I would very much like to know who designed the maximum-security prison station of the Trade Federation, bearing the simple and succinct designation "1138." Because I had never before encountered such an absurd "establishment," consisting of an immense number of passages, arcs, "spools," and countless small modules.
Something else was also curious.
1138 was a very intriguing number in the Star Wars universe. If only because any use of it in books, comics, films, and cartoons, as well as other products from this universe, is a reference to the first film made by the creator of Star Wars, director George Lucas.
Which was further proof that, despite my concerns, my current reality was not an alternative version of a galaxy far, far away, nor a "piece" torn from the multitude of events and stories, but rather the comprehensive and complete universe in which the events of the New Sith Wars — a thousand years ago, after which the Sith were believed to be destroyed — and the story of Revan — a Jedi renegade who became a Sith but later returned from the captivity of the Dark Side — had also occurred.
Yes, all this could be mere coincidence, but the more circumstantial evidence there was, the greater the certainty that my knowledge of this universe's past was still relevant. As was the information about its future events, which my current actions couldn't have substantially affected.
Consequently, somewhere out there in the darkness of space existed an entire Sith civilization called the Lost Tribe, who had "left their mark" on much later events of the universe, even after the Yuuzhan Vong invasion. There was also the Killik race — insectoids with the ability to subjugate sentient beings using their own physiology.
And there were multiple threats in the Unknown Regions — the merciless pirates and slavers, the Vagaari, whose destruction the real Thrawn had actively promoted.
And there was Abeloth — an omnipotent entity dangerous to Force-sensitive beings.
And much, much, much more…
Why was I thinking about this again, despite the hints of such things already appearing in the past? For example, the appearance of Leonia Tavira and the Jensaarai, about whom not so much was written in the books I had read. The Rakata temple on Honoghr, which, unfortunately, was now useless since the Republicans had made sure to destroy the unfamiliar droids and use their remains to lay mines. Leia and Han Solo's children, Mara Jade and Luke Skywalker, Palpatine's resurrection, the Katana fleet…
It was simple. One thing was to rely on conditional knowledge of what was happening here and now — including "parallel" to how events I had initiated were unfolding.
And quite another to understand that even in such minor details as references to 1138, my reality continued to function.
I had no more doubts — I was in that very Star Wars that began with the Je'daii, the Rakata, and chronologically ended with Jacen Solo's turn to the Dark Side, Abeloth's release from her prison inside the Maw cluster, and the creation of yet another version of the Sith Order, but this time under the command of Darth Krayt — a former Jedi, by the way.
Which meant that the problems I had considered merely distant calamities, which it would be good to prepare for, would actually happen. Would I live to see them?
A debatable question.
But even so, I should ensure that those who had followed me survived. And were ready to face these threats.
These were roughly the thoughts filling my head as I walked, surrounded by several guards, through the corridors of the maximum-security prison station "1138." Noticing multiple traces of fierce blaster fire, I nevertheless saw not a single corpse. I came across several destroyed droidekas, which obviously hadn't been removed by the Commando Droids and Major Tierce' clones who had been clearing the station.
Both sides had suffered losses in this operation. Despite the fact that droidekas were built quite some time ago — specifically, these had been brought to the station by the Trade Federation before the Battle of Naboo, which had occurred almost fifty years ago. And the "rollie balls," as the non-clone stormtroopers called them among themselves, were still effective. So much so that a dozen and a half of them had caused the deaths of two of Tierce' nine clones. Considering that the latter, together with their donor, had cleared the enormous station ten-strong, the effectiveness of the droidekas was telling. And the stronger the desire to visit Hypori and claim the factory for myself.
Well, first — "Crimson Dawn" the droideka factory would have to wait. I needed to gather complete information about that planet and the "Zann Consortium," which the Noghri commandos on the planet were occupied with.
"Grand Admiral," saluted the stormtrooper commanding the occupation garrison. "Maximum-security prison station '1138' is under our complete control. The warden garrison has been eliminated, support droids — eliminated. Report concluded."
"Thank you, Lieutenant," I said calmly. It was pointless to ask a stormtrooper about losses or to inquire about this in official reports from unit commanders at an intermediate stage — casualty statistics would be presented upon completion of the entire Karthakk system cleansing. Broken down by the units assigned to each Star Destroyer.
The maximum-security prison station "1138."
I was primarily interested in the central control room, from where all necessary information about the prisoners could be obtained. Actually, it seemed a bit much honor for prisoners — having a Grand Admiral personally study their case files?
I would fully agree with that assessment, if not for the fact that most of the cells were empty. To be more precise, they contained no prisoners. But they did contain… That's right. Where would you store your most valuable trophies, if not on a station whose defenses were so magnificent that even half a century after its construction, it could still give an Imperial Star Destroyer a proper headache?
So I too was curious what exactly such super-valuable cargo Captain Nym was hiding on this station that it was defended by excellent mercenaries — hardly inferior to stormtroopers — and numerous droids. And not rusty specimens, as had been the case at the captured "Trade Federation Hub" station by Rukh, but fully combat-capable ones undergoing regular maintenance.
Captain Pellaeon, walking behind me, cast disapproving glances around, clearly disappointed that he had to leave the Chimaera, which was stationary beside the prison station. The ship was urgently restoring its hull integrity — the station's attack hadn't gone without a hitch, and three proton torpedoes had indeed breached the plating. But now it became clear where the Hyena-class bomber droids that had disappeared from another Trade Federation station had gone. What a shame that none of them survived the engagement with our air wing.
"Patience, Captain," I advised as we entered the control room. The guards took positions on either side of the single entrance. Rukh, gliding like a gray shadow, settled as usual in a dark corner behind and to my left. "The Chimaera's crew is capable of independently repairing a few breaches."
"Agreed," Pellaeon was still frowning. "Otherwise, they're not worth a decicredit. What concerns me more is Lieutenant Tschel, whom you left in charge."
"He is the watch officer," I reminded him. "In the absence of the first officer aboard ship, it is precisely he who is prescribed to command the vessel."
"That's exactly what frightens me," Pellaeon admitted. "Tschel is from the new intake, his training is poor. He still needs to be trained and trained further for independent action."
"In the past, the training of young specialists occurred by assigning them to small ships in remote sectors," I recalled. "Unfortunately, we do not have many opportunities for that. And at the same time," my attention was caught by the working computer of the chief warden, "we currently have a large number of small ships — corvettes, frigates, armed transports, and raiders from the 'wolf packs,' some of which are crewed by navy personnel gaining combat experience in minor operations where the risk of death is minimal. What prevents you from recommending Lieutenant Tschel for one of those ships? Moff Ferrus has recently received a large number of starships assigned to his sector fleet. The situation there is fairly calm. Ideal training ground conditions for honing skills and consolidating acquired experience."
"That won't work with Tschel," Pellaeon said. "And it never worked in the past, only on the pages of reports. Left without supervision, young officers prefer to do anything but their duty. That's why ISB so often uncovered the fusion of criminality and patrol ship crews in remote sectors. No, sir, Tschel, while not the easiest stone to cut, if you don't give him any slack and keep him close, I'm confident that in time he will become a suitable commander for, say, the Chimaera's screening corvette."
"I don't intend to intrude on your area of expertise, Captain," I warned, opening the station's layout. "I'll only remind you that to prepare a dish in the oven, you must observe two simple yet mutually exclusive factors: don't take it out too early and don't leave it in too long."
"No, I admit that Tschel handled the situation with the slaves on the Sun Phoenix-2 excellently," Pellaeon shuddered. "Frankly, I wouldn't have thought to sit for half an hour listening to a braggart who wanted to sell us the station, the captured pirates, and their equipment. But he, good for him, listened. Though why he had to shoot the man in the head afterward, I don't understand. You could have wounded him, taken him prisoner."
"By killing the leader, Tschel proved that we intended to show no leniency to anyone in this system," I explained. "He executed the previously stated order to the letter. We came here to restore order. And certainly, no one was going to buy back an Imperial outpost seized by illegal bandit formations. One death of the chief rabble-rouser quickly brought the others to their senses."
"And now we have both the station and workers willing to repair those 'Headhunters' for us, of which we have fewer than we'd like."
"They are sufficient for use while there is a need for that equipment," I immersed myself in studying the cargo manifests. "Especially since supplementing a worker's specialization is much easier and less costly than training from scratch. How interesting…"
Pellaeon, intrigued by my comment, approached the computer panel I was sitting at. He glanced over it:
"Just who did he rob to fill all the prison cells with precious ingots?" the flagship's commander actually whistled.
Honestly, that question interested me the least. It was already clear that the sums here were simply enormous. It was quite possible that the issue of funding the fleet for the foreseeable future could be considered solved. However, it was still worth figuring out the value of everything we had obtained from capturing Nym. And the currency into which all this wealth should be converted. But while with the valuables found at the Alliance station, things were more or less clear — they were valuable, but still ordinary goods — the ingots of precious metals…
Such goods aren't anonymous — only if obtained through criminal means. Official mining enterprises leave their identifying marks on precious metal ingots, markings that make it possible to determine the goods' origin. And if Nym acquired this wealth through truly illegal means, by robbing one of the Hutts, or some particularly large industrialist, or even the government of some wealthy sector like the Tapani aristocrats, then selling such valuables without "harm to health" would be practically impossible. Leaving such merchandise unsold would mean hanging it around his neck like dead weight. Selling it in small batches — expensive, but safer than selling it wholesale.
However, as soon as stolen auridium ingots belonging to some serious organization — enough to fill a hundred cargo bays of Station 1138 — appear on the galactic market, even the black market, there would inevitably be a stir among the local clientele. Rumors would reach the former owner of the goods, and then problems would arise with whoever previously possessed them. And considering that all hundred cargo bays are packed with auridium from floor to ceiling, it's like... I don't know the volume of this metal's turnover in the galaxy, but something tells me that even such a quantity of stolen valuables suddenly appearing on the market could make the former owners take an interest in the seller. And a regular sentient certainly couldn't have such stockpiles, so the options are limited — criminals, corporations, governments...
"If Nym stole all these ingots from a single source, how has he still got his head attached?" Pellaeon said in amazement. "This is... Honestly, I can't even imagine how many credits this is worth in monetary terms. But I also can't understand — how, with wealth like this, couldn't he buy himself some kind of fleet? From Captain Irv alone, for such ingots, he could have acquired everything Irv looted from the CIS after the Clone Wars ended."
"Possibly," I said. The fragments of information were beginning to coalesce into a single picture in my mind. "Unless using these reserves would have been the last thing Captain Nym ever did in his life."
"I don't understand, sir," Pellaeon admitted. "What are you talking about?"
"Put the facts together," I suggested. "Grand Moff Tarkin used Captain Nym to obtain resources and specialists that would be 'unaccounted for' as far as the Imperial chancellery was concerned."
"Yes, you mentioned something about their cooperation," Pellaeon frowned, "but as far as I've heard, the Death Star was built from perfectly legal resources with adequate funding. Tarkin didn't need to involve any riffraff..."
"I'm not talking about the Death Star," I said. "Though I wouldn't be surprised if it later becomes known that the Grand Moff diverted part of the funds allocated for it to other projects. I'm talking about the Kessel sector."
"The prison?" Pellaeon gave the most obvious answer. "What did Tarkin want with that dump?"
"I'm talking about Thrawn's secret research center in the depths of the Maw Cluster," I had to lift the veil of secrecy slightly. "That's what Tarkin built with Nym and his people. But he carefully concealed its existence from everyone. Including reallocating resources and funding from his own budget. And since direct purchases of equipment, materials, and subcontracting with pirates would have drawn attention, I wouldn't be surprised if the specialists you, Captain, send to the station to examine those hundred cargo bays of auridium discover that the ingots bear markings from the Imperial Treasury."
"Attacks on Treasury ships!" Pellaeon was stunned. "Well, of course! They were so audacious that, according to rumors, they drew the attention of the Emperor himself. I heard he was going to dispatch the Death Squadron, thinking there was an Alliance trail, but Tarkin dealt with the pirates in record time, yet found no trace of the cargo. Only, it seems to me, the cargo disappeared around the final stages of the Death Star's construction. So it's no wonder this piqued the Emperor's and Darth Vader's interest — billions vanished, if not tens of billions..."
"If not hundreds, Captain," I added grimly. "Hundreds of billions of Imperial credits in auridium ingots, with which Grand Moff Tarkin paid Captain Nym for the construction and supply of his secret base in the Maw Cluster. And possibly had dealings with him earlier — during the Death Star's construction phase. And at the same time, he set him up, handing over 'marked goods' that the ISB could easily trace. And come for Captain Nym's head. I think we've finally found the real reason Captain Nym intended to kill Tarkin. The latter used the pirates and effectively employed them to store a huge auridium reserve that he could reclaim at any time. And he knew full well that Nym wouldn't go anywhere from here, because he'd be afraid to sell the wealth and couldn't safely transport it out. In any case, we've stumbled upon a most curious fact, Captain. And we're getting closer and closer to Tarkin's research center itself in the Maw Cluster."
"And... what might await us there?" Pellaeon inquired, looking at me darkly. He seemed to have a question about my knowledge. After all, this was the second time in his presence that Thrawn had spoken of someone's colossal secrets — first the Emperor's treasure vault, now Tarkin's secret research center. And if he hadn't asked questions about the former, regarding the latter... He would definitely be curious.
"I might be wrong, Captain Pellaeon — but not about this — yet even the construction of Executor-class Super Star Destroyers required the Empire to first produce a prototype, which ended up lost during the Rebel Alliance's attack on the Fondor shipyards. So how was the Death Star built without any prototype? Without testing critically important systems and assemblies? Building a superlaser sixty kilometers long and making it work isn't like churning out another Imperial-class Star Destroyer on a scrap shipyard at Raxus Prime in the Outer Rim. There had to be a test site. There had to be a place and personnel who developed the project, partial blueprints of which we obtained from the Imperial archives and used for disinformation at Linuri. And if before I only dealt with rumors about Tarkin's secret laboratory — rumors that grew with details after Captain Irv's reports about Tarkin and Nym's cooperation in the Kessel sector — now we have practically confirmation of its existence. The Treasury ships that collect taxes from all the Outer Territories don't travel alone. Someone always escorts them. They can only be attacked when someone very influential managed to pull their cover away... For example — a Grand Moff who gave a direct order."
A satisfied smile appeared on Pellaeon's face.
"I'm afraid, Grand Admiral, you're mistaken here. At that time, I was actually patrolling the Outer Rim territories. So I can say with certainty — there was an escort. And it was destroyed, which almost immediately cast suspicion on the Rebels, since no pirate band could overcome four Star Destroyers..."
Something clicked in my head, as if a switch had been flipped. It seems my favorite phrase "Note that thought" now also comes with sound effects. Imagination, what are you doing to me.
Four Star Destroyers. The escort of Imperial Treasury ships that were robbed, their cargo vanished. And four Destroyers were "destroyed."
And now the other side of the coin.
An Imperial officer guarding Tarkin's secret laboratory in the depths of a black hole cluster commanded a fleet of four Imperial I-class Star Destroyers that obeyed her without question. And yet, no one, ever, asked questions about their fate or whereabouts. Which means, literally, no one at all.
That's precisely why their appearance on the galactic stage had the effect of a bombshell. Though of limited and short-lived effect.
"You once said, Captain Pellaeon," I said, "that you were willing to make a wager. Do you still use that method to prove your confidence in your own point of view?"
The commander of the Chimaera frowned.
"Hmm," he looked at me suspiciously. "Sir, gambling is prohibited in the Navy. That was merely a figure of speech, nothing more..."
"Calm down, Captain," I advised. "I propose a bet. If you win — I'll tell you the entire campaign plan against the New Republic by the end of this year," despite the fact that it exists on the chip I already gave him. "If I win — you'll assign Lieutenant Tschel a probationary period as senior executive officer on the Chimaera. Do you agree to those terms?"
"And what's the subject of the bet?" Gilad chewed his mustache.
"The name of the flagship that escorted the Treasury ships, and the name of the admiral who commanded the operation," I stated. "You understand that at that time I was in the Unknown Regions, and even if I knew all the names of the Star Destroyers stationed in the Outer Rim, the very fact of guessing correctly would be negligible."
"I'll agree to that," Pellaeon brightened, anticipating that he would soon be let in on the holy of holies.
"The Gorgon," the smile vanished from the commander of the flagship Star Destroyer's face faster than withered leaves from a tree branch during an autumn hurricane. "Under the command of Admiral Natasi Daala."
"Hutt!" Pellaeon tore his uniform cap from his head and, in frustration, nearly kicked the nearest chair but stopped himself just in time, remembering that he wasn't young, and the commanding officer wasn't that far away either. "Sir, with all due respect, how do you do that?!"
"Lieutenant Tschel, you owe me a drink," flashed through my mind.
"Study the art, Captain," I said, using real Thrawn's standard excuse, distracted by a message coming through on my comlink.
And I wasn't lying — the Star Wars universe books are literature, which in turn is part of art.
"It's time for us to leave," I ordered. "Captain Dorja and the Relentless have sprung the trap in Lok's orbit. The pirate squadrons of the Karthakk system are practically destroyed. We need to get to Lok before Captain Tyberos exacts his revenge and deprives us of an important witness's testimony."
"Yes, sir," Gilad took a deep breath and touched the headset of his comlink, clipped to the collar of his uniform jacket. "Acting senior executive officer Lieutenant Tschel, prepare the Chimaera for departure. We're heading to Lok."
"Um... Oh... Ahem... Yes, sir, Captain," came the lieutenant's confused voice through the device. Taking advantage of the computer monitor hiding my face from Pellaeon, I allowed myself a smile, my eyes scanning the data on the occupancy of Station 1138's prison blocks. If all the cells are filled with auridium that's clearly been stored here for years, then where was Tyberos being held? Hardly in the middle of precious metal ingots. Ah, that's it. This is only Block A. There's also Block B... Hmm... Which, out of a hundred cells, holds only one prisoner. As I recall, Captain Tyberos and the Jedi Eymand mentioned that Captain Nym keeps his most sworn enemies here. As I've just proven, coincidences don't exist in this galaxy — it seems this galaxy truly lives by the laws of a literary genre. Well, we'll keep that in mind for the future. "Your shuttle is waiting in the station's hangar, Captain."
"We'll be there in five minutes," Pellaeon grumbled. Say what you will, Gilad knows how to admit his defeats.
"In ten," I corrected. "We need to look into Prison Block B, Captain. I have a suspicion that today we'll solve another mystery of the past."
* * *
Before the cabin door could swing open without warning in a sharp jerk, the whistling and beeping of R2 brought Luke out of his meditative trance.
He barely had time to open his eyes and focus his vision when he saw the shaggy head of a Bothan.
"Wake up, Skywalker," said Senator Breil'lya's assistant. His fur was bristling, and an unkind glint sparkled in his eyes. "We've arrived."
"Efficiently," Luke said with a restrained smile. "Would you happen to know where we are?"
"In the same place," the Bothan grunted. "Aboard our ship."
"And what's with all this bickering?" Luke sighed inwardly. "Can't we do without the jabs?"
"I meant, perhaps you know which star system we're in," Luke tried his luck.
"If I knew, I'd have flown here directly and without company," the Bothan snorted. "Get ready. They'll disengage the magnetic clamps soon, let us out of the cargo hold, and our ship will descend."
"Thanks for telling me," the young Jedi massaged his neck with pleasure. "Would you mind if I went up to the cockpit?"
"Do as you please," the Bothan departed, casting a wary glance at the astromech. "Who are we to interfere with the great Grand Master Jedi?"
With those words, the Bothan vanished from the doorway.
His loyal companion R2 burst into a rippling trill that described, with incredible precision and aptness, everything he thought of Bothans and their tact.
"You can't please everyone," Luke shrugged. "But I think the reason for his distrust is that he's missing part of his ear."
The astromech beeped something in response.
"The last time I saw him, on Coruscant, his ears were fine," Luke said truthfully. "Though that was quite a while ago. Something must have happened on New Cov."
By the time he reached the cockpit of the Bothans' ship, the planet on their course was already in direct line of sight, filling a good half of the view screen. The Jedi's hope that he'd at least be able to memorize the local constellations was dashed. Whether the Bothans did this intentionally or not was anyone's guess.
"Has Lady Irenez made contact?" he asked, studying the blue-green world, full of life, towards which the Bothan ship was steadily approaching.
None of the Bothawui natives in the cockpit deemed it necessary to answer him.
Sighing, Luke discreetly peered over the shoulder of the one sitting at the sensor control panel.
So, the heavy cruiser that brought them here remained in orbit, surrounded by five other vessels of the same class. "That's quite a fleet they have here," Luke thought.
Six heavy cruisers, even if outdated, are still six heavy cruisers.
The ship's comlink crackled.
"This is Irenez speaking," a familiar voice came through. "We're arriving. Follow the designated landing vector."
"As you wish, Lady Irenez," the senator's assistant fawned.
Luke diplomatically remained silent.
His eyes fell on a battered Corellian freighter that was landing ahead of them. Skywalker frowned. Irenez was clearly Corellian. And the ship was of the same make. Had he ended up on a Corellian resistance cell's ship? Or just random coincidences?
He wisely chose not to ask questions, watching as the Bothan ship continued its descent. Soon, a vast plain spread out before them, its surface covered in dense green vegetation. Directly ahead, steep, rocky slopes of high hills loomed into view.
If someone called him a professional military man, Luke would be the first to argue otherwise. He'd been forced to accept the rank in his time, but never sought to advance his military career, understanding that this was better left to professionals. His path lay in mastering the Jedi arts.
But even he could see that this geographical terrain couldn't be better suited for a repair and maintenance base for the ships belonging to the mysterious Corellian commander. And the fact that Irenez's superior was her fellow countryman, Luke practically had no doubt about.
A few minutes later, as the Bothan ship passed a ridge of hills, they came near the perimeter of a camp. A simple field base, the likes of which he'd seen plenty during his service in the Rebel Alliance.
And yet, he noticed differences.
First of all, the Alliance never sought to keep its bases in the open — the Empire could, at any moment, in one way or another, discover their location, and then a single orbital bombardment could destroy the work of hundreds or even thousands of sentients. Here, apparently, the command placed heavy emphasis on the secrecy of the planet's location where the base was situated. And the fact that there were no other ships in orbit besides the "dreadnoughts" only confirmed the fact that the planet was uninhabited. At least — not so inhabited that the locals could report spaceships in the sky or a base on the surface to the nearest Imperial garrison or the New Republic. Or the Hutts. Or anyone else.
Second point — this was clearly not a repair base. Nor a simple outpost. This was a full-fledged headquarters. Perhaps this resistance group had no other bases, or their commander decided not to bother with long flights, and changing course was enough.
The plain that opened before his eyes was filled with various structures covered in camouflage. Simple netting that could hide them from visual detection from orbital altitude. But scanners couldn't be fooled that way.
There were standard living modules and truly enormous hangars, but at the same time — not all of them reached the size needed to park heavy cruisers. But they could comfortably house arsenals, warehouses, some administrative buildings, or command posts. Fuel tanks flashed by, vehicle parking spaces, but the doors to these facilities seemed deliberately sealed to prevent anyone from seeing anything unnecessary.
Sensors capable of detecting a target even from orbit were scattered everywhere. And for a moment, Luke thought he spotted an anti-space defense weapon near a pair of standalone hangars.
Luke's eyes instantly locked onto the structures that were clearly repair hangars, capable of housing the aforementioned "dreadnoughts," as well as a security perimeter guarded by laser turrets and cannons. Long-range anti-personnel batteries adorned the roofs of many buildings. Heavier emplacements, aimed at repelling armored vehicle attacks, were encountered here and there.
In short, the local garrison was clearly ready to meet an enemy on the ground, in the air, and in space. This clearly indicated either the illegal nature of their activities, or a somewhat unhealthy paranoia. Or — the expectation of an inevitable retaliatory strike from an enemy that could bring in both infantry and armored vehicles and threaten from orbit. Luke knew only a few groups that were so touchy. And, considering Irenez's story about their group's shared past with the Rebel Alliance, one could bet that they were clearly expecting an Imperial invasion.
A small but well-equipped army, clearly knowing its business, was based here under the mysterious commander. Moreover, considering that some structures had even grown into the ground or become entwined with bushes, ivy, or other vegetation, this base had been here for quite some time.
His stomach tightened. Luke had had no positive experiences with small but well-equipped private armies in the past. Wherever they were, and whoever commanded them — Black Sun, the Hutts, rebellious Imperial Moffs, or regional governments of neutral planets, systems, and sectors. Every time, such encounters ended with at least "not very well." At worst — combat operations with hundreds of casualties on each side. True, back then he was part of the Rebel Alliance and had their fleet at his back, but now... Only R2-D2. Even his X-wing was left on New Cov. But it was either that or having a high probability of leading a tail or exploding mid-flight.
Pilgrim's Rest Base Layout.
Ahead of them, Irenez's ship had already reached the landing zone, located away from the area occupied by structures. The Bothan ship followed.
"Are you sure we're assigned to this particular landing pad?" Skywalker inquired in as neutral a tone as possible.
Breil'lya favored him with a look full of arrogance and mockery.
"I'm certain, Jedi Skywalker, that I could land my ship on the porch of the local command, and they still wouldn't say a thing," his voice radiated pomposity and an ego visibly inflating, the reasons for which Luke didn't care to know. But judging by how the Bothans treated Irenez like an old acquaintance, it was quite possible they had a very good relationship with the commander. Or maybe — this thought had just occurred to Luke — they were even secretly funding them, behind the Provisional Government's back. And this was exactly what drove the Bothans' interest in New Cov. They didn't need that world for its high-nutrition biomolecular mass or its corrupt governor. It was a meeting place for representatives of the Bothans and the mysterious commander. And if New Cov had joined the New Republic, Councilor Fey'lya could have easily sent his underlings there without drawing attention.
The Bothan pilot landed his ship practically right next to Irenez's vessel. Shutting down the control panel and other computers, the Bothans, without a word, headed for the opposite end of the ship. Luke followed, hearing the hiss of the ramp descending. Loyal R2 immediately fell in behind him as he passed his cabin.
Pausing at the threshold, squinting against the bright light hitting his eyes, Luke extended his perception through the Force, trying to understand what to expect from the new, strange world around him. And almost immediately, he sensed an extreme degree of irritation emanating from a group of people — two were dressed in something resembling Corellian uniform — or so he thought. But the yellow jackets were confusing... He didn't remember this style, based on Han and Lando's stories. But the man they were literally dragging between them, holding him by the arms, wore clothes typical of smugglers. And he was the source of the negative thoughts.
Irenez, having finished her brief conversation with Breil'lya and the Bothans, smiled warmly at him and waved. Luke stepped aside, yielding the passage to the ship's crew, who were returning aboard with displeased faces. Apparently, no one except Breil'lya was allowed to move around the base. So, after all, the Bothans didn't have total control here.
"Welcome to Peregrine's Nest, Jedi Skywalker," she said as he descended to the surface, having moved the astromech droid with the Force. The young woman smiled habitually, glad of his company — the Force told him so as well. But the only thing spoiling the fun of the rendezvous was the blaster holstered at her hip. People didn't usually wear those when coming home with friends.
"Yes, I'm glad too," he smiled. Whatever was going on, he liked Irenez's company. Even though she couldn't tell him everything, he still felt openness and goodwill in her. Hired killers and criminals usually didn't act that way. So… if something illegal was happening here, it was unlikely she was involved. "Any problems?"
He nodded towards the small land speeder where Breil'lya was already seated. But a little further away from that vehicle was a second one, where two operatives were forcibly seating an irritated smuggler.
For the first time since their meeting, Irenez felt something akin to vexed annoyance.
"Troublesome acquaintance," she said vaguely. "We suspect our people died because of him."
"Traitor?" Luke tensed.
"More like a black market dealer who supplied us with certain goods," he felt the girl was deliberately using evasive phrases. "During one of those deals, while he and our people were negotiating, the Empire attacked the meeting site. Our people were killed, and he survived by some mystical means. We watched him for a long time, along with his attempts to contact us, and now we decided to find out the circumstances from him. Because he's clearly hiding something — after our people disappeared, he managed to start a new business."
"You suspect he cooperated with the Empire?" Skywalker understood.
"We're not ruling out that possibility," Irenez forced a smile. "But at the same time, it could be a simple coincidence."
"Or he had no other choice," Luke said, recalling the stories Leia, Han, and Lando told about Darth Vader's ambush in Cloud City on Bespin.
"That's why he's alive," dislike crept into her voice. It seemed she didn't believe the man could be innocent herself. "The Commander will sort it out."
Luke knew exactly how sentients who had already tacitly pinned guilt on those who — in their own, often unsubstantiated, opinion — had caused them grief, could "sort things out." Unfortunately, fate arranged things so that they weren't always right. But the innocent still suffered.
"If you need my help, I'm ready to assist," he said readily. Even though he didn't have much experience in such matters, he was sure of one thing: if back in the cantina on New Cov he had turned to the Force, he could most likely have resolved the dispute peacefully. And here, at the very least, he could sense the detainee's emotions and understand whether he was hiding something or just afraid of unlawful reprisal.
"Thank you," the girl said. "I'll relay that to the Commander. Now, please get into the speeder."
When Luke and R2-D2 were aboard, Irenez took the driver's seat and sped towards the buildings, following the first vehicle carrying the unknown man.
After a few minutes of travel, their land speeder stopped near a hangar that looked as if it had been converted into an administrative building. It, and a second similar building to which the first speeder had headed, were at some distance from the rest. And about a hundred meters beyond them, Luke could now clearly see the planetary defense guns. And further on, it seemed, there were generators and projectors of a deflector shield.
At the entrance stood two more people who, seeing Irenez, opened the doors for her, Luke, and Breil'lya, saluting as they did. Except Luke wasn't exactly sure which planet used that particular military salute. But he thought Han had jokingly saluted Leia that way a few times… So, he was right — Corellian customs reigned on this base. Now there was no doubt — he had ended up with the Corellian resistance. Quite possibly these were the ones who hadn't accepted the usurpation of power in the Corellian sector. And they might not be expecting an Imperial attack at all, but an assault by official Corellian forces.
When they entered a small corridor, immediately beyond which doors opened into various rooms, Irenez stopped and looked at Luke, Breil'lya, and the astromech rolling behind the Jedi.
"The Commander wants to speak with you alone first, Jedi Skywalker," she said, pointing to a door in the middle of the corridor, which caused Breil'lya's fur to bristle from the nape of his neck down to his fingertips. "The assistant advisor, your astromech, and I will wait in one of the rooms."
"Well, fine, I'm ready," Han agreed, not letting the Bothan speak, took a deep breath, and stepped in the indicated direction.
To be honest, he expected to enter an office or something similar, but to his own surprise he found himself in a fully equipped command center — the likes of which he had seen many times during his time with the Alliance to Restore the Republic. The room was huge — several dozen meters long. Along the walls stretched terminals of communication and control equipment, manned by operators. Among them, to his astonishment, Luke saw a control panel for a V-150 Planet Defender ion cannon, similar to the one the rebels had had to abandon on Hoth. In the center of the room stood a large holographic tactical projector, above which flickered a huge holographic image of a starfield with numerous multicolored markers and arrows scattered among the twinkling points. To his amazement, Luke found he was looking at a map of a good half of the galaxy, with markers indicating Imperial attacks that had increased recently. And he strongly disliked their number.
And next to the hologram stood a man.
Despite the glare from the holograms, Skywalker was clearly aware that he had never met him before. Or perhaps he simply couldn't remember, as the man was clearly not young, rather middle-aged. And yet Luke was unsettled by the persistent thought that he had seen an image of this sentient somewhere before.
"Welcome to Peregrine's Nest, Jedi Skywalker," the man said, turning to face him, his voice full of strength and confidence. "I'm the former senator from Corellia, Garm Bel Iblis. You may have heard of me…"
"Yes," Luke now remembered. "A friend of mine spoke of you as an honest, decent man who always cared for the well-being of his people."
"I assume Captain Solo gave me such a flattering appraisal," the senator said without a smile, approaching and extending his right hand. Luke promptly shook it.
"He also said you were dead," the young Jedi recalled.
"Can't Jedi tell the dead from the living?" Bel Iblis suggested. A hint of a smile appeared on his aged, wrinkled face.
"I'm sorry," Luke faltered. "You're alive, of course," for certainty he reached out to the man with the Force and satisfied his curiosity, "it's just… Han was never known to lie."
"Believe me, Captain Solo wasn't lying to you," Bel Iblis said quietly. "In a way, I really am dead. The Empire made an assassination attempt, intending to kill me, but only succeeded in killing my family members. When I learned of what happened, I realized the Emperor had taken everything dear to me — my loved ones, my cause, and even my ability to influence the life of my beloved homeworld. All that was left for me was to break the law, which I had so strictly upheld all this time. You could say the Emperor himself made me a rebel. I think you understand what I'm talking about."
Images of the past flashed before Luke's eyes.
The broken Jawa sandcrawler from precise Imperial stormtrooper shots, the slaughtered owners of that vehicle, the smoking Lars homestead where through the smoke and fire he saw the bodies of Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru… It was after that he decided to fly with Ben Kenobi to Alderaan and join the Rebel Alliance. And in his very first clash with the Empire, he rescued a princess who turned out to be his own sister. And in his first combat mission, he destroyed a battle orbital station with hundreds of thousands of people aboard…
"Yes, in general, I understand very well," he said evasively. "It's a pity we didn't know earlier that you had survived. During the war with the Empire, your army and fleet could have been very useful to the Alliance."
A shadow crossed the Corellian's face. And in the Force, there was a distinct trace of old pain.
"I'm not sure we could have been of much use at that time," he said dryly. "It took a long time to acquire everything you've already seen on my base."
"Perhaps," Luke nodded in agreement. "Were the Bothans helping you?"
Bel Iblis was silent for a moment. Then he smiled good-naturedly.
"You can't fool a Jedi, can you?" he inquired in a warm tone. "Yes, Advisor Fey'lya helped us a lot in his time. But not with everything."
The last words were added with firm, almost harsh intonations.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend…"
"That's all right," the elderly senator waved his hand.
"Are you afraid of something?" Luke asked, recalling the security measures.
"When you're outside the law, there's always someone to fear," Bel Iblis remarked grimly, nodding toward the map of galactic regions. "That's why we never stay in one place for long," the Force persistently told Skywalker that the senator wasn't being frank with him. "If you linger too long in one spot, expect a visit from the Imperials."
"To be honest, I thought you were afraid of actions by the official Corellian government," Luke frowned. Something didn't add up.
"Oh," Bel Iblis smiled tightly. "Those people forgot about me and my men long ago. Which is more than can be said for the Empire."
"But they think you're dead," Luke reminded.
"Me — yes," Bel Iblis confirmed. "But at the same time, my group is probably on their special list."
"Why?"
"Some time ago, we struck a blow against the Ubiqtorate base on Tangrene in the Morshdine sector more than half a year ago," Bel Iblis said with no small pride. "Our biggest victory… Apparently, after that, the Ubiqtorate fleet preferred to pull up stakes and head somewhere far from our operational areas."
"Ah… Where are we?" Luke asked, unable to contain himself.
"I apologize, my friend," the Corellian grew serious, "but I cannot reveal the location of Peregrine's Nest. At least — not at the present time," he looked at the holographic map. "However, if I name the sector in which we are currently located, no great harm will be done. The Dufilvian sector."
An unpleasant thought stirred in Luke's mind.
"Isn't the Empire's attack on this sector a few months ago connected to your action against the Ubiqtorate?"
"I admit, I thought so for a long time," Bel Iblis said bitterly. "But over time, as the Imperial offensive grew and expanded, I developed other ideas."
"Which are?"
"They're preparing, Jedi Skywalker," Bel Iblis said quietly. "They attack convoys and bases of the New Republic," he pointed to the map, where markers were blinking. Dozens, if not hundreds of markers. "Bases, outposts, training camps. The Imperial commander selects targets that won't receive help quickly, and attacks them, burning everything clean. He captures ships and takes prisoners — en masse."
"And what do they need all this for?" Luke still didn't understand.
"As I said — they are preparing," the former Corellian senator repeated. "I don't know for what, but I'm sure the goal is big. And it's somehow connected to Advisor Fey'lya's plans to attack the Ciutric Hegemony."
"But that's foolish," Luke sighed. "After the destruction of Zsinj and the division of his empire, a certain parity of forces was established, a neutrality… They didn't bother us, we didn't bother them. Why now?"
"That's the same question I'm asking," Bel Iblis admitted. "The first attacks were single, then they increased. Now it's not even raids anymore — it's open war. Most likely, the Empire was simply waiting for the moment when the New Republic would grow to such a size that it would face the need for economic recovery. And, as recent events show, the New Republic's military command only did the Imperials a favor by disarming part of their ships and turning them into transports. I'm not arguing, it was a forced decision, but… Hasty. Mon Mothma is once again trying to solve a systemic problem with one decisive push. I don't know what commander the Imperials have gotten, but this guy… I'm afraid, Jedi Skywalker, we haven't encountered anything like this before. He's cunning, treacherous, devilishly inventive. While he strikes in one place, diverting attention, his intelligence does its dark deeds elsewhere. I think you heard about New Cov."
"Vaguely," Luke admitted. "They tried to recruit the local governor."
"Not tried — they recruited him," Bel Iblis clarified. "From a reliable source, we learned that the Imperials had their eye on the local production of biomolecular mass, which increases the calorie content of food."
"Yes, I heard about that too. But what do they need it for?"
"Haven't you heard about biomass?" the Corellian smiled.
"No, sir."
"Suppose an ordinary soldier needs one and a half kilograms of high-calorie food per day to be at peak strength," the Commander's voice took on a mentoring tone. "For convenience, let's say those one and a half kilograms cost one hundred and fifty credits. Biomolecular mass, with its minuscule production cost, increases the calorie content of food several times over. Again, for convenience, let's take the figure five. Figuratively speaking, using biomass will raise the calorie content of these one and a half kilograms of food to the volume that would take seven and a half kilograms. I repeat, the figure is approximate. And it turns out that with the same amount of food, you can feed not one, but five soldiers per day. At the same time, instead of seven hundred and fifty credits, you spend only one hundred fifty-five to one hundred seventy, depending on the size of the batch purchased. The Empire acted in its best traditions — they involved the governor in their machinations and intended to get biomass with no cost at all. Conditional savings — five times less food, and consequently expenditure — for maintaining the same volume of enemy manpower."
"They're saving money?"
"At least they were trying. We got a tip and set up an ambush. However, instead of a Victory-class Star Destroyer, which my six heavy cruisers could have handled, we ran into a morally obsolete CIS Providence-class carrier-destroyer. In the past — a machine of terrifying destructive power. Still, my ships got enough — the ships were heavily damaged. Even though we roughed them up, they could repair a ship in a few days, while we needed weeks. However, as I understand, they haven't shown up on New Cov since."
"But Imperial Intelligence was operating there," Luke reminded.
"Yes, and that's the second part of the problem," Bel Iblis admitted. "We haven't figured out how the Imperials managed it, but they succeeded in uncovering the actions of our operational group on that planet. They killed the operatives, but they interrogated Irenez."
"They tortured her?" Luke shuddered. Somehow he remembered how harsh and prickly Leia became whenever he mentioned the interrogation she underwent by Darth Vader aboard the Death Star.
"Strangely enough, no," Bel Iblis's voice held notes of surprise. "She reported that they were clearly professionals — not the young ones that swarm the armed forces of the Imperial Remnants, but true veterans with extensive field and operational experience. From my experience, I can tell you, Jedi Skywalker — that's no accident. If in previous years we watched the Imperials squabble among themselves, and their level of military training sank to that of Outer Rim bandits, then now… Someone has clearly taken up their drilling. I would even say all these attacks," the senator again pointed to the hologram, "are not so much about intimidation and inflicting damage on the New Republic, but rather allow the Imperials to believe in their own strength again. They… are learning."
"What?" Luke asked quietly.
"To win," the senator echoed just as quietly. "For a long, very long time, I analyzed data on the strikes our enemy delivers. This… of course, I've seen more elegant enemies, but the terrible efficiency with which he uses his forces. In such a situation, terrible as it is to say, the New Republic could fall within less than a decade."
"Is that why you maintain contact with the Bothans?" Luke asked cautiously.
Bel Iblis stared at him. The young Jedi felt uncomfortable.
"You want to know the essence of our arrangements with Breil'lya?"
"I don't think I'll benefit from you telling me about your contacts with the middleman," Luke smiled as amiably as possible. "After all, Fey'lya is behind it all, isn't he?"
The senator again smiled almost imperceptibly.
"Do you know that Jedi in the Old Republic were feared for their supposedly ability to read minds?"
"No Jedi would do anything to harm ordinary sentients," Luke declared firmly, recalling Ben Kenobi's and Master Yoda's words. "Palpatine just needed to blacken them all, to make the people turn away from their protectors."
"And he succeeded," the former Corellian senator said sadly. "You know… A command center is no place for such revelations. Let's take a short break; you need to rest after your journey. Then we'll meet in our cantina and talk about everything with utmost frankness. Agreed?"
"You speak as if your guest has a choice," Luke smiled. "I will humbly await the meeting, Senator."
He bowed respectfully, then turned and headed for the exit.
"You want to restore the Jedi Order, don't you, Jedi Skywalker?" came the question after him.
"That's my life's work," Luke said, clenching his right, artificial hand into a fist, turning to the senator. "Unfortunately, I'm only at the beginning of the path, and much still remains for me to learn. But I'm confident that somewhere in the galaxy, Jedi still remain. Or at least their descendants. And the knowledge I need. Not now, perhaps in a year. Two, ten, but the Jedi will return to the galaxy."
The senator was silent. Luke sensed hesitation emanating from him.
"Tell me, Jedi Skywalker," the senator inquired, as if overcoming some barrier. "How many Jedi have you encountered on your life's path?"
"Not many," Luke answered truthfully. "But there were those who have not yet accepted their fate, their heritage. I'm sure one day they will understand their purpose."
"Have you ever encountered anyone named Galen Marek or Rahm Kota?" the Corellian asked unexpectedly.
"I've met many," Luke replied evasively, unwilling to reveal all his cards. "But why the question? Are they connected to what's happening?"
"I'll answer all your questions a little later, Jedi Skywalker," the former senator replied with a smile. "But then," his smile changed slightly, becoming more rigid, "then I'll also have a few questions for you."
Luke held the Commander's stare, then bowed once more.
"I'll be looking forward to our conversation with anticipation, Senator Bel Iblis."
Already outside, meeting the soldier who escorted him and R2 to the barracks where they were to spend the night, Luke suddenly thought that the problem he had come to New Cov to solve might be much deeper than Leia and General Madine had represented.
And also — might be the beginning of something new.
* * *
Tyberos easily parried the Fiorin's vibroblade thrust, then with undisguised pleasure struck him flat across the skull with one of his war picks.
The sound of a breaking jaw, and along with clots of blood, pieces of teeth flew from the foreigner's mouth.
With all his might, the privateer kicked the pirate in the chest, throwing him back a few meters. Spinning the weapon in his hand, he looked with undisguised pleasure at the helpless enemy, pressed back against the wall of his own bedroom.
"You wanted a meeting, Nym," Tyberos hissed through clenched teeth, trying to quell the pain from several cuts and a stab wound in his thigh. "I've come."
The battered pirate captain wiped blood from his face with his hand, staring at the giant towering over him, who could easily finish him with a single blow.
"Pathetic imitator," Nym spat blood onto the floor of his own bedroom. "I taught you everything you know, and you come to my house, bring Imperials with you. All for petty revenge because you spent a couple of weeks in the lockup?"
Tyberos laughed.
"You still don't believe what's happening, Nym?" he asked. "Your gang is destroyed. Stormtroopers have captured your fortress. The Imperials have besieged and stormed your bases. And all your stashes and hideouts in this system are either already found or will be soon. Your life's work is destroyed. And it will never be reborn. But that's all dross," he admitted. "Even though I didn't destroy your organization, your death," the giant turned the weapon so the curved blade pointed straight at the enemy's throat, "will be on my hands. Do you see these war picks?" he asked.
Captain Nym.
The Fiorin was silent, but the look in his eyes made it clear he recognized the weapon.
"I wasn't even twenty when you killed my father," Tyberos recounted. "Attacked the ship he was on with my mother and unborn brother. You killed them. Sliced, stabbed, crushed skulls and bones. Do you remember killing them?"
The sharp edge of his blade cut through the fioryn's throat skin and blood poured from it in large droplets that gathered into streams.
"You think that made it any easier for me to understand which barbarian spawn you are, Tibby?" Nim grinned, revealing rows of broken and knocked-out teeth. "No, not in the slightest."
Tyberos felt rage boiling inside him. The bastard dared to mock him.
Fire blazed within his body. The very same fire Eymand had told him to avoid and never give in to. The Dark Side, was it?
He didn't care.
"I am the Son of Orra Sing, you stupid creature!" Tyberos roared, swinging his pick. Signs of thought appeared on Nym face. Then his eyes widened.
"Oh, I see you understand," Tyberos laughed, savoring the confusion and fear radiating from his opponent.
"No," Nim whispered. "No, it can't be... She said the child died..."
"As you can see," Tyberos relished the fiorym's scream as he drove his pick into the wall beside his head, chopping off several head-tendrils at once. Nim howled in pain, tried to get to his feet, but was thrown back with such force that cracks spread through the plaster where he hit the wall. I only just thought about that, flashed across the privateer's mind. "I'm alive, Nim. I beat and humiliated you once. And I finished you off again. They say fioryns only get stronger with age. Well, I'm stronger than you," Tyberos stated. "Look me in the eyes!" he commanded, lifting the pirate's head with his second pick. A wave of pain crossed the pirate's face, and Tyberos felt with some previously unknown sense that Nim wasn't just in pain. He hadn't just lost this battle and this war — he was destroyed. Morally. And now physically too. "Your head will hang over the gates of my fortress and remind everyone of how pathetic and weak you are, Nim. Look at me!" He struck the prisoner across the face. "Look at me the way my parents looked when you killed them! Look at me with pleading! Beg for mercy!"
"It's... not like that..." Nim only managed to say, but Tyberos was no longer listening, throwing his picks aside and starting to pound the enemy's body and face with his heavy fists. And with each blow, less living space remained on the fioryn's face. And the heat in his chest flared. And it felt so good, so wonderful, that...
Suddenly it all stopped. So abruptly that the privateer was even taken aback. He missed the moment when Captain Nym's beaten-to-a-pulp body slid past him, as if someone had pulled his legs. And the feeling... He had felt it before! When he spoke to the Grand Admiral for the very first time! He was being cut off from the Force!
Turning around, Tyberos looked at the squad of stormtroopers standing behind him, one of whom was injecting the pirate with a dose of bacta. How had they even gotten here?! Why the hell did they need that bastard!?
"No!" Tyberos barked, looking around for a weapon. Grabbing his pick, he clutched it in his hand, ready to charge all nine of them. But the clicks of blaster rifles being taken off safety stopped him. "Nim is my prey! Ask Thrawn!"
"The order comes from me," said the Imperial commander standing in the doorway. Some kind of lizard rested on his shoulder... But something else was strange.
"What kind of joke is this, Grand Admiral?!" Tyberos snarled. "You promised to give him to me!"
"And you will have your revenge, Captain," the Imperial promised. "But first, I would ask you to listen to someone. Bring them in!"
Footsteps characteristic of Imperial stormtroopers were heard. But they weren't the only ones there.
The four "dolls" were merely escorting another individual. A very familiar individual...
Whose image he remembered and always carried in his heart...
The pick fell from his weakened hand and clanged onto the marble floor of Nym bedroom, right onto the bloody tracks of the recent battle.
"Mom?!" Tyberos choked out in a voice not his own, staring at Orra Sing, who was looking around irritably.