Nine years, seven months, and seven days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fourth year, seventh month, and seventh day after the Great Resynchronization.
After looking at the lines of the reconnaissance group commander's report, I set the datapad aside and met the agent's gaze:
"A Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker's starfighter as a trophy — that's excellent work, Agent Inek," I said.
"Happy to serve, Grand Admiral Thrawn," the operative responded briskly.
"The Jedi's onboard computer is already with the decryptors," I said. "You'll be well rewarded for this prize."
"If we can crack it, sir," the scout said cautiously. "As we understand it, the computer and the droid established some kind of unknown digital connection… They might even be exchanging encrypted messages with an unknown cipher."
"This case is known," I said, "though not common. It occurs when a navigation astromech's and an onboard computer's memory hasn't been wiped for a long time."
At least, that was the only context where I'd encountered information like this. Very useful when you have no intention of swapping your fighter for another ship. Or your astromech. Because with a different droid, the onboard computer simply wouldn't work. It would require lengthy procedures of erasure, purging, and recalibration. This kind of harmful effect is very difficult to get rid of — which shows when you try to sell the craft later. The closest analogy that came to mind was selling an apartment with an unapproved, unscheduled renovation. You'd eventually find someone to pawn it off on — if the buyer isn't well-versed in housing law. But when it comes to processing the paperwork, the problems start… Same as trying to legitimize someone else's construction vandalism. I know from experience — back in my previous life, I once bought a place where the previous owner had turned the living room, kitchen, and loggia into one big "studio." Buying it wasn't a problem back then — they turned a blind eye to that kind of thing. But when I tried to sell it under the newer laws, it turned out the buyers were more legally savvy than I had been back in the day. Nobody wanted to take on a housing headache with a load-bearing wall knocked out. So it just hung there like dead weight until I saved up enough money to put it all back. But even after that, I couldn't recoup the reconstruction costs when I sold it and went through all the approvals. Either I'm cursed with bad luck, or you need to think first about what you're buying and in what condition.
"I hope that when you installed the beacon inside the droid, you copied its memory banks?" I inquired.
"They've been handed over to the decryptors as well," Torin nodded. "As far as I can tell, the astromech's memory core is also encrypted with some wild code that made our specialists 'hurt.'"
"That's not a problem," I said. "That's their job. You have a new assignment."
"Ready to carry it out, sir," the agent replied briskly. "My team and I can begin immediately."
"You have time for rest first," I noted. "Use it productively. Or for preparation."
The agent gave a silent, barely perceptible nod of agreement. But I could see in his eyes he was itching to hear about the upcoming mission. Good. Very good. Let's begin testing his professional and personal suitability.
"Now, about the assignment itself," I said. "Have you heard the story about the Separatist frigate of the Munificent-class called the Sa'Nalaor?"
The agent's eyes widened.
"Yes, sir," he said.
"And what do you know about it?" I inquired.
"It's a legendary ship, especially among smugglers, scavengers, and treasure hunters," the scout said, clearly thrown off. "Some people claim it was the Confederacy of Independent Systems' flying bank, with its holds packed with cash in dozens of currencies, precious gems, metals, and secret technologies. But supposedly it vanished during the CIS's surrender to the Empire. There were rumors within Imperial Intelligence that some patrol ships even detected its transponder somewhere on the border of the Outer Rim and Wild Space at the end of the Clone Wars. Special expeditions were even organized to find it. Governments, intelligence agencies, the fleet, treasure hunters, smugglers, and all sorts of scum looking for a quick score. As far as I know, no one ever found that ship. And after word got around that most of the fortune hunters had simply vanished without a trace, the number of people wanting to find it dwindled to almost nothing."
"You're quite well-informed about what's considered a space legend," I noted.
"I always thought it was nothing more than a tall tale, sir," he replied evenly.
"Just like most of the galaxy's population believed the Katana Fleet was nothing more than a trap for fools," I noted.
The operative faltered.
"Forgive me, sir," he muttered.
"No need to apologize, Agent," I said. "You're only showing the typical attitude competent beings have toward this matter. Which only works in our favor."
"How so, sir?" Inek tensed up.
"That ship has been searched for over twenty-five years," I said. "And every year, the searches got more desperate and more sophisticated. None of them succeeded. The official reason for failure among all the treasure hunters — that ship never existed in nature, and it was invented by those who wanted to profit from treasure seekers."
"I've personally heard of twelve Imperial expeditions sent to find that ship," Torin stated. "I know nothing of their results."
"But for me, this episode of the Clone Wars is no longer a mystery," surprise flickered in the scout's eyes, mixed with interest. "The hunt for the Sa'Nalaor was unsuccessful because they were looking for a ship. But what they needed to look for," I pointed the man to the edge of my desk — "was its crew."
Following my gesture, the scout sat down on the indicated chair, ending up across from me.
"Do you know the name of the Sa'Nalaor's commander?" I inquired.
"Not really, sir," the scout admitted. "It's been many years since I, as a young cadet, was interested in stories like that."
"His name is Ray Harsol," I said, flashing knowledge gleaned from the archives aboard the Black Pearl. When you have a thousand identical ships under your command, it's pretty stupid to make only three of them look alike not just on the outside, but in every possible parameter. Distracting attention from the real flagship is nothing more than a story that works once or twice. Until the enemy figures out that the same ship can't be in three different, distant locations at the same time. No, it's mostly insurance, needed in case one of the ships breaks down or gets destroyed. After all, nothing is more demoralizing than the loss of a fleet's flagship, right? So whoever gave that order made sure that, when moving from ship to ship, the commander-in-chief had access to all the necessary data. Or was having an archive with detailed data on Separatist fleet ships standard practice for the CIS navy? Unfortunately, I couldn't find out — the Empire made sure as much information about the Separatists as possible was lost to the ages. But I seriously doubt it was standard; otherwise, the ship would have been found long ago based on data about the crew members. After all, if a ship goes missing, why not search for it not just by its ID and port records, as rescue services do, but using specifics? "A former Old Republic officer who defected to the Confederacy of Independent Systems. He served as an officer on General Grievous's flagship, the Invisible Hand, for a time. After that, he was given command of the frigate we're looking for. Obviously, Ray Harsol's foresight allowed him to predict the inevitable outcome of the CIS's defeat, so he managed to survive when the shutdown order for the battle droids came. Which, in fact, is what gave rise to the legend of the ship."
"If Hardin disappeared with his crew, finding him might be problematic," Torin frowned. Well, good that he didn't say "impossible." In that case, I'd have to part ways with him and move him from the "sharp" category to "just a good executor." "Even impossible. If they're at least a little smarter than droids, even if they're not involved in the ship's disappearance, they've long since changed their names and places of residence."
"Undoubtedly," I agreed. "The Analysis Department has already searched Imperial databases. The known crew members of the Sa'Nalaor have vanished from sight just like their captain, just like their ship."
A look of confusion appeared on the scout's face.
"Then…" he thought for a moment. "Perhaps we should start searching from the Sa'Nalaor's last known location? If the archive records remain, we could try to calculate a possible jump vector based on control and dispatch data…"
What I like about this kind of interaction with subordinates — they voice their thoughts out loud. And I glean interesting information about the actions of this or that fleet service to broaden my own horizons. Fast and practical. Of course, I often have to turn to reference materials for clarifications, but it's worth it. So much new and interesting this galaxy holds… If I were a couple of decades younger, I'd probably only now be calming down and stopping looking at every corner of the ship with a sparkle in my eyes, marveling at its design and the very fact of my appearance in a literary universe… Well, with age comes an inherent dignity. Or perhaps in my youth and adolescence I spent too much time reading Timothy Zahn's and Michael Stackpole's books about the adventures of Grand Admiral Thrawn, Mara Jade, Talon Karrde, Wedge Antilles, Corran Horn, and other iconic characters, so that what's happening in reality didn't become some kind of emotional shock for me. Or maybe Chiss physiology isn't prone to hormonal upheavals? Intriguing. I'd like to study my own biology. But first, I need to find the necessary qualified personnel who know how to keep their mouths shut. Though, in part, that's exactly why I decided to devote some of my attention to hunting down the Sa'Nalaor. Besides riches, there's something more valuable on that ship — technology. And very specific specialists.
"The Analysis Division has already done part of that work for you," actually, this was done by reconnaissance and counterintelligence clones that arrived on Tangrene recently. So to speak, initial data processing and professional suitability testing of Himron and Astarion's best subordinates. "The Sa'Nalaor, along with other ships, was involved in guarding a Separatist research complex in the Salvar system in the Mid Rim. That facility was dedicated to creating advanced cyborgs."
"I've heard of something like that," Agent Inek tensed up. "The Empire hunted for their advanced developments for a long time. They say no one has been able to replicate them to this day."
"An interesting fact," I said. "General Rom Mohc, the creator of the Dark Trooper project, showed interest in the developments at the Salvar complex."
"Now I understand the reason for the Empire's interest in finding that ship," the operative smiled unpleasantly. "I've never seen Dark Troopers in action, but I've heard that a pair of them could destroy an entire enemy base."
"That's not a rumor," I replied calmly. "Those droids possess impressive combat capabilities," and the wreckage we managed to recover from Vjun aboard the Nemesis is currently under close scrutiny and study. Since I'm having problems with human personnel, why not shift some of the duties to advanced droids?
"If we could just get a company of those," the scout said dreamily. As if I didn't know. I wanted some myself. But they're not so simple to study, and replication is out of the question — not a single readable droid schematic could be extracted from any of the fragments.
"Save the daydreaming for another place," I advised. The scout instantly lost the cheerfulness and relaxation from his face, muttering a quiet apology. "Captain Harsol, during the last year of the Clone Wars, frequently made unauthorized departures in his ship to unknown destinations. Short ones, but they were invariably followed by the appearance of expensive household items and luxury goods among his crew."
"He was engaged in the contraband trade of unaccounted advanced developments," the scout deduced instantly. "That's the only way to make a large sum of money in a short time. Strange that Separatist counterintelligence didn't question him about those absences."
"I'm sure you will uncover that mystery too, Agent," I said-wished, handing the scout a data chip. "This is all the information the analysts could extract from the old Separatist archives. Begin the search when you're ready."
"Yes, sir," the man said, rising from his seat and accepting the data storage device from my hand. "If that ship isn't destroyed, I will find it. For certain."
"Don't make a habit of giving promises, Agent, unless you're sure you can fulfill them," I advised.
"With all due respect, sir, I've never acted rashly," Inek stated, holding my gaze. Receiving permission to leave, he exited my quarters.
After watching the door close behind the man for a moment, I turned my gaze to one of my monitors. Weighing the possible scenarios, I placed a corresponding symbol next to this being's name.
Let's see how he handles the search for the Sa'Nalaor. I like his diligence. But his loyalty…
Well, I can use both the original and a more loyal clone. Possibly even more than one.
* * *
His teeth were chattering uncontrollably.
Wedge Antilles was shaking as if he'd stepped out of a sweltering steam room into the cold — and not just anywhere, but on Hoth itself. And decided to take a naked stroll around the outskirts of Echo Base.
The morgue was cold, of course, but apparently not as cold as he'd imagined. The Corellian, accustomed to death on the battlefield, was trembling violently from just one look at the autopsy section of the morgue. The place where gleaming tables and corpse-pale facing tiles reigned. In this kingdom, forensic droids and beings of the same specialty performed autopsies and studied bodies.
Being here and observing the process itself was, of course, forbidden to most residents of the Coruscant Government Quarter, but, as it turned out, being the youngest general in the New Republic Defense Force had its perks. You could get clearance to go wherever you wanted… Of course, as long as those higher up didn't see anything wrong with it.
This time, Wedge was lucky to get in through the Republic Intelligence channels, but he was firmly convinced this loophole was a one-time deal.
Footsteps echoed at the far end of the corridor, and Wedge was grateful to the owner of those clicking heels for giving him a chance to look away from the sight of bodies being methodically carved up.
"Is that so?" came the surprised voice of Iella Wessiri, who owned that wonderful footwear. Wedge, out of habit, blew a stray lock of hair from his eyes with a focused stream of air. "Hello, Wedge."
"Hi," he waved. "Glad you came."
"I didn't think places like this would interest you," the intelligence officer cast out a test line, eyeing the pilot who had stood up to meet her suspiciously.
Iella Wessiri.
"You're right about that," Antilles bit his lip. "I can take apart enemy fighters and their tech, but seeing this done to living people with my own eyes…"
The intelligence officer gave a condescending smile.
"Wedge, the only living people in here are the two of us."
The Corellian frowned.
"But you know what I meant, right?" he looked at the woman hopefully, the one he'd been hopelessly in love with since the capture of Coruscant. How many years had it been? Two? Three? Not that it mattered. At first, he didn't want to disturb the emotional wounds left by the death of her own husband — killed by her own hand, revealed to be a "sleeper" agent for Ysanne Isard. Afterwards… well, there was never a good time.
Actually, the brave pilot just didn't know how to approach the seasoned intelligence officer and tell her what he felt for her… And what does a Corellian do when they can't solve a problem here and now with a good fight and a blaster? That's right — they go with the flow.
Who knew that flow would lead him back into the company of this wonderful woman…
Fingers snapped in front of his nose.
"Coruscant calling General Antilles," Wessiri said with a chuckle. "Wedge, do you copy?"
"Rogue Leader at your service," the pilot with the unruly hair saluted jokingly. "But I haven't gone anywhere, I was right here…"
Iella diplomatically stifled a laugh in her fist.
"You sure?"
"As sure as the fact that my astromech's name is 'Mynock' not because he eats up way more power than the rest," Wedge stated confidently.
"Then what did I just ask?" the intelligence officer clarified.
"Umm…" no, pilots are better off in space. Too many dangers await them on a planet's surface. "Okay, I admit it, I was daydreaming."
"I was asking whether I should bet my month's salary on you being on Coruscant for the autopsy report on General Dodonna's body," Iella explained patiently.
Wedge felt a knot in his stomach. The romantic inside him started fighting with the Corellian.
Because he'd actually come here for other reasons. And ended up in the morgue only because some kind souls had told him the forensic examination was finished. And from a purely technical standpoint, he was here because of Iella…
But swallowing his shyness and telling the truth would be… Oh, he'd rather fly against the Death Star again! It wasn't even that scary, really. Sure, he'd had to wash his flight suit both times…
Another finger snap…
"Not exactly," he admitted. "Solo is back."
"I heard," Wessiri nodded. "My command wanted to interrogate him as a deserter, but Mon Mothma's office vetoed it and confiscated all materials related to the review."
"Are you sure you have the right to tell me that?" the young general questioned the intelligence officer's authority. "That's supposed to be internal information…"
"Has something changed in the last few years? Have you forgotten how to keep your mouth shut?" Iella smiled captivatingly… Wedge felt his heart ache and plummet into the abyss… He should ask if the Empire had any more Death Stars. It was a matter of vital importance!
"Of course not," he sniffed. "But have you seen a Death Star around here? I'm kind of a specialist on those, just dropped by — heard one was shooting around here…"
Wessiri laughed quietly. Smiling at Wedge with that particular smile that breaks any ice and helps get rid of the shivers… It seemed he'd found the person who could warm his personal Hoth.
"Let's go already," she grew serious. "Just one quick look, deal?"
"Then don't you tell anyone either," Wedge smiled tightly. "If Fey'lya finds out I'm one-eyed, she'll ground me on the spot."
Getting to the right office and obtaining everything they needed wasn't difficult. Wedge was once again amazed by Iella's composure, who, without any embarrassment, picked up the foreign objects extracted from the general's internal organs. Yes, they were in sealed plastic bags, but…
"Rogue Leader surrenders, repeat: Rogue Leader surrenders," a joking announcement in a flight controller's voice ran through his head.
Yeah… He definitely couldn't do that. War was a different category of nerves of steel and professional deformation. But there was none of that in this woman… Just strength of spirit and an unyielding will that he had long since learned to respect and silently admire.
Scanning the pages of the report, the young general felt that he was actually going to need a Death Star…
He never quite understood how he ended up on the cold bench, one of a row lining the indifferent, unfeeling walls of the morgue corridor. He wasn't thinking clearly about much of anything except one simple thought.
He was a killer. A stupid boy whose boneless tongue had cost the life of one of the finest commanders in the Rebel Alliance...
"Wedge." A pleasant female voice reached him as if through a thick layer of water from somewhere to his right... He slowly turned his head toward the source of the sound. Hammers pounded in his temples, and his heart kept trying to leap out of his chest. And his face burned so badly...
"Wedge." Wessiri snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Stay with me. Wedge, look at me. Antilles, you Sithspawn!"
It hurt. But somehow it made things easier...
Rubbing his still-burning left cheek from the slap, the young general offered a strained smile. A habit that had carried over to the New Republic from the days of the Rebel Alliance. Smiles through tears...
"Thanks," he rasped, looking at her with eyes that could barely make out the details of his surroundings. "I'm... fine."
"You sure?" Wessiri asked skeptically, massaging her stinging palm that had brought him back to his senses. "If I need to, I can sober you up from the other side too..."
"No," Wedge rasped. "I'm okay... It's not every day you learn that saying a name gets a man killed..."
He looked with hatred at the small, flat box covered in wires that the pathology droids had removed from the body of the Alliance's celebrated general.
"Antilles, you're talking nonsense," Wessiri said sharply. "You didn't kill General Dodonna. You didn't know that saying his name would lead to this. The murderer is the one who built that device and implanted it in the general's skull!"
"I..." Wedge looked away. His heart was still pounding like crazy. "I know, but... If we'd found him sooner..."
"No 'buts,'" Iella said in the same commanding tone. "Me and Corran, hell — the entire New Republic Intelligence — we were searching for the Lusankya prisoners while you were forming Rogue Squadron and taking down Zsinj. We couldn't do anything! Forgive my bluntness, but if Horn couldn't find those prisoners, then how can it possibly be your fault, or his, or mine? There are several hundred prisoners. And they could be on any planet in the galaxy. You of all people know how many known and unknown worlds are out there! They could be on any one of them! Isard scattered the prisoners across different prisons precisely because she knew we'd search for them after Horn escaped the Lusankya and we'd want them back. If anyone has the brains to take steps so we'd never find them, it's her."
"And the secret of where she put them went up with her on Thyferra. Horn and Telch torpedoed her shuttle," Wedge said glumly. "Looks like... We made a big mistake getting rid of her."
Iella snorted indignantly in protest.
"Next you'll say we should have let her live," she said heatedly. "Isard is the same kind of ruthless, absolute evil as Palpatine. Or were you planning to let him live at Endor too?"
"I was just covering the Millennium Falcon," his voice wavered treacherously.
"And if you'd had the chance — would you have put a torpedo in his reactor?" Iella asked.
"Yes," Wedge said hoarsely, without hesitation.
"Even knowing how much pain would spread across the galaxy after his death?" Wessiri clarified.
"Yes," Wedge's voice grew stronger.
"So what's the difference?" Suddenly he felt the girl run her hand through his hair. And it had a sobering effect... "Wedge, don't dwell on the past. We're alive. And the other prisoners from the Lusankya are probably alive too. You can't just sit down and do nothing because we're afraid of possible negative consequences. We need to finish off that snake — the Imperial legacy. And then we can take off our command pips and wallow in melancholy. Deal?"
"Yeah," the young general said with a strained smile. "Thanks."
"We'll find whoever did this to the prisoners on the Lusankya," Iella said firmly. "And we'll make them answer."
Antilles swallowed the lump in his throat. This was all so wrong... Here he was, being comforted by a woman whose husband had been a prisoner on the Lusankya, who had undergone Isard's processing — a man she had broken and turned into her puppet. After the capture of Coruscant, Wessiri's husband had been sent to assassinate an Imperial officer who had surrendered to the New Republic. The same officer Iella herself had been guarding. The same Iella who had personally shot her husband when he killed the Imperial. They were all being manipulated. With devilish precision and cunning.
So, General Antilles, if you'd be so kind: tighten your seat restraints, knock the stupidity out of your head, and start thinking with the part of your body where that unruly forelock of yours grows!
Wedge squeezed the girl's hands gently.
"Of course you're right," he said warmly. "I... Sorry, I fell apart. Too many losses lately."
"Then let's make sure we minimize them," Iella declared decisively, pulling a pair of medical gloves from the pocket of her uniform jacket. With the skill of a professional magician, she put them on and tore open a polymer bag, pulling out the box of wires. Too thin — a little smaller than a deck of cards — but so deadly...
"We've got a starting point," she said, examining the object and cross-referencing data from the medical report. "It was assembled from parts available on the civilian market. Except there are custom-made components here too. Whoever built it knew their craft. You don't build something like this in a garage behind your house."
"How does it work?" Wedge frowned.
Iella opened the box and showed him the contents. Nothing extraordinary: microchips, wires, miniature power cells, a tiny motor. And the most notable part — a metal cylinder, covered in what were clearly hand-made holes across its entire surface. Wessiri glanced at the documents, then, with sleight of hand, made the cylinder jump in place with a single press of a tiny button trigger mechanism.
"Inside this thing," she pointed to the perforated cylinder, "there are thin-walled, extremely fragile capsules containing two substances. One is a narcotic, the other is a poison. A rare hemotoxin — acts like acid, corrodes capillary walls. The latter explains the profuse bleeding from the body's natural orifices. The narcotic served as a catalyst to raise blood pressure and accelerate circulation, which spread the poison throughout the body in a matter of seconds. Since the implant was connected to the aorta, it was unavoidable. Cause of death: massive cerebral hemorrhage."
Wedge shifted uncomfortably.
"And the trigger was me saying his name..."
"This —" Iella checked the death report data again and pointed to another element in the bag, " is a device used in prosthetics. It was connected to the auditory nerve. The electronics recognize the voice, the motor activates, and the substances circulate through the body."
"Now we just need to figure out how they got a sample of my voice for precise identification," he said.
"As painful as it is to admit, they could have gotten it from our archives," Iella said.
General Antilles felt very uneasy.
"Aren't they supposed to be top secret?" he clarified.
"As far as I know — yes."
"Which means..." Wedge said meaningfully.
"If you're hinting that nothing on Coruscant can be kept secret, you're right," the girl sighed bitterly. "The Imps get information almost from the source. And if this thing," she pointed to the implant that had killed General Dodonna, "was built under Isard, then it's no surprise. The general could have been carrying it since the time Horn was captured on the Lusankya. Lots of possibilities."
"On the other hand, they could have gotten a voice sample from radio intercepts," Wedge tried to comfort the girl. Knowing you work in an intelligence agency that can't stop the enemy from getting what they want is pretty depressing. Wedge Antilles happened to serve in exactly such a military force.
"Someone certainly put in the effort," she said. "As far as I know, no one knew about the party you organized except the pilots, right?" Wedge nodded affirmatively. "Then we need to figure out how the person Ysanne Isard put in charge of the prisoners learned about the time and place of the operation. Because doing it in such a short time is just masterful."
"Rumor has it Isard had agent cells on every planet in the Galaxy," Wedge said, for some reason in a whisper.
"I'll grant some planets," Iella said. "But not all."
"Why do you say that?" Wedge asked.
"Otherwise the Rebellion would have been strangled in its cradle," the girl sighed.
"Any suggestions on what to do?" Wedge asked.
"Honestly, I was waiting for you to take the initiative, General," a mischievous spark appeared in her eyes.
"If something needs blowing up or scouting — just say the word," Antilles said. "But thinking two steps ahead — that's your specialty."
"And Horn's," Iella said bitterly. "Do you even know where he is?"
"No idea," the lump formed in his throat again. "We're covering for him as best we can, but they'll dig up the truth soon..."
"And they'll start hunting him as a deserter," Iella grew somber. "They might even send me..."
"Isn't that a bit much to pile on you?" Wedge asked. "The Ackbar case, the Dodonna case... Now hunting down your old partner."
"It's the job," Wessiri smiled sadly. "Besides, as painful as it is to admit, I'll be finishing my investigation into Admiral Ackbar very soon."
"They're going to drop the case?" Wedge asked hopefully. Wessiri's gaze gave an eloquent negative answer. "You know it's a setup, right?"
"Wedge, I'm doing everything to prove that," she declared. "Command is covering for me as best they can. But the facts speak for themselves. Too many questions about Ackbar lately. Defeats. Ship losses. The disappearance of Booster Terrik and his daughter, who are considered unofficial allies of the New Republic. Every plan he makes fails. And now they find money, a painting..."
"They could have been planted," Wedge grew grim. "If Ackbar, during his forced leave, managed to figure out who and why is causing this chaos across the galaxy, they could easily have gotten rid of him..."
"Wedge..." Iella looked at him pleadingly. "Take my word for it, I'm not stupid. I don't want to believe this under any circumstances. I'd sooner believe that Fey'lya — who keeps sending requests about the case's progress — set it all up. But the facts..."
"What facts could there be?" Antilles grimaced. "Just guesses. Ackbar simply got in the way, so they decided to get rid of him. I wouldn't even be surprised if this Imperial warlord is as much of a pain in the... exhaust nozzle as Isard," he corrected himself. "They're leading us around by the nose like little children. If you want to know my opinion — the Imperials are planning something very big, and they're eliminating our best people. Madine could have figured out the origin of the Imperial task force, just like Leia Organa-Solo could have acquired it, and Karrde could have sold it. And as a result, they all disappear. Along with the ship. On top of that, it turns out that with Madine's death we lost contact with our undercover intelligence officers... Ackbar was developing a counter-strategy — and now he's a criminal. Horn was going to investigate the disappearance of Booster and Mirax — and now he's flying off to see some Jedi no one had ever heard of. Lando was planning raids against the Imperials — and he's gone too. Then Solo... You know, up until now I thought Fey'lya had been lucky all this time. He's climbing the ladder of power by leaps and bounds. And he's even started coming up with some decent plans — too bad the Imps didn't fall for them. But even his luck ran out — the whole HoloNet is buzzing about how the Bothans were under-arming their capital ships while sending unaccounted-for missile launchers and turbolasers somewhere else. He decided to equip a fleet to crush the Ciutric Hegemony — and wouldn't you know it, almost every single convoy with equipment, supplies, and everything necessary has been attacked, intercepted, or destroyed. And for the last five days, the Imperials have done nothing but smash our old and new bases across the galaxy. And they're picking the ones with the weakest defenses, the ones we were relying on for stealth... The only talk in the military is about how some womp rat has dug in at the very top. Now the jokes about intelligence services that can't find their own tail don't seem so funny anymore."
"And for us, it's no laughing matter at all," Iella said with a heavy sigh. "Some of my colleagues believe they handed us Coruscant and let us spread our forces across the galaxy just so they could pick them off in smaller groups. I heard that this morning in the Senate, Fey'lya was dragged through the mud and then wiped the floor with him over the destroyed bases. How many were attacked? Ten?"
"Forty-one," Antilles added grimly. "And it was all done so we couldn't even properly figure out what's happening. The bases are literally leveled by orbital strikes or pounded by bombers. No survivors, no witnesses... You know, I really hope Han Solo's return from AWOL is a good sign."
"Given the circumstances, we need some kind of victory," Wessiri said. "So I take it you were called to Coruscant for that?"
"Yes, there's a meeting scheduled personally with Mon Mothma, with Han Solo and Fey'lya," Wedge admitted. "Looks like big politics are involved..."
"If he has the same attitude toward her as you do, should I prepare for an alert deployment?" Wessiri smiled.
"Well, it's not all that bad," Wedge said sadly. "What worries me much more is why the meeting was called so urgently. And how," he pointed to the implant, "to track down whoever made this."
"We can analyze the parts," Wessiri said. "Then look for someone with the necessary expertise and equipment to create exclusive components, like the capsules and the cylinder. That would point us to a planet..."
Wedge didn't miss the hint of uncertainty in her words.
"Linuri," he said quietly.
"What does that mean?" Iella asked.
"Before he died, General Dodonna said he had a message for me," Wedge grimaced. A tiny piece of information he had withheld from the investigators. And he only said one word: "Linuri."
"And you ordered your pilots to keep quiet about it when giving testimony," the intelligence officer stated, her eyes flashing dangerously.
"Oh, no, not at all," Wedge protested. "That's just our usual screw-up and forgetfulness..."
"Joking aside?" his friend asked. "Were you planning to find out everything on your own in secret?"
"Sometimes I think you'll make a great wife," Antilles blurted out. Then it hit him and he bit his tongue. "You catch on to everything so fast..."
"It's the job," Wessiri said in a flat tone. In her eyes, Wedge saw echoes of the old pain of losing a loved one... "Did you find out anything?"
"Linuri is a planet in the Mid Rim. Habitable for most intelligent lifeforms. There's no information in the archives that the Empire ever used it in any way or at any time..."
"You know that's not proof," Iella informed him. "Until the very last moment, we didn't know that the Lusankya wasn't just a secret prison, but also an Executor-class Star Dreadnought."
"The longer we fight the Empire, the more sophisticated they get," Wedge sighed. "You know, I'm starting to get the impression that we're fighting not one, but several Imperials at once."
"Is that so?" Wessiri was surprised. "And what makes you say that?"
"Well..." Wedge smiled. "Thinking isn't exactly my strongest suit, but... Everything's happening suspiciously. First, information appears about some surviving grand admiral. Then there are sophisticated attacks. Then the Hast shipyards — where the Imperials had already taken a beating — are literally blown to pieces. And then more attacks on our bases. And parallel to that — an elaborate trap for Booster and his family. Luring Leia into a trap. Now this demonstrative murder of Dodonna. The hunt for traitors. Privateers and pirates raising their heads. If I didn't know we'd killed Isard, I'd swear she's sitting in some corner plotting against us, with a bunch of talented and cunning operatives. One works crudely and bulldozes through. The other — calculative and precise, like a surgeon."
"We're leaning toward the idea that the information General Solo got from smugglers a few months ago — about the Imperials having a grand admiral — is partially true," Iella said.
"But they were all wiped out," Wedge was surprised. "Or they tore each other apart. Where did another one come from?"
"We received intelligence that the attack on the Hast shipyards was led by a flagship called the Reckoning," the intelligence officer said.
"Prince-Admiral Krennel," Wedge rolled his eyes. "Sadist and maniac..."
"And yet, based on his dossier, he's clearly a proponent of brute-force solutions," Iella continued. "Which fits your theory about one of the operatives being slow-witted and bulldozing through."
"Okay, I overdid it," Antilles caught himself. "Krennel is a weirdo, sure, but he's quite talented tactically..."
"Wait, I wasn't finished," the intelligence officer said. "This is strictly confidential, but... In short, we received a report from Brentaal IV that some of the bases in their area of responsibility were destroyed by an Imperial Star Destroyer called the Imperious."
"Ah, ah, ah..." Wedge tensed up. "The 'Butcher of Atoa'? What's his name...?"
"Captain Eric Shohashi," Iella supplied. "An Alderaanian who hunts Alderaanians. And as it happens, the base he destroyed on Edan II was entirely crewed by Alderaanians."
"Stupid but strong on one side," Wedge narrowed his eyes, "and cunning and agile on the other. That Shohashi deserves the gallows. I hear he's one of those Imperial commanders they won't forgive his sins and probably won't even take prisoner."
"There's an unofficial order to that effect," Wessiri admitted. "My colleagues are tearing the galaxy apart to find him, but so far no luck. We don't think he's basing out of the same place as Krennel — he shows up way too far from Imperial territory. And he's using an active transponder for some reason. Like he wants us to know who's behind all this..."
"My head is about to explode," Wedge admitted. "Why would the Imps even activate their transponders? They stopped doing that about five years ago when they decided it would help conceal their severely depleted fleet numbers."
"Either way, we know for sure that Krennel and some of his fleet's ships were at the Hast shipyards — that's confirmed information. And Shohashi is operating in the eastern part of the galaxy — and he's not hiding his identifier either. Unlike those who, for example, are attacking bases in the west and south. It's complete surrealism, throwing everyone off..."
"Have you heard about Ithor?" Wedge asked.
"The one where an Imperial star destroyer first took out two Mon Calamari cruisers, then used them like stones from a sling and smashed an orbital defense station, whose debris burned half of the largest continent?" Iella clarified. Wedge grimaced and nodded. "Rumor has it the Ithorians are furious and sent a delegation to the New Republic yesterday that had arrived to assess the damage..."
"And they also showed our escort squadron the door," Wedge sighed. "There's reason to believe they intend to leave the New Republic so they stop being Imperial targets."
"I'm no military expert, but wouldn't that step be the reason the Imps show up in Ithor's orbit through the front door, with nothing to stop them?"
"I really hope that's exactly what happens," Wedge admitted. "The Ithorians are convinced that if it weren't for the New Republic ships in orbit, the Imps wouldn't have destroyed their forests."
"They'd just have bought some grain, like on Agamar?" Wessiri chuckled. "Yeah, hard to believe."
"If all this is someone's strategy, it's so insane I can't understand it," Antilles lamented. "I'd understand if Isard were behind it, but we killed the heterochromiac at Thyferra. And as a military commander, she's mediocre. Krennel is good — I'll give him that — but he's a tactician, not a strategist. He couldn't play cards on both sides of the table. He'd just bulldoze through, and he doesn't have enough ships anyway... Honestly, now that I've said all this... You know, I'm starting to believe myself that we didn't finish off a grand admiral somewhere. Too many Imperial Star Destroyers are involved in these attacks — Krennel doesn't have that many, and for the other Imperials, he's just a source of TIE fighters."
"We didn't finish off a grand admiral..." Iella repeated, looking away. "You know... You're not that far from the truth..."
"What?" Wedge choked. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Octavian Grant," Wessiri said almost in a whisper. "Heard the name?"
"One of the Imperial grand admirals," Wedge nodded cautiously. "Tried to fight us, then fled to the Pentastar Alignment, had some falling out with Grand Moff Kaine, tried to run a campaign on his own, and then was killed a few years ago."
"Not quite," Iella licked her lips. "That's another one of my cases... In short, remember how after we captured Coruscant, we thoroughly cleaned out the Imperial depots and bases?"
"Of course I remember," Wedge nodded. "We took an active part in it."
"Grant gave us their coordinates," Wessiri barely mouthed.
"You've got to be kidding me," Antilles whistled. "He's playing for our side, or what?"
"Until recently," Wessiri nodded. "He was granted sanctuary and comfortable living on a remote planet. But as soon as rumors started spreading that one of the surviving Grand Admirals had taken command of an Imperial task force... Grant disappeared. His residence was burned down, the surveillance team and guards were killed. Literally an hour ago, confirmations of corpse identification came in — Grant isn't among them."
Wedge swore through his teeth.
"We warmed a rancor on our chest!" he said. "We let a war criminal live in comfort. We might as well have invited Pitt, Batch, Syn, and the rest for a barbecue. Take your pick — they all have such a pile of corpses behind them that there's not much difference. The only one among them with a conscience was Zaarin, who started an uprising six months before Yavin. But even he had no intention of cooperating with us! And Grant... His hands aren't just bloody up to the elbows, but up to the nostrils!"
"Wedge, cool down," Iella advised. "I'm completely with you. Unfortunately, in the intelligence hierarchy, I'm not as big a figure as you are now in the Armed Forces."
"Ah," Wedge waved his hand. "One of a couple hundred, or maybe a thousand generals and admirals. I don't even know the names of my immediate neighbors from my post."
"But you didn't know anything about Grant either, did you?" Iella clarified. Wedge nodded. "I told you what's classified under the highest secrecy. If anyone finds out..."
"I'm as silent as a Mon Calamari underwater," Antilles promised.
"You know they're amphibians and communicate in their environment too, right?" the intelligence agent clarified.
"I mean, I won't tell anyone," Wedge blushed. "But what you said... Iella, I'm not the smartest guy around, but even I understand that something as nasty as a Grand Admiral isn't an asset you can calmly keep behind your back. I'm more than certain he deliberately surrendered to us, gave up what he didn't care about, maybe even his own enemies, and then sat comfortably in our backyard, watching, analyzing under controlled conditions. And when he found out his cover wasn't the most secure, he bolted and covered his tracks. So there's your spider, acting from the shadows, controlling Krennel and Shohashi, and maybe someone else too. I'm sure that as a Grand Admiral, he knew Isard well, which means he could be involved in Dodonna's murder. So to speak, sent us a farewell gift..."
"That's exactly the theory currently considered the leading one," Iella said. "At least — at the very top. My leadership is at a loss right now. No one knows where to expect the next blow. If this keeps up, then Ithor will be followed by other worlds and sectors — especially if it turns out that seceding from the New Republic is a way to avoid Imperial attack."
"Brilliant," Antilles threw up his hands. "Just wonderful. I've been fighting for this state for..." He thought for a moment. "Many years," the Corellian gave a vague answer. "And when there were more military than politicians in power, we did relatively well. But now? They put a Bothan in command of an army he knows absolutely nothing about. Meanwhile, we start accusing proven admirals of treason. Don't you think someone is purging the unwanted so they can stay on top themselves?"
"Well, there you go, and you said you weren't the smartest," Iella smiled tightly. "Wedge, believe me, I'm trying..."
"I don't doubt you," Antilles sighed sadly. "It's just... How can we win at all when we're being hit in the nose and the back of the head at the same time? Who's the enemy now, and who's the real friend?"
"At least you can be sure of my friendship," Wessiri said firmly. "I have my own scores to settle with the Empire. And they won't be able to negotiate with me."
"Same with me," Antilles only now noticed how his fingers were clenching into fists. "I urgently need to bomb a couple of Imperial bases."
"For example, on Linuri?" Iella inquired.
"If it's there," Wedge darkened. "You know... I get the feeling that Dodonna's death was done so boldly, so conspicuously, as if someone wanted us to come after him. It's no coincidence they were looking specifically for me, right?"
Iella Wessiri narrowed her eyes.
"They say inviting an angry Rogue Squadron to your territory leads to heavy bombing casualties..."
"Yeah," Wedge shook his head. "Unless you're an idiot, or you have a big club with you that you intend to use to wipe us out completely."
"I'd argue about the idiots," Iella declared. "They were the first to die in the Empire. Now only the most cunning and combat-capable remain. It's possible there's someone among them with a personal grudge against you. And he could be the foundation for all of this. Any idea which of them you might have angered so much?"
"You realize that question has narrowed down the list of potential candidates hunting for our heads so insignificantly that it's pointless to even try analyzing it?" Wedge smiled.
"And yet, we have to try," Iella said, rising from the bench and picking up the report and the bag of evidence in one hand. "You have time until the briefing, right?"
"Of course," Wedge agreed.
"Then maybe we'll find a quiet spot and have some caf, think about which of your enemies could be so spiteful as to lure you into a trap at the cost of General Dodonna's life?" Wessiri clarified, unceremoniously grabbing the young general by the arm. Wedge felt his breath catch. And his ears started to turn red... Why was it so hot in this morgue?!
"I bet my astromech it's Krennel," he said grimly. "He's got a very big score to settle with us..."
"I'm sure you'll tell me all about it, right?" Wessiri asked. "And we'll come up with some very clever plan to find the bastard and bring him to justice."
"You could have just said you needed to interrogate me," Antilles sighed sadly.
"My dear Wedge Antilles," Iella said cheerfully, "if that's what I needed, I wouldn't have sat with you for two hours in this freezing morgue in a summer uniform, trying not to let my teeth chatter from the cold."
What cold was there? One Corellian's face would be burning soon. And his heart was beating so hard...
"Maybe then..." he said uncertainly, looking the girl in the eyes. "We could go somewhere...?"
"Is this a date, General Antilles?" Iella's eyebrows shot up, and a puzzled expression appeared on her face.
"Well... yes..." Wedge faltered. "It's just... You've helped me so often that... A small token of appreciation... From one pilot... to his good comrade-in-arms..."
"Wedge," Iella sighed with a smile. "Do you realize you're asking me on a date, standing in a morgue corridor?"
Antilles bit his lip childishly. Yeah... Some gentleman. While all the other boys his age were going on dates, he was blowing up Death Stars and hadn't quite mastered personal growth and practicing tact along with gallantry.
"Well..." he hastily looked away. "At least no one here will gossip. And a Death Star is unlikely to intrude and stop my boldness..."
Iella's cheerful laughter seemed to offend even the pathology droids.
And for the rest of the day, Wedge flew as if on wings, feeling his cheek burning from just one kiss. When you think about it... If another Death Star had popped up in Coruscant's orbit, one young general could have blown it up that day even if he'd flown a head-on attack in an atmospheric speeder.
* * *
The "Squid Lake" once again filled my cabin with its lulling yet disturbing sounds. Another section was ending with the traditional Mon Calamari fade-out, after which another slow introduction would begin. A very notable characteristic of the race's thinking, translated into a musical composition.
Mon Calamari think in peculiar "leaps." They are very hard to "stir up," they are slow, ponderous, inert. But when another episode reaches its climax, their thought is fast, precise, and sharp, like every climax of the "Squid Lake."
Listening to the beautiful melodies, I analyzed the "gift" from Agent Inek.
Luke Skywalker's X-wing and the "image" of his astromech R2's memory. I didn't have precise information whether this was the starfighter in which Skywalker destroyed the first Death Star, then fought on Hoth and up to the present day. Or if it was a completely different ship, because the previous ones were damaged or destroyed. Unfortunately, I didn't remember this.
However, it wasn't that important — the decryption team would extract everything from this ship. One thing I remembered for sure — Skywalker rejected the mandatory procedure in the Star Wars universe of wiping the droids' memory. It was done solely to prevent the accumulation of experience and the development of self-awareness in artificial mechanisms, due to the local inhabitants' fear of a droid uprising. It so happened that such a moment in this galaxy's history existed and had such a strong negative impact on everyone living in it that the safety requirements were observed for thousands of years... What a pity that the galaxy's population doesn't have such an impressive memory regarding the followers of the Dark Side of the Force.
However, the fighter wasn't the main thing.
The "image" of the astromech's memory — that was a much more interesting point.
R2-D2 was a separate character in the galaxy, deserving attention as a full-fledged personality. In fact, he already was one, since his owners didn't wipe his memory. Consequently, the droid could shed light on a huge number of historical events...
He served on Naboo and saved Queen Padmé Amidala during the Trade Federation blockade, thirty-two years before the Battle of Yavin IV. He helped Anakin Skywalker in his podrace on Tatooine and in the destruction of the droid control ship over Naboo. He was present at the beginning of the Clone Wars and was with Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker throughout the months of war with the Separatists (except for a few events). He served the House of Organa on Tatooine and carried the plans for the first Death Star inside him. He helped Luke Skywalker destroy the latter. He was with him on Dagobah and contributed to the fall of the Empire at Endor... And how many adventures did he have in the period between the movie "episodes" and after them?
This droid truly was a small encyclopedia, holding a great many secrets.
It was actually quite curious how things were unfolding in the galaxy. It seemed I had already set history on a different path, but one way or another, the universe's iconic characters kept crossing my path — directly or indirectly.
And it so happened that at roughly the same time, I had acquired two keys to the secrets of the Skywalker family's past.
The first was a copy of R2-D2's memory banks. I didn't remember the exact reason why the droid hadn't told Luke about his parents' past. Whether that part of his memory core was blocked, or damaged due to the numerous scrapes he'd gotten into. However, one way or another, in the events I knew, it was the second "key" that managed to unlock (or restore? It doesn't really matter) these memory sections and give Leia and Luke Skywalker information about who their mother was...
And this was done by a then-not-young slicer named Ghent. The same one Mara recruited to carry out the tasks assigned to her. It was amusing how the cards fell... After all, I hadn't ordered the seizure of Skywalker's X-wing or the copying of his astromech's memory, which had now become a beacon for detecting Garm Bel Iblis's base and fleet.
But by chance (or the Force's will?), both had ended up in my possession.
No, this didn't have a major impact on my plans. Not at all. But it allowed me to add "pleasant additions" to them.
For example, using old data from R2-D2's memory gave me "operational room." I could send agents along the trails of long-subsided battles to find damaged or abandoned ships, left-behind bases and outposts — in my position, everything was useful, no exaggeration.
And I also could... no matter how strange it sounded... do a good deed. Namely, build bridges with the Skywalker family. By putting data about their mother at their disposal. I was sure that it would only take providing a certain degree of evidence to send them both to Naboo. Padmé Amidala clearly had relatives and descendants. Therefore, a genetic analysis to determine kinship was possible. If this procedure was available in my past life, then it certainly was in the galaxy far, far away.
I wasn't afflicted with great altruism in my past life, and I'm not now. However, the Skywalkers — both Luke and Leia — were people characterized by a lack of vindictiveness, great integrity, and an ability to be grateful. The Jedi Knight would one day become Grand Master and train a huge number of followers. The Princess would lead the New Republic. One way or another, if not tomorrow, then in years to come, they would both gain a significant position in the galaxy. In fact, the Princess already had significant influence now, and Luke wasn't among the backbenchers either. I planned to use Leia to announce myself as an Imperial who could and should be dealt with and negotiated with. In fact, that's why the spectacle of her capture was being staged and the observatory on Tangrene was being built. For the same reason, she was being cared for like a dear guest — fighting with women and children was a last resort. And even more so, intentionally harming them. The Skywalker family played a big role in this galaxy... And that meant Leia's children needed to be born. They would replace their parents. And even though one of the twins, currently living inside the princess, in the events I knew, would become known as Darth Caedus, fall to the Dark Side, and drown the galaxy in blood, it wasn't necessary that with my appearance everything would go according to the old script. An avalanche that sweeps everything in its path forms from the fall of just a small amount of snow, and only later, during its descent, accumulates enormous mass. Consequently, it wasn't a fact that my actions would change the galaxy for better or worse. Time would tell.
But even without knowing how events would unfold, I had no intention of depriving the princess of her children. Even if what I already knew was repeated with Jacen Solo. There was a common belief that if you go back in time and kill Hitler as a baby, you could avoid World War II. A utopian worldview. Because you never know what will happen to history if you radically change it. In fact, for this very reason, I wasn't striving to capture sectors of the New Republic — there was simply no need to waste effort on it.
Hitler became what we know from history textbooks not because he was born with ideas of Aryan supremacy. Jacen Solo wasn't born a Sith, just as Anakin Skywalker wasn't. Even the future Emperor didn't come into this world intending to destroy all the Jedi. Their actions and decisions were influenced by circumstances and the sentients around them. And I somehow doubted that a single fleet analyst in an alien body could change the galaxy so much that destructive elements would disappear from it and everyone would start wishing each other nothing but peace and goodwill.
No matter how much I mulled over the idea of unifying the galaxy and preparing it for the meeting with the Yuuzhan Vong, it was an unattainable utopia. The galaxy was a complex organism, and it wasn't within my power to change the course of events inside it. I could only do things within my strength and only where I could truly achieve the result I needed.
And the X-wing, the old memories from the droid's memory — that was what I needed to build bridges with the Skywalker couple. Whether it would work or not, whether they could influence the New Republic government and stop the bloodbath between the Imperials and the former rebels — I didn't know. But I saw a chance and I would use it.
"Do or do not." That's what Master Yoda said, I think, enlightening his grown-up student with Jedi wisdom. And it happened on the planet Dagobah... It was interesting that its coordinates were absent from galactic atlases — even from the data on Obroa-Skai. And yet there lay one of the places of Force concentration, used by the Disciples of Marka Ragnos to resurrect their dead master... A quiet little planet worth keeping an eye on. After all, at least in the past, interesting events had happened there. And it never hurts to be cautious...
Decided. As soon as the planet's coordinates appeared, I would need to send several observation probes from the Morrt project there. Whoever flew into that system, I would know about it. Because, heaven forbid, another powerful dark Jedi from the planet Bpfassh might show up, or C'baoth might decide to go there, and Master Yoda was already dead and wouldn't be able to... Heaven forbid there was something "interesting" on that swampy planet.
I stopped short.
Opening my eyes, I looked around. The code cylinder with the text of the Caamas Document had slipped from my pocket. I spun the device between my fingers, running the sequence of events through my memory.
It all started with Luke Skywalker flying to Dagobah at the beginning of Thrawn's campaign in the events I knew and visiting the cave, where he was struck by a vision from the Force...
No. Absolutely not. This chain of events started much earlier.
When Yoda was in exile on Dagobah after the Great Jedi Purge?
No, I don't think so.
During the Clone Wars?
No, even earlier. Or not? I don't remember exactly, but it wasn't that important.
The battle between Yoda and the fallen Jedi from the planet Bpfassh was the starting point for the development of a chain of events that saved the New Republic from collapse ten years after Grand Admiral Thrawn's death in the events I knew.
Just one small detail allowed the Republicans to follow a trail of breadcrumbs and obtain an unaltered copy of the Caamas Document, which made it possible to identify and hold specific Bothans accountable for disabling the deflector shields of the Caamasi homeworld. And that put an end to the protracted intra-state conflict...
And it was Talon Karrde who did this. He obtained the unaltered copy. One similar to what currently existed in only a few places — with me, in the Ubiqtorate's possession, and in the Imperial Library, which ten years from the present events would be located on Bastion, the capital of the Imperial Remnant. But there was a fourth copy of the document — in the fortress of Thrawn's Hand on the planet Nirauan, where I planned to find a way by breaking Delak Krennel somehow, to tell me how exactly he came under Thrawn's command in the past, and how he returned from the Unknown Regions. Without Thrawn's memory, I couldn't get there, and yet there were at least two hundred and fifty sectors of pro-Imperial planets, subordinate to the command on Nirauan. And they, in turn, were subordinate to Thrawn. Mara Jade and Luke Skywalker found their way there in their time, but... Only when Thrawn's subordinates from Nirauan started looking for them themselves.
Did I want to arrive on Nirauan and take command of all their power? Yes, that would be very good — it would allow me to destroy Palpatine in one fell swoop and occupy almost half the galaxy — subjugating the Imperial Remnants. But the trouble was, I was frankly afraid to find the way to Nirauan, go there, and try to subjugate those who had been with Thrawn throughout all the years of his "exile." Because I would definitely fail... I would be exposed. Unless by that time I could become Thrawn not only externally, but also internally. But that was just a lyrical digression.
I needed Nirauan as my most emergency escape plan. And if they started looking for Thrawn on their own in ten years, then at least I had time to prepare for their arrival. If not... So much the better. Probably.
However, I was getting distracted again. Sometimes the ability to switch to some currently unimportant details and run them through my head down to the smallest nuances was exhausting.
Mentally, I returned to my logical chain regarding the Caamas Document. So, there were four copies. But not one of them, in the events I knew, served as a way to defuse tensions in the New Republic.
Talon Karrde helped, discovering a fifth copy of the necessary list. In a region of the galaxy to which a small technical device had led him... And these adventures began when, ten years after the destruction of Mount Tantiss, a single alien discovered several information chips. Including a damaged copy of the Caamas Document, which I currently had intact and safe. And this information was extremely valuable — it could collapse the New Republic overnight and break it into sectors warring with each other...
I felt a slight tremor.
I had reason to worry. Because after Thrawn's defeat in the events I knew, ten years later, in the ruins of Mount Tantiss, an antiquities hunter had found not only a damaged information chip with the Caamas Document.
I glanced at the shelves with information crystals and chips that took up a good half of my quarters. They were all extracted from the depths of Mount Tantiss. They had escaped the cleanup by the computer virus in the past, and therefore contained very interesting information. On one of the info chips was the reason for the genocide of the Caamasi by Palpatine's order.
And on another... —
I looked again at the impressive collection of the Emperor's own information.
There were many secrets and mysteries here — both of the Sith himself and his closest associates. I had used some of these crystals to set up the ambush on Linuri.
But there was something else found among the ruins of Mount Tantiss. Something that could not be made public, either among Imperials or Republicans. And if I found the document I was interested in among these endless crystals and chips, the instructions, the coordinates, then Krennel would no longer be of any use to me.