Nine years, eight months, and five days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fourth year, eight months, and five days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Three months and twenty-five days since the Arrival.)
The Herglic looked somewhat disappointed as he sat down at Mara's table, immediately occupying all the space on the opposite side.
"I offer my apologies, Countess Cleria," he addressed the girl, who was continuing to play the role of a high-born lady. During her time as the Emperor's Hand, she had had many personas, names, fake biographies. "Countess Cleria" the name under which she investigated information about the embezzlement and misappropriation by Moff Glovstok some time after the Battle of Yavin. He was ultimately convicted of treason and embezzlement of Imperial funds, and the evidence she obtained during her investigation of his personal vaults led her to another conspiracy — in the Sheshla sector. There, incidentally, she also met the now-former Moff Disra. Back then, he was just a chief administrator, doing such vile things that only circumstances prevented his demise. Judging by their meeting on Yaga Minor, Disra either pretended, limiting himself to half-vague hints, or didn't recognize her, as he didn't say so directly. Still, they hadn't met in person back then, but when she was arresting the governor of the Sheshla sector, there were many sentients in the latter's palace. Someone among them could have shared observations about her appearance with Disra. Yes, on Yaga Minor, she had slightly altered her face to avoid being recognized, but...
In any case, Disra is currently the least of her problems.
"What's the matter?" she asked, displeased.
The black market trader had been stalling for quite some time, constantly offering her new and newer assortments of military cargo. But none of it was truly Imperial. And far from the best quality. Not to mention that if it had ever been supplied to the fleet, it certainly wasn't within the last century.
"A slight delay..."
"Oh, stop fooling me," she demanded. "Tell me straight — what's the matter?!"
"The supplier..." the Herglic hesitated. "He... is behind on delivery schedules. The goods you're looking for — are not in stock. You understand, this is a very expensive, almost custom-made... Give me a week, and all the goods will be in stock, but right now, they simply aren't there. I am so sorry..."
"Are you kidding me?" she inquired.
"Certainly not, but..."
"I know the reputation of Herglics as honest traders who never tell a buyer they have goods they don't have in stock," she put as much of her artificial contempt into her voice as possible. "During our first meeting, you assured me you had Imperial weaponry. Now you say you don't. Are you a liar?"
"Certainly not," the giant waved his arms energetically, literally overturning two adjacent tables. Only by sheer luck were there no one in their seats or in the fall zone of the interior items and tableware who could have been hurt. "I am an honest dealer and..."
"Then what is it?" Mara knew the answer to this question perfectly well but wanted to hear it from the Herglic.
According to the reference information, this trader did indeed possess a wide price list of Imperial goods. But they were currently unavailable to him. The reason was simple. And located directly on an Imperial Lambda-class shuttle and a battered GR-75 medium transport the Imperials had purchased.
She had no doubt that this broker's warehouses would be filled within a week. There were no indications that the new goods would be inferior to the originals. However, there was a certain nuance — if they truly intended to use this broker as a source of supply for Imperial goods straight from the "Kuat Drive Yards" vaults, then he at least needed to earn trust. He already understood she was an extremely solvent client. But, apparently, he simply decided not to risk relationships with long-standing clients.
"Another client..." the Herglic finally decided to tell the truth. "When they found out you were also interested in Imperial technology, and in such quantities, they decided to buy the goods out from under you."
"What, are they arming a Super Star Destroyer?" Mara wrinkled her nose, letting the Herglic know the expression was nothing more than a wild guess. "I wanted to order just tubrolasers from you worth several million."
"Yes," he said guiltily. "But they offered a better price... I've been working with them for a long time, but I've only known you for a short while..."
"I see," Mara snorted. Her fears were confirmed. This Herglic loved money (and who doesn't?). And he trusted only verified clients, giving them preferences and making exceptions. Consequently, there was no guarantee that in future cooperation, he wouldn't give their hypothetical goods to someone he had known longer. Or someone who paid more. "You just wasted my time..."
"Honorable lady, I..."
Mara was no longer listening to the excuses. She had clarified everything necessary and had no intention of wasting any more time. It was time to deal with more important matters.
Leaving the restaurant, she took an aircar, giving an arbitrary address in the central part of the city. The droid driver quickly merged into the traffic flow, while Mara, using the Force and her experience, continued to monitor for a possible "tail."
As expected, there were observers. Two Rodians in a battered speeder were following her, a couple or three similar vehicles behind in the flow. A typical thug appearance, confident movement on the road, which was unlikely for someone who had never driven here and wasn't used to the traffic intensity — hirelings were clearly locals. Good, I'll keep that in mind.
Mara left the transport at a precisely designated point on the route — no need to give any indication that she had noticed the surveillance. She calmly strolled along the shopping boulevard before turning into an alley. There, quickly orienting herself to the situation and the terrain, she shed her clothes, remaining only in her tight black combat suit. Unfortunately — without armor elements. Otherwise, the luxurious aristocratic dress would have certainly looked strange. As it was, the puffy skirt concealed the weapons secured at her waist and hip, and the sleeves hid a concealed blaster holster.
Throwing the dress onto the nearest trash pile, Mara hid in the darkest corner of the passageway to observe how events would unfold.
Both Rodians appeared a couple of minutes later. They quickly determined there was no one in the dress. And began talking...
Mara didn't know Rodian (like any sane person), but the Force, which had become easier to concentrate on and call upon at the right moment thanks to several meditative sessions with Ahsoka, told her the aliens' train of thought. They suspected she was somewhere around here. Well, of course — the passageway ended in a dead end.
"I'm here, boys," the girl said, firing from the darkness.
She winged the first one in the leg, and he collapsed, starting to screech in pain.
The second, by all indications a subordinate, rushed to run and was immediately caught by a blaster shot to the head. The corpse fell face-down onto the dirty planks.
"Who ordered you?" Mara asked, approaching the whimpering Rodian. Not hardened criminals — small-time thugs who hung around back alleys like this one.
The native from Rodia babbled something in his dialect. His thoughts were muddled...
Sighing, Mara activated her lightsaber.
Fear flared in the mercenary's eyes.
The word "Jedi" and the superstitious terror it still evoked in places like this instantly cleared the loser's mind. Images surfaced, emotions poured out, accompanied by whimpering and pleas for mercy...
"Well, that's clear," Mara chuckled, deactivating her weapon. "Old acquaintances from the 'Lambda.' Well, let's talk, let's think. Hey, you," she lightly kicked the Rodian's wounded knee. He shrieked at the top of his lungs. "Quit your yelling, I didn't burn anything vital. But if I see you doing anything illegal again — I'll kill you. Understood?" The Rodian undoubtedly understood Basic. So his affirmative nods were more than confirming. The question was only how stupid he was to do what he intended.
Turning, Mara headed towards the busy thoroughfare...
And literally a second later, her lightsaber cut through the air, deflecting a shot from his own blaster back at the Rodian. The scarlet bolt hit him directly in the throat, searing through to his vertebrae. Well, modified blasters, firing at maximum power — that's terrifying.
"I did warn you," Mara said with a sigh, feeling the sentient's life fade in the Force.
Winding through the city for a few more blocks, she activated her comlink and called Ahsoka.
"Is that sweet pair on the shuttle about to leave yet?" she inquired.
"They have another day of loading," the Togruta replied, keeping continuous watch on the Imperial purchasers. "Looks like they might need another ship here."
"They won't," Mara declared. "They'll just hitch extra containers to the medium transport and that'll be it. Although, they aren't going anywhere."
"You wanted to intercept them in space," Ahsoka reminded her.
"The guys made a very big mistake," said Thrawn's Hand. "I need to communicate that to them in the most accessible way possible. Straight into their brain."
"The one in their head?" Tano inquired with a hint of amusement.
"He doesn't have one," Jade stated. "We'll have to go for the bone marrow."
* * *
Throughout this galaxy's entire existence, there have been Empires, Republics, Charters, Space, Alliances, Leagues, Federations, Unions, and many other various states with their own impressions and political systems.
But the Dominion...
No, it wasn't the first of its kind. A state formation with a similar name had already existed. To be precise — in the southern parts of the galaxy after the Battle of Endor, an Imperial Moff created his own fiefdom with the same name.
A most curious fact.
Imperial stormtroopers are known for their fanatical service to the Emperor. But after his death, they ended up under the command of dozens, if not hundreds, of various Imperial and pro-Imperial dictators. Why? How could that happen?
It's all very, very simple.
A stormtrooper primarily obeys the will of the Emperor. And his father-commanders carry that will for him. When the Emperor dies — you must trust your commanders.
Such a simplification, based on studying departmental documents. There's actually a lot of interesting stuff written in them. True, there's a suspicion that these documents are studied exclusively in Academy classes, and then, upon joining the active army or fleet — they are conveniently not used. It reminds me of the traditional saying from home: "At the institute they say: forget everything you were taught at school. And at work, they demand you throw out of your head everything you somehow learned at the institute."
Apparently, this is what happens in the Imperial war machine as well.
And in statehood.
So, the Dominion is officially proclaimed as a state in the northwestern part of the galaxy. I have taken the helm of the young state, effectively legitimizing my current rank and position as the official regalia of the Dominion's ruler. No one really objected, anyway. The inhabitants of the Ciutric Hegemony, the Morshdine sector, and the annexed systems generally don't care what happens at the top of power.
The population of the galaxy can change their patrons and rulers every day — if the common people's situation doesn't worsen, they don't care. If it improves — they start taking an interest in who is in power and what that sentient is famous for.
Moff Ferrus and his team of administrators were working on the state structure, which gave local bureaucrats a clear understanding: we are here to stay. Lieutenant Colonel Astarion's people gently, like a bantha's udder, probed the bureaucratic system and extracted corruption schemes from it. Intelligence was working on assets abroad and checking the backgrounds of all those systems and sectors that had already expressed an intention to join. I had already marked four sectors that would form the core of the state, and for now, there were no particular plans to expand it. Because that would be a strategic loss of initiative in the area we currently occupy. But a direct refusal would not be given either. Definitely.
Still, there are their own interests in these sectors and systems.
But at the moment, I was more interested in the holographic figure of a middle-aged woman with pleasant facial features, dressed in a dark-colored gown skillfully embroidered with lace... Aristocratic dust thrown in the eyes.
A pretty wrapper, nothing more.
"Grand Admiral," said Councilor Feena D'Asta, restrainedly. "The Imperial Ruling Council is concerned about your interference and violation of existing agreements."
"Indeed?" I clarified. "Strange that the Imperial Ruling Council was not concerned about the forced alienation of the Ciutric Hegemony in the event of Prince-Admiral Krenn's defeat at the hands of the New Republic. In that case, an entire region of the New Territories would have slipped out of Imperial control, until now neutral and virtually uninhabited, but resource-rich sectors would have been open for conquest and annexed to Coruscant-controlled territory, exposing our eastern and northeastern flanks. Not to mention that in the event of such a conquest, the Republicans would have gained access to routes into the rear of the Imperial Remnants, as well as an exit to the galaxy's borders. I also want to remind you that the Hegemony's economic and production capacities would have fallen into the hands of the New Republic..."
"What are you getting at, Grand Admiral?" a sarcastic smile appeared on the young woman's face.
"That a strategically sound decision was made, which ended in a victory for the Empire," I said calmly. "If the Imperial Ruling Council has any complaints against me, I would like to hear the specifics."
The woman with snow-white hair (which looked even more unnatural on the hologram) looked at me with interest.
"Supply deliveries," she finally got to the point. "What I and the entire council are primarily interested in is whether the previous contracts made with the prince-admiral are still valid."
"Let's speak plainly," I suggested. "Has payment for these contracts been made?"
As they say: a loaded question.
Thanks to the efforts of Krennel's guardsmen and the encryption he applied to his data, a significant portion of the data was either destroyed or encrypted in such a way that it's not so easy to crack.
Of course, unless you have a genius slicer named Zakarisz Ghent.
Thus, a relative portion of the information about the commercial activities of the Ciutric Hegemony is known to me. Including the active contracts — I ordered them decrypted first. Because I understood that this conversation would be one of the first raised once the dust from the capture of the Ciutric Hegemony settled.
"Only the down payment," the baroness was, oddly enough, candid with me. Well, a pleasant addition to her appearance and initiative in being the first to make contact. But one shouldn't forget who this lady really is, and what 'roaches' might be fighting logic and reason inside that head. "The subsequent transactions were supposed to be transferred after both parts of the contract were fulfilled."
"Well," I summed up, "that matches the information I have. I see no obstacles to continuing to fulfill these contracts."
Especially considering that the bulk of this contract — five hundred TIE fighters — can be fulfilled by me without particular difficulty. For one simple reason: that many TIE Interceptors are currently on the planet, part of the fifteen hundred that Krennel was manufacturing for me. Since I've decided to replace fighters with interceptors, the machines currently in service on my ships can be transferred to Imperial Space right now without any problems, while equipping at least the Star Destroyers exclusively with interceptors.
In total, Orinda's order called for the production of nine hundred TIE fighters. That's seventy-five squadrons. Each Star Destroyer carries three fighter squadrons. Altogether, at present, I have twenty-four destroyers, but not all of them have full air wings yet. Not to mention the Crimson Dawn. But at the same time, there are other ships equipped with this type of equipment. Not to mention the planetary-based squadrons.
However, what interests me most is the rearmament of the Star Destroyers currently on combat duty.
Given that, for the most part, repairing Imperial equipment simply involves replacing a damaged or non-functioning unit with a new one, which makes them practically indistinguishable from freshly manufactured ones, the very fact of 'sleight of hand' is extremely difficult to detect. But it's worth doing a full cleaning of the ship's equipment and systems beforehand.
"Thank you," she said with a cold smile. The lady's demeanor had an attractive bitchiness to it. Carefully and deliberately cultivated. Such types usually become the favorite patients of psychologists. In particularly severe and common cases — psychiatrists. "Now I would like to discuss transferring into the Council's disposal the advisors Organa-Solo, Fey'lya, as well as the generals..."
"Out of the question," I declared.
"I'm sorry?" The girl seemed even a little taken aback, surprised by my reaction to her preposterous proposal. It seems my gracious attitude toward honoring the existing fighter contracts was taken as a willingness to make concessions. Not as my agreeing to fulfill them purely in my own interests. Which, as it were, allows me to recover some of the funds I paid Krennel for the interceptors he never delivered. In any case, the TIE fighters needed to be moved somewhere. Initially, I planned to transfer them to the sector defense fleets, especially since all volunteers with standard qualifications are going there. But the ships still need repairs. Serious ones at that, and for some ships — long-term repairs, given their damage and the need to procure certain parts.
"These people and beings are my prisoners of war," I reminded her. "As well as a valuable source of information I need for the ongoing campaign against the New Republic."
"But the Council needs them!" the white-haired woman said emphatically.
"Well, I can only sympathize with the Council," I said. "But my prisoners can leave in only one direction — back to the New Republic once the ultimatum conditions I've stated are fulfilled."
"You forget yourself, Grand Admiral!" the bitch's voice took on commanding tones. That was a mistake.
"No, Councilor," nothing infuriates an angry interlocutor more than the calm tone of his opponent. "I'm afraid it's you and the Imperial Ruling Council who are trying, and rather poorly, to apply double standards toward me."
"What do you mean?" the baroness frowned.
"Exactly what I said" how they love these psychological tricks of asking again what's already been heard and understood. "The Imperial Ruling Council essentially accused me of violating the agreements under which I was provided with multifaceted assistance for waging war against the New Republic. If my memory serves —" the girl smirked at that moment — "the terms were that you don't interfere with my war efforts, providing what help you can, and I, in turn, don't concern myself with the internal politics of the Imperial Remnants, thereby lowering the overall tension level. Or do you have a different understanding of the agreement?"
"No, but..."
"I wasn't finished, Baroness," the woman's hologram showed the confusion that flickered across her face. "The prisoners are part of a military campaign with which you have no involvement. This is not a political asset of the Empire that you acquired. You have no right to it if I object to transferring these beings to you."
"And you...?"
"I — object." It seems that when dealing with Imperial diplomacy, you have to repeat things twice, even three times, for them to remember. Or is this another trick?
"But we had hoped we could obtain the data we're interested in from them," her tone was by no means plaintive or beseeching. The woman was simply stating a certain fact, hoping to serve the interests of the Imperial Ruling Council.
I admit, this is a very interesting position — accepting current realities rather than trying to beg for favor in the face of discovered obstacles. Well, that indicates the maturity of my interlocutor's worldview. And if I turn to my memories of the characters in this universe, an inner backbone is present in them as an exception rather than the rule. Especially when it comes to female representatives not involved in operational activities. Though, I must also not forget that she is, despite everything, an aristocrat.
"Your hopes are strictly your own intentions," I clarified.
"Grand Admiral," the woman's features hardened. "The Imperial Ruling Council has given me the task of speaking with these prisoners and taking all measures to obtain information."
"What kind of data do you intend to acquire?" I asked.
"That is confidential information," the girl replied sharply.
"In other words, you intend to take my prisoners of war" I emphasized the last word to specify the status of the beings in my custody — "interrogate them, obtain information that might relate to conducting military operations against the New Republic, as well as — harm my further actions?"
"You must understand me and my intentions, Grand Admiral," the woman switched to a categorical tone, "it's not often one gets to capture representatives of the enemy's highest political rank."
"I owe you, Baroness D'Asta, absolutely nothing," I had to remind her of the obvious. "Your initiative to interrogate my prisoners and obtain some information while concealing your goals could harm me. So, I'm afraid I must refuse this request until you clarify your position."
The woman looked at me with a hint of mockery and defiance.
More verbal sparring expected.
"Grand Admiral," she emphasized my military rank, "are you suggesting I tell you over a voice channel the goals we hope to achieve?"
"Baroness," I replied calmly, "I need to know what you intend to interrogate my prisoners about. But how you convey that information to me is of no interest to me whatsoever."
The girl seemed to freeze in shock.
"Are you suggesting I come to you to convey the information in person?" On the hologram, her eyes opened wide as if she had seen the Big Bang firsthand.
Only the long months spent maintaining the legend of the imperturbable Grand Admiral allowed me to keep an impassive expression. Because the baroness's counter-response sounded far too unexpected and unpredictable. For the most sensible thing, when unable to convey information in person, is to send it via a courier. And since when do members of the Imperial Ruling Council personally interrogate even such high-ranking prisoners? High-ranking politicians don't do that kind of thing.
Darth Vader interrogated Leia Organa after her capture in orbit of Tatooine ten years ago not as the heir to the Emperor and the throne of the Galactic Empire, but as an official — the Emperor's Executor.
And this circumstance was a routine procedure in the Empire. Including in the Imperial Remnants.
And therefore, it's extremely unlikely that the baroness intends to personally interrogate anyone. She definitely must have her own, more important affairs. Consequently, she is capable of sending an envoy or any other person to communicate the interrogation's goals and carry it out.
Something is happening.
And the baroness's initiative is a leading question.
As if she intended to meet with me but was looking for a reason that would make the initiative for such a rendezvous come not from her.
So, some very strange political games are beginning. Games they intend to drag me into.
Refuse? Without information about what is happening and what the meeting is aimed at?
It's entirely possible that this is a prologue to something that could benefit me.
Which is quite intriguing, because I clearly remember that during the Emperor's revival, representatives of the Imperial Ruling Council organized a conspiracy against him. Could this be a reason they are trying to draw me into a similar organization?
Agree? Then again — it might not be related to what I know.
After all, not every conversation is a conspiracy.
It could be a purely work-related matter, and I'm imagining the rest, given the level of intrigue boiling around me?
"Yes, that would be the most convenient of the options," I said, ceding the initiative in the conversation. Now her reaction would show what her true intentions were. You don't always have to know physiognomy thoroughly to understand what drives a person. It's enough to simply watch their facial expressions while they talk to you and note their reactions to answers they like and dislike.
"Good," the young woman's features relaxed, as if she felt relief at my answer. So a positive answer to the leading question suited her perfectly and had been envisaged as the most preferable from the start. Therefore, the conclusion is extremely simple — she wants a personal meeting. Well, now this is much more interesting. But again, it might not be related to what I'm assuming. For example, she and those behind her might be trying to find out where and when I will be with high probability. My proven and actively used tactical principle 'Ambush Ordinary and Consequences Extraordinary' could easily be used against me. "I will arrive at Ciutric IV in five days. Time is pressing, I want to settle this matter as quickly as possible and return to my direct duties."
Good information. Noted.
"I will be expecting you," and I'll prepare a suitable surprise. "I strongly advise you to choose something smaller than a Star Destroyer for your journey."
"Travel through disputed and border territories near the Republican enclave in the Oplovis sector without sufficient protection?" the young woman's eyebrows rose. "I hope you're joking, Grand Admiral."
"I don't have that habit," I admitted. "In that case, I hope your ship's commander manages to transmit the identification data before being fired upon by the defense forces. And, more likely, destroyed."
The baroness blinked, genuinely shocked to the core by my words.
"Thrawn... Are you serious right now?" she forced out.
"As always," I said. "In the Dominion, the appearance of military ships is not welcome, no matter who they belong to, except those of the Dominion itself. If these security measures don't suit you... Well, you can simply not come."
Whatever the background of this meeting, it's worth establishing the order of relations once and for all. If you need something from me, then you must play by my rules.
Otherwise, we won't reach a consensus.
"I will inform you of my decision later," she said, clearly unwilling to continue the conversation.
"As you wish, Baroness," I bowed courteously as a sign of common politeness.
The younger D'Asta, without deigning to reply, switched off her hologram projector.
After sitting for a few seconds in the silence of my quarters, I activated my comlink.
"Captain Pellaeon."
"On the bridge, Grand Admiral," the commander of my flagship Star Destroyer responded.
"Contact the navigation department," I ordered. "In one hour I need calculations for all possible routes from Orinda to Ciutric IV, with time estimates for such journeys."
Gilad hesitated for a moment.
"It will be done, Commander," nevertheless, a positive response came. "Are there any further orders?"
"None at the moment, Captain," I replied. "Continue preparing the fleet for deployment."
"Yes, sir, Grand Admiral, sir," Pellaeon confirmed receipt of the order, switching off the comlink.
Glancing over the data from the Delta Source, I smiled. Ketaris, you say? Good, that will be a suitable demonstration for the inhabitants of the New Territories.
I looked at the chronometer, deeming it an appropriate time to visit the beings of interest held in the prison cells aboard the Chimaera. It was just time for their marination for a conversation, after which they would undoubtedly agree.
Because it will be an offer they can't refuse.
* * *
Perhaps one should be grateful to Grand Admiral Thrawn for understanding the importance of separating the work of the Imperial Security Bureau from Imperial Intelligence, as was done in the other Imperial Remnants.
But then again, is it worth still trying to consider the Dominion and its loyal territories as part of the Empire? Even as a Remnant?
Or is the Dominion something new, having absorbed the best of Imperial militarism but becoming something greater? The very state that the Empire was supposed to become? Peace, order, legality — for everyone, without restrictions of class, wealth, or origin?
It's too early to talk about that yet — states arise on the basis of ideology and rot from within due to the harmful interpretation of the latter by local implementers.
However, at the moment, the question of the Dominion's state structure and path of development was not before him.
But the organization of the DSB — the Dominion Security Bureau, responsible for a huge range of tasks — that was a yes. He had to do it himself. He wanted to work in an operational unit, but instead had to become a chief. Which he didn't really want — and he told Thrawn that directly. The Supreme Commander listened in silence and promised to solve the personnel problem quite soon.
But for now, he had to both work in the field and deal with organizational documents.
"But I just came to Thrawn to help keep the ISB as an independent authority," the lieutenant colonel thought, looking at the face of Captain Nym sitting before him.
It was time to finish with this being and with Orra Sing.
"So," Astarion opened the interrogation file of the pirate sitting on a metal chair, his hands chained behind him to the wall. In the time since his capture, the man had told a lot — enough for a couple of firing squads and a dozen life sentences on Kessel. And the funniest part was that Thrawn's assumption about where Nym's wealth came from had been confirmed. "Where did we leave off last time?"
"I told you how, on the tip of Grand Moff Tarkin, I attacked treasury convoys carrying aurodium as payment for my services in supplying materials, specialists, and leads on planets where slaves could easily be taken for his construction projects." Nym's voice lacked the slightest hint of emotion — he had been broken completely and forever. This being had gone through ordinary interrogations, an interrogator droid, mental breaking, solitary confinement... He had no will of his own left, especially none that could provoke resistance. "And before that — every case of my pirate activity."
"Yes," Astarion confirmed. "More than four hundred victims, killed either by you personally or by your order. You don't like leaving witnesses to your atrocities."
"No one wants to get caught," the pirate explained.
"Well," the lieutenant colonel sighed. "Now, the last thing. Orra Sing. What was the point of killing her, as well as her family members?"
"She worked for me," Nym explained. "We had an affair. She got pregnant. I wanted her to get rid of it, because I needed her at the time as a sniper and bounty hunter, not as an incubator for bearing offspring. There was a conflict. She ran away."
"After first shooting off your ability to continue your line," the lieutenant colonel continued. A curious story of high emotions in the milieu of marginals and criminals, for all its savagery. But nothing unusual. In years of practice, you hear even stranger things. Nym confirmed his words.
"Continue," Astarion ordered.
"I started hunting her out of revenge for the insult," he continued. "The damage turned out to be... Fatal. Without the slightest chance of fixing the situation. So over time I revised my reasons for hunting her. Now I wanted to find the child and raise him as my successor. I tracked her down after a considerable amount of time. It took several years to catch her — almost by accident. I demanded answers. She didn't want to talk. I killed her husband — and only then did she tell me she had gotten rid of the child. In retaliation, I beat her so badly that she miscarried the pregnancy she had at the time. I thought she was dead, and told my men so. But one of them told me she wasn't. I took her to a prison station and left her to rot there. She tried to escape several times, but was always caught. Then you showed up, and I realized that..."
"Tyberos is your son," Astarion stated. Nym nodded silently.
Ah, these busy moments of other people's personal lives. However, it was clear almost immediately when Orra Sing was first captured on Lok and the Grand Admiral ordered a comparative genetic analysis to establish the degree of kinship. The result surprised many, but not Thrawn himself.
I wonder, did the captain himself know that if not for the capture of Prison Station 1138 in the Karthakk system, Sing would have escaped from her cell, because she had devised a new way to leave the prison station? One that would definitely have worked. And the station would have gone up like a fiery torch, along with all of Nym's riches.
Well, since he doesn't say, he doesn't know. Then he doesn't need to know. Unnecessary information.
It took several hours to finish the series of interrogations of Captain Nym, clarifying a number of details about his professional criminal activities and other aspects of the pirate's operations and the functioning of his gang.
When all questions had been asked and answers received, the lieutenant colonel ordered the prisoner returned to his cell.
Having prepared the necessary documents and explanatory notes, he formed the required file, transferred it to an encrypted information chip, which he handed to one of the Imperial Guardsmen who were part of his personal security detail at Thrawn's own insistence.
"Deliver this to the Grand Admiral," he ordered. "Into his own hands."
The Imperial Guardsman took the chip, which vanished into his clothing in an instant, after which the soldier himself left his partner to continue guarding the lieutenant colonel. Not because the latter was such a valuable counterintelligence asset. It's much more prosaic — as long as he serves as the director of the DSB, he will be guarded to the highest standard. And later... freedom from all this bureaucracy at the top.
Having called via comlink the commander of the stormtrooper company responsible for the dungeons of Ciutric IV, where all prisoners of high rank or particular value in the eyes of Grand Admiral Thrawn had been transferred, he ordered Sing herself brought in.
Every account should be confirmed or refuted by specific facts.
* * *
Settling into the chair opposite a small metal alcove separated from me by an energy screen, I looked with interest at the young woman (by the standards of a galaxy far, far away). Dressed in a prison uniform, she was silently drawing on one of the walls with a simple marker.
And if you looked, the other 'artworks' covering the walls, floor, bed, and the sparse furnishings looked quite intriguing — unprofessional, but with heavy pretensions to decent amateur work.
"Not a bad way of artistic expression for inner feelings," I praised, having first turned on the sound on the control panel so she could hear me and speak. I also deactivated the wall panel's camouflage.
She flinched as if startled, dropping the tool from her hands and immediately scrambling away, staring at me with a frightened look. Had she really not known that one of the slanted walls in the cell was a high-tech version of a Gizello mirror — mirrored on one side, glass on the other? Same here, but with the transparisteel of the false wall. And the energy shield prevents any possibility of breaking out if the transparisteel is damaged. Yes, they knew how to build. A pity it wasn't always so.
But her reaction was clearly feigned on this lady's part.
"Allow me to doubt the plausibility of your reaction," I said. "You spent enough time connected to Imperial technology, including Star Destroyers, to know about this little technical feature."
The black-haired woman with silver streaks in her hair — a woman who could make anyone fall in love with her face, though no longer young, still beautiful, and with a matching figure — tried to give me a 'flirty look' complete with coquetry. At that moment, I looked even more like a teenager. For some reason, according to the book I, Jedi, other men found such antics and simple flirting an irresistible urge to possess this sentient being...
"Just as I thought," Leonia Tavira suddenly stopped her scheming, becoming a calm prisoner. "You're a droid."
"An interesting assumption," I said. "Any logical justification to go with it?"
"Why would there be?" she snorted, pacing the cell like a cornered predator. "A beautiful woman doesn't need logic to explain what she feels in her heart."
Interesting manipulations.
Her small stature and taut, pale skin gave her a youthful look, but she moved with a confidence that made her seem older.
Indeed, this woman was a tangle of contradictions. Attractive — in her own way; ambitious — without measure; deadly dangerous — if you let your guard down around her.
"True enough," I agreed, pointing at the drawings. "Logic is alien to you. Impulsiveness, passion, a drive to submit to someone stronger. And at the same time, cunning and ruthlessness are your usual traits."
"Watching me, Grand Admiral?" she asked coquettishly.
"Evaluating your creativity," I explained.
She stood in silence for a while, studying her 'artworks.' Then she looked at me with a blank expression.
"Art," I explained. "It says a lot about what an ally is like. Or, more often — an opponent."
Tavira instantly switched from a 'sweet kitten' to a wild beast.
"You kept me in a cell for months just to admire my drawings?"
No, I just don't throw away valuable assets, and I couldn't predict your behavior, I answered her question mentally.
"Thank you for your cooperation," I said. "My people have been observing your images, wherever you drew them — in the Chimaera's cell, on Tangrene, or on the prison ship that brought you here. Now I have a complete picture of you as a person. In my opinion, that's an excellent reason to talk, given the circumstances."
"So that's why you threw this in my cell," she looked at the marker with indignation. In fact, this was the fifteenth writing instrument she'd used up in that time. But it was worth it. "You wanted me to draw?"
"The valuables you plundered are quite contradictory, and too few of them are things you actually like," I explained. "So studying you based on such indirect preferences would be an irrational waste of my personal time."
"Well," the woman started flirting again. Someone should show her to a psychiatrist — her mood and behavioral style changed far too often. "You could have just arranged a romantic dinner, given me a couple of jewels, poured some decent wine — and I'd have told you everything. And even shown you..."
And this woman had once served as an Imperial Moff. Though she'd killed the moff's wife first, replaced her, and then sent the moff himself to his ancestors.
How did she manage to be so reckless and yet tactically sound in choosing targets and organizing attacks? No doubt she had the backing of the Jensaarai, but no Force could compensate for tactical brainlessness.
However, I had already calculated her behavior. Now I just needed to verify it in practice — during a personal conversation. As with Baroness D'Asta — simply ask the necessary questions and not miss the necessary reaction.
"Thank you for the offer," I said politely. "I'll pass."
The woman's face changed again.
Now it showed annoyance.
"Honestly, are you even sentient or a droid?" When she was touched to the quick, made to understand that her feminine charms weren't working — no matter what simian antics accompanied them — it drove her crazy, made her vulnerable. Such a vulnerable nature she had — she wanted to be under the power of a confident man (or alien) who would make her feel weak, dependent. They say about such people 'they weren't loved enough as children.' So they look for someone to 'love them enough' in adulthood. "Am I not attractive to you at all?"
"You're a lovely woman, I won't deny that," and now a very careful game was needed. Because the performance was just beginning. "But the purpose of our meeting is entirely different."
"Well no-o-ope," she said with a predatory smile. "You won't brush me off that easily, Grand Admiral. If you didn't need anything from me, this meeting wouldn't be happening right now. And you certainly wouldn't have been studying me. That means you're interested in cooperating with me."
"Let's say," the best way to subdue her was to let her think she could win, let her feel a breach in the armor, and then break the 'backbone' of her arrogance and impulses, reorienting in her mind my candidacy from 'object of desire' to 'a sentient being giving orders that I willingly obey, and it's my own wish.' Yes, convoluted, but that's exactly how programming works.
"Then I have a condition," she licked her full lips, lustful and expectant. "You're mine."
"I doubt it," now I needed her to perceive this as a small 'retreat.' "I see no logic between work and attraction."
"Oh-h-h," now her eyes showed outright obscenity. How could that be attractive if it evoked nothing but disgust? Not a shred of self-respect, not a gram of dignity. Only vulgarity, ringing vulgarity... Who was this even for? "You have no idea how pleasant and fruitful this can be. Possessing a beautiful woman who is inaccessible to everyone else — that's authority among subordinates, and at the same time a way to bond with them by demonstrating your humanity. It helps them understand that you too can make mistakes, but there's nothing reprehensible about it. A woman beside a man is like expensive packaging for an ordinary product. Eye-catching, alluring, drawing gazes... Everyone wants her, but no one can have her. Isn't that proof of absolute and unattainable power?"
No, of course not. It more resembled the story of Helen of Troy.
This woman evoked nothing but outright pity.
She devalued herself in the eyes of strong men, inventing an easy path, based on a hormonal spike, to male bodies. Like fermented wine that has lain in a cellar for years — you know it's infinitely valuable because it has an attractive label. But at the same time, you understand that one sip will reveal a taste of vinegar and poison.
The most beautiful flowers belong to carnivorous plants, don't they?
"An interesting point of view," I said, distracted for a couple of moments to send an encoded message on the comlink. "But I'm afraid such an improvisation won't work with me."
Leonia Tavira.
The woman turned back into an aggressive predator.
"Is that so?" she hissed, her eyes practically flashing. "You think I'm not impressive enough for you? You think I don't belong next to such a renowned military commander as the last Grand Admiral?"
The only thing about her that truly attracted me was the violet tint of her eyes, a color I had never before encountered in this galaxy among humans. What irony that those eyes belonged to someone who preferred to walk over bodies.
It hadn't taken me long to supplement the information the Imperial archives had on her with what I knew myself. Especially from the reference material that accompanied the book I, Jedi.
Tavira knew perfectly well that she was considered attractive, and she often used her looks to manipulate men for power and wealth. She was only sixteen when she began an affair with Moff Taryl Tavira. She was satisfied with her subsequent marriage to him after the death of his first wife — a loveless marriage that brought her a wealthy lifestyle and salvation from the poverty of her youth. Later, she manipulated a false prince, the leader of the conspirators, promising him her love, using his revolutionary forces to steal most of the wealth of the planet Eiatu. Tavira had long been suspected of being responsible for her husband's death, as well as his first wife's — and she considered marrying the 'prince' leader of the conspirators, intending to kill him to rule as his widow. The setup was too similar to Moff Tavira's fate not to be true. After escaping to Susevfi, where she set up a pirate lair and subjugated the Jensaarai, Tavira tried to seduce the local Imperial Moff and killed him when he rejected her.
According to the book I, Jedi, Tavira's appetite for male company was well known among her gang members, and becoming her 'consort' was one of the few ways to join the crew of the Offensive. When Corran Horn infiltrated the Invids, Tavira felt attracted to him. However, instead, she named one of the pirates her next 'consort,' expecting Horn to find a way to prove his worth. After Horn fought the 'consort' and defeated him, Tavira executed her chosen one for disobedience, believing that Horn had turned her manipulations against her by making her eliminate his rival for him. Tavira committed utterly mad acts to gain the attention and approval of a single man she wanted by her side.
I confess, reading I, Jedi, I felt vicarious embarrassment not once, not even a dozen times. Because that book is filled with a manic pursuit with intimate subtext that is unnatural for the spirit of Star Wars.
But all that was long ago. Or pertains to a future that will never materialize.
Because for this woman, as for any precious stone, a suitable cut had been found.
By letting her draw out of boredom in her cell, I studied her, identifying and confirming what was already known. For all her disorder and instability, Tavira was a clever woman, but also ambitious, opportunistic, and deceitful. She had never plotted against her first husband, but she quickly used his death to take control of Eiatu. When she realized Imperial power was waning, during her time as Moff, Tavira manipulated both sides of her planet's civil war to maintain control.
What few know: It was Tavira who transported Sate Pestage to the Hegemony and then betrayed him, reporting his location to Ysanne Isard. The reason was simple — greed. She was unsatisfied with the amount Pestage paid her for her work as a transporter. So she decided to compensate with Isard, demanding a huge price of several million, to which the Iceheart responded with nothing more than a derisory offer of one hundred thousand Imperial credits.
This woman cannot stand having her narcissistic, self-admiring, self-glorifying person betrayed or deceived. She gets rid of such people without batting an eye.
Nevertheless, this lady had some very positive qualities.
She skillfully managed the pirate fleet under her command. According to numerous interrogations of Offensive crew members, she virtuously identified talents among those who served her and promoted them based on skill and initiative. And she did this long before she forced the Jensaarai into her service.
She had built a very interesting security system for her group, which ensured her pirates could not lead the New Republic to her. The essence was simple, yet brilliant. All contacts with gangs were initiated without revealing her location. Moreover, she alone communicated with the gangs — they could not, no matter how hard they tried, do so themselves. This also ensured her safety from betrayal.
A competent system of distributing pirate income from her participation in battle guaranteed their loyalty and desire to participate. Despite her obvious 'bullet in the head,' this woman chose tactically sound targets to strike with her available forces. And she almost always got away with huge 'profits.'
Furthermore, her merits also included the fact that for the entire time she had been running the planet in place of her moff husband, no one in the Imperial Center ever realized the man was dead. On the contrary, 'his work' was very well received. This indicated some good administrative and economic knowledge residing in that flighty head.
"No, Leonia," I rejected her words. "You definitely don't belong next to me."
"Is that so," her lips curled into a snarl. "Arrogance... Well, well... I'll be here, Grand Admiral, when your subordinates want to see someone more human on the destroyer's bridge, someone subject to simple human vices, rather than a soulless droid that only knows how to fight."
Sighing, I allowed myself a smile.
"I'm afraid you misunderstand me, Leonia Tavira," I said, seeing confirmation. The former pirate leader was looking me straight in the eye and seemed too engrossed in the conversation to hear the quiet rustle of the door opening behind her. And the lone figure, accompanied by a pair of guards, approaching the unsuspecting pirate queen with a catlike, creeping step. "I have no need for dangerous and uncontrollable weapons that might fire into my own head. Even if they are clad in an attractive physical shell. You see, in the regard in which you are interested in me, you are indifferent to me. I would prefer to have by my side a woman who embodies the qualities of a proven ally, a comrade, or none at all, rather than waste time and wallow in filth."
"But you are wasting time on me?" she challenged. "What's all this rhetoric for?"
"Simple," the voice Leonia Tavira heard was like the winds of winter breathing down her neck. With a shriek, the young woman with violet eyes jumped aside, cowering into the corner opposite the cell entrance. "Those words were not for you. They were for me."
Tavira's face expressed a degree of horror that words could hardly describe. As if she had seen her own death in human form. However, no one intended to kill her.
Although... On the other hand, after this procedure, she would hardly ever be the same.
"I-I-I... Isard?" Tavira squealed pitifully. "Y-y-you died!"
The heterochromic woman smiled like a caring predator female, asking her intended victim, whom she planned to swallow and grind in her mighty jaws, if anything hurt.
"Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated," she said, mechanically touching the remnants of a scar on her temple that the surgical droids had been unable to remove. "And now, Leonia, we will talk. And I will show you clearly why you will serve Grand Admiral Thrawn faithfully."
"I w-will!" Leonia nodded frantically. "I will! Take her away! I'll do anything!"
"I don't believe you," Isard struck the woman across the face with a backhand, hard enough to make her hair, grown to her shoulders, fly up. "For me to believe you, first I need to break you. And rebuild you. So you'll be more loyal than these guys," the Iceheart pointed behind her, where a pair of Imperial Guards stood. "Don't worry so much. Your personality will remain the same. But your desire to betray your master will disappear completely."
Leonia Tavira went into hysterics as she saw stormtroopers bring numerous tools and equipment into the cell, which Isard needed for her procedures.
"It won't take long, Grand Admiral," Isard said, looking at me, demonstratively putting on a polymer apron of the kind butchers use to avoid splattering blood on their clothes.
"It's fine," I replied, settling in more comfortably. "I've always wanted to see your work in person."
"The feeling is mutual, Grand Admiral," she said unexpectedly.
"Do your work, and then we'll talk in detail," I said firmly, understanding that when dealing with the Iceheart, there was not the slightest chance of survival if you showed weakness. Ever.
"With pleasure," Isard grinned, turning to Tavira, who was staring in horror at the monstrous saws in the Iceheart's hands. "Well, Leonia, shall we start earning those loyalty points?"
The moment the electric drives of the surgical tools were activated and the cell filled with the whine of saws, the pirate queen lost consciousness.
"She lasted two seconds longer than I estimated," Isard said, turning off the equipment and placing it on the cart, discarding the protective apron. "She'll come to in an hour; we'll repeat the procedure. But instead of the Grand Admiral, there will be a guard. Then a Noghri. And so on down the list, until she develops a conditioned reflex of fear and submission at the sight of specific symbols of Dominion authority. Grand Admiral, if you have a few minutes, I would appreciate a private conversation with you."
Um...
Was I the only one who thought the Iceheart was going to cut Tavira into pieces?
Strange are your deeds, Ysanne Isard.