Nine years, seven months, and five days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or year forty-four, seven months, and five days after the Great Resynchronization.
The planet Baroli was located in the star system of the same name. In the sector of the same name. And if the Imperial tactical astrochart's quadrant H-14, to which the planet belonged, had also been named Baroli, one would have to admit that the local population had a problem with imagination.
Exactly the same kind of problem they had with hair color options. Everywhere you looked—everyone had blue hair. No shades, no highlights—just blue. And it made you feel a little, just a tiny bit, nauseous and dizzy. As if you'd become a fruit that had fallen into a blue cocktail, the only one different from the rest.
So, to avoid unwanted stares and recognition, I had to cover my hair with a hood, in the manner of one of those human religions wandering the Expansion Region. Where, in fact, the planet Baroli had settled long ago. And these religions drifted from planet to planet along the Hydian Way—sometimes finding new followers, other times getting expelled by local governments. The reaction was always different. On Baroli, though, no one cared about various religions—the locals would visit the nomadic temples, watch and listen with enthusiasm, and then en masse adopt the new faith. And so it continued until new preachers showed up, when the cycle of folly repeated itself. Eventually, the missionaries decided not to waste time and resources on the naive Barolians and preferred to give the planet a wide berth.
Once upon a time, this world had joined the Old Republic without a single objection. Then it accepted the offer to merge with the Confederacy of Independent Systems. And after Imperial stormtroopers landed on the surface, the local government had thought that, actually, it wouldn't be a bad idea to switch allegiances yet again to a more authoritative government.
Why Baroli hadn't yet joined the New Republic remained a mystery to many. The soft-hearted, naive, and scatterbrained Barolians were so well-known for their "side-switching" throughout the sector that no one doubted they would once again fall into line behind a strong hand. Which, by the way, currently belonged to the new masters of Coruscant.
The cantina she needed was a small, welcoming, almost family-run place away from the busy main street. Just the way the target liked it.
There weren't many customers in the cantina, and finding the right person among the blue-haired Barolians wasn't difficult. He sat with his back to the entrance, studying something with interest on the screen of a personal, heavily modified deck. Alone. Not the slightest hint of backup or a panic button—I'd had to sweep the block several times to confirm that, provoking any possible observers. No one took the bait. It gave the impression that you could, with a clear conscience, climb onto the roof of the next building, assemble a sniper rifle in plain sight, blow the kid's brains out, and walk away without a hitch.
In the old days, they would never have left the encryption and cryptography genius of Talon Karrde's organization alone.
Zakarisz Ghent flinched, nearly cried out, and almost smashed his blue-haired head into his visitor's face when someone delicately tapped him on the shoulder. I had to react and push the blond (in every sense) head away from me.
"As careless as ever, Ghent," the visitor said, sitting down at the table across from him and looking expectantly at the "slicer." "You should close your mouth, or I can see your breakfast."
"Mara?!" the "slicer" whispered, eyes wide. "How?! Where?!"
"I don't think you need this drink anymore," the red-haired beauty said, demonstratively ignoring the barrage of questions, picking up the long-settled milky beverage and taking a couple of sips. "Awful. I told you before to eat properly. Judging by the menu, the food here isn't garbage."
"And the prices are steep..." the "slicer" muttered, settling back into his seat. "Oh, Mara, you don't know how glad I am that you're alive..."
"You don't know how much I want to box your ears for digging through Imperial databases," the Hand of Thrawn said with a disarming smile.
The blue-haired boy blushed.
"Sorry, I... Karrde said that after your meeting with the Grand Admiral on Myrkr, you went over to the Empire. And that you'd always been an Imperial spy..."
Zakarisz Ghent.
"'Talon,' as always, plays with information to his advantage," the girl sighed, leaning back into the comfortable booth and studying one of the best—most likely the best—computer slicers the galaxy had ever known. "I think you found quite a lot in the Imperial files, didn't you?"
"Before you were commissioned as a lieutenant in the Imperial Navy, there was no information about you at all," the young man with a boyish face told her. "After Myrkr, I searched on Karrde's orders. I found nothing."
"Nice when your life belongs only to you, isn't it, Ghent?" Jade asked with a smile.
"Well..." the boy glanced at his deck. Which clearly had a long-range comm module attached. And an encryption unit. The kid was definitely "cracking ice." And I had a pretty good idea whose. And on whose orders. "I can't disagree. Mara, but how did you survive?! The Imperial reports say you died from anaphylactic shock from an allergic reaction to bacta..."
"Ghent," Jade smiled. "I'm always amazed at how gullible you can be about everything written in official documents. Especially considering you've been 'cracking ice' for quite some time."
"So you're... alive?" the computer slicer asked suspiciously.
"If I slap you on the forehead right now, it will hurt," Jade said with her usual acerbic sarcasm.
The young man fearfully covered his tattooed forehead with his hands.
"Don't," he said, looking at her with pleading eyes. "I mean... I'm glad you're alive."
"And I'm glad you had the brains not to spread what you found in the Imperial files," Mara smiled. "Or am I wrong?"
The slicer licked his lips, looking around. So she was wrong. She knew the boy well.
"Who?" she asked.
"Mazzic," the "slicer" named his employer. "He..."
"A good business partner for Karrde's organization," the red-haired beast finished for him. "Thanks, but I know that. What exactly did you manage to tell him?"
"Um... Well..." the boy hesitated. "You know I can't reveal..."
"My blaster is aimed right at your stomach," the blue-haired youth broke into a sweat. He was always careless about details, so he'd probably only just now, after she'd made the threat clear, noticed that her right hand was hidden under the table. "Let's not turn a friendly meeting into a firefight, shall we?"
"I have backup," the boy tried to put on a brave face.
"Ghent, you know I don't like holding grudges against friends," Mara said to him with a smile. "But I hate even more being taken for a fool. Karrde treated me like that, and where is he now?"
"Where?" the boy asked inquisitively.
"Isn't that in the Imperial databases you're currently digging through?" Mara asked.
"Not a word," the big kid blinked. "I searched. Mazzic really wants to know what happened at Rugos."
"What a shame that not all Imperials work with databases constantly, isn't it?" Mara asked.
"Ahhh..." the boy drawled. "So that's how you found me."
"My employer also has a couple of good slicers in the encryption department," Jade explained vaguely. "But I know you too well, my friend, not to realize—after Karrde's organization fell apart, you'd definitely fly home. And work remotely. Does Mazzic pay a lot for Imperial secrets?"
"Less than Karrde," Ghent admitted.
"That's because he's saving up, hoping to take control of the 'Talon' organization," Mara explained. "That's why he hired you—to find out the fate of your former boss. He's afraid that if Karrde is still alive and manages to weasel out of the situation as always, he'll be very, very angry."
"Karrde is good at that," Ghent's face darkened. "Mara..."
"What?" the beauty raised an eyebrow.
"And you... are you going to kill me?" the boy asked in a trembling voice.
"Why would I do that?" she asked.
"Well... you work for the Empire," the boy licked his dry lips again. "And I've been digging through your files for a couple of days... Learning your secrets..."
"Learned much?" she asked with a smile.
"Not really," Ghent admitted. "Just that there really is a special Imperial operations group, and it's based somewhere in the New Territories."
"That's it?" Mara's voice carried displeasure. "And you didn't try to dig through the Imperial Remnant's databases?"
"Too scary," he admitted. "I tried once, on Karrde's orders, to break into the Yaga Minor systems... I barely escaped from a Star Destroyer that dropped right on top of us."
"Is that so," Jade snorted. "Karrde wanted to break into the Ubiqtorate's archives?"
"You know everything, don't you?" Ghent looked sad.
"I keep my finger on the pulse," Jade replied. "So, what are we going to do, dear Ghent?"
"Mmm... go our separate ways?" the "slicer" suggested with a naive smile. "I'll tell Mazzic I found nothing and I won't work for him anymore. And you won't shoot me..."
"Do you yourself believe that Mazzic, who has his eye on Karrde's place, will leave a specialist of your level alone? Someone who, at twelve years old, playfully cracked the Imperial ILKO encryption code used for communication between the Imperial Center and the first Death Star construction site?" Mara asked.
"Well... he can't force me," Ghent pouted. "Karrde never..."
"Mazzic isn't Karrde," Mara noted coldly. "And any other of his former 'allies' doesn't have the delicacy and the verbal skill to make people do what he wants, like 'Talon' does."
"Well, then I'll just fly far, far away," the boy said, disconnecting the extra modules from his portable computer.
"Ghent, my friend," Mara Jade's voice was a serpentine whisper. "I'll tell you a secret: events are brewing in the galaxy that you can't run from if you have the kind of knowledge and skills you do. Unless, of course, you're on one of the sides that can protect you."
"Then I'll stay with Mazzic," the bewildered "slicer" stammered. "He..."
."..is not the best option," Mara smiled. How tired she was of smiling. But it was the only way to get through to this naive young man. Only by showing sisterly care and protection. "He's in an illegal position, like all the other smugglers. He doesn't have the connections and hideouts across the galaxy that Karrde had. His strength is more than modest. The most he can do is spite the more serious 'players' in the galaxy. Then crawl into a smaller hole and wait for the storm to pass. Believe me—it won't pass if he crosses the line and sticks his nose where it doesn't belong. And he already has," she pointed at the deck Zakarisz was clutching to his chest. "Through you. Do you see where I'm going with this?"
"To the blaster under the tabletop?" Ghent asked in terror. Mara took a deep breath, barely restraining herself from rolling her eyes. She might have overdone it.
"To the fact that I'm here not so much to punish you, my little friend, for sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, but mostly to help you settle on the right side," she explained the reason for her appearance.
"You mean the Imperial side?" Ghent hiccupped in surprise.
"Formally—my employer wears an Imperial uniform," she agreed. "But in reality—he doesn't share its politics, its methods, and intends to act completely differently. And on his behalf, I'm offering you his patronage, good pay for your work, and protection."
"I don't have to take an oath?" the "slicer" snorted in surprise.
"Do you need all that drilling and wearing a uniform?" Mara clarified, knowing the answer perfectly well.
"No-o-o," Ghent drawled, glancing at his unfinished cocktail. Which, even at its best, wasn't exactly appetizing, but was cheap. A sign that the boy had to count every credit. "And... and what about Mazzic?"
"The degree of his guilt will be determined by my employer," Mara said coldly. "If he's done no harm, he can live. But if he wanted to make a profit selling our secrets—which were deliberately removed from computer access so that clever people like you couldn't reach them—then there will be a separate conversation."
"Mara, if I ditch Mazzic, he'll send someone after me," Zakarisz swallowed the lump in his throat. "Some thugs."
"And what of it?" Jade purred. "First, we'll make sure that formally you don't owe him anything. Then, after you start working under my supervision, no one will dare hurt you."
"I don't want to sound ungrateful," Ghent winced. "But against Mazzic's thugs, or anyone else from Karrde's former partners, you wouldn't stand alone, Mara. No, you're tough and all, but..."
"Ghent," Jade said, forcing herself to keep smiling while on the verge of boiling over, in a velvety voice. "Take my word for it—if anyone tries to hurt you while you're under my protection, they'll have to deal with an Imperial Star Destroyer that will arrive at our first call. I'm sure none of Karrde's former partners—whether Mazzic or anyone else—is stupid enough to mess with the legendary Imperial 'triangles.'"
The young slicer (only a few years younger than she was, but sometimes acting like a complete child) amusingly bit his lip. He chewed on it, thoughtfully studying the tabletop. Then he finally looked up at the red-haired beauty:
"Will they feed me properly there?" he voiced his pressing concern of recent weeks. Say what you will, but Mazzic never paid much for work. That's why Zakarisz had returned to his homeworld—the standard of living was acceptable here, but not as expensive as in most worlds.
"And you'll be allowed to watch holofilms after midnight," Mara promised with caustic mockery.
"Then I agree," he exhaled. "But... first I have to get rid of Mazzic's claims. I don't want him breathing down my neck."
"Of course we'll get rid of them," Mara smiled, pulling her hand from under the table, a datachip held in it. "He was interested in Karrde's whereabouts, wasn't he? Then let's give him what he wants. That will be your first assignment in the service under my command."
No more need for word games. "Employer" and so on... She had successfully transformed, in the "slicer's" mind, the terms he was more used to into something that matched expectations and reality.
"So you didn't have a blaster?" Ghent asked sadly, realizing he could have spared himself shaking like a leaf.
"I never carry a blaster," Mara graciously enlightened him. After pausing for a theatrical beat, she demonstratively checked how easily her weapon slid out of its hidden holster. "I carry at least two..."
Ghent decided not to finish the awful cocktail. He'd suddenly lost his appetite entirely.
* * *
Suarbi 7 is a massive gas giant, surrounded by a dense asteroid field and three dozen moons, among which floated the planetoid I needed.
Susevfi.
That was the name of one of the moons of the planet Suarbi 7. Located in quadrant O-19.
Such an insignificant world that even in the data obtained by the Chimaera during the information raid on Obroa-Skai, I couldn't immediately find any mention of this planetary satellite. I had to work hard to find the necessary information—and even then, only thanks to the historical records the Jensaarai had shared in one way or another during the flight to their homeworld.
This approach to the Imperial handling of inhabited and habitable worlds was doubly surprising, considering that the Empire's catalogs and the databases of the bureaucratic apparatus contained no information about Suarbi 7. Even though a residence of an Imperial Moff was located on that inhabited planetoid. That meant there was a representative of the Coruscant bureaucratic machine here, taxes were paid, perhaps even some inspections were carried out, and... not the slightest mention in the archives. Not to mention that the nearest HoloNet relay was an extremely long flight away... Virtual information isolation.
It was no wonder that Leonia Tavira, after arriving in this system on the Star Destroyer that now belonged to me, killed the local governor and subjugated the population, taking them hostage—no one had ever stirred to bring vengeance upon her. For years, she had hidden in this secluded corner of the Quens sector of the Outer Rim, evading retribution.
For that same reason, I had ordered the relocation here of "what had been lost" after the raid on the Hasta Republic shipyards, as well as a significant portion of the Katana Fleet. The asteroids and planetoids are rich in metal and mineral deposits that can be used for repair, restoration, and modernization work on the fleet's ships.
And right here, swaying with their snow-white flanks, were the Mon Calamari starships — five MC80 star cruisers undergoing refit and rearmament using freighters carrying weapons and spare parts that had been snatched right from under Prince-Admiral Krennel's nose. A bit further out hung the freighters captured from Talon Karrde's fleet — the Action-series transports, his flagship and a couple of others caught at his bases and taken along with their crews. Now they're crewed by my subordinates from the Susevfi population, running routes within the system. As with the military fleet, I ended up with far too many transport vessels requiring crew. With some generous stretching of plausibility, the latter can be filled with local residents — as long as the freighters don't leave the system. Talon Karrde has a large and sprawling network of friends and informants, so if any of his freighters showed up outside Susevfi, they'd be recognized, identified, and most likely have a tracking beacon attached.
The Chimaera hung in orbit around Susevfi, gliding gracefully along an invisible trajectory. I stood with my back to the sentient beings in the compartment, taking in the beauty of this world and the magnificence of the gas giant in the distant background. A shame it doesn't contain tibanna gas. Though... maybe it does. But conducting geological surveys to establish that with any real degree of certainty isn't possible right now.
"Has your curiosity been satisfied, Lady Saarai-kaar?" I inquired.
The woman, clad in exotic armor woven with cortosis threads, gave a barely perceptible nod. Her face mask was a copy of the pleasant female features she possessed in reality. Unfortunately, the laws of life apply even to those sensitive to the Force — her beauty had begun to fade with age. Unlike the exotic method of treating armor with cortosis threads, which blocks the effects of most energy weapons (including the infamous lightsabers). A curious material. And it exists on this moon.
And I need it.
"Yes, Grand Admiral," she said. "We mine cortosis in small quantities — enough for students to treat the armor they craft for the final test to earn the rank of Jensaarai Defender."
And the latter are a variant of the Jedi Knight rank, from which Order the Jensaarai split off a very, very long time ago. If Saarai-kaar's stories are to be believed — shortly before or at the very beginning of the Clone Wars. Yet another philosophical disagreement with the High Council of the Order... That tired old phrase comes to mind: "It never happened before, and here it is again." From everything I've read and heard over time about the history of the Jedi Order, it always seemed to me that they learn from generation to generation only by the method of hammering life experience into their heads by stepping on the same rakes. Then again, who am I to criticize those whose history spans tens of thousands of years? Too long a timeframe to just "live perfectly." We're all not without sin.
"I'm not asking you to reveal the location of your mine or deposits," I reminded her. "Only to allow this material to be used for the protection of my bodyguards."
Saarai-kaar looked at me in such a way that, if not for the little ysalamiri perched mockingly on my shoulder, I'm sure there would be no room left in my brain for anything but minds eager to read what is rightfully mine alone.
"You do know that the Jensaarai themselves can provide you with bodyguards," the woman said. "Equipped in a way that only we can do."
A subtle hint that they weren't eager to spread their secret around.
Along with the fact that the knowledge of how to process cortosis came from the records of the Sith who lived on this moon hundreds of years ago. I saw numerous glyphs of a strange language carved into dozens of colonnades and other places on the planet during my tour. Saarai-kaar called it the Sith language. I didn't argue with her, but I noted that the script was both intimidating and terrifying, yet exquisitely elegant at the same time. Beauty and lethality... An interesting combination for an ancient language.
"Without a doubt," I agreed. "And I appreciate your offer. However, I cannot accept it. At least — not at this time."
"You don't trust us?" the woman asked suspiciously.
"In that case, I wouldn't be here, Susevfi wouldn't be hosting our training and summoning center, food supplies wouldn't be unloaded from the Chimaera's holds into the settlement's warehouses on the planet, and dozens of my ships wouldn't be hiding among the asteroids under the protection of your people," I replied. "Note that the lion's share of security for my facilities is the responsibility of your Jensaarai, who are ready to use the Force to divert any curious gaze away from the deployment locations of my assets. Speaking of which, Captain Pellaeon still hasn't recovered from the shock and sends his warm regards. Don't judge him too harshly — he's an old military man, and people of his nature often use colorful language to express their feelings and emotions."
The woman looked away with embarrassment.
A small demonstration of the Jensaarai's combined efforts — when the Chimaera, after the raid on Ithor, jumped to complete negotiations with the Jensaarai, Saarai-kaar, notified of my arrival, decided to strengthen her negotiating position a little. I have no doubt her son informed his mother about his work on Dantooine. And the Jedi relics brought from there became the gift I had promised for the Jensaarai's development.
So, when the Chimaera emerged from hyperspace and was supposed to receive signals from patrols about a safe approach vector, it turned out... everything was gone. The ships, the stations, the orbital repair docks...
And while I was slowly trying to recover my composure, Pellaeon couldn't restrain himself. In plain old Basic with a Corellian flourish, he told Saarai-kaar's hologram, which had decided to greet us, exactly what he thought of her wishes, her abilities, and precisely where she could stick it all. I can't blame him — the Jensaarai overdid it a bit with their illusions, or whatever they use to hide our equipment just as they once hid Tavira's Star Destroyer. Judging by the fact that the illusion didn't last long, the small numbers and lack of training among the surviving Jensaarai affect their effectiveness. And it nearly landed us in serious trouble.
As it happened, their "sight diversion" caught a rather large asteroid directly in the Chimaera's path. Only the lightning-fast reactions of the helmsman and tractor beam operators, along with the gunners' panic as they blasted the poor rock to pieces, saved us from a lengthy repair stint in a nearby "cell."
"My decision is based on considerations other than your assumption of distrust, Saarai-kaar," I explained. "You're using all your Defenders and students to protect my assets. I suspect allocating a dozen or two trained specialists to me would negatively impact the security of the ships and stations. I'd rather avoid that. Even though this star system is far from busy hyperspace lanes, our transport and military vessels still appear here. One way or another, New Republic ships will show up here someday. If your protection is substandard, they'll destroy — or worse, capture — my ships. But that would be a lesser loss compared to what they could do to the Jensaarai cooperating with me."
Saarai-kaar silently averted her gaze. Unpleasant, but true. She and I both understood perfectly that the Jensaarai are no match for the Jedi. If my assessment scale is correct, the first Jensaarai were themselves Jedi who wove their knowledge with certain Sith techniques. It turned out reasonably well, but the problem was that most of them were exterminated by the Jedi or by Darth Vader, whom they foolishly tried to join. The man in the stylish cloak with a hatred of sand worked quite hard at destroying them. Those who remain are, by Jedi standards, mostly under-trained — at best so-called "padawans." And in the time since, they haven't developed much. Two, maybe three advanced techniques, like sensitivity to direct danger to a protected object (and even that has flaws, with only one or two sentient practitioners left alive), or "sight diversion." Beyond that... they are weak. So weak that they don't even merit the attention of a madman planning to resurrect the Jedi Order. Though those would likely be just as mad as he is.
The Jensaarai's vulnerability to Force-sensitive opponents was first proven by that same mad clone, Jorus C'baoth, who killed most of Leonia Tavira's protectors with a single effort of will during the ambush at Rugos.
"We would rather not lose control of the cortosis processing techniques," she said. Well, you've stated your wish. And it aligns with my true goals.
"In that case, I'm sure we can find a compromise," I said, casting a glance at Major Tierce, standing by the exit in the black-and-crimson robes of an Imperial Guardsman. "I suspect it's not strictly necessary for the cortosis-coated armor to be worn directly by Force-sensitive sentients, is it?"
"It hasn't been tested among the Jensaarai," Saarai-kaar noted. "But... I think it's possible."
"In that case, I propose sending armor sets for my bodyguards to your masters for cortosis treatment," I offered. "That way, the processing technique remains your secret, and my bodyguards get the necessary equipment."
"To be honest, I thought your protector would be Fodeum," the woman said quietly. An interesting move — assigning her son to me. And does that come with just eyes and ears, or is recording equipment included? I don't particularly like having someone looking over my shoulder.
"But he's a student," I noted. "Not to diminish his achievements, but I'm sure he can be of greater use at the moment as the head of an expedition to search for ancient secrets. Or are you suggesting that his presence beside me is more important than your Order's development and acquisition of new knowledge?"
"I cannot prioritize one over the other," a very interesting way to frame the answer. Noted, logged. "We are grateful that you provided us with ancient Jedi artifacts, but they only help us learn history, not develop."
Unfortunately, a few ancient statuettes, mosaics, and other decorative junk — that's all the search parties have managed to find so far in the ruins of the long-destroyed Jedi enclave on Dantooine in such a short time.
"Archaeological work is still ongoing," I reminded her. "And I've sent a more competent specialist there."
One upon whom great hopes rest for finding any records, data vaults, or other information carriers containing Jedi teachings to teach the Jensaarai something new. Since it's turned out that I have poorly trained (but certainly promising) personnel under my command, for the sake of continued cooperation, I need to keep searching for Jedi knowledge and delivering it to Susevfi.
Of course, I could throw caution to the wind and send search parties to places where, based on my memories, some hidden knowledge definitely exists. Korriban — the Sith homeworld. Yavin IV with its secrets from the ancient Jedi Exar Kun and a considerable number of artifacts and knowledge carriers. However, I'm not sure that at this point such "unsteady" minds as the Jensaarai are ready to absorb Sith information. And I really don't want them to slip from my control, defecting to the side of long-dead Sith who have a habit of extending their lives as ghosts, because after that foolish act, another round of Jedi-Sith wars would flare up across the galaxy. Since Palpatine already has Force-sensitive sentients in his service, I need my own. Luke Skywalker is, without a doubt, good. But practice shows that neither he nor his family are immune to mistakes.
And as I recall, the eccentricity, inconsistency, and complete lack of pedagogical talent in Darth Vader's son supplied the galaxy with fallen Jedi for decades, plunging it into yet more bloody conflicts. If I intend to demonstratively show the galaxy the fundamental difference between my position and the cruelty of the Galactic Empire and the frivolity of the New Republic, then the question of control over the Jensaarai Order must remain on the agenda. Therefore, given the peaceful and "protective" orientation of Jensaarai teachings, I decided that the most correct course was to first provide them with knowledge of the Jedi of the past — wherever it might be found.
At the moment, besides the excavations on Dantooine, I had several options to promote progress among the Jensaarai. The first and most sensible — through the records of Agamar University, to learn the route to Ossus and send search teams there. Long, tedious, expensive, but if I remember correctly, Luke Skywalker, arriving on that ancient Jedi planet, managed to find a great deal of Jedi knowledge. Including a very ancient Jedi who was either disguised as a tree or actually was one by nature. Strange are thy ways, galaxy... Sentient trees. Though, what else is there to expect after shipping semi-sentient trees off Ithor?
On Yavin IV, there's supposedly another ancient Jedi in some kind of stasis. And I am deeply convinced that Palpatine and Vader didn't eradicate all the Jedi. You just have to look. Many Jedi simply vanished from the records after Order 66. Maybe they're dead, maybe not — but you never know with Hutts? Even considering the common opinion that the Jedi of the Old Republic's twilight were not the most combat-ready, it doesn't change the facts — in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.
As for the already known "half-Jedi" like Kyle Katarn or Galen Marek, it's better not to think about them at all. They pose a great threat if they oppose me. And the only one capable of fighting them on equal terms is Inquisitor Reynar Obscuro. At least he has some kind of formal education and training. But... even that option has a catch. After all, he was trained under Sith supervision, which is exactly what I wouldn't want to introduce to Jensaarai society right now.
Like many other options involving searches for long-lost but occasionally mentioned tombs, holocrons, and so on... I was currently considering whether to hire a couple of mercenaries to search for Jedi artifacts on the black market. I'm sure there's plenty of interesting stuff there... But for now, that plan is still in development. What interests me much more is a meeting with another sentient, scheduled for the near future. Since Baron D'Asta is postponing the meeting yet again.
"I understand," the woman said. "And I thank you for the concern you've shown for my people and the Order."
"Promises must be kept," I said.
She understood the implication. No one does anything for free or out of the goodness of their heart. Someday, I will call the Jensaarai into service. Just as I'm already doing with the local inhabitants of Susevfi. And even though there aren't many of them, they can fill certain vacancies.
"The Jensaarai will be happy to assist in treating the armor of your Guardsmen," she declared. "But I have a request."
How unexpected... Let me guess.
"The Shadow Guard will arrive at Susevfi to teach the Jensaarai the art of lightsaber fencing," I said, knowing perfectly well that on Dantooine, Fodeum Sabre De'Luz and the former Inquisitor were practicing this form of special training. "As soon as he finishes his work in the destroyed enclave."
"Thank you for the honor, Grand Admiral," she said. "And also for the supplies of food and necessities that you and your people have delivered to us."
"The grain samples, as I've been told, are perfectly suited for Susevfi's fertile fields," I noted.
"That's correct, Grand Admiral," Saarai-kaar assured me. "I'm sure the mild climate and black soil will allow the planet's people to reap large harvests."
"Sufficient to feed an army of millions?" I specified.
The woman paused for a moment, looking me in the eye. After the overthrow of Leonia Tavira's pirates, Saarai-kaar became the representative of this planet. Of course, she had assistants from among the locals, but she conducted the dialogue directly with me.
"We would need a large amount of newly plowed land," she said. "As well as fertilizers, agricultural droids, more seeds and crops... At the moment, the best agricultural minds on the moon are occupied with planting the bofforr trees you delivered on a separate island. I think after we finish with that, we can discuss with them how many and how quickly we can free up the needed fields for sowing."
"Prepare a list of everything necessary for a successful planting season," I said. And I must also not forget about the construction of a biological laboratory on one of the moons. It's there that specialists, who have yet to be found, will be engaged in studying a number of assigned tasks... including bofforr pollen...
Well, there's a lot of work ahead. A lot.
* * *
Watching through the deck's external surveillance cameras as the man he needed, clad in a dark cloak, moved about, Imperial agent Torin Inek was forced to admit the obvious.
"That Jedi is fantastically stupid," he said in a half-whisper. But the troopers next to him heard it. And chuckled quietly. Throwing them a cold look, the officer called his subordinates to order.
"I should have left him a map," Torin thought, reflecting that this was the longest operation he'd ever had to wait through.
To begin with, the Jedi, arriving at the local dive cantina called "Mishru" in an attempt to gather information, thoroughly embarrassed himself in the eyes of the local denizens of New Cov, failing to resolve a simple conflict between a Barabel and a Rodian. The latter had hired the former to do a job tracking down and destroying the nests of some creatures, and paid the contractor in temporary Imperial currency, which circulated through the Imperial Remnant worlds as an attempt to wall off the influx of Republic credits introduced by the new masters of Coruscant. After all, operating with an enemy's currency in one's own market strengthens the enemy's economy.
So, the little Jedi, hearing that the Barabel hadn't been informed of the currency he'd be paid in, got an assurance from the Rodian that he was just an intermediary who'd been paid in those same coins, leaving no choice — either that or no fee at all. Inek, who was present in the cantina at that moment, nearly burst out laughing when he heard this excuse.
You'd have to be a complete idiot to believe a Rodian's story. Temporary currency circulated exclusively in the worlds and stations of the Imperial Remnants. There's no way to smuggle that money past customs — not planetary, not Republican. And certainly no one would pay with it in neutral worlds, where Galactic Empire credits were still in use. Or Hutt pegats, if the territories were close to the slug planets.
Not to mention that paying with Imperial temporary money in neutral or Republican worlds is practically hanging a target on your back and admitting you collaborate with Imperials. Or at the very least — doing business on both sides of the conflict. Which isn't particularly welcome in the current galaxy either.
One way or another, the Barabel demanded payment in Republic currency, the Rodian stood his ground, insisting he only had Imperial money. And the Jedi, with scattered attention, was frantically trying to figure out how to get out of the situation...
He never found a way to resolve the conflict, suggesting both of them just agree that the payment would be in Imperial currency. Everyone present — from the Barabel to the last drunk in the cantina — practically annihilated the Jedi with their stares. Oh, how badly the New Republic had miscalculated, advertising their only Jedi and praising him at every corner. Torin almost shed a tear seeing the bewildered expression on the man's face when Skywalker realized he couldn't resolve the situation with even minimal losses for each side. And he hurried to retreat...
Inek managed to leave the necessary trail at the very last moment, drawing the attention of the pair, who were ready to tear each other's throats out, and offered to exchange the Rodian's Imperial money for Republic credits at the black market rate. Thereby demonstrating his involvement in doing business with the Empire. Which did not escape the Jedi, who had apparently left the cantina but kept pausing in the doorway to watch the situation resolve. Torin ignored him, as if he didn't see him. But at the same time, he made it quite clear that he was no ordinary mortal.
Then, shaking off the Jedi's tail, he only heightened his suspicions, letting him follow to the warehouse where the captive Corellian woman was being held. But the appearance of locals who had already heard about Skywalker's embarrassment forced the latter to retreat to his hotel and not poke his nose out for a while.
This was starting to get tedious, so Torin organized surveillance on him and his "X-wing." The Jedi was either meditating intensely (or just sleeping sitting up), studying the city using publicly available maps in the local computer network, or disappearing near his damned fighter, preventing the surveillance teams from doing their job...
Inek had shaved his newly grown stubble twice before receiving the order from command — to act. Here and now.
Provoking the Jedi into action turned out to be fairly easy — all it took was letting his droid catch him once trying to pick the lock on the dock where the fighter was housed. The poor astromech had no idea how thoroughly he'd been played at that point. Or what happened in the hangar after he was stunned with an ion blaster and then "witnessed an attempted break-in." No, seriously, who births and manufactures these gullible types?
Then, the same man — showing his interest in the Jedi himself by quietly visiting his room and conducting a search that left barely detectable traces of an outsider's presence, leading him again to the warehouse district and letting him confirm the serious electronic lock and surveillance system there. So it would become clear — there was no getting around it without an astromech with slicing modules...
And so, at last, the fine pair set off on their raid under the cover of another night... Funny that at the same time, a group of Bothan operatives had picked up the Imperials' trail. And came to the exact same conclusions... Well, good for them! Now it was clear why the delegation hadn't arrived — on Coruscant, they'd decided to figure out on their own why their contact with the Corellian Garm Bel Iblis's faction had disappeared from an ordinary location. Yeah... they were fishing for one fish and found several at once. Maybe wait a little longer, and the Alliance heroes would come running too? Could take them all out at once.
Ah well, orders are orders. Nothing to be done, another time.
The glorious heroes go to search for and rescue a woman in distress. That's the long-term picture. In reality, Skywalker currently thinks he's hunting an Imperial cell. Sure, sure...
No wonder their Order was so easily wiped out nearly thirty years ago — naive as banthas.
Having confirmed from his operatives that Skywalker was indeed heading for the warehouse, Torin, without much concealment (after all, he was dressed in port service uniform), slipped into the dock where the enemy ship was docked. No one would even pay him any attention — according to port records, Skywalker himself had requested repairs on his ship. What wouldn't you do to complete the mission?
Whistling a cheerful tune, Agent Inek began installing surveillance and sabotage equipment on Skywalker's X-wing.
* * *
Luke found the warehouse he needed without any trouble. Faithful R2 disabled the security systems and the electronic lock, whose activation the young Jedi had feared so much, and then access to the warehouse was free.
Honestly, he didn't know exactly what he was looking for here. He'd simply detected surveillance on himself and his ship after that strange incident in the cantina, when he saw how easily an unknown man operated currency exchange rates... That's when the suspicion was born that he was facing an Imperial agent. Possibly even the same one who'd been involved in the attack on the local governor, and then in organizing the rebellion.
Luke didn't want to dwell on that thought, but it kept forcing its way into his head. What if this Imperial was the key to the Bothans' dealings on New Cov? What if the worst was the truth that Leia had wanted to uncover before her disappearance?
Luke gritted his teeth and gripped his lightsaber tighter.
No matter how hard he tried, the Force wouldn't help him find the vanished princess. No matter how much he reached out to her through the Force, he couldn't detect her... And that scared him more than anything. He'd convinced himself that his past experience of rushing headlong to rescue his sister and friends was a textbook example of what NOT to do when dealing with visions from the Force... And he was terribly afraid of being wrong this time.
How he lacked proper training... Sometimes so much that he almost envied Corran Horn, who had either disappeared or finally found the Jedi Master C'baoth. Of course, he worried about his fate — as he did for the fate of all other Force-sensitive beings that fate had brought across his path over the years. After all, they were all potential Jedi, defenders of peace... Yet they didn't want to learn from him.
Maybe the problem was that he himself still barely knew anything, couldn't do anything, and needed some proper training himself? He'd made offers to adult beings who... how to put this gently... understood that he called himself a Jedi Knight not because he was so skilled and powerful, but simply because he'd been APPOINTED a Jedi.
This bitter thought had visited him in that very cantina, when the bartender had suggested he deal with the Barabel's payment problem... When he'd been called a Jedi Knight. A memory jabbed at his mind: Jorus C'baoth himself had usurped his title. Just like Luke, when he'd thrown aside his lightsaber after fighting his father aboard the second Death Star... He had declared himself a Jedi. And only many years later did he learn that this wasn't how it was done in the Order...
A quiet "boo-wop" sounded, coming from R2.
"Yes," Luke whispered back. "I sense beings ahead too. Five or six..."
The astromech beeped questioningly.
"Stay close to me," Skywalker asked his mechanical friend. "If I have to, I can handle them myself."
"Probably," he thought grimly. He hadn't handled a simple argument, and now this...
Shaking his head, he drove the useless thoughts away. Now wasn't the time for reflection.
He walked down the short corridor connecting the entrance area to the spacious main warehouse. As far as the eye could see, everything was filled with crates and shipping containers, so he had no major problems moving forward.
But when he reached the place where he sensed the sparks of life, he felt uneasy...
He saw a human woman tied to a metal chair, with Bothans bustling around her. Three operatives were doing something with her restraints — either tightening them or loosening them... The fourth, judging by his appearance and clothing, was the commander. And clearly not used to getting his hands dirty with such mundane problems. All of them were armed. And judging by their movements, there was no point in hoping they were just civilians — after years of service in the Rebel Alliance, Luke had learned to identify trained fighters. Even without the Force...
"Four confirmed," he said quietly. "Where are the rest?"
He reached out with the Force toward the beings he'd sensed, pouring his all into it, when suddenly...
A dry click sounded behind him, along with R2's mournful whistle, and the Force belatedly warned him that someone was behind him.
Turning, he saw another pair of Bothans. In their hands were blaster pistols. Pointed at him.
This had happened to Luke before, more than once: the moment he focused his attention and used the Force on one thing, he lost the ability to control the situation around him. From the ancient Jedi knowledge he'd managed to acquire over the past five years, the young follower of the Jedi Order's teachings knew that such carelessness had cost thousands of Jedi their lives, time and again. Which only confirmed the bitter truth — using the Force didn't guarantee you wouldn't make sad and unfortunate mistakes. Like having a couple of enemies with blasters aimed at your chest show up behind you.
Deflecting shots wouldn't be a problem, if only...
"Intruder," one of the Bothans said into a comlink attached to his arm. Luke felt, more than saw, another pair of Bothans appear beside him from among those who'd been working with the prisoner. And they positioned themselves smartly — to provide maximum fire support for each other without getting caught in crossfire. Now there was no doubt — he was dealing with Bothan special forces.
The astromech beeped sadly, displaying a restraining bolt attached to him.
"Get rid of him," another Bothan said sharply. Luke glanced sideways and saw that the order to eliminate him had come from the Bothan commander himself.
"I wouldn't advise that," Skywalker warned honestly. "I don't want unnecessary casualties."
His thumb rested on the lightsaber's activation switch... He didn't want to kill, but dying here at the hands of traitors was even less appealing.
"We'll manage," the Bothan commander rasped. "Drop your weapon and step—"
"Not so fast," this voice was clearly female. Luke risked taking a step back, pressing his back against a large container. If a firefight started, he could do a backflip and... "I know this man."
"Nonsense," the Bothan commander exhaled. "An Imperial spy!"
"That's not true at all," Luke said, a hint of offense in his voice. "Imperial spies don't carry lightsabers..."
The woman, who had been untied until that moment, stood nearby, rubbing her chafed wrists.
"And I was wondering where I recognized that face from," she said with a pained smile. Turning to the Bothan leader, she asked:
"Is it just me, or is this Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker?"
The Bothan's fur rippled.
"Nonsense," he repeated, but with less conviction than before. Luke caught a flicker of recognition... and confusion among the Bothan's subordinates. They seemed to have just realized who they'd trapped. "He's an Imperial spy!"
R2 unequivocally denounced the liar with a trilling whistle. Luke felt his cheeks starting to flush. He sincerely hoped the Bothan didn't understand binary...
"That droid insulted me!" the commander fumed, jabbing a clawed finger at the astromech. "Soldiers! Destroy it!"
"Don't rush, Breil'lya," the woman said. Only now did Luke notice she was leaning against a nearby container. Apparently, the prisoner wasn't feeling well. If her attention hadn't been caught by the confrontation, who knows what might have happened... Still, this woman was incredibly brave. Luke couldn't even imagine what pain she was feeling after being bound for so long. The blood flowing freely back into her muscles was probably causing her discomfort now. At least he could sense through the Force that she had no injuries. So they'd just been holding her here. "If he were an Imperial spy, I would have recognized him. Even in armor, they have a certain way of moving. No, this man wasn't with them."
"He could be another spy!" the Bothan stubbornly insisted. "We must execute him before—"
"Breil'lya," Luke frowned. "Aren't you Advisor Borsk Fey'lya's assistant? I think my sister mentioned you..."
The Bothan's face showed no emotion, but his eyes went glassy.
"Looks like you were mistaken after all, Breil'lya," the woman chuckled. Looking at Luke, she smiled and gave a barely perceptible bow:
"Pleased to meet you, Jedi Knight."
"Likewise," Luke muttered. "I hope no one else doubts my identity? If necessary, I can demonstrate the serial number on my prosthetic equipment," he twitched his artificial fingers almost imperceptibly. "I'm sure you have access to government databases, Breil'lya, and your doubts will be dispelled. Everyone here seems quick to judge and accuse."
The Bothan commander mumbled something unintelligible in response, then finally ordered the weapons lowered.
"How did you end up here?" he demanded.
"I was tracking a man I suspected of collaborating with the Empire and instigating the recent unrest," Luke said without going into detail. "The trail led me here. Where we had this warm and friendly meeting."
"That's one way to look at it," the Bothan grumbled.
"I'll agree with that," diplomacy was never Luke's strong suit. No matter how hard Leia tried to teach him the basics... "And what are you doing here?"
"None of your business," the Bothan growled, apparently regaining his confidence. "We need to hurry—"
"Don't be so hasty, Breil'lya," said the woman who had introduced herself. "Perhaps the esteemed Jedi could help us."
"If it's within my power," Leia's lessons hadn't been for nothing. "But first, I'd like to know who I'm helping. And what this help would involve."
"You can call me Irenez," the woman introduced herself. "You've already met Advisor Fey'lya's assistant, Breil'lya..."
"Too many Bothan names in one go," Luke thought. And immediately realized he should listen less to his brother-in-law's comments about beings from Bothawui.
"Help..." the woman paused. "I think we should all get out of here first. And if you assist us... Perhaps my employer would be delighted to meet you."
"Irenez," Breil'lya hissed, beside himself with rage. "This is going too far!"
"So is the fact that, by your own account, you've been on the planet for over a week and couldn't find me," she declared in a firm, commanding voice. "Some allies you are!"
"So now, after we found and freed you, you intend to form an alliance with the Jedi and his companions?" the Bothan squealed.
"What alliance?" the young Jedi inquired.
"That was just a careless word from our comrade Breil'lya," Irenez said coldly, meeting the Bothan commander's gaze. "Given how he 'successfully' failed to identify the one Jedi in the entire galaxy, something tells me the Commander will want to meet you, Knight Skywalker."
"Oh," was all Luke could manage, looking at R2, from whom the restraining bolt had already been removed. "Negotiations aren't exactly my strong suit... And I'm not an official representative of anyone..."
"Or anything of consequence," the lead Bothan hissed, radiating irritation. Luke chose not to dignify that jab with attention. But the Force was telling him to move in this direction.
"But if you don't mind, I'll join you," he said, deliberately not clarifying whether he considered this woman and her entire group Imperial spies. If they were, they'd surely have gotten rid of him instead of inviting him along. This was a great chance to pull a thread...
"In that case, we need to get to the spaceport," Irenez declared. "And, if you don't mind, Knight Skywalker, I need your comlink for a moment."
"Yes, of course," sensing no threat, Luke handed her the communication device. The unspoken question was evidently written all over his face:
"I want to call transport for us all," she smiled. Breil'lya, who had a newer and clearly more powerful communication device hanging on his belt, let out a strained snort to draw attention, but the woman ignored him.
"I hope it's not an Imperial Star Destroyer," flashed through the young Jedi's mind.
But it was too late to back out now, wasn't it?
* * *
"Any problems, General Skywalker?" Irenez asked quietly, standing beside him.
"Something like that," Luke replied evasively, staring at his own starfighter. "R2, are you sure?"
The astromech whistled indignantly.
"I also remember not ordering any technical work," Luke whispered, signaling to the droid to be less conspicuous. "Good thing the techs sent you a report. They could have forgotten, and then..."
Interesting, and then what?
He didn't sense any direct threat coming from his own X-wing. But that didn't mean everything was fine.
Because the Force was clearly pointing to the opposite... Someone, possibly Imperials, had done something to his ship.
Luke cursed his widely-known reputation once again. It seemed the Imperials had decided not to miss the chance to get rid of the Jedi. Only they hadn't accounted for him stopping at the warehouse first, where he'd gotten a vivid lesson about not focusing so narrowly on the here and now. And by trusting the Force, he'd sensed the threat...
"Looks outwardly like any X-wing," Irenez remarked impassively.
"And you've had many opportunities to observe Incom products?" Skywalker couldn't resist asking in his usual blunt manner, trying to learn more.
"Life brings many things," the woman replied vaguely.
Right, right. He hadn't expected a straight answer to his question.
Reaching out with the Force toward his fighter, he still couldn't pinpoint the source of his unease. But he decided to share his concerns with his new acquaintance.
"I'm afraid something's not right with the ship," he said. "Maybe the Imperials tampered with the computer or something..."
"In that case, we should leave it," Irenez said tensely. "And use my ship... Though I'm not sure that's safe either. After all, the Imperials 'picked me up' right on the landing pad..."
"I think, under the circumstances, the best course would be to ask the Bothans for help," Irenez said. "They didn't leave their ship unattended."
Luke felt a pang of conscience. But how was he supposed to know?!
"We shouldn't leave it here," he said decisively. "There might be something in the flight computer that interests them."
"Why would that be?" the young woman wondered. There was something familiar about her demeanor... As if Luke had encountered this type of person before... easy-going, loving danger, feeling inside a hurricane like a Mon Calamari in water.
"Han," the most likely candidate immediately came to mind. It seemed the Force was hinting at which planet had given him Irenez's company.
"The flight computer synced with my astromech," the Jedi explained. "It's—"
"Remarkably careless," Irenez shook her head angrily. "What about memory formatting procedures for ships and droids?"
"Not my preference," Luke smiled tightly. "It speeds up pre-flight checks. And it created a well-protected communication link between the ship and the astromech..."
"Can your R2 remotely wipe the computer's memory?" the young Corellian clarified. Luke glanced at his mechanical friend. It beeped indignantly and questioningly. Receiving its master's consent for the wipe procedure, it hummed sadly... and a few seconds later squealed again.
"We've got a problem," Skywalker grimaced.
"What happened?" his ally frowned.
"R2 says the flight computer is no longer in the fighter," the young Jedi said barely audibly. "Looks like it was removed."
Judging by the muffled cursing, Irenez was definitely from Corellia. Even the phrasing was the same as Han used. But coming from her, it sounded somehow more embarrassing...
"Then there's no point in staying here anymore," Irenez declared firmly. "Our transport will arrive any minute now. And the Commander wouldn't want the ship to linger here."
"I'd still like to know who this Commander of yours is," Luke lamented.
"You'll find out in due time," Irenez promised him. "And it will be good for him to talk with you."
"Whatever you say," Skywalker replied. "I think it's time to get in touch with the Bothans and hope they haven't left yet. When we parted, I got the impression you'd offended them."
"Typical Bothawui manipulation tactic," Irenez snorted, dialing the right frequency on his comlink. "They'll survive. We need them more than they need us."
"And what are we needed for?" Luke inquired innocently, casting a farewell glance at his faithful X-wing.
"Curiosity isn't a vice, is it, Jedi Skywalker?" the Corellian smiled unexpectedly. Luke felt himself blushing to the tips of his ears...
* * *
As the unloading of the Chimaera neared completion, I delved into reading the reports from the "fronts" and data from the Delta Source.
And if in the past the clever eavesdropping device had yielded a lot of extraneous information, now...
The Imperial Palace was seething like a geyser. And someone was about to get very badly scalded... Particularly interesting were the not-so-new circumstances of General Dodonna's death... They reminded me very strongly of an episode from the book "Isard's Revenge.".. That was exactly how Iceheart had lured Rogue Squadron into a trap... Well, Linuri it is, then... We'll take part in this too, especially since everything is ready for the show there.
A light began blinking on my desk, coming from the holographic projector. Looking at the incoming signal's encryption, I grunted with satisfaction. Right on time. Time to talk over a secure line.
"Grand Admiral," Mara Jade's hologram greeted me. "The trap with the report worked. I traced the source. As expected, it turned out to be a slicer hired by one of Karrde's former associates?"
"Mr. Mazzic?" I clarified. Seeing the girl's hologram twitch into a smile, I knew I'd guessed correctly. The odds hadn't been that high... The name "Mazzic" was the only thing I remembered from my past life about smugglers closely tied to Karrde. And that was only because this being had been involved in the destruction of an unfinished Star Destroyer at the Bilbringi shipyards, as far as I knew from certain events.
"Ghent sent him the location data for the Claw," she said. "But knowing Mazzic's suspicious nature, especially when he intends to seize control of Karrde's organization, I'm sure he'll head there soon. A week, maybe ten days, and he'll be on site."
I mentally calculated the timeline and nodded in satisfaction. It fit. At moments like this, it was almost scary — was Iceheart reading my own thoughts?
"Proceed with the other tasks," I said. "Provided your slicer can be trusted."
"I vouch for him," Jade smiled. "Karrde picked him up back when he was in a very tight spot. After that, Ghent served him faithfully until the Claw disappeared. The situation is repeating itself now. There won't be any problems with Ghent."
"Good," I said. "This is your personal responsibility."
"I won't let you down, Emp—" the girl caught herself, "Grand Admiral."
Without saying goodbye, I switched off the communication device and activated the data purge system. Not only was intercepting the message extremely difficult, but now it was impossible to decipher it from any digital trail.
Trust is trust, but security must always be remembered.
And that slip of hers... I have nothing against such a sonorous title as "Emperor" by its very nature. But in this galaxy, too much pain and fear are associated with that word.
Besides, it doesn't sound so great — too "worn out," somehow...
Now "Grand Admiral.".. that has a ring to it.
* * *
"Well, either I outsmarted myself," Torin huffed indignantly, watching with a malicious glare as a solitary Dreadnaught-class heavy cruiser dissolved into hyperspace in the night sky of New Cov. A very familiar ship. The Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet had ships like that too.
"The trap with the X-wing didn't work," one of the troopers commented, demonstratively examining the rectangular block of the T-65's main computer sitting right in front of the Imperial agents. "Too bad. We could have smoked a Jedi…"
"Well, sure," Torin waved a hand. "That wasn't the objective."
"A shame," the subordinate sighed with regret. "The bureaucrats on Coruscant would have shit themselves if they found out their prized Jedi had been blown to smithereens…"
"Stop with the flights of fancy," Torin advised, stung that his subordinate was stealing his own wishes. "Go put the computer back together. We're taking this bird with us. And don't forget to disable the comm antennas, or they'll try to access it remotely."
"We've already disabled the explosives and the beacon," another agent reported. "I've already greased the local customs officials to make both ships — ours and this one — disappear from the registries."
"In cash?" Torin clarified.
"Poisoned cash," his subordinate assured him. "The toxin's already soaked into their grubby paws from the money. The poison should kick in in about two or three hours, when we're long gone. All traces are covered."
"Then don't get on my nerves," Inek asked. "Go check if the beacon inside the droid is transmitting the coordinates. And I'm warning you — if it's discovered, you'll spend the rest of your days somewhere with the Cavrilhu pirates with no chance of return, until you become pirate captains yourselves. And I," he didn't even want to think about his own fate if the plan failed — "am going to report to the Grand Admiral over an encrypted channel. If we're lucky, we'll find that Corellian commander and pay him back properly for last year's attack on Tangrene."