chose a separate evacuation. Why?
Hard to say for certain. But if my memory on astronavigation didn't fail me, the only accessible route from the Deep Core to the known part of the galaxy passed through the Empress Teta system, the Foerost shipyards, and… Coruscant. Apparently, either Palpatine had another 'exit' from the Deep Core — which was doubtful, since this part of the galaxy was separated from the rest by gravitational anomalies, and hyperspace routes there and leading to it were nonexistent — or, more logically, Palpatine wasn't ready to send his ships through New Republic territory from the Deep Core prematurely. The New Republic had a fairly strong fleet in the Core Worlds. And they had ships equipped with gravity well generators. It would be enough to 'fish' a couple of atypically designed starships out of hyperspace, and the Risen Palpatine's cover would be compromised.
Still, I couldn't shake the assumption that he might have a base somewhere in the known part of the galaxy. And that these two Procursators had come from there. Well… In this situation, I had gotten an answer on how powerful these ships were. At least something…
I could no longer ignore this threat. My actions had led to serious consequences. I needed to know for certain what exactly Palpatine had. I had already considered comparing data on Imperial fleet deployment locations at the time of the Battle of Endor with information on ships held by the New Republic and the Imperial Remnants. It would be long, tedious, and not entirely accurate, primarily due to the lack of data on destroyed starships…
Still, I knew how to obtain the necessary information.
"Prepare a landing party and reconnaissance droids, Captain Pellaeon," I ordered. "It's time to clarify the fate of our stormtroopers from the Nemesis."
And also to find out the fate of Mara Jade — to understand the depth of the hole I had dug for myself.
* * *
Reynar Obscuro walked in complete silence through the dark corridors of Bast Castle, descending to the lower levels of the majestic structure, saturated with the energy of the Dark Side of the Force.
Bast Castle.
So familiar and known, it was present in his life like a second skin.
The Force had been his companion from birth. And it never let go for a single moment. Being sensitive to it was a gift. And a curse, at the same time.
He didn't see any stormtroopers or powerful droids — the Dark Troopers that had been here in great numbers until recently.
He had withdrawn the soldiers from the lower levels and the perimeter for the defense of Bast Castle, organizing a single line of defense directly within the walls of Darth Vader's own residence. And now they, endlessly loyal to him — who had guarded this fortress for six long years — awaited orders.
Whose meaning depended entirely on how successful the coming conversation would be.
And while his loyal battalion took up combat posts, waiting for the Chimaera's landing craft to fully secure the landing zones and not begin the assault, Reynar simply had to do what he intended before the bloodshed began.
He and his soldiers must not die in this battle. This was not their fight.
They had simply been used and abandoned.
They had to get out of here alive and disappear into the vastness of the galaxy. The Empire was no more. There were only the mad followers of the Sith, for whom he and his men were just another bargaining chip.
But they were wrong. Reynar Obscuro was not a figure who could be so easily discarded — used at their discretion and then left on Vjun to die in battle against the forces of Grand Admiral Thrawn, who had arrived to assess the situation and deal with those who had destroyed his men and tortured his trusted agent.
Perhaps the Force was merciful even to the followers of its Dark Side after all. Who knew what would have happened if the Nemesis crew and the Star Destroyer itself had been destroyed… Thrawn might not have even attempted to land on Vjun — he could have simply finished it all with an orbital strike from which there was no escape.
He reached the door he needed.
He listened to the Force, trying to sense in which part of the chamber the person he needed was. The energy of the Dark Side, overflowing Vjun, reached such immense levels within Bast Castle itself that few could master it. Sometimes it pressed down and clouded the vision so much that it made it impossible to sense anyone's presence nearby, even a few steps away…
But today, the Dark Side was his ally.
Crushing the lock with the Force, he literally tore the thin door panel from its frame — made of material capable of withstanding a laser cannon shot.
The dim light cast by the corridor's illumination was bright enough to cut through the chamber's darkness and illuminate its sparse furnishings.
Reynar stepped forward. He could barely restrain himself from the triumphant and promising smile that had greeted the inmate of this prison 'room' every time before he began torturing her.
There was no need to deny the obvious — this woman was beautiful. A pretty face, a gorgeous body, soft, silk-like red hair… That was how he had seen her the first time.
Now, before him sat a beaten, cut woman with matted hair, twisted fingers, a left leg broken in two places, and nails torn from her hands and feet. Reynar didn't need to examine her personally at the moment to know that this swollen body, colored with many shades of blue, purple, black, and yellow, belonged to…
"Mara Jade," he said, meeting the green fire of her eyes. Still just as defiant, challenging, refusing submission. He could break her for weeks, even months, but he understood that nothing — no torture, no pain — could make her talk, revealing the plans of her new master.
"Obscuro," she said in a hoarse voice. Reynar looked at her plump, broken lips, cracked from lack of water. And mentally cursed himself for not having foreseen this — the girl was given water only once a day, a small portion, to keep her in physiological need and slowly break her will to resist. If he had a flask of water with him, the conversation could have started differently… But the Inquisitorius hadn't taught him to care for sentient beings — only how to cause them pain and get what was needed from prisoners.
"I have come," he said, watching her reaction. Perhaps he would see at least a hint of fear in her eyes? That would be enough to apply pressure, make her talk and do what he needed.
"I see," her disfigured lips spread into a smile. "Shall we continue?"
He barely held back a flinch.
This woman shattered all his ideas about the distribution of roles between torturer and victim. Every time he broke people and non-humans, they shrieked hysterically, like sirens, begging him not to start the torture again… Naturally, he didn't listen, reveling in their pain.
But Mara Jade seemed to crave what was to happen to her…
Reynar wouldn't have been one of the Inquisitorius's best interrogators if he didn't understand that her behavior was nothing more than a psychological defense, aimed at depriving him of the pleasure of torture.
This woman — the former Hand of the Emperor, who had betrayed her master, failed to carry out his final order — perfectly understood the subtleties of the work of those Imperials who intended to extract information from prisoners. Surely, in the past, she herself had dabbled in something similar…
"No," he said firmly. "You will come with me upstairs."
"Only if you carry me, tattooed one," her lips twisted into a contemptuous smirk. "I'm not going anywhere on my own."
"Your leg doesn't hurt so much that you can't move," Reynar grimaced. "If you want to live — you'll come with me."
"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you." Was she mocking him?! "Something tells me you're scared, Inquisitor. And I'm more than certain you're scared for your own pathetic life."
"You talk too much." Reynar tore the lightsaber from his belt. His finger fell on the activation switch, and the air filled with a steady, synchronized hum of two crimson blades. "You either come with me, or you die!"
"I've always wanted to ask," the young woman tilted her head to the side, as if to get a better look at him. "Is a double-bladed lightsaber compensation for some kind of inadequacy?"
Why couldn't she just shut her mouth and follow him?!
"You little wretch," he hissed, stepping right up to her and bringing his lightsaber to her throat. Scarlet reflections fell across her battered face, giving it sinister features... And those green eyes... "I'll just kill you and be done with it!"
"Get in line, Inquisitor." She... laughed?! At a time like this?!
Reynar Obscuro took a step back, staring at the beaten and broken girl who was bursting with laughter, his expression full of bewilderment.
"What are you laughing at, traitor?!" he barked, pulling himself together. "I'm trying to save your life!"
Wiping the tears that had welled in her eyes, the girl looked at him as if he weren't an Inquisitor capable of killing her at any moment, but a circus performer...
"Well, that's something new." She grinned crookedly, causing the half-healed wound on her lower lip to start bleeding again. She licked it, as if tasting her own blood. "You know," she said, "I don't believe you. You won't dare kill me — Palpatine's servants will gut you for it, because he's the one who must punish me for my betrayal. Until then, I'm supposed to suffer so much that I'll beg the Emperor to finish me off..."
That's exactly what Executor Sedriss had said when the landing force from the Nemesis was completely wiped out and Mara Jade was taken captive, having lost her lightsaber in a fight against seven dark side adepts from the Dark Side Elite. She hadn't fought badly, of course — for someone who hadn't trained in years. But Sedriss and his six assistants had merely been toying with her, as if they couldn't believe circumstances had delivered the traitor to them.
"But you're afraid to defy your masters' will, Inquisitor," she continued. "For the same reason, you won't let me go, Obscuro — you're afraid of the reaction from your comrades. You, like everyone in the Inquisitorius, know how to torture, but you're terrified of ending up in your victims' place. You're nothing but cowards who chose to serve Palpatine and Vader just to save your own hides from execution..."
"You're wrong," Reynar assured her, baring his teeth like a rancor. "I joined the Inquisitorius of my own free will. And I'm here with only one goal — either we come to an agreement and you have me and my people evacuated from the planet by your grand admiral's troops without interference, or I kill you here and now."
For a few seconds, she just stayed silent. Then, her voice dripping with satisfaction, she said:
"So Thrawn is already here... Now I understand why you're so panicked, Inquisitor. Afraid that now you'll be the one on the interrogator's end."
Reynar didn't see fit to answer her. But she didn't need one — both of them understood perfectly well that the red-haired beast was as close to the truth as possible.
"So, do we have a deal, traitor?" he asked, holding his breath.
Truth be told, he could have started negotiations with Thrawn himself, having gotten rid of Mara Jade. But he understood perfectly well that Thrawn wouldn't agree to a deal knowing his men had been wiped out. In that case, the prospect of orbital bombardment became far from imaginary.
Leaving her to rot here wasn't an option either — the Inquisitor had no doubt Thrawn was fully aware of the Emperor's Hand's status. Sedriss claimed the traitor was working for the grand admiral instead of serving her master. If that were true, then Thrawn wouldn't negotiate until he got back his most valuable asset from the entire ground landing force.
Oh, why couldn't Sedriss have brought the fleet here and waited for Thrawn as promised?! Sithspawn! Betrayal among allies came as easily to Palpatine's followers as speeches about the impending restoration of the Galactic Empire. Yes, by the Hutt's guts, why hadn't they destroyed this alien yet if they were sure he had betrayed the Empire and was nursing his own plans?! Hutt-spawned traitors! They'd fled and taken with them all traces of the offensive being prepared against the galaxy's worlds deep in the Core... His words about Sedriss and his henchmen, all those flattering speeches about the impending return of Emperor Palpatine — nothing but hot air. They were worthless. Useless and unsubstantiated.
Only one option remained — at least Reynar couldn't see any others.
Either extort ships for evacuation from Thrawn using Mara Jade as a hostage, or secure her support and shift the burden of negotiating with her command onto her. And, in the end, exchange her for an unimpeded escape route from the planet...
"You and your allies destroyed a legion of Thrawn's soldiers," Mara Jade hissed like a reptile. "I assure you, my life doesn't mean as much to him as you'd like to believe. What can you offer the grand admiral to save your own skin, Inquisitor?"
Nothing, Reynar thought grimly. Everything valuable that was here — Sedriss and the other dark Jedi hauled it away on shuttles and transports from the Nemesis. Dark troopers, Dark Side relics...
How deftly that beast had seized control of the conversation!
Reaching out to her with the Force, the man nearly cursed! So that was it?! That traitor was using the Force on him to see if he was telling the truth! That's why she was so sure he wasn't trying to deceive her! She'd been playing him this whole time, using the Force to read his emotions and foresee any trap!
Cunning beast!
Then again, they said Thrawn valued information.
If he truly was acting contrary to his Imperial oath, then information about the Dark Side Elite, about the property of Darth Vader taken from Bast Castle, and also the vague hints about the restoration of the Galaxy under Emperor Palpatine — who, it turned out, wasn't dead — might interest him.
And if Sedriss was wrong, then with his information, Reynar could persuade Thrawn and his fleet to join the coming campaign! And then the Inquisitor would surely be rewarded for his zeal!
"Emperor Palpatine is alive," he said. "And he's gathering an army in the Deep Core worlds. Soon he will attack the New Republic and all who have renounced their Imperial oath! I can tell many things that Sedriss revealed to me..."
"Then," a mocking smile appeared on the exhausted woman's lips, "you'd better make sure you're very informative. Because the grand admiral already knows what's happening on Byss without you..."
Reynar felt the floor drop out from under him... She wouldn't cooperate.
Now only the option of exchanging Jade for ships remained.
"However," the girl pretended to think, "I think you have something to offer Thrawn to save your worthless life, Inquisitor."
"And the lives of my soldiers," he said, swallowing the mockery in her words.
"First, Inquisitor," she smiled so broadly that all the wounds on her lips reopened, "accept the fact that they're no longer your soldiers..."
* * *
"Just under a month left," Alex reminded, meticulously checking the pyro cartridges.
"I know," Tomax replied calmly, continuing to cross-check the diagnostic readings.
"And the prototype still isn't ready for testing," the technician continued, finishing the connection to the cockpit ejection system.
"But it exists," Captain Bren tore himself away from his work for a moment to assess the Imperial specialist's actions. "Are you aware that the cockpit wiring still isn't connected to the panel?"
"I know," Alex didn't argue. "I'm standing on it, actually."
"If you crush even one wire and a fire breaks out..." Bren narrowed his eyes, his jaw muscles twitching. The technician shot him a mocking look.
"Don't flex your muscles, flyboy," he advised. "You know you can't win a fight."
"I'm an Imperial pilot," Tomax snorted, patting his holster. "I shoot, I don't brawl. And you, with a build like that, should be a stormtrooper, not a technician."
Alex, chuckling, shook his head to get his hair out of his eyes.
"I don't like the regulation haircut," he said, checking the indicator readings. "The cockpit ejection system is operational."
Imperial Technician Alex.
"We'll verify it in testing," Tomax promised. "The repulsor maneuvering system is also responding to the onboard computer's commands."
"Well, that's it," Alex smiled, taking a couple steps back and critically eyeing the long, streamlined fuselage of the prototype aircraft, bristling with waterfalls of multicolored wiring, unsecured modules, and elongated panels that the wind could freely pass through. "Could fly it right now."
The Imperial pilot, sitting on the upper part of the ship's skeletal frame, cast a critical eye over the experimental machine.
"You must be joking," he said. "There's no canopy glass, no solar panels, the cannons aren't connected..."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Alex shook his head. "And the bombing system hasn't been checked, the inertial compensator, the engine software, the missile launcher, the bomb or torpedo rails... But we've done most of the work."
"We need to work on the prototype properly," Tomax repeated. "If the grand admiral doesn't like how it performs in combat, the machine can just be left to rust in the farthest corner of the hangar."
"Are you always such a pessimist?" Alex inquired. "The machine actually turned out pretty good. The mathematical model shows high performance. So rest assured, your 'Scimitars' will definitely go into production."
"Which is exactly why you should stop slacking off and secure the wiring under the cockpit floor," Tomax said. "That's an order, mechanic."
"Technician," Alex corrected him. "And the only one you've been assigned, Captain, to indulge your engineering genius. The rest of the yard workers have more important things to do."
"Sometimes I regret making all of you subject to military service," Tomax sighed. "You former civilians don't understand discipline at all."
"But we do understand the guts of Imperial small craft," Alex countered, returning to the prototype. Ducking under the lower edge of the cockpit, he settled onto a rolling cart so he could work comfortably on the prototype's innards. The mechanism, not expecting such treachery from a human, creaked under the weight but held. "But, actually, I agree with the Chief Engineer — dual ion engines would have suited this better than a single model."
"Thanks to the modifications, this engine reaches a speed of thirteen hundred kilometers per hour in a vacuum," a hint of offense crept into the voice of the pilot — who was also the designer and driving force behind the prototype. "When
"I'm sure the creators of the TIE bomber thought the same," Alex replied, running the wiring into the ship's fuselage with practiced motions. "And what was the result?"
"For its time, Sienar's bomber was quite good," Bren countered. "But enemy technology moved forward, and ours didn't. Because our military officials prefer to save money rather than spend it on acquiring top-tier equipment. So, I'm confident that when we finish working on this machine, it will push the TIE bombers out of the hangars."
"I'll refrain from making any predictions until I see it with my own eyes," Alex declared. "The concept is solid. Especially the high speed, maneuverability, and the ejectable cockpit for the pilot and gunner. That's a huge leap forward for pilot survivability. But I'm honestly not sure the prototype can be built in sufficient numbers to replace the standard bombers. Production needs to be set up, parts manufactured, assembly lines... That'll take millions, if we're talking about a conveyor system."
"Assembling machines by hand is inefficient," Tomax stated. "Too expensive, too high a unit cost. We've already sunk two hundred and fifty thousand Imperial credits into building the prototype."
"For that sum, nobody would even build a standard bomber," Alex lamented. "Our only hope is to reduce costs through industrial assembly. If only we could stick deflector shields and a hyperdrive on this..."
"And we'd get an Imperial version of the 'crutch,'" Captain Bren laughed. "I'm done with the scanning and targeting systems."
"I've practically finished all the wiring," Alex shared his progress. "And 'crutches' those are the Republic's BTL-Bs, right?"
"The very same," Tomax confirmed. "The droids have arrived and are starting on the hull plating. How much longer do you need?"
"Just a couple dozen wires and conduits to secure," the Imperial technician said. "Yeah, those are powerful machines, but hardly a match for anything."
"The march of progress," came the captain's voice. "Obsolete equipment, used until it falls apart."
"Sound familiar, doesn't it?" Alex laughed, twisting together the wires transmitting signals from the cockpit to the launcher and securing them inside the fuselage.
The Imperial pilot remained meaningfully silent.
The Imperial technician grunted meaningfully to himself, continuing to fine-tune the electrical circuits and other systems of the new machine.
And the work on the "Scimitar" frontline bomber prototype continued...