"Corvette, don't nod off: three enemies are approaching you from below along the starboard side," Captain Shohashi's resonant voice rang out across the bridge.
"Roger that, Captain," responded the young officer commanding the escort starship. "Engaging them."
Eric looked at the tactical display. Indeed, the small ship, darting nimbly, had spat out long streams of bluish-white flame and headed toward the Imperative's starboard side, hammering Mandalorian-made heavy fighters with all its guns. M-12-L Kimogila. Too large for a fighter, too light for a bomber. A monstrosity that, for some reason, the Mandalorians had developed for the Hutts.
If these brutes posed a danger to anyone, it was only to themselves. No matter how intimidating they might be with their number of guns and a proton torpedo launcher, the crew of the Imperative had faced similar vessels before, which were almost standard equipment for any middling pirate gang. Not to mention the Hutt fleets and other scum.
Almost three times larger than a TIE fighter, but nearly forty percent slower. And in such a fight, even armor didn't save you — a Corellian corvette simply tore such vessels apart.
"Threat neutralized, Captain," the duty officer appeared next to Eric.
"Good." Shohashi peered at a new group of small pirate ships approaching from the port side. Half a dozen craft — X4 assault gunboats. Another creation of the Incom Corporation. Six light laser cannons and a pair of medium ones. Not dangerous…
For a Star Destroyer. And they had just smashed a group of fighters to pieces, turning three TIE fighters that had charged to intercept them into wreckage.
The first casualties of the battle.
"Tractor beam operators, attention," Eric leaned on his cane, feeling the precious stone that served as its pommel dig its facets into his palm. "Six X4s approaching from the port side. Lock on and hold. Medium turbolasers — immediately after lock — rid us of this annoying trash."
"Orders understood, Captain!"
"It will be done, Captain!"
Eric slipped his left hand into the pocket of his Alderaanian uniform, pulling out a pocket chronometer. With a soft click, the top cover flipped open, revealing an image of a young Imperial aristocrat on the inside. Iran Ryad. "The Red Star." Lost love, more precious than life.
The Star Destroyer commander ran his thumb over the face of the fallen baroness, feeling every detail of the miniature engraving. This gesture had become something of an inspiring act for him. Peace, calm, focus.
Even after death, she gave him the strength to continue.
"Two X-4s captured!" came the report from the tractor beam control station. "Four more ships are performing countermaneuvers..."
"Fire on the captured ones," Eric ordered. "Relay to the corvette — destroy all X-4s."
Losing three fighters in a single skirmish with pirates. Even if they were Nym spawn, one of the luckiest bastards in the Outer Rim. No, that was unforgivable. And worst of all, those three were New Republic Alderaanian pilots who had surrendered to him during one of the last raids on rebel bases. Poor training. He should increase the number of training sorties.
Meanwhile, the trapped X-4 gunships vainly tried to break free from the invisible hold. But the operators were not paid for nothing — the enemy was trapped. And three linear-elevated turrets were now sending nine shots into them at maximum rate of fire. Shooting under range conditions — when the enemy was stationary and could offer no meaningful resistance.
The first enemy ship split apart after the second salvo. Its partner lasted exactly one salvo longer.
"Four gunships are regrouping, Captain," he was told. "Approaching the destroyer from the bow."
"Target the turret batteries on the enemy," Shohashi demanded. "Tractor beam operators — act with maximum efficiency. Batteries, why is some half-dead 'Kimogila' loitering off our starboard side?"
"Sir, the ship is transmitting a distress signal and reporting that it is surrendering," replied the communications officer. "It claims its reactor is damaged and is requesting evacuation."
"Oh, really?" Eric snorted. The trick was as old as time itself. "Starboard batteries — place a salvo above and below the 'Kimogila.' Operator — capture the fighter with a tractor beam and hold it. Anti-aircraft batteries, be ready to destroy proton torpedoes."
His attention was drawn to a trio of X-4s that had been caught by tractor beams while attempting a frontal pass over the destroyer's upper hemisphere. The ships, having already lost one of their own, were furiously trying to break free, but the Imperious's turbolaser turrets repeatedly tore the thirty-meter ships apart, littering the space around the vessel with debris.
"The 'Kimogila' is trying to break free," he was informed.
"How timely that its reactor malfunction cleared up," Eric grinned. Destroying pirates and rebels was the only thing he loved with that supposedly manic obsession of his. "Destroy the fighter."
One precise shot from the battery, and the Mandalorian-built fighter turned into a heap of scrap. But hot on its heels, upgraded Headhunters were already breaking through toward the destroyer. TIE Interceptors were on their tails, polishing their nozzles. Of the three Z-95s, only three clouds of debris reached the Imperious's hull.
The destruction of the pirates continued.
Multiple heterogeneous machines perished every second, lighting up space with miniature explosions. Both the Chimaera and the Imperious were mercilessly exterminating pirate ships. Pilots from both destroyers tirelessly blew up the scum of the galaxy, delivering justice upon those who had turned this sector, this system, into a pirate haven.
Eric did not wonder how Thrawn had managed to learn about the safe route into the system. All previous attempts to get here had ended in failure for the Imperial fleet. And watching how just two destroyers were beating the pirate horde, spawning dozens of corpses, Shohashi could only guess how low the Imperial bureaucratic apparatus had sunk, distorting the data about what was happening in the Karthakk sector. Otherwise, Grand Moff Tarkin would have cleansed this pirate nest long ago. And justice would have caught up with the scum of society much sooner.
On the other hand, Tarkin had always been too cunning an Imperial. The captain of the Imperious had no doubt that Thrawn had told the truth — Tarkin had indeed made a deal with Nim. That was the only reason an entire sector could be given over to scoundrels and rogues.
But that only made it more bitter. It meant the Empire was even more rotten, and had been for longer than Eric had imagined. An unpleasant feeling — serving those who spoke of honor and glory, peace and order, but behind your back shielded criminals.
Eric also disapproved of Thrawn's flirtations with privateers, but acknowledged the initiative was reasonable. Why waste the lives of Imperials, of which the Grand Admiral had so few under his command, when you could use the dregs? In principle, later you could even set them against each other.
Though... against the Cavrilhu, Shohashi would not mind going himself. Those pirates commanded a real fleet. And there was no one more ruthless for the next hundred sectors.
Still, he had to give Nim credit.
Eric appreciated the conversation between Lieutenant Kreb and the pirate pilotess. Saving someone from slavery to make them your pilot. Given that in the Outer Rim there was practically no way to escape the barbaric laws of existence, and also to stop being a slave, the offer to become a pirate in exchange for freedom... Yes, many would agree to that. The impunity of the pirate gangs that had multiplied here after the New Republic rose from the ashes gave many simple-minded people an idea of permissiveness.
Using that kind of pilot or other specialist to fill gaps in professionals... Why not?
On Tangrene, thousands of aliens worked, smelting armor and components for Imperial equipment. And damned be he if even once fighters, turbolasers, or any systems failed due to defects, sabotage, or poor assembly. In fact, more cases of manufacturing defects were found in the Empire's factories than here.
"An X-wing squadron is approaching from port," Eric was informed.
"Barrage fire," he ordered. "Send a TIE Interceptor squadron to destroy them. Anti-aircraft batteries, track the targets!"
"Yes, sir," the subordinate reported. "Commander... it seems they are surrendering."
"What nonsense is this?" he frowned. "Since when do pirates surrender to the Imperious?"
"It looks like this is the first Gizka today," the officer said warily.
"Track the fighters," he ordered. "Order them to withdraw to the Chimaera. Notify Pellaeon of the current situation, and also that I do not believe in their good intentions."
"Yes, sir," the subordinate responded.
On one hand, Lieutenant Kreb had managed to find a way to reduce the intensity of the battle — some pirates had already started laying down their arms, which only confirmed their lack of interest in fighting to the death. So maybe they weren't so loyal, serving on Thrawn's side.
On the other hand, under the cover of a supposed surrender, these dregs might try to get closer to the ships and inflict heavy damage on them.
It required considerable talent and cunning to hide under such cover, and many commanders of this level would prefer to use their skills in better interpretation of pirate intentions — a direct attack or flight.
But Thrawn had cut off all their escape routes. There were currently more than three dozen starships under the Grand Admiral's command in the system. And the pirate massacre taking place in orbit of the planet Loka was occurring in every corner of the Karthakk system. No one would leave here.
Desperation would drive the defenders, smoked out of their shelters, onto Imperial ships with the clear intention of taking at least a few of Thrawn's subordinates to the grave with them. That was why Shohashi, whose destroyer was on the front line, did not intend to deal with surrendering prisoners — real or imagined. He was not going to risk his ship. And the Chimaera... Thrawn would handle it.
"Three BTL-Bs approaching from port, sir!"
"Send fighters to the port side — spare me the mention of those scumbag bombers!" Eric barked, snapping his pocket chronometer shut and tucking it into the depths of his tunic.
* * *
"Orbital station 'Loka' is fully under the control of our stormtroopers, Grand Admiral," Gilad reported.
"Casualties?" I inquired, my gaze fixed on how our fighters and interceptors were destroying the pirate starships. Skillfully, simply, easily, and with taste. Intensive training and combat assignments were paying off. Given how often TIE fighter pilots used to die, the number of casualties now had not just decreased by a factor — by orders of magnitude. And that was a good sign.
"Eighteen soldiers, sir," he answered. "Over three hundred of Nym fighters destroyed, another forty captured. At present, we have information on more than a thousand slaves of various races who worked on the station as specialists and repair personnel."
"Leave an occupation garrison on the station," I ordered. "Hold the prisoners and slaves in place until the planet is fully under control. Then we will proceed with filtration operations."
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon said. "I have ordered transports and escort fighters to be dispatched to the pirate squadrons that are reporting their surrender. However, until the fighting is over, we will not be able to evacuate either the equipment or the crews. And ordering them to participate in the battle on our side at this moment is not reasonable. Especially that dozen X-wings that Shohashi didn't want to deal with."
"Not quite the right expression, Captain," I noted. "The Imperious is on the attack line. The Chimaera is on the second line. Shohashi is doing the very work for which he was brought here. It is not convenient for him to deal with prisoners, whether they are truly surrendering to our mercy or are saboteurs trying to get close to our ships and inflict maximum damage. Therefore, we will do that."
"How, sir?" Pellaeon frowned. "Keeping our own fighters or interceptors on guard duty for such a crowd would be a detriment to our defense."
"No one is suggesting that," I noted. "Relay to the surrendered Headhunters and X-wings that each squadron is to move their ships to a remote point — not far from 'Loka' station, into the area of responsibility of the Black Asp — and eject the crews. Gather the pilots and deliver them to the station under guard of the occupation garrison, and the ships as well."
"With expended canopy domes and fired pyrotechnics, you can't fly much without pilot seats," Pellaeon realized. "But at the same time, we can easily fix those problems and put the ships into our own service later."
"Not to mention that we will save the lives of several squadrons' pilots," I said, my gaze still fixed on how methodically the Chimaera's fighters and guns were tearing enemy fighters apart. "Who may in the future man our air wings aboard the Mon Calamari cruisers and take part in raids."
"You think they'll all want to come over to our side?" Gilad clarified.
"That would be too optimistic a statement," I noted. "Even a few will be enough. The rest, even if they don't agree, are already part of our victory. The fewer pilots the enemy has now, the less time our aviators will need to destroy Captain Nym's pilots. Captain, what do the groups sent to Loka's moon report?"
"The orbital cannon has been captured," Pellaeon reported. "Heavily damaged, but can be restored in the future. An interceptor squadron in that area is blocking enemy attempts to break through to the orbital cannon complex on the moon's surface."
"Excellent," I concluded, casting a glance at the tactical monitor. The red markers were getting fewer and fewer. If half an hour ago their number had outweighed our combined air wings, now the numerical superiority was already on our pilots' side. And that gap was rapidly widening. "Prepare transports for the assault on Captain Nym's fortress. While Captain Shohashi is busy destroying pirates in orbit, we will begin the ground operation. Captain Tyberos," I looked at the hulking avenger, who had been kept at a distance by my bodyguards, but now, at my signal, was brought closer. Now, while Pellaeon was busy managing the battle, I could speak with the silent statue that was the commander of the former privateer band. "Today you will have a chance to settle scores with an old enemy."
"Thank you," he said with poorly concealed satisfaction. "Grand Admiral, this is... I'll never forget."
"Undoubtedly," I agreed. "Because you will receive Captain Nym only on one condition, Captain Tyberos."
The privateer tensed. So noticeably that he earned a poke in the kidneys from Tierce, who stood beside him. Immediately after that, all the privateer's feigned belligerence was deflated like air from a balloon.
"What conditions?" he asked impatiently.
"You will receive Captain Nym, as well as your parents' weapons, only if you swear fealty to me," I said, continuing to watch the battle scene unfolding before my eyes. And indeed, it was beautiful. Not from the perspective of mass killing, but as an object of military art.
"W-what?" the privateer was taken aback. "I thought you were going to execute me."
"If you insist, then of course, why not," I shrugged. A shiny blade appeared in Rukh's hand. "But, if I recall, you yourself boasted that among all the privateers I hired, you were the only one who managed to create your own faction. I value your organizational skills. And I believe you are quite capable of leading the auxiliary fleet I am forming, which will centrally do what the privateers did before."
"So you just want to put the privateers on a salary and force us into the framework of your regulations?" Tyberos bared his teeth. "Not many lads will go for that."
"Those who don't agree will die," I stated, looking at the privateer. "And at the hands of those who will join you."
"You'll make me hunt my own..." Tyberos whispered barely audibly, obviously thinking of something of his own.
"Swear an oath of loyalty, take the pledge, and 'your own' will only be those who operate under my command," I did not prevaricate. "Your other former buddies — pirates, smugglers, slavers, and other representatives of the criminal underworld — will become nothing more than legitimate targets. In the foreseeable or distant future."
"Not a bad choice you're offering me," Tyberos said after a pause. "Long-awaited revenge in exchange for long-awaited command of my own fleet... I take it I have no time to think, do I?"
"Not the slightest," I confirmed.
"Why me, not Irvin or Vane?" the former pirate inquired.
"In addition to what has already been said, I should add that you are ruthless when it comes to achieving set goals," I said. "Your drive to capture this system and equal Captain Nym's authority by acquiring your own faction is truly impressive. As is your uncompromising nature in achieving your goal. Therefore, I offer you a choice. Agree — and you will get your own fleet, revenge, and a chance to live."
"And otherwise they'll just break my neck?" Tyberos clarified.
"I don't know," I said honestly. "I admit, I've never been interested in the method of execution my bodyguards devise. But you get the gist: agree and you'll get a chance to leave the Chimaera not as a prisoner. Refuse — and I'll find a deeper hole for you."
There was no need for Tyberos to know that his life was effectively bought by a Jedi researcher.
"So I take it you've already worked on Eymand too?" he asked. "Since you know about the revenge, my parents' weapons..."
"Your old friend the Jedi agreed to work for me out of other interests," I said.
"It won't be easy to lure pirates and privateers into your service," Tyberos continued after a pause. "For a salary, there won't be many willing to risk so much to fight the same Cavrilhu or anyone else, not even enough to crew a fleet."
"In that case, you should think about working with the privateering letters you have on hand," I suggested. "I think it's worth announcing that from now on, only auxiliary forces will act on our intelligence leads. All other privateers will have to hunt for prey on their own."
"To die in the first battle," Tyberos laughed. "No, that's truly brilliant. First you hire privateers to nip at the New Republic, lure everyone who agrees to this feeder. You crank up the tension with convoys so much that now whole cruisers are needed to counter the escort of transport caravans, and then you announce that only those who take the Pledge and sign up for these auxiliary forces of yours will get guaranteed loot... Grand Admiral, are you sure you don't hobnob with Hutt?"
The slap that Tierce gave the giant echoed across the bridge, reminding a certain privateer of respect and subordination.
"I agree," he said. "But it will take a lot of time to find the right ships, win people over..."
"As you may have already heard, some of Captain Nym's underlings have already decided to try their luck by surrendering to us," I reminded.
"Don't tell me you believed them," Tyberos grimaced as if from a sharp toothache. "Most of them came to Nim voluntarily to plunder and live it up. They're just saving their own hides — your pilot's revelations may have touched the conscience of at most one or two of them. The rest just saw a convenient chance to avoid total annihilation."
"Their loyalty is now your problem," I stated. "As is the loyalty of those you recruit in the future. I hope you learned your lesson from what happened in the Monastery system. I will not tolerate scheming behind my back. Do anything else to harm my campaign, and your head will adorn the Noghri trophy hall. Is that clear enough?"
"Clear as day," Tyberos nodded. "I hope then that my subordinates are still alive and can be accepted into your auxiliary forces? I'm willing to vouch for each of them with my head, as well as for their consent to serve you."
"We'll discuss that after the completion of the campaign in the Karthakk sector," I said. "For now, you will go down to Loka's surface with the stormtroopers and capture Captain Nym's fortress for me. The latter must remain alive until I allow you to exact your revenge. Is that understood?"
"Clear as day," the privateer said. After a thought, he added:
"Taking him alive won't be so easy. Last time we met one-on-one, he turned out to be stronger than expected. I'm sure he has some surprises in store this time."
"Captain Tyberos," I turned my chair to look the privateer straight in the eye. Plain human eyes. Except that they completely lacked an iris, and instead gaped with two black pupils that gave the impression of blaster barrels aimed at the speaker's face. Frightening, probably. "For me, it's important that Captain Nym can speak and give meaningful answers to my questions. Everything else is immaterial."
Tyberos grinned carnivorously, baring his teeth like a predator who knows his prey is cornered with no way out.
"Do not trouble yourself, Grand Admiral," the giant dropped to one knee before me, bowing his head in submission. "By the time you have time to speak with him, Nim will be ready to tell you everything you want to know. And he will beg that your interest in him never wane for as long as possible."
"That suits me, Captain Tyberos," I declared. "You have your orders; you can proceed."
After the privateer had withdrawn a sufficient distance, Captain Pellaeon approached me.
"Reconnaissance droids are reporting movement of enemy starships at stations in the system," he announced. "Judging by their course, they are heading straight for us."
"As expected, Captain Nym has called for help from his competitors," I chuckled. "The operation to cleanse the Karthakk system is moving to the second phase. Captain Pellaeon, be so kind as to inform the rest of the fleet's ships — it is time to leave the Ruby Nebula and begin capturing the remaining stations of the factions. The auxiliary starships are to jump to our position."
"Yes, sir," he said.
I checked the tactical monitor. The enemy's squadrons were practically destroyed. The Chimaera and Imperious had lost no more than a dozen ships — compared to twenty times that many destroyed on the enemy side. An epochal scale of triumphant justice. Small wonder that Captain Nym had turned to other gangs with interests in the Karthakk system for support — his large ships (converted freighters) had been destroyed by the Imperious's fire while still on the planet's surface. His fighters were shot down or had surrendered. One of the stations he controlled had been captured — and judging by how he tried to regain control of the cannon on the moon's surface, Nim was pushed to despair.
And consequently, it was time for the Chimaera to make new moves.
"Contact Captain Shohashi," I ordered. "The Imperious is to remain for final cleanup of the planet's orbit and support of the Black Asp. Captain Pellaeon, order a course to the station once belonging to the Rebel Alliance."
Since the threat from the orbital cannon on Loka's moon's surface had been eliminated for us, Nym space forces based on the planet were practically annihilated, and squadrons from stations belonging to other pirate factions were moving toward us, thereby opening their outposts for attack and capture by the other Star Destroyers, it was time to check how relevant Captain Tyberos's information was about the volume of loot accumulated by the "Lok Revenants" gang. If there really were enormous sums and stocks of valuables there, then I would arrange with Captain Vane and buy the "Black Pearl" for the Jedi friend Eymand.
"Major Tierce," I addressed the guardsman. "Select men. You have an assault on a potential treasure vault ahead."
The barely perceptible nod from the man in crimson armor confirmed that he understood the order. And that he was ready to carry it out without delay.
* * *
She felt as though she were flailing in some viscous substance. No matter how hard she tried to claw her way out of that void, she only sank deeper. She had the impression of struggling somewhere in a swamp, where every movement only hastened her descent.
How long this went on, she didn't know. Had no idea. She only understood that at some point, she simply tired of resisting.
And in that moment, something began pushing her toward an indistinguishable surface. With each moment, she felt better, strength returning...
Finally, the dawn rattled above her head — and the girl managed to surface, gasping for air.
Mara Jade opened her eyes and realized she was sitting. Automatically looking around, she was bewildered. Interesting, where had she ended up?
She was clearly in some kind of medical bay — numerous medical monitors, devices, panels overhead emitting a soft but utterly un-warming light spoke in favor of that claim... And a 2B-1 surgical droid, deactivated in the corner of the bay.
There was no doubt she was on a ship — you couldn't mistake a ship's environment for anything else. Especially since even with the best will in the world, it was hard to misinterpret the steady hum of machinery that imparted a slight, barely perceptible vibration. This indicated the small size of the ship she was on — otherwise, inertial dampeners would have eliminated even that slight rocking.
The girl could say for certain — she wasn't aboard an Imperial ship, because there the medical bay looked much more spacious and was furnished differently. No, this was a private ship... Painfully familiar, but she couldn't remember where she'd seen it before, or who it belonged to.
Her thoughts were jumbled, her head throbbed, and her chest still ached. So she must have left the bacta tank not long ago — the characteristic aftertaste hung in the air.
But it smelled that way in most medical facilities.
Jade licked her dry lips. Yes, there was definitely a film of bacta on them. So someone had taken care of her after all. And it was hardly likely to be someone loyal to the New Republic — you'd have to be a complete idiot to leave a saboteur found in the Imperial Palace alone in a room full of objects that could be used as weapons. For decency's sake, they could have at least handcuffed her to the bed. That would have delayed her for a couple of minutes.
The girl lifted the blanket. At least she was still wearing her own clothes. Well, most of them. But the scrapes she'd gotten in her fight with the Targeter were gone. So definitely bacta.
The red-haired beauty understood that if someone was watching her, "guests" would arrive soon. And she wasn't sure she wanted to meet them personally.
She silently slipped out from under the snow-white blanket and stepped onto the deck. The soles of her feet met the cool metal. A shiver ran through her body, instantly clearing her head.
On the nightstand by the bed, she found her black combat jumpsuit. But no weapons. How thoughtful — no lightsaber, no blaster, no backup blaster. Not even throwing knives.
Mara silently dressed, feeling at least a tiny bit more protected. And she was finally starting to guess where she was. But that still didn't answer the question — how exactly had she ended up here, who was behind it? Friend or foe?
Tiptoeing silently, as her Imperial instructors had taught her, the girl moved toward the hatch that led out of the medical bay — fully ready to handle any danger that might await her beyond the threshold. She passed her hand over the lock sensor; the circular hatch obediently split into two halves, each sliding in opposite directions.
Jade crossed the threshold in one fluid motion, quickly assessing the situation...
And froze in her tracks, watching the scene before her with a mixture of surprise and irritation.
"Oh," exclaimed the young man with blue hair sitting on the small sofa. "Hi, Mara!"
He glanced at her briefly over the datapad that occupied his attention, having curled up on the sofa with his legs and eating nut kernels with great appetite. Which he'd found in the galley. Which cost nearly a thousand credits per hundred grams and were actually a delicacy with a very useful property that few people knew about. Except Imperial Intelligence agents, from whom she'd learned about it. And this... partner of hers, judging by the number of opened packages, was finishing the last ones. Uh-huh. So much for stocking up on nuts that helped recover from serious injuries thanks to their blood-forming properties.
"Well, hello, Ghent," Mara grunted, staring intently at the cheeky kid. Apparently, despite the lack of Force training, her gaze could still be extremely dangerous. Because the "slicer" suddenly started coughing, choking on a nut. Jade came to the slicer's aid, heartily introducing his thin back to her good palm. Five times, until the lodged nut flew out of his throat, along with his natural spontaneity and dental crowns. Oh wait, the last one was chewing gum.
"Thanks," the slicer said when his lungs recovered from the friendly thumping. Then he immediately reached for another nut. Mara unceremoniously took the last one from him. Ghent furrowed his brow, looked at her, then at the remaining nuts, then at her again... and immediately went back to his activity, glumly staring at the screen of his personal datapad.
Mara crunched the nut demonstratively. It was already clear that they weren't prisoners. Good — but then where were they? This was clearly not the deck of their ship. It wasn't the "Shadow" that Thrawn had given them. But the interior was painfully familiar. And the nuts...
Ghent shot her a hurt look.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, out of politeness.
"Never better," Jade said in a tone that boded no good, continuing to bore into him with her gaze while frantically ransacking her own memory. Little brat...
"I didn't mean to!" the slicer immediately flushed. Apparently, she'd said the last part out loud. "Well, I couldn't... you know... um... touch you..."
"But you did touch," Mara said in the same tone, mentally picturing a laser sight at the base of the slicer's neck. The trick was as old as the hills; the Emperor had taught it to her when she was... seventeen? Fifteen? She couldn't remember anymore. But the effect it had...
Palpatine used to say that almost all living beings were connected to the Force. Some — so tightly that they could channel it, like the Jedi. An even smaller number could control it, like himself or Darth Vader. He never said which category Mara Jade herself fell into. But there was every reason to believe that if her name had been on the latter list, the Emperor's Hand would have made her life a bit shorter. Vader already suspected almost every Force-sensitive individual close to Palpatine as a potential rival and possible replacement for himself. He suspected so thoroughly that in his later years, he didn't hesitate to train his own.
So, back to the trick. Most sentients have intuition, or at least a faint sense of danger. A Force user with enough experience could "provoke" their target by sharpening their attention as a mental representation of a threat. According to Palpatine, this simple trick helped him identify potential Force-sensitives in his vicinity. The Force would warn them of a danger that wasn't real. And no one was indifferent to that premonition.
But if a Jedi reacted, an ordinary sentient would feel very uncomfortable. Like sensing someone's gaze. A very, very bloodthirsty gaze.
Ghent fidgeted on the sofa. He was the best slicer she'd ever encountered. And certainly the best in Talon Karrde's organization. And that meant the "Claw" would never keep people who weren't the best in their field.
The fact that Ghent was sitting with his legs on the sofa in the middle of a ship that was clearly not cheap and was first-class, with a datapad in his hands, directly supported the assumption that they weren't prisoners. Only a complete idiot wouldn't understand what Ghent was by nature. And to place a slicer on a ship with computers within less than the range of a ship's turbolaser... well, you'd have to be a pretty stupid person. Or not a person. But very stupid.
"I... I'm sorry!" The boy's lower lip trembled. "Mara, you're like a sister to me... Anyway... I didn't mean to... I just wanted to give you at least a painkiller."
"Oh yes, you really numbed it," she said venomously. "Someday, you'll have broken ribs too. Believe me, I'll be right there, and with all my love for you, I'll stroke them while rubbing in the painkiller."
Ghent took a shuddering breath, fixing his eyes on the datapad screen. It got through to him, he understood. Good. She'd praise him for saving her a little later. Once she figured out where they were and how they'd gotten here.
Mara looked around. Well, it seemed like they hadn't spared any expense on this ship. It felt like it had just come out of storage. Or was recently built... But judging by the quality of the equipment on board, only a very wealthy sentient could afford such a vessel. And clearly a supporter of Imperial tech — Mara didn't detect the slightest presence of Republic machinery on board. Maybe there was some in another part of the ship.
"Where are we?" she asked, finishing her survey.
"On a ship," Ghent grumbled sulkily. Mara held out the treat to him and smiled charmingly.
"Want a nut?" The edible kernel lay in the center of her palm, so she could wriggle her fingers invitingly. Reminding him of the friendly thumping. "No?" The slicer nodded affirmatively, indicating that he had absolutely no interest in the delicacy. "Then enlighten me: what is this vessel, who owns it, and how did we end up on it? Everything, starting from the moment when, thanks to your efforts, I passed out in the library of the diplomatic wing."
"Well..." The slicer unexpectedly scooted to the edge of the sofa toward her. "Basically... someone helped us."
"You're being evasive, Ghent," the girl admitted. And she didn't even need to use the Force to understand that. Squinting, she leaned toward the young man:
"Will you tell me yourself, or should I ask more... pointedly?"
"No-no-no-no-no!" Fear flickered in the boy's eyes, and he tried to shield himself with his datapad.
"Then I'm listening," Mara mercifully offered the alternative.
"Well... um..." Ghent looked away and blushed deeply. "When you..."
"Passed out," the red-haired girl supplied the word.
"Sort of... yeah..." The kid seemed to remember what had preceded the girl's loss of consciousness. Because why else would even his ears be red? Well, well, kid, soon you'll remember this as your worst nightmare. "Anyway... you fell, but I caught you!" he hastily added.
"What a great guy you are," Mara praised him sarcastically. Considering that she herself had seriously messed up when she tried to take the Targeter alive and used her lightsaber only as a secondary weapon for intimidation, not to destroy the target as she'd been trained, the kid had apparently done better than her. Well, never mind, she'd meet this Winter again. But first, Jade would get back into her former shape. And then all those skills of the white-haired woman wouldn't help her anymore. Oh, and she really packs a punch with her right! "So what happened after I passed out?"
"Well... um... the white-haired one came to," Ghent cast a cautious glance at her. And immediately after, he looked toward the hatch at the opposite end of the common room. Thereby indicating the source of potential problems, what he wanted to hide.
"W-e-ll," Mara drew out. The Force immediately stirred. She should have done that sooner! Oh, that old habit from the time she'd spent in Karrde's service, trying to learn to live without the Force so that Palpatine's final order wouldn't drive her insane. Minimizing Force use had already led to a couple of failures. Some Hand she was...
"Who's in there?!" Sensing the presence of a sentient being in the adjacent cabin, the girl stepped up to the slicer.
"Mara... I..." The blue-haired slicer's eyes went wide. "I wouldn't have been able to drag you here without her!"
"Idiot!" Jade hissed. "She's a Republic saboteur!"
Ignoring Ghent's pleading cries, Mara grabbed a metal part that came to hand and rushed to the door leading to the cabin. She quickly passed her hand over the lock sensor, yanked the hatch open, and ran inside...
And immediately froze on the threshold, stunned by what she saw.
The white-haired girl sat on a narrow cot. On her face and body — no trace of the beating Jade had given her during their clash in the diplomatic wing library. She was wearing the same outfit as when they'd met.
Winter looked up at her from reading her own datapad. Judging by the partially disassembled casing, the remote HoloNet access module had clearly been removed from the device. And any other computer network.
"You!" Mara narrowed her eyes.
"Me," she agreed, setting the device aside on the table. "Are you all right?"
Thrawn's Hand felt her eye twitch. Was this really the same white-haired beast she'd fought in the library? Why the concern?
"Can't complain." Apparently, Winter didn't intend to fight. And judging by the device, Ghent had clearly made sure she couldn't contact anyone. Something clearly didn't add up. How could a wimp like Ghent have subdued the Targeter herself? Even Mara hadn't managed...
"Mara, I..." the slicer began, approaching her.
"How?" she immediately demanded an answer. "What is this ship?! Where are we going?!"
"Your friend, the Emperor's Hand, convinced me to help you," Winter said. "I dragged you out of the library while he finished his work hacking the Imperial information center. I have no answers to your other questions."
"G-he-e-e-nt!" Mara shook the boy by the shoulders.
"What else was I supposed to do?!" he asked fearfully. "You were wounded and unconscious. She," he pointed at the white-haired girl, "was coming to. And if she handled you like that, what would have happened to me?!"
"She just got lucky." Mara caught herself wanting to lunge at the slicer with her fists. Stupid little Ghent! "I wanted to take her alive so she could be interrogated..."
"Grand Admiral Thrawn?" the white-haired one clarified.
"G-he-e-e-nt!"
"It wasn't me!" he pleaded. "She already knew!"
What a fool! It didn't matter what she knew! Now she had confirmation that Thrawn really existed!
"You have nothing to worry about, Mara," Winter declared. "Ghent and I made a deal. I help you escape Coruscant..."
"And what in exchange?!" asked Thrawn's Hand.
"He promised to share information from the Imperial information center archives," Winter's voice rang out like a thunderclap. "Specifically, to share his ingenious algorithm as soon as we're safe."
Mara looked at the boy in a way that made him visibly shrink.
"Do I have a hearing problem," she asked the boy in a honeyed voice, "or did you promise her access to the Imperial Palace archives?!"
A worse deal couldn't be imagined! What was he thinking? Giving them the key to the information they themselves had barely gotten close to!
"Your hearing is fine," Winter "reassured" her. "Ghent agreed to lend his algorithm and thereby help me with several matters..."
"Oh really?!" No, she was definitely going to hit him. Very, very painfully!
."..because completing my mission became impossible after he promised to erase the Imperial information center's data," the Targeter finished.
Her heart plummeted into some depths of oblivion.
"Mara..." Ghent said cautiously. "She figured out what we were doing there on her own. If I'd been caught, they'd already have had the algorithm, and they'd have hacked everything in the galaxy..."
"Got it," Jade said, leaving the cabin and dragging out by the ear the best slicer she'd ever known. Kicking the hatch shut so it slammed with a bang, she literally shook the boy until he could barely stay on his feet.
"Are you out of your mind?!" she hissed in his face. "The objective was different! Hack!"
"Why are you so pissed?!" the slicer complained indignantly, rubbing his ear where nail marks remained. "I already told you — what was I supposed to do when she beat you up like that?"
"Take a blaster and shoot her!" Jade hissed, though she knew she was talking nonsense. Ghent didn't even like weapons at the best of times — even for target shooting. And the idea that he could harm someone, let alone kill, was out of the question.
"Yeah, and the Republic forces would have swarmed in," the slicer pursed his lips.
"Understood," Mara nodded mechanically. No, she was to blame herself. She'd given in to the temptation to take the wretch alive, and she'd messed up. The kid had done what seemed the most reasonable way out of the situation — use the help of a high-ranking enemy to escape the planet. No, honestly, it would have been better if he'd shot her and fled alone...
Mara forced herself back to reality by force of will. And what would he have done? Even if he'd managed to open a secret passage in that dead end, even if he'd gotten to a ship — he didn't know how to pilot a starship. At all. Not even at a basic level! Sure, he could steer, but then half of Coruscant would have flocked to the Imperial Palace to see a tauntaun at the helm. Not to mention that the slicer didn't know the protocols and lanes for civilian ships.
"So what now?" she asked. "What about our ship?"
"I took all our things from it and sealed the hidden hangar again," Ghent explained. "By the way, this tub was parked about a hundred meters from us, on the same level. I'd never have guessed there were secret hangars here if you hadn't shown me when you landed our ship..."
"What is this ship?" Mara interrupted.
"Some secret Imperial Intelligence ship," Ghent shrugged. Yeah, like that was a big deal. There were ten of those in every field. Now at least it was clear where the nuts came from. "I stumbled on info about their caches across the galaxy — just like Thrawn asked, it was the very first file I downloaded. And I cracked its encryption right away, and then, before you came, I got interested in the fact that the ship was literally inside the Imperial Palace. And on board — a whole arsenal and a sea of fake IDs."
Uh-huh. Sounded familiar. Mara had encountered something similar when she'd come across a squad of deserting stormtroopers. Though back then, the cargo container had belonged to the ISB. But the operational methods of almost all state security agencies — both intelligence and counterintelligence — were identical.
Seemed like someone's "rainy day" stash. So the ship needed to be searched for beacons and other tracking devices. Or better yet, contact Thrawn, arrange a rendezvous point with a trusted ship, and blow this one up. But first — figure out what kind of vessel it even was. Maybe she could acquire it for personal use. ISB and Imperial Intelligence ships looked unassuming at first glance, but they had many hidden and unregistered upgrades that could be useful in her work.
"Ghent," the girl ruffled his hair with a sad smile, "you actually did great. Really great. I seriously screwed us, and you saved us. I'm sure Thrawn won't be happy, but that's my failure, not yours. He's not the Emperor, of course, but he doesn't have even a hint of paternal care. Good thing you didn't drop off the Targeter after giving her the hacking algorithm. At least we can hand her over to the Grand Admiral, since the information center didn't work out. Are you sure the Republic won't be able to figure out what we left behind and break into the secret data?" The slicer nodded in agreement. And even smiled shyly. "We need to hand over our 'guest' to Thrawn before she realizes no one is letting her go. And locking her up without communication — that was also the right move. I hope you disabled the comm equipment in the cabin too?"
"You insult me," Ghent assured her. "First thing, as soon as the hatch closed behind her. Lucky that the navigation database here is simple — no need to enter planet coordinates, you can select from the database. I decided to jump far from Coruscant so you'd have time to wake up from the bacta sleep."
"And...?" Mara looked at him suspiciously.
"No-no-no-no!" he protested. "Winter did the dressing and undressing. I only brought your suit and that's it."
"Weapons?" Jade specified.
"In your cabin," he explained, pointing toward a wide passage. "It's further down the corridor, closer to the cockpit. The ship is kind of weird, I'll tell you."
"What do you mean?" the girl tensed.
"Well, there's enough weapons to equip a couple of squads," Ghent explained. "A bunch of hidden compartments with documents, several currencies. Armed like I don't know who! And the central computer is so clean, like it was formatted or replaced after every flight. And the construction is clearly Mandalorian — looks like it was built to order..."
Everything inside Mara froze.
"Mandalorian, you say?" she asked in a hoarse voice, rushing to the ship's bridge. Nothing remarkable inside — a pilot's seat, a co-pilot's seat, a commander's seat, and spots for a couple of extra crew members. But all that was secondary. This ship could be operated by a single person — from the commander's chair. There, controls were hidden in the armrests, and monitors were arranged around the cockpit so that the person sitting there could see everything. Absolutely everything — even if they only had one eye.
Jade groaned in dismay.
"Look what a beauty," Ghent said, approaching a small holographic projector. He fiddled with its panel, and a three-dimensional projection of a starship appeared above the plate. The mere sight of it made Mara's stomach drop.
A predatory, angular hull. Modular armor. Multiple turrets. Concealed launch tubes for proton torpedoes and cumulative torpedoes. A detachable rear section, meaning that after the forty-meter starship jettisoned that part, a "stub" could continue its journey on a second set of engines — and that stub was, in fact, the actual ship. They weren't in the wardroom; they were in the aft compartments, behind which lay the main engines that made this unique starship the fastest vessel in the personal possession of anyone close to the Emperor. Not to mention its built-in engine emission capture systems, its hull made of material barely visible on scanners... This ship cost as much as an entire Imperial Star Destroyer. Only a few had been built. And no, not for Imperial Intelligence. Nor for the ISB. Not even for Darth Vader. This ship was forged from what had once been a Mandalorian corvette prototype by the finest shipbuilders in the galaxy — the ones who built Palpatine's personal vessels.
The Flame.
"And I picked an interesting name for it from a set of fake identifiers," the boy grinned. "The Flame. Let's keep it for ourselves, huh?"
"A brilliant name," Mara cast a mournful glance at the "slicer." "Ghent, we're going to have to destroy it. And the sooner, the better. We'll have to get rid of your friend with the perfect memory too. Permanently."
"Mara, if you're worried about the algorithm, it's fine," Ghent's eyes went wide. "There's no need to kill anyone! It won't help them anyway!"
"So it helped us, but not them?" Mara's eyebrow shot up.
"That's because when we were working there, there was something to work with," Ghent looked down. "But now it's clean..."
"What do you mean?" Mara tensed. "Did you upload the 'Setup' file?!"
"Uh-huh," the "slicer" nodded. "You said yourself that Thrawn ordered all the data to be wiped..."
"GHENT!" Mara couldn't help herself and slammed her fist into the nearest seat. "That protocol was supposed to be activated after we got a copy of all the data from the Imperial Palace's information center! Not before! Thrawn needs to know what Palpatine had stashed away on Byss! And for that, we need data on the deployment of the fleet, army and other units, plus a ton of other information! Not to mention the data on the specifications of the Super Star Destroyers! And you deleted all of it?! Even having Winter on our side won't save us from this! This isn't a stalemate, it's a failure!"
The "slicer" blinked.
"I actually downloaded everything that was needed," he stated. "Well, the minimum that Thrawn required. About the ships and bases. And while we were leaving the Palace, I uploaded a 'worm' into the network. You know, you said Winter wasn't working alone. So I used her terminal as the starting point. The idea is that she carelessly accessed some secret file, and as soon as anyone starts browsing data on her terminal, the system purge will begin."
"And what if they don't?" After the Emperor's death, Mara wasn't known for a meek and benevolent temperament. Sarcasm, provocation, jokes — that had become her protective shell, something to hide behind. As did the persona of an aggressive lady who acts first but doesn't make it known that she's thought things over several times beforehand. She understood perfectly well that she had lashed out at Ghent, yelled at him without really understanding the problem. And the reason for it was her own failure, which had forced the "slicer" to improvise. And everything seemed fine... but there was so much in those databases that could have been found!
"Well, then the program would have launched on its own, an hour after we left," Ghent shrugged. "Don't be so upset, Mara! The data from that information center was copied at least ten times, so copies exist."
Mara didn't bother asking the rhetorical question. She just sighed patiently and asked for an explanation:
"The Imperial Information Center isn't like that library we were in," Ghent explained. "It's huge servers with massive capacity. And you can access them remotely. I was sitting here," he tapped his datapad screen, "reviewing the metadata from the activity and remote access logs. Anyway, some of the files I downloaded were copied at least ten times. So, I think some Imperials had the chance to download both the full archive and fragmented versions. Some before Palpatine's death, but most afterward. The system identified users by their incoming data. Do you know a guy named Antinnis Tremayne?"
"High Inquisitor," Mara clenched her teeth. A master of torture and Vader's apprentice.
"Well, he downloaded some, but not much. After Yavin, though."
"Who else?!" Jade demanded. "Did you find out who else?!"
"Sate Pestage," well, he's not dangerous, he's dead. But his copy is worth looking for. "And twice. The first time from the Palace, the second from the Star Destroyer Red Dragon. Both times — full copies." Quite a move. Why would the Grand Vizier be doing something like that? And isn't the Red Dragon the flagship of the Ubiqtorate fleet? "Zsinj managed to download something — some tech data, but mostly biological data on different species." He's dead too. "Some Jerec — almost immediately after Endor." Also dead. "Ysanne Isard connected to the center almost every single day until she fled to Thyferra. Then her ID disappeared somehow, but she managed to download a full copy of all the information..."
"She was killed during the Bacta War," Mara explained. "That's why it disappeared."
"Oh, okay then. Some Hethrir was poking around in some data too." The Procurator of Justice. Quite the... radical. "Grand Moff Ardus Kaine copied the entire database. Some Sedriss QL was here relatively recently — maybe a month ago. But he was only interested in a few files. He wiped his tracks well, of course, but I'm good too."
"Ten," Mara reminded him. "You said there were ten connections and downloads. You only named nine. Who's the tenth?"
"I said at least ten," Ghent clarified. "Some were wiped clean, only indirect traces of IDs remain. But I know the tenth one. Only I've never even heard that name before. And it's never shown up on the HoloNet either. But he was only interested in the locations of Imperial bases. Plus, it's actually funny — people are downloading, but everything there is so password-protected you'd never crack it all in a lifetime."
"The name," Mara demanded.
"Some Ennix Devian or other," Ghent grimaced. "Probably a fake name..."
"As real as it gets," Mara replied darkly. "Access IDs to the information center weren't handed out to just anyone. I didn't even have one."
"And some Devian did?" the "slicer" was surprised. "You said you worked directly for the Emperor himself."
"So did he," Mara added dryly. "Ennix Devian — Palpatine's personal hired assassin. He's racked up enough kills for a small city. Vindictive, underhanded, cunning, vengeful, with overblown ambitions. He always thought Palpatine didn't know that Devian was aiming for the highest circles of power, pretending to be obedient and loyal to the Emperor. The latter had this little game — knowing the true motives of his subjects while pretending to believe in their unwavering devotion."
"Well, I'm thinking we can find a copy of everything — or part of it — from one of them," Ghent said nonchalantly. "Look, we can ask Thrawn to find and squeeze this Devian guy, and that'll be the end of it."
"As long as we don't get squeezed first," Mara said. "You see, Ghent. I don't know what you were thinking, but for our escape, you chose Devian's personal ship, given to him by the Emperor. Considering that Ennix once wiped out the entire population of a space station to get his hands on it, we'd better figure out how to get to the Grand Admiral. And fast."