Ten years and thirty-five days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or forty-fifth year and thirty-fifth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Seven months and twentieth day since the Arrival.)
The steady sound of heels on the polished floors of the Imperial Citadel spread like a metronome through the half-empty corridors.
Imperial dignitaries didn't roam here, as they once did in the Imperial Palace on Coruscant.
No heated debates of senators, their assistants, or secretaries were conducted here.
No irritating glint of protocol droids was here.
Nothing here reminded one of Coruscant.
Because this wasn't Coruscant.
Ysanne Isard, clad in her invariable Imperial-pattern admiral's uniform, executed in the scarlet tones of arterial blood, slowly crossed the Citadel in proud solitude.
She paid no attention to the stormtroopers marching behind her, whose number clearly exceeded what would be necessary to eliminate her.
She couldn't care less about the Imperial Guards, who appeared in the corridors more frequently the deeper she penetrated into the magnificent structure that rose for kilometers above the roofs of the tallest buildings on Byss.
Ysanne Isard walked toward her goal.
And not a single muscle on her face betrayed the tension that might, and should, have been inherent to someone who, not so long ago, had been in the Emperor's disfavor.
For the first time since her birth, she had visited Byss.
Not as a valuable prisoner whose fate the Emperor Palpatine must decide.
Not as an invited guest who had responded to the summons of the Emperor and his dignitaries.
She had come here out of a sense of duty, an inexplicable magnetic connection that arises between a man and a woman on a platonic level.
Such actions aren't dictated by logic.
They defy assessment or measurement.
They have no criteria for comparison.
They simply exist.
That's why she is here.
On Byss.
The Planet Byss.
For that portion of the population familiar with the name, Byss was a mythical world of pleasure and freedom that Emperor Palpatine had discovered and granted to his most loyal subjects many years ago.
He had charted hyperspace routes here, without knowledge of which no one could reach this paradise.
Located in the isolated and practically inaccessible Deep Core of the galaxy, Byss was the terminus of a hyperspace route known as the Byss Run.
The latter was a carefully guarded artificial hyperspace route, maintained by hundreds of massless S-flow accelerators, connecting the planet to the Core Worlds.
Otherwise, reaching the planet safely through hyperspace was nearly impossible due to the high density of stars in the Deep Core and the constantly changing patterns of the region's natural hyperroutes.
From these words alone, knowledgeable sentients could understand how generous Emperor Palpatine was, giving this world to his subjects.
Each S-flow accelerator cost as much as entire planets, and maintaining it in working order, not to mention operating it, required colossal sums that many states had never even seen throughout the entire history of the galaxy.
Located in the fifth orbital position in the system known as Beshkaek, Byss was just one of two habitable worlds in this corner of the galaxy.
But, reaching a diameter of just over twenty-one thousand kilometers, Byss held on its surface just under two hundred billion inhabitants, the vast majority of whom (excluding a tiny percentage) were exclusively people significant to the Empire.
Relus, occupying the fourth orbital position, was smaller in size but equally hospitable.
To the hundreds of billions of people constituting the industrial, agricultural, military, and other potential of the Galactic Empire in the Deep Core.
Ysanne turned a corner and found herself in a large corridor, a significant portion of which — the ceiling and right wall — were made of transparisteel.
Thanks to this strong yet transparent material, Ysanne could see in the cloudless night sky all five of Byss's small moons, which had been converted into enormous barracks and military factories, ceaselessly supplying the Emperor's troops with everything necessary.
For this, mineral resources from planets across the Deep Core were plundered, but who had ever cared about that?
Through this same transparisteel, Ysanne could also see the horizon line, drowning in illuminated city sprawl.
She could even have seen the blue-green glow of the system's natural star, had she been walking here during the day.
But she walked at night, because that was her wish.
From bits and pieces of dropped words, the Iceheart had managed to assemble, into a single picture, pieces of a mosaic that seemed like peculiarities of this planet.
Insensitive to the Force, she couldn't verify several of these claims in practice, but those members of the Dark Side Elite she had already met had mentioned in passing that Byss was literally saturated with the Force, which the Emperor, by his will, had turned into a source of the Dark Side.
The Jedi, as far as she knew, used the Light Side.
And this fact only confirmed the difference between the Emperor and the Jedi: they obeyed circumstances, Palpatine subjugated the circumstances themselves.
No wonder the greatness of such a man goes to one's head, and his achievements make the heart beat faster.
For those for whom it means anything at all.
Ysanne was far more interested in the talk that Byss's billions of inhabitants fed the Emperor with their life force.
And this claim was from the realm of Jedi metaphysics, but still, it was another grain of information.
She had spent a long time studying this planet in the company of the Dark Side Elite, who simultaneously formed its guard and convoy.
Until the Emperor found time to receive her.
The Iceheart saw that Byss's surface was dotted with chains of lakes and rivers, where microscopic life forms dwelled, as well as wind-smooth plateaus and canyons.
The planet's isolation from most of the galaxy had allowed its natural islands and pre-expansionist era ruins to remain untouched for thousands of years.
She had visited with interest the old ruins left on the planet by the Rakata race, who had once used this world as their outpost for further conquests.
But she found absolutely nothing there — it was an empty, half-ruined structure.
Which, she had noticed, was being hastily restored and filled with furniture.
This ancient outpost was being restored for someone significant to Palpatine.
The planet had no predatory flora or fauna, as one might suppose.
No sentient species had ever arisen on Byss through natural evolution, and the wildlife in this world was largely nocturnal and harmless.
Byss also contained no rare earth elements or heavy metals, and therefore there were no thousands of mines on its surface, as on many other planets in the Beshkaek system.
The Emperor's secret throne world was indeed a resort — for those close to the Emperor.
For the billions of exotics and slaves brought here to work on city construction, assembly shops, and to serve the needs of Imperial nobles, Byss must have seemed like hard labor.
The planet's calm, mild climate and gentle seasons, ranging from clear to rainy, were primarily caused by its insignificant axial tilt and stable geological foundation.
Strong phenomena such as storms and volcanism were extremely rare.
All of this together helped the Empire create the myth of a beautiful, mystical paradise world, hidden from the galaxy at large, where blissful contentment awaited everyone who decided to apply for immigration to the notorious planet Byss.
Billions, if not more, of sentients fell for this cheap and ancient trick.
They had been dying here for years, buried right on the construction sites where death overtook them.
The colonization of the world never stopped for a moment.
Mas Amedda, Palpatine's aide since his time as Supreme Chancellor, during a confidential conversation with Isard after her arrival here, once said that the construction of the Imperial Citadel, where she now stood, had cost the lives of over ten billion sentients.
But they had created a masterpiece of architecture.
Imperial Citadel (Planet Byss).
Slaves and their bodies were the very foundation upon which all these buildings and resort complexes, richly decorated with flashy exteriors and built with refinement, stood.
Year after year, billions died here, but ever-new batches of migrants were delivered here at the Emperor's whim.
And with their labor, with their deaths, the construction of the city covering an entire continent was paid for.
Any sacrifice for the greatness of the Emperor — the sole indisputable and unquestionable authority on Byss.
As far as Isard had learned, full power on Byss, and indeed in the Imperial worlds of the Deep Core, belonged to the adepts of the Dark Side of the Force, commanded by Palpatine.
Essentially, the Emperor had created a theocracy on the ruins of the Empire and placed himself at its head, ruling absolutely according to his will, without any obstacles to implementing his decisions from the Senate or any other vestiges of the Old Republic, as had been the case on Coruscant.
After his death at Endor, the Emperor turned Byss into a fortress world, and judging by the transponders of thousands of starships in orbit around Byss and in the system itself, the secret throne world had become a gathering point for the remaining Imperial Remnants and a base of operations for Palpatine's coming conquest of the galaxy.
From what she had seen in orbit, Byss had also become a construction site for numerous variants of Imperial superweapons.
She had seen dozens of starships of a class unknown to her, which were literally devouring asteroids and the surfaces of planets other than Relus and Byss, churning out ever more weapons from their internal factories.
Mas Amedda had called them "World Devastators" and assured her they were indestructible.
She had seen both "Eclipses."
One, built for the Emperor on Byss and stolen from there by Kuat engineers after the Zann Consortium fleet's attack on the Kuat Drive Yards. Obviously, to be completed here.
Its "almost twin," the "Eclipse-II," was practically finished — equally formidable and massive.
She had seen thousands of starships that were only mentioned in Imperial manuals but existed in metal here.
She had seen "Lords" under construction, and dozens of Allegiance-class battle cruisers, Executors and Bellators, Vengeance-class frigates…
And the "Imperial"-class and smaller ships simply made her eyes blur.
It was pointless even to think that such an armada could be defeated, even in the most desperate battle.
Under the Empire's rule, Byss had become one of the most secluded and carefully guarded worlds in the galaxy.
Most natural paths into the Deep Core were mined, and the rest were protected by the Imperial Hyperspace Safety Network — a system of gravity well projectors and hyperwave transceivers designed to monitor and control traffic entering and leaving the Deep Core.
Something similar, as she had heard from Mas Amedda himself, Grand Admiral Thrawn had applied to the metropole of his newly created Dominion before his death.
However, unlike the Core, whose key few knew, the Emperor, it seemed, knew the way into the Dominion.
And as soon as the hour of the traitors' destruction arrived, the worlds that Grand Admiral Thrawn had so carefully gathered together would blaze from the orbital bombardments of the armadas Palpatine was preparing to unleash upon the inhabitants of the galaxy.
Nowhere in the Empire had there ever been security like that on Byss.
Being a fortress world, the Emperor's secret throne world was guarded by a number of security forces and technologies, all monitored by a specialized security service.
The Byss Security Zone, a restricted area of space around the fortress world, was guarded by a wide ring of Star Destroyers, and an entire sector fleet was additionally dispersed throughout the Beshkaek system.
From her own experience, Ysanne knew that anyone approaching the restricted zone, if granted access to the Byss Run, received a warning about violating forbidden boundaries.
Any attempt to cross this invisible line was met with uncompromising destruction by all available forces.
Giant "Hunter-Killer" probots patrolled the skies above Byss and were used as platforms for capturing and detaining unauthorized vessels.
The planet itself was surrounded by a planetary shield, controlled by the Byss Security Service, and scanning systems were used to monitor movement across the entire planet.
The planet's orbit was guarded by hundreds of Golan III space defense stations, constantly on combat alert.
Byss Security Service personnel coordinated space traffic with scanner satellites scattered throughout the star system and the planet's atmosphere.
If a traveler was found to have forged documents, the Star Destroyers guarding Byss unconditionally opened fire to kill.
The scanning stations also served as orbital defense platforms for Byss, possessing firepower equal to some large ships, and also housed squadrons of TIE fighters and other defensive forces.
On the planet's surface, surveillance and a heavy military presence were commonplace.
Stormtroopers were stationed on every street corner, every landing platform was guarded by a TIE fighter, and secret agents of the Imperial Security Bureau were present in most public places on the planet to watch for any potential traitors.
Furthermore, shipyards, fighter bases, and military barracks large enough to hold an entire army were present throughout the Imperial control sector.
All these complexes were camouflaged with colorful squares and public buildings, armed with the latest defensive turbolasers and protective fields.
It was terrifying to think how much time, money, and lives had gone into protecting this planet and system in such a manner.
The Golan IIIs alone were enough to provide protection for several sectors.
But it was done magnificently.
The population of Byss, as Isard could ascertain, was fanatically loyal to the Emperor, even after his first death at the Battle of Endor.
From conversations with civilians, she understood that none of them had believed in Palpatine's final death.
Judging by their speeches, they practically deified the Emperor.
And one couldn't blame them for it, because what had been built on Byss in the controlled part of the Deep Core truly bore a touch of supreme providence and unspeakable magnificence.
Only the locals didn't know that achieving all of this had cost billions of lives.
However, Ysanne had no doubt about one thing: if the population of the Beshkaek system learned at what price this splendor was achieved, even if the fact that Palpatine was draining their so-called life force were proven, nothing would change.
The population of the Beshkaek system would do anything on the orders of their Emperor.
And, judging by the rumors, they were preparing to turn any planet that didn't agree to believe in Palpatine's divinity as fervently as they did into molten slag, his name on their lips.
When she approached the massive metal doors (made of beskar with a cortosis coating, incidentally), the Iceheart didn't hesitate or stop for a single moment.
The drilled and disciplined guards flung the doors open for her long before she would have felt the need to stop.
Once inside, she entered a spacious hall, so vast that an entire air wing of her Lusankya could easily be placed inside.
Dark, glossy floors polished to a mirror shine, gray walls, massive columns.
And in the center of it all — a huge map of the galaxy, covered in numerous markings.
State borders, locations of armed forces — allies and enemies, hyperspace routes…
Everything the Empire knew about the galaxy was here.
Isard calmly walked forward, through the glowing haze.
No one stopped her or called out to her.
She herself showed not a trace of worry.
She was no guest here.
She was a loyal servant.
A servant of the one who sat upon a massive throne, an exact copy of the one the Emperor had on the Death Star.
But this man was younger.
And the fire in his eyes burned even brighter.
Reaching the massive steps leading to a rectangular platform set against a huge transparisteel panel in the wall, the woman froze, seeing a body lying on the stairs.
She recognized him.
A young man, light hair, plain face and clothes.
Very distinctive clothes.
As was the weapon clutched in his hand.
"Don't mind my negligent student, Iceheart," Emperor Palpatine said, his voice almost tender. "Luke Skywalker, despite the years that have passed since our meeting, has grown stronger. But like his father, he is just as impulsive when it comes to making fateful decisions. His attempt to kill me is neither the first nor the last. The Dark Side has shown him its power once again, and soon he will understand how deeply mistaken he is in his Jedi beliefs."
"Yes, Emperor," Ysanne bowed her head in undisputed reverence for Palpatine's words.
"Well then," the Emperor said, savoring every word, "it is time to decide your fate as well, Iceheart."
Ysanne felt a monstrous pressure that seemed to come out of thin air.
Unable to contend with this overwhelming force, the woman dropped to her knees.
But the power continued to press down on her.
Isard fell to all fours, but the weight only increased.
Finally, her trained body gave in, and she found herself sprawled on the mirrored floor of the throne room.
"Your ambitions are commendable," the Emperor said. "My cloning specialist has confirmed what you told me about your origins."
The ruler of the Empire's voice sounded closer, and his quiet footsteps grew nearer, as if he were descending a staircase.
Ysanne herself could not move even a finger.
Nor did she try.
Her fate was being decided now, and she could not risk displeasing the Emperor with any action.
"A clone of Iceheart, created to guard prisoners from the Lusankya," Palpatine said, savoring every word as he stopped beside her face.
She stared at the soft boots on the Emperor's feet, not daring to look away.
"You delivered her body to me. You delivered her ship, with a full crew of droids. You even delivered the body of my Grand Vizier," the Emperor listed what she had done weeks ago. "Remarkable, how much you want to live, test-tube woman."
Ysanne remained silent, understanding that no one was actually asking her anything.
"And at this point, I have a question, you wretched fake puppet," the Emperor's voice grew harsher. "What made you think you could replace the real Isard? Who put it in your head that you could just fly to me, dump the corpses of my close associates, hand over a Star Super Destroyer defiled by rebellious scum, tell me how you worked for Thrawn and plotted his destruction, and expect me to spare your life?"
Perhaps no answer was expected from her.
Iceheart silently endured as the Emperor Palpatine's soft boots beat her face, knocking out teeth and breaking the bones of her facial skeleton.
She did not move, pinned down obviously by the Force, and silently accepted the Emperor's punishment.
She remained silent as he struck her with lightning, kicked her, hurled her across the throne room.
She did not shed a single tear after a blow against a column cracked something in her back.
She continued to be mute as her brow above her right eye was split open and blood poured down her face, blinding her.
She silently endured everything the Emperor could take out on her.
She did not make a sound for her master, understanding that Palpatine needed to vent his rage over the death of his closest associates.
She blamed no one for what was happening, not even trying to think of herself as a victim.
Heading into the Deep Core, having disposed of the Lusankya crew Thrawn had imposed on her with battle droids, she understood she might not get what she wanted — a place at the Emperor's side.
But she also understood she had burned all her bridges.
Besides, she was a clone, whose life cycle was short.
The only one who could help solve this problem was Emperor Palpatine himself, and serving him was an honor for her.
Especially by replacing the real Iceheart.
"You will never replace her," the Emperor sneered contemptuously, raising her from the floor with a wave of his hand and making her face his own broken visage. "You are merely a tool that has gotten above itself. Your life is worth nothing."
"Then end it," Ysanne said quietly, fearlessly meeting the Emperor's golden eyes. "I did what the real Isard could not. I stole the Lusankya. I obtained the Dominion minefield maps for you. I contributed to the death of the traitor Krennel and the rout of a large portion of the Republic forces. Even Thrawn did not see through me. But the real Isard, he read like an open book. I delivered irrefutable proof of Thrawn's betrayal of the Empire."
"Your accomplishments are worth nothing," the Emperor snorted, brushing her off like a broken toy.
The woman fell to the polished floor, biting her lip against the all-consuming pain that washed over her.
"The minefield and asteroid barrier maps were delivered to me by Admiral Dobramu. Krennel never interested me in the Empire, and he holds no interest for me now. A pathetic worm, crushed without the slightest effort. And everything else you said," the Emperor seared the woman on the floor with his fiery gaze, "Thrawn's betrayal... That alien always acted solely in his own interests. He was useful as a vanguard for the invasion and accomplished much. Though, as usual, he outsmarted himself. His betrayal means nothing — I will swallow the Dominion as an appetizer. I will burn their ships and welcome the grateful smiles of the locals who will be happy to greet me, while Thrawn's pathetic hangers-on haven't even bothered to do anything but hole up in their shell and divide his legacy."
"In that case," Isard said, helping herself to at least a somewhat vertical position with trembling hands, "everything I have done is nothing before your greatness. Finish me and turn this page, forgetting the last reminder of Isard who is ready to serve you."
"Serve me?" the Emperor laughed. "What do I need you for, you broken toy of Iceheart?"
"Because I am as devoted to my master as she was," Ysanne said, wiping blood from her lips. "I adore and love him just as much. I am ready to step over myself for his greatness. And I will not rest until death, carrying out his will."
"How interesting," interest returned to Palpatine's voice. And Ysanne felt a faint tickling sensation under the skin of her scalp, as always when in the Emperor's presence. "You intend to serve me, after what just happened?"
"Yes," Ysanne replied. "It cannot be otherwise. That is my fate."
"Perhaps, perhaps," Palpatine said with a smirk. "You certainly have fortitude. Not a full Iceheart, but maybe you'll be good for something. However, what can you offer me here and now, besides what is already mine?"
Out of the corner of her eye, Ysanne saw Luke Skywalker stir.
Steam still rose from his body, but the young Jedi stubbornly tried to pull himself together, staring at the Emperor's back.
"I can tell you about a traitor in the Empire who sent hundreds of thousands of your soldiers to the slaughter," Isard said, watching Palpatine's face twist into the predatory mask of a maniac who had scented a victim. "And Skywalker is about to attack you, my lord."
Without looking back, the Emperor thrust his hand backward, and streams of white-blue electricity erupted from it, piercing the shrieking Jedi and sending him into convulsions.
"Continue, broken doll," Palpatine said in an oily tone, not taking his eyes off her. "Tell me everything you know. For your right to life depends on your sincerity and persuasiveness."
And Iceheart began to speak, while the Emperor tortured his captive Jedi with lightning.
* * *
The planet Kol Atorn was not large, nor did it possess any unusual astrography.
An ordinary world, from whose orbit one could see a single dead satellite of a yellowish color, vast seas, dense forests, numerous lakes, continents, and islands...
At first glance, you would never say that formidable warriors lived on this planet.
Located in the eponymous star system of the Kanz sector in the New Territories of the Outer Rim, Kol Atorn, like other worlds in the sector, had recently joined the Dominion.
And, in fact, my arrival here was the second appearance of official Dominion representatives on the planet.
The last time, the locals had rather rudely and unequivocally shown the representative out, advising him never to return to avoid major problems.
Well, that word was kept — no more representatives came here.
I had come in person.
And at the moment, I was in a small diner near the spaceport, curiously studying the local gastronomic delights.
Guardsmen were stationed throughout the small cantina, keeping their eyes on the few patrons who, upon our arrival, had intended to leave the establishment but were persistently invited to keep me company and not deprive themselves of the pleasure of an excellent meal.
If nothing else, they certainly loved and knew how to cook in this place.
The meat dishes — every one of them was excellent.
Not half an hour had passed since the landing of my shuttle and escort forces when observers began reporting activity among the locals, who were actively arming themselves and behaving rather hostilely toward the stormtroopers of the 501st Legion.
Who had, in turn, taken fairly firm control of the spaceport itself, including the locals' few starfighters.
No, we certainly hadn't killed anyone.
A massive silhouette appeared in the wide doorway of the cantina.
Well, the time for the denouement had come.
Continuing to enjoy a pie filled with the tenderest meat of some unknown animal, I stopped only when a two-meter giant froze at my table, clad head to toe in heavy armor.
In his hands was a monstrous-looking blaster rifle, a couple of generations behind cutting-edge technology.
And its barrel was pointed directly at my head.
"Not letting a sentient enjoy the cuisine of this establishment's good host would be a crime," I declared, but still dabbed my lips with a napkin and gestured invitingly to the wicker chair across from me. "Please, have a seat, Mr. Spar."
Hedge Spar.
"Mandos have no custom of talking to dead men," the owner of the spiky, open-faced helmet informed me in a well-trained bass.
So, what conclusions could be drawn from the first glance at this man?
At the very least, that the leader of the enclave of exiles and emigrants from the Mandalorian Sector living on Kol Atorn spoke an accented version of Mando'a — the native tongue of the Mandalorians.
I had familiarized myself with the latter during the flight here.
I had heard dozens of pronunciations from recordings on the HoloNet.
I certainly hadn't become a native speaker, but I could definitely distinguish the characteristic shifts in word stress and pronunciation peculiarities.
The planet was an enclave of Mandalorian culture.
One of the leaders of the Mandalorians, Mandalore the Metalborn, had grown up in the alleys of Kol Atorn and learned to speak Mando'a from the Mandalorians living here.
Ultimately, he had been one of the greatest leaders of his people, though I had never heard of him before.
And to unearth this small grain of information, I had to give Mr. Pent quite a task.
Fortunately, he was happy to take an hour's break from searching for the Eye of Palpatine and do something else for a change.
Point number two.
The armor Hedge Spar wore was quite old, but still serviceable.
It wasn't a modern replica, not a fake.
The Mandalorians on Kol Atorn, though not wealthy, did possess modern weapons.
So one could conclude that the old armor, undoubtedly supplemented with modern electronics and gadgets, was hardly just a Mandalorian fashion statement.
It was a tribute to traditions, customs, and Hedge Spar himself was a symbol of their observance for the locals.
"Yes, I had heard rumors that I was dead," I said. No, this pie was simply wonderful!
"We heard them too," the man replied, still holding his weapon and not taking his eyes off me. "We also heard that your envoys promised not to return to Kol Atorn and intended to leave us alone."
"And they kept their promise. Not a single diplomat came to you. No one bothered you until today."
"And to what do we owe the honor that Grand Admiral Thrawn breaks his own cover and flies his Star Destroyer directly into our orbit, takes control of our spaceport, and eats our fish pie?" asked Spar.
Right.
Now this, I didn't like so much.
"To be honest, I thought it was meat," I said, not hiding the obvious, as was my habit.
"Everyone thinks that," Hedge said. "The owner of this place can cook anything so deliciously that you want to lick the plate clean."
"Honor and praise to the chef," I met the eye of the establishment's owner, who also served as the head cook.
"Can we stop beating around the bush and get down to business?" Spar asked with undisguised menace, turning the weapon resting on his knees slightly toward me.
"That's why I came," I assured him. "And yes, I don't advise pointing your weapon at me. The Guardsmen aren't a timid bunch, but when they get nervous, everyone around them gets hurt. And there are also the Noghri."
"What Noghri?" Spar tensed.
"I am Noghri," Rukh mewed almost in his ear, appearing like a gray shadow and, with one precise motion, detaching the gas cartridge and power cell from the Mandalorian's blaster rifle.
"Interesting tricks," Spar assessed in a threatening tone. "What do you want, Thrawn?"
"The same thing every ruler and warlord wants," I said. "Kol Atorn is located in the Kanz sector. The sector has joined the Dominion. Laws and obligations are established for every planet. Your world chose to ignore them and expelled my envoys. When my subordinates are insulted, I come to deal with the problem myself."
"And how do you see the 'problem' being solved?" the Mandalorian asked, not taking his eyes off Rukh, who had moved behind the back of my chair.
"Simple," I replied. "Kol Atorn either lives by the laws of the Dominion, or you will have to leave this planet."
In the latter case, I wasn't particularly worried about the migration of the locals and the subsequent spread of rumors about my survival.
The Mandalorians living on this planet, though former exiles and migrants from the Mandalorian Sector, were still heirs to their culture.
And talkativeness was not a trait of the sons of Mandalore.
But stubbornness and unwillingness to leave their established homes — that was very much in their warrior spirit.
If they hadn't wanted to resolve the problem, there would already be active combat operations on the planet between the 501st Legion and all the Mandalorians capable of holding a weapon.
I wouldn't even presume to judge who would win the initial battles — even if Kol Atorn was the rim of the galaxy, they loved and knew how to fight here.
But we simply had more soldiers and equipment, so the outcome of the conflict was clear as day.
However, it would cost both sides many lives.
Hedge Spar understood this too.
That's why he came to negotiate.
"You're offering my warriors to become part of your army, like those Mandalorians who served the Empire?" he asked.
"I'm offering to form a new, exclusively Mandalorian unit, consisting only of natives of Kol Atorn and no one else," I explained. "We could call this new formation the 'Mandalorian Brigade' or something similar. You will have your own commanders, your own training bases. No one intends to interfere with your centuries-old traditions and customs. The Dominion will provide you with all necessary equipment, including starships for troop transport."
And by the last point, I meant handing over to the Mandalorians of Kol Atorn a Keldabe II-class battleship captured at Hypori.
One line warship, transports, and a few Crusader-class corvettes — a small price to pay for ensuring the mobility of the equivalent of an entire legion of combat-ready troops.
And that the Mandalorians were combat-ready was obvious without further comment — one only had to look at the reports from the stormtrooper squads, detailing how quickly the locals had mobilized and how cohesively they were acting, moving into positions for a potential attack on the Dominion's stormtroopers.
One order from the leader sitting across from me — and a bloody slaughter would begin.
Or he would give a different order, and no bloodshed would occur.
And I would gain combat-ready troops that could become a strike force for asserting Dominion interests in several sectors of the galaxy until the problem of forming new stormtrooper units was resolved.
I had already roughly formed the 'division' of the Stormtrooper Corps in my head, given the current realities.
All the legions I currently had and was forming were Guard legions — a reward for their participation in last year's campaign.
They would continue to be formed from the best of the best stormtroopers through the cloning process.
They would be equipped to Imperial standards.
But as soon as the problem of additional cloning capacity and the creation of all necessary imprint matrices for the specialty was solved, the genetic material from Boba Fett — whom we were keeping in a coma for a constant blood supply — would be put to use.
These 'regular' stormtroopers would receive Phase II equipment and be armed with Republic weapons.
They might not be the latest model, but that didn't negate their combat effectiveness and, it should be noted, their greater stopping power compared to Imperial weapons.
"Sounds interesting, if you ignore the fact that you would hardly have made us such an offer if you weren't interested in increasing your troop numbers," said Spar. "Those who are strong don't invent special conditions for the inhabitants of some remote planet. Even if they are thrice warriors. From this, I conclude that your forces aren't doing as well as you'd like to tell me here."
Sometimes, especially after dealing with the Republic, I forgot that there were people in the galaxy who could think for themselves and draw correct conclusions without relying on that infamous Force.
"Let's say I do indeed need troops that, at least initially, won't be associated with the Dominion," I agreed.
"And what do you need them for?" asked Spar.
"Many battles are coming, in which skilled warriors can glorify themselves and immortalize their names, standing alongside Mandalorian heroes of the past," I said vaguely. "I think it's clear that in the current realities, I need all the peoples of the Dominion to be united in defending the interests of their state. I have no habit of going into battle while leaving a planet of hundreds of thousands of combat-capable men and women uncontrolled, who haven't stated their position on their loyalty to the Dominion and to me personally."
"In other words, you're telling me, in a veiled way, that either we're with you, or you'll destroy us," Hedge Spar said, breaking into a toothy grin as if he'd heard something funny.
"I already said — you're either with us, or you get out of the Dominion," I had to correct. "I didn't even mention orbital bombardments that would be used to destroy a potential enemy to avoid the risk of heavy ground force casualties."
In conversations with warriors — uncompromising and ruthless — one always had to raise the negotiation bar, making it clear that conducting a conversation was by no means a sign of weakness or fear, but merely 'soft power' backed by big guns and the willingness to use them at the first necessity.
Words about 'serious intentions' were worthless without the resolve to demonstrate those very 'serious intentions' in practice.
'Blabbermouths' were not respected, even if they had 'big guns'.
But those who, without unnecessary ceremony, used the force of the weapons they had forged to achieve stated goals enjoyed much greater respect, even from their opponents.
It was logical that Spar decided to test my strength.
"And I'm supposed to take your word for it?" he snorted.
"By no means," I assured him, raising my comlink to my mouth. "Captain Tschel, target number one, please."
The next second, the cantina's windows were flooded with a white-green glow, the ground shuddered, and through the open door came an ear-splitting roar from the turbolaser impact.
The Mandalorian didn't even flinch, but through the open parts of his helmet, thanks to the shape of Spar's headgear, I caught snippets of Mando'a speech.
Clearly, his subordinates were reporting the results of the single shot to their leader.
"Well, we were planning to tear down that dilapidated building anyway," he said in a casual tone. "You just wasted the tibanna."
"Or," I countered, finishing my pie, "I clearly demonstrated to you that we can, from low orbit, controlling all your defense forces, destroy even buildings standing in the city center with surgical precision strikes, without harming surrounding structures. In my opinion, it's worth considering whether target number one was merely a ranging shot, and whether targets number two and three might be the generator plant and the arsenal. Or the long-empty Building of the Hall of Martial Glory for the local population."
The Mandalorian stared at me with such intensity that it felt like he was trying to pin me to the back of my chair.
He understood me perfectly, as well as the fact that I had long since figured him out.
The local Mandalorians had not participated in any major conflicts for a very long time.
All their stories of their ancestors' martial glory were so ancient that no one alive even remembered the children of those heroes.
Compared to their 'older brothers' from the Mandalorian Sector — who, even if they hadn't gathered for campaigns as often lately, still made noise across the entire galaxy — the inhabitants of Kol Atorn looked even worse than 'poor relations'.
I didn't just bring up the empty Trophy Hall for nothing.
They were trophies won in battle against a strong enemy, not an exhibition of agricultural droids or coffee makers stolen from peaceful civilians.
"Well, you certainly know how to negotiate, Grand Admiral Thrawn," Hedge Spar grinned, rising from the table and extending his hand as a sign of our mutual agreement. "My Mandalorians are with you. And we're hoping for some glorious battles against a real enemy. You can chase down natives with slugthrowers on your own, but for the real thing, you need Mandalorians."
Bragging, self-praise…
The typical trappings of those who live for battle and dream of future generations quoting them to their children.
"Take my word for it," I smiled, mirroring Spar's action. "What awaits you will definitely please your people."
"I can't wait," the Mandalorian snorted, raising an eyebrow to show he appreciated the firm handshake. I tried not to show how difficult it was for me. But I couldn't back down. Thank the daily physical exercises — they let me avoid embarrassment in front of this planet's Mandalorian leader. "Well, now to the details. What kind of weaponry does the Dominion intend to gift us, for which we on Kol Atorn are so eager to fight?"
Oh, you have no idea what awaits you in the end.
At the very least — cloning of the most distinguished…