Nine years, eight months, and eleven days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-fourth year, eight months, and eleven days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Three months and thirty-one days since the Arrival.)
Adepts of the Dark Side do not survive Visions of the Force.
The future is foggy for them because it is always in motion.
And because they do not submit to the Force, are not its mindless conduits and servants like the Jedi.
They control the Force themselves and define themselves as its masters.
That is why, seeing himself from the outside, lying on the floor of a spacious hall, surrounded by dozens of the most varied corpses and half-dead beings, familiar and unfamiliar, he was taken aback for a moment.
Pain and suffering reigned all around... Those who had already died served as a reminder for those who had not yet passed on. A merciless death that would overtake everyone.
A feeling of doom, of the immutability of his future.
Is it frightening to see your own end?
No.
For someone who has drowned nations in blood, who destroyed settlements hunting Jedi, accepting the simple truth costs nothing — they all will die someday.
But this simple fact is not to everyone's liking.
That's why many adepts of the Dark Side seek immortality in the ancient knowledge of the Sith and other cults... Some find it, some don't...
He watched as the darkness approached his fallen allies.
It had quite human contours.
But that was merely a shell.
Inside the human being was contained unbridled rage and madness.
He knew who had descended upon them to fulfill the duty of executioner.
And the mere understanding of that simple fact — that his life's path would end exactly this way — was enough to plunge him into despair.
Following the darkness, seven more approached the fallen enemies.
Black like the darkness itself, but not so impressive. Simple executioners who, with crimson blades like stingers, beheaded the bodies to throw the upper torsos to the foot of the throne from which the shadow had descended.
A blade swing — and a young Jensaarai perishes, having tried to call upon the Dark Side to resist.
A precise jab to the throat — and Mara Jade's head separates from her torso, having tried to attack the enemy with a Force Lightning.
It didn't work.
The figure in a brown robe and an animal-adorned helmet rose from the floor, in a desperate attempt to shield the unconscious but living figure sprawled on the floor in a white tunic with blue skin.
This fighter tried to unleash all his fury, all the power of the Dark Side, upon the shadow and the seven, but the coordinated, materialized hatred of the maddened shadow literally tore this protector apart.
The seven collected their bloody tribute, surrounding the figure in white.
Time after time they destroyed beings — human and non-human — who organized an uncoordinated resistance against them, defending themselves one by one, each as best they could. There were adepts of the Light Side and the Dark among them — but there were far fewer of the former on the side of the figure in white.
Despite the Jedi putting up significant resistance and even managing to destroy the seven, they all perished.
There were simply too few of them. And they were wounded, exhausted... But worst of all was something else.
They were commanded by one who did not understand and rejected the Light Side of the Force.
And they died too. Because their commander was an Inquisitor.
Now nothing separated the terrible and maddened shadow from the figure in white.
Almost nothing.
Only a lone fighter in a black suit and a sealed helmet with a crimson visor. Armed with a light pike. The one who commanded the fallen.
The shadow struck him with Lightning, and he knew how to defend against it.
He held.
The shadow struck him with Telekinesis, but he remained unharmed this time too.
The shadow seethed with malice and rage, crushing him and seeking to destroy him, but the man in the black garment and sealed helmet with a red visor held on. He, like the shadow, was an adept of the Dark Side. Far less capable, but still the only one left alive.
Because he had sent the others to certain death. He wanted to exhaust the shadow and kill it personally. Dispatch it, to proclaim himself the new shadow.
He desired power and was ready to step over his former allies. Because deep down, he had always wanted exactly this.
To use them to remove all obstacles to his power.
To use them to satisfy his ambition for power.
He saw the Shadow crush him, forcing him to his knees.
Saw that he had lost.
And that fact proved critical for him.
Exhausted and humiliated, he knelt before the shadow, which was preparing to destroy him.
He begged for mercy, proclaiming his loyalty and readiness to serve. A simple deception to save his life, to prolong his existence, only to betray again...
The shadow saw all of this, penetrating deep into his thoughts and desires. For the shadow, there were no barriers, and the pitiful attempts at resistance provoked nothing but irritation...
So the shadow, mad and seething with rage, understood who knelt before it, what the defeated enemy wanted...
And it unleashed all its fury upon him, flooding the surrounding space with Force Lightning and monstrous pain that pierced every cell of his being, annihilating everything...
The last thing he saw was himself, lying on an operating table.
Mutilated, burned, weak, humiliated, broken...
Beside him stood the shadow, in whose presence droids encased his body in a black suit, a prison in which he, like Darth Vader, would have to spend the rest of his days. A personal jail for one whose boundless ambition and faith in the all-crushing might of the Dark Side had led him not to power, but to captivity, humiliation, and the fate of a powerless enforcer of another's will, incapable of betraying the mad shadow...
The vision of the future vanished.
A feeling of weightlessness, viscosity, humidity came over him...
Disagreeable sensations...
He stirred, trying to break free from the captivity of these sensory projections.
His eyes flew open, and he saw before him the transparent jelly of a bacta chamber installed inside a room whose interior vaguely reminded him of a spaceship.
Imperial design...
At first he panicked, thinking he had been captured by the mad shadow, but then, seeing a man sitting next to the huge tank, he relaxed.
But only a little...
"Praise the Force," said Fodeum Sabre De'Luz, rubbing his red, sleep-deprived eyes, rising from his chair and approaching the bacta chamber so he could meet his gaze. "I thought you wouldn't make it. Forgive me, master, I overdid it..."
A flash of memory refreshed the former Inquisitor's mind with recent events. Journey through the caves of Dantooine, crystals, exhaustion, battle, a blow, darkness... and a clear thought that death had freed him from the embrace of the Dark Side and the need to conceal his true intentions...
But he was alive.
He was angry.
He was irritated and...
He was afraid.
Of what he had seen.
Of what, according to the Force, was destined for him.
A path that would end in the inglorious fate of a puppet, a broken toy forced to carry out its orders for the rest of its days. No satisfaction of his ambitions, no kingly heights...
Only pride brought crashing down from heaven to earth...
Following the destructive path of the Dark Side meant failure for him — failure that would cost him everything he currently had. And that very failure would lead to the mad shadow's victory.
Reynar felt uneasy...
This wasn't what he wanted. This wasn't what he had striven for.
To serve the strong — yes, that was the lot of petty and weak adepts of the Dark Side... But he had considered himself strong.
And now he knew where it would lead.
Honestly, he didn't care about the others, about the galaxy... But to become a broken puppet in the hands of a mad shadow...
Brrr...
Reaching into the Force, he blew off the top lid of the bacta chamber and, with one sliding motion through the healing gel, reached the upper edge. Tearing off the oxygen mask, despite the protests of the young Jensaarai, he climbed (with great difficulty) onto the platform.
Trembling with fear and cold, the former Inquisitor looked at his apprentice:
"Jedi," he said hoarsely.
"Um..." the boy faltered. "I'm Fodeum, a future Jensaarai..."
"Not you, you idi—" the former Inquisitor bared his teeth, but caught himself in time. What did the kid have to do with anything? "The Jedi from the caves, the fish-face. Is he alive?"
"Yes," the boy's eyes darted. "The Mon Calamari's skull turned out tougher than I thought... If he hadn't come to and done something to keep you from dying, then..."
"Good," Reynar Obscuro coughed, letting his lungs work at full capacity. His hands, legs, his whole body trembled as if he were standing on a windswept cliff... "Arrange a meeting for us."
"You can barely stand on all fours!" the boy stubbornly objected. "When Vex and the stormtroopers found us, you were barely breathing. The Mon Calamari restarted your heart and... Killing him isn't the best idea."
"I'm not going to kill him," Reynar snapped back without malice. "We need to talk."
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" the boy couldn't contain himself. "About what?"
The former Inquisitor turned his head, meeting his ward's eyes:
"Need to clear some things up," he replied, suddenly catching himself thinking that growling and swearing every other word wasn't actually necessary...
After so many years of service in the Inquisitorius, after so many deaths and completed missions, Reynar Obscuro was beginning to suspect that his path of serving the Dark Side of the Force had been somewhat incomplete...
* * *
About five hundred years ago, the Kallidahin race, natives of the planet Kallidah located in the Subterrel sector, established a base on a large asteroid called Polis Massa for archaeological purposes. They wanted to investigate the circumstances under which this asteroid had formed — once part of a planet destroyed in an unknown catastrophe. And also about the creatures that inhabited it.
Although the Subterrel sector, where the asteroid was located, was frequently visited by other races, the local population had practically no contact with them or the rest of the galaxy, and Polis Massa remained not the most popular destination. Especially when there were alternative options for spending time.
Luke had no such options.
He had come here for answers, and he found them — both in archival sources and by speaking with the locals.
Despite not officially joining the New Republic, Polis Massa deeply sympathized with it. Likewise, the sector's population was quite friendly toward Jedi — both the old Order and, quite loyally, they welcomed Luke.
Learning who he was and why he had come to the asteroid, the locals gave him access to the necessary archival records.
A comprehensive study led to a single conclusion.
Despite the lack of records and confirmation from the locals that Imperials or any other individuals interested in the archives had appeared here for a long time, Grand Admiral Thrawn had been right.
Luke and Leia had been born here.
Almost thirty years ago.
Records existed in the archives about this, as well as about their mother, Senator Padmé Amidala Naberrie, dying in childbirth. In that sorrowful hour, the Jedi Masters Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda, along with Senator Bail Prestor Organa of Alderaan, had been present and had taken the children with them.
The rest Luke figured out on his own.
Kenobi had taken him to Tatooine and entrusted him to the Lars family, who did everything to ensure the boy wouldn't bear the burden of his father's actions or get caught up in some galactic adventure.
But what they had protected him from happened anyway.
Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru were killed by Imperial stormtroopers, and he went off on "another crazy adventure" with old Ben Kenobi...
Well then...
After almost two weeks of travel here, to an asteroid far from hyperspace routes, a couple of days of searching through the labyrinthine archives, and a small genetic experiment kindly conducted by the locals comparing Luke's blood with Senator Padmé Amidala Naberrie's — there was no longer any doubt.
As Thrawn had promised, he found answers here. Judging by the fact that the Imperial commander hadn't mentioned a word about the blood sample stored here, he might not have known about it. Though that was already quite doubtful.
Now his mission was complete.
The young Jedi saw no point in flying to Naboo to find his mother's relatives. Besides, he had only come here to kill time while Imperial medics confirmed the safety of transport into space controlled by the New Republic. Lando and Chewbacca were checking the Millennium Falcon, which had been in Imperial hands for a long time. Calrissian and the Wookiee suspected the Imperials might have left "surprises," especially after the incident on the first Death Star, when the Imperials placed a hidden beacon aboard Solo's captured ship, which led them to the Rebel Alliance base on the fourth moon of the gas giant Yavin. And then there was the escape from Cloud City on the gas giant Bespin, when, contrary to the rebels' assumptions, the Millennium Falcon's hyperdrive turned out to be depleted, nearly landing Luke, Leia, Chewbacca, and Lando in Imperial hands.
In short, Grand Admiral Thrawn could provide useful information as much as he liked, but trusting him without reservation made no sense whatsoever.
The ruler of the newly formed Dominion had already demonstrated time and again that he could orchestrate sentient beings with the virtuosity of a conductor, including his enemies.
Well then.
Unfortunately, you don't get to choose your enemies. Especially when ideological differences separate you. Sometimes he wondered how strong and safe the galaxy might be if the Empire and the New Republic stopped fighting each other. If they simply signed an agreement, froze on the territories they currently held, and settled all issues and conflicts at the negotiating table, directing their armed forces to combat piracy and other illegal activities by individual members of galactic society...
How unfortunate that such a thing was impossible.
Utopias never lasted long. Where some wise politicians could set aside various kinds of distrust and mutual animosity for the common good, others would gladly sink their teeth into each other's throats...
Time to return to Ciutric IV, tell Leia everything, pick up his friends...
He walked down the corridor toward the landing pad, intending to use his X-wing and get off Polis Massa.
He had just turned a corner, entering a remote corridor connecting the central complex to the landing pad assigned to him, when he felt the Force stir.
Skywalker swallowed nervously.
Something was about to happen. Something dark, wrong, dictated by the will of the Dark Side, whose presence he sensed ahead.
The young man couldn't make out anything in the darkness of the passageway carved straight through the asteroid's body, but he clearly felt the emanating danger. And that danger was concentrated right in the middle of a simple straight corridor, through whose tunnel he could see his X-wing standing a couple of hundred meters from Luke's current position.
R2 was surely already waiting there, having completed pre-flight checks...
The Dark Side reminded him again — but now it was not only ahead, but also behind.
He was being boxed into a trap.
His hand found the hilt of his lightsaber on its own.
An emerald blade sprang from the hilt, dispelling the darkness.
As if it were a component of it, the corridor's semi-darkness came alive, disgorging a certain part of itself.
Dressed all in black from head to toe, a young man stared at Luke. Roughly equal to him in build and age, he looked at Skywalker as if he were empty space. An annoying obstacle that had forced him to tear himself away from some more important matters.
Still, Luke wouldn't have minded if this stranger had continued with his own business and not stood in his way.
Reaching into the Force, the young Jedi sensed that he and the second threat were separated by just over a kilometer and a half. So the second unknown, also sensitive to the Force — to its Dark Side — was somewhere near the complex's main entrance. And, by the looks of it, he was clearly not alone.
The Force told him that a large number of sentients had appeared in the immediate vicinity of the complex. Cold, indifferent, ready to kill...
An alarm sounded. Warnings in the local dialect came through the corridor's speakers. Luke couldn't make out the words due to the speed of speech, but when the warning came in Galactic Basic, he went cold...
The asteroid was surrounded by three Star Destroyers, which had trained their weapons on it. And at that very moment, landing craft and TIE fighters were swarming the space around Polis Massa. Somewhere nearby, an interdictor cruiser had positioned itself.
The Empire had set an ambush for him!
"Surrender," the stranger's voice was low, full of superiority over the young Jedi, and impatient. "Then no one gets hurt. You can't escape anyway."
Yeah, right, we know these fairy tales.
It was exactly the opposite here.
"There's no need for a fight," Luke said. "If you have grievances, whoever you are, we can discuss everything..."
His opponent laughed arrogantly, jerking his right hand so that a dark cylinder fell from his sleeve into his palm.
The fingers in the stranger's black gloves wrapped around the hilt and...
Luke opened himself to the Force, hoping his worst fears wouldn't be confirmed. But today, the Force was not so kind to him.
In the hands of the unknown adversary was a lightsaber with a crimson blade.
Without hesitation, the Dark Side adept charged into the attack.
Luke prepared to parry the assault...
And at that same moment, the Force was flooded with flashes of pain and death of thousands of Kallidahins living on Polis Massa.
Just like Ben Kenobi during Alderaan's destruction, the Jedi now froze, feeling life around him dying — methodically and with impunity, exterminated by ruthless and cold-blooded Imperial stormtroopers.
Disoriented by the foreign pain and countless deaths, the young Jedi didn't notice when the stranger was upon him, a kick from a heavy boot knocking the breath out of Luke Skywalker and sending him flying briefly into the wall.
* * *
"Sir," the comlink crackled with Captain Pellaeon's voice. "Captain Abyss's group has departed. Reports from Tangrene say the freighter with parts for the Super Star Destroyer has also reached its destination and unloading is underway."
"Good," I said, not taking my eyes off the sentients sitting across from me. "Has the Baroness D'Asta's shuttle departed?"
"Yes, sir, the outgoing vector indicates a direct jump to Orinda."
Well, there she goes, off to tattle.
"Good," I repeated. "Jump to the target in two hours. The fleet is to prepare for battle."
"Orders received, sir," Pellaeon replied.
When the comlink went quiet, I swept my gaze around the wardroom of Mara Jade's small (but "mighty") ship.
There was noticeably more free space — this place was used for training. Of course, if those melted marks on the walls and floor were the aftermath of careless handling of lightsabers.
I was, frankly, stalling for time. Stalling as much as circumstances and the chance of not ending up in a ridiculous position allowed.
Ahsoka Tano, seriously?
No, I'd thought something like this might happen, but for it to happen just like that... So casually, was it? Surely this was some kind of cosmic joke...
Especially the fact that she turned out to be acquainted with my agent.
Seems I'll need to find and break a couple of horns off a certain Zabrak.
Because I had no idea where to put this lady...
"Grand Admiral," speaking of the devil, there she was. "So, what do you say to my proposal?"
"At least it doesn't mention hand and heart," I thought. Because in light of recent events...
"You're proposing I start a war against a criminal syndicate entrenched in the Outer Rim Territories, backed by pirates and other criminal elements, in order to secure your loyalty?" I clarified.
"War is inevitable regardless," said Tano. "Sooner or later. I've already explained the reasons — you've thrashed their subordinate gangs. The Syndicate won't let that go unavenged. It would be prudent to launch a preemptive strike and eliminate the threat long before they regain strength and become a danger."
"Let's say that's true," I said. Well, Isard would have extra work with Tavira. "The Zann Consortium will be destroyed by me. What then?"
"Millions and billions of sentients will no longer be slaves, and organized crime in the Outer Rim will crack," Ahsoka continued. "And they can be picked off one by one."
"I'm curious why you assume I'm interested in the Outer Rim Territories at all," I said.
"Every galactic state needs resource sources and goods markets," the Togruta continued. "You've already proven yourself a pirate hunter, so if a strategic decision is made to systematically cleanse star systems in the Outer Rim of criminal scum, it would allow you to expand your influence..."
"A Jedi advising an Imperial on how to conquer the galaxy," the thought struck me. Could this galaxy be any more ironic?
"Furthermore," Ahsoka continued, "as far as I understand, you intend to revive the Jedi Order. In your own interpretation, of course, but the fact remains. Amid unceasing wars and the redivision of spheres of influence, the inhabitants of the Outer Rim have been left defenseless against the hordes of the Syndicate's mercenaries and their allied gangs. Since you've started a war against crime, why not continue it? Believe me — not all, perhaps, but the inhabitants of those planets who have suffered from the criminals' actions and the lawlessness they've unleashed will be grateful to you. The Rebel Alliance recruited numerous volunteers this way — why not try the same? There is no one more loyal than sentients whose home has been liberated without the desire to turn them into slaves, who have been given at least the appearance of freedom of choice. I could train your recruits who possess the rudimentary basics of wielding the Force so that they become not a symbol of fear, as was the case under the Inquisitors, but a symbol of hope for a better future."
So many grandiloquent words, so much subtext at the level of Jedi ideology and so on, and so forth...
But she was clearly right about one thing — military action against the Zann Consortium was inevitable. Not for the reason she had outlined. Altruism wasn't my thing. Fighting against the criminal fleets of the Outer Rim... No, I had to be a rationalist — grinding down pirate starships could take a long time. A very long time. Because there weren't just many of them — there were MANY. From small gangs consisting of just a few crews on old tubs, to large armadas controlling their own empires that no one had ever even heard of. The Karthakk system was a case in point.
"I've heard your proposal, Lady Tano," the Togruta glanced at the silent Mara. —
"You can just call me Ahsoka," she said simply.
"A campaign against the Zann Consortium is anticipated, Lady Tano," I continued. "But a war against all pirate fleets and the Consortium's allies in the galaxy is not in my short-term plans."
To be honest, I had no intention of fighting pirates who didn't bother me unless necessary. It was too long and useless a task — even the Galactic Empire hadn't managed to eradicate this phenomenon in twenty years. And its punitive armadas had visited here regularly and done their job with great diligence and pleasure.
"Well then," the Togruta concluded. "Great things start small. If you don't mind, I'd like to join you."
"Ready to fight against the New Republic?" I clarified.
"I'd prefer to focus on training Jedi recruits," the Togruta said evasively. "I don't harbor much love for the New Republic; I think it has absorbed all the vices of the Old. But to raise blades against them... If you have a couple of Star Destroyers to spare, I'd gladly participate in raids against the Zann Consortium and pirates."
What an extravagant condition.
But at the same time, it actually suited me.
A fully trained Jedi who would fight far from Luke Skywalker and couldn't defect at some point after seeing "how the blood of innocent Republicans is spilled by Imperial stormtroopers." Besides, despite being completely indifferent to her as a character and her history, objective facts were objective facts: she was a trained Jedi combatant. Who could pass on her knowledge to the Jensaarai. Yes, it would be stunted and geared toward combat, but on the other hand, why not? At least they'd learn to fight at the level of a Jedi Knight, not half-trained Padawans. That would at least give them a chance in battles against opponents of the same class. Winning through some kind of advantage in knowledge or skill wasn't even on the table at this point.
"I'm sure we'll find a suitable direction for your activities," I assured her. "You have an hour to prepare — a shuttle to take you to the operation site will be waiting in the hangar."
"I'll manage in fifteen minutes," the Togruta said. "Thank you for the constructive dialogue. I hope that one day you'll change your mind and seriously tackle the eradication of lawlessness. Believe someone who lived among these sentients for almost thirty years — these sentients need the protection of a strong and humane hand. The Empire didn't understand this, and the New Republic doesn't care about such remote regions."
"You're dismissed, Lady Tano," I said in a commanding tone, making it clear to the Togruta that the conversation was over. And that no opinion revision was forthcoming. At least — not now.
Even if she were the most beloved character who had captured the hearts of millions of fans, I had no desire to drool with adoration at the realization that I was looking at a saga hero known for "trolling" the future Darth Vader and getting into cringe-inducing situations. Just as I had no involuntary bodily reactions. No more than I felt inclined to sympathize with her, worry about her, or go along with her just because she was an "iconic character with a difficult fate who stands for all that is good against all that is evil."
I was an old fan — cartoons didn't move me. Nor did noble impulses lacking a rational method of execution and result. Cleaning up biomess across the entire galaxy didn't appeal to me — the Empire hadn't managed it with hundreds of thousands of warships ready for such fighting. And my forces were far too modest to display altruism and send ships to the galaxy's rim to save unknown sentients... For what?
Gaining access to resource-rich asteroid belts? And hauling them across the entire galaxy, creating convoys that could be intercepted by an enemy who now knows the location of the territory under my protection — that is not the most sensible move. I build my own operations around this very principle when hunting enemy convoys, so why step on the same rake if you can avoid it?
In the immediate vicinity of the Dominions metropolises and industrial complexes, there are resource star systems. While they don't provide us with everything we need in abundance, there is a sufficient surplus. And there are no reasonable grounds to rush to the fringes to protect sentients who owe me nothing — a state of affairs that is mutual. Especially since there's a warning from Kaine…
As long as it's possible to manage with current resources, this must continue.
Especially since a series of operations against the New Republic will bring both military victories and an increase in rare resources.
Waiting until the Togruta had left the Jade's ship, heading for the shuttle "to the front lines," I looked at the Hand. Hmm… The name is a bit… Maybe rename it to "The Fist"? Or "The Punishing Hand"? That was, in fact, the name of a group of stormtrooper deserters who…
Well, that's a different story entirely.
"Report," I demanded.
"By all indications, including the expedited interrogation of both Imperials, it turns out they were purchasing equipment for the Super Star Destroyer Guardian," she said.
"As expected," I replied. Well, it was gratifying that my assumptions had proven correct. There was objective data to support them, though.
"The prisoners revealed a lot of interesting information," Mara continued. "After his defeat a year after the Battle of Endor, Admiral Drommel encountered the Rebel Alliance fleet in the Tantive system. He made a hyperspace jump, but due to hyperdrive damage, he emerged not in the Oplovis sector as originally intended, but in the Fardon system, located in the Soulex system. That's Wild Space, the northern part of the galaxy, quadrant R-3."
Coordinates… Coordinates… We have the exact coordinates of the location of a combat-ineffective, incapacitated Super Star Destroyer of the Executor-class, unable to escape into hyperspace.
The only question is…
"Can the data on the ship's location be trusted?" I clarified.
"The interrogation was quite effective," said Jade. "To lie… They don't have that ability."
Let's assume.
"Drommel has certain funds, so for four years he has been sending shuttles and launches to different ends of the galaxy, to various manufacturers, to purchase the spare parts needed for the starship's repair without attracting attention," the Hand continued. "There is an assumption that the Guardian carries the entire treasury of the Oplovis sector, hence he has the finances to purchase such expensive spare parts. According to the Imperials, the ship is heavily damaged, its weaponry is practically non-functional, and the hyperdrive, without the spare parts they intended to deliver — won't leave the system. Furthermore, most of the crew is on the surface of the planet Soulmex, within the mobile bases that are part of the support package for every vessel of this class. Drommel kept only a few officers and stormtroopers personally loyal to him on board. The personnel are quite tired of the hopelessness, because the prospects of such a long wait, given that Drommel intends to immediately engage in a fight for power redistribution in his sector once the ship is repaired, are grim. The crew understands this is futile, as the ship's firepower is minimal."
Which is "good."
Only one thing is unclear…
"What is the reason that Admiral Drommel decided to expedite the purchase of spare parts?" From Mara's expression, it was clear she had some specific guesses.
Which I would like to hear.
"There are several factors," the girl began after hearing my question. "First — the New Republic has raised a fuss about weapons leaking from the shipyards. At the same time, this seems unrelated to the infamous 'gray schemes' of the Bothans, which were rumored on the HoloNet. Inspectors and operatives are checking traders; some have already been arrested, so there were ample reasons to believe that the Herglic they were trading with might become unavailable. He was the one selling them spare parts for engines and hyperdrives, life support, communication, weaponry, defense systems…"
"Essentially — the key components," I noted.
"Exactly," Jade agreed. "So it's no wonder they mistook me for a Republic agent and wanted to eliminate me. But there's something else, more alarming."
Was it ever different?
"According to the Imperials, someone else was simultaneously buying identical spare parts, but in smaller quantities. These are key elements without which the ship is nothing more than a metal coffin. Neither the New Republic nor Kaine needs this — they can negotiate with Kuat Drive Yards directly."
"Palpatine has Super Star Destroyers of this class," I reminded her.
"He has enough influence and agents to pull off the same trick with the Kuati," Mara countered. "Moreover, there are no reasonable arguments why he would deliver spare parts to the Quelli sector instead of the Core or somewhere closer to him. Even to divert attention, he could choose some backwater with just an alphanumeric designation in the Core Worlds. Uninhabited and undeveloped systems as transport hubs are a fairly common shipping scheme for those who don't want to be discovered."
Sounds reasonable.
But then the question arises — who? And for which ship are these spare parts intended?
The only starship I remembered as being in the Quelli sector, whose capital world — the planet Dathomir — was the Iron Fist of Warlord Zsinj. But it was destroyed some time ago. And that is a guaranteed, confirmed destruction…
Wait.
Hold that thought.
What do I remember about the destruction of the Iron Fist?
That the Republic discovered it when it was undergoing makeshift repairs after a battle with them. The event took place in orbit of Dathomir.
The Millennium Falcon destroyed the Super Star Destroyer's bridge using concussion missiles, after which the Hapan fleet destroyed the ship. This is described in the book The Princess Leia's Choice.
There can be no doubt — the Republic destroyed the ship. Just as they had previously destroyed the Super Star Destroyer Razor's Kiss, which Zsinj stole from the Kuat Drive Yards. True, the warlord used the wreckage to assemble from them… a copy… of the starship… to… simulate… the destruction… of the Iron Fist.
This happened precisely during that battle, after which the Iron Fist fled to Dathomir for repairs.
What is the probability that someone ambitious could not use the hull or wreckage of the starship to independently build a similar or equivalent starship?
Furthermore, during the time of Admiral Daala, after the defeat of the Reborn Emperor, one Imperial warlord was building himself a Super Star Destroyer of that class… the Night Hammer. And if my memory serves me, this ship was built for quite a long time, very expensively… Could it be that the construction began here, in Quelli, and was moved to the Deep Core later? For example, because the periphery turned out to be not so safe due to the expanding New Republic?
Or, perhaps it's local pirates who have a desire to cross incompatible technologies, like combining X-wing fuselages with TIE fighter solar panels (the variation could be anything), and decided to build some other obscenity of the armed variety.
But I still wouldn't rule out the possibility that it could be the New Republic. And only Kaine truly has no reason to send spare parts there — he has no reason to hide the fact that he possesses a ship of this class.
Palpatine… Unlikely. He undoubtedly has all the facilities on Byss or somewhere in the Deep Core to produce the necessary equipment.
Options, options…
Which require verification.
"Your next assignment is to verify this information," I ordered. "As quickly as possible."
The Quelli sector is effectively our front yard. If we allow something even remotely close in power and capability to a Super Star Destroyer to appear there, we could have problems. Big ones.
Not least because the defense systems are still in their infancy — it takes a lot of time to implement them.
"It will be done, Grand Admiral," Mara stood up. "What will my instructions be upon locating the mission target? Sabotage? Hijacking? Espionage? Neutralization?"
When did she become so bloodthirsty?
"Just report your findings," I curbed her enthusiasm. "The fleet will handle the rest."
"As you command, Grand Admiral," the girl nodded obediently. "If possible, I would request being assigned a 'slicer'. Ghent would be suitable in case we need to break into electronics…"
"Use an astromech with the appropriate equipment," I advised. "There are plenty in the hangar. Zakarisz Ghent is currently on his own mission."
Judging by the expression on the girl's face, which Jade quickly brought under control, she had expected any answer but that one.
What did she expect? That the brilliant "slicer" would sit still and not engage in his direct line of work?
Of course not. Everyone must work and fulfill their duties.
Heading for the exit of Jade's ship, which was already warming its engines to leave the Chimaera's hangar and head for a new assignment, I turned over the same thought in my head like a worn-out record.
For political points, I had to acknowledge the very fact that I had the heroes of the Rebel Alliance. I intend to keep my word given to Skywalker — one should never miss an opportunity to establish trust with a Jedi. Who can guarantee that in the future I won't need to turn to him for help? Or, considering my knowledge of this universe, grant political asylum to Republic Jedi?
Of course, the bluff about exchanging the Skywalker family and their companions for a Super Star Destroyer won't hold up long, and on Orinda the truth will soon become clear…
The thought that occurred to me was simple to the point of absurdity.
And at the same time — it solved all the problems with the legitimacy of the Skywalkers and company returning to space controlled by the New Republic.
Hmm…
I'll have to change some plans, of course, but the end result… It will be worth it.
* * *
The enemy's maneuver caused Luke to slam his shoulder and part of his back into the corridor wall. The sobering pain helped him react in time, and the young Jedi slipped out of the line of a new attack.
Reaching out to the Force, he tried to cut himself off from the emotions of the dying inhabitants of Polis Massa, and he succeeded.
And almost immediately, this small trick helped him avoid falling victim to an insidious strike aimed at his chest.
Deflecting the enemy's blade aside, Luke Skywalker counterattacked with calm deliberation, parrying thrusts and step by step driving the opponent further down the corridor.
He felt neither anger nor sympathy for this young man.
He felt nothing at all.
He was not fighting to save his own life; he was not avenging the Kallidahin people being killed and murdered by Imperial stormtroopers.
He wasn't even raising his sword to cut down this adept of the Dark Side with his emerald blade.
He was fighting for the simple reason that he was forced to do so.
A Jedi does not use a weapon to strike — only to defend.
And Luke Skywalker defended.
He parried lunges and thrusts with a cool mind, allowing the Force to flow within him, guiding his hand for the next maneuvers.
The young Jedi could clearly see that he was facing an exceptionally well-trained swordsman. The man wielded his weapon with ease and even a certain degree of finesse, exerting maximum effort to avoid causing Luke any significant harm. Skywalker realized almost immediately that the stranger only intended to incapacitate him.
Combined with the words he had said earlier… "Surrender!"
This stranger needs him alive. And this man, along with his henchmen, whom Luke could still sense in the central part of the complex, was clearly not among the sentients Luke had the honor of knowing.
So, it was not one of the old enemies. And it was unlikely to be a mercenary working for someone else. Sentients with such talents usually strive to take the place of rulers, not subordinates.
Judging by how persistently and skillfully the enemy fought, unlike Luke, he hadn't been trained "by the book." That meant there was still someone alive in the galaxy capable of teaching such an art.
As bitter as it was to admit, it seemed Thrawn had been right about this, too.
Palpatine had returned.
Or, at the very least, intended to return.
This was wrong.
It shouldn't be this way.
The New Republic was unequivocally not ready for such "encounters," and certainly didn't believe in the possibility.
He had to get to the X-wing and escape at any achievable and acceptable cost. While there was still time, while space hadn't been sealed off.
Then, perhaps, the Imperials would stop exterminating the Kallidahins.
Because the only reason they could be doing this was to disorient Luke through the death echoes in the Force. Whoever these adepts of the Dark Side were, they knew exactly how to hunt a Jedi.
Luke was already drenched in sweat from the pressure and speed of the fencing the stranger had set. His combat technique was superb, there was no denying it. The young Jedi managed to maintain the pace thanks to his grueling training, so he could hold out for a while longer. Moreover, the Jedi's own strength and momentum allowed him to push the opponent further down the corridor, closer to the lifesaving X-wing. But this could go on for quite a while — during that time, they could outflank him from the rear and encircle him. He needed to somehow distract his opponent to get around him and escape. Fighting here was not an option. There was no premise for the possibility of ending the duel without blood, without capture, without being able to prevent the inevitable.
But how could he make the enemy lose focus?
Luke saw no options. He glanced towards his starfighter and…
Instantly, an adrenaline surge brought him back to combat readiness. Right in front of them, a couple of dozen meters away, the X-wing was hovering on an anti-gravity cushion!
And its cannons were already aimed at the duelists!
An image of what had happened on Jomark flashed through his memory…
"R2! Go!" He parried his opponent's lunge and, instead of the expected counterattack, dove sideways like a fish.
The enemy took a moment to assess the situation…
And then the corridor was flooded with flashes of crimson light — the astromech had fired two salvos from the starfighter's quad cannons.
Luke managed to avoid blindness by closing his eyes in advance. And as soon as the roar of the shots subsided, he lunged towards the starfighter with all his might.
He didn't look back to see if his opponent was alive or dead.
He just ran.
Using the Force, he reinforced his jump, covering about ten meters in an instant, and then ducked into the cockpit.
For a moment, he glanced into the corridor — the stranger lay there as a shapeless black mass. But he was alive — judging by the shot marks, R2-D2 had fired to concuss the enemy. And judging by the fact that he stirred, sat up, rubbing his eyes with his fists. Judging by his clothes and the presence of all limbs — clearly intact.
Luke was no longer interested in the rest.
The X-wing rotated around its lateral axis and then surged towards the atmospheric shield film.
Once outside, the young Jedi aimed the craft away, pushing the engines. One look at the medical center was enough to understand a simple truth — even his departure wouldn't change anything. The entire population of Polis Massa would be annihilated — the Star Destroyers had already begun bombarding the periphery of the complex. Now they would be informed that Luke had escaped and…
Luke forcefully suppressed his fear. It was completely unclear why it was necessary to destroy the local population now that he had escaped…
His heart bled from just the thought that the enemy might not need any logical justification for such an act.
The Imperials could wipe a race off the face of the planet on a mere whim. Or in retaliation for failing to achieve whatever they had planned.
But one way or another, the young Jedi could not help the Kallidahins.
"R2-D2, we're getting out of here," Luke stated his opinion on the situation, switched to manual control, and sharply turned the craft away from the approaching TIE fighters.
Closing his eyes, Skywalker concentrated. In the rustling, ghostly web of the Force, a cluster of life sparks appeared on board the Immobilizer 418-class cruiser interdictor, whose generators were blocking the young Jedi's escape route.
"R2-D2, find the nearest boundary of the interdictor's gravity well," he ordered, throwing the X-wing into a steep dive that churned everything in his stomach.
The droid beeped, and a diagram appeared on the screen.
"Wow, that's far!" Luke whistled. "Nothing to be done… Hang on!"
"Unidentified fighter…" someone from the nearest Imperial starship tried to contact him.
The rest was drowned in the roar of the engine, now screaming at full power. Only R2-D2's questioning chirp miraculously reached him. It seemed he was concerned about those green plasma bolts exploding in the vacuum next to their ship.
"No! To hell with the deflector!" Luke barked in response. "We need extra speed!"
He didn't add that if any Imperial ship was actually determined to vaporize them, the shield would be utterly useless at this range. But R2-D2 probably understood that himself.
Luke shot a quick glance at the range indicator. The X-wing was still within the gravity well's zone of influence and, at the current speed ratio, would remain there for another couple of minutes. He desperately needed to somehow distract and blind the enemy… because the nearest Star Destroyer had decided to change course and come up behind the X-wing.
"R2-D2, quickly reprogram one of the proton torpedoes," said Luke, a crazy idea forming in his mind. The obvious influence of Han Solo, no doubt. "We'll drop it with its engines off, no active homing head. Can you do that?"
An affirmative signal came. Was there anything in this galaxy that R2-D2 couldn't do?
"Great. When it's ready, warn me and launch it."
He altered his starfighter's course slightly. If the guidance system were working normally, the Imperials would spot the torpedo a mile away. But if it was disabled, and the homing blocks weren't irradiating the hull with scanners, they wouldn't see it until it was too late to do anything.
Following the droid's warning, Luke launched the deadly projectile, relying more on the Force than on technology. Just as Ben Kenobi had taught him.
Luke mentally crossed his fingers, thanking fate for the luck. Now they were almost out of reach and could escape if the debris of the cargo ship blocked them from the gravity well for just a few more seconds.
R2-D2 emitted a warning trill. Luke glanced at the translation, then at the long-range scanner screen, and felt his stomach clench. The droid emitted another trill, this time more insistent.
"I see it, I see it," Luke growled, struggling with the controls and the need to avoid fire from astern.
Of course, he should have expected the Imperials to use this tactic. Since the freighter's target was Luke and no one else, all forces would be thrown into capturing him. The interdictor was already changing the vectors of its gravity well generators to keep the X-wing in the center of the formation.
"Hang on, R2-D2," he shouted, and again, too sharply for the compensators, turned the X-wing ninety degrees, tearing across his original course.
Behind him came an indignant squeal and grinding.
"Quiet, R2!" he shouted at the astromech.
Off the starboard side of the fighter, the Star Destroyer was belatedly and heavily rotating around its axis… For the first time since the encounter began, laser flashes appeared.
Luke made an instant decision. Speed alone wouldn't save him, and the next mistake could be his last. Because the TIE fighters were getting closer.
"Turn on the shield, R2-D2," he ordered the droid, focusing all his attention on his trademark elusive maneuvering. "Optimize the balance between the generators and the reactor."
R2-D2, like a parent for a wayward son, let out a trill, after which the deflector's strength began to increase in inverse proportion to the ship's decreasing speed. The pilot himself, observing the reaction of the interdictor cruiser's crew, only smiled contentedly.
It seemed Luke's risky gamble had paid off. Thrown off by the young Jedi's daring maneuver, the Immobilizer 418 fell for the provocation, and now its gravity well generators were deploying in a different direction than the one Skywalker was currently flying his ship.
The Imperials had already engaged all four generators; they couldn't retract them and re-initiate them on new vectors.
If he could stay out of range of the nearest Imperial Destroyer for a few more seconds, then, once out of the emission zone, he could escape safely into hyperspace. Without fear of having his engines shot off.
"Prepare for the jump," Luke commanded R2-D2. "Don't worry about the direction; we can make a short hop to a neighboring system and figure it out there."
R2-D2 gave a confirmation…
There was no time to shine with piloting talent. Luke opened himself to the Force. The computer was already calculating options, and meanwhile, the spent torpedo was already…
It was incredibly difficult, but the Jedi managed to reach out to it.
And it was exactly where it needed to be.
On the monitor, the long-awaited message flashed. At the young Jedi's command, R2-D2 triggered the detonation.
The fire protuberance that erupted from the destroyer's bow caused decompression and a gaping wound in the ship's hull. For a moment, it drew the Imperials' collective attention — even the fighter pilots pursuing the X-wing froze in hesitation.
And the little Republican ship found itself free from any danger. For a split second, but still...
"Punch it!" Luke roared.
And the stars before the young Jedi's eyes merged into the dead, flickering haze of hyperspace.