The expression on Councilor Mon Mothma's face could be described as something between a willful effort to overcome pain and disappointment.
A half-meter hologram of the woman projected directly from the floor in Ysanne Isard's private quarters.
The hostess herself sat in a chair, legs crossed, watching the hologram's words intently.
The barrage of pointed questions at the press conference — dedicated to launching Coruscant's defense system and transitioning from provisional governing bodies to permanent ones — had clearly caught her off guard. But the speed with which she recovered only confirmed her sharp mind, quick wit, and years of experience in senatorial demagoguery.
"Are you asking if Rogue Squadron was destroyed on Sarapin?" she repeated, buying time to formulate a suitable answer. "We are at war with a cunning and ruthless enemy capable of using any scrap of information against us. I can say we have suffered losses, but I am not authorized to disclose details to avoid jeopardizing our brave military's operations..."
"Speaking of disclosing details, are you really certain the enemy doesn't know the outcome of the Battle of Sarapin?" the reporter pressed. "Or Brentaal IV? Why are you covering up the truth?"
"The Provisional Government releases all information it deems necessary at this time..."
"Just like you informed everyone that Grand Admiral Thrawn had been attacking our patrols for six months, attacking and stealing ships, and that the Lusankya had gone on a test flight?"
"Now listen..."
"You claimed the New Republic had nothing to do with raids against Lianna, the Pentastar Alignment, attacks on Imperial convoys — that those were Dominion soldiers. But what do we see? Lianna is attacked by our own ships, led by the Lusankya. And they're committing a bloody massacre there that continues to this hour..."
"That's Grand Admiral Thrawn's disinformation!"
"Are you sure about that? According to sources on the ground, Wookiee and many non-human troops have been landed on the planet's surface. That's clearly not the Empire with its xenophobic attitudes!"
"Republic citizens who have been prisoners report that the Dominion cooperates with all races. Furthermore, many settlers have gone there in recent months..."
"And how do you explain the fact that you essentially set a trap for the Imperial fleet at Brentaal IV, while in the end our fleet bled and the enemy escaped? And now there's an entire fleet of Imperial Star Destroyers wandering somewhere in the galaxy, answering to no one but their own command?"
"We are equally certain that this is Dominion disinformation..."
"And the investigation data on the deaths of the ruling councilors of planet Axila, killed by a lightsaber — is that disinformation too? There are photos of the bodies on the HoloNet, and they're definitely not fakes."
"We don't deny that they could have been killed with such a weapon, but rumors of Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker's involvement in this crime are fabricated."
"Is that so? Then where is he now? Rumors that he visits planets where sentient bodies with lightsaber wounds are later found have real corroboration."
"Jedi Skywalker is busy with the Order's restoration..."
"Then perhaps you can explain why you're holding this press conference, and not General Madina? Is it true he's commanding the operation against Lianna aboard the Lusankya?"
"I cannot comment on our intelligence's actions..."
"Reports from the Thanium sector indicate that in response to the New Republic's attack on Lianna, Grand Admiral Thrawn's ships have struck the blockade forces. And the count of destroyed starships on our side has already exceeded three dozen."
"I cannot comment on our military's actions..."
"Then perhaps you can explain why our fleet is based in the Thanium sector, while the planets in that region of the galaxy have seceded from the New Republic?"
"I cannot comment..."
"But that's clearly a diplomatic matter, not an intelligence or military one. Why can't you say anything about something that directly concerns your own field of expertise?"
"The answers to your provocative questions..."
"Is it true that the Sullustans and Sluissi are already preparing to leave the ranks of the New Republic, because they are effectively conducting military production at their shipyards and could become legitimate targets for the regular Dominion fleet at any moment?"
"I don't know where you get such information, but the Sullustans and Sluissi are our good allies, alongside the Wookiees and Mon Calamari..."
"In other words, you are confirming that the Mon Calamari ships and the Lusankya that attacked Lianna, and the Wookiee landing on the planet's surface — all of this is the work of the New Republic."
"No, you've misunderstood me..."
"Wait, wait — you yourself said the Wookiees and Mon Calamari are New Republic allies, and now they're attacking Lianna, which previously broke its contracts with us because of raider actions. Raiders now led by the Lusankya, attacking Lianna. And to find them, you kept significant forces in the Thanium sector, but never found anyone! What exactly are you trying to achieve, Councilor Mothma? Do you want our soldiers to be slaughtered?.."
Mon Mothma's image froze, capturing a bewildered and, one could even say, frightened expression on her face.
"Everything is working out perfectly, Grand Admiral," she said, smiling.
A chime sounded from the direction of the doors — a petitioner announcing their wish to enter her quarters.
Isard unlocked the door lock from the panel in her armrest, watching the figure of the entering military officer with an attentive gaze.
"Do you have news for me, Colonel Niovi?" she inquired of the man who had shot Admiral Drommel.
"Yes, ma'am, Director," he said in a quiet, commanding tone. "Ground forces are advancing toward Santhe/Sienar Technologies headquarters. The corporate security service and armed units are putting up strong resistance. The information center has been taken, and data carriers are currently being seized. The fleet has crushed the enemy's orbital forces and has begun engaging the remaining defensive platforms. Half of the Golans have been cleared by our forces. Losses among combat droids are significant, but I've already ordered reserves into battle. Six cruisers are heavily damaged; the rest have minor issues. The battle continues."
"Good," Isard acknowledged. "Continue the work, Colonel. We must finish the operation exactly on schedule."
"Yes, ma'am, Director."
By simulating a New Republic attack on Lianna, Grand Admiral Thrawn had given clear instructions on where and what forces should operate.
A significant portion of the Dominion's captured star cruisers participated in this battle. Under the control of Mere crews, they performed reasonably well in the fighting, while most of the work of clearing orbital stations of the enemy fell to combat droid units, which had previously been produced and used for boarding military and transport ships.
The ground phase of the operation was carried out by assault teams composed of alien fighters. A significant portion of the "dressed-up" Republicans undoubtedly consisted of Colonel Niovi's stormtroopers. They, like the rest of the fighters, were disguised in Republic military uniforms.
Of which there was a large supply in the prisoner-of-war warehouses.
When she was left alone in the quarters that had been created exclusively for the woman who gave her life, Ysanne mechanically touched the scar left by the original's attempt to kill her.
She had spent a long time familiarizing herself with the memories of the real Iceheart.
Learning and absorbing what had happened after Isard had activated her clone.
The work was only just beginning, but there was still plenty of time.
The more secrets she uncovered now, the fewer surprises awaited the Dominion in the future.
* * *
Unlike half of the New Republic's operational groups, the one designated "Kappa" the last on the list of all those Coruscant had in the Thanium sector — had avoided destruction by Dominion forces.
At least that's what its commander thought, obviously understanding that the nine flagships of the other groups, and especially the flagship of the entire blockading fleet, wouldn't maintain radio silence for no reason immediately after the order to advance.
The attack was supposed to be a big surprise for the enemy.
Especially after receiving reports of the troubles that had befallen them right after Lianna reported being attacked by "armed New Republic ships."
Formation Kappa, the tenth and last in the blockading fleet, was at the greatest distance from Lianna when the operation commander announced the appearance of a "fake Dominion fleet" masquerading as Republicans.
And ordered an attack on the enemy.
An MC80 Mon Calamari star cruiser, four Nebulon-B escort frigates, six medium transports — a force capable of occupying a small moon. And within the entire blockading fleet, such an armada could permanently disable Grand Admiral Thrawn's allies.
That's what the formation commander thought — until all eleven of his ships were yanked out of hyperspace by a gravity anomaly that appeared out of nowhere.
Even before the stars had fully become distant points of light and the light tunnel ceased to exist, the commander of Formation Kappa understood what was happening.
And the Sullustan felt distinctly unwell when he saw before him a formation deployed in a blocking configuration, consisting of the Imperial-I-class Star Destroyer Red Gauntlet, accompanied by six Dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers, split into equal groups on either side of the triangular Imperial-design ship.
Visually it was hard to tell, but behind these starships on the tactical monitor screen — which had come to life after the transition — a interdictor cruiser was visible, its active gravity wells being the reason for Formation Kappa's emergence from hyperspace.
"Battle stations!" the formation commander ordered, but the first blow was struck by a squadron of TIE bombers that had attacked the Republican flagship long before the radiation trail faded from the star cruiser, allowing its crew to see the full depth of the trap they had fallen into.
A dozen ungainly bombers launched proton torpedoes, leaving the ship no chance whatsoever of surviving the ambush as a single piece of armor and technology.
A chain of explosions ran along the star cruiser's "spine," piercing the hull, decks, bulkheads, and partitions.
Metal cracked, melted, blew outward, and deformed in dozens of different ways.
A fiery wave of detonations vaporized plastic and the bodies of the sentients caught off guard.
A massive burst of flame erupted from the ship's hangar deck, making it clear to everyone around that the star cruiser's air wing had been destroyed.
And experienced military personnel understood that the MC80 itself was already finished — munitions were detonating inside it, and fuel was burning.
Internal explosions manifested themselves time and again, their effects increasingly amplified by precise turbolaser salvoes from the Star Destroyer.
The heavy cruisers engaged the escort frigates in battle.
Despite speed being on the latter's side, power and experience favored the former.
The Dreadnaughts' turbolasers had already inflicted serious damage on the ships at the very moment the Republican starships emerged from hyperspace.
The deflection shields' work only delayed the inevitable, but the Republicans caught in the ambush realized they had to fight to the last.
The Red Gauntlet ceased tormenting the star cruiser, which was already condemning its crew to the unenviable fate of death in vacuum anyway.
Bombs and accurate fire had destroyed every single gun emplacement, ripped open the blisters, and reached the MC80's reactors.
The ship held on for several minutes after the bombardment ceased, then detonated, illuminating the blackness of space with a brilliant flash that momentarily blinded the scanners of the nearest ships.
But that wasn't enough to save the lives of the other New Republic ships.
TIE fighters from the heavy cruisers were already having a field day, ripping open the transport hulls and harassing the escort frigates' gunners.
The star cruiser's destruction united the last New Republic starships, but that was far too little to escape the ambush.
Deflector shields weakened under the hurricane bombardment of the Dominion ships; armor blackened and cracked...
The hulls began to be mottled with black scorch marks, and a large amount of debris of all shapes and sizes accumulated around the Republican starships.
The Red Gauntlet selected the nearest frigate as its prey and unleashed its full power upon it.
The New Republic ship's aft section couldn't withstand the onslaught, and the deflectors gave way.
Green turbolaser needles pierced the armor in dozens of places, exposing the tender interior.
Oxygen whirlpools burst outward, but few were still paying attention to them.
The New Republic fleet was dying, and with the fatalism of sentients headed for their own execution, it held on stoically until the end.
The battle lasted twenty-seven and a half minutes and cost the Dominion only a few fighters.
But the New Republic...
Task Force Kappa was the tenth and final attack in a series launched by the starships of the Red Star squadron.
Two hours after the attack on Lianna began, within the nearest ten sectors, the New Republic had nothing left larger than a patrol suborbital shuttle.
* * *
With a furious roar that preceded an act of monstrous cruelty, a massive, chestnut-furred Wookiee covered in grenades and pouches hoisted a young guardsman above his head so that every Liannan entrenched in the corridor could see him.
Moff Victus cursed, swapping out an energy cell in his blaster. The other fighters took cover behind an improvised barricade of furniture.
But through the gaps in this defense, they saw the Wookiee begin to lower the struggling man from his enormous paws.
At the same time, he took a step forward and dropped to one knee.
Joshua knew this couldn't be real, but he shuddered at the monstrous crunch of a snapping spine and bones, the man shrieking in pain so that panic spread across the fighters' faces.
Tossing the corpse aside, the giant Wookiee opened fire with a handheld blaster repeater.
The defenders hit the deck.
"Dirty animals!" the Moff cursed, reloading his weapon.
He turned, found the nearest clear space free of furniture, and began shooting at the advancing forces.
The Liannan Guardsmen supported him with their own fire.
The Wookiees, having lost several of their own, retreated to the intersection, hiding around corners and firing at the barricade from there.
Expensive equipment began to ignite.
The plastic on them melted with a caustic haze, making some fighters cough as they inhaled the acrid smoke.
"Sir!" the squad leader shouted to him. "Reports say we've lost the twenty-second orbital station. The Republicans have seized control of orbit and the assembly plants. Our cargo ships and equipment are under their control!"
"Any good news?" the Moff shouted back as a blaster bolt whizzed past his head.
"The Sixth Guard Regiment, together with the police special forces, has retaken the information center! The Eighth Regiment has suffered heavy losses but captured the sixth industrial sector."
"The equipment?! Is the equipment intact?!"
"Negative, sir!" the guardsman replied. "The machines have been dismantled and are probably already on enemy ships. The conveyors are either destroyed or booby-trapped."
"Those animals are stealing our equipment?!" the Moff cursed.
Santhe/Sienar Technologies possessed some of the most advanced production machinery in the galaxy.
The company's leadership kept a close watch on not using outdated mechanisms, betting on timely renewal of the machine tool stock.
It seemed the New Republic had decided that if not to capture Lianna, then certainly to leave the population without industry.
"That's not all, sir! The Sixth Regiment reports that all servers and data storage devices have been removed from the information center. We no longer have an archive!"
This was a fiasco.
All the technical developments created over years of the campaign under various names were lost.
This meant that for months, if not years, Lianna had lost the ability to produce what it knew how to.
The fleet was destroyed.
The capital was on fire.
The archive was captured by the enemy.
The orbital factories and defense stations were under enemy control.
The equipment was either destroyed or captured by the enemy...
This was a collapse.
"We need to rally all forces and counterattack!" he shouted. "We can't let them take all this off the planet!"
Of course, without top-class specialists of various trades, even the most modern machine tools were no more than scrap metal.
But Moff Victus had no doubt that the New Republic would find a way to bring the stolen equipment back to life.
If only they weren't stopped in time.
The attack on the planet had caught the Liannans by surprise.
While the Guard and police forces evacuated the population to bomb shelters to prevent unnecessary casualties, the New Republic's landing force did nothing but attack.
Joshua knew what heavy losses the Guard and police forces were suffering in the current engagement...
And he cursed the day he supported Lady Santhe's proposal to hire a mercenary army and police force to secure the planet, not to mention the fleet crews.
While only Liannans worked at the enterprises, their safety was provided by those who were professional and skilled in the opposite process of creation.
Just money wasted — because the mercenaries, both the Guard and the police, had only dug in around the capital in the first hours of the battle, allowing the enemy to occupy the factories unopposed and plunder them.
And only now, by Joshua's direct order, had they finally decided on a counterattack against the enemy forces.
Two battalions of Wookiees had landed in the capital, where they captured the administrative buildings.
The remaining forces attacked the factories and industrial complexes located on the outskirts and outside the capital. For the most part, the enemy was simply stealing pre-fabricated assembly complexes now.
And now Joshua had no doubt about the New Republic's guilt.
They understood perfectly that the Liannans weren't so easy to subdue.
And even if the planet were conquered, they would have to try hard to motivate the locals to work for the invaders.
They had simply decided to steal everything.
Criminals.
Thieves.
Scoundrels.
Democracy had already found dozens of new epithets and comparisons for itself.
And Thrawn had warned...
Perhaps he himself was to blame for what was happening — his war had pushed the New Republic to a desperate step.
But such complaints were laughable to the point of absurdity.
Everyone makes their own choice — and bears responsibility for it.
The Republic had attacked — and now it was unequivocally the enemy.
Only, where were those Hutt-loving allies?!
There were neither pirates nor Moff Gronn's fleet!
Both were supposed to have arrived at the battle site over fourteen hours ago!
So he had been right to object to Santhe: the protection of the planet and its citizens should have been entrusted to the citizens of Lianna themselves, as it had been under Sienar, rather than turning the locals into a planet of top-class specialists.
And now they were all in bomb shelters while Lianna was being plundered.
Wonderful!
Just magnificent!
Oh, how right Thrawn had been...
Joshua smirked bitterly.
If he didn't want the New Republic to plunder Lianna in both hemispheres, he needed help.
Losing the factories in this hemisphere was certainly a disaster, a big one.
But if they lost everything...
"Contact Grand Admiral Thrawn!" he ordered. "Send a signal to Ciutric IV! Inform him that we are under attack and request immediate assistance."
"I hope he has forces nearby to arrive before the Republicans drive us into the Stone Age," flashed through the Moff's mind, onto whose shoulders too much had fallen over the past day for one man to bear.
Why had he swallowed his pride and called for help from the one whose alliance offer he had rejected?
Because the Grand Admiral was apparently the only one who could keep the situation under control!
The other nearest Remnants hadn't even stirred to come to their aid!
"As you command, Moff Victus!"
* * *
Over dinner, Corran finally couldn't hold back and asked the question that had been tormenting him since he heard about the Jedi heritage and his grandfather's greenhouse from Thrawn:
"How are they connected?"
Rostek, sitting across the table, smiled knowingly at his grandson.
"Directly," he said. "How well do you remember your school botany and biology?"
"Enough to tell a tree from a rancor," Corran admitted his surrender.
"Then to help you understand everything I've said, I'll have to remind you of a few things," his grandfather warned. "All hereditary information is passed to a new generation in the genetic code of an organic being. Most genetic codes in the galaxy consist of four nucleotides paired together. This is what provides the genetic template passed from generation to generation, creating life. You, me, the tree this table is made from" his grandfather tapped the tabletop — "the plants in my greenhouse, the grass on the lawn, the birds, the animals, and so on. I won't go into details, this is just an extremely simplified foundation of genetic worldview."
"Honestly, after the Imperials, on Isard's orders, infected Coruscant with the Krytos virus created by a mad geneticist, I don't really have a taste for this science," Corran admitted.
"To each their own," his grandfather agreed. "In any case, nucleotides form DNA chains. But over time, through evolution, over millennia and millions of years, most of the nucleotides in DNA encode information that is genetic junk. It's ballast that I learned to modify."
"To create and improve your flowers?" Corran clarified.
"That's how it started," his grandfather agreed. "But when the need arose, I synthesized entire chains of nucleotide pairs. And replaced the genetic junk with them, while keeping the pairs inert so they wouldn't affect the plants. If you had the imagination and the desire to study my flowers at that level, you could notice that one chain of pairs equals zero, the second equals one..."
Corran, busy with a piece of steak, started coughing.
Clearing his throat, he drained a glass of water and looked at his grandfather suspiciously:
"Did you really do that?"
"Yes," Rostek smiled.
"You digitized Jedi data, translated it into nucleotide pair coding, and implanted it in place of the genetic junk?!" Horn Jr. clarified, as if not believing what he was hearing.
"Exactly," his grandfather smiled. "And with every division of the plant's genetic material, the encoded information multiplies! Of course, the sequences aren't an open book. It's a cipher whose solution only I know."
"That's... That's incredible!" Corran admired. "But doesn't that mean this information in the plants could change, even die?!"
"Yes, sometimes mutations or other factors damage DNA sections and such information becomes fragmentary, sometimes even useless, but I always keep a stock of stable seeds in the greenhouse, and growing a healthy plant isn't difficult," his grandfather smiled.
"You're a genius!" Corran said admiringly.
"Don't overestimate me," Rostek waved it off. "Just an old CorSec officer with imagination."
"I'd bet the Jedi archive isn't your first experiment," Corran squinted.
"Of course not," Rostek stated. "My entire archive is in the plants. All the kompromat, all the possible schemes of those I watch — that was the beginning of this encryption. No one would ever think to look for information in plant DNA. Everyone is more accustomed to thinking it's stored on info chips or flimsi documents."
"So those flowers you periodically send to your enemies are their kompromat?!"
"Of course," Rostek agreed. "Working with your grandfather, Nejaa Halcyon, I learned enough about the Jedi to grasp a simple lesson: nothing happens by chance. The Force, whatever it is, is something unimaginable that gives what is desired to those who seek, who need... Encoding the Jedi heritage information in plants, I was confident that either your father, or you, or your descendants, or any other Jedi in the galaxy would eventually receive it all. Your grandfather taught me to believe and hope."
Corran looked at Horn Sr. with love.
"Tell me about Neyo," he asked, pulling a silver cylinder from a hidden pocket and handing it to his grandfather. "This is his lightsaber, isn't it?"
"Oh," a cosmic sadness appeared on Rostek's face as his grandson placed the Jedi weapon in his aged but still strong hands. "How...? Yes, it is, but... Where did you find it? The Jedi took it after they brought his body to Corellia!"
"As it happened, escaping from the Lusankya, I ended up in a museum," Horn Jr. reluctantly turned to his memories. "And... Skywalker says the Force itself led me through a closed exhibition dedicated to the Jedi, straight to a display about my grandfather. That's where I first learned his name and felt a connection to something close, kindred..."
"Your father said roughly the same thing when I told him about his father," Rostek wiped away the tears forming in his eyes.
Quickly composing himself, Horn Sr. looked intently at his grandson:
"When I first saw you on the veranda, I couldn't figure out who you were. Excellent disguise, by the way. But what struck me most was how you, with darkened hair and a glued-on beard, looked like Neyo..."
The smile on Corran's face faded.
"I don't look like him," he said, sitting down on a chair. "Neyo was a hero, but I... My wife and father-in-law are missing, and instead of searching for them, I listened to command, the Force, a crazy old clone, Thrawn, Skywalker, Thrawn again... Sometimes I look at what surrounds me and want to break with the past, taking with me the people I love: Mirax, Wedge..."
"Booster Terrik?"
"Oh, I don't love my father-in-law that much," Corran joked. Instantly his smile turned to sadness again. "Thrawn said Iella is with him."
"You mentioned that," his grandfather confirmed. "Do you think she's his prisoner? Do you think he didn't lie?"
"I doubt it," Corran reluctantly admitted. "At first I believed it, then I cooled off during the flight, thinking Thrawn was just fluffing himself up for significance and more manipulation. Then I realized that guy has never lied to me. Or to anyone he talked to. And that's when I got really scared — because then he told the truth about capturing the Lusankya too."
"Which leads to the thought that the supposed New Republic attack on Lianna is just another farce?" his grandfather clarified.
"That's likely the case," Corran confirmed. "When you told me the Diktat wants to befriend Thrawn, I thought they'd be unstoppable because of the CMC. After all, Star Destroyers built by Corellian hands would clearly be the best in the galaxy. But now it dawned on me — if Thrawn really only tells the truth, won't the Balmorra situation repeat?"
"You mean his attack right after Coruscant?" his grandfather clarified.
"Yes," Corran nodded. "He stripped the planet of everything he needed, including the Separatist factories. Imagine how strong he'll be if he loots Lianna's production capacity?"
"Shipping an entire planet's production isn't such a simple task," Rostek stated. "If he intends to loot under the guise of a New Republic attack, he'll either occupy the planet for a few days, maybe a week, or take what's most valuable in such matters, like industry."
"Equipment," Corran understood. "No better, really."
"Don't say that," his grandfather stated. "For the equipment taken off the planet to start working, you first need to build a factory, train workers... That's if you don't have to run with your tail between your legs, of course, abandoning the loot."
"Something tells me that won't happen," Corran sighed. "This guy's everything just... works out too well!"
"And the New Republic's affairs aren't going well at all."
"Same here on Corellia," the young Horn noted.
"Unfortunately," Rostek confirmed. "The common people haven't fared so badly these times. The Diktat, actually, only suits the rich, while the middle class and the poor... they fondly remember the times when Bel Iblis had a say here. Frankly, I expected him to put Thrawn in his place once he became commander-in-chief. But so far his only success is a half-victory-near-defeat at Brentaal IV."
"There are rats in the Imperial Palace," Corran admitted. "Wedge told me about it. Intelligence is looking for leaks, has been for some time, but without success. The Imperials find out about our plans before they reach the executors."
"Wow," Rostek's eyes widened. "Then why isn't anyone looking for enemy informants?"
"Because we either don't have those specialists or we're simply powerless," Corran sighed. "That's why I didn't report to anyone about my agreement with Thrawn. I'll stay alive that way."
"Logical," his grandfather agreed. "But such filth needs to be eliminated. Have you ever heard of an animal called a wolf?"
Corran shook his head negatively.
"It's a member of the canine family, a predatory species," Rostek explained. "Actually, not much is known about them outside the planets they inhabit. I can confidently say that about seventy percent of the galaxy's population has never heard of such wolf breeds as the sungwa, the korrina, the dark wolf of Shriluur, the renan — also called the blood wolf of Renn — the Hapan chamberwolf from Jerec VI, the snow wolf of Kabaira, or the wolves of Vek..."
"And what's this clarification for?" Corran asked, momentarily thinking one of the breed names sounded like his own.
"Zoologists sometimes call wolves the sanitation workers of their habitats," Rostek explained. "Wolves are predators, but not the strongest. They often kill weak, sick, old animals — those that, if they remain in the population of their kind for too long, could somehow cause the death of the entire herd or pack. In their time, hunters of spies were called wolves for cleaning the herd."
"Yes, we could use such animals," Corran agreed.
"And how much Corellia needs them now," Rostek sighed. "In any case, let's not dwell on sad things. You asked me to tell you about Neyo, so... I have a lot to tell you. About the underground on Corellia that fights the Diktat, and about the surviving Corellian and other Jedi I've been helping to save all this time... Frankly, I wanted to put this off until tomorrow so we could talk while turning the compost heap, but I see you're not patient. Actually, like all Horns, what's there to hide..."
"But you have plenty of servants," Corran was amazed. "Isn't there anyone to turn the compost?"
"We'll do it as grandfather and grandson," Rostek chuckled. "It's fertilizer, after all. Any plant needs fertile soil for its roots to grow. Don't be lazy, you'll like the result."
Corran was about to respond with doubt, but they were interrupted.
"Director Horn," Tosruk, his grandfather's servant, cleared his throat delicately as he appeared in the dining room. "Another flier has arrived at the estate. An official one from the Law Enforcement Service. They report that they have important information for you regarding your grandson, Corran Horn."
Considering that this name was undesirable for third parties to utter even in the grandfather's house, for the servants, Keiran was Corran's childhood friend.
Despite the fact that Tosruk was the only servant in the house (his grandfather had dismissed the rest of the staff at nightfall), the rule was not broken.
"Invite them in," Rostek ordered, exchanging knowing looks with his disguised grandson. "And activate the house's automatic defenses. I doubt these guests are who they claim to be."
"No need," a voice came from the opposite end of the dining room. "Your defense center has been disabled. Don't move, cooperate, and no one will harm you without extreme need."
A pretty, middle-aged woman with a magnificent head of red hair appeared from the passage leading to the kitchen.
She was wearing a form-fitting combat jumpsuit made of fabric armor with plastoid elements enhancing its protection against blaster fire.
"Good evening, the Horn family," she said, flicking her fingers, and the hilt of Corran's lightsaber flew into her palm. "We need to talk, folks. And you'd better cooperate."
* * *
"All ships have been repaired and are ready for transit," Captain Pellaeon finished his report.
"Good," I stated, shifting my gaze to Moff Gronn, who was sitting a couple of meters away under guard. "Prepare a shuttle to deliver our prisoner to Laboratory Four."
"Decided to cut me to pieces?" the man, sporting bruises and contusions from the boarding of his flagship hours earlier, instantly snarled.
"Oh no, Moff," I said. "A more refined fate awaits you. You will serve the Dominion and prepare the Allied Tion sector for annexation. Not now, but soon."
"I won't even think about it," he snorted.
"Correct," I agreed. "Don't bother with what's not natural to you. Everything has already been thought out to the smallest detail. Take him away."
A pair of guards, unceremoniously taking the man by the arms, dragged him out of my quarters.
"Report, Captain," I said. During my time in Pellaeon's company, it no longer took great effort to guess when he had something to say to me.
"A dispatch from Grand Moff Ferrus," he said. "Moff Victus is asking us to support Lianna in repelling the attack on the planet."
"As planned," I nodded. "Inform Rear Admiral Shohashi to prepare his ships for the jump. He knows what to do on site. Set a rendezvous point with our cargo ships and the Eternal Wrath. The equipment for the Golan platforms must be delivered intact. Also send a signal to the Lusankya — they must be ready to complete this performance."
"Lady Isard has also sent a report," Pellaeon stated in a flat tone. More phlegmatic than before. "The corporation's data servers have been evacuated in full. The industrial equipment has been removed from the factories in the planet's northern hemisphere, near the capital. As intelligence specified, these are factories producing components for TIE series vehicles."
"Which are then assembled in orbital workshops," I realized. "Excellent. Have them load everything onto combat-ready ships and set a rendezvous with us. We'll escort it all to the capital and deliver it to Moff Ferrus. Is that all?"
"Yes, sir."
"Send a request for the main fleet's movement," I ordered. "We're moving toward the climax of the entire Operation Crimson Dawn, Captain. Everything must play out precisely, like clockwork. No one will forgive us any mistakes."
"It will be done, Grand Admiral."
"Summon the Star Destroyer commanders who have transferred to Dominion service. I need to have a frank discussion with them about their future."
"I'll send the messages immediately, Grand Admiral."
After the ship's commander left my quarters, I leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes in the familiar semi-darkness that had surrounded me ever since I arrived in this galaxy.
The interesting part begins...
And what intrigues me even more is that no one has figured out what outcome we're heading toward.
Including Pellaeon, Shohashi, Dori, Ferrus, and the others...
So everything is proceeding as it should.
Now I just need to finish it properly.
* * *
Before Corran could react, Rostek leaped from his seat. From somewhere, Tosruk produced a small but powerful blaster that spat a crimson bolt of energy.
A lightsaber appeared in the girl's hand, and its violet-magenta blade deflected the shot right into Rostek's thigh.
The old man stumbled as he tried to stand, but Corran was already there.
He caught Rostek just as Tosruk fired a second time...
The blaster bolt scorched the younger Horn's shin, and he collapsed to the floor alongside Rostek.
A moment later, Tosruk fell too.
His eyes showed surprise, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle.
Where he had stood now were two striking figures in ONI armor suits, blasters at the ready.
Their sealed helmets hid their faces, but from their bearing Corran knew both were professionals who could burn down this house and everyone inside it.
And they wouldn't lose any sleep over it.
"That was foolish, Mister Horn," said the red-haired girl, sitting down on the chair where Rostek had been sitting. "Lift them up."
Both operatives obeyed the order and sat the men down on chairs that had been standing alone by the dining table.
When Corran tried to grab one of their weapons, he took a solid hit to the ribs.
Once they were seated, their arms were threaded through the slatted chair backs.
Plastic zip ties screeched, locking their wrists together.
Corran tried to free his hand but couldn't move it a millimeter.
The experienced captors had cinched them tight enough to cut off blood flow from his arms to his palms, and his fingers began to go numb.
After a few seconds, plastic restraints were also fastened around his ankles.
The same procedure was applied to his grandfather.
"Who are you?" Rostek asked.
"That doesn't matter," the beauty waved dismissively, crossing her legs. "The right question is: 'Why am I here?' Does anyone want to ask it?"
"Can you just stop playing games?" Corran suggested.
"Oh, what a double standard!" the girl laughed. "So your adopted grandfather can have his fun sending blackmail material in his flowers to the people he's shaking down, but I can't? Honestly, Captain Horn, I expected better of you."
"You were eavesdropping," Rostek stated.
"Say that like it's a bad thing," the girl shrugged. "But since you're being so categorical, I'll get straight to business. I need your archives and the decryption codes for the data in the plants."
"Who do you work for?" the younger Horn forced out.
"You still haven't figured it out?" the girl asked, feigning surprise. "And this is CorSec's elite? I'm disappointed in you, Captain Horn. Director Horn, do you have any theories?"
"Not enough information to draw a conclusion," he said, glancing at his grandson.
"Then let me give you a hint," the girl said with a dazzling smile. "How long do you think the investigation took into the battle Thrawn started in the Sarapin system?"
"As far as I know, it's complete," Rostek said.
"Yes," she blinked. "And my superiors were so impressed by Captain Horn's actions — deserting from the New Republic Defense Forces for the second time without hesitation, and on top of that making a deal with the enemy — that their patience ran out. Your story about coming to your grandfather to save your wife, father-in-law, and friends is touching and all, but you could have gotten help from the New Republic. After what happened at Sarapin, the Provisional Council is tearing its hair out looking for a way to defeat Thrawn. And turning over Jedi data is a pretty tempting prize. For me. But as for them, they need someone to pin a couple of charges on, to take the blame for all their failures. I think a Corellian who secretly sympathized with Thrawn's 'proper Empire' is just what they need. Your desertion, your refusal to look for your wife and father-in-law — all of it will work for the accusation. I think they could even throw in that you never managed to avenge Isard's massacre of Jan Dodonna, who you'd befriended during your captivity on the 'Lusankya.' You know, satellite data from Sarapin is so easy to process. I know a couple of slicers in Intelligence who'll add files claiming Thrawn promised to hand Isard over to you. Strange, isn't it, that a genius like Thrawn considers himself, but didn't think to destroy that data and keep your arrangement secret? Either he doesn't value you that much, or he deliberately left a trail for us. All in all, I found so much in this assignment... A traitor, Jedi archives and legacy, a traitor grandfather, a potential alliance with Corellia... And your archives on Corellian criminals and dirty officials will be a bonus for Republic Intelligence. Oh, I'm definitely going to be bathing in aurodium after this mission."
"Do you really think we'll believe the Republic sent you after my grandson?" Rostek Horn chuckled. "And that you got authorization from the Diktat to operate on Corellia?"
"I don't care what you believe," the redhead said coldly. "We've done far worse things than what you're talking about. We've pulled Bothans out of captivity, secretly ransoming them from Thrawn; we've bought Isard's coordinates for Thrawn's location and sent a fleet under Admiral Ackbar there; we set a trap for Isard, Thrawn, and the Empire using the 'Lusankya'; we've hunted convoys, mimicked Thrawn's tactics... Making a deal with the Diktat isn't that big a problem. The main thing is finding someone who cares enough about his reputation and is willing to cover for us in exchange for getting your blackmail material, Director Rostek. Thanks to your impatient grandson, we won't have to dig through the entire estate. All we need is to take your greenhouse and the seeds. Not exactly what we promised Sal-Solo, but it'll do. I think he'll have the patience to listen to the recording of your conversation with your grandson, verify what you said about genetic encoding, and find a dozen or two cryptographers to decode it."
The old man went pale — his face matched the color of his gray hair.
"If that's the case, why do you need us alive?" Corran asked.
Something didn't add up, but he couldn't figure out what.
Maybe it was that the girl was clearly skilled with the Force and a lightsaber.
Yet she claimed to be an agent of the New Republic, even though the New Republic prided itself on having only one Jedi...
"You're not listening very well," the redhead said. "First, I need the encryption keys. Breaking the genetic code is bound to be long and complicated — let the Diktat deal with that. But we could really use the blackmail material on Corellian officials. Your sector has been playing too much at independence. We don't like that. Especially combined with your officials' secret game of helping Thrawn."
"What are you talking about?" Corran asked.
"About the ship thefts," Rostek said. "You didn't prepare well if you think that's how it really went."
"Don't flatter your ego, Director," the redhead advised. "You must be suffering from senile dementia if you think any sane being would believe that stealing three to five hundred Corellian corvettes and frigates — and gunships too — could be pulled off by just one gang of thieves without support from above? And all using the same scheme, at different ends of the shipyards, at practically the same time? Don't try to cloud my mind, Director. Whether you know it or not, Corellia has been secretly transferring light ships to Thrawn, passing them off as 'thefts.' And it just so happens that the vengeful Corellians haven't bothered to investigate. Yes, yes, yes, we're eager to believe that hundreds of thousands of young men and women, specialists, pilots, soldiers just decided to leave Corellia and move to the Dominion."
"They're relocating as entire families," Rostek said. "Because they think it's better there."
"Oh, stop feeding me that line — it's messing up my hair," the girl grimaced. "What century are we in that people still take at face value what rulers and those in power say about how wonderful everything is in their state? Six months ago Thrawn had nothing. Now — a dozen systems, a dozen and a half sectors, and — suddenly — order, law, and a growing economy. No rebellions, no uprisings, no dissidents... If you believe the Dominion is the last haven of law, order, and prosperity, then you're clearly dumber than your grandson, who couldn't think of anything smarter than flying to you while being wanted by counterintelligence for treason."
"My grandson is a smart and perceptive man," Rostek said, his voice like durasteel. "He perfectly understood that I was simply relaying facts to him from the perspective of propaganda and the settlers' opinions."
"People who aren't from the Horn family always need basic points explained," Corran confirmed.
Honestly, he still hadn't even considered that his grandfather, seasoned by years in CorSec, might take Thrawn's propaganda and that of his underlings as something truthful.
There wasn't much to think about there — Thrawn had a knack for painting even the shabbiest things beautifully.
"Anyway, let's get back to the main reason I'm here," the redhead smiled. "The decryption codes."
"You're not getting them," the elder Horn declared. "Under no circumstances. Not even if Palpatine himself came back from the dead and tortured me."
"Well, you won't live to see that moment," the redhead said, looking at Corran. "So I take it you didn't tell your grandfather that Palpatine is alive?"
"Repeat another piece of Thrawn's propaganda?" Corran snorted. "I didn't want to waste his time."
"Only a fool would believe that," Rostek supported his grandson.
"Oh, well, at least my opinion of you hasn't dropped below floor level," the redhead said with mock relief, smiling at both Horns. "Break the old man's right arm."
Corran lunged to help, but a strong punch to the jaw slowed him down.
The Corellian didn't give up, so one of the torturers turned his attention to him.
Several blows to the chest knocked the wind out of him, and he hung helplessly on the chair.
With a sickening crunch, Rostek's right arm broke — the second enforcer delivered a swift, clearly powerful blow using a coat rack.
A wave of restrained pain crossed Rostek's face.
"I can do this all night," the redhead promised. "Or else..."
Corran suddenly shot into the air, caught by the Force.
His throat was squeezed by an invisible grip, and he kicked at the chair legs, only now realizing he couldn't feel his feet either.
A carbon dioxide fire started in his lungs.
His face burned from the inside, just like his lungs, which had already lacked oxygen after the blows, and now he couldn't take even the simplest breath.
"The Force holds so many interesting things, doesn't it, Corran Horn?" the redhead asked. "By the way — Darth Vader's favorite move. If I were a Jedi, I'd have been scolded for this a long time ago. Well..."
"Who the hell are you?" Rostek hissed.
"A special agent of my government," the girl explained without explaining anything. "Your grandson doesn't have much time before he suffocates."
"Leave him alone!" Rostek said.
"The codes."
"Let him breathe first!"
"The codes!"
"By the Emperor's black bones, woman! If he dies, you'll get nothing from me!" the elder Horn made his final argument.
"Grandpa, you overestimate yourself too much," the redhead smiled. "Like I said, getting the codes is my whim, not the main mission. So what if I don't get a lot of money for delivering him alive to the New Republic? I'll just give them a couple of your flowers and tell them what to do with them. Let them figure it out. And I'll give your greenhouse to Sal-Solo. They have enough money to hire good slicers to crack that nut. So it's in your interest to give me the code. Then I'll leave your grandson alive."
"And you won't hand him over to the New Republic!" Rostek said quickly.
Corran shook his head.
Even though everything inside him was burning from lack of oxygen, even though he wanted to sleep, even though rage was churning inside him, he didn't agree with his grandfather making this unjustifiable move.
He wasn't the kind of man who worked on small things.
The archives clearly contained very important information.
In the hands of the Diktat or the New Republic, it could only harm Corellia and its people.
Better to die than this...
"Let's make a deal," Rostek said, licking his lips. Corran, if he could, would have groaned in disappointment.
He knew his grandfather loved him madly, but this much...
"Now that's Corellian," the young woman smiled.
"You'll get the blackmail archive, the Jedi information, the decryption codes, but you leave my grandson whole and unharmed," Rostek said quickly. "You'll tell your employers you killed him but couldn't get his body off Corellia. You'll give Sal-Solo whatever you see fit, but after twenty-four hours — when we've left Corellia. Deal?"
"You're a boring old man," the redhead sighed. "Deal. The decryption codes."
And Rostek told her. He didn't speak for very long, explaining how to decode his genetic encoding.
Several times the woman interrupted him, again cutting off Corran's air supply, catching the old man in lies.
There was no doubt she was trained in the Force.
With its help, she could sense lies.
The old man realized this too and stopped being evasive.
Corran didn't even try to intervene in what was happening. He watched with apathy and resignation, aware of his helplessness and the complete victory of the redheaded bitch.
He understood the main thing.
In the Empire, there had been rumors that the Emperor had Force-wielding agents like Darth Vader.
Their existence was carefully hidden, but people Corran trusted had given their own examples of encountering these beings.
Inquisitors...
And then he remembered how Wedge had told him that when forming "Wraith Squadron," he'd learned that the New Republic had specifically been searching for people sensitive to the Force.
He remembered stories about a separate group in the Alliance led by the Jedi Rahm Kota.
He remembered the countless rumors about Jedi serving the New Republic at various times.
About how Skywalker was constantly running Coruscant missions, periodically disappearing from view.
And now rumor attributed numerous murders to him...
Finally, he remembered how Skywalker himself, trying to recruit him for Jedi training, had talked about another descendant of a Jedi line, Kyle Katarn.
Who worked for Republic Intelligence and was on a critical assignment that couldn't be entrusted to other agents...
Corran realized how cruelly he had been wrong about his ideals.
The New Republic was no better than the Empire.
It had taken the reins of power from Palpatine's dead hands, changed the signs, decorated the facade, and that was it.
Corran felt a seed of rage growing inside him toward those who had led him by the nose for so long.
Hypocrites...
The fairy tales about democracy were nothing more than an excuse to lure as many peoples as possible into their prison and manipulate them from behind the scenes, not as openly as Palpatine had done.
"Well," the redheaded woman rose. "This has been a lovely conversation, Director Horn." She looked at one of her companions, who had stepped out a few minutes earlier. "Has the encoding been verified?"
"Yes," he replied. "I checked it on the equipment in the greenhouse. The complete archive."
"Wonderful," she smiled. "My work here is done. I'll keep my end of the bargain — your grandson stays alive."
"Thank you," the old man replied, watching as the trio headed for the dining room exit. The girl let both operatives go ahead, staying behind with the two Horns.
"You're a kind old man," the girl said, her feigned smirk suddenly sliding off her face as she looked into Rostek's eyes. "I was ordered to kill you, but I won't. Disappear, and make it look like you died here."
"Thank you for the advice," the man said.
The Force stirred warily inside Corran, momentarily pushing aside his anger.
He saw his grandfather free his hands, kick apart the chair, and then dive to the floor — toward the spot where Tosruk's blaster lay, which no one had paid any attention to.
At the same time, a small piece of sharpened metal fell onto Corran's knees. A small blade his grandfather had been using as a cufflink!
Corran struggled to his feet, dropping the blade to the floor, then collapsed onto the floor, breaking apart the chair.
He lay on his back, quickly found the blade, and began sawing at the zip ties behind his back, trying to free his hands.
Meanwhile, a battle raged above them.
His grandfather, taking cover behind the table, was firing at the girl, skillfully dodging her reflected bolts.
But at one moment, when Corran was only seconds away from freedom, a blaster bolt hit his grandfather, burning a hole through his throat.
The man crumpled to the floor like he'd been cut down.
Corran, having cut his bonds, heard the woman hissing in pain.
"Ma'am, are you okay?" one of the support troopers asked.
"There you go, trusting old men," she hissed. "Curly Sith... So damn fast! He must've dealt with Jedi before! That hurts... Right in the gut. We're pulling out... Ow..."
He heard a body fall.
And Corran made his move!
He jumped up, blaster in hand, and saw that the girl was semi-conscious, being supported by one trooper while the other kept his weapon trained on the wrecked dining room.
The Corellian pulled the trigger, seeing the enemy's blaster barrel turn toward him.
And he heard the dry click of an empty gas cartridge.
Now he understood why those blaster shots had been so powerful — it was using more gas than the others.
"Oh, Hutt, no..." the girl said, but her words were drowned out by the roar of an assault blaster rifle.
"There's no escape," Corran thought, watching the blaster bolts approach as if in slow motion.
At moments like this, he regretted not spending an obscene amount of money on blaster-absorbing coating and making a vest out of it...
The burning shots tore through his inner world as he tried to dodge.
He slid down the wall, feeling his body grow cold.
"Oh, Sith," he heard the redhead's voice through the fog. "That one was supposed to be kept alive... Shit situation. Burn everything to the Hutt here. And the greenhouse too! First thing after you take all the flowers and seeds! Move it! Ow, that hurts so much... Forcey-Force, can't I just not feel any pain? Why can't I just absorb all these energy shots, huh?"
Corran Horn was sinking into darkness, wondering the same thing.
So even hereditary Jedi aren't perfect.
How does Skywalker manage it all?