Nine years, nine months, and eighteen days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-fourth year, nine months, and eighteen days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Five months and three days since the Arrival.)
Skywalker was sitting in a meditation pose when the cell door swung open and a figure appeared in the doorway.
"Open your eyes, farmer," Mara said, snapping her fingers to get his attention. "And stop pretending to be a Jedi — you don't have any power. Get ready — you're moving to another residence."
The Jedi opened his eyes.
His gaze remained open and clear.
If the Tatooinian were using the Force, he'd look different.
But the cages with ysalamiri reliably denied him access to his favorite toy.
"Staring at me won't change your fate," Mara snorted.
"I know you," the Jedi said.
"Oh really?" Jade raised an eyebrow.
"You were in Jabba's palace when I and my friends were rescuing Han," the prisoner said, getting up from the floor and rubbing his clearly stiff limbs.
"And you said his name as if the entire galaxy and every sentient you meet should understand which of the millions of Hans in the galaxy you're talking about," Jade remarked sarcastically.
Turning her head toward the guards, she nodded:
"He's clearly concussed," she said. "Get him out of the cell."
"Thanks for the offer — I'll manage," Skywalker said, taking a few steps toward the exit. "I think you should step out of the way to avoid an awkward situation."
"Says the Jedi who coldly killed two Jedi in the Jedi library," the red-haired beast smirked, but she cleared the way.
A silent guard in black-and-blue armor silently locked Luke's hands into massive metal manacles.
His left hand began to tingle from mild electric shocks.
His right hand didn't care — no one had repaired the prosthetic. On the contrary, they'd removed the power cell, turning the implant into a useless piece of metal. They'd even taken out the stub of the lightsaber from it.
The Jedi chose not to answer the pointed question.
"Has Thrawn decided to get rid of me?" he asked calmly, continuing down the empty ship corridor.
"Are you in such a hurry to die for a righteous cause?" Jade continued her mockery.
"A Jedi's duty is to be ready for self-sacrifice," Luke noted.
"Really?" Mara couldn't help herself. "Then why doesn't all your brethren commit mass suicide? I suspect that would solve many of the current era's problems. And the future's, too."
"Suicide isn't the answer," Luke said.
"Sounds like an excuse for your own cowardice," Jade snorted.
They walked in silence for a few minutes before the Jedi broke it again:
"I'd like to speak with Grand Admiral Thrawn."
"Oh really?" Mara literally batted her eyes, putting on an expression that matched the 'I'm a ditzy girl from the alley' persona. "No, I understand that audacity is a second happiness. But did your early-Jedi brain ever think that not every sentient in the galaxy is in the habit of obeying Republican dimwits? Especially after those dimwits had the audacity to try and steal what doesn't belong to them. And on top of that, killed two researchers who, by the way, were serving the people of the Dominion."
"You intend to use Jedi knowledge for evil," Luke said firmly, looking into the girl's eyes. "I cannot allow that."
"You'd better watch your language, kid," Mara grimaced. "Last time you got involved in a situation where you weren't needed with those intentions, not only did you kill those who probably couldn't even have scratched you, but you also got what was coming to you. And now you've decided to say something extremely unpleasant in the presence of guards who, at the mere hint of trouble for the Grand Admiral, can tear you to shreds, burn you in an afterburner chamber, pack the few remains in a box, and send them to your dear sister with a description of all your latest 'accomplishments.'"
Luke held her mocking, testing gaze.
"They were your friends?" the Jedi asked quietly.
"Oh, is your conscience speaking?" Mara feigned pity. Then her features grew indifferent. "No. Otherwise you'd be looking at a lightsaber moving across your throat, not a transfer to another cell. Those two were friends of Ahsoka. Not that it matters to you. Be glad I'm escorting you, not her. In the latter case, you might not have made it out of the cell alive."
"I've thought a lot about what happened, and I've come to the conclusion that I might have acted wrongly," Luke said.
"Sounds like you blew up someone's house with the occupants inside, then looked down and asked for forgiveness," the red-haired beast grimaced, nodding her head toward a corridor branching off from the one they were walking. "Or did you also apologize to the relatives of those killed on the Death Star?"
"You know about that part of my past too?"
"Only the deaf haven't heard," Jade remarked. "Your propaganda is still touting that as a great achievement. Sometimes, when I feel nauseous, I turn on the holovid on your government channels — and voilà, job done without any unhygienic stuff like fingers down the throat."
"Why are you doing this?" Luke asked.
"Doing what?"
"Your speech is clearly trying to unbalance me and disturb my calm," Skywalker noted. "Why?"
"Well, about six months ago I'd have said I was being reflective and compensating through mockery for what you took from me," the girl said. "Now I'm just making conversation. Speaking of which, what's your opinion on sand?"
"And what does that have to do with the current conversation?" Luke couldn't hide his surprise.
"Your father didn't like him," Jade stated.
"You obviously knew him well," Luke said, showing clear interest in her words.
"We crossed paths," Mara replied vaguely.
"In the Emperor's service?"
"What makes you say that?"
"It's unlikely my father, while serving Palpatine, would have befriended anyone outside his primary activities," Luke answered somewhat awkwardly.
"Yeah, he was hardly the life of the party," Jade snorted.
"I'd appreciate it if you could tell me more about him," the Jedi asked. "His past is largely a mystery to me."
"Oh, you'd be better off talking to Ahsoka — she knew him before he put on that stylish black suit," Jade said. "He was probably more talkative back then."
"Probably," Skywalker agreed. "But we're talking now, aren't we?"
"True enough," Jade nodded. "I won't say Darth Vader was absolute evil in the traditional sense of the word, but you can't call him pure of heart either."
"I understand. He did a lot of bad things while serving the Emperor and following his orders."
"Orders can be carried out in different ways," Jade said sharply. "Darth Vader took the shortest path — straight through. Usually, anyone who stood in his way didn't survive."
"There was good in him," the Jedi insisted stubbornly. "He saved me from turning to the Dark Side when the Emperor tried to turn me aboard the second Death Star."
"I'd say that's new information for me, but it's not," Mara said with a smirk. "To send Palpatine flying down the reactor shaft, you need a certain reserve of heroism and durasteel will."
Luke stopped, looking at her in surprise.
But he resumed walking after a palpable shove in the back from the guard bringing up the rear of their procession.
"Surprised?" Mara asked.
"You're well informed," Luke confirmed. "But I don't recall seeing you during the battle."
"I wasn't there," Jade agreed. "And I admit, for a few years I thought you and your dad had killed the Emperor. That thought was literally drilling into my brain."
"But something changed, didn't it?"
"Yes," the girl answered simply. "It doesn't bother me anymore."
"Because you serve Thrawn, and he's not a supporter of Palpatine," the Jedi said, clearly trying to draw her out. "I've heard about the Emperor's personal agents. Were you one of them?"
"What difference does it make now?" Jade shrugged.
"You switched sides," Luke noted. "That connects you to my father's action..."
"I doubt you'll remember the timbre of my breathing for the rest of your life," Mara smirked. "But your parent was known for his distinctive sound effects."
"You're angry," Luke stated. "As if I'm guilty of what my father did in the past."
"Oh no, don't lecture me on 'The Sins of the Fathers and the Children's Responsibility for Them,'" Mara said in a mock-begging tone. "I'm judging you based on who you really are, Skywalker."
"And who am I, in your opinion?" Luke wondered.
"A wannabe Jedi who learned a few tricks from an old textbook and now imagines himself the conscience of the galaxy, hell-bent on forcing peace."
"I had teachers," Skywalker stated. "Besides, there's great wisdom hidden in books."
"Judging by the fact that you speak of them in the past tense, your mentors don't live long," Jade smirked. "And the Jedi self-study guide... well, you've got it, be proud."
"If I had the holocron you captured on Ossus, my understanding of the Force and the Jedi's purpose would deepen."
"If Darth Vader hadn't gotten roasted on Mustafar, you might have had more blood relatives," Mara countered.
Luke chose to ignore the barb.
"By the way, did you know that your first teacher — Obi-Wan Kenobi — trimmed down your dad?" Mara asked. "He left him to burn on Mustafar's slag."
"Where did you hear that?" Luke asked.
Mara looked at him in bewilderment.
"Do you even know that your R2-D2 served your father in the past?"
Luke fell silent, embarrassed.
"Hmm," Mara drawled. "If you have a source with archival information about your family right at hand, and you still haven't learned everything in minute detail, then I feel sorry for those Jedi you planned to train."
"How is that even connected?" Skywalker asked.
"You don't notice the obvious," Jade explained. "And you're planning to teach someone something. Instead of thinking things through, weighing them — straight to the front lines. Exactly like your dad behaves."
"Do you enjoy comparing me to my father?" Luke couldn't help raising his voice.
"Short answer — I don't even see a difference between you," Mara said, sizing up the young man with an appraising look. "Except maybe you're smaller. Your dad's suit definitely wouldn't fit you. You're even too small for a stormtrooper."
Suddenly, Skywalker started smiling.
"Did I say something funny?" Jade asked.
"When I freed my sister from her cell on the Death Star, she told me pretty much the same thing," the Jedi explained.
"So, in ten years, you haven't even grown," Mara sighed. "Hmm, the Jedi are shrinking. Look at Ahsoka, for example. She left the Order when she was a kid. But even then, according to stories, she raised some serious hell. And on Ossus, she literally wiped the floor with you and redecorated. Even though you're supposedly Darth Vader's descendant and should be stronger than her. At least in the Force, you're definitely more powerful."
"Perhaps," the Jedi sidestepped the uncomfortable comparison. "I wouldn't mind learning from her."
"Yeah, I'll pass that along, sure," Mara smirked. "The Skywalker carousel around Ahsoka. First her dad destroyed the Jedi she knew and grew up with, now you're following in his footsteps... Are you sure you'll walk away from her first training session in one piece? They say children tend to repeat their parents' fates," the red-haired girl pointed at his prosthetic right hand. "Judging by the missing limb, you're starting exactly the same way he did."
"It was a trial I failed," Luke admitted.
"And what did it entail?" Mara wondered.
"I had a vision that my friends were in danger," the young Jedi shared willingly. "I interrupted my training with Grand Master of the Jedi Order Yoda to go save them. Yoda warned me that I had only seen a possible future and my actions could only make things worse. But I didn't believe him then, thinking I was smarter than him. And in Cloud City on Bespin, I met Darth Vader. He cut off my hand. Then he confessed that he was my father. And he proposed we overthrow the Emperor and rule the galaxy together. As father and son."
"In that exact order?" Mara clarified.
"Yes, why?"
"High-quality relationships in your family," Jade noted caustically. "First dad tortures his sister, then maims his son and proposes a coup. If there was logic somewhere in those points, it escapes me."
"In my father's defense, I can say that at the time he was in the grip of the Dark Side," Luke stated. "He couldn't control himself..."
"Or didn't want to," Jade countered. "Take my word for it, Jedi. It's not the Dark Side that makes us do terrible things. If you can't control yourself, you become nothing more than a beast reveling in its own power. I've used the Dark Side too, but I didn't do what your father did. Yes, I had fewer opportunities then, but I'm not doing that now either. So your attempts to justify your father's atrocities are nothing more than a child's babbling. Darth Vader is a maniac. A little less insane than Palpatine himself, sometimes lucid, but still a maniac."
"Pretty strange to hear those words from a former Palpatine crony," Luke admitted.
"And isn't it strange that a former farmer, sitting in an X-Wing cockpit for the first time, blows a battle station designed by the galaxy's best minds to pieces?" Mara asked.
"Our conversation is devolving into mutual accusations and nitpicking," Luke sighed.
He swayed, realizing the ship had just dropped out of hyperspace.
"I'd appreciate it if you'd inform the Grand Admiral of my desire to meet with him," Luke said.
"Then specify the purpose of the conversation," Mara suggested. "Thrawn's a busy sentient, he's got a lot to do. And as I understand it, talking to you is just a waste of time. You all think you're being spun a line."
"In all fairness, that's exactly what your boss did," Luke stated. "Hence the distrust."
"Of course, of course," Mara smiled. "It's obvious you know nothing about military art."
"You're insufferable," Luke sighed. "Just escort me to my new cell and inform the Grand Admiral that I intend to talk to him about the future. I want to explain that what happened on Ossus was an accident. I had a Force vision, and I misinterpreted it... Possibly misinterpreted it."
Mara stopped by the opening leading to the hangar and looked the Jedi straight in the eyes.
"Doesn't it occur to you that you get into trouble way too often when you have Force Visions and react to them somehow?" Mara asked, not hiding her antipathy.
"We all make mistakes," Luke stated. "That's what makes us sentient. Can you interpret Force Visions correctly?"
"No," Mara admitted. "But I don't get these Jedi hallucinations either."
"But how do you then..." Luke was taken aback. "How do you manage to win battles or prevent dangers?"
The girl shrugged.
"I use my brain," she said. "You should try it, don't be afraid, you might like it."
Luke couldn't find an answer — the guards, having lost any remaining respect for the young Jedi, dragged him aboard the transport shuttle.
* * *
Interesting fact.
"No traces of poisonous substances detected, Grand Admiral," the medical droid reported, boring into me with the unblinking yellow stare of its optical sensors.
"The check covered all known databases?" I asked.
"Including historical and archaeological databases, the special card index of the Ubiqtorate and Imperial Intelligence," the artificial doctor confirmed. "There are no traces of poisoning in your body. Nor any substances differing from the original data. Your body is the same as it was six months ago."
"Except for age-related changes?" I clarified.
"Exactly, sir."
Which meant that Prince-Admiral Krennel's fate had, for some reason, passed me by.
Quite... unusual.
Because the situation is shaping up exactly as it did with the late ruler of the Ciutric Hegemony: conquest of the state, strengthening of defenses — and sudden death after a kiss.
But time is passing, and there are no reactions...
I buttoned my tunic, leaving the Chimaera's medical bay.
Rukh, whose eyes had widened just a bit after what he'd seen on the Altered Carbon base, followed me silently.
The flagship was returning to Ciutric IV to complete minor repairs — they'd just freed up a slot for us at the orbital yard.
And I was thinking...
Why is the base, where specialists work to transfer brains from one body to another, actually called that?
At one point, I had the chance to read the original novel by British sci-fi writer Richard Morgan. And then, when Broken Angels and Woken Furies came out, I could barely tear myself away.
Quite... fascinating.
Especially the fact that I only remembered this trilogy when Torin Inek pointed out the monks transplanting brains...
So, even though the base wasn't doing exactly the same life-extension procedure as described in Morgan's novels, I found the little reference amusing.
And "Iceheart" clearly found the reference to Prince-Admiral Krennel's death amusing.
The doors to my quarters swung open, letting me inside.
Rukh, stopped by my order, remained in the airlock.
I headed toward the bedroom, expecting to find the same picture as when I left it.
I won't say I was terribly surprised, but seeing the made bed and Double Isard sitting calmly on the sofa nearby, working on a personal datapad... Still, why hide the obvious? I was impressed by the directness and harmony with which she had fit into my modest traveling quarters.
The woman's eyes were scanning lines of reports, and she was the picture of concentration and immersion in her work.
"I have news," she said, not looking up from the screen. "From the 'nasty' category. We have problems."
No romantic kisses, no hugs, no stupid smiles or cooing known only to the two of us...
I breathed a quiet, relieved sigh.
"I'm listening," I gestured toward the exit from the bedroom.
The woman silently followed into the part of the apartment I used as a workspace.
Glancing briefly at the turned-off workstation, I noted that no one had even touched it — the small markers I'd left in the form of flimsi sheets were lying at the same angles, the chair hadn't been rotated a single degree, the chips were in the same order as when we'd returned to the Chimaera for the return journey.
In the ten minutes of my absence, Isard hadn't even tried to crack the computer.
Of course, she's not stupid enough to try that on the first day, but it only confirms her intelligence.
Double Isard set aside the datapad and looked me in the eyes.
The same calm, slightly interested gaze.
As if nothing had happened and we were still in our old roles...
I don't know if it's the effect of C'baoth's medallion on her, or if she's just consistently emotionless on her own, but there's a certain charm to it.
"First, I'd like to thank you for the information you passed on to me during the journey," she said.
I noted that she, and I too, were trying to avoid pronouns.
A difficult situation, actually. On an emotional, personal level.
How do we address each other now?
Logically, I understand one thing; emotionally... an awkward struggle between mature gallantry and cold calculation.
"In private, you may address me by my name," I said, simplifying the situation.
"Full or middle?" a smirk appeared on the woman's lips, then vanished instantly.
So that's how it is.
She knows about this peculiarity of Chiss names too.
The piquancy of the situation lies in the fact that the people of the Ascendancy present themselves with their full name upon introduction. For me, that's Mitth'raw'nuruodo.
In special cases, as a display of friendliness or a gesture of trust, a Chiss would reveal and allow the use of their middle name. In my case, that's the well-known "Thrawn."
The problem was that my predecessor had "taken pity" on the Imperials and also decided not to reveal more than necessary. And for convenience, he gave his middle name.
The fact that the clone knows the full name, and that she demonstrated it just now, suggests she knows a little more than she's letting on.
How much more — that's a puzzle to solve.
"By the middle one," I permitted without flinching.
The new day had just begun, and the mismatched-eyes girl had already decided to test the boundaries of the permissible.
And with her characteristic approach, she was doing it extremely intellectually.
"In that case, I'd like to draw your attention to the situation in the D'Astan sector," the hint of amusement left her eyes, and her face became a mask. "They've crossed the threshold of civil war."
"I'm aware."
"From indirect data — the firing of D'Astanis, trading military hardware through the Hutts — I understand the Ascendancy has interests in the sector?"
"Yes," I wasn't going to go into details.
"The Baroness, judging by the records, is also a clone?" There wasn't a hint of hurt or offense in the woman's voice.
"Exactly," I confirmed.
"And you want to find out who's behind this," Double Isard stated.
Actually, there's no point clarifying anything — it's directly stated in the information I passed on to her.
While the next step is being prepared, "Iceheart" clearly needs to get to work.
Solving the problem with the cloned Baroness is obviously a tricky task.
At least it seems that way if you don't dive into the problem headfirst.
"According to the cloned Baroness, she maintained relationships with that part of the Hutts controlled by someone named Grappa," I said. "Analysts are working to determine who this sentient really is."
"Small fry," Isard stated. "Grappa the Hutt is just an enforcer. A level above an ordinary mercenary, but in the long run, he won't have the courage to work alone. He definitely has patrons. As I recall, he has an operational base on an uninhabited planet close to the Core Worlds. Genon, I think."
"He undoubtedly does," I agreed. "However, the situation requires our close attention."
Double Isard looked at me with interest.
"Because of the Baroness?"
"Because of the sector," I clarified. "D'Astan is a highly developed region with good potential and industry. Not to mention its trade and military capabilities. I cannot allow it to fall to Imperial Space."
"In that case, they'd gain the ability to control movement along the Selonian Spur and the controlled section of the Hydian Way," Isard immediately grasped the key points.
"Not to mention that the D'Astan sector is an excellent staging ground for a strike against the Ascendancy," I continued. "The planet Axila is located within the sector, which is essentially a fortress world of the Ascendancy. By subduing this world, Imperial Space could strike at the Morshdine sector, the Meram sector, and other outlying territories."
"It would be more logical to openly join the struggle for power in the sector," Isard stated. "But you didn't do that. I wonder what the reason for that decision might be?"
"Palpatine," I said. "And his direct instruction that my intervention in the affairs of the Remnants would lead to confrontation."
"Which is disadvantageous at the moment," the clone understood. "Well then, that brings the logic of events back to the beginning. What's the interest of the Baroness's contacts with the Hutts?"
"I want to know who created a clone of Feena D'Asta and why," I said. I'm sure "Iceheart" understood that herself, but she delicately chose not to flaunt her awareness.
"Perhaps there's something more detailed on Grappa the Hutt in the Imperial Intelligence archives," Double Isard said thoughtfully. "The name, at least, is familiar to me. But not as an independent player."
"I'd like to hear the details."
"Before capturing Coruscant, the Rebel Alliance raided Kessel," Isard began her account readily. "They freed about two dozen of the most hardened and dangerous criminals captured by Imperial law enforcement. With their help, they intended to destabilize the situation on Coruscant, which was supposed to ease the capture of the Imperial Center. I found out the names of each one, looked into them. One of those freed was someone named Yu'll Asib."
"That name means nothing to me," I noted.
"But something is obvious to me," the woman stated. "Grappa the Hutt was Asib's underling. And the latter, in turn, was not only a hardened criminal sentenced to a long term on Kessel. He had an extensive circle of acquaintances and accomplices within an organization called Black Sun."
Things were getting worse by the hour.
Black Sun is yet another criminal syndicate, like the Zann Consortium, that controlled enormous resources and military power. Not to mention that this organization had contacts with the Empire and helped build the second Death Star.
But there's a catch...
"Prince Xizor, the leader of Black Sun, was eliminated by Darth Vader a year before the Battle of Endor," I recalled.
"Yes, and the vigos — the organization's leaders one level down — began dividing power and killed each other off. The unified organization collapsed and turned into small gangs, not dangerous to the Empire," Isard confirmed. "I don't want to brag, but the original put a lot of effort into the organization's collapse."
In other words, instead of destroying Black Sun root and branch, the Empire allowed them to kill each other off to the point where they no longer met the definition of "organized crime."
How stupid.
Another example of how not to do things.
"Continue."
"Now fast-forward seven years, to the Rebel Alliance's operation to capture Coruscant," Double Isard said. "The criminals they freed on Kessel, after the city was captured, were never apprehended or neutralized. On the contrary, they seized the reins of power, forming new criminal organizations from the wreckage of the destroyed structures. Asib, as I recall, worked closely with former Moff Vorru, who was one of the vigos of Black Sun. To be even more precise, Asib was a subordinate, a lieutenant to Vorru. The Moff pretended to work on Coruscant for the New Republic, then disappeared. As far as I understood when I worked for Krennel, Vorru was captured by the New Republic on Thyferra. So the original got her hands on him. He was convicted and sent to Kessel. Asib remained free. As far as I know, he disappeared somewhere in the Corporate Sector. Nothing has been heard of him since Thyferra."
"And he undoubtedly used the elimination of his former commander to consolidate power over the remnants of Black Sun in his hands," I continued the thought.
Which meant that Grappa the Hutt was almost certainly now subordinate to Asib.
And yet, the key question that concerns me remains unanswered...
Hmm.
Noted.
Black Sun cooperated with the Empire.
Vader destroyed the organization.
All the vigos killed or imprisoned.
Lieutenant Asib remains free.
Multitudes of remnant Black Sun thugs are scattered across the galaxy...
Then a clone of the Baroness appears, whose father gave her a seat on the Imperial Ruling Council, and she contacts and enjoys the support of one of Asib's subordinates.
No, that's not the question.
It's a simple logical chain.
"The Baroness lied," I said.
"It's in an aristocrat's blood," Isard remarked.
"She didn't have the support of Progga the Hutt," I declared. "She was a Black Sun spy inside the Imperial Ruling Council."
"Bravo, Grand Admiral," Double Isard smiled politely. "It took me nine minutes to figure that out. You, eight and a half. But that doesn't change the fact itself. As I said — we have problems."
So, back to that old, school-tested method of solving physics problems.
Given.
A clone of the Baroness who spent almost four years in the Imperial Ruling Council, which oversees the activity of all Imperial Space. Meanwhile, the Baroness, after learning from me who killed her father, quarrels with her fellow conspirators within the Council. She flies off to her sector, where preparations for a civil war begin almost instantly.
The resurgent Black Sun, which in many sectors of the galaxy was nothing less than a shadow government.
A brutal, greedy, resourceful organization.
Rising from the ashes.
Doesn't that ring a bell?
Find.
And we need to find a great deal.
"Well, I admit, that was rather ingenious," I leaned back in my chair. "Artistic, I must say…"
Double Isard remained silent, not taking her eyes off me.
"The objectives for the operation in the D'Asta sector are changing," I said, after sitting in silence for a second, staring straight ahead.
"You don't need the sector itself?" Isard was surprised.
"Oh, no," I countered. "The sector will either belong to the Dominion or remain neutral. A third option doesn't interest me."
"Consequently, other points of interest have emerged," the sub-Iceheart stated.
"Exactly," I agreed. "An error was made in assessing the scale of the situation."
"I doubt you believed that bleach-blonde alcoholic about not being involved with criminal cartels," Isard declared.
"Otherwise, would I need an outside evaluation of the situation?" I inquired.
The sub-Iceheart smiled, understanding that the work she had done was work I had already done. However, without complete information on Progga's identity, the direction of my thoughts had veered toward the Hutts, not the Black Sun.
Which was operating in a very familiar way.
I still don't believe in coincidences, though.
"The Black Sun is probably not the final authority," I said, opening the root directories of the information database on my computer.
Double Isard looked at me with interest.
I didn't rush to answer, knowing that making a mistake would be extremely reckless on my part.
An incorrect analysis had already cost me the proper conclusion, and consequently, preparation.
"It's highly unlikely that the Baroness's clone was created decades ago and waited its time in cryo-stasis," Double Isard nodded affirmatively.
"Yes, it takes at least a year to create a stable clone," she said. "And preferably three to five, or even all ten."
"Getting a DNA sample for cloning from the Baroness could have been done long ago, but taking a mind imprint so the agent wouldn't expose themselves prematurely — that's already a lengthy process," I noted. "Fina D'Asta joined the Imperial Ruling Council a couple of years after the Battle of Endor."
"That same year, the Rebel Alliance captured the Imperial Center and proclaimed itself the New Republic," the sub-Iceheart observed.
"Yes, and by that time, your original had already thinned the Ruling Council's ranks pretty thoroughly, causing them to flee to Orinda. Furthermore, the Zann Consortium had already been completely crushed by then."
"Not quite right," Double Isard objected. "The hunt for Zann and his cronies started a bit earlier — back under Pestage, when he was pretending to be the Emperor. But it ended around the same time the New Republic dealt with Zsinj. The Empire prefers to date the Consortium's destruction to the series of battles in which they crushed the criminals and destroyed their fleet. But they prefer not to publicize the fact that their intelligence services spent several more years rooting out that scourge across the entire galaxy."
Pestage…
Mentioning that man evokes a duality of feelings.
There's virtually nothing to respect him for — there's nothing human in him, despite his appearance.
But at the same time, thanks to his breaking, Isard managed to establish the exact date of Palpatine's attack.
Although, it would be more accurate to say: the circumstances under which he would go on the offensive.
The Emperor is waiting for the real Isard to bring him the Lusankya.
He's already outlined his priority targets, thanks to the Ubiqtorate.
Losses don't concern him.
So he's willing to wait to get another Executor-class Super Star Destroyer — even at the cost of losing strategic initiative.
And, if Pestage is to be believed, the Emperor, under the guise of my campaign, is trying to buy time to finish building superweapon prototypes — and that alone is cause for concern.
Because he also has a backup offensive point — the beginning of next year. In case I or the real Isard fail. And when the fleet of Dragon-class ships and Avenger-class heavy cruisers built by Grand Moff Kaine is ready.
I'm sure there are other conditions for starting the operation that even Pestage doesn't know about.
And so, once again, plans need to be redrawn.
The longer I delay the finale, the more Palpatine strengthens.
But I need time to prepare the stage.
And he uses it to complete his means of destruction.
Both super star dreadnoughts with axial superlasers: the Eclipse and Eclipse II, the Galaxy Gun…
The enemy grows stronger every day, and to strengthen my own position, I'm forced to allow it.
The New Republic's losses already concern me little, but the risk of meeting the mad Emperor's armada on unprepared frontiers worries me a great deal.
I didn't even notice how the penultimate month of the ninth year after the Battle of Yavin hastily flowed into the tenth.
The final one in my plans.
A little over thirty days left.
The horror I felt upon realizing this fact subsided only after Double Isard pointed out the reason why Palpatine hadn't gone on the offensive with the start of the new year.
And still, I'm anxious.
And this current conversation is adding fuel to the fire.
It's time to finish with Crimson Dawn.
However, the New Republic still needs time to reach the "starting point," so the finale turns out the way I've planned it.
"Either way," I looked at the woman, "the problems are bigger and deeper than you and I assumed."
"How much deeper?"
"To begin with — the criminals have cloning cylinders," I said. "If we go by the minimum time required to grow a clone using Spaarti technology — Fina D'Asta was replaced by a clone a year after the New Republic captured Coruscant."
"That means the Black Sun has been controlling those incompetents for almost three years," Isard smirked. "Amateurs…"
"There are far more important aspects of what's happening," I said, finally finding the necessary files and running a cross-comparison. "Yu'll Asib — that's the name of the former Corporate Sector Authority's military-industrial advisor."
The sub-Iceheart sat motionless for several seconds, processing what she'd heard.
"It can't be that simple," she declared. "The Corporates' intelligence services don't have idiots stupid enough to allow that. A hardened criminal, in the administration… They would have gotten rid of him."
"They did get rid of him," I confirmed. "On my orders."
"Based on what you said about lacking information on the Black Sun, that means you were guided by different realities," Double Isard squinted, looking like a predator.
"Exactly," I confirmed. "The Corporate Sector Authority's military-industrial advisor was eliminated based on a tip, as a person promoting the interests of the Zann Consortium."
"Promoting," the woman said, as if tasting the word. "Not past tense… That means the Zann Consortium survived after all."
"According to my information, it's still developing," I declared. "The Corporate Sector is under their control, and they're building an army. Their Defilers were stealing Imperial spare parts from Republic warehouses — and they have new ship types in their arsenal. I've already struck several planets and crushed their local fleet. Now, it seems Tyber Zann isn't just rebuilding the Consortium, but using puppets to absorb other organizations."
Which is fairly logical under normal circumstances — after all, if gangs remained from the Black Sun that know how and want to live a life of crime, why not take them into the fold?
"Curious that they haven't retaliated," Isard became interested. "Tyber Zann isn't the type to forgive insults. And Black Sun soldiers aren't the type to work for competitors — back in the day, Xizor positioned Zann exactly that way. And even tried to frame him in front of Vader. Though that ended very badly for Xizor."
"Perhaps Zann isn't strong enough at the moment. And so he uses proxies to create the impression among Black Sun soldiers that they're still working for their vigo, not a competitor."
"Being weak while relying on the Corporate Sector's fleet?" the sub-Iceheart doubted. "I doubt it. No, there's something else here. It's unlikely he doesn't know who harmed him and how to get to you. Given your shared past and how you influenced his fate. More information is needed…"
"You'll have it," I said. "As soon as my agents finish their work on Genon."
Double Isard ran her hand along the base of her neck, staring absently off to the side.
I didn't miss how she briefly touched, under her clothing, the C'baoth medallion I'd given her.
"You didn't know that Progga the Hutt was Yu'll Asib's contact," she said slowly. "You didn't know about the Black Sun either. But you still gave me the data for parallel analysis and had already launched operational measures… But if Asib is already dead, who is Progga contacting now?"
"That's exactly what my agents need to find out," I said, checking the data. "The one posing as Baroness D'Asta has been informed that she is a clone of the real aristocrat."
"Giving her that information was risky," Double Isard noted. "She's probably warned Progga the Hutt."
"That's exactly how we found out about Genon," I explained. "Right now, the intelligence has two tasks: find out who is contacting Progga the Hutt in place of the deceased Asib, and also — determine the fate of the real Baroness."
The sub-Iceheart needed some time to calculate the situation.
"There are several ways out of this situation," she said. "If the real Baroness is alive, a reverse swap can be performed. I'm sure the real Fina wouldn't mind joining the Dominion."
"That's the ideal fulfillment of my intentions," I agreed. "But on the condition that the woman is still alive. And agrees to join. Otherwise — she's an obstacle."
"Revealing that there was a Zann Consortium spy in the Ruling Council all this time is quite substantial compromising information," Double Isard noted.
"But at the same time — dangerous," I clarified. "On one hand, it could easily destroy the Council's authority and might force Palpatine or his cronies to pay attention to the councilors, to clarify the situation and determine their degree of loyalty. Given that a conspiracy against the Emperor is brewing within the Ruling Council — that's a very valuable weapon."
"However, if we can't eliminate all of them by Palpatine's or his dignitaries' hands very quickly, it could give Orinda time to seize the D'Asta sector."
"That's the other side of the coin," I agreed. "Which brings us back to the basics — the sector becomes a staging ground for enemy forces."
"Third point — why does the Zann Consortium want the D'Asta sector?" Isard asked. "The Baroness's clone went into open confrontation with the Ruling Council, instead of following her program and continuing to work within the Empire. With Orinda's resources, the clone could easily have eliminated all disloyal aristocrats and remained at the head of the sector, still part of the Imperial Ruling Council. But she turned to you for help. What's the point?"
"What's the advantage for a Zann Consortium spy, involved in a conspiracy against Palpatine, who knows that the slightest new interference in Imperial politics and the redistribution of the Empire would mean a conflict with Palpatine for me?" I inquired.
Double Isard smiled.
"So this is Tyber Zann's strike," she said in a tone of understanding. "The Consortium's leader decided you'd grab the sector and occupy it in the Dominion's favor."
"That's easy enough to do," I agreed. "And, while, in Zann's opinion, they'd be singing my praises about how smart and strategically brilliant I am, eliminating the threat in an instant — that would be the last straw for Palpatine. He intends to destroy me anyway, and this would give him an excellent excuse. He wouldn't need to find any reason to get rid of me without losing the loyalty of the Empire's military."
"Intrigue like the good old days," the sub-Iceheart stretched. "While two are trying to tear each other's throats out, but do it without the Emperor noticing, the latter, who set them against each other in the first place, watches with a smile and is ready to strike himself when necessary."
"All of Palpatine's power was built on diverting threats of conspiracy from himself by pitting his underlings against each other in a struggle for power, wealth, and his own favor. While his servants are busy with behind-the-scenes fighting, Palpatine himself is safe. Though, at the same time, this tendency fit perfectly with the philosophy of the Sith Order, to which Palpatine belonged."
"In such a struggle, the most adaptable survives," Double Isard agreed. "And by doing so, Palpatine planted a bomb at the foundation of the Galactic Empire. In twenty-three years of ruling the Empire, he fostered in those in power such a drive for rivalry and contempt for others that after his death, they latched on, tearing each other's throats out for the slightest scrap of power."
"Considering he planned to live forever — his strategy, in a certain sense, has a right to exist," I noted.
"Only in the mind of a madman detached from reality," the sub-Iceheart declared. "So, should I handle the issue with the D'Asta sector and the cloned Baroness?"
Well, it was time to solve another puzzle of provocation and loyalty test.
"I had a proposal to put the Dominion Intelligence Service under your control," I declared.
The woman, after a second's thought, shook her head negatively.
"Given what was discussed earlier at that base, I don't think we need to know everything," she declared. "Afterwards. When the Palpatine problem is resolved — maybe, if your desire remains the same. But not now, when additional information about Dominion intelligence's activities could give him extra incentive to destroy you. I'm ready to oversee the operation against the Zann Consortium at the Intelligence level, but for the time being, nothing more."
"Is the choice based on specific intentions?" I clarified, already knowing the answer.
"Most likely, properly presented information about this event will allow me to gain more trust and provide an additional guarantee of loyalty during a personal meeting," the sub-Iceheart declared. "Something substantial is needed to avoid unnecessary suspicion. This story is of that caliber."
"Well," I agreed. "That's how we'll proceed."
* * *
When the body in black robes fell to its knees and then toppled sideways, the hum of the lightsaber ceased with a sharp hiss.
The crimson blades disappeared into the hilt of the light pike, and Reynar collapsed exhausted onto the road surface.
"One more," the Shadow Guard rasped, gazing peacefully at the cloudless blue sky. "Now I can rest."
Suddenly, a massive head with elegant features and a pair of dangling lekku appeared before him.
"You do know you've got a hole in your guts?" asked Vex, holding a Bacta spray and a pneumo-syringe in her hands. Judging by the markings on the loaded capsule — a stimulant and anti-shock agent.
"Kredis Mordi was stronger than I expected," Reynar wheezed, tasting saltiness on his lips. "But now he's dead…"
"And you'll die too, if you lie around here like a bantha poodoo!" the Twi'lek said angrily. "Can you feel your legs?"
Reynar didn't answer — he didn't care.
A certain spiritual peace from having killed another Dark Side Elite fighter.
Honestly, he hadn't felt anything like that when he was hunting Jedi and killing them one by one.
But now he felt peace.
And a light breeze on the skin of his torso — he'd apparently lost his upper clothing in that area.
"Oh, wow…" Vex's surprised voice came.
Strange.
That was a lightsaber strike.
There couldn't be anything out of the ordinary there.
Just a microscopic straight cut, its edges cauterized by crimson energy.
And it was that very burn that was now disrupting his internal organs.
Which would lead to death.
The faint sound of a working aerosol canister came.
The place burning with pain, where Mordi's penetrating thrust had landed, grew cold.
Very cold.
"Does this hurt?" Obscuro felt a poke from something sharp in his right thigh, after which his limb filled with the sensation of medicine being injected.
"It's fine," Reynar whispered, admiring the sky. "Good…"
"You've got a hole in your stomach, you idiot! That's not fine! And not a Hutt's worth of good!"
Whatever…
"I'm at peace," Reynar said with a smile. "I can die now…"
And no one will say a thing to him.
Today, he had touched the Light Side of the Force and experienced something he couldn't put into words.
A moment of hesitation had cost him a wound that would kill him.
But he understood the main thing.
He understood how to balance his darkness.
A wonderful gift before death — knowledge and peace.
The main thing is that he won and one more…
The feeling that his joy of victory was overshadowed by something else washed away all the peace.
The man, without taking his eyes off the sky, listened to his senses, to the Force.
Then, with effort, he raised his head and looked at his stomach.
"You do know I'm wounded, right?" he asked the Twi'lek, who was mesmerically waving her hands, tipped with sharp nails, over his toned abs.
"Uh-huh," Vex nodded without looking away from the man's body. "Never seen anything like it…"
Her hands ran over the washboard abs again.
A pleasant warmth radiated from them, the warmth of a normal human body.
"Are you out of your damn mind?" Reynar jerked forward sharply and propped himself up on his elbows behind him. "I'm lying here with a hole in my gut, dying, and she's stroking my belly?!"
The man grimaced from the pain in his abdomen, clenching his teeth to keep from screaming.
"Just lie there, lie there and die, I'll touch and get it out of my system," Vex shot him a look. "No, seriously — on Ryloth, if you walked around without a shirt, all the girls would be yours. Though, you'd probably get beaten up by our men — they're big and strong, but they don't have such sculpted muscles…"
"Sick in both lekku," Reynar hissed.
His mood was completely ruined.
With a habitual effort of will, he pulled the pain into fuel for the Dark Side, feeding his body with it, burning out the nascent inflammatory process.
Grabbing the girl's shoulder, the Shadow Guard rose to his feet with a growl.
Staggering, he leaned on Vex standing beside him.
"Pervert!" he snapped, taking a step toward the hillock behind which their hidden shuttle was parked. "Touching a dying man?! That's bordering on mental disorders!"
"Oh, come on!?" the girl objected. "Are you stingy or something? Where are you going? Aren't you going to die?"
"So you can grope me while I'm cooling off?" Reynar snarled at her, continuing to move slowly toward the transport. "Like Hutt I will! I'll burn with shame in the Abyss from understanding what fate has befallen me!"
He just needed to reach the ship — there was a medical droid there that would patch him up and put him in artificial coma so everything could heal.
And most importantly — during that time, Reynar would be in a Bacta tank, where the playful hands of one Twi'lek wouldn't reach.
"What's the big deal!?" the girl objected. "Can't even grope a corpse now?"
"Sick in both hemispheres!" Reynar shuddered. "Now I'll be scared to die near you! Who knows what you'll decide to do with my body after I die!?"
"Would it really matter to you anyway?" the girl asked playfully.
"Emperor's black bones!" Obscuro begged, overcoming the pain in his stomach. "I'll become a Jedi just so my body disappears after death! I won't trust you with my remains!"
"Oh, don't give me that crap!" Vex grimaced. "You'll clearly die fighting the next enemy. Do you think I didn't see you're no match for your latest opponents? You're not up to their level."
"For now," Reynar declared with quiet rage. "Now… I'll study a bit. I'll squeeze everything that Mon Calamari knows out of him, and I'll give the Dark Side Elite an Order 66. I've learned the equilibrium of the Force!"
"And I touched your abs," Vex giggled.
"Sicko," Reynar pushed the girl away from him, limping on his own toward the lowered ramp.
"Hey, what's wrong, are you offended?" the girl asked in an indignant tone.
"You're a pervert!" Reynar shouted. "Touching a dying man!"
"It worked, didn't it!?" the girl shot back. "You changed your mind about dying…"
"What!?" Reynar stumbled from the shock and tumbled head over heels down the slope.
Straight toward the lowered shuttle ramp.
"No, you're definitely not kind to yourself," Vex muttered, helping him up. "I was joking! Joking! I needed to cheer you up so you'd stop smiling blissfully at the atmosphere like you'd snorted two lines of spice."
"A disgusting joke!" Reynar declared, barely moving his legs.
Vex's admission had somehow drained all the anger out of him.
"But it worked," the girl noted.
"Don't do that again," Obscuro warned.
"And you don't you dare die," the Twi'lek said. "Because then they'll make me write a report about how it all happened, and I only have three grades of religious school and two dance courses."
"How do you even fly a ship?" Reynar asked, stunned.
"How, how," the girl grumbled. "By feel. Buttons and levers are the same everywhere."
"You're crazy," Obscuro said, feeling his hands start to shake.
The Dark Side gave him strength again, and the man, somehow or other, hurried inside the shuttle on his own.
The girl walked beside him, supporting her comrade until he collapsed into a seat next to the medical droid.
"Well, you're safe now," Vex said with a completely childlike smile, having heard the medical droid's report. Serious wounds, surgery needed, but the man would clearly live.
"Thanks," Reynar rasped, feeling his consciousness begin to slip away as the sedative took effect. "Just... don't you dare... grope me..."
"Just go to sleep already, you prude," Vex snorted, laughing.
Darkness had almost fully claimed the Shadow Guard's consciousness when he heard a whisper right by his ear:
"Your body really is amazing, though. Get well soon, prude. It's boring without you."
The last thing Obscuro's senses registered was the touch of lips on his cheek.
And then he passed out.