Nine years, nine months, and twenty-nine days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-fourth year, nine months, and twenty-nine days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Five months and fourteen days since the Arrival.)
Unlike the Guardian, the quarters Isard had chosen for herself in the past were marked by modesty, minimalism, and fresh renovations.
The swiftly repaired damage to the ship demonstrated the excellent training and competence of the Tangrene shipyard workers.
But the incessant clanking of droid limbs gave us away completely — more than two hundred thousand of the crew complement were droids.
B-1s, built to special order to control the weaponry of such a massive vessel.
Creating a suitable crew from clones, or forming one from available officers or contracted Dominion military personnel, would have been rather foolish, given the ship's highly ambiguous role.
The best we had managed was to select the necessary number of organic crew members to form that crucial and irreplaceable combat watch.
They were the ones who would have to handle the ship in battle and supervise the droids.
And I had to say that even selecting this many sentients to run the ship had required tremendous counterintelligence effort.
Loyal, devoted, ready to carry out any necessary order, tight-lipped, and — even more importantly — competent officers and specialists had to be flagged almost from the Dominion's earliest days.
For the most part, this was the crew of the Torpedo Sphere, which had blazed across the galactic stage like a supernova for a brief period before vanishing into empty space, its crews distributed across several ships to test combat skills and training levels.
It hadn't turned out spectacularly well, but it was good enough.
Instead of stormtroopers — B-2 droids and droidekas. Instead of most of the crew — B-1s refined by Dominion scientists (and in truth, by Imperial scientists in time immemorial).
The Lusankya's original partial automation had somewhat reduced her crew requirements compared to analogous figures for ships of the same type.
And, broadly speaking, things were working fairly well.
Unlike the Guardian, there was no need to scrape together the best of the best from across the regular fleet, including both originals and clones.
The Lusankya had taken virtually no damage in the battle at Rendili.
Her systems and hull had been thoroughly repaired by the New Republic, and the charging stations needed to power the droids had been installed quickly throughout the ship.
"Curiously, this section's programming is keyed to Isard's genetic code," the Icedrop Queen declared, entering the apartment and noticing me in the chair where the real Isard's "slicer" girl had met her death. "But you arrived here before I noticed."
"I have my own 'slicers,'" I reminded her. "And electronic lockpicks that our agents used to capture the ship at Rendili."
The clone nodded understandably, then handed me a datapad with open messages on it.
"Tavira reports the ships have moved to the checkpoint. The Republic side of the HoloNet is spewing venom after Captain Vivant's reports about desertion and the Imperial Ruling Council's actions. As far as I know, Orinda hasn't even tried to refute the report, limiting herself to a statement that it's nothing more than enemy propaganda."
"In other words, everything is going according to plan," I summed up. "Any news from Pellaeon or Shohashi?"
"The man who disliked women with heterochromia left the base at the head of his expanded squadron several hours ago," the Isard-double replied. "Captain Pellaeon reported they'll finish loading everything onto the destroyers in two hours and will move to the rendezvous point on schedule."
"Good," I said. "We'll be at the destination point in thirty hours. Another two for the transition to the target. By the end of tomorrow, the operation should be complete. Has reconnaissance data on the enemy ship positions and approach vectors been confirmed?"
"Scout droids confirm the buzz-droid telemetry," Isard replied. "Confirmation came an hour ago. There are still three information exchange sessions ahead, so we'll have a chance to adjust anything just before the attack. As for the destroyers, reconnaissance worked even better — the datapad has precise data and calculated arrival times from the moment an alarm is raised and a distress signal is sent."
"If it becomes necessary," I clarified, rising from the chair and nodding Rukh toward the exit. "After we finish, you'll be left to your own devices. Last chance to back out."
Isard-double gave a thin smile, looking down at me indulgently.
"And pass up possibly the most grandiose multi-stage operation I — or the original — ever devised? Really, you can't be serious."
"Don't do something just to prove you're better than a dead woman. The result could be radically different from what you're counting on."
The smile vanished from the clone's face.
Though her posture hadn't changed a fraction, the woman now radiated icy warning instead of professional friendliness.
"I appreciate your concern, Grand Admiral," she said in a deliberately ornate, official tone, "but I am confident in my abilities. And in the plan we developed. Everything will proceed according to the future campaign's general line. Otherwise, this scheme would never have been conceived."
"There was another plan originally," I reminded her.
"Well," Isard-double shrugged, "circumstances revise intentions. I don't think this is worth discussing. As I recall, you're due to leave the Lusankya shortly."
"The shuttle is already prepared," I assured her, stepping a little closer and looking into her eyes.
"I'm sure she'll come to you before you leave," Isard said, barely audibly. "She tried not to show it, but your equating us infuriated her. She'll try to stand out, to break free from the typical approach and association."
No more prefixes or circumlocutions were needed.
There were no longer two Ice Queens — only one.
"That's the essence of her character — working against the grain," I said. "That's what the calculation was based on."
Leaning forward, I kissed the Ice Queen.
For a moment our lips met, but a second later we parted by mutual desire.
"I think it's time I got to work," Isard-double averted her eyes, without losing an iota of regal composure. "I... thank you for everything. For believing, for believing still, and for continuing to trust. For a clone of the Bitch Queen, that means a lot."
"Can someone whose living original no longer exist be considered a clone?" I clarified.
The woman looked me in the eye, biting her lower lip slightly.
"We'll see what you say when this is over," she offered a slightly crooked smirk.
"Regardless of the outcome, my opinion won't change," I said firmly.
There wasn't an ounce of deception in those words.
A slightly younger version of Ysanne Isard smiled and pressed against me.
But it was more of a friendly embrace.
No lofty feelings.
No adolescent emotions.
This was a partnership between two comrades, born of war, mutual respect, and adherence to certain rules.
Such relationships have no continuation. No happy ending.
And no closing line: "And they lived happily ever after."
We both knew we would never cross that threshold, never become a typical couple.
I didn't need it.
She didn't need it.
And most importantly — it wasn't what the Dominion needed.
At least — not now.
* * *
Iella opened her eyes to a bone-chilling cold.
Her entire left side, the one she was lying on, felt numb.
Agent Wessiri realized almost immediately that she was inside a ship compartment — she knew Imperial prison cell designs far too well.
"Luke, she's awake," a familiar voice said nearby.
The Corellian woman propped herself up on her right arm, realizing almost at once that it was so weak it wouldn't support her.
She would have collapsed back onto the hard cot if strong male hands hadn't caught her.
"Iella, thank the Force, you're awake," Antilles helped her sit up and wrapped a blanket tighter around her.
Luke Skywalker appeared beside him, covering her with another blanket without any unnecessary questions.
The cold had spread through her entire body, and now Iella was openly chattering her teeth.
"D-did they d-decide to f-f-freeze us?" she asked, shifting her gaze from one man to the other.
"No," Skywalker said gently. "You were just brought out of the bacta tank. This is your fifth session, so it's a miracle you woke up at all..."
"B-bacta?" Wessiri repeated, unable to feel her lips. "W-what b-bacta?"
"Our brave Grand Admiral decided to play good Samaritan for some reason," Antilles grumbled. "We were told you were captured on the Lusankya and in bad shape. They put you in a medically induced coma, then performed several operations to make sure your bones knit properly. You've been unconscious here the whole time."
"I'm c-cold," the woman complained, giving a nervous smile to the familiar faces.
"You still have some damage," Luke explained, then looked embarrassed. "Including nerve endings. I tried my best to help, but it seems I didn't make things better — just woke you up from the coma."
"Better than watching them regularly wheel her out of the cabin and take her somewhere unknown," Wedge declared, sitting down beside her and looking her straight in the eye. "I hope you don't mind some hot caf?"
"C-caf?" Iella began to feel warmth under the blanket, and the right side of her body seemed to be "thawing."
Along with the tingling, tissue sensitivity and body awareness were returning.
That was how she realized that it wasn't just the blanket separating her body from the rather cool air of the room. She was also wearing a rather uncomfortable jumpsuit, like the ones pilots wore...
It seemed someone had changed her clothes.
And now the girl flushed, thinking that this duty had fallen to one of these two men, one of whom didn't even qualify as an "acquaintance."
"Here, warm yourself up," Antilles produced a large ceramic mug full of black, steaming beverage with characteristic aromatic notes. "Caf, three packs of sweetener — just the way you like it."
"Thank you," warming up, she stopped trembling and stammering.
Slipping her hands through the blanket's edges, she took the drink, took a sip...
The scalding caf flowed down her esophagus, invigorating her spirit and clearing her thoughts.
And the very first thought was:
"The Imperials started serving caf to prisoners?" she asked, looking at each man in turn.
"This isn't exactly a cell," Skywalker smiled apologetically, stepping aside and moving out of her field of vision. "Specially prepared quarters for high-ranking guest-passengers — they're on practically every Imperial Star Destroyer."
But the young woman had already figured that out for herself.
What she had taken for a cell was merely a small room within a spacious apartment. Sparsely furnished: the only furniture here was a metal nightstand and an ordinary cot. Further away, recessed into the bulkhead, was an opening to a washroom.
And in the corner stood a soft armchair, clearly dragged from another part of the apartment. Judging by the furniture's condition, someone had obviously been sleeping in it.
Following her hunch, the woman turned her gaze to Wedge, and the Corellian, embarrassed, looked away.
"Where are we?" Iella asked.
"Aboard Thrawn's flagship," Skywalker said. "The Chimaera."
"Luke's been here since Ossus, and I was captured right during the battle at Sarapin," Wedge explained. "You were brought in later."
"Strange that we're not in cells," Wessiri lamented.
"I was held there initially," the Jedi explained. "Then moved here."
"Same situation for me," Wedge confirmed. "Maybe they want to keep us all in one place."
"Or they're clearing out the cells so we won't see something," Iella suggested. "Horn escaped from the Lusankya — we'll break out of an Imperial Star Destroyer."
"Right after you recover your strength," Antilles said warningly.
"By the time I'm back in shape, Thrawn will have stolen the Lusankya," the girl shot back, giving her countryman an angry look.
"I have bad news," the youngest New Republic general darkened, "but Thrawn has already captured the Lusankya. You were out for several days."
"Then we need to get out and lead the fleet to the Chimaera!" Iella said passionately, suppressing the bitter thought that she had lost.
"We're working on it," Wedge assured her. "But we've been busy trying to wake you up."
"I'm ready, we can start!"
"Too early," Wedge grimaced.
"Either way, we're guarded by two dozen of Thrawn's guardsmen with heavy weapons and vibro-weapons," Luke said.
"Corran said Jedi can influence minds to distract attention," the Corellian woman's mind immediately began sketching an escape plan.
Whatever they were being kept here for, one thing was clear — they wouldn't like what came at the end.
Iella didn't want to be a bargaining chip, and she understood perfectly well that a special agent of Republic intelligence, a general, and a Jedi hadn't been left alive for no reason.
Most likely, since Thrawn had surely captured the Lusankya, he would demand something else in exchange for the prisoners' release.
"Even if Thrawn hadn't cut me off from the Force, I doubt I could fog the minds of two dozen armed and trained fighters at once," Skywalker admitted. "Mind tricks only work on weak minds, and from what I know, they don't recruit dimwits as guardsmen."
"Thrawn learned to suppress the Force?" Iella was stunned. "How is that possible?"
"In the texts I studied, it was only mentioned that a Jedi could do such a thing, but Thrawn clearly can't feel the Force," Skywalker said. "I think he uses those brown lizards for that purpose — they're all over this ship."
"Lizards that can cut someone off from the Force?" Wedge whistled. "What next?"
"Again, it's just a hypothesis," the Jedi noted. "But I can't think of anything else."
"The lightsaber was confiscated too, I take it?" Iella asked without much enthusiasm.
"The last time I saw it, Thrawn was keeping my weapon in a hidden compartment of his chair on the Chimaera's bridge," the Jedi said.
"They took absolutely everything from me too," Wedge spread his hands.
"Alright, but what does Thrawn want?" Iella asked. "Why is he keeping us on his flagship instead of taking us to prison?"
"Who knows?" Antilles repeated his gesture.
"Last time, he made me watch him destroy Wedge's fleet," the Jedi Knight said with pain in his voice.
"Sick alien," Wedge blurted out. "He clearly enjoyed having power over you and doing whatever came into his head."
"I don't think so," Iella said carefully. "As far as we in intelligence can tell, Thrawn — remarkably — has no particular vices besides waging war. I don't think he actually enjoys that kind of pastime."
"Who knows with these Imperials?" Antilles spread his hands a third time. "Especially someone as atypical as Thrawn."
"We've already spent a lot of time trying to understand his plans — and it's been useless," Wedge said sadly. "Scraps of data, isolated operations, meaningful conversations with Luke. Either Thrawn is slowly losing his marbles under the weight of his own arrogance and intoxication with success, or something is happening that we simply can't understand."
"Then," Iella looked at both men in turn, "I think it's time to start from the very beginning. Let's lay out everything we know piece by piece, and maybe we'll find a way out and figure out his next target. While he's repairing his ships, we'll surely have a chance to escape from here."
The Corellian woman didn't miss the look the two young men exchanged.
"What?" she asked. "More things I don't know?"
"Military types notice it almost immediately, but the rest — those who don't live on ships — can barely tell it from normal and..."
"Wedge," Iella cut him off sternly. "Can you make it short?"
"I can," Antilles nodded. "Touch the deck with your hand and you'll feel a slight vibration. It happens when the main power plant is running on ships. A few hours before you woke up, everything was quiet. But now the Chimaera has 'woken up.'"
"So, what does that mean?" the girl asked.
"Thrawn's flagship is ready for a hyperspace jump," Luke said. "Whatever target he's chosen for his next campaign — they're about to depart."
"But I swear by the thrusters of my X-wing that my boys beat his fleet so badly it should be in for repairs for at least a couple of weeks," Antilles declared with characteristic Corellian heat. "And the Chimaera took a beating too. The Dominion has no production of their own — so spare parts must come from somewhere. I doubt they have them stashed at every base. But even if they do, the repair speed... either they're going into battle without proper technical condition, or we're underestimating the size of his fleet again."
"Or we're missing the big picture again," Skywalker said sadly. "Maybe they're flying off to decide our fate right now. A prisoner exchange can be conducted on a Star Destroyer that isn't fully functional."
"Booster Terrik would approve of your words," Wedge chuckled, defusing the tension as he exchanged a glance with his countrywoman. "I think the smartest thing to do is just wait. And think about how to get out of here."
"I agree," Wessiri supported him. "I assume your droids weren't left with you either?"
"Unfortunately, these Imperials are a little smarter than we're used to thinking they are," Luke Skywalker sighed heavily.
* * *
"Any complications with the secondary mission, Grodin?" I inquired of the guardsman's hologram.
He had contacted me on his own, as soon as he had left the facility and sufficiently covered his tracks.
But he had significantly overrun the mission's deadline.
In fact, he had made contact at the second control window — missing it would have meant the potential collapse of the campaign.
"None, sir," he replied. "Everything was completed precisely — the new data for the clone base has been delivered to the information center for storage. However, I also established that the enemy — specifically, Mon Calamari ships — are making periodic visits to the Munto Codru system. Routine search patrols that stop as soon as local authorities engage the patrol commander in a debate about the security of their borders."
"Is our information center at risk of being compromised?" I asked.
That was where, on Munto Codru, we stored the genetic samples and personality matrices of our clones.
As our "computer specialist" at headquarters put it: "backups."
One copy and an untouchable reserve, to have the ability to start over from scratch if the cloning laboratories were discovered and destroyed.
Munto Codru was perfect for this — no other planet came close.
Difficult to reach, without heavy transport traffic.
The locals had felt firsthand what it meant to poke around the fortress I had requisitioned for the base.
No trouble was expected from them, and none had manifested so far.
But as for its location and tactical vulnerability in case of enemy attack...
That was pure psychology.
What commander would risk looking for the enemy's main secret right under their own nose? No one.
Especially the Mon Calamari, practically at the borders of whose sector the planet Munto Codru was located.
The Mon Calamari sector defense fleet was crewed by their namesake natives of Dac. And their psychology and mindset didn't allow them to easily and casually revise their military doctrines and worldviews.
The Imperials had taught the Mon Calamari, as well as other New Republic commanders, to hide their secrets as far from potential enemies as possible.
"Proof by contradiction" worked in this case too.
"I took the liberty, sir, of delaying my departure to verify the facility's security," Grodin said. "The facility is not currently under any threat."
There was no need to even voice the reason he hadn't asked my permission for this step.
The information center was completely isolated from any means of communication. Right under the enemy's nose, all that was missing for exposure were Imperial encrypted transmissions — then we could confidently expect a New Republic landing force or reconnaissance teams scouring plain after plain on Munto Codru.
"Well, thank you for your initiative," I said. "Any problems with the primary mission?"
"None, sir," Grodin continued his report in a calm tone. "Object number one is under reliable guard and will be delivered on time."
"What about the source material for targets two through five?" I inquired.
"Destroyed, as you ordered."
"Return to the Chimaera, Grodin, but first you'll need to change course," I ordered, sending him an encrypted file. "At these coordinates, a courier will be waiting with data banks and the necessary equipment, as well as instructions for completing the mission. Once you're finished, the data stores will self-destruct automatically."
"It will be done, Grand Admiral," the hologram of the guardsman saluted.
"The instructions must be executed precisely on schedule, Grodin," I emphasized the importance of the mission changes.
"Then that's how it will be, sir," Tierce declared.
"In that case, I can only wish you luck."
"Thank you, sir. But I don't need it. Luck is what's left of a plan. And I have a plan of action."
Allowing myself something resembling a smile, I switched off the holoprojector.
Well then, the bets are placed, there are no more bets.
"Sir," Rukh's voice called to me from the darkness. "You have a visitor."
"Is that so?" Interesting. Nothing of the sort was anticipated.
I used a switch and brought up data from a hidden surveillance camera on one of the screens, positioned to see absolutely everything happening in front of my quarters' door.
"More interesting by the minute," I said. "Let the Hand in, Rukh. It seems she's decided to pay her visit earlier than expected."
* * *
When the airlock doors closed behind her, Mara Jade no longer looked as calm and self-assured as she had appeared through the camera lens half a minute ago.
"I expected you later, Lady Jade."
With the rights of a gracious host, I gestured for the Hand to take a seat on the small couch opposite the one I was sitting in.
The girl, without keeping me waiting, took the seat assigned to her.
Judging by indirect signs — her posture, hand movements, and expression — she was diligently rebuilding her confidence in her actions, cutting off all paths of retreat through an internal dialogue with herself.
"So, to what do I owe this unscheduled visit?" I inquired, looking the girl in the eyes.
"Unscheduled?" She raised a thin eyebrow. "It seemed to me you just said you were expecting me."
"My schedule did not include this meeting at the current time," I clarified. "But that doesn't mean it came as a surprise to me. You want to talk — I have time to listen. Speak, or leave."
Mara demonstratively straightened her shoulders and adjusted her hair, tucking both red strands behind her ears.
How interesting.
'Preening' gestures?
And for what reason?
A completely different behavior was anticipated from the Hand.
Consistent with her character.
"You gave me a Super Star Destroyer," ah, no, straight and without preamble, in the Hand's style.
"Yes," I replied. "Not enough time has passed for that fact to get lost among others. Did something not suit you after the tour of the ship?"
"There is that."
"In that case, contact the shipbuilder Zion. He'll make individual adjustments to the project."
"What I want, Zion can't help me with," the girl declared.
Looking at her with a hint of surprise, I noticed that Jade was in a state of anticipation.
In her opinion, what she was about to say should surprise and perplex me.
Well, she was about to be disappointed.
"In that case, speak."
Mara, taking a deep breath and pulling the most polite and acrid smile from her arsenal onto her face, said:
"With all due respect, I am refusing this gift."
"Very well," I said, shrugging. "Anything else?"
The triumphant expression fell from the girl's face just as dry leaves fall from trees in autumn during a strong wind.
"I refused a Super Star Destroyer," she said with emphasis, boring into me with her gaze.
"My hearing is also fine, Lady Jade," I informed her. "Offering is my business. Refusing is yours."
The corner of Mara's lip twitched.
"And you won't even ask the reasons why I'm refusing a ship worth a fortune and, in combat terms, replacing an entire fleet?" There was confusion and hurt in her voice.
"Probably because you are a secret agent, and a nineteen-kilometer Super Star Destroyer, even with a masking function based on stygium crystals, is not exactly what one would call a discreet means of transportation?" I clarified.
The girl's mouth fell open.
Then she snapped her teeth shut sharply, and dangerous little devils of anger played in her eyes.
"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"
"Do you understand that by phrasing the question that way, you are hardly simplifying the possible answers?" I clarified.
"You gave me the Striking Sword, knowing I would refuse it!" Jade blurted out, clenching her fists in rage.
"I suspected this outcome," my explanation did nothing to smooth over the general picture of the girl's distress. "To know the result for certain, I would have had to become a Jedi. Thank my genetics that I was spared that."
"You just played me for a fool," the girl winced. "You gave me and Isard identical toys, then brought us together so she could confirm that fact in her trademark mockingly polite manner. And, I swear by the relics of the last Jedi, you knew exactly how I would react to being equated with her."
"The Force does not make you unpredictable, Lady Jade," I remarked. "Neither you, nor any of its wielders. So, there is no need to be angry or upset. You wanted me not to equate your contribution to the Dominion's cause equally with Isard's? Well, I won't. Unlike her, you returned to the fleet one of the three Super Star Destroyers we possess. I appreciate that and am grateful for your correct action."
"Don't you ever get bored?" Jade asked unexpectedly.
"At times like these, I study intelligence reports on the internal affairs of the New Republic and their measures for my destruction," the admission drew a light snort from the girl. "You are being too harsh. Such dispatches can contain plenty of interesting tidbits."
"Palpatine also amused himself by reading the 'eavesdropping' data from the senators," Jade said. "And he thought he knew everything about them. Need I remind you what happened to him in the end?"
"Thank you, no need, my memory serves me well," I declared.
"And yet, doesn't it get tiring, always being right?" Mara inquired. "Always winning. Always knowing everything in advance. Always being several steps ahead of your opponents. You're practically not living — you're merely existing. War and everything connected with it — your only passion. Honestly, I wasn't even that surprised when I realized that you and Isard..."
"The boundaries of what is permitted are elastic, Lady Jade, but you have pushed against them so hard that you are about to break through," I warned. "You will not like the consequences."
The mischievous spark in the girl's eyes died out, replaced by a guilty look.
"I offer my apologies," she mumbled. "I... Did indeed overstep the bounds of what is permitted."
"I am glad you understand this after the first warning," I said. "There will be no others."
If you keep repeating the same orders endlessly, your word loses its weight.
Repeat it once, and you'll have to repeat it a second time. Then a third, a fifth, and a tenth.
This game of parrot can go on for quite a while.
However, I would be lying if I said I never repeated myself as Thrawn.
It happened more than once.
But it was always accompanied by an instructive lesson.
Because, as practice shows, intelligent beings absorb information best either through pain, blood, or physical exhaustion.
Through auditory channels (for those who have them) — less often.
"One straight punch to the 'face' replaces thirty minutes of explanation, which I don't have time for," an officer who was always busy and knew how to teach military science only with his fists used to say in his day.
Experience showed that those thirty minutes of detailed explanation to soldiers about the principles of distributing firing sectors, instead of beatings and "You shoot there, and you — over there!" could have saved his life during the First Chechen War.
His, and the entire unit under his command, which never returned from the checkpoint.
But, all this is a digression.
"I assume that besides talk of the Striking Sword and my personal life, there might be something else that interests you, Lady Jade," I said.
"Since I'm here anyway, perhaps you could inform me of the details of my next assignment?" the red-haired vixen asked. "I understand the briefing was scheduled for a different time..."
The girl fell silent, not knowing how to further motivate her request.
Her position is clear — having found herself in an awkward situation, Mara Jade wants to leave the uncomfortable environment as soon as possible and switch her focus to work, to push the current conversation out of her head.
"Of course," I said, pulling an information crystal from my tunic pocket. "These are the coordinates of a villa belonging to the current head of CorSec, a man named Rostek Horn. Your target is Corran Horn, a fledgling Jedi, the last remaining free pilot of Rogue Squadron. He is supposed to deliver information to me that his biological grandfather, the Jedi Nejaa Halcyon, preserved. However, I am more than certain that the rendezvous point will be an ambush, so you are to extract the information stored in the DNA of flowers in Rostek Horn's greenhouse and deliver it to Master Bre'ano Umakk for subsequent integration into the training program of the Jensaarai Order."
"Storing information in the DNA of flowers?" Mara Jade was surprised. "A rather unusual method."
"Quite ingenious," I gave my assessment of the Corellian's cunning. "Therefore, I am confident that young Horn will confide in his grandfather, who will then advise him to plan a trap during the information transfer. Can you handle it alone, Lady Jade, or will you require support from guardsmen, stormtroopers, Jensaarai, or the Shadow Guard?"
"I'll take two guardsmen, with your permission," the girl declared. "Corellians can sometimes be very stubborn."
"In that case, you have the authority to use any means necessary to obtain such information," I expanded the boundaries of what was permissible. "But there is a condition. Corran Horn must survive at all costs."
"As you wish, Grand Admiral," Jade agreed. "But, allow me to express my opinion."
"Of course."
"Leaving Jedi 'to breed' is not the best move," the Hand declared. "Sooner or later, he will come of age. Corellian upbringing, Jedi skills, service experience in CorSec... Corran Horn could become a major headache for us."
"That is precisely what I need," I said. "Corran Horn is destined to become one of the enemies of the New Republic. But he doesn't know that yet."
"I understand you," Jade pursed her lips. "The death of loved ones has sometimes led Jedi to the Dark Side of the Force. Which caused them to be hunted by members of their own, former, Order."
"I am glad you are familiar with the history of the Jedi, Lady Jade," I said. "That will make it easier for you to complete the task."
"I am departing for my ship immediately. I'll need a shuttle to get to..."
"You will find the Flame in the main hangar, section fourteen," I said, watching the girl move toward the exit.
Mara Jade froze for a second, turned, looked at me...
"My ship has been brought here, to Tangrene?" she was surprised.
But there was a completely different question in her gaze: "And why were we jostling around on a shuttle when we could have flown in much greater comfort on Ennix Devian's former vessel?"
But, naturally, I wasn't about to tell the girl that I needed the time for the ship to be inspected by local specialists and for additional equipment to be installed in its interior.
The current performance is nearing its finale, and I want to be sure that I won't have to repeat the same words or actions twice.
"Do you really think I have the time or the desire to so petty-mindedly make you run around the ship's decks?" I inquired.
"Of course not, Grand Admiral," the girl pursed her lips. "Permission to go and begin the assignment?"
"Go," I authorized. "And begin."
When she was at the door, she stopped, hearing my voice:
"Regarding your question, Lady Jade," I said. "No, I am not bored. I do what I must and observe the result. If apathy or boredom ever overtakes you, use this advice."
"I certainly will, Grand Admiral," Jade replied dully and left my quarters.
Well, that's all.
The bets are placed, there are no more bets.