Nine years, seven months, and thirty days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-four years, seven months, and thirty days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Three months and fifteen days since the Arrival.)
The Force flowed within him like a river's current. Mighty, full of energy and life, it saturated everything around, granting a feeling of invincibility, all-encompassing power, control over the surrounding world, and...
Even that wasn't enough to move that damned little stone.
Corran felt sweat soaking his flight suit, streams of sour-salty liquid running down his face in the setting sun of Jomark... His nostrils already caught the smell of his own body...
But that rock, the size of a small fruit, didn't even try to budge. No matter how calmly and consistently he tried to repeat everything Joruus C'baoth had told him, Corran Horn clearly had problems with telekinesis.
He opened his eyes and looked at the silent old man sitting across from him. Dressed in a brown cloak thrown over his bare torso, C'baoth exuded serenity. But his face seemed overly focused, and the wind gusting across the upper platform of the palace where they lived tousled the old man's gray hair and beard.
Corran shivered — the wind was icy. But he hadn't felt it until he stopped meditating.
"It's impossible, Master C'baoth," he said, pressing his hands to his wet body to warm himself. It didn't help. Within moments, the Corellian's teeth began chattering, clacking against each other in a simple rhythm.
"Wrong!" the Jedi snapped, opening his eyes. For an instant, Corran thought his teacher's irises had turned amber.
The next moment, the pebble Horn had been trying to move even a millimeter rocketed away as if fired from a mass-driver cannon.
Corran flinched at the pulse of displeasure emanating from the old man. For a moment, he even panicked — the wave of irritation he felt was stronger than anything C'baoth had radiated before. And at least twice as unpleasant. As if something had appeared in the old man's life that had triggered his rage.
"Sometimes, Jedi Horn," the old man said angrily, his features hardening, "I begin to doubt that you listened to all the valuable time I spent on you."
"What can I say, that's us Corellians," Horn used his usual defense tactic. It annoyed C'baoth, but at least it was true. The guy in the old cloak didn't really try to explain anything anyway — he'd just say, do this, do that, then kindly repeat it. Sure, some explanations were given... But seriously?! Who in their right mind would let a teenager fix a fusion reactor without at least explaining high school physics and providing tools?
In C'baoth's opinion, the correct way to achieve progress was to shove that same teenager into the reactor core and say: "Well, fix it, what are you sitting around for? What, radiation? Your skin's peeling and flesh is falling off the bone? Oh, come on, that's just motivating you to work faster than usual, come on, get moving, this is just the first of a hundred reactors you need to fix by dinner."
"Stop justifying your laziness and unwillingness to take control of events happening around you with ordinary Corellian carelessness," C'baoth's eyebrows rose sardonically. "You've wasted so much time instead of simply taking the Force into your hands and dealing with that stone."
Corran winced.
"We've discussed this, Master C'baoth," he reminded him. "I don't think using my base emotions as fuel to increase my power is right. I won't use the Dark Side."
C'baoth's bushy eyebrows shot up sarcastically again.
"Is that so, Jedi Horn?" the Jedi inquired caustically. "So you're telling me you've always lived by the rules, never crossed a line, and your decisions and subsequent actions have been dictated solely by noble intentions within the law you so strive to obey?" Corran felt a pang of guilt for a moment. But only for a moment, nothing more. Yes, he had broken the law. But it had been necessary... "Or is it simply convenient for you to hide behind rules and selective adherence to them, to appear 'good' to yourself, while you know full well what you're willing to do to achieve a goal. Of course, if the goal is worth it."
Corran tasted bitter defeat in his mouth. It wasn't that C'baoth had hit a nerve; it was just... No, much of what he had done could be chalked up to the fact that the Rebel Alliance had been outside Imperial law back then, and all means were fair to overthrow a criminal regime (and anyway, he hadn't been the one leading the sabotage groups on Thyferra, blowing up government facilities — that had been Wessiri and a couple of utterly insane saboteurs). But his most recent action — deserting from Rogue Squadron — that was a crime against the very law of the New Republic, whose establishment he had so actively worked to undermine Imperial laws.
"There you have it, Jedi Horn," C'baoth chuckled slyly. He seemed amused. "Self-deception is what destroyed the Jedi. And it will destroy them again and again, until we teach others to take up the tools necessary to resolve a given crisis. You're a pilot, but you don't go against an enemy wielding a scythe or a plow. No, to kill an enemy, you master weapons, calling upon them when needed and setting them aside when not. The same with the Force, the same with emotions."
"Hard to imagine," Horn muttered, suppressing a yawn, "taking a weed whacker and going up against a squadron of TIE fighters."
"And that's exactly it, Jedi Horn," C'baoth proclaimed in a thunderous voice, cold fire in his eyes, for an instant piercing Corran with a jolt of icy emptiness inside. "Until Jedi understand a simple truth — you can't go against an enemy entrenched in a mighty bastion with just a big, ineffective club — all these Jedi purges will continue. One after another, one after another... Until the last of us are exterminated. Do you understand that?"
"I think so," Horn said, hoping the old man would finally leave him alone, and rubbed his eyes vigorously.
Exhaustion always hit him at the end of training, when it was time to talk with C'baoth. And as always, Horn's position was wrong, the Jedi knew better, and all Corran could do was take his words on faith. There were no other options here on Jomark anyway.
"The Emperor is dead, Vader too," he said. "There's only one Skywalker in the entire galaxy who can do anything. But he's not dangerous. What other dangers should I fear enough to cross the line of what's permitted and watch my own moral compass fail more and more often?"
C'baoth glared at him from under his bushy brows.
"You will meet those dangers yet," he promised darkly. "Some of them I've already told you about. The rest will surface from the depths of the galaxy in time."
"Maybe you could just give me a list, Master C'baoth?" Horn inquired, yawning. What kind of paradox was this anyway? He was soaked to the bone with his own sweat, about to turn into an icicle from the freezing wind. And yet he wanted to sleep?!
"You want to solve everything quickly and simply," C'baoth shook his head. "I could lead you to these threats by the hand, but what would you do against...?"
He fell silent. Corran, blinking with effort, saw a rather striking picture right before him.
C'baoth sat bolt upright, his hawk-like gaze fixed somewhere over Corran's head. As if he could see through tens of thousands of kilometers ahead.
"Are you all right, Master?" Corran inquired.
There was no answer. C'baoth's fingers curled more like an animal's claws, bending as if he were controlling something like a puppeteer. Corran, sighing, reached out with the Force, worried the old man had had a stroke and wondering what exactly he was seeing. But the master's mind, as always, remained closed to him. Well, yeah, who would have doubted what was happening.
"Let's go back to the castle," Horn suggested, getting to his feet and taking C'baoth by the elbow. The old man blinked a couple of times and, with obvious effort, barely managed to focus his eyes on the Corellian. "You're clearly tired, Master. You need to rest."
C'baoth initially yielded to his persuasion, but then his gaze fully regained its former strength. The moment he touched the distinctive medallion on his chest.
"You're tired, Jedi Horn," he said confidently. "Leave me. Return to your quarters and gather your strength before the next training session."
Corran had to admit that arguing with this guy was like trying to move a mountain. Besides, he really was tired.
"Are you all right?" he asked again, yawning so wide you could park a couple of X-wings inside his mouth.
"Perfectly," C'baoth assured him in a surprisingly grim tone. It didn't bode well. But Corran couldn't care less what C'baoth had come up with this time.
"Well," the Corellian ran a hand over his face, covering another yawn with his palm, "if you need my help..."
"I said, leave me!" C'baoth snarled so loudly that for a moment Corran felt like a bucket of boiling water had been poured over him. "I am a Jedi Master. I don't need anyone's help!"
The next thing Corran knew, his own legs were carrying him down the steep spiral staircase of the tower. He had no memory of learning to move so briskly or of why he had left the roof.
He only stopped after descending a couple of floors.
Irritated, the Corellian threw an annoyed glance upward, guessing C'baoth had used the Force to get rid of him.
"Damned..." Horn muttered through his teeth, now walking down the steps on his own. He had absolutely no desire to return to the roof — the eccentric Jedi could come up with an even faster way to send him to his quarters on the lower floor of the castle. For instance, by stepping off the edge of the roof straight down under the influence of gravity.
Approaching the door to his room, Corran was so filled with anger at the Jedi that only when crossing the threshold did he realize the heavy wooden door had swung open before him, not even waiting for him to touch the handle.
Looking at the door and the empty corridor he'd come from, the Corellian tried to calm himself using the breathing exercises C'baoth had taught him. Yes, the weirdo had shared a few useful techniques, credit where it was due.
As his anger faded, exhaustion and drowsiness returned.
Corran, closing the door in a more familiar way, headed for the bed, stripping off his flight suit on the way.
Fine, okay, let's say the Dark Side helps open doors before you reach them. Fine, with a big stretch, one could agree that it was a useful skill.
"But I'm definitely not going to abuse it," Horn thought resolutely, collapsing onto the bed.
That was his last thought before the Corellian passed out, surrendering to sleep's embrace.
* * *
Eric swirled the contents of his glass. Tiny ice cubes clinked melodiously against the bottom, completing a couple of full circles around the perimeter in a second.
"Nervous?" asked Brandei, sitting in the armchair across from him.
"Going one-on-one, the Imperious against the Crimson Dawn?" Shohashi's eyebrow shot up. "Shaking in my boots. It's got enough guns to gut a couple of Star Destroyers before they even punch through its shields. You could pick at its armor all day."
"Not enough excitement for you, or what?" there was a grumble in the old friend's voice. "Bloodlust from hunting Republicans not worn off yet?"
"I'm colder than a sarlacc," Eric assured him, taking a sip. "The trap is set. The bait is waiting its turn."
"'Bait,'" Brandei snorted. "Thrawn's completely lost his mind if he thinks it'll be that simple..."
"The bait idea wasn't Thrawn's," Eric remarked.
"No kidding?" Brandei was surprised. "Our Grand Admiral 'look at the picture — blow up the fleet' isn't as perfect as he seems?"
"Stop," Shohashi said calmly. "Thrawn deserves respect. You shouldn't speak of him that way in my presence."
"Fine," Brandei grumbled. "So what about this plan? What half-witted koo-pah came up with the idea of catching a star dreadnought with an Imperial Star Destroyer?"
Eric drained his glass in one gulp.
"I did."
Brandei, who had barely taken a sip, started coughing.
It took him a few seconds to clear his throat and recover.
"Have you completely lost your mind?!" he stared at his friend in shock. Frankly, Brandei was probably the only Star Destroyer commander in Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet who didn't openly shun the "Butcher of Atoa." Well, maybe a couple of others too. Those who didn't interpret his actions after Endor as desertion.
"On the contrary," Shohashi assured him. "The plan is brilliant."
"What could possibly be brilliant about it?" Brandei's features hardened. "The Bellator-class ships were built as hunters for line ships. An ISD is a line ship. The Crimson Dawn will turn you into Swiss cheese."
"It won't have time," Eric assured him calmly. "In any case, we need bait to lure the First Division into a trap and deal with them before the main campaign starts. The Imperious fits all the parameters — I've stepped on so many toes and danced on so many bones that smoke will pour out the Bothans' asses when they see the ship in their viewports. The Imperious can withstand a full broadside from an Executor-class Super Star Destroyer, a Vengeance-class, or an Assertor-class. The Bellator is four times weaker than them. Simple math — I have four times longer to win."
"Have I told you you're insane yet?" Brandei slammed his glass on the table, then reached for the whiskey decanter and filled his glass to the brim with amber liquid. "And here I was wondering why Thrawn would change his plan, instead of attacking the enemy division with the whole fleet, reducing it to just a few ships..."
"It was my proposal," Shohashi repeated. "The entire fleet is too valuable to risk a bloodbath with a potential mass 'trade-off.' So the strike force will be limited to the Imperious, the Torpedo Sphere, the Venators, and the Interdictors. The rest of the fleet will stay at firing range and only participate as support ships. And the Venators are only needed to deal with the escort ships anyway. The Crimson Dawn is mine."
"And Thrawn approved this?" the commander of the Judicator looked at him skeptically.
"Only the Imperious is at risk," Eric noted. "If everything goes wrong, only my ship will be lost. But either way, that Bellator will come under Thrawn's command. Today, in about ten standard hours, the division will be at the trap site."
"Fine," Brandei said. "I take it back. You're both insane — you and Thrawn."
"Possibly," Shohashi said with a restrained smile. "Initially, the Grand Admiral planned to deal with the Crimson Dawn by luring it as far from the Ciutric Hegemony as possible, to keep the events disconnected for a while. I convinced him that everything needs to be done here and in sequence."
The commander of the Judicator took a large gulp.
"The Crimson Dawn is commanded by someone from Alderaan, isn't it?" he asked.
Shohashi lifted his gaze from the cane resting on his lap.
"General Vandel Willard," he said.
"One of your mentors?"
"In tactics," Eric confirmed. "An excellent officer. He commanded Rebel forces at Yavin IV. Fighting him will be... intriguing."
"Damn you all to the Hutt!" Brandei exploded. "Shohashi, do you hear what you're saying? You're planning to sit under a thousand gun barrels of a fast star dreadnought! And you'd live for maybe four or five of its salvos! The Torpedo Sphere won't help you — the Crimson Dawn has enough anti-aircraft artillery for an entire fleet. They'll tear you apart with their starfighters alone!"
"Maybe," Eric replied evasively. "And maybe not."
"One day you'll take it too far, my friend," Brandei shook his head. "You're already considered crazy across the whole Empire, chasing down your own kin..."
"The Empire is dying," Eric reminded him in the same measured tone. "And besides, you know perfectly well that ordinary Alderaanians don't interest me."
"Right, right," Brandei winced. "'Traitors, enemy commanders...'"
"And my former mentors," Shohashi added.
"Right, of course, couldn't forget those," Brandei threw up his hands. He took another gulp, finishing his glass, then stood up and straightened his tunic.
"So here's the deal," he said, looking at Eric, who was examining his cane with curiosity, as if seeing it for the first time. "The Judicator will be on the left flank. I'll keep the reactors at full power. If you realize you can't handle it — let me know. Preferably, send the message five to seven minutes before they turn your ship into a sieve, so I have time to reach you."
"Thank you, Brandei," Eric said with a smile. "It won't be necessary. But I'm touched nonetheless."
"Touched, he says," the commander of the Judicator grumbled. "You've touched your head, Eric."
He stood there for a few more seconds, then silently extended his right hand.
"Together to the end," he said, voicing their old cadet saying from when the two simple kids had to survive among arrogant snobs. Only by standing shoulder to shoulder, back to back, could they hold out.
Shohashi awkwardly got to his feet without using his cane. He looked into the eyes of his old friend.
If Brandei had known back then that he'd survived, that he was continuing operations against pirates, the Imperious would have been operating alongside the Judicator. And that was precisely why Eric hadn't contacted his friend until Irene died.
"Together to the end," Eric repeated, shaking the extended hand.
"If one falls," Brandei said the second part of the oath, gripping his comrade's hand firmly. Everything was written on his face: the understanding that the Imperious wouldn't survive a fight against superior forces. And the terrible realization that in the moment of need, he simply wouldn't make it to Shohashi's ship in time to deflect the killing blows. They were effectively saying goodbye now. And the oath that had accompanied them at the Academy only reminded both of them that the death of either would not go unavenged.
"The second will avenge," Shohashi finished calmly.
Brandei looked into his friend's eyes for a while, then hugged him emotionally.
"If you survive — I'll personally beat your face in," he promised.
"And if I die?" Eric asked with a smile.
"I'll fly to the Deep Core, kick Palpatine's ass, bring you back to life, and kill you myself," Brandei muttered, pulling away from the Imperious's commander. "Take care of yourself."
"The feeling is mutual, Brandei," Shohashi said seriously. "I don't have so many friends that I can afford to let them die over trifles."
"And when did we grow up to the point where we go up against an ISD against a fast star dreadnought and call it a walk in the park?" He headed for the exit. When the door opened, Brandei lifted his foot to step out. Then put it back down. He turned sharply, regulation-style, and looked into Shohashi's eyes.
"Thrawn promised you something, didn't he?" he asked. "You don't go breaking your back to execute his plans perfectly for nothing."
"He did," Eric didn't deny it.
"What?" Brandei asked with interest. But kept frowning.
"'Who,'" Eric corrected. "I think you've already figured it out."
"Baron Fel," Brandei practically spat on the floor. "So the bastard is still alive?"
"And nearly healthy," Eric agreed. "Thrawn will give him to me after Operation Crimson Dawn is complete."
"If you live to see it through," the Judicator's commander said sourly.
"To rip out Fel's throat, I'd rise from the grave," Eric said.
Brandei gave him a heavy look.
"But that's not all, is it?" he clarified. "There's something else, something you agreed to play bait with minimal chances of survival for?"
Eric regretted once again that he couldn't tell his friend everything. But at least this part of the plan — he could.
"After I'm done with the Crimson Dawn, the galaxy will tremble again when it hears of the 'Red Star,'" he said, automatically reaching into his tunic pocket and gripping the ancient chronometer.
"You're not joking, are you?" asked a pale Brandei. "It's not what I think it is?"
"From the ground up," Eric confirmed. "Iran Ryad is dead. But the 'Red Star' will live. And the blood of enemies will flow in rivers."
Brandei pursed his lips, which meant only one thing — the Judicator's commander wanted to say something but changed his mind at the last moment.
He knew the weight of Shohashi's words perfectly well.
And he understood that his old friend was not joking in the slightest.
"Good luck to you," the traditional third and final farewell.
"May it be with you instead," Eric smiled modestly. "I have turbolasers."
This time, Captain Brandei just shook his head before leaving the commander's quarters of the Imperious.
* * *
Luke was pulled from the embrace of sleep by the thought of an approaching threat.
The young Jedi opened his eyes, letting the Force flow through his body to dispel drowsiness and invigorate his system.
R2 beeped.
"Yes, I'm already awake," he told the astromech. "And no, I'm not surprised we didn't explode in the process."
The droid let out a series of sounds.
"No, not because I trusted an Imperial Grand Admiral," Skywalker declared. "I trust you. If you said our X-wing is safe, then so be it."
The droid's signal coincided with a blinking indicator on the control panel. Ten seconds until jump exit.
By the time it hit zero, Luke was already wide awake, as if he hadn't spent long hours sleeping sitting up in the starfighter's seat.
Placing his palm on the hyperdrive lever, he waited until the flight time indicator showed zero, and with a light motion of his mechanical hand, returned the lever to its original position.
The pale mist of hyperspace dissolved into lines, then into dots dotting the space. Directly ahead, the sphere of an unknown planet loomed.
R2-D2 chirped.
"Well..." Luke drawled. "Let's just say I wouldn't be surprised if they sent us to this backwater just to get rid of us, and there was no planet here at all."
His faithful friend chirped excitedly.
"Yes, I don't see any traces of a well-developed civilization here either," the young man admitted. "On the other hand, the boondocks are the best place to hide. Remember how long Master Yoda spent on Dagobah? And he avoided detection by the Jedi's enemies. Maybe C'baoth chose Jomark for the same reason."
The astrodroid gave another trill.
"Or maybe Thrawn chose it for him," Luke agreed. "Well, let's not waste time. Without a long-range antenna, we can't contact anyone anyway, so we'll have to go down."
On the control panel display, thanks to R2's efforts, landing coordinates appeared: a medium-sized island in the middle of an almost perfectly circular lake, located just beyond the terminator line.
"Looks like that's where we're headed," Luke noted reasonably, beginning his descent.
A moment later, R2-D2's screech — loud enough to drown out an air raid siren — nearly burst his eardrums.
"What's wrong?" Luke frowned, assessing the situation. And felt just a little, just a tiny bit, uneasy.
Because his X-wing, against its pilot's will, was diving sharply. Fiery bouquets were already blooming at the nose — the kind that always form when breaching dense atmospheric layers at high speed.
"Hang on!" he yelled, fighting the suddenly disobedient X-wing's controls.
For a moment, it seemed to him that he'd figured out Grand Admiral Thrawn's secret plan — to get rid of the Jedi Knight by smearing him thin across the island's surface. But the moment he reached out with the Force to comprehensively assess what was happening...
He felt sticky threads of Force reaching out to him, as repulsive and vile as the Emperor's aura. And those threads were stretching toward his ship.
Luke clenched his teeth and reached for the power slumbering within him. The silence and calm of the Light Side of the Force spread from his body into the immediate surroundings like purifying fire, literally burning the invisible strings of the puppeteer who wanted to get rid of him.
It took a long couple of minutes to put up sufficient resistance — no finesse, just raw Force, pushing, pushing, pushing against the threat, the way Darth Vader did. It worked. And just in time.
Because the X-wing had literally plummeted into the lower atmosphere, its nose scarred and scorched. While Luke fought the invisible enemy, R2 had activated the deflectors. And basically saved the starfighter from burning up in the atmosphere and falling apart.
Enveloping his ship in the Force, Luke continued his descent, but now in control of the craft. And acknowledging a most unpleasant fact — whoever called himself Joruus C'baoth clearly didn't want to be disturbed. That was probably why Luke hadn't been able to reach out through the Force to Horn and warn him of the danger.
Well, he was here now. And he'd deal with the problem himself.
Luke swallowed the lump forming in his throat, deliberately averting his gaze from his lightsaber hilt. If this was a hint from the Force that he should just use his weapon immediately and not waste time, as Thrawn had implied — then no, thank you. That wasn't the Jedi way.
First, he'd try to resolve everything peacefully. Even though Thrawn seemed to have been honest, taking him at his word was deadly dangerous.
Sharpening his senses and expecting an attack at any moment, Luke continued guiding his ship toward a stone structure rising from the lake — which was essentially a volume of water filling the caldera of an extinct oceanic volcano. Judging by everything, aside from a few other buildings, this was some kind of main structure. And probably the destination of his journey was also somewhere there. Along with any countermeasures that might rain down on him at any second.
But strangely, no turbolaser salvos, no missile launchers, not even anti-aircraft rapid-fire guns... It seemed C'baoth was very confident in his own power if he needed none of that...
He received another danger signal through the Force.
And managed to react, throwing the X-wing to the side. Because out of nowhere, a massive chunk of rock appeared in the sky — one you could hardly even call a stone.
No, it was a genuine piece of building stone, apparently torn from that very structure Luke was heading for.
He had to dodge another good dozen of these projectiles before the ship broke through to the surface.
Luke spotted a fairly distinctive landing platform and quickly set the X-wing down. The feeling of danger pressed harder than ever... since Endor. And he didn't like it.
The young Jedi slid out of the cockpit the moment the canopy lifted. His boots hit the soft ground.
"It's all right," Luke assured the cautiously beeping astrodroid. "We've arrived."
"No one invited you here, Jedi Skywalker!" a deep bass voice rang out, filled with Force, overwhelming in its intensity and unyieldingness.
Luke turned and noticed a figure standing motionless and silent in the shadow of a nearby tree, wrapped in a wide cloak. The hood was pulled low over its face.
In the sunset rays, the cloak's fabric shimmered with brown hues.
"I didn't know we were acquainted," Luke murmured awkwardly.
"I know enough about you, Skywalker," the stranger snorted. "And I know that you know about me."
I know that you know that I know...
A merry-go-round, really.
"Master C'baoth," he bowed politely. "I didn't mean to intrude on your solitude..."
"Lies!" the interlocutor said in a firm, calm tone. "If that were true, you wouldn't have come here."
"I came here for my friend," Luke said firmly. A direct and obvious threat emanated from C'baoth.
For a moment, the figure in the shadows showed no signs of life.
"There are no friends of yours here, Jedi Skywalker," the cloaked figure finally said. "Go back to where you came from."
Well, a warm welcome indeed. But Luke clearly realized that with every word, C'baoth was only confirming everything Grand Admiral Thrawn had said. This man wanted to control everything happening around him.
"So, Grand Admiral Thrawn has returned to his favorite games with sentients," C'baoth said unexpectedly. And there was a growing threat in his voice.
"I don't serve Grand Admiral Thrawn," Luke said firmly.
"You're here because he ordered you to!" the Jedi clone suddenly roared. "And don't you dare insult me with your childish attempts to shield yourself from my ability to know the truth! I've already gotten everything I need from your mind! Get out! Jedi Horn will stay here until his training is complete!"
"You have no right to decide where Corran should be or what he should do," Skywalker tried his luck, appealing to the foundations of Jedi teaching: to serve the galaxy's peoples, not to subjugate them.
"I am a Jedi Master!" at C'baoth's words, the air seemed to fill with electricity and became an order of magnitude heavier. Luke could literally feel an extra couple dozen kilograms pressing down on him. His knees began to tremble treacherously. "And I decide who does what in my domain. Horn serves me! That is my will!"
Frankly, Luke was baffled by such a blatant intention to escalate the conflict, blowing it up out of nothing. Which only reinforced the notion that C'baoth was genuinely insane.
The young Jedi felt goosebumps run across his skin. For some reason, he remembered his first impression of meeting Palpatine. But even that hadn't been this terrifying. Probably because the Emperor had control over himself and hadn't intended to kill Luke until the very end, planning to turn him to the Dark Side and make him serve in his father's place?
C'baoth apparently didn't care about such trifles.
Thrawn had said C'baoth was crazy, but he'd forgotten to mention that he was a ruthless and calculating madman, familiar with the taste of absolute power and confident in his own abilities.
Now the difference between C'baoth and the Emperor had become completely intangible.
"Master C'baoth," Luke said peaceably. "You're not well. Let me and Corran leave for the nearest New Republic base and call for help. I'm sure there's a way to help you..."
C'baoth burst out laughing, which completely threw Skywalker off balance.
"Help? Me?" his voice thundered. "You can't even help yourself, you foolish boy! You've read a couple of books, listened open-mouthed to two old fools who couldn't do anything against the Emperor when he was destroying the life's work of all the Jedi, and now you've come here to tell me that you're capable of helping me?! Even if I needed the support of such a low creature as you — blinded by arrogance and wandering in shadows — I would rather throw myself off a cliff than let you do anything."
Well, that stung. But it wasn't a Jedi's place to react to such barbs.
"You know, I can destroy you," he said, and if before his voice still carried a hint of outright threat, now it had vanished entirely; it seemed the old man was making casual conversation. Or had simply stopped worrying about Luke's ability to interfere with his plans. "Without moving from this spot — grind you to dust right where you're standing. And it won't take me much time." Before Luke's eyes flashed scenes of conversations with Ben Kenobi, Yoda... No, they never allowed themselves such speeches. It seemed Thrawn was right about this too — C'baoth had been created and raised by Palpatine with a single purpose: to serve the Emperor. As they say, a king is played by his court. The ruler of the Galactic Empire himself wasn't known for his tenderness toward others, so it was no surprise that C'baoth was somewhat obsessed with power. "You are nothing before me, Jedi Skywalker. But I won't kill you," C'baoth laughed unpleasantly. "No. You're not a danger to anyone at all. Just a tiny gnat that a senile old man chased after. But I'm not like that. I see your future. Oh, Jedi Skywalker," a grim predetermination appeared in C'baoth's voice. "You have no idea what troubles you'll bring to the galaxy. How much pain your delusions and reckless self-sacrifice will cost those who trust you. I'll leave you alive, so that your own deeds destroy you. And then, having reached the edge, looking back at the fields strewn with the bones of your friends and acquaintances, you'll understand that you were nothing more than a pawn in a game of holographic chess played by those you consider paragons of Jedi teaching. And then, when all your hopes are shattered, when your hopes are crushed, you'll crawl to me on your knees. Yes, you'll crawl, begging me to take you as my apprentice — I've seen you and everything I've described during my meditations. You will serve me, Luke Skywalker. Just as your father served Palpatine."
The future is not predetermined. Not in the slightest. It is in motion. Only wrong actions in the present lead to dire consequences in the future.
"Visions from the Force are not pictures of a fixed future," Luke remarked calmly. "The Emperor constantly insisted that he knew everything in advance. But in the end — he miscalculated."
"Well, that was the Emperor," C'baoth snorted. "That psychopath will never stop at what he's achieved and will keep repeating his insane plans, wasting resources and losing subjects until he loses everything in a desperate attempt to achieve greatness."
A very... wrong phrase. At least — not used in the past tense. Did C'baoth not believe or not know about Palpatine's death?
"One way or another, I came here for Corran Horn," Luke said firmly. "I'm taking him with me. What you're teaching him — is dangerous knowledge. First and foremost — for an unformed mind."
"And is your mind so formed?" C'baoth laughed. "A boy who was handed a lightsaber and sent to do a man's work. Your training is nothing more than a patchwork quilt with more holes than intact pieces. Every scrap of knowledge you've gained will only push you further from the truth!"
Suddenly, C'baoth stopped short. He turned his head, peering into the darkness.
"I told you to rest!"
"No argument there," came another voice, and Luke felt relief as he recognized it as Corran's. He cursed himself again for focusing too much on one thing. "I'm rested. Hey, Skywalker."
"Corran," the young Jedi nodded in greeting, watching the figure approaching them in an orange flight suit. "Where's your X-wing?"
"Well, actually, you landed right where it exploded," the Corellian said grimly.
"What are you doing here?" the cloned Jedi Master asked him sternly.
Corran grinned crookedly, almost like Han.
"Well, you guys taught me to listen to the Force. And I felt it practically boiling over here. Thought I'd come check it out. Turns out, they married me off without me being there."
Luke looked away, embarrassed.
"Sorry," he said. "That's not exactly what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?" the Corellian pressed. "Why did you come here?"
"To save," Luke said firmly. He pointed toward the motionless C'baoth. "He's working with the Empire."
"Oh, really?" There wasn't a hint of surprise in Horn's voice. That was a little jarring. "Took me a couple of days to figure that out. And then what?"
"He coordinated the Imperial attacks in the Dufilvian sector," Luke continued.
"Weeeell," Corran drawled. His hands slid out of his pockets and, as if casually, settled on his hips. "Alright, Jedi pilot: one-one. What else?"
"And he's not who he claims to be," Luke said with a sigh.
C'baoth laughed. Loud, rolling laughter.
"Fine," Corran sighed. "Are they shipping in a brigade with explanatory info chips, or what? You Jedi have this stupid habit of talking in Hutt riddles, like anyone actually wants to solve them."
"Jedi Master Jorus C'baoth died several years before the start of the Clone Wars," Luke said. C'baoth's laughter stopped abruptly. Apparently, either he lied about being able to read minds, or he couldn't see all of them.
"I am a Jedi Master," the man said threateningly.
"You're a clone created by Emperor Palpatine using a flawed method that leads to madness," Luke replied. "I've spoken with the person who destroyed the real C'baoth. And the entire Outbound Flight."
"Interesting friends you've got," Corran took a step toward him. The man's right hand rested on the holster of his blaster pistol. "And who was this brave soul?"
"Wasn't," Luke shook his head, still holding C'baoth's gaze. And not fearing the monster staring back. "Is. The one behind all of the New Republic's troubles. Grand Admiral Thrawn."
Corran cursed, loud, clear, with an inimitable inflection.
"Seriously?" Horn grimaced, looking at Luke with hope that he'd jump, click his heels, and say it was a Jedi joke, or that Rogue Squadron pilots had target practice instead of tails. "We missed one?!"
"I haven't figured it all out yet," Luke said. "But somehow you got in the way of this Grand Admiral."
"What makes you say that?"
"This Grand Admiral loves collecting trophies," Skywalker replied. "He organized a full-scale sector-level military operation just to capture six heavy Dreadnought-class cruisers. Any idea why Mirax and Booster disappeared?"
"Goddamn Imperial bastard," Horn ground his teeth. "Used Mirax as bait for Booster, captured the Errant Venture..."
"Chances are he has every ship we lost at Rugosa," Luke offered his theory. "And all the others listed as missing in action."
"If he so much as touched a hair on any of my people..."
"I don't think that's the case," Luke replied. The threat emanating from C'baoth was becoming more real and tangible by the second. "He prefers to manipulate his opponents. I'm sure Mirax and your father-in-law are alive. Same with Leia, Lando, General Cracken..."
"We'll talk about this later," Corran said quickly. His blaster left its holster and pointed straight at C'baoth. "What are we going to do about him? I doubt there's a Mon Calamari Star Cruiser waiting for us in orbit."
"Sorry," Luke said. "I didn't have time to stop by the base, I was in a hurry..."
"You should have!"
"Are you done talking?" C'baoth inquired. His voice dripped with venom and a desire to crush anyone who opposed him. Luke had to channel the Force through himself in massive streams to negate the pressure being exerted on him. Corran... was holding up for now.
"Let's just take him out, huh?" Corran suggested.
Luke shook his head.
"Jedi use the Force for knowledge and defense, never for attack."
C'baoth just snorted indignantly.
"A cheap excuse for simpletons who lack the brains to make their own decisions. Those conventions don't apply to me. And you two will stand above them, if you're not afraid to stay and complete your training."
Horn snorted with laughter.
"Thanks, but I'll pass. Even Mirax doesn't twist my brain that much when we talk about kids. But thanks for the couple of neat tricks. I'll gladly use them to kill your Imperial buddies."
Skywalker also shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Master C'baoth," he said. "I can't. Your path is not the one I intend to follow."
"We will heal the entire galaxy, Jedi," the clone's voice became pleading, a stark contrast to how he had sounded moments ago. And Luke was even more convinced of the accuracy of his observations — C'baoth was insane. "You, me — together! There's no one else to rely on! My knowledge, your youth..."
"Thanks for the offer, but I have my own plans for my youth," Horn cut him off. He looked at Luke's X-wing. "You don't have a spare fighter either, do you?"
"Well, sorry," Skywalker grumbled. "How was I supposed to know your ride would be out of commission?"
"Why do you resist me and your destiny?" C'baoth's voice became seductively compelling. Like music to a flatterer's ears.
Luke gritted his teeth, drawing in more and more of the Force.
"Corran, don't listen to him," he hissed. "The Emperor pulled the same tricks on me on the Death Star at Endor."
"Yeah," Corran yawned lazily and rubbed his drooping eyes with the back of the hand holding the blaster. "And he can also force you to go where you don't want to. Literally move your legs for you. So I'm guessing that's why you didn't want me meeting Skywalker?"
"You don't understand..." C'baoth began.
"I understand perfectly," Luke felt a spark of rage ignite inside Horn. Spreading through him so quickly, stirring the Dark Side. "Senile old fool with a sick head! 'We will heal the galaxy!'" he said, mimicking C'baoth. "How? By mass brainwashing, like you're trying to do to us two right now?"
The old man cackled, throwing his head back. His hood fell back, and his gray hair flew around. Luke tensed — this was far too reminiscent of the Emperor's triumph right before he...
"Horn! Look out!" he shouted, drawing his lightsaber.
An emerald blade split the darkness of the encroaching night.
But it was too late.
Because in the next fraction of a second, the clone of a long-dead Jedi delivered a devastating blow to the Corellian.
And Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker couldn't do a single thing about it.
* * *
"You've done good work, Ghent," I said, looking at the blue-haired slicer.
"It worked, didn't it?" he beamed. "I mean, you already told me back in my quarters that it worked, but now it's definitely sure? They're heading straight into the trap?"
"Exactly right," I confirmed. "Your program worked."
"Too bad we can only do it once," Ghent said, looking glum. "The New Republic already detected the intrusion on their comm network. They're scouring for the terminal the signal came from."
"So, if we use their communications equipment again, they'll immediately know about our intrusion?" I clarified.
"They've already launched a search algorithm through the HoloNet," the boy said, scratching his nose. "If we activate the setup again, they'll pinpoint its location to within a couple of light-seconds. In short, using it again would be too risky."
"In other words, with a high degree of probability, they would calculate the point of origin for the intrusion into their communications network?" I clarified. Just in case the specific word had different lexical meanings in this universe than the one I knew from my previous life.
"Huh?" The slicer stared at me with eyes full of surprise. "Well, yes, yes..."
"In that case," I gestured for the slicer to step away from the door and sit in the chair opposite mine, "I have a new assignment for you, Ghent."
"Oh, do we need to crack something else?" he asked with interest.
"That's what you were hired for," I reminded him, laying a pile of data chips on the table.
Ghent, not hiding his curiosity, craned his neck to try and read the labels with explanatory notes.
"Interesting names," he said, picking up a few from the pile. "'Caamas,' 'Eye of Palpatine,' 'Thrawn's Hand'..."
The young man looked at me questioningly.
"Problems?" I asked.
"Um, no..." he hesitated. "Just unusual names. What's on these chips?"
"Data of state importance," I replied simply. "Things that will help establish order in the galaxy — at least in a certain part of it."
"Uh-huh," Ghent said. "So why not just hand them over to, say... the New Republic?"
"Don't worry about that, Ghent," I said. "We will. Absolutely. When the time comes."
My comlink beeped. I touched the key and heard:
"Grand Admiral Thrawn," the commander of my flagship Star Destroyer said, his voice slightly concerned. "The first division of the New Republic's Fourth Fleet has arrived. Shall we begin the interdiction operation?"
"Of course, Captain," I said. "Has Captain Shohashi already begun his part of the plan?"
"Oh," Pellaeon exclaimed. "Without false modesty, sir, I'd say the Butcher is in fine form."