The enemy had only just joined battle, and Admiral Duplex already knew it was lost.
He watched as the Crimson Dawn, once the flagship of the Fourth Fleet of the New Republic Defense Forces, literally tore apart the escort starships of the interdiction cruisers with missile and cannon fire.
One by one, the shields of the MC80s could not withstand such monstrous pressure and collapsed, exposing the strong but defenseless milky-gray hulls of the New Republic starships to the Dominion forces.
No mercy, no negotiations.
The Dominion Fleet acted from a position of strength, knew it, used it, and in those brief minutes, the fate of the fleet under the Zeltron's command was decided.
"The interdiction cruisers report an attack by boarding pods!" came the report on the bridge.
Argentis silently stared at the tactical display.
One fast dreadnought, four Imperial-class Star Destroyers, four dozen Dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers, three Gladiator-class Star Destroyers, from whose hangars slipped Xg-1 assault gunboats, unfamiliar to the Empire in this era, and several dozen Corellian corvettes.
Victory over the Orinda fleet was turning into a rout.
"All ships — proceed at cruising speed to point seven-nine-nine," he said in a level tone. "Maintain suppressive fire on the cruisers and corvettes."
"Sir, but the Imperial Space Star Destroyers are practically destroyed…"
This was the commander of his flagship.
Duplex favored him with a calm look.
"Carry out the order, Captain," he said. "To finish off those destroyers, we need at least half an hour of intense bombardment. In that time, the 'Red Star' squadron will grind us to dust."
"Sir, but we have more heavy ships; we might still win the battle or call for reinforcements…"
In the first ten minutes of the battle with the 'Red Star' squadron, his battered fleet had already lost ten star cruisers and all support ships. The gunners of the Crimson Dawn had literally swept them away, turning them into scrap metal.
And it became clear almost immediately that the interdiction cruisers were doomed.
The enemy had formed their heavy cruisers behind them, which overloaded shields with hurricane fire, while the fast and maneuverable corvettes dealt with the artillery.
Driving the New Republic starships away from the 'Immobilizers' with fire, the fast dreadnought was landing troops on the ships — and in this, they were aided by four Star Destroyers.
The coordination of their actions made it perfectly clear that this was not a hastily assembled formation.
It was a well-coordinated fleet — from corvette to dreadnought.
They had destroyed the combat escort, driven off the battered starships, and were advancing until Shohashi's five line ships could cover the eleven battered Orinda Star Destroyers with the fire of their own guns and deflector shields.
The hint was more than transparent — Shohashi was taking the interdiction cruisers for himself.
All of them.
And covering the damaged ships with fire.
"We are withdrawing, Captain," the Zeltron said firmly. "Fighting an enemy that has a qualitative advantage over us is something you can only dream of in a feverish delirium."
"Sir, but we're abandoning Brentaal IV to them!" the flagship's commander protested.
"Look at what's happening again," Argentis advised. "They came here to prevent us from destroying the Orinda fleet. They're taking our interdiction cruisers as a bonus."
"But what about…"
"They don't need Brentaal — it's strategically valuable for logistics, but the entire First Fleet will be here in a day or two. They won't be able to hold the planet. Besides, Thrawn isn't seeking to occupy worlds far from his Dominion. And I doubt they are foolish enough to attack a planet whose defense would demand the maximum of their available forces. No, they won't even attack the orbital defense stations."
"Sir, but in every battle, the New Republic has fought to the end!"
"And look at what's left of the fleets that operated on that principle?" Argentis asked rhetorically at the moment the distance between his remaining ships and the Orinda starships, now under the protection of the Crimson Dawn and the quartet of Star Destroyers, reached eighty units.
As he had assumed, Shohashi did not pursue them.
He re-formed the ships into a protective formation and attended to the interdiction cruisers.
Naturally, the gravity wells soon ceased operation.
The artificial gravity field no longer held the Republic fleet in orbit of Brentaal IV.
"Set course for orbit," the Zeltron ordered. "We'll lie low under the protection of the Golan stations. The faster we repair our ships, the sooner we can meet the Imperials in future battles."
"Sir, we've abandoned the crews of the interdiction cruisers!"
"But we saved the lives of hundreds of thousands of other sentients," Admiral Duplex countered. "As I see it, that's the best outcome under the current circumstances. I have to admit, Grand Admiral Thrawn outmaneuvered us here."
"Only here?" the ship's commander grumbled, pointing to how the Dominion starships were entering a hyperspace jump.
Taking all the interdiction cruisers with them.
And eleven nearly destroyed Orinda Star Destroyers.
There was no doubt that, in time, they would be participating in battles under the identification data of the Dominion Regular Fleet.
Grand Admiral Thrawn had outplayed the New Republic military once again.
Not personally, but still.
There was a positive side to the matter, though.
Today, they hadn't been ground into interstellar dust.
Today, they had managed to inflict a major defeat on the Imperials, destroying a dozen and a half of their starships.
Which hadn't happened at all before — ever since Grand Admiral Thrawn took the helm of the Empire's war machine.
A small consolation, but a consolation nonetheless.
In the absence of victories, the absence of total annihilation would do as well.
"Contact General Bel Iblis," Admiral Duplex ordered. "Inform him of everything that has transpired."
* * *
Darth Maul, absorbing the pain and suffering of his victim, yanked his lightsaber from the opponent's chest.
A mechanical foot contemptuously pushed the cooling body with a hole where its heart had been, and the figure in pitch-black robes crumpled to the hangar floor.
"'Dark Side Elite,' was it?" the Zabrak smirked. "Yeah, right."
Pulling the fallen opponent's lightstaff toward himself, the Shadow Guard glanced at the black, night-dark four-legged beasts, who had not taken their hungry gaze off him.
Their entire appearance — bristled fur, powerful legs and torsos, eyes burning with hunger — indicated that the vornskrs were ready to attack.
Their strong, dagger-like fangs were stained with blood. Between some of them, scraps of flesh and black fabric were visible.
"What are you waiting for?" the Zabrak asked displeasedly, taking a step to the side and nodding toward the corpse. "Eat, while I'm being generous."
He didn't have to repeat himself — the predators lunged at the command toward the still-warm victim, beginning to tear the body of Baddon Fass apart.
The beasts want blood.
And the Zabrak understood their urge.
His own blood seethed, literally boiled.
He had won, but he wanted to keep fighting.
More kills.
More pain and suffering radiating from enemies in their final moments.
More hopelessness and the collapse of lifelong hopes imprinted on their faces in those moments when a lightsaber cuts short a worthless life…
More assignments.
Darth Maul looked at the remains of two more members of the "Dark Side Elite" scattered around the hangar of Tibannopolis, then activated the holoprojector.
The device flickered, and a miniature holographic figure of Grand Admiral Thrawn appeared before the Zabrak's yellow eyes.
"Mission on Bespin complete," Maul said, barely concealing his pleasure, forcing down with an effort of will the rage and adrenaline still churning inside him from the just-concluded battle.
"Were your actions detected by other Imperials?" Thrawn asked calmly.
"Absolutely not," he replied. "I lured the opponents to an abandoned city. Tibannopolis. And eliminated them here. I also want to say that using vornskrs as hunting beasts against Force-sensitives is a completely working mechanism."
"Is that so," the grand admiral responded, in the same indifferent tone. "So Baddon Fass had other members of the Dark Side Elite with him, since you speak of multiple victims?"
Thrawn behaved as if he were speaking of something mundane.
Maul suppressed the irritation that stirred his still-unsettled emotions.
"That's right," he replied. "Baddon Fass and two others."
Now interest appeared on Thrawn's face.
But a moment later, he again transformed into the likeness of a droid that had seen so much in its time that everything else was hardly worth noticing.
"These are good news, Darth Maul," said the ruler of the Dominion. "How easily were they defeated?"
"The vornskrs tore those two to pieces," the Zabrak snorted. "Baddon took some effort. He was well-trained — like my previous target. But no match for me."
"Good," Thrawn said. "There will be a new assignment for you."
"Who from the Dark Side Elite can I kill this time?" Darth Maul bared his teeth, anticipating new kills.
"It is important to carry out a diversion," Thrawn said. "The target coordinates have already been sent to you."
Slight disappointment.
A diversion?
It wouldn't even make him break a sweat.
Killing Force-sensitives, Palpatine's minions — that was a different matter.
That could give him almost physical satisfaction from his work.
But orders are not argued with.
Especially since something interesting was brewing.
"Yes, Grand Admiral," he said, sensing a change in the Force an instant earlier. "I am ready to begin carrying out the assigned task immediately."
"Do not rush, Darth Maul," Thrawn stopped him. "First, I want to receive holo-images of Palpatine's underlings you killed. Then data on the next target will be sent to you."
"Yes, my lord," the Zabrak said hastily, watching impatiently as a floating gas-exploration platform approached the hangar.
And there was a person on it.
Sensitive to the Force!
A new enemy!
A new victory!
A new kill!
"My title and rank sound different, Shadow Guard Maul," Thrawn said coldly.
His speech, even in everyday matters, was not distinguished by emotional color, but now it could freeze planets.
"I offer my apologies, Grand Admiral," the Zabrak corrected himself. "My blood is boiling after the battle; I misspoke without malicious intent."
"Do not repeat such slips of the tongue, Darth Maul," Thrawn advised him, before the hologram vanished.
The Zabrak hastily put the communicator away, adjusting his grip on the lightstaff.
He could already see the man — a middle-aged human clad in heavy gear.
He moved quickly, one might even say he was almost running toward him.
But there was no weapon in his hands.
What a fool?
The vornskrs, sensing live prey, tore their bloody muzzles from the corpse, turning their attention to the approaching figure.
"He's mine," Darth Maul clarified their priorities.
It seemed there had been four Elites here.
Well, another excuse to warm up, and to feed the Dark Side with a delightful surge of adrenaline from a new kill.
Growling something unintelligible, Maul lunged forward, activating his blades.
In one leap, he was next to the victim, swinging to cut him in half.
A small part of his mind, which always remained free from the animal aggression of battle, stopped his hand.
The man was kneeling before him, hands clasped in a beseeching gesture.
Tears streamed down his weathered face, and in the Force, this man seemed broken, wounded, destroyed, stripped of everything…
Wretched.
Maul flinched, remembering his own state after he had lost to the Jedi on Naboo.
Broken, discarded, shattered into pieces…
The crimson blades retracted into the hilt with a hiss.
"Who are you and why have you come here?" he asked displeasedly, praying to the Dark Side that the man would now rush at him and try to kill him.
The Zabrak was filled with the thirst for murder.
And before, he would have done it without thinking of the consequences, but not now.
He was a beast only in battle, but the fight was over, and a new one was in no hurry to begin.
Now he was a Shadow Guard.
And before him was a man who was suffering almost the same fate as he himself had decades earlier.
Besides — he was sensitive to the Force.
Recruiting new members for the Order was one of the tasks for members of the Jensaarai Order.
And, may Palpatine burn in a star's crown, the Shadow Guard were also Jensaarai!
"I beg you, sir," the man said in a breaking voice. "Help me."
"Help?" Maul recoiled a step, staring dumbfounded at the madman. "What are you even thinking, you lunatic? I was born and created to kill! My help can only consist of that!"
"Then I implore you," the man wiped the tears from his face. "Kill the voices in my head. I can't fight this whispering. All these voices, all these thoughts, there are so many of them, they are so loud. Make all these people be quiet. Make them stop filling my head with their rage. I want silence. Like it was before they came. Please, silence the voices in my head! You must feel them too! You must hear them! You know how to fight this!"
"Voices in your head?" Darth Maul laughed, throwing his head back. "You've lost your mind. Just because you're sensitive to the Force doesn't mean I'm going to help you fight insanity."
"It's not a disease!" the man shouted, rising from the floor with a pained expression. "The voices came when they came," he jabbed a finger at the ceiling.
Maul followed his direction, then shook his head.
"Tibannopolis is an abandoned city. There's no one here. Except you, madman."
"I am not mad!" the man's hands clenched into fists, and at the same time, the Force picked Maul up, spinning him as if in a tornado. "The voices are here! The voices are there! On the ships! Ships full of voices! Make them stop talking in my head!"
It took considerable effort to overcome the spontaneous onslaught with which the unknown had attacked him.
Maul simply released the uncontrolled power of the Dark Side, destroying the tornado the unknown had created.
The vornskrs growled, creeping toward the victim.
"Stay!" the Zabrak ordered, approaching the man.
His lightsaber emitter pressed directly into the geologist-explorer's throat.
"Voices, you say," the Zabrak hissed into the man's face.
"Yes," the unknown nodded his head.
"Did you hear them before?"
"I heard other voices. And I fled here, away from the others. The voices disappeared. But the ships came and stayed in orbit. Warships. Many voices. All wanting to kill. All angry. I am in pain! I can't hide from them anywhere."
"You sensed me, didn't you?" the Zabrak squinted.
"I felt how you silenced the angriest voices," the man admitted. "Help me. I can't take it anymore like this…"
The Zabrak laughed quietly.
"You don't hear voices in your head, man," he said. "You hear thoughts. Emotions. The intentions of sentients — it's one of the abilities of the Force. You are an empath. And since you hear the thoughts of other sentients who are in orbit of the planet, you hear the intentions of the soldiers of the New Republic…"
"Make them be quiet," the man sobbed. "I'm in pain…"
The man collapsed to his knees, burying his face in his hands.
The Zabrak laughed silently, placing a hand on the visitor's head.
Even the vornskrs exchanged puzzled glances.
"I won't silence all of them," Darth Maul said, forcing the man to look him straight in the eyes, holding his head by the chin. "But I can introduce you to someone who can. If he agrees, then I will teach you to shield your mind from them. That weather trick you attacked me with… Can you make it stronger?"
"Yes!" the man said imploringly. "Please! I will do anything in my power to make the voices stop!"
"To do that, you must come with me," Darth Maul raised an eyebrow. "I will do everything so that you become the one who silences the angry voices."
The man smiled wearily, nodding.
"Anything. Just let them be quiet."
"They will be quiet," Darth Maul smirked. "All the angry voices will shut up. You and I will do it. But first, I want to know your name."
The man sighed in relief when Maul directed the Force at him, partially suppressing the unknown's uncontrolled energy.
"Thank you," he said. "Thank you, sir..."
Without warning, Maul slapped him, his eyes flashing.
The stranger looked at him fearfully, rubbing his struck cheek.
"Lesson one — don't you dare ignore my questions," the Zabrak growled.
"Y-yes, sir," the terrified gas-explorer nodded, glancing sideways at the pair of vornskrs as if seeing them for the first time. "M-my name is Stryn."
* * *
The Emperor's Will had been on the borders of the Ruul system for quite some time already.
Even though the planet was located on the busy Hydian Way in the Core Worlds, it would take considerable time to pinpoint a ship's location. And good equipment with long-range sensors.
Such equipment existed on Ruul—in the computer complex.
And there were also silent fighters, once wearing assault armor, now dressed as simple mercenaries.
For secrecy, of course.
Even though Iceheart had controlled the local government for many years, she had no intention of revealing her presence.
Never.
For this reason, the militants guarding the complex, along with her intelligence operatives, were considered by locals as just another gang best left alone.
The Director sat in a spacious office before an array of monitors displaying information about the processes in the galaxy that interested her.
A standard office, set up for her wherever she wished.
Greedy sparks glinted in her eyes as she read through the transcripts of a Republic commander's negotiations with Rendili, who was reporting the loss of the Lusankya to Coruscant.
About the successful escape of the pilots, inexplicably abandoned by Wessiri.
About the destruction of the dry-cargo fireship, which ended in failure.
But what concerned her most was that the colonel hadn't bothered to report the successes of his mission. It was assumed that the communication systems on the Lusankya were damaged, which was why she couldn't contact her flagship.
Perhaps for the same reason, Wessiri couldn't recall the pilots, rightly deciding it was better to withdraw the ship, sacrificing two dozen craft and subordinates.
New pilots could be recruited, just as other fighters could be built.
But the failure of the operation to capture the Lusankya—no.
Such a thing is not forgiven.
She would not have forgiven.
And she would not be forgiven.
Lusankya…
Years later, Ysanne Isard, after so much reflection on past mistakes, understood how exhausted and broken she had been when she fled the Imperial Center aboard her ship.
The cold of her analytical mind melted, and from being the Empire's terror, she became an ordinary woman. Arrogant, vengeful, illogical.
Her actions could not lead to victory. And had she not been broken by her disgraceful flight, she would not have made mistakes she could have avoided.
Thrawn's campaign, his victories growing like a snowball, helped her gather her thoughts and reason clearly.
But what sobered her most was Palpatine's return.
And the chance at redemption given to her.
She regained control over part of her intelligence network, avoiding contact with those Blackhole had used to prepare his offensive.
Iceheart intended to fulfill the condition set before her—to return the gift to Palpatine. Only thus could she once again earn his approval and become part of that grand return that would make the entire galaxy tremble before the wrath of the Emperor, faithful to his Executor.
Isard intended to resume her march to the heights of power.
And for that, she desperately needed the Lusankya.
The New Republic had seized the ship in the feverish delirium of its virtuoso victory. And hid it so successfully that Ysanne might have admired their secrecy.
Fortunately, her 'adjustments' to the confrontation between the Grand Admiral and the New Republic forced the latter to pull the ship out from the depths of the homeland of democracy.
And now Iceheart was taking back what was hers.
From the bridge of the Lusankya, she would command the destruction of the overreaching warlords. Isard would be able to deal with them quickly, without the slightest problem, if they did not agree to cooperate.
No matter how useful Thrawn was in eliminating the rebellious warlords, he only melted the farthest part of the comet.
Unlike the Emperor's dignitaries, Isard knew perfectly well the worth of the loyalty of those warlords who had joined him, responded to the call.
They were all thoroughly false and had sworn allegiance only out of fear.
Therefore she would destroy them all, so that there would be no trace of defiance.
Soon enough, Isard, with Palpatine's support, would help him forge a new Empire.
Purified by the acrid smoke of the previous defeat.
What else but the Lusankya, which had gone through something similar at Thyferra, would prove to be such a momentous and significant symbol of the Galactic Empire's rebirth?
The New Republic, after so many years of secret struggle, five years after the Battle of Endor, had come to believe in its invincibility.
First Zsinj, and then Thrawn, showed them how wrong they were.
The Grand Admiral was literally mowing down the New Republic fleet, crushing the defenses of key worlds.
Yes, the Republicans were plugging gaps by rotating their flotillas, but after Thrawn's raids, for every destroyed formation they had to send three.
Pulling them from other fronts.
And thus they were increasingly exposed before the inevitable attack from the Core.
Retribution was near.
And Isard, as before, would stand beside Palpatine, in his shadow, and watch as he burned the rebels.
Right on their planets.
And more likely—along with them.
Of course, if her information about Byss's capabilities was correct.
And of that she had no doubt.
Isard leaned back in her high-backed chair, catching sight of information that had passed through the New Republic Second Fleet's communication line.
Admiral Argentis Duplex had left Brentaal IV.
He led away the remaining starships, deciding not to engage Commodore Shohashi's armada.
Such prudence.
It seemed the commanders of the New Republic were beginning to understand that they could no longer win battles with mere numbers or cunning.
Thrawn turned out to be craftier.
Interesting… She still hadn't been able to identify the agents who supplied him with information on enemy ship locations.
Iceheart assumed that the Grand Admiral could deduce enemy actions by studying their thinking. Even if through the lens of art.
But so precisely, so lethally precisely…
Isard did not believe that.
Unlike most Imperial military personnel, she knew a little more about the Grand Admiral. As much more as battle data and testimony from those who found him, brought him to the Emperor, trained him, served under his command could tell…
Most of them were dead or lost in the Unknown Regions, but their reports were still in her archives.
And the data from these archives was united within her mind into a single picture.
Which partially didn't match what Thrawn was doing now.
Unfortunately, she could not study his actions more closely.
The Grand Admiral had purged her intelligence network that operated aboard his fleet's ships.
He was sifting through the agents she tried to infiltrate to him under the guise of volunteers.
And now the Ubiqtorate was destroyed as well.
Of course, not entirely—some agents continued to work.
But only because she had long ago removed them from the main database and thus hidden them from any oversight.
Officially—they were all dead.
Unofficially—they had long since settled into the power hierarchy of the New Republic and many key planets of the galaxy, supplying her with exclusive information.
A light on the panel blinked for an incoming call.
Unclipping a comlink from her belt, she inserted it into a special slot in the desk, encrypting the transmission so that even if tracked, it would not reveal her location.
"Report," she ordered.
"I beg your pardon, Madam Director, this is the commander of the Emperor's Will, Captain…"
"Report," repeated Isard, indicating she had limited patience.
"Ma'am, we have engaged the enemy!" the officer nearly shouted.
Iceheart tensed, instantly switching the nearest screen to the system map.
Thanks to spy satellites, she alone knew what was moving where in this region of space.
And she did not like what she saw at the system's borders.
An Imperial\-class Star Destroyer supported by an Immobilizer 418 cruiser.
They had cut off the Emperor's Will's escape into hyperspace and were now literally besieging her Star Destroyer with fire from all guns.
Ysanne pressed a few keys and felt her mouth go dry.
The Dominion's identification data displeased her greatly.
"Break through," she ordered. "Leave the system at the coordinates…"
Suddenly she heard only crackling static from the comlink.
At the same time, all monitors before her went dark, and a red emergency light flashed overhead.
No matter what communication channel she used, it was all the same—only static.
The base's relays were disabled or destroyed.
Frequencies were jammed.
A distant rumble of an explosion confirmed her assumption—they were under attack.
Iceheart jerked up from her chair, pulling out a spare blaster from a hidden drawer in the desk as she moved, and fired into the server array that held all the gathered information.
The woman only stopped when only charred metal and plastic alloys remained of the device.
The woman headed for the exit.
But she took only a few steps when she saw that the doorway was open, and inside stood a distinctly female figure.
In a form-fitting combat suit.
The emergency lighting dispelled the darkness enough for her to make out red hair, a blaster aimed at her chest.
And a lightsaber hilt dangling from the belt.
"I see," Isard narrowed her eyes. "The Emperor's Hand. In the flesh. After so many years of searching, you came to me yourself."
"Don't overestimate your importance, Snow Bitch," Mara Jade snapped. "If it were up to me, your corpse would already be cooling."
"Oh," Isard smiled feignedly, still aiming her weapon at the opponent blocking her escape. "You're in a supporting role again. How sad."
"Look who's talking," the redhead smirked. "You're still Palpatine's doormat. Doesn't it bother you that he informed you of his return among the last?"
"But he did inform me," Isard noted. "You, on the other hand, were clearly enlightened by someone else. Important news isn't given to couriers… Judging by everything, you're working for Thrawn now."
Not a question—a statement.
Isard was acquainted with the Emperor's Hand, but had come to know what kind of woman she was personally and in her own style only some time after Endor.
Unlisted in any database or file, the Emperor's personal agent was captured and brought to Iceheart when the latter was still pretending to support Pestage.
During torture and brainwashing (unsuccessful, unfortunately), Isard learned many secrets previously inaccessible to her.
And clearly understood how dangerous the Emperor's Hand was.
Ysanne could not touch the Force and did not attach much importance to it, so, as she later learned, she greatly underestimated Mara Jade's abilities.
The Emperor's Hand escaped from the Imperial Palace where she was imprisoned, outwitted all the hunters sent after her, and then vanished from Iceheart's sight.
And now, almost five years later, they were together again in the same room.
"The Grand Admiral will have to find himself a more efficient operative," Isard nodded toward the melted data storage. "My secrets are mine alone."
"Odd-eye, if we wanted your secrets, I would have broken in here during the two hours you sleep in the room opposite this one," the redhead smiled and theatrically widened her eyes. "Oops! What a coincidence—I already did. Hope you're not mad?"
"No, of course not," Ysanne said indifferently.
She knew how to accept defeat stoically.
After Thyferra—all the more.
"You do realize that the Emperor will flay the skin off you and Thrawn alive when he finds out what you've done?" she inquired. "I act on his orders and…"
"You see, odd-eye, the thing is, you yourself ensured the confidentiality of your location," Jade informed. "You're nothing but a gang everyone fears. And in orbit—a New Republic star cruiser. This communications center is being attacked by Wookiee shock troopers. And the Emperor's Will, thanks to your own demands, is beyond scanner range. No one will even know where the ship disappeared to, after the stormtroopers from the In Amber Clad deal with your toy soldiers loyal to the New Order. As it happens, the trail leads nowhere near the Dominion…"
"No one will believe this story," Isard said, lying through her teeth. "Palpatine knows I'm here."
"Don't try to inflate your worth, Bitch Queen," Jade smiled. "Your Palpatine knows nothing. Around him are so many toadies and sycophants willing to risk their lives to finish you off. So you would never have revealed your true location. In this galaxy, there's only one person you trust. And even then, not completely. That's yourself."
Iceheart wanted to say something in response, to object, coldly play at fact replacement, her favorite manipulations…
But realized it was all useless.
Isard looked at the emergency lamp above Jade's head.
A shot at it could temporarily disable the Emperor's Hand…
"Don't even think about it, odd-eye," in the blink of an eye, the blaster floated through the air into her left hand, and a purple lightsaber blade ignited in her right. "Those tricks won't work on me. You're coming with me."
"Oh really? And not the slightest desire to avenge yourself for everything I did to you?" Isard raised an eyebrow. "What about making me pay for everything I've done all this time? When I served the Empire…"
"I frankly don't give a damn about your deeds in the galaxy. I have my own past that could interest any investigative committee of the New Republic. But I think you'll be 'pleased' to the point of grinding your teeth to know that I'll come to your funeral in the most beautiful dress I can find," the red-haired girl suddenly smiled. "And I'll drink the brightest cocktail the nearest bartender can devise. And I'll invite the beat band from a cantina on Tatooine with their inimitable dance music. But I have orders to take you alive. And you know, I'll carry them out. Just to watch you rot in a cell, feverishly pondering how you were outwitted on all fronts. Watching the Iceheart herself rack her brains, trying to find the reasons that led to the collapse of the milestones of her plans—priceless."
"If you think I'll be fazed by your words, you're mistaken," Ysanne smiled. "My clone led you here. But there's one thing you didn't account for…"
"Are you talking about Colonel Wessiri and his feeble attempt to capture the Lusankya?" Jade inquired, mockingly watching as Iceheart's face turned deathly pale. "Or about how you did everything to make Imperial Space also take the bait? Or about the remnants of the Ubiqtorate that you control? What specifically?"
"The Lusankya will be here soon," Isard said firmly. "The fact that you learned about the plan a couple of days ago doesn't guarantee victory."
"I'm afraid you're wrong," Jade sighed tiredly. "Thrawn figured you out long ago. Your precious little ship was captured by us, not Colonel Wessiri. It has already met up with Dominion support starships and is now heading, with the necessary crew and escort, to where it will be best. And Orinda's fleet—those 'traitors' sent on a mission by Sarcev Quest—was also not destroyed. Well, not all of them. And the Ubiqtorate… You do remember that I poked around your server? We'll find and destroy every one."
Ice-cold shivers ran down Isard's spine.
Her.
Outplayed.
"I see, my clone is alive," she found the reason for her simple failure.
"Clone?" Jade raised an eyebrow.
Isard smiled triumphantly.
"Oh, the little red-haired courier doesn't know that my clone served Prince-Admiral Krennel, and now, no doubt—Thrawn?"
The smile faded from Jade's face.
"Oops," Iceheart broke into a triumphant smile. "It seems your authoritative blue buddy didn't tell you the reason for his 'insight.' You see, whichever side you take, you're only used to achieve others' goals."
"A clone, huh," the former Emperor's Hand said slowly. "How interesting…"
"See, no matter what you think, you're just an operative," Iceheart made a sympathetic face. "But you can join me. I'll put in a good word for you with the Emperor." The look the servant gave her could have burned a couple of holes not provided for by human biology in the Director's body. "Or we part ways. And each will live their own life. When we meet next time, I'll walk past as if I never knew you."
"There won't be a next time," Thrawn's Hand reacted harshly. "You're coming with me."
"Oh really?" Isard smiled condescendingly. "And what will you do with me? I have or will have compromising material on everyone who serves Thrawn. I can intimidate or bribe any of them. And what's better—through my people, I'll inform Coruscant that I'm alive. And ready to reveal much about the dealings of those people and non-people in the Republic government. Or deliver word directly to Palpatine. And your fledgling Dominion will burst under blows from both sides."
"You're wrong," Jade declared. "Only punishment awaits you."
Iceheart's smile widened.
"Don't be so foolish," she advised. "Even Thrawn won't touch me if he doesn't want me to reveal his own secrets. No, you'll bring me to him, I'll get back my clone, the Lusankya, and calmly go to the Emperor. Along the way amusing myself by finally shooting my copy, which caused me no little inconvenience. Or, if you want, I'll give her to you. For 'justice.'"
What happened was the last thing Isard expected.
Mara Jade smiled broadly.
And in the red light of the emergency lamps, it looked like a grimace.
"But I am certain that Thrawn clearly calculated this conversation," she said, not hiding her glee. "And I don't think that after everything, he would trust me with a mission where my disgust for you would cause the plan to fail. I've tested the Grand Admiral's patience many times, and I can say one thing: if he really captured your clone, then she is either not the same scum as you, or the Grand Admiral, in his favorite manner, uses imagination. Hunting evil with evil—why not? In any case, I am more than sure—whatever fate Thrawn has in store for you, you clearly won't be able to even sneeze for the rest of your life without him knowing. No doubt a cell on some asteroid in the depths of space is prepared for you, where the only staff will be combat droids, and communication systems will be but a dream. No one and nothing will know that you lived a little longer than most of the galaxy thinks. But something tells me you'll simply be handed over to Eric Shohashi. I heard you were involved in the murder of Iran Ryad… I'm sure the 'Butcher of Atoa' has been pondering for some time whether it would be too humane to tie you to four TIE Defenders and tear you apart with an instant afterburner."
The prospect was staggering and not at all pleasing.
Iceheart's glare could have frozen Mustafar.
Shohashi…
That one would not back down from his goal.
Quite likely, it was precisely for this that he joined Thrawn.
Perhaps the Grand Admiral had suspected Isard's survival at Thyferra from the start. And the clone only indirectly confirmed this fact…
Dealing with the 'Butcher of Atoa' was the worst she could imagine.
Even Palpatine's wrath was not as dangerous—because it was not as immediate, compared to a meeting with the commodore.
The picture finally came into full color.
Thrawn had sent Jade here because he was confident she would carry out the order—to deliver Isard alive.
Then Thrawn would squeeze everything she knew out of her and hand her over to Eric Shohashi.
And he was quite inventive…
Isard thought it over and made a decision.
Her index finger smoothly squeezed the trigger through its slack, and the blaster spat a crimson blob of plasma.
The purple blade easily intercepted it, ricocheting the deadly bolt into the ceiling.
The second shot burned a small scorch mark in the floor.
There was no third shot—Iceheart felt her feet lift off the floor and her neck seemed caught in invisible pincers.
A cracking sound came from a broken wrist, and the blaster flew aside.
"I told you—that trick won't work on me," Mara Jade said, approaching Iceheart, holding her left hand before her, clenched into a fist.
With her right, still gripping the lightsaber, she effortlessly sliced through the holster's fastenings that held Iceheart's primary blaster.
Iceheart had seen this trick performed by Darth Vader many times.
Thus, as soon as the redhead came within range, she kicked her in the temple.
Mara Jade dodged, and the boot only left a small scratch on her face.
And then Ysanne felt herself thrown backward; from the impact of her back and head against the bulkhead, sparks flew from her eyes, and pain shot from her spine to her legs.
Collapsing like a sack onto the deck plating, Iceheart realized she could not move.
She could feel her limbs, but could not do anything with them.
Inside, it was as if fire pulsed; each breath came with difficulty.
She didn't hear any bones cracking, but she understood that all her internal organs were bruised.
The woman tried to take a breath, but couldn't.
The hard gaze that had broken Imperial courtiers and instilled terror in subordinates lost focus.
A hard slap that split her lips and knocked her nose crooked brought her back to her senses.
Across from her, Thrawn's Hand sat and smiled mockingly, holding her right hand clenched into a fist before her.
"It's too early for you to die," Mara Jade said with a barabel hiss. "First, you should see the Grand Admiral. But conscious, you cause too many problems."
After the redhead unclenched her fingers, Ysanne was able to gasp a breath and move her hands.
And then, before the Iceheart could find a way to harm her opponent, Mara Jade passed an open palm before her face, and the world went dark before her eyes.
* * *
"Are you sure, Guard Obscuro?" I asked, looking at the hologram of the former inquisitor.
"Absolutely, sir," Reynar replied. "Those two aren't Sedriss or Kam Solusar. I recognize Baddon Fass, but not those two."
Unpleasant news.
"Very well," I said, carefully choosing my tone to avoid revealing my frustration. "Is your recovery complete?"
"Yes, sir," he replied, straightening up. "I'm ready to continue the hunt for the Dark Side Elite."
"Your assignment will be different," I stated, looking at the computer. On the screen, a file transfer confirmation flashed. "Did you receive the data?"
"Yes, Grand Admiral," the Shadow Guard said, his enthusiasm fading. "Bilbringi?"
"Correct," I confirmed. "You and your partner are going to Bilbringi. Your objective is to disable the crystal gravfield trap. Naturally, you must remain undiscovered. Make your work look like Republic sabotage. It must not be obvious that the CGT is your target."
Obscuro's hologram nodded in acknowledgment of the order.
"It will be done, sir," he said.
"That is all," I said, disconnecting the holographic transmitter.
Left alone with my thoughts in the dimness of my personal quarters, I closed my eyes, sinking into contemplation.
Thought logged.
Given.
The Dark Side Elite.
The servants of Palpatine's insane clone, seven in number. Trained fighters capable of channeling the Force. They provide support for Palpatine's operations across the galaxy. They are based in Bast Castle on Vjun.
Locate.
Eliminate them without any trace, to weaken Palpatine before the invasion and reduce his available dark Jedi.
Solution.
Use the data from the buzz droids of Project "Morrt" to calculate the whereabouts of each Dark Side Elite member. The general rule — "Leave buzz droids in every system you visit" worked this time as well.
The Chimaera had delivered those "bad guys" to Vjun's orbit during Mara Jade's rescue and Obscuro's recruitment.
The trap was actually set for anyone who might take an interest in Darth Vader's personal fortress. Kyle Katarn, for example.
I remember he visited that place. Under different circumstances, of course, but the timeline I knew has been shattered for a long time now, and I'm currently finishing off its remains.
Thanks to those droids, I managed to track the movements of the Dark Side Elite members and sent Obscuro and Mola after them.
So far, the following have been eliminated: Vill Goir, Kvag Gthull, Zasm Katth, Krbis Mordi. Today, Darth Maul pleased me with news that he added three more to that list.
These were supposed to be the last of the seven — Executor Sedriss, Kam Solusar, and Baddon Fass.
But clearly, something went wrong.
The only one who saw them in person — Reynar Obscuro — indicated that two of the three were unknown to him.
That means five known and two completely new "elites" have been eliminated on my orders.
Which means Sedriss and Solusar are still alive.
And that, in turn, is cause for concern.
It's unlikely that Palpatine would appoint someone as Executor who is significantly weaker than Vader in power and in the Force. Following that logic, that's precisely why I wasn't in a hurry to eliminate Sedriss.
As a confidant of Palpatine's campaign, he must know a great deal, and I'd like to capture him for interrogation.
Kam Solusar…
If I remember the plot of the book I, Jedi correctly, then Luke Skywalker, in the events I know, managed to turn Solusar to the Light Side of the Force. And later, he proved to be a Jedi of considerable strength, proving useful in galactic crises time and again.
Consequently, I would like to capture him too.
Perhaps they'll change sides.
Perhaps I'll still have to get rid of them.
But either way, my calculations didn't account for Palpatine recruiting two more "elites." And where there are two, there could be more.
The question is only where he's getting them from.
Darth Maul said the "new ones" were less trained than those Reynar Obscuro knew.
Does that mean the Zabrak himself is good, or that Palpatine doesn't have time to find and train replacements for the Dark Side Elite's ranks?
Either way, I need more information about what's happening on Byss.
Much more.
I opened my eyes and looked at the ship's chronometer.
A few days remain until the fleet arrives in the Dominion's home territory.
And during the ship repairs, I have so much to accomplish…