Nine years, nine months, and thirty-three days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-fourth year, nine months, and thirty-two days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Five months and seventeen days since the Arrival.)
"I look like a fool," Vex hissed quietly as they turned a corner in the corridor and continued on their way.
"Keep your mouth shut, and it'll be fine," Reynar advised her, pretending to adjust the uniform cap of a Bilbringi shipyard security guard.
The service was new, hastily formed to replace the destroyed ISB rank-and-file agents (and how did it happen that all the shuttles carrying ISB personnel to the shipyards suddenly and inexplicably exploded just when the Noghri received orders to destroy the Ubiqtorate?), so there was no point thinking everyone knew everyone here.
But better safe than sorry.
That's why Reynar was covering his face with his right hand while adjusting his cap.
And thus, the pair of guards standing by the right side of the corridor didn't see his face.
Nor did the holocamera embedded in the ceiling above the lawkeepers' heads.
Passing them, the pair — a guard and a Twi'lek in handcuffs wearing a pilot's uniform — proceeded down the corridor.
"They're staring at me!" Vex hissed again.
"Because when I said, 'Buy yourself some ordinary clothes,' that meant normal human garments, not a blouse with a décolletage and tight leggings," Obscuro muttered.
"I thought you meant ordinary for me," Vex snorted.
"Right," Reynar saw a pair of guards at the desired door, but reaching out with the Force, he sensed they were just bored with their shift in the far part of the shipyard and were watching the strange pair with great curiosity. "I don't remember you ever wearing anything like that."
"My life doesn't revolve solely around our missions," the girl declared, pushing a cargo container on a repulsor platform. "And besides, if I want to, I won't work with you as a partner!"
"Well, go ahead and want to!"
"I don't want to!"
"Halt," one of the guards (a corporal, judging by the insignia) called out with a pleased smirk, "this is the CGT security zone. Show your documents."
"Or we'll search you," the second one giggled stupidly, devouring Vex with his eyes.
Reynar forced a smile, grinding his teeth as he watched his partner flirting with her eyes, drawing one of the guards' attention.
"Of course," he replied, holding out a datapad. "Here are my documents."
The distant but not deserted corridor in the far section of the Bilbringi shipyards housed both scanning equipment and the control apparatus for the aforementioned CGT.
The target of this operation.
The crystal gravfield trap (CGT) was a very rare, very expensive type of sensor that used synthetic crystalline grids.
This highly sensitive and costly device was used to detect and identify fluctuations in the local gravitational field of a specific point in space.
High-quality CGTs could detect and identify fluctuations up to hundreds of thousands of kilometers around the device.
And as it happened, this instrument, once fairly common at major shipyards, now existed in the galaxy in strictly limited numbers.
In excellent condition, such a scanning tool existed at the Tangrene shipyards — at least that was its last known location.
Another had been on the planet Svivren until recently, but was lost about five years ago during a battle on the planet between the Empire, criminals, and local rebels.
And… one remained at Bilbringi.
With these devices, if the New Republic had them, clearing the orbit of Coruscant wouldn't be a big problem.
Such sensors were invented back during the Clone Wars, when ships equipped with cloaking fields were first demonstrated. The Empire, obsessed with superweapons, researched the matter and built dozens of CGTs across the galaxy. And such inventions proved useful when a new wave of cloaking field research surged.
Which quickly fizzled out.
As soon as all projects were deemed failures and shut down, thrifty shipyard owners dismantled their CGTs.
At least, that's what they say.
In reality, rebels destroyed them because these kinds of sensors, even if not cloaked, would detect ships long before standard ship or station sensors activated.
And since that interfered with their raids, shipyard CGTs were targeted first.
"Documents seem to be in order," the corporal said lazily, also throwing hungry glances at Vex, who was silently flirting with the second guard. "But it says here the chip shipment will be delivered by Private Smith."
"I am Private Smith," Reynar told him, pointing a finger at the patch on the left side of his now-uniform shirt.
"What are you telling me?" the corporal chuckled. "I know Smith. About your height, shoulders a bit wider, face like a boiled ranoc's head…"
."..and brains the size of a pea," Reynar thought, recalling the owner of his uniform.
Despite his size, that guy broke very quickly.
A Mind trick — and now he genuinely believed his squad leader had ordered him to sleep for twenty-four hours.
Astoundingly impressionable people, these testosterone-and-anabolic-filled guys.
"I'm new," he explained, channeling the Force into his opponent's mind while making a very characteristic gesture. "Hired a couple of days ago. Worked in Section Seven. They tasked me because I was on my way here anyway — had to bring a civilian freighter pilot in for inspection."
"Is that you who couldn't avoid colliding with our transport?" the first guard whistled.
"Oh, boys, you know, there's quite a story..."
Hearing Vex's nasal voice, accompanied by affected hip swaying and gesturing with her cuffed hands, Reynar barely restrained himself from shuddering in disgust.
But now wasn't the time.
He needed to continue attacking both guards' minds.
These guys… had more gray matter than Smith.
"So I'm flying along, delivering cargo, and suddenly I see this big thing coming out of nowhere..."
"Supertransport," the second guard prompted.
"A kilometer-long vessel suddenly popped up?" the corporal clarified.
"Well, yeah," Vex replied. "Scratched all the paint off my sweetheart! So I docked with you, figured I'd go talk to the boss of that jerk! He tried to cut me off!"
The corporal looked at "Smith" with disbelief.
"She was doing her makeup while flying to the pier, drifted off course, and scraped her bottom along the supertransport's hull," Reynar explained the "official version." "I'm taking her in for detention in Section Fourteen. On the way, I thought I'd deliver the cargo to the CGT post so I wouldn't have to run back and forth."
"That's right, yeah," the second guard nodded.
"Well, no one told us," the corporal said. "And the CGT is a restricted facility. Can't take detainees there, of course."
"I'm not planning to," Reynar stated. "You watch the girl, and I'll quickly run to the CGT shift supervisor, drop off the stuff, and come back."
"Deal!" the second guard beamed, nodding energetically as if his boyhood dream had come true.
"Just take your time," the corporal guard advised him, grinning as he looked at Vex, who was playing the typical Twi'lek role of a pretty but dim-witted girl.
"Agreed," Obscuro nodded, pushing the cart forward.
Once inside the cramped room, filled to the ceiling with equipment and control panels, he counted three operators, one of whom wore officer insignia.
"Sir, a chip shipment for you," he announced, pointing to the container on the repulsor cart.
"Oh, timely!" the officer cheered. "Command, as usual, demands increased vigilance today, but the equipment only arrives in a week. Bring it here, we'll start installation right away..."
Unlike the security officers, this one was a career military man from Orinda.
Emotionally so repulsive that even Reynar's occasional pangs of conscience didn't bother him this time.
Or maybe it was because he'd studied the personal file of this murderer, transferred here to get him away from fleet command for abusing subordinates?
Whatever, it didn't matter.
"You won't be installing these chips now," he said quietly but firmly, using a Mind trick.
The man's gaze glazed over for a moment, and he silently ignored the fact that a hand had been waved in front of his face.
"I won't be installing these chips now," he said in a flat, emotionless voice.
"You will open this container alone, one hour after I leave," Reynar said, continuing to press the officer's meager mind with the Force.
After waiting for the implanted thoughts to be repeated, he clarified the order:
"Five minutes before you open the container, order the control room cleared," he commanded.
The officer confirmed.
"Before installation, place it close to the outer side, where the sensors are," Obscuro advised, not loosening his Force grip.
The Imperial repeated that, too.
From experience, Reynar knew the officer would not disobey the orders implanted in his mind.
And no one would disobey his orders.
Leaving the control room, Reynar retrieved Vex from the reluctantly parting guards, and they left that part of the shipyard.
A little later, they left the shipyard entirely, but on a different shuttle, commandeered from a nearby hangar.
The ship they'd arrived on would be needed by investigators as evidence pointing to the right trail.
They reached the jump point exactly one hour after Reynar had handed the container full of baradium to the officer in the control room.
"Beautiful," Vex said, watching through the viewport the expanding sphere of the explosion that vaporized both the control room and the entire CGT complex.
"Change your clothes," Reynar said, tossing the girl a pilot's jumpsuit he'd found in the cockpit. "My eyes hurt looking at that indecency."
"All you can do is look," the girl snorted, watching the ship enter hyperspace.
And she began to change.
Right in the cockpit.
Reynar held on with all his might, pretending to be utterly fascinated by the light tunnel.
Then he finally gave in...
After all, was he an adept of the Dark Side of the Force or just out for a walk?
* * *
Aurra Sing turned her head, her sharp eyes tracking where an airspeeder that had flown overhead was heading.
The sport model cleared a rocky hill at whose base stood the Shadow Councilor, then disappeared behind a ridge.
A few seconds later, even the sound of its engine faded.
The woman returned to her task — cleaning a "Night Sting" sniper rifle.
"We've been waiting too long," came the voice of her companion, who was sitting in the shadow of nearby boulders, skillfully hiding there.
And that, despite his size and greenish armor, which was hardly suited for blending into the cream-and-brown tones of the Jaminere desert.
"We were paid enough that we can wait an extra half hour for the client," Aurra stated. "But if you want, you can get out of here — I can collect the final payment myself."
"Over my dead body," the bounty hunter warned her.
"That can be arranged," Sing chuckled, casting an appraising look at her interlocutor.
"Don't overestimate yourself, Aurra," the armored man advised.
"I could give you the same advice, Boba," the mercenary said. "If it weren't for me, the contract on Lianna might not have existed at all. You'd better thank me!"
"I haven't decided yet whether to thank you for the big money on a not-so-difficult job or to shoot you for getting me captured by the Republic as a kid because of you," said one of the most famous and successful bounty hunters in the galaxy.
"Oh, little Boba, doesn't blowing the brains out of the head of Santhe/Sienar Technologies and staging a little terror on their planet, opening it to invasion, wiping out a family of corporate sycophants — doesn't that compensate for all those past hardships?" Aurra Sing asked with a feigned smile and a sweet tone. "Besides, that was my best shot — from five kilometers, with an experimental Mandalorian rifle, right on target... You can count such marksmen in the galaxy on one hand."
"Call me that again, and the next thing your mouth says will be screams of pain from a flamethrower-roasted sentient," Boba Fett said indifferently, ignoring everything else the sniper had said.
But his peaceful tone should not be taken at face value.
Among mercenaries and bounty hunters, there is an unspoken code of honor and conduct.
Fame and respect earned with blood and sweat among peers and employers are easily lost — just break your word once.
After that, both employers and other mercenaries from your "league" will turn away from you. The fate of those who get huge money for the hardest jobs but don't value their word is to fall from the pedestal and become part of the dregs hired for a few credits on petty work.
Respect and the ability to fulfill commitments, the drive to do what you said you would, backed by your word — that's what distinguishes an elite bounty hunter from local bandits and other cheap mercenaries whose names the galaxy will never know, and even those who knew them will never remember.
Unlike Boba Fett.
He was no longer the brat she'd abandoned during his hunt for Jedi Master Mace Windu.
He was a hardened killer, a mercenary with a track record of the most dangerous, most deadly, most intricate missions.
There wasn't a region in the galaxy where Boba hadn't left his mark in the nearly three decades since.
And the fact that he'd been considered dead for the past five years only added spice to the situation.
Falling into a sarlacc's stomach and surviving — even a Jedi couldn't do that, let alone ordinary sentients.
Boba clearly had no Force sensitivity.
On the contrary, he carried the blood, albeit cloned, of Jango Fett — the best bounty hunter the galaxy had ever known.
The best, of course, until he was decapitated by the aforementioned Mace Windu on the Petranaki arena on Geonosis in the very first battle of the Clone Wars, which had ended twenty-eight standard years ago.
That murder was precisely why Boba had hunted the said Jedi Master for a long time, even as a child — not an ordinary one, but still a child.
It had taken Aurra a lot of time and money to track down Boba Fett, whom everyone believed dead.
She'd had to blow the brains out of a considerable number of sentients to get to him, but the result was worth it.
"Heard what happened on Lianna?" Sing asked.
"I don't care," Fett replied. "I'm not paid for the consequences. At least not this time."
"We're still waiting for the client," Orra shrugged. "Might as well indulge in the news."
"Do what you want," Boba Fett said indifferently.
The man emerged from the shadows and headed toward his ship, named Slave II.
Previously, Boba, and before him his father, had another ship — Slave I.
That unique Firespray-31-class patrol ship, the only one in the galaxy, had been stolen by Jango Fett some time before the Clone Wars.
He, and after his death Boba, had modified that starship so heavily, upgrading Slave I to the point that very few original parts remained.
For some reason, Boba Fett had stopped using his best ship and now traveled on another.
Either it was a clever trick to divert rumors of his survival, or he had lost Slave I.
Aurra had once piloted that starship.
An incredibly difficult task, truth be told.
To handle a ship like Slave I, you had to be a truly top-class pilot.
Another engine roar reminded her why she and Fett were in this remote area of the capital planet of the Allied Tion sector.
The attack's client was late.
During the wait for the rest of the payment, Aurra had already caught up on an issue of HoloNews, in which the anchor reported how a brilliantly executed New Republic operation to destroy Grand Admiral Thrawn's allies had allowed the Republicans to evacuate a significant portion of the Santhe/Sienar Technologies production complexes from the planet, losing only seven ships, which were boarded by the flagship of the "Red Star" squadron — the fast dreadnought Crimson Dawn.
The same ship that Grand Admiral Thrawn had captured from the New Republic a few months ago.
The report mentioned a series of terrorist attacks on the planet that had sabotaged the planetary defense system.
New Republic intelligence had also eliminated Lady Valles Santhe just before the attack, disorganizing the planet's defenses. The Republican fleet, led by the UNSC Lusankya, had completely destroyed the Lianna fleet, and ground units, though few in number, had managed to occupy significant territories...
The timely intervention of the Dominion fleet forced the New Republic to retreat, hauling away their loot.
"Judging by the fact that the UNSC Lusankya and most of the New Republic fleet withdrew, the Coruscant government still fears direct confrontation with the Dominion, even with numerical superiority," the anchor reported. "According to information we have, the Dominion fleet arrived to assist Lianna only after a request from Moff Victus, who took command of Lianna's defense following Lady Santhe's death. Data received by our editorial office indicates that Grand Admiral Thrawn had previously warned Lady Santhe of the impending New Republic attack, but his warnings about the Coruscant government's treachery were ignored. We also know that the forces of the 'Crimson Dawn' squadron, commanded by Vice Admiral Eric Shohashi, known as the 'Butcher of Atoa,' destroyed the New Republic's second-echelon forces in the Thanium sector, along with troop transports. This most likely explains why the New Republic conducted its ground operation with a limited contingent. By mutual agreement between Lianna and the Dominion, for assistance in thwarting the enemy's plans to occupy Lianna, the latter transferred all military and other property that had been under Republican occupation to the Dominion. Whether this means Grand Admiral Thrawn will open a hunt for the equipment and resources stolen from Lianna is currently unknown to us. The office of Councilor Mon Mothma on Coruscant, who has put forward her candidacy for the first head of state of the New Republic, declined to comment on the matter. Her main opponent, Councilor Borsk Fey'lya, on the contrary, proved talkative and stated that the New Republic did what it had to do in the situation. The military operation against Lianna will weaken the Imperial Remnants and also shake the position of the Dominion and other enemies of the New Republic who received support from Santhe/Sienar Technologies..."
The anchor paused for a moment, touching a finger to his earpiece, clearly listening to what his editors were telling him.
"Urgent information," the sentient continued with a smile. "We have just learned that Phillip Santhe and his son Kashan have appeared on Lianna. They are the son and grandson of Lady Santhe. For a long time, nothing was heard of either of them. It was assumed they might have been killed or severed ties with the Santhe family, and therefore many did not even know they were currently alive and had full rights to inherit what remained of the Santhe/Sienar Technologies company. As far as we know, Phillip Santhe has already spoken about the need for the Imperial Remnants to assist Lianna in defending its borders, to which an immediate response came from the Allied Tion sector, of which the Lianna system is formally a part. Let me remind you that due to the terrorist attack carried out at the Santhe family residence on Lianna just before the Republic invasion began, all other members of this family perished. Their bodies have been identified, and there is no doubt that this, like Lady Santhe's death, is the work of Republic intelligence services. In the past, Lady Santhe announced the termination of all contracts with the New Republic due to the latter's ships attacking Lianna's transport convoys. The New Republic, as usual, did not acknowledge this fact, baselessly accusing the Imperial Remnants of these actions. As data we received from Lianna shows, the ships involved in the attack were those previously declared by the New Republic as lost in battle or captured by Imperial forces. What was this: an Imperial provocation, or an extremely clever move by the New Republic to get what it wanted? The answer is obvious. This confirms Grand Admiral Thrawn's words that the New Republic pursues a policy of double standards and uses its influence and resources to achieve absolute power in the galaxy, replacing the Galactic Empire. I think it's worth reminding you that the New Republic's ground force landing became possible only thanks to acts of terrorism and sabotage of planetary defense systems. In the past, a similar fact took place during the destruction of the planet Caamas..."
A rumble in the sky forced Orra to turn off the holotransmission.
She tilted her head up, watching the landing, ten meters from the hill where she and Boba Fett were currently located, of a standard Jaminere Lambda-class shuttle.
The ship descended onto the sandy surface, its landing struts sinking into it.
"And here comes the reward," Orra said cheerfully, setting aside the assembled sniper rifle.
She rose from her spot, casually running her hand through her red-orange ponytail, while simultaneously, unnoticed, unfastening the blaster holster at her hip.
Boba Fett, shifting his weapon to a better grip, silently watched as two figures in dark, almost black hooded cloaks descended the boarding ramp.
She frowned, remembering the client was supposed to be alone.
Instead, there were two of them, and the case of auridium was nowhere to be seen.
And that clearly put Boba Fett on alert.
Orra noticed the air near the nozzles of his jetpack beginning to shimmer from the fuel vaporizing from the tank.
"The job is done," Orra called out to both cloaked figures. "Santhe is dead, her family is destroyed, the planetary shields have fallen. Where's the payment?"
"Phillip Santhe and his son survived," a voice reached her from under one of the hoods.
"Their death comes at an additional cost," Boba Fett stated. "We were ordered to eliminate those in the residence, and only that."
"And no investigation or search for runaway brats," Orra Sing confirmed, not taking her eyes off the strange pair.
Her Jedi abilities indicated that these were far from ordinary sentients before them.
"You'll get your money," declared the figure who was clearly the leader of the pair. "But first, you'll come with me."
"I don't think so," Boba Fett retorted, instantly flowing into a combat stance and firing a shot at the speaker in the cloak.
The very next second, a lightsaber staff with crimson blades appeared in front of the bounty hunter's target, preternaturally parrying the first shot and three subsequent ones, fired already from a height of three meters above the sand's surface.
The Mandalorian's jetpack roared, ready to carry him into an unreachable height, but the next moment it died, as Orra Sing's Force-enhanced aim bore fruit.
The blaster-damaged jetpack smoked, losing lift, and the Mandalorian, firing at the bounty hunter who had betrayed him, crashed onto the sand.
He sprang to his feet instantly, drawing a blaster pistol to replace his lost rifle, intending to finish off Orra Sing, whom he had wounded in the shoulder, but his weapon was immediately torn from his hand, flying off to the side.
Fett aimed his flamethrower at the pair in cloaks, but the next second, a sand tornado materialized out of nowhere and spun him around.
The mercenary lost his spatial orientation, fired his weapon several times at random, but couldn't harm anyone.
The vortex of sand and air, clearly created by the second cloaked figure standing with arms outstretched, ripped the Mandalorian's equipment and weapons from him, scattering them across the surroundings.
Finally, the cloaked figure who had been conducting the dialogue up until now thrust out his left hand, snatching the man from the storm and flinging him with full force against the rocks.
Fett, staggering to his feet, drew another blaster from somewhere, but Orra, who had managed to take cover in an ambush, turned it into useless scrap with a well-aimed rifle shot.
The mercenary was clearly about to use something else from his arsenal when the Force hurled him against the rock again.
Then it tore him from it and sent him back toward the obstacle with the speed of a turbolaser bolt.
This continued about five times until Fett finally lost consciousness.
Orra, applying a bacta patch to her shoulder, burned by the accurate hit, glanced toward the arriving pair.
"He shot me!" she hissed at the owner of the lightsaber staff, who had already hung his weapon on his belt and thrown back his hood, revealing a red-and-black head crowned with a circlet of bony horns.
"Then you're weak, if some Mandalorian handled you," Darth Maul replied contemptuously, levitating Boba Fett's unconscious body with the Force and smoothly guiding it into the open maw of the Lambda. "You should learn some skills before tangling with someone stronger than an ordinary thug."
"Oh, how I would love to shoot your horned head off, Maul," Sing rasped through clenched teeth, picking up her rifle and slinging it over her back. "I hope you understand this guy needs to be properly guarded to get him to the destination in one piece and without running into trouble?"
"And there won't be any trouble," Maul stated, pointing to a repulsor-lift structure resembling a sarcophagus, floating out to meet the prisoner. "It's no secret to me that, to wait for the right moment, this mercenary is feigning unconsciousness..."
At that very moment, Maul drew his lightsaber blade and parried a dart shot from the gauntlet fired by the "suddenly revived" Boba Fett.
He was about half a meter from Darth Maul and had every chance to inflict a fatal wound on the one holding him in the air.
A perfectly calculated ambush.
Apparently, Fett had indeed been knocked out by the impacts against the rock, but regained consciousness when he was telekinetically moved toward the ship. And he decided to act the moment he saw the carbonite chamber, understanding that no one would keep him conscious for the rest of the trip.
The tiny piece of metal was meant to hit the Zabrak's head, but instead simply evaporated upon meeting the crimson blade.
"Stryn, do it," Maul shouted, deflecting several more shots.
The man standing next to him raised his hands, and at that same moment the overcast sky of Jaminere was torn by a flash of lightning, whose zigzagging bolt struck the most famous bounty hunter in the galaxy.
Fett was shaken as if he had decided to demonstrate the most violent convulsions in the galaxy.
Smoke from burned electronics and steam from the evaporation of a human body began to rise from his gear.
With a wave of his hand, Maul literally stripped the Mandalorian of his armor and jetpack, fiddling a bit with the helmet, after which the burned and disfigured (by the lightning strike or the digestive acids of a sarlacc) dark-skinned man was placed into the "coffin."
The lid closed, and the hiss of the working carbonite compressor sounded.
A couple of seconds, and Boba Fett had turned into a semblance of a sculpture.
"Well, he won't be escaping now," Darth Maul chuckled, Force-throwing the carbonite statue into his ship. "Take his starship and head to the base. The Grand Admiral is expecting our return."
Deciding to keep to herself everything she thought about the colleague who had merely played the role of employer while she had turned the galaxy upside down to find their trophy, Orra Sing, muttering curses under her breath, headed toward Slave II, hoping it would be much easier to pilot than its predecessor.
* * *
It seems I'm getting into the habit of giving second chances to those who have previously proven themselves worthy.
Or maybe Mara Jade's sine-wave-like behavior is a bad influence on me; I expected more from her.
But with her, it's understandable—I simply overestimated her, thinking she had been unfairly considered less skilled until she started learning the intricacies of the Jedi arts.
Because in some sources, this woman "could and did," while in others, especially in the books up until the Thrawn Duology, she made such stupid and unjustifiably risky attempts that her survival can only be attributed to the Force's providence.
Just take the episode I recalled a few minutes ago: while training with Kyle Katarn, Mara Jade intended to bring him back from the Dark Side right in the middle of a duel.
And she left herself wide open to a lightsaber strike.
If we recall a similar, quite famous episode from about four thousand years ago, a Jedi known as Exar Kun fought with his teacher. And that teacher also left himself defenseless. Kun struck him with a lightsaber, and after that fled from Ossus, turned to the Dark Side, and the whole galaxy wept bitterly. The Massassi were enslaved, star clusters exploded, Ossus burned...
All because a teacher decided to test his student's worth. Meanwhile, after the lightsaber strike, the teacher actually survived. And Kun himself, believing he had killed him, realized there was no turning back. And he went completely off the rails.
One way or another, the more I delve into memory, the more I suspect that "there's something wrong with these Force users: either they're born without brains and therefore have the Force, or the longer they learn to use the Force, the less brainpower they have left."
However, that's a question for Mara Jade.
We'll see what comes of her after training.
For now, I had to decide the fate of a young man known as Bravo-Two.
"You violated a direct order, Agent," I reminded him.
"Yes, sir," he replied.
"Colonel Wessiri was ordered to be taken alive."
"Yes, sir."
"But you did everything to prevent that."
"Yes, sir, I killed him."
"The reason?"
Sergius lifted his gaze from the polished metal table of the interrogation cell and looked into my eyes:
"That man tortured Molo Himron. He was behind the destruction of his group. He was an accomplice of Isard and used his position to brutally eliminate those who opposed her without cause. Because of their actions, Lieutenant Colonel Himron decided to take his own life, fearing he might have become a 'sleeper agent' during his captivity," the agent replied quickly and, in his opinion, even convincingly. "I'm not justifying myself, sir. I broke the order, unable to control my emotions. But I worked with Molo and his group for many years, oversaw their operations. They mean more to me than subordinates, and I fully realize that's wrong. The Ubiqtorate taught us to treat operatives as expendable resources, whose survival value is determined only by the importance of the operation assigned to them. I can't do that, I don't know how, and I won't. I consciously killed Colonel Wessiri to avenge Himron and his people. The brutal killing of the colonel served as an emotional release for me. I am ready to accept any punishment assigned to me."
In fact, that's not an answer.
It's a ready, balanced, reasoned report.
It could be quoted and entered into the final decision of a closed tribunal hearing.
In fact, it's already reflected there.
Counterintelligence worked quickly, precisely, without delay.
There's no point even in studying the entire verdict—it's only a couple of pages listing the testimony and the violated provisions of job instructions, orders, regulations...
The outcome is clear anyway—a death sentence.
From a formal point of view.
From a universal, military morality standpoint of an ordinary sentient, I understand his reasoning.
An operative on a mission is a person prepared for anything.
For torture, too.
For death, too.
Molo said that outright.
"You're mistaken, Agent," I stated. "Molo Himron himself chose to end his life that way, seeing no other course of events."
"It was linked to the actions of Isard and Wessiri," Sergius stated. "And the potential danger Molo posed upon his return."
"In part," I agreed. "But the decision was ultimately his. He could have spent the rest of his life in a medical facility, allowing us to study him and ways to counteract the conditioning."
"That's not life, sir; that's mere existence."
"Whether it is or isn't is a matter of perspective," I said conciliatorily. "I did not agree with Himron's decision. But I allowed it to happen because I understood his logic. So why didn't you try to kill me and the others who didn't stop him?"
Sergius, despite my confidence to the contrary, didn't even try to think it over.
"Your actions, just like the Major's decision to die, are a consequence. The cause lies in the actions of Isard and Wessiri."
"Or it lies in me sending him on that mission in the first place."
"With all due respect, sir, in that case, you could consider his death to have been caused by his very enrollment in the Academy."
Strange as it may seem, with a formal logical approach, yes, one could draw such biased conclusions.
"I won't hide it, you are a valuable agent, Sergius," I said. "There are few specialists of the 'Bravo' category in the Dominion. You must and should be condemned for this failure, to ensure it doesn't happen again."
"It won't happen again, sir," Bravo-Two stated confidently.
"For what reason?" I inquired.
"I am no longer bound by friendly ties to any subordinates, sir," said the former coordinator. "Only by service to the Dominion's interests."
"Molo Himron left behind many clones," I reminded him.
"That is just a face and memories, not him," Sergius replied calmly. "To me, they are no one."
Hmm... Honest, at least.
"So, you're suggesting I release you on your word of honor that such a breach of orders won't recur?" I clarified.
Mentally, I was recalling that my elite agents, almost to a man, when carrying out primary objectives, have a bad habit of not caring about secondary ones.
And it would seem I should send them all to a hutt...
But there's a problem.
One not related to the fact that "there are no others."
The problem is in the training system itself.
Imperial Intelligence, and military intelligence as well, trained personnel to work for the mission's completion.
Without thinking about the consequences.
Either because they were ignored, or because the cleanup crews did their job conscientiously.
I thought long and hard about why only a handful of agents behave so circumspectly as to command respect.
Like Agent Cross, or Torin Inek. And Steben, finally, when he was still in intelligence, not in "kontr."
It all turns out to be simple.
Those two were trained under one program, while the likes of Rederick, Sergius, and the rest of the less significant agents of other classes were trained under a "simplified" program.
That's why Mara Jade is the way she is... So inconsistent.
They got used to having someone "clean up after them."
Because, in fact, they worked within the Empire.
And if necessary, they could always call in a Star Destroyer that would solve all problems with a stormtrooper's heavy boot.
Inertia, repeated with every trained batch, reinforced in practice.
Well...
And I'd like to say, "We didn't have that!"
We did, and plenty of it.
On a planetary, national scale, but it's all the same.
It makes you philosophize about how universes created by the minds of people who lived in a cumbersome system spawn equally inertial literature.
Which has become my reality...
If only I knew why.
"No, sir," the agent replied. "I'm not suggesting anything. I deliberately violated the order, for my own selfishness and moral satisfaction. I assumed this man could become a valuable source of information, or even an instructor for our pilots. But my inner sense of justice would not allow me to let that scum live. I did what I did, knowing I faced execution."
So simply, unpretentiously, and artlessly.
Lost a friend—took revenge. Understood the illegality of violating the given order, realized it could disrupt the plans of higher command, wanted to kill a valuable prisoner to satisfy his own conscience.
A contradictory feeling.
From a human perspective—it's all clear.
From the perspective of the law and the regulations—it's also clear.
But the reaction in each case is different.
In the first, I understand and support him.
In the second, I understand that I cannot justify breaking an order and allow him to continue working.
Simply because, for any soldier, an order is sacred.
The charter of the Empire and the Dominion does not assume that a soldier may, at his own discretion, refuse to carry out a lawful command from a superior, even if it contradicts his internal moral and ethical considerations and conscience.
As, for example, is explicitly stated in various charters of some countries from my past world.
If I show leniency, it will send an inevitable signal to the rest of the military that an order is not imperative. That, one way or another, its execution can be circumvented.
It's like an avalanche in the mountains—it all starts with a single pebble.
It was for these reasons that the Empire unhesitatingly executed all who disobeyed orders.
Because it was a military machine.
The Rebels, on the other hand, with their inherent "righteousness," chew over every detail, democratically examining all sides of what happened. They practically crawl under your skin to find out things that aren't particularly relevant to the case...
And again...
Let's proceed from the considerations of conscience.
I have already forgiven erring subordinates more than once.
How many of them made a choice between duty and conscience, choosing duty?
Kill the enemy, or spare him but follow the order?
They followed orders and their duty.
If I make a different decision now, contrary to how they acted, then, based on the concept of adverse consequences, sooner or later it will become known.
And then Captains I-Gor, Abyss, Rear Admiral Shohashi will have a question: "Why in the blazes should I follow the regulations, while the Supreme Commander does not?"
The greater the gap between authority and the people, the commander and the soldiers, the harder it is for one to understand the other.
"In that case, you understand that I have no choice but to order your execution," I said slowly, watching the man's reaction. "My duty as the Supreme Commander of the Dominion demands it."
"Yes, sir," the agent replied hollowly.
Sergius did not beg for mercy.
He did not beg for a commuted sentence, did not offer alternatives to such harsh punishment.
He knew that for this there could be only one punishment under the Imperial charter—death.
The severity of the sanction is determined by the severity of the consequences.
Colonel Wessiri could have provided answers to many questions due to his proximity to Isard. The crew, and even the commander of the destroyer we captured, which the Iceheart commanded, did not give any special explanations about the affairs of their former boss. Stubborn fanatics. Quite experienced and skilled...
Logically, I should send them to Grand Moff Kaine so they could lead the charge against the New Republic.
But then my game with Isard would be exposed.
And from there, it's not far to a direct revelation of the double game.
Wessiri could have been a genetic template for an entire generation of TIE Avenger or TIE Defender pilots. In piloting the latter, he had absolutely no equal...
He could have been a donor for a clone replacement for Fel, which I already discussed with Eric Shohashi.
Applications for his clones under the GeNod program could be found in dozens of places, just given the chance.
An experienced and competent veteran interceptor pilot, instead of hastily trained pilots who finished accelerated courses and gained experience in battle.
Yes, they are no longer green cadets, but still...
I looked into the man's eyes and found no regret there for his actions.
He knew what he was getting into, and he knew what the consequences would be.
An officer ready to answer for his transgressions.
It only seems that everyone is ready to take responsibility for the rules they've broken.
In reality, boastful talk turns into apologies and attempts to avoid punishment, streams of excuses...
An honest and decent intelligence officer—that's what the Dominion needs for the future of the state.
And those ready to avenge the deaths of their close comrades.
There is no more motivated soldier than one who has suffered personal losses in a war that began against his will.
That is why my people won in the past.
"And what about the Dominion?" I asked.
"Forgive me, sir, I don't understand the question," the agent replied.
"The Ubiqtorate abandoned you and Himron's group because of your loyalty to my actions," I reminded him. "You violated my order for the sake of avenging Molo Himron's death. A conflict of interest is evident here."
This time, the fellow thought it over.
"You're right, sir," he replied. "That is a major oversight on my part. Emotions overrode rationality."
How many correct conclusions does a correct person make, who stumbled once for the sake of a selfish feeling of revenge for the brutal treatment of his friends and comrades in arms...
"You are pardoned, Agent Bravo-Two," I said, rising from the table. "The death sentence is commuted. You are reinstated."
Judging by the expression on his face, Sergius was prepared to hear any decision except the one I had just pronounced.
The man looked at me with a bewildered expression, then stood up after me, realizing that the pardon and reinstatement once again imposed upon him the duty to abide by the Charters.
"Report for duty immediately, Agent," I ordered, studying carefully the one who was more deserving of forgiveness than those to whom I had previously given a second chance.
"It will be done, Grand Admiral," the man snapped back.
He was entirely and completely loyal to the Dominion.
The investigators had said so.
The Jensaarai had said the same.
And I could see it too.
One mistake could not be the end of a life for a man devoted to a matter of state importance.
Colonel Wessiri was undoubtedly important.
But there was something else my subordinates did not know.
Isard's mind had been copied before Shohashi had disposed of her.
And I was not talking about the clone aboard the Lusankya crossing the galaxy.
I was talking about the last imprint scan performed on her immediately upon her arrival at Tangrene.
Yes, the loss of Wessiri struck at the other plans, but Sergius had carried out the key element of the order.
The Lusankya had been captured and delivered into our hands.
It had already played a huge role in the destruction of Lianna.
Which had needed to be destroyed.
The lives of the mercenaries did not concern me.
The inhabitants of Lianna had not suffered.
The equipment had been evacuated, and soon Shohashi would arrive at the fleet base, bringing with him Lianna's stocks, orbital assembly yards, and the Golans.
The task for which I had not informed the public about the capture of the Lusankya was complete.
I was not going to ruin a life over empty formalism.
But I also could not allow rumors of the pardon to spread.
"Officially, you, Agent Bravo-II, were convicted of violating an order from the Dominion's Supreme Commander and killing an important prisoner, for which you were executed," I said, placing an information chip with the tribunal's verdict before the man. "Method of execution — firing squad — was carried out one hour ago, after the sentence was confirmed with me. The body was cremated, the ashes scattered."
The man looked at me with understanding and... a hidden gratitude.
"I understand, sir," he replied. "A precedent must be set."
"Exactly, Agent," I said. "From this moment, you, Agent Sergius, cease to exist. From now on, you will assume the identity of one of your clones who died on a mission and continue your intelligence work in his name. His life is your life. There is no turning back — only through the crematorium."
"The directive is clear, sir," he replied. "What will my assignment be?"
"It is both incredibly simple and incredibly complex," I said. "You are returning to Sluis Van to finish the destruction of Talon Karrde's organization."
"When do I deploy, sir?" the agent clarified.
"Your ship is already ready, Agent Bravo-XI," I replied. "Your companions and additional instructions are waiting on board."
No, I did not know that by the end of the conversation I would decide to spare this man's life.
I had simply hoped.
Sometimes, that is all we have left: faith in those on the front lines.
There is no other way.
Otherwise — they will crush you, topple you, divide you, and destroy you.
Trust in your army and fleet — they alone will support you in your time of need.
They — and your own musculoskeletal system.