Nine years, seven months, and fifteen days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-four years, seven months, and fifteen days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Three months and thirty-five days since the Arrival.)
After the hyperspace jump into a previously unknown star system completed, a horrifying sight greeted the crews of the Republic warships.
The planet's surface, crisscrossed by pale clouds, seemed uniformly brown, like dried blood. Rare patches of water, almost lost against the monotonous mass of colors, were so tiny that the world's creator might have added them to this dreary palette as a mockery of anyone who would ever see such a sight.
"Great Force!" there were no Jedi on the battle group's flagship as a matter of course, but the expression had become popular among sentients long, long ago, too deeply ingrained to abandon just because you couldn't volunteer for the Jedi Order. "How can anything live here at all?"
"Begin system scan!" the Bothan with admiral's insignia ordered in a rasping voice. "Send scouts to the planet, its moons, and to every corner of the system. If there's danger here or an Imperial fleet hiding somewhere — I want to know about it."
"Of course, Admiral. Executing..."
His chest plaques gleamed, polished to a mirror shine, and his fur was groomed as if he were preparing for a social outing rather than a potential battle. Still, the commander of the task force sent to rescue General Solo's squadron could be understood — even the cursory scan of surrounding space conducted in the first minutes after the jump indicated that at least in this part of the orbit of the horrific planet Honoghr, there wasn't a hint of any ships. So the crews of the vessels, now staring wide-eyed at the planet, saw none of the usual colors of inhabited worlds: no green of flourishing oak groves and grassy oceans; no yellow symbolizing fields sown with crops; no brown hinting at freshly plowed virgin soil waiting to receive cultivated seeds.
Over the years of opposing the Galactic Empire, the Rebels — now the New Republic — had faced the loss of loved ones, comrades in arms, and civilian populations countless times. But today, for the first time since the destruction of Alderaan, Republic military personnel could behold a planet's corpse with their own eyes.
And the sight was so shocking, so demoralizing, that every second person aboard the Republic ships felt a mixture of conflicting emotions — from sympathy for those who had lived in this world to sheer horror and discomfort at the mere thought that the Empire had destroyed it. Simply... if not the Empire, then who? In the modern galaxy, even the Hutts, known for their flagrant disregard for the laws of any civilization but their own, had never been so cruel and heartless — and it was hard to call crime lords warm-hearted beings.
"Scouts have reached the planet. Observing the ruins of a small city that was subjected to orbital bombardment. Traces of mass graves have been found on the surface near the settlement. Shall we send an observation team?"
"I don't care what happened to this planet," the Bothan declared irritably. "Document the aftermath of the orbital bombardment and finally give me an answer: where is Solo and his fleet?!"
"Admiral!" one of the comm systems operators addressed him. "We've picked up a distress signal. Republic frequency."
"Source?" The Bothan's fur rippled with anticipation.
"A rescue pod," the operator explained. "Based on the frequencies and signal metadata, it's ours. The message says General Solo is inside." The operator suddenly looked embarrassed.
"The message?" A tufted Bothan eyebrow rose.
"Yes, sir," the operator said, keeping his eyes downcast as he held out a personal datapad. "It says here..."
"Just because I'm a Bothan, Ensign," the admiral's eyes flashed, "doesn't mean I can't read. I'm literate. Get back to your duties."
"Yes, sir..."
After the subordinate stepped aside, the Bothan admiral scanned the message text. According to the notations, it was an automated message that the rescue pod's computer kept repeating on a loop.
"This rescue pod contains General Han Solo, commander of an independent task force squadron of the New Republic Armed Forces. Due to aggression demonstrated against the Noghri people, subjects of the Empire, General Solo's fleet has been destroyed and all personnel taken prisoner. We appeal to the acting Supreme Commander of the New Republic Armed Forces, Councilor Borsk Fey'lya, and the head of the Provisional Government, Councilor Mon Mothma: Do not send a smuggler to do a man's job. Sincerely yours, the Imperials. This rescue pod contains..."
Despite himself, the Bothan commander couldn't suppress a smile. Of course, he wouldn't admit it, but in some ways, the admiral from Bothawui agreed with whoever had left that message. All the trouble came from the wrong people being in the wrong places.
But there was something else in that message. Something an ordinary comm operator wouldn't notice. But a Bothan, trained from childhood to see double and triple meanings in everything around him, simply couldn't miss it.
It seemed the Empire hadn't crushed Solo by chance — they knew exactly who they were going up against. And they just as surely knew the identity of the person who was supposed to have arrived to support the Corellian and his squadron.
Nothing is what it seems. He just had to figure out what exactly the Imperials had encoded in this message. Well, it was time to recall his youthful hobby of "ice-cutting."
"Retrieve the rescue pod and sweep the system," the Bothan ordered, taking the datapad. "I'll be in my quarters. Disturb me only if Palpatine rises from the dead."
Pleased with how his words had sounded, the Bothan admiral left the strike cruiser's bridge, leaving his subordinates to their work.
Meanwhile, the buzz droids from Project "Morrt" were awakening and beginning to allocate tasty targets among themselves.
* * *
In the blackness of space, a huge caravan of transport and partially combat starships jumped out, leaving behind only those vessels assigned to further combat operations. A massive flotilla of GR-75 medium transports captured from the New Republic, accompanied by seven Mon Calamari star cruisers — two of which were recent prizes — and nine dozen dreadnoughts from the Katana Fleet. Once the last of them returned to their base, the modernization of sixty of them would be complete.
Then they'd perform a rotation, sending unmodernized ships from Tangrene to Susevfi, and bringing in the ones currently orbiting the Jensaarai homeworld. When the crews aboard consist solely of loyal and devoted clones, pulling off such schemes isn't as hard as it seems.
Operation Crimson Dawn continued according to plan.
"A report has arrived from Susevfi," Pellaeon said, approaching me and handing over a personal datapad in his usual manner. "The first wave of Noghri has already been placed on the moon. Once the final batch of transport ships arrives — the ones that just departed — the Noghri evacuation can be considered complete. The orbital workshops have already confirmed they've allocated repair bays for both Mon Calamari star cruisers. The crew members used to move the ships to the rendezvous point have returned to their combat stations per the standard schedule. As you ordered, only those vessels under the control of crews stationed there are being moved to the Jensaarai homeworld. The secrecy of Susevfi's location has been maintained."
"Have there been any objections from the Jensaarai regarding the new inhabitants on their planet?" I inquired.
"Saarai-kaar asked that you notify her next time you decide to relocate an entire people to her protectorate planet," Pellaeon smirked. "She also said she's already found suitable habitats for the Noghri on the moon. From my conversation with her, I gathered she's not exactly thrilled, but her irritation stems mainly from finding out about everything at the last minute."
"We will certainly take into account that Lady Saarai-kaar has a delicate constitution and needs to be consulted on every matter outside her area of expertise," I noted calmly, glancing through the report pages. Pellaeon had relayed the data from the report verbatim. "Any news from Honoghr?"
"Scout droids reported that enemy ships have left the system," the Chimaera's commander said. "All buzz droids from Project 'Morrt' are aboard the starships. Telemetry is stable. Once the Bothan squadron arrives at its base, we'll get even more information on enemy ship movements."
Just as planned.
"The damaged Mon Calamari cruisers at the 'Noghri exchange' rendezvous point have been handed over to the crews stationed at Susevfi," Pellaeon continued. "The strike frigates and escort carriers will arrive at Tangrene in two days, escorted by the Verdict, Dead Head, Nemesis, and the other ships from the squadron that attacked General Solo's fleet. I think by the time we return, they'll be repaired and ready for the next operation."
"The Chimaera is fully combat-capable, Captain?" I asked, my eyes fixed on the gray ship coming into view from the bridge.
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon confirmed, glancing at the captured Crusader II maneuvering along the Star Destroyer's security perimeter. An interesting ship. An improved version of its predecessor. But it wasn't built at MandalMotors' shipyards. "During the transfer, damage has been repaired, breaches sealed, and your flagship's functionality fully restored."
"Excellent, Captain," I said.
So, after a series of raider attacks on New Republic territory, the fleet had obtained everything needed for the successful implementation of the second phase of the operation. Or almost everything.
"Did Moff Ferrus inform you about the composition of the cargo our privateers delivered to Makem Te?" I inquired.
The fortress planet was now being used as a forward post for transferring trophies and settling accounts with hired pirates and Wolf Pack ships. Tangrene was now protected by camouflaged asteroids, and I had no desire to reveal the channel's coordinates to anyone without good reason.
Especially since the Emperor's Executor had become active.
"Yes, sir," he said. "Four transports delivered. Two are loaded with food supplies. The other two — various equipment and spare parts for starships. Chief Engineer Reyes reported that there are a large number of units needed for repairing the captured strike frigates. And the Mon Calamari ships."
Good. So Delta Source and the informants on the ground were still functioning properly.
"Reassign the strike frigates to Moff Ferrus's command," I ordered. "The carriers will remain attached to active formations. Prepare the spare parts for the star cruisers for shipment to Susevfi with the next escort of a new batch of clones."
"Yes, sir."
The New Republic's strike frigates were undoubtedly good warships in their class, capable of competing with some cruisers. But they didn't fit the concept of my fleet due to their poor maneuverability, weak armament compared to cruisers and Star Destroyers, and complete lack of a fighter wing. Therefore, their place in the logistical support of the local fleet was far more practical.
As for the Mon Calamari cruisers... their value in the fleet was a liability — a compromising factor. For now, this essentially trophy fleet had the task of preparing for combat operations under New Republic colors. As soon as Coruscant "learned" that Lady Santhe was "involved" in the development of one of the Death Stars, serious questions would arise for her. After all, it was logical that after some vague explanations, New Republic patrols would start inspecting her transport ships, right? Of course it was logical. And the star freighters we'd release from each convoy would spread the word across the galaxy, informing Lady Santhe that her trading partners had become outrageously bold. We'd increase our transport fleet by requisitioning her ships, replenish our stock of TIE-series equipment that the New Republic was sending to Lianna for repairs, and simultaneously reduce their numbers in enemy ranks.
Suspicions? Yes, there would be suspicions, of course. First, a Grand Admiral shows up, asks to buy an orbital factory, and then all sorts of provocations and ship disappearances begin — including ships carrying equipment I needed. But I had another order for TIE Interceptors from Lord Krennel. The fighters were undoubtedly good, but in modern reality, we had to be honest with ourselves — they weren't such fearsome opponents for our enemies. The Interceptors at least somewhat carried the battle. There weren't many of them in the fleet yet, but gradually the reorganization would be carried out: TIE fighters would be transferred to planetary defense squadrons and secondary starships. Only Interceptors would remain on the Star Destroyers.
Until we received an answer from the technicians on whether we could start producing TIE Avengers — we had acquired a couple of them at the Hast shipyards. But they were far from factory condition. Meticulous work lay ahead to correct the jury-rigging done by New Republic mechanics.
And at the same time, out there among the stars, two Ysanne Isards — a clone and the original — were working in tandem, though one of them probably didn't know it, each with their own very specific goals. Goals that were completely unacceptable to me. All I needed from them was their elimination.
Not capture, not the information they possessed — elimination. Both the clone and the original were too dangerous to leave alive. Especially since the real Isard, currently holed up on some Imperial base that analysts still couldn't find no matter how many times they reviewed data from every possible source, had at least two squadrons of TIE Defenders. And the latter were considered among the best — if not the best — fighters of the Galactic Civil War era. If I acquired them, along with the TIE assembly lines on Lianna, I wouldn't have to worry about spending money on buying equipment from Krennel anymore. It might be more expensive, but we'd be able to produce those machine types on our own production lines.
The Imperial Remnants also had squadrons and even larger units equipped with Avengers and Defenders. They were in high demand, so there was no point even thinking about acquiring them — any request or attempt to obtain them would border on even greater suspicion and complications in the current situation between me and the Imperials. For now, I'd managed to throw dust in their eyes by making it look like my allies from other sectors had rejected me. That would work for a while. And I needed that time to complete the second phase of Operation Crimson Dawn.
But for now...
For now, the Chimaera was just hanging in interstellar space, guarded by a duty squadron of TIE fighters and one support ship I had requisitioned from Captain I-Gor for the upcoming operation. A minor hitch in the plans that needed to be resolved immediately, before the tangle of problems grew too large. Obstacles in the path of the plan must be dealt with instantly.
"Multiple contacts," the watch officer reported. For a change, today it wasn't Lieutenant Tschel. "Running identification..."
"What are they doing here?" Pellaeon said with poorly concealed irritation, pointing at seven starships that had appeared directly ahead, differing in both appearance and service entry date. On top of that, there wasn't even a hint of unified command.
"Our esteemed privateers have arrived to report on the reasons we lost a cargo vessel carrying ammunition for our Star Destroyers and the Torpedo Sphere," I explained, watching the tactical monitor show chunks breaking off the Black Pearl. "Captain, prepare a briefing compartment for the duty squadron for the meeting. And inform Major Tierce that I need something from his stormtroopers."
* * *
"Jedi Skywalker?" Irene's voice, sounding right in his ear, jolted Luke out of yet another attempt to reach Leia. The Great Force had been deaf to his efforts today. As had all previous attempts. "I think you need a fresh portion of food."
"What's wrong with mine?" Luke muttered absently, staring unfocusedly at the plate in front of him. "A wonderful meal... And your cook is a jack of all trades."
The young man looked somewhat cowed as he watched the woman he had tried to save — though it had somehow turned out the other way around — standing in the doorway of the cabin the Bothans had assigned him, smiling. And this same young, attractive woman had been keeping him and her supposed "allies" locked up in their ship's small hangar all this time, while the elderly heavy cruiser of the Dreadnaught type — Han would have said a ship like that belonged in a museum, and it was hard to disagree — made a series of jumps.
"I've been watching you for about thirty minutes," the girl explained. Luke blinked a couple of times and felt how stiff his limbs had become. He'd apparently overdone it with meditation today. "Has something happened, that you're trying to hypnotize your food? Or is this some Jedi practice related to improving the taste of meals?"
"Huh?" Luke was confused. It happened every time — when he sank too deeply into the Force, he had trouble correctly processing information from reality. Specifically, he didn't immediately grasp the ironic subtext of the question. "No, it has nothing to do with food. Just Jedi meditation, nothing more."
"Everyone passes the time during transit as best they can," Irene nodded, still smiling. "The Bothans, for example..." She glanced past Luke's field of view. "Are trying to calculate our ship's course."
"I see," Skywalker nodded, casting a glance at R2-D2 standing beside him. His astromech had been doing the same thing for all nine (or ten?) days of the flight. And had come to the discouraging conclusion that after the sixteenth course change, any such attempt was simply useless. The owners of this old ship knew exactly what they were doing. To start with, they'd locked their "allies" and Luke — aboard the cruiser so they wouldn't, presumably, wander the decks collecting information. After that they'd arranged a series of hyperspace jumps to throw off any potential pursuit. And to shake their own passengers off the trail, of course. Whoever the owners of this "dreadnaught" were, they were desperately keen not to have anyone know more about them than they allowed. "You'll agree it's better when the Bothans are occupied with something rather than sitting around getting bored..."
"Oh, yes," Irene nodded. "There is such a saying. I hope the journey hasn't tired you out too much."
"Not at all," Luke let a wave of the Force flow through his body, relaxing and energizing his muscles. "I've always dreamed of spending two weeks locked aboard a Bothan ship, surrounded by Bothan commandos and their leader — who intended to get rid of me to protect his own secrets. Especially when you're in a heavy cruiser's hold, not knowing where you're going or who's waiting for you at the end of the road."
"Believe me, we're not thrilled about having to pull off such stunts either," Irene said, her expression darkening. "However, the Empire has been getting rather active across the galaxy lately. We have to take measures to make sure they don't trace us to the rendezvous point."
"Active?" Luke frowned. "I thought the Remnants were keeping their heads down, dreaming of being left alone."
"Not exactly," Irene winced. "Do you mind if I sit down?"
"Oh — yes, yes, of course," Skywalker flushed, only now realizing he should have invited the girl to stop hovering in the doorway much sooner. Initiative should come from the man, shouldn't it? "Sorry, I..."
"You were busy," Irene smiled, sitting on the opposite side of the small table that separated the two simple bunks in the cabin. Aside from a couple of lockers under the beds and a tiny fresher, that was the entire cabin's furnishings. But what could you expect from an ordinary ship designed to transport a combat squad? Certainly not chandeliers and fur rugs. "I'm not some delicate flower — nothing's going to happen to me," she said, watching the door close, sealing them off from the rest of the Bothan ship. "So, the Empire... Over the last seven to ten days, they've struck more than fifty times against New Republic worlds. Military bases, outposts, storage depots, supply convoys carrying ammunition and equipment. The last ones most of all."
"It sounds like the New Republic fleet is preparing for something," Luke said, growing somber.
"That's right," Irene said sadly. "The Commander believes they're preparing to strike against Empire worlds. A preemptive attack on the Ciutric Hegemony — which, according to intelligence, stands behind almost all of Coruscant's recent troubles in the galaxy."
Luke had slightly less information on this, and of a very different sort, but he deemed it unnecessary to share. Irene's data should be fresher. Of course, that was assuming she wasn't being kept somewhere similar too. Who knew what her unnamed commander had on his mind.
"If the Empire has shown aggression, it's no wonder the New Republic is preparing a proportionate response," Luke sighed sadly. Republicans, Imperials — to the Force, there's no difference in who dies during such battles. Death is always death. And in recent years, there's been more and more of it. That couldn't help but sadden him.
"That's the problem," Irene said almost in a whisper. "The Commander believes someone is deliberately provoking the New Republic to attack the Ciutric Hegemony by faking attacks in its name."
Luke blinked, feeling a clawed grip squeeze his heart. Alright, suppose this commander was right. Then things weren't very good at all. The war between Republicans and Imperials, which had quieted down after Warlord Zsinj's defeat, could flare up again with renewed force. And no one would benefit from that. Especially if it later turned out that Coruscant's aggression toward the Empire was unfounded. Based on what Irene had said, someone was deliberately fanning the embers of this protracted conflict. But... why?
Having laid down his general's commission (even thinking about it was a little... embarrassing. What kind of general was he, really? Just yesterday a farm boy from a moisture farm who'd gotten lucky. Command bars should be worn by those trained in military arts. His fate was to be a Jedi), he'd lost access to reconnaissance and other internal information from the New Republic's armed forces. But he had a clear picture: the Empire's potential and that of the democratic state spanning nearly half the galaxy were incomparable. Coruscant had practically all the major technology manufacturers and shipbuilders. Thousands of peoples had united against tyranny and oppression. And what was left of the Empire? At best, a third to a quarter of its former borders. On top of that, they were fragmented into a good dozen independent states and planetary governments that didn't exactly get along with each other. Meanwhile the New Republic was on the rise... and experiencing yet more internal crises. But those would be resolved soon — at least he hoped so.
So in an open confrontation, the Imperials simply couldn't hold out. They'd be steamrolled like fresh-laid permacrete. It seemed the Imperial revanchists had had their brains disconnected again and replaced with an irrational desire to settle scores with all their enemies.
"Alright," he said. "But what can I do to help?"
"You're a Jedi," Irene blinked. "You have to stop this madness before it's too late. We're ready to drop you off at Coruscant so you can make Mon Mothma understand she's making a mistake — that she absolutely cannot fall for Imperial provocations."
Well, here it came. All it took was blowing up one orbital battle station capable of destroying worlds and bringing a Sith Lord back to the Light Side of the Force, and now everyone expected you to stop wars with a wave of your hand.
"No," Luke sighed. "I won't make anyone do anything. That's not the Jedi way. We are keepers of the peace. We don't impose our views — or anyone else's — on others. And especially, we don't pressure a legitimate government into changing its course. If I did that, I'd be no better than Palpatine."
"Or Darth Vader," Irene narrowed her eyes. Luke hoped his flinch wasn't too obvious.
"Or that," he said. "Each of us makes our own choices and bears responsibility for them."
His right hand — the same one he'd lost on Bespin due to his impatience and arrogance while fighting his father. He'd learned a valuable lesson from that past mistake.
"So you won't even try?" Irene asked in surprise. "But you're a famous Jedi Knight! The only one in the entire galaxy! You could simply remove her from power to prevent unnecessary casualties..."
"The Jedi Order doesn't exist anymore," he reminded her. "Right now, I'm all that's left of it." and the mythical C'baoth. And a handful of potential recruits he'd encountered over the past while. "At the moment, I'm a private citizen with no authority to arrest the head of the Provisional Government."
"And if you had the means to achieve that?" Irene pressed on.
"Even then," Luke said firmly. "I understand that rash or reckless actions could lead to heavy losses among sentient beings. But I won't interfere in the affairs of those who haven't asked me to."
"But Mon Mothma and Fey'lya are driving the New Republic to collapse with their actions," Irene insisted.
"They are lawfully elected councilors," he reminded her. "And it's not for me to decide whether they're right or wrong. This power, like any other, cannot belong to a single sentient — it belongs to the people of the New Republic. If they decide the current government needs replacing, that's their right — to do or not do something like that. A Jedi shouldn't interfere in the choices of the New Republic's people. At least," Skywalker added with slight embarrassment, "as long as there's a chance to solve the problem through civilized, lawful means."
Irene was silent for a moment, studying Luke as if seeing him for the first time. Then the young woman smiled and nodded almost imperceptibly.
"I'm glad you answered that way," she said. "The Commander will be pleased to hear he wasn't wrong about you."
"Wrong?" Luke clarified. "Was this some kind of test?"
This time the smile on Irene's face came out... guilty, perhaps.
"Sorry," she said. "The Commander... has a habit of being overly cautious. He's not on good terms with official Coruscant, so..."
"He asked you to check whether a certain Jedi Knight was dancing to the Provisional Government's tune," Luke finished for her. On the surface, such behavior should be insulting, but... Actually, it was a logical move. He didn't know them, they didn't know him — the only link between him and the unknown commander was the Bothans. Who weren't known for loyalty to anyone except their own people and clan. And Luke — and Irene — had seen how trustworthy they were at that warehouse on New Cov.
"In general terms," Irene nodded.
"My answer could be interpreted two ways," Luke showed off a bit of his education. "An opponent of Mon Mothma would definitely have agreed to remove her in the face of an approaching crisis."
"That's the thing — the Commander isn't looking for Mon Mothma's opponents," Irene assured him. "He wanted to meet you because you're a Jedi. And you certainly wouldn't go against New Republic law or your conscience. At least, that's what the Commander wanted to confirm."
Luke was silent for a moment, then asked:
"We're approaching your base, aren't we?"
"One of them," Irene looked away. "That's why I was tasked with... talking to you, gauging your mood."
"I'm open to any conversation," Luke assured her. "But I'd like to clarify something. What you told me about the Empire's and New Republic's actions — is that true or...?"
"Fiction invented to gauge your reaction to specific events?" Irene finished his thought. The Jedi Knight nodded silently.
"Unfortunately, it's true," Irene said sadly. "I don't know exactly what the Commander has planned, but it seems to me he wants to make the New Republic understand that Fey'lya isn't the best person to sit in the Commander-in-Chief's chair of the Armed Forces."
"I'm sure they've already figured that out on Coruscant," Luke shared his thoughts with a note of sadness in his voice. He'd been hoping that the situation his Corellian companion had described was at least exaggerated. But the Force confirmed the young woman was telling the truth. "And so have you, given how you're treating your Bothan allies."
"It's an alliance of necessity," Irene darkened. "They came to our aid in a difficult hour, but... The Commander suspects it wasn't out of the goodness of their hearts."
"Bothans aren't altruists, are they?" Luke said with a sad smile, voicing one of the well-known idioms about the people of Bothawui.
"Something like that," Irene agreed. "The Commander will explain everything more... precisely. I can only say that lately we've stopped liking the actions of both the Bothans themselves and, even more so, Mon Mothma. Though the Commander was never... inclined to agree with the latter anyway."
"Is that so?" Luke's eyes widened. "So your commander knows Mon Mothma?"
"Quite closely," Irene confirmed.
"So you're some kind of independent fleet group within the New Republic, or something like that?" the young Jedi inquired, glad for the chance to learn something new about his companion's employer. And about her.
The young woman gave him a long, searching look.
"I'm afraid I'm not authorized to tell you everything," she said with regret in her voice. And Luke could feel through the Force that Irene truly was saddened by not being able to be open with him. "The Commander, if he wishes, will tell you everything. I can only say that we are not part of the New Republic Armed Forces. And we never have been. Once upon a time, we shared a common cause with the Rebel Alliance, but circumstances forced us to pursue the same goal along different paths. We haven't crossed paths at the official level since. I don't think the New Republic even knows we exist. And if they do, they prefer not to talk about it."
"That's... quite a complicated situation," Luke scratched the back of his head. "You know, of course I can't speak for the entire Republic or even the Provisional Government, but it seems to me that if you offered help in such a difficult time, the New Republic would welcome you with open arms..."
"That's exactly what we don't need," Irene said unexpectedly. "As long as Mon Mothma is in power, the Commander will never agree to step out of the shadows. Or to join."
"Why?" Luke was perplexed. "You said your goal and the New Republic's are the same. Or did I misunderstand something?"
"The goal remains unchanged — to fight for the rights of sentient beings against tyranny," Irene explained. "But between the Commander and Mon Mothma... something happened. In the distant past. And it prevents my commander from taking a step toward her, from showing initiative. And without his involvement," she grew sad, "I'm afraid the New Republic won't survive. Our informants report that someone extremely ruthless and unscrupulous is working against the New Republic. He leaves no significant traces, no witnesses. He disguises his activities as someone else's, feeding the New Republic disinformation in such quantities it's sickening. Fey'lya and his Bothan appointees are busy with an internal power struggle and their revanchist campaign against one of the Imperial Remnants they blame for all their troubles. The Bothans simply don't understand, or don't want to understand, that they're being led by the nose. And we... The Commander sees it, but there are too few of us to fix the situation on our own. And as I said, the Commander won't make overtures to Mon Mothma. But he, like all of us, worries about the New Republic's future. An attack on the Empire would be a disaster — if not militarily, then certainly politically."
"Direct aggression will provoke a response," Luke nodded. "And in the ensuing chaos, the New Republic could fall apart. Especially if everything really is as you say," he reached out to Irene with the Force, expecting her reaction to his words. If she was lying, then... No, the girl was telling him the truth. "Then we're being led into a trap that will cost us dearly."
"If not everything," Irene noted.
"But what do you suggest, then?" Luke asked curiously. And he was rewarded — in the Force, the girl radiated indecision, wavering between wanting to speak and holding back... A moral dilemma that had been tormenting her all this time. She wanted to convey something to him, but was hoping for his perceptiveness and tact.
"I'm just sharing information with you," Irene sighed, still not daring to speak openly. Still, Luke had already come up with a few ideas based on what the Corellian had already told him. "You're a worthy person, a Jedi who always acts according to his conscience. I'm sure you'll be able to explain the full gravity of the situation. If we delay, then... It'll be too late."
"I understand," one young Jedi slightly overestimated his ability to read subtext in women's words. "I'll do everything in my power. Everything that doesn't cross the boundaries of conscience, morality, and the law."
"That's all I ask," Irene smiled at him, rising from the table and heading for the exit.
Stopping by the door, she turned to him:
"We'll arrive at the base in a few days. We'll stop by one place to pick something up, wander a bit more, and then we'll be there."
"If you need me, you know where to find me," Skywalker smiled at her. This young woman evoked a certain sympathy in him. Her struggle between duty and the desire to do what was right was very familiar to him. So he empathized with her mentally. And he hoped he could handle the request she'd inadvertently voiced.
"I..." the girl looked somewhat embarrassed, glancing toward the table where she'd been sitting just a minute ago. "If you don't mind, I'll stop by later. I'll bring some hot food — yours has already developed a dry crust."
Luke glanced at the steak sitting on the corner of the table. When it had been brought in, before he'd started meditating, the dish had been steaming. Now the portion had dried out so much it took up barely two-thirds of its original volume.
"If it's not too much trouble," he smiled amiably.
"Not at all," she assured him, slipping out the cabin door.
After he was left alone with his astromech, Luke sighed heavily.
"Our life was never easy, was it, R2?" he asked the droid. The droid beeped affirmatively.
"Be so kind as to wake me when they bring the food," Luke asked, looking again with regret at the shriveled steak. "I'll meditate in the meantime."
The loyal droid obligingly blinked its optical sensor, shifting from one foot to the other.
"I don't know, R2," Luke admitted. "Before, things were somehow... simpler. Now I don't even know who exactly Irene was asking me to talk to — Mon Mothma or her unnamed commander. Who exactly needs to be convinced that continuing the current course leads to disaster? Misunderstanding the consequences leads to enormous tragedies. I didn't listen to Yoda, I cut my training short, rushed off to save Han, Leia, and Chewbacca. And actually fell into Vader's trap, lost my hand," he looked at the cybernetic prosthetic that replaced his right hand from mid-forearm to fingertips. "And nearly became Palpatine's trophy. Who knows what the consequences would have been if I'd died then in Cloud City or worse," the young Jedi shuddered at the mere thought. "If I'd fallen into Palpatine's hands, unprepared to resist his sophisticated manipulations..." Luke fell silent, remembering his battle with his father aboard the second Death Star. He'd been so close to falling, but he'd held on. And only because after Bespin, he'd had time to prepare. Right now, he simply didn't know what to be ready for. The Dark Side is still strong, the ghost of Ben Kenobi had told him. But so far he hadn't met anyone who even resembled Palpatine or Vader. Could it be that blue-skinned humanoid with red eyes he'd seen in the cave on Dagobah during his second visit there? Or that woman who had sworn allegiance to him and taken up arms? Or was he doing something wrong, so the threats his old friend had warned him about remained outside his field of vision? The lack of systematic training prevented Luke from understanding and grasping the Jedi's place in the New Republic. Thoughts, guesses, assumptions swarmed in his head... But so far, these were only rough sketches of a vision of the future. Yet he was firmly convinced that Jedi should not take control of the state. Or climb to the heights of politics or the armed forces. They had their own, special destiny. To serve the Force and keep the peace in the galaxy, not to rule over peoples. He considered this conclusion correct. Because he had the example of Darth Vader and Emperor Palpatine before his eyes. Power had corrupted both of them. And while Vader, a former Jedi, had still managed to return to the Light Side of the Force, Palpatine... He was deaf to reason. And desired only power. That was what destroyed him. The same would destroy the New Republic if he failed. "Mon Mothma or the Commander need to be persuaded to step outside their comfort zones. If everything is as Irene says, we're in big trouble and will need all the help we can get to overcome this crisis. I need to talk to one of them and convince one to listen to the other."
R2-D2 let out a sad warble, backing it up with a color change on its optical sensor.
"Maybe both of them," Luke agreed, settling back into his meditation posture. Once again, the little droid had offered him sound advice.
He should seek answers through the Force.
* * *
After the last privateer captain had finished voicing his version of what had happened in the Monastery system, silence hung over the compartment.
Irvin, Vane, Tyberos — all three sat in the front row of seats usually occupied by pilots. They had arranged themselves according to the positions they'd taken in the conversation — Irvin and Vane next to each other, Tyberos, examining his face mask with feigned indifference, several seats away from them.
"Captain Irvin, Captain Vane — you will receive your share of the compensation due to you for participating in the operation after you've reviewed copies of the cargo manifests," I said, nodding toward a pair of personal datapads lying on the edge of the holographic projector. Rukh, standing silently like a gray shadow beside me, appeared next to both privateers, handing them the devices. The cargo being transported wasn't strategically important; moreover, it consisted of dual-use items — both military and civilian. So the privateers had the right to claim a portion of the cargo as payment for their services.
"And I don't get a commission?" Tyberos inquired as if between other matters. His voice betrayed him — the pirate understood that in the current situation, he'd screwed absolutely everyone over, so demanding payment was pointless. Especially since it hadn't been very large to begin with.
But what pirate wouldn't at least try to "test the waters." After all, they were all cooperating with me solely for their own profit.
"Yes," Yazuo Vane stirred. "I'd like to discuss the matter of compensation due to Tyberos's actions. The Black Pearl sustained heavy damage..."
"Vane," Captain Irvin, sitting next to him, said warningly, casting a cautious glance at me. The old Separatist understood perfectly well that the three of them hadn't been "summoned" to a meeting with the fleet commander for no reason. Given that they were, generally speaking, subordinate to Moff Ferrus, they must understand this situation was extraordinary. "This isn't the time..."
"What do you mean 'not the time'?" the young privateer protested. "I've been busting my back for you," he looked at me, "risking my ship, and now because of some personal feud with Tyberos, I've got fifteen million credits' worth of repairs! And that's the best-case scenario if I can even find spare parts on some junkyard..."
"Veyn," Irv said more sternly, hissing his former subordinate's name and elbowing him between the ribs. "Shut your mouth!"
"No-no-no!" the half-breed kept resisting. "While we were drifting around after the Monastery, I had so many bulkheads torn out on three decks I can't even count! The hangar's wrecked, half the artillery's destroyed. If the droids hadn't activated the fire suppression system, the antiship torpedo magazines would've blown and..."
"Rukh," I said calmly.
The next second, the young privateer's flood of words ceased — as soon as he felt a Noghri throwing knife sink into the back of his chair, between his torso and his bicep. The bodyguard himself walked over imperturbably, retrieved the weapon, and spun it between his fingers. In the process, the blade vanished from sight.
"I'll say this once," a quiet but firm voice made the young privateer shut his mouth. Was he actually about to say something to the Noghri? "Your internal squabbles don't interest me," a smirk appeared on Tyberos's face, "as long as they don't harm my plans. So, unless any of you wants my bodyguard to demonstrate the lethal power of his combat arts, you'll listen when I'm speaking."
The smirk vanished. Veyn and Tyberos sat stiffly upright in their chairs. Irv just sighed sadly. An experienced old hand like him knew exactly how things stood between mercenaries and their employer.
"So, since you've found time to hear me out, here are the bare facts," I said. "Out of the five ships you captured, the most important one was lost. The cause — an attack by a pirate group called the 'Avengers of Lok.' Is anyone here familiar with that organization?"
Among those present, only Irv and Tyberos showed signs of life. Veyn sat hunched and silent. Young, hotheaded. Commanding a large ship was clearly beyond him.
"Captain Irv," I addressed the most objective source of information among those present. "Report."
The former Separatist fleet officer slid his fingers into the breast pocket of his vest. A blade appeared in Rukh's hand as if from thin air.
"Easy," he said. "It's an information chip." He slowly pulled the named storage medium from his pocket. "If you'll permit, Grand Admiral, I'd prefer to demonstrate."
"The holoprojector is at your disposal." This turn of events had been anticipated, so the equipment in this compartment was not connected to the destroyer's systems. This prevented any kind of informational 'bomb' from infiltrating the central computer via any chips or other data sources. Thank little Ghent for enlightening me on upgrading security measures. Of course, he was first caught hacking those very systems. But now he works for me.
"The organization is led by a captain named Nim," Irv began, displaying a hologram of the alien. "The gang is based on the planet Lok, in the system. It is also known as the Maramere system. It's located in the Outer Rim... is a star system in the Outer Rim. It's not far from the planets Llanik, Socorro, Christopsis, Geonosis, Ryloth, and so on."
My brain automatically pulled up astronavigation data — Quadrant Q-17. Outside the territory controlled by the New Republic. Pirate territory. This would be simple.
"Shortly before the invasion of Naboo, the Trade Federation occupied the system, using it as a test range for their new droid starfighters," Captain Irv continued. "Nim was already pirating in that region by then, and he didn't like the neighbors. He took to attacking Trade Federation ships and stations. They didn't stay in his debt, and eventually Nim and his gang left Lok for a time. Rumors say Nim himself worked closely with the Jedi, but I have no precise data, only indirect evidence: there were rumors that Nim flew starfighters with one of them and spoke of him very highly. His gang fought the Trade Federation for over ten years. They came to the aid of the Old Republic during the First Battle of Geonosis." How interesting. And here I thought it was only clones and Jedi 'working' there. What amusing friends the Jedi Order had back then. Now I understand why at least some pirates in the Outer Territories felt so at ease — they were friends with the Order. I'm sure it wasn't that simple, but the fact itself... How can you claim to be a Jedi, a keeper of peace and order, when known pirates come running at your first whistle. "At some point, Nim retook his base on Lok, managing to drive out the Trade Federation. Again, according to rumors — not without Jedi help."
Now that was intriguing. Which Jedi were involved in this? Hardly any orthodox ones, like Mace Windu. More likely someone younger. Given such frequent Jedi aid and mutual support, it meant someone not rigid. Possibly even a good pilot — pirates respect those who pilot ships. Skywalker himself? No, he clearly doesn't fit; he didn't have the right connections or skills at that age. Kenobi? Hmm... I think not; he was a dogmatist back then. Clearly someone middle-aged, who had made a name for himself and could command authority. Plus — piloting skills.
"After that, Nim came to rule the Karthakk system," Irv said. Well, well, well... It seems we have a local version of Henry Morgan here. Intriguing.
"It's known that Nim and his gang stole the prototype of the Scurrg H-6 starfighter, which was at one point intended for Naboo's military but was rejected because the ship was 'too heavily armed.' However," Irv glanced toward Tyberos, "Nim found a use for it. In the Monastery system, Captain Tyberos's pilot demonstrated its superior combat power. And judging by the sensor data from the 'Colicoid Swarm,' Captain Nym clearly has a production line for these machines somewhere."
Not impossible. It would be worth taking a closer look at the Scurrg H-6.
"During the Galactic Civil War, Nim and Jabba the Hutt were called the most influential figures in the Outer Rim," Irv continued. Rumors, nothing more. You can't be that famous and have so few people know about you.
"Nim and his 'Avengers' have some grudge against the Empire," Captain Irv declared. "What exactly — I don't know. But the fact remains: they've been striking Imperial convoys, bases, and ships for at least the last twenty-five years. And they did it far from Lok. Obviously to avoid leading pursuers back to their base. Frankly, I never quite understood Nym position. He claims to be neutral, but I've never heard of him looting Rebel Alliance or New Republic ships. On the contrary, I personally know of at least two cases where he sold Imperial transports captured by his gang to the Rebels. There was talk that in the star system there are, or once were, several orbital stations, one of which definitely belonged to the Alliance. Nim has always been very protective of his system's security, so uninvited guests don't stay long there — if they survive the 'welcome.' So," Captain Irv looked at me, "that's all the information I have."
"His military forces?" I clarified.
"Near the Monastery, we were attacked by several dozen starfighters of various modifications," Captain Irv began displaying scanner data. Images on the holoprojector changed one after another. And most of the machines were unfamiliar to me. "If Nym controls an entire star system, he should have about three or four times as many forces. Not to mention larger ships. But, I repeat — beyond what I know personally, what I've reported is scattered rumors and eyewitness accounts I've heard over time."
"Your information is accepted, Captain Irv," I said. "After verification, you will receive the appropriate reward. Now, Captain Tyberos," I looked at the enthusiast for wielding paired vibro-axes. "I'm waiting for your additions."
"What makes you think I have anything to add?" he asked with feigned surprise.
"The fact that you're closely acquainted with the 'Avengers of Lok,' and Captain Nym has a personal grudge against you," I said. "And it goes much deeper than a simple theft of one of the pirate gang's starfighters. It's personal. For both you and him."
Tyberos stared silently into my eyes. Apparently he was trying to read me with his Force abilities, but the ysalamiri hidden in the cage under the table had a different opinion on that matter.
"So here's the thing," Yazuo interrupted the prolonged silence, giving Tyberos a look that promised nothing good, "didn't you just say you don't get involved in personal squabbles? Or is this different?"
"Quite right, Captain Veyn," I replied. "If Captain Nym or one of his people had killed Captain Tyberos between missions, it wouldn't concern me. But the cargo I was counting on was damaged. And, as you heard yourselves, your esteemed colleague himself warned Captain Nym that he was working on Imperial orders. What's more, I'll say this — Captain Tyberos deliberately sought to provoke Captain Nym and the 'Avengers of Lok' into attacking the transport ship captured for the needs of my armed forces. Considering that the 'Avengers of Lok' don't sell their equipment to other groups, the H-6 that was in your fleet was obtained precisely by seizing it from its rightful owners — a claim Captain Nym made to you during the battle in the Monastery system. From this I conclude that you deliberately stole his starfighter to draw fire onto yourself. Considering that, according to your schedule, after acquiring the H-6 you didn't have a single day without an assignment from our scouts, you did this specifically so that Nim and the 'Avengers of Lok' would intervene in an Imperial operation, thereby involving me and the forces under my command in your little personal vendetta with Captain Nym. Have I missed anything, Captain Tyberos?" I asked the aforementioned privateer.
"Everything's as accurate as a Givin's calculations," he said. And his tone indicated clear displeasure at having his own scheme exposed. So, my order for Major Tierce had been exactly right.
"Now, give me a reason why I shouldn't order my bodyguard to kill you," I offered.
"Not many privateers you have in your service," he declared. "How many? A dozen? And all loners. I'm the only one who managed to put together even a small gang..."
"Rukh, when the count reaches zero, slit Lord Tyberos's throat," I ordered. Veyn and Irv coughed discreetly. The unarmed corsair, who always took up to half an hour and a couple of scanners to fully check, shifted in his chair.
"What count?" Tyberos frowned, glancing toward Rukh, who demonstratively drew a pair of blades from their sheaths.
"Ten," I said.
Tyberos looked at me incredulously.
"Eight."
"What about 'nine'?" the corsair tensed.
"Six."
"Thrawn, that's too far!" the two-meter giant shouted, rising to his feet.
"Four."
"After this, no one will work for you!" Tyberos tried to surprise me with something new.
"Two."
"I can compensate for everything!" he said. Seeing that he was still alive, the privateer added: "I'll tell you everything I know about the 'Avengers of Lok.' Trust me, you'll like it. There's plenty to work with. But I'll only tell you in private."
"No-no-no," Veyn waved his hands. "We haven't discussed how they're going to compensate me for the losses to my ship! Credits first, then conversations..."
"My apologies, Grand Admiral Thrawn," Captain Irv said with a strained smile, covering his protégé's mouth with his palm and suppressing his attempts to resist. "He's a bit dimwitted due to his youth. Allow us to take our leave and await you elsewhere?"
"Permission granted," I said. "Captain Pellaeon will inform you of the time for the next meeting. For now, you may return to your ships. Captain Veyn — specialists from the 'Chimaera' are ready to inspect the damage to your vessel and prepare a cost estimate for compensation. I'm sure you'll want to point out all the damage your ship has sustained."
Stopping his squirming, the young privateer straightened his clothes and nodded politely.
"I have business to attend to," he said importantly. "All the best."
After the two privateers had left and the door closed behind them, my gaze returned to Captain Tyberos.
"Let's continue," I nodded approvingly. "Interest me, Captain Tyberos. And I advise you to hurry, because the next number I say will be 'zero.' And it will coincide with the moment your trachea is split in two."
"I have some savings," Tyberos hissed, glaring venomously toward where Veyn had gone. "I wanted to buy the 'Black Pearl' from him," he nodded toward where Yazuo Veyn sat. "He's a kid who got so high by chance that he ended up with his own destroyer. But he won't sell it — just keeps wrecking the ship. Firing antiship missiles at starfighters when there are vultures right next to them..."
"I'm beginning to lose patience, Captain Tyberos."
"I served under Nim," he said quickly. "I know his defensive systems. I know where his production facilities are and where his ships are based. You could send a hundred scout droids in there and not learn half of what I know."
"For example?" I inquired.
"First — in the Karthakk system there's an asteroid field called Lok's Ridge. It's positioned around the planet and is practically invisible visually. Scanners also malfunction because a significant portion of the belt is made of obsidian, which refracts beams and reflects them in random directions. The Trade Federation wanted to study the obsidian when Nim drove them out of the system. The properties of this stone have never been fully studied, except that it's incredibly hard. Rumor has it it was even added to Darth Vader's suit."
"I've heard of obsidian blades," Captain Irv offered. "Insanely sharp things."
"Continue," I said. Stones were good. But not enough.
"The entire asteroid belt is a deposit of metals," Tyberos continued. "Practically everything in the galactic periodic table of elements — it's all there. How else do you think Nim and his 'Avengers' get the resources for their starfighter production and ship repairs? It's a vast raw materials base."
Now that was better. With full-cycle production lines, we would need a lot of metal. I was sure Tyberos had figured that out too when he visited Tangrene. I should have been annoyed at myself for letting him see that. But on the other hand — what tremendous possibilities had opened up?
"Continue."
"Nobody poked their nose into Nym house because he had too much leftover from the Trade Federation," Tyberos said. "For instance, orbital defensive cannons. One of them is right on Hons, Lok's moon. It used to be enough to take out a not-inconsiderable cruiser with a single shot. As far as I know, the Trade Federation used dozens of such weapons to protect their labs and factories on one of the system's planets — Nod Kartha. I don't know how many are still intact, but I know for a fact that anyone who tried to kick Nim out of the system had to deal with those guns. In the time I served under him alone, he dismantled about a dozen pirate gangs across the system — and there were no rookies among them, all hardened veterans."
Well, well, well... Trade Federation factories. This was getting more and more interesting.
"There are quite a few stations in the system, that's true," Tyberos continued. "The one Irv mentioned — long abandoned by the Rebels, and Nim uses it as a well-guarded orbital warehouse. There's the 'Bloody Sea' station — Nim gave the Imperials a real thrashing there once, and they never came back to the system, preferring not to mess with idiots sitting on a scorched world. Nobody had the brains to realize that someone like Nim would never hold and fight for a planet or system he couldn't profit from. Although there were rumors that he just made a deal with Grand Moff Tarkin back in the day, which is why the Imperials left him alone. I know for certain that Nim supplied Tarkin with materials and his own builders for some secret project. According to rumors — somewhere in the Kessel sector. But nobody ever came back from there. Nim was already planning revenge on the Grand Moff for kidnapping his people, but the Rebels killed him a few years later, so he just had to swallow it."
Builders who went to the Kessel sector. And didn't return. Metals that went there. Could it be that Grand Moff Tarkin used Captain Lok to build his research complex in the heart of the Maw black hole cluster? The very one now guarded by Daala and her four destroyers. And in the 'Jedi Academy' trilogy, Daala claimed that Tarkin discovered information about a path through the black holes to stable space inside. What if that was somehow connected to Nim? After all, a Jedi had helped him, so when they were wiped out, the temple knight could have either hidden with Nim or left something with him. Some data source that led Tarkin to his target. Yes, it sounded incredible, but what if? Even without all that business with Daala, the Lok system was attractive on its own. The asteroid belt alone with its metals was worth it! A drifting raw materials base! And production lines could be set up on the planet!
"Nim has a small shipyard — Lok Space Station," Tyberos continued. "Small ships were repaired there, but the equipment is professional, Imperial. And the workers are highly qualified... He even has a prison — Orbital Station 1138, which has been drifting there since the victory over the Neimoidians. Nim used it for a small number of convicts from the local population and his own gang. Escaping from there is hard — it is a strict regime, after all. But," a smirk appeared on Tyberos's lips. "It's possible."
Another grain of information for my knowledge about this privateer. So he had escaped from that station, or at least knew those who had.
"There's a station known as the 'Trade Federation Center.' Supposedly deals were made there, but actually that's where they studied the obsidian and the asteroid belt... There are two more stations — an outpost and the 'Crimson Claw,' belonging to another pirate group — the Blood Razors. A decent place, I must say, and Nim seems to have already dealt with the Razors... There's a station — the Corsair's Crescent, where a corsair gang lives, and at the time I served under Nim, he kept planning to deal with them but never quite managed. They were busy squabbling among their own groups and didn't bother Nim, so he could have turned a blind eye... Then there's the 'Amber Scale' station — that's an excellent outpost for large ships. Refueling tankers, slipways..."
"So far you haven't told me anything that could interest me," I said in a bored tone. "Captain Tyberos, are you trying to test my patience?"
"No, Grand Admiral," he shook his head. "I'm just telling you what you need to know to capture the Karthakk system."
"What makes you think I need it?" I inquired.
"Because it's a profitable staging ground for having a base right under the New Republic's nose," he said conspiratorially. "All the Imperials and Rebel factions who knew the routes there have long since died, either by each other's hands or for other reasons. Nim has been living comfortably for a long time, turning the system into a kind of fortress. His forces are too small against a proper fleet. But at the same time, there are natural obstacles to storming it with large forces."
"For example?" I inquired.
"The Screaming Storm Nebula, dangerous for its electrical discharges that made entire ships explode, and the Ruby Nebula is so dense you could hide a whole fleet there — no one would ever find it because the sensors would go crazy," he said. "Neimoidian mercenaries used to hide there until they were cleaned out. As you can see, Grand Admiral, I'm offering you the chance to take an entire system that can easily be turned into your own forward base even with small forces. Fifteen to twenty Star Destroyers could be hidden there so that they'd never find each other and..."
"And that is precisely why you planned to use my help to destroy Nim and the 'Avengers of Lok,' and then take control of the system yourself?" I clarified.
Tyberos's right eye twitched.
"Are you sure you're not a Jedi, Grand Admiral?"
"Good," I said. "You've outlined the prospects of destroying the 'Avengers of Lok' and Captain Nym's gang, as well as capturing the system. Perhaps I will pursue that, Captain. But what will make me spare your life? So far, everything you've mentioned..."
"Remember I told you about that Alliance station that's well guarded by Nym lackeys?" Tyberos grinned. "Well, that's where Nim stores his plunder from three decades of pirating... And there are hundreds of millions there, Grand Admiral. If not billions. We'll split them between us and..."
"Remember," I said calmly, "when I told Niles Ferrier, in your presence, that interrupting a senior Imperial officer was a great foolishness on your part?"
Tyberos recoiled, recalling that conversation. His gaze darted toward Rukh. The Noghri silently awaited the execution order.
"So, given the interesting information you've provided, I'll refine my question, Captain Tyberos," the mercenary looked at me like a hunted animal. "What can you offer me in exchange for you and your subordinates not being handed over to Captain Nym in return for his ceasing to interfere in my affairs?"
"Wh-what?" he hissed. "You captured my subordinates?"
"Stormtroopers boarded as soon as the three of you came aboard and turned in your comlinks and weapons," I explained. "So I want to hear a better proposal from you. If not, my interrogators will get to work on your crew. I already know about your little stash aboard the Rabid Ewok. Consider the matter of compensation for repairs to the Black Pearl settled between us. Now make me an offer for sparing your crew's lives, taking into account your attempt to deceive me — one I can't refuse."
The privateer's eyes bulged furiously as he realized that in chasing his own life, he'd shown all his cards. Finding a safe route into the Karthakk system wouldn't be that hard. Not quick, but doable. And he'd spelled out the advantages of capturing that system himself.
"That's what I thought, Captain Tyberos," I said, signaling my bodyguard. "Zero."