Nine years, nine months, and the first day after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fourth year, nine months, and the first day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Four months and twenty-first day since the Arrival.)
The former Inquisitor, Reynar Obscuro, looked, frankly speaking, terrible.
He hadn't exactly radiated kindness and responsiveness before.
And now, despite being under the protection of the ysalamiri, I still felt some... heaviness in his presence.
Or was that my own interpretation of his exceedingly grim expression?
"Have a seat, Obscuro," I said, indicating the chair opposite me.
The meeting was taking place in the small conference room aboard the Chimaera, because inviting anyone to my personal quarters for a private meeting...
I would limit that now to only those close to me, no more. The former Inquisitor was not among them.
"Your archaeological mission on Dantooine proved useful," I noted, quickly skimming the files from the unit leaders. "Historical frescoes, ornaments, several statues... Not to mention the large supply of lightsaber crystals that will be needed for the Order's members."
"If that's praise, then thank you," the man said.
An interesting turn of phrase.
"Do you have something to say in case my words bear the opposite meaning?" I clarified.
"Yes," he replied dully. "Digging in the dirt and jumping around caves is not my task. I am an Inquisitor..."
"You are a Shadow Guard," I corrected gently. "Part of my personal guard, whose goals and tasks include eliminating especially dangerous sentients sensitive to the Force. As well as carrying out my other assignments also related to Jedi, Sith, and other cults. Consequently — you do what you are assigned. Your life was spared exactly on those terms."
"I remember," the man said, frowning, looking at me from under his brow. "So, was the mission on Dantooine successful?"
"The maximum that could be achieved was obtained," I admitted. "I was hoping something else would be found, a holocron of some sort. But even discovering a Jedi willing to train the Jensaarai according to the Old Order's program is a success. At least it will raise their general educational level. As much as possible." So yes, it was successful.
I made a mental note — judging by the reports, Obscuro preferred active missions. Well, I would leave the artifact and ancient knowledge search operations to the Jedi Eymand. Especially since he was handling it.
Just as Mara Jade was operating completely autonomously, not getting underfoot. Quietly, calmly, without fuss, she visited sites of Jedi 'military glory,' digging through ruins. Occasionally she found some shards, frescoes.
So far, it was all within the scope of general cultural development.
Of course, I would have liked more, because it seemed as if various Jedi records, holocrons, and other things were scattered all over the galaxy, practically underfoot. But no, it turned out that wasn't the case.
But what concerned me much more was what the former Inquisitor himself was like.
Umakk was sure that Obscuro's destructiveness made him an incredibly powerful opponent.
But at the same time, like fire, it was burning him from within.
In other words, the man was destroying himself. Which I absolutely didn't like — why did I need a supposedly disposable, narrowly specialized operative who could 'burn out on the job' overnight? And knowing the nature of the Force in this galaxy, that expression took on anything but a metaphorical meaning.
"Is your failure in training the young Jensaarai putting great pressure on you?" I clarified.
For a moment, rage flared in the Shadow Guard's eyes.
Rukh, sitting in the corner behind the former Inquisitor, tensed noticeably, ready to engage.
Pursed lips, a hastily averted gaze...
"You swore an oath of loyalty to me," I reminded him. "If you intend to remain in service, you will either have to be frank with me, or limit yourself to secondary missions and complete ignorance. I do not intend to trust a subordinate who intends to hide something from me. History shows that such relationships end sadly for leaders of this kind."
A bitter smirk appeared on Obscuro's lips.
He was silent for several minutes, then fearlessly met my eyes:
"I intended to kill you and seize power in the Dominion, to rule like Palpatine."
At least he was honest.
"Don't claim exclusivity in this matter," I advised. "Out of four Force-sensitive sentients, now at least two wanted my death when they hired on."
Obscuro's eyebrows shot up.
"If you order it, I'll take care of the second one," he offered. "I'll prove my loyalty."
"Thank you for the offer and initiative," I replied. "It will be much more effective if you prove your usefulness and loyalty through the results of your work. For example — a detailed explanation of the situation."
Reynar deflated again. The spark of anticipation that had flickered in his eyes the moment he heard there was a potential murder candidate went out.
It was as if he had fallen back into apathy.
"There, on Dantooine," he said in a low, hoarse voice, "I thought I would find something valuable, something that would give me the power to overthrow you and rule. Then there was the fight with that Jedi, Umakk. And I had a Vision from the Force."
It seemed like all my 'assassins' were working from the same playbook. Vision — hiring — confession... This was starting to look like a pattern. One I liked very, very little.
"And what did you see?"
"Darkness," he managed to utter in such a funereal tone that it sent chills down my spine. "Madness, strength, power, minions... All of it stood against me, you, and others who served you in matters of the Force. Jedi, Inquisitors... It didn't matter. I stood at their head. I commanded them. And they all died. You, too. I didn't understand it at first, but later, seeing this picture in my dreams, I realized that you were killed by a lightsaber thrust to the back. And I was the one who did it. And I suspect I also killed many others among your Jedi and other servants."
Now that was something new.
"When I was left alone with the Shadow, I was sure that I had enough Dark Side power to defeat it and take my rightful place at the head of everyone," the man continued.
"And in the end?" I clarified.
"The Shadow broke me, turned me into a puppet," venom of hatred, pain, and disgust crept into his voice. "I admired Vader — how ruthless and deadly he was, how intelligent and invincible in battle. I thought I would become like him when I joined the Inquisitors and passed all the trials. But the Vision showed me what I would ultimately become with such intentions. A cripple, an invalid, a puppet... I don't want to be anyone's puppet. And I don't want to become a cyborg like Vader. So, I renounced my intentions. Pride and ambition lead me to become an even more helpless puppet than Vader. There is no glory in being a victor on the battlefield but always returning when your master yanks your leash. I... realized I was wrong. And therefore, I declare my loyalty and swear that no temptation will make me raise my blade against you, Grand Admiral, and no action of mine, intentional or not, will harm your plans. From now on — my life belongs solely to you."
After these words, Reynar looked at me.
But there was no challenge, no impatience, no hunting thrill in those eyes anymore.
This was truly a broken and dejected man, whom fate (or the Force) had helped avoid a great (in his opinion) mistake. His confession seemed to have beaten all the pride, authoritarianism, egoism, and personal ambition out of him.
Before me now sat simply a tired man, deeply disappointed in life.
And he was waiting for my decision.
"Have you decided to pursue training in the Jedi methodology?" I clarified. Because the rambling confession was somewhat... ambiguous.
"The Dark Side gives me power, gives me victory," he said dully. "I don't know how to live without it. But I also know that it alone won't give me everything I need to defeat your enemies. I..."
"Are confused, broken, humiliated, and essentially asking for help," I said. The former Inquisitor gave a barely perceptible nod.
"Before, I could always receive guidance and wisdom from Darth Vader." I would have been curious to hear those team-building sessions. "Now... What I strived for was merely a prelude to my destruction as a freely thinking being."
"Why didn't you seek help from the Jedi Umakk?"
"Well, I was trying to kill him, actually," Reynar said somewhat listlessly. "And I don't understand his status. Friend, enemy... I don't hope that there is someone who can help me, show me the right path, but... The remnants of my pride won't allow me to ask anyone but you."
He was unarmed, unprotected, unable to use the Force. If he had any hand-to-hand combat skills, he wouldn't even have time to use them — Rukh would 'take apart' the former Inquisitor much sooner.
And now the million Dominion credit question.
What was I supposed to do with all this?
When I had conceived rebuilding the Jedi Order based on the Jensaarai teachings, I assumed that not every second new recruit would try to kill me. So, I misread the situation, didn't I?
And fine, if it were a military miscalculation that I had corrected myself. No, everything was much 'subtler.'
If simple psychology had worked in the situation with Mara and her recruitment, and Tano had been exposed due to the presence of Ventress and the guards beside her, then Obscuro... Essentially, he could have actually stabbed me in the back and vanished without a trace.
And here...
As far as I remembered, Dark Side adepts weren't prone to believing visions or deviating from their fulfillment. After all, each of them was sure that faith in the Dark Side's power granted them victory over any opponent.
So the very fact that Obscuro had listened to the voice of reason... was disconcerting.
On one hand, it could, of course, be an attempt to 'muddy the waters,' worm his way into my trust, and be nearby when it was time to strike and usurp power.
On the other hand, he couldn't have failed to understand that I could always find someone else to replace him, and this confession clearly wouldn't help strengthen a trusting relationship. And it would certainly lead to a shortening of his life if I found him insufficiently convincing.
And at that moment, I needed to make a decision — spare his life or execute him, good that he was helpless and defenseless, and Rukh was already armed and sizing up how to quickly carry out the hypothetical order to eliminate the opponent.
It only needed a command...
Literally — one word.
And something told me that his emptiness and indifference to everything was just the tip of the iceberg of an internal struggle, where the bridges to his former life were burned, and he was unable to build new ones due to the personal crisis, the catharsis that had occurred in his life.
His faith in the Dark Side was fractured, and he knew nothing else. And he was unlikely to accept it.
They called people like him a 'broken arrow.' The shaft seemed snapped, and the projectile was useless, but the tip and fletching wouldn't let a thrifty archer throw the ammunition away right on the battlefield.
In the hope that it could be repaired or repurposed.
The question was whether the game was worth the candle.
"I appreciate your frankness," I said, having formed my position. "Your position is heard. You will leave the Chimaera shortly," and never approach me within striking distance again — "to carry out an important mission for the Dominion."
The man lifted his gaze from contemplating the deck floor, looking at me as if seeing me for the first time.
It seemed the news that his life was spared and he would continue service under my command surprised him.
Considering who had previously given him orders, the former Inquisitor had likely expected my most probable response to his confession to be his own elimination.
"What will my new assignment be?" Obscuro inquired.
His voice was dry, devoid of emotional coloring, as if the man had completely lost any desire to live.
"Murder," I said, sparking unprecedented interest in the man.
"Someone from the Dark Side Elite?" he said hopefully, his face changing instantly.
"Not yet," I countered. The man lowered his head in disappointment. "The planet Axila is your new assignment. The local government is resisting integration into the Dominion. Resolve this problem."
"If the situation can be resolved by an Inquisitor, then it's not a problem, but a temporary setback," Obscuro assured me, brightening a little. It seemed Master Umakk was indeed right — Reynar was interested in absolutely nothing except killing. And after that — another killing. "I am ready to depart at your first command."
"You will be provided with a starship," I continued. "All necessary identification data for it are prepared and reliable enough to pass any inspection. A crew for it has also been selected. The Chimaera will drop out of hyperspace outside the Axila system, after which you may proceed. As soon as you complete the operation, I expect your report. The operation's priority is secrecy. The method of killing — a lightsaber."
"Ready to carry out the mission," impatience was evident in the man's voice. "At the cost of my life, I will carry out your order."
It was as if he couldn't stand being aboard the Chimaera.
In principle, I could understand him: the quarters where Tano, Umakk, Sabre De'Luz, and Obscuro himself lived were shielded by ysalamiri. Which certainly caused them all some discomfort.
But for him, given his personal crisis...
Wait, stop!
'At the cost of my life?!'
"Cancel the assassination of Axxila's advisors," I said quietly. Because it had apparently dawned on me.
Anxiety appeared in Reynar's eyes.
"You told me all this — about your intentions, about your visions — so that I would order your execution," the guess turned into a statement of fact.
Now it all made sense.
Even broken, an Inquisitor and Adept of the Dark Side would never say he'd take out a few simple sentients at the cost of his own life.
If anything, he'd dispatch them effortlessly, while dumping all the pain he'd accumulated on them.
This man wasn't just a "broken arrow."
He was having a crisis of faith.
His old world was destroyed, the new world was incomprehensible, his own place in it — unclear.
He had no attachments, no interests, no friends. His attempt to raise an apprentice, to immortalize his name — that had failed too.
And at moments like this, by the "rules of the genre," either the sentient goes on a suicide attack, or someone finds them who "brainwashes" them into the right condition, turning them into a weapon that serves their own interests.
And he hadn't come to me for advice at all.
The very idea that a simple sentient could somehow guide an Adept of the Dark Side — was blasphemy.
He came here so that I would execute him for treason.
And I spared his life and gave him a mission.
And now he had just let slip that he didn't intend to come back from it alive.
"As you rightly noted," I said quietly. "Your life belongs to me. You said those words voluntarily. And I will not allow you to commit effective suicide simply because you cannot figure out how to live from here."
Obscuro was silent, but his face showed he was furious. A quiet, blind, uncontrollable rage.
Rage at himself for making the mistake that gave him away.
"I had a conversation about you with Master Umakk," why bother hiding it? Besides, "fixing" the former Inquisitor was necessary. I understood his crisis — I'd been through something similar myself. He had a mission that needed to be carried out urgently — Kavil's Corsairs were about to be ready for their power change. And I needed to set another "trap" for my enemies. But a heroic death from a high-class operative during the process was not what I needed. "Do you really consider attachment to someone a weakness?"
"In the Sith Order, that is a postulate..."
"You are not a Sith," I noted reasonably. "And you never were. Don't take on more than you actually are."
The man looked at me sullenly.
"One civilization has a proverb: 'Breaking a single stick is easy. But if the sticks are bound together, it's harder,'" I certainly wasn't going to tell him about the twig and the bundle of firewood. "You are alone, and so your existence has no attachments. You have nothing to fight for. No ideals, no close ones, no loved ones. And so your personal crisis leads you to what you see as the only outcome — death. Because your old ideals are destroyed, new ones don't exist. And there is nothing to keep fighting for."
The former Inquisitor stared at me with a blank look.
He heard my words, but whether he understood their meaning — that was the question.
"That's why," he said quietly, "I came to you. You have no attachments either. But you keep fighting. For what?"
"What else am I supposed to do?" — I wanted to answer the question with a question. But I was afraid Obscuro wouldn't get the hidden irony in that saying.
And at the same time, I didn't know what to tell him.
Because I didn't want to lie, and I wasn't allowed to tell the truth.
But at the same time, I could give an answer that combined both mutually exclusive concepts — truth and falsehood.
"For life," I said. "The New Republic is blind and prefers to rest on the laurels of the Galactic Empire's victors. I've tried many times to get through to their leaders, their heroes, honestly and openly telling them about the coming threat. But they're not ready to believe in Palpatine's return. Even though it's coming and, in fact, it's about to happen. I no longer count on their cooperation in fighting the common enemy, only on my own strength. On the fleet, the army, the industry, and you," yes, it was impolite, but I pointed my right index finger at the former Inquisitor. The snow-white fabric of the glove looked like a tracer. "You and other Force Adepts, be they Jedi, Jensaarai, Sith, Inquisitors — anyone who, by their inner conviction, is ready to join me and fight against the madman who decided to drown the galaxy in blood."
"I saw it," Obscuro replied, barely audible. "Mountains of dead, death, death, death, executions, burning planets, dying planets..."
"Exactly," I confirmed. "Alderaan will soon seem to the galaxy like just a short intermission before the main act of the tragedy. I have no desire to live in the ruins or serve a madman. My faith in the Empire is destroyed and trampled. So I'm doing everything myself."
"And I catch myself thinking that an echo of my father's overprotectiveness is awakening in me," I thought. No, I needed to stop that. The man in front of me wasn't a fifteen-year-old teenager who'd "messed up" with the neighbor's girl, but a grown, trained killer. Wiping his nose wasn't my job.
If this kept up, I'd soon end up in the trenches myself.
"There are no universal pieces of advice, Lord Obscuro," and I also needed to come up with a form of address for the Shadow Guard fighters. Because "Lord" was too pretentious. Needed to be simpler, simpler. "I can't give you a ready-made recipe for life. And I can't heal your emotional wounds. I don't sense the Force and don't even know what it is. That's a burden you'll have to carry your whole life yourself. If you're ready to deal with your inner demons on your own — you've already heard the mission. If you think you're incapable of serving a good cause without unconsciously driving yourself to suicide — it's better to leave the Dominion and try your luck in another corner of the galaxy."
Obscuro was silent, staring at his own palms. I wondered what he was thinking.
Was he remembering how much blood was on his hands? Or wondering what those hands could do besides kill?
Could he become a mechanic, a hovertaxi driver, a farmer?
I doubted it.
So I acknowledged he was right — he came to me because we were too alike.
We were what we had made ourselves. From the very moment we gave our fates to the Empire, we became killers. Professional, trained killers in the service of the state.
I had accepted my fate, and I didn't need another.
Whether he could — that was a much more interesting question.
"I will do it," the man said in a firm voice. "The Dark Side is my weapon. I will not let ambition cloud my vision. I am your sword, your punishing hand. A Shadow Guard. I live to serve."
The former Inquisitor rose to his full, considerable height.
His eyes blazed, his shoulders straightened. His chin was lifted, but it was no longer that arrogant pose of superiority.
Just a statement of the fact that he was not broken.
Punishing hand...
I should remind him that I already had one, but I shouldn't forget that the fact of Mara Jade's survival was information of the highest secrecy. Which was already thoroughly... compromised.
Eymand, Tano... They knew what they shouldn't.
But I was sure that "Jedi" pair would keep quiet if they somehow ended up in the hands of the Dark Side Elite or Palpatine himself by some unknown means.
But Obscuro...
For now, he wasn't trusted. Trust had to be earned.
"The right choice," I agreed. I didn't fully believe I had managed to persuade this sentient, but I couldn't do more. I wasn't an internet doctor to diagnose based on symptom descriptions. I didn't even sense the Force. And I didn't need to. Every Force user in this galaxy was either a blissful fool or a wild beast that had slipped its leash. Sentients who had themselves under control while thinking logically were a handful at best. And now was certainly not the time to send him to Dagobah to "think" or to search for Darth Vectivus's tomb to show that you could live with the Dark Side of the Force and not go mad. When you were a humanities person through and through, explaining how electroplating worked to an engineer was a lost cause. Same with the Force.
"You have your mission, Guard Obscuro," I reminded him. "Use the time before the operation begins productively."
"It will be done, Grand Admiral," the former Inquisitor replied clearly.
* * *
After Leia finished her report, the holograms of the Provisional Government members were silent for an extremely brief moment.
"Distressing news," Borsk Fey'lya intoned. "We had great plans for Lianna's support."
"As if I weren't aware," Leia thought wearily, glancing at Lando, Han, and Chewbacca sitting at a table next to the holographic communicator.
All three were pretending to be interested in a game of sabbacc, but even with her inexperienced eye for gambling, the Alderaanian princess noticed that the deck in the middle of the table hadn't shrunk since she started her conversation with her colleagues.
"They should be actors," the girl thought, noting how diligently all three were simulating deep thought, continuing to stare at their cards.
"There wasn't really much hope for Lady Santhe's support," Admiral Drayson declared. "She and her corporation are tightly tied to the Imperial Remnants. Specifically to the Allied Tion sector."
"Her unwillingness to cooperate with us could already be dictated by her deliberately sabotaging supplies to weaken us," what could be so interesting about claws that Fey'lya examined them in almost every conversation?
"Are you suggesting that the reports of raiders operating under our flag are a fabrication?" General Madine clarified.
"I'm suggesting that Lianna's hostile policy began after Lady Santhe, by her own account, met with Grand Admiral Thrawn," the Bothan explained. "And he is, as is known, a master of all sorts of tricks. Thus, Lady Santhe's story, as told to us by Councilor Organa-Solo," Fey'lya deigned to give the named girl only a single quick glance — "about the reasons for Thrawn's appearance on Lianna could be simple disinformation, nothing more. The true agreements may differ from the stated version."
Who was better to know that than a Bothan, right?
"Whether that's true or not is unknown to us at this moment," Mon Mothma summarized. "The fact remains. We spent millions to acquire equipment from Lianna. But in reality, the contracts haven't been fulfilled. Incom can't cover our losses in such a short time, and we simply have nothing to replace the Imperial equipment with."
"For now, we're only saved by the fact that part of the military vessels have been decommissioned by the Defense Forces," Admiral Drayson stated. "We managed to redistribute the small craft, but..."
"One day we'll stop using combat starships as transports," Mon Mothma continued. "Not to mention the hundreds of star cruisers on the fitting-out ways. And we'll need to equip all of them with one type of small craft or another."
"We could use equipment from storage," General Madine suggested. "After Anaxis came under our control, some of the warehouses are filled with outdated types of weaponry..."
"From the time of the Clone Wars," Councilor Fey'lya clarified. "Forgive me, but that's foolish. In their current state, they have low combat effectiveness, and if we modernize them... We'll spend even more money."
"Councilors," Mon Mothma addressed those present. "Let's not deviate from the agenda. So," she looked at Leia, "what can you say about the future prospects of cooperation with Lady Santhe and her conglomerate?"
A good question... What could she recommend?
"The most obvious option is to pull transport ships away from civilian cargo transportation and send them to Santhe to pick up at least what's already been manufactured and is sitting in warehouses," the princess said. "I received the invoices... To put it mildly, we'll have to pay a penalty for the fighters and interceptors being stored at Santhe's facilities. And that amount is already estimated in the millions of credits."
"That will bankrupt us completely," Mon Mothma practically groaned. "We've only just started making a profit from trade, managed to pay off the Alliance's debts to suppliers. Now all available funds are poured into strengthening the defense of the worlds, finishing the construction of new ships for our fleet, and crewing the new starships."
"Not to mention that the Lusankya has already practically sucked up a billion for its restoration," General Madine noted. "And the repairs aren't even finished yet. We need just as much in the next month for the ship to become fully combat-ready."
"And someone was talking about the low cost of work at Rendili," Leia thought, catching herself staring at the hologram of Councilor Fey'lya. It was he who lobbied for the annexation of Rendili and Bestine IV to the New Republic. And now major work was being done on the Lusankya at Rendili, along with the reactivation of old ships that were about to be sent for scrap. On Bestine IV, work was in full swing converting several Star Destroyers that had come into the New Republic's possession by one means or another.
Han had once mentioned that Ackbar had ordered several dozen Imperial-class Star Destroyers to be refitted under automation programs used at the Hast shipyards, in order to free up at least part of the huge crews for crewing new, fitting-out MC80b-type starships with competent and experienced sentients.
And the New Republic was spending practically all the profit coming into its budget on this rearmament. Yes, besides that, they had to feed the enormous bureaucratic apparatus of the young state, the Senate, pay for the services of numerous expert councils, committees, subcommittees, delegations, allocate funds to support loyal governments across the galaxy, provide aid to starving planets or those hit by climate or man-made disasters, not forget social payments, salaries for military and civilian specialists...
The reconstruction of the old Senate building alone had drained several billion from the meager budget — and the repairs weren't even finished yet.
With her mind, Leia understood that such huge expenditures were caused by the immense scale of corruption flourishing in the power structure. Law enforcement fought it as best they could, but they simply didn't have enough manpower.
Just Grand Admiral Thrawn's raids alone had caused so many costs and financial losses that it would take years to restore the bases destroyed by bombardments on various planets.
And tens of billions...
She wished she knew in advance whether they had that money or the allotted time.
"We'll have to postpone the question of our response to Lady Santhe's actions until Admiral Ackbar returns," Mon Mothma declared. "At present, we need a more amenable contractor with a sufficiently successful and developed industrial cluster that would agree to supply us with military equipment."
"Additional and influential allies wouldn't hurt," Leia noted. "We need extra appropriations in many areas of domestic policy."
"For now, the only ones providing us with any tangible support are the Hapes Consortium," Admiral Drayson stated. "And even then, only because of the Crown Prince's personal goodwill towards you personally, Councilor Organa..."
Leia cast a sidelong glance at Han.
Her husband kept staring at his cards, but from the movement of his ears, the princess understood that the Corellian had turned into one big listening device.
She would very much like to put an end, once and for all, to the constantly resurfacing story about the Crown Prince of Hapes, Isolder, whom she had nearly married and thereby could have practically solved almost all of the New Republic's financial problems (the wedding gifts alone from each of the Hapes worlds numbered dozens of Star Destroyers, and the wealth was worth nearly a trillion credits). But her comrades brought up the circumstances at every opportunity.
As if anything could be changed without destroying the lives of two families — hers and Isolder's. In Leia's view, she and the Crown Prince were quite content to remain on friendly terms. Yes, the Queen Mother of the Consortium did not allow the New Republic's foreign policy to lean on her state's richest reserves, but she didn't refuse help either. Though that help was more formal...
And the financial flows of material aid dissolved in endless transfers and expenditures on various needs...
"We actually have a number of potential allies," Admiral Drayson noted. "Balmorra, for example. That planet, even if it was settled long ago by people from Humbarine, is currently a neutral world. With magnificent production complexes, this factory-world could not just replace Lianna, but surpass it."
Leia frowned.
Under the New Order, the Imperial governor had turned Balmorra into a fortress world, deploying factories on its surface for producing Imperial types of weaponry.
During Emperor Palpatine's reign, the Balmorrans produced weapons for the Imperial Army, had close ties with Kuat Drive Yards, and were practically the primary manufacturers of AT-ST walkers, AT- and most other armored and ground vehicles for the Empire.
Despite all this, the inhabitants of Balmorra were not happy with their position as a raw material appendage and a place from which the Empire took everything it needed, and at low prices.
The Balmorrans craved access to the free galactic market, where they could sell their vaunted weapons technologies. Which, to be honest, were indeed very, very advanced.
During the Empire, free trade in weapons was unthinkable — Imperial bureaucrats did everything to ensure that any weapons manufacturers either worked for them or produced absolutely nothing without their approval. The New Republic did not adhere to such strict rules, and so free trade in weapons systems across the galaxy brought some political dividends to the new rulers of Coruscant.
However, even during the Rebellion, there were mutual good feelings between the Rebel Alliance and the natives of Balmorra. Until the Battle of Endor, liberating the factory-world from the Empire's clutches would have been impossible. Well protected by the Imperial fleet and army, virtually isolated from the rest of the galaxy, Balmorra could not do anything against the will of Palpatine and the Imperials.
Therefore, instead of a direct military strike, the Alliance attempted sabotage, using the cover of night to remain undetected by Imperial sensor arrays. Only after Luke Skywalker and Rogue Squadron raided and destroyed most of the weapons produced on the planet for the Empire did the Imperials take some steps towards retaliation, thereby exposing the planet's defenses.
The raid occurred a year after the Battle of Yavin, and the subsequent attacks on the Empire's industrial worlds undermined the galaxy's faith in Imperial invincibility.
Eventually, about three years ago, Balmorra finally threw off the yoke of the Imperial protectorate.
But they didn't join the New Republic either, preferring not to bind themselves with any significant political contracts. Instead, having finally gained access to free trade in weapons, the Balmorrans behaved exactly like most companies in that business sector...
"They trade weapons to both the Imperials and anyone willing to pay for their goods," General Madine stated.
"As does Kuat, as does everyone else," Fey'lya said reasonably. "We have a free market, General. Not a state monopoly on weapons production."
"As I understand it, General Madine means that despite everything the Alliance has done for Balmorra in the past, to them we are just clients," Leia said, "like everyone else. Consequently, we shouldn't expect them to be especially happy to see us or to lower the price in any other way. In fact, it's the same as continuing purchases from Lianna."
"I wouldn't say that," the Bothan's hologram narrowed its eyes. "Balmorra is located in the Colonies, which is about ten thousand years from the Galactic Core. While Lianna..."
"Councilor," Mon Mothma said patiently, addressing Fey'lya. "Let's skip the preamble. Every participant in this meeting is sufficiently informed about what the Colonies are and how far they are from the Core. Please try to state your point more concisely."
"With pleasure," the Bothan replied. "This region of the galaxy is much closer than Lianna. Consequently, we won't have to expend large forces to escort convoys of equipment from Balmorra to our bases. We gain in logistics."
"An interesting proposal," Mon Mothma said after a moment's thought. "But we don't know if the Balmorrans will agree to produce the equipment we need. And whether Incom will issue the necessary licenses and technical documentation for production."
"They should be convinced to do so," the Bothan noted.
"It would be easier to teach a bantha to talk than to explain to a weapons manufacturer that we don't need their models, but specifically what their competitors make," General Madine countered. "Not to mention that Balmorra's current export range is primarily Imperial equipment. Tanks, walkers, ground vehicles..."
"In its time, the Empire spent billions placing mobile factories on many worlds," Drayson noted. "Can we dictate to sentients who have freed themselves from the yoke of tyranny what is right to sell for their survival and what is not?"
"Polemics... Just polemics," Leia thought. "Exactly what Grand Admiral Thrawn said almost in plain language."
The princess shook her head, driving away the anxious thoughts.
"As I understand it, the Provisional Government wants to entrust me with conducting negotiations with the leadership of Balmorra?" she inquired.
"Yes," Mon Mothma stated. "Balmorra is the foremost ally we would like to approach. Councilor Fey'lya," the Bothan looked at her in surprise. "I want you to make an official inquiry to the leadership of Incom Corporation — whether they are willing to grant licenses for X-Wing production outside their own facilities. You don't necessarily need to mention Balmorra — it's not certain they'd agree to something like that. But if we could obtain a license and produce the fighters ourselves at facilities already under government control — that would be excellent."
A pipe dream, Leia thought.
Incom makes enough profit producing its X-Wings and other machines itself; it doesn't hand out licenses the way Sienar Fleet Systems once did. For them, it's actually advantageous to have their equipment built only in their own factories — that way they can dictate prices to any buyer.
And the appearance of an alternative assembler, especially one receiving corporate secrets... The Balmorrans, with their obsession with weaponry, could easily create their own version of the T-65 and start producing fighters in addition to ground vehicles.
Incom's monopoly would collapse then.
No, they'd never agree to that.
"I doubt this will amount to anything," Fey'lya said, apparently reaching the same conclusion. Well, he did have positive thoughts occasionally. "In truth, I'd suggest solving the Lianna problem first. We can't allow anyone to think they can take our money, equipment, and war machines, then dictate terms on how we retrieve them." — "Especially since Incom itself trades with the Imperial Remnants. Those same light interceptor fighters, the Howlrunners, have long been spotted in the Pentastar Alignment and Imperial Space!"
"I take it you have a proposal, Councilor?" Mon Mothma asked. "An alternative to the stated suggestion..."
"The simplest one imaginable," the Bothan snorted. "General Solo's task force is near Lianna. Our property, already paid for, is being held there illegally. We should conduct a military operation and take what belongs to us!"
Leia tried not to even look toward Han, who had started coughing as if he'd choked.
But out of the corner of her eye, she saw Calrissian throw his cards on the table and walk out of the Falcon's common room.
"Conducting a military operation against a neutral planet is essentially an expansionist policy," General Madine reminded them. "The very thing Grand Admiral Thrawn accused us of."
"He can accuse us all he wants," Fey'lya continued. "The fact remains: Santhe chose to play on his turf. First she meets with Thrawn. Then attacks on our supply convoys begin. Meanwhile — her employees are sent to evacuation shuttles or pods without any violence whatsoever. Only our property is taken..."
"Not only property," Leia objected. "According to the data I received, the attacks initially targeted random corporate ships. And now, with Lady Santhe halting exports, yes, the victims have been exclusively ours..."
"That doesn't change the core issue," Fey'lya said irritably. "First, they seize our property and refuse to hand it over. Then we learn Lianna is building a new version of the 'Death Star.' Not to mention that, in recent raids on our convoys, survivors note that Dominion ships are using exclusively new TIE-series equipment. Even at the height of its power, the Empire couldn't equip Star Destroyers solely with TIE Interceptors. And now they can?"
"Santhe claims Prince-Admiral Krennel had illegal production lines for that series..." Leia reminded him.
"Especially since you yourself saw at Ciutric IV how many TIE Interceptors Krennel deployed against you," Admiral Drayson backed the young woman. "He was clearly producing them..."
"Can our illegal agents confirm this?" Fey'lya asked in an innocent tone, addressing the director of Republic Intelligence.
Bastard, Leia thought.
Fey'lya was perfectly aware that, with General Cracken's death, nearly all agents operating in sectors outside the New Republic had been cut off from active communication channels. Some, as Drayson reported, had voluntarily returned to Coruscant to re-establish contact with their handlers, but the vast majority simply hadn't, waiting for leadership to make the first move.
Drayson explained that these were the rules of foreign residency, and interfering would only expose the agents. Sooner or later, they would all activate backup channels and identify themselves.
"No," the director of Republic Intelligence answered. "But we know for certain that Krennel supplied TIE fighters to the Imperial Remnants. Our spies report that such a shipment is imminent — the Dominion will transfer several to Orinda..."
"The details aren't important," Fey'lya said casually. "The key point is 'fighters.' Not 'interceptors.' You can argue all you like, but my view of the situation is simple: Lianna is secretly supplying Thrawn with top-tier equipment. Possibly even the same equipment sent to her for repairs or ordered from her for construction by us. We're being fought with our own money!"
"Councilor," Mon Mothma's hologram massaged her temples. "That's nothing but speculation."
"Speculation that sounds more believable than what Lady Santhe is trying to sell us as gospel truth!" the Bothan persisted stubbornly. "How many slaps in the face have we already taken from Thrawn? How long will we be beaten like children? We are a state of victorious democracy, but no one has the right to treat us this way! We must strike back! Show that we can defend ourselves! Otherwise, the sectors will keep breaking away from us..."
And when he was Supreme Commander, Fey'lya argued the opposite — for a defensive stance, Leia recalled.
How easily it happened... Push through an offensive initiative when you won't be the one accountable for its outcomes.
Bothan politics in all its glory, no other way to put it.
"Councilors," Leia hurried to speak. "Lianna's defense systems are strong. Overcoming them would require an entire fleet, and our armed forces are concentrated on defense. Furthermore, Admiral Ackbar has withdrawn significant forces for battle and..."
She stopped, realizing she had inadvertently touched a sore spot.
The pilots of Wraith Squadron had reported Ackbar's defeat when the famed admiral's flagship broke out of one trap only to fall into another. Unfortunately, they couldn't transmit anything further — that Ackbar had pushed through, damaging one Dominion starship — before they were destroyed.
Home One itself was apparently heavily damaged since it wasn't responding to hails.
The princess forced herself to believe that Ackbar had survived and not been captured.
Supporting the latter was the fact that Thrawn, in his usual style, hadn't appeared on the HoloNet. Either he had nothing to say, or he was preparing another information bomb.
"We all hope Gial Ackbar survived," Mon Mothma said, looking directly into Leia's eyes. No further words were needed — if the Mon Calamari had died, the backroom infighting for the position of Supreme Commander of the Defense Forces would resume. "The idea of a military operation against Lianna may have merit, but certainly not with General Solo's forces, and not at this moment. To declare war and pursue conflict with Lady Santhe, we must understand that she has the support of Moff Gronn from the Allied Tion sector. Not to mention other possible arrangements, like with Grand Admiral Thrawn. In case anyone has forgotten, Lianna is very close to certain worlds controlled by or allied with the Dominion — Makem Te, Trogan, Columex, Kelada... That means the likelihood of Dominion starships in that part of the Parlemian Trade Route is extremely high."
"So you're proposing we just sit and wait until Santhe hands over all the ships listed in our orders to Thrawn?" Councilor Fey'lya clarified.
"I'm proposing nothing more than a measured and intelligent approach instead of pointless aggression," Mon Mothma said firmly. "We will assess all the risks of intervening in Lianna's affairs before making the right decision. I believe in democracy and common sense. Thrawn has frightened us thoroughly and caused great harm, but we cannot give in to panic. We have no right to see every non-democratic, independent world as an ally or supporter of our enemies."
"Which is precisely why the Dominion's satellite worlds haven't been attacked yet," the Bothan grumbled.
"This has already been discussed many times," Mon Mothma stated. "Besides being well-fortified, most of those territories are strictly civilian. All they can offer Thrawn are taxes and recruits."
"As if that's not enough," Fey'lya refused to yield.
"Perhaps the reason Thrawn is so successful is that he has no morals — he's willing to attack any planet where even one of our training centers is located," Admiral Drayson said. "We must demonstrate through our actions that we are his complete opposite."
"For the first time, we're facing a battle that takes place not only on the battlefield but also in the minds of our citizens and the galaxy's population," Mon Mothma declared. "Thrawn wants to paint us as aggressors, imperialists — in such a war, words without actions will have little consequence. So I will say this once, and I hope everyone here remembers: we will no longer initiate military action against neutral or nominally neutral planets or states unless we have guaranteed, objective proof of an imminent attack on the New Republic. Unverified information has already cost us too much — I have no intention of paying a higher price."
Fey'lya's grim expression couldn't be hidden even by the simplified graphic channel of the hologram.
"I hear you, Councilor Mothma," he said.
"Leia," the red-haired woman looked at the princess. "I'm asking you to go to Balmorra and conduct negotiations. Perhaps they have something that can help us fight the Empire. I'll have my staff contact everyone who can offer us support — the Verpine, for example. We need to know what we can count on."
"Very well," Leia started to mention the children staying on Coruscant but realized it was pointless. Jacen and Jaina would manage without her for a while; Winter said they were doing fine. And the Alderaanian herself would have to work hard. Not for Mon Mothma or Fey'lya. So that her children could grow up in a galaxy where wars were just scary bedtime stories. "I'm ready to depart."
"Let General Solo and his ships escort you," Mon Mothma recommended. "Return to Coruscant immediately after Balmorra. I'm confident that if Admiral Ackbar survived his encounter with Thrawn, he's rushing to the capital. Such a battle must have given him much to think about..."
So no one will even question Fey'lya about why his deal with Isard led the New Republic fleet into a trap, the princess realized.
"With that, this meeting is adjourned," Mon Mothma announced. "Admiral Drayson, if you don't mind, let's step aside — I'd like to discuss protecting our interests..."
When the hologram faded, Leia felt her husband approach from behind and embrace her tenderly.
"Don't worry," he advised. "I've already given the order to set course for Balmorra. We'll get there faster than you can imagine..."
"Lando shouldn't have had to hear that," Leia lamented.
"Are you suggesting we kick him out every time you talk to your colleagues?" the Corellian asked jokingly.
"No, of course not..." Leia flushed. "It's just... I know how painful all this is for him."
"Hey," Han kissed the top of her head. "Calrissian might not look it, but he's a tough guy. He'll get over it. He's definitely not burning with love for the New Republic, though."
"That's exactly the problem," Leia turned to face her husband. "I wanted to ask him for a favor."
"Just one?" Han raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"But for the good of the New Republic," the princess specified.
"We-ell," Solo released his embrace. "Spill it. What have you cooked up now?"
He won't like this either, Leia thought resignedly.
But she had to say it.
"We're essentially stumbling in the dark regarding Thrawn's actions and the size of his alliances," the young woman said.
"Because our intelligence isn't as good as it thinks it is."
"Yes. But there are those in the galaxy who gather information from every source, on both sides of every border..."
"You're not thinking of who I think you're thinking of, are you?" Han's face darkened.
"That's exactly who," Leia pursed her lips.
"I don't think my salary stretches far enough to pay for his services."
"He suffered from Thrawn's actions too," the princess countered. "I think he'd be glad to help us understand exactly what the Grand Admiral is planning."
"Or — where it would hurt most to kick him," Han offered an alternative.
"That too," Leia sighed. "Believe me, I don't like this any more than you do, but what other options do we have? Wait for Fey'lya to sway the Senate into war with Lianna? Then sit and watch another Thrawn holorecording where he boasts about crushing our fleet again and thanks us for the excellent ships that will be used against us?"
"It could get even worse," Solo darkened. "If Ackbar is dead, Fey'lya will charge back into the commander's seat. And Thrawn can lead him around by the nose better than Winter can distract children with a pacifier."
"That's exactly why we need Karrde," Leia sighed. "No one has to trust him completely, but..."
"I'll talk to Lando," Han said. "I'll remind him that all his problems are actually the fault of one red-eyed, blue-faced being, not the fools of the New Republic. Chewie," he looked at his longtime friend, who had been silently sitting and cleaning his monstrous weapon. "Go prep the Falcon for flight. Something tells me Lando won't just agree — he'll demand my ship."
"I was thinking of taking it to Balmorra," Leia noted.
"No way, sweetheart," Han's trademark smile was reassuring. "I got a carte blanche to deliver you to one of the best weapons manufacturers in the galaxy in style — so, please, allow a full general to move your things into my bedroom. The only advantage of living on this tub is that my bed is almost the size of the Falcon."
* * *
After I finished the briefing, "Secret Shipyards of Lok" Chief Engineer Nick Reyes was silent for a few seconds.
"I don't see any major problems, sir," the man's hologram flickered slightly — the encryption on the call was sometimes 'glitchy.' "We have quite a bit of hybidium left over from masking both orbital workshops, so recreating 'Asteroid-II' won't be too difficult for us. There are enough workers with the required qualifications here on Lok. I can't promise it'll be fast, but in a week or two, we'll complete all necessary work. Including drilling and laying the 'payload.'"
"Glad to hear it, Chief Engineer," I said. "I'd like a brief report."
"We've finished converting the Scimitar production lines from the 'Raptor' project," Reyes said. "I think we can assemble at least one machine per day. Scaling up production at this early stage won't be possible because the conveyor is literally patched together, so breakdowns are possible. And assembling the small craft units is far from a quick process — essentially manual labor."
Five Scimitars in a standard week? Not much.
I'll have to abandon the idea of replacing TIE Bomber squadrons with them. At least at the current production level. But I can distribute them, one or two per Star Destroyer, as fast bombers for delivering practically unavoidable strikes on enemy targets.
"We've also started production of Lambdas and Sentinels." So now I have a reliable source of transport-landing ships. Excellent.
"The first batches of Star Destroyer engines have already been sent to Tangrene — confirmation received that they've been installed and perform excellently under load. Both orbital workshops, as I said, have been equipped with masking systems. Work is currently underway on the orbital defense platforms, then we move to the remaining stations in the system per the list. The planet's mineral deposits are sufficient to keep all production complexes running. The captured ships have been fully combat-ready. We've just finished work on another batch of 'dreadnoughts' and are starting to convert damaged escort frigates into our equivalents with modifications."
"In other words — no problems?" It felt almost strange and frightening to ask that.
"Standard workflow, sir," Reyes's hologram shrugged. "We have a considerable number of volunteers, both from Lok and Maramere, to work at the shipyards and on the modernization of old small craft on the planets. I sent the corresponding request to Moff Tavira, but if you don't mind, since the opportunity presents itself, may I ask your opinion?"
"Have all job candidates passed the required checks?" I asked.
"Every single one, sir," Reyes stated. "After liberating Karthakk from pirates and gangs, the locals... Well, I won't say they have great love for us, but they're interested in employment."
"Consider you have my consent to hire them," I said, seeing the apartment door open. "Are the details of the activities specified in the report?"
"Yes, sir."
"Thank you," Lieutenant Tschel was standing patiently by the door. "Continue your work, Chief Engineer."
When the hologram faded, I looked toward the acting commander of my flagship destroyer. "Operational report, Lieutenant?"
"New encrypted messages from 'Delta Source,' sir," the young officer handed me a datapad. "The second file contains reports from the monitoring team tracking the buzz droids."
"Thank you, Lieutenant," I said.
After the officer closed the door, I used a code cylinder to decrypt the data.
"Let's see what the coming day has in store for us," I muttered, beginning to study the dispatches from the cunning trees of the Imperial Palace.
And another half hour later, fleet intelligence officer Rederick was unceremoniously woken up and summoned for a briefing.