Nine years, nine months and thirteen days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-four years, nine months and thirteen days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Four months and thirty-three days since the Arrival.)
There are many ways to waste money recklessly while having the most optimistic and promising views on running a business.
The cantina built in a place called the "Drinking Bowl," or simply "the Bowl," on the planet Trogan was created to be a resort paradise for both locals and visitors to the planet.
The Bowl was an almost perfectly circular depression in a massive cliff, open to the sea on one side. Several times a day, high tide would fill the place, churning the water into a foaming maelstrom. Which, in its time, was the reason the establishment was once called the "Maelstrom."
The owners had set up tables and resting areas around the Bowl, intending for customers to come here to enjoy the stunning views and sample the decent cuisine. Truly wonderful plans.
Only the venture failed.
The tourism business is a fickle thing on its own — especially when there are more beautiful places all over the galaxy. And the Galactic Civil War certainly didn't encourage clients to fly halfway across the galaxy to get here. Especially considering the fact that until recently, Trogan had absolutely no economy, no infrastructure, and the only attraction on the entire planet... Well, you'd have to be a very big optimist to think that was enough to attract wealthy clients.
Furthermore, the Drinking Bowl had once been a free attraction, and it's in the nature of sentient beings to resent paying for something that was once free.
And finally, the biggest problem — whoever designed this place and assumed visitors would find it comfortable to eat and spend time in a cantina where it's practically impossible to stay because of the roaring water in the Bowl itself, was clearly good at engineering but had a serious problem with logic.
So, first the travelers left, then the locals.
Over the years, the establishment withered, and the owner could never find a simpleton to sell the place to for any kind of money. Because everything about this place was so bad that even the recent influx of capital from the Imperial worlds hadn't attracted a single adventurer to acquire the spot.
And yet there were opportunities here, and good ones. You just needed a clear head and plenty of credits...
"This place has definite potential," Lando Calrissian remarked, looking around.
Besides their table, all the others were covered in polymer sheeting, with chairs turned over or put away, adding to the general gloom of the scene.
No, the eatery wasn't so dilapidated that it would fall apart at any moment, but still... It's disheartening when such ambitious projects are stillborn.
"The Drinking Bowl."
"As an option, you could buy it and remodel," Karrde said, exchanging glances with Mazzic and his bodyguard. The lady was, without a doubt, interesting and even striking. And deadly dangerous. "One of my underlings, Aves, was thinking about it. But, thanks to the efforts of Grand Admiral Thrawn's mercenaries, you now have no competition."
"I appreciate the offer, 'Claw,'" Calrissian said with a brilliant smile. "But I haven't lost my mind enough to acquire a business on Imperial territory while being a citizen of the New Republic."
"Don't feed me a line, Lando," Claw said. "You have citizenship in almost every galactic state in the galaxy."
"We-e-ell," Calrissian drawled, "not all. You're exaggerating my capabilities there."
"Whatever you say," Talon replied indifferently, taking a sip of fruit juice.
"I heard one of your acquaintances acquired some interesting citizenship for her children," Karrde continued as if nothing had happened, cutting into a juicy steak.
A shadow passed over Calrissian's dark face.
"That wasn't Leia's choice," he stated. "The labor started while she was in captivity. I wouldn't be surprised if the Grand Admiral deliberately kept her captive just for that trick."
"Maybe," Karrde stated. "Thrawn has some intriguing multi-layered operations. What's curious is that things weren't like this in the past."
"That's why I'm here," Calrissian began. "You know a lot about him, so..."
"So?" Karrde raised his eyes to his interlocutor. "Join the fight against the Dominion officially? Take your side? Thanks, Calrissian, I have things to do. While Thrawn's people were holding me captive, they hung every rancor around my neck. Starting with involvement in Booster Terrik's disappearance, the destruction of his pirate-smuggler alliance by Rugor, the disappearance of Princess Organa-Solo during our meeting in the Milagro system, helping the Imperials staff their lab on Linuri where the 'Death Stars' were being developed..."
"Since when did you become such a crybaby, 'Claw'?" Calrissian asked, blinking in bewilderment.
"That's just a recitation of facts," Talon stated. "My organization has suffered heavy losses. Some workers scattered, others don't want anything to do with me because on Makem Te they were given a very unambiguous choice: either they work for me, or they work with the Dominion. After a couple of guys who decided to play both sides were found with their heads cut off and a couple of credits in their teeth, the number of beings willing to work for me dropped."
"Yeah, I heard about that," Lando said, darkening. "I'm sorry about your people, Karrde."
"I don't doubt it," Claw nodded.
"Do you know who did it?" Calrissian asked.
"Yes," Karrde replied. "Grand Admiral's operatives. His personal punitive army. The Noghri. If you've heard of them, of course."
"Who hasn't," Lando grumbled, obviously recalling the incident with his friend Solo in the Honoghr system. "They work hard, don't you think?"
"In a way, I even admire them," Karrde stated. "Absolute loyalty, flawless execution of orders. Lethality — practically one hundred percent. The Grand Admiral knows how to pick his operatives."
"Yes, and the New Republic could use its own network of informants too..."
"I know why you flew here, Lando," Karrde stopped him. "To sell you information about the Grand Admiral."
"Exactly," Calrissian agreed.
"Not interested," Karrde replied. "Right now, I'm more interested in rebuilding my organization. I can't help you until I've fixed the damage already done."
"You could sell us information about Thrawn," Calrissian persisted. "Everything that could be useful in fighting him. A few data chips in exchange for a solid reward, and then you're rich, and we're happy..."
"I can give you free advice," Karrde chewed a piece of meat and wiped his lips with a napkin.
"And what's that?"
"Give him what he demands," the smuggler replied.
"All the Star Destroyers?" Calrissian whistled. "You're out of your mind, Claw. First, we put thousands of soldiers down to take them from the Empire, and now we just hand them over to the blue-skinned one?"
"You're not seeing the whole picture, Calrissian," Karrde stated. "Thrawn wins because he can."
"Deep thoughts," Lando remarked sarcastically, crossing his legs and flashing a smile.
"You don't understand," Talon stated. "The Grand Admiral has an excellent grasp of your political machinations. And he uses them against you. He doesn't just capture the Imperial ships he considers his own; he does everything to make you look like fools. He's destabilizing the system from within, exploiting the fact that you don't want or can't understand that it would be easier to give him a few ships, take your prisoners back, and wash your hands of him. The simplest way to get rid of him is to give him what he wants. And focus on the other Imperials."
"He has nearly a million of our prisoners," Calrissian grimaced. "To exchange them, we'd have to give him about thirty Imperial Star Destroyers."
"A small price to get your soldiers back, don't you think?" Karrde asked.
"It's not for me to decide," Calrissian replied quickly. "I'm here to convince you to help us."
"As I already said, my organization has suffered certain losses, so..."
"Oh, stop it," Calrissian pleaded. "I know you and your reputation well enough. You never forgive attacks on your business like this. Thrawn didn't just set you up; he also took your cargo, your ships. Some of your people work for him now, helping him get scarce goods off the black market. Say whatever you want, but I'm sure you intend to settle the score with him."
"My intentions and motivations are mine alone," Talon stated sharply.
"Go ahead, tell me I'm wrong, that you're ready to just take the beating Thrawn gave you."
Karrde was silent for a few seconds, studying the cutlery as if looking for a flaw.
"No," he finally said. "But striking now would be extremely unwise."
"There," Calrissian smiled. "A dealer spots a dealer from afar. I've got a few questions for that guy too."
"And what do you intend to do to avenge your 'Nomad'?" Karrde inquired.
Calrissian snorted into his fist.
"Do you think I flew to an Imperial planet to tell you my intentions?" he asked. "Honestly, you're not saying I'm that stupid, are you? There are spies on every corner here."
"That's why we're meeting in the 'Bowl,'" Karrde noted. "Although, you weren't invited here."
"But you were too loud with your invitations," Calrissian stated. "And I don't see any of the guests you're waiting for here."
"They'll come," Karrde said emphatically. "It takes time..."
"They were supposed to have arrived several days ago," Calrissian reminded him.
"No exact deadlines were set," Claw parried.
"And since when does hope show through in your words instead of certainty?" his interlocutor asked rhetorically.
"Ever since I decided to help Booster free his daughter, which led to Thrawn deciding to hunt my assets," Talon tried to keep his tone neutral.
"Look, I'm genuinely sorry your business suffered from the Grand Admiral's actions," Calrissian said. "In that, you and I are alike. But now, when the New Republic has some spare credits, you could make a good profit by selling us all the information about the Grand Admiral that interests the New Republic..."
"'Us'?" Karrde asked. "I didn't think that after Coruscant's attempts to bring your business under their wing, you'd still want to have dealings with them."
"I'm not doing this for Coruscant," Calrissian said firmly.
"I know," Karrde chuckled. "But at the request of a certain nice Alderaanian princess."
Calrissian smirked.
"And after what you just said, you'll still insist that your organization isn't as effective as it used to be?"
"Yes," Karrde replied calmly. "What's more, I'll tell you — since no one arrived for this meeting except me and Mazzic," he nodded towards his partner, "the organization effectively doesn't exist. Thrawn destroyed it, by force or by cunning. Which means I have to start from scratch. Long, painstaking..."
"The New Republic could help you with that," Lando noted. "The money you'd make from selling information about the Grand Admiral could help you start over..."
"Interesting how this works out, Calrissian," Karrde said. "I played neutrality for a very long time, avoiding politics, walking the edge of a vibroblade but always keeping my balance..."
"Save that story for someone else, alright?" Calrissian winced. "Those with brains in their skulls and who know even a little about what you do and what services you've provided to the New Republic, perfectly understand that your words about neutrality are just a fiction. You did far more for Coruscant than for the Imperials. You funneled contraband into the Remnants, getting Imperial technology in return, which you then traded with the New Republic..."
"Are you trying to impress me by telling me something that became common knowledge in the galaxy's underworld months ago?" Karrde asked.
"No, I'm offering you to stop hesitating," Calrissian said. "Make your choice already and help us. Even if I didn't see eye to eye with the New Republic leadership, I think it's in your interest to help them defeat Thrawn and the Empire. At least because the New Republic's legal framework benefits your operations. And you could..."
"Replace your lost intelligence network?" Karrde smirked. "Yes, Calrissian, you're good with words, but I just told you a simple thing — my organization effectively no longer exists."
"But you're still here, and so are your data banks," Lando insisted. "You know the value of what you own very well. And I'm sure the New Republic will duly appreciate your efforts. Help us defeat Thrawn, and you'll be able to rebuild your organization in relative peace, without worrying about finding buyers for your information in the future. Thrawn is the only real threat to the New Republic. Without him, everything will return to normal. And besides, I'm more than sure that besides those who didn't show up today, you have dozens of informants you're discreetly not mentioning. I know how you pick your subordinates. So there's no way I'm believing that all of them suddenly decided you can't be trusted."
"An interesting offer, Calrissian," Karrde laughed. "You talk sweet. But if you're so confident in the New Republic's strength, why did you give up your general's rank?"
"The New Republic is a state," Lando said grimly. "And I disagreed with specific representatives of its government."
"Yeah, I understand," Karrde nodded. "Your little furry friend didn't see reason even after being captured by Thrawn."
"That's exactly what infuriated me," Lando admitted. "But I understand that beings like that will always be in power. And I don't want to answer to them directly."
"And I won't," Karrde nodded in agreement. "Trading information is one thing. Becoming part of your intelligence network is entirely another."
"No one offered you the latter," Calrissian replied in bewilderment. He was silent for a few seconds. Then he came out with a question:
"You already made up your mind a long time ago, didn't you?"
"Of course," Karrde put another piece of steak in his mouth, then chewed it thoroughly. "But it was nice listening to you convince me. I had to wait a long time, though, for you to finally move from verbal tactics straight to business."
"Is that a 'yes'?" Calrissian asked.
Karrde put another piece of steak in his mouth.
He chewed it just as slowly, watching the chef droid, the only one who remained in this eatery after even its owners had decided to clear out.
The droid was following its programming, polishing glasses, not understanding that it might never see another customer again. The poor thing had lost one photoreceptor over the years without maintenance, but it didn't affect its efficiency.
"I'll have to shut it down after we leave," Karrde thought, finishing his meal.
Actually, he was thinking about taking the droid with him. But he wasn't used to taking other people's property, and finding the eatery's owners would take too long and likely be impossible anyway.
Too bad. The droid cooked amazingly.
"Yes, Calrissian," he said firmly. "I'm with you..."
* * *
Her career had started a very long time ago; she couldn't even remember the details now. And who needed them anyway?
There had been ups, there had been downs.
And there had been a long imprisonment, because of which the galaxy had forgotten her.
Not the most pleasant story in her life — nor the way it ended.
Orra Sing adjusted her earpiece.
The directional microphone, housed in the eye socket of the broken chef droid, perfectly transmitted everything happening at Karrde and Calrissian's table.
The killer pressed her eye to the scope of her sniper rifle, feeling the cheek pad touch her skin.
She wasn't afraid of scope glint — because the overcast weather near the Drinking Bowl muted the natural light to a disgusting gray. Besides, her position remained in the shadow of the cliff, providing reliable camouflage in every sense.
The woman placed her index finger on the rifle's trigger.
A fine weapon, she had to admit.
Built by the Imperials for covert missions, the "Night Sting" fired invisible blaster bolts, but its one drawback in operation was that you couldn't completely eliminate the sound of the shot.
Even the fact that the cartridge only held five charges wasn't a big problem for an experienced sniper.
And Orra Sing had plenty of experience.
It wasn't for nothing that she'd been given this job.
And paid very well for it.
"But you have to understand, Calrissian," the voice of "Claw" sounded in her ear. "For me, this is the same kind of job as always. If the New Republic doesn't have the money to buy what I'm willing to offer them, then don't expect any help. Business is good when it doesn't become personal..."
"I wonder, how much does your loyalty cost, Karrde?" Calrissian asked.
"It's not for sale," he replied. "I don't serve governments — only my people. They're loyal to me, and I to them. Everyone else is a client..."
"Are you saying there's nothing that would make you an ideological fighter against Thrawn?" Calrissian was surprised.
"I didn't say that," Karrde shrugged, glancing towards the pair standing slightly behind them, pretending to be engrossed in conversation.
Oh, sure, don't bother yourselves. It's perfectly obvious that the guy in glasses is Karrde's underling, and the girl with the predator's instincts is his bodyguard. And a very, very good one.
A smile appeared on Orra's lips...
She thought she understood why she'd received this particular order.
The crosshairs shifted away from Karrde's head, leaving his table aside.
"The 'Falcon' is parked at the entrance, below the 'Bowl,'" Calrissian said, "so we can leave at any moment..."
"I have my own ship, Lando," Karrde noted. "And it's in the opposite direction. You can head back to Coruscant and report my involvement in their scheme. Tell them to prepare plenty of credits. I'll wait a few more days, give my people a chance to show up and..."
Orra touched her headset.
"Begin, Lieutenant," she ordered.
"Roger," the Dominion garrison commander on Trogan replied.
And then the show began.
With the first shot — right as the explosion that destroyed Claw's truck rang out — Orra sent an invisible blaster charge straight through the glasses of Karrde's underling.
Mazzic, as she knew from the operation files she'd been given, crumpled to the floor like a sack, and his bodyguard quite nimbly grabbed her patron's body, dragging it behind the table overturned by Karrde and Calrissian.
* * *
"In the name of the Dominion, you are all under arrest!" a voice boomed, amplified by a megaphone. "Drop your weapons and surrender peacefully!"
Wow, the boys were really trying — they were shouting so loud they even drowned out the water in the Drinking Bowl.
"What the bantha poodoo is this?!" Calrissian yelled, peering over the edge of the table as something rose above the tide filling the Bowl... a Low Altitude Assault Transport. With the golden "cog" of the Dominion on its sides. "Did we miss the start of a new episode of the Clone Wars or something?"
"Thrawn is shipping old Republic equipment to the periphery, to local garrisons," Karrde explained, watching as Mazzic's bodyguard futilely tried to revive him. "Leave the body alone."
The woman flashed a predatory glare.
"He's got a hole through half his face," Claw explained. "No matter how much more bacta you pour into him, his brain won't recover."
"We need to kill them," the woman hissed.
Karrde looked at her, grimacing.
"They may be flying junk," he said, ducking his head as a rocket fired from the Latti blew the roof off the diner. "But that junk is still lethal."
"How did they find us?" Calrissian asked worriedly.
"Come out with your hands up immediately!" the megaphone blared. "You're surrounded! Surrender!"
Karrde looked toward the pillar of smoke rising from where he'd left his ship.
"It doesn't matter how they found us," he said decisively. "We need to get out. Looks like Thrawn was tracking us. I can't think of any other reason why the garrison on Trogan spent the last week doing nothing but training recruits instead of conducting patrols."
"They didn't even have any patrols," the bodyguard confirmed.
"A trap," Calrissian hissed through clenched teeth, ducking as another section of roof splintered. "We need to get out of here!"
"Already working on it," Karrde said. Piecing the facts together, he arrived at only one solution. "The Falcon is downstream from the 'Chalice,' right?"
"Yes," Calrissian waved toward the coast. "There's a stone grotto and a passage in the cliff leading here, so..."
"I know what you're talking about." That landing pad had been used so long ago it was almost too painful to remember. It was used because the grotto, made of solid skarn, messed with sensors, and smugglers used it to deliver illegal cargo.
Perched high enough not to be flooded by the surf, it was still washed by the ocean most of the time. Which meant that if the current swept them out to sea now, they'd be passing right by that landing pad...
"Do as I do," he ordered. He glanced at Mazzic's body and shook his head. "We'll have to leave him, Shaddaa."
The woman shot him a piercing, furious look. She clearly didn't like anyone besides Mazzic knowing her real name.
Truth be told, Karrde knew a lot more, but now was neither the time nor the place to discuss it.
"He was my friend too," Karrde stated. "But we have to leave him. Don't worry, we'll get our revenge."
"Guys, can we do this later?" Calrissian yelled as a sizable splinter lodged in his shoulder — the Dominion troops had fired into the interior again. "We need to get out."
"Do as I do," Karrde murmured, like a Jedi mantra. "Either we take the risk, or we end up in Imperial custody."
"I don't think I want to repeat that experience," Calrissian muttered.
Shaddaa stayed silent. She was always taciturn with everyone except her employer.
"We surrender!" Karrde raised his hands above his head.
The shooting stopped.
But as he emerged from cover, he could clearly see a squad of stormtroopers already rushing toward the diner through the upper entrance. And more "boys in white" were already dropping on descent cables from the belly of the hovering LAAT/i.
Shaddaa and Lando followed his lead, patiently waiting for the Latti to change position...
"You're up, Calrissian," Karrde ordered.
"Got it," the woman replied.
"Don't move!" The Latti was finally starting to position itself over the diner, looking for a place to land. Right. The stormtrooper commander wanted to personally put them in chains. Fat chance!
"Go!" the smuggler roared, and was the first to dive headlong into the whirlpool of the "Drinking Cup."
The icy water instantly spun him in its vortex, nearly crashing him into Calrissian and Shaddaa, who had dived in after him.
His limbs went numb in an instant, but he had to keep moving while the surf was on their side.
Holding his breath as long as possible, Karrde swam with all his might toward the narrow bottleneck in the rocks through which the "Drinking Cup" was fed.
There were plenty of opportunities to smash against the rocks, rip his belly open, or get caught in a hurricane of stormtrooper fire.
But fortunately, the latter lived up to their reputation for lousy aim, so he managed to avoid any extra holes in his body.
The ebb tide, not yet at full strength, helped them escape through the "bottleneck," but the surf had its own opinion.
It dragged the trio, who had surfaced from underwater, back. But by swimming sideways, the fugitives managed to achieve what they wanted — the next wave threw them under the low arch of the grotto.
No one would ever think that a perfectly convenient parking zone was located here — because the mindset is that a spaceship should fly, not submerge underwater.
So for all the years this grotto had existed, not a single Imperial had ever figured out that the narrow gap above the water's surface, exposed only at the lowest tide, was actually just the top of the entrance to a cave.
Yes, getting in here was pretty hard — few ships could navigate the narrow entrance without saying goodbye to part of their hull and equipment.
But Calrissian, it seemed, was indeed a good pilot.
Fortunately, the smugglers didn't have that kind of narrow-mindedness as a given. And if the Action-class ships Karrde flew could have fit in the grotto, then yes, he'd be swimming to his own ship right now, not to the Millennium Falcon, proudly towering on a rocky shoal.
Getting to shore, Karrde, fighting the shivers, pointed a finger toward the ship's lowered ramp:
"If there are Imperials hiding in there, Calrissian, I'll strangle you myself."
But there were no Imperials there, and within a couple of minutes, repulsors firing, the ship slipped out of the grotto, tore through the ocean's surface, fired at the annoying Latti, raced into orbit, and left the inhospitable planet behind.
Meanwhile, Aurra Sing was sitting in her hiding spot, reporting to her employer that the trap on Trogan had been executed exactly as planned by Grand Admiral Thrawn.
And that's who the Shadow Guard woman Sing was reporting to...
Some people carry lightsabers; others virtuously execute missions with a sniper rifle.
* * *
"Sir," Captain Pellaeon's voice had become so routine for me it was almost frightening. "The scheduled communication session with the stations is complete. The objects are moving, no major complaints. Structural damage is minimal."
"Which points to a possible correlation between the amount of damage and the speed of movement through hyperspace," I concluded.
"Plausible." Gilad's behavior was interesting. When he didn't have information about what was happening, he didn't even try to argue. If he had no knowledge in the field of hyperspace travel on orbital defense platforms jury-rigged with Mon Calamari hyperdrives, he didn't form hypotheses.
"Have the Acclamators arrived?" I inquired, glancing at a monitor mounted on the wall alongside several others. This particular one duplicated information from the tactical terminal on the Chimaera's bridge. In truth, I knew for a fact that twenty assault cruisers of that type had arrived at the rendezvous point where the Chimaera was located with her escort ships. But I couldn't leave Pellaeon "at ease" either.
"Affirmative, sir," he replied.
"Begin the briefing with the unit commanders," I ordered. "The strikes must occur at precisely chosen times."
"Yes, sir," Gilad acknowledged. "Should I await your arrival?"
"You can assign the objective and explain it to the unit commanders yourself, Captain," I said.
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon replied, signing off.
I leaned back in my chair out of habit and looked at the stand where the cage with the ysalamiri sat. Yes, a different one already, not the one I'd had all this time, but I couldn't really blame it for the crisis in our relationship. I'd probably avoid interacting with someone who tried to crush my head because of their own failure too.
Though, it was kind of funny. Considering the fact that the lizards were generally considered mindless, living on primitive instincts. It turns out they at least have the quality of being vindictive. Because I very much doubted the ysalamiri somewhere in its cage had scratched itself a little note to stop being friends with me.
In the dim light of the cabin, the brown coloration of the ysalamiri was almost invisible... But not to Chiss vision.
Well, two days of work with the Republic intelligence database, and with the help of the analytical department, certainly gave some food for thought.
Thank you, Mr. Ghent, for cracking the Republican encryption system so quickly.
And thank you to New Republic Intelligence for a lot of interesting information to "ponder."
In truth, any sane person understands that a state doesn't last very long if it doesn't have an intelligence service. Especially if that intelligence service lacks those who engage in the highly illegal and unpopular activities known as "shadow operations."
The late Airen Cracken was one of those people who understood the necessity of such operatives in his service.
Analysis of the documents, though heavily retouched in many places, shed light on the dark side of the New Republic. I had to admit, I was starting to lose the ability to see the difference between the old and new masters of Coruscant.
But, one thing at a time.
The Alliance to Restore the Republic was, from the outset, a criminal organization, and the methods they adopted — piracy, terrorism, robbery, kidnapping. Yes, technically directed against the enemies of that vaunted democracy, but the image of a pure and innocent state that doesn't follow the well-worn path of despotism and behind-the-scenes galactic games was crumbling.
Take, for example, such a remarkable project as the "Cracken Reports." A strictly secret thing, created to inform the leadership of the Alliance, and later the Provisional Government of the New Republic.
Two years after the Battle of Yavin IV, Airen Cracken was actively working with the personnel of the Alliance's security service, which was in its larval, nascent state. The main work of the operatives selected personally by Cracken was to collect any available information about the enemies and potential allies of the Rebel Alliance. Working undercover, naturally.
And these reports... they were startling in their abundance of double standards. But when had it ever been otherwise in intelligence work and politics? Take, for example, a certain slaver, leader of the Mitaranor Slaver Council. In his report, Cracken didn't mince words about this individual. The politest epithet would be "a disgusting personality." Well, slavery was a sin, of course, but not in this galaxy.
And the full flowering of the New Republic's double standards was revealed in the dossier on a former university professor who left his original job and became a pirate. According to Cracken's logic, this "character" was of interest as a potential rebel and instructor for young recruits.
The slogan of the New Republic, that the days of the Empire were over, kept running through my head... Yes, I'd agree with that. In the days of the Empire, only Prince Xizor and Black Sun had received such high-level attention from the state power structures — again, because of their usefulness. But in the "Cracken Reports," practically every galactic criminal, if they were against the Empire, was considered a potential ally. Thieves, murderers, pirates... A wonderful group being assembled.
Yes, I'm no saint in this regard myself, but we're "Imperials," we're "evil incarnate," it's allowed for us.
Overall, the "Cracken Reports" contained a lot of interesting things. Information about the New Republic's secret prisons, where Imperials deemed too dangerous for amnesty were held. And the Republicans were supposedly granting amnesty to everyone who surrendered and promised not to work for the Empire anymore... It was curious that the commander of the Star Destroyer Tyrant wasn't given that choice — he was sent straight to a secret prison. Although, he wasn't the only one there. Imperial agents, ship commanders, special forces, commandos... Those who, for one reason or another, were considered too ideological and not even worthy of mention as prisoners.
I once read that George Lucas modeled the Old Republic on the USA. And the Expanded Universe was also written by authors from that country, so the internal content... it had a characteristic stench.
Here you have secret prisons for the ideological, "shadow operations," and flirting with separatists of all stripes to establish pro-Republican regimes...
So, looking at it from the outside, it was like the Empire never died... Yes, my homeland wasn't without sin either, but... I couldn't recall any little "scuffle" across the globe where the "ears" of our national intelligence services or mercenaries weren't sticking in. In some — yes. But...
Anyway, that was all lyricism.
Something else was more interesting.
With the establishment of the New Republic as a legitimate state, Airen Cracken became the head of the New Republic Intelligence Directorate. Although the Galactic Empire had lost its former power with the death of its ruler, some former Imperial warlords, like Zsinj or Ysanne Isard, were active and causing many problems for the young New Republic. During the liberation campaign conducted by Republican forces between the Battle of Yavin and the Battle of Hoth, Cracken assembled a special group of agents known as the "Shadow Operatives." The duties of this group included sabotage, spreading disinformation, and assassinations when necessary — all in order to disunite the Imperial moffs, admirals, and counselors who remained after Palpatine. It was the "Shadow Operatives" who were responsible for the "disinformation" that was now considered normal in any galactic society. These guys were the source of all the stories about how the Imperials oppressed all non-humans, kept everyone in slavery, carried out "Base Delta Zero" every weekend, and other nonsense that gave you a headache and made you want desperately to rid the galaxy of such ideologically driven professionals.
Because I could see only one reason why these "guys" weren't in the active roster now — they were illegal agents who worked directly with Cracken. To keep their identities and locations secret, General Cracken had put a blaster charge in his own head, splattering his brains in every sense.
Well, the Dominion Intelligence Service had another target.
But I was much more interested in the spin-offs of General Cracken's reports.
For example, the excellent work titled "Cracken's Most Wanted." A list of fifty names compiled by the deceased about two years ago. On the electronic pages of this "reference book," you could find leads on Imperials, bounty hunters, mercenaries, smugglers, murderers, pirates, gangsters, mercenaries, spies, and informants, as well as separate categories of persons who had, in one way or another, greatly annoyed the New Republic.
In my opinion — an excellent selection of potential targets, each of which should be worked through. Some to recruit, some to hire, some to eliminate if they posed a major threat to the Dominion. Is it disgusting to cooperate with thugs that even the New Republic considers the dregs of society? Oh, no, not disgusting at all. Since the illustrious and enlightened democracy denied itself nothing, what could be said about us "Imperials"? We're "evil incarnate," it's allowed for us. It's even necessary.
Another excellent list of "spoils" from the cyber-attack was the result of the work of the new director of New Republic Intelligence, Hiram Drayson. The file was titled "Cracken's Operatives" and had quite interesting content.
Finding himself cut off from Cracken's intelligence network operating across the galaxy, Drayson began working to re-establish contact with agents. A number of illegal operatives independently made contact with the new leadership, and Drayson, unlike Cracken, decided to keep specialized records of this kind of "assets." Well, thank you very much for such an excellent guide for choosing future targets.
Why future? Because decapitating the New Republic's illegal residency (except when it works directly on Dominion territory or against it) means dealing irreparable damage to the New Republic's ability to counter Palpatine's future plans. One should never forget that part of the events that "happened off-screen" could have occurred precisely because of the active work of these same illegals. So, keeping surveillance on them is still necessary, but eliminating them should be done with great caution. At least until Palpatine is completely defeated. But after that... Yes, the Dominion Intelligence Service and the Noghri would significantly thin out the ranks of Republican intelligence officers.
But the most luxurious "gift of fate" for me at the moment was a selection of information about... the Imperial Intelligence Service.
Judging by the writing style, Airen Cracken himself was responsible for compiling this data; his writing style was hard to mistake.
The General kept records of the databases that fell into their hands along with the capture of Coruscant. There were notes that part of the information had been deleted, part restored. Some dossiers Cracken compiled himself, generalizing information he already knew.
I had to admit, it was interesting reading.
However, my hopes of finding something interesting about Blackhole's identity were not fulfilled. General "strokes," data on participation in several operations, mostly based on hypotheses and conjectures. Unpleasant, but still intriguing.
But what I hadn't even hoped for, oddly enough, was found.
The name the clone of Ysanne Isard had mentioned.
Jahan Cross.
Imperial agent. Judging by the fact that his dossier was filled out on a retrospective basis, it was compiled by the Republicans based on data obtained through their own channels.
Well, this would shed light on the reason for such interest from the Iceheart in this particular individual.
Born thirty-three years before the Battle of Yavin IV into the family of a diplomat in the Old Republic's corresponding corps. A comfortable, carefree childhood. During General Grievous's attack on Coruscant at the end of the Clone Wars, his mother was killed, and his sister was dragged down to the Lower Levels of the galactic city by local lowlifes. Jahan survived the concussion and followed them into the depths of Coruscant, where he killed his first sentient being, but arrived several hours too late to save his sister.
How curious... Killing a living, thinking being at fourteen. Yes, revenge for his sister's death, but still — such a thing doesn't pass without a trace. It was non-critical, but what happened must have left an indelible mark on young Jahan's mind.
Hmm... Further data on Cross's life was missing, with a large gap — right up to three years before the Battle of Yavin. Apparently, this part of his biography couldn't be recovered by Republican intelligence.
Which was strange, given the fact that with the capture of Coruscant, all archives had fallen into their hands — both the Old Republic's and the Galactic Empire's. Not to mention the archives of schools, institutes, and colleges, medical databases, customs declarations, records from the diplomatic service through which his father continued to work. With such data, it was simply impossible to lose track of sixteen years of a young man's life.
So the conclusion suggested itself — Cross's dossier had been purged. And so thoroughly that Cracken couldn't recover it. Consequently, only one thought came to mind — all the data was deliberately purged.
Someone made sure Cross's past disappeared. Intriguing... For some reason, it immediately brought to mind the data purge on Wayland...
So, three years before the Battle of Yavin IV.
The data on Cross's first operation already had a different style of presentation — meaning it was an insert from another source. Curious...
Cracken indicates that after Alliance saboteurs infiltrated a research station and security node, which gave them access to Incom Corporation's testing grounds, Cross was embedded in the compromised facility to conduct an investigation...
Wait a minute... That sounded too familiar. So familiar that I'd read it somewhere before.
And my memory helpfully supplied the recollection.
I pulled one of the code cylinders from my breast pocket — the one Thrawn had used for his investigation into the search for...
I scanned it...
There it is!
The research station where Cross had operated three years before the Battle of Yavin was Research Base 61, located on Wayland! It was here, due to personnel negligence, that the rebels managed to hack the security node. After that, the road to Incom and the infamous X-wings was opened to them.
These records had been with me ever since I appeared in this galaxy! Except that Mitth'raw'nuruodo, while searching for Wayland, hadn't bothered to include the data on the agent who identified the corrupt interests of that base's commander and killed him.
And it turned out it was Jahan Cross.
What was the probability of sending a simple operative to a secret facility located on the same planet as Palpatine's own storehouse? Which, at that time, was clearly not empty?
I didn't think there was any.
If the rebels had known then that Palpatine's personal storehouse was located in the other hemisphere of Wayland, they wouldn't have stopped at just one sabotage mission infiltrating the research station.
Jahan Cross — Palpatine's personal agent. Moreover, it was most likely that his clearance was of the highest rank.
Hmm... It was getting more and more interesting.
After the mission on Wayland, Cross provided evidence to the then-head of Imperial Intelligence, Armand Isard, about the corruption of the Imperial officer he had killed on Wayland. He received permission to continue this investigation, but now in the Corporate Sector, where the data sold by the dead Imperial commander had been transferred.
And here was a third piece of data. Compiled in a completely unofficial style. Judging by the content, I could even guess who the author was.
On the planet Etti IV in the Corporate Sector, Jahan Cross ran into Han Solo. And there was a very curious point here that shed light on Cross's past.
Solo knew him from the Imperial Academy and considered him a friend. Moreover, as a result of an incident with local residents, Cross used his diplomatic immunity to prevent the arrest of himself, Solo, and Chewbacca, which aroused the anger of local security forces.
I'd never been particularly close with intelligence types, but the fact that a certain percentage of any state's diplomatic service consisted of career intelligence officers was clear even without special education or training.
Next comes quite a lengthy entry stating that Cross had certain dealings with members of the Stark family… Specifically, that branch of the Starks whose name was made famous by their involvement in the Stark Hyperspace War, which ended not long before the Clone Wars began.
How intriguingly circumstances sometimes align and fates intertwine, however…
Be that as it may, Cross was accused of murdering the second wife of the late Iaco Stark, the man whose name that war bore. He attempted to claim diplomatic immunity, but the Imperial envoy maliciously declared him an impostor. What follows is a detailed statistical account of how a single agent turned an entire planet upside down — took out the guards who'd detained him, staged a high-speed rally through the mansion on a speeder bike, got shot down, flew over a waterfall, dove into a swimming pool, and escaped an explosion…
Solo reported that he'd also had certain problems with the locals, who were trying to get to Cross through him. Cross, after this incident, approached the smuggler to deliver him to the planet Reltuin. However, Solo refused, since Cross had no money on him.
Curiously, three intriguing events occurred in rapid succession afterward.
First — the murder and robbery of the very envoy who'd declared Cross an impostor, which destroyed the agent's diplomatic immunity.
Second — a disaster in the city, a traffic accident involving gunfire. This part appeared to be a news segment complete with a description of the incident's instigator. Needless to say, the "composite sketch" matched Cross's appearance.
Third — another report authored by Han Solo, according to which he'd delivered not only Cross to the planet Reltuin, but also a young woman from the Stark family, who was tending to the Imperial agent's wounds.
The Corellian fulfilled his end of the deal, except he dropped the pair off not on the planet, but at a space station guarded by modified vulture droids.
Solo didn't know what happened on the station Eclipse, but he indicated that he'd picked up both passengers from an already blazing and exploding station. Based on conversations between Cross and the woman, as well as a brief skirmish after the evacuation, he concluded that on that space station, Cross had destroyed Iaco Stark — who hadn't actually died, but had turned himself into a cyborg and intended to seize control of all droids in the galaxy.
Cross also made a name for himself in the matter involving the heir to House Dooku — and here the data was provided by the Alderaanian side.
As it turned out, Cross knew Bail Organa and his "daughter" Leia quite well, so he slipped into their celebration without much trouble. At the same party, the murder of the current head of House Dooku occurred. Alderaanian guards insisted that the mercenary who fired the shot was Cross himself, but they couldn't interrogate the hitman because he slipped through security's grasp and vanished. A lookout for the Mandalorian armor the killer wore during the crime yielded nothing.
Cross himself was found in a hotel room.
The Alderaanians also provided information that Cross had met with… Ysanne Isard and held a lengthy conversation with her.
Now it becomes clear how they know each other… The Academy, intelligence work, personal meetings…
Then Cross is discovered at a gathering of the noble Houses of the planet Serenno, homeland of House Dooku. He participates in secret negotiations, discussions… But the Imperial delegation was led by Cross's father. This further suggests that Jahan is an agent, not a negotiator. A real diplomat was sent to lull the locals into complacency.
According to New Republic analysts' notes, Jahan Cross was involved in the subsequent series of firefights and battles in which even Boba Fett made an appearance.
In the end, the power crisis on Serenno was successfully resolved, and the murdered man's son became head of House Dooku.
And… that was it. No more information, only vague reports that the agent had been spotted here and there.
However, direct proof of his involvement in anything illegal was never confirmed.
The agent simply went to ground, and for the next ten years, the Republicans have been looking for him.
They search, but they just can't find him. Which is noteworthy.
The personal psychological profile of Cross indicated, more than ever, that he was someone you could do business with.
He was a man of honor and justice, devoted to his work and proud to serve the Empire. He also accepted aliens and droids to the extent that he felt great respect for the aliens working for the Empire. He was also a man haunted by his past.
He was exceptionally well-trained in combat, both armed and unarmed, as well as in piloting various types of equipment. He was also observant and skilled in subtleties, though he fought when necessary.
Well, I have to admit, while studying this data, I felt like I was watching some spy action movie. A kind of cross between Jason Bourne and James Bond rolled into one, multiplied by local realities.
Gunfights, chases, hostage-taking, a supercomputer threatening the security of absolutely everything, political assassinations, betrayals, fake deaths…
And in every one of his operations, according to the information gathered on him, Jahan Cross came out victorious. Not bad, very not bad.
I concede, Isard offered a truly interesting candidate for recruitment.
I could really, truly use the support of an agent of this level.
He is definitely alive, because the dossier contains a note that a man resembling him has been repeatedly seen across the Corporate Sector.
All that remained was to find him, first determining his current outlook on everything happening, his degree of loyalty to the Dominion's ideals, and then "put him to work."
Because one thing is clear from the gathered information — New Republic intelligence also took an interest in him at some point. Not to mention that his diplomat father is clearly connected either to New Alderaan or to the New Republic itself.
It's possible that he's already working against us as an "illegal" agent, but I suspect that with his style of carrying out missions, something like that wouldn't escape my notice.
Hmm…
He has an extremely "noisy way of working," which of course isn't always good, but…
Why not, after all?
The holo-projector beeped.
I opened my eyes and activated the device.
The white-and-blue projection of Reynar Obscuro greeted me, standing on one knee with his head bowed.
"Axxila is taken, Grand Admiral," he said. "The councilors were killed by a Jedi. I made sure the Kavil's Corsairs seized power and fulfilled the terms of the agreement. All the planet's resources are now at our disposal."
"Excellent," I said, making a note on the computer — now all that remained was to send a contingent to the planet and begin the relevant work. But that was for a conversation with Grand Moff Ferrus.
"A new assignment, Grand Admiral?" A silent determination appeared in Obscuro's eyes.
"Yes," I replied without thinking long. "Our last tactical operation will cause a number of adversaries you'd like to meet personally to pick up the trail. I'm sending you the coordinates of a place where you should set a trap."
"It will be done, Grand Admiral," Obscuro said submissively, with clear enthusiasm.
Yes, he understood me correctly — a meeting awaited him with those he dreamed of taking revenge upon.
* * *
A sharp odor irritatingly affected her olfactory receptors, and Third snapped her eyes open.
Third.
Her consciousness, still clouded by chemicals, clung to scattered fragments of the interior…
But here it was just as dark as in the basements of her laboratory.
Only a tiny lamp above her head dispersed this semi-darkness.
Almost like in the lab, except her eyes distinguished differences.
And substantial ones at that.
She could say with certainty that she was no longer in her hideout at the B'omarr monastery on the planet Teth.
"Bummer," the girl said sadly, looking at her hands and feet, chained to a metal seat.
She'd have to start all over again, save up money…
"It's not as bad as you think," the semi-dark room, lit only by the lamp above her head, filled with a commanding male voice coming from beyond the cone of light. "If you cooperate, you can get plenty of privileges."
"Ah," was all Third said, yawning. "Well… I see, fair enough."
A man stepped out from the darkness.
Young, relatively attractive, dressed in black armor… just like those soldiers who broke into her lab.
He was probably one of the ones who disturbed her solitude.
"Well, let's cooperate," the girl said, unable to stifle a wide yawn.
The man stood frozen for a few seconds.
"And… no screaming, no threats, no demands, no conditions?" he asked suspiciously.
"Nope," Third declared. "Well, no, there's one."
"I didn't doubt it," the man smirked. "My name is Bravo-One and…"
"Alright then," the girl shrugged. "I've heard worse names. I'm Third."
"I know," the man said with a vexed grimace. "And you're a member of the Order of B'omarr…"
"Got anything to eat?" the girl inquired.
The man stopped mid-sentence.
He stood with his mouth open, blinking and processing.
"Come again?" he asked.
"I'm hungry," Third said. "You asked about the conditions for my cooperation, so there it is — I want to eat."
"I thought you'd say something about money, working conditions," her captor said somewhat uncertainly.
"The main thing is that there's food," Third replied. "I'm too lazy to cook."
"Yeah, I saw confirmation of your laziness in your den," the man snorted. "Are you even aware that dry rations are supposed to be heated, not eaten raw, and bed linen is supposed to be washed? Your place isn't a lab, it's a flophouse."
The prisoner shrugged.
If he didn't like it, then why did they blow up the door?
"Laziness," she explained, yawning. "I want to eat. And sleep."
"I knew you monks were completely out of your minds, but this…" Bravo-One said, eyeing her warily. "Do you at least know why you're needed and who you'll be cooperating with?"
"Does it even matter?" the girl clarified. "People don't kidnap B'omarr monks to play sabbacc. That means you need my talents. I don't mind working for someone. I'm too lazy to look for equipment and reagents myself. Plus, I'd have to hide from the Order…"
"You're the radical who not only puts brains into vessels but also back into bodies?" Bravo-One asked, still suspicious.
"Well… If you'd waited another couple of hours and hadn't blown up my door and ruined my equipment, the patient could've even talked to you," the girl yawned.
"You're not even going to ask if he's alive?" Bravo-One asked.
"Too lazy," the girl declared. "And I want to eat. And to sleep — I spent two days on my feet operating."
"You'll have all that," Bravo-One stated. "But from now on, you work exclusively for the Dominion. You're going to perform a series of operations to save the lives of our people and non-people, so I need to be sure you're qualified for the job."
"Alright then," Third shrugged. "Give me the right equipment and in twenty-four hours your brain will already be floating in a nutrient solution. And in another twenty-four hours, I can put it in a rancor's body if you want."
"I'm fine with my own body," Bravo-One replied, paling and stepping back.
"You'd look even prettier as a little spider with your brain in a jar," Third smiled.
Her answer was a quiet stream of Rodian curses. Third could only make out a couple of phrases, and even those were some nonsense about B'omarr monks being completely insane and needing to mate with a rancor.
"Weird people," Third thought, yawning.
"So when do I get to eat?"