Corran ran his hand over the back of his head, lowering his palm lower and massaging his stiff neck.
No, flying in an X-wing was certainly quite an adventure for an unprepared body. But who knew that flying in the passenger compartment of a freighter was an even greater ordeal?
"I'll never complain about a cramped cockpit and an uncomfortable seat again," Tycho Celchu, sitting next to him, said as if reading his thoughts.
Judging by the faces of the other Rogues, disguised as Imperial pilots, they shared their commander's opinion.
"This is torture," Corran commented quietly. "Literally everything about me is stiff. How can anyone travel long distances like this?"
"Just as painfully," Tycho stated. "But during my service, I don't recall pilots being delivered to their base in such vehicles. More... comfortable modes of transport were usually used."
"Looks like Devian has problems with those," Corran concluded. "Since he chose an old rusty garbage scow to deliver an elite squadron..."
If you were to believe for even a moment that Isard wasn't hatching another plan that would absolutely displease every sentient involved, you could say she had prepared thoroughly.
For the eight pilots of Rogue Squadron, identification cards had been created (or repurposed from ones made for someone else earlier), according to which they were part of Colonel Wessiri's air wing, having defected along with their fighters to join Warlord Ennix Devian. Naturally — for the sake of preserving the high ideals of the New Order. Though this Imperial didn't exactly declare them very loudly...
But that wasn't the main thing.
The main thing was that Devian's recruiters had hired them. Which meant the "legends" Isard had devised for them had withstood any checks the recruiters could come up with.
Or the recruiters simply didn't care who they hired. Pilots in the Empire were considered nothing more than expendable resources. And those flying TIE Defenders were even more so — a resource that could be used several times. After all, having deflector shields helped avoid dying from the first salvo.
The fact that this pair had been hired, despite the recruiters supposedly adhering to the unchanging paradigms of the New Order, spoke in favor of the claim that the recruiters didn't care what was going on.
Horn cast rather ambiguous glances at the human and the Twi'lek, carefully masking them as noncommittal movements, like stretching his neck, arms, or something similar.
He didn't like this pair at all.
A human and a Twi'lek. Both dressed in Imperial pilot suits.
Both piloted TIE Avengers.
But dyed-in-the-wool Imperials didn't train aliens to operate their equipment; they wouldn't let them within a cannon shot of it.
It would be understandable if the girl was a slave or a servant of the young lieutenant, but judging by the nature of their interaction — they were clearly on the verge of a friendly relationship. And the Twi'lek was subordinate to the human.
A rather strange situation, especially considering that Horn sensed a certain suspicion from the lieutenant toward the eight disguised and "legend-equipped" Rogues.
Initially, they planned to use the same identities that had allowed them to infiltrate Coruscant for a sabotage mission against the planet's defense system almost three years ago. But right before the departure, Colonel Wessiri and Isard had scrapped this method of infiltration, providing the Rogues with new identities, which no inspector could verify anyway — just like the fate of the original pilots.
For the simple reason that the "originals" of these pilots hadn't advertised their fate for several years, so catching the Rogues in any inconsistency would be impossible.
But for some reason, the Imperial and his subordinate radiated distrust...
Perhaps it was due to the natural qualities of these sentients, or maybe something else?
Or maybe they were simply jealous of the Rogues, whose TIE Defenders were in excellent technical condition, while the Avengers of both pilots bore obvious signs of shoddy repairs.
Horn certainly hadn't examined the ships when they were loaded into the freighter's hold they were currently flying on, but he had noticed the general features of the craft.
Including the non-standard weapons mounted on both ships.
In fact, Avengers were in no way inferior to Defenders, being among the few Imperial small craft equipped with deflector shields and hyperdrives. Just like the ships Rogue Squadron was using for this mission.
The only saving grace was that the Imperial Remnant didn't have many such TIEs — otherwise the qualitative superiority of the X-wings would have been nullified.
And Horn also had one unpleasant suspicion regarding their new acquaintances (though in fact, they knew nothing beyond their names).
"Boss," Corran said quietly. "Correct me if I'm wrong. But the Defenders and the Avengers have identical performance specs, don't they?"
Celchu thought for a moment.
"In general terms, yes," he agreed. "The difference isn't as significant as it might seem at first glance."
"I'll bet Isard's head that this pair gets attached to our squadron," the Corellian voiced his assumptions. "Precisely because of the similar specs."
"I've been thinking about that since the start of the flight," the Alderaanian admitted. "Eight ships isn't a squadron. But ten — that's starting to look like one."
"Two extras on the comms is a problem," Horn continued.
"A huge one, I'd say," Celchu didn't evade.
The plan Isard had devised was simple.
Like all genius things.
And therefore, there was no reason to believe there were no snags.
Initially, Isard had planned to insert them into Grand Admiral Thrawn's armed forces so that, using their advantage during a battle with the New Republic (regardless of which one specifically), the Rogues in TIE Defenders would attack the Chimaera's bridge and deprive the Dominion of its command.
But in reality, she had to change her plan.
For reasons she hadn't bothered to explain.
But, as Horn suspected, the Iceheart, even with her cunning, couldn't overcome the screening system that the Dominion in fact used for everyone arriving in the Grand Admiral's state. Consequently, the infiltration idea was doomed to fail from the start.
Instead, Isard changed the insertion point, sending them to a recruitment center for Warlord Ennix Devian, who, according to information Wedge had obtained on Lianna, was developing another Death Star somewhere inside the Ghost Nebula.
Colonel Wessiri had not only provided them with training capsules to master piloting unfamiliar craft but also shared the information and analysis Isard had gathered regarding Grand Admiral Thrawn's actions and tactics.
The Imperial clearly didn't have large forces under his command, so he worked on the principle of capture rather than destruction of enemy starships. Not disdaining either Republic or outdated ships.
According to Isard, Thrawn had deliberately created a laboratory on Lianna to force the New Republic to attack Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel. His timing — to arrive when the Republic fleet had practically won the battle and, with superior forces, defeat the fleet under Advisor Fey'lya's command. Thereby, visually demonstrating to the inhabitants of the Ciutric Hegemony the supposedly imperialistic plans of the New Republic and, without conflict with Krennel himself, capture the Hegemony and turn it into a Remnant personally subordinated to him.
And, judging by the news the Rogues were receiving, that's exactly how it had turned out. Thrawn had not only subjugated the Ciutric Hegemony but had also absorbed the nearest sectors, expanding his sphere of influence.
According to Isard's estimates, Thrawn's next targets were the facilities of Lianna, which he hadn't managed to acquire through simple negotiation, and also Ennix Devian. The latter possessed a number of resources the Grand Admiral needed to maintain even the illusion of his presence in the captured areas and sectors.
Devian had ships.
Yes, most of them were located in the Ghost Nebula and didn't pose a serious problem even for one of the New Republic's four fleets.
But the problem was that Devian intended to seize power over Imperial Space first. This would give him not only a vast resource and industrial base but also a source to replenish human losses.
And only then would he gain forces sufficient to fight the New Republic.
Considering that even after creating his own Remnant — the Dominion — the Imperial Ruling Council hadn't stripped Thrawn of his position as Supreme Commander of the Empire, it was no wonder why he had set such goals for himself.
He was trying to execute the same offensive concept three times — feed the New Republic information about supposedly under-construction Death Stars, forcing Coruscant to launch an offensive against the "superweapon holders." No one would ever allow the enemies of the New Republic to possess such weapons.
And Thrawn only had to wait for the next New Republic fleet to move against Devian, get drawn into battle, and pin down his forces. At that moment, Thrawn would arrive with his fleet, defeat the Republicans, simultaneously destroy Devian, and capture the remnants of what he had. No matter the outcome, Thrawn would gain double benefit — he would capture the remains of Devian's armed forces and, through others' hands, wear down the New Republic fleet, once again announcing his victory.
The first provocation had succeeded — the Fourth Fleet was currently nothing more than a defensive formation, having lost a significant portion of its line, escort, and strike forces. Just the loss of the Crimson Dawn and its escort alone was something! Not to mention the Bothan fleet and those ships that were either destroyed or captured.
With the second provocation, he would force an attack on the Ghost Nebula by the Second Fleet, based on Kashyyyk.
The third would be an attack on Lianna by the Third Fleet...
And in the finale, Thrawn would have enough strength to match Imperial Space or the Pentastar Alignment. And clearly their leadership wasn't stupid — they were watching how the last of the Grand Admirals was steamrolling the New Republic.
And they were undoubtedly weighing the consequences for themselves...
Isard was certain that the destruction of three of the four fleets of the New Republic Defense Forces would give Thrawn the starting capital to issue an ultimatum to the Imperial Ruling Council, as well as Grand Moff Kaine. And they would either submit, thereby forming an Empire encompassing up to a third of the galaxy, or be destroyed, and Thrawn would subjugate their territories anyway.
And after that, he would move on Coruscant...
Coming from Isard's mouth, all of this sounded logical, well-founded, motivated...
But after his stay on the Lusankya, Corran didn't believe her a single micron. Even in exile, the Iceheart would have plans that ensured her own greatness, but not help for the New Republic.
And consequently, her plan was a lie.
Though it was simple and even logical.
The Rogues were supposed to infiltrate Devian's forces while the Iceheart made sure Thrawn believed the New Republic fleet was preparing to attack the Ghost Nebula.
Then, misinformed, Thrawn himself would attack Devian first. And the New Republic fleet would arrive at the end of the battle and finish off the survivors.
Solving three problems at once — destroying the Grand Admiral, the Warlord, and their fleets. Once on the battlefield, Rogue Squadron would have the opportunity to destroy both Devian, striking from hiding, and Thrawn, having an advantage over his fighters, interceptors, and other small craft.
A further counteroffensive would allow the New Republic to drive the remaining troops from the territories Thrawn occupied.
And this entire plan was built solely on the assumption that the Rogue + Iceheart combination would work as intended.
But no one had any faith that Isard would do her part.
That was precisely why the Rogues were currently looking for any opportunity to find a way to inform command independently of the Iceheart.
But for that, they first needed to arrive at Devian's base and obtain its coordinates.
Judging by the fact that the recruiters were transporting pilots of ships equipped with hyperdrives inside the transport along with the TIEs, the recruiters were clearly making efforts to conceal the true location of the Warlord's fleet and other forces.
A dilemma...
* * *
While the Chimaera was once again cutting through hyperspace, heading toward its intended target and sending messages to the fleet's ships, there was an opportunity to think in a calm environment.
Evaluating one's decisions without outside influence is very useful for self-development. And for learning from the past.
To understand whether there was another way.
Because the situation involving the "sleeping agents" created by Isard, or one of her minions, might repeat itself. The fact that I didn't know if such cases had occurred wasn't a guarantee that something similar hadn't happened "off-screen" of the literature I had studied. The current reality had already proven more than once that it had nothing in common with the fragmentation of that universe's literature that I knew.
This was an entire world in which its own processes flowed, sometimes hidden from my view. And I wasn't even aware of most of them.
"The Chimaera will arrive at the location in half an hour," reported Captain Pellaeon, who had arrived with another report.
Well... We were very lucky that we were very close to the source of Mara Jade's signal. At least to the one Ahsoka Tano had indicated to me on the comlink.
"Make sure the fleet's ships are ready for battle," I ordered, not looking up from reading the information.
"Yes, sir," the destroyer's commander stated.
Gilad stood there, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot while I finished reviewing the operational briefings.
His posture, facial expression, and the movement of his fingers, involuntarily clenching and unclenching, betrayed his impatience.
"You have questions, Captain," I stated.
"Yes, sir," he said. "Molo Himron..."
Pellaeon hesitated, clearly unsure how to formulate his initiative without violating a couple of provisions of the Military Disciplinary Code, ranging from "discussing and criticizing command decisions" to "disobeying a commander's order."
"Could we have done otherwise than fulfilling his request," I articulated the unspoken question.
The captain breathed a sigh of relief.
The fact that I had voiced his thoughts myself relieved him of most of the responsibility.
"Yes, sir," he replied.
On my computer monitors, all the data we had on the matter of the Iceheart's "sleeping agents" was open. Republic and Imperial observations, reports from the few survivors after their capture on the Lusankya.
Hacking the Republic networks of Coruscant and obtaining top-secret information allowed me to legitimize part of my own "post-knowledge." Things an Imperial warlord simply couldn't possess.
"The death of Colonel Molo Himron is a heavy blow and an irreplaceable loss for all of us," I uttered the clichéd phrase. Which, oddly enough, was the only thing that was sufficiently accurate and succinct. "However, we had no other choice. Himron knew that better than any of us. And therefore, he correctly assessed his potential danger and made a decision that not everyone is capable of: sacrificing himself for a higher purpose."
"I understand, sir," Pellaeon sighed. "But... We could have sent him to some secure facility, assigned guards, and conducted treatment, searching for information on how to counter the programming of 'sleeping agents'... Not to mention that at this moment, we've lost the source of clones of trained scouts and saboteurs."
"Your statement is fundamentally incorrect, Captain," I countered. "We have a database — a memory imprint of Himron. We have a supply of Himron's blood suitable for cloning. By the most conservative estimates, we can create several thousand clones of the Colonel, and they will be excellent agents. That which remains of him, Himron's legacy. However, you're forgetting a simple fact. Colonel Himron was a professional in his field — that's an undeniable fact. But we also have other agents. Who are just as effective. And at this moment, they don't pose a danger. Our cloning capabilities are sufficient to produce the necessary number of operatives and agents until we can fill the relevant special services with original personnel and graduates of our own academies."
"But, the treatment..." Gilad started, but stopped himself. "Sir, there could be many 'sleeping agents.' Even in our fleet — we just haven't detected them yet, or Isard hasn't activated them. Or they could be in the territories we're capturing as well..."
"'A sleeping agent' waiting for activation could be absolutely anyone," I agreed. "But at the same time, we can't suspect everyone and expect a blow from behind from any cabin boy or sailor walking the decks of your destroyer or any other ship. Paranoia has never led to anything good."
"But surely there's a way to treat it!" Gilad insisted.
"Unfortunately, no, Captain," I noted with undisguised sadness. "Now we have information on a number of sentients who, one way or another, ended up on the Lusankya. Combined with the understanding of 'sleeping agents' we had before, we can form an idea of what threat we're facing."
Pellaeon patiently waited for an explanation.
"Anyone who ended up on the Lusankya underwent appropriate processing by Isard and her specialists," I didn't keep him waiting. "Prisoners of her personal prison became agents of the Empire, carried out contract killings on Isard's orders, and subsequently, when they were uncovered, they would claim they had committed their crimes under duress. However, none of them could remember anything about when they were processed, how, or where. Captain Tycho Celchu, currently the commander of Rogue Squadron, and Corran Horn, a pilot in the same unit, may be considered the only sentients who retained any memories of being in the Iceheart's dungeons. The rest... weren't so lucky. Their connection to the secret prison was only discovered after they were activated by Isard, caused irreparable harm, and were caught by New Republic security forces."
"But only because Isard was striking at former Rebels, wasn't she?" clarified the Chimaera's commander.
"Exactly," I agreed. "Currently, Iceheart is acting against her enemies. And Imperials are among them as well."
"And us," Pellaeon added darkly.
"And us," I agreed. "There's no point in deluding ourselves that the programming can somehow be detected—the Republican intelligence services employ former Imperial medics and broad-profile specialists. Traces of conditioning are impossible to find—and the colonel knew that perfectly well. Just as he knew that he could neither control nor, in fact, be held responsible for actions committed while practically incompetent. No scan, no check will reveal the preparation of such an agent. Any medical droid or specialist will report that the patient is healthy. And in the long run we get a casual situation where a serviceman loyal to duty and oath has in fact committed a crime while being a 'sleeper agent.' But at the same time, his thoughts and actions were not directed by himself, but by a program implanted at the level of behavioral responses and into the depths of the unconscious. And we cannot convict such a man for the crime he committed—because in fact, he didn't do it. But releasing him is dangerous. Even if we exile him beyond the Dominion's borders, there is no guarantee that he, a highly experienced saboteur and killer, won't act against us. Because no one and nothing guarantees that reactivation is impossible. Lock him away in a special facility or secret prison for the rest of his life..." I pretended to consider this option. "Tell me, Captain, would you like to spend whatever time you have left, perhaps your whole life, within four walls, interacting with droids and doctors, answering questions that have no meaning for you?"
"No, sir," Pellaeon conceded to logic.
"Colonel Himron also understood that the only acceptable option was either to spend the rest of his days confined like a laboratory animal on which experiments would be conducted in an attempt to cure him, or to die. He made a decision, a willful act of an officer loyal to duty and oath."
"I understand, sir, but..." Pellaeon dropped his eyes to the floor. "We are winning... taking losses, but... Himron was with us from the beginning, and I... I just can't accept that he would simply..."
Neither could I.
There, on the asteroid, on Isard's secret base, the decision had seemed incontrovertible.
But back on the Chimera, I went over all the pros and cons again and again to...
No, it wasn't a search for another option. More likely just self-justification for not immediately finding a way out. Because, as they say, there is always one.
But I hadn't seen it then.
And I don't see it now.
Himron is the head of my intelligence, who knows many secrets. He is a trained killer and saboteur. If he was conditioned, then in the hands of the real Isard would be a weapon with special skills.
His memory gaps could be consequences of injuries, or they could be part of a method to erase information about the conditioning. After all, in the past Isard brainwashed prisoners aboard her super-destroyer, but now the Lusankya is inaccessible to her. I doubt the New Republic hasn't studied or destroyed the brainwashing equipment (surely somewhere in the depths of the Republic intelligence's secret warehouses, one or two unregistered units are kept for a rainy day). Given Isard's emotional state during the capture of the Lusankya, it's unlikely that she hid the equipment herself. But that can't be ruled out either.
As can several other points.
First: Maul could have undergone a completely different type of conditioning, not the kind used before.
Second: Isard grew her clone and imbued it with loyalty to specific tasks. How did she do that? Using the Lusankya's facilities or something else? During the conversation, the clone said she felt a desire to return the prisoners from the super-destroyer whom I had given to the New Republic. What is that if not the fulfillment of a specific task?
Finally, it's impossible to exclude the fact that if the brainwashing equipment fell into the hands of the New Republic, agents of the real Isard, including those within the New Republic, might have stolen it for Iceheart, somehow concealing that fact.
Use Molo as a source of material for cloning and subsequent multiplication of an agent army? Yes, the proposal seems logical. But only if we believe the words of Double-Isard that brainwashing is not transferred during cloning.
The problem is that I don't trust Double-Isard. Precisely because she is a clone of Iceheart, and furthermore programmed to guard the prisoners from the Lusankya. All her actions may be solely aimed at regaining control of the situation and executing her implanted program.
Therefore, her words should be treated with a huge dose of healthy skepticism.
In light of this, trusting her with the 'deprogramming' operation on Himron is also dangerous. You never know if she will keep her word or remove the real Isard's 'firmware' but replace it with her own.
Not to mention that one should have respect for one's companions. Even Pellaeon admitted he couldn't endure confinement, even for treatment. And what about a professional saboteur who wants to end his life, but instead becomes a prisoner in a secret facility? The advantageous difference between the Dominion and the Galactic Empire is that we do not view allies and loyal citizens as a resource. Especially regarding eugenic experiments on a living person.
Yes, it sounds clumsy, but there are limits to humanity.
Today you seal a loyal comrade in carbonite and thaw him to use his DNA to create a clone army, and tomorrow you say that the order 'Base Delta Zero' is a blessing, because it's easier to burn a planet than conduct a ground operation.
Maybe someone in my position would have chosen that path—lock Himron in a hospital, experiment on him to understand how to detect 'sleeper agents' and counter them, and as a last resort, use him as a donor for cloning. But such 'smart thoughts' are uttered by those who cannot reflect that one day they themselves might end up in such a 'gilded cage.' I seriously doubt that the fate of a 'stud bull' is the best end to a life and career.
Brain transplantation under the B'omarr monk program... And what would that solve? If the programming is truly at the level of reflexes, behavioral responses, and the depths of the unconscious, then brain transplantation only gives a crippled operative a new young body. Which he would use 'to the fullest' if conditioned.
Not to mention what an experienced saboteur would say and do if, after being asked to kill himself to prevent severe consequences, he wakes up in a new body? Would he think it a blessing? Or that all the talk about respect for allies was just empty chatter, and he remained the same cog in someone else's games? Oh, something tells me the second option is the only one chosen. And then it absolutely won't matter whether Himron was conditioned or not—human psychology is such that he will seek revenge. First on those who betrayed him. And he would save Isard for dessert.
Can scanning during cloning and creation of a personality matrix reveal memories of conditioning? How, if the programming operates at a deep level? After all, with copying, the clone receives all the skills, reactions, and the original's attitude toward various phenomena, actions, and beings. As I already thought, the words of Double-Isard that brainwashing won't work during cloning cannot be believed. There's a huge risk of creating from one agent an aria of saboteurs who, on a single command, will wreak chaos and disorganization.
Is it dangerous to continue cloning soldiers without knowing about all the 'sleeper agents'? Yes, certainly. But one must not indulge in stupid paranoia either.
I have clear doubts that Himron was not conditioned by Isard. Cloning him further is a great risk. And at the same time, I have no reason to suspect every second citizen of the Dominion (not counting the first). Conducting a witch hunt is a thankless task, destabilizing the internal situation, and also having unpleasant consequences. Even if you find 'sleeper agents' who haven't been activated yet, what do you do with them? Kill them all? And by what right?
Not to mention that conditioning cannot be detected.
What they did to General Dodonna is not Isard's conditioning. It's a message equipped with an augmented self-destruct device. A dead spy will never tell anything except what the one who sent him to his enemies wants to convey. Dodonna was equipped with this deadly trap to put the hunt on Isard's trail and expose my laboratory on Linuri. Which, actually, was developed to disinform the New Republic. The trap worked, though I had hoped that this fact would help me discredit Grand Moff Kaine.
Well, not everything turns out as one wishes.
The only somewhat reliable way to get rid of the 'sleeper agents,' or at least gain control over them, is to find Isard and the ship on which she fled from her base.
Either we destroy all of them, or we seize control of the ship and the specialists. After all, Isard has 'butchers' who augmented the device into General Dodonna's body.
And if I remember correctly Isard's actions during the capture of Corran Horn aboard the Lusankya, as well as her 'preparation' of Rogue Squadron in the book Isard's Revenge, it's no wonder she might have retained some qualified personnel.
"It's hard to lose comrades in arms, Captain," I agreed. "Colonel Molo Himron did what is beyond any praise. Like Captain Von Schneider, they did everything in their power and more. As I promised, their sacrifices will not be forgotten. Just like the sacrifices of those who died in the line of duty." I took an information chip from the computer and handed it to Pellaeon, who had stepped closer. "Encrypt it and send it to Ciutric IV. Grand Moff Ferrus has been briefed in general terms on the upcoming operations; the details are on this chip."
"Yes, sir, it will be done." Pellaeon slipped the chip into his tunic pocket, looking at me questioningly.
"Not all the details of their service, much less the circumstances of their deaths, can become public knowledge," I continued. "Especially in the case of Colonel Himron's death. However, we have no moral right to conceal what happened... Our heroes deserve that their memory not be forgotten. Even more, they deserve to become objects of emulation and examples for the youth and the citizens of the Dominion."
"Of course, sir," nodded Pellaeon, clearly having no idea what was on the information chip. Well, that's fair for everyone except me and the Grand Moff, on whose shoulders the execution of instructions falls.
"As I've been informed, Captain Hoffner has already completed the purchases of the first-stage construction and military equipment we need," I continued. "Make sure the second stage goes smoothly—I want all the Golans we can buy with the funds allocated from the state budget."
After confirming the order once more, Pellaeon headed to the bridge to send out the coded messages.
And I...
I pondered what exactly Mara Jade had discovered in the Venin sector and why she could only report it with Ahsoka Tano's help.
We were flying into the unknown, because the Jedi had understood nothing from the jumbled telepathic contact except the system's coordinates and the terrible fear that had seized the Hand at the end of the session.
* * *
Reom cast a pitiful look toward the sentients standing at the entrance to the starship's airlock.
A Dominion scout, several stormtroopers, and an anti-grav chair containing his sister.
That was all the sentients present at the moment his life's path would end.
"Shira," tears appeared in his eyes. "Please. You must—no, you have to forgive me!"
The Twi'lek girl, who also happened to be his biological sister, bared her teeth in a predatory grin.
"Not so brave now, are you, Reom?" she asked. "When you beat me half to death, you didn't think it would end like this, did you?"
The Twi'lek ground his teeth.
"Little bitch!" he snarled.
And his voice was full of despair.
"At least you're going to die now," His younger sister's eyes brimmed with malice mixed with refined anticipation of revenge.
Reom glanced at the officer, who watched everything with complete indifference.
"Use your head, Imperial!" he shouted, seeing that no one was going to intervene. "This girl is a cripple! She can't do anything but attach prosthetics! But I... I..." He paused, thinking about what he could offer as payment for his own life. "I have connections in the criminal underworld! I can get you anything you want."
In truth, he knew perfectly well what these sentients needed.
They had asked him about the location of the Sa'Nalaor more than once. Not just twice. But he had remained silent, trying to come up with a plan that wouldn't cost him the enormous wealth promised by Ral Hardin for help in providing him with a Star Destroyer and evacuation from the crash site of an old Separatist frigate.
But now it was clear that all options were exhausted.
"You don't know or can do anything," said the man who had broken most of his bones during the storming of the Star Destroyer salvaged at Raxus Prime, in a bored tone.
"You're wrong, Imperial," Reom spoke quickly. "You asked me about the Sa'Nalaor..."
"And you were foolish not to answer the questions," the scout reminded. "So I made a deal with your sister. She'll help us."
"Oh, really?" Reom laughed. "Sure. She doesn't even know where the crash site is."
He looked at his sister mockingly.
"What do you say to that, Shira?" he asked, smiling triumphantly.
A shadow fell over his sister's face.
"That you're a notorious liar," she said distinctly.
"Is that so?" Reom laughed. It seemed he understood everything...
"Is there a reason to laugh?" the scout asked.
"No," Shira answered quickly.
"Yes, there is," Reom grinned. "This girl was at the crash site only once. Why do you think she took a ship to get to Raxus Prime after the station and the attack on the IsoTech?"
"To cover her tracks," the Imperial said calmly.
"Like hell, Hutt's ass—yes, this will be fun. Very fun. This fool doesn't know how to pilot ships. She doesn't understand anything about them..."
"That's not a flaw," the scout objected.
"She's leading you by the nose, Imperial," Reom declared. "Not only does she not know how to fly a ship, she doesn't even know the coordinates of the crash site. Because when the escape pod with the coordinates reached us, I memorized them. She flew the whole way in the passenger compartment! She doesn't know the coordinates!"
The Imperial was silent for a while.
Shira glared at her brother with an angry expression.
"Is that true?" the Imperial asked, looking at his sister.
"Partially," she admitted reluctantly. "I saw the coordinates when he was busy talking with Harsol. And unlike him, I know the name of the planet."
"So," the man in uniform sighed, "it seems each of you claims to be useful..."
"I thought you'd figured out long ago that this vengeful doll is good for nothing," Reom hissed. "Her and her infantilism—nothing but problems all her life! A lying bitch who can only manipulate others when she wants something. I wouldn't be surprised if she traded something very valuable for the story about coordinates she doesn't even have..."
"That's none of your business!" Shira snapped.
"First," the Imperial continued as if nothing had happened, "she wants you dead. Then—she wants to be cured..."
"And only then will you get the coordinates, right?" Reom sneered.
He had nothing to lose anyway. He was one step away from execution.
So he had to do everything to survive.
"That's the agreement," the man agreed. "But she'll provide the coordinates after you die."
Apparently, this was a change in plan, as the Imperial looked questioningly at the sister.
She was silent for a few seconds, then bared her teeth in a smile.
And nodded in agreement.
"Then make a deal with me!" Reom offered. "I guarantee I'll lead your ship to the crash site of the Sa'Nalaor. I'll even negotiate with Harsol to give you my share and hers"he pointed a finger at the cripple—"of the take! This girl knows nothing! She's using you to kill me by someone else's hands because she can't do anything else. And she really wants to get revenge for childhood grievances!"
"Bravo-One, don't listen to him," Shira said quickly. "The Sa'Nalaor crashed on the planet Cholganna!"
"First I've heard of it," the Imperial admitted.
"Because that's what the Sa'Nalaor's crew named it!" Reom explained. "The planet isn't in any directories. Not even on the maps at the institute on Obroa-skai! No one has ever been there except those who are now waiting to be rescued and get off that miserable little planet! Not a single scout! That's why I killed the first rescue team from the Yiyar—to keep the secret hidden! Shira is just leading you by the nose! She knows nothing! She lies and manipulates!"
"Then write down the coordinates yourself," Bravo-One suggested, holding out a portable datapad.
"We have a deal!" Shira immediately bristled, throwing a furious look at the man.
"Which you apparently don't intend to keep," the Imperial countered.
"Don't listen to him," the girl declared. "He just wants to save his own skin, nothing more!"
"No, she's doing this to settle scores with me," Reom offered his viewpoint. "She won't help you at all. Not to mention that..."
"You can see he's just trying to delay the inevitable!" the girl shouted. "Lying bastard!"
"Venal vengeful bitch!" Reom shot back, taking a step toward the invalid.
Instantly, a pair of stormtroopers appeared beside him and gave him a couple of blows.
"Open the airlock," Bravo-One ordered.
The 'dolls' silently obeyed without hesitation, shoving the struggling Twi'lek inside.
He rushed back, but the door closed right in his face.
The Twi'lek pounded on the airlock doors.
From his facial expression and open mouth, he was still shouting something.
Bravo-One walked to the control panel for the outer airlock doors and glanced at Shira.
"Before something irreversible happens," he said. "Are you sure you want this?"
"Yes!" the girl said impatiently.
"Now I'll press the button, and the outer airlock will open," the Dominion scout continued. "Your brother will be blown into open space and suffocate in a short time."
"Then press it," Shira said grimly.
"If he's right and you don't know the planet's coordinates, things won't be pleasant for you," Bravo-One stated. "I won't tolerate deception!"
"Everything will be fine," Shira assured. "Just press the Hutt-damn button! I want to see him die!"
"Whatever you say," the Dominion soldier shrugged.
His finger touched a large red button, and the aggressive Twi'lek froze, his eyes wide with terror.
"Suffer in death," with burning eyes, Shira watched her brother's body drift away from the ship.
After a couple of minutes, the body stopped twitching in the vacuum and lay still without a single movement...
To be sure, Shira waited another five minutes.
"Now he's definitely dead," she said with satisfaction, closing her eyes and smiling, her face turned to the artificial light.
"Correct," Bravo-One confirmed. "Time to fulfill your part of the deal."
Outside the viewport, green fire flared, and the tiny figure vanished in turbolaser fire.
"Now it's definitely done," the Dominion soldier declared.
He turned, approached the Twi'lek girl, and asked:
"The coordinates."
On Shira's lips, without even bothering to open her eyes, played a triumphant smile:
"How gullible you are, Imperial," she said.
"Can't argue with that," Bravo-One said evenly. "The coordinates..."
"You should have listened to Reom," she opened her eyes suddenly.
"You don't know the coordinates," Bravo-One stated.
"Of course not," she smiled. "And I never did. I don't understand any of your numbers and notations. I was on the planet only once, and I have no idea where it is. Somewhere in Wild Space, I think..."
Suddenly Bravo-One chuckled.
"Was this a setup from the beginning?"
"Of course," the girl returned his smile. "I can imagine how your superiors will ream you out for personally killing the only one who knew how to get to the Sa'Nalaor."
"Yes, that will be very difficult to explain," Bravo-One remarked. "Why did you do it?"
"Because you made me a cripple," the girl said bitterly. "You used me! Because of you, Reom crippled me! And you thought after everything that happened, I'd just fall for your story about a second chance? Like Hutt's ass I would believe that! No. Scout, your superiors will shorten your life considerably. Because you just lost the path to immense wealth that Ral Hardin and his crew managed to grab and take away. Not to mention the advanced cybernetics..."
With a soft hiss, the sliding doors to the medical bay parted. Its emergency airlock had been used for the execution.
From inside, tapping her stiletto heels, came a young woman dressed in a surgical gown.
She looked completely civilian, except for the piece of meat she held in a medical clamp, taking bites.
"Are you still here?" she asked. "My lunch break is coming up."
"You're eating again, Third," Bravo-One sighed regretfully.
"Yeah," she replied imperturbably. Looking at the shocked Shira, she added:
"Are we going to transplant a brain into this one? If so, the body is ready."
The third one stepped aside, revealing... an exact copy of Shira, lying in a special holder... Judging by the reflective surface behind the clone, her skull and lekku had been opened... and were hollow.
The Twi'lek girl's face fell. She stared at the surgeon with a stunned expression, then shifted her gaze to Bravo-One.
"You..." her voice failed her. "You weren't joking, were you?"
"I'm a man of my word," he said, recalling their previous conversation. "A shame you signed your own death warrant..."
"It's a mistake," the girl said, swallowing. "I... I didn't trust anyone... I... didn't think..."
"You should have," Bravo-One remarked, waving his hand.
The stormtroopers grabbed the disabled transport chair and pushed it toward the operating room.
"Shira," Bravo-One called after her.
The "dolls" obediently stopped the chair and turned the girl to face the Dominion scout.
"T-5," the Dominion scout said.
"What is that?" the girl asked, barely a whisper.
"The quadrant number where Cholganna is located," the Dominion scout explained. "Giving you the coordinates would be pointless — your clones confirm Reom's claim that you have serious problems with astrogation. His clones, on the other hand, actually navigate the galaxy quite well..."
The girl's eyes widened as she grasped the horror of her situation...
All her own fault.
"So," the Third asked, chewing a piece of meat. "Are we transferring the brain, or should I just dissect her?"
"Move it," Bravo-One ordered. "At least we'll get some practice with the procedure. Try to keep the specimen alive — she'll be useful for our further transplantology experiments."
"The rest can wait until after lunch," the Third declared categorically, returning to her workspace.
As the door to the medical bay closed, Shira was sobbing uncontrollably.
* * *
Strangely enough, the Star Destroyer didn't close in on the transport she was aboard.
Instead, the Imperial itself decided to return to the unfinished super star destroyer, while it sent a boarding pod toward the transport.
Unfortunately, the girl didn't have enough time to bring the mothballed freighter to flight-ready condition.
Pre-flight checks on ships like this took quite a while due to the low power output of several key systems.
So there was no doubt she'd have to fight aboard this space truck.
The airlock the boarding craft had attached to was in the corridor and could lead to any part of the ship — both the forward compartments and the cargo hold.
Deciding which was more critical to leave unguarded — the controls or the engine room — Mara chose not to tempt fate.
So, after sealing the reactor deck, she didn't think twice before using her lightsaber to create barricades in the corridor, thereby securing the engine room.
Once the reactor reached full power, she could fly the freighter from the bridge.
It was a lousy escape plan, but the prospect of falling into the hands of a Dark Side adept didn't appeal to her much.
At the same time, the aura of the Dark Side — painfully familiar and no less repulsive — emanated from the Star Destroyer. The girl couldn't quite remember the last time she'd sensed it...
But she was certain it had been much weaker in the past, which only confused her. And it definitely wasn't this... vile.
The only thing she was sure of — it wasn't Palpatine. And would the Reborn Emperor bother to drag himself all the way out to the Outer Rim just to... do something?
So whoever was undoubtedly the master of Lieutenant Donell had decided not to personally take part in capturing her. He clearly thought she wasn't interesting enough to deal with personally. But solid enough to send his minions.
And they were definitely supposed to deliver her to the Star Destroyer.
So her use of the Force had been detected after all. And now the leader of this group had decided to "have a word" with her.
Well, then...
Lights from an ultra-powerful welder crawled across the blast door of the docking airlock. It seemed the intruders didn't want to waste time restoring the access panel and were breaking through by force.
She straightened her back slightly and sharpened her senses.
Behind the bulkhead, she sensed a group of people who didn't want to be noticed. But they were extremely determined.
A flash and a roar marked the end of the hatch's resistance.
Now she could clearly feel that she was up against nine people.
A squad of stormtroopers.
And they were heading straight for the stack of crates where Mara was hiding.
She'd used empty cargo containers to block the passage, giving herself at least some cover.
She crouched down, making sure her blaster and lightsaber were within reach, ready for the inevitable fight.
And if she was up against stormtroopers, they'd probably toss a grenade first...
The Force seemed to have a slightly warped sense of humor.
Because, right on cue with her assumption — based on standard protocols for boarding small ships — three thermal detonators landed right next to her.
Snatching the "balls" with the Force, she sent them flying back.
Yeah, she'd been in this situation before. She wouldn't make the same mistake twice. She wanted to live.
After waiting a couple of seconds, she braced for the attack...
The three explosions were so deafening and powerful that only the Force's timely warning saved her from getting slammed by the containers.
Mara somersaulted forward, firing her blaster at the nearest stormtrooper, who was trying to hold up his comrade wounded by the blast.
Both crumpled to the deck, joining the other three — including the sergeant — who had been moving in the front row.
That left only four stormtroopers in the attacking group, who instantly shifted into a defensive formation.
Two dropped to one knee, opening fire.
The other two stood behind them, laying down covering fire.
Four against one...
Before she switched to her lightsaber, the girl managed to take down one stormtrooper in the front row, then parried two bolts straight into the ceiling, spun on the spot, dropping low to dodge three bursts aimed at her torso.
The enemy in the front row didn't notice the other two stormtroopers falling back.
He realized the crimson-violet blade was swinging about a meter in front of his face far too late — Jade deflected his two comrades' shots straight into the kneeling stormtrooper's face.
At this close range, the blaster would only get in her way.
There was no point in hiding her Force affiliation or holding back — her life and freedom were at stake.
Ignoring the fading life, the girl stepped over the corpse, holstering her blaster, and continued her attack.
The stormtrooper on the left was the sharpest. Mara had to lunge sideways to avoid a stun blast. She immediately rolled left, getting out of the second one's line of fire.
With the tip of her energy blade, she caught one of the second opponent's shots and sent it into the first one's armor.
He took a bolt to the thigh but didn't even react, though his next step back was noticeably less steady — the wound was definitely hurting.
She deflected the second opponent's next shot right into his helmet, then, easily parrying the "limping" one's burst with her blade, she didn't deny herself the pleasure of using the Force to yank the enemy to her, after ripping the weapon from his hands.
"Who do you serve!" she barked into the stormtrooper's face, her hand gripping his throat. No, she wasn't Vader, she couldn't lift a big man off the floor with her bare hands, but why not do it with the Force?
Before the soldier could answer, two things happened at once.
First — danger flared from behind, and the girl instinctively turned, shielding herself with the captive stormtrooper's body, who was barely a meter away.
Second — a crimson blade emerged through the chest plate of the wheezing soldier in white armor, nearly jabbing her in the face.
If Mara hadn't recoiled, she could have been the second victim of the same thrust.
The girl instantly shifted to a defensive stance, trying to figure out who had managed to sneak up behind her, hiding their presence in the Force.
But before she could find the right answer, the crimson blade cut the stormtrooper's body in half. The soldier's body parts flew to the side, and before her stood the figure of a tall being, dressed in the traditional black robes of a Dark Side adept, concealing his body and limbs.
As for his face...
The double-bladed lightsaber spun in the being's hand, but Mara barely paid attention to the weapon.
What interested her far more was her opponent's face, which was split by a mockingly triumphant smirk.
"You!" she gasped, taking several steps back and gripping her weapon tighter.
"Well, well, we meet again, 'dead woman,'" the man standing before her said in a falsely genial tone, moving his weapon behind his back. "For a long time, I couldn't believe you'd actually died. You always seemed tougher and more resourceful than to meet such a sad end."
Mara didn't answer.
She just silently bit her lower lip, trying to recall everything she'd learned during their past confrontations.
Since then, she'd learned plenty, polished her old skills, but... would it be enough to win?
Back then, she hadn't stood a chance.
Only the bitter experience of defeat...
"I'm absolutely torn by contradictions," the man continued in the same deceptively calm tone. "You will come with me to the master. And you will serve him, as I do. Whether you do so willingly or not — I don't care."
The girl gave a defiant smile.
So he wasn't in charge here.
So there was someone he'd sworn loyalty to.
And most likely, it was Palpatine...
She'd rather die than fall into this bastard's hands again.
"Your master is aboard the Star Destroyer, isn't he?" she clarified.
"You'll find out soon enough," her opponent promised, taking a step forward. "Or perhaps you'd prefer a fight? Should I kill you here, or should I carry out the master's will and deliver you to him? I'm sure he'll get more use out of you than those Dathomirian witches..."
So that's how it was...
"Either way, you'll have to sweat plenty to get what you want," Mara assured him.
The opponent burst out laughing, showing his contempt for her threats.
Mara's lightsaber rose, and the battle began...